#bullet train 2022

[queers-gambit]

Perpetual L's and Overwhelming Dubs

prompt: slutty stranger bathroom sex on a train.

pairing: Tangerine x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Bullet Train

word count: 3.7k+

note: are all our safe words pineapple? i need this man to rail me, you know, for science. yep, that's right, Cherry has a new fixation! aren't y'all so lucky?

warnings: author has brain rot, smut (public, strangers, unprotected), obviously cursing, PWP.

Japan was bright, you decided with a soft smile on your lips; looking around the train station glowing in neon lights; some blinking, some colored, all fluorescent. People milled around every inch of the place, all walks of life from school children to professionals with briefcases, talking on the phone, running to make their departure. Couples held hands, families took meals together, and a few meters away, a little girl screamed when her brother stole her Momonga plushie.

You must've been enraptured with all around you that your shoulder bullied into someone else's on the platform, making you gasp an instant apology in Japanese. However, the man you had collided with just offered you a stoic look up and down, letting his lips pull in a half-smirk, checking in English with a thick accent, "My apologies, love. You all right there?"

"Yeah, I-I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying attention," you bid with a small smile.

"'S all right, pretty ladies like you can run into me all day," he smirked, eyeing you up and down before following after his snazzy-dressed companion - who slapped his chest forcefully.

"Leave the girl alone, mate," the man reprimanded. "Sorry, miss, he gets it in his head he's God's gift to ladies."

"It's really okay, it was my fault for not watching where I was going," you assured the men, glancing at your watch. "I'm so sorry, but I really can't miss this train. Safe travels, gents!" You bid, offering a simple wave, then scurried off - trying not to double back for the man with a mustache.

God, was that man handsome! Like, illegally handsome. Hauntingly handsome.

You'd even go as far as to say he was devilishly handsome! Those eyes? Beautifully clear blue, alluring, drew you in and held you captive. His cologne? Absolutely heavenly, borderline intoxicating. And he was built like a fucking mountain - tall, broad, slender hips, bulging muscles that looked as if they would rip his button-up.

Shaking your head, you rid yourself of the body-heating thoughts about the stranger you had just barreled into. Being horny got you nowhere, but being perpetually horny... Was the biggest fucking L. Sure, you could rub one out; you knew where the clit was and how to stimulate to your own pleasure (unlike most men). But it was something about a man sweating over you, thrusting into you with abandon; creating a mess in your guts, mind, and chest.

Yeah... You needed to get laid, you were fucking drooling over some stranger you had a 23-second interaction with.

However, upon entering your train and locating a seat in the hopefully peaceful quiet car, you mindlessly downloaded Tinder to pursue at your leisure, but only a few swipes in and you were exiting the app and deleting it (again) from your phone. The train was ready to depart the station, you cracking a bottle of water, looking back on your two-week Japanese excursion your job had sent you on.

And now, you were finally heading to your last stretch of meetings, requiring you to purchase an overnight ticket on one of the available bullet trains. Seemed the fastest, simplest, and most affordable way to travel - skipping out on upgrading to first class. Economy was just fine, you decided, perhaps doubting yourself when your eyes widened when you caught sight of the two strangers you ran into on the platform finding their seats a few rows up. There was a third man with them now that was left slumped in a spare chair - probably drunk off his arse, based on the man's grungy, disheveled look.

You tried not to thinking about the handsome stranger, but he was just a few rows up from you! God, you could practically smell his cologne from here, letting your mouth water slightly.

Yeah, perpetually horny was the biggest L - like you said.

Your thighs squeezed together as you crossed them, hoping the pressure was enough to relieve the build-up of warmth in your belly and cunt. Your headphones were placed, your attention diverting out the window, and tried to imagine if nobody else was in this fucking carriage - he could take you here and now.

After a few stops, your empty water bottle sought revenge against your bladder and ushered you to the closest bathroom. It wasn't as tight a squeeze as airplane bathrooms, but it was still a small facility to use. When done, you washed your hands as a knock sounded at the door, calling in Japanese, "Just a second!"

After unlocking the door and opening it, you actually flinched back slightly when the man from early with the '70s pornstache was stood directly in front of you.

"Well, don't you look like hell," you mused slightly.

"All in a day's work, love," he answered, stepping out of your way to let you exit the bathroom. He looked you up and down, asking, "So, uh, where you headed?"

You told him your stop, asking him the same. He told you, your mind doing mental gymnastics to understand that you both had a good bit left on this train... Surely, anything could happen.

"I'll let you, yeah," you half-smiled awkwardly, moving out of his way fully to give him access to the restroom.

"You know..." He trailed, pointing at the empty lavatory, "Could fit two."

You chuckled, "Yes, but I'm finished now - you go on."

He hummed, glancing up and down the train car - spying through the windows of the conjoining connection each car had. When he faced you again, he took a slow, calculating step forward, "That's not exactly what I meant, sweetheart."

You feet took a slow, calculated step back to find the wall, his smirk broadening. "Then how about using your words like a big boy and tell me what you meant?"

"You look like a smart girl, sure you can figure it out, yeah?" He leered over you, either foot standing between yours, nearly pressed into you but far back enough that he could maintain eye contact.

You pouted at him, "I don't read minds."

"Not sure it's me mind yah gotta read," he perked a single brow, glancing out the window again. "Now, I'd love t'stand here and ravish you the way I've wanted since you bumped into me earlier, but maybe exhibition isn't your thing."

"Judging me now?"

Now, both his brows slowly rose. His teeth poked out from between his smirking lips, praising, "Naughty girl."

"Maybe you're the one a bit nervous, hmm?" You quipped, boldly reaching forward to palm his cock - already half-hard. "What's wrong, mister? Don't want people seeing you so, hm, submissive?" You gave a cheeky flex of your hand, his hips bucking involuntarily.

"You fuckin' minx," he chuckled, hands to your waist now. "Get in that fuckin' bathroom or I might just have to give this whole fuckin' train a show."

"Better start charging them all," you whispered, hearing his growl before pushing his chest back to give you a little space. "You do this often, then? Proposition strangers into dirty bathroom sex on public, moving trains? Hmm? In a foreign country? Seems terribly disrespectful, don't it?"

"Sweetheart, the thoughts in my head about what I want to do to this body - those are disrespectful," he smirked. "Wanna tell me I'm not truly tempting you? You would've left by now," he pointed out, making your chest feel warm from the embarrassment you felt suddenly. You smirked and twiddled your fingers at him in parting, turned, and just before you could step away, you felt his arms lock around your waist. "C'mon, darlin', don't be like that," he hissed in your ear, your visible smirk spurring him on. "Not about t'beg yah, princess, get this pretty li'l arse in this stall."

You folded.

Being perpetually horny was an L, sure, but being propositioned by a handsome, hulking, muscly stranger was for sure a Dub, right?

You turned in his arms, lips only centimeters apart; breathing the same air, hand on his chest to ease him back into the bathroom stall. He grinned in triumph, and the moment you were over the threshold, still maintaining eye contact, he reached around you to click the lock in place.

"C'mere," he growled, surging forward to bring his lips down to yours finally - and just like that, your panties were done for. You moaned instantly, feeling something akin to relief when his lips molded against yours; all but immediately sweeping his tongue against the seam of your mouth.

Letting him in was mind boggling; literally making static fill your brain as your hand lifted to hold the back of his neck, threading into the hair at the nape of his neck. His mustache was stiff, wriggling in an irritating fashion against your upper lip and nose, but you didn't notice - too engulfed in the way he domineered every rational thought. His hands both pressed tightly to your ribs, then waist, down your hips, around to your arse - like he couldn't make up his mind where he wanted to touch you. So, he chose to touch you everywhere.

He was intoxicating; feeling drunk on his taste, smell, touch. He was warm, his curls a bit greasy but still shocking soft, and his lips - plush, welcoming, anchoring. You didn't even know his name, but you didn't need to! All you needed was exactly what he was doing: holding complete control over your heart, mind, and cunt.

Your stranger pulled back suddenly, offering a skeptical look, "There's no boyfriend, fiancé, husband I'm gonna have to look over my shoulder for, right?"

"Not since about 6 months ago, no. Do I need to ask you the same?"

"'Course not," he mused with a grin, kissing you again - but just a degree softer. Now, both his hands rose to caress either cheek; his tongue wagging against yours in more controlled caresses. One hand dropped slowly to hold your neck, pulse quickening, and your stranger smirked, muttering against your lips, "Cheeky girl."

You pushed him back half a step, offering him a once over before confidently reaching down for the end of your shirt and pulling it off over your head. Your companions mouth fell open when you revealed yourself to him, smirking as you opened your jeans to show a hint of the lace panties you wore. You told him your name, earning a confused hum. "My name," you explained, "figured you need to know what to moan." His tongue swept over his lips. "Gonna just stand there?"

He chuckled, checking his watch, then started unbuttoning his waistcoat. "Tangerine," he spoke simply.

"That your safe word?" You asked, shucking your jean clean off after toeing out of your shoes. "Hm, mine's pineapple."

"'S my name, love," he chuckled, opening his button up to reveal exactly what you thought - plains of smooth skin over rigid, bulging muscles. "So you know what to scream," he smirked.

You paused, stood in your panties, bra, and socks, asking through a small chuckle, "You're telling me, your mother carried you all those months in her belly, pushed you screaming - bloodied - into the world, looked at yah, and said, 'yeah, he looks like his name should be Tangerine'?"

He peeled his top half naked, your throat swelling close; swallowing harshly to clear your mouth of the overflow of salvia. Slowly, he moved closer to you, once again leering over you. He reached out for your neck, not too tight or aggressive, but forceful enough to tilt your head back. "'S a codename, love," he explained.

"Ah, so can't reveal the government."

"Exactly."

"The fuck kinda job you got that requires codenames?"

"The dangerous kind," he smirked, "wanna keep running your mouth or put it to other use?"

You chuckled and reached for his trousers, holding his eyes with yours as you easily unfastened him and hooked your thumbs into the waistband of his briefs and suit pants. His mouth parted slightly when the cooler air hit his exposed cock, asking, "Safe word?"

He snickered, "Pineapple's fine, love," he sounded far too amused, watching you get on your knees in front of him, "but I doubt we'll need - Oh, holy, fuckin' good God," he seethed through clenched teeth when you eagerly took him in your mouth.

He was bigger than what you were used to - like a full double the size your previous partners had been. He was longer, thicker, and Goddamn, was he sweltering in your mouth. You wondered how long it had been for him, feeling your panties dampen as you felt exhilarated to show this man with a "dangerous job" exactly what your mouth could do - and why he'd never forget your name.

"Oh, there's a good fuckin' girl," he groaned, collecting whatever hair he could in a makeshift ponytail; looking down his nose to watch you. His cock was overwhelming, but you were determined to earn the pleasure he would surely bring; mouthing around his cockhead, using one hand to pump what didn't fit, the other alternating between holding his hairy thigh for balance and cradling his balls.

A few times, you held his eyes with yours as you removed his cock with a pop; licking his shaft up and down like it was a popsicle on the Fourth of July. His jaw would clench each time, sputtering his breath. His veins were pulsing, prominent under the skin; making your cunt contract as his throat bobbed as he swallowed harshly, groaning.

"Li'l too good at this, baby, Goddamn," he breathed, chuckling to himself as he retracted his hips while holding your jaw. "All right, all right," he chuckled, "made your point, love. Get up here 'fore I lose my bloody mind."

You pouted, "I quiet like it down here."

"Darlin', I'm about to bust - "

"Isn't that the point?"

He chuckled and reached down to help you up, instantly searing you in a wet, messy kiss as he backed you into the sink counter; tasting himself on your tongue. It was erotic, something you were vastly not used to - no man ever being okay with you kissing them after having their dicks in your mouth.

But no, this Tangerine fellow was obviously built different.

One hand anchored your waist, the other dropping to toy with your panties gently; petting the waistband before sinking his hand lower. You shuddered lightly when his finger swept through your wet folds, both groaning in pleasure when he sunk knuckle-deep. "Feels so good, love," he praised, your legs widening your stance to let him better access; hand fully disappeared into your panties. "So fuckin' warm, yeah," he breathed, increasing his speed so he pumped aggressively. He didn't need a second finger, he was chasing your orgasm - purely focused on the way you withered before him.

"Tan," you whimpered, gripping his assaulting arm as he found your g-spot and chuckled darkly.

"Got it, there, did I? Yeah, let's see what you've got, love, c'mon."

You whined in your throat, leaning into his chest as your legs began to quake. You didn't get a chance to warn him, feeling that overwhelming urge to urinate - gasping loudly and needing him to support your body as his finger jabbed your g-spot to the point you were gushing into his hand.

"Oh, fuck yeah," he encouraged, stimulating you further; loving the feeling of your squirt in his cupped hand, "keep goin', good girl, that's it, yeah? I got yah, good girl, there you go."

You grunted when he slowed his hand to the point the heel of his palm ground into your clit. Feeling overstimulated, your hand slapped to his meaty forearm, meeting his eyes with a glare, begging, "Okay, okay, okay, you made your fuckin' point."

He grinned, "Didn't know I had that affect on you, love. Huh?"

"You could've offered to fuck me when I ran into you earlier and I would've bent over - right there and then," you whispered against his lips, licking into his mouth right after; making his own mind go blank.

"Feelin's mutual, doll," he nodded, using both hands to shred your lace panties from your hips with a shrill gasp. "Keepsake," he teased, showing you the ruined fabric before dropping it.

You offered him a coy look before turning around for him, not needing the instruction; meeting his stare in the mirror. Bracing yourself against the sink, you slumped over it, making him groan.

"Fuck, doll," he whispered, admiring the view and smoothing a hand over one bare cheek. "Just look at yah, ready fa' me, just drippin'," he bit his lip, giving a few pumps to his length as he looked you over; other hand toying with your weeping hole. He growled and slid his cockhead up and down your slit, both shuddering lightly; moaning in union when he notched himself at your entrance. His eyes met yours in the mirror, his mouth parted, slowly sinking forward to the fucking hilt - making you feel impossibly full.

"Oh, Jesus fuck!"

He chuckled, shifting his hips, "Keep it down, love, don't need anyone bangin' on the door, interrupting us, huh?"

"I'll be quiet when you get a smaller dick."

This made Tangerine genuinely snicker, "Fair enough."

"Fuck's sake!" You yelped when he suddenly pulled back, surged in, and started his own rhythm. Through the mirror, you saw the concentrated, cocky expression he wore; looking purely focused, mesmerized by the way his cock would disappear within you, only to reappeared - soaking wet, glistening.

"Feel's divine," he hissed, the grip on your hips sure to leave bruises. "God, this pussy's made fa me - grippin' s'fuckin' tight. Who was the idiot who let this go, huh?"

"Really wanna talk about my ex now?" You panted.

"Nah, don't need to - 's mine now," he grit, one hand letting go of your hips to bring down on the meat of your bottom. "Hear me? Huh? Fuckin' mine now," he pommeled your arse a couple more times. "Like that, huh? Don't you? Feel you fuckin' squeezin' me each time."

"Yes," you moaned. "Fuck, yes, yes, God, you feel fucking amazing."

"Keep talkin'," another slap that made you squeak.

You were nervous 'cause you never considered yourself the best at dirty talk, but still tried, "So fuckin' good, makin' me so wet. Fuck - never had cock like this, so good - so deep, so big. Don't stop," you whimpered, his feet repositioning to allow himself a new angle and speed to drill into you. "Fuck, yes," you moaned loudly, encouraging, "harder, please, yes, yes, yes! Just like that!"

The motions cause ripples across the flesh of your bottom, thighs quaking. You pushed your hand down your front, your partner groaning at the sight as you found your clit and started massaging; the contractions squeezing Tangerine's cock tightly. His one hand traveled around the front of you, sliding up to yank your bra from your breasts; palming one with fever before tweaking your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger.

"Fuuuuck, Tan," you whined, moaning. "Don't stop, please, 's too fuckin' good!"

"I've got yah, darlin', almost there," he grunted, folded a little more over your back so he could fondle you roughly. "Naughty fuckin' girl, lettin' me bend yah over like this - don't even know me. Just knew you needed my cock, huh, love? Ain't that right?"

"Yes," you moaned, orgasm fast approaching.

"Probably let me do whatever I wanted t'you, huh?"

"Fuck yes, whatever you wanted, however you wanted me!"

"At's a good girl," he grit. "Takin' me so well, so fucking good. Need this pussy again, hear me? Fuck," he panted, increasing his speed to an erratic pace, "need a taste, need yah t'squirt on me again. Need this pussy in all positions." He bared his teeth, increasing his speed, hissing, "Lemme hear you scream, love. Wanna hear my name. from that pretty fuckin' mouth, c'mon."

"T-Tan, fuck, Tangerine, I-I'm right there, I'm so close - OH FUCK!" Your orgasm made you reel back into his chest, milking yourself on his impaling cock. You gasped, mouth left wide as his hand constricted around your throat, his mouth hot against your ear; biting and licking as he grunted forcefully.

He gasped in your ear, moaning your name on a short repeat, shuddering as he stilled himself; coating your wet interior with his thick ropes of hot, heavy cum. Your eyes were closed, head tilted back to his shoulder; his lips actually soft as he planted several kisses along your neck (that he released) and shoulder. "Holy fuck, doll," he whispered, chuckling in disbelief. "'S a li'l too good."

You smirked, "Yeah, I've heard that before, you're not the first t'tell me."

"Ah, way t'ruin it, doll," he joked, making you chuckle breathlessly. "All right?"

"Mhm," you sighed, eyes opening. "You?"

"Never better," he mused softly, sighing as you both tried to regain your breath. He let out a single grunt as he held your hips, pulling his cock free; releasing a gush of cum from you both to drip from your cunt. As you both redressed, he eyed you for a moment, then mentioned, "Listen, love, uh... Don't miss your stop."

"I wasn't planning on it?"

"Good... Just..." He sighed, closing up his shirt. "Make sure you get off this train."

You stared at him for a moment, pondering, "This have something t'do with that 'dangerous job' of yours?"

"A bit."

You hummed, zipping your jeans back up sans panties. "Why don't you get off, too?" You asked softly.

"Can't, darlin', got a job t'finish."

You nodded, "Then be careful, yeah?"

He nodded in return, reaching out to pull you in close. He took a second to look you over, smirking slightly, "Worried about me, are yah?"

"I don't even know you."

"We'll change that," he eased. "Your phone?" You offered a small look before sighing, reaching for your phone, unlocking it, and offering it to him. He typed for a moment, a distant buzz heard from his own phone, then handed it back to you. "I'll call you up sometime, love," he smirked, watching you reach back to unlock the door.

"You better," you mused, letting him press one more searing kiss to your lips. You hummed, pouting slightly and telling him, "Behave, or we'll go at round two."

"Don't threaten me with a good time, darlin'," he pocketed your shredded panties with a cheeky grin.

"You still owe me for those," you pointed.

"Send a bill, I'll make it up t'yah."

You smirked, "No bill, but I'd take dinner."

To your honest shock, a sort of... Contemplating, soft expression took over his face, nodding, promising quietly, "I'll call yah, darlin'. Just make sure you answer."

[ part two: Shower Shenanigans ]

requesting rules and masterlist

Bullet Train masterlist

[thefruitbros]

Meme redraw

[ruina-031]

How would you like Tangerine's gifts? Merry Christmas.

[lithiumseven]

Bullet Train as incorrect quotes

[otaku-girl-ao3-fics]

Aaron Taylor-Johnson characters fic masterlist | Otaku_girl

My main master list | My main blog: @otaku-girl-ao3 | My fics only blog: @otaku-girl-ao3-fics | All of my work AO3: Otaku-girl

Requests: open / closed If it's an ATJ character, I'll consider it~ Just drop an ask to my main: @otaku-girl-ao3

Key

⭐ - slash 🌟 - het 💫 - multi ✨ - gender neutral 🌠 - none 💕 - author’s favourite

Currently working on: Bullet Train x Kraven the Hunter crossover, Baby I'm Preyin' On You Tonight.

Bullet Train

Multi-chapter

✩ Baby, I'm Preyin' On You Tonight | Sergei x F!Reader x Tangerine | Explicit | 50 chapters, WIP | 🌟💫 ⭐💕 ✩ She Said | Tangerine x | Explicit | 16.2k | 🌟 ✩ Baby, it’s cold outside | Tangerine x F!Reader x Ladybug | Explicit | 26k+ | 💫 ✩ Breathe | Tangerine x domme F!Reader | Explicit | 8.55+ | 🌟 ✩ I just wanna see you (be brave) | Tangerine x Ladybug x Lemon | Explicit |67.5k  | 💫💕 ✩ Touched (for the very first time) | Tan x Bug | Explicit | 7.8k  | ⭐ ✩ Oil on water | Tangerine x Ladybug x Lemon | Explicit |6.9k  | 💫 ✩ A certain satisfaction (in a little bit of pain) | Tangerine x Lemon | Explicit |11.7k  | ⭐

Oneshots

✩ Devotion | Tangerine x Ladybug | Mature | 300  | ⭐ ✩ Tease me (please me) | Tangerine x F!Reader | Explicit | 300 | 🌟 ✩ Made for this | Ladybug x Tangerine | Explicit | 200  | ⭐ ✩ Takin’ care of business | Gen | Teen | 4.6k | 🌠 ✩ A moment in time | Tangerine x Ladybug | Explicit | 900  | ⭐ ✩ Baby, I can explain— | Tangerine x F!Reader | Teen | 3.4k | 🌟 ✩ You say it best | Tan x Ladybug x Lemon | Explicit | 1.2k+ | 💫 ✩ Honey, I don’t wanna know | Tan x Ladybug | Explicit | 2.2k | ⭐ ✩ You don’t have to say | Tangerine x Ladybug | Explicit | 2.5k | ⭐ ✩ Late night surprise | Tangerine x Ladybug | Explicit | 3k  | ⭐

Series

✩ Coming soon ✩ 

Kraven the Hunter

Series

✩ Pet or prey | Sergei x F!Reader | Explicit | 22.8k+ | Trilogy | 🌟

Multi-chapter

✩ Baby, I'm Preyin' On You Tonight | Sergei x F!Reader x Tangerine | Explicit | 50 chapters, WIP | 🌟💫 ⭐💕 ✩ First time | Sergei x F!Reader | Explicit | 48.2k | 🌟💕 ✩ (Give me one more) Night with you | Sergei x F!Reader | Explicit | 17.5k | complete | 🌟

Oneshots

✩ Night hunt | Sergei x F!Reader | Explicit |11.7k | 🌟💕 ✩ No pampered pets | Sergei x F!Reader | Explicit |15.8k | 🌟 ✩ Mine (all mine) | Sergei x Dmitri | Explicit | 7.3k | ⭐ ✩ Caught in the hunt | Sergei x Reader | Teen | 300 | 🌟 ✩ Sweet dreams | Sergei x Dmitri | Explicit | 2k | ⭐

Headcanons

✩ Aftercare with Sergei | Sergei x You |✨ ✩ Soft!Dom, Dark!Soft and Daddy Sergei | Sergei x You ✨

Nosferatu

Oneshots

✩ Doctor’s orders | Friedrich Harding x F!Reader | Explicit | 2k+🌟 💕

Multi-chapter

✩ (This could be) Perfection | Friedrich Harding x F!Reader | Explicit | work in progress🌟 ✩ Parting gift | Friedrich Harding x F!Reader x Thomas Hutter | Explicit | 19.5k | 💫

Series

✩ Coming soon ✩ 

My mains: Tumblr - Otaku-girl-ao3 | AO3 - Otaku_girl

[professionallydeadinside]

I'm crawling back to my BT fixation anyway enjoy these wasdfghgf

[etherealily]

ʀɪᴏᴛ // ᴛᴀɴɢᴇʀɪɴᴇ

This was from my poll .

Other fics of mine. If you have the time.

Tangerine + fem!reader. Cussing, but SFW.

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc. : Situationship final boss.

(This one's for you, my twin @wintrrsoul / @wintrsoul)

..……......................................................................................................................

He may not have a heart, but he sure as fuck has a soul, and it's superglued to you, it seems.

It's in the way he's actually sort of worried you'll somehow end up in the general vicinity of his jobs and get obliterated.

It's in the way he doesn't like the fact that he can't just straight up tell you things about him.

"I like the colour blue." No, would lead to a question about how long he has and then he'd have to talk about a childhood he never had.

"I hate fast food." So, what do you eat when you're out on a job? Hang on, what do you do at your job?

See? No good.

But it's also in the way he nearly acquiesces to all of your requests. Like this morning's.

"Tell me your real name."

It's not even just that. It's the way you say it. Ask it. Your fingers are in his hair like you're scared he'll get mad at you and that's the only way you can insure yourself against him, or something. By showing him how gentle you are. It's barmy, but it's you, so he'll allow it.

"Tell me yours."

"You know my name."

Unfortunately for him, he does. He'd have actually loved to have looked you up and been unable to find a face to the name you'd given him, but it was you. Right there. Too trusting.

"The one you'd like to be called, I mean." He's stalling. He's deflecting.

"The one I'd like to be called? What is this, a test? I have to say 'yours' or summat?"

He snickers. It's a quiet one, and if you'd been anywhere but in his arms, you couldn't have heard it. "Humour me."

"Humour you? I'm afraid I couldn't come up with one if you gave me all the time in the world."

"No?"

"No."

"Shame, that.", he grunts, stretching as he turns to you. He's been up for hours. Luckily, you're too used to it to ask why he's fully clothed in a fucking suit this early in the morning. "You could have heaps of fun with it. Little activity, if you ever get bored of ghostwriting."

"I'm only bored when you're not here."

"I'm your only source of entertainment, then?"

"Cable without a subscription, yeah."

"I can't even fault that. That's a good analogy. See? You should write summat on your own. Instead of helping write for talentless pricks. Who get credit."

He's doing the thing he likes doing again. Giving you a couple of his rings to 'model'. He thinks it's funny, how they only fit on your thumb, because he has insanely heavy taste in rings.

"Not this again."

"Yes, this again! It's true, innit? Some loser who can't write needs you to do their homework for them, but they get the credit?"

"That's not how it works."

"It is, too, how it works. You told me yourself."

"All this because I asked you what your real name was."

"Not this again.", he mimics, ruffling up your hair. "Have you kept your promise and narrowed it down, then?"

"I have, actually, yeah.", you say, and he watches with a lazy grin as you sit up, the morning sun like a halo behind you, igniting your hair.

Though he's more focused on the fact that you're topless.

"Let's hear it, then."

"Nigel."

"Nigel? Like the fuckin' pelican from Nemo?", he scoffs, shifting to rest an arm under his head.

"Hold your horses, I've got more, I've got more. I've got Thomas."

"Like the tank engine? What's with you and creepy animations today, love?"

"I figure there's a reason your brother keeps talkin' about the show. Am I warm?"

He shakes his head. "You're in Antarctica.", he informs, watching you roll your eyes. Watching you. That's all he's ever done. And that's all he ever wants to do.

"I'll get it one day."

"Pray you don't. It's really hot, how pissed you get."

"I will get it, though, some day."

"Lie back down, relax. It'll come to you in a dream."

You do as he says, flexing your fingers to display his entire collection of (four) rings, glinting in the sunlight. "Arnold?"

"Fuck you, sweetheart, you're just tryna take the piss now."

He doesn't laugh much, or smile, for that matter, but he's sure one day you'll catch him off guard. Not today, though. Mm-mm. Because he feels like you're not about to let up today.

Call it a lover's intuition. But he feels like this might either be your last fight or your last fight. In short, either you never speak again, or he croaks and he really can never speak again.

"Where are you going next, did you say?", you ask, between sporadic, breathy chuckles.

"Tokyo." he reminds, leaning an arm back on the headboard while his other played with your hair like that was his next job and it paid in infinite quid.

"Can I know where?"

"Uh... just the train, it looks like."

You turn your hand around to watch the light bounce off his rings. "Will you send me another postcard, then?"

His eyebrows furrow. "Come again?"

"Like, the one you sent from Bolivia. It was tops. Alpacas and whatnot."

"I'm sorry, love — postcard?" Oh. Fuck. His brother. "Oh, yeah. Not much to do in a train, but if I find one, I'll send it over."

There's a sort of domestic silence, and for a moment, he's sure he can hear the rays of sun crash through the window, all tinkly. But that might just be the hangover.

"Why won't you tell me your real name?"

"Because I can't. You know that."

He sighs magnanimously, allowing you to rise to brush your teeth and freshen up or whatever you did to avoid the fact that his secretiveness pissed you off to no end. Which was fair, honestly.

"I just feel like we're past that point."

Any response he might have had dies on his tongue. That is fair. You have known each other near a year now. If he were you, he'd be peeved as well.

Once more, a silence flashes through the room, before he does, too, his arms crossed as he firmly leans against the doorframe.

He exhales deeply for a moment, before you spit out toothpaste, avoiding his gaze in the mirror. "Y/N."

"That's my name, yeah."

"Alright, hey—", he scoffs, moving next to you, watching you again in the mirror. "That's the last one of those you get, alright? Snappy responses or wha'ever. I'm not doin' that. The whole soft, concerned bit? Nah. That's not what we are, and we have rules. Yeah?"

"I know we had rules, and you've broken far too fuckin' much of them, but I can't break one?", you retort, unscrewing the lid of your stupid fucking bottle of Listerine. God, why did everything you do today set his teeth on edge?

"No, you can't, 'cause your ghostwriting doesn't kill anyone except your dreams. My job does. I'm not gonna receive a phone call sayin' that you're hangin' from some ceiling or some streetlight or summat somewhere, yeah?", he reminds, sternly, with a finger pointed at you, a hand on his hip, the whole shebang, before he turns back into the warmth of the bedroom, folding his suit's sleeve, now.

"Your job.", you scoff, under your breath as you gargle and then spit.

He cocks his head, raising a brow as he spins right the fuck back around. "What was that?"

"Nothing."

"'S what I thought.", he mutters, adjusting his tie, running his hands through his hair, standing in front of the window on the other side of the room — you know. Basically do anything to take his mind off how fucking frustrated he is.

You're being mildly unreasonable. But he supposes he can't blame you. "Contract killer" isn't a profession you can segue into a conversation. In your head, he's much nobler. A CIA agent.

"Fuck. You can't have a normal mornin', can you?"

'And you can't have a normal reaction.', you think.

"I heard that."

You snort, shutting the bathroom door behind you as you come back out. "I didn't even say anything."

"You were thinking summat, I know you were."

"I was thinking you should shave."

He's glad you're back to the jabs at him, because he can shake himself out of this odd prophetic revelation he's supposedly having about his death or your loss of interest in him. Either/or.

He grins when you finally come out, flicking your forehead as you cross paths so he can take his turn in front of the sink. He really needed some fucking shut-eye on the plane there, but for now, washing and scrubbing at his face should keep him awake enough, and— what the hell were you doing?

He dabs his hands in between a plush hand towel by the sink, as he watches you trying to get dressed, from the bathroom mirror. "No. None of that."

"I have work."

"Oh, yeah? Funny. Sit."

"I told you, I've got work."

"There's a couple hours till my flight, and I'm sure incompetent authors can wait. Sit down."

"What, it's all according to your 'timetable', then?!"

He hates this. He hates the way you've just said "timetable" like you're accusing him of lying to you.

He doesn't care about the lying allegations, but he does care about how much audacity you seem to have, even though you know that he has a gun on him every time he kisses you.

It means that you know he's, for some odd reason, toned down around you. Not even remotely likely to hurt you.

And that's not good.

"I don't see any angry fake-authors knocking at your door right now, so yeah, yeah, it's according to my timetable. Stay. Get back in bed, alright?"

"Sorry to disappoint, but I actually have to go now, so."

He knows you're bullshitting. He's seen you when you're actually late, and that pretty little fuckin' vein in your head is nowhere near popping.

This is the only way you can get back at him for talking to you like that, and you're taking the chance.

How dare you do exactly what he would do if he were you?

"Hey.", he calls, but you're still rechecking that all your bullshit's in your bag. So, naturally, he moves behind you, his hands on your shoulders pulling you back while swivelling you around to face him.

"Why, hello, there. Go deaf or summat?", he muses, holding onto your face with both thumbs at your jawline.

"What?"

"Tell you what. You get to pick my codename for this job. Alright?"

"What?"

"Yeah. You already got some ideas, then?"

"What's the catch?"

You've abandoned your task of shoving things into your bag, and he can't have you achieve the satisfaction of coaxing a smile out of him twice in a row, so he kisses the side of your cheek and your shoulders to hide it.

"No catch."

"There's always a catch with you."

"Like what?"

"You'll reject everything with some bollocks reason."

"Nah, I'll give you a fair chance. Shoot."

"Like Dave? Or James? Or Aaron, or summat? It's like, casual, unseeming. Jane Doe, but for blokes, whatever it is. "

"John Doe. Right. But what if there's some poor bloke with the same name and description?"

"I just think the odds are terribly small."

He nods against your hair. Alright, that was fair. "Maybe my brother's done some weird shite.", he remarks, suddenly.

"Why do you say that?"

Mainly because his brother has just texted him, the absolute prick.

"He hates codenames, so he's probably sending a ridiculous one to piss me the fuck off."

🍋

Fucking what?

Excuse me?

CN. 🍋

CN. Codename. His codename was fucking LEMON?!

"I can't bloody well be James or Aaron now.", he mumbles, rubbing his hand over his jaw as he glares at the phone. You hear him, somehow.

"Why not?"

"My brother's codename for this job is apparently Lemon."

"Lemon? Like, the—"

"Yeah, like the fruit."

You snort. "So, what, you have to match, now? Uh... Melon? That would be matchy-matchy, no? Lemon-Melon."

"You're lucky you're hot, or I'd have shot ya just for that.", he comments, moving hair from your shoulders. "Look at me."

"No." It's a tease, he can tell by looking into your mesmerizing, beady little eyes.

"Why not?"

"Told you, you need to shave."

"And do what? Go clean-shaven like a fuckin' prepubescent?"

"No, I think you should get rid of the beard, go with the moustache only."

He lets out a sharp laugh of incredulity. "Not a chance in hell." He already knows he's going to do it. He's not too proud to cater to the female gaze once in a while.

You shrug, and he gestures for you to sit back down on the bed.

"I still don't believe you, you know."

He huffs, groaning as he runs his hands across his face. "What the fuck do you want from me, love? I'm not givin' you any form of identification, which, if that is what you want, is fuckin' stupid, considering the amount of times I've been inside you!"

You stare back, indifferent.

You have a habit of doing this - you leave him all huffy and red and angry and you just look at him like you don't give a crap, and it's unnecessarily sexy.

"Come on, we cross paths once in a couple months. Your job, sorry to say, is much less urgent than mine, so ju—"

"I don't even think you're tellin' me the truth."

"What? About my job?", he spits, exasperated.

"What sort of CIA agent is this flexible with their routine and, like...", you mutter, gesturing around at the hotel room.

"The good sort. You don't believe me?", he questions, sucking on the back of his teeth to hide his amusement.

"Don't you get government benefits or summat? Shouldn't you have a house?"

He raises a brow, and his mouth quirks for a second before he bursts out laughing. See? He knew you'd catch him off guard and make him laugh some day. So much for that not being today. "Government benefits. You're a riot."

"You're also not supposed to tell anyone that you're a CIA agent."

"No?", he asks, tilting his head. "Oh, I'll have to kill you then, don't I?"

"Please do.", you mumble under your breath, still acting like you have better places to be. And, in all honesty, you might. The vein is this close to popping now, so he may have been wrong about your lack of things to do.

He raises both brows as you sit there.

"Are you really still fuckin' angry?"

"I just want to know your name, what am I gonna do? Write it into a story?"

"Knowing my name will prove I'm a CIA agent, then, will it? How does your mind work?", he hisses.

"Lose the suit."

"What?" Oh, you were playing his game, with the subject changes, and he didn't like how hot that was, either.

"The suit. It's trash. That shade of green is trash. Go with blue."

"Go with blue? I need to go with blue, now do I?", he sputters, shoving you further back onto the bed, his medallion chain dangling in front of your eyes as if he were about to hypnotise you with it. "You're a riot.", he says, his fingers digging into both your cheeks.

"You said that already."

"You're gonna miss me, that's what this is." He says it like an insult, and, in this odd dynamic between the two of you, it very much is. "You're losin' your cable-with-no-subscription."

"I'm just saying the green isn't classy, not even remotely."

The grip travels to your hair, and suddenly, you're eyelashes apart. "Yeah?"

"It's trash."

"Mm.", he nods, in mock consideration. "Right."

There's a moment of silence.

"You know, if I die on that bullet train, you'll regret being such a cunt today."

"I think if you die, you'll regret spending your last morning being a cunt to me."

"So we're both cunts?"

"Apparently."

"Oh, darling, we're made for each other, then, yeah?"

You roll your eyes, and he kisses you.

Like always.

..……......................................................................................................................

Seriously.

He may not have a heart, but he sure as fuck has a soul, and it really is superglued to you, it seems.

It's in the way he's pretty sure you're making the worst stylistic choices for him ever — an extremely expensive wristwatch on a mission where he'll get multiple peoples' blood on it, but he'll let you pick anyway.

It's in the way he's sure it's supremely dangerous to text you in between jobs but he'll do it anyway.

How's by you, then?

Fine. How's the train? Did you do the coin thing?

No, haven't had the chance.

Who's the target? Or whatever.

If I could tell you that, we wouldn't have had the conversation this morning, would we?

Are you on a break or summat? How are you texting me?

He grimaces, looking up at the man out of breath opposite him.

Break. Yeah.

Did you go with my codename?

Ladybird, he thinks his name was. Can't remember, doesn't need to. The only codename he needs to remember is the one you set for him.

"Move.", he grumbles, shoving his foot away.

"Lady love?", he retorts back, nodding his head at the phone.

"Summat like that. What's it to you, virgin?"

The Insect chuckles at that, and he grimaces. His laugh's not like yours, and it's kind of disgusting to him, now. Fuckin' wanker.

Yes, I did.

How do I know you're telling the truth? Do you and your brother have name-tags?

No. Turns out, he wanted me to be Lemon. Told you he doesn't like codenames, so that was his form of revenge.

No way!

This is so unnecessarily fun, he wants to kill himself. He's about to be murdered by some Russian underworld crime-lord for losing a briefcase of money and a bell-end of a son, but he's here, talking to this girl about why his codename had to be a citrus fruit variant for this particular job.

He was really fucking priority-less.

But he's not going to acknowledge how much he needed this conversation.

Instead, he glares up at Ladybug. Or was it Ladybird? Oh, right, he doesn't care.

"I didn't even say anything."

"Again, shut up, virgin.", he scoffs, eyes darting back down to his phone.

Told him he's Lemon and that's that. I'm Tangerine.

Did you say why?

Yeah, like you said. 'Cause it's sophisticated.

Good job.

There's some old guy here tryna fuck up our chances at getting our paycheque.

He sounds like a right fucking arsehole. Stealing jobs from younger people like that.

He hides a grin at that, nudging the man with his foot.

"For what it's worth, you seem like a right fuckin' arsehole, and I'm glad you're gonna fuckin' die with me.", he declares, shoving the phone into his pocket. He knows he doesn't need to say goodbye or anything. Not with you.

Especially not now. Not when he could actually die.

It's just bad form.

Buggering hell. He's dressed head to toe in you, essentially. The suit. The watch, fuck. The rings -though they were his initially - have you all over them. The fucking facial hair. And he's still on the fence about who you even are. To him, that is. Who you are as a person? He's researched every drop of information about you. And sadly, he knows there's heaps more that he hasn't found out yet.

"That's nice.", replies The Insect.

Fuck. This wanker has Lemon's phone. Lemon's whereabouts are unknown. And he's sitting here, catching his breath like he'd never taken a beating before, and thinking about you. Idiot.

But honestly. All Tangerine could do was wait around, really.

"What kind of a name is Tangerine?", asks the tosser named Ladybug.

"Back off, my girl came up with it."

My girl. That's new. Moving on.

"Your girl's your handler?"

"My brother and I don't have 'handlers', we're outside contractors. Why do you have a handler? Loser."

"You know, you have the insults of a twelve year old boy. 'Loser'. 'Virgin'."

"Fuck you, mate."

The Insect shakes his head, chuckling as he picks off some semi-dry blood. "So. Why 'Tangerine'?"

"It's sophisticated."

"In what world?"

"The one you're about to leave if you don't fuck off."

He groans and clenches his teeth in absolute fucking agony as he moves to sit more comfortably. Oh, if you were here, you'd both laugh at him and help him get fixed up, wouldn't ya?

"Just curious."

"Yeah?"

"Do they even know what Lemon looks like?"

Huh. The Insect seemed to have some sort of sixth sense that was unexpected of him. He's going to impersonate his brother, apparently.

They could both die for this. Especially with the fake fucking case, and The Insect's god-awful British accent.

Fucking hell.

He rolls his eyes and yanks the phone out of his pocket again, scrolling, scrolling, scroll— ah, there you are.

I told him he was an arsehole.

Yeah? What'd he say?

He said 'your girl can go fuck herself'.

And what did you say?

'I'll go fuck my girl myself.'

Bullshit.

He loves making up stories and telling them to you, because you believe them all and eat it up.

He knows that by "bullshit", you mean the thought of him ever calling you "his girl", and he honestly can't fault that. But you are. Always have been. He just wishes you'd know that, without him having to tell you.

You're constantly on his mind, why can't you fuckin' read it, too?

I do have to go, now.

"You have to go? Where?"

A voice message. God, is it fucking amazing to hear one familiar voice that doesn't want to bloody kill him, maim him or torture him for not taking care of their son or their briefcase!

"If I told you, you wouldn't believe me."

"Try me, Tangerine."

And then, it happens. You coax a full-blown laugh out of him. "That's growin' on me, y'know? I'll bring back a whole box of 'em and force-feed it to you."

"Get your brother lemons, too, then."

His brother. Fuck. "If I find him."

"What do you mean?! Is he okay?"

"Listen, love, I'll call you later, alright? I've got to go sort out this Lemon situation."

"Alright, yeah."

"I'll send you a postcard."

He doesn't know why he just said that, seeing as his survival would be nothing short of a miracle, and he's giving you false hope on a catastrophic level.

God, he was a pathetic little cunt. Wearin' his girlfriend's pick of jewellery and clothing and accessories and even moustache? Of course, it made him look good, but still.

And now he's sitting here, worried that he's lied to you, inadvertently.

There's a fuckin' limit, yeah?

"Oi.", he calls, tired and reluctant, but this has to be done.

"What?"

Tangerine licks his lips as he leans against the rumbling wall of the train car, arms crossed, muscles flexed. He wipes off a spot of blood from his nose, sniffing before he speaks. "If shite goes downhill. "Hits the fan", as your people would say it.", he mumbles, unable to fucking believe that this is what he'd come to.

His fingers rub desperately at his temples.

You (or Ibuprofen) would do a peak job at that, actually. But neither are in sight.

"Mm?" The Insect's dusting off the proxy briefcase as he responds, glancing at him from over his shoulder. "You lightheaded?"

"No, I've got a fucking migraine thanks to that ten quid water bottle you threw at me, mate!", he snaps, clenching his fists so he doesn't sucker punch this proxy-Lemon again.

He clears his throat. "If shite goes wrong, uh, would you help me send a postcard, to my girl?"

The Insect guffaws for a moment, fixing up the case as he turns, before raising both brows in astonishment. "You're serious?"

"Why the fuck would I joke about my girl?"

He holds up his hands in surrender, the briefcase glinting slightly in the fluorescent train lights. "I didn't even think you actually had a girl."

"Well, I do , alright? And if I die, just tell my brother to send her a postcard, uh, with my name on it."

"Tangerine.", he comments.

"No, you absolute stupid git, my real n— Lemon'll know what to do."

"What if he dies, too?"

Tangerine's eyebrows furrow, and his lips purse. "You're a real ray of sunshine, aren't ya? Fine, if he dies, too - he better fucking not have - you get my phone. Find my girl's address, send her a postcard with my real name."

"What's your real name?"

"Oh, fuck off, it's all in my phone. 'M not tellin' you now, and then if somehow we both survive, there's someone out there who knows my real fucking name, how much of a muppet d'you think I am?"

"Alright, alright. Done. What if I don't surv—"

"You better fucking survive!"

The train door jolts open right then, and honestly? The Insect's so lucky that happened.

"If your British accent's a stereotype, I will throw you under the train.", he growls under his breath as they both step off to 'prove' that the case is still with them.

He'll get a postcard to you, dead or alive.

At the very least, you'll get a story out of it and you can write some books on your own.

Ha. Ghost-writing.

God, you'd have loved that joke.

Ugh, fuck his luck to hell.

[dare-writes]

Oh God Collection

For Valentine’s Day, Aaron surprises you with a treat.

Aaron Taylor Johnson x Female Reader

Slight Tangerine x Female Reader

genre: fluff, smut; 18+ MINORS DNI

wc: 4.8k

sexual content warnings: DUBCON, drunk sex, nearly cheating?, fingering, f!receiving oral, drunk-sex Aaron has an identity problem, couch sex, wall sex, stair sex, roleplay, degradation kink, mentions of a threesome, (technical selfcest?), unprotected p in v, creampie, cumplay, slight praise, hair pulling, wrist pulling, slut-shaming, dirty talk, overstimulation, i might have missed something, strength kink if you squint, implied breeding kink

content warnings: slight age gap (27/35), f!reader, tangerine dies and goes to another world, aaron taylor johnson x reader, established relationship, tangerine thinks your his girlfriend from his world, tangerine is lowkey just sad, and a russian lit major, tangerine misses lemon, tangerine gets a real name, aaron implies a threesome with reader and tangerine, lowkey slice of life for a little, unbetaed

the way there is so much more sexual content warnings, but there’s less porn than plot i’m pretty sure.

Happy late Valentine’s Day.

this went an entirely different direction than i planned it to go.

__

Honestly, you never got the chance to really watch Aaron’s projects except for the premieres he brought you to. You’d only begun dating before Bullet Train’s production, and for obvious reasons, he didn’t start taking you to carpet premieres until recently with Kraven and Nosferatu.

When you knew Aaron was returning, you’d relax in your shared apartment and put on any of his movies. Aaron lost count of how often he would come back when you were either sleeping through the credits or just at the end of a film. It was a pleasant surprise to see that when he saw the credits to one of his films. Aaron didn’t have a lot of films to watch with online streaming services, noticing you mostly do rewatches of his newer films like Bullet Train A Million Little Pieces, even kicking back into his 2010 films like Kick-Ass or (much to his surprise) Chatrooms.

His absence on Valentine’s Day was woeful, but he also said he deserved a little time with your partner despite his absence at the set of Fuze. It was fine enough that he would be out and about in London this time.

You managed to get out of university on Valentine’s Day. Most classes were on the four other days of the week, so you got to stay in and snooze this particular Friday. You knew having a partner in the film industry was going to be tough, so when Aaron told you he wasn’t free on Valentine's Day for some promotional stuff, you didn’t mind. He would find some grand way to make it up, and it was always more than perfect. It’s like he read your mind, knew when you wanted to stay in, and knew when you wanted to go out in town or just have a nice dinner.

For Valentine’s Day, you had your little dinner. An excellent pasta take-out meal and cue up any Aaron Johnson movie to exist across your various streaming platforms. (And the occasional pirating when you hooked your laptop to the TV.)

Aaron has seen your secret TikTok account, where you will mindlessly scroll between assignments or breaks from your university assignments. He’s also used it several times, even stalking through some of your reposts or saves. To your knowledge, he just went through your feed, not stalked your private Aaron Johnson edit collection called “Oh god.”

Throughout your lonely Valentine's Day, Aaron texted you randomly, sending a bouquet of your favorite flowers, sweet treats, and even a pretty dress with a card, saying, "We’ll make it up another day, my love." It was lovely and made you feel a little less alone. That and the plentiful edits saved in your Oh God collection you can always look back in if you miss Aaron extra.

Mindless scrolling was your third favorite hobby; number one was Aaron, and two was whatever activity your university friends wanted to do next.

By nine at night, you’d exhausted all your Aaron, Tangerine, Pietro, Count Vronsky, Sergei, Fredrich, Tom Ryder, and even Ford Brody edit sources.

A rattle came from downstairs, shocking you slightly as you crept around your bedroom. Light on your toes, you looked for the heaviest item you owned in the room.

“Dollface?” A voice called. It made your stomach twist. Was it Aaron? Why the hell was he putting on a different accent?

You crept downstairs. His facial scruff was gone. He was dressed in a navy suit with a waistcoat similar to the one Tangerine wore in the movie. The one thing that caught you off guard was the blood. It was ridiculous. Everything that was once white was now splattered red. Aaron looked great, you almost drooled at the sight of your boyfriend.

You just didn’t understand why he was dressed as Tangerine. Unless this was some sort of roleplay thing you once discussed ages ago.

“Aaron?”

“‘ Ou the hell is Aaron?'” not Aaron asked. That was undoubtedly Aaron’s face, though. His hair was no longer neat American military cut; it was longer, shaggier, and windswept.

“My boyfriend,” you answered as you raised your old laptop.

“The fuck you gonna do with an Apple laptop? Hit me?” He asked snidely. “Doll, whattrya on about? Last I checked, Doll, my name ain’t Aaron.”

He gestured his hands up and down his body like you should recognize him. You did recognize him, but there was no logical explanation as to why Tangerine was standing in your living room, blood dripping onto the hardwood floor. “No, this is fucking weird.”

Was this some weird roleplay thing? You and Aaron had talked about roleplaying and sex. If you had an actor boyfriend, you were doing roleplay without a doubt.

Before you could ask anything else to try to get a hint, Tangerine rolled his eyes and walked to the kitchen. His bloody hands opened his shirt to shrug off his equally bloody shirt and discard it to the sink to run cold water on it. After also washing his hands and checking his non-existent bullet wound, he was back up to you.

You let your defenses down; you had no clue what else to do. Common sense fell out the window when Aaron was around you. His slightly damp hands, gruff from seemingly his gun and all his fights, held your face. His gaudy gold rings were cold to the touch.

“Doll, I missed you… Lemon— where’s Lemon?” He asked as he realized his new location. He was back in London without his twin.

“I don’t know— you. Look, Aaron, is this what I think it is? We never even talked-” Tangerine didn’t even let you finish. His lips were on yours, kissing and biting down on your lower lip. Aaron was aggressive during sex usually, but never this much.

Something in you wanted to playback, be more than just the innocently confused girlfriend. You tried to pull away, but this was still Aaron, and you trusted him. You were no physical match for him. His hands reached and trailed down your body, racing to your pants. Even in his acting, Aaron was still the same when he was in a mood. It made you smile in the kiss.

His mustache tickled. You were used to it enough with Aaron. You finally pulled away, only for him to spin you and toss your torso over the back of the couch.

“Stop! No, I’m not your— Fuck!” You shouted as you tried to sit back up. His hand shoved you down, his other hand yanking down your sleep shorts.

“Fuck, you’re not my what? Hmm? Ya, not my doll anymore?” Tangerine asked gruffly. His lips connected to one of your lower back and bit down. You yowled in pain, his teeth leaving marks down your backside.

“I’m not your girlfriend! Or whatever! I— I’ve got a boyfriend, A—Aaron!” You cried falsely, you were used to Aaron rushing in the beginning. It was also probably a long day for him, you excused it. Also cause you missed him so bad today.

A quick trail from your clit to your hole, Aaron shoved his fingers inside with no hesitation. It was already sopping wet, but Aaron let cold spit drip out his lips and landed where his fingers plunged inside.

“God, Doll, yer still so tight for me,” Aaron said as he pushed his fingers, curling them gently. It didn’t matter despite your (false) protests because the front door opened soon after. “Baby, I’m back!”

Your heart stilled. He’s back?

“Oi! What the hell, Baby? Doll you-“

Something clattered into the floor, and you returned from your room. Aaron… Tangerine… In the same room.

“Aaron! Fuck!” You cried out as he made eye contact.

Aaron and Tangerine still. The same man looked back at one another—Aaron looked back at his 2022 film Character in disbelief. “Aaron— I-“

“Love, what the fuck is this?” Aaron asked. You hadn’t even realized the flush of tears running down your face.

“I don’t know! I thought— I thought you came back early from filming… Then we were kissing, and I— I don’t even know what to— I’m so confused,” you said as you tried to escape Tangerine.

His hands dug into you. His hand reached for his back, then remembered he was gun-less. His gold knuckle dusters glinted against the warm lights of the walls. “The fuck are you?”

“Her fucking boyfriend!” Aaron shouted. He stormed forward and shoved Tangerine off. You bent up from the couch and down to grab your panties from the floor to put on.

“Aaron, honestly, babe, I don’t think you could take him—he’s a murder.”

“I played him!”

“And he’s murdered probably over a thousand people.”

“That’s nice of you, doll, but it’s more like 250? I’m not a serial killer or mass murderer—“Both you and Aaron just stared at him.

“Okay, then if you aren’t… my dollface, then who are you? Cause ya got the same face,” Tangerine asked. His fingers twitched around, his eyes eyeing the slick left on his fingers. He wanted to taste it out of habit but held himself back. Aaron rubbed his face and just looked between you two.

“This is a terrible Valentine’s Day,” Aaron mumbled.

“What do you remember last?” You asked as you grabbed Aaron’s hand with a glare at his comment.

Tangerine looked down at his bloodied pants. “Getting shot by that idiot American.”

“Well, got that right,” Aaron mumbled. He looked exhausted. A wrapped box of more gifts for you was still at the entrance. He just got off work.

“Well, uhm. Tough luck… Tangerine—Fuckin— Can I just get your real name? You’re very much not there anymore in that world.”

“Fuckin’ Thomas,” he mumbled. His eyes bleared at the idea of his brother, the girl he left behind. He scrunched his nose and pretended to weld the tears away.

“Ironic. Yeah, this isn’t a good one to tell you,” you mumbled as you took your lip between your thumb and forefinger.

Aaron took control of this, explaining it all. Bullet Train is a book and movie; Aaron is an actor and plays Tangerine in the 2022 film. Hesitantly, he told Tangerine about his demise, the gunshot likely hitting an artery and killing Tangerine permanently.

Tangerine stilled once again. It’s like his world ended—at least, it did end for him. Entirely. He had nothing left for him here, not a real place to live or an identity to fall back on. He may be a prick, but he did just try having sex with his real person’s girl. He never did that kind of shit (on purpose.) He wouldn’t ruin Aaron Johnson’s life to get himself back into a business he hated and stuck to only because of what else he had.

“Aaron, can we talk?”

Aaron nodded, but not before giving Tangerine water, and you took Aaron into your room. Aaron dropped off a few stuff for Tangerine to wear instead of the sticky yet stiff with blood clothing he just died in. Tangerine left for the guest bathroom and waited anxiously. He was never without Lemon. Thomas was never without Tyler ever. After an hour to Tangerine, you and Aaron emerged again. Tangerine felt certain when he saw Aaron’s hand holding your lower back, but he bared face.

“He and I talked. You can stay here until you can get on your feet. I’m sure you could find someone to create an identity for you or something… But Aaron and I think kicking you out is unfair when you have nothing else.”

__

Half a year later, Aaron proposed. On August 14th, 2025, Aaron got down on one knee and finally asked you to marry him. You cried joyfully, and he spun you around like his long-lost princess. Tangerine wasn’t bitter. He didn’t say much about it other than congratulations, and he’ll find a way to attend to support the two of you.

Tangerine was glad for the two of you, but he missed his girl. She was known as Nightshade in the Assassin world, but he didn’t even know her real name for safety reasons. (A very sensual and intimate relationship that teetered on romance, but he didn’t wanna go in-depth with his new roommates.) He regularly confided in both of you about missing her. You and Aaron were emotionally secure between one another, periodically letting Tangerine open up to you two.

Tangerine didn’t see Aaron as a brother, but he had no male figure to rely on except Tyler. Aaron was awkward initially, but living Tangerine’s life out was weird for those months during Covid quarantine. Tangerine could have spent his time in therapy, but instead, he decided to try getting a college education.

Tangerine was known as Thomas Henley, an orphan who lived in the countryside and had no documentation about himself. Honestly, you and Aaron did your best not to know much. Thomas didn’t talk about it either, wanting both of you to have complete deniability.

Thomas was still here. None of you had an issue with him sticking around; you found it lovely. Around nine months, he had secured an identity and dyed his hair a frosty blonde. He cut his hair and dolled himself up, but he kept his face clean-shaven except for his mustache, which he maintained, occasionally trimming it shorter and letting it grow out.

You and Aaron said nothing as the two of you giggled. He looked so much like Count Vronsky when he returned home from the hairdresser. Again, you and Aaron giggled when you saw Thomas reading Anna Karenina for his major—Literature with a focus on Russian Lit.

Aaron was away again, filming another movie. You and Thomas sat around, working on your dissertation for what felt like the hundredth time, and Thomas was preparing for his undergraduate exams.

“I fucking hate this,” Thomas groveled over his school-provided laptop. He refused your and Aaron’s attempts to buy him anything. He lived here for free, and his campus job gave him enough money to save.

“You picked Russian Lit—“

“Fuck off.”

“Wanna watch a movie?” You had been waiting for Aaron to be here for this, but you couldn’t resist.

“Break?”

“Yeah,” you nodded as you stood up from the dining table. Thomas agreed, and you picked an Aaron Johnson Classic.

“It’s Anna Karenina—I don’t want to hear about any discrepancies from the original if there are any,” you added hotly before you pressed play. You always admired the cinematic take on the play, with a very stage-theater visual look. For the entire beginning, Thomas was quiet, his eyes overseeing it all.

He even took the time to learn Russian while taking Russian Lit to read Tolstoy in the original text. Thomas was the kind to talk during movies. He mumbled and smiled at the actress for Anna, mentioning she was what he pictured Anna to look like when he imagined her.

When Levin was introduced, you got up from the couch. You set up your phone in the corner against the books in the bookcase behind the couch and press the record button. Then, you returned with a fresh bag of popcorn and passed it to Thomas. The two of you watched. Thomas even liked the stage-theater take on Anna Karenina.

Then Count Vronsky brushed his shoulder against Levin’s and turned to face the ginger man. Thomas burst into a tirade. He grabbed the remote and paused on Aaron’s face. His tirade continued, unbelieving that you took this long to show him Anna Karenina, how you and Aaron were the worst roommates for keeping this secret.

You were sending this to Aaron later. You snagged the remote back and resumed the movie. He kept going, even taking his phone out to spam Aaron, uncaring if he was filming. You managed to get him to shut up when Count Vronsky and Anna danced, which was your favorite part. Aaron had taught it to you on one of your early dates together for fun. You were swooning as he lifted you effortlessly that day.

You watched Aaron with such desire, and Thomas saw it. Nightshade also looked at him the same way while they worked together.

That same night, Thomas apologized to you. You brushed it off, saying that you knew he didn’t mean to do anything terrible to you, even admitting you thought he was Aaron for a Valentine's Day surprise. Thomas snorted at you and rolled his eyes.

“And you’re planning on marrying him; you didn’t even know I wasn’t him,” he said sarcastically. You slapped your hand into his shoulder.

“You have the same face, same body, same fuckin’ hands–even down to your sexual mannerisms! And you never progressed past fingering me,” you rolled your eyes back. The topic was rarely discussed between you, but you and Thomas were best friends. you and Thomas was strictly platonic.

Occasionally, you wondered if Thomas saw Nightshade in you like you saw Aaron in him (except visually). Deep down, his actions perfectly matched Aaron’s. Five years of dating an actor, and being able to meet his character from another world or universe or whatever was ridiculous so to speak. Your heart twisted at the thought of Thomas no longer having Nightshade. You and him talk for a lot longer that night, never grazing on the topic of his arrival or his previous life again.

__

Aaron and you had bought a house, yet you hadn’t moved out because you were still attending university nearby. Aaron was finally back, no longer filming, and done with Fuze. He was here to plan the wedding. You and Aaron wanted a small summer wedding, not needing anyone more than some friends. Neither of you talked to your family that much, finding the most solace between one another and the friends they had–actors and university friends alike. It took a lot of sifting friends to find out who were friends and who wanted to meet Aaron Johnson.

Of course, Aaron invited actor friends but was hesitant to invite Brian Tyree Henry for apparent reasons.

Thomas said to do it. He would stay away as much as he could, and he wouldn't drink any alcohol to avoid any emotional issues that may arise. In this entire year, you hadn’t rewatched Bullet Train once. You couldn’t, not with Thomas around the apartment. You could barely even watch Aaron–Tangerine edits without feeling some kind of way. Your gut twisted in unspeakable ways as you watched the silly bouncing and rhythmic edits of Aaron-Tangerine, trying to separate Thomas from Aaron as much as possible.

You stared deeply at Tangerine, you could see them both so clearly in Movie-Tangerine. Thomas’s poor smoking habit, and brotherly gentleness, while Aaron’s watchful stares, and facial expressions perfectly mirrored his real life expression.

Part of you swooned over the Movie-Tangerine, which can be considered Aaron-Tangerine too, right?

Back to the wedding, Thomas mostly stuck around the outskirts of the wedding as promised. Brian didn’t even glance his way, but he indeed stared Brian down. His American accent helped a little bit until Aaron and Brian were drinking together, giggling slightly drunk while they recalled their accents for the film. The wedding was lovely, small, and in the backyard of you and Aaron’s new home. It was floral, with a nice tent around the outdoor dining section. The house was overly large; Aaron, the sole provider, took the house payment upon himself. You owned their apartment, telling Thomas he could stay there when you graduated and visit the house whenever he wanted.

Thomas didn’t stay that night. He couldn’t. He knew you two were tipsy and would be consummating the marriage loudly the entire night.

He was right, too. Aaron didn’t even make it up the stairs with you in your sleek white wedding dress. He stripped you in the foyer, his hard-on pressed against his suit pants, and was eating you out while you sat on the top stair of the house.

Your skin was sticky with the summer sweat, and his shaved beard still scratched your thighs raw. After forcing your legs open, his drooly tongue lapped up the dampness between your thighs. He smiled up at you lazily as he slid in his fingers and hummed against your clit. His fingers stretched and pushed around, it was like his second home. Your arms were first. Aaron made himself plenty at home as he smiled up at you with a devilish smile, his lips still attached to your sensitive nerves.

All of Aaron's muscle prep for Kraven’s appearance in a Marvel film was overpowering no matter how much you tried to shove your legs shut. His large free hand shoved them back open without a moments break.

“Mhfm, taste delicious, don’t you, Pretty?” Aaron rhetorically asked.

With a sudden spin guided by Aaron, you then held yourself up on your knees. Your hands pressed against the cold hardwood floors as he pushed himself inside with a languid groan. The stretch was terribly achy. Aaron loved spending time on his knees for you, but the age gap made you giggle as you joked about his aging knees.

“Baby… god, you feel so good. Mhm,” he whispered into your ear. Drunk Aaron was a time, he was different each time. You loved each personality he fucked you in, slipping into different accents from time to time. After six years of being together, you’ve fucked each drunk personality he claimed to shed post-film production.

Allan "Ize" Isaac and his whiny tone while he thrusts into you needily while begging you to come around him was fun. Same with Dave Lizewski pretending to fuck his University history TA or Fredrich moaning in your ear lovingly as he asked to breed you with his children. Your personal favorite was when Aaron cockily fucked you with Pietro’s Sokovian accent teasing you as he overstimulated your clit. But there was one more who hadn’t appeared in the past year.

More often than not, Tangerine came out. Fuck, Aaron made you call him Tangerine multiple times before the appearance of Thomas one year ago.

Today was no different.

When the Cockney slid past Aaron’s tongue like it was his first initial accent, you knew you were done. He even called you Doll as he slid in and out. His cockhead crushed into your cervix more times than you could count. Not that you could count clearly while being impaled by Aaron. He groaned as he moved your hips to slide on and off his cock, “Fuck, so’wet for me huh, doll? Like this cock?”

You cried into the piled dress beneath you, his lips connected to your back. Your knees ache against wood panels, rocking back and forth. His wet lips sucked into your back as he grunted, “God, Doll, yer still so tight for me.”

It was like neuron activation, exactly what Tangerine had said to you a year ago while he fingered you against the couch. You didn’t think about it a lot, an awkward interaction you three claim. For you, it was intoxicating to hear Tangerine say doll, more or less Aaron say it.

You hummed a cry at his comment.

“Say my name, Doll, come on,” he said. Skin slapping echoed in the barely decorated home, your cries echoing off the cold, empty walls. “Fuck… Aaron, pl–”

His hands pulled up your wrists to your lower back, holding your front up as he used you.

“That’s not my name, Dollface.”

For just a moment, you swore this actually was the Thomas Henley you met on Valentine’s Day. You cried out again, “No, Aaron, no! I can’t–”

Morally, you can’t. Aaron (or Tangerine) at this moment had no morals. Never had, will.

“Say it!” He shouted as he released you to fall into your dress. His hands clamped on your hips with a bruising hold. His trimmed nails even dug at the plush of your thighs.

“Fuck, Tangerine!” You sobbed, you squeezed around him as he laughed. Your body was jolting as he did as he pleased, you always let him do as he pleased.

“Whore likes that, huh?” He asked as he snapped into your hole. The constant squeeze around him and the new twist around your stomach told Aaron you were nearing another finish.

You gasped out sobs as his hand dipped down and touched your clit hard; his fingers were rough against the sensitive nerves. Your thighs shook beneath Aaron’s thrusts, wet dripping down your thighs.

“Tan…Tange, I needa cum,” you softly mumbled as you felt him twitch in delight. The knot in your stomach tightened as he punched his cockhead against your g-spot. “Mhm, yeah? Gonna come already? Then you’re gonna make me fuck you again? Need my cock that bad? Need Tangerine that bad?” He asked condescendingly. You shook your head no pathetically, crying out in denial. Your stomach continued to quell, and you squeezed down to try not to cum before granted permission.

“Please let me cum,” you quietly begged.

“Slut wants to cum? Hm, with me and Tangerine? Do it, whore,” He groaned his permission, watching you limply twitch on him as you finished for the second time around him. Aaron smiled behind you before slowly sliding himself out and grabbed you by the wrist to pull you up with one arm.

His chest pressed against your back to help you towards his desired destination. Even while Aaron’s over-confident actions were harsh on your body, he kept and held you firmly with care. You hoped he would bring you to your bedroom, fuck for a bit longer then fall asleep in each others arms.

You neared the wall, your hand sliding along it to keep you up. Aaron stopped your movement, his hands firmly on your elbow now. To your left was the collection of pictures you and Aaron took together or treasured. Most importantly, the picture next to your face.

You, Thomas, and Aaron at your graduation just two months ago. The two boys held you on their shoulders, the black graduation gown billowing around their chests. Your various colored stoles and cords flew in the wind, your tassel was flicking around as well.

Before you were aware of anything else, Aaron hiked you up and slid himself back inside with a prideful moan. His hands still had a tight grip, moving from your elbow to your waist. Aaron spun you around to face him, his lips kissing and sucking down your neck. “Oh, fuck Doll, I’m gonna cum… But tell…me, you wanna fuck us both?”

Drunk, intrusive thoughts rolled back around.

Between them, Aaron and Thomas kissing you up and down your body, two sets of hands holding or even pleasuring you, the thought of absolute overstimulation flooded your cunt. A loud squelch followed as you thought about the possibility of Aaron and Thomas at once. Aaron pushed further inside, kissing your limit. Fuck it sounded wonderful.

While you imagined the chance, Aaron whispered into your ear. “Taking us both… you just want attention, don’t you? ‘m’I not enough?”

“Oh, ffuck. No, just… fuck!” You shouted as he rolled his hips into you. He had you pinned up against the wall, his hips endlessly torturing you in the best way you could dream of.

“No… just you,” you denied with a lazy shake of your head against the painted walls. Aaron, in response, pulled you down into his cock. Slamming you up and down on him while you choked up on air, “Doll, y’know I don't like when you lie,” a strangled moan left Aaron before continuing. “My cum not enough for you, want both of ours?”

“No! Aaron, I don’t want to,” You tried again. He rolled his eyes and sunk his teeth into your neck. His lips hummed with skin between his teeth. Aaron shot his load inside, groaning as he continued to thrust in and out. “Admit it, doll, you want him and me together.”

Even after he filled you up, he kept going.

His fingers took place, but not before taking any fallen liquid and scooping it back inside to fuck his cum inside of you. Shoving three fingers inside of you at once released a throaty “Oh god,” as Aaron’s other hand took your waist and thrusted your hips into his hand.

The wall rattled, and the picture of you, Aaron, and Thomas shook as Aaron shoved his fingers in and out again. A rush flooded down your thighs. Aaron smiled as he felt another fluttering squeeze around him.

Your throat was raw from begging, “Aaa...Aaron, let me cum; please, need’ta cum so bad.”

“Mhm, s’ not Aaron, princess,” the Cockney accent asked as he ground his fingers into the gummiest spot. The sudden pulse around him as he whispered, Princess, into your ear. His nose pressed against your hair with a deep inhale.

“Fuck, Tangerine,” you shouted out as you squeezed against him again. The third knot of the night was getting tighter as you panted the former code name of your closest friend out helplessly. Over and over again, Ta..Tange. Please Tangerine, been good.

Aaron smiled and kissed the back of your head. “Go on, doll. You can do it,” he whispered into your hair. His other hand slid to your front to push you over the edge. A pornographic cry passed your lips as your chest tried to hug the wall to cool yourself down. Aaron groaned quietly again, down to his wrist dripping with you. After leaving your hole empty, Aaron picked you up bridal style to finally lie you two to sleep.

He cleaned you as best as a hazy-drunk-man could. A warm cloth ran up and down your body before getting to the sticky mess between your thighs. It had cooled off by the time he reached your vagina, but he still treated you like porcelain. His lips trailed around as he cleaned.

He vanished again and returned with a bottle of water and he dipped beneath sheets with you.

“I love you Aaron,” you mumbled quietly. You faced his chest and held his waist gently, he set his hand onto your head and quietly kissed you. “I love you too, Princess.”

__

[andy-15-07]

Love in the Chaos

pairing: Aaron Taylor Johnson x female!reader

word count: 1155 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Aaron Taylor Johnson Masterlist

"Y/n, have you seen my blue shirt?" Aaron called from the bedroom, his voice slightly muffled.

"I think it's in the laundry basket, love," you replied from the kitchen, where you were meticulously arranging a charcuterie board. Tonight was date night, a rare and precious occasion for you and Aaron. After months of juggling work, school runs, and the whirlwind of raising two young children, you were finally escaping for a few hours. Your parents had graciously offered to babysit, and you were determined to make the most of it.

"Ah, you're right," Aaron reappeared, the blue shirt now in hand. He grinned at you, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "You know, sometimes I think you have a secret organization system for all our belongings."

You chuckled, "If only! It’s more like controlled chaos." You glanced at the clock. "Kids are finally down, right?"

"Sleeping like little angels," Aaron confirmed, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into a gentle hug. "They were surprisingly easy tonight. Maybe they sensed our desperation for freedom."

"Let's hope it stays that way," you said, leaning into his embrace. "I’d hate for Grandma and Grandpa to have a wrestling match at bedtime."

"Speaking of which," Aaron said, releasing you and grabbing his wallet from the dresser, "I should probably run to the store and grab that bottle of wine we talked about. Red, right?"

"Perfect," you replied, gesturing to the charcuterie board. "And maybe some fancy cheese. The kids won't appreciate it, so we can indulge."

"Consider it done," Aaron said, giving you a quick kiss before heading out the door.

You surveyed the kitchen, a smile playing on your lips. The babysitter was coming in an hour, giving you just enough time to get ready without rushing. You finished arranging the charcuterie board, adding a few sprigs of rosemary for a touch of elegance. Then, you headed upstairs to get ready.

As you were changing, your phone buzzed. It was a text from Aaron: "Found the perfect wine. And I may have also picked up some dark chocolate. Just sayin'..."

You smiled, replying with a string of heart emojis. He knew you so well. A quiet evening with good food, good wine, and even better company was your idea of heaven.

A little while later, Aaron returned, a bottle of wine and a bag of groceries in hand. "I also grabbed some flowers," he announced, presenting a small bouquet of vibrant lilies.

"They're beautiful," you said, taking the flowers and inhaling their sweet fragrance. "Thank you."

"You deserve them," Aaron said softly, his eyes filled with affection. "You deserve a night off."

The doorbell rang, signaling the arrival of the babysitter. Your parents came in, beaming and ready for their mission. After a quick briefing about bedtime routines and emergency contacts, you and Aaron were finally out the door, hand in hand.

"Where are we going?" you asked as Aaron led you to his car.

"It's a surprise," he said with a wink. "But I promise you'll love it."

He drove for about twenty minutes, taking you to a charming little Italian restaurant tucked away in a quiet neighborhood. The restaurant was dimly lit, with cozy tables and the soft murmur of conversation filling the air. It was the perfect setting for a romantic date night.

"This place looks amazing," you said as you were shown to your table.

"I knew you'd like it," Aaron replied, pulling out your chair.

You settled into your seats, feeling a sense of calm wash over you. It was so nice to be out, just the two of you, without the constant demands of parenthood.

"So," Aaron said, after you'd ordered drinks, "what have you been up to lately? Besides being a supermom, of course."

You laughed, "Well, work has been crazy busy. But I finally finished that big project I was telling you about."

"That's fantastic!" Aaron exclaimed, raising his glass. "To your success!"

You clinked glasses and took a sip of your wine. The conversation flowed easily, as it always did between you and Aaron. You talked about work, your kids, your dreams for the future. You laughed, you reminisced, and you simply enjoyed each other's company.

As the evening progressed, the conversation turned more personal.

"You know," Aaron said, his voice softening, "I don't tell you this enough, but I'm so grateful for you. You're an incredible mother, an amazing partner, and my best friend."

Your heart swelled with warmth. "Thank you, Aaron," you replied, your voice thick with emotion. "I feel the same way about you. You're my rock, my support system, and the love of my life."

He reached across the table and took your hand, his touch sending shivers down your spine. "I love you, Y/n," he said, his eyes locking with yours.

"I love you too, Aaron," you whispered back.

For a moment, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you, connected by an invisible thread of love and understanding.

After dinner, Aaron surprised you with a walk along the riverbank. The moon was full, casting a silvery glow on the water. You strolled hand in hand, enjoying the peacefulness of the night.

"This is perfect," you said, leaning your head on Aaron's shoulder.

"It is," he agreed. "Just like you."

You smiled, feeling completely content. This was exactly what you needed – a night to reconnect, to recharge, to remember why you fell in love in the first place.

As you walked back to the car, you couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt about leaving the kids. But then you remembered something Aaron had said earlier: "Happy parents, happy kids." You knew that taking time for yourselves was essential for the health and well-being of your family.

When you arrived home, your parents were waiting for you, both kids fast asleep.

"They were perfect angels," your mom said with a smile.

"Thank you so much for watching them," you said, feeling a wave of gratitude.

"Anytime," your dad replied. "You two deserve a night out."

After your parents left, you and Aaron went upstairs, careful not to wake the kids. You changed into your pajamas and snuggled into bed, feeling tired but happy.

"Tonight was amazing," you said, turning to face Aaron.

"It was," he agreed, kissing you softly on the lips. "We should do it more often."

"Definitely," you said, closing your eyes and drifting off to sleep, feeling loved and cherished.

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of your kids giggling downstairs. You and Aaron exchanged a look, a mixture of amusement and exhaustion. The date night was over, and it was back to reality. But you both knew that the memories of the evening would stay with you, a reminder of the love and connection that bound you together. And that, you realized, was more valuable than anything.

[padsmoony04]

[queers-gambit]

Shower Shenanigans

part one: Perpetual L's and Overwhelming Dubs

prompt: midnight callers turn your quiet night upside down, but at least it ends with you riding your stranger in the shower.

pairing: Tangerine x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Bullet Train

word count: 4.7k+

note: nobody asked for this but he's my muse now

warnings: cursing, smut (unprotected, in the shower, she's on top), blood, wounds, brain rot, author isn't British, probably setting up for part three, wonky brain doesn't care what warnings are missed.

A storm had rolled over Osaka, a steady thrumming at your hotel window creating a calming ambiance as you lit a couple of the candles you ordered from the front desk. Curled up on the tiny loveseat offered in the small living space, you flipped through your latest novel you grabbed before running into Tangerine at the train station. Speaking of, you glared at your phone for the hundredth time in an hour, feeling a sort of overwhelming dread that he hadn't called yet - or at the very least, texted.

Was it silly? Oh, you KNOW it was.

But he had said some really pretty things that rang in your ears on a haunting repeat the rest of the train ride. Then the whole taxi ride through Osaka, and the three days it's been since meeting him - he just wouldn't leave your conscious. Every meeting you had was vaguely interrupted by some sort of thought about your mysterious stranger, driving you up the wall.

Sure, you could call him, but the idea of calling a stranger for no reason other than to hear his voice felt a little too vulnerable to you. Yo could ask where he was, if he wanted to come for a visit - or hell, even before you departed Japan back for London, England, you could come see him... If he so wanted.

But your mind refused to let you dial his number, which was left in your recents after he had texted himself in the bathroom. The memory of your ex was still so fresh, making you feel silly for having such vivid, intense fantasies about a man you've met once. And for the love of Christ, you didn't even know his real name! Just his silly, fruity codename!

Man, if you hadn't been embarrassed before, the memory of moaning a fucking fruit surely made you cringe to the point you wanted the Earth to open up, swallow you whole, and never spit you out.

Your trip was soon to end with your departing flight tomorrow night, giving you just a day of leisure time in the city - but you didn't feel like doing much since the storm. Your book was interesting enough, keeping you entertained with a cart of hot food from room service within arms reach. Your tea was lukewarm by now, being much easier to drink, bowl of air-popped popcorn sat in your lap. Over the sounds of thunder, there was a knock at your door.

More like a banging, but hey, logistics. This was odd considering it was close to nine in the evening and you hadn't called for anything.

With a sigh, you marked your page and stood; annoyed by the continuous knocking, oversized tee shirt falling back over your thighs, socked feet stuffing into your slippers before traveling to the door. You called in Japanese, "Who is it?"

There was a small scraping, making your brows furrow and call your question again - but with much more urgency. "'S me, love, open the door, please," a raspy, British accent croaked seemingly through the crack. You left the chain lock in place, slowly opening the door a fraction to discover Tangerine - bloodied to high hell - leaning on the doorframe of your hotel room with two other bloody men behind him.

"What the fuck? Jesus Christ," you hissed, shutting the door, snapping the chain off and yanking it open once more. "Get in here, are you okay?" You asked, gasping right after when Tangerine stumbled a little, making you catch him; assualting your sinuses with the smell of citrus, metallic blood, and cigarette smoke. "All right, all right, you're safe now, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon," you muttered, helping him over your shoulders and into your decently spacious hotel room. "C'mon, you two! Step lively before you trigger hotel security!"

You shuffled your stranger into the room and deposited him on the sofa; hearing his grunt of exaggerated pain. You looked at the others, sighing as you moved things out of the way, inviting the other two men to sit around the furniture. You tried not to worry about the cleaning bill you would surely get for all their blood.

"Jesus Christ, did you get shot?" You asked, seeing the fleshy wound in his shoulder that was very poorly staunched.

"That arsehole did it," he panted, pointing at the blonde stranger.

"Hi," the arsehole waved, "it was an accident, for whatever it's worth. I, uh... I have bad luck, don't really like guns," he shrugged meekly.

"You lot look like hell," you sighed, shaking your head and standing to your feet to take a few steps away. You asked over your shoulder, "Guess I shouldn't bother asking what happened?"

"Train wreck," the man Tangerine had been with earlier answered.

You blinked in shock, the men all wincing as they were seemingly finally able to relax. Only now, you noted they were all in the same clothes as days ago, just tattered, torn, burnt and singed, soaking wet from the storm, stained with blood. You looked at Tangerine, demanding, "Is that why you told me to get off the train? You were gonna crash it!?"

"No, no, darlin', that wasn't the plan," Tangerine coughed, head tilted back. "Just... Happened."

"Call it his bad luck, huh?" You shook your head and moved for the hotel's phone, dialing the front desk and waiting. When they answered, the cheery front desk girl asked how she could help and you asked her what first aid supplies the hotel kept stocked. She answered and you asked if you'd be able to get enough for three kits - claiming you were practicing for a medical school final. She was more than happy to oblige, telling you her brother did much of the same, and she'd send the kits right up.

Thanking her, you hung up, and turned back for room. You found a pair of shorts and hopped into them for modesty, using your ice bucket to fill with water, grabbing whatever hand towels and washcloths you could. You set the bucket to the coffee table, dipping the cloths in for the two strangers, asking, "You guys wanna clean up a bit?"

"Please," the blonde wheezed.

You nodded, handing over the wet towels and moved the bucket a little closer for them to reach. You introduced yourself to them, offering a smile, turning for Tangerine and taking a seat beside him to start cleaning him up. "Lemon," your companion's counterpart introduced.

"Ladybug."

"More fucking codenames," you mumbled, shaking your head, trying to mop up Tangerine's forehead. "Jesus, fuck, sweetheart, what did you do? Bash your head through a glass wall?"

"Window, actually," he mumbled, reaching up to caress your wrist and cracking his eyes open. "Thank you, darlin'."

"Hush," you smiled, wiping the blood from his mouth. "You guys are gonna need showers and new clothes, huh?" You looked at the other two, who were scattered around the room to use whatever reflective surface they could find.

"That'd be nice," Ladybug nodded. "Anyone any cash?"

You sighed, "I've got you guys, 's all right."

As you reached for the bucket of warm water again to rinse the washcloth and wring it out, you missed the looks Lemon and Tangerine exchanged; both mildly impressed with your generosity and kindness. Certainly, someone who would never get tangled up in the lot of them on regular circumstances.

The knock at your door made the entire room still, you sparing them a skeptical look and reprimanding as you stood, "Relax, it's just the supplies."

Still, Lemon and Ladybug made sure they were out of sight as Tangerine just couldn't move once deposited on the sofa. You greeted the service worker, strategic in how wide you opened the door, and accepted the supplies; thanking the man, closing the door, and depositing the materials on your still-made bed.

However, a new thought occurred and you picked up the phone once more. When it connected to the front desk, you asked if your conjoining room was vacant - and to your shock, it was. You asked if they would add the room to yours because your friend suddenly decided to join you (not a total lie), and some 20 minutes later, you were giving Ladybug and Lemon their own room keys. You propped the conjoining door open, the two men using the first aid kits and the other room's shower as you got Tangerine to a point you didn't think he would bleed out.

"Okay, sweetheart," you caressed his jaw, "I'm gonna pop over to the shops across the street, okay? Grab you guys some necessities."

"You don't have to, we shouldn't burden you like this," he whispered.

"You guys can't walk around in these clothes," you chuckled.

"Have been."

"Yeah, on the side of the road, huh?"

"Back of a tangerine truck for a bit, too," he chuckled.

"Well, that's fitting. Look, just," you sighed, leaning in to peck his lips softly, "stay here, rest, eat, I'll be right back. Get a shower if you feel able, yeah?"

He nodded, just looking you over for a moment. "I'm sorry," he whispered, shaking his head, "I didn't know where else t'go. Whole plan went t'shit, we were out of options, love, just... Didn't know where t'turn ta."

"How'd you even find me?"

He shrugged, "I have my ways."

"Well, that's doesn't vaguely make you sound like a stalker." Another peck to his amused smile. "I'll be right back, promise," you stood, found a pair of sweats, a hoodie, and changed your shoes before heading out the door.

Was it stupid to leave three strangers alone in your hotel room? For sure. But you still went, you were a caring person by nature and the idea of making them fend for themselves felt wrong.

Especially after the state they showed up in, Tangerine's soft words about not knowing where to go; you just wanted to help since you had the ability to.

Across the street, splashing through puddles, you zipped around what was available and gathered three sets of sweatpants, shirts, jackets or hoodies, and figured their shoes were fine for now until they could change them later. You grabbed a few snacks and bottles of water, sports drinks, and energy drinks, paid, and made it back to your hotel room.

"Oh, blessings, you sweet girl!" Lemon gasped when you presented the change of clothes and snacks. "Oh, fuck yeah," he whispered to himself, taking the gift and going to change as you tossed Ladybug his own set.

When you found Tangerine, he was in the same place - but at least he didn't look worse. Just exhausted.

"Hey," you cooed, caressing his head and watching his eyes crack open.

"You're back," he smiled.

"Mhm," you hummed, "and you need a shower. C'mon, then you can get in bed, get some rest."

"Nah, love," he groaned when you took his wrists, "let's jus' go t'bed."

"Tan, you're absolutely disgusting right now, you'll feel better under the water. C'mon, there's a shower seat, you don't have to do anything, I'll help you."

He winced when you helped him on his feet, hobbling into the bathroom as Ladybug and Lemon were chowing down on whatever they could get their hands on. In the bathroom, you shut the door, set a clean towel on the counter, and turned to see him leaning on a wall, just watching you. You offered a soft smile, starting the shower to hea up, and then approaching him.

"Easy," you whispered, helping him unlatch his belt, step from his shoes, and then shed his trousers. His waistcoat followed, then his button-up, you gasping lightly, "Oh, fuck! Oh, my God. Yeah," you gently pet his side, prodding the dark wound, "you've got some broken ribs, sweetheart. Fuck's sake."

"That arsehole did that, too," he mused.

"Seriously? Damn, how'd you get your arse handed to yah by a lad named Ladybug?" You joked, dropping his boxers and pulling him from the wall. You made sure he was on the shower seat before stepping back and stripping yourself, joining him in the heat and getting to your knees.

With another washcloth, you gently suds over his body, the soap helping sweep away from grime. He let you work, scrubbing his feet, then working up his legs, rinsing, reapplying the soap, and continuing on your way. You washed his thighs and up his hips, to his waist, ignoring the way his cock stirred to life, bobbing into your elbow as it swelled. You were gentle over his bruises, the water feeling nice over your tired bodies; the soft scents of the soap soothing.

When you straightened up to wash his chest, you missed the way his eyes scanned over your soaking wet form. Feeling your hands on his collarbones, he reached down to seize your hips and heave - making you yelp. "The hell are you doing?" You gasped, needing to stabilize yourself on the wall and his non-shot shoulder.

"'S been three days too long, just wanted yah close," he whispered, sighing as his hands smoothed down your hips; gripping the flesh until indentations appeared.

You tisked, "You're hurt, you don't need t'fuckin' lift me. Use your words next time, won't you?"

He chuckled, "And what? Risk you sayin' no 'cause you don't wanna hurt me? Nah, love," he sighed. "Just wanted yah close, t'feel yah."

You hummed, "Close your eyes."

"Hmm?"

You held up the shampoo bottle, squirting a generous amount into your hand before starting to lather it into his scalp. He groaned, hissed at a few intervals, but overall let you work your fingers through his curls; pulling out any knots, shards of glass, and loosening the dried blood.

"You all right?" You checked, lifted on your knees to work; breasts all but pressed into his face.

"Mhm," he hummed, coiling his arms around you so he could literally just press his face into your cleavage. You chuckled, giving him a quick cuddle as he pecked your skin slowly, and continuing your work. When you lowered yourself back to his lap, your bare cunt drug down his shaft, making you both groan. "Baby," he seethed through his teeth, gripping the back of your neck to keep you close, "please, just - get on me, yeah? Need yah - on a biblical level, darlin'."

"You're hurt," you weakly refused, your resolve barely hanging on by a thread.

"Not so hurt that I can't enjoy this, huh?" He argued, licking over your lips to halt all rational thought. "C'mon, love, we hiked it three days here - after a fuckin' train wreck. I would've dropped if not for the thought of you, seein' yah, touchin' you again. Don't even gotta move, just sit there, love."

"If I do, will you finally just sit still and let me clean you up?"

"Whatever baby wants, she'll have, swear it," he grinned, hoisting you into his arms so he could grip his throbbing cock, lower you, and line himself up until you were impaling yourself on him. "Jesus, fuck!" He snapped, mixing with your whimper at his impossible stretch. "Ah, you feel so fuckin' good, doll, this is it - this is what I needed, huh? All I fuckin' needed - fuck - right fuckin' here."

"Hush," you whispered with an embarrassed smile, glancing back. "I need the shower head."

"I got us," he answered, holding you tight and standing with a small grunt. He easily grabbed the shower head, handing it to you, letting you rinse his hair out as he turned to pin you against the wall with his hips for balance.

"This isn't just sitting," you mocked, soap flowing down his shoulders and chest. "Close your eyes, please," you whispered, wiping the frothy suds from his face as he did. "God, your curls are magnificent, seriously, why does God give the best qualities to men - who don't even appreciate what they have?"

He laughed lightly, "Gotta get your attention somehow."

"Mhm, these lashes? Not even a drop of mascara," you mused, pecking the tip of his nose while one hand held his jaw. "And this jawline? Baby, this alone could cut glass."

"Like your nipples, right?" He teased, nipping your collarbones; both acutely aware of your pebbled nips dancing across his flesh each time you moved. He chuckled, readjusting you when you reached to set the shower head back in the holder; making sure it could cascade over the bench still. "We done?" He asked softly.

"Nope, got the conditioner," you rolled your eyes, holding his shoulders when he moved back for the seat; still firmly inside you. When he sat again, you released a high-pitched breath when the position pushed him further into you; your legs folding beside his thighs to keep the ideal grip.

"In a second," he smirked, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. "Just need this, yeah?" He spoke against your lips, licking into your mouth. "Been hiking with a fucking hard-on for days, love, just fuckin' need this," he hissed into your mouth, teeth raking over your bottom lip in a possessive bite. You moaned quietly, lost in the ministrations of kissing him like a drunk teenager, barely aware when he started moving your hips over him.

"Tan," you tried.

"C'mon, love, we both need it," he shook his head. "Tell me to stop and I will, but I think we both need this."

With a long sigh, you pet his cheek, deciding, "Fine, but we're taking it easy, you're still - " But then there was a loud knock at the bathroom door, Lemon calling your name in question. You slapped a hand over Tangerine's irritated mouth when he looked ready to yell his protest, answering, "What is it, honey, are you guys okay? What's wrong?"

"Yeah, just, uh... Can we order a couple things from room service? Bit starving, thinkin' something hot?"

"Oh, yeah, whatever you guys need!" You encouraged happily, Tangerine biting your palm and making your hand retract with a small whine and pout.

"Oi!" He called over the shower stream.

"Yeah?" Lemon was heard laughing.

"Don't run up her bill, mate!"

"It's okay," you whispered, pecking his forehead. "Get what you need, Lemon," you called, "but order Tangerine something to eat, too, please!"

"On it, love! Thank you!"

"Oh! Of course!" You beamed back at Tangerine, who offered you a mild look of annoyance.

"Now, why do that?" He asked, grinding your hips on his again. "Huh? Those two will eat you outta house and home, love."

"It's fine, you guys have been through a lot," you promised, connecting your lips in a long kiss. "Now, you wanna keep talking financials or put the rest of this hot water to use?"

"There's my girl," he grunted, standing from the bench to move fully under the water; pinning you to the wall again.

You grunted when you collided with the cold tile, but the warm tongue in your mouth was plenty distraction. You held his neck like it was your single tether to life, teeth clashing, tongues wagging, lips wet and creating obscene sounds the more intense the kisses turned.

"Fuck," you felt the air punch from your lungs when Tangerine pulled his hips back to start thrusting; brows furrowed together in concentration as he worked in and out of you at an already brutal pace. You didn't complain - he obviously needed this, and by God, it felt otherworldly.

"'Ats my girl, so fuckin' good for me," he muttered, needing this more than you have ever before; each hand holding a thigh to keep you spread open for his taking, hips hammering into yours as his balls slapped the apex of your cunt to echo around the room.

You felt incoherent when he picked up his speed, dropping his forehead to your shoulder when your head was thrown back as he worked you closer, closer, closer to your release. There was no thought in your mind, just Tangerine; drunk on his smell, taste, touch, never wanting this feeling to end.

Just outside the bathroom, Ladybug was accepting the room service order when he heard the messy, obscene noises coming from the bathroom; looking wide eyed at the closed door. Lemon laughed, "Might wanna walk away, Joburg, he don't like nobody listening in."

"Kinda hard to when they're that loud," he blanched when you released a pornographic moan as Tangerine readjusted his stance so his cock was piercing what felt like straight through you. Lemon laughed at Ladybug being startled so much he literally scurried away.

"C'mon, love," Tangerine panted.

"Go back," you moaned, pawing at his shoulders as you felt too slippery in this position.

"Huh?"

"Sit!" You insisted, him pulling back from the wall and backing up until the bench hit the back of his knees - dropping him. "There's my boy," you mocked, a hand on the wall, the other on his good shoulder, supporting you to vigorously ride him. You felt renewed energy now that he was obviously okay, only his bullet wound still weeping - something you'll patch up once out of the water.

"Oh, holy fuck," Tangerine moaned, louder than you would've thought; his head thumping back to the wall and losing all composure. "That's it, doll, keep like that - ohhh, fuck me!"

"Exactly what I'm doing, yeah?" You teased, moving your hand to his throat and keeping pressure enough not to fully choke his air supply, but enough to make him moan at the feeling.

His mouth dropped open as you rode him enthusiastically, feeling determined to reward him for coming all this way to track you down. Yeah, sure, for a moment, it was concerning, but now, you simply didn't care that three strangers had found your hotel room and now crashed with you.

Nothing mattered when this deliriously delicious cock was inside you.

"Jesus!" Tangerine moaned, hands to your hips to help you move, but it seemed the years in your youth as an equestrian was truly paying off. Call it muscle memory, but years after mastering the posting trot and the correct canter diagonal, you were riding Tangerine as if you'd drop dead if you didn't. And he felt it, he felt all of it. "Yeah, you're too good at this," he groaned, "so fuckin' good - Goddamnit - fuck me. Just like that, love, keep going - fuck, I'm right there."

You smirked, pushing his neck back so we was pinned to the wall now, his eyes locked with yours, mouth agape, your breasts bouncing with vigor. You squeaked when Tangerine braced his feet, his own hips thrusting up into you to match your movements; adding to both your mounting pleasures as the shower created a cloud of steam around you both in a welcomed lung-choking heat.

You honestly didn't mean to, but the absolute gut-wrecking pleasure you felt was enough for you to moan in Tangerine's ear, "Daddy."

It seemed the right word as Tangerine groaned in an echo, thrusting faster to the point you couldn't keep up. You could only moan, groan, squeak, cry-out as he jackhammered up into you - something that made Lemon and Ladybug exchange looks, gather their things, and rush back over to their adjoining room to leave you both a fraction of privacy.

"Yeah, tell Daddy how good it is," he seethed in your ear, opening his mouth, and biting down on your neck; hand tightly wound in your hair.

"So good."

"How good?"

"Too good, Daddy, please," you sobbed, braced on his shoulders and chest as his arms held you tight to let him thrust with abandon. "Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God, yes, yes, yes," you praised, your orgasm rushing higher and higher to a new height. "Fuck," you moaned in his ear, "need this cock everyday. Went three days without, felt like I was losing my fucking mind."

"Feelin's mutual, love, so fuckin' mutual," he agreed, his cock swelling, "just needed t'get here, find yah again. Shit, fuck," he looked to where you were conjoined, praising, "gonna need yah home address - ain't no way we're goin' without one another, huh? Hey?"

"Yes, yes, yes," you squeaked, "there - there - there!"

His thumb pressed to your clit and you were done for. Grinding and humping into his hips, you crashed over the other side of your orgasm; feeling mildly limp as you slumped against his shoulder, letting Tangerine thrust a few more times.

"YES!" He shouted your name through clenched teeth, holding you with a vice grip as he bottomed out, balls contracting, squirting his full load inside you with shuddering breaths.

"Oh, my God," you sniffled, holding onto him as your legs were spent and you knew, the odds of you moving any time soon were slim to none.

"Yeah," Tangerine chuckled, leaning back to the wall as he panted; keeping hold of you. "Yah all right, love?"

"Uh-huh," you breathed, still absentminded.

"Yeah," he mused, pecking below your ear. "Just what the doctor ordered, huh?"

"Think the doctor would want your wound closed," you slowly sat off him, looking to the bloody hole and frowning as you pet around the irritated skin. He winced gently, making you frown, "Let's go, love, you need this tended to."

Only, when you dismounted, his cock flopping out of you once released, you tried to find your feet but only found the floor.

"C'mon, love, you just sit," he sighed, scooping you up and switching spots. He set you on the bench, stood, rinsed off under the water, readjusted the stream so it hit you a little better as he lathered conditioner into his curls with one arm.

"You're supposed to leave it sit for a bit," you tisked when he washed the conditioner out; shaking his curls.

"'S all right, still does the job."

"Your girlfriends never taught you haircare?"

He cleared his throat, looking a bit sheepish as he avoided your eyes. "Never really had one outside of secondary school. Job doesn't make dating the easiest, yeah?"

You furrowed your brows gently, then nodded, "Okay, well, just means you've room to learn, right?"

"Yeah, sure. You gonna teach me, love?" He mused, slicking his hair back in the water before shutting it off; wringing a few strands out.

"Why not?" You smiled. "But you gotta teach me something in return."

"Hmm? What's that you wanna learn?"

"How to shoot a gun."

He offered you a long look, seemingly skeptical. You accepted his hand and got from the bench, squeezing when the weight of your body made them tremble lightly. Stepping out, you both dried off with towels as he offered, "Why d'you think I know how to shoot a gun?"

"Tellin' me that Ladybug fellow is the only one? That's fine, I can ask him," you quipped, making him instantly respond,

"Nah, nah, nah, nah, don't do all that, I'll teach yah, love."

You smiled softly, wrapping your hair in a towel and approaching him - still naked. "Thank you," you whispered, kissing his lips in a soft, sweeping motion that made him hum in the back of his throat and reach for your bare arsecheek. "Now, c'mon, let's get you stitched up before you go startin' something you can't finish."

"You met me, love? I always finish," he gave a cheeky squeeze.

"Mhm, might be the last time, too, with this blood loss. Huh?"

He relented in a head nod and wrapped the towel around his hips, watching you shrug on a fluffy white robe and tie the sash. He took your hand, laced your fingers together, and exited the bathroom - only to come to a shocking halt.

There was blood trailed all over the room, medical supplies strewn around, and several food wrappers. "Told yah, love," Tangerine sighed.

"It's okay," you smiled, "they'll clean it."

"You're so sure?"

"I'm very persuasive," you eased. "C'mon, sit," you ushered him back to the bloodied sofa, figuring damage was already done and anymore blood wouldn't make much of a difference. You grabbed whatever material you could, snapping on rubber gloves and taking a deep breath. "Ready?" You asked Tangerine.

"One more kiss and you can have at it," he sighed, leaning in until you met him happily; offering several swipes of his tongue before resting his forehead on your own.

"It'll sting for a bit," you warned, holding the bottle of alcohol.

"C'mon, darlin', 's all right, I can handle - OH! FUCKS SAKE!" He cursed when you poured the disinfectant over his bullet wound.

In the next room, Ladybug and Lemon shared a look before snickering as if two juvenile boys at a sleepover. And honestly? Spot the difference.

requesting rules and masterlist

Bullet Train masterlist

[thefruitbros]

Bonus doodle below except its REALLY old like almost 2 months ago TW: Blood!!

BT doodle dump !! I just had these sitting in my files and I don't really like how they turned out, but I'm satisfied enough to post them :)

[amorchai]

𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏.

this is a repost from my old blog. original post was 8,476 notes.

pairing(s): tangerine x female!reader

words: 1106

warnings/tags: established relationship, female!reader, cussing, slang, mention of a gun.

the search for his keys grow more frustrating and unnecessarily difficult with his own brother chirping in his ear beside him. the loud noise of the keyrings clanking against each other and lemon complaining about the blood on his new tie, tangerine curses the number of keyrings you insist to have, swallowing the key from his grasp.

“will you shut the fuck up? for one minute, man? can’t think straight with your yapping blasting my fucking eardrum!” lemon’s sentence falls short when tangerine snaps, waving his hand dismissively to his brother from behind him.

“i hope you don’t act like that in front of your girl, no?” lemon replies lowly, tangerine tutting as he dwells in the quieter nature. his fingers fumble and finally touch the key to unlock his front door, seconds away from seeing the one person he’s missed the most.

tangerine doesn’t respond to his sentence, sending his brother a look as they enter the opening of his house. kicking off his shoes and nudging off his jacket, tangerine looks to lemon, “you’re lucky i’m letting you sleep here tonight, keep it up and i’ll give you a nice blanket for our fucking doorstep, yeah?”

lemon swings his jacket off his shoulders, clumsily placing it upon the rack which tilts and hits the wall. he cringes, slowly moving it back into place before turning back to his brother who gives him the silent stare.

an ‘are you fucking serious?’ type look which is carried on with his thick accent through, “nah, it’s fine. it’s only three in the fucking morning! course she won’t be asleep, so carry on, bastard.” tangerine’s sarcasm is hinted through his whispered shout, face scrunches with closed fists tightening by his side.

“well if that didn’t wake y/n, your shouting outta do it, brother.” tangerine inhales deeply, trying to control himself before calmly replying with a small, “just get through here, will ya?”. lemon follows tangerine through to the living-room.

the entire house is in darkness except from the low stream of the television, emitting a cold and blue-hued light across the large living-room. “what’s this doing on, eh?” tangerine mutters to himself, a random episode of friends played on the channel which he doesn’t hesitate to click off.

the room turns to pitch black after the television clicks off, the lonely stream of moonlight catching the floorboards through the tiny cracks of the semi-closed blinds. the large window covered. instead, tangerine walks towards the end of the sofa where a lamp lays on the table beside.

he jumps out his skin with a low ‘fuck me! jesus christ!’ when his eyes land on a figure atop the couch. however, tangerine’s expression quickly changes into a softer nature, hand which held his chest in fright drops once he notices who it is.

lemon, who stands behind the sofa, moves his hand away from the gun hiding in his holster from the sudden fright and watches as tangerine places a small smile on his face and walks towards the other end of the sofa.

you lay under a stream of blankets, head atop the array of cushions to make you look cosier than ever. your mouth agape and fingers weakly hold the top hem of the blanket while you sleep, failing from staying up for your boyfriend’s return.

“scared the fuck outta me, love, hm?” tangerine whispers sweetly as he kneels down in front of your figure, a hand reaching up to soothe over your cheek which feels softer and warmer than normal. he can’t help but indulge in the feeling of you back in arm’s length, weeks on a life-threatening job feeling significantly longer as he thought he may never see your face again.

you looked safe and sound, simply well-rested and content which made tangerine’s heart swell at the idea of how easily you trust your man, knowing he would be home and that you won’t ever be in harm’s way. and he would die making sure of that.

“hate to interrupt the reunion, but she’s in my bed for the night.”

normally, tangerine would sigh, normally he would roll his eyes, yell and even swear within every sentence. but the mere feeling of your cheek so soft and the gentle hit of your breath against his wrist, tangerine grin widens while he moves to stand.

“shut the fuck up, will ya?” his sentence sounding annoyed but tangerine far from it while his eyes don’t move from your face, bending forward to move the blankets from you and lift you up and into his large arms.

you squirm at the cold english weather hitting your pyjama-covered state, lulling you out your deep sleep while feeling the warm frame of tangerine’s chest against your arm. “shh, go to sleep, love. i’m home, we’re going to bed,” tangerine starts before you even have a chance to open your eyes.

stopping at the bottom of the steps, he looks to his brother, “bed all set… sweet dreams, darling.” lemon grunts and shakes his head at his brother’s usual sarcasm behind his happy tone, looking down to the warm couch while tangerine guides you both up the stairs.

you grin widely through your tired eyes when you see your boyfriend back in front of you, always scared you might have to hear he won’t come back from his next job. tangerine looks back down to you when you cup his face, saying his name with the happiest smile you could muster in the extra early hours of the morning.

“up for a cuddle in bed, my love?” he flinches when your thumb accidentally pokes his moustache, your thumb gently soothing over it as an apology when you reply, “i always am.” tangerine shakes his head to himself at the sight of you back in front of him, back in his arms and ready to be right up until the next job.

he doesn’t understand his luck. how did a sad little man, intolerant and angry who kills for a living able to find such a kind-heated soul ready to love him in ways he never knew he wanted until you came along. but you saw him for who he was, irretrievably loyal and loving in his own ways.

“i fuckin’ love you, do y’know that?” tangerine asks, stopping at the end of your shared bed as he awaits your answer. you kiss the corner of his mouth, so soft and light but enough to make his head dizzy and knees weak while he chases your lips for a proper kiss in return.

“good thing that i love you then. more than anyone.”

amorchai masterlist . taglist form

amorchai © ─ all rights reserved. no reposting/translating/copying will be tolerated.

[kak1ch]

so stupid

I love the book version of ladybug from bullet train sm

[auroracalisto]

stay outta trouble, yeah?

tangerine x southern!reader, 3.7k words summary: he's taken by their southern accent, much like they're taken by his british one. color him intrigued, because why not? he'll be getting them to safety as soon as he can get away from the fight--or rather, telling them to get to safety. a/n: before you read the rest... there are a few lines i took from the movie to keep part of the plot alive. and then it goes haywire... anyway. listen i was just thinking about how incredible it would be to talk to tangerine and not actually hide my personal accent. here you go, pookies. (i'm from west virginia if that helps you). i've also never been farther than türkiye, so my knowledge of what it's like to travel to japan is very limited. pardon my inaccuracies even though i only talk about it for like... .2 seconds, at most. tw: major canon divergence, talks of blood, wounds, cursing, etc.

It'd been a long few days in Tokyo. Traveling for your own enjoyment was always an incredible thing, but good lord, was it exhausting.

The flight, which was non-stop from the Washington Dulles Airport, thank goodness, was nearly sixteen hours. No connecting flights, no dealing with confusing and unfamiliar airports. But just the flight itself was enough to send your sleeping pattern to all kinds of craziness. Don't even mention the fact that you had to drive to the airport, which took several hours just to get there...

Wasn't the first time, and certainly wouldn't be the last.

Travel was a luxury so many never had the opportunity to experience. When you had the chance to go to Japan, you took it. It was practically a dream vacation, despite how exhausting it truly was.

You'd come back to Tokyo after a few days in Nagoya, the second to last stop on this bullet train, maybe a quick day trip to Kyoto after, but time was of the essence. You may not have planned every little detail for this trip of a lifetime, but you had a good idea as to what you were going to do.

The bullet train would be at your stop in nearly two hours. That was plenty of time to take a nap and probably figure out what you'll do in Nagoya after finding your planned accommodations.

You found a seat in the "quiet" car, almost giddy to know that there was a car specifically for that. Being from the southern United States, the only actual train you could recall was the Amtrak Trains, but even then, you didn't know as much as you could have about them.

You kept your backpack close to you, trying to find your earbuds so you could have them before you actually sit down.

As you walked, absentmindedly, of course, you bump into a rather tall and, might I add, breathtaking man with one of those 80s' mustaches—like the guy from that one season of American Horror Story. It rather suited him, but that's not what you were thinking as the words quickly spilled from your mouth:

"I'm so sorry," you said, southern drawl instantaneous. "Wasn't watching where I was goin'."

The man looked down at you, blue eyes curiously catching yours. He smiled, and you could feel your heart melt within you. Or maybe your lungs. It seemed hard to breathe for a moment.

"No worries, love," he said, a very British accent joining his words. He scrunched his nose a bit and moved out of your way, while the man behind him muttered something under his breath. "No harm done."

You return his smile, although hesitantly. God, was he gorgeous. But that was beside the point. You moved around him, knowing you probably looked like a mess—you had only spent two nights in Tokyo, and they weren't very restful. Skincare could only do so much to make you look awake and not like you've risen from the dead just hours prior.

You choose a seat nearby where the British man and his two friends were sitting, putting your backpack on the table just in front of you. You grabbed your phone from your pocket, making sure you still had your charger in the pack, before you set up your earbuds and your music.

Your eyes flickered over to the British man, not saying anything as you opened your preferred playlist. He briefly glanced back at you and sent a rather cheeky smile before he looked back to the man in front of him.

"Fuckin' hell, mate," Lemon said as he looked at his brother. The man had made him move just so he could have an eye on the American who bumped into him. "Go and talk to ‘em, yeah? Leave me out of it."

Tangerine rolled his eyes. "Fuck off," he said. "We gotta job, yeah? Speakin' of." He stopped and looked towards the White Death's son, blinking slowly for a moment. "You gonna tell us much else or are you keepin' us in the dark?"

The Son mumbled something under his breath, tiredly looking out the window. He didn't know why he was here, other than the two brothers saying they were hired by his dad to get him to safety.

Right. Safety. What a joke.

"Right, so," Tangerine began. "Our job is to keep you safe and to recover the briefcase with the ransom money inside. And I plan on completin' my job and keeping..."

Tangerine looked at his brother, narrowing his eyes. "Lemon."

Lemon looked up at him. "Hmm?"

"Where's the briefcase?"

"Oh, I stashed it."

Tangerine stared at him in admonishment for a bit longer than necessary. "The case, Lemon. Go get me the fucking case."

"We got his son. That was our job."

"Our job was to come back with his son and his 10 million." Tangerine groaned softly and looked out of the window, sucking in a breath. "Three words describe our situation right now. Do you know what they are?"

"Sure do," said Lemon. He held up a hand and counted them off as he spoke: "Saved his son."

"Motherfucker," Tangerine blurted. He went on his spiel about the White Death, which seemed to be quite imperative as Lemon hadn't read the email he forwarded to him. Of course he hadn't—when did he ever? Why did he bother?

"He asked for pros who wouldn't fuck up," Tangerine said. "Three words, Lemon. We are..."

"Fucked." They say the words together, and if it had been another time, perhaps just hours prior, it would have been fun. Not this time. No, this time, they knew they were in deep shit.

They needed to get that suitcase and quick.

They returned to the Son only for him to be... well, let's put it frankly, bleeding from his eye-sockets and mouth, and so very dead.

"Well, shit," Tangerine sucked in a breath as he looked at the boy who had called him a liability only moments earlier.

The two trained assassins set to work on making it look like he was merely sleeping, even going as far as giving him Momonga glasses. You never know.

Tangerine looked at Lemon, frowning deeply. "We need t' find that briefcase," he said.

"Right," Lemon returned, staring at the Son for a moment before he looked up at Tangerine, nodding. "Right. Phone's on me. See if that American you ran into saw anything. Never know, yeah?"

Tangerine narrowed his eyes and glanced over his shoulder, seeing the object of his curiosity. "Hm. Go, Lemon. You see the case, deal with whoever has it."

"All right, how do I do that? Talk to him, or, like, talk to him?"

"I don't know, why don't you tell him about the story about how Gordon met Percy and how Percy's now bleeding from his fucking eye sockets!"

Lemon scoffed and left his side, going down the opposite side of the train.

"He means kill him. Of course he does."

Tangerine took one last look to the boy before he made his way to you, just a few seats down. He saw that you were asleep—surely, if you had been awake, you would've said something, right? Right. He's assuming, anyway. He keeps walking, knowing that he's got to find this briefcase and fast or else he and Lemon may not get a chance to even think about which arm they'd rather have cut off.

About twenty minutes into your restless nap, there's a loud noise blaring in your earbuds, and you jolt awake, grabbing onto your phone. You paused it, heart pounding in your chest.

"Damn," you cursed, knowing it was only from the song and nothing more. This song was notorious for loud noises. You take out your earbuds, a soft groan escaping you. Might as well stretch your legs and use the restroom since you're awake. It didn't seem like sleep was going to come easy on this train.

A voice came over the intercom, saying something about stopping momentarily, but you didn't catch the name of the station.

You stood and stretched, looking towards where the British man had been. He's not there, and neither is his one friend, but the other is there, sleeping. He's got the strangest glasses on, but you say nothing of it.

"Bathroom," you mutter under your breath, looking over your shoulder. You see a sign and follow it, taking your phone with you just in case.

You're quick, doing your business and washing your hands all under two minutes. Must be a record—the airplane bathrooms are so much more different than this.

You go to leave and open the door, and once again, you're not paying attention. You nearly bump into the tall, handsome British man, but this time, he is paying attention.

He grabbed you by the shoulders, a soft huff escaping him. "Watch yourself, love," he said, a playful smile on his lips (like he's not currently in one of the most stressful situations he's ever been in). "You're gonna get yourself hurt, now, aren't ya?"

Wide eyed, you looked up at him. "Shit, I'm sorry," you said. "It's—hell, I can't even give you a good excuse, but I didn't mean to."

"Nah, you're alright, love, just watch yourself for me, yeah?"

He let go of your shoulders, and you almost find yourself missing the touch.

"Go back to your seat, yeah? Keep an eye out for anyone weird for me."

You blinked slowly but nodded anyway. "Yeah, sure," you said. "You—"

But before you can continue, he sees something in the corner of his eye—either that or he hears something. You're not really sure. He flashes you a soft smile before he walked past you, clearly on a mission.

You let out a soft sigh and walk back to your seat, sitting down quietly.

As you get there, the British man's friend is back, and with another man—you don't catch their conversation, but whatever it is is rather heated. You simply put your earbuds back in and let your head fall back, unable to stop your eyes from fluttering shut. There's a few noises, but the sleep is far too good to come out of. At least, for now it is.

At some point, you feel someone shaking you awake. You quickly open your eyes, seeing the British man sitting across from you. He's got a few cuts on his face—not something he had before. You sat up and check your phone, eyebrows furrowed.

"What are you—"

You'd only been asleep for another twenty minutes.

"You're cute, love," he said, grabbing your phone from you.

"Hey—"

He held up a finger to you and quickly typed in a text message to his own phone. When he heard the buzz, he handed your phone back to you.

"Where's your stop, hm?"

"Nagoya," you answered. "Why?"

"Get off sooner, yeah?"

"What?"

He gave you a cheeky smile. "Get off sooner, love," he said. "Conductor must've missed you cuz you were sleepin', but he was sayin' that everyone needs to get off before Nagoya. Somethin' about the train needed worked on."

You blinked slowly. Were you still sleeping? You felt like you were. "Why the hell would they do that for? That don't even make sense—"

"Love, do it," he said, staring you down with those pretty blue eyes. "Get off on the next stop, yeah? I'll even give you the money for another ticket or somethin' if you need it."

You shook your head. "I can get another ticket, I just—"

There was something about the man that screamed danger, but no where did it scream liar. At least if he was a liar, maybe it was for good reason. Your gut feeling had been pretty good in the past, warning you against several things that could've gone terribly. Perhaps this was the Universe screaming at you to listen to it.

"Okay. I got the money. I'll just... I'll get off at the next stop."

He smiled softly at you. "Good. I'll be seein' you then, yeah? Keep yourself outta trouble."

He stood up, giving you a soft wink, before he left you in the quiet car.

You didn't see him again for the rest of the train ride, but you did listen to him. You got off at the next train stop and bought a new ticket, wondering if the cuts on his face had anything to do with his request.

It was a pretty nice warning, as crazy as that shit was.

Waiting for the next train, which would be there only momentarily, you pull out your phone. The only thing he had typed to his number was simple: Tangerine.

Was that codename for something? The fuck did fruit have to do with anything?

Nagoya, Japan.

A beautiful city with equally beautiful architecture (you'd be sure to visit the castle and the shrine after you finished exploring the city on your own terms).

You hadn't gotten a text from the handsome British man, but it didn't really bother you much. You didn't know him—just nearly ran into him a handful of times before he told you to get off the train.

Two days after the train ride to Nagoya, you find yourself on the streets, following your phone's GPS as best as you could to get to the castle. You should have just waved down a taxi cab, but you also wanted to experience the walk. That, in itself, was just as important as the journey over. Besides, your phone said only five minutes, but it seemed like it was re-routing and doing the exact opposite of being an accurate GPS.

You curse under your breath and go to type in another address in an attempt to see if it was just the castle address that was making your GPS wonky when you heard a familiar voice—you felt a familiar hand grab onto your shoulder.

"Be careful, love," the British man said, keeping you in your spot. You looked up—you're not even about to walk into anything, this time. You looked back at him, eyebrows furrowed.

"Oh, hell," you blurted, wide eyed. "What the hell happened to you? Are you—" You pause, mouth gaped open as you look on in surprise. His friend, and that one long haired blonde guy, stand nearby. The one leaned up against the wall of a supermarket, while the other runs a hand through his blonde locks.

You looked up at him, lips parted. "Is that why you told me to get off the train?"

He gave you a pained smile. "Smart, love," he said.

There's a few people that pass by, mumbling about the sight of the rather bloodied and injured men.

"Shit," you said. "You—did you just come to Nagoya in hopes I'd still be here? What if I had been in Kyoto?"

"Guess some luck's on my side, then," he said.

"My—hell, come on, I've got a hotel room," you said. "You lot look like you've been to hell and back."

"Somethin' like that," the British man said.

"Shit," you mumbled once more, putting your hotel name back into your GPS. You had just come from there, but just in case, you didn't want to mess anything up. Especially not now. "Shit, dude, I don't even know your name—"

"Tangerine," he interrupted.

You blinked slowly as you began to walk. His friends follow behind.

"Like the fruit?" you question.

His friend snorted from behind the two of you. "Yeah, love, like the fruit."

You shrugged. "Codename?"

"Smart," Tangerine repeated, giving you a cheeky smile.

For someone who looked like he was in an immense amount of pain, he was sure cheerful.

You led them up to your hotel room, where the blonde immediately goes to the bathroom, running water in the sink and using it and a towel to try and clean some of the blood from his face.

Tangerine and the other, whom you now know as Lemon, sit on separate sides of the room—Lemon sits at the table and groans at the action, a hand on his side, while Tangerine sits on the edge of the bed.

There goes your plans to see the Nagoya Castle, but hell, this didn't seem like it would be anything you'd wanna miss out on. How often do you get three men in your hotel room like this?

Ah, fuck, scratch that—how often do you get a hot British man looking at you like that regardless of how beat up he currently looked?

You bit your lip and sit your phone on the dresser. "I, uh, my friend gave me a little kit of medicine and things before I left," you said, going to your open suitcase and pulling out a black bag. "Has like, bandaids and ibuprofen. Tums, maybe. I didn't even look to be honest."

You hand the bag to him.

Tangerine snorted softly, taking the bag from you and opening it up. You watch, seeing the scabs on his knuckles.

"Damn, what the hell happened to y'all?"

Tangerine glanced up at you, a small smile quirking on his lips. "All in due time," he said. "Don't think it's anything I wanna drag you into just yet."

You pursed your lips.

"Fuck," Tangerine mumbled. "This whole thing has been fuckin' bullocks," he said as he pulled out a couple of things from the kit.

"You can say that again," Lemon said, scoffing softly.

Tangerine tossed him a bottle of pain killers before he, himself, picked up a small bottle of antiseptic. "Be a doll and grab me a washcloth, yeah?"

You do as you're asked, moving past the blonde in the bathroom. He looked a bit worse for wear, but he seemed like he was doing far better than the other two.

You brought back the washcloth for Tangerine. "Can I help?"

"Nah, love, I'll be fine. Not the first time."

You grimaced. "Sounds painful."

"C'est la vie," Lemon said from where he sat, taking the unopened complementary water from the table and using it to take the pain killers. "You're a life saver, love."

"Hmm," you hummed, frowning softly as you looked at Tangerine.

He glanced up at you as he cleaned his knuckles. He had plenty of other places to clean, of course, but the idea of moving from his spot on the bed sounded like hell. His abdomen was screaming at him for just breathing.

"I never got your name," Tangerine softly said.

"Yeah," Lemon interjected. "Been callin' you his little American this whole time. Don't let him lie to you."

Tangerine blanched, glaring over at Lemon, before he looked up at you. "Maybe," he said. "Don't listen to him. He's a little shit-stirrer."

You smiled a bit. He's endearing if not... unconventional in his methods. Whatever that meant. You'd learn soon enough, it seemed.

You gave him your name.

He repeated it, and it was almost like heaven pouring from his lips as he spoke.

God, you'd have a hell of a time trying to explain this back home.

Tangerine snorted softly and finished cleaning up his knuckles—just on the one hand, though. He still had so much to get through.

"Must've made quite an impression if you come to Nagoya just to find me," you blurted, taking the bottle of antiseptic and the cloth from him. He didn't protest. He simply watched as you wet the other side of the cloth and took his hand in your own to clean his knuckles.

"Yeah, well, what can I say? The accent got me."

You blinked slowly, eyes flickering to his. "The accent?"

"Oh, yeah, love," he said. "Ladybug in there is an American, but you? It's like a whole other breed of American. I don't know if I can get enough of it."

Lemon scoffed and tossed the bottle of painkillers to his brother. "Stop flirting and let them clean your hand."

Tangerine rolled his eyes, watching your hands as they moved against his wounds.

"Sorry," you mumbled.

"Sorry? For what?"

"For not having anything to really help you," you said. "I'm sure it woulda helped if I had a first aid kit or somethin'."

He raised an eyebrow. "Think you would've been insane for havin' a first aid kit when you're traveling all alone," he said. "Who woulda thought you'd run into little ol' me?"

"Little ol' you, hm?"

Tangerine's soft smile is unmistakable, but you make no mention of it. You let go of his hand and he examined it, letting out a soft hum. You did well enough, he supposed.

Tangerine let out a soft groan as a pain rippled through his abdomen. He laid back on the bed without another word, a hand resting on his body. This would be a hell of a pain to heal, but he was sure it would happen soon enough.

"Sorry for barging in on you like that, love," Lemon spoke up. He drew your attention away from Tangerine. "Tangerine over there kept quippin' on and on 'bout how he just had to see you again. Thought he was a broken record or some shit with how often he said it."

The handsome man in front of you didn't even object this time. He just went with it.

"Right, yeah, and what were you sayin'? Hope they have a nice hotel room that fits all us, yeah?"

"Absolutely not," he scoffed. "Don't be a prick."

Tangerine rolled his eyes. "Lemon—"

"—anyway," Lemon interjected. "We'll be out of your hair as soon as we possibly can. Don't want to outstay our welcome, and I'm sure you've got plans, hm?"

"Well, yeah, but—"

"—we won't stay long, promise."

"No, I—I mean I do have plans, but you can stay as long as you need to."

Tangerine snorted softly and glanced at you from where he laid on his bed. "You're rather trusting, aren't you?"

You blinked slowly. "Well—"

"—be careful, love," he said, a playful glint in his eyes. "You should really watch yourself, before you get yourself into trouble."

You parted your lips, and the words escaped you before you even thought to stop them: "Think I'm a bit too late for all that."

[novakiart]

the bullet train 2 that exists in my head