The idea of yandere gojo and geto (both at the same time) plotting against their darling reader using geto's cursed spirits to make her on them gets my mind reeling for nights 👀 wonder if my favorite writer has any thoughts on this
Perfect Prey
Characters: Yadere!Geto Suguru, Yadere!Gojo Satoru,FAB!Reader
Warnings: yandere!Geto/Gojo, manipulation, dub! con read is unaware that the boys are manipulating her! (consent is vital for me!!) double penetration, smut, mentions of wounds, cursing
Word Count: 3,404
A/N: Ah! thank you Nonnie! This made me smile! Oooh, this, this was fun. I loved getting into this! I hope y’all enjoy it!! (I really enjoyed writing for Suguru 🥵)
“I finally got my own mission!” Geto and Gojo glanced up at you as you proudly walked into the first-year's classroom. “Took years, but I think they finally realized I’m fully capable of destroying a curse or two by myself!”
Geto gave you a warm smile, resting his chin on his fist. “Is that so? Funny, I thought we made it clear one of us was supposed to accompany you on any mission.” He shut his eyes, tilting his head slightly to the side.

“Oh, that’s a good one, Suguru!” You excitedly plopped down on Gojo’s desk, kicking your feet back and forth. “All jokes aside, they did want to send one of you with me.”
“Wanted to send one of us?” Satoru questioned, dipping his chin to watch you.
The two men watched you closely as your pretty head nodded. “Yaga said,” you tilted your chin at Satoru, “You were assigned to come with me, Satoru. But seeing as you just returned from your mission, I insisted that I could handle a couple of curses on my own.” Gojo scoffed, his head turning to give Suguru a look of disbelief. “Oh, don't look at him like that!” Sure, the duo were best friends, but their silent communication between stolen glances made you feel left out.
“I don't think me coming back from a mission, which I handled easily because I’m Gojo Satoru, of course. Means I can't come with you. They assigned us this together.” The white-haired man’s time was thick with annoyance. “For a specific reason, I’m assuming.”
You cocked an eyebrow, eyes darting between the two men. “Why would the Gojo Satoru be needed to exorcise a handful of low-grade curses?” Looking at Gojo, you could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. “You know what—why do they even send you both you're Special-grades?” Before you could question them, Geto chuckled, soft and rich.
“Ignore Satoru; he’s just being clingy. Congratulations on your first solo mission.” Pride swelled in your chest at his acknowledgment. You happily kicked your feet faster as Geto reached over, ruffling your hair. “Just promise to be careful, and if you need any help, please know we’re but a phone call away.”
“Thank you.” The condescending tone of your voice has Satoru clenching his jaw. “I’ll get this mission done so fast, you won't even notice I’m gone!”
Geto pulled his hand back, nodding, dark hair swaying as you slid off the seal. “Be safe; we’ll see you at home.”
“I will! See you both later!”
Geto smiled, waving until the door shut, and he could no longer hear your footsteps down the hall. The instant he was confident that you weren't around, his smile fell, eyes narrowed at the door. Gojo was fuming, pulling his blindfold down, letting it pool around his neck. Between the two men, their anger could freeze Hell over.
“This is problematic.” Geto rubbed at the pulsing sensation in his temple.
“Problematic? No, this is a disaster if she gets through this mission, which we know she will! She's going to get more solo missions. Solo missions turn into group missions, with other sorcerers, other men.”
“And we can't have that. No one is good enough to protect her, let alone breathe the same air.”
Gojo sat on the edge of the desk, watching as his best friend tapped his thumb against the center of his forehead. Between the two of them, they would find a way to fix this sticky situation. Their solution had to be clean. They couldn’t have you finding out that they were the ones responsible for your lack of solo missions. The two pulled strings to ensure you were always with them.
Some might call them possessive and obsessive. But they didn't see it like that. They just knew no one on the face of the planet would ever be good enough for you. You were their darling little princess. The keywords are theirs and theirs alone.
“We could tell Yaga to pull her off, tell a white lie like maybe she changed her mind.”
“No, no, that would look suspicious. She went through all the trouble, convincing him to let her go alone. After all that, for us to ask that, she would start asking questions. We can’t have her knowing we’re responsible for her lack of solo missions.”
“Okay, do you have any ideas?” When Geto said nothing, Gojo sighed, exasperated, feeling Geto’s eyes on him. “It would be easier if we showed her how ‘dangerous’ these solo missions can be.”
A lightbulb went off in Geto’s mind. “Satoru~” he purred, “that’s a brilliant idea.” The other man furrowed crisp white brows in confusion. “She thinks it’s just a handful of curses, right?”
“Yeah?”
“It would be a shame if there were more curses than she could handle,” Geto smirked, specks of black forming behind his shoulder, his curses coming to life, revealing his intentions.
Satoru grinned wide with a sharp laugh. “That truly would be a shame, wouldn’t it? Poor sweetheart will have to call us to help.” Geto nodded, motioning for Satoru to follow.
“Come on, we got shit to do.”
Later that night, you were scrambling off the ground, wincing as the fifteen curses chased you around the corner of the abandoned building. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” You screamed, palms bleeding, knees scraped up as you stumbled back to your feet, barely avoiding the sharp teeth of the curse behind you.
This was supposed to be a simple job! One where there would be maybe two or three curses to take out! Three were okay! You were able to handle that on your own. But after you took them out, you suddenly found yourself surrounded by dozens of curses. All of them ranged from different grades, from four to two, but a couple gave off a darker presence, possibly special grades, which was not good.
How the hell did three curses turn into three dozen?! How could the intel be so off?! And how the hell were you going to get out of this?!
A low snarling snapped you out of your frantic thoughts before the curse in front of you swiped at your stomach with very long and very sharp claws. You dodged, falling back onto the ground, watching it close in on you. This was not good, not in the slightest, and it didn’t help that you were all alone!
Scrambling back, you pushed yourself off the ground, ducking into a room, slamming the door. “Goddamn, fuck me.” Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you called the two strongest men of the modern age. Sure, there was a one hundred and fifty percent chance they'd boast about how they were right, how you needed to listen to them, but that didn’t matter right now! “Pick up! Pick up, pick up!”
The phone rang and rang and rang. Just when you thought it would go to voicemail, the line clicked. Gojo yawned on the other line without a care in the world. “Hello~?” He cooed, listening to the raspy breathing.
“Satoru!” You gulped down breaths of air. “Toru, I need help!” You screamed as a curse slammed against the door.
Gojo covered the receiver, snickering as Geto eyed the building you were in. “What was that? You need our help?”
“Yes!” you cried out, “Satoru! Please help!!”
“Are you sure? I mean, I am considered a Special Grade; low-grade curses are something I shouldn’t worry about, right?”
Geto’s curse smashed through the door, dashing at you. He swore he could hear your scream through Satoru’s phone. His poor princess is getting chased around by his curses. This could have been easily avoided if you didn’t insist on taking on this mission alone. Unfortunately for you, the choices you made led to this outcome.
Your heart was hammering against your rib cage as you slipped and maneuvered around the curses slowly surrounding you. This was way out of your league, and you were beginning to regret now bringing one of the boys with you. Plus, Satoru wouldn’t drop everything and come running to your rescue, not after everything you’d said earlier.
“Toru, please.” Pleading was something you rarely did, but Satoru’s ego had been bruised, so you had to do what needed to be done. “Please, I'm begging you.”
Both Gojo and Geto exchanged a look with each other. “You beg so nicely,” Satoru commented, listening to a loud crashing sound followed by your curse. “I suppose I could come, maybe bring Suguru too.”
“Y-Yes! Yes, please!”
“On one condition.”
Despite the fact dozens of curses were chasing you, you stopped dead in your tracks. “Condition?! What fuckin’ condition?!”
“You never take a solo mission again.”
After this endeavor, he didn’t even have to ask you to do that. “Y-Yes! I agree. Just fucking hurry!” In the blink of an eye, the tall white-haired man teleported before you with Geto by his side. The curse that had been charging at you slammed hard against Gojo’s infinity before being forced back as the white-haired man stepped forward.
You fell to your knees, panting heavily as Geto peered down at you from over his shoulder. “Are you alright?” You just nodded your head, glancing down at your bleeding hands. “You don’t look alright.” You could smell the woodsy musk
as Geto knelt in front of you. “Give me.” He gently grabbed your hand, examining the scraps on the heels of your hand.
”Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Gojo chastised as he grabbed you and Geo, teleporting the three of you back to their apartment. “Guess your first solo mission didn’t quite go as well as you planned now, did it?”
There was no retort or sharp comeback because he was right. Even if the intel had been wrong, you couldn't handle this mission on your own. You had failed after you insisted that you could handle this mission without any hiccups. Now, that confidence was replaced with shame and disbelief. You had to call on your colleagues for assistance. After they warned you that this is something you wouldn’t be able to handle.
The two men who had orchestrated this scheme watched you with unreadable expressions—on the outside, their demeanor seemed unnerved, while on the inside, they were swelling with pride and excitement. Seeing you so distraught and broken had their pants tightening at the almost broken, blank look in your eyes.
“Oh, don’t be embarrassed,” Suguru announced, lifting you and ushering you towards the bathroom. “There’s nothing to be ashamed about. You’re not the only sorcerer who isn't capable of handling three dozen cursed spirits on their own. Not everyone is as strong as Satoru and I.”
Suguru moves to the shower, turning it on as you remain still, the events of the evening replaying over in your mind. “Suguru’s right. Not everyone would have handled a situation like that. You should be grateful, though. You’re lucky enough to have us willing to come to your beck and call.” Satoru is moving in front of you, holding your hands over the sink, running hot water over the wounds. “If we hadn’t shown up when we did, you could have died.” The truth of his words had your head jerking up, meeting crystalline eyes.
“I-I could have died.” The monotone repetition of his own words had Satoru’s cock throbbing at the broken throaty words that left your mouth.
“You could have.” He agreed, pressing his lips against your neck. “But you didn’t because we saved you.”
“I-I know.” You whispered as Geto joined your side. “You saved me.”
Hands, hot and rough, ran over the mounds of your breasts, gripping your hips, manhandling you in ways they had done in the past. There had been nights when the three of you had been so bored you just decided to hook up or when they just needed a little stress relief. This time, however, felt monumentally different. Like they were holding their breath, holding themselves back. Their stoic bodies jittered with anticipation, waiting to see what happened next.
To you, it was them being pent up, maybe the adrenaline rushing through their systems. Because if you were being honest with yourself, you felt just as pent up. Almost dying had you wanting to cave into your raw human desires. While the men standing on either side of you shared one of their infamous knowing glances. They weren’t driven by the adrenaline and passion of what had happened. Not in the slightest. No, their desire was driven by pure, unfiltered joy.
They finally had you right where they wanted you. Broken. You had lost a fight you knew you could have won. Due to them, your confidence in your abilities was clouded by a fabricated series of events.
First, you’d be broken, not taking missions alone any further. The next phase would be to distance you from the school slowly. Trying to convince you that you didn’t need to worry about working, the two made more than enough money to provide for the three of you. If all went according to plan, you would be their perfect little live-in girlfriend in no time.
What made all of this ten times better was the fact that you had no idea tonight's events had left you in their web of lust and desire. They were the spiders, and you were the poor innocent fly—a fly about to be devoured in the most primal ways imagined.
“Thank you for saving me.”
”Nu-uh.”
“We did save you, so you need to thank us properly.”
The men pressed lips against you, hands trailing over your body. You melted against them, gasping as hands cupped your breasts, hard cocks rubbing against your hips as they ground against you. They did save you, didn’t they? They went above and beyond to stop what they were doing and come to your aid.
“Y-Yeah, I think I will.” You whispered, turning to kiss each man on the mouth before sinking to your knees. “Please, let me thank you.”
Two thick long cock were suddenly in your face, throbbing and leaking pre-cum from angry, flushed tips. Seeing as your hands were scrapped up and ran, you took turns sucking and licking each man's cock, while they jerked off. Your tongue flicked, swirled, and lapped the two cocks, until their cum spurted over your face coating your lips and cheeks. Your appreciation didn’t stop there. You pulled both fully clothed men into the shower with you, tugging their clothes off and discarding them over the shower door.
Satoru and Suguru both help you, lifting you, your legs wrapping around Satoru’s waist as Geto’s wet, chiseled chest pressed firmly over your back. Both cock’s teased your wet cunt’s entrance, rubbing over against each other as you whined softly, tilting your head back. Their cocks both pressed past the tight opening of your pussy, stretching your walls in a painful yet pleasurable way, leaving your cock drunk the deeper they sunk into your wet heat.
A minute was all they allowed you to take to attempt to adjust yourself to the sensation of having two cocks buried inside of you. They were bullying inside of you. Satoru’s cock kissed your cervix with each thrust, While Suguru rubbed against your g-spot in the most heavenly way. Perhaps if you had been a good girl and just left everything as it was, they would have taken it easier on you. Regretfully, in their eyes, you had almost ruined their carefully constructed ploy to make you theirs in every sense of the word. Due to that, you were going to be punished severely.
Their thrusts were hard, deep, and almost painful. Fucking into you as if you were just a sex toy rather than a human being. Satoru’s teeth dug painfully into your shoulder, leaving indentations in his wake. Suguru’s mouth trailed kissed over the nap of your neck, mouth gentler than Satoru but his hands were as cruel as the white-haired man's. He pinched and pulled at your nipples, yanking them until you cried out his name before releasing his grip. The relief never lasted long; as soon as the dull, stinging sensation subsided, Suguru returned to the painful teasing.
The kisses, touch, and thrusts weren’t the only way they were mean to you. Their words stung just as bad as the scrapes on your hands and the abrasions to your knees. If you hadn’t been crying from the mere overstimulation of pained pleasure, their words might have had your eyes watering just as much.
”Our stupid dirty slut, getting herself into such a fucked up me.”
”Yes, dragging us both out to save her.”
“Then, on top of everything we did. Going out of our way to save her after she blatantly told us she was fine, she still gets fucked good like the whore that she is.”
”Yeah, she might not be able to take on a cursed spirit, but she’s sure good at taking two dicks at the same time.”
Their words had your skin flushing in shame and need, your mouth dropping into an ‘O’ as the abdomen in your lower abdomen started to tighten. “Oooh, fuk, please, ha—ah fuuck.” You were so close, so damn close to either passing out or having the most intense orgasm of your life. If you were lucky, which didn’t seem likely after all the mishaps today, maybe, just maybe, you could experience both. “G-Gonna cum, please.”
”You hear that Satoru, our little cock slut wants to cum.”
Satoru’s hips began to jerk faster, the head of his cock slamming into your cervix thrust after thrust. “Does she even deserve it?” He continued, leaving pain over your skin, his tongue brushing over the marks.
“P-Please, oooh god, please don’t tease”
“Hm, what do you say, Suguru? Nngh fuck—“ Satoru hammered his hips into you, thrust after thrust, drawing you closer and closer to the edge. “Should our precious girl cum?”
“Aaahh yes~ let her cum, make her take both our loads, then once she catches her breath, we fuck her even more.”
Reaching between your bodies, Satoru rubbed your clit, making your walls twitch around the two monster cocks inside of you. Their pace matches the others, working in harmony to send you over the edge. A scream, one that had never left you before, echoes inside the steamy shower. “C-Cummin! Cumming!” You screamed over and over until both of you stiffened, ropes of thick hot cum filling you.
“Take it bitch, take every last drop, milk me dry.” Satoru was always more vocal, nipping and sucking at your ear as his whiny groans invaded your mind.
“P-Princess, mmmhm, fuuuck.” Unlike Satoru, who was all about talking and heaving his voice, Suguru was softer, moans deep and feral, but he didn’t feel the need to announce it to the entire apartment complex. “Fillin’ you up so good~”
They both did; their hot cum leaked out of you, running down their softening shafts. In the shower, you hummed, listening to the tittering splatter in the water washing over you. The peaceful moment lasted for but a second as both men pressed kisses on your shoulder.
“You belong to us.”
“Do you understand?”
As their wandering hand dug into your skin, you nodded. Rocking slightly against them with a helpless whine. “Yes, yeah, I belong to you both!” The two friends shared a cold, knowing smirk as you began thrusting into you harder, making your eyes roll back into your head as loud moans wrecked through you. Little did you know how serious they both were.
You belonged to them in every way, shape, and form, whether you liked it or not.
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Back to You Again
Tangerine x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Injury, mention of blood, mention of death/fear of death, arguing/bickering, swearing. Serious idiots in love who have a little trouble expressing their feelings and choose the wrong time to do it.
You've been gone a little while. A few months to be specific. Why? Tangerine can only guess, but he's not happy about it.
Requested by @nocturnest. I'm so sorry this took so long. I started it thinking it was going to be short and then 7K words flew out. 😬Anyway, thanks for your request. It's been a long time since I wrote anything seriously and this was really good for me. Hope you enjoy!
“Laser cutter. Three auto-rifles. Two handguns. Three boxes of ammo each.”
Check.
The binoculars are heavy duty, and the metal texture grates your fingers as you pull them up to peer through the lenses into the next building over. A high-rise that had at least 30 floors. All windowed at least, which made this a little easier on you.
“In through the fifth-floor service area. Through the employee hallway to the service elevator.”
A map of the building laid next to you on the gravel roof. It hadn’t been easy to get your hands on it, but it was worth it for a building as secure as this. No security measure had been overlooked by this man and as paranoid as he seemed it went a long way to his credibility.
“In and out through the service elevator. 20 mins tops. Oh, the jammer.”
A handheld device that you’d paid top dollar for. Yes, it has duct tape holding pieces of it together, and the screen was a repurposed old Gameboy front, but it is the best your back-channel dealer could provide.
How did anyone do anything without a handler these days?
The jammer would save you the trouble (if things turned sideways) of dealing with reinforcements. It flickers to life by flipping a switch smoldered to its side. The thing really does look like a piece of garbage. And, despite what the dealer said, the duct tape and flimsy-ness of it
Several frequencies and networks flashed across the screen, all of them belonging to the building you were surveying. Scrolling through, only a few needed to be shut down, too many and it would raise alarms.
Wifi was the last to be turned off and then you would really need to book it inside.
Everything planned out to a T. Entrance and exits mapped. Back-up plans (and back-up plans to those back-up plans) in place. Extra weapons and ammo in case you had to go out guns blazing. This should be no problem.
“Office-penthouse on the top floor. Computer terminal on the desk, west side.”
Get to the computer, get the files, destroy everything. If you happened to kill the son of a bitch, well, that was a bonus.
You sigh and rub your face, trying to work out the stress lines that seemed to make a permanent home between your brows. “Now I just need to stop talking to myself.”
It was an unfortunate habit you’d picked up in the last few months of working alone. Usually, you had… no. This was no time to think of them, or of him. You have to focus. After this is done, you can go back and apologize, even grovel if you have to.
But now is the time for focus.
In the middle of repeating this mantra, one you’ve been repeating for the last month, you happen to look up at the street. Not for any real reason, nothing had drawn your attention. Nothing was amiss in your perfect plan.
Except two very familiar faces walking down the sidewalk.
Lemon and Tangerine.
Clad in their typical attire. Snazzy suits, dress shoes, and ties.
Your stomach does several things. First it flips at the sight of Tangerine as he saunters with his hands in his pockets, then it sinks and twists into painful knots.
“No, no, no!”
They can’t be here! Anywhere but here!
The two walked casually down the sidewalk, as if they were taking a nice midday stroll. No rifles, no car, nothing. Either they were ballsy as hell…or wildly misinformed about this building and the man inside.
Something in you hoped, prayed, they would pass the building. That they were going somewhere else.
They took a sharp turn to cross the street—toward the building entrance—and your breath turned ragged, your blood chilled. At the same time, your mind was churning with practicality, cold and calculated ideas. Some nasty part of you that had gotten you this far in such a dangerous career, that had nestled in you a long time ago and only now resurfaced in the months of being alone.
You could just walk away; they have their job, and they’re professionals. They can handle themselves.
You could go in after and clean up without ever being seen. Easy. The plan you made could still work, Tangerine and Lemon would be a perfect distraction.
But you were already moving. Lega working on their own and putting you into motion. Fingers tapping off the Wi-Fi signal on the jammer while you slung your duffle bag over your shoulder.
This was not the plan, you argued with yourself as you flew down the back stairs. You’ll get yourself killed being this reckless and impulsive. What happened to in and out in 20 mins?
With every point you made the other side of your mind made a counterpoint.
They’re underprepared. They’re misinformed. They don’t have the firepower to walk in the front door, hell, they don’t have enough bullets to make it to the second floor.
“God damn it!” You yelled, taking the stairs down two at a time. Your voice echoed off the walls in the cramped stairwell. The rifles in your duffle bag clattered and banged together.
They’d be killed. Tangerine and Lemon would be killed. You couldn’t let that happen.
. . .
“I say we take a hostage and negotiate our way up.”
“Yeah, sure, Lemon.”
“This guy’s what, a tech billionaire, or something?”
“Probably.”
“Ok, so he’s a nerd. Easy job.”
“Uh-huh.”
Lemon shoots his brother a less than happy look. Tangerine is staring off into space with a slight frown, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he hunches over a little. Which wasn’t new, he’d been doing that a lot lately. A reflection of his dour mood.
Lemon rolls his eyes. “Oh, mate. Come on. We’re on a job.”
Tangerine shrugs, frowning harder. “I’m fuckin’ aware of that, Lemon.”
“Then stop with your sulking! What have I told you?”
“No—” Tangerine waves a hand, “—you don’t need to say it again—”
“Just send her a letter or something. She’d love it.”
Tangerine groans, he’s starting to get a headache now as they near the target building. “As I’ve said before, I attached letters on the flowers I sent.”
Lemon opens his mouth, but Tangerine cuts him off. “And I sent more than one bouquet. For fuck’s sake, her house probably looks like a tropical rainforest by now.”
“What about—”
“I’ve sent her presents. Jewelry. Perfume. A new phone in case hers was broken. Fuckin’ hell I even had her porch repainted.”
“And she didn’t say anything?”
“Nothing.”
Lemon hesitates. “Did you say you’re sorry?”
Now Tangerine was about to lose it. His eye twitched, not that his brother could see it. “Sorry for what? She’s the one that up and disappeared without a word.”
“I still think you should say it. Just to cover your bases.”
“I’m not apologizing. We were all perfect and you know that. She was happy as a clam and if something was wrong, she would have told me.”
“Then why’d she—”
“You’re really getting on my fucking nerves, Lemon.”
They were across the street from the main entrance now. Two glass doors with golden handles reflected the brothers. In sync they both took a sharp turn toward them. Through the glass they didn’t see anyone else in the lobby and there was a long, chest high counter with a clerk along the far back wall.
Neither of them blinked at how empty the lobby was. Their client had said this target was some kind of informant, but that was about it. They’d paid half up front and sent them on their merry way.
Tangerine yanked open the glass door, holding it for Lemon. He was beyond pissed and just wanted this to be over with. Despite his complaints he was still mulling over what his brother said. Should he apologize, even though he had done nothing wrong? He didn’t think he’d done anything wrong, and he had thought back on all the times you’d been with them, working a job or not.
He’d been happy, he thought you were happy too.
The white floor tiles of the lobby were so shiny they could check their reflections in them. The whole place was upstanding and flaunted wealth. On both sides of the spacious lobby were two silver elevators. The clerk, a lady in her mid-thirties, looked up at them as they walked in. She picked up a phone and turned away as she spoke.
It took them 10 seconds to reach the desk, and, in that time, Lemon had pulled out his gun.
He pointed it at her now. “Hang up the phone.”
She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. Not the usual response someone has when a gun is pointed at them, but she slowly hangs up.
“Come out from behind the desk, slowly.”
There’s a moment when she does nothing. Then, “No.”
Tangerine blinks, then pulls out his own gun. “Did you really just say no? Listen lady—”
She leans forward over the desk, leering. “Turn around and get the fuck out.”
Lemon shoots into the wall slightly to her left. She doesn’t even flinch at the sound. “I will fucking shoot you. Get out. From behind. The desk.”
She leans back. “Cute gun.”
Tangerine starts to get a sinking feeling. He turns to Lemon, about to say they should take a walk (maybe find a back entrance to this place instead) when the woman pulls out .22 Uzi from somewhere in the desk. They only catch a glimpse of the muzzle before they start shooting wildly and ducking.
Lemon takes a shot to the chest with a grunt. Tangerine hears the bullets whizzing past him and shattering glass.
The desk clerk turns disappearing behind an employee door seamlessly built into the wall.
They crouch down next to the desk. Tangerine’s head pounds, as it usually does when a job gets out of control.
“You alright?” He reloads his gun, watching his brother carefully.
Lemon checks himself over, patting his chest and stomach. “Yeah, all good, the vest caught it. This is fucked what do we do—”
He doesn’t get a chance to finish as both elevators open and squads of heavily armored men pour out. They all have automatic rifles and black Kevlar vests.
“Behind the desk!” Tangerine shouts, pulling Lemon up.
They jump over just as the bullets start flying. Glass shatters, wood splinters, tiles crack. It’s utter chaos and Tangerine and Lemon can only sit behind cover.
“I think we might be fucked!” Lemon shouts, checking his gun.
Tangerine grits his teeth, mind racing. “The client didn’t mention this level of security! I’m going to wring their fucking neck!”
“We’re outmatched!”
“No question, Lemon! Thanks for pointing that out!” Tangerine can feel his brother’s rising anxiety as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.
“What do we do?!”
“We hope to God this is all of them and try our best to make it out of here!”
“You’re saying—”
Tangerine fires blindly from behind the desk. “Yes, we bail on this job and break our client’s fucking legs!”
The onslaught never seems to end. These assholes are top security and they’re trained well. Their shots chip away at the desk piece by piece, Tangerine and Lemon can feel the bullets violently embed themselves in the wood against their backs.
Tangerine glances at the employee door, there’s no handle and no way to pry it open. He figures there’s a remote control that opens it somewhere from behind. He tries to remain calm, think of a way out that isn’t behind at least 10 guys with rifles.
What would you do in this situation? His heart feels like it’s been pierced with a lance as he thinks of you. Obviously, you would never be caught in a situation like this. You were careful, practical, methodical in the way you planned out jobs.
He wished you were here with him.
Instinctually, his hand reaches into his pocket, grabbing his phone. Lemon watches him with something close to sympathy on his face.
Your number is on speed dial. Tangerine presses a button and holds it up to his ear.
It goes straight to voicemail.
The automated answering machine has become very familiar to him these last few months. Were you checking his voicemails? He’d left you enough to fill up your mailbox, he was sure of it.
“Please leave a message after the tone.”
He hopes you can hear him over the sound of gunshots.
“Yeah, look. Lemon and I, we’re in a bit of a pickle. I was really hoping you would answer this time ‘cause we need help. Since you didn’t, I just wanted to say that you’re a real prick for leaving us the way you did. And you haven’t said a single thank you or anything for all the gifts I’ve sent. Poor Lemon has been wondering where you went off to.” He pauses. This wasn’t the way he wanted to start this message, but every other attempt at getting your attention has failed.
“You know how I feel, I’ve made that pretty clear. But right now, I’m just pissed. Nothing has worked, so I’m going to break into your house and wait for you to come home.”
Lemon gives him a startled look, shakes his head from side to side.
Tangerine frowns. “Don’t take that the wrong—Alright, I won’t break into your house, but I will wait on your doorstep. Every day, I’ll be there until I see you.”
Lemon is still frowning, but Tangerine ignores him.
“This is all because…Well, I…” He struggles, throat turning dry and closing around the words he wants to say. Instead of continuing, he hangs up.
Sitting back against the desk he exhales. The gunfire has stopped to an occasional patter here and there.
Lemon runs a hand through his hair. “Bruv, what the fuck was that?”
“A last-ditch effort at getting some backup.”
They fell into silence; the lobby was eerily quiet. They knew the security team was just waiting for them to come out from behind the desk. The air crackled with energy.
Lemon checked his pockets. “I’ve got two clips left, you?”
“One and a half.”
The look they share conveys their doubts, their dread. An unspoken conversation passes between them.
Tangerine puts it in the back of his mind. “I’ll run out first, then you go a few seconds later.”
“No way, we go at the same time.”
He shakes his head but arguing only puts off the inevitable.
“Go to the opposite side of the desk.”
They split, crouching behind opposite corners. There was no way either of them would be able to make it two steps without taking 10 rounds to the chest. The image of you stays in Tangerine’s mind. He just wished he could see you again. Whatever comes next, afterlife or not, he hoped you—or some form of you—would be in it.
Tangerine gives Lemon one last look, finds that his brother is watching him, and gives him a somber nod. He holds his gun up, takes a deep breath, gets ready to run…
He’s out from behind the desk, gritting his teeth and firing in a flash.
He hits one, another to his left falls from Lemon’s bullets. His legs are shaky, he can feel them trembling.
Rifles take aim.
Tangerine opens his mouth to urge Lemon on.
And a grenade goes off.
The loud bang startles him, his ears ring and a second later he’s shrouded in white, smokey fog. Tangerine stops, confused, looking around to try and find Lemon. But a strong hand yanks him and drags him back. He stumbles, scattering empty bullet shells along the ground, and falls onto the tile.
He’s back behind the desk. Lemon falls next to him.
A pair of legs stands between the brothers. Next to them lies a green duffle bag. Empty rifle shells fall to the ground. Tangerine didn’t even realize guns were firing. He followed the legs up in one long sweep of his eyes.
. . .
A million and one things were going through your mind as you fired an automatic rifle at the security team in the lobby. The biggest thing was holding back every fiber of your damn being from screaming at Tangerine and Lemon for being so foolish.
If you had been a breath later, a second too late, these idiots would be laying in a pile of their own blood on the floor. That thought definitely won’t haunt you for a few months.
The other thing you were concentrating on was ignoring the way Tangerine was staring at you right now. He’s not hurt—you kept repeating, over and over again. He’s ok.
The security team was scattering for cover, but finding little, making your job easy as the last of the smoke cleared. They hadn’t been expecting someone to come in from behind and you’d shot a few in the back before throwing the smoke grenade. Only a few were left now.
They seemed to get over their surprise and began firing back, opening the elevators, and using the inside cabins for cover. Keeping the doors open would stop them from being sent back up for more goons to come through. That was good.
You duck down behind the desk. They were still staring at you.
“Yes! Hello!” You stubbornly gritted out while staring into the wood.
Tangerine’s mouth opened and closed many times, but no words came out. That didn’t mean Lemon wasn’t able to say anything.
“Did you get his message?” He was grinning like some kind of fool.
“Message? Which one?”
Was he talking about the hundreds of messages—texts, voicemails, and letters—Tangerine had been sending on a weekly basis? Yes, you’d gotten them. Read every single one. It had been hard enough sleeping normally, after all that you hadn’t been able to sleep at all. The guilt was overwhelming.
Lemon’s eyes dart to his brother. You did the same and regretted it immediately.
Tangerine’s eyes were practically bulging from his head. His mustache twitched.
Oh, he’s pissed.
You quickly look away and clear your throat. “Are you on a job?”
“Yeah, a shit one. We were just trying to bail.”
“Can’t blame you. What happened, bad intel?”
Tangerine’s voice resembled a growl, it grated against your ear, but it wasn’t entirely unwelcome. “Understatement of the century, love.”
Love. Love. Love.
Lemon wipes his forehead. “What’re you doing here?”
“I have my own problems with your target.” You turn to Lemon but feel Tangerine’s eyes burning a hole in your back. “I was about to sneak in when I saw you two walking down the street.” You check your gun, then rummage through the duffle bag for another clip.
“A massive coincidence then?” Lemon was holding back a smile, eyes darting to Tangerine occasionally. It was as if they weren’t just about to die only five minutes ago.
“If you two still want to bail, that’s fine with me. I’ll give you a window after taking the rest out. I’m going to push on.”
Tangerine spins you around by the shoulder to face him. “Are you fucking mental?”
You’re very close together. The determination it takes not to just lean in and…
Speaking slow, you’re focusing your words and hoping it gets through to him. “Your target has info on me that could get people hurt and ruin my reputation. I need to wipe his computer.”
For all his credit, Tangerine takes you seriously in that moment, even as he looks like he might commit murder. He looks to Lemon—they do that ‘sibling conversation’ without words that they’re so good at.
“We’ll stick around to help.”
“You sure?”
Something in him ignites. There’s a fire behind his eyes. “Fuck yes, we’re sure.”
He’s giving mixed signals now. Is he angry? Probably. But apparently not angry enough to leave you on a job alone.
“Alright…” You say, slowly backing away.
You search through the duffle bag, cold objects graze your fingers, you can identify them each by touch. The laser cutter has a rubber handle. “Lemon—" You toss it to him. “—Cut a hole in the employee door. Tangerine—” You grab another rifle, placing it into his hands. “—Help me take out the last of the guys.”
He takes the rifle and for a moment your hands touch. You expect him to flinch away, or recoil, but he lingers there for a moment. His golden rings gleam—of course he wore them, he never leaves them behind—and catch your eyes until he takes the gun from you.
Fucking confusing.
It had been months, but the three of you worked together like no time had passed at all. Tangerine falling in sync with you, watching your back. Working in tandem, the few remaining riflemen dropped like flies.
“Doors open!” Lemon shouted tapping you and Tangerine’s shoulder.
The three of you waste no time dashing into the small service hallway. Tangerine grabbed the duffle bag and slung it over his shoulder. You were just about to pick it up, but he gave you a look.
There wasn’t as much polish to this part of the building, the lighting was dimmer, and it lacked the white tiles, replaced by a steely gray metal flooring instead. The hallway was long and narrow, its walls matched the floor in color.
“This should lead to an employee elevator. That will take us to the top office.” You panted, oddly exhilarated.
Lemon was looking down the hallway as he crouched. “Watch out for the desk clerk, she went this way.”
“Still can’t believe you both just walked in the front door…”
“We don’t all have your sense of planning, darling.” Tangerine huffed, hiking the bag higher on his shoulder.
“Did you have any sense of planning?”
“Lemon had a plan.”
You turn halfway back to face him. “You—Tangerine!”
He fixes you with an odd look. “What?”
“Lemon doesn’t even read the briefs! And you let him make the plan?” You shoot an apologetic look to Lemon. “No offense, you’re really great in every other area.”
He gives you a half smile. “I appreciate that.”
Tangerine grinds his teeth. “In my defense, the intel in the brief was already bad.” He steps closer, into your personal space. “And you always come up with the plans.”
You don’t shy away from him, in fact, you inch closer. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to make them, but you should know better—”
Lemon sighs, long and loud. “Can you two please focus? We’re in the middle of a dangerous situation here.”
It took a moment for you and Tangerine to resume, the closeness was intimate. Electricity crackles in the air between you.
You both say ‘Fine’ at the same time, like stubborn teenagers. The tension hadn’t settled one bit.
If Tangerine needed to be ignored for the remainder of this mission, then ok. That’s fine. No problem. That doesn’t bother you one bit. Nope.
The three of you empty the duffle bag of its contents, splitting the ammo and giving Lemon the pump action shotgun. That shotgun was your Hail Mary in case shit hit the fan—which, by your definition, it had.
You three were your own personal attack squad now, armed to the teeth.
The employee lift was at the end of the twisting hallway, metallic doors shining like a beacon. The panel to call it only had the arrow pointing up, a one-way lift. You’d poured over the maps late into the night leading up to your personal mission, often with a glass of wine, and it had struck you as odd that it only offered a one way up.
You jab at the button, and the little golden light is stark against the greys around it. Tangerine stands just behind you; you can hear his breath over your shoulder.
“Why’s it only one way?” he asks, hushed and tense.
“I asked the same question.” You responded turning a little to look at him. “I thought it might be security measures.”
“Doesn’t really make sense though, does it? It lets people like us up.” Tangerine zeroes in on your frown. “What is it?”
“There might be internal controls from the top office. This guy doesn’t fuck around with security.”
“Who is this guy anyway?” Lemon sniffs, casting a look back down the hallway.
“An asshole that likes snooping into people’s personal business.”
The brothers trade looks.
“He also works in satellite tech, undercover ops, information gathering.”
There’s a gentle bump into your shoulder. “He’s been snooping into your business, has he?”
How long is this elevator going to take?
“He has.”
“Did he try to blackmail you?”
“Yes.”
“What did he find?”
The elevator dings and the sleek metal doors slide open. The inside is full of ominous red and gold hues. The luxuriousness of it gives you the impression that the boss of the building takes it regularly.
Instead of answering, you step inside and forcefully hit the button for the top floor. Tangerine watches you carefully, studying you. Somehow, he looks like a kicked puppy, yet holding the rifle he takes on a much more sinister tone. He still looks dashing as hell in his suit though. You can see the little gold chain of his necklace around his broad neck.
Focus, focus, focus!
His mustache twitches a bit as he catches you staring. And to top that off, he stands in front of you, very closely in front. Either trying to shield you or irritate you. Possibly both.
He’s wearing the cologne you got him as a present almost a year ago.
“If there’s in house security for this lift, we should be prepared.” You shift a little to see Lemon over Tangerine’s shoulder.
“What do you suggest?”
“They know we’re coming, so we have to be fast. Their access to elevators has been blocked. All remaining security teams will need to take the stairs. This elevator opens to another employee hallway that we’ll have to exit in order to reach the office. That’s assuming—”
The elevator stutters, something above you screeches in the elevator shaft, and the panel lights flicker. All three of you stumble as it comes to an abrupt stop and the dim emergency lights switch on. They coat the interior in a faint red light, turning it into a nightmare scenario.
You groan. “That’s assuming they don’t just turn the elevator off. Fuck.”
Lemon places the shotgun on the floor and motions to Tangerine. Together they pry the paneling off to reveal the switchboard underneath. Lemon fusses with the wiring, using a knife to cut through some and connect it to others.
Sparks fly, flashing in the dim light. Your anxiety ramps. Trapped in an elevator was not on your list of things you wanted to deal with today.
While Lemon fussed with wires, Tangerine turned back to you. “Relax.”
“Excuse me?”
“Try to stay calm, we’ll be out in a second or two.”
Your blood boiled hot. “Don’t tell me to be calm.”
Tangerine smiles at you. “I know you hate elevators.”
“They’re fine, I just particularly hate being trapped in them.”
“Just relax, I’ve got you.”
“That doesn’t help at all!”
More sparks and flickering lights and the elevator doors open an inch. Tangerine has the audacity to smirk in that moment and he touches your chin briefly. His eyes gleam in the dim light.
If you all lived, you were going to kill him.
The twins work wordlessly to pry the elevator doors open. It takes a tremendous effort and both of them are sweaty and breathing hard at the end, but there’s enough space for a person to climb through. Except, you’re going to have to jump down into the office below. Half the elevator is blocked.
“Well, good news is…” Lemon says, scratching his head, “we can get out. And if the elevator can only fall downward.”
“The elevator only goes up, Lemon.” You choke out.
“Oh. Right…well, best get a move on then.”
“I’ll go first.” Tangerine volunteers.
On instinct you reach for him. He sees the slight movement before you hold yourself back.
As if it was easy, he’s crouching down, squeezing through the doors, and jumping into the office below. All with his gun in his hand. Meanwhile, your heart is doing summersaults in your throat.
He holds his hands up, beckoning you. “Come on. You’ve done harder things than this.”
You force yourself to move, crouching down and inching toward the opening. You toss him your rifle. “Like when?”
“Like when you jumped between rooftops in Venezuela.”
“I wasn’t thinking when I did that! And in hindsight, it was fucking stupid of me.”
He laughs. “I’ve got you. Come on.”
You squeeze through the doors, imagining the elevator crashing down, the doors snapping shut, something—anything drastic, and then throw yourself at Tangerine. He catches you with practiced ease and holds you close to him.
He says something you don’t catch over the sound of your trembling breaths. There’s a pat on your shoulder, Lemon is out.
Regaining yourself, you move away from Tangerine and straighten your clothes. His brow furrows, mustache tilts down. Maybe it was your imagination, but did his fingers grip your clothes? A silent plea for you to stay?
You do your best to ignore it. “Let’s go. Did anyone catch what floor we stopped on?”
“37th.” Lemon says, handing over your gun.
“Two floors short.”
“You think they’re waiting for us?”
“I’d bet money on it. Be careful, both of you. I don’t want to see any heroics.”
Tangerine’s eyes follow you as you move to the front and lead them through the hallway at a jogging pace. The single door at the end is much like the one you entered on the first-floor lobby. There’s a control panel for it to the side. As you run up to it, you press your ear to the other side.
No noise.
Your hand hovers over the button. With one last look behind you at the twins you give them a nod, then press it. The door clicks open a fraction, and everything goes to shit.
They were waiting for you on the other side of the door and the gunfire started up immediately. Your vision was blocked immediately, and you were pushed and tugged out by a strong hand—the world was a blur of loud shots, ringing ears, and scrambling. Grey cubicles shoulder-height tall were set up along the floor, which made spotting the enemy incredibly hard. All the fighting was done in the tight walkways between the office spaces.
Your shirt had blood on it, but you had no bullet wounds. Tangerine sat beside you, holding an arm. He’d been shot in his right arm.
“I said no heroics!” You practically shrieked.
Lemon was firing between cubicles, and from the sound of it, he was holding his own.
“What was I supposed to do, love?” Tangerine pants through the pain.
“You’re supposed to let me handle it!” You’re shouting as you pull out some gauze. The bullet went straight through his upper arm. He’d need stitches but, overall, he would be ok. You poke and prod gently as he hisses with each touch.
His teeth are gritted as he grunts out, “You wanted to get shot?”
“I’d take a bullet for you, happily. You know that.”
“I feel the same way, which is what I was doing.”
“I still don’t want you to!”
“I don’t want you to, either!”
Something bounces off your back. It’s a stapler. Both you and Tangerine stare at it for a moment, confused.
“Oi! You two! Get over yourselves and actually talk about your feelings for once!”
You whip around to stare daggers at Lemon. “Did you just throw a stapler at me?!”
He’s taking cover behind a grey cubicle not too far away. “Yeah, I did! I’m sick of you two avoiding an actual conversation. Talk—it—out!”
Tangerine sits up, pushing against your hands on his chest in your weak attempt to keep him down. “You’ve lost your mind, mate!”
“Thomas would say to express your feelings, that bottling them up is bad for you! So, express them!”
“Is it really necessary—” You pick up your rifle and fire blindly down the walkway, “—to do this now? We’re a little busy!”
“It’s now or never, I know you two! Once all this stops, you’ll avoid it!”
Tangerine looks perplexed, like he’s really considering it, and you try not to look at him again. “Fuck this job!” You shout, before rolling into the walkway and opening fire.
The two or three men that hadn’t been behind cover are caught by surprise and the bullets chew through the walls of the cubicles. A deadly silence permeates the office floor, only the ringing in your ears remains.
Another shot rings out and you feel like your shoulder’s been ripped from the socket.
You’re thrown back onto the ground. It must have been a heavy round, your left arm is completely numb, do you even have an arm left?
There’s shouting and more gunshots, the grey office walls and floor merge into one as the room spins. You’re getting pulled off the ground, someone is prodding your arm. Absentmindedly, you swat at whoever is doing it.
“Listen, hey, open your eyes!”
Tangerine…
You obey. He’s inches in front of your face, brows furrowed, a vein in his forehead sticks out.
“I’m fine.” You cough out. “Just fell down, is all.”
“You’ve been shot!”
“Oh.”
He struggles, he looks like he has more to say, but stays silent. You swat at Lemon who’s wrapping your arm—or shoulder, more accurately. “I’m fine, let’s keep going.”
“You’re not fine.” Lemon grunts, pushing your hand away. “It was a .308 round. You’ll be lucky if you have any bones left in your shoulder.”
“Why’d you do that?!” Tangerine is shouting, running his hand through his hair. You both match now, he’s bandaged up on his left arm too.
“Do what?” You ask through gritted teeth as Lemon tightens the bandage.
“Run out like an absolute lunatic?”
“I told you I’d take a bullet for you.”
His eyes bug out. “You threw yourself into the line of fire!”
“All in a day’s work. Now, can we get back to it?” You don’t wait for a response, instead pushing yourself to your feet. Your left arm hangs to the side, limp and numb. A dull throb pulses through your side.
Tangerine watches you. “We need to have a serious discussion when this is over, love.”
You huff out a breath, swaying slightly. “Noted.”
The three of you push on in tense silence. Tangerine makes sure you’re behind him while the rest of the floors leading to the main penthouse office are cleared. He’s acting so stubborn, blocking you at every turn, holding you back with a gentle, yet unyielding hand. The vein in his forehead never goes away.
Finally, the double doors leading to the office are before you. Platinum gold, of course, with carved handles. This guy’s style was beginning to get obnoxious.
Lemon kicks open the doors with as much anger and prejudice as you feel (yet can’t muster at the moment). Instead of what you were expecting, the target stands alone behind his desk. He smirks, giving off a Wall Street investor impression with his pressed suit and perfectly cut hair.
He spreads his arms wide. “I really should have known you three would be together for this.”
“Shut up, wanker.” Tangerine shouts, pointing his gun.
The target opens his mouth to say more, but Tangerine doesn’t let him. He empties the clip into the man’s chest.
The target dies with a startled look on his face, falling back over his desk.
You move past Tangerine, fighting his hands that grip at your clothing. “Thank God for that.”
The computer is easily hacked, the files you’re after are on the desktop. Maybe the dead man was looking to bargain—or gloat. You glance at his dead, glazed over eyes.
Bastard.
Tangerine paces, looking at you often. His job is done, the confirmation is sent to the client through Lemon’s phone.
Your files are downloaded onto an encrypted flash drive, and you rip the wiring out of the computer’s back, smashing the server tower. Mission accomplished.
“I guess now that you have what you need, you’ll disappear again.” Tangerine is glaring at you, chewing his lip. His bandage is bloody.
The flood gates open.
“I needed these files!” You shout, worsening the headache you already have.
Tangerine shouts back, taking a step closer. “I would have understood if you had just told me!”
“I couldn’t have told you!”
“Why not?”
“Because—well—I didn’t—It doesn’t matter now!”
“So, you disappear for months, without a word, for something you won’t even tell me about?!”
“I didn’t want to involve you! I wanted to get this done myself!”
“I’m involved now!”
“It was a shitty coincidence you showed up here today, and I’m sorry you got hurt because of this job!”
“I’m not concerned about me!”
“Well, you should be! I care about your safety!”
“And I care about yours!”
In the corner, Lemon shakes his head.
You hold your arm, trying to work some feeling back into it. It throbs and you wish you hadn’t. “I would have come back after this was done.”
“Oh, really?” Tangerine laughs dryly. “How was I to know?”
You groan, throat turning dry. “You’re so impatient! I just needed a little time!”
“You know how often I tried to reach you—?”
“Yes! I heard every message, got every bouquet of flowers—and thank you for my porch, that was really nice.”
Tangerine flounders a little, he still wants to argue, but some of the steam has been let out. “A thank you would have been nice.”
“I’m thanking you now!”
“A whole good that did when I thought you were done with me—” He shoots a look at his brother, “—and Lemon!”
“I’ll say I’m sorry a thousand more times, Tangerine! Is that what you want?”
He turns his back to you, grumbling something.
“I don’t understand why it was such a big deal to you, we’re contractors! We kill people for a living, and you’re freaking out—”
He spins back around. “It’s a big deal because I thought you were hurt.” He stalks closer, you notice his hair has come undone from the neat gel, curls flair out around his neck. “I thought something happened to you!” He’s within arm’s distance now. “It’s a big deal because I love you!”
And then he stops. His eyes go wide, as if he’s just spilled a secret.
Fuck, he did just spill a secret. Maybe you had known, but he’s never said anything. It was always just little guesses here and there, a thought—a feeling—and inclination. Late nights, especially recently, that you spent thinking about it, wondering.
Your mouth falls open in the silence. “I—I…love…” but damned if your mouth just wasn’t getting it out.
Arguing and bickering was so much easier.
But he knows, he can see it in the way your eyes soften, in the way you swallow with a dry throat. In the way your hand reaches to him, and your body leans forward.
“You know…” Lemon says, looking up from his phone, “Most people would kiss at this point. Just a suggestion.”
A quip, a very fitting one, comes to mind and you’re about to tell Lemon just how you’re not normal people, when Tangerine pulls you to him. Your chest presses to his and his lips are on yours in an instant.
Hungry, needy. It’s desperate, an urgent need be close, to be touching. Burning with desire and hot with passion. You give into it.
His mustache scratches at your lips and you pull him into you, threading your fingers through his curly hair, mussing it up even more. His hands grip at your back, pull at your clothes.
Closer. You need to be closer.
Fuck air, the feeling of his lips moving against yours is the only thing you’ll ever need again.
Your arm throbs and the dull pulse shoots up to your chest. You sigh, half in pain and half in pleasure. Unfortunately, Tangerine pulls back. There’s blood on his lips and he looks concerned.
“Wait…” You mumble, trying to pull him back to you. He’s your lifeline now.
“You need a doctor, love.”
“Just a little longer.”
Tangerine chuckles, wrapping an arm around your back. “After you’re patched up. I promise.”
…Bonus…
“You’re going to ‘break into my house and wait for me to come home’?”
Tangerine groans, throwing his head back as you walk into the small office. Private clinics with ‘respectable’ doctors. Gotta love ‘em.
“Love, I didn’t mean it, I was in a life-or-death situation—I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking—”
You give a good-natured laugh, sitting next to him. You’d been patched up first, Tangerine was just waiting for some blood work to come back.
Tangling your fingers in his you give his hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m just teasing, Tan. I know.”
“Ok.” He sighs, giving your hand a squeeze back. “Good.”
You ruffle through your pockets to pull out your phone, your arm stings, but the pain medication the doc gave you does wonders. “I thought about it, I think you deserve to know why I was after your target.”
He looks at you with new interest now.
You tilt your screen to show him.
It had pictures of you and Tangerine. Pictures of you sitting together at lunch, laughing. Pictures of you walking down the street together, arm in arm. Pictures of you looking like a couple.
“Oh,” he breathes out, “I see.”
“I was worried you’d be put in danger if these…well, if they got into the wrong hands.”
“Didn’t want our clients to think we were softies either, huh?”
“That too.”
He presses his face into your hair. He hasn’t expressed his feelings for you again, but you’re starting to realize he always had—just through actions instead. A gentle hand on the small of your back. Wrapping an arm around your waist. Leaning down to speak softly into your ear.
These were just as much of an expression as words.
“Will we have to do this every time?” he asks, voice muffled slightly.
“Every time what?”
“It’s only a matter of time before more pictures of us make it into someone’s hands.”
“Oh. That’s a good point.”
He pulls you a little closer. “I’ll be dammed if I have to stop taking you out over that.”
“Then I guess we’ll just have to kill whoever tries something like that again.”
“We’ll do it together next time, yeah?”
“Absolutely.”
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