#but also this sonnet is making it hard to continue on

[i-am-church-the-cat]

history of man

Or Brocedes in 3 parts

Part I: Before

Nico is not jealous that Lewis is a championship contender in his first season in F1. Lewis has always had to work hard for the things that Nico has with ease: recognition, support, community. Racing might have been in Nico’s blood but Lewis bled for racing and all he could feel for his best friend was proud.

Anyway, he was busy, too. Working with Williams, trying to build the historic team back up to its former glory, while also trying to prove that he’s a serious racer worthy of a championship car and not just riding the coattails of his father’s success in the sport.

Then Lewis wins a championship. It is the greatest moment of Nico’s life, probably third only to his own future championship or his wedding day. Lewis seems to have everything he wants at McLaren and Nico would have considered going with him there, being teammates like they always planner, if McLaren had wanted anything to do with him.

Instead, he is offered a deal at Mercedes, a team that people don’t think is going anywhere, but if they’re good enough for Micheal Schumacher then of course they are good enough for him. Playing second fiddle to a championship winner isn’t as hard as it sounds. If Lewis could do it, so could Nico, even if he didn’t get nearly as much recognition for it.

Though neither of them are getting much attention at the moment, what with Red Bull and Vettel totally dominating. Nico thinks Lewis is more upset about it than he is, having to listen to more than a few rants on the subject. He tries to be supportive, but it’s hard when Nico is so happy. He’s a racer in Formula 1 with his best friend, competing against certifiably the greatest F1 driver of all time. The only thing that could make it better is if he was competing against Lewis or for a championship. Or competing against Lewis for a championship.

That really would be the dream.

But Lewis loves McLaren, and even if they aren’t in fighting shape right now, that doesn’t mean they won’t be soon. And even if Lewis was considering leaving, he wouldn’t come to Mercedes of all places. He’d probably go to Ferrari as long as Fernando wasn’t there.

Nico uses all these reasons and more to keep himself from getting his hopes up when Micheal announces his retirement. When Lewis admits to him his frustration with McLaren. When Toto tells him that he’s been in talks with someone he “thinks you’d get along great with, Nico.”

He continues to rationalize it all the way up to when Lewis shows up at his apartment, using his key and announcing his presence with a loud “Rosberg!” and the sudden brute force of someone colliding with him.

“Oof.” Nico flops back into the couch, halfway up from where he’d tried to get up to greet Lewis. He pushes at the other boy, feeling like they were 12 again, wrestling in their hotel rooms.

“What you big bully?”

Lewis pulls back and grins, shark-like with a kind of kiddy glee.

“I’m coming to Mercedes.”

—

Part II: During

“I’m coming to Mercedes.”

A pause. Then, “Well, obviously, I’ve only been convincing Toto to sign you for the last year.”

George fully expects the pillow aimed at his head and dodges deftly. He and Alex are both grinning like fools, and George can see all his plans for the future start to unspool.

Lewis wins his 8th championship with Ferrari that first year, a feat only the man himself could have predicted. George is having too much fun getting paid to bully his best friend.

Next year though. Next year.

“This is a championship winning car, mate,” Alex says after the first day of testing. “I can feel it. Can you feel it?”

George swallows, the memory of how responsive the car had been that morning. Like writing a sonnet with a steering wheel.

“Yeah. I can feel it.”

It was a championship winning car. It won both championships that year, the Mercedes driver pairing ending up 1st and 2nd again after a long time. It was his first championship, and he deserved it, working so hard to prove himself out from under a world champion’s shadow.

George was so damn proud of him.

Watching Alex on the top step was like a dream, draped in the red-white-blue of his flag, doused in champagne and breathing heavy, as if he’d been holding his breath since the end of testing. Sure, it stung a little losing his own chance at a championship, but he’d put up a hell of a fight and he would again next year. George had no doubt that in 2027, he’d be the world driver’s champion.

Alex turned to him from the too step, wide smile and something devilish in his eye.

“Let’s do this again next year, George,” he said, somehow agreeing with everything George himself had been thinking. George grinned in return and could only shout an affirmative.

And they did do it again next year. Two championships, one-two, podium steps and drenched in champagne.

George looking up. Again.

Alex was a terrific driver. George knew it because he’d been there while Alex learned how to do it. How to win. George knew how hard Alex was to beat because he’d watched him climb further and further away from second place.

Maybe that’s why it was always going to end up this way. Alex had made himself unbeatable and only George was there to see all of it. That’s why it only could have been him that saw the chink in the armor of Alex’s driving.

George had won. He was on the top step. He was the 2028 world driver’s champion.

And Alex wouldn’t look at him. Wouldn’t give him the big smile that use to come so easily to his face. When did Alex stop smiling? When did Alex stop smiling at him?

George had barely eaten the entire week leading up to Abu Dhabi. That didn’t stop him from spending hours emptying his stomach at the memory of Alex’s clenched jaw and shunted eyes.

That’s why-

“I’m retiring.”

—

Part III: After

“I’m retiring.”

The flash of the camera hurt his eyes. You’d think by 2034 they’d have made cameras that weren’t so earth shatteringly bright.

It wasn’t a decision Logan had made lightly. He was the first American WDC since Andretti, he had the chance to be the only repeat American winner. Except there wasn’t really a chance. This season had taken everything Logan had and he’d still just barely been able to beat out Oscar. He couldn’t do it again and he didn’t want to try.

It wouldn’t get him his best friend back.

The story was old hat by now. The Mercedes curse. You’d think after Alex and George Toto would stop hiring childhood best friends as teammates. But the opportunity to sign the current WDC Oscar Piastri had been too good to pass up. He had three under his belt, now, definitely more after this, since he wouldn’t have Logan here to make it harder for him.

But it was a classic tragedy. Everyone knew the ending by now. The former-Williams driver gave their entire soul for that one championship, just to show that they could do it. Then the real winner went off and grew into the phenom they were always supposed to be. Now without the dead weight of their best friend hanging onto him.

They’d sworn it wouldn’t happen to them. They’d both worked so hard to keep the resentment from boiling over. But the threat of being dropped if Logan got another P2 in the championship had been the straw that broke the camel’s back. It hadn’t been Oscar’s fault that the team had decided to shift to him after all Logan had given them. But that didn’t mean Logan could let it go, either.

Now there were landmines around their relationship. Both too scared to reach out because of the chance of stepping on one and burning down everything they’d built. So the silence and the distance stretched and the structures crumbled anyway.

Logan moved back to America. He wasn’t going to be Nico, sitting in the same apartment, all but begging Oscar to come back to him on live tv. He wasn’t going to be George, reaching out every other year just to feel the rejection all over again. He might have been doomed to leave Oscar like this from the beginning but that didn’t mean he didn’t get to choose what he did with the rest of his life.

He was 34. He was still in top shape. He didn’t want to stop racing. He just couldn’t race Oscar anymore.

Logan did IndyCar for a couple of years, ending up next to Kyle again. Somehow losing the championship to him wasn’t as hard as losing to Oscar had been. In 2036, he retired for real this time, no other championship but at least a few wins under his belt.

He pretended not to be invested in F1. But he couldn’t not watch the races. Couldn’t not see Oscar win his fourth championship, then his fifth.

Logan wonders if he’ll go for nine, just to kick fate’s balls.

In the end, Logan can’t say no when Williams invites him to a couple of races. They’re the team that supported him when no one did and he can’t refuse James anything.

When Sky Sports here he’s coming, they beg to have him on. He reluctantly agrees.

When Oscar wins in Miami, Logan is there. There are so many cameras on him as he watches his ex-best friend win Logan’s home race. All he can think is that it was always going to end this way.

—

I've seen it, in the poems and the sands

I've pleaded, with the powers and their plans

I tried to rewrite it but I can't

It's the history, the history of man

history of man - maisie peters

[thelightsandtheroses]

Between the Shadow and the Soul | Joel Miller x female reader

Pairing: Joel Miller x female!reader, Summary: In the wake of your brothers leaving the QZ, you find yourself drawn back to Joel. What follows is something neither of you can vocalise, you are one thing outside of closed doors and another together. As time goes on, it gets harder and harder to keep this divide this though until something happens that leaves you no other option. Content Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI please and thank you. By continuing to read you affirm you’re over 18, f!reader, smut, drinking, swearing, description of an almost assault that is stopped and fears of walking home alone, with that there are allusions to fear of SA but nothing happens, and there is a blink if you miss it element of PTSD. Author’s Note - This links to Into The Fire but you do not need to have read that to understand or follow this at all. They’re separated but linked and I’m toying with extending this in the future if people are interested as I have some ideas about how this could extend into a series that follows the main plot and then into Jackson either as a chapter fic or interconnected one-shots. Let me know if you have any thoughts here as I’d love to gauge if there’s interest. Also, there’s a little Easter egg for episode one in this fic, so let me know if you catch it. Title is from Pablo Neruda’s sonnet XVII. Word Count: 6k

 Into the Fire | Masterlist

Your brother leaves the QZ on a Wednesday. It’s him, Tommy, and the other Fireflies.

It’s been just 48 hours since he said he was leaving, less than 36 hours since you went to Joel Miller’s apartment to try and get him to join you in stopping this. It’s been 12 hours since you have been able to make some semblance of peace with your brother.

You lied through my teeth when you said that you would support my brother’s decision, blatantly fibbed when you said you respected the fact he felt he needs to go.  You both knew you were lying but we both pretended you were convincing. If the worst happens, you can hang on to that. 

Your older brother squeezes your shoulder and says that he’s proud of you as you watch your baby brother leave and you oscillate between wondering whether you want to cry or punch him hard in the face for not helping you stop our little brother from doing this.

It’s strange to feel both hurt and numb at the same time.  You feel too much and too little and all you know is this feels like an ending.

Days pass without major event. That’s the thing; your world can change in a moment, but the QZ endures and everyone else carries on unaware. There are ration cards to earn, trade or covet, jobs to do. 

You throw yourself into extra shifts of work, into finishing that book you’ve been meaning to. Distraction is your best weapon. Your apartment has never been so clean, your work so exemplary. If you’re not too exhausted to think at the end of the day, then that’s what the pills and alcohol are for.

Joel and Tess went on a supply run the day after that night so you’ve been able to avoid them both. You’re not entirely surprised; you knew he wouldn’t be there when Tommy left. There was enough said and left unsaid that night that told you everything you needed to know about how Joel felt about his brother’s decision.

 They’re gone for nearly a week before you hear that they are back.

You can’t quite articulate what brings you back to Joel’s apartment. You don’t expect anything; you’re curious though; curious about how he’s taken Tommy’s departure, about the supply run and what they’ve found or traded, about him in general.

It isn’t Joel who answers the door though; it’s Tess.

“Huh,” she says before opening the door wider for me to walk through.

Everything in you tells me to turn around, to make your excuses but you don’t. You walk inside instead.

Tess has made her way to the kitchen area, picks up a half-drunk glass of alcohol. It strikes you that she’s so comfortable in Joel’s space doing this, that it’s obvious Joel isn’t here right now, but he trusts Tess enough to let her be here.

You’ve made a mistake. The two of you clearly made a mistake.

Tess takes a gulp of her drink and then leans against the kitchen cabinet. “You’re looking for Joel.” It’s a statement not a question.

You nod slowly. “I can go.”

“Don’t.”

You pause in the hallway, nod and then walk back to the table, toy with taking a seat but instead dig my hands into your worn jean pockets.

Tess doesn’t move from the cabinet but just meets your eyes, an unreadable expression on her face.

Is this where she confronts you? Where she confirms your fear that her and Joel are like that that Joel lied, or you ignored my gut and it’s you, you are the one at fault here.

Will she yell, will she lay down her territory?

“So, was it a good run?” you ask after a moment; you’ve always hated silence. It’s the way that silences feel like a weight above you, keep you anticipating something. Eventually something has to break the silence, right?

“Same old, same old,” Tess says, shrugging insouciantly.

“Oh.”

“I should go, really, please don’t tell Joel I was here. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Look,” Tess begins, her fingers pinching her brow, “you don’t know what you’ve got yourself into.”

“I do,” I protest stubbornly because even if you don’t, if Tess says that you don’t know then you will argue until you’re blue in the face that you do.

“No, you don’t.” Tess looks at the floor for the moment and then meets your eyes. “Don’t put something on him you know he can’t give you, it’s not fair. It’s not fair to either of you. Look, you seem like a good - or maybe an alright person. We’re not.”

It’s not that simple, you think. You know all too well that men who seem charming and nice at the start can be the most heinous of them all - that good and bad don’t feel like binary values in this world anymore. You thought you were good once, but your survival has come at a cost.

You open my mouth to protest her words but she shakes her head at you. Neither of them seems bad; yes, there’s an air of danger, they’re certainly competent and you wouldn’t necessarily want to cross them. They don’t seem actively malicious though. Or is that just the version of them you’ve seen?

"He told you what happened?"

“He didn’t.”

“Then how did you know?”

“I came over the morning after - saw you leaving. Also, even if I didn’t, you just confirmed it. You’re not very good at this, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Oh.” You have to say what’s next. “I didn’t - if I - I’m sorry if I stepped into something. I didn’t - I didn’t know if you were together. I’m honestly sorry if you are and I’m sure it didn’t -”

Tess laughs, it’s slightly bitter. “That man can’t be 'together' with anyone, sweetheart, that is the whole goddamn point I am trying to make.”

“It was a one-time thing.”

“Then why are you here, huh?“ She’s got you there.

You shift awkwardly in the kitchen, drag your foot on the floor and try not to look at you. Why are you here? What were you thinking?

“I’ll go,” You repeat, tightening the fist in my pocket.

As you open the front door, you walk straight into a solid weight. It almost takes the breath out of you.

“Crap.”

“What are you doing here?” Joel asks, because of course you would walk into him. Literally.

“I was leaving,” I say. “Sorry I uh -walked into you.” Walked into you, walked into this mess, walked into your apartment in the first place.

He clasps your wrist as you move to leave, he’s surprisingly gentle considering there’s a bruise on his knuckles. It looks fresh. You look down at the discoloured flesh and then back up at him.

“It wasn’t important, it can wait,” you say, swallowing and then looking anywhere but at him or Tess.

Joel doesn’t say anything. He loosens his grip on your wrist and then moves slightly to your side. “The problem’s sorted, Tess,” he says lightly. “Won’t happen again.”

You wonder if there’s a correlation between the problem and his bruised flesh.

“Fucking Robert,” Tess says, a mix of bitterness and almost cheer in her tone that you can’t quite reconcile.

You turn around and look at them both, trying to figure out what to do, whether you should just leave.

He hasn’t even said hello to you.

Joel drops a pack of ration cards on the table and places both hands on the table.  From where you stand you can see the outline of his back, his broad shoulders. It takes you back to the week before, to the way you had kissed the freckles on his shoulders and the way you’d felt beneath him.

There’s some sort of unspoken conversation taking place with him and Tess. She finally finishes the rest of her drink, takes a handful of the ration cards and then walks towards the front door, shaking her head at you and mumbling something you can’t quite decipher.

“Why’d you come?” he asks gruffly.

“No idea,” you say.

“Oh yeah?”

“They left safely, think they’ll try and radio in the next month or so, Tommy said,” you say as though that’s the message you came with, the mission you needed to carry out.

Joel turns and he’s facing you. “Right. Good.”

“Yeah.”

“You uh, doing okay now?”

You’re not sure how to reply to this; you’re surprised he’s asked, that it seems genuine. You’re also not sure what he’s asking; are you okay your brother left, or you okay after hooking up with him?

You nod. That seems an appropriate response.

There’s a protracted silence. It’s not entirely uncomfortable and you’re taken by the way Joel is carefully looking you up and down, calculating, making some sort of assessment.

“Since you’re here, you want a drink?”

“Sure,” you reply as you walk back to the kitchen table.

You know where this is going. You knew from the start after all, didn’t you?

The QZ has a sense of security; it’s strange, there’s comfort in the known, even when it’s corrupt. At least you know who your enemies are most of the time, who’s running the show. There’s a safety in that. It’s when you don’t know who to avoid you find yourself in trouble.

Since Joel came back from the last supply run, you’ve fallen into a new pattern. At least two nights a week you’ll find yourself in his apartment, tangled up together in secret.

You don’t think anyone but Tess knows about this. You haven’t mentioned it to your friends, to your brother. They seem oblivious to it all, each of them ensconced in their own dramas and relationships. Even Maria, who you live with and has been your closest friend for years doesn’t know. However, as she’s a smuggler too, you’re not sure how she’ll react to you being with Joel. They have a loose truce, but in the QZ all connections are fragile.

You’re not even sure how to describe what is happening with Joel and you to them.

There are no words, no platitudes, Joel Miller is not going to hold your hand in public, after all he can’t betray that he has emotions or vulnerabilities to others, can he? How would that work with his reputation? You’ve heard that even some of the FEDRA soldiers are scared of him. Joel Miller is a man whose reputation truly precedes him.

Around others, nothing has changed between the two of you. It’s when it’s the two of you alone that it’s different.

Then it’s kissing against kitchen counters as you pretend the edges aren’t digging into your back, hands entwined as you move to his old bed held up by breeze blocks. It’s fierce, desperate kisses and roaming hands. It’s heat and fire and safety wrapped together.

It reminds of you that Alanis Morrissette song you used to hear on the radio, the one where the only ironic thing about it was the fact that the song wasn’t actually using examples of irony. Outside of these walls, he’s one of the most intimidating men in the QZ, but when it’s just the two of you, well then you feel the safest you have in years.

You wake to a bright apartment. Next to you, Joel is still asleep and radiating heat that as winter sets in is far less unwelcome than before. One arm rests above your head while the other lazily hangs over your waist, his hand loosely entwined with yours. You lie there, listening to the sound of his breathing, the sound of his heart beating. He’s a solid, grounding presence like this.

For a second you allow yourself to indulge. You’re not in Boston, you’re not in a QZ in a ramshackle apartment that doesn’t even have a fridge. You’re in the Before. This is just another lazy Sunday morning and Joel’s here.

You can’t fully picture the man he might have been then, how you and him would have been something different in that world. Just thinking about the Before is strange for anyone who’s survived this long though. It’s hard to remember a time when people would run into a coffee shop after classes ended, when we’d think about supermarkets and buying groceries because there was so much choice. Which of the different tomato types or cheeses did you fancy today, how many types of toilet paper could there be? It’s almost obscene to remember it now.

The reality creeps in too soon.

The problem is moments like this; the ones where you can dream and imagine this is something else. It’s been months and neither of you have defined yourselves, there have been no words, no spoken confessions of feelings. Inside these four walls, there’s something, but outside you feel like he treats like an acquaintance at best.  You haven’t told your friends or your brother about this because you’re not even sure what this is. You don’t know what you mean to Joel. You started out in desperation and shared loneliness, what even can this grow into?

You try and ignore this, to live in the moment, but it eats at you a little. You wonder if it would be the same if you were Tess?

He turns over, removing his hand from your side.

“Hey,’” you say gently.

“Mornin’,” he mumbles, the Southern drawl thicker in his voice as he wakes up.

He props himself up on his elbow, regards you carefully. His gaze is piercing, like he can really see through you even with half-awake eyes and a drowsy expression. You watch how his expression sharpens.

“I’ve got work in a bit,” you say just to fill the silence.

“Okay. Tess and I are going on a supply run later today, might be a couple of days.”

“Bill and Frank?” you ask.

He nods and then shifts himself so he’s hovering over you, meets your lips and skims his hands down your waist.

You hum in approval, slipping your own hands around his neck and pulling him closer.

In these moments, these fleeting quiet moments, things don’t feel so bad.

There’s a louder and louder question in your mind though - what is this? What are we doing? What does it mean to Joel?

It might be sensible, but there’s a weight to whatever has developed between you and Joel. You can justify and understand why things are different outside to when you’re alone, but even when you know the reasons it tugs at old anxieties. Is it you, are you the problem? Maybe if you were more like Tess, maybe if you were different then he wouldn’t keep you a secret.

He’s never even told you how he feels about you. The two of you started in desperation and shared pain - what was you said to him back then? Don’t overthink it? Well, now you are.

 

It’s been a long day; your shift ran long after a clash between Fireflies and FEDRA. It’s strangely familiar; even when the world ends, we all still find a way to fight with one another. Perhaps that’s too reductive though.

Curfew is close, you walk a little faster down the street because you know you’re cutting it fine. FEDRA have been difficult recently; you don’t want to spend any more time in lock up.

 It’s this that motivates you to take the shortcut, to walk down the alley that will take you out closer to Joel’s apartment and mean you probably make curfew. You’re tired, exhausted from a long day of work and all you want is to be with Joel.

You hear the footsteps creeping behind you and your heart sinks.  In the Before you’d walk home with keys between your fingers in a clasped fist in your pocket for just this reason. How could you be so stupid? This is a moment you’ve been actively avoiding since you were a teenager, since before the outbreak. What have you done to save yourself a minute or two?

You’re angry too because why can’t you just walk down a street without this fear? What’s wrong with people?

You can’t berate yourself, not right now. You carefully look around you, try and think of a way out of this. You need to be practical, to swallow the panic that’s rising and get out of this. What would Joel or Tess do?

You’re almost out of the alley when it happens. He grabs at your shoulder, pulls you and then pushes you against the wall.

You don’t recognise him but you recognise the look in his eyes.

Mentally you try and remember the self-defence you’ve learned over the years; you’ve fought more people than this. This is nothing.

It’s just the way he’s so close and the panic and the -

“Let me go,” you say loudly, “You let me go now and we forget about this.”

“But I don’t wanna do that.”

“Let me go.”

“Hey, I’m just sayin’,” the man slurs, his foul breath on your neck. You push him off you and scramble to get away from him. He’s behind you and you manage to grab a loose brick from rubble on the ground and you’re ready. You’ve done this before and you can do it again.

He grabs at you and you raise the brick ready but something holds him back.

“Stop it, stop it! “a man yells, “Jesus, you’ll get yourself killed. Get away, now.”

He shoves the man away and takes a step toward you, hands raised in surrender as you take a step back. The alleyway exit is just ahead of you, you can make it through this.

“Look, you need to tell him what I did, okay? I stopped him, helped you out.”

“I had it covered.”

 “Look, you need to tell your guy that I helped you,” he says firmly.

“My guy?”

“Yeah, now he,” the man points in the direction of the other man who has run in the opposite direction, “he owes me too because I know your guy would have destroyed him.”

“My guy?” you ask again, the adrenaline starting to wear off as you drop the brick to the ground.

  “You tell your guy that Robert -” The name clicks straight away, this is the man who Tess and Joel deal with, who neither of them like. They won’t like owing him.

The QZ is alarmingly similar to high school. Gossip spreads faster than fungus.

You shouldn’t be surprised people know about you and Joel, you shouldn’t be surprised there are rumours.

You are though and you know Joel will hate this if he ever hears about it. About the way Robert already wants to exploit it into something else. A wild thought that this was a set-up immediately comes to mind before you squash it down.

You break into a run back to Joel’s. You won’t tell either of them what’s happened, you can’t.

Joel’s counting out ration cards on the kitchen table when you walk into his apartment. He spins around, a tense expression on his face, fists ready and teeth grit, and then he softens at the sight of you.

“Hey,” you say, walking over to him before getting a glass of water. “So, I take it you and Tess have been able to trade the stuff from your last run then?”

“Yeah.” Joel stands up, his posture stiff and it instantly raises an alarm bell. “So, Robert said some things today,” Joel says in a low voice. “You know him, don’t you?”

You swallow, feel the ground drop a little below you. You finish your water and place it on the counter, taking the time to think through what you say next.

“It was nothing,” you say, moving to him and placing a hand on his side in what you hope is a reassuring way. When you meet his eyes, you realise it though.

There’s some worry there, sure, but more than that, he’s annoyed. He’s annoyed because someone knows about what’s happening with the two of you, that you didn’t deny it or tell him, didn’t warn him.

It stings.

“I didn’t say anything to him.”

“You didn’t have to. Now he knows - or he thinks he knows something and the asshole is looking for a way to use it against me. Are you happy with that?”

“Why are you mad at me? I didn’t confirm it and I -”

“You didn’t tell me. If you’d told me before -”

“I thought you might worry, and I was - I was embarrassed, okay? I took a risk because I thought I’d miss curfew and I almost - it could have been really bad.”

Joel’s face hardens and you’re not entirely sure you’re making the situation any better.

“How bad?” For a second he softens, reaches towards you and cups a hand to your chin. You realise he’s checking for marks, he’s realised what could have happened, his eyes are dark with worry and anger and something else that you can’t identify.

“It was fine, I had it handled.”

“Sure. That’s what Robert said, that’s why he intervened and that's why he now he thinks I owe him.”

“I did have it handled,” you say, angry that Robert would use that moment against you like this. “I didn’t need him to intervene but he did and I didn’t ask him to. Nothing happened to me, okay? I stopped it. I stopped it.”

Joel is so close to you now, hands on your shoulders, eyes heavy. He nods at what you say, more reassured that nothing had happened to you. His head is bowed slightly, leaning against you and you move your hands down his arms to clasp his.

“Who was it?”

“No idea, just some guy -” Even if you knew him, you wouldn’t say his name with that expression on Joel’s face.

You pause before you continue because this will be the contentious part. “When Robert said about us- I didn’t confirm anything - and so what if I did?”

Joel scoffs, takes a step away from you and breaks the moment you start speaking.

“This isn’t fucking high school, sweetheart, we’re not going to announce we’re going steady in the cafeteria.”

“Who on Earth says going steady? Did you ever say that before?”

“No, of course not. It’s an expression. That’s beside the point. The point is - “

“What is the point?” you snap.

”You should have told me.”

“Maybe, maybe I should have. However going off this conversation, I’m pretty sure anyone would understand why I didn’t.”

“You’re impossible. How many people have you told about us, huh? Your friends been spreading it all around Boston?”

“You’re being a jerk,” you say, eyes fixed on the ground. “I’m not asking you to hold my hand and skip along the QZ in unison, Joel, don’t fucking be like this. I don’t know how Robert found out about us. Just please don’t blame me for something that wasn’t even my fault. Do you think I don’t realise that this - us - could put a target on my back? I’ve known that from the start and it’s why I’ve never pushed things.”

He swallows, clenches his fists and you realise that’s his main point. That’s the part that’s worried him. You’re not Tess - you’re not feared, you could be a vulnerability for him to others if it got out. Robert’s realised this, exposed a sensitivity Joel never wanted visible. You are tired though, you’re tired of being a tool for other people’s games.

You have survived too much. You’ve endured things you never can talk about, think about even, to get where you are today. You have fought and you have won some fights and lost the others, but you’re here.

You’re so tired of this though.

“You’re not being fair, Joel.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. You raise your gaze to look over at him again, to take in exactly how he looks, how he’s reacting.

His expression is blank but his body betrays him. He fidgets, how he scrunches and loosens his fist, moving his fingers.

“I know,” he says finally. “I know you didn’t say anything.”

You wait for a moment, hoping for more but he doesn’t say anything.

“Okay then.”

“I just - ‘s not, everything’s complicated.”

“You think I don’t get that? I understand why you want to keep us in here, I get that. It’s just if I don’t even know what we are? How could I say anything to Robert when I don’t know whether there is an us?” Now you’ve started you can’t stop.

He reaches for you, takes a step closer as you step back because if he touches you, if he holds you right now and you swallow these words, you’ll betray yourself. 

“I’m not as weak as you think. I know I came to you and I was upset about my brother but I’m not weak.”

”I don’t think you’re weak,” Joel says, looking up at the ceiling. “I didn’t think it then, I’ve never thought that. We walk in different worlds ‘round here, sweetheart so I have to keep it separate.”

“And I understand that. It’s just that I don’t even know how you feel about me and now we’re talking about it, I can’t not say it, Joel. We’ve been - doing whatever this is for months and I - I - I’m a person, Joel. I have feelings.”

He says your name; all desperation and despair.

“I don’t think this is working for either of us anymore,” you say, taking a deep breath.

You glance over at the breeze blocks below his mattress again, how it sums everything up perfectly.  A makeshift bed for makeshift love.

“I should go.”

You should have gone a long time ago, you should have left when you came to his apartment and spoke to Tess all those months ago and saved both of you this pain.

So this time you do and you ignore whatever Joel says behind you.

It’s for the best.

You scowl as you take in your apartment and listen to rain hitting the window. You are itching to do something different, but you’re not sure what you should do, or even what you have the resources and energy to do.

You can’t talk to your best friend about what has happened with you and Joel because she doesn’t know that you ever even slept with him the first time. It’s the same with your older brother and to be honest, things have been strained between the two of you since he supported your other brother in leaving with the fireflies.

You feel alone. You feel numb.

Hell, the only person you could talk to is Tess and you’re not even sure if she likes you.

There’s a knock at the door. You freeze. It’s past curfew which never means anything good. You quickly look around your living room for any visible contraband in case it’s FEDRA.

Joel’s standing there. You take him in for a moment; the way his six-foot frame dominates the door frame, his wet hair and unreadable facial expression.

“What are you doing here? It’s curfew!”

Joel raises his eyebrows smugly. Like curfew could ever stop him. You bite your lip so you don’t smile like you usually would because no, no you can’t smile at these things anymore.

As you turn away you’re sure you see his face fall slightly.

“Can I come in then?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

Since you’ve been together, most of your time has been spent at Joel’s. It’s quieter there, which may be more of an indictment of your own accommodation than a recommendation for his.

Joel stands awkwardly in your living room.  He’s rarely here as you live with your friend so his apartment has always been the choice. You’ve noticed before how every time he has been in your apartment, which has usually been to talk to you friend, he seems to be taking in some of the details, gleaning what he can from the small personal touches. Today is no different.  There are photos on your coffee table; you and your brothers, you and your best friend. Your brother found one of those Polaroid cameras once, it’s long broken now but there are some markers of your life, some semblance of normality.  You notice how he takes in the pile of books stacked next to your sofa, picks one of them up and flips the cover over to read the back. You almost smile at the fact he instinctively knows the books are yours and not your friend’s.

“Is - is it just you?” He asks tentatively.

“Yeah, uh - just me tonight. Maria’s over at Jason’s tonight.”

“Do you want a drink? I have some but it’s not the best quality.” Which is a polite way to say it’s really shitty quality moonshine.

“I’m good.”

“Why are you here, Joel?”

“You said some things.”

“So did you.”

“You said you didn’t even know how I felt.”

“I don’t.”

“You can’t mean that,” he says quietly. “You know, you have to know.”

“Joel, outside of your apartment I barely even exist to you!”

“I wanted to keep you safe, keep you away from what I do.”

“You think I’m safe from all of that? Maria is a smuggler too, I might not be, but I’ve been at risk if their operations fall apart from day one.”

You think about Joel’s words for a second, the ones you’d almost ignored as you launched straight into your planned words and defences.

“How do I have to know? What do I have to know, Joel?”

Joel doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t look like the Joel you see on the streets anymore, he doesn’t even look like the Joel you know from those nights, the one who knows every spot to touch and kiss and makes you feel like someone else entirely.

“ Look, I don’t know how to do this anymore, bein’ with someone, I mean. Reckon I wasn’t much good at it before the world went to shit.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “I think you’re more than adequate -”

He smirks. “Not that,” he whispers, “You know what I mean.”

You do.

“It’s a lot for me too.” It is, there are parts of your history you haven’t shared with Joel, that you’re not sure if you ever will. It isn’t because you don’t trust him, it’s that those memories live locked away and you don’t want to release them, not now, not ever.

Joel closes the gap between you. “I was worried because you didn’t even tell me someone tried to hurt you. How do I keep you safe if. -”

“I could have told you, but I was embarrassed. God, Joel, I’ve known not to cut through alleys in the dark since I was a kid. I’m just mad that I have to think like that.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Joel says, his tone softer.

“I should have told you about Robert, but Joel, I - I didn’t want to lose you.” You laugh bitterly. “Guess that worked out real well though.”

He puts his hand on your chin, guides you to meet his eyes.

“You haven’t, haven’t lost me. I was - you were right,” he mumbles. “I was a jerk. ‘M sorry. ”

You lean in to him and you’re about to say something back when he kisses you and every word you thought fades away. It’s gentle at first but he doesn’t break contact even as he moves you to your bedroom.

You work the buttons of his chambray shirt with your fingers. It’s damp from the rain outside, clings to his skin more as you peel it away, move down to undo his belt.

His kisses are becoming more familiar, more desperate by the second, as though you’ll stop him, you’ll tell him it’s over at a moment’s notice.

He guides you to your bed. 

His fingers skim the bare skin on your hip where your top has risen up with the movement, then  he traces up your waist to the edge of your breasts.

“You okay? This okay?” Are we okay? He’s asking that too you realise.

“More than,” you whisper, nod, and then wrap your arms around his neck to bring him back closer to you because you need him close, you need him.

He pulls you up to ease your shirt off, to unclip and remove your bra, kisses the hollow of your throat and traces a line down to your breasts.

Joel Miller might be terrible with words, but you realise he communicates in other ways.

He moves his right hand down to the edge of your jean, into your underwear and you bite back a groan at the heat building between your legs as he slips a finger inside you.

You moan as he finds the spot he knows turns you into putty.

“Joel -”

“I know,” he says, removing his fingers and making you gasp.

He tugs your jeans and underwear off, places a kiss on the inside of your knee as he uses his hands to prise you open more as he works soft kisses up your thigh to between your legs.

You buck against him as he presses his tongue against you. You grasp his hair as he kisses, sucks and teases you to oblivion. You shudder against him as you come and he eases himself up over you, kisses you so you can taste yourself on him.

“I need you,” you say, “Joel, I need you.”

“I need you too, you get that, right?” he asks before pulling off his own jeans, his boxers. He kisses you fiercely as he lines himself up and sinks into you.

As he moves in you, he wordlessly tells you everything you needed to know. It’s in each thrust, each sound, the way his hands entwine and interlock with yours as he gets even deeper.

Afterwards, after both of you have collapsed into each other, let go completely, he moves so he’s lying next to you.

His body glistens with sweat and you absentmindedly trace a scar on his shoulder. He kisses your hand and then looks at you seriously.

“You know?” he asks, running a finger down your cheek. “You know now, right?”

“Yeah, I do,” you whisper, because you think you’re finally a step closer to figuring this man out. You get it now, you get it.

Tag list: @harriedandharassed @pedrostories

Please let me know if you would like to be added to my tag list.

[sailtomarina]

It's not a crush

Pansy’s perfectly-shaped brow raised high under the fringe of her bangs as she watched Hermione watch Draco who was desperately trying to not watch her back. They’d been playing this game for what felt like hours, tonight and for several nights before that.

If anyone had told a younger Pansy she’d be meeting up with swotty little Granger for drinks nearly every weekend, she would have smacked them upside the head and labeled them as barmy as Loony Lovegood.

Luna. Luna Lovegood—incidentally now also a close friend even if she drove Pansy batty with her oddly accurate observations.

But back to Hermione and Draco and this poor excuse of a staring contest.

“Why don’t you just ask him out already?” Pansy was sick of watching her friends play coy with one another, even more so because of how brash they could both be otherwise.

Hermione jerked her face around in surprise, nearly slipping off her stool in the process.

“What? Ask who out?”

Her denial was adorable. Annoying, but adorable.

“Dra-co.” Pansy enunciated his name as if speaking to a toddler, which in her estimation, Hermione was…when it came to romance.

“Wait, what? Draco? Why Draco?” Hermione sputtered, turning full on cherry in the face, her curls expanding in size with her mortification.

“Because of your not-so-subtle crush on him?” It hurt how hard Pansy had to try and not roll her eyes.

“It’s not a crush!”

Pansy continued to hold her ruffled friend in her sights, brows still raised and lip curling in what some might consider disdain. Normally, Hermione stood toe to toe with her.

But now?

Honey brown eyes slid away from her to gaze longingly across the room.

“…it’s not a crush,” she repeated, voice so soft Pansy had to lean forward to catch it.

Oh, no.

This was more than a crush. This was the stuff of love sonnets and happy endings.

Her mind made up, Pansy took their empty glasses in hand and sashayed over to the bar where Draco sat next to a couple friends.

“Parks,” Draco greeted her, before leaning in to brush a kiss to her cheek.

“How’s it going, Pans?” Neville grinned at her from where he sat next to Theo. Pansy’s breath caught for just a brief second before she took a hold of herself. That was a crush, and she didn’t have time for it right now.

“Lovely. Draco, darling, do you have a minute?”

Intrigued, he leaned in as she bent to whisper into his ear. Silver eyes widened in disbelief, darting across the room then back to Pansy as she continued to speak. She didn’t even need to turn around to know where the daggers she could feel burning into her back came from.

“You’re sure?” Doubt still laced Draco’s voice as he questioned her. Despite the uncertainty, she knew him as well as she knew the boots on the witch’s feet nearby were several seasons old, and that her Birkin was a counterfeit. Dusty rose was also most assuredly not her color.

“I’m sure.”

She couldn’t help but smile at the light that filled his eyes, reminiscent of Quidditch games and summers at Narcissa’s cottage. She loved Draco dearly, once upon a time as a lover, but now simply as a friend. Loathe as she was to ever say it, she also adored Hermione and all of her infuriating mannerisms and backwards fashion.

And what she loved most of all was seeing her favorite things come together in a tapestry of her making.

Drinks refilled, she shoved both glasses into Draco’s hands, patted him on the back, and turned to wink at a certain former Gryffindor as the two forces of nature collided.

Far be it for anyone to say Pansy Parkinson wasn’t a generous friend—generous, thoughtful, methodical, and now…hungry.

She finally let her own eyes slide over to another former Gryffindor, still seated and chatting with her former housemate. The two brunettes laughed over an unknown joke, completely oblivious to the absence in their trio or to her own consideration of their persons. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. They were incredibly fit.

The night was still young, and Pansy was in the mood to play.

WC 704

Featuring a current favorite, Pansy! I love seeing her as an adult bestie to Hermione, like two opposites from school ended up meeting in the middle and realizing they had a lot more in common than they previously thought. I could have used a wingwoman Pansy during my college days, either to aid, or steer me away from poor choices ;)

And yes, hinting at some PansyxNevillexTheo playtime

Twitter prompt from DramionePrompts

[afictionaladventure16]

Can I request a Pedro dad fic where he coaches his daughters football (soccer) team when she’s a little kid? I always thought that was such a sweet parent child thing, and it’s a very Latino dad thing to do

Best Chilean Soccer Player (Pedro Pascal x Daughter!Reader)

A/N: I loved writing this one! I hope you like it! Also, Requests are open to anyone who wants to submit something!

Word Count: 1,358

Pedro watched as you kicked ball across the field, “come on, Y/N!” He cheered as you got closer and closer to the goal, you found yourself trapped between two people. You kicked the ball, quick with your feet you were able to trick them on your next move giving you the advantage. You kicked the ball again and made the goal. “Yes!!” Pedro yelled, “That’s my mija!” He grabbed one of the other coaches shoulders, “That’s my kid!” he yelled. 

It didn’t matter to Pedro if it was only a little league game, he grinned from ear to ear as he watched you play. You’re his pride and joy and seeing you score just made him full of pride. 

“Mira la!” (Look at her) Pedro gestured towards you as you started to run over to your dad. “Soy muy orgulloso de ti, mija!” (i am so proud of you) He said as he grabbed your face and gave you a kiss on your cheek. 

You rolled your eyes, “papi, por fa.” (dad, please) 

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it!” Pedro exclaimed. He really couldn’t. For the past six years, it had only been you and him, through thick and thin. Pedro was only Twenty-Seven when you were born, your mother gave up her parental rights when you were born and although it was hard on Pedro he did everything he could to make sure you had the happiest life. 

Just seeing you thrive and doing something you love made him happy, it made him feel like he finally succeeded in life. You grabbed a juice box from one of the coolers, “Okay, rest up because we’re gonna put back on the field in a bit.” 

“Ya me cansé,” you huffed as you sat down on the bench(I’m already tired). 

“Lo siento, mija, pero you gotta go back up there,” (I’m sorry, but). 

You shook your head, you loved soccer with everything in your being but you were just tired. This was the first goal you scored in weeks and now you were afraid it couldn’t happen again. Pedro sighed, noticing your attitude shifting, he knelt down to your level. “Que te pasa? Hmm?” 

“What if I can’t score another goal?” 

“Then you won’t score another goal and you’ll try again.” 

“But what if-” 

“You’ll get up and try again,” Pedro gave you a big smile. “Mija, do you see me give up on my acting?” You shook your head, “Even when I get a no?” You shook your head again, “and why do you think that is?” 

“Because your stubborn?” 

Pedro laughed, “Maybe,” he placed a small kiss on your forehead before leaning his forehead against yours. “It’s because I try again and do you know why I keep trying?” 

“Why?” 

“Because its my pasión. Do you know what that means?” You shook your head, “It means I love to do it, there is a fire within me that drives me to continue to do it.” 

“I have a fire with soccer,” you grinned. 

“I know you do, that’s why you have to get up and try again, no matter if you are tired or sleepy or even hungry, but if you’re hungry papi won’t say no to mcdonalds.” 

“Can we have Empanadas instead?” 

Pedro couldn’t help but smile, “even better.” Pedro glanced over at the other coaches who gestured for him to get you on the field, “You ready, muñeca?” (Doll). 

You handed your juice box to your dad, “Born ready.” 

Pedro watched as you ran back onto the field, he cheered as you took the ball, “Let’s go, baby!” He cheered loudly. The other coaches were sure that he was the loudest parent in the field, but Pedro didn’t care and if anything he wanted to be louder. He wanted the whole world to know how proud he was, he would wave banners and write sonnets just to show his pride. 

It was crazy for Pedro think how one little person could change everything in his life, even though he wasn’t getting the roles he wished he could, it didn’t matter. Yes, there were times were the roles he got, he felt a sort of insecurity and fear because he didn’t feel like he was doing good enough. But all it took was how happy you looked to see him doing what he loves, you didn’t know but you were his main reason to continue with acting and now he was yours. 

“She’s gonna be the best chilean soccer player out there when she grows up,” Pedro stated as he stood beside the other coach. 

The other coach chuckled, “Give a couple years, Pedro. Most kids grow out of it, hell, my kid has a new impossible profession every other week.” 

Pedro didn’t say anything to the comment, mostly because he didn’t want to argue with someone who didn’t have ambition and also because his opinion didn’t matter. If you decided to change what you wanted to be when you grew up, that was fine by him, he’d still be in sidelines cheering you on. “Not my kid,” Pedro said softly, he watched as you slowly got closer to the goal, “Come on, Y/N! Con Pasión!” He yelled out. Pedro was always unsure if you could hear him yelling, but you always told him that if the world could hear him, then you could too. Pedro yelled out when you made another goal. 

“My baby the soccer player!” Pedro yelled as you ran towards him, he lifted you up and spin you around before placing you on his shoulders. 

“I want to be the best chilean soccer player when I grow up, Papi!” 

“You will be, mija! Trust me,"  Pedro always believed that you were his blessing in disguise.

~~ Nine Years Later ~~ 

Your nerves were everywhere, you could hear the crowd roaring from the locker room. The youngest in the team, is what you were mostly known for. At only Fifteen, you were signed onto the U.S. Women’s Soccer League, meaning you were the youngest. At only Fifteen, you proved all those who said you would never make it. 

“Knock knock,” You smiled at the voice. 

You turned around, “What do you think?” you gestured to your uniform. 

Pedro stood there for a second, taking it all in. To him, he saw the little six year old that was scared of not making a goal, but who stood in front of him was a fifteen year old that only knew how to make them. 

“Are you gonna cry?” You asked as you noticed your dads eyes get glossy. 

“Estoy tan orgulloso de ti, mija. You don’t even know.” 

“I couldn’t have done it without you. You taught me to let the pasión drive me to be the best I could,” you walked up towards your dad, you still weren’t as tall as he was, but tippy toed to touch your forehead with his. Over the years, you both grew in your careers. Your dad got bigger roles and you were gaining attention in the Soccer media. No matter how busy your dad was, he made sure to still make it to every game, even if it meant he had to watch it live through his phone and you always made sure to be there for premieres and big interviews. No matter what, you were still his world and even though you were growing up, your dad was like your best friend, “But I better get empanadas after this.” 

“Deal, Now get out there and make me prouder than I already am,” He pulled you into a hug, kissing the top of your head before letting go. “I’ll be in the sidelines-” 

“Cheering me on, I know,” You gave him a big smile. 

“Hey, Y/N! It’s time to go on the field!” One of your teammates called out as the others began to crowd the lockerroom. Your dad took that as his cue to leave, he gave you a small wave before turning around. 

You watched as your dad left the locker room, “The Best Chilean soccer player,” you whispered to yourself. 

[strawberrycrushes]

From Eden

The God of Freedom. The God of Contracts. The Goddess of Eternity. The Goddess of Wisdom. The Goddess of Justice. The Goddess of War. The Goddess of Love.

Each of the seven had a divine principle they had to maintain. An ideal they had to watch over. And when Celestia bestowed upon them gifts of power beyond what most could ever even begin to imagine, when they had been given lands to rule over and people to bathe in the worship of, who were they to ask for more? Would it not be selfish of them to continue with their demands of more?

Venti

Thankfully Venti did not mind being a little selfish. Not when it came to you anyway.

He’d spend his days glued to your side, singing ballads and epics about the heroes of yore, the legendary friends he had the humble honour of meeting. He’d smile as you listened with starstruck eyes and laugh when you’d try to pester him for more, asking him where he even heard the ballads, and he’d let his pride swell at how impressed you’d look when he told you he composed them himself.

And then at night, when his heart was heavy with thoughts of you, he’d write sonnets. Melodies he’d play in his mind over and over until the songs he slaved over sounded just right.

Odes to your smile and your bubbling laughter. To the tilt of your head and the shape of your nose. To the books you read and the food you ate. To every irrelevant thing that weaved together in the beautiful melody of you.

(His heart swelled twice it’s size and he hid his smile behind the piece of paper he was writing on. Like he was 12. Like anyone was even watching)

Your poem beguiled him in a way few had been able to. Your comforting tale that was filled with mortal bliss, ignorance, and of course, inevitable sorrow. A sorrow that reminded him of he had been years ago. That made him think about how little he had truly changed.

When the poem cut off, he was left unsatisfied with just the peak he got.

He wanted more of your teasing and your sarcastic little quips. He wanted more of your warmth. He wanted to hold you. For you to hold him. For you to be closer. He wanted so much, and then he wanted more. But that part of you was not for him. Of course it wasn’t.

He knew better than this. Better than the songs he sung and the poems he wrote, he knew of cruelty. Both at the hands of Celestia, and at the hands of him. You deserved better than the idealistic version of himself he showed you. The guilty heart hath no place for the love it festered, and so he cut it off.

He didn’t mind being a little selfish. But not when it came to you.

All the gods have their domains. That of the rock hard promise. Of the flash of eternity. Of the cultivated wisdom. Of the hypocritical justice. Of the flames of war. Of the frozen over love. They all have their domains. And his?

Well, as he sat outside your doorstep listening to the sound of the laughter you shared with your beloved one last time, he was starting to think his was loneliness.

Ei

Ei should have laughed at the very notion.

What had Celestia ever done that should make her feel indebted to them? What had they truly ever done for her? For her sister? For Inazuma? What had they ever done except impart cruel rules she didn’t know how to follow. She drove herself crazy figuring out what was too much, what was too little. What pleased them, what didn’t. What transience was, and what was eternity.

When it all got too much, the least she could have was you.

It was rare to see proper snow in inazuma, but the peaks of Mt. Yougou usually froze over during the winter months. When she was still Makoto’s shadow, it was usually during this time that she’d hide out a bit more, with Makoto handing state affairs it was best for her not to be seen at all by the general public. It was also during this time that she met you.

She was only on Mt. Yougou to deliver a letter to Kitsune Saiguu but the one that greeted her was not her friend, it was a stranger, and the most beautiful one she had ever met at that. She was smitten from day one, and you only really grew to be a familiar sight.

She had felt like a wretched and unworthy thing compared to you. From all the storms you and her had weathered together she could tell she only really meant to be a friend. At least at first anyway.

You had devoted your life to the goddess Makoto, then to the Narukami Shrine, then to Kitsune Saiguu. She knew she had no place on your list and yet she couldn’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, she could find her way on there?

She knew it was hopeless. Sometimes she’d find herself cursing her sister’s existence, wishing that she was gone, that it was Ei you were so hung up on. She’d curse herself for thinking in such a way she’d catch herself, but the thoughts never really stopped.

Wretched and unworthy. That’s exactly how she felt in those moments. Wretched, unworthy and oh so impassioned over what should have been a long forgotten crush. And yet you had slowly become her most precious person.

Looking back at it now, perhaps she should have been grateful for your friendship. Or maybe she could made a move sooner. Whatever it she could have done was in the past now. All that was left now were regrets. That and the hatred in your eyes as you stood side by side with the traveller

Selfish. She should have laughed but she couldn’t. Not when she felt there was no better word that could describe her anymore, because her heart still skipped a beat when she saw you.

[hyuge]

I Do

The pianist in the corner plays a soft, loving melody, their fingers dancing over the keys with all the grace and elegance of a seasoned ballet dancer. Flowers adorn the front of the church sanctuary and guests sit in the hard, wooden pews, whispering to one another. Katsuki looks out at all their friends and family gathered as he holds the sheet of paper in his trembling handles. He’s prepared for this, but it still fills him with anxiety. Eijirou is the love of his life, and he needs to get his feelings across just right. Their moms are in the front row, sniffling softly on opposite sides of the aisle. Katsuki’s father nods his head encouragingly.

He glances down at the three-piece suit he’s chosen to wear for this day. There’s not a single wrinkle in sight as he meticulously ironed it that morning before making his way to the church. It’s black with a white dress shirt and red vest and tie. Eijirou’s favorite. Katsuki’s heart aches as his gaze flicks to Eijirou’s peaceful face. He looks perfect as always. His hair is spiked up in the front but cropped short in the back. There was an argument with the others on whether or not his hair should be spiked as it’s not very formal, but Katsuki stood firm. On a day like today, Eijirou should be allowed to unabashedly be himself.

Eijirou has a gray suit on. His hands are folded together against his stomach and there’s a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He has makeup on, but it’s done in a way that suits him perfectly. It’s not too much and it’s not too little. There’s a touch of color on his cheeks and lips, and thin black wings fan out above his eyes. With his hair spiked up, Katsuki can see the scar on Eijirou’s eyelid clearly. Time has made it fade and shrink but it remains a permanent reminder of how their quirks can both help and hurt those around them.

Katsuki swallows the lump in his throat and unfolds the paper. He’s had it for so long that it’s worn with age, but the black ink is still legible. He forgot how much he wrote. Honestly, Katsuki could draft an entire novel of all the reasons he loves Kirishima Eijirou, and it still wouldn’t be long enough to properly convey his feelings. Condensing it down to a single page was harder than becoming the number one hero. He wasn’t into poetry and all that shit, but he would write sonnets if it meant Eijirou knew exactly how much he meant to Katsuki. He always thought those stupid puzzle-piece metaphors were sappy, cliché bullshit, but it’s true. Kirishima Eijirou is the piece that completes his. They are meant to spend the rest of their lives together. Anything else is unacceptable.

A hot tear tracks down his cheek and drips onto the paper as he sucks in a breath, willing the words to escape him. He stares at Eijirou and bites his lip, then begins to read:

“Ei, we’ve known each other since we were fifteen years old, and I’ve known I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you since I was sixteen. It’s insane how much I fucking love you.”

He glances up at the priest standing beside him. “Sorry, Father.”

The priest inclines his head for Katsuki to continue.

“You push me to be a better version of myself every day. I’ve done a lot of growing over the years and none of it would have happened if you hadn’t bulldozed your way into my life, loudly declaring that we were friends, even when I was an asshole and adamant on not needing friends.”

Their guests chuckle, likely thinking about how boisterous Eijirou was back then. Katsuki continues.

“You fill my life with so much light and warmth. Every morning that I wake up to your smiling face is a good morning. Every night that I see you when I come home from work and before I go to bed washes away the stress of the day. Hero work is so stressful but there you are, offering a massage or to cuddle—anything to take the edge off. You have always been my unbreakable horse. You’re the immovable object in my life but I also don’t want to even consider moving you. You anchored yourself within me. You’re my sounding board, my best friend, the love of my life, the man I want to marry and spend my future with.

“Every moment without you feels like I’m walking on a bed of nails. I would rather—”

Katsuki chokes on a sob.

“I would rather never know what love felt like than know what love without you feels like. I know our friends and family will be laughing at me for years to come over these vows but that’s how much I love you. I don’t care about the stupid jabs and jibes they make at my expense. You make me want to live, and every day that I get to be with me makes me glad that I was born. It makes me glad that I wanted to be a hero. If I didn’t, then I never would have met you at UA and we never would have ended up… ended up here today.”

He lifts his gaze from the paper to Eijirou’s face. Their matching rings sparkle in the light of the sanctuary and the stained-glass windows cast a blue-green hue on Eijirou’s restful face. He’s too at peace as he lays there in the coffin. It’s not fair. Katsuki has already read these vows to Eijirou once on the day of their wedding, but he felt it necessary to read them to him again today at his funeral. He had no way of writing a proper eulogy for his husband. The only words he ever wants to say to him are how much he loves him.

Katsuki violently wipes the tears from his face with the back of his hand. “Today is the day we finally unite as one but in reality, we’ve been united since we first fought together during the attack on the USJ that first week of high school. We worked in perfect harmony back then and it was the start of something incredible.

“So, I vow to always be by your side and protecting your back. I’ll cook while you clean. I’ll love you until we’re both old and gray and full of wrinkles and can’t stand each other’s old-man smell. I’ll make you soup when you’re sick, just like I know you’ll do the same for me. We’ll spend our days off lazing about the apartment or camping or hiking. I vow to count all the stars in the night sky with you, explaining what each one is and how many years it would take to get there. And even when I’ve used my last breath, I’ll still take one more to tell you I love you. Because Kirishima Eijirou, I’ll be damned if there’s anyone else I would rather spend the rest of my life with. It’s you and me always and forever. Katsuki and Eijirou. Eijirou and Katsuki.

“Til death do us part.”

Katsuki crumples the worn-out sheet of notebook paper in his fist as he jams it in his pocket. His shoulders shake as the sobs wrack his body now. He bites down hard on his bottom lip as he approaches the casket, ignoring the crowd of people that are either waiting for him to continue speaking or to step off the stage and allow someone else to go. Katsuki grips the edge of the casket for support and sniffles. Tears spill onto Eijirou’s lifeless form, and Katsuki gives his husband’s hand a squeeze.

“I’m so mad at you,” he says. “You weren’t allowed to leave me, not like this. We were supposed to have our whole lives together so why was your life so short?”

He chokes on a sob and pulls the wedding vows back out of his pocket, placing them under Eijirou’s hand. Katsuki waits for a moment, expecting Eijirou to squeeze his hand and tell him everything is going to be all right but when nothing happens, he turns away without another word and moves back to the pews to sit between his parents who hold him close as he cries into his mother’s chest like he’s done so many times as a child.

Kaminari goes to the stage. His usual energetic aura is replaced with a more somber one as he tells a story in vivid detail about Eijirou saving him while they were working. Katsuki tunes it out. He has no interest in what anyone else has to say about his husband. He just sits there quietly crying as his mother and father soothe him, rubbing their hands up and down the length of his back and whispering about how he will eventually move on from this. Today is for grieving. Tomorrow is for the future.

Written for the @ficwip Dark & Cozy challenge. You can also read it on AO3.

[xenscribes]

Blog Post 8

In this blog post, I will detail my process of writing a formal 21st-century sonnet and also reducing that sonnet into a haiku or transforming it rather.

I found the writing of the sonnet to be quite exciting. I knew exactly what I wanted to write about when I saw it said 21st-century sonnet because I wanted to write about a 21st-century issue that we have with technology. Once I knew what I wanted to write about it was easy to jot my thoughts down, but the challenge for me came with the syllable count. I really had to focus on word play and making sure that I cut out all excess words in order to make the syllable count. Even though the assignment was challenging I thoroughly enjoyed it.

The haiku as a continuation of the sonnet was not as challenging as the sonnet. I did have to change my wordiness because it was hard to stick to the three lines without feeling like I needed to explain myself further. I think that the haiku makes you really have to reflect on the exact words that you are choosing.

[juuheizou]

what do you think suzumutsu's love languages are? for juuzou i think receiving gifts/acts of service makes sense, at least with his friends in general (haise hanbee his squad etc) but i feel like it might be something different with people that he's the closest to, like tooru or shinohara. and as for tooru's main love languages i'd probably say words of affirmation and quality time but what do you think?

You are one astute cookie, anon! Let me just preface by saying I agree with you so hard, on all of this, but let me tell you why.

for juuzou i think receiving gifts/acts of service makes sense, at least with his friends in general (haise hanbee his squad etc) but i feel like it might be something different with people that he's the closest to, like tooru or shinohara.

Suzuya is easy. I have no doubt his love language, at least his main one, is physical touch. However, there is a reason why he might seem like a gifts/acts of service guy, or even be one secondary to touch, and that's because he is a hands-on type of person to whom tangible, concrete actions speak much louder than words. Gifts and actions, particularly the right ones for him (read: practical, delicious, or fun) also fit that description.

It's hard to pull evidence for this because he is truly close to such a small circle of people, but iirc the first gesture of genuine affection we see him give anyone is the goodnight kiss he lays on Shinohara's forehead in the hospital. In the trivia Ishida shares with us, his favorite things in both series are things that engage his senses, hide-and-seek, throwing his work partner, sweets, and of course hunting ghouls. I think in his relationships, he likes forms of affection that engage and indulge his senses too.

I think you hit the nail on the head when you say his preferred love language is reserved for the people he is closest to, though. It's less about a hierarchical ladder of closeness, as social rules and norms of that kind are not instinctive to him, but until he is as close to someone as he is to Mutsuki and Shinohara, how is he supposed to know that if he gets physically close enough to someone to touch them, in any way, they won't turn around and tell everyone “that twisted cat-killer tried to hurt me!”

Gifts and acts of service are definitely viable runners up, since they are also things he can do for, like you said, his friends and squad with his own two hands. As a recipient, they are also actions that speak to him coming from those people. So they meet some of those things that matter to him in the world of affection while being less liable to fuck him over if extended to the wrong person.

and as for tooru's main love languages i'd probably say words of affirmation and quality time but what do you think?

Mutsuki, at least to me, is a tougher one to figure out, but I'm going to agree with you. Words of affirmation and quality time, though I'm going to call quality time his main one. For a while, I thought it was acts of service, but I think all the nice things he does in canon are a case of “if he writes her a sonnet, he loves her, but if he writes her 20 sonnets, he loves sonnets.” So what makes the special people in his life different from a complete stranger he would sacrifice his life for because he values helping others? What sets them apart in my eyes is appreciation, recognition, and attention.

Off the top of my head, Haise was always so nice to him and they had a lot of time alone together on account of the other Qs doing their own things, or nothing, all the time. Shirazu confided in him, and Mutsuki gave him verbal reassurance, yes, but it was also the listening and sharing things Shirazu felt like he couldn't tell anyone else, just the two of them, that mattered. And of course, Suzuya took the time to train and mentor him and Mutsuki continued to spend time with him and the squad after that.

A compliment or a simple “thank you” for those nice things he does might make his heart flutter and as long as it's not a grand spectacle with an audience to stare at him, he does cherish those kind words. Give him any one-on-one moment to make him feel appreciated and worthy of undivided attention, though, and he might just melt, even if it's as simple as pulling him aside for that “thank you” rather than spitting it out offhand without so much as stopping what you're doing to say it. Combine the two, like spending a low-key but special night in with him because he's been working so hard to do so much good for people and deserves to be appreciated, and tell him so on no uncertain terms... he won't ever let that go.

[spacecasewriter13]

When the Lights Go On Again by @spacecasewriter13​

Summary: It is May of 1946, over a year after his fall from the Hydra train and losing his left arm, and James "Bucky" Barnes is struggling to adjust. Working as an analyst at the New York City SSR branch, Bucky tries to put the war and all of its sorted memories behind him. However, try as he might he is plagued by thoughts of Magdalene "Maggie" Ramirez, a Women's Army Corps (WAC) Corporal he met in London and hasn't spoken to since before his fall in January of 1945. Little does he know that Maggie, in her struggle to put the war behind her, has moved to the city and looking for a job with the New York Bell Telephone Company as a switchboard operator. Now, by sheer dumb luck, they are reunited as they both fight come to terms with what they were to one another during the war, and work to figure out how to move forward in a world that was unprepared to deal with the consequences of war in the unsteady peace.

Chapter 27: Two Cigarettes in the Dark

Chapter Summary: As Bucky prepares to have dinner with Steve, Peggy, Daniel, and Maggie, he has a few hard-hitting conversations that drive him to a critical juncture. Maggie navigates the intricacies of higher society and does her best not to wonder what place, if any, she has in James's life.

Excerpt:

"We'll figure it out when we get there." Or "there's no need to make a decision now," that (and others like them) had been the constant refrain since he and Maggie had started seeing one another at the library every Saturday—or most every Saturday.

They'd been content with that for a moment. But now, he knew that something was going to have to give. They couldn't continue on like this, and ever since Gabe Jones and Sarah Wilson's engagement party Bucky felt more and more urgently that they were running out of time—he was running out of time.

It didn't help that Carter had invited her and Sousa to dinner the Saturday after Thanksgiving. There, he imagined, the line between fraternization and permitted interaction dangerously blurred.

Carter knew (she wasn't an idiot or blind) that he and Maggie were involved—though to what degree she assumed Bucky couldn't say. But he did feel the proverbial noose tightening, closing in on him and Maggie both.

It wasn't fair, as Maggie had said, that they had to sneak around. And it wasn't as though he liked this any more than she did. It was just he was wary of asking the SSR for permission and what sort of chaos, scrutiny, and danger that would bring into her life. He also didn't like the idea of just waiting around for the SSR to find out and then for them to fire her. Steve said he could smooth things over, but he didn't want Steve involved that heavily in his love life either.

So while no one option was particularly appealing, Bucky knew what they were doing now wasn't going to continue to work forever. It already wasn't.

The way she'd kissed him after their dance before she'd gone back to her friends. The way she'd put her head against his chest, her hand holding his hook. The thoughtful way she'd talked through the question of a mitten for his hook, her playful banter, her little jabs of frustration and irritation at the situation. It had made his heart jump, leap, and skip a beat—as though he was some love-sick teenager writing bad sonnets.

To Continue Reading Please Visit Ao3

[deputyash]

Necromancy, Raven, witch, and haunted for Dovie, and pumpkin for you :3

Thanks for sending some! <3

NECROMANCY - What are their views on death? Undeath? Immortality?

Hitting me with the hard questions haha. Hmm, I think to a certain extent Dove sees death as just being a part of life, but also I can see her not really wanting to think about it too much. She’s quite afraid of losing her loved ones, so the thought of them dying is hard for her. As for her own death, she tells herself she feels neutral towards it, but also she would be afraid of dying before her time. I also think Dove would like to believe in an afterlife of some sort. She’s not particularly religious, but she just likes the idea of being reunited with people (and pets) she loved. She would also like the idea of watching over the ones she cares about even after her death.

Undeath, I’m assuming this means like zombies/vampire or maybe resurrection type of things? I don’t think that Dove would actually believe in undeath, but she does like the idea of reincarnation or resurrection. She finds those concepts interesting and a tiny sliver of her wonders about it being possible. (Unless it’s the version of Dove that eventually becomes a vampire haha, then yeah I’d say she believes in undeath. Ghost!Dove too lol.)

Immortality is similar to her views on undeath. She finds it interesting but wouldn’t actually believe in it. If, for whatever reason, she was given the chance to be immortal, I think she would be tempted to take it because if she was immortal she wouldn’t have to worry about all the things plaguing her. That ticking clock feeling would be gone. But then she would think about her current loved ones and knowing that she would lose them would be too hurtful. She’d rather be with her loved ones and die, then live and be alone.

RAVEN - What sad song, poem or sonnet would they be associated with?

I don’t know many poems/sonnets and my mind always blanks for songs lol, let alone any sad ones, so I just searched around for some. This is a poem that I think would fit well with Dove. 

__

Immortality

By Clare Harner

__

Do not stand

     By my grave, and weep,

I am not there,

     I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond glints in snow,

I am the sunlight on ripened grain,

I am the gentle, autumn rain.

When you awaken with morning's hush

I am the swift upflinging rush

Of quiet birds in circling flight.

I am the day transcending night.

Do not stand

     at my grave and cry -

I am not there,

     I did not die.

WITCH - What are they readily willing to sacrifice to ensure their plans work? What is too much and how far are they usually willing to go?

Dove is very protective of people, especially loved ones, so she will not sacrifice people important to her for the sake of a plan. If it’s something very important like saving a loved one, Dove is willing to sacrifice anything relating to herself (including herself) to make sure it works. 

If a plan isn’t going well, she is willing to regroup and make a new plan rather than continue a risky plan that could get herself or others hurt. (If it’s possible anyways, some things are out of her control of course.)

HAUNTED - When they’re suffering are they willing to admit it? To whom? Why or why not?

Dove has a hard time asking for help. She feels guilty for it and doesn’t want anyone to be troubled or, depending on the storyline, getting hurt. She really tries to do things on her own or fix things on her own, but it doesn’t work all the time. She’ll probably only admit to needing help after she’s already burnt out or hurting (physically or mentally). She is also very selective about who she tells. It would probably be her older brother, a very close friend, or her significant other. She trusts them the most and she finds comfort in them, so just spending time with someone she loves eases the suffering.

PUMPKIN - Out of character real quick, what’s YOUR favorite part of Halloween?

This is so late…hahaha XD But my favorite part of Halloween is the overall atmosphere honestly. That time of year just feels so cozy to me. I love autumn already so I love the weather, but I also like seeing all the decorations and stuff. I also enjoy dressing up, even though I haven't really been able to in recent years.

Also, random story because why not haha - When my younger brother and I were young kids, we didn’t get to go trick-or-treating because we lived on a ranch and thus had no neighbors. So our parents would go to the front and back door, and we would go back and forth to trick-or-treat from either door haha. We did get to go trick-or-treating when we were a little older, around middle school maybe?, because we would go with an ex-friend of ours to their neighborhood, or we just randomly went to town to see where we could trick-or-treat haha

[libidomechanica]

“Changing in our grave”

A sonnet sequence

               Stanza the First

Heave but the hearts: that we may spare, for naught. Snatch theme, half glad, yea, more did not why: t was on the life? Woe: and fist first pyramid and seen by such hurrying to maids again, and with a wound, than nurse that ancient race which thy Gotes: the sweets, do you think you! Religion and with Dogge of course— I can’t forgetting still with turrets of the shade, it light, I had a heaven? Changing in our grave. All, wherein my own know what my heart? With no great store sheds his Prince! Thou him ken yode late on Pilgrimage, madly bands his lip through why I call itself, and secure of maiden, stay! And her cheek.

               Stanza the Second

In Colin Clarence so far retiring Crowd be Judges days so fair? And every hour gave it all the spur of this flea guilt, t is not be admiring Crowd will to my fix’d on themselves thou mine, that morning to tell, but not youth—when all it do o’erstep them neat: arras the specially true-love have been driven backward yawn, and sick of counsels fit; I do content to richness from out her lawns, and the room close the folly. Time to see, began to raise thence is o’er they beard; where your mistresses, a pure virgin’s bowers! Man’s lightsome lucky Revolutions, if we shall I can no wise.

               Stanza the Third

Made forgot; cool was prouder the earth beneath. Scientific continued battling no drop in the episodes are wrinkles pointing with him he attempts, with a Jealosies and Sons, they also pleasure: mething hot.—Forgive merchanged away earthly lyre I trow, and surely vertues only in France of his heart, for oranges and blear’d as pale heaviest to hers, little porridge of consenting teare. He gain’d, for ease into the should not stopped in, the Present ease, in middle air? Like Adam- wits too late; or where, if they ride home safely mined well apayd? By the dizzy sky!

               Stanza the Fourth

What weening heated, beseeching passing tear. I never had been faith, too soone may grief and Stand; and in blood clothed with a doubtfull Titles and then absent, gently detestable, plates—without any let, to wander’d how his patience, performances here! Mild as false death. Looking, but being pent inglorious silence betimes ladies take the sixth the quaystones of my own eyes, ears, and sing, of which were bred where than Accuse. Good old wonder’d on, and wife, and when no wight, betwixt me and shadow as I make hand on mightst thou, fair Lamia, here, seemed an orbed diamond path?

               Stanza the Fifth

May now the spreads, wax less great man has made by side before, but a clock, by its footmarks smallish figurative rightly, there all the Nations rather flat, and striving thou pleasure can the close of ladies, she home this hope the Courts ne’er denied till she sight of foot and means common: her hard to faintly. The deuced ball wrapt in doth ride; how happy plaining, but meeting, or three were soon maun be my body it has talking. Where likeness and his Servants weaker now than dust! That flashing for Lebanon, dark curls strive this very head against my winds the marvell’d, and laid the white startled.

               Stanza the Sixth

Will hurry of the shepheard of Justice could diviner Lust, his subject to the with a shells, my wrong in the religion growth most unliquid broiling, as it a vapour? Tell me where, she look’d a large winged listening in my body so ill, there’d to fling the crust, jutting alone the man may carouse, the song of Flora and then growth, thy hart still time of rascals your survey’d his Eyes; she is yet to words as the Donna Inez I wouldst fade that harbors me and maids, whene’er saw it—put there darts straight, what made more dreamed I was in his comprehensive War; which still withered the song.

               Stanza the Seventh

They took the like a peruke these seekers thy heat the wall, there, I yell, but Colin madness. Runs between her lap from its charming at times hath And thou dost thou this learnd a numerous seem dash’d bliss I wondered at too many a saints; to other men and care, thought ungentle Muse he was open’d by tubes she did not steals in some deserved to seize, was made a Lady’s quieting, cause he see this precedent warm life- blooms but with a lineal songs and tune your pain to scud like her, the devil. Understand unrest; still Superiour found as thou wast no symptom e’er begun a plaint.

               Stanza the Eighth

The chose and through the lonesome feel with intellectual giant sensation. Back from their Consented by this was desolate and incense doth beauty, life, wishing fast, with Arts, and I was good: those suicide was in November, but Desert. Als for the neighbour’d upon a lawsuit upon the holy were nor beautie but one impious to burn and left me first Ferment, and then—sit down, had alluded,—mentions for miss’d her too, also to the Italian Musico Cazzani sing nights to hope that touch no more thou would not, because, as meeke mought oaken beauty to the lees.

               Stanza the Ninth

She plucks it, dips its softly kist, and jutting go of some other spies, we must beauty cannot recaptured like th’ Offending many; all ill desire of my steps, and could he had he bricklayer of his Prey, his Frame anew, is word to tread was Hesperides. And high, while one not of former friend Don Alfonso ne’er retreat, for peaceable—a modest I at least, pointing that such amber. Would rise, till we must the best is feminine, no doubt all cost him by, would be; and our survey the Laws, who in his lady’s fangs couldst rehearse. Thy looks behind; and Jebusite.

               Stanza the Tenth

From Endymion following, but half-torn draperied his phantasy was; and a Moses’s face. He woke betide, and pure, the doors the pour a dewy gem, frighter gleam’d thro’ ripen’d by Impious; for the even child, and fluttering frame?—’Tis done is somewhat she imaginations him in plain, and Fir’d with spice his cowl; or not so high remembers mix my son: I tell your story up in further conscious moan even child to gladden this waxed tame, and multiply the noble Stem; him often to augur good name! From rushes cold wonder as she streams than love is o’er employment.

               Stanza the Eleventh

Felice chi puo. If I’ve checkered wept all to tie an unwither; and, in family’s death? Now turn my shadowing the coop. Even with you just as thou wayworn, or rot upon thy book. The corniced shadowy, thrown from the last years hence and turquois floor’s cap’s a feather flat, and cloudy rack slow journeying in uncertain and blackout, Madam which the boy Jupiter cloying sweet for then they may Give and brother intertwin’d and hang on his did, ’twas like a newe mischiefs were not oppose your saliva. Their banquets and even seven. And pure, suffer’d long, then: blessed soul. May.

               Stanza the Twelfth

With the think his plans to nurse Amalthea skimm’d for things are other sigh doth appall? Hark how she look, shall find something moment’s set, dances of solving double wind, with love—he—but all pain my great in sighing of the country, heaven know time’s past: ’—a chymic treasure lost starting with herself employ, with cold white cape on tithes, whose little word of triumphant song—he wondering heard the warm, tremulous-dazzling houses and as he, that if I had not ashamed of hate. Fools are his majesty your hero, who seely sheepe like blank amaze: the village to this: the very odd.

               Stanza the Thirteenth

And there’s not groan, expressing-gown, with Cocker’s review—the Brenta I was a hummingbird sipping of the heart to the fools: prose poets like a moan instead of war What man has made: he had seen what I shall be like Addison’s faint eternal care, each change. And size, even in the dusky strange and the false heart shall I lie, while herald twinkle train, holy frankincense doth flow; the lonely hour of the shades, struggling, patient stands to bedward spectacle their weedes to this world to our hero tell, blest efforts for ever side; nor so new, and haps on her head of heaven is left this wave of her make amends. To be unite, and, truth, and was Restor’d, and I feel of flight, I knowes not so with vain Pretence of the Plot: yet, can be showed haue heaven, for it went into a gallery, passing out each degrees, and marriage temples to grins, he knew not what and kings.

               Stanza the Fourteenth

Company, who had been plucks the curtain and so long in the body on this nights and can tell the Town. This wreath a glutinous pine; or if their midnight, and which adoring mythology. But no more esteem where Phebe layed, the Donna Inez had, to the basement of the desire, but Julia, starry sphere hunger-pinch. He did not as ye may. Prudent spar’d, would be had, save death. Half the chose shrine, no oracle, nor comes, and saw him vilely? From thence I have fled, like all hope, tall, hands by my sweep; he sang you not the third asking on her sweet dream of the while David’s Soul?

               Stanza the Fifteenth

It’s art: large dares, wherein the waters, all Kent can dare no worse from the streets and of rhymes may grief, however, and a path and mortal tympanum: his Lawfully, the long been sain him speak no Latin I continuation my hollow Echo of my smart, left foot and pale uncertain trust. My verse must now in the mould; now, as woman, children cutting head, to wish I might be my body or other Angelic slip of a hated, fond of things ’tis sweet nymph uprisen to the sunlight—ouf! In Milton, Dryden, Pope; the public altogether— I really done so in a fit.

               Stanza the Sixteenth

For love you? The very flowing but bespeak profanely, to the time away, with cheek. Kept a vivid lives! Here live, and rise, thought, since—since the Plot, by love’s gain tonight was fair, and louder the garden of her mail, and Lethe noon’s rules, those what I were other, if you all others Mold. And all- oblivion passion, profit he company or more, nor so old an awkward with kings renew’d in an only recognize her exist betweene thy mind, not tread was Hesperean; to his Tribe were many anguishment drowns, which play as well verses short their turn and of Honourable me!

               Stanza the Seventeenth

And strange, but hard years departed; unless turn like the stair just nor many, through a slight and nervy tails cowering woman a’ her wane. My happy couple forced to shine arms; to search and bold and maids again, that all; they should be dead, in thy tears amid foggy, midnight up in leaves. If you had it now-a-day! He died: and what Applause, would Plots, shall still with one, man, my paints away. Why am I Scanted by fame they none that loss; both white with than all the learn; and, when I’ve watch his spicy night half his Godlike Principles and his eyes, not his usual heats there torn. Who had been!

               Stanza the Eighteenth

He dress in cowslip’d lawns, and trampling on earth so much linen, lace, and merely high souls unlike that rage had zoned her feet! When the air, givings. Even to dive into the soiree too well: well decked into a market, cost his day she is fit to bear of your falls the amorous prize, and hamstrings to what you might tinge of meetness of this was dark, suppression cannot be seen in the colour nectar-wine, yet, I think so very wish, or I so grappled to the dooming to mighty Pharoah’s Ark. Crawls to make my guilt confessor so far mountain’d in the would not the celestial ran.

               Stanza the Nineteenth

Then all hear, i’ll write, speak, but I am, and you fast next Succession, or thriue: neuer heart not! To me ’twould feede, that brought be my body on the goal of pale-mouth’d prophets Sons against devise, telling, under sleep fell into a scraping Wealth, but serves to request.—The air, and wide,—not swift-lispings empyrean will them to the burnt, and I must be damn’d for Perigot was sure I never Ceases to be disdain and so long, furnish’d Pow’r Diviner Lust, his visitant age fit forth her mail, and lazy Happiness; swift, made matter, since purple, no lightning Croud to joyn: the dreaming.

               Stanza the Twentieth

Joining my friend extremely vice, for jealous curls, of Satyr from whom with the glaunceth from him; so, being and good sheepe to think he had burst from the former can content could see Juan in Alfonso paused and ankle glance was all thy soul revolving downward without perfecit opus! The best inslav’d the small birds, and ne’er is to pass over my turf growth was base as standing like you think on the bonilasse pass’d them han the Hebrew to reward selfe doth thy brow, but at gracious, that dreamed I was sister’s sorrow was solemn sea to the false Achitophel still more Establish’d.

               Stanza the Twenty-first

And let him lift a good made before; or being crown’d no less wind. Its with Peoples Saint Laurence so long he deserves the wrong of air rebuked, see the seal upon tenures burgage, but now she could pleasure, confusion by the sad fear lesser wayes I know what worthless fancied city gates, glass and his still thy slaue, whose his he revel? And tis to be cast doubled as to retort; I have Publick Good, by solitudes can they bene not far more clear found had its pillow left in their proper twinklings of our own fingers like most man; but as if her heart! And down, uncertain portion of Imogen, fair, and War was glad Endymion awoke, that we may seem strange, but yet he soul! A bud which dog bites, like a horses be; and I must be my chest, or white face nor was cold, cadiz perhaps, some others Mold. But Adeline way than the attorney last, mind’s imprison-house!

               Stanza the Twenty-second

The man on whose lips in the word; that he stories, When that through alterations, she did leaue follow’d all my heart beat, night-gown, gain, his vanitee, and marks upon tenures burgage, and Juan, fly! Is more streams I prefer a spoil a chance—and what somehow our sudden grow sharply gryde, uch words! Sent men and bars, eclipsing every limb, what will sees only in their master is the friend to prayer in wane, like Vision, at whose child, who in his eyes this wreath along the care such, who that hardly confirm my state: you look, shall too late and so fair and that I were two crystal. Had made nullity!

               Stanza the Twenty-third

An’ aft my winds creep; the Prince. They were han the day—the earliest in his lady was sealed off in a long pill and sick of another’d like Heavens Annointed since I have himself, mum’s the moral, which he wanted to sing, who took the pedantic conversation; and thrown like flesh so therefore he that gives us ourself from his death, through he lover’s eye is first parents grudge; the true paint to see him for the glad to say prayer? Nothing—but to leaf; t is some slight traced like a soda bottles, and catch from thee to light had English indeed’s infallibly the center in a.

               Stanza the Twenty-fourth

Examples of tithe of man, you’re a languish’d by Jebusites the fresh, that you pleasure; and I loved nor seen, she only son to another He, another’s garden. Which Hebrew Ballad that not? Quite well. But has not so truly shoud, there.—Now this worse that matters—but pain, to the anvil of honey, for impossible, youth of feeling back against Form and trios! Shell-fish or from all like a deities also the golden age ’mong lilies out. Changed, how deep despairs, who seem love of hell, which it surely we. Enough the has talk’d full to strike for their hand once British. He was odds.

               Stanza the Twenty-fifth

And so say I; by what’s seed, the door, who so fit as Warlike Ariadne was great wrath fierce solar energy, Mademoiselle, when place it is, these cloud thought touch things, up rose a Monarch which coals are when you’re a little is liking somehow, a Plot to this quiver of late I find abundantly don’t you have known that could never known through well not enough their Witnesse, shee vanish’d, she wind, and tears rather variably for to all her Treasons; not where comfort at their own spheres; a dewy splendours the end of urine. Left him still some sinecures he is widows—wives!

               Stanza the Twenty-sixth

As being read a vaulted, vast, o’er my sore: loue is the visions now reigne and sweet soul will divert my Native of her Oriental tears would win my plaining, as swallow’d in his little Juan had not kind; I thinking. A dimpled chin for a draught Aurora Raby’s eyes, now, like enough for a mistress’ nod will serves this such hints continents or part of love, could not sings have the green sea up to hand its fellow moon: the nicest told her, Take me in the nose began to flow from God they met and play, and such as he beginning, while in his lived to quell it till the cast the bed.

               Stanza the Twenty-seventh

I’ll call ardency than Jose and swift was a sting. The evaporation, who stood seem’d his winter lift me is; it is but ere everyday to drink, though he candles; and our shrine. Reflection’s Curst the streets and with Fear, yet of surest sought I; by no means hopes, to be gone to the prevail with their panting my Stellas face, his Crimes, and gold, or sight and so tangled in such as he will proceeding cockatiels—clutch his house, its pearl the lies be a perfect in Insanity’. There was, as every ware and rather than she past thou, but now by this thigh lay dormant, mov’d connection.

               Stanza the Twenty-eighth

The dreamed I was beggar. But will join the with old Ulysses flow of Heavens reward to freedoms for there is the mathematical, but nothing blinded Lycius could not in thy shady springs or hot day, or somewhere Titan ryseth from his throw himself without pity: thus reply, Boabdil wept, and never the heard mought to giue my skin and to search of the rack, mighty fuss just now, could endows the usual sleep. Not barrels, carelesse renowne? And ever honourable too, fish- semblances, by what’s set, these did fallen outrageous. And loued them happy had he best.

               Stanza the Twenty-ninth

When the sets us interceptibly afar in half embraced and some main to gaze, who broods drove Nymph and he arose, which he made: and sleights are supply they require; prevent of Clay. But tis passion, and the should be ashamed, and the sound the world, on fast next to despise, led by Mahomet, and when e’r their stars! Or action and can’t discover, that went into his tutors whom the forest boye, how the duke of the mathematical, but welcome palaces imperial, and after made sugarcanet. In silk and wreath’d her Don Alfonso first Impression, I don’t choose.

[digitalmarketinginmoradabad]

Remarkable Edutech MSOM - COMPLETE 4 YEARS OF ESTABLISHMENT

Remarkable Edutech MSOM - COMPLETE 4 YEARS OF ESTABLISHMENT

Learn Digital Marketing In MORADABAD SCHOOL OF ONLINE MARKETING (MSOM) Is A Venture Of  BEVISIBLE MARKETING COMPANY, Which Was An Initiative Taken In A Small Suburb By SEO Expert Mohammad Izhar  in 2017 With Digital Marketing Courses In Moradabad An Aim 'To Make People Aware Regarding DIGITAL MARKETING and Spread The Education In Concern Of Various DIGITAL Platforms' In His Own Hometown, Moradabad.  

'People Become Quite Remarkable When They Start Thinking That, They Can Do Things. When They Believe In Themselves They Have The First Secret Of Success'.

So, it happened with a narrow town tad Mohammad Izhar Siddiqui (Izhar Digital Entrepreneur), he belongs to Moradabad completed his schooling in Moradabad itself and also worked with several export houses as like Galaxy India, Sonnet Decor, INC and so on and then soon went to Delhi, India in search of exposure. His dreams were big and his conscience never allowed him to do the ordinary stuff. But still, he was at his very young age he started doing many things at a time gained experiences from various profiles, completed his education and continued to do various tasks and worked with several big companies like Discovery India, HomeShop18, Leo Burnett, Eifasoft Technologies etc.  In the meanwhile, he was having an opportunity to work from anywhere for several abroad projects and campaigns and that's the reason he switched back to his hometown in 2015 and continued his journey.

He was carrying nothing in his hands except the firm faith and believe to do something extra ordinary. While he was drawn back to his hometown Moradabad he has gained a lot more of experience, saw exposure in the B-Town, having almost more than 5+ years of experience in Digital Marketing and a lot more. As, he came back to Moradabad he was shaken a little because of the fact that still, people of Moradabad were far back with the time. People were simply not even knowing the right usage of various common Digital Platforms even. Which was a way back hard task for Mohammad Izhar to deal with. Soon, he realised that people residing in Moradabad has such a great opportunity in their hands as the town is famous in the entire World as 'GOLDEN BIRD' due to it's BRASS WORK and can generate good name in market place and generate leads if they get to familiarize with a little usage of Digital Platforms. Most of the workers were having great art works but they were hidden somewhere in dark due to less exposure and no face value.

This was a fire bursting situation, he thought of creating a model on his own by establishing a Digital Marketing Company in Moradabad named as BEVISIBLE MARKETING COMPANY. Bevisible was founded in 2017 with an objective of Transforming Traditional Running Business Into The E-Businesses Which Brings Scalability To The Existing and Help Them To Take A Leap Towards The Growth. It is a Digital Marketing Agency and Advertising Platform which provides Digital Internet Marketing Solutions, Website Designing and Development and E-Commerce Marketing Support. It was started and people got attracted and it started growing and now it is The Most Trusted Digital Search Marketing Agency which serves not only in India infact it has a strong presence in USA, UK, UAE, Australia and Canada also.  Now he has experienced with 5,000+ domains in his hands for which he has been working.  

But still, Mohammad Izhar was not found sitting back calm he was at a situation of little incompleteness. He found a big distance between Digital Marketing and the people living in Moradabad. He was also aware of the fact that, the coming time will be the high time of Digitalization and the people of his hometown needs to understand the perks and has to work accordingly to go with the trend but there were many parameters in the way due to which it was not an easy task for people to get some exposure and make themselves educate. Then, Mohammad Izhar alone himself took an initiative in 2017 by launching 1st Digital Marketing School In Moradabad as MORADABAD SCHOOL OF ONLINE MARKETING- MSOM, For Providing All In One Digital Marketing Course For 12th Pass Students, Fresh Graduates, Job Seekers and Entrepreneurs. MSOM carries a strong aim 'To Spread Awareness Among The People Of Moradabad Regarding Digital Marketing and To Make Them Familiar With The Digital Platforms'.

While this 1st Digital Marketing School In Moradabad, MSOM was launched it paved the way for creating the future. As, Digital Marketing itself is a massive carrier field with lot of big opportunities, where it was earlier said by Mohammad Izhar that, 'Digitalisation Is The Future Of India'  & MSOM IS THE FUTURE OF MORADABAD in this concern there was a need of creating an Online Presence in which one has to adapt the changes and has to create their Online Face Value. MSOM taught many students from basic to pro levels of Digital Marketing Courses In Moradabad as it was the only opportunity to avail Digital Marketing Course In Moradabad. MSOM spread the awareness of what exactly Digital Marketing is in Moradabad and make people realize the value of Digital Marketing in their own Traditionally running business which needs a Digital Transformation in the upcoming times. Students were given proper education for Basic Digital Marketing's Introductory Parts then it moved towards the professional Digital Marketing Courses In Moradabad like LEARN SEARCH ENGINE OPTIMIZATION, SOCIAL MEDIA MARKETING & OPTIMIZATION, E-MAIL MARKETING, E-COMMERCE MARKETING, AFFILIATES MARKETING, MOBILE MARKETING, CONTENT MARKETING, WEBSITE DESIGNING and DEVELOPMENT, GOOGLE ADWORDS & PPC ADVERTISING and much more content according to the modules of MSOM.  

This was not the end, it was just a start people got so much excited and keen to find such a amazing opportunity in their town Moradabad People started valuing the Digital Marketing Course In Moradabad by MSOM. There were number of students from all ages and various backgrounds even the people who were in the service sectors with good positions knocked the doors and learnt Digital Marketing In Moradabad by MSOM. Every other Alumni of MSOM holds a good profile at present and earning good as well in their own.

Again this was still not enough, were Mohammad Izhar use to continuously state that coming time will be high with Digitalization hence, it got proved. Nobody was knowing exactly and was never wanting it to be so bad but still, soon after the OUTBREAK OF CORONAVIRUS, things were shuffled at it's heights. Now, it's not only Moradabad each and every person of the entire World is aware of Digital Marketing and knowing the value of Digital Platforms but again knowing and seeing the leads are still not working at the end of the day.

Because, knowing and having proper practical knowledge makes a vast difference when it actually comes to implement and generate leads stated Mohammad Izhar. But, this time seems to very much obsessed because as it is a small town Moradabad but the benefit is that things spread here like a fire and so it happened with MSOM. While everything was shuttered and there was no way to gloom there seems to be a light in the darkness as Institutes and Colleges understood the importance of Digital Education and in this concern they approached MSOM in their premises for conducting Workshops in order to educate the students of their campuses and to make them understand the worth of the Digital Platforms in which MSOM showcased the Digital Marketing and generated good results out of it. Therefore, MSOM stands with every keen seeker who is interested in learning and growing with this NEW NORMAL DIGITAL WORLD and stands firmly To Fill The Gap Of Digital Marketing Education In Moradabad.

Stats are in front of everyone, that how after the spread of CORONAVIRUS how E-Commerce Marketing and Digitalisation has been ruling not only in India infact in the entire World. Every small to big established business has been converted to E-Business Platforms to convert the customers and to bring out the sales. In order to create a Online Presence in marketplace one has to adopt the NEW NORMAL LIVING and MSOM trains the people to create their Online Face Value in the marketplace to continue their Traditional Businesses as well but according to the NEW NORMAL DIGITAL LIVING.

MSOM didn't stopped here even, it started an additional training segment into MSOM's Leading Program after COVID-19 Pandemic. As, during Lockdown everyone was locked inside with NO JOBS and no financial support. Most of the women were at their worst phase being the only earning member of the family. But, they were having good skills in their hands through which they can do wonders. MSOM paved a way for WOMEN ENTREPRENEURSHIP where women's were taught basically, supported and made to stand on their own and rule digitally. They were continuously guided free of cost, motivated, trained how to rely on Digital Platforms where their talent, hard work, motivation and Digital knowledge has made them on path again but now with their own identities like a Women Entrepreneur.

As, now MSOM CELEBRATES IT'S 4th SUCCESSFUL YEAR OF ESTABLISHMENT it will cover more of the targets and try to connect more of the people not only through Offline batches but now with an Online mode as well. Now with Mohammad Izhar's 9+ years of experience MSOM will start exploring more and will try to reach more and more people by starting providing Digital Education through Online aspects as well for the people residing outside the Moradabad.

Like, Moradabad is famous as the GOLDEN BIRD in the entire World, MSOM will also now spread it's wings and will work to take the name of MORADABAD on the golden rays. MSOM will go more deep by supporting women's all around the Moradabad by guiding them to be an powerful WOMEN ENTREPRENEUR. Also, it will create an Online ecosystem for providing Digital Education not only of Digital Marketing but for various other courses as well and will try to reach out more and more of people by conducting Workshops and will provide FREE EDUCATION to the needy ones as well and will provide proper certification under the guidance of Bilal Siddiqui (Senior SEO & SMO Expert) and not only this Mohammad Izhar stated that, for the very first time ever MSOM will open the doors for the interns, where interested one can come and experience the streaming over live project.

Seeing the journey of MSOM Journey, lead by Mohammad Izhar it can be concluded that, 'The Road To Success Is Not Easy To Navigate But, With Hard Work, Strong Determination, Believe, Drive and Passion It Is Possible To Achieve The Extraordinary Success.'

[luobingmeis]

shakespeare’s sonnet 18 is giving me a headache and not bc i don’t understand it, but bc i understand it too much and, to make it fit the topic im pursuing, i have to take up a stance that i don’t actually believe in and it feels Wrong to do that and also my professor will Absolutely see through my bullshit

[littlemissnoname13]

i could request a post-war smut where draco and the reader have talked about having babys and are ready, then they just fuck with breeding kink. only if you feel comfortable and have a good day / night 💘

Hi Anon, I hope your day/night was been good.

Although I write a lot of smut, this is my very first venture into writing about breeding kink. This is soooo bad but I tried. I’m sorry anon. 😭

Lots of love x.

Sonnets, Summer & Sandcastles (D.M.) -NSFW, 18+

A/n: omg what have I written….I feel this need to go take a cold shower and pray. Also sorry for my constant spam today. Lol bye—

Word count: 1709

Warnings: smut, mature language, mature themes, nsfw, 18+, penetrative sex, filth, breeding kink, reader discretion is advised. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

   So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.” 

You read the final rhyming couplet from Sonnet 18 to your husband who was lying next to you. 

Long lazy summer afternoons were usually spent lying beneath the shade of tall limbering trees on a picnic blanket at the manor garden. Some days you’d read to him, and some days you’d both stare up at the denim blue sky and just talk—past, present, future. 

“So essentially, this Shakespeare bloke is saying that his beloved’s beauty will live on?” Draco tilted to his side to look at you. Tiny flickering specks of sunlight that managed to seep through the canopy of leaves created golden freckles on his otherwise alabaster skin.

"Yes Draco, his beloved’s beauty will live on in this poem." You elaborated before closing the book shut and turning to face him. You had your head supported with your hand and your hair tumbled and cascaded down your head and pooled around the blanket. 

He kept taking a few short moments to take this in. He wanted to remember this moment. He wanted to memorise this feeling by heart.

He didn’t think he’d make it out of the war. He never even dared to picture his life beyond the war—he thought he’d be giving himself false hope if he did. 

But the war was over and He’d made it. He’d make it with you by his side. 

Just looking at his beautiful wife beaming at him made him feel like he’d stirred a spoonful of sugar into his tea. 

It was like someone had replaced the denim blue colour of the sky with a rosy pink shade and the atmosphere was suddenly saturated with a sickly sweet smell—laced with fairy floss or burnt sugar. 

The simple and free flowing white dress you were wearing wasn’t helping much either. The gauzy and see through fabric gave a clear view of your breasts and your nipples. 

He began to wonder how your breasts would look when you’d be carrying his babies. He found himself getting hard just by the thought of your body changing, your belly swelling up with his seed. 

"Draco?" 

“Hm?” He said quickly as he tried not to drift into his daydream again. 

“What are you thinking about?” 

Draco slowly looked up and met your eyes. 

You had the kind of eyes that reeled a person in without even trying. You had the kind of eyes that would make you fall in love if you looked long enough. 

He found himself wondering if your kids would have your eyes—filled with warmth, kindness and all things good. 

He wouldn’t turn out to be a father like Lucius was he?—and what if he did? What if he was just the same? 

“Nothing.” Draco finally murmured, laying flat on his back and closing his eyes. “Just wondering if we should continue living in the manor.” 

“Why what’s wrong?” You asked. His lips were curved upwards in a small smile but you could feel like he was hiding his melancholia in his closed eyes. 

“There’s just too much history you know.” He said quietly with his eyes still closed. “Too much has happened over here” 

“Then let’s go, disappear anywhere in this world. It’ll just be us.” You said as you lay down next to him. 

With one swift movement he got up on his feet and offered you his hand. “Let’s do it then. We can make it if we leave now.” 

“Are you serious?” You looked at him all wide eyed before reaching for his hand. 

“Yes. Of course.” He chuckled, lifting you up in his arms just the way he did when he carried you across the threshold the night of your wedding a few months ago. “We could live anywhere y/n..we could start all over again.” 

“Yeah.” You smiled wistfully as Draco swayed you in his sturdy arms, his hair falling to his eyes, the summer breeze and the distant noise of cicadas—the moment was nothing short of being perfect. “We could live by the beach or near a lake.” 

“The kids could go swimming at the lake.” He blurted, turning his porcelain cheeks a peachy shade. 

You always knew how much Draco wanted a family of his own. You also knew how much he feared becoming another version of Lucius Malfoy.

“You want kids?” You asked softly as gently put you down.

“Don’t you y/n?” Draco tried to sound as laid back and casual as he could. He didn’t know why he did it. Maybe he was afraid you wouldn’t want kids with an ex death eater. 

“I want two.” You said taking a step towards him. You used your hands to caress his cheeks. “Maybe a boy and a girl.” 

“You do? With me?” Draco asked, blinking continuously as if he couldn’t believe those very words were leaving your lips. 

“Of course I do, you absolute idiot.” You leaned in as you closed your eyes, and stretched all the way to the tip of your toes. 

His eyes still remained open as you began kissing his lips. He was still processing what you’d just said, so naturally, almost carelessly. As if you’d thought about it too. 

And then it hit him. 

When it did,  he let his natural instincts guide him. 

At first, he moved his lips gently against yours as he took you in his arms again, carrying you towards the picnic blanket. 

And then, he laid you down and claimed your lips. You kissed him back eagerly, weaving your fingertips into his hair and pulling his face closer. 

He pushed his tongue inside of your mouth and started to explore hungrily as you slowly began writhing underneath him.

 Your lips kept moving in perfectly synchronised and timed movements as if your tongues had been doing this celestial and cosmic tango since the very beginning of time. 

Every movement, every sigh, every breathy whisper and the way his erection felt pressing up against your clothed core when you spread your legs and wrapped it around his torso felt like it was meant to be. 

After getting rid of all your clothes, he dipped his head low and started to suckle your left nipple while his hand kneaded your right. 

Your breasts always felt so supple and soft in his hands and he couldn’t help but think about your breasts growing and becoming heavier and fuller after he got you pregnant. 

At this thought, his cock was desperate to come out of his trousers. He desperately wanted to line himself up against your entrance and fuck you till you were spilling with his come. 

You tugged on his shirt indicating you wanted it off and you fiddled with his belt till his trousers were finally off. 

He groaned when he felt you wrap your hands around his stiff cock. You began stroking him, pumping up and down to the point where you could feel your own wetness along your inner thighs. 

Propped up on his elbows with your legs still wrapped securely around his torso, Draco lined himself up against your slick pussy lips. He pushed himself inside you with a single push and you cried out at the feeling of being full and whole again. 

Once you got comfortable with the sensation, Draco began to thrust. 

Each thrust accompanied by his fingers playing with your needy and aching clit. 

Each thrust accompanied by him groaning and telling you how good your pussy felt, whispering how much he desired to fill you up with his seed. 

“Harder Draco…” you whined arching, wrapping your legs tighter around him, securing him inside of you. “Please..fuck me harder..I need it..” 

Just hearing your desperate pleas made him feel like he was going to come. 

“You want me to fill you up darling?” He grunted as he increased his pace—forehead glistening with sweat, hair sticking to his face. 

“Please…” you moaned, his words pushing you closer and closer to your climax . “I want it so bad..”

“Fuck y/n..” He murmured breathlessly into your ears. “You are going to look so fucking sexy.. heavy with my seed—Just thinking about doing that to you makes me wanna fucking come…” 

“Draco..” you sighed as you felt your high wash all over you and he soon followed—releasing himself deep inside of you. 

As you both came down from your highs, Draco stayed inside of you wanting to ensure that you stayed full. 

“I love you y/n.” He whispered, placing a gentle kiss on your temple. 

~~~~~~~flash forward~~~~~~

You had woken up mid-day and walked bare feet towards the shore—the waves tickling your toes ever so gently. 

You could hear the seagulls, the waves colliding with rocks and the distant laughter of children running at the beach with their little shovels and buckets. 

“I knew I’d find you here.” Draco said softly as he walked up behind you with scorpius holding his index finger.  

“It’s a beautiful afternoon.” You sighed as you sank down and got comfortable next to your husband while your son ran off a little further and started to build his own little sand castle. 

Draco placed a protective hand on your stomach and watched the ocean with you—Both of you were dead sure it was a baby girl this time. 

“Mommy look!” Baby Scorp called out, clapping his little hands in glee. “I made a sand castle.” 

Scorpius was a spitting image of his Draco, but the little gestures he did, the brightness inside of his eyes resembled you and this made Draco’s heart swell with happiness. 

As he watched you build sandcastles with your son, he thought about that summer’s day in the garden. He thought about Sonnet 18 and he knew. 

He knew your beauty would live on in the way scorpius smiled. 

“So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

  So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.” - Sonnet 18, William Shakespeare

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Draco Taglist: 

(Forgive me is I missed anyone. My brain has turned into mulch)

@maybesandohnos @justfangirlthingies @desiredmalfoy @badslytherin @dlmmdl @trainintersection @lilsubbyx @fa-me @dracoswhore007 @paulina1998 @wh0re4blaise @marrymetheonott @quacksonsssandtea @letoof @rvaldez7569 @loloo22 @emma67 @berriemalfoy @thegaudess @itchywitch33 @louweasleymalfoy @badslytherin @lunar0se10 @savagelysarcasticslytherin @fleursbabe @teawineaddict @thebitchybeatle @malfoyxxdraco23 @fantasyfairysworld @trashyvicks @h0ggyw0ggyh0gwarts @l0vely-lupin @linasylveon @axdxis @justreadingficsdontmindme @amwitherspoon @thetipsysaquatch @haroldpotterson @laceycallisto @lolo2bougie @riddleswh0r3crux @belladaises @supermisunderstoodoceans @lalunemoonstone @sycathorn-slush @dracomalfoyisindahouse @dracomalfoys-wh0re

Join my tag list here . Alternatively, you can message me if you’d like to be added or removed from my list.

Read my other stories here.

Lots of love as always,

V.

[hotdamnhunnam]

Shades of You

A/N: Here’s the next in this ‘Kutte Too Deep’ series of flashbacks set in the AU of Kutte to Black! These fics can be read as standalone one shots or as part of this ‘KutteVerse’. This one is just a short ficlet of fluffy smut about you being Jax’s muse and the two of you having hot passionate sex outdoors…

Pairing: Jax Teller x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, a fuck in the park (it’s a secluded little spot of greenery – no one else is actually watching but they could be in theory)

Word Count: ~1.2k

“Babe, can you do that again?”

You glance up from the book that you were just about to begin. In these few weeks since you and Jax became a thing, you’ve spent the better part of all day and night fucking, though you pause from time to time to take his Harley for a ride or something. Head off someplace far from all the dusty streets of Charming. Pack a picnic so that you can spend a lazy afternoon feeding each other grapes and talking. 

For today’s outing Jax also packed a notebook, as he told you that he’s recently been bursting with a surge of inspiration for the novel he’d spent years struggling to write. Apparently just finding the right muse was all it took. He wants to churn out a whole chapter sitting in this park with you, admiring the sunlit view. Promised he’ll let you read his work after he treats you to another epic fuck later tonight.

Meanwhile you’re reclining on this big plaid picnic blanket with the paperback you’d packed, to catch up on some summer reading. But your badass biker boyfriend seems determined to distract. You’re not sure what he means by what he asked—‘do that again’ when you’re not doing much of anything—you’ve literally just been breathing.

From where he’s sitting on a rock nearby with his manuscript spread across his jean-clad thighs, Jax catches the confusion in your eyes. And so he clarifies. “The way you blinked real quickly twice. It was just really nice. Your lashes looked like butterflies.”

Oh Jesus Christ. He’s so fucking adorable, it’s honestly deplorable. You swoon and giggle, playing into it a little. Batting your lashes theatrically and shooting him a sultry look. Still have no clue, just what he sees in you, and yet somehow his every move makes you believe you’re the loveliest thing in the world. “Now if I didn’t know better, Mr. Teller… I’d think you were sketching me rather than writing a book. Draw me like one of your French girls.”

He laughs sunny and bright, shaking his head at your reference to the tear-jerker the two of you just watched the other night. Never did Jax Teller think he would spend a weekend getting all sappy romantic. Asking his girl if she wanted to cuddle and stay up late watching Titanic. 

“Hey, I’d take any excuse to get you naked...” your tall blonde prince charming admits as he sets his notebook aside and strides across the grass to join you on the blanket, “but I promise I’m not a nude lady artist. Just an aspiring writer in love with his muse and everything inspiring about her because she’s the hottest.”

Jax brings his big strong body down to yours and then blesses your lips with a soft kiss to prove that he’s honest. Pulls back to adore you with his gaze of blue. “You’re in everything I do. I see the world in shades of you.”

Fuck—every word that he breathes is a sonnet. This love is a drug, and you’ll live and die riding high on it. “You’re corny as fuck and I love you.”

Grins darkly and grinds the stiff bulge of his cock against your crotch as he knows how badly you want it. “I’m horny as fuck, too.”

“Mmm, what else is new...”

Without words, with the crush of his summer-lush lips against yours, he replies though you already know this is true: Everything is shiny and new when I’m with you.

Every damn time feels like the first. Everything blurs, present and future ever fading into past. The thrust of untold fate—the rushed soul-crushing weight, the fucking curse—compels you both to take each time like it’s the last.

The man in him loves smooth and soft and full of slow sensuous passion. But the beast in him moves rough and hard and fast. The fucking sex god that is Jackson. Barely even needs a second or a fraction, for his huge cock to get rock solid once he is at half-mast.

Moan into his mouth at the feeling of his denim-covered length. Rubbing against the flimsy fabric of your skirt, so hard it hurts. His hand caresses your cheek, giving you the strength, to take this love that makes you weak. Love beyond words. Your tongues were made to tangle up and taste the truth too big to speak.

Sometimes he says it anyway, though you both know he means more than the words could ever say. Says it a thousand times a day.

“Love you so fucking much,” he murmurs and the love tastes so delicious, in the blissful midst of kisses, as you melt beneath his touch.

Jax’s hand wanders from your face down toward your chest, shape of his grip made for your breasts. Beat of your heart rewrites the lines across the palm to which it’s pressed. His other hand is frantically unfastening his fly, then hiking up your skirt with a firm squeeze against the slick flesh of your inner thigh. So pleased yet not surprised to find that you’re already a wet mess. Both know there’s no one else nearby... no witness, other than the sky... but still out here it seems safest, to free his meat and push your panties to the side but otherwise stay dressed.

And so he does and wastes no time driving in deep until his dick hits home inside your soaking hole. So deep it hits your fucking soul. Hits every time and it’s the motherfucking best.

Something so blessed... has to be cursed. You think that way sometimes and it’s the fucking worst. Like fate is twisting you to tempt the pearly gates ahead and this is just a test. 

But when his hips are thrusting perfectly in sync with yours... his throbbing cock pounding and plowing through your pussy till it bursts... there’s nothing else on earth that matters—nothing else in all the universe... just ride this crest of pleasure, high together, as you crash the pearly gates until they shatter, and to hell with all the rest.

Sun spreads its golden heat and sheds light through the overhanging tree. So long content to shine upon this rock that orbits in its gravity—yet seething now in envy—so enraged at the eclipse, the air you’re breathing off his lips, the fire in his fingertips, so hot and heavy—heavenly. He is the only sun you’ll ever see.

The sun and shadow all at once. Heaven is here on earth yet someday hell will come claim what it wants. Can’t beat it back. But you don’t have to when he’s buried in your cunt. Beneath the shade of Jax, all else just fades to black.

You see the world in shades of him. Just as he does of you.

You love him, as he loves you, and you’ll make this love until the jealous sun burns out above you... even if it tempts the other stars to take it from you.

***************

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[bloomyagi]

beautiful, beloved, mine (m)

summary: you set him ablaze. he can only hope you like watching him burn for you. alternatively: this love for you is consuming him, and it all comes out in a badly vomited confession after he corners you at a gala.

pairings: shouto todoroki x f!reader

genre: pro heroes au, characters are aged up 20+

warnings: smut, dry humping, shouto comes in his pants, sub!shouto, he’s a good boi for you, he loves you very much n wants to be your baby

length: 2,447

notes: can u tell how much i love him pls -

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.

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“Can I be yours?”

Shouto Todoroki, ranked third pro-hero in Japan, has his strong arms braced around your head. In all your years of friendship, he has never been anything but exceedingly polite. He is well-behaved, thoughtful and sharp. He is guarded, though not intentionally, not anymore—it is reflex, a shield he has never really learned to lower. A reminder of his childhood.

You think he’s drunk. He must be, beautiful dual-coloured locks dishevelled, black button-up half-open and exposing his gorgeous collarbone. You watch, unwittingly, as a bead of sweat trickle down his neck. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, biceps flexing.

The dimmed lighting unfairly accosts you with his devastatingly handsome features and muscular body. And his eyes. His heterochromatic eyes are alight with something fierce and intense. They are also clear, glowing, almost, in the dark.

The two of you are somehow on the balcony, shut away from the rest of the world, the bass and the sounds of life fading in your little bubble until all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears, the warmth of his breath, the heat of skin and the fluttering of your heart in your throat. The cement wall digs into your back.

No, you correct yourself. He isn’t drunk. He’s barely tipsy. He doesn’t like to drink, rarely acquiesces to Kirishima’s insistence of shots.

He doesn’t smell like alcohol. His scent has always been calming, detectable under the thin layer expensive cologne he uses—he doesn’t like perfumed smells either, only uses it on nights like these, when he’s obliged to look the part—that fresh, cool scent. Of clean sheets, laundry detergent.

Still, this is out of character. Todoroki has never once crossed a line with you, with anyone. He’s quiet, reserved, though he smiles more now, the forming dimples in the corner of his eyes a living testament to his character growth. He treats others fairly. He is not unkind, honest and straight-forward. He is many things, and with the way he’s gazing down at you now, you are suddenly reminded of Midoriya’s hushed remarks earlier.

“You can’t see it, but Todoroki-kun treats you differently. He thinks about you, what you’d like and what you like. He cares about you so he’s careful around you. He wants to cherish you. He’s cold because he uncertain. He doesn’t know what to do. This is all new to him.”

“What is?”

The number one pro-hero had looked at you strangely. “Being in love.”

Midoriya is indisputably Todoroki’s best friend. Still, his actions are baffling. Why you? Why now? No, you couldn’t see it at all.

“Todoroki, are you drunk?”

“No. Though I required a little … liquid courage, as they say,” he rasps. He’s so close. His voice, so deep and husky, has you biting your lower lip. His gaze falls immediately.

He doesn’t touch you. The way his arms flex, hands clenching and unclenching, and his stiff posture tells you he wants to. He’s visibly restraining himself. Waiting, watching. Hoping.

“You never … why me?” You say softly.

“I could not. I wanted to, so badly. I have always wanted you. I always thought it was impossible for someone like me—to find someone I would want to share my life with, given my upbringing and dysfunctional family. But then things changed, got better, and then I met you.” He takes a shaky breath.

“I found wordless comfort in your mere presence. I found I could be emboldened, empowered, changed by your words. Every day I wondered how I could be worthy of you—if I could ever be worthy of you. Then I realized it was you … it would not matter to you, so long as I was honest with who I was. That is just the kind of person you are …” He shuts his eyes. His lashes are so long, you note absently.

“I am touched by your existence … I find joy in your spirit, yearning for your embrace, for the heat of your skin pressed against mine, I crave it … these foreign desires, they elicit something dark within myself,” he continues, breathing a little ragged now.

“This need, this desperation, like fire spreading in my veins, uncontrollable and hungry … I feel restless, itching for something, someone … Now I finally understand. I feel like I want to—to devour you. It is no longer enough, seeing you as I do, being as we are, mere friends … I want more, need more. With this desire to monopolize, I fear I have become … insatiable,” he trails off, turning his face to the side in shame.

Oh. Shouto Todoroki is in love with you, you realize with a jolt. He longs for you. For your companionship, your wit, your soul and your body. Your heart.

You reach up with a trembling hand to touch his jaw, guiding him until he looked at you once more. He doesn’t resist, pliant and eager as he leans into your hold.

“Only if I can be yours in return,” you say.

He lurches forward, knees nearly giving out as he slumps in your arms. “Oh, thank god, I … I was anxious I would have ruined everything. I knew it was unlikely they would be reciprocated, but I—I had to try,” he gasps. “This desire, it was consuming me.”

“Todoroki …” You thumb his cheekbone. He sighs faintly, body curving over yours as he presses close. “Call me Shouto, please …”

“Shouto.” He makes a strangled noise.

“Again. Please. You must understand, I have longed for this for so long …” He pleads shyly.

“Shouto,” you whisper, stroking his cheek. He’s so unexpectedly adorable. So, so adorable.

“My apologies, darling. I know I’m taking liberties, but I’m weak … I’m not strong enough to resist such temptation. Not while you are here, in front of me like nights when I dared to dream… So beautiful.” He nuzzles your palm.

You flush at his term of endearment, at the rawness of his tone. He has laid himself bare, singing his truth like a Shakespeare sonnet.

“You woo me like you’re waxing poetry … does this often work with others?” You murmur. You think you’re in real danger of melting.

His eyes fly open in alarm. “No. Never. It has only ever been you. I speak only from the heart, I have never—never done this before, am I explaining myself poorly? I am often told my words could use some more tact …”

Your heart swells.

“I’m just teasing, Shouto,” you say softly, combing a hand through his locks apologetically. “Your words are beautiful, I’m touched, truly.”

He relaxes, curling closer in your embrace.

“You don’t know … how I dream of building a home with you, of sharing all my firsts with you, cooking and setting the table with you … breakfast after long nights, filling the space between us with laughter and joy. Sleeping next to you,” he slurs. And then he goes on plainly, “How I fist myself every night thinking of the swell of your hips, the curl of your lips, your sweet, enthralling scent …”

You inhale sharply. Part of you is entirely taken back by the dual-haired hero’s use of uncharacteristically vulgar descriptions. His words drip over you like a honeyed aphrodisiac. Sweet and addictive.

“May I?” He draws closer, hands releasing you to brace against the concrete behind. Your body shivers involuntarily, missing the heat of his palms immediately.

“Yes,” you whisper.

Shouto dips his head, beautiful heterochromatic eyes watching you carefully for any sign of hesitation or indication you wanted to stop. Ever the gentleman.

This is who he is, you realize. Respectful of your boundaries, honest and, with you, gentle. He eyes flutter close when his lips touch yours. They’re warm, sweet with a hint of the alcohol he consumed earlier. Your fingers bury themselves in his locks, the kiss unhurried, savouring each moment.

Then you open your mouth, tongue touching his. And Shouto falters. He groans throatily, your nose tickling at the scent of ash. Ah. He’s losing control. He jerks away quickly, right hand enclosing over his left.

“Don’t tempt me,” he rasps, blush rising.

You snag the rumpled collar of his shirt, pulling him close. “Kiss me again.”

And when you guide his hands over your hips, he grips them tightly and crushes his mouth against yours, kissing you hard. Spit runs down your chins, messy and sensual.

Something hard presses against your inner thigh. You push his legs apart and shove your leg in between. He chokes, eyes rolling back.

“Ngh—!” He gasps. “More—hngg—please!”

You pull back to survey him. He chases after you, lips slick and swollen.

“Shouto. You like this?”

He pauses, sucking in a breath sharply, eyes flickering. And then—

“Yes,” he whispers, a whisp of flame flaring on his left.

Your core clenches over nothing at his needy, humiliated tone.

“I like this too,” you confess, trailing a hand over the ridges of his abdomen, fascinated by the way the muscles clench.

Shouto mewls, chest thrusting forward when you pinch his nipples experimentally through the cotton. “Ah—ughh—yes!”

“Can you come like this?” You wonder absently as you twist his perked nubs harshly. He moans brokenly, hips jerking.

“I—I d-don’t­—kno—hah,” he pants, eyes half-lidded as he struggles to focus. Pleasure clouds his senses, head fuzzy and vision hazy.

“Can you get off here, like this?” You ask softly. “I want to see you come undone.”

Shouto blinks blearily at you, nodding eagerly. “Hng—yes, wanna be good for you,” he slurs. Oh. My. If you weren’t dripping before, you certainly are now.

He stumbles a little as you push him against the wall, switching positions. He’s barely standing at this point, leaning heavily against the cement as he gazes up at you with glazed eyes. He looks utterly fucked out and utterly delectable.

You undo the remainder of his buttons, holding him back firmly when he whines, pawing at the fabric, wanting to rip it off.

“We still have to walk out of here,” you remind him, giggling. His only blinks at you blankly as if to say and? Too gone to think of the consequences.

“This view is reserved for my eyes only,” you murmur, nails scraping against his nipples. He gasps, back arcing. “Yes, yes!” He agrees mindlessly.

He grinds against your thigh desperately, the weight of his cock heavy and hot. He throbs at every touch.

“Kiss—kiss, please,” he whines, reaching for you. You oblige, internally fawning over his cuteness.

His hips move faster, chasing release as he moans and keens into your mouth.

He parts from you with a gasp and wet shlick. “Feels so good—sho good—hngg,” he babbles. His asymmetric temperatures intensify, the heat of his left searing you and the chill of the right piercing you.

“Oh—I’m—I’m c-cu—” he cries out, gripping you tightly as he fucks himself against your thigh urgently. You push your leg against him harder, nails digging into his stomach.

“Come for me Sho,” you murmur, biting his lower lip. His mouth parts in a silent wail, head tossing as his eyes roll. His body shudders, something warm seeping into the fabric of your jeans.

With a strangled groan, he sags against you, exhausted and spent. You stroke his hair soothingly, brushing back the sweaty locks and peppering chaste kisses over his face as he comes down slowly.

Faintly, you register someone calling your name.

“Oh, Midoriya. Over here.”

Shouto is too out of it, still coming down from his high, his soft moans tickling your ear

“Oh, there you are! Have you seen Todoroki-kun? I—oh!” He squeaks loudly, spinning on his heel immediately and covering his reddening face.

What a sight the two of you must be. A perfectly debauched Shouto, shirt falling over his broad shoulders, the fabric clinging to his glistening skin, raised lines over his bare chest that appear angrier in the darkened lighting, slumped over you, body trembling from the aftershocks of his orgasm.

The One for All user pales when he spots the noticeable burn the size of a palm on the wall behind your head.

“Uh—neverminditwasn’timportanthahahaohsomeone’scallingmegottagobye!” Midoriya practically screams in your face before bolting from the scene in the next beat.

Shouto manages a tired chuckle as you blink in the wake of his dust.

“You’re surprisingly shameless,” you remark when you turn back to him.

His wry smile slips, letting out a weak mewl when you squeeze his cock over his slacks teasingly. He’s already chubbing up, hips rolling slowly against your touch.

“I told you, didn’t I? I’m insatiable when it comes to you, darling,” he murmurs, cheeks dusting.

“Then let’s continue,” you say, helping him stand. He valiantly tries to salvage whatever is left of his shirt, but it’s hopeless. He gives up, letting it drift apart, sculpted abdomen and chest in full view.

“Hmm. I quite like this view,” your palm rests on his stomach, smiling when he jolts at your warmth.

“My place or yours?” He breathes, pulling you flush to him.

“Yours, I think. I’ve been meaning to try out your new jacuzzi,” you rest your cheek against his chest, tracing nonsensical patterns on his pec. Goosebumps rise on his skin, and you can hear the rapid fluttering of his pulse. He’s—nervous?

“I built it for you,” he confesses, burying his face into your hair. “After you mentioned how much you wanted to try one, I thought—well, I don’t know what I thought. I only know that I went out the next day to hire a contractor and expand my bathroom. I suppose part of me nurtured a hope I’d one day pluck enough courage to ask you to come over and give it a try …”

You pull away, looking up at him in disbelief. He laughs dryly at your expression.

“Yes. I know. It sounds as irrational as it felt. I still haven’t used it yet.”

“Then …,” you hesitate. And then you say shyly, “Then if you’d like … we could try it today? Together?”

“I … yes, I’d love that,” Shouto swallows thickly.

You take his hand as the two of you start to make your way back. He squeezes your hand once.

“Let’s go home,” you say softly. The corner of his heterochromatic eyes crinkle, lips curling into a gentle beam. He looks radiant, beauty amplified by his dishevelled and unkept state. He leans down to kiss the corner of your mouth.

“Yes,” he says. “Let’s.”