#black sea by mark strand | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

doritochoi · 3 months ago

Text

Teacher's Pet | C.S

pairing: fem!reader x teacher!choi san

genre: pure smut, 18+, mdni ( because its always my fav)

warnings: san is in his late 20s, reader is 21 years old, public sex, unprotected sex, big!dick san, teacher x student relationship.

Every day when you left the school building, you would see your art teacher, Mr. Choi. He was sitting in the schoolyard with the other teachers, smoking a cigarette. Even if you weren't a smoker, this sight was inexplicably appealing. You noticed how the pronounced veins on his hand gripped the cigarette with undeniable elegance. It was a small detail that fascinated you every time. You didn't know exactly what attracted you so much to Mr. Choi. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, always with an air of mystery and distinction. Or maybe it was the passion he put into teaching art, inspiring you, to explore your own artistic talents. Despite the fact that you couldn't explain exactly why you were attracted to Mr. Choi, your obsession with him grew day by day. You knew everything about him, from the car he drove—a sleek black Bentley that gleamed in the sunlight—to his daily habits. Indeed, your obsession with Mr. Choi could not be explained only by the external details you observed about him. It was something deeper than that. You are seeing him not only as a teacher, but also as a protective and inspirational figure in your life. In his every gesture and every look you felt safe around him, like he was an anchor in a sea of uncertainty. Being a strong and wise mentor, you wanted to learn more from him and feel protected in his presence.

It was Wednesday, 7 PM. You always waited in the hallway to see your favorite teacher. You even knew when he arrived. You waited until you heard footsteps approaching, knowing it was him because his footsteps had a distinct sound you recognized. You see him climbing the stairs, and hurriedly you enter the classroom. You sat impatiently in the chair, looking towards the door and waiting for Mr. Choi. Finally, the door opens, and he appears in the doorway, exuding an air of safety and elegance. His black jacket matched his hair perfectly, and the slightly unbuttoned shirt revealed a bit of his well-defined chest. His hair framed his face impeccably, and each strand seemed to be carefully placed to highlight the fine features of his face. But the most captivating were his eyes. They were a warm, rich shade like melted caramel. In the sunlight, his eyes were shining in a charming mixture of gold and brown. His gaze, penetrating and mysterious, had the power to hypnotize you. Your eyes traveled further down, noticing his slightly transparent shirt and loosened tie. His slim waist was always a temptation for you. You wanted to feel the texture of his skin under your fingers, notice how it felt to hug that waist that seemed to be ripped from a work of art. Those pants, which sat perfectly on him, accentuating his well-defined figure, were hard to ignore. You couldn't help but turn your gaze to them, noticing how they molded perfectly to his legs and highlighted every movement of his graceful body. With every step he took, the pants seemed to draw your attention more and more, and you couldn't help but want him to get closer, to notice every detail of that charming appearance.

He sat down in the chair and you assumed he was sitting with his legs spread, imagining you could sit on his thighs and move lightly on them. This thought made you feel a little excited rubbing your thighs together. After that, he announced that the next mark would be given for a drawing that would impress him. You didn't hesitate and took out a sheet, starting to draw immediately. In less than ten minutes, you've created a perfect drawing of Mr. Choi in all his glory. His position was exactly the same as sitting on the chair, and every detail of his expression and posture was captured precisely. Mr. Choi sats up elegantly from his chair, and the subtle scent of his perfume wafted throughout the classroom, captivating your senses. With quick and sure steps, he began to walk through the students, finally stopping behind you. He bent down a little, put his hand on your shoulder, and you flinched a little from the movement he made. He looks at your drawing, smirks, then brings his lips to your ear whispering in a husky voice. "Can you meet me after class?", he said so softly that only you could heard. You couldn't believe what you were hearing. You didn't even know what to answer, so you turned your gaze towards him, now staring at his features and nodded.

The hour passed extremely quickly and you have to go home, but you remembered your teacher's words. Before going to his office, you went to the bathroom. You unbuttoned 2 buttons on your shirt and lifted your skirt a little so that your red panties could be seen. You honestly didn't know what was in your head to do something like that, but you couldn't resist anymore. Seeing him so many times with that innocent face, pretending he doesn't notice you, it annoys the hell out of you. After you got your things, you headed to his office. You stopped in front of the big wooden door. That door made you to feel different things, especially since you know very well who is inside. You took a deep breath, put your hand on the doorknob and opened the door. As soon as you opened the door, you started to feel an intoxicating scent of vanilla that was present in the whole room.He was there, sitting on the chair and looking at the laptop. He looked at you from time to time, enjoying every part of your body. "I knew you would come", he closed the laptop making you startle a little. He got up from his chair now seeing how he looked. His shirt was almost undone, and his pants looked wrinkled, you didn't know what or who brought him to that stage, but he looked different. He was getting towards you, and you ended up hitting your back against the wall. You couldn't look at him, so you started lowering your head, looking at the ground. "Look at me, miss," he moved so close to your face that you could feel his breath. You didn't do what he was saying, you continued to look down, annoying him. He wasn't happy with what you were doing so he took your hands and stuck them to the wall above your head forcing you to look into his eyes. "Don't avoid the situation", he started to put his hand on your waist and then lower reaching your panties. He looks at them, then keeps playing with the material. "We both know what you want, and you know well that I can offer you everything you want", this time you could feel his breath on your neck, until you felt something wet. He kissed you in a unic style making you feel things. Mr Choi grins a little, watching how he can dominate your body and see what things he can do to you. "Tell me pretty girl, what is your on your mind?", his voice was so low that only you could hear it. His hands began to roam your body, undoing the buttons on your shirt, now remaining with only the bra visible. "Please, fuck me" ,these were your last words, not thinking twice about what you were going to do.

He picked you up in his arms, you wrapped your legs around his waist, and he took you to the front of his desk, making you sit with your ass on it. His hands started going everywhere, from your firm breasts to your panties. He undid your bra, and a hand massaged your left breast, kissing you passionately. You let out a moan, making him even more excited than before, rubbing his cock against your leg as well. "Bend over ", you didn't even stop to think, because you got off his desk, and you bent over showing him an amazing view. He got down on his knees, tore your skirt, now showing only the red panties you chose for him. "Fuck, I can't wait to taste you", he starts running his hands on your inner thighs, then approaching with his lips, applying small kisses. "Stop teasing, please" , You knew he was the type of person who likes to tease, especially you. He always did this and he likes it a lot. With a determined hand, he starts and removes your panties, looking with such a charming look as if it was all he wanted. He licked his lips, started to come closer and without saying anything, his tongue was already doing its job. Mr. Choi’s tongue moved with deliberate precision, exploring every sensitive spot with a teasing slowness that drove you mad. Each flick and swirl sent waves of pleasure through your body, making you arch your back and press against his mouth. The room filled with your moans, the sound echoing off the walls, blending with the intoxicating scent of vanilla that still lingered in the air. He pulled back slightly, his breath warm against your wetness as he spoke, "Tell me how it feels, pretty girl. I want to hear every detail." You could barely form thoughts, but you managed to gasp out, "It feels amazing... please, don't stop." A smirk played on his lips as he continued his sensual assault, his tongue now circling your clit with agonizing slowness before giving it a gentle suck. Your hands gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles turning white as you fought to stay grounded under the intense pleasure. Just when you thought you couldn't take any more, he slid two fingers inside you, curling them in a way that made stars explode behind your closed eyelids. "You're so wet for me," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "I can feel how much you want this." , "Yes, Mr. Choi... I want you so badly," you panted, your hips bucking against his hand, desperate for more. He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your sensitive skin. "Patience, pretty girl. I want to savor every moment of this." He continued to work you with his fingers, each thrust and curl perfectly timed to keep you on the edge. His thumb found your clit, rubbing it in slow, torturous circles that had you teetering on the brink of climax. But just as you were about to tip over, he stopped, pulling his hand away and leaving you panting and needy. You let out a frustrated whimper, looking down at him with wide, pleading eyes. "Why did you stop?" He stood up, his body towering over you as he undid his belt, the sound of the leather sliding through the loops making your heart race. "Because I want you to beg for it, pretty girl. I want to hear you say exactly what you want." Your eyes locked onto his, filled with desperate desire. "Please, Mr. Choi. I want you inside me. I need to feel you." He slowly lowered his pants and boxers, his hard cock springing free. He stroked it a few times, letting you see just how much he wanted you too. "Is this what you want?" he asked, his voice a low growl. "Yes," you breathed, your eyes locked on his impressive length. "I want you to fuck me. Please."

With a satisfied smirk, he positioned himself at your entrance, rubbing the head of his cock against your wet folds, teasing you just a bit more. "You’re so eager, aren’t you? Such a good girl, asking so nicely." You could only nod, your breath hitching as he slowly began to push inside you. The sensation of him stretching you, filling you completely, was almost too much to bear. You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him deeper, needing to feel every inch of him. He started with slow, deliberate thrusts, each one hitting just the right spot inside you. "You feel so good," he murmured, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "So tight and wet." Your nails dug into his back as you clung to him, your body trembling with pleasure. "Faster, please," you begged, needing him to take you harder. He didn’t need to be told twice. His pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more powerful, more urgent. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your moans and his grunts of pleasure. You could feel the pressure building inside you, the familiar coil of your impending orgasm tightening with each thrust. "Oh, Mr. Choi," you cried out, your head thrown back in ecstasy. "I'm so close.", "Come for me, pretty girl," he urged, his voice rough and demanding. "I want to feel you come around my cock." That was all it took. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your walls clenching around him as you screamed his name. He continued to thrust into you, riding out your climax, pushing you to heights of pleasure you’d never known before. As you came down from your high, he slowed his pace, giving you a moment to catch your breath. But he wasn’t done with you yet. He pulled out and flipped you over, bending you over the desk. The cold wood against your heated skin was a stark contrast that made you shiver. He entered you again, this time from behind, his thrusts deep and relentless. One hand gripped your hip while the other reached around to play with your clit, adding to the overwhelming sensations. "Do you like this, pretty girl?" he asked, his voice strained with his own pleasure. "Do you like being fucked like this?", "Yes," you moaned, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I love it. Don't stop." He didn’t. He kept up the punishing pace, driving you both closer to the edge. You could feel another orgasm building, this one even more intense than the last. "I’m going to come again," you warned, your body trembling with anticipation. "Come for me, pretty girl," he commanded, his voice a growl. "Come all over my cock." With a final, powerful thrust, you did. Your orgasm ripped through you, more intense than anything you’d ever felt. He followed soon after, his own release spilling into you with a guttural moan. For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, the only sound your heavy breathing and the pounding of your heart. He stayed inside you for a moment longer, savoring the feeling, before finally pulling out and collapsing onto the desk beside you. You both lay there, spent and satisfied, basking in the afterglow. "That was incredible," you whispered, your voice hoarse from screaming. He smiled, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "You were incredible, pretty girl."

#ateez scenarios #ateez x reader #ateez smut #san ateez #san x reader #san ff #ateez san #san smut

464 notes · View notes

cl6teen · 11 months ago

Text

affection, ln4 ❀ chapter ii. the need to know

masterlist || chapter i || chapter iii

summary: [4.5k words] drunken nights spent in lando’s townhouse are an ode to your friendship, and maybe just a little bit more.

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

contains: lando and reader are in denial, self friendzoning, lots of reminiscing and fluff, lando taking care of reader, very lazy smut, one night stands, oblivious flirting, talks of sex, intoxication, unprotected sex, pull and pray.

note: not proofread, this can be read as a stand-alone or as part of my affection series, however this is not a required read for said series. (sorry for such a long wait! exams were rough and this was difficult to write for some reason)

❀ silverstone ❀

The overarching sounds of EDM and conversation ring through Lando’s ears in a destructive harmony that’s sure to hit him tomorrow morning in the form of a stupid migraine. Still, he pushes through the sea of bodies crowding around, trying to huddle in close enough to him to hopefully snag a photo of ‘Silverstone’s P2 driver’. It has a nice ring to it, since you said that with Max in this competition, P2 is the new P1, so he should be nothing more proud of his performance.

Prideful he was, enough to confidently down shots with today’s true winner, forgetting how the Dutchman always lets as loose as he can during these after parties. And while they didn’t seem to hit whilst manning the dj turn-tables for the last hour or so, the newfound alcohol in his system was certainly making itself known now.

His hands run through brown tufts of hair as he scans the club entrance for you, “Y/n?”

“Over here.”

You’ve sat yourself in an armchair close to the women’s washroom, where you nurse a half-full lukewarm bottle of water in your hands before taking yet another prolonged sip.

“You look like shit.” He chuckles, leaning down to fix the strands of your hair that stray from the rest.

“Tell me about it,” you roll your eyes playfully, a laugh escapes you both, “you’re not one to talk, either.”

Fair point, he shrugs. With tousled hair that manages to go in every direction except for what it was originally in, sunglasses threatening to fall off the bridge of his nose, and the faint red lipstick marks stained on his unbuttoned white collar, Lando looks far from put together. He’s impossible, how can he have the nerve to talk to how you look on a night out while he was so quick to leave you with Oscar (who you had no problems being with—he just didn’t seem to be the party type) after receiving a shameless once over from a leggy blonde passing your group by upon arrival.

“So, where’s tonight’s girl?” He stares when you passively fold your arms into each other and question, completely unaware of how the movement pushes your chest together. He clicks his tongue, stop looking, Lando.

“Hell if I know.” He sighs in fake disappointment, in hopes of cutting that conversation off as quickly as it was introduced, “you’re staying at mine tonight.”

Okay, you nod. You don’t question it—you never do. Instead you sit quietly and watch him swipe around on his phone, no doubt shooting Max (Fewtrell) a quick text to let him know you were both leaving before calling up an Uber Black. Was this normal? To go home with Lando after a long night out? To you, the answer was always yes—hell, if you need him, say the word and he’s on the way, isn’t that what friends were for?

But other people can’t fathom the idea, they look at the two of you with doubtful eyes after explaining that although you can’t seem to go anywhere without one another, Lando’s just a friend. You sigh in exasperation at the thought, Lando Norris isn’t dateable; at least, not to you. He texts you about the girls he’s on dates with and nitpicks about how their breath smells, or how they had food in their teeth, or the potent perfume they drench themselves in to the point of inducing headaches in people they pass by. He’s whiney, and picky, and—

Lando’s fingers snap in your face and bring you out of your stupor, “What’s got you thinking so hard?”

“Nothing.” Your little jump earns you a perplexed look from Lando, who can only stare you down, “nothing, just want to get some rest.”

“The car is here, but it’s a little walk across the street.” He notices the heels toppled over each other next to the chair—you truly are a mess. “Do you have your purse?” You nod, flimsily holding the bag up for him to see.

Lando is no Superman, he knows that well after an ambitious jump off a bunk bed and straight into an ER visit and a three month cast at the age of ten; but now he feels like he’s got the power to do it all, looping the straps of your heels on a finger and hoisting you into his arms bridal style. It’s far from a pretty sight, but it still manages to grab the attention of partygoers nearby, who point and whisper and gush at the scene in front of them. “People will see, Lando.” You look up at him through dark lashes in an unfamiliar way that gets his gears turning—more than anything, he just wants to get you to this car.

“Yeah, but that’s okay.” He smiles nervously, letting you burrow your head into the crook of his neck to hide from the nipping British breezes outside. It's probably anything but okay; pictures might make their way around, and make both his life and your own a pain in the ass, but he can’t rain it on you like that.

The subtle aroma of your perfume invades his senses, and all of a sudden he’s become so hyper aware of his touch on your skin, the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest—he shakes his head.

In Lando’s mind, you’re but one thing to him; a friend—one he intends to keep like that.

—

Silent car rides in the backseat have never been Lando’s thing, not when he’s drunk, not when he can’t use his phone because he has to watch you. He’s not complaining, really—but there’s a fleeting moment of relief when forty minutes later, the two of you find way to the steps of his townhome, and he's fumbling around in his pockets for the keys while you stay huddled close to him to keep warm despite already sporting his jacket.

He’s profane as he fiddles with the door handle. You’re lucky he’s sweet enough to give you his clothing, because even though he practically threw it at you after listening to your nonstop whines about the cold, and how he ‘wasn’t even fazed by it’, he is actually freezing now.

“Tonight was…”

Rough, Fun, you both say in tandem; Lando’s enthusiasm is unsurprising, he finds himself at home in these situations. Work hard, play harder, he would say—it makes sense, his job is high stakes, stressful, the media is a pain in the ass; you would look forward to the fun bit too.

However, you’re not Lando, you don’t vacation in Ibiza or party with Max Verstappen on weekends—you travel to Thailand and read on rafts, but your best friend making podium during a home race is more than enough reason to show face for the night, so you make your peace with it and thank whoever that you’re home now.

“I need to change out of this,” you refer to the dress you’ve spent the entire after party readjusting and pulling down only to tug back up. “Lend me a shirt?”

“Did you really need to ask?” He speaks from a hunched over position while clumsily taking off his shoes. “You know where my room is.”

It’s a painfully familiar place; Lando’s never around enough to change it up anyway. When was the last time you were here? Maybe two years ago, during summer break, your memory is too foggy, but not to the point where you can forget your first time visiting. You and Lando were nineteen and twenty, and he wanted to use his well earned ‘Y/n’s daddy’ funded bonus on something practical. A house was not what you had in mind, but twenty five year old Carlos had a bottle of wine and a pipe dream of a three person housewarming party (one your father wasn’t too stoked to hear about, no doubt). It ended just as expected, wine drunk and full on that no bake cookie dough, albeit against the wishes of the drivers’ nutritionists, and you somehow bundled up in Lando’s brand new King bed while the other two found their comforts in plastic wrapped couches tucked away in the living room.

The only thing different in Lando’s bedroom are the bedsheets (thankfully), and frames full of podiums that showcase just how far he's come.

The smile you fight while reminiscing falters when you reach to tug at your zipper and fail. For what you spent on it, the list of inconveniences following your dress just seems to grow.

“Lan!” An exasperated huff escapes you, “could you come in for a moment?”

“My zipper, it’s stuck and I can't get it.” You want to cringe at your words, it’s a cliche—one of the many the universe seems to put you two in. Turning away from him, you move your hair out the way to expose your back, “do you mind?”

His fingers feel warm on your back, it’s a foreign feeling that creeps over the expanse of your nerves and has your breath hitched uncomfortably in the back of your throat. Something is just…different—maybe the alcohol, but you’ve been drunk around Lando one too many times and never has it ended like this, with his fingers nervously fiddling with the metal zipper, tugging at your dress material while gently trying to yank it down.

“Lando, that hurts.” you breathe for the first time in what feels like ages.

He kisses his teeth in frustration, placing a firm hand on your waist to keep you from squirming around, “You need to stay still.” The thickness of his accent becomes more apparent with each word.

You feel so weak, letting just a simple touch bully you into submission, silently you nod. The zipper's journey down is agonizing and slow, for both of you; at this moment, Lando wants nothing more than to leave the room, yet his feet seem glued to the ground he stands on. It’s dimly lit, but you can still feel eyes burning holes into your bare skin, up from the nape of your neck and down to the top of your hips that the lace material underneath clings to.

He watches the thin straps of your dress struggle to stay atop your shoulders and fall down your arms, further exposing the skin of your back—he sees a tattoo, one that he convinced you to get in Vegas last year, it looks good, better than he thought it would.

“—did you hear me? Are you done?”

He should leave.

“Yeah, yup. I just got it down,” and as quick as he came, it feels like Lando’s miles away, “I’m gonna go now, just…grab whatever shirt you would like.”

–

“Hey.” You say quietly, padding your way to the kitchen island.

Okay. Things seem a lot more normal between you two. Maybe all that was needed to fix whatever tension between you both was a fresh change of clothes and some bright lighting.

“You hungry?” He prompts, leaning against quartz counters with the world famous boyish smile signature to Lando himself. “I can make us a little snack before bed, just to lighten the hangover you’ll probably get tomorrow.”

You hum sweetly, the time reads 1:53 am—it’s earlier than you thought, time always blurs together when you’re drunk. “Could you get me a glass of water please?”

“Here you are, missy.”

You scrunch your nose up at his tone, “any name but that.” He laughs obnoxiously, proud of how he manages to get under your skin in a way only he can.

The sizzling sounds of grilled cheese on the pan accompanied by the dull hum of a faulty ceiling light are the only ones in the kitchen (you’re constantly telling him to get it fixed, but Lando never seems to follow up on your suggestions, opting for the answer of ‘I don’t even live here like that anymore’). Sipping from your glass, the lipstick stain on his collar catches your eye again—you’re curious, why didn’t he just go home with her?

“So what happened with the girl?”

“What?” He turns to look at you, brows furrowed into a knot. It’s not until you make a little gesture to the base of your neck that he looks down at his own to see what you mean. “Oh, her, what was her name again…Abby, Aria—no, Amy. She was too…onto me, only talked about racing and the other drivers. Don’t get me wrong I like, love, racing, but I want to have a natural conversation.” he searches for the right comparison, “like how you and me flow.”

You and me.

Empathetic, you sigh into your hands, Lando is simple, adjacently, he likes things that are simple; routine and normal, like you two. “Lando, if you keep comparing girls to me you’re going to chase them away.” You think his attitude will be his undoing, but he says if it hasn’t happened now there’s no chance of it happening ever. “Even worse, they’ll think I'm your girlfriend.”

He shrugs calmly, so normal about the entire idea, “Max says they already think that.”

“Yeah well,” you huff out in mild annoyance, stuttering over your words at the thought of Lando discussing your relationship status with someone. “Max doesn’t know everything.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t date you in a million years,” mouthing off, he turns to look at you with a sour face, “too snobby.”

“You talk like you’re not daddy’s money too.” The reaction of your middle finger poking out is almost reflexive. “You’re not my type anyway.”

“That’s a lie. You thought I was cute when I first met you.” It is a lie, a painfully bad one at that—Lando has always been a cutie; though, his constant need to annoy you in some way seemed to drown that aspect of himself out.

“And then your personality came to light.”

The witted banter between you always comes naturally—he would poke and prod at your last fiber of patience with him until you finally find yourself giving your attention to his words and firing something back that would be surefire dig deep had it not been aimed at somebody like Lando.

“Doesn’t mean you don’t think I’m hot.” Sniggering, he shoots you a teasing wink, “don’t worry, I think you’re hot too.”

“I know that, everyone thinks I’m hot.”

He scoffs to himself, he says you’re a narcissist, you say it’s not narcissistic if it’s true.

The spurt of banter is short lived, and soon enough you’re back to hearing the hum of the kitchen lights. It’s peaceful enough, better than the crescendo of club music from an hour ago.

But you’re inebriated—and needing to talk to keep yourself from falling asleep while waiting on Lando, you start, “Have you ever thought about it?”

“About what?”

“You and me,” you repeat his words from earlier, but they’re not laced with the cool and calm confidence Lando had—instead, they’re shaky. You’re unsure if you want to know the answer to your own question.

“Like…dating?” The pitch of his accent goes higher in confusion.

“Uhm, not dating per say…” you down your saliva to slow yourself before continuing, with the liquid courage flowing through your veins, the mental filter that once barricaded stupid nonsense from revealing itself is nowhere to be seen; which sucks because you could really use it right now.

“Do you mean hooking up?” Lando takes the meek stare you give as a yes, and your sudden shyness has him wanting to press you for more, “Have you?”

Have you thought about it? Screwing Lando Norris? Embarrassingly so, you’ve always wanted to sleep with an F1 driver (to know what makes these girls so insane for them, that’s what you tell yourself), but you prefer to keep those fantasies in your head, locked away in an untouchable space where nobody can reach. Still, it would be a lie to say it hadn’t crossed your mind—even if you harbor no romantic feelings towards him, people don’t usually mind sleeping with someone they find physically attractive.

“And what if I have?” You probe, arms folding into each other as you watch Lando watch you out of the corner of his eyes.

You’ll put him into a lot of trouble soon enough, and he dreads the day you do. “You’re funny.”

“So it never crossed your mind?”

Of course it has, look at you—unbelievably pretty even while piss-drunk and dressed in an old wrinkled t-shirt riding up your thighs. Though, he would never tell you that to your face; it would do him more worse than good. Lando might not love you in that sense, but he is a single man with an appreciative eye; he thinks many of the other drivers on the grid can attest to the fact that you’re stunning, some even going as far as using him as a means of snagging your number. He does you the favor of turning them down in your stead, though, because you would never get with any of them—he’s sure of it.

At least, that’s what he hopes.

“Every guy has thought about hooking up with his best female friend, at least once.” He shrugs, not seeming to care about the way your mouth hangs open at his nonchalant vulgarity. Lando doesn’t actually know if it’s the truth, but he sure as hell feels that way about you, wrong or not. You don’t notice, but he’s already turned the stove burner off before facing you with a jerkish smirk, “what, did you want to try tonight?”

“Jesus, goodnight.” You shove at his left shoulder and try to make a b-line back to his bedroom, only to be held back by Lando's outstretched arm that wraps itself around your shoulder.

“Okay, okay,” he’s quick to plead, and he’s equally as quick to overlook the plans of goosebumps that settle across your body at his touch. “What I said was a dick move, I admit it.” Through a fanned breath, he heaves out, “but seriously, hm? What’s got you thinking about all that?”

What has got you thinking about all of this? The shots of Patron making its home in the pits of your stomach mixed with rumors that never seem to die down, maybe. There should be a warning sign, Patron & gossip: can lead to shamelessly flirting and innocently talking about topics like hookups and sex—with Lando Norris no less.

And Lando…

He’s better than this, he knows he’s better than this, letting your suggestions lurch him into a debauched daydream of the two of you coming to a head in the bedroom of his home, skin hot from fleeting touches instead of warm alcohol, hands grabbing underneath the shirt hung over your body and finally being able to do what no other man could—

“It’s not going to happen.”

—do for you.

You bring him out of his thoughts when you quickly dismiss the entire idea (disappointingly so), “I brought it up because I’m…bored, and drunk.” the tone of your voice goes high enough to pan your mumbled words out as a question, even you sound unconvinced of yourself.

Lando recognizes your doubts just as you do. “You suuuure about that?” He says in a way that has you giggling schoolgirlishly into his arms and makes this a little more not-so-awkward. “You know you don’t need to lie to me.”

While there's probably some truth to his reassuring words, he’s being bad, he wants this—maybe even more than you do, you can tell. It makes you a bit more still, knowing that he’s also, to some extent, got a hard on for you in a one-off sense. Meanwhile, Lando’s mind is going a mile a minute (it’s characteristic of someone who actually goes a mile a minute for a living), carefully observing your expressions to see what it is you’re thinking—to some degree he is a gentleman, if you say the words, he’ll forget anything was ever mentioned.

But boy does he want it.

Glassy eyes seem to pierce yours for what seems like an eternity, “Lando…” You hope your voice is calmer than how you feel, but it’s not promising; the world around you feels standstill—like you can’t even breathe for air.

“Don’t say my name like that.” He mumbles, eyes softening at how your body relaxes into his own. The two of you dance around the point of no return, still, magnetically you gravitate towards it. You want to embrace it tonight, and worry about the mess brewing tomorrow.

“Fucking hell.” He curses in the endearing way only a Brit can, arm circling the small of your back and lips ghosting against your own, “it’s just a one time thing.”

“Just this once…”

Just this once is what you tell yourselves when his lips catch your own, tongue languidly breaching your mouth whilst pulling you closer into him as you fall into his touch and wrap your arms around his neck. It’s just this once that he’ll push away plates and keys to pick you up and sit you on the kitchen counters for you to entangle your fingers within his curls, moaning for more as he kisses his way around your neck.

It’s just this once you’ll sleep with him.

—

Lando, like with everything else, is a massive tease. You should complain, but the feeling of warm hands hiking up your t-shirt short circuits your nerves and limits whatever capability you have to bite back, so you take it all; the ghostly touches, trailing kisses along your jaw, and hands wandering from the crux of your neck down to your entrance.

It aches so unfamiliarly, cotton panties are tugged haphazardly to the side and your pussy is wet and overstimulated.

Yes, that’s the word you’ve been looking for. It’s all so overstimulating, the fading pulsations of your last orgasm brought on from having two thick fingers scissoring out of you, the puffiness of your nipples still sensitive from Lando’s ongoing oral fixation, and the feeling of his dick messily slotting itself between folds and up against your clit, it’s all just so much.

“Lando…” You whine, “c’mon.”

He mocks you with a haughty smile, repeating his name shamelessly in a pitch much higher than your own. There’s little to be embarrassed about, yet you feel so exposed, in both a literal and figurative sense. He’s drawn two orgasms out of you with such ease, like your body is as simple to navigate as a track, all without even fucking you properly. Somewhere deep down you’re grateful he’s so observant; it’s a wildly different experience than what you’re used to in every way possible.

“Did you want me to do something? You need to use your words.” He feigns ignorance, like he doesn’t feel the clinging drag of your naked hips against his crotch. Right now, there is nothing nice about Lando—he’s brought you to the edge and left you to plead for him to dig his hands into the meat of your thighs and finally fuck you as promised.

And with eyes barred shut, you do ask for it, muttering a quaint just put it in with a hushed whimper that shoots straight through him, fueling some kind of excessive desire to give it to you straight.

“Lan!” Your instincts to twitch take hold of you when you feel the tip inch into you, stretching you out more than anything else.

“Relax.” He soothes not only you, lazily thumbing your clit to distract your body from the unnerving stretch of him bottoming out, but also himself; there’s a prayer he’s mumbling at the back of his mind, asking for strength to keep him from succumbing to the biting grip your walls welcome him with, he could cum on entry alone. “That feel good?”

It feels great, but you can’t find the words to talk, so you opt for the drawn out whine that amplifies to a full moan when he finds his rhythm. You guess Lando fucks like he races, wild but calculated, hard and fast. His thrusts push you up closer to the headboard, and you think you see stars with each one. Lando’s dilated eyes are focused on the way your boobs move in tandem with his hips, which roll into your own unforgivingly.

If this is what he gets when he does well, he needs to get those wins and that championship, as soon as possible.

“Just like that, Lan.” You exhale out, fingers darting to grapple at his wild brown tufts, “I want more of you. Need it.”

To hear you say you need him, it makes him somewhat insane. His body is eager to close in on your own, lips ghosting over your jaw and inching closer to your ear as a hand gently finds its way to your neck.

“You feel so perfect.” He’s so breathless, practically whining into your ears about just how good you feel, It doesn’t reach you, you’re too focused on feeling every inch of dick buried into you. It feels like he’s mushing up your insides, hitting spongy walls that desperately cling to him. Every thrust is harder than his last, and the way the trimmed hair resting above his base brushes against your clit provides all the extra stimulation that has your head lazily rolling to the side.

You’re not sure when you cum, but you do. It’s wet and his name is hot on your tongue, as if you’re cheering him on to fuck you through your orgasm, and who is he to deny you? Lando’s undoubtedly happy to see the pleasure he’s giving you, his eyes blowing wide at the feeling of his lower abdomen growing soaked by your arousal.

“Look at you,” he marvels, prideful and horny, “ever done that before?”

You haven’t—it freaks you out, yet despite all of your hurried apologies and groans of embarrassment, Lando finds himself dipping his head into the crux of your neck to suppress a groan. You’re so pretty it hurts him, his hips bore deeper into yours, hoping to get closer than humanly possible.

When he kisses you, your legs slither around his waist as if to cage him. You’ll be the death of him—the two of you are playing a dangerous game, and you both know it.

“You shouldn’t do that,” he smiles against your lips, and your body melts like putty, malleable enough for him to pry your legs from its digging into his back and push them closer towards you by your thighs.

His pace noticeably falters when you flutter around him. You’re muttering something about coming inside, pleading for it—but he pays you no mind; you’re intoxicated by the feeling of dopamine, and as much as he would love it, the feeling of stuffing you full, he’s a smarter man than that.

He cums with a guttural fuck, barely managing to rip himself away from your clutches and spill himself onto your stomach—and you just watch, doe eyed and jolted by the warm feeling on your skin. You both pant heavily against one another, until all you can hear is the noise of the London night leaking in from an ajar window.

“Hey.” He lazes out, rubbing circles on your thigh.

“Hi.”

“This can’t—” happen again, get out to anyone—there’s so much he could say, but you would rather not hear it. Not tonight.

“Yeah.”

❀❀

tags: @babyvinnie @leclercdream @im-an-overthinker@ririyulife @1655clean @sukisheadlights @harrysdimple05 @drunkinthemiddleoftheday

(if bolded i couldn’t tag you i’m so sorry!)

#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 smut #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris smut #f1 x female reader #f1 x black!reader #f1 x you

1K notes · View notes

celebtf · 5 months ago

Text

THE NEW PRINCE, HOOK

Under the night-cover, Hook seeked out the witch who was hiding in the outskirts of town. Her lair was a maze of twisted roots and flickering candles, and the air was thick with the scent of herbs.

"I need a potion," Hook demanded, his voice edged with desperation. "One that will let me swap lives with another."

The witch, her eyes glinting with joyfull glee, made a potion with ingredients known only to her dark arts. "This will do the trick," she said, handing Hook a vial of swirling, iridescent liquid. "But be warned, such magic comes with consequences."

Hook didn't care about consequences. All he wanted was to live the life of a hero, to be adored as Prince Charming was. That night, during a grand banquet in the prince's honor, Hook found his chance. He slipped the potion into Charming's drink, his heart pounding with anticipation.

As the potion took effect, a strange sensation overcame them both. Hook felt his body shift, his very essence being pulled and stretched. A violent surge ran through him, as if his bones were melting and reforming all at once. His skin tingled and burned, muscles twitching uncontrollably. He clutched the edge of a table to steady himself, his vision blurring as the room spun around him.

He looked down to see his hand, once rough and scarred from years at sea, smoothing out, the skin becoming fair and un-scared His fingers lengthened, becoming more elegant and refined. He felt his face contorting, bones cracking and rearranging. His jawline softened, the rugged stubble that had always marked his chin receding until his skin was smooth. His nose narrowed, cheekbones rising higher beneath his eyes.

His hair, once dark lightened to a golden color, the strands growing softer and more luxurious. He felt his body stretch taller, his posture straightening from the familiar pirate’s slouch to the proud and straight posture of a prince. His clothes, rough and worn, transformed into fine, royal garments, rich with intricate embroidery and vibrant colors.

Across the room, Charming experienced a similar torment. His handsome, noble features twisted and warped. His golden hair darkened, becoming a tangled mess of black curls. His clean-shaven face grew rough with stubble, his jawline becoming sharper, more angular. His muscular frame shrank slightly, becoming leaner.

His royal attire morphed into the rugged, leather-clad outfit of a pirate. The new elegance of a prince went away. He looked down at his hand, now rough and scared, a pirate’s hook replacing where his left hand used to be.

When it was over, Hook, now in Charming’s body, looked at his reflection in a polished silver goblet. He saw not the feared pirate, but the beloved prince. A big grin spread across his face. He was now Prince Charming, and the real prince, trapped in Hook's form, stared back at him in horror.

The transformation was seamless. No one suspected a thing. Hook reveled in his new life, soaking in the adoration and respect that had always been out of reach. He performed heroic deeds, courted the beautiful Snow White, and lived a life of luxury and honor.

Meanwhile, the real Prince Charming, now in Hook's body, faced a grim fate. Labeled as the notorious pirate, he was swiftly arrested and thrown into the town jail. His protests of innocence fell, for who would believe the words of a pirate like Hook?

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. Hook, living as Charming, found joy in every stolen moment of his sad new life. He had no regrets, only a deep satisfaction. For him, there was no need for a happy ending beyond this—the life he had coveted was now his, and he intended to keep it that way.

As for the real Prince Charming, bored in a cold, dark cell, hope seemed a distant memory. The town had moved on, and so had Hook, leaving Charming to rot in the misery of a fate that was never meant to be his.

And so, the tale concluded not with a happy ending, but with a cruel twist of fate—Captain Hook living the life of Prince Charming, while the true prince languished in obscurity, a prisoner of envy and dark magic.

#celebrity tf #body swap #celebtf #transformation #gay #male body suit #malebody swap #male shapeshift #body switch #character transformation #captain hook #prince charming #ouat

134 notes · View notes

niki-phoria · 1 month ago

Text

痛苦会释怀当我放下所有等待 / waiting love is you like that 离开没有你的对白

pairing: biker!choso x gn!reader genre: fluff word count: 579

notes: had an idea for biker choso and it turned into this idk, sorry if the ending is weird !! this is not proofread, please forgive any mistakes <33, title from wayv - all for love

drowning out the darkness where the stars would be, the city lights blur together in a sea of twinkling golden hues. moonlight shines down from above, painting the world silver. reaching down to turn the key, KAMO CHOSO stops his motorcycle. his boot hits the edge of the metal kickstand as he steps off of it.

you watch as he tugs his helmet off before setting it aside. stray strands of long, black hair cascade down choso’s shoulders. his bangs frame his face, highlighting his sharp features. with his helmet now removed you can see the clearly defined edges of his curse mark stretching across his cheeks and nose.

following choso’s lead, you tug your own helmet off. the plastic exterior has been painted white, leaving only a few black accents. it feels heavy as you turn it around in your hands, admiring how its fresh polish reflects the shine of the moonlight.

“your hair is all messy,” choso chuckles. his gloved hands feel rough against your skin when he raises them to cup your face. his fingertips linger longer than necessary, though you make no attempts to pull away. he smiles softly as he sets your helmet aside, abandoned on the side of his bike next to his own. after a few seconds, choso sheepishly smiles. he mumbles an apology beneath his breath when he pulls away, nervously taking a few steps back and giving you enough room to step off of the motorcycle yourself.

choso turns, pulling his gloves off as he turns to face the skyline. the lights seem to shine in the reflection of his dark eyes. “wow,” you murmur, following his gaze towards the shore. “it’s beautiful.”

“yeah,” choso hums. warmth rushes to his cheeks as he smiles to himself. butterflies fill his stomach in an angry swarm. he can all but hear each time his heart beats in his chest; the sound is only drowned out by your voice. “it is.”

“thank you for bringing me here,” you say quietly. even in the darkness, your hand finds choso’s easily. you intertwine your fingers together, gently stroking your thumb against his skin. “it really is beautiful.”

“of course.” choso pauses for a second. he turns to face you before he continues. “to be honest, you were the first person i thought of when i found this place.” his voice falls to a hushed whisper; his gaze refuses to leave your own.your breath hitches in surprise. you turn to face him with wide eyes, waiting with bated breath as he continues. “as soon as i saw it, i knew i had to show you. i know i wanted you to be here with me.”

“cho,” you murmur.

“y/n,” choso reaches up to cup your cheek, gently stroking his hand against your skin. “i have feelings for you.”

you smile softly, reaching up to gently push a stray strand of hair away from his face. “i have feelings for you, too.”

for the next few seconds, the world seems to stop. choso’s lips are soft as they meet your own. you wrap your arms around his shoulders, brushing your fingers through his stray strands of hair.

choso smiles brightly when you finally pull away. you can almost feel the warmth radiating from his cheeks. “can i take you out on a date sometime, then?”

you lean in, pressing another chaste kiss to his cheek, just below his curse mark. “i thought you’d never ask.”

taglist (open! send an ask/dm to be added): @sunoooism @vaxmpi @sad-darksoul @kamote-kuneho @dog55teeth

if you liked this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, feedback, or reblogging !! and if you want to support me, check out my jjk masterlist <33

76 notes · View notes

bloodylullaby · 6 months ago

Text

Author's Note: It's been a while since I wrote Smut, so I am a little rusty.

Parings: Noah Sevastian x Reader

Word Count: 1739

Warnings: 18+: heavy making out, sex

MasterList

Today marks your and Noah’s four-year anniversary, and boy, did he go all out. As a man with golden retriever energy, his love language is giving, and he certainly showed it today. From the minute you woke up, he was pampering you. Your day started with brunch in bed; Noah served you your favorite breakfast foods along with his version of bottomless mimosas. The tray was filled with freshly baked pancakes, fluffy scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and a small fruit platter that looked like it belonged in a magazine. He refilled your glass with a smile, ensuring you had everything. Every detail, from the freshly squeezed orange juice to the perfectly chilled champagne, was meticulously prepared to make you feel cherished and adored. As you enjoyed the delicious meal, he sat beside you, his eyes shining with joy and affection, soaking in every moment of your happiness. This was just the beginning of a day filled with love and surprises.

After your giant breakfast, he hurried you into the shower, where he joined you. The warm water cascaded over both of you as he gently helped you wash your hair, his fingers working through the strands tenderly. He gave you a scalp massage that felt like a full-body experience, his hands skillfully kneading away any tension. Every touch was deliberate, ensuring no part of you was left untouched or unworshipped. He moved with loving precision, his hands gliding over your skin, leaving a trail of warmth and relaxation. The intimacy of the moment, combined with the soothing rhythm of the water, made you feel cherished and adored. This was more than just a shower; it was an act of love, a celebration of your bond.

After begrudgingly leaving the shower, you both got dressed for a day full of fun and laughter. He took you everywhere, and anywhere you wanted to go. Your first stop was a romantic trip to the aquarium, where you marveled at your favorite sea animals. The gentle swaying of the jellyfish, the otters' playful antics, and the sharks' majestic glide captivated both of you, filling your hearts with wonder.

Next, you had a picnic lunch in the botanical gardens, surrounded by your favorite flowers. The air was filled with the sweet fragrance of blooming roses, and the vibrant colors of the garden created a picturesque backdrop. You sat on a cozy blanket, enjoying the delicious food Noah had packed, from sandwiches to fresh fruit and homemade baked goods. Laughter and conversation flowed easily, making the moment feel magical.

The day's final stop was a pottery place, where you got to pick pieces to glaze together. You opted for a mug, imagining cozy mornings sipping coffee, while Noah chose a dog bowl for your puppy. As you both carefully applied the glaze, you couldn't help but giggle at the splatters of paint and the creative designs you came up with. The experience was fun and intimate, a perfect ending to an incredible day.

Once you got home from your long but fun day, you found a little black dress on the bed. “Put it on,” he gently said with a smile. As you slipped into the dress, feeling the luxurious fabric against your skin, Noah quickly dressed up alongside you. He looked dashing in his suit, his eyes twinkling with excitement. Hand in hand, he led you to the nicest restaurant in town. The ambiance was perfect, with soft lighting, elegant decor, and the gentle hum of live music in the background. The host greeted you warmly and escorted you to a private table adorned with candles and fresh flowers. The evening unfolded like a dream, with exquisite dishes, fine wine, and heartfelt conversation.

As the night progressed, you both eventually made your way back home. Noah sat on the bed, looking more beautiful than ever. After all the effort he put into making today so unique, you wanted to do something special for him. You start to make your way over to him seductively, ensuring every move catches his eye. His gaze follows your every step, filled with anticipation and admiration. As you finally reach him, you straddle him and feel the warmth of his body beneath you. You lean in and give him a kiss filled with pure passion and hunger, your lips melding together in a fiery dance. Running your fingers down his arm, your hands interlock, creating a connection that sends shivers down your spine.

“I want to make you feel good,” you whisper, your breath hot against his ear. He gently moans, a sound that stirs a deep hunger within you. You continue to kiss him, your lips trailing down to his neck, tasting the salt of his skin as his heartbeat quickens. Your hands roam over his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breaths as you both lose yourselves in the moment. Noah's hands move to your waist, pulling you closer, his touch igniting a fire within you.

The room fades away, leaving just the two of you in this intimate bubble. Your whispered promises and his soft responses create a symphony of desire, filling the space between you with a palpable energy. You pull back slightly, looking into his eyes, seeing the same hunger reflected in them. "Let me take care of you tonight," you murmur, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. His eyes close as he leans into your touch, a contented smile on his lips.

You guide Noah’s hands to the zipper on the back of your dress, encouraging him to undress you. He takes the opportunity to tease you, his fingers lingering at the zipper before slowly, tantalizingly undoing it. Each inch the zipper descends feels like an eternity, heightening your anticipation and driving you wild. He peppers your neck with soft kisses and gentle nips, his breath warm against your skin as he continues. The combination of his deliberate touch and the sensual assault on your neck sends shivers down your spine, making your pulse race. His hands glide over your exposed skin as the dress loosens, adding to the electric charge between you.

It was your turn to undress him. Slowly, you unbuttoned his shirt, your fingers lingering on each button, grazing his skin with every movement. His breath hitched with each touch, his eyes locked onto yours with anticipation. You slid the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, and trailed your fingers down his chest, planting soft kisses along the way. You savored the moment, enjoying how his body responded to your touch. As you reached his belt, you looked up at him with a mischievous smile, taking your time to undo it and then sliding his pants down. Once the both of you were entirely naked, you both locked lips again.

With one hand traveling down between your thighs, Noah put his other hand on the back of your neck and pulled you down so he could kiss you deeply. Despite the intensity of his kiss, you could barely concentrate as his fingers continued to move with delicate and expert precision on your clit. The sensation sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, making it hard to focus on anything else but the overwhelming ecstasy building within you. Noah's touch was both tender and skillful, his every movement sending you closer and closer to the edge of bliss. With each stroke, each caress, he brought you higher until you were teetering on the brink of release, lost in the intoxicating rhythm of his touch and the passion of his kiss.

You pulled back a little to look into his eyes. “Lay back,” you said. Noah complied, propping himself up on the pillows. As you climbed back on top of him, you positioned yourself at his entrance. With slow, deliberate movements, you began to sink down onto him, feeling the exquisite sensation of being filled. As your bodies joined, you both moaned in unison, the shared pleasure amplifying the intimacy of the moment. He placed both hands on your hips, guiding your movements as you rocked back and forth, each motion sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. The sensation of his touch, combined with the rhythmic friction between your bodies, heightened the connection between you, deepening the intimacy of your lovemaking.

The more you continued, the harder it was for him to sit back. Sensing his increasing urgency, he changed tactics and pulled you closer to him, his grip firm yet tender. You felt him slightly lifting off the bed, his hips rocking back and forth in a synchronized rhythm with yours. The new angle intensified the sensations coursing through your bodies, heightening the pleasure and deepening your connection. Lost in the moment, you moved together in perfect harmony, each movement bringing you closer to the peak of ecstasy.

He changed positions swiftly yet gently, flipping you onto your back. He positioned your legs on his shoulders with precision and care, creating a new angle. You gazed up at him, feeling a rush of anticipation and desire as he leaned in closer, his eyes locked with yours. In this new position, every touch and every movement sends sparks of pleasure coursing through your body, igniting a fiery passion between you.

In the heat of passion, you and Noah lose yourselves in the rhythm of your affectionate intimacy. With each thrust and caress, your connection deepens, as if every touch speaks volumes of unspoken words. The room fills with the sound of your shared moans and the symphony of your bodies moving together in perfect harmony. As the intensity builds, you feel yourselves teetering on the edge of ecstasy, on the brink of release. Noah's movements become more urgent, his touch more vibrant, as he strives to bring you both to the highest level of satisfaction. And then, with a shared gasp and a final surge of passion, you both reach the peak, exploding in a cascade of blissful release.

Breathless and spent, you collapse into each other's arms, your hearts racing synchronously. In the quiet aftermath, you bask in the warmth of your shared intimacy. As you lay there, entwined in each other's embrace, you know that this moment will be a testament to the depth of your love and the beauty of your connection. Nuzzling closer to Noah, you drift into a peaceful slumber, eagerly anticipating the next four years' adventures.

#bad omens band #noah sebastian #bad omens #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fic #fanfic #noah sebastian davis #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian x you #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian smut

101 notes · View notes

tadpolesonalgae · 1 year ago

Text

Mer!Azriel x reader: The Dregs of Tragedy - Part 4

A/N: a full twenty minutes of italicising later…

Word Count: 3,848

-Part 3- -Part 5-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

The water cools the aching sizzle to your skin, firm, powerful arms wrapped around your waist, a single palm pressed between your shoulder blades.

Eyes crack open, and you suddenly realise you can’t breathe.

Muscles seize, locking as contractions rip through your body, spasming and clenching as you thrash against his constraints. Scarified fingers firmly stroke over your ribs, gills stuttering to life again as air is hauled down into painfully tight lungs.

Moments pass, calming your heartbeat, settling back into the powerful lines of his body, tail brushing idly against your bound legs, still taking care to monitor and measure. The bones in your legs ache, but not as much—little enough you find yourself wrapping your arms around his back, cheek remaining against his shoulder as you’re swept back into the depths of unconsciousness.

————

When you return to the world, he’s taken you above water, thumbing away mischievous strands of hair that had stuck to your forehead, plastering themselves to your skin.

“How do you feel?” He rasps lowly, forearm kept securely at the dip of your spine.

You blink wearily up at him, wishing to sink back into the water, finding the air too hot, too muggy. “How much longer?” You croak, head ducking into your shoulders, wanting to submerge yourself. “Likely a few more hours until the aches fade,” he responds, “you should stretch. It will help tomorrow, learning how to control your movements.”

That gets your attention, pushing up and away a little, enough so you can peer into his large, onyx gaze, able to see your reflection in his— Good Gods. You watch in the depthless black as fingers trace your skin, watching your own movements, pressing lightly to the lids of your eyes, now as round as his, equally dark. Ears stick from the sides of your head, like spines joined together by a thin layer of skin—similar to the webbed footing of sea creatures.

“What…?”

“It’s over,” he rasps, skin prickling beneath his touch as his hand soothes your back, sensitivity rippling across the area, a feeling of dizziness washing over you with such force you feel winded. His eyes widen marginally, hand snatching away, darting down to your side, vacating your spine hastily. Your pulse beats heavily in your ears, loud enough you could swear you hear the blood rushing. Breaths ease in and out, filling your chest as your heart begins to slow again.

“What’s over?” You manage, mind frazzled from the sudden torrent of sensitivity that’s racing across your skin, feeling tingly but…good. His throat rolls, and you mark it absently, eyes dropping briefly before returning to his, hardly aware of your own actions. He nods his head, and you follow his look. Instead of a pair of legs below you, lies a long, iridescent tail, sparkling with tiny, glittering scales.

You inhale sharply, startling as you automatically try to kick away from the foreign appendage but it moves with you. Azriel’s hands tighten on your hips, the rough pads of his fingers digging into the supple skin of your waist, keeping you from propelling yourself back into the barnacle-covered wall. Shakily, and with immense effort, you manage to still the writhing limb, finally settling to a halt.

“What— When did that happen?” You whisper hoarsely, hands subconsciously gripping the muscle of his upper arms, using him to anchor yourself. “While you were asleep,” he rasps in return. “You slept through it.” The edges of his mouth soften slightly, amusement gleaming in his dark eyes. “But I had hours left,” you argue quietly, “you said it would hurt, and would last until sunrise.”

“It’s past sunrise,” he answers, tail brushing against yours, making it flinch with curiosity.

You blink in surprise. “It’s…past sunrise…?” You repeat doubtfully, making the corners of his soft mouth quirk further. “Recently past,” he corrects, still with that gleam to his eyes.

“So it’s over…” you murmur hesitantly. “I’m not…it’s gone?” He nods, keeping you still in the water. “Are you ready to swim out?” He asks, and again you feel doubt flutter in the fit of your stomach at the raspy tone. “Swim out?” You question, brows fashioning themselves into a skeptical line. “Your muscles will begin aching and cramping shortly if they aren’t already, so it’s best to start using them to familiarise yourself with our movements.”

Not knowing how else to respond, you nod uncertainly—is he going to take you out from this cave?

“Remember to breathe,” he instructs quietly, before pulling you under, the cool sea water instantly soothing the warmth of your steadily drying hair. Gills flutter open, bringing in air via tiny capillaries, and he guides you down through the submerged tunnels. Though he doesn’t speak, you swear you can see amusement in his gaze while he swims leisurely through the water, watching as you gingerly pull yourself along the rock cave, tail occasionally twitching when you move to press your feet into the stone.

When you reach open water, you hesitate, peering out from the safety of the dark tunnel, staring into the open expanse of water before you—nothing but blue.

Scared?

You flinch, head snapping in his direction, shooting a scathing glare. His laugh echoes in your mind, hairs rising at the nape of your neck, something squirming in the pit of your stomach at the sound. What— How are you doing that? You think warily, fingers gripping tight to the jagged rock. He swims forward, and you instinctively want to shift further back into the cave but stand your ground.

How do you think we communicate underwater? He asks, hand beckoning you forward, out into the open. Doubtfully, you take it, palm pressing to his as you try to wiggle your tail. He blinks briefly, before his mouth softens almost imperceptibly, reaching out his other hand for you to hold.

I hadn’t thought about it, you answer honestly, focus directed on staring down at your tail, trying to connect the muscles to movement. So you can all freely communicate with one another? Anytime you want? You ask, shifting your gaze to meet his.

There are some requirements that need to be met, he replies, but for the most part, that’s right.

Your brow furrows. Why couldn’t you call for help when you were stranded? Surely you could have called for someone?

One of the requirements, he repeats, dodging the question. Curiosity licks up your spine, and you fix your gaze on him. You said we couldn’t have that conversation then, you remind him, but did you know my husband?

I thought we agreed he wasn’t your husband.

Your tail flicks sharply with irritation, sending you abruptly lancing forward. Azriel’s hands tighten on yours before swiftly moving to your shoulders, keeping you in place, moving so he’s slightly below you in the open water. A muscle in your jaw ticks, but you remember to keep your lips sealed shut. Did you know Alaric? You reiterate, fixing your gaze on him. In a sense, he replies casually, large dark eyes locked with your own, intensity simmering within the glittering onyx.

Stop avoiding the question, you seethe quietly, brow tightening. Give me a straight answer.

How about I give you an answer once you’ve figured out how to swim a little?

You glare at him begrudgingly, but relent. It’s not like you can force him to tell you. You’ll just have to go along with him for now. How do I do it? You ask, attempting to shift your tail in the motions he uses.

Azriel’s lips lift at the edges, before he’s shifting below you, hands coming to rest on your waist as if he’s lying on his back. Try just moving slowly, seeing what connects to where. Then become accustom with those movements. You send him a doubtful look, then try what he’s suggested. It sends you tipping forward, hands flying to press against his shoulders, keeping you from knocking him in the head with your own.

No sound enters your mind, but you feel his mirth whisper along your bones, warm and soft. It takes a while, but eventually you’re able to move how you want, but there are so many muscles it’s difficult to remember what goes where.

Now try rolling your tail, he instructs, and you stare at him blankly. Like I do, he reminds, a deep chuckle underlying his words. Azriel shifts again, and his hand brushes across the bare skin of your stomach. You bite back on the instinct to jerk away from the intimate touch. Most of your control will start here, he guides, palm splayed out, your pulse picking up as skin tingles. The muscles that connect to the tendon start here, and near the base of your spine. Then lower are the ones that help with angling your fins.

Before you can clock what he’s doing, his hand has slid lower, past your abdomen, moving to slip between— He pulls away, having spotted the way your muscles contracted. There’s nothing there for you to worry about, he reminds wryly, having you shoot him a heated look, lips pressed tight together. Keep your hands to yourself, you think back, having his own lips quirk.

He releases you, swimming out and away, coming to a stop the distance of about three small fishing boats away from you. Arms open tauntingly, hands beckoning with a gleam in his charcoal black gaze. Come over here, and I’ll answer your question, he challenges.

Are you serious? You snap, already feeling like you’re sinking despite not moving thanks to the air steadily flowing in and out of your lungs. Are you no longer interested? He asks.

Teeth grit together, and you instinctively open your arms to balance, feeling sensitive and overexposed in the water, no clothing concealing your skin from his intense eyes.

Slowly, you begin to shift your tail, moving haphazardly, with quick, jerking movements. This is ridiculous, you mutter, arms flailing as you try to keep in a straight line. You have to learn somehow, he counters, waiting patiently without hurrying you along. Allowing you to figure things out on your own.

After what feels like hours, the pads of your fingers brush over top his shoulders, broad and powerful palms settling around your waist, connecting you together. That was good, he says into your mind, you just need to practice, then you’ll be able to swim freely.

Don’t divert, you reply, staring at him, mind aching from frustration and concentration. His mouth shifts into a faint smile, soft and muted, and you become aware of the placement of his hands. The rough but gentle press of his fingers into the supple skin of your waist. You knew Alaric.

The smile slips away, mouth settling into a serious set. I did.

For how long? You ask, peering up into his onyx eyes.

I’ve known about his family line since humans settled there.

So a long time, you push quietly.

A long time indeed, he replies, signs of amusement long gone. Your brow dips at the seriousness of his expression. What happened? You ask, wariness lacing your tone. His features remain neutral, eyes unreadable, no matter how deep you try to peer into his mind.

Mer are difficult to kill for humans, but not impossible, he begins quietly. The scale he wears around his neck is one I know, and was familiar with. You wait for him to continue, but he seems reluctant to give anymore, and you feel hesitant to push. You have no idea how recent this is for him, only that you first noticed the scale a few years ago. Does time feel the same for him, or is a couple of years similar to mere months?

Was the person special to you? You ask quietly, wary of prodding old wounds.

As special as most of mer are to one another, he answers, as a dwindling species, we have to look after our own and take care of ourselves.

So how did you end up caught in that wire? His expression hardens, skin prickling at the look, unable to remove your gaze from his, a magnetic pull keeping you attached.

They’ve begun lacing wire with a poison that reacts to our kind. A nick alone could be fatal to a child with how badly it reacts with our magic, he explains calmly, ice underling his tone. And that wire had the poison on? You ask, already having guessed at the answer. He nods, and your eyes drop to his throat, voice still raspy from where it had sliced and constricted. It’ll heal, he says quietly into your mind, reading the question in your gaze. Or perhaps you’d already thought it aloud.

I’m sorry that happened to you, you think softly, still watching him silently, unable to look away. The pads of his fingers press a little harder into the softness of waist, but you don’t try to wriggle away. I’m sorry you ended up with a husband like him, he replies, having your features sour. But then they soften a little. I don’t think it was all bad, you murmur. Azriel’s brow narrows, peering down at you.

Don’t try and make excuses for him, he warns lowly, you didn’t deserve someone who hurt you.

I wasn’t going to make excuses for him, you reply tersely, features shifting to match his own before relaxing. But I wouldn’t have gotten out otherwise.

He watches you silently, an indiscernible expression upon his features, something flickering through his gaze at your admission.

Maybe it isn’t all bad.

————

Much to your irritation, he’d made you swim most of the way back to the cave system, saying it would help to get as much practice in as possible to help keep the aches at bay. At least until your body is fully healed from the sudden change. He’d taken you through another series of tunnels, leading deeper and deeper, going slowly to make sure you didn’t crash into any of the walls.

The cave opens up into a large cavern, and sea water nearly fills your mouth, fighting to resist the urge to part your lips in awe.

Before you is a magnificent cavern, lit by glowing little creatures that stick to the walls, multi-coloured coral scattered across the sandy bottom like a hand-knitted blanket. A beautiful arrangement of aquamarine blues, waterlily pinks, and starfish oranges. Seaweed coats the walls in thick patches, waving like tall grass with the current that passes through the tunnels. Speckled, shimmering fish dart in and out from smoothed out stones littered in mother-of-pearl shells, shimmering like silver as colourful tails flicker with energetic life. Across the floor tiny crabs scuttle, painted a pretty red like the horizon on a clear sunset.

What is this place? You manage to think, eyes darting repeatedly from one side of the cavern to the other, each time picking out new things to peer at and examine. The edges of Azriel’s mouth lift into a smile, and he swims deeper, evidently familiar with the haven. I made it, he responds, passing through a patch of seaweed, small fishes already gathering and moving with him, tiny flashes of silver as they match his speed and direction.

You made it? You echo, staring at him.

Well, some of it was already here, he replies, and you can hear the low laughter in his tone, deep and rich. I didn’t carve the cave out, that was already here. Same as the coral. But the creatures and a few other other things—I brought those in.

You stare in wonder at the cave, so beautiful and thriving with life and an undercurrent of energy. It’s amazing, you think as he swims up to your side, making to bring you further into his world—still at the lip of the tunnel. There’s another cave like this, deeper out at sea, he thinks, and you manage to rip your gaze from the cavern, sensing what he’s about to say is important. It’s called the Rainbow, he says quietly, it’s much larger than here. The coral is thicker, life is more prominent, and the whole place glows.

Eyes blink, trying to comprehend a place more beautiful. Is that what made you want to create this? You question softly, meeting his onyx gaze. The Rainbow? He nods, inky hair swaying with the motion. Come, he says, there are more creatures at the bed.

You don’t have it in you to resist as he swims to be above you, hands gently latching to your hips as he helps guide you lower, able to see more flashes of colour as life becomes apparent. More crabs scuttling, tall and spiralling sea shells that gleam with pearl, strange purple blobs that have a slightly red hue and look gooey and gelatinous. Starfishes are plastered to the rock, colourful plants that look like tubes sticking out while fishes dart about the bed, stirring up wisps of sand.

How long did this take? You ask him, managing to swim lower as he releases you, lips stretching when you peer beneath a rock, finding a red and blue speckled octopus napping in the shade. Centuries, he responds, watching as you explore, pulse thumping in his chest. It’s still developing, and will continue to do so long after I’m gone.

You swim further, selecting a shell to pick up, examining it in the pretty lights, watching how the colours shine across its surface. A red, white, and black striped fish swims past, and you follow after it, using your hands to scale the rock instead of your tail.

Try swimming, he reminds, chuckling. You won’t get any better if you crawl everywhere like that. You shoot him a glare over your shoulder, the fish vanishing from sight in the brief moments you looked away. It’s been less than a day, you snap, pulling yourself along the rock stubbornly. I’m allowed to take a break from practicing. Besides, if I solely use my tail, I’ll end up looking like you.

Looking like me? He asks, mirth clear, and you feel the rush of water as he swims by, dipping behind a nearby rock. Yes, you reply, narrowing your eyes at where you last saw him, but you’re steadily realising there are so many spots to hide, with the large stones, the coral, and the thick seaweed.

And what do you mean by that? He asks lowly, and you look behind yourself, checking to see if you can spot him, the water feeling eerily still without his visible presence. You turn to survey the expanse before you, and he glides up from a dip between the rock you’re perched on, coming to a stop before you, but you refuse to yield your ground. I’m a woman, you say, as if it’s self-explanatory. You certainly are, he replies, eyes gleaming with something that has your skin prickling. Tightening. It takes quite a lot of effort not to pull back, to keep your ground when he’s so close before you. But I don’t understand what that has to do with not being able to move efficiently.

You roll your eyes, stomach fluttering as tiny fishes dart around your hair, brushing against the bare skin of your arms. I don’t need all those muscles, you say as nonchalantly as possible, giving him a dismissive look. Maybe not all of them, he concedes, a faint smile on his lips, pushing forward a little. But some of them, if you want to swim.

Of course I want to swim, you counter, wondering if you imagined him coming forward. Just not now. My stomach hurts from all the movement.

That’s good, he responds, that faint smile still playing on soft lips.

It’s painful, you reply, frowning. I don’t like it.

It means you’ve used them, he says, and you swear he moves forward again.

I suppose I don’t have the best relationship with pain, you think, then blink, eyes widening. The smile slides from his face, and you tense. You weren’t— I just mean pain is pain. Obviously I don’t like it.

You make to turn away, but rough, scarified palms slide overtop your hands, keeping them gently but firmly pressed to the smooth stone, preventing you from breaking off from him.

You don’t have to lie to me, he says, watching you silently, eyes locked with your own, and you once again find yourself unable to pull away. You don’t have to hide it from me.

Because you saw him try to kill me? You manage wryly, fingers pressing against a small group of barnacles.

Because you’re out, he replies, hands sliding to fully encompass your own, thumbs swiping at the skin.

Head dips down, peering at the way his hands have latched over yours. The flecks of colour in the rock, speckled about.

Will you tell me how you got those? You ask, trying to change the subject. His hands tense over yours, and his attention slides downward also, the two of you observing how your palms are intertwined. This isn’t a conversation for now, he says, and you feel more than see his walls building up. Hands pull away from yours, and before you can help yourself you’ve moved forward. Palms shakily pressing overtop his own, reversing your previous position so the pads of his fingers are the ones against the small group of barnacles.

Was it from humans? You ask silently, peering into those deep, dark eyes. Is that why you don’t like us?

I got them from other mer, he replies shortly, but quietly, tension clear in the powerful frame of his figure. Shock sparks in your chest, blinking as you stare at him. A—mer? A mer did that to you? But aren’t those—

Burn marks.

Your throat rolls, and your hands pull away, enough to reveal the scarred flesh beneath. His gaze weighs into you, emotion heavy but you’re unable to pinpoint exactly what it is.

My—… Alaric once set my hair on fire, you admit quietly, peering down at his hands so you don’t have to see what’s in his expression. He tipped the table over, and a candle got mixed up. I had to have it cut short because such a large portion was burned off. Thumbs swipe across the rough skin, how he’d done for you, and you manage to meet his eyes. Depthless and dark.

Peer quietly at the warped flesh, twisted and swollen from the burning lick of flames, sizzled and popped to mould it into what it is now.

You manage to meet his gaze, deep and swirling, like a whirlpool, suctioning you deeper into his mind. I’m sorry that happened to you, Azriel, you think, holding his attention, fingers still settled over his. Something beginning to shift and soften between you. Something quiet and ineffable.

He swallows, but nods briefly. I’m sorry your husband did that to you.

No smile raises your lips, but amusement curls with your tone. Ex-husband.

Right, he returns, something dancing in those onyx eyes of his. Ex-husband.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut

tdot taglist: @mika-no-sekai-blog @blueeclipsepaperstudent @lalaluch @v3lv3tf0x @acourtofbatboydreams @coureurs-de-bois9

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x yn #mer!azriel #mermaid au #tdot #🧜‍♂️⚓️🪸

207 notes · View notes

a-man-for-hire-and-his-archives · 7 months ago

Text

Here’s Why Everyone Is Talking About A Pirate Drama That Ended In 2017

Black Sails has been described as Game of Thrones with pirates

If Black Sails kicked off in 2020 instead of 2014, it certainly would have thrown fuel on the raging fire that was TikTok’s sea shanty obsession. The reality is that this TV series aired on Starz from 2014 for four seasons, coming to a close in 2017. So why is everyone talking about it now, a decade after it began?

Black Sails is coming to Netflix very soon, triggering its fans to emerge from the woodwork and promote the show online. ‘I am SO excited for people who’ll be watching this show for the first time,’ one user wrote, with many others recommending the series to fans of Game of Thrones. With House of the Dragon still a few months away, here’s why you should tune into Black Sails this month.

New To Netflix: Black Sails

What Is Black Sails About?

Black Sails transports us back to 1715 – aka the Golden Age of Piracy. Set in New Providence, an island in the Bahamas, we meet the feared Captain Flint (Toby Stephens) who brings a new younger crew member into the fold (‘Long’ John Silver, played by Luke Arnold) as his crew continues to fight for survival and negotiate their space on the island.

Is Black Sails Based On A Book?

Black Sails was written as a prequel to Robert Louis Stevenson’s classic novel, Treasure Island (1883).

Is It Based On A True Story?

While Black Sails isn’t based on a true story, it does trace real events. The first season focuses on the hunt for the Spanish treasure galleon Urca de Lima, a real ship that sank in 1715 near Fort Pierce in Florida (where it still lies). Season two traces the fallout of Urca de Lima’s treasure being stranded in Florida, strictly guarded by Spanish soldiers while pirates prowl the shores. The subsequent third and fourth seasons then look at the war for the control of New Providence between the pirates and the British Empire – a la Pirates of the Caribbean.

Likewise, some of the characters are based on real people. Real pirates fictionalised in the show include:

Blackbeard (Ray Stevenson)

Anne Bonny (Clara Paget)

Benjamin Hornigold (Hakeem Kae-Kazim)

Jack Rackham (Toby Schmitz)

Charles Vane (Zach McGowan)

Ned Low (Tadhg Murphy)

Israel Hands (David Wilmot)

Meanwhile, Captain Woodes Rogers (Luke Roberts) – who represents the British Empire in seasons three and four – is based on a real English sea captain and slave trader, and subsequently the first Royal Governor of the Bahamas.

Was Captain Flint A Real Pirate?

Captain Flint is a fictional character who was first created by Robert Louis Stevenson in Treasure Island. He has since appeared in multiple works of fiction, including A. D. Howden Smith’s Porto Bello Gold (1924), John Drake’s Flint and Silver (2008), Pieces of Eight (2009) and Skull and Bones (2010), and J. M. Barrie’s Peter and Wendy (1904).

Where Was Black Sails Filmed?

Black Sails was filmed in Cape Town, South Africa, mainly inside at Cape Town Film Studio. Because the real city is so different today than it was in the 1700s, Nassau – the capital of the Bahamas, located on New Providence island – was built from scratch in a studio over a period of four months, as were two large water tanks to house the series’ two ships. Some scenes were filmed outside in and around Cape Town when new terrain was required, but most of the series was filmed on set.

The Cast

The cast of Black Sails is incredibly large, but key characters to know include:

Toby Stephens as James McGraw/Captain Flint

Hannah New as Eleanor Guthrie

Luke Arnold as ‘Long’ John Silver

Jessica Parker Kennedy as Max

Tom Hopper as William ‘Billy Bones’ Manderly

Zach McGowan as Charles Vane

Toby Schmitz as Jack Rackham

Clara Paget as Anne Bonny

Mark Ryan as Hal Gates

Hakeem Kae-Kazim as Mr. Scott

Sean Cameron Michael as Richard Guthrie

Louise Barnes as Miranda Hamilton/Barlow

Rupert Penry-Jones as Thomas Hamilton

Luke Roberts as Woodes Rogers

Ray Stevenson as Edward Teach

David Wilmot as Israel Hands

Harriet Walter as Marion Guthrie

The Trailer

Interested? Here’s the trailer for a taste of the action.

youtube

WATCH

All episodes of Black Sails are streaming on Netflix from 17 April 2024.

Source: Country & Town House

#black sails #black sails on netflix #luke arnold #tom hoppers #jessica parker kennedy #clara paget #toby schmitz #zach mcgowan #luke robert jr #hannah new #hakim kae kazim #louise barnes #nick boraine #rupert penry jones #ray stevenson #david wilmot #sean cameron michael #Youtube

79 notes · View notes

lvlyghost · 1 year ago

Text

Maybe Someday

PAIRINGS: John Price x F!Reader

SUMMARY: She never expected to see him again, but months after their breakup they find each other.

WORD COUNT: 1.2k

TW: suggestive themes, angst, hurt/little comfort. heartbreak. lovers to(? 3rd pov. think that's it.

A/N: just something that came to my mind today whilst in the middle of a storm. enjoy!

Masterlist✨

The soft pitter-patter of rain above her dampens her hair.

The Big Ben marks the hour.

Six o'clock.

A gentle breeze that blows her strands in different directions; she shouldn't have come, shouldn't have agreed to this meeting. God knows it'd be painful. But she came, she showed up, and maybe bringing an umbrella would've been a good idea, not that she cares. She hasn't felt a thing for months now, stuck in a permanent state of numbness, the sky's dark and people around her run away from the rain. But not her. She waits as the cool air hits the uncovered flesh of her legs, resulting in goosebumps and a shiver that travels through her body.

And then the rain's gone, her sight partially blocked out. A warm body behind radiating enough heat; she remembers it. It's familiar. Eyes threatened to close and take in the well known sense of belonging. She knows him like the back of her hand.

"Eager to catch a cold, aren't you?" heart beating fast at the sound of his voice, deep and raspy. Breathing deeply she spun around facing a big broad chest, strong shoulders and a beard. Her eyes drift all the way up until she finds his face, those baby blues she was enamored with. "Rain's coming down hard, yeah?" The corners of his lips quirk up in a faint smile. 'Was he just as nervous as her?' Was he remembering all the things both had gone through? The nostalgia in his orbs glowing.

"John." She greets him at last.

Her voice is music to his ears. The same tone, the same softness and quietness. Something he loved. Soothing his nightmares away.

His bad days.

When he saw her standing alone, arms crossed over her waist, staring up at the sky in that bloody outfit. He almost wanted to scold her for her poor choice of clothing. The dark green jacket did little to nothing to protect her from the weather. Her bottom barely covered her legs.

"Love." He whispered back, leaning over her ever so slightly, something that has her sucking down a sharp breath. The black attire he wears only serves to make his eyes even more blue. Like the blue of the sea in Mykonos. John hesitates for a second but eventually offers his much better dark coat to her to which she refuses. He sighs, closing his eyes and opening them back again. "I believe you've got something for me."

From a black purse she takes out a manila envelope, trying not to think about how close he's standing, feet almost touching.

"Kate apologizes for not delivering it herself. But she's quite busy right now." She explains as John examines the envelope with curious eyes. "Said she'll reach out to you as soon as she's able."

Stuffing her hands in her pockets she chewed down on her lower lip, something that doesn't go unnoticed by John.

"You alright, love?" she freezes. Eyes boring into hers. She knows what he's truly asking. What he so desperately wants to know. The things that were left unsaid...

Give me a sign. Just one.

"Apparently the CIA wants nothing to do with this. So they're passing it on to someone who may get the job done...-"

He interrupts her, her name leaves his lips in a hushed voice that reminds her of shared late nights at his loft.

"Please... you know you can tell me. It don't matter what happened to us."

Sweet moans bounce around the place. The headboard that slams against the wall with every thrust of his hips. His fingers intertwined with hers. John's lips kissing down her neck. The sound of skin against skin. Hands that leave marks on his back, that he would proudly wear tomorrow morning as the everything that could have been.

Another blink of her eyes and she lays on her side, facing him as tears roll down her flushed cheeks. The same he gently wipes away with a broken heart and a deep frown on his lips. John's holding back his own emotions. It won't help anyone. She doesn't have to know how utterly broken he is by this.

"Hey..." he calls her in the quiet night. "Talk to me."

She shakes her head, she won't say a thing. He wanted answers and maybe he should've fought more. Fight to keep her close. But he always gave her what she wanted. What she asked for.

His bare legs tangled up with hers. This is it, she thinks. The last time they'll be together and it's ripping her apart at the seams. She cries silently, and John can only watch swallowing down the lump in his throat.

"Maybe someday we get that ending you imagined for us." From one moment to another he's pulling her close to his arms, laying a kiss on her forehead. More salty tears trailing down, hitting his exposed chest and she swears there'd be no one after Johnatan Price. "Just not today. Not in this lifetime. Not in this universe."

He waits patiently, glaring over her shoulder every now and then. He was sure no one had followed him but he couldn't risk it. One could never be too sure. If only she said the words he'd take her home. Back to where she belonged. In his arms, next to him. The small golden ring that was tucked away for months was still waiting for her to come back. It felt heavy whenever he held it in his hands.

"I guess...-" she trails off trying to find her voice. "It's hard to see you again."

John sighs feet shifting and jaw tightening.

"Not a day goes by where I don't think if... we-" his mouth snapped shut.

A loud rumble echoed through the sky above that startles her.

"Storm's coming in." She observed. Taking a step back from him, out of his reach.

John can't find it in himself to let her go just yet. Just a little longer. Please.

Please.

"Let's take cover... there's a café down the street." he points out the opposite direction.

"I don't think that's a good idea." She reasons but doesn't decline his invitation either. Taking a deep breath she fiddles with her hands. "You and I together are never a good idea." He snorts. Despite the situation. Despite the months apart, he hasn't stopped thinking about her. He hasn't stopped loving her and looking out for her even if she didn't know. What he'd do to have one more night with the girl. "But you know I can't deny that I'd kill for a latte and a chocolate cake."

Smiling fondly he gestures for her to hold the umbrella for him, she obliges. John is quick to unbutton his coat and wrapping it around her small figure. His hands rest on her shoulders and gives them a gentle squeeze.

"Now don't tell me you don't feel much better now." He takes the umbrella back and starts walking with her following down the street, arms brushing with every motion.

"You always knew how to treat a girl."

His lips twitch when he hears the words out of her mouth and she blushes aggressively. Her brain seemed to stop working when he was around.

The short trip is silent, two souls that were drawn to each other yet not meant to be together. All both could ever hope for is that another universe would soon come for them.

Or pray that something changed in this one.

278 notes · View notes

crescent-blades · 11 days ago

Text

X || @fallesto

"How are you... still alive?"

Standing in front of him, he saw his brother's old, decrepit form standing before him. His skin was lined with deep wrinkles, his hair was as white as silver—not a single black strand of hair—and his hands appeared skeletal. The man he once knew as his little brother.. was now this pathetic, old, and ugly creature. He almost felt a chuckle rise within him at the sight, but he didn't at the given circumstances—he had survived.

He had survived the mark. The very mark that had claimed the lives of all the previous pillars who bore it.. It was akin to having a ticking time bomb attached to your very lifeline—it was like slowly but surely drowning in quicksand or like floundering in an endless sea with absolutely no hopes of rescue. It was a fate from which no one could escape.So.. how did he manage to survive it? Why did he survive it? Why did it always have to be him—

—favoured by the gods themselves?

“Brother—”

That old, decrepit, and hoarse voice that called him brother—how pathetic it sounded. That same voice that had once been familiar with, a voice that had shared the most part in all his sufferings, was here once more. Fortunate enough to be sheltered by the gods, he alone remained under their protection, insulated from the world's harsh realities. This voice, relentless in its return, always emerged whenever his life settled into a stagnant tranquility—here it was again, ready to shatter that fragile peace once more.

“It’s time to go—” He scoffed. That was easy for him to say, was it not? He had never trained a single minute in his life; he had never known the weight of relentless effort; he had no idea what it meant to struggle and strive—what it was like to fail over and over again, to feel the weight of frustration with one’s own limitations—what it was like to finally acheive everything you lad longed and faught for—

—- Only to witness all that effort shattered right in front of your very eyes.

"You have no right.. to utter such words.." To express the sentiments of a man who had experienced everything—to utter the words of one who truly understood.. No, he never truly understood him; he never made the effort. Throughout their lives, he offered only brief, enigmatic phrases, leaving him to decipher the meaning alone—as if he was nothing more than a lowly peasant unworthy of his attention.

The demon remained there; his eyes were still slightly widened at the shock of seeing his brother. The light of the crimson moon illuminated the scene, casting a soft glow as the gentle breeze played with his hair and everything around him. He rested his hand lightly on the hilt of his blade, prepared to strike should his brother make any sudden movements. All those years, and the ideals his brother espoused now stood in stark contrast to the elder's beliefs—he found himself in disagreement with them all. Yet, for the first time, he felt a sense of alignment with his brother's perspective. Yes.. you are correct--—

It is indeed time.. for this chapter to close.

Time to finally put an end to all of this, once and for all--—

"Hmm... I see.."

No.. no more being secondary to another.. no more being in the shadows of the other--

"... So then.. let us end this once and for all.."

Drawing his sword, the demon assumed a combat stance, his pupils fully dilating to track the younger's movements. The breeze stirred, and the air was thick with anticipation...

#ʟᴜɴᴀʀ ᴛᴡɪʟɪɢʜᴛ | ɴᴇᴡ ᴍᴏᴏɴ'ꜱ ᴇᴠᴇ 「ᴋᴏᴋᴜꜱʜɪʙō」#ʀɪꜱɪɴɢ ꜱᴜɴ | ɢᴏʟᴅᴇɴ ʜᴏᴜʀ 「ʏᴏʀɪɪᴄʜɪ ᴛꜱᴜɢɪᴋᴜɴɪ」#kokushibo #kny #kokushibou #kokushibo rp #kimetsu no yaiba #kny rp

26 notes · View notes

mangooes · 1 month ago

Text

Chapter 1 - fish out of water

Chapter list!

Prolouge : A silent promise

Chapter 2 : A fish emergency

The sun shines in linkon city, greeting a warm welcome to a new day ahead. Hearing the birds chrip and the sound of crowded people walking around doing their own thing, (name) shots awake with a yawn and a strech. ‘I can’t believe I have to work again today..’ the young woman sighs as she stands up and walks towards the bathroom to get her day started.

The girl is (name) your typical normal young lady, in her early 20s, working as a corporate slave in the jail she calls office. ‘I can’t believe I have meetings with everyone today, this is going to be a long day…’ The girl sighs in defeat as she prepares her meals for breakfast and lunch. Tucking her hair in a loose strand bun, she puts on her usual employee uniform that consists of a vest and black skirt. Taking one last look in the mirror she sets up a confident smile and walks taking an exit from her apartment door, locking it before starting her journey towards the office.

Walking along towards the company building, she drops a neatly wrapped box in the post office, with the intention of sending it towards a certain miss hunter. Before continuing her walk. Upon arriving at the office, she sits at her desk and starts doing her work, preparing for a meeting with another client after this. “Miss (name) the client is here…” Jack, an acquaintance of (name) called as he leans on the door way. “Right..Let’s hope for the best then!” As she walks towards the door, opening it to reveal her client for the day.

“Um hello, are you sir Rafayel..?” The girl asked with her eyes meeting his, as time seems to stop for a second.

—————————————————————————————————

“Pfft! Looks like the fishermen caught a big fish, say… you look like you could use some help, need a hand? ..” A girl asked as her tail fins moved swaying in amusement holding her laughter.

“Can’t you see? Or are you blind?” The boy, known as the god of the sea, ruler of lemurians answered in annoyance, as the vines of seaweeds trapped him in an awkward position.

The girl blinks as she holds a laughter in a manner that would have insulted the god, if it weren’t for the position he is in right now, hands dangling over the vines of large seaweed wrapping around him.

”A,a,a! What’s the magic word??” The girl teases, as she swam towards the prey slowly.

The boy sighed, forcing his voice as he turned to look away in shame. “I- ugh fine…..please just help me get out of this mess..”

The girl laughs as she pulls the god out from the cage like seaweed, freeing him from his misery.

That was the fateful meeting between the god of the sea and the little mermaid, as a single encounter folded into thousands of memories.

Lemurian Archive - The Tale of the Little Mermaid, page 180

——————————————————————————————————

The man, dressed in his usual white fancy shirt and black pants looks up towards the source of a voice he knows all too well. A familiar sound, like the soothing waves in a bright sunny day, the scent of the salty breeze deep under the waters, and most of all the longing he holds so dearly towards her, the girl standing infront of him. He recognizes her so much, the stare, the expression, even the looks. The mark in his heart glows faintly responding to his turmoil of emotions and the presence infront of him.

‘You haven’t changed at all, (name)…even after thousands of years, it's still you..’

An awkward silence filled the room, as the girl clears her throat, “Ehm, hello sir..?” She waves his hand in front of him, as she lets out a soft gasp when the man holds her hand ruptly gripping her wrist firmly, and gently.

“Hello my bride, we meet again…” the purpled haired man says with eyes that conceals secrets, pure adoration, amusement,

“Huh, excuse me your what..?” The girl gapes looking at the man in front of her, ‘Is he delusional…?? Should I call the cops??? Last time I checked I'm still as single as ever!!’

The man seemed to realize once his gaze met his beloved’s, as he reluctantly let go.. “Ah sorry, you remind me of someone I long for so much, may I have your name Miss..?”

The girl laughs it off as she shakes her head, an expression to dismiss the awkward atmosphere earlier “It’s alright sir, i get it… I’m (Name), it’s a pleasure to meet you Sir Rafayel, let’s start the discussion shall we?”

——————————————————————————————————

Word count : 785

GUYSS KASJDNAKJ MY FIRST CHAPTER FOR THIS SERIES KADNAK, i'll continue this.... if i have inspiration.. anyways THE NEWMAIN BRANCH STORY LINE I LOVE THIS RAFAYEL (i'ma sylus girlie btw)

#love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #rafayel #lads rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #lnds rafayel #lnds

22 notes · View notes

mirxndatano · 2 months ago

Text

HAUNTED Prt 1

Summary: An invisible bond that had united them since they were padawans. Neither of them knew what it was like to be seduced by the dark side... until it happened. Power, secrets, desire, and love, like an unbreakable spell.

Pairing: PadawanQimir x OC FemalePadawan

A/N: this is the new version of the fanfic Haunted published on July 27, 2024. English is not my first language 🇲🇽 You can find the Spanish version on AO3. Coming soon, the English version, maybe.

Ao3

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆*:..

Akemi watched the waves in peace. During this season, the sea remained calm, and she could swim with those she knew as sisters. The fresh breeze made her light white dress shift slightly, along with a few strands of her black hair. The scent of herbs and dried flowers being burned reached her nose. She loved all of it and longed to feel this way again someday, at home. But ever since a ship landed on the beach when little five-year-old Akemi was being cared for by her sisters… nothing had ever been the same.

She woke up, and reality hit her just like hurricane waves, with force. She wasn’t on Scarif; she was where she always found herself every morning—her room in the Jedi Temple. All the rooms were the same, with beige walls, a window that overlooked the city of Coruscant, a bathroom, a spacious closet, and a simple bed. Luckily, she had managed to add some personal touches, like a garland of artificial green leaves, five plants resting near the window, and finally, her altar with crystals and some dried herbs.

But even with all of that and the years she had spent as a padawan, nothing made her feel like she was truly at home.

She went through her morning routine, getting ready to face another day. She walked through the Temple halls until she reached the dining hall. Akemi always made sure to arrive 10 minutes before the other padawans flooded in. She had learned that the hard way; in the beginning, it was common for her to find no place to sit, thanks to the rumors.

Now, she had a table all to herself. The dining hall gradually filled, the air buzzing with murmurs, laughter, and various conversations. Although Akemi seemed lost in thought, appearing focused solely on eating her breakfast, the reality was different. She observed everything around her but never dared to look at the faces of those nearby. Because of this, over time, her memory held no clear image of how anyone else looked—it was all blurry, as if a smudge had been passed over photographs. At least it was an advantage; she didn’t recognize those who occasionally bothered her.

—Looking into her eyes gives me chills.

—Can you imagine if one day she rips all our heads off?

—I don't understand why she's here. How did the Jedi Council even accept her?

—Witches shouldn't be Jedi.

— I respect any of her beliefs, but not here inside the Temple.

Akemi stood up, letting her utensils drop loudly, marking the end of her time in the dining hall. She placed her tray in its spot and walked toward the exit, until she felt a gaze piercing her like a dagger. She constantly felt eyes watching her, but this sensation was different. She glanced toward the tables—no one was paying attention to her. She walked out, inhaling and exhaling deeply, while playing with her protective necklace between her fingers.

☆゜・。。・゜

Qimir considered himself a natural observer. He could spend hours sitting by one of the Temple windows, watching everyone who passed by. He paid close attention to every species, color, the texture of the clothing—every detail. And yet, everything he saw felt fleeting, empty.

Until he saw her.

Her dark hair contrasted with the paleness of her skin and her rosy cheeks, her eyes lightening as the sun filtered through the windows. She walked down the hallway, and a Twi'lek padawan used the Force to tug at a strand of her hair from a distance. The girl froze for a moment but then continued walking, this time quickening her pace.

From that day on, nothing was the same. He noticed that whenever the girl passed by, some padawans whispered behind her back or moved away to avoid being near her. Qimir felt confused. What did they see? What was it that he couldn’t?

—The one with the light eyes? Oh yeah, better keep your distance.

—Why? —he asked.

They were in the Temple library with one of his classmates, looking for a file they needed for an assignment.

—You really don’t know? She’s a witch.

—So? —Qimir asked, looking away from the shelves—. There are plenty of people here with different beliefs.

—Yeah… but this is different. Some say there’s something strange about her, something that disturbs the Force when she’s near.

—Those are just rumors.

—Well, true or not, I’d rather stay away. I don’t support bullying, but… there’s probably a reason.

Qimir rolled his eyes at the contradictory statement. He distanced himself from his classmate, heading two aisles down. A witch; that only piqued his curiosity more. He knew about the Nightsisters, but he was sure she didn’t belong to that coven. Frustrated, he sighed as he found no information on other kinds of witches in the Temple archives. He couldn’t even remember why he had come to the library in the first place. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the young woman at the end of the aisle.

The dim light would have made her look like a shadow if it weren’t for the typical colors of the Jedi robes. She was carrying several files in her hands about medicinal herbs and healing. Qimir quickly turned away when he saw she was about to glance in his direction, swallowing hard. He debated whether to approach her in a friendly way or not, but when he looked back.

She was gone.

・。。・゜★

Two weeks had passed, and Akemi still felt like she was being watched. The only place where she could feel at peace again was in her room. She burned a small bundle of lavender, believing it was all due to some negative energy. But none of that worked, and she was tired of feeling uncomfortable.

It was a full moon night, so she gathered some herbs and flowers, placing them in a small leather pouch along with matches, black salt, her knife, and an elongated circular vessel. The halls were empty, making it easy for her to reach the Temple's main garden. There, the moonlight touched everything around her, just what the ritual required. She set the vessel on the ground and knelt in front of it, rubbing her hands with black salt before letting the remains fall into the vessel. The flowers were placed in four specific spots, along with the herbs.

From what she had read, if burning lavender wasn’t enough to cleanse the energy, the ritual would root out the problem entirely. Something inside her was screaming to return to her room, but that day, she’d had enough of feeling uncomfortable even in her own skin.

—Full moon, my power claims —she whispered—. At night my anger calls, may fate now twist. With my blood vengeance begins.

Akemi threw the match and quickly the flame became present until it turned into a purple one. Her heart beat strongly, the sign that the ritual would take effect. The only thing missing to close the pact was her blood. She reached into her bag looking for her knife, but… again she felt watched. Then the impact of a small rock against her head. She turned quickly and saw no one. To make matters worse, she had not been able to sleep for days, she convinced herself that this was the cause of starting to feel things that were not real. Until she felt the impact again, this time on her back. In the dim light, she finally managed to visualize the figure of a Pantoran padawan a few meters away from her. Before Akemi got up, the Pantoran grabbed her arm tightly until she immobilized her.

—Let me go! —she begged, trying to escape the grip the other had on her arms.

—Witches should not be in the Jedi Order.

—Please… leave me alone, I have never done anything wrong to be treated this way.

She almost screamed in pain when the stranger's nails began to dig into her skin from the strength of the grip.

—Witches like you should burn.

With a quick movement, the Pantoran grabbed her by the hair and neck to bring Akemi's face closer to the fire.

—Stop! —Akemi screamed so hard that her throat hurt.

Suddenly everything stopped and fell silent. The fire suddenly went out. When Akemi opened her eyes, she found the Padawan suspended in the air, surrounded by a strange red mist. Akemi got up from the ground and noticed that the mist emanated from her. Her eyes filled with tears and she looked at her body, terrified and confused. What was happening to her? How did she stop it?

— That is fascinating! —said a voice behind her.

When she turned, a padawan around her age was watching the scene intently. She would never forget that jet-black hair, like a starless night, and those small eyes gleaming with excitement at what he saw.

—Help me! How do I stop this?

Before the padawan could answer, hurried footsteps echoed down the garden stairs.

—Padawan, don’t move!

Akemi didn’t know which one of them the order was directed at. It was Master Vernestra. With that, Akemi resigned herself to being in serious trouble. In an instant, her legs gave out, and her breathing grew heavier. The last thing she remembers is collapsing to the ground, the padawan watching her intently.

・。。・゜★

—Until we find the origin and a way to control that ability, you will not have an assigned master.

Those words broke her heart and the confidence she had in herself. All she wanted was to have a master and be guided like all the padawans before becoming Jedi Knights. When the meeting ended, she ran to the only place where she felt safe, her room. She locked herself in, and as soon as she did, she started crying uncontrollably. If anyone else had seen her like this, they would think she was going crazy. She didn’t care that it was early morning and other padawans could hear her sobbing from the other side of the walls. She needed to let it out. She was like that for what felt like an eternity. It was just her, looking like a trembling lump, lying on her bed staring at the wall, hugging her legs to her chest.

—Are you feeling better?

Her heart nearly leaped out of her chest, and her body shot out of bed so fast that she felt dizzy. She turned on the light with the Force and froze. It was the garden padawan.

—You... how did you get in?

—Oh, didn’t anyone tell you? I have a knack for getting where I shouldn't be.

His smile widened as he watched the girl trying to decipher each of her reactions. The truth was he had been watching her from afar for days. Once, he followed her to her room and noticed that she sometimes forgot to lock the door.

—Anyway... what are you doing here? Did you come to mock me like the other padawans?

He shrugged indifferently, his smile still lingering on his face. He couldn't deny that he had indeed been watching her from a distance.

—First of all, my name is Qimir —he introduced himself—. And secondly, mock you? No, no. I’m not here for that. I just wanted to see how you were doing after that little incident in the garden.

—How am I? How am I?! Obviously, I'm not well; the council just told me I won’t have a master until I find the origin of this damn ability. How do you want me to feel?

She almost shouted that last question as she threw the pillow across the room.

—It seems you have quite a strong temperament... —he paused to imply that he needed to know her name.

—Akemi —she replied.

—Akemi... —Qimir repeated—. I suppose it's natural after everything you've heard. It's a shame; every ability has a reason and should be appreciated and perfected.

—The council doesn't see it that way —Akemi replied, looking away—. I'll be helpless until they find its origin and a way to control it.

—But you could practice. I could help you, and then you would also understand the power you have.

Akemi shook her head. First, she had to deal with the bullying for being born into a coven, and now she feared that it would intensify for having a master like everyone else. She felt like her life was over. In that moment, she thought that the best thing for her and for others would be to keep her ability hidden.

—No... I think it's better if I keep all of this hidden. But I’ll consider your help if I ever need it.

—You know, keeping it hidden might not be the best idea. It could be dangerous not to understand it.

—Maybe, but I prefer to keep things this way for now.

Qimir moved closer, their gazes met, and Akemi immediately looked down. She recalled the indirect bad comments she received. They said her eyes were scary or gave them chills, and that might have been true to some extent. Qimir couldn't help but feel curious about her reaction.

—Are you worried about what others think of your eyes? —he asked, changing the subject.

—No, I just don’t like being looked at directly.

—Why not? Not many people have a gaze like yours —he chuckled softly, taking a moment to look her in the eyes again, not even trying to hide it.

—It gives others chills.

—Not everyone, I promise you.

—Well, thank you —she replied, as she was never good at receiving compliments.

Qimir laughed again at her short response; he found it quite endearing. He studied the room, noticing the decorative details on the walls and the plants by the window. It contrasted with his own room, which had nothing distinctive; he left it with the sobriety that characterized the temple.

—You’re welcome —he said, approaching the wall without asking and sitting on the floor, leaning his back against it.

Akemi didn’t say anything about it, so she took that as an invitation to do the same. She leaned against the base of her bed.

—You know, you’re the first padawan who has been kind to me.

—Well, it seems I’m the first one with brains —he said humorously, but then had to switch to a more serious tone—. What have the others done to you?

—The real question is; what haven’t they done? —Akemi replied—. They’ve spread rumors, hidden my lightsaber if I get distracted, they’ve even hurt me, and well… the garden padawan tried to burn me.

Qimir swallowed hard. Of course, he had witnessed that last attack and was aware of the supposed reason they had for sidelining Akemi at all times. But he preferred to act as if all of this was new information to him.

—I know I shouldn’t, but I can handle it —Akemi said.

—What? Why should you have to endure that? —he asked, unable to believe what he was hearing—. No one deserves that.

—I don’t know... maybe they’re right —Akemi replied, letting her insecurity speak for her—. A witch like me shouldn’t be in the Jedi Order; maybe the council was wrong to bring me here since I was a child.

—Stop, don’t say that —he interrupted—. You’re not a witch, and you definitely belong here. The council was lucky to accept you.

Akemi smiled at his kindness, unaware that the young man was acting as if he didn’t know anything about her prior to this, thanks to his classmate.

—No, Qimir. I am a witch —she admitted—. I was born into a coven on Scarif; I was very young when the Jedi found me.

Curiosity took hold of him.

—What was it like living there? What kind of things did you practice?

—I don’t remember much; I was 5 years old when I left. But the little knowledge I have, I keep for myself and the plants —Akemi said, pointing to the window.

—Herbology —Qimir said. He had always wondered if those ancient and mystical practices had any kind of effect. A thought crossed his mind— What if… your ability is part of this?

Akemi quickly shook her head.

—This is not magic; if it were, I would have felt it in me long ago. Even if I could leave the temple and find my coven, I don’t think I would have an answer to what is happening.

Qimir simply listened, considering her words. He trusted that the council would help find answers. He stood up from the floor and adjusted his tunic.

—I still insist that you shouldn’t hide something that is part of who you are, but it's your right —Qimir said—. But… promise me you won’t pretend it doesn’t exist.

He extended his hand to help the young woman up. She took his hand, and once standing, she nodded in response and smiled for the first time that day. It was a memory Qimir never wanted to erase from his mind.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆*:..

#qimir #manny jacinto #qimir the acolyte #qimir x oc #qimir x reader #qimir x y/n #qimir x you #the acolyte #the stranger #star wars qimir

24 notes · View notes