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ch0wen · 2 months
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need to bring this back up since aaron did first
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ch0wen · 3 months
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ch0wen · 3 months
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something something, save a horse…
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ch0wen · 4 months
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Tangerine x fem reader where she finds out he’s an assassin, can it be angst fluff and smut? 👀
Thank you for reaching out … I think I just ended up writing part three of Cover !!
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ch0wen · 4 months
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Cover - Part III | Tangerine x Fem!Reader | 18+
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warnings: smut mentioned, (minors dni), cursing, & violence
to catch up - Cover - parts one & two
———-
Tangerine's large hands wrapped around the diner's ceramic mug full of his muddled-grey tea. Warming himself while also trying to still his shakiness. He was having a tough time attempting to conceal his nerves. He avoided eye contact to retroactively stall the dreaded discussion.
“So,” you started, “Tangerine and Lemon. Fruits. Why choose from that category?”
Across from you, the man looked physically and mentally relieved that you hadn't leaped right into the hard questions. A smile wriggled under his mustache,
"When we were younger, Lem and I loved to watch American cinema. We would get inspired by a lot of ‘em. We played the games they did, tried out the sports, and picked up similar traditions.
One day, during a rare, hot English summer, I suggested starting a lemonade stand. My brother reacted with, ‘lemons are too tart! No one even likes sour drinks. I don't want to sell rotten lemons,' and I would remind him that you can turn a sour lemon into a sweet delight with a little bit of sugar. Shit, you should've seen his face when I ended up persuading him and he tried our first attempt at a batch. We got the measurements so wrong!”
His eyes shone as he spoke. He seemed to have been slowly opening up. Laughing into his hand and playing it off as a scratch to his face before dropping it to the table's surface. He was earnest as he told of his boyhood. Intriguing you with his storytelling, and leaning toward him as he continued on.
"Anyway. He would tell me that I'm like the sugar. That I make things better. But frankly, I can be a rotten arsehole to him. And by now, maybe he has forgotten about those silly childhood praises, but I never did. Those were the times, especially at the beginning of our career, when he made me feel wanted. He's good at that. He doesn't even require me to be the sugar in our brotherhood. He's naturally a genuinely good man.
I do need to tell myself I am useful, and deep down, I may not believe that to be all true. But he reminds me. He’s good at making people feel understood and cared for. He is true to his codename. He's a lemon, and everybody loves ‘em.”
Absentmindedly, you played with his finger twitching on the sticky table. He curled his hand properly around yours to hold.
———-
The hours passed and the diner went through waves of people. Coming and going, in and out, like clouds in unsettled coffee. Breakfast rush, stillness, then lunch chaos. To the both of you, the other was the focal point. Everything else just felt like a static buzz.
“I can't help but notice that you haven't asked the question. Basically the entire point of this morning."
"I didn't want to force it out," you finger at the sugar packets, like skimming a mini record collection. Attempting to downplay your interest. “I wanted us to get there without having to press it.”
A grateful hum of, “You are a peach," transitioned into a sigh, "but I suppose you deserve to know that I am a contracted assassin."
———-
It was only half past two in the afternoon when you both emerged from the diner. You made sure to avoid the eyes in the queue of the waiting patrons. The large tip, Tangerine thought he dropped into the checkbook unseen, should at least ease the hostess's agitation about your prolonged stay. You stand facing each other on the bustling city sidewalk.
The silence felt heavy after hours-long conversations. You studied each other. Your chance to fully take him in, in a different perspective, a new light. You were wary of how to leave this after the time you just spent together. The things he depicted. The part of himself that he had fanned out. He seemed to have bore it all. How do you grapple with that while having to part ways?
Tangerine didn’t keep you speculating. His handsome face sported a pleasant smile as he stepped forward to hug you. The embrace lasted only a moment, but it felt that he didn’t want to let go -
Like he was trying to hold you still. Keeping all those secrets that he poured out over the cooling cups of coffee between the two of you. Pressing them in close and sealing them behind tight lips. To him, when you walk out of his sight, you’ll take his story with you. The moment that he lets you go, the truth gets out. Exposed are all the mysteries on the inside and his safety. The scary reality is that he potentially jeopardized his and his brother’s lives to answer your curiosity.
Except, that was just your mind racing again. Tangerine's hug lasted for a minute and in a beat, he was pulling his shoulders back to look down at your face. And then he pulled you in for a kiss, the breath-stealing and tangling your hand in his hair, kind.
———-
The date with Tangerine was like an omen that you wouldn't be able to get the pair of assassins out of your life. Every day, something happened that would remind you of them. One of your little students would ask for a bandaid. You'd hear a song that played in the diner or a familiar theme song that Lemon definitely was humming. You’d find yourself grinning.
Little reminders would pop up here and there. Until one-half of the duo started turning up here and there when you’d least expect or anticipate it. It was a gradually natural formation of a budding friendship with Lemon and an eventual relationship between you and Tangerine.
Your romance with the latter was like any 2000s Rom. Com. daydream, except for the consistent reminders that you were dating a killer ——
Your boyfriend would show up unannounced with fresh flowers and a splat of blood on his neck peeking out from under his collar.
Written-out jokes from Lemon were handed over with a roll of his eyes but the ghost of a smile on his lips. Signaling that he has already heard the ridiculous gag that his brother came up with.
He’d be up early and missing in action during the day, but made up for it by staying late on date nights.
He always found time to call you between the sporadic periods of action while on the job. Just hoping to chat about your day so far or what he wanted to do to you later. Your mind runs with what exact situations he was calling in the middle of, whenever he was out of breath or your conversations were cut short with crashes and shouts.
You could sense when he exerted too much energy after those particularly long workdays. He tended to be quieter, or his body weight pressed impossibly closer on top of yours as his cock pushed in deep, or when Lemon would physically need to drag him into your apartment and throw him onto the couch.
Regardless of his fatigue, once you got each other going - either by massaging his sore neck, his rough thumbs grazing over your exposed thighs, or knee rubbing against his bulge as you bandage up a cut - He basically reverted back into stealth mode. Targeting his focus on only you. It felt like he existed to get you off. Wanting you to come on either his mouth, fingers, or pounding dick. He may have been exhausted but he wouldn't lose stamina until you were finished.
Nine times out of ten, whether after a hotel rendezvous or candle-lit dinner over a pack of instant potatoes and Kraft Mac and cheese, you’d find yourselves snuggled up in bed. You were always left stated after a good fuck from Tangerine. Hands, tongues, and whispers danced in the shared tranquility of your space. You were making special memories with the limited time you found with him.
———-
It went on like this for years. Each day felt like you peeled away another layer of a fruit's skin. Discovering a new trait or trick of your boyfriend's. You anticipated something exciting when he flung open the apartment door or your bedroom window. He never ceased to thrill and fulfill your every need.
And that one Tuesday in Spring was no different. He strode up to your car after class let out, seizing your waist from behind. A spin to your hips in his grasp had him close enough to breathe into your ear,
"Fly out to France with me, yeah?"
———-
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ch0wen · 5 months
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Single mom reader x tangerine!!! They meet on the train and he protects the baby and her! Happy ending please 🙏🏼
“Please, Char-Char. Eat something other than those chips,”
You plead with your six-year-old as his stained fingers reach into a bag of barbecue chips. His hand blindly dodges the pre-sliced apples and celery sticks on the table. A divider that separates your seats.
You attempt to move the bag away from him after he ignores you, and this causes him to whine. His tiny hand swats at yours from taking the junk food away. You’re quieting him as you glimpse around the train car. Worried you both will disturb the other passengers on this late-night trip or that this may lead to an outburst of his.
You feel helpless when it comes to managing him. You’re young, on your own, and unsure how to tackle half of the maternal responsibilities. You continually give in to avoid making things worse or because of the pleading looks he makes with his big brown puppy dog eyes. A trait he gets from his father. Unfortunately, they’re both good at using the shared feature to their advantage. Your ex using it for more manipulative means. And you know you need to stick your foot down, or Charlie will never learn. He’ll end up just like his father.
You attempt to sound authoritative, “That’s enough for now.”
Charlie drops his iPad as he grasps for the bag. The tablet tumbles and bounces onto the ground, yanks his earbuds out of the headphone jack, blasting the Spider-Man cartoon he was watching.
“Stop it," He cries.
You're stronger than a child, so you get the crisps out of his hold. You twist it closed and slide it into your tote bag on the empty seat next to you.
“Eat some apples, and then you can have a bit more, okay?”
You lean over to pick up the iPad still lying in the aisle. Breaking the eye contact with your disobedient toddler. A hustling man nearly trips over your arm, but he catches himself. He’s careful not to step on you or the device. After a pause to assess what he narrowly sidestepped, he bends down to meet your hand and pick up the iPad.
“Careful,” his eyes flit around your face. “Here you go, love.”
You feel your cheeks warm at his stare, “thanks.”
You have a moment before hearing the thunderous sound of rushing footsteps. He seized the iPad in both hands and swung it around to slam into the hurried man’s face. With the force of his action, he falls messily into the seat next to Charlie. The other guy is dazed but retrieves a knife as he clambers off the floor. The now-seated, friendly stranger kicks the knife out of his hand. Then punches him in the face in one swooping motion.
Not even seconds after the pursuer fell to the ground, another man ran up the aisle. He scoops up the now unconscious man and gives the seated stranger a salutation before dragging him off.
Now what the hell was all of that? Do they know each other?
With a few blinks, it feels like you just imagined that entire scenario because the car has been cleared out, and the other passengers remain quiet and sleeping. Except that friendly, handsome stranger is still seated across from you. He’s looking sheepish as he tries to steady his breathing,
“Mind if I hang around for a second? Need to catch my breath,"
You confirm he can stay with a bobblehead-type nod.
"That git started shit with us in the front of the train. Pardon my French.”
He jerks slightly in the seat when he finally notices Charlie gaping at him with wide eyes.
“Oi. Sorry mate, I didn’t crash into you, did I?”
Charlie, unbothered and unharmed, continues to stare at this man. You watch his eyes flick down to glimpse at the stranger’s bruised knuckles. Then your boy seemingly recalls the heroic act of violence he witnessed seconds earlier as his eyes dart to the now-empty passageway and back on Tangerine,
“Are you a crime fighter like Spider-Man?”
Tangerine’s lips spread into a smile as he adjusts to face the intrigued child.
》 》 》 》 》 》 》 》 》 》 》
He spent a half hour describing to Charlie these wondrous tales of the adventures he’d been on with his brother. Who, you both learned, is nicknamed Lemon.
Lemon joined in on the storytelling, and sat in the seats across the aisle, halfway through, adding in amusing ad-libs. Charlie laughs at their narrations, and you ponder what happened to the man's body from before.
Thankfully, they censored most of the violence and gore from their tales that they probably got up to. You notice the wonder and amazement lighting up Charlie's eyes. He gazes at what he believes to be the human embodiment of a superhero.
》 》 》 》 》 》
“Hey, treat your mum right, chap. She’s got a long journey with you,” he ghosts his hand over Charlie’s face to mimic the action of pinching his chubby cheeks. He earned a playful squeal from Charlie as he threw his body back into his seat. You beam down at your boy before looking up at Tangerine, who is staring at you ardently before locking eyes. His hand self-consciously rubbed over his flushing cheeks.
He glances towards the doors. Probably expecting that Lemon was going to come barreling in any minute.
“Miss-“
“Y/N.”
“Oh, Y/N. Y/N, listen, why don’t you give me a ring once you’re settled at your destination. I'd like to know if the rest of your trip with Charlie goes well. Without any goons like me bothering you.”
Tangerine leans over and looks to Charlie for permission before tearing off a small piece of his ditched coloring page. He scribbles out a number using a purple crayon and skates it across the table to you.
“If you'd like, of course," He smiles bashfully before rising and smoothing out his suit.
You grin back, now craning your neck to maintain eye contact with him, “I will.”
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ch0wen · 5 months
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༝ ˚ ༝ My Lady is the Sea 。 ˚ ༝ - Prince Eric x Fem!Reader | NSFW
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𖠳 ᐝ warnings: brief smut, 18+ (minors dni), unprotected sex & cursing
Sea salt tickles your nostrils as you step out onto the wooden dock. Nose twitching like a bunny to rid the salty air from your sensitive nerves. You glide forward only a few feet, and your left shin knocks into a wooden pole. A barricade lined the perimeter of the landing. Fencing that stops you from falling into the unknown below. An oil lantern illuminates a portion of the dock and the gradually darkening surface of the deep. The expansive waters lurk just beyond the fading arc of light. Your body gently sways with the sounds of the waves stirring.
Instinctively, you flex your hold on a roped handle. A heavy, disgusting mixture of beer and spit sloshes in the bucket that you have been entrusted to dump out. Polluting the ocean, you think. An unfortunately common attribute of living in a coastal town. It's second nature to dump and forget. Water appears to be along every horizon you look to. It surrounds you, yet it's ever-moving. Continuous. Traveling away.
How you wish you could be out there now. Just like your father had moons ago. Oh, the precious things he gifted you with when he returned to the marina! The carefully selected treasures. He always seemed to know which new object would earn an excited squeal from you because of its sparkles or funky shape. Whispers at bedtime of now fictitious-sounding tales on how he acquired them. To you, his trips were like storybooks. Too embarrassing to admit, you used to go to sleep late into your teens with visions of exploration dancing in your head. Dreaming of the uncharted waters and cloudy faces of the friends you'd make. He'd promise to you, that you would soon be old enough to explore the world with him.
But you couldn't truly treasure the last retelling of his adventures because no one foresaw he would leave it on a cliffhanger. He never came back. Your mother forbade you from speaking of his expeditions as time passed. "Don't go towards the beyond." "This is your home." "You're safe here." she chided. Here, on land. The hope soon ended with the stories. You grew accustomed to the familiar. You were raised here. It's all you have known. Is it worth it to leave at this point?
However, there are instances when you fall back into childlike wonder. In the quiet lulls, similar to the brink of falling asleep, you can't help but contemplate what else the waters hold past their horizons.
༝ ˚ 。⋆ 𓇼 ⋆。 ˚ ༝
A faint, muffled tune begins inside and wafts out into the silence. The merry-sounding song envelops you. You blink out of the reverie to adjust your vision in the darkness.
You can hear the pub's piano, in desperate need of a tuning, as you push open the door. A gaggle of men are singing a sea shanty in the dining space. They look disheveled but have dancing smiles. You can't help grinning as you watch these men celebrate life.
“Just docked," Gwen, your co-worker, calls from over her shoulder. She fills up two cups and then slides them over the bar top towards one of the waiting men. He slaps a few coins down and moves back to the crowd, like rejoining a school of fish.
Gwen wipes up the liquid he left, “I heard one of them holler that they came in from the Carribean.”
“I feel like that's only the third ship from around there this season."
"How do you manage to even keep track? There have to have been hundreds of vessels that have passed through here."
You blushingly shrug at her knowing smirk. Teasingly, her fingers reach out to flick at your slightly tarnished necklace. A chain made from Spanish silver with a locket bearing some type of ruby gem.
Leonardo was the one who had graced you with this last year. He was a buccaneer. He and his crew docked in town for a fortnight. He was charming and proud. In the tavern, he was always drunkenly boasting about the treasures he had found. The people he'd fought. The Lords he'd impressed. The people he'd fucked. He was so fun.
When your birthday happened around the time he was in town, he came stumbling into the bar with this necklace. He said it was nothing and that he had dozens of more valuable findings in a chest on board his ship. But he never showed you to prove that to be true. However, you did thank him ever so graciously that night.
He sailed out a day later. No harbor was his home. You're used to this life working as a bartender in a popular trading port. You see hundreds of thousands of faces. All of these handsome men ranged from sailors to buccaneers. They all share with you the amazing stories of their lives. They fascinated you. Inspired you. Seduced you. - You can't help but be attracted to the rugged, good-looking, and ambitious type.
A man unexpectedly calls out from the crowd towards the pair of you. His voice grabs your attention like a Siren's song. There were too many bodies to place where it was coming from in the mass of people, but you swear you briefly saw a hand in the air on the left side of the room.
“My lovely bar maidens, a round of your finest ale, please, yeah?"
“Right away, sir,” you nod curtly while pivoting obediently to fill the dregs.
༝ ˚ 。⋆ 𓇼 ⋆。 ˚ ༝
The rosy-cheeked, rowdy men cheer even louder as you approach with their fifth round of booze. Their attention has been won, not by the promise of refreshments, but by the beer sloshing over the rims and onto the pair of bouncing breasts carrying it all.
Low whistles scatter around the table at your cleavage while you lean over to set down the ale. Mucky hands grabbing for the foaming tankards. You catch a handsome man staring through the limbs. He gives you a dimpled smirk. His eyes betray him as they glimpse down to what you can assume is your chest. Well, he's no better than any man.
Your retreating form hears the same voice from before exclaim, “Here is to another voyage through uncharted waters! I am grateful for all your hard work, boys. And thanks to Grimsby for laying off the scolding because we're three days past schedule."
You're back at the bar. A crewmate, with a red kerchief pushing back his straw-yellow hair, heaves an overfilled mug in the air toward the handsome man,
"And a special thanks to our Captain, whose mother would keel over from learning the adventures her dear boy has taken us on. Prince Eric!"
"Prince Eric," they unanimously cheer!
Together, as they collide their drinks, fat drops of the golden liquid splash onto Prince Eric's tunic and wet his chest. The strings of his shirt are untied. Making the neck loosely hang open with his chest hair on full display. Your eyes are drawn to it. Tracing the outline of his defined pecs through the thin fabric. You're no better than a man. Worst yet, he notices you staring. His stare seems to darken, and he motions his mug towards you as a 'cheers' gesture before returning focus to his companions.
Clearing your throat and dirty mind, you turn back to tend to one of your regulars, a local fisherman slumped over on a stool at the end of the bar.
༝ ˚ 。⋆ 𓇼 ⋆。 ˚ ༝
Eric strides over as you scrub up the beer rings on the bar, left by the patrons who previously occupied the empty stools. He fluidly pulls one out to sit and drums his fingers along the wood. Blue eyes staring you down for a third time tonight,
"Can I get you anything?”
“I think I should take a breather. My crew is too enthusiastic to get me drunk.”
“Sounds like you're having a bad night." He threw back his head and let out a loud laugh. Admittedly, it was too big of a reaction to that poor joke attempt. You wring out your rag into a nearby bucket to hide your smile.
You wait for a beat before sparing him another glimpse. He’s staring at your chest again. You feel the exposed skin warm under his look. You’re tempted to peek down to see how much this corset is causing you to spill out.
“Did you get it locally?
“Sorry?”
"The necklace," he half-gestures towards you.
You clasp at the pendant, "Oh, this."
He nods with his eyes fixed on your chest a moment longer before moving up to your face. His cheeks are flushed and eyes hooded, assumedly, from the pints he and his crew have slung back. You're moving toward him, holding out the chain to let him get a closer look.
“I think it’s from the Spanish Islands. A pirate passing through last season gave it to me.”
His large hand reaches out to replace yours. “It’s beautiful. I have an eye for treasures like this.”
He's so close like this. You watch his eyes flick around the locket, his fingers tracing over the gems, and the way his dark curls fall as he tilts his head to examine.
“Silly me to think anything else. Here I thought you were just checking out my chest.”
“Well, you do have wonderful tits," he absentmindedly states. He leaves you gaping as he pulls back.
"Thank you for letting me have a look. I'd be rather fond of that if I were you. That's a special gift."
"Y-yeah, but given to me by a not-so-special guy," you shrug.
You sense an awkward pause, but he watches you with a soft, dimpled smile. You motion towards the window out to the harbor, “Which one is yours?”
“The biggest one. Naturally.”
You stifle your giggle and notice a boat at the end of the port. Beautiful and massive.
“Wow, you weren't kidding. What's it like up there?"
"On the boat? You work in a marina. Have you ever been on one?”
“Oddly, no.”
He didn't hide his shock.
“I'm sorry. Are you telling me that summer lover could give you a necklace but decided not to show you his deck?”
“Something like that," you lean onto the bar, "How unfortunate for me, right?"
His hand strikes the top of the bar as he rises from the stool, causing you to flinch.
“Well, that simply just won't do! Do you want to come see mine?"
The lamplight and mischievousness dance in his eyes, "I can give you the grand tour.”
“Will you let me spin the wheel?”
"Only the most skilled helmsmen are allowed to touch," he pouts, then that damned smile graces his lips again, "but I think I may be able to bend the rules for you."
“I’m going on break,” you call to Gwen before following the handsome voyager outside.
༝ ˚ 。⋆ 𓇼 ⋆。 ˚ ༝
"And, this would be the Captain's quarters."
"Oh, Captain Eric?"
He sheepishly rubs at the back of his neck, "I don't particularly like going by titles. Makes me feel like I'm trying to say I'm more important than others. I swear by my men. We venture out for fun, but I'd be stuck at port without them."
"That is a very noble thing to say, Prince Eric."
"Come off it," he laughs while moving over to a table against one of the walls. Eric picks up what appears to be a rock. He turns the object in his hands before showing you.
"Fossilized sea stone. Found it off the coast of my home island."
He places the textured stone in your open palms. The unexpected weight of it doubles you over, but Eric catches you. His hand lingers on your hip.
He proceeds to tell you about the rest of his findings laid out on the surface. You love the way his face lit up. Making himself exhilarated with his own stories. You listen intently and let yourself live vicariously through his retellings.
༝ ˚ 。⋆ 𓇼 ⋆。 ˚ ༝
Eric locks an ornate chest up as you watch. Sitting on the table now cleared of his glories. “So, are you considered a sailor, explorer, or just a guy with a boat and a lot of time on his hands?”
Eric laughs, "The last one, for sure. Once I turned nineteen, my mother allowed me to venture out and sail with the crew. I've always loved the idea of discovering something new on my voyages. Whether it be places, possessions, or people."
He's moving into your space, "I am happy to have met you, Y/N."
"And I, you, Prince Eric."
"No titles here." He leans in with a hint of a grin in his whisper, "I forbid it."
"Oh, that sounds like a command, and I shall obey, Your Majesty."
He chuffs as you see his eyes drop to your necklace again. His fingers dance along the silver chain before exploring further and grazing over the top of your chest. He makes sure to peek up at you for some sort of permission. Silently, you put your hand over his own to guide him to grab a handful of your breast. Eric takes the cue and squeezes while closing the gap between you with a kiss that immediately heats up. Hands knead your breasts over your camisole-corset top.
"And here I thought you've been admiring my necklace all night. I feel scandalized," you tease while he kisses your neck.
"No, no, it is beautiful! But, these," His calloused hands give a reassuring squeeze, "are really lovely."
Hands quickly work to pull down your blouse to expose your tits. Eric rolls a nipple between his forefinger and thumb. Gasping, you arch up into his touch. Legs instinctively spread wider to allow him in. You feel his dick twitch the moment he presses closer.
A moan growls in the back of his throat as he rolls his hips. Grinding his hard-on into your wetting core while you kiss. Your skin grows hot, his breaths come heavy, and the heat is building between your legs. 
Eric put his mouth to your breast, sucking at your skin in obscene, open-mouthed kisses. Eliciting a low keening sound from you. He withdrew just enough to lave at your nipple, back and forth, over and over, until your pussy thrummed to the same beat.
"Is it very unprincely of me to tell you that I would very much like to fuck you right here, now, in my chambers?"
"You are but a man, my Prince."
༝ ˚ 。⋆ 𓇼 ⋆。 ˚ ༝
Your body was thrown across the desk. You don’t know where to put your hands, so they grip and scrape at the wooden surface while Eric fucks into you.
He has a firm hold on your naked waist. Keeping your long skirt hiked up to your stomach so he could watch himself penetrate you. He has a brutally harsh pace going. The delicious feel of the drag and pull of his cock.
Eric braces himself on the desk. A toned arm flexes next to your head. His face is now closer to yours as he changes the angle of his hips. With the newfound support, you feel him speed up his thrusting. He groans into your chest. Playfully biting a nipple before kissing up to your neck. His movements were enough to bring you dangerously close to reaching your high in only a few minutes.
"Oh, Prince Eric," you whine.
"Fuck." His hips stutter. "What's my name?"
"Captain Eric. Eric. Eric. "
A wave of bliss hits you and you screw your eyes shut. It doesn’t take long before both of you reach your orgasms. You hold onto Eric's biceps with all your might, as you scream his name. No doubt loud enough for everyone in the tavern to hear.
༝ ˚ 。⋆ 𓇼 ⋆。 ˚ ༝
At dawn, you're re-dressed and carefully creeping over the creaky floorboards. Trying not to wake any of the still-drunk crewmates who had found their way back onto the ship.
Catching your eye, the silver locket, sat on the once-empty desk, glints in the daybreak. Eric's back rises and falls. The rest of his bare body is covered by the messy bedsheets. Blissfully oblivious of your exit.
You let that sleeping form be your final image of the handsome Prince and disembark the Royal ship.
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ch0wen · 5 months
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glancing down at mens chest hair while theyre talking like it's cleavage
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ch0wen · 7 months
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ch0wen · 7 months
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I saw your post with the girl on the bed wearing sunglasses with the caption “y’all want anything from me?” And first of all that made me smile so thank you. Second Tan and Reader cuddles? I’m a sucker for physical intimacy.
“And then that stupid git wouldn’t let him go. So, I had to force his arms to release Lemon with a tire iron,” Tangerine rubbed his callused hands over his exhausted face as his lips curled into a smirk,
“Lem, told me the guy’s right forearm broke in three different places.”
You’re sat on the edge of your shared bed, raking your fingers over his bare thigh as he catches you up on his day. This has become a nightly affair for you and Tangerine. It's a way to make up for lost time by sitting together and talking over little accomplishments or big complications that may have occurred during your shifts. Tangerine always has more of the latter; Seemingly never skimping on the gory details. When it's your turn to speak, he sits close and listens intently to your stories. Even if you think your job as a teacher is comparably not as thrilling.
And although his body is visibly exhausted after his outings, he still listens attentively and offers advice. He likes these spoken reminders that you are not in danger while he’s away. He wants to know you have some normalcy when he faces chaos during his nine-to-five.
“It sounds like you did what you needed to do,” your hand gently caresses his face then brushes the hair away from his hooded eyes as he lays back. His skin slightly pink; Freshly scrubbed from his post-work shower.
“You did great, as always. Now please rest up, honey.”
Wearily, he hums in agreement. His hand grasps for yours before kissing your knuckles,
“Tell that little shit Frankie to start listening during the maths lesson or I’ll give him a good spook at recess.”
You giggle, “He’s five, Tan.”
His eyes are now closed but a playful smirk stays spread across his lips.
You take this quiet beat to rise off the bed and provide him with his much-needed rest. Your finger applies a bit of pressure to the light switch,
“Y/n?”
“Yeah?”
“Come back. Stay with me for a moment. I’ve been surrounded by lunatics today. I need some familiarity.”
You’re now snuggling into Tangerine’s muscular and warm arms. He nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck. Breathing you in deeply before letting out a content-sounding sigh.
“Better?”
“Much,” he squeezes you impossibly closer. His chest gradually rising and falling. You angle your head so it’s not pressed into his armpit and reach up to stroke his hair. He mewls a bit before his hold loosens; not letting you go but giving a sign that he has fallen asleep.
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ch0wen · 9 months
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thigh riding w tangerine 😩 pls he's super focused while reading over the briefings and paperwork and you're bored. you try to get his attention: rubbing his shoulders, stripping in front of him, kissing his neck, and eventually he just sits you down onto his leg and is like "i'm busy, do it yourself." PRETENDING HE'S NOT FIGHTING EVERYTHING INSIDE HIM TO JUST STOP HIS WORK AND KISS YOU ALL OVER AND WORSHIP YOU UGH 🥴
Helping Hand | Tangerine x Fem!Reader
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warnings: 18+ (minors dni), thigh riding, blink and there’s a mention of sex, & cursing
"Taaan,” you sing-song as you approach his study, “I was thinking since you have off for the next few days that we could try out that new posit-...What?"
The hand ghosting the sliding motion of your shirt away from your shoulder pauses, after catching your boyfriend hiding a scowl behind his latest novel.
What is that about? Is that story bad? Did something go wrong today at work? Has he forgotten to get a briefing completed on time? Could you have forgotten to remind him of a chore he wanted to get done? Where was this about to be coming from? You hesitate at the door trying to gauge what or who he's about to direct his anger at.
You watch him. Wanting to get an idea of what mood he's in today or if he could just be mentally, and or physically exhausted. The silence fills your ears, making them tingle, as you fight against the loud self-depreciation to see if you can hear him say anything. Listening for an audible sign that he wants you to come near.
As he abruptly clears his throat, your foot twitches the spasm of forward motion. He then lowers his book shield to do the 'eyes piercing daggers into you' clique. You decide to hold yourself still in this spot while leaning against the doorframe.
“You're the one who gets to decide when we can have chats then, is it, yea? Now that you feel up to it. Interesting." His accent was thick. "God, you really chose to be a proper snarky bitch before." Your smile drops as he eyes you a minute longer before turning back to his reading.
You inch towards the ottoman. Pouting and carefully lowering his book from his face. You sling your leg over his splayed one. You're half-sat down but partially straddling him. His left hand involuntarily goes to squeeze the fleshy skin of your thigh, while the right unwaveringly holds up the book.
"I said I was sorry. I'm not a morning person. Cut it out, baby, I want you,” you whimper into his collar. His warm hand stops clutching you, so he can turn a page.
You cup his bulge and rub him slowly through the front of his pants. Kissing your way up along his jaw. He lets you press a soft peck against his lips before he's cunningly dodging the next. A beat passes with you begging softly in his ear, while your hand continues the ministrations. The second you thought you felt his erection begin to swell, Tangerine jerks your wrist away from the hardening of his clothed cock.
"Please, Tan?"
Your hand slowly moves back over to rub along his inner thigh. The grip he had on you has lessened. Seemingly he was becoming unfocused. But then he stills your stroking fingers,
"I'm busy. How about you show me how much you want me by getting off on my thigh, hm?” His challenging eyebrows flick up to look at you before quickly averting eye contact. “If you do, then maybe I’ll consider it an apology for your attitude today.”
You whine and press yourself down against him, so you’re properly straddling his left thigh.
You rock your hips. Leaning forward and slicking up his pants as you kiss his neck. He tilts his head to allow you more access. A low rumble in his throat causes you to breathe praises into his skin.
You feel his jaw clench with every other whimper that escapes past your lips. He keeps flipping through the distraction he’s holding. He is normally so handsy. You don’t think he has even spared you a single glance since you started using him to get off.
His attention seems to be focused on the novel. Straining, a bit, but it's like he just wants to be a dramatic jack-ass and refuse to give in to your seduction. Even though you both know how horny he normally gets from you simply running your fingers through his hair.
You can admit that you were a bit moody waking up to say goodbye before his mission today. But it was like four in the morning! Now it's 6 PM, you're out of your office job, and you've had a coffee today. So now that you’re fully awake and he’s not occupied with work, you're just wanting to mess around with your sexy boyfriend.
What's the problem here?
You're almost at the point of huffing out an annoyed sob while apologizing for spoiling his quiet time and clambering off of him. Until his fingers slide forward to rub at your clit. Your hand flying to his shoulder to steady yourself.
Thank God! He's now assisting you by using himself to get you off.
"Fuck. Just like that, Tan."
Your hips rock down to rub against his digits. Tangerine suddenly pulls his hand away to turn the page. Not missing a beat to lick his fingers before sliding the papers together. This time you let out an audible scoff.
You're convinced and frustrated that he’s actually getting his reading done and paying no attention to you. Slowing down your hips a bit, you keep a watchful eye on him. Trying to find a single notion that he really is uninterested and that you should leave him be. You cannot get a read on him. His face is stoic. But that hand of his is again moving away from the book to press his thumb against your clit. Rubbing it to silently coax you to speed up your movements.
Little to your knowledge, this interaction is truly sending him into a spiral. He is fighting off every urge to jump you, pin you to this ottoman, take control, and fuck into you. He has been sneaking glances over at your flushed face, tilting his chin down to watch your hips rock against him, or dipping his finger into you to slick you up further and himself with your arousal.
Clearly, you haven’t picked up on his fake irritation because you haven’t called him out on it yet. You must really think he’s upset that you complained that you had to wake up early just to kiss him goodbye before he left for work. The funny thing is he’s not. He got a kiss and went on with his day. To your defense, he knows he kept you up late the night prior. Tangerine’s just thankful the mission was a short one for he and Lemon. And he gets to spend more time with you at home.
Although, he's very interested to see how desperate he can get you for his cock. He's loving this attention and doesn't plan on letting up the act now.
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ch0wen · 9 months
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nsfw alphabet for tan please 🙏
You're in luck! Here is my attempt - the NSFW As,Bs,and Vitamin Cs for Tangerine
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ch0wen · 9 months
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Could you please write a Tangerine NSFW alphabet?
Tangerine; NSFW Alphabet
A = Aftercare - Tangerine cannot keep his lips off you— peppering your face and neck with little kisses.
B = Body part - It's not necessarily a body part, but his favorite feature is his mustache. Always the semi-vain, perfectionist to be looking at himself on any reflective surface and combing back a singular stray hair. But one thing he doesn't tell people much is how he came to have it. He actually started growing it when the Twins' dad passed. In Tangerine's eyes, he remembered his dad in those faint happy memories as a caricature almost; his mustache was the sole exaggerated feature. His young hands used to carelessly pet through the coarse hairs enough for them to form into a misshapen-looking creature. And when he passed, Tangerine wordlessly vowed to grow one for him. He was always told he had his dad’s blue eyes and he thought with this addition, if he looked in the mirror, then he could catch glimpses of his old man. - You also love his mustache. You do love his hair in general. You love playing with it. Tugging at his roots as he devours your pussy, brushing loose strands away from his tired eyes, or especially the tracing of your fingers through the curls on his chest or the soft, dark hairs of his stomach.
C = Cum - He's a bit of a cum slut. Guiding his sensitive dick in as he scoops some dripping cum back inside you with his tip. Dipping his ring-clad fingers into your pussy only to lick it off shamelessly.
D = Dirty Secret - He jerked off on a mission before. You sent him a spicy text; assuming he would only get the chance to view it at the end of the night. Except due to a lull between the action, he checked his phone to pass some time. His face warmed once he processed what was greeting him on the screen. He tried not to show any flustered expression as Lemon blathered on with his story. He cut him off and grumbled something about using the loo... His jacket was haphazardly thrown onto the sink, button-up shirt held in clenched teeth, and pants yanked low enough as he furiously jerked himself off in the cramped train bathroom. After, he sent a text which sounded reprimanding but you knew it would lead to some fun when he got home. Lemon, none the wiser, picked right back up on his story once Tangerine rejoined him at their seats.
F = Favourite Position - Depends on the setting and situation. Tangerine is happy no matter the way he can have you. He has had you bent over or lain across practically every inanimate object. But there’s something extra special about being inside you when you’re sitting on the edge of a table or on your back with your hair splayed on the pillow. It’s a little domestic, sliding between your legs and kissing your pouting lips, running his hands up and down gently over your thighs. He would never fully confess to loving the slow love-making over a quickie though.
H = Hair - He keeps it neat and trimmed around his cock. There’s a reddish tint to his hair that’s more pronounced on his chest and stomach. He loves to feel you tugging on any of the hair that he grows, wincing at the sting and then relishing the pain.
I = Intimacy - His possessiveness can come off as his own form of intimacy; ex. holding you tight at night or protecting you. But most of the sex you have is super intimate. He pours a lot of himself into the little things, like kissing your knuckles, brushing hair out of your face, or calling you a sweet pet name.
K = Kink - Exhibition.
L = Location - To follow his exhibition kink, Tangerine loves using the walls outside of heavily populated areas; bars, stores, and alleyways. He's not afraid of getting caught because who the fuck are they to tell him what to do?
M = Motivation - What doesn’t motivate him? A short list of things that do motivate him would be - skirts, your hands in his hair, a rough day at work, your smile, a good day at work, even his own dominance sometimes turns him on...
N = No - Anything else that would veer into the non-consensual territory is a big no from him. As well as the idea of sharing you. Voyeurism doesn't sit right with him. He's selfish. He wants you all to himself.
O = Oral - Tangerine loves a good blow job. He thinks you look so pretty on your knees. Loves the way your nails rake over the tense muscles of his thighs while you silently urge him to fuck your throat...where he might just comply...That being said, he’s never gonna put his perfect pussy sucking lips to waste! He really loves when you sit on his face. He would pin your thighs, which straddled either side of his head, to the bed; refusing to let up. It's like he wants to suffocate himself on your pussy.
P = Pace - It switches up with whatever got him going. The pace is fast and rough. But he does prefer to go slow because it helps him feel close to you.
Q = Quickie - He's always on the move and sometimes when the calling strikes - Tangerine loves a good quickie. When the Twins invite you on tame missions or out to the club, you’re not fooling anybody, obviously, not with the grin Tangerine wears while leading you to the darkest corner. Lemon’s gotta distract himself with thrumming music or loud videos on his phone to avoid thinking about what his brother is getting up to or into.
R = Risk - He's an exhibitionist, remember? But Tangerine’s got a good idea of what is and isn’t actually dangerous. What is or isn't a safe situation to put you in. And he’s not going to cross that line, especially if he thinks you might get hurt.
S = Stamina - Tangerine is fit and works out daily chasing after perps or swinging the nearest intimate objects into their skulls. He can typically go for a couple rounds or one to two really long ones if he had a relatively calm day.
V = Volume - Vocal. Hell, if anyone actually listens closely to his fighting style, he is always talking. Making those snide comments. It's like he needs to pair an insult with a punch. And that one hundred percent circles back to how he is in the bedroom. Each thrust comes with praise. The delicious drag of his cock elicits a whine or grunt. Then when he is close, he gets breathy. Panting against your skin. Depending on the location of your hookup, and how stealthy you have to be, he's not afraid to really let you hear what you're doing to him.
X = X-Ray - It's a delicious 6-inch. Relatively veiny. Thick and yes, he manscapes. But he's not hairless. Since he is such a perfectionist, he likes to keep his hair down there just tidied.
Y = Yearning - High. And he would never admit it but gets soft often. He catches himself watching you doing the most mundane things like chatting with Lemon or reading over the grocery list and feels his heart swell two sizes. He’s so grateful to have you and that he doesn’t have to go through this world that he created for himself on his own.
Z = Zzz... - He is a contracted killer but a cuddly motherfucker in bed; especially when worn out. His mustache tickles your skin as his kisses slow and breathing regulars out, indicating he has fallen asleep. Safe in his arms is where you're most comfortable, and you're happy to know you can be of comfort to him since he falls asleep so fast.
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ch0wen · 9 months
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AARON TAYLOR-JOHNSON ���Kraven The Hunter” | 2023, dir. J. C. Chandor
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ch0wen · 9 months
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yes I saw the kraven promo…. Yes. I swear, I have been even more deeply inspired.
Asks will be ANSWERED this week!!
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ch0wen · 11 months
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Don’t shoot! I’m gonna post again!
I feel like I lost some momentum and got a bit of writers block. And, here’s a classic, life has just gotten in the way BUT I’ve been drafting little blurb ideas or new parts to my previously created stories.
to all of those who sent in asks or requests. I still have them! Even from months ago! I want to put out stuff I’m happy with and I swear you’ll get some new Tan and Lemon content shortly!
I also know my requests say closed but I’m not gonna punish you for sending stuff in. Please feel free to reach out with your requests and maybe that may inspire me to get a move on!!
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ch0wen · 1 year
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Me, after being horribly inactive for the past few weeks:
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i promise to answer your pending asks! I’m sorry for the silence I’ve just hit a bit of a writers block yuck!
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