Tangerine, despite being an assassin, had a great sense for fashion/decoration, and this obviously included his tattoos. The man loved his tattoos, each one told something about him, his Westham united tattoo, the birds on his upper wrists, his bulldog wearing a monocle and bowler hat, his tattoo that read dad with a cross and pair of boxing gloves next to it, he loved them but of course his favourite was the tattoo on his right pec, the one of your name.

For once, Tangerine wasn't running around being a homicidal maniac with Lemon so you took it as a chance to finally ask him if you could colour in his tattoos, you had been wanting to for a while.

"Absolutely fucking not." he said straight away.

He was quite opposed to the idea of letting you colour in his tattoos. After all, he liked the whole big, tough, assassin thing he had going on with you but after your constant begging he couldn't resist it anymore and caved in, oh and you had come prepared with an army of markers in literally every shade you could think of.

he was lying down on your bed whilst you straddled his hips, delicately beginning to colour in each tattoo. The cold sensation from the markers against his skin gave him a hint of pleasure as he bit his lip gently, his pornstache twitching a bit. He wouldn't admit it, but he was enjoying this way more than he had thought he would.