𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒗𝒆, wedding

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TWELVE

❛ wedding ❜

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wedding

VANESSA'S BEEN STABBED BEFORE, but never shot, let alone shot in the abdomen. With her hand clamped down over the hole in her body, she's muttering every curse word under the sun at herself, regretting ever making the decision to become an assassin.

Crouched in front of her, Tangerine is going crazy, his large hands drenched in his wife's blood as they cover hers. He can hear every blasphemous thing exiting her mouth while he too rants with worry, attempting to calm her and himself down at the same time.

Tangerine may seem like a scary, hard man in front of those who don't know him, but he's really not. He will never admit it, but he cries often at every sad movie under the sun, which is why he only ever watches TV with Vanessa. And while he stares up at his wife's gorgeous exhausted face, he can't help but feel like he's in a grade by movie himself where the most important thing in his life is dying right in front of him.

"You stupid fucking woman," He mutters, biting his lip as he attempts to keep all his tears in, "Should've just kept up at your end of the train, out of harms way."

Finally, she opens her eyes and he's able to peer into the soft brown orbs. She tilts her head, lifting her foot to kick his flexed shin, causing him to grunt and roll his jaw, but his grip on her hands never loosens.

"Don't be so fucking ungrateful," She groans, her own finger slipping inside the wound in an attempt to block it up, "You would be dead right now if I hadn't gotten shot."

He shakes his head, a few of his curls dropping free from the gel and falling in front of his eyes, "Rather me than you."

Her gaze drops to her side, watching as more blood flows through both of their hands. She throws her head back, sniffing in an attempt to keep all of her tears in.

"You're okay, you're gonna be okay," Tangerine says quietly, dropping one of his hands from her abdomen to squeeze her thigh, "Fuck. We gotta get something to stop the fucking bleeding."

"The bathroom," She grunts.

She raises up, swatting his hands away and he shoots up after her, his arms catching her waist as she stumbles slightly. She shrugs him off once more as she trudges to the bathroom, barging in and throwing open the cupboards. As she feels her body grow weaker, she allows her body to collapse to the toilet seat.

Tangerine is quick to be by her side, one of his hands cupping the side of head, "What do you need, love? Tell me what you need, and I can get you it."

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐘, tangerineWhere stories live. Discover now