#Aarontaylorjohnson

[aarontaylorjohnsonappreciation]

Kraven & Chameleon promo still

[aarontaylorjohnsonappreciation]

#when my worlds collide

the way i am weak at this 😩

[kindaskimpy]

[mossi-dreams]

nothing itches my brain better than the new angle of this scene where you can see the visible scarring on his back like-

idk i fear continuity when it comes to injuries is sooo important to me. this movie is gonna do irreparable damage to me

[oh-starstarstar]

Anything I Can Do For You? | tangerine x reader

18+ post.

WARNING: Dark Content—Kidnapping, Consensual Non Consensual, Being tied up forcefully.

Please proceed with caution.

You're kidnapped. Surely you could bribe the kidnapper with something to be set free, right?

"Now, I'm sure you're... decent, but you're giving me as much trouble as a Diesel. Stop your little tantrum, and get in the damn car," says the man to you, an expression of annoyance on his face.

You, in his grip, keep thrashing about, unwilling to go. "First tell me who sent you!" You yell out, kicking and flailing in his grip.

"Oh my god," he sighs. "We— well, you know what? I am not—" he grunts as you kick him, trying to haul you into the car—"I am not patient enough to deal with you. Tangerine?! Tangerine?!"

The man he's calling—his partner—is currently fighting off two men, while somehow managing to not look overpowered. He probably isn't, you think, looking at his muscles through his shirt. 

He glances back for a split second, then turning again to dodge a punch. "You— fucking hell, Lemon, you can't get her in the damn car?" 

"She's a whole zoo," he says as you keep kicking and screeching and scratching him, trying your best to escape him. "I will throw her if I lose patience,"

But you'd prefer him throwing you. It would gice you a chance to run. The thing is, you ending up here is a consequence of you getting kidnapped by a bunch of men, and then getting saved by these two random men, and—because you have no idea who these two men are—worrying about getting kidnapped again. Eventful week, it has been.

Point is, you know nobody and nothing here. No whereabouts, no 'why' you were kidnapped, no 'who' kidnapped you; nothing. 

As the fight presumably ends, the man with a long hair and a white—well, now drenched in red—shirt walks up to you, looking frustrated. "What's the deal here?" He looks at you with an expression of absolute irritation. 

Lemon only signals with his eyes to you. It's enough, really. You look like you are in a boxing match with the air around you. You are scooped by the other man, who puts you down on the floor, pinning you to the car behind you. 

"Now, listen here, love," he says, his voice threatening and low. The rage in his eyes makes you stop flailing around. "You're going to get into the car quietly, yeah? No more yelling, no more acting like a damn baby. Got it?"

For a moment, you're held captive by his eyes. Jjust in case you're not held captive by him, though, you open your mouth again. "Who sent you? Did you save me to take me home or to a worse—"

He sighs in complete annoyance. He looks at you with absolute frustration in his eyes, pulling you to him, opening the car door behind you and shoving you inside. "Open the door!" You yell out. You try your level best to break the glass, to break the door, but it's no good. 

Lemon throws the keys to him, and he begins driving as you still screech and yell and push in the backseat.

"Candy?" Lemon offers to Tangerine as he drives. 

"Cand— Oh. Good god," he says as he turns and witnesses you still kicking the door, its noise drowned out long ago by Tangerine, who turned up the radio to peacefully drive (though now the noises are slowly catching up to him). You are acting feral—and, really, why shouldn't you? "...Candy?" He offers again, with a more questioning look that borders between 'are you okay?' and 'you are absolutely not okay'.

"Fuckin' hell!" yells Tangerine, halting the car on the side of the road so aggressively that even Lemon's head almost slams against the dashboard. He opens the door on your side, grabbing your jaw and pushing you behind. With his legs on either side, his face right in front of yours, and his eyes flooded with frustration, he says: "Lemon, get the rope and tape."

Just as you open your mouth to protest, his huge hand is on your mouth, his legs digging  into your lower body to keep you from thrashing. "You just don't know when to give up, hm?” he mutters, angrily, hand pressing your head down while the other holds both your hands in one. As Lemon gives him the rope he manhandles you so that you’re on your stomach now, hands pulled to the back. 

“Who sent you? Where the fuck are you taking me?!” you keep yelling out as he tightly binds your hands behind your back, head pressed down onto the seat. You whimper, body twisting and writhing.

“Don’t you care about your safety? Sit still,” he orders calmly, as if you’re just having a normal chat. When he finishes binding your hands and legs, you think it’s over, so you let out a long breath of… relief? Well, not really relief, but at least his heavy self is off of you—but oh, then you see him unlooping his tie, and beginning to tie it around your mouth. “There ya go, darlin’, all pretty and quiet now,” he grunts as he tightens it around your mouth, making you whimper from the pain.

“You coulda’ avoided all of that if you just shut the fuck up, you know?” Lemon says, raising his brow towards you. 

Three days.

Three days you’ve had to stay with them—untied, by the way—at this small house in a secluded area. They’re here waiting for the men who will take you from their hands to whoever is responsible. 

Well, the funny thing is, you’re more comfortable than you are in your usual lifestyle. Enough food, enough silence, and a T.V. to watch whatever you want. No deadlines to meet, no demands to fulfill. Of course, you’re still scared and crying because you don’t know what’s gonna happen next—who’s going to take you, where they’re going to take you, you again have no idea. 

You’re locked into your room all day; it has no windows, no extra doors to get out, and you’re served food whenever you ask for it. But you’re tired, and you’re terrified, and you just want to be freed. After rebelling—yelling—for the past two days, you’ve done all but slump against your bed and cry the entire day out of frustration and fear.

Two knocks on the door. “May I come in?”

“Yes,” you mumble into your sheets, tiredly slumped against them, quietly sniffling. 

“Oh look at the state of you,” Tangerine grimaces. He holds a plate in his hands, leaning against the doorway. He walks up, sitting on the couch beside the bed. “Here, some food for you,” he carelessly throws the plate onto the table, staring at you.

“Why won’t you just let me go?” you ask, voice groggy and weak from crying.

“‘Think I’ve made that very clear, darling.” he grimaces, leaning back into the couch.

You lightly push yourself up in bed, messily trying to fix your dishevelled appearance. “What do you want from me? What could anybody possibly want from me?” 

“I don’t know, love. I’m jus’ doing what I’m paid to do,”

“I’ll give you whatever you want, okay? Just— just let me go, please?” You try to persuade him. You know it’s pointless, but this is the least you can do to tell yourself you tried. 

“Nothin' you can give me. Sure of that.” he says, beginning to stand up. 

“Wait!” you stop him. “Please, anything you want from me, anything,” you look up at him, biting your lip in anticipation.

“And what might that be, hm?” he asks, his face plastered with the same annoyed expression.

“...anything you want,” you say hesitantly, not knowing what you have to give, but hoping you can be of some use. “There— there must be something I can give you, right? I don't have a lot of money on me, but... something I can do for you? Please, just let me go,”

He huffs in frustration, rolling his eyes. Then he rakes his eyes down your figure, as if contemplating, still. 

“Anything?” He asks again, almost as a confirmation. He stands up, walking up to you, so that now he stands right in front of you. Now, you’re really second guessing it. He puts his hand on your jaw lightly, tilting your head up, “Speak up, love. Anything, you said?”

You nod, slowly, hands pushing yourself back onto the mattress to get away from his touch. 

“Oh, no. You’re not going anywhere now,” He says, pulling you in by your throat. “‘Been pestering me for so fucking long about it, why so quiet now?”  He asks, tightening his thumb over your pulse, making you feel light-headed.

You try to swallow against his palm, hand going up to his. “Please…” you whisper quietly.

“What was that?” he bends down, as if he genuinely can’t hear you. 

You try to pry his hands away, fingers scrambling to move his hand. “Can’t— Can’t breathe,”

“You brought it upon yourself, darling. Y’keep fucking begging all the time and look where it gets you,” he looks at you with a dazed expression, his face still stoic and angry, as it always is. He pushes you on your back, hand tighter now.

“Please— ngh—”

“D’you ever stop fucking speaking? God, it’s like I’ll have to shut you up myself.” He slowly begins climbing onto the bed, straddling you. “Do I?” 

With your head in a daze, you still have no idea. So you simply sit beneath him prettily, biting your lip. He slaps you—light enough to just tilt your head to the side. “You better speak up, love. You’ve already put me in a bad mood. Do I need to shut you up or will you stay quiet?”

“I will— I will, yes,” you gasp out, both hands still on his hand. 

“Good,” he says, and then gets off of you. He goes to lock the door, seating himself back on the couch. “Take off y’clothes,” he orders, leisurely lighting a cigarette for himself. 

You sit up, still catching your breath, looking up at him blankly. “Huh?”

“Oh, y’heard me. Take your clothes off. Weren’t you ready for just anything right now?” 

You’d expected him to smirk. But he doesn’t—he has that dark look in his eyes, staring at you as if he’s angry at you. He probably is, you think.

Slowly, you start unbuttoning your shirt—his shirt, technically. You didn’t have anything of your own to wear—your hands hesitant, shy to undress yourself in front of him. Now that you think about it, him doing it would have probably been better. It would have been less… humiliating. You’re no professional stripper, after all. 

When you’re fully naked, you bite your lip in anticipation, thighs clenched and hands subconsciously trying to cover your breasts. He pats his lap, signalling you to sit on it. You get up, walking upto him awkwadly, sitting down sideways onto his lap. 

His hand snakes around your waist, spreading your thighs. As he takes a drag of the cigarette, his hand tilts your face towards himself, blowing the smoke into your mouth. You cough, turning your face away, just when he harshly pulls you towards himself. “No, no turning back now.” He stubs out the cigarette, his finger starts circling your clit, mouth peppering kisses down the side of your throat. 

“G’na make you suffer for irritating me like that,” he says as he bites down on your neck, and you whimper, knowing he will live up to his words. His finger moves up and down on your clit, touch not enough at all. It’s teasing, slow, and feather-light. He moves your panties to the side, fingers entering you only partially. Then he retreats, going back to circling your clit. You buck your hips into his light touch.

“Look at you, so fucking desperate. So willing to take my cock, aren’t ya?” His fingers still work on your clit, his touch light enough to keep you just on the edge. He looks at you awaiting an answer. Unfortunately, you’re to focused on angling your hips the right way to get his fingers to touch you properly, though he moves them farther and farther. 

“Speak when you’re fucking spoken to, goddamnit,” he hisses, frustrated, hand grabbing your jaw and tilting it towards himself. 

You instantly nod, breathy moans of ‘yes,’ coming out of your mouth. “More,” you whine, body writhing in desperation and need. In response, he only grabs your tits roughly, hands playing around with them so meanly that it makes you whimper. 

“Ouch!” you wince, hand trying to move his harsh grip from your tits. “Please,”

“Pathetic fucking girl, aren’t ya…” he looks at you with amusement park in his eyes. “Begging your kidnapper for more? That gets you off?” he lifts you up, making you straddle one of his thighs. “Go, get yourself off, then,” he smirks, leaning back in his seat as he lets your desperate self go about it. 

You’ve never felt more humiliated, to be honest. With your hands on his chest and your cunt humping on his thigh, and your face heated, you whimper quietly. “How d’you feel about rubbing your cunt on my thigh, huh?”

“Feels so good,” you moan out, humping faster. 

“No, darling. I’m not asking how y’cunt feels. I know it feels good,” he smirks, pulling on your hair harshly, making you gasp. “I’m asking how you feel…”

“F— Filthy,” you say. Truly, you do, with the sheer desperation you are humping him with. You moan, getting close to your high. 

“Hm, thought so. Really fucking pathetic…”

“I’m gonna—”

“Go ahead, wet my fucking thigh,” he says, pulling harder on your hair. Your back arches, chest now at his face. His mouth was so filthy, his words were so filthy, that it made you come instantly with your head tipped back, eyes rolled at the back of your head and eyes rolled to the back of your head. Your hips slow down, coming to a stop, chest heaving with heavy breaths. 

“Did I say you could fucking stop?” he frowns. “You will rub y’filthy cunt on my thigh ‘til you’re crying. I wanna see those pretty little tears again,”

“But it’s—”

“Anything, you said, right?”

So he makes you come again, and again, until your eyes finally well up with tears. All the while he does nothing, making the whole thing much more humiliating for you, and as your thighs shake and body trembles you lift your hips up. 

“No, no more, please,” you beg.

“I said I wanted to see you crying, love. You’ve only teared up yet. Don’t make me do it myself—I’ll make you sob. Scream, even.” 

But you don’t. You’re so sensitive right now that you don’t even comprehend—much less respond. Your head is resting on his shoulder—hesitantly—body jolting.

“Fine,” he sighs, rolling his eyes. His fingers grip your hips brutally, moving your hips back and forth. He slaps your ass, setting a quick pace on his thigh which has you gripping his hand, trying to move it off. 

“Too much— please,” 

“I gave you a choice. Shut up now.”

Your thighs squeeze his, hand desperately trying to pry his off, “Don’t you dare,” he says. “If you try to move my hand once more, I promise I will make you regret it.”

Somehow, the threat makes you come again. He chuckles, hand still not stopping. Naturally, though you keep in your mind his threat, your body tries its best to wriggle out of his grip. You moan, loudly, hands grasping the collar of his blazer tightly. 

“Please,” you whine. “Can’t anymore, it hurts,”

“Will it take my cock in your mouth to shut you up?”

When you come again, finally crying this time, your hands can’t help but fly down to his to stop him. 

“Now, what did I say?” He suddenly stops. "What did I fucking say?" Though he sounds enraged and makes you scared, those few moments are like relief to you while you breathe and shake and rest your head on his shoulder, the sound of him unzipping making you look up.

He lifts you up and manouvers you down onto the couch, hand holding your face down. 

“Now, let’s see how much I can make you cry, yeah?”

oh this is DEFINITELY one of those cringey

"i don't have money for rent🥺"

"i can think of a few ways you can pay me😼"

but HEY i tried, maybe i will get better plot ideas in the forseen future

[lizzxoxo]

WE NEED MORE ATJ FANFICS YALL😭 I LITERALLY KEEP SEARCHING EVERYWHERE,HERE,AO3,WATTPAD,I CANT FIND ANYTHING JUST SOME OLD FICS THAT IVE ALREADY READ LIKE 100 TIMEEEES😭😭

[peterquill1021]

The Fall Guy

Aaron Taylor-Johnson as Tom Ryder

METALSTORM💥

[heylolita00]

[j23r23]

Unfinished Business

Tangerine x Reader

The moon hung low over Rome, casting a silver glow on the ancient streets. The air was thick with the aroma of Italian cuisine wafting from nearby restaurants. It was a beautiful night, but for me, it was just another job.

Or so I thought.

I made my way through the narrow, cobblestoned streets of Trastevere, one of Rome's oldest and most charming neighborhoods. The pastel-colored buildings, adorned with ivy were illuminated by warm, golden streetlights and created a scene that felt almost timeless. The murmur of conversations in Italian floated through the air, interspersed with the occasional clink of glasses and bursts of laughter from the outdoor trattorias.

I was dressed in a beige canvas jacket over a loose white shirt, paired with dark jeans and my trusty Doc. Martens. A thin golden necklace adorned my neck, its sun pendant glinting in the moonlight. My dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and a pair of small, discreet earrings completed the look.

As I walked, I blended in seamlessly with the crowd of locals and tourists. Aware of my surroundings, I take in every detail. I checked my reflection in the glass of a nearby shop window. My eyes scanned the people behind me, looking out for anything unusual. I adjusted my jacket, feeling the comforting weight of my guns hidden underneath it.

Walking again I turn onto Via della Lungaretta, I could see the bell tower of the Basilica di Santa Maria in the distance. The basilica's facade, stood out even in the light of the evening. I had a rendezvous at a small café just a few steps away from the church.

The café, tucked in a quiet corner, was almost hidden from view by a canopy of wisteria. Its outdoor seating area was filled with round, wrought-iron tables, each adorned with a single candle flickering gently in the night breeze. I slipped into a seat at the far end, my back to the wall, giving me a clear view of the entrance and the street beyond.

I ordered an espresso the bitter aroma mingling with the smell of freshly baked bread and simmering tomato sauce. It was almost enough to make me forget why I was here.

Almost.

As I waited, I couldn't shake the feeling that this night, this job, was going to be different from any other.

I had been summoned last minute for an assignment, an urgent backup situation. The briefing was vague, a hurried phone call from a handler I hadn't heard from in years. The pay was enough to make me pack my gear without asking too many questions.

Little did I know, this job would take me down memory lane. The very streets I walked; were the same ones I had left behind years ago. Memories began to surface—another time, another life. A mission that ended sour, and bonds broken. The weight of those memories loomed over me as I glanced around the café.

Just as I was lost in my thoughts, my phone buzzed softly in my pocket. Pulling it out, I saw a message from an unknown number. The screen illuminated with a new set of coordinates and a brief message: "Location changed."

The abandoned warehouse was a cavernous space, its corners swallowed by shadows. I stepped cautiously inside, the light filtering through cracked windows casting eerie shapes on the concrete floor. The sound of my boots echoing in the vast emptiness.

"Looks like our backup has arrived," Lemon's voice cut through the silence, tinged with his usual dry humor.

"About time," Tangerine muttered, his tone gruff and annoyed.

The moment I heard Tangerine's voice, my heart skipped a beat. Memories of our teenage years flashed before my eyes—times filled with reckless adventures, stolen goods, and countless nights in jail cells. We had been inseparable, the three of us, until everything fell apart.

We were in a seedy motel room, we had just returned from a grueling mission, one that pushed us to our limits and tested our resolve. But instead of celebrating our success, the atmosphere crackled with frustration and anger. Lemon had left to procure some essentials—food, clean clothes, and the like—leaving Tangerine and me alone, a situation that had become increasingly uncomfortable over the past few months.

I stood by the window, staring out at the neon-lit streets below, trying to gather my thoughts. Tangerine paced the room, his movements agitated, his jaw clenched in a way that signaled trouble brewing.

"You can't keep doing this," I finally spoke up, my voice low but edged with frustration.

"Doing what?" Tangerine snapped, stopping in his tracks to glare at me. "Trying to keep you alive? Making sure you don't get yourself killed because you're too damn reckless?"

His words hit like a slap across the face, igniting a fire within me. "I'm not a child, Tangerine! I can take care of myself. I don't need you constantly hovering over me, questioning every move I make!"

"You call this taking care of yourself?" Tangerine shot back, his voice rising. "You nearly got us both killed back there! If it weren't for Lemon and me cleaning up your mess—"

"You don't get to decide what risks I take," I shot back, my temper flaring. "We're supposed to be partners!"

His jaw tightened even more, a muscle ticking in his cheek. "Partners? A partner thinks about the consequences!"

"Oh, and you do?" I interrupted, standing up to face him squarely. "You act like you're the only one who cares about the consequences. Well, newsflash, Tangerine, I've had enough of your lectures!"

He took a step towards me, his voice low and dangerous. "Maybe if you listened to me once in a while, we wouldn't be in this mess every damn time!"

I scoffed, shaking my head in disbelief.

The room seemed to shrink around us. We had faced danger together countless times, but this argument cut deeper than any knife or bullet.

"You're not the same person I used to know," Tangerine said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. "You've changed, and not for the better."

His words struck a nerve. "I've changed? You just think of me as an annoyance," I said bitterly. "And the one that has changed is you! You've become controlling, possessive..."

"I'm trying to protect you!" he exploded, his fists clenching at his sides. "Don’t you get it?"

"You're smothering me," I replied, my voice raw with emotion. "I can't breathe with you watching my every move."

Tangerine looked away, his jaw working as he struggled to find the right words.

"I can't do this anymore," I whispered finally, the admission hanging between us like a death sentence.

Tangerine's gaze snapped back to mine, disbelief and hurt warring in his eyes. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I can't do this anymore," I said, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "I'm done, Tangerine. I can't, I..."

The silence that followed was deafening. Tangerine stood there, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, conflicting emotions flickering over his face—anger, hurt.

"Fine," he said ultimately, his voice clipped and cold. "Go then!"

I took a deep breath and stepped out of the shadows. "What the hell are you doing here?" Tangerine's voice was sharp, filled with disbelief and anger.

I turned to face him, my eyes locking with his. "Got a call. Backup needed. Guess they didn't mention who it was."

Tangerine's jaw tightened. "We don't need you."

Before I could respond, Lemon stepped between us. "Oh, for crying out loud, can we save the drama for after the job? We're on the clock here."

I ignored Tangerine's sour demeanor and turned to Lemon, a genuine smile spreading across my face despite the tension. "Lemon!" I said, pulling him into a hug.

Lemon chuckled, returning the embrace, almost breaking my bones. "Hey darling. How are you doing?"

"Better, knowing I’m working with you." I admitted, glancing briefly at Tangerine, who was busy checking his weapon with a scowl.

Lemon sighed, shaking his head. "You two need to work this shit out after this."

Tangerine shot Lemon a glare, but I could sense his frustration. Lemon had always been perceptive, the one who could see through our tough exteriors to the complicated feelings underneath.

As we geared up for the mission, the tension between Tangerine and me simmered just beneath the surface. We moved with practiced efficiency, that came from years of working together, each of us slipping into our roles seamlessly. Despite our issues.

Between gearing up and going over procedures, Lemon found a chance to pull me aside. "You know, Tangerine hasn't been the same since you left," he said quietly, his voice tinged with concern.

I nodded, my gaze drifting towards where Tangerine was meticulously checking his equipment.

"He's not good at expressing it, but he missed you," Lemon continued, his tone earnest. "We both did."

Lemon placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. Before I could respond, Tangerine called out, snapping at me. "How many times have you gotten yourself into trouble since you left us?"

"Not as much as you two, I bet," I shot back, unable to resist the jab.

Lemon chuckled, the sound echoing in the warehouse. "Touché."

"Speak for yourself," Tangerine muttered under his breath, though loud enough for all of us to hear.

Lemon laid out the blueprints of the building we were about to infiltrate, his finger tracing the paths we would take. While I was listening Lemon explain the plan, I checked my weapons, my movements precise and controlled.

"You still using that old piece?" Tangerine teased, nodding towards my gun.

"It gets the job done," I replied curtly, my focus unwavering. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves.

Lemon chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You two are unbelievable," he muttered, though there was a fondness in his voice that we couldn't miss.

As we finalized our plan, the tension in the warehouse shifted. This job was risky, the stakes high. The mission was straightforward: infiltrate, retrieve, and eliminate if necessary. But the emotional undercurrent between Tangerine and me was palpable, a distraction we couldn't afford.

"Alright, let's do this," Lemon said finally, his voice cutting through the quiet that settled over us.

With a nod, Tangerine took point, leading us towards the back entrance of the building. The night air turned darker as we moved, shadows melding with shadows, our steps silent.

I couldn't help but feel his scrutiny as we moved through the shadows. "You still relying on brute force for everything?" he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the comms.

I shot him a sideways glance, irritation creeping into my tone. "At least I don't shadow your every damn move like you do mine," I retorted, adjusting my gear with unnecessary force.

Lemon, sensing the escalating tension, sighed audibly. "Focus, both of you."

Tangerine rolled his eyes, but I could see annoyance in his expression. "You’re still as thickheaded as always," he jabbed, his voice laced with frustration.

I clenched my jaw, fighting the urge to snap back. "And you waste too much time analyzing my every move."

Lemon glanced between us. "You two are like an old married couple," he muttered under his breath, though his words were loud enough for us to hear.

Tangerine and I shot Lemon a glare. "Shut up!" We both hiss.

With a reluctant nod from Tangerine, we pressed forward. The night air grew colder as we approached a courtyard, each step bringing us closer to the heart of the operation. Despite our differences, our training took over, and we moved with practiced efficiency.

As we reached the back entrance, Tangerine signaled for us to halt. He checked his watch, then glanced around the corner cautiously. "Two guards up ahead," he whispered, his tone sharp.

I nodded, my annoyance with him momentarily overshadowed by the need for precision. "I'll take the one on the left," I replied, already moving into position.

Tangerine shot me a skeptical look but didn't argue. "Fine. Just don't screw it up," he muttered.

I smirked, unable to resist the urge to tease him. "Careful, Tangerine. You don't want me to accidentally shoot you in the foot" I quipped, before focusing back on the task at hand.

Tangerine just glared at me with annoyance.

With a silent countdown from Lemon, he and I sprang into action. The guards were swiftly neutralized, our movements synchronized despite our bickering.

We moved as a unit, knowing each other's moves without needing to speak. The emotional walls we had built seemed to soften, if only for the duration of the operation.

As we breached the targeted room, the unexpected happened—a flurry of gunfire erupted from all sides. The air filled with the sharp cracks of bullets ricocheting off metal, and the acrid smell of gunpowder hung heavy.

All three of us instinctively took cover. It was chaos, the plan unraveling. We moved swiftly, communicating in terse commands and covering each other's positions as we fought our way through the ambush.

"Cover me!" Tangerine shouted over the din of gunfire, his voice cutting through the chaos.

I nodded, providing suppressing fire as he maneuvered to flank the attackers. Bullets whizzed dangerously close, the adrenaline pumping through my veins heightening my senses. In the midst of the firefight, Tangerine and I found ourselves back-to-back, a position from countless missions past.

"On your left!" I shouted, spotting an approaching enemy.

Tangerine spun, his movements fluid and precise. With a series of controlled shots, he neutralized the threat without hesitation.

"Thanks," he muttered, the words barely audible over the continuing gunfire.

While Lemon retrieved the crucial files we needed from the secure server, Tangerine and I methodically cleared the warehouse floor by floor.

As we regrouped outside the warehouse, the agitation between us returned, like a storm cloud on the horizon. Our previous exchange of curt commands and coordinated movements had been efficient, but now we were back to our old ways.

"You were reckless," Tangerine yelled, stepping closer, his jaw clenched in anger.

"Reckless? I was doing my job," I countered, meeting his gaze defiantly. "I was covering your ass! If it wasn't for me, you'd be Swiss cheese by now," I retorted sharply, pushing my index finger against his chest.

Lemon, sensing the rising tension, attempted to intervene. "Hey, let's all take a breather here," he interjected calmly, trying to diffuse the escalating confrontation.

But Tangerine wasn't backing down. "Your "job" almost got us pinned down there," he insisted, his voice rising with each word.

I felt a surge of indignation. "And what would you have done differently, huh?" I shot back, my hands curling into fists at my sides.

"I would've followed the plan!" Tangerine snapped, his frustration palpable.

"The plan went out the window the moment we were ambushed!" I argued, my voice rising to match his intensity.

Tangerine turned away abruptly, pacing a few steps as he tried to rein in his temper. "You’re still the same!" he protested, his voice strained.

I took a deep breath, attempting to steady my own emotions. "But we made it out, didn't we?" I said, trying to reason with him.

Lemon's pointed look spoke volumes, his expression a mixture of concern and frustration. "You two need to sort this out. Now!"

Tangerine and I stood in the cool night air, as he finally broke the silence. "Why did you leave?"

I took a deep breath, the words heavy on my tongue. "Because you were driving me crazy. You wouldn't stop criticizing me, watching my every move."

He looked away, the pain in his eyes mirroring my own. "I was trying to protect you."

"From what?" I demanded, my voice breaking. "We were partners. I didn't need protecting. I needed you to trust me."

He met my gaze, his blue eyes filled with an intensity that took my breath away. "I couldn't bear the thought of losing you. Because I—" He hesitated, the words catching in his throat.

Lemon's voice cut through the tension. "For the love of God, just say it already. You love her. It's been obvious for years."

Tangerine froze, his gaze locked on mine.

The world seemed to stand still in that moment. My heart raced, emotions swirling in a tumultuous whirlwind. A statement I had never expected, hung now between us.

"Lemon..." Tangerine started, his voice thick with emotion.

Lemon stepped forward, a knowing smile on his face. "I've known for years, Tangerine. You're not exactly subtle."

Tangerine shot him a glare, but there was gratitude in his eyes. "And you never said anything?"

Lemon shrugged. "It wasn't my place. But it's about time you two figured it out."

I turned back to Tangerine, my heart pounding. "I... I thought..." I stood there, comprehending what is happening.

Tangerine took a step closer to me, his voice barely above a whisper. "I do love you. More than I can put into words."

Relief washed over me, mingled with a surge of emotions I had kept buried for so long. "Then why..."

Tangerine reached out, gently cupping my face in his hands. "I was scared," he confessed, his voice raw with vulnerability. "Scared that if I admitted how I felt, it would jeopardize everything. Our partnership, our friendship..."

"Our sanity," Lemon chimed in, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Tangerine ignored him, his focus solely on me. "But tonight, seeing you again, after so long. I can't deny it anymore. I need you, not just as a partner, but as..."

"As something more," I finished for him, my voice trembling with emotion.

He nodded, his thumbs brushing lightly against my cheeks. "Yes. As something more."

Lemon cleared his throat, breaking the intimate moment with a smug grin on his face. "Well, now that we've got that settled, can we please get out of here before the authorities decide to crash your little make-up session?"

We chuckled softly, the air around us at ease now. Together, we made our way through the deserted streets of Rome.

As we walked, Tangerine reached out and intertwined his fingers with mine. It was a simple gesture. I reciprocated the act, feeling the warmth of his touch seep into my skin.

Lemon walked a few steps ahead, occasionally glancing back with a satisfied expression. "You know," he said, breaking the comfortable silence, "I've been waiting for this moment for a long time. It's about time you two got your act together."

Tangerine rolled his eyes but didn't let go of my hand. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks for the nudge, Lemon."

Lemon grinned. "Anytime. But seriously, keep it together, I can’t handle more drama."

Something i put together on a whim...

[evileyeandthecattywhumps]

I live in Florida and Hurricane Helene is coming in strong.

I had to download some movies to my iPad and make sure it fully charged before we lose power. (Got kick ass and kick ass 2!)

[mysupermanboyfriend]

Superboy Aaron Taylor-Johnson

[aarontaylorjohnsonappreciation]

Aaron in Las Vegas for F1

[im-tired-404]

[artkristina]

:)

[burneraccountbutiactivelyuseit]

I have so many questions for this fandom. Like when the fuck did everyone simultaneously agree Lemon would be the designated getaway driver and Tangerine would be a man whore. We gathered all of this from a two hour movie where Lemon crashes not only once but TWICE and Tangerine does the absolute MOST to not be touched by anyone including CHANNING FUCKING TATUM

[oh-starstarstar]

Look After You; 2 | tangerine x reader

WARNING: Slight allusions to assault but no descriptions, mentally and physically wounded reader.

Proceed at your own discretion. No violence but potentially triggering content.

Tangerine caring for the girl Lemon and him saved.

Plot credit: @pretty-little-mind33

1 | 2 |

As her eyes fluttered open, the room came into view. The ceiling looked brighter than before and the pain had subsided—but it could very easily be numbness. She could just be numb to the pain, unfeeling. 

That meant things would be easier now, right?

Her head throbbed with immense pain, the horrid recollections of the past day—thankfully—blurred by now. She wasn’t sure just how conscious she was yet. The drugs were probably still in her system judging by how her head throbbed and her surroundings seemed more comfortable. 

Upon shifting the slightest bit, she felt her skin grazed by the soft touch of something—gentler than any of them could ever possibly be, and warmer than this chilly room could ever get. 

It was a blanket.

She was draped in a blanket. The mattress was now a full bed, as she looked to the side. She was on a bed, in a blanket, at a different place.

She jolted awake, though the notion comforted her. 

“Hey, hey, it’s ok. You’re safe now, darling.” a gentle voice claimed, sitting up on the couch. He stood up, standing at a comfortable distance from her, his face looking almost scared, too. He looked like he was walking on eggshells.

Safe.

She stumbled back. Really, just how well could he be trusted? What were the chances that this was real, and not another dream her mind splayed to her as a way to cope?

She wanted to believe it, she really did. But if she gave in to her mind now, the mental torture would only go on to become worse, would it not? Would she not think of this, the next time they were here?

It was so real that she felt the bed sink beneath her as another man sat down with a mug in his hand. He didn’t look as hesitant or scared or careful as the other man did, offering an almost smug look as he motioned for her to take it. 

“S’not poisoned. Promise.” he smirked. 

“Hey! don’t be daft,” the other guy in the suit frowned.

The clock ticked and the smoke erupted from the tea. The two people breathed just as she did and the blanket really touched her skin.

It was real. 

The bed was as real as the wounds. The tea was as real as her exhausted limbs. She was here—she was away from it all. It was the blanket and not the filthy hands that touched her now, and as she looked at the men in front of her, she felt relieved to see them not trying to move towards her.

Yes, once she realized it was real, she did flinch away from the man with the mug. But he remained there, mug extended towards her, waiting patiently.

“Where am I?” the words scraped by her throat, part out of the still-instilled fear and part out of the incessant need to go home.

“Our house. Oh, I’m Lemon, by the way. And that’s my best mate, my brother, Tangerine.” smiled the guy with the mug.

She still didn’t take the mug. She was still contemplating just how safe she was here, really. “H... Home,” she mumbled, her throat sore from yelling since the past few days.

Lemon and Tangerine shared a look. “Yes, darlin’, we’ll take you home. Jus’ relax for now, at least, yeah?”

She shook her head harshly. Of course it was happening—men weren’t to trust. She swung her hand, hitting the mug in Lemon’s hand, spilling it all over him. 

“Bloody hell!” he yelled out, stumbling back and off of the bed. 

“No, no,” she spoke in a low tone as she carefully got off the bed, inching away from them. Her limps ached bad, she realized as she set her foot atop the ground, serving as a reminder to her wounds. “Stay away from me.”

“Okay, no—” Tangerine heaved a sigh as Lemon walked out of the room in frustration. “I’m here, okay? Right here. Not movin’ at all.” he held up his hands in surrender, cornering himself. “You’re safe here, love. I promise.” he coaxed. 

“Then let me go!” she bellowed, stumbling back slightly as she moved away from him. 

“Yes, o’course y’can go, love, just—”

“No, no, no. Now,” she shifted the slightest bit, grabbing the lamp off of the table. “Stop playing the good cop, let me fucking go—!”

“Hey! Stop it.” he shouted, his patience giving away. She flinched, eyes widened in fear, just as he’d seen her in the warehouse.

He made her flinch.

“I— I didn’t mean t—” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m here t’help you, okay? Coulda’ left you there, all alone. But no, I brought you here. And I’ll send you back. I jus’ needa make sure nobody’s out there looking for you again. Can’t keep savin’ you again and again, can I?”

Silence graced the room for a few seconds.

She stood there, lamp still encaged within terrified fingers and eyes comtemplating (though still the slightest bit dazed), just as he stood there, waiting. Waiting for her to react, to breathe, to say something. He was getting impatient with every passing second, but dared not to move. 

He wouldn’t ever have her flinching again. Especially because of him.

She lowered the lamp, slowly, pained sigh tearing through her. She felt the side of her stomach ache as she let out a breath, her insides straining. She’d sob, but everything just hurt so much that she resorted to coping with the physical pain first before she let out what was inside.

Tangerine did not know what to do. He did not know whether to go over to her or stay where he was as he watched her clutch herself in pain.

Lemon walked through the door. He did look rather frustrated, still, as he closed the door behind him, but he knew better than to say anything to her about it. “Okay there?” he asked her as she closed in on herself, wincing. 

It took embarrassingly long for Tangerine to realize he should probably help. 

“D’you… D’you want me to patch ‘em over?” he motioned in her general direction, hesitant. She looked apprehensive at first, almost as if she would deny. But as the pain pierced her insides, she nodded.

He walked over to scoop her into his arms like he did. But she denied, getting up with whatever little strength she had left, hands grabbing onto everything around her.

“Hey, let me help y’up,” he insisted, hand held forward.

“I can walk.” she said, bluntly, limping over with him to the other side of the room, body still bent forward in pain.

Stubborn little thing, she was.

She had showered, finally. She felt clean after a long time, though to feel so she had scraped her hands over her skin God knows how many times. Over, and over, and over again until she felt mentally and physically that their touch just wasn't there.

But it was impossible to feel so. She broke down in the shower itself, hands so harsh on herself that she even brushed over her own wounds multiple times.

Outside, Lemon and Tangerine were barely able to speak or move as they heard her cries.

It was perhaps the most agonizing cry they had heard.

When she got out—body and eyes a similar shade of red—Tangerine took her to patch her wounds over.

Her legs were dangling off the table-top, body stooped in the agony that tore through her. She felt that she could sink into the counter-top as her body felt so many sensations; her head felt lighter in a good way, completely relaxed from the shower and the break down, her body, though, in piercing agony.

Between her legs Tangerine stood, gently cleaning dried blood off her stomach with hot water. She repeatedly winced at the minor pressure it took to remove the dried blood off the skin around her wound, Tangerine’s hands shaking in an attempt to be more gentle than he’d ever been. 

And beside the bloody wound sat a huge bruise—all black and blue and ugly, the sight of it enough to tell him how much it hurt. 

He grimaced at the bruise. “S’it still hurtin’?”

Stupid question. 

She nooded slowly, face scrunched up and hand flying to his when his finger gently brushed over it.

“Sorry, love.”

Oddly enough, he found himself wanting to speak to her. To interact with her. She didn’t respond, of course, and it was driving him crazy. Maybe it was his yearning to know what exactly he should do with her now. 

In the moment, of course, keeping her with him seemed simple enough. He’d keep watch for a month, let her stay in the guest room, and let her go when the coast was clear. Not that anybody would look out for her any longer, right? Unless—

“Hey, is there somethin’ you happen to know?” he squinted his eyes at her.

“Huh?” she frowned, looking at him strangely.

Well, that was vague. He’d just posed a very vague, out-of-the blue question. What was he doing? 

“I meant—” he sighed at himself, “—d’ya happen to know anythin’ about those men? Y’know, to get an idea of why those fuckers kidnapped ya?”

She shook her head. Nothing, again. Not even a proper, verbal ‘no’.

He lifted his chin in acknowledgement, going back to cleaning and patching up her wounds. His gentle fingers brushed against the skin on her stomach as he held up her—his—t-shirt for her as he bandadged the wound. He moved up to her arms, the washcloth soothingly warming her up.

Tangerine was no stranger to ugly wounds and blood—blood-shed, even. But looking at something so innocent as her littered with bruises and cuts and body stained in blood, there was a strange sense of fury in him.

Kill, hurt, and torture assholes as much as you want. 

But he never understood and never will understand people who dare to lay their hands on women, especially somebody like her, without any remorse. He’d always held anger in his veins but it doubled whenever he’d see cases like this. 

But ugly business, uglier sightings. 

The ointment he rubbed onto her skin was one that burnt. She flinched, hands flying up to his as she hissed in pain. He continued, his other hand making his hold softer as a form of offering comfort. Her face was twisted up in pain.

“Breathe, darling. You're all done,” he smiled, barely. “Let’s get you somethin’ warm, yeah? To drink and to wear.”

He extended his hand forward to help her down, but even in her wounded state she hopped off the table, body still slightly bent in agony.

“I… I know you don’ need my help, but ‘m sure it’d be better than straining yourself, yeah?”

“I can walk.”

It was infuriating him how stubborn she was being. He really wanted to help, and there she was, pushing him away. But he understood—he knew she was more bruised mentally than physically, so he held back.

So he did the least he could do—brought her some tea, covered her up in his jumper, and led her to the room arranged for her.

“Sleep well, yeah?” he smiled.

She nodded, looking all warm and cozy sitting in his jumper, enclosed by the duvet covers. Tangerine somehow found himself feeling warm at the sight of her so comfortable, a smile creeping up his lips as he looked at her.

it'll get wayyy more fluffy, dw :)