Of All These Possible Lives. (Miscellaneous x Reader OneShots)

blood orange (pt 1) (Tangerine x Reader)

Context: Reader is an INTERPOL agent.

The sky was dark, and the night air was cool. It was late evening in Tokyo, but that did not stop this bullet train from being filled to the brim. If Y/N had known it would have been such a busy ride, she would have just walked back. Or even just slept in the streets.

She was sitting in the small train seat, and let out a sigh. There was an assortment of noises as people boarded and unbounded the transport.

Boy, she hated being on vacation.

She hated it so much that her employer had to make it a part of her "occupational rules", otherwise she'd never take a break. She did not need a break. Breaks were for the weak - at least to her - because that was how she was brought up. And now, due to her boss, she has to take a 4-day vacation every 3 months.

She was sketching on a small pad - a drawing she planned to paint later once she got back to the house she was staying in - when she felt someone bump into her shoulder.

"Fucking hell" She cursed, glaring at whoever caused the graphite streak across her drawing. Her eyes were met with a sneer, as the man appeared to have no understanding of the term 'remorse'.

He looked to be on the cusp of 6 feet tall, and way overdressed for a simple train ride. Perhaps he was a white color worker, but she quickly dismissed that idea, for there was no amount of nice tailored suits that could make up for his awful attitude.

He cursed right back at her, his thick English accent making everything he said almost laughable to her," Fuck off mate, get outta my way."

Y/N simply rolled her eyes at this and went back to her drawing. Despite her foul language, and her tendency to be petty, she bit her tongue. She did not really care to get in a fight with some random curly-haired Englishman. Although, she did have the crossing thought to rip off that mustache of his.

She mentally noted that he and whoever he was with sat down diagonally across from her. She shifted in her seat, making sure her deep navy overcoat still covered her gun. She always kept at least three things on her that could be used as weapons, and her governmental-issued firearm was one of those.

Just because she was not currently on INTERPOL business did not mean she was unprepared. She always expected the worst. At any moment, something could go wrong on this train - a fight could break out, a gang could hold someone hostage, a very attractive assassin could sneak onto the train-

Her train of thought was broken when she noticed the Englishman get up and walk toward the luggage end of the train. When he passed her, she quickly put out her foot, tripping him. He quickly caught himself on one of the train seats in front of her, hissing as he spun to growl at her. He started to throw every curse he knew at her, but she simply hummed.

She looks up from her drawing and tilts her head. There was a slight touch of redness on his cheeks, and it suited him.

"No se ingle?" She says to him, watching as his frustration rises as she claims ignorance. He huffs, and quickly goes towards the luggage, muttering obscenities under his breath.

There is a chuckle coming from the set of seats the man left, and she turns to look at the individual. There were two other men, and the one that was laughing had dark skin and bleach-tipped hair.

When her eyes slide over to the quiet male, her blood runs cold. She recognized this man- or should she say, boy, since she knew him from when he was much younger. This was The White Death's son, and that automatically put a target onto this train. After all of her avoidance of Russia, of that world, it still tracked her down. Her eyes flit back to the humored one, and she realized she knew of him too. It seemed that he recognized her too, but before either of them could say anything, the tough guy over by the luggage called out for him.

"Lemon! Where's the stuff? You gave me the wrong directions!" The dark-skinned man, Lemon, quickly gets up to go over to the luggage," Bruv, I told you, it's right behind-"

Y/N did not wait behind to listen to the remainder of their conversation. She quickly got up from her seat and grabbed her bag, and walked in the other direction towards the bar car. She needed something strong if she was going to make it through this ride.

Once at the bar, she did not even wait for an attendant to help her get a drink. She easily hops over the counter and turns around to search the cabinets for some good vodka. Yes, she loved hard liquor. She had been through enough in her life to afford to be cruel to her liver.

She can feel the presence of another in the train car- actually, two others in the car. She continues to pour herself a drink and mix it properly, before finally turning around.

She looks down the barrel of two guns, one for each eye, and takes a sip from her glass.

"Well, boys. You've got me outnumbered. That gives you two an extra 25 seconds before I make you tell me what is going on."

Y/N smirks slightly, before setting her drink down, still mostly untouched.

"Alcohol always tasted better with blood on my lips."