#sorry neruda

[island-in-the-shadows]

Not me literally crying like a moron over processing the most overused Neruda sonnet because of Billy and Daisy. I just...can't help but choke up a little because, yes, the line:

"I love you as one loves certain obscure things,/ secretly, between the shadow and the soul" fits but so does

"I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where"

and I can believe that "i love you as the plant that doesn't bloom but carries/ the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself..." is a sentiment he has in some way.

And that they are, "[...] in this form in which I am not nor are you/ so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,/ so close that your eyes close with my dreams"

I kinda don't even care it's corny and cliche because at this point I just can't...

#daisybilly #djats #i am a cliche moron and i dont care #i just have a lot of feelings #sorry neruda #and yes i did read it first in spanish but lingua franca and all #o sea #se supone que me quedara sin pensar que el la ama a ella entra la sombra y el alma? #que no digo que todo sea rosas tampoco #y que todo esto es muy injusto para camila #y la lastima que me da que Camila sea maltratada de tal forma #pero es lo que es mi pana #es un amor frustrado y funebre el de billy y daisy #asi que la ame en las sombras...por lo menos evita el pleito

[laurennbacall]

OMG GUYS LULA IS OUR PRESIDENT ONCE AGAIN JSHSIAAJKAQIAJKAKAKAKA ONE MORE LOSS TO FACISM AND A NEW HOPE FOR AMAZON RAINFOREST!!!!! IM SO SO HAPPY,

#lary talks #im sorry but im too overwhelmed #i swear im crying tears of happiness #people dont get it #bolsonaro is sooo bad #he has no respect for women lgbt black and indigenous ppl #the economy was trash #he killed many ambientalists #and almost got amazon to a point of no return #HOPE WINS #u know pablo neruda said #they can cut all the flowers but cant stop the arrival of spring

[rebeliz7]

CHARMER

Wanda Maximoff x Black Widow Reader

Request: A request for Wanda, where people are constantly asking her out , but R says no to all of them, until on day she's so fed up with it and spills the fact that she's a lesbian and in love with Wanda.

Word count: 2974

“Someone looks great today.” Sam casually says as he leans forward to rest his elbows on the kitchen island, where you’re enjoying a cup of coffee by yourself and he can have a better sight of you. 

“Is that a compliment, wings?” You grin at him and he grins back, his eyes glinting as he very openly checks you out. 

“Picture this.” He tells you with a hinting raise of his eyebrows and puffing chest. “You and me, in a nice restaurant, delicious food and tasty wine.”

His confidence impresses you, not that you’re about to tell him that. Besides, he’s not the first one to ask you out this week, and he won’t be the first one to be met with a gentle no. 

“Are we dressed to the nines?” You still play along, mostly because humor is the only way you can deal with their advances, and his smile widens. 

“I’m wearing a three piece, and you’re in a tight low cut dress. Have you seen me in a three piece? We look great! Everyone around us is jealous about how good we look.” He says, and you take a sip of your coffee. He looks so hopeful that you almost feel bad for what you’re about to say. 

“Sorry, wings. I’m busy for the rest of the week.” You tell him before you take your cup to the sink, and he groans playfully. 

“Come on, girl.” He says but you’re already walking out of the kitchen.

“Thanks, babe. But I’m not going on a date with you.”

“That was cold.” He tells you with a pointed look, and you wink at him, which makes him smile.

Not that you don’t find Sam extremely attractive, but he’s not exactly the person you’re interested in.

…

Wanda is the kind of person that can light up a room with a single smile, and you always notice. 

“Hey, babe.” You kiss her cheek in greeting as you walk over to her when she enters the gym.

“Gross.” She scrunches up her nose adorably, her hand on your chest pushing you away, and you kiss her cheek again in jest. 

You’ve been in the gym for two hours already, you’re drenched in your own sweat, and she looks like she just got out of bed. 

“You need to shower.” She laughs, and playfully cleans her cheek with the back of her hand. “How long have you been here?”

“A couple of hours.” You shrug easily, your eyes firmly locked with hers. God! She’s beautiful, and you’re a goner. 

“I’m gonna do the mandatory thirty minutes on the treadmill and you need to, please, shower.” She tells you, and your chest tightens so unexpectedly that you take a deep breath to get a grip, and you open your mouth to blurt everything out, but you catch yourself a millisecond before you do. 

You want to tell her that you find her incredibly adorable, and that you cannot stop thinking about kissing her. God! You want her to know that you want her, all of her. You want her to count on you because you’d never let her down. 

Jesus Christ! You have no idea of when you turned into this person, but she makes you want to blurt out Neruda and such. She makes you want a relationship, and it unsettles you as much as it scares you. 

“Breakfast first. Shower later.” You tell her, and she gives you a confused look before she practically shoves you out of the gym. 

“Get out of here, or I’ll never get anything done.”

You leave her to it, but you can’t stop thinking about her smile for the rest of the day.

…

“So.” Natasha says as she slips in the empty seat next to yours. “Steve did not take your rejection very well.”

You’ve been watching Wanda help Vision make a cocktail behind the bar for the last couple of minutes, and Natasha’s words are so unexpected that your brain has to take a couple of seconds to process them, and then catch up.   

You blink a couple of times, all the while feeling Natasha’s eyes glued to your profile. Steve asked you out yesterday, but you never thought he’d share your rejection with anyone, not even with Nat. 

“He told you.” You speak, but you do not give into her tactics. She’s aiming for a reaction but you’re both spies, and she should give you a little more credit than that. 

“He told everyone.” She laughs before taking the glass of scotch she’s been holding, to her lips and taking a delicate sip of the amber liquid. 

“He’s not my type.” You shrug and she hums, her eyes assessing you openly. 

“If the boys are not your type, then maybe I am.” She tells you, and you’re pretty sure that if you’d have been drinking anything, you’d have spit it out right then. 

“Do you guys have a bet going on or something?” You ask her conversationally, but the little smirk on her lips tells you that you’re not as subtle as you wish you were. 

“At this point I’m just curious.” She tells you as your eyes find Wanda across the room again. Vision is watching her with a look that you can easily read, as can everyone else in the room. He’s in love with her, even if he doesn’t really know what love is. 

“Don’t tell me you have a thing for Vision.” Nat laughs, and you join in. 

“He’s handsome, untouched and willing to learn. He’s a catch.” You tell her and she laughs, shakes her head, and when you catch her eyes she’s giving you a knowing look. 

“So Sam asked you out, and you said no.” She says and you hum, nodding your head. “Bruce did too, and you also said no to him.”

“What are you getting at?” You ask her with an amused smile on your lips, but unwilling to have her narrate the last couple of weeks of your life. “If there’s a bet going on, I want in, and fifty percent of the profits.”

“Steve asked you out yesterday and he’s over there now, trying his hardest to avoid being anywhere near you.” She continues, completely ignoring what you just said. 

“Boys will be boys.” You tell her in a mocking tone, and she sips her drink once more, humming and looking at you curiously. 

“You’re not that into guys or you’re in love with someone already.” She says, her eyes firmly locked with yours.

“Love is for children.” Your response is immediate, a well programmed answer for a concept that you were taught to despise. 

Your eyes instantly flicker towards Wanda, and Nat hums thoughtfully by your side. Wanda’s eyes meet yours and she smiles, and your heart does this strange thing that makes you feel as if you’re suffocating, and living all at once. 

“Love is love.” Natasha tells you, and you feel yourself sagging in your seat. “There’s no bet. We’re just curious, that’s all.”

… 

When Carol casually asks you to dance with her on New Year’s Eve, you don’t think anything of it until you catch the look in her eyes when she spins you around. 

It’s been a couple of weeks since your talk with Natasha, and you still have not gathered the courage to ask Wanda out, or even make a move at all. 

“I have a question for you.” Carol says and you try to avoid looking into her eyes. But when you’re pressed against each other, dancing in the middle of the living room, it’s near impossible. 

It’s a small gathering with only the team, and a few close friends. You agreed to welcome the new year among the people you trust the most and it’s been an enjoyable evening so far. 

“You hair is getting long.” You tell her, careful to keep your hands on her shoulders, and not anywhere suggestive. 

“Is that a subtle way to warn me out of my question?” She shoots back, and you look around you quickly. 

Clint is dancing with his wife, and Tony with Pepper, while Frank Sinatra’s ‘something stupid’ softly plays in the background. 

“No. Maybe.” You tell her, a soft smile on your lips. “Ask away.”

“You want to go out with me?” She asks and you want to laugh, but that’d be cruel and disrespectful all at once. What is it with these guys?

“Not you too.” You groan, and she laughs good naturally. 

“That’s a no, right?” She asks with humor, and you share a laugh together.

“I’m sorry.” You tell her.

“You don’t have to apologize.” She quickly tells you. “You’re beautiful, and anyone would be lucky to date you.”

…

Carol’s words stay with you for the rest of the night, and you grow immensely nervous. Wanda is once again, sharing a seat with Vision and laughing with him, they’ve grown close. She occasionally finds you staring and smiles at your direction, but the interaction doesn’t feel like enough. 

You want to make her laugh, you want to be sitting next to her. You want and you want… and you don’t know how to play things right. 

All your life you’ve been taught to approach things like a mission. Love was never an option, and sex was always a weapon. This team, this place, these people… they all are the first real things in your life, and you don’t want to lose that. 

“I’m kissing Steve.” Natasha declares, and your attention returns back to the conversation taking place. It’s eleven thirty, and everyone is laughing while Steve blushes and smiles prettily. 

“I’m going with Val.” Carol says, a smile on her face as she winks at Valkyrie, and you laugh along with everyone else. 

“What about you, hot stuff?” Natasha asks you with a devilish smirk and you shrug, unbothered. 

“Anyone is fine.” You tell her but your answer is quickly turned into something that you weren’t expecting. 

“You can kiss me.” Sam happily offers, and you shrug because you really don’t mind, a kiss is just a kiss. 

“I’m free.” Bruce tells you with a sweet smile. 

“Me too.” Steve says and Natasha huffs indignantly at his offering. 

“No, you’re not!” She tells him, and her words are met with more laughter. 

“Wait a second.” Tony finally intervenes. “I knew Steve asked you out and you rightfully rejected him.”

“Come on.” You tell him, already smelling trouble. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I agree with the rejection. But Sam and Bruce?” His eyes widen with glee, and you feel your skin prickle. 

“You all asked her out too?” Sam confusedly asks, and this is officially the most awkward conversation you’ve ever had in your life. 

“Well, she said no to me too.” Bruce says. 

“She said no to me too.” Carol interjects, and you stand up from the couch, your eyes briefly meeting Wanda’s thoughtful ones. 

“Please, babes.” You huff out with an odd laugh. You just want out of this conversation. 

“You’re telling me that none of these guys are good enough for you?” Tony teases you. 

“I’m saying that none of you can handle all of this.” You motion to yourself and they all laugh, all but one. Wanda is still looking at you with a thoughtful expression in her eyes. 

“Oh, come on!” Rhodey says as he stands up and joins you, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Little brother over there is a catch! What’s not to like?”

“Is what I’m saying!” Sam says with a charming smile. 

“Or the Captains! Both of them!” Rhodey clicks his tongue, and everyone joins in on his proposal. 

“Sorry, babes. Not my type.” You wink at them, and Rhodey laughs. 

“One date.” Sam tells you, filling the silence, and you wiggle out of Rhodey’s hold. 

“You’re out of luck, pretty boy.” You tell him with humor, all the while thinking about ways to get out of this conversation. 

“Why though?” He asks, feigning hurt. 

“You just are.” You shake your head. 

“Kiss at midnight?” Carol offers you.

“What about Val?” You ask her. 

“I can handle the two of you.” Carol shrugs, and you laugh at the ridiculousness of all of this. 

“No, you can’t.” Val laughs, and you laugh with her. 

“It’s almost midnight.” You say, trying your hardest to move on from the topic. But Tony is having none of it.

“So, four of the most attractive people in this room ask you out, and you say not to all of them.” He says, and your eyes stray towards Wanda again. She’s biting the inside of her cheek now, her eyes avoiding yours. 

“Stop with this.” Pepper intervenes, probably taking pity on you. “Leave her alone.”

“I just want to know why. Don’t you want to know why?” Tony insists. 

“She said no to me too.” Natasha adds, and you groan. 

“What? Widow asked you out too?” Carol exclaims, and now you’re just feeling uncomfortable. 

“One would think that you can take rejection with some dignity.” You tell them. 

“One would think that.” Clint interviene. “But we’re all children. Tell us why you said no.”

“That’s enough.” You say but Clint only laughs, and everyone laughs along with him.

“Tell us why.” Val says with a laugh. 

“Yeah. Tell us.” Bruce joins in, and you’re tempted to just leave the room. 

“You’re all not that attractive to me. That’s all.” You tell them, still trying to keep a light tone but wanting to end this at the same time. 

“Bullshit. We’re all gorgeous. Tell us.” Natasha laughs but her words dare you, and you look at Wanda again. Her eyes meet yours, and you know what your answer is. 

“I told you. You’re not that attractive to me.”

“Please.” Natasha says, not believing you. 

“Tell us.” Sam says again, now more insistently. 

“Tell us.” Steve says too, a cute smile on his face that does nothing for you. 

“Come on, girl. Just tell us.” Val says too.

“I’m leaving. You’re all being annoying.” You declare, but before you can make a quick escape, Tony is blocking your only way out. 

“Tell us.” He insists with a devilish smirk on his lips. 

“I just don’t want to date any of you. Can we please drop this now?” You’re losing your patience, and you really don’t want to keep talking about it.

“But why?” Sam whines. 

“Because!” You practically yell.

“But why?” Natasha demands, and you look at her stupid innocent face with anger flaring within you. 

“Because the only person I want to be dating is Wanda! That’s why.” 

Your eyes widen as soon as you’re done speaking, and Natasha is smiling. 

Before you can see the look on everyone’s faces, you close your eyes and will yourself to calm down though. 

You can hear your own heart beating, and your face is burning up. You’re blushing, and that has never happened to you before. 

“Finally.” Natasha asserts, and you feel like punching her. “That wasn’t so hard to admit, was it?” She says when you open your eyes to find her now close to you. 

“I hate you.” You tell her, and she winks at you. Wanting the earth to open up and swallow you whole, you don’t notice everyone leaving the room, everyone but Wanda. 

… 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Wanda asks you when you sit down next to her. 

Now that everything's out in the open, this conversation is actually happening. 

“I honestly don’t know.” You tell her. “I just know that I really like you, and I might have feelings for you that go way beyond friendship, and I didn’t want to mess that up.”

“I kinda have feelings that go way beyond friendship for you too.” She cheekily says and you almost laugh, but the look on her face is so adorable that it ends up taking your breath away. 

“You do, huh?” You ask as she scoots closer to you. It’s almost midnight now. 

“Do you want to go out with me?” She asks you, staring right into your eyes, and so incredibly close that you’re sharing the same breath. 

“I do.” You nod, your eyes flickering from her eyes to her lips repeatedly. “I really, really do.”

You’re wondering why you’ve been waiting for this all this time when your friends begin to cheer from the back patio and fireworks alight the skies, and the lights reflect in Wanda’s eyes. 

“Happy New Year.” She whispers, and you lightly grip the collar of her jacket with both hands. 

“Happy New Year.” You whisper back right before you pull her closer to you, and kiss her. 

She kisses you back, her hands gripping your hair, and her body pressing yours against the back of the couch. 

“Happy New Year, weirdos.” Natasha calls out from the back door, a smile on her face when both of you turn to look at her. “Now, come out here, and hug everyone.”

“I hate her.” You tell Wanda as she helps you on your feet. 

“She was teasing you the whole time.”

“I know.” You groan, but before you can make your way out you pull her back to you and kiss her again, and again. 

“I’m flattered, just so you know.” She tells you when you pull back. “Rejecting Carol must have been hard.” She says in jest but you kiss her again, your arms wrapping around her waist to keep her close to you.

“No.” You admit, looking into her green eyes. “Not to me.”

“Charmer.” She murmurs before she’s kissing you again. 

You endure the teasing that comes your way when you go out to hug everyone else, because Wanda’s hand is warm in yours, and it was all worth it in the end. 

… 

#wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff

[two-white-butterflies]

invisible string | m33 | part two

Description: You face a career-ending injury, that forces you to give up your childhood dream. 7 years later, you return to the paddocks as a guest - and as the Team Principal of Prema Racing. What happens when feelings are too difficult to hide?

Pairing: max verstappen/racer!reader

part one | part three

(2022, PARTY AT THE HORNER YACHT.)

"L/N is such an overrated driver, she had one of the most successful engines - anyone could've piloted that thing." Christian chuckled while pouring his guests another round of wine. Max absentmindedly laughed at the joke - he didn't really hear the joke but he figured that it must've been hilarious for all the people around the table to laugh.

Kimi Raikkonen's eyes narrowed - searching the boat for drivers who didn't agree with Horner's statement. "It takes a hundred female pilots to be one man." Horner shrugged and the table erupted into another chorus of laughed. This time, Max wasn't laughing.

itsmee_yn: If suddenly you forget me, do not look for me - for I shall have already forgotten about you. (Pablo Neruda)

912 comments 321,238 likes

oleole: this is totally about max's new interview 😭 - whispersme9: WHERE? - oleole: the one w/ daniel in the redbull yt

ynworld: Some people deserve to be in the past, mother. - itsmee_yn: totally !

selenagomez: ❤️

nicorosberg: Let's talk about it over coffee? - itsmee_yn: you only talk to me when there's tea :(( - - nicorosberg: You know me so well haha

maxverstappen1: What's going on?

192 comments 126,283 likes

ynandmaxuniverse: the hoes are fighting 😭

danielricciardo: I DID NOT START THIS. 🤲🏼 itsmee_yn liked this comment.

formulaonegirlie: ya'll imma need a full article on what the fuck is happening 😢 ALSO QUOTING TAYLOR SWIFT? WHEN SHE'S Y/N'S FAVORITE ARTIST AND FRIEND.

itsmee_yn: Had so much fun with this family ❤️ I'm legally changing my last name to Raikkonen.

912 comments 238,212 likes

kimimatiasraikkonen: 👍🏻 - itsmee_yn: that means so much to me king 👑

nicorosberg: and you didn't invite me? - itsmee_yn: WHO R U? - - nicorosberg: You're new best-friend since the last one got evicted. 🤯 - - - itsmee_yn: NAH

sebastianvettel: Let's catch up soon! - itsmee_yn: u r automatically invited to my house sir

nicorosberg's story

caption: sometimes i wonder if she really hates the man, or if she really hates how she loves him. 🤦🏼‍♂️

replies

itsmee_yn: UR A 37 YEAR OLD BULLY 💀 itsmee_yn: U SHOULD LITERALLY GET OFF SOCIAL MEDIA nicorosberg: Why is your message blank? itsmee_yn: I'M TELLING KIMI THAT YOU'RE PUBLICALLY BULLYING HIS 1ST BORN DAUGHTER nicorosberg: publicly* itsmee_yn: GRAMMAR POLICE

itsmee_yn: 3 days before the Hungarian GP ✨

394 comments 458,238 likes

danielricciardo: You coming? - itsmee_yn: I have free tickets 😍

landonorris: OMG QUEEN WE HAVE TO MEET UP - itsmee_yn: ❤️

maxandynlover: Is the war over? CUZ... 😁

maxverstappen1: looking forward to it 😱

sabrinacarpenter: I was rooting for you sis 🙁 - ynprivateaccount: He has me weak on my knees 😭 - - sabrinaprivateaccount: old habits die hard 😢

(2022, HUNGARIAN GRAND PRIX)

"So, are you going to explain?" you placed both of your hands on your hips, staring at him with a glare that told him he wasn't going home scot free. "I talked to Kimi," he mumbled sheepishly. "I know that this isn't an explaination, but I want you to understand that I never meant to disrespect you in that way." he explained.

"Kimi told me what Christian said about you, and it wasn't funny. I shouldn't have laughed, I'm sorry." he apologized, taking another step closer to wrap you in an embrace - but you step away. All your life, you've been told that a woman didn't have room in Formula One - and to hear your best friend laugh at those jokes? It was worse than losing your career.

"Am I supposed to believe you?" you frowned, unable to comprehend that he was telling the truth. "You don't have to - but I'm sorry." he breathed with sincerity in his tone. You wanted to believe him, but you needed more convincing.

danielricciardo's story

caption: who u talking to? @itsmee_yn

replies itsmee_yn: secret no clue danielricciardo: 🤣

taglist: @laura-naruto-fan1998 @eternalharry @milaeth @msliz @lifesuckslife @ellamae021 @1-800-simpingcowbaby @trashcanrat @ccallistata @shouq @fdl305 @iloveyou3000morgan @georgeparisole @allenajade-ite @eternalharry @messwithtess21 @benbarneslut @withyoutilltheendofthismess @omgsuperstarg @stillbreathin @mishaandthebrits @lemonsinpanic @styles-sunflower @cassiesworldsworld @1655-1485 @hachrinnen @luanasrta @fdl305 @reidsworld @sarahedwards16 @peargasleeeee @imsorare @sinofwriting

COMMENT TO GET TAGGED

#max verstappen #max verstappen fic #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x female reader #f1 fics #f1 #f1 imagine #max verstappen x reader #f1 smut #f1 fanfic

[musings-n-museums]

i miss you so much (i forget why)

clips of all too well: the short film directed by taylor swift \\ scared of my guitar by olivia rodrigo \\ anything (demo) by dodie \\ post by @inanotherunivrse \\ tiktok comments by harashsidhu and ashmanathletics \\ tonight i can write by pablo neruda \\ the glass essay by anne carson \\ i miss you, i'm sorry by gracie abrams

#on love #on forgetting #on heartbreak #on grief #on loneliness #words #web weaving #webs #web weave #webweavings #webweaving #web weavings #poem #spilled poetry #rambling #words words words #poems on tumblr #poems and poetry #prose #prose poetry #spilled thoughts #writeblr #collage #digital collage #art #taylor swift #red #taylornation #gracie abrams #dodie

[pascalispretty]

The Poetry of the Body: One

Miguel Galindo x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: Discussions of pregnancy, implied age gap, hair pulling, choking, biting, scratching, dirty talk, breeding kink, D/s vibes, Miguel being himself, heavy petting, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, daddy kink. AU where Emily doesn't exist.

Summary: You and Miguel discuss the possibility of expanding your family, and negotiate the details.

A/N: thanks to my beloved @misscharlielulu for all her love and support in getting this finished. Title of the fic is from 'La llama doble. Amor y erotismo' by Octavio Paz. Title of the chapter comes from the Pablo Neruda poem 'My Lovely One', which is quoted within the fic (see end of work for translation). Written to fulfil the 'breeding kink' prompt for @storiesofsvu2-0's bingo!

One: My Homeland Is In Your Eyes (ao3)

It’s late by the time you and Miguel come home. The house is quiet; the guards near-silent as they patrol the perimeter, the rest of the household fast asleep. As soon as you get through the front door you kick your heels off, wanting to preserve the peace that’s settled over the house. At the top of the stairs, where Miguel makes to turn left, you tug on his hand. 

“I wanna see Cristóbal,” you whisper, aware that the wine from dinner makes you sound as tipsy as you feel. 

“Don’t wake him,” he says after a moment and follows your lead down the hall, your footsteps muted by the thick carpet. Your husband’s hand is warm in yours as you carefully push open the door of your son’s room. The light from the hallway spills into the nursery, just enough to illuminate Cristóbal sleeping soundly in his bed. The tangle of his dark curls stands out starkly against his light sheets – you feel an overwhelming urge to tiptoe across the room and press a kiss to his head. 

Instead, you hover in the doorway with Miguel and content yourself with blowing him a kiss. Any more would risk waking him.

“See?” Miguel whispers, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Safe and sound.” He squeezes your hand reassuringly, and you both watch as Cristóbal nuzzles closer to his stuffed rabbit. The nursery door closes with a soft click and this time you let Miguel lead you by the hand to the other end of the house and your bedroom. 

“It’s unfair, you know,” you start once your bedroom door closes behind you. Miguel half turns on his way into the en suite, raising an eyebrow. 

“What’s that?” 

“How much he looks like you.” You boost yourself up on the bathroom counter, getting comfortable as you undo Miguel’s cufflinks for him. Miguel smiles at you, chucking you playfully under the chin once you’re done. 

“You say that as though it’s a bad thing,” Miguel replies, toeing his dress shoes off. The bathroom always looks a mess after a night like tonight, clothes thrown in the vague direction of the hamper and your makeup strewn everywhere until you can be bothered to straighten everything up. 

“It’s not bad,” you protest, watching intently as Miguel takes his phone out of his pocket so he can shrug his grey blazer and vest off. “It just feels very unfair that I did all the hard work, but he’s the spitting image of you.” 

“Sorry, querida. You’re going to have to take that one up with God.” You roll your eyes at your husband’s teasing, hopping down from the counter. 

“God’s got nothing to do with it. Certainly not where you’re concerned.” It’s a mischievous jab, one that takes you dangerously close to precarious ground. You at least have the wherewithal not to call him ‘el Diablo’ to his face. Turning around, you glance up at Miguel’s reflection in the mirror to study his reaction, pleased that he seems more amused than annoyed. 

“I’m not about to let anything else take credit for my exceptionally good genes. I just hope he has his mother’s brains.” 

“And his father’s humility.” You flick the tap on, and open the drawer beside it to get your pills. The alarm had gone off on your phone at dinner, prompting you to take it, but that had been hours ago. Only the topic of conversation reminded you of it. 

Before you can attempt to wrest one of the tiny pills from the package, you feel one of Miguel’s arms loop tightly around your waist, his body moulding against yours. He reaches forward to turn the faucet off again.

“Don’t take it.” Miguel rests his chin on your shoulder, and his eyes meet yours in the mirror. For a long moment, you just look at him, wondering if you heard him right. This time, there’s no teasing in his expression; his lovely dark eyes are full of sincerity. 

“Miguel-” you start, not even sure where to begin. 

“What? We’ve talked about it. We could see if this one looks more like you.” He presses closer, his beard prickling your neck and his gaze unwavering. 

“...in a vague, ‘someday’ kind of way. We should at least have an actual, sober conversation about having another baby.” You fidget idly with the pack of birth control pills still in your hand. Miguel was right; you had talked about it, on-and-off since before Cristóbal was even born. 

Before you had gotten pregnant with your son, the answer had been an unwavering ‘yes’. Two children had felt like a good number; little siblings who could play and grow together. And even now, the idea tugs on your heartstrings, the thought of your precious family expanding to welcome another perfect baby. 

And yet. 

“I- Miguel, it was so hard with Cristóbal.” It’s a severe understatement. He sighs softly, arms squeezing you tighter. 

“I know, amor. But we’ll know what to expect this time. And you know I’ll always take care of you.” Miguel dips his head to press a kiss to your bare shoulder. Your hesitation is weakening by the second, soothed by Miguel’s touch and his promise. 

“Even when I get fat and hideous again?” You ask, running the fingers of your free hand along his forearm. 

“You weren’t fat, you were pregnant. How could you possibly be hideous, full of our baby?” He trails more kisses along the curve of your shoulder and neck, and you tip your head back to allow him better access. 

“You just say that because you were into it,” you huff, but Miguel ignores you in favour of nipping your throat. He could hardly deny it anyway; from the first shy curve of your belly, he had been intensely preoccupied with the changes his baby was wreaking on your body. 

The relentless assault on your reserve escalates when your husband presses his leg between yours, providing the barest amount of pressure at the apex of your thighs. Your cocktail dress isn’t so accommodating; you’re certain you hear some of the stitches pop as he tries to force your legs further apart. It’s so hard to think straight with his mouth at your neck and his thigh against your centre, that familiar tightness in your core just starting to build. 

You let go of the pills, the packet clattering as it falls from your fingers and into the sink. 

“I want a real conversation about this tomorrow. Sober. Uninterrupted,” you manage between shaking breaths. The hard line of his cock presses insistently against the curve of your backside, and your eyes practically roll back in your head at the feeling. 

“Fine,” Miguel says between kisses, backing off just enough to turn you around to face him. 

“I mean it,” you try even as he encourages you up to sit on the bathroom counter. Your fingers grip the front of his black shirt, and you have to fight the urge to pull it open and send buttons scattering over the floor. 

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Tonight’s mine.” Miguel steps between your legs and tries to kiss you, but you lean back. 

“Tonight’s yours, jefe. But if we’re trying again, I want to be seduced. Make it something I want.” Your fingers start working open the buttons of his shirt as he gives you an amused smile.  

“I can’t conjure up another thunderstorm, mi amor,” he starts, and you pout up at him. In a hormonal haze when you were pregnant with Cristóbal, you had become convinced he’d been conceived during one of the rare thunderstorms that rolled across the desert. The oppressive August heat had broken for a little while, and you and Miguel had made good use of the time. 

“If you don’t like my terms-” 

“The terms are fine, I’m just tempering your expectations. Short of arranging an act of God for you, what kind of seduction do you want?” He trails his fingers up the inside of your thigh, his free hand coming up to cradle your jaw gently. You swallow thickly, the way he’s looking at you making you feel delirious with need. 

“Do you want me to be sweet with you, baby?” The hand on your thigh slides under the hem of your dress, higher, until his fingertips brush against your silky underwear. He knows you, knows what you need; for him to supplant your anxieties with something dark and thrilling. You don’t miss the brief, smug smirk when he registers how wet you are already, and he makes a soft, contented noise in the back of his throat. 

“My pretty baby. I can be sweet with you if you want me to be. Bring you roses and compare you to poetry. ‘Mi patria está en tus ojos, yo camino por ellos, ellos dan luz al mundo por donde yo camino…’” Miguel leans in to kiss you again, and you don’t pull back this time. Using Neruda and pet names against you is underhanded at best, but you can’t argue with it, not when you’d asked for a seduction. 

Miguel’s mouth slants over yours, stealing your breath with the depth of the kiss. You can taste the whiskey from dinner on his lips. His fingertips press more firmly against your cunt, finding your clit through the silk, and you whimper against his mouth as heat radiates through your body. You’re so caught up in the way his hand between your legs is petting at you that you don’t notice his other hand shifting. He grabs a fistful of your hair with no warning, the sharp pain in your scalp eliciting a stunned cry from you. The feeling dances right along that knife edge of pleasure-pain, one that you’ve become intimately familiar with since you met Miguel. 

“Or do you want a different kind of seduction?” He asks, ignoring your needy whine when he stops stroking your clit. The hand in your hair tugs down, forcing you to arch your back and expose your throat to him. More stitches pop as he steps closer between your legs, your dress riding up your thighs as you try to accommodate him. He leans down until your noses bump, his dark gaze unwavering. 

“Should I be mean to you, mi amor? Cruel, demanding?” His free hand finds your throat, his palm burning hot against your skin. Your nails catch at his black undershirt, clawing at the soft fabric. The silk of your dress and the slick marble of the counter leaves you feeling like you’re slipping inexorably forwards, towards Miguel. He gives a little shake of your throat; he’s barely applying any pressure, but your breath hitches anyway. 

“I know how much you like it, mijita. You like it so much it makes you feel wretched,” he murmurs, and you can’t argue with him. Even the condescending way he calls you ‘mijita’ does something inexplicable to you, sending heat rushing through your veins, scorching you from the inside out. 

“Fuck, Miguel-” you gasp out, your eyelashes fluttering closed. He could have you right here on the unforgiving bathroom counter and you’d only urge him on. Instead, he hauls you upright, steadying you when your knees nearly buckle under you, and kisses you again. His beard rasps against your skin, his tongue dips between your lips, and it all works in concert to make the ache in your core feel so overwhelming that you might cry. 

The two of you stumble towards the bedroom together, neither of you willing to break apart for long enough to find your way more easily. You manage to get Miguel’s shirt and undershirt off finally, and you feel immensely gratified by the soft groan you pull from him when you drag your nails down his chest. You stop at the foot of the bed, Miguel reaching behind you to try and find the zipper of your dress.

Part of you wants to tell him not to bother - with all the sounds of stitches ripping earlier, the delicate silk is probably beyond saving - but you take the opportunity while his hands are occupied to run your fingers through his dark curls. He’s always so put together for the rest of the world, but you adore messing with his hair; on rare occasions, he’ll let you comb your fingers through it while he rests his head in your lap. 

More stitches pop when Miguel finally gets the zipper undone and shoves your dress abruptly down your body, leaving it in an expensive pile on the floor as he focuses his attention on your bra. By the time he has you completely stripped, your chest is heaving as you try to catch your breath between kisses, your heart beating a rapid tattoo against your ribcage. 

“Bed,” he orders, even as he pushes you back onto the mattress. You do as you’re told, moving back until you reach the pillows and kicking the heavy duvet out of the way. Sitting with your back to the tufted headboard, you watch with hungry eyes as Miguel undresses the rest of the way. Your reaction to the sight and sound of him undoing his belt is practically Pavlovian; you can feel more slick pooling between your thighs as he does it. 

You drink in the sight of him greedily, eyes trailing over tanned skin and firm muscle. It’s a mutual act of voyeurism. He’s eyeing you predatorily, like he’s deciding on how best he wants to devour you. Neither of you takes your eyes off one another for a long moment, even as he moves to kneel on the bed at your feet. 

Miguel’s large hands cup your ankles first, his thumbs sweeping over the delicate jut of bone before sliding up your calves, your thighs, higher. You’re pliant for him, letting him open your legs so he can kneel between your thighs, so agonisingly close to where you want him most. It’s only as he spreads his hands over your hips that you realise what he’s looking at, and you squirm in discomfort. 

“Miguel, don’t-” you start, automatically trying to bring one of your hands down to cover your c-section scar. He ignores you, batting your hand away before grasping your hips again. His thumbs rub circles over your hipbones, just inches away from the scar you can’t stand. 

“Oh, mijita,” he murmurs, condescension creeping into his voice again. “This is Galindo territory. If I wanted to keep you in this bed until something stuck, I could.” As distractions go, it’s excellent. Your mind spins off in half a dozen directions at once. By the tone of his voice, you know he’s not referring to Santo Padre when he’s talking about territory. 

Whether he means either your bed or your body, you’ll gladly cede control to him like this. 

The feminist in you should feel ashamed at the way you crave his dominance and displays of strength, but you’d abandoned yourself to it years ago. He’d long since discovered that it was the perfect way to get you out of your own head. 

Miguel’s hands move up from your hips, coming to rest on either side of your head as he stretches his body out over yours. You wrap yourself around him eagerly, cradling his hips with your thighs and wrapping your arms around his broad torso so you can clutch at his back. The warm weight of him on top of you sends you squirming, seeking some sort of relief for your aching cunt. 

You surge forward and kiss him hard, whimpering against his mouth when you feel one of his hands slip between your bodies. He wraps his fingers around his cock, his knuckles brushing your slick folds and you flick your hips to try and chase the brief touch. 

“You’re so wet,” he manages, dragging the head of his cock through your slit. The feeling makes you wail, your cunt clenching pathetically around nothing. “I’m going to fuck you full, baby.” 

“God, do it, do it-” you gasp out, cutting yourself off with a sharp cry when he finally stops teasing and slides into you, burying himself to the hilt. Wet as you are, it’s still a stretch as he fills you, dragging you right back along that pleasure-pain knife edge. The two of you groan together when he bottoms out, your hands skittering along his back as you search for purchase and your eyes squeezing closed. 

Your nails sink into the skin of his shoulders when he pulls most of the way out, as though you can claw him back down to you. He doesn’t need the encouragement to sink back in again, but you swear you feel him pulse inside of you when you scratch your way down his back. Normally scratching at Miguel like that would get you punished, but he barely even falters as he starts to fuck you properly. 

Every hard thrust of his hips sends more heat licking through your veins, pleasure coiling so tightly in your belly that you can barely breathe. You can feel every low groan rumbling through Miguel’s chest as it escapes him. It’s impossible to tell where he ends and you begin, his cock pushing up against the very end of you. 

His hands, his huge hands that you love so much, settle on your waist and hold you tight so you don’t shift up the bed. The way he moves you so easily makes you feel helpless in the most thrilling, perverse way. He could crack you in two, and you’d only thank him for it. And now, with the weight of him on you and his grip on your waist, all you can do is lie there and take what he gives you. 

“Miguel-” His name escapes you as a pathetic little mewl between moans, and when you force your eyes open you nearly black out. He’s looking down at you with an intensity that makes you want to sob, a vivid reminder of the pleasure he took in trying to get you pregnant the first time. You’re agonisingly close to the edge, the muscles in your core cramping from being held taut for so long, and you try to shove one of your hands between your bodies. 

It doesn’t work. There’s not enough space between you, you can’t move Miguel’s solid chest enough to get room to slide your hand down, and you really do sob this time in frustration. 

“Miguel, please,” you manage, grabbing at one of his hands. “Please, please, I’m so close, I just need your fingers, please.” You’re in no state to eloquently ask for what you want; you’re surprised you can even recall your own name right now. You throw your head back in anticipation when Miguel takes your cue, his pace unchecked even as he slides his hand between you to find your clit. 

A ragged sound rips out of your mouth as he strokes your clit. There’s no technique to it, but it doesn’t matter; every pass of his fingers sends you spiralling higher, your body bearing down on him as you teeter on the brink. 

“Oh fuck.” Your voice sounds wrecked even to your own ears. “That’s it, ‘m so close, please Daddy, please Daddy-” you chant, until the tension in your belly suddenly snaps and sends you hurtling over the edge. Heat washes over your body, radiating out until you find yourself balling your fists and curling your toes at the intensity. 

Before you’ve even stopped trembling, Miguel’s hand finds your throat again and squeezes. It’s not enough pressure to cut your air off completely, but it’s enough to turn your moans into weak gasps. Your hands catch his wrist, urging him on, trying to get him to press tighter. You hope he leaves bruises. The sharp movements of his hips turn savage and he fucks you harder into the mattress as he presses down on your throat. You feel drunk on him, your head swimming as you try to clench down on him, to help him find his release the way he’d helped you. 

Miguel comes with a loud groan, his fingers tightening on your neck as he forces himself closer, trying to come as deeply in you as he can. The hand on your throat slackens, and you take a deep, gulping breath as you wait for your husband to come back to himself. His weight drops onto you as his muscles slacken and you wrap your arms around him. 

You let your eyes fall closed and run your fingers down his back, smiling to yourself when you feel him press kisses down your sternum. 

“Good girl,” he whispers against your breast as he pulls out of you, rolling off you and onto his side. You whine at the loss of him, still trying to catch your breath. It makes you jump when he touches your thigh unexpectedly, tugging it towards him. Still, you don’t bother to open your eyes until you feel his fingers at your cunt again. 

“Miguel-” you start, opening your eyes and looking down just in time to see him catch a drop of his come that had leaked out of you with his fingertip, and push it abruptly back into you. He must register the surprise on your face because he gives you that smug smile again. 

“You promised me that tonight was mine. Give Daddy half an hour and he’ll be able to go again, there’s my good girl,” he murmurs, half-dragging you into his arms. As much as you want to relax against his chest, you can’t help but pout up at him. It’s so casually condescending, but he had it right earlier; you like it so much, beyond all sense. Miguel notices the expression on your face, and the smirk on his face widens. 

“It’s not my fault you’re a terrible negotiator.” Miguel smooths your hair down and runs his hand down your back. You concede, letting yourself go boneless as he palms your ass, pressing you closer to him. “So smart, but so susceptible to my charms.” 

Taglist: @misscharlielulu, @avengersfan25

Poetry Translation: Mi patria está en tus ojos, yo camino por ellos, ellos dan luz al mundo por donde yo camino // My homeland is in your eyes, I walk through them, they light the world through which I walk.

#k2023bdaybingo #miguel galindo x reader #miguel galindo #mayans mc fanfiction #mayans mc

[milflewis]

part three: sorry i was a dick to you when we were fifteen — and nineteen — and twenty three — and twenty six — do you still think i’m hot?

part one: a love language misunderstood

part two: i think you’re pretty — what? — i said i think you’re shitty! ft. several unintentional snubs

intro of matt stover’s novelisation of revenge of the sith // baku gp 2017 // unknown // mclaren’s instagram // transcript of daniel's answer in this interview // daniel’s twitter from 2013 // unknown // the time daniel ricciardo played the ultimate mind game by alanis king // unknown // belgian gp 2014 // same article by alanis king // unknown // austrian gp 2017 // anonymous // crush by richard silken // autosport article by adam cooper // austrian gp 2017 // yt series: formula one does secret santa circa // ode to an apple by pablo neruda // yt series: formula one does secret santa circa // // anonymous // // post monza gp 2021 // same article by adam cooper // the sports rush by subham jindal // @hungerpunch // same article by alanis king // silverstone eurocup 2008 // @eleyhsa // road to hell by anaïs mitchell, andré de shields and hadestown

#creds to lo and ag for letting me yell at them about this and for helping me w sources. i love u both! #finally doneeeeee #dantteri #web weave #f1

[imprincipalweemspet]

Your laughter

Deny me the bread, the air, the light, the spring, but never your laughter because i would die.

- Pablo Neruda.

I had completely forgotten that I had this in my notes.

So this is a bit chaotic and a bit short.

But I say nice things about Miranda, so it doesn't matter.

English is not my first language. Sorry for any mistakes.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

You were reading something on your phone, while you were waiting for your girlfriend in the parking lot.

You hear the car door open and close.

“I’m sorry baby, did you wait too long for me?”

“No, just a few minutes, honey, don’t worry.” You said downplaying it.

“How was she at work today?”

The answer never came.

“Did something happen, Miranda?”

“It’s just that those guys are bothering me again.”

“I really don’t understand why they always pick on me.” She said with a hint of sadness in her voice.

That made her blood boil, since those useless idiots could not see, that she is the most precious being that inhabits this fucking planet.

“But it doesn’t matter, you’re always here for me and that’s what matters.”

“Sometimes I want to do more than that.” You said frustrated.

“Like what?” She asked with a hint of amusement in her voice.

“I don’t know, break his teeth, maybe?”

She laughed out loud, making you smile in the process, his laugh was so contagious.

“I would give all my money to see that, thank you, you don’t know how much I needed to laugh today.”

“I love to make you laugh, you have the most beautiful laugh in the world.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit scandalous?” She said a little embarrassed, taking her gaze away from yours.

You took her chin between your fingers, slowly lifting her face.

“I need you to listen to me carefully, okay?”

“Hmm, okay.”

You took a deep breath.

“Miranda Hilmarson, you are the kindest, most understanding and caring person I have ever met in my entire life and I love you just the way you are.”

“I love you, with your flaws, I love you with your qualities”.

“I love your beautiful blonde hair, your hands, your body, your height, it always takes my breath away, your nose, your mouth and your beautiful eyes, as blue as the sky, always full of kindness and love. ”

“And I wouldn’t want your glow to fade, just because some brainless idiots can’t see how lucky they are to be around your beautiful presence, understand?”

Her beautiful face was red and her eyes were full of tears, because of your beautiful words she felt so lucky to have you by her side, those beautiful words she will keep forever in her heart.

“Thank you very much, that was very nice, no one had ever said such nice things to me.” She said her voice breaking with tears and emotion.

You gently wiped away the tears that graced her face.

“You’re welcome, my love, it will happen very often, so you’ll have to get used to it.” You said depositing a soft kiss on her lips.

#miranda hilmarson #miranda hilmarson x reader #miranda hilmarson x fem Reader #miranda hilmarson top of the lake #top of the lake #gwendoline christie #gwendoline christie x reader #fanfic

[freshlyrage]

Running Like Water

Chapter 24

pairing: Javier Peña x OFC (written as xReader)

fic warnings: NSFW Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI) language, strained family relationships, mentions of drug abuse, discussions of insecurities and body image issues, daddy and mommy issues

fic tags: Best friends younger sister, Life-long crush, Friends to lovers, Unrequited love, slow burn, Push and Pull, Small Town Dynamics, Secret Relationships, latina MC, Fluff and Angst, OFC!Jessica Alba face claim, sorry Lorraine I'm bringing you into this, Time jumps, 2 year age gap, pre-canon

word count: 5.7k

IMPORTANT a/n: I've got no explanation this time, school and work just have been beating my ass. But this is the last chapter of the second part of this series. There's going to be a... different stylistic change next chapter. Things are um... not going to be as peaches and cream. Don't start the Mari witch hunt... i'm sorry in advance....

Enjoy

Masterlist

You cried after sex for the first time with Javi tonight. He fucked you roughly into his mattress, bit your shoulder and kissed you. He looked at the clock and stood up from the bed after finishing on your sheets. Watching him begin to leave made you heave. You start to sob with you face pressed into the pillow. He damn near tripped over his shoes rushing back to the bed. 

You couldn’t explain it to him, he was panicked. 

What did I do?

Did it hurt?

Andrea, please talk to me. 

Hey, hey—I’m not leaving, I was getting you a towel—

Baby, please you’re scaring me. 

He presses his thumb across your cheek collecting your tears. His eyes are wild, blown out and concerned. 

Your first question scares him. You didn’t mean to, it was only a segway. 

“Do we have too much sex?” You pant, warm tears still falling. Javi swallows hard, you could nearly feel his heart beat at the pad of his thumb while strokes your face. 

It’s Friday night. 

The week had been good. Great even. After your little lake day you and Javier decided to no longer be apart. You biked home that night and snuck him into your room. He ate you out, the sun had you beat and you fell asleep immediately after. He is learning how to sneak out quietly. That was wednesday. 

On Thursday, you decided to go to the public library. You had some lessons for the second session of summer school to get done and you wanted him around. 

He was very good. Silent and reading while you chewed your pen cap. You caught him doing more staring than reading but you couldn’t mind. You’d just smile and go back to your work. 

When you were done the two of you strolled the aisles of Laredo Public Library, picking books for each other. You spot Neruda in the poetry section and you silently squeal. Getting up on your tiptoes to reach when you’re lifted off your feet. Javier lifts you to the top row and you let out a cackle deserving of a shhh from the ancient librarian. 

He behaved well, until you were driving home and he took you from behind in the back seat of his truck. 

He kisses you sweetly, tells you he loves you and drives you home.

He finds himself in your bed once more, this friday night. You know he should leave soon, tomorrow morning is the wedding. You hadn’t anticipated breaking down in this way. You need all of the rest you can get, god knows Melissa will be raising hell at 9 am. It was only ten when you asked Javier the question. 

“Uh— No—yes? Please tell me why you’re still crying.” 

You sigh, “I’m… sorry.”

“Why? Should we turn it down? Am I being too much-“

You scrunch your face and turn your head into his hand. Maybe it wasn’t the best way to start this conversation, crying and asking him if their sex is too much. Strangely you felt too scared to tell him. “God no! I was just…” You choke on your own words. “Nevermind.” 

“Nope—nope, none of that querida.” Javier pushes your hair back out of your face, you close your eyes surrounded by his warmth. You could die here you fear. You can’t believe you’re here—there, in his arms like it’s nothing. 

You think of Xavier. Xavier made you cry. 

“This is my first sexual relationship where I’m like not sighing and bracing myself before you touch me. It was like that with Xavier, I’d disassociate while we had sex. It was okay at the beginning because I suppose I somehow liked him, but then he just got fucking mean.” You picture him, what he looked like in high school. The dirty blonde, blue eyed jaw clenched soccer player. You wouldn’t guess he was hispanic in a million years, he seemed to be so distant from his culture, you tried to understand but you just didn’t get how—it bothered you, his ignorance. You somehow looked past it all, he kissed you sweetly before class. You hadn’t been kissed sober since Javier by that point. You were easily molded. “I don’t know why I’m talking about this, I'm sorry.” You rub your eyes, you know Javier could be a jealous lover. You didn’t want to bicker over details of your previous relationships. 

“Andrea, just talk to me. Tell me about him. I’ve told you plenty about her.” 

Lorraine, you’ll face her tomorrow. You fear you might chew her head off, or maybe she’ll claw your eyes out. No mimosas tomorrow, or else it’ll get messy. 

You suddenly feel a wave of tears threatening behind your eyes, burning. Somehow you begin to ramble while he watches, stroking and caressing your face.

“He asked me out at a beach in Corpus Christi,  it was my idea of romance back then. I suppose I just wanted to be liked by someone. We dated for almost two years, you know? I sort of enjoyed our time together. When we were just sitting around watching tv, making fun of episodes of Dynasty. Then he’d touch me and I would dread it every time. Like my whole body would just leave, and somehow I’d end up on my back. I don’t think I ever felt violated or anything like that, he was just cold during sex and selfish. One time he got rough out of nowhere, and I got really excited, like yes, you’re trying something new. Those times when he’d be rough, it didn’t feel like him so I would enjoy myself. I finished, once. And I was so sensitive after, I wanted to cuddle and kiss him, thank him. But I remember he just bit my shoulder and got up to leave. Without cleaning me, I was seventeen. I started to cry, I would cry every time he left afterward” You were sobbing. You remember it all, you remember the feeling of being fucked and left, and the gaping hole it left in your heart. “I wasn’t even crying because I didn’t want him to leave, I didn’t want anyone to leave me. And they had, I thought I moved on from that. You’ve rushed out of my room plenty of times.” You hiccup, “I just got really sad today, I’m sorry I ruined our sex.” 

Javier looks down at you, your head leaning against his knee. The light in your bedroom casting him an orange glow, his brow quivered and he shook his head, stroking your hair once more. 

“I love you.”

It hurts to hear, “I know. I love you t-“

“No- I love you and I can’t bear to watch you like this. You can never ruin anything, please never apologize to me for something so silly. Please Andrea.” He slides down to lay with you again. You begin to cry harder. 

“I need to get help. I have severe abandonment issues.” 

You’ve known it deep inside, you’ve been too afraid to say it. You didn’t want to hurt his feelings, you wanted Javier to be enough to fix you. But even though he soothes the pain so well, there’s too many layers to ignore just because he’s here right now. 

It’s silent for a beat. He just breathes and nods, you fill his chin at the top of your head. 

“I do too.”

“You don’t have to say it to make me feel better.” 

He’s perfect, how could he ever need help-“I’m turning into my mother, the past few years have been self destructive decisions. I’m aware of it so much that it makes me ill. I threw up on Tuesday because I saw my departure date circled on my calendar.”

Now you’re silent.

“Yeah we need help.”

“God bless our therapists.”

Genie had other friends. Three other girls crowded your kitchen island downing fruity cold drinks clad in flowy yellow gowns. You decline the lounging and giggling, you rather keep Genie company. She requested no bridesmaids during hair and makeup—just come up when I’m in my gown—you figured you were an exception. And you were because she beamed the second you walked into the room. 

She was alone in a white slip, her face painted so beautifully and her brown locks pulled into a  decorated bun. You prepped your room for powdering and pampering, cleaning at the crack of dawn after your night with Javier. Genie sat on a lush chair by the window facing the backyard. You could hear the bustle of workers putting their final touches. 

“You look so pretty my love.” Genie grins. 

Your eyes widen at her compliment, she beat you to it. You suppose you were lucky that she wasn’t one of those bridezillas that wanted her bridesmaids to suffer in puffy dresses, to ensure the idea of always the bridesmaid and never the bride or what not. 

Instead she allowed the four of you to pick dresses as long as they were A. Pale Yellow, and B. Bohemian. You weren’t afraid to admit that your little childhood friend group seemed to be stuck in 1975 fashion, your icons were Stevie Nicks not Madonna! 

“Me, look at you. I-“ Tears well in your eyes and she isn’t even in her gown yet. It was rare, a thing like this. To not have to adjust to a new love in your brother's life. You felt if they ever broke up you would make Frankie’s life a living hell because there was absolutely no way you were staying away from Genevieve. The only person who rubbed your back when you cried during those six years, the first person at your bedside when it ended with Xavier and now there she is, about to marry your brother giving you a niece—giving you an older sister. “I’m just so happy it’s you—that you’re my family.” 

Your voice cracks and your period is definitely approaching. She frowns with a wiggling chin as she stands to pull you in. “Te quiero, de verdad, Andrea. Soy una mujer afortunada.” She whispers and she smells like she did in high school, an amber warm scent that comforted you but a smell so familiar you can—-

“Are you wearing the perfume you would spray Javier’s basement with after we smoked?” You laugh through tears.

“Yes!”

The two of you sat for a bit, rambling on about everything but the ceremony in four hours. She rubbed her stomach frequently, stretching her legs out on your bed like a cat getting prepared to nap. You knew her other bridesmaids slightly. Two of them were her employees at her first salon, Harrietta and Wilma. The third was her cousin who flew in from California, Olivia. Still, she chose you to be her maid of honor. 

“Are you prepared?” You ask finally, she looks at you and pauses her belly rubs. Genie giggles and blows a raspberry, with a head shake. 

“Thinking about it makes me so nervous and it upsets her…” She taps her belly. 

You nod again, sipping your water before glancing down at the yard through your window. It was slightly less hectic, you spotted your mother straightening a seat. She was clad in a float blue gown. You can’t help but wonder if she would put this much effort into your wedding one day. The thought makes your lips quirk in a frown. “Have you practiced your vows?”

“Let’s talk about something else, I do not want to sweat my blowout.” She was nervous, pale as a ghost, you suppose in your gaze out the window you hadn’t noticed just how anxious this topic was making her. Your eyes widen and you place your cup down. Unsure what to even talk about. 

“Right uhm—“

“Is Javier treating you well?” She cuts, reaching over to your bedside table and getting ahold of the church fans your mother placed on each seat. It was eighty five degrees out. Your cheeks go crimson, will you ever get used to someone knowing? 

“Yeah… I don’t know… he always has, somehow he’s better in a relationship.” 

“Be honest, have you guys had sex here?” She points at the bed she’s lying in. Your eyes double in size and you cover your face. But this is how it was with the two of you, she’d press about your sex life, you’d tell her, you’d giggle like schoolgirls then she’ll attempt to tell you about hers and you nearly vomit because of the circumstances in which her sex life occurs. 

“Yes! Often too… You know I struggled with sex before Javi.”

She frowns, she heard all about it during your monthly sister in law sleepovers when you were still in high school. Genie tried so hard to encourage you to demand what you needed out of Xavier. “Yeah… I know.” She rubs the sheets beside her and you wince. 

“Ew don’t do that!”

“Sorry!” She retracts her hands and folds them in her lap with a chuckle. “Not for nothing but If you would have told me earlier I could have rescinded the invite to Lorraine.” 

It was your turn to be avoidant. 

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Fair.” 

It’s silent again and all you could do is sip your water and worry about seeing Lorraine face to face after so many years.  

“Has he told you he loves you?” Genevieve asks, lying on her side now, propped up with her chin in her palm. Your lips quirk in a smile and you stare at the bottom of your gown. 

“He has.” You sigh when you think of what this must look like to outsiders. Andrea goes back to Javier after everything, “I think he means it.” You wonder why it scares you to be loved so much. You think being loved might sever you in two, it’s starting, you aren’t sure what to do now. 

She stands at that, and wraps her arms around your shoulders while you sit. “I know he does, he has forever. We’ve seen it, it pisses your brother off, sure, but it can’t be denied. Hopefully in a few years I’ll be talking you down while you’re laid in a wedding dress. He’ll be nervous next door.” She kisses the top of your head. You tremble at the thought. You can’t think about that now. 

“One wedding at a time, let’s get you in your dress.” You jump to your feet and walk toward the white dress hung up on your dresser door. Unzipping the white plastic. Genie stands too. 

“Right! Right. But I'll be your maid of honor, right?”

Your brows furrow and you snap your head over your shoulder. 

“Bitch please.”

You loved Javier in a suit. Luckily for you his career allowed him to be formal a lot of the time he snuck into your room at night, but this suit was reminiscent of prom and you grin. 

“Hi.” You smile up at him, surveying your surroundings. It was nearly your cue to walk out together, behind you were the three other bridesmaids and your brothers three other groomsmen. Friends he met at work that you never bothered getting to know. They were standing side to side with the girls. Javier clenches his jaw and looks at the chattering groups behind the two of you. He looks annoyed by the presence of the groomsmen. You shake your head, it was so like Javier. “Have you even tried… to befriend your wedding companions?” 

Javi furrows his brows and looks back at you then softens immediately. He grunts, “Nope, red head over there joked about asking you out tonight. Who the fuck are these guys?” He cranes his head to level with you. You loved when he did that, feeling guarded and protected by his presence even when it wasn’t necessary. 

You flatten the lapels of his crisp suit with a little tight lipped smile. “Friends Frankie had to make when you were gone because it came out that you were actually his only friend.” 

“Ah.”

“Think I got a chance with Charles?” You joke, tugging on his suit jacket once more. Javier’s face drops and his mustache twitches into a firm frown. His big puppy dog eyes make you never want to tease him ever again. 

“Maybe, Wilma offered to cut my hair for free when I was serving Frankie some scotch earlier-“

“Okay enough of this game.” You snap, your face turning hot. He puts on that stupid smug smile and nods a truce. The two of you face forward shoulder to shoulder, the music begins and you know you must count to twenty before the doors open. 

Javier offers you an arm. You slap his behind before intertwining. 

“You’re gross.”

“You love me gross.” You giggle, squeezing his bicep. The doors open and you walk out to your backyard. The entirety of Laredo were at their feet smiling at the two of you. Javier leans in your ear and whispers, “Hmm yeah, you look beautiful in yellow but I rather see you in white.” 

And the two of you walk down the aisle and you hope it isn’t your last time. 

Genie loved drama. Well, no. Genie loved being the drama. You silently cried the entire time they exchanged their vows. Why Genie decided to have her wedding three days before your cycle begins is beyond you. The vows were very much Genie, with some censoring. She promised your mother that she won’t be vulgar, she already went against Melissa’s wishes when she said she rather have the ceremony and reception at home instead of the ceremony at church. 

The entire backyard erupted in cheers when she made a comment about being so grateful to be starting a family with Frankie. Somehow you forgot that only your small circle knew. Genies ninety-one year old grandmother jumped to her feet in happiness. 

It was surely safe to say that your brother's wedding reception ranked high on the happiest you’ve ever felt. When the officiant granted them their first kiss as a married couple Genie of course pinched his behind causing your mother to gasp and everyone in their seats to giggle. Most importantly your brother smiled brightly against his wife’s lips. 

The cocktail party was in your front yard, half an hour while they set up the backyard once more to fit all guests. It was the duty of the direct family of the groom and bride to scurry around and set up. So you and Javier did just that. Folding white chairs and loading them in the van. Centering flowers on tables. Picking up fallen name cards. 

 Once the sun began to set, the guests walked through the pathway leading to your backyard and found their places. And the live mariachi arrived. You let out a huff when you were finally able to sit down, Javier groaned at the bend of his knees. 

“I’m going to need sixteen hours of sleep after this.” He says, picking up his beer and sipping. The scene was oddly similar to Liandras quince. You laugh, taking your own beer and following suit. You glance over to the Bride and Grooms table, decorated more elegantly and intentionally. They were beaming, swaying back and forth while talking to each other. The kids of town dancing and running around, kicking balloons in the air and not letting it drop. “We should get a hotel tonight.” He whispers against your shoulder. You side eye him and smirk, pinching his thigh. 

“Yeah, we should.” Your eyes scan the crowd once more, landing on a table in the far right corner of the party. Mr. and Mrs. Smithfield, clad in light blue. And right next to them, sitting in silence, Lorraine. Your eyes widen at the sight of her for the first time in nearly seven years. Her hair a darker shade of blonde, pin straight. Her eyes land on you. Although you feel your heart drop you still offer a small smile. 

She rejects the gesture, eyes darted between you and Javier, and peels her eyes alway with a straight face. 

You frown and look at Javier. “I just saw Lorraine.” He frowns just the same, placing his hand on yours while it rested on the table. The touch burned straight through you. Removing your hand and placing it back into your lap. You couldn’t dare to look at him while you just retracted at his touch. But you could feel his body tensing beside you. You want to apologize for your reaction but you just can’t. You tried to avoid the idea of Lorraine coming back home, but now it’s here and the guilt is climbing up your throat and making your cheeks burn. And now you’ve made Javier upset. He takes another sip of his drink.

 The two of you sit in silence for a few minutes while you panic. She knows. It took her one glance to read you, read your body language. You feel sick, and you know that technically you didn’t do anything wrong but you were once her friend. Yet on the same coin  you also know that she mistreated him.

So why does this feel so bad? 

“I have to go to the bathroom.” You blurt, standing from your chair. Javier places his beer down loud enough for you to hear, he’s upset with you. He is. Your heart contracts in your chest.

He stands alongside you, “Well I do too.” He says in a tone so deep you know you’re going to get your ass handed to you. You want to pinch yourself because his anger makes your  cunt clench around nothing. You figure that you want to be chased by him. Captured, maybe he’ll fuck you in the bathroom and it’ll teach you a lesson. 

Still, there’s guilt in that thought. You won’t allow it, not when you’re feeling this way. “Javier we aren’t doing this-“

“Don’t make a scene.” He demands once more and you’re already walking towards the house, and he’s following you. The party was too busy to notice the interaction. You swing the screen door open without holding it for him, it nearly swings back in his face but he slams it wide open. 

You look over your shoulder at him as he trails behind you with a furrow in his brow. A jaw clenched. “I really do have to pee.” You say, the house empty besides the caterers, you had figured people would be trickling in and out considering your home bathroom was the only one for this event. A slight oversight on your mother’s behalf. 

“I don’t give a shit.” He grumbles and the two of you stumble into the bathroom. 

You sigh and glance at him while he stands with arms crossed at the door. Studying your every move. You lift the bottom of your dress and tuck it under your chin while you attempt to pull your panties down to pee. Javier shakes his head and strides towards you, holding your dress up from the back. You shut your eyes, “This is embarrassing and gross I can do this myself.”

He keeps a straight face, “I can’t even help you now? Now I'm embarrassing you?” 

You shoot him an annoyed glance, “Peeing is private.”

He grunts, you know slightly that you’re being ridiculous. You know he’d quite literally do anything to help you even if it’s as small as holding up your expensive dress while you peed. You shake your head and do your business quickly, wiping yourself with cheeks hot. “Why are you upset with me?” He asks while you pull your panties back on. 

He drops your dress as you stand a foot away from the toilet, he gets on one knee fixing the lining of your bridesmaid dress. God damn it, this boy was a dream. He stands once again with a grunt. Viejo, you want to say. You move past him without a response and stand in front of the mirror, beginning to wash your hands. “Andrea.”

“I wasn’t ready to see Lorraine and she—she knows.” You look at him through the mirror. His hands are crossed, the suit tightening around his arms. You wish you didn’t feel so gross, you’d turn around and drop to your knees, that’s just the sort of mood you’ve been in. 

He doesn’t seem to phased. “Knows…? She knows what?” Still, grumpy, angry. Still sultry and hot. He’s burning into your eyes through the mirror.  

You take a few moments to think, stare at him through glass–make sure he understands how you’re feeling. 

“She knows we’re fucking.” You grip the edge of the sink, he’s so tall behind you. 

He nods, stepping up closer behind you. Hips pinning you against the sink. “Is that what we’re doing? We’re fucking?” He dips his head into your shoulder, your breath gets caught in your throat. Yes, yes, yes. His hands come to your waist and ride up, up, to your breasts. Both palms cover yours completely and then some. He grinds against your ass. 

“Y-yes Javi.” You whimper, you don’t understand how he can turn you on so quickly. He kisses your neck and you watch. He’s craned over you while your neck is tilted, like he’s ready to devour you whole, sink his teeth into you and suck. You watch his hands through the mirror, pull your top down and expose your dark nipples to the fluorescent light of your downstairs bathroom. He pinches your nipples and you moan. 

And in an instant he bends you over the sink, your breasts pressed upon the cold surface. And he grinds into you clothed, “You’re my girlfriend, you understand?” The air is cut out of your throat. He drives again, “We aren’t fucking, okay? We’re together, I’m yours. Tell me you’re mine.” 

You bite your lip, your hair falling over your face. “I’m yours Javi.” You arch your back like a kitten, hoping he’ll pull up your dress and fuck you raw and fast. But he doesn’t, he leans over and stands you up straight, pulling your dress back up. 

“Good, I'm glad we have that all cleared up.”

You’re left panting and wanting a kiss. Wanting to apologize for being so—You shut your brain off and turn to kiss him. Lips pressed to his but his hands don’t move to hold you. 

Your brows furrow and you part, feeling wrong inside. 

“What’s wrong?” Your brows crease, in heels there’s still space to look up at him. 

He turns away from you for a moment, you hope to god what you’re feeling in your chest isn’t the way he felt when you dropped his hand. “I don’t feel good when you talk about us like that. Like we just fuck.”

Oh, your eyes drop to your heels as they stand perfectly in front of his oxfords. You aren’t sure how to apologize about your own insecurity climbing at your throat. But he doesn’t ask you to, instead he places a hand on your cheek, “You know that I love you right?”

The bathroom door swings open and you jump from his touch once more. His hand dropping to his side and your bodies reacting to the intruder. Eyes wide at the sight. 

Lorraine Smithfield. Again, but up close with another red  straight face, in a green dress. Your eyes flick down to her stomach, a small bump protruding and filling the dress. You feel your mouth go dry and you can’t help but look up at Javier. Your stomach is twisting into something sick. Your own face getting beat red at his own brows softening at the sight of his ex-girlfriend carrying a child. 

She just shook her head and turned on the faucet as if you two weren’t caught red handed. Your cheek stings from where he once touched you. “If you want to sneak around at a wedding you should at least lock the door.” She chuckles bitterly, pressing soap into her palms. “Frankie knows you’re feeling up his baby sister Javi?” 

She smirks and looks at the two of you once more. Javier’s nostrils flare, you could feel him counting to ten in his head. 

She’s pregnant. 

Lorraine is pregnant. 

“I’m an adult, don’t talk about me like I’m not here.” You snap, and Lorraine stands up straight, blocking the doorway with crossed arms. She looks between the two of you and chooses to ignore you once more. Like her business was only to zero in on Javier. 

“You talked a lot about Andrea being nothing to you all those years in Houston. Interesting how you switched on me.” Your chin quivers but you keep your face straight, you weren’t going to break in front of Lorraine, of all fucking people. You can’t help but look at her belly bump once more and furrow your brows. What is happening?

“I don’t really feel like talking to you, not when you’re angry. So we’re going to go.” He grabs your hand and you feel the sick instinct to retract again but you let him anyway. 

She hesitates to move before saying one last thing, and this time she looks you in the eye, placing a hand on the swell of her stomach. 

“He keeps you burning for him. Remember where he’ll be in a few months, none of this will matter again. I suggest you get over it Andrea.” 

Your eyes shoot open for a moment while Javier drags you out of the bathroom. You chest constricting and you drop his hand finally. Feeling the same panic you felt last night when you sobbed against your bedsheets. Walking ahead of him with dual intention, being upset and not wanting to look suspicious to the party you’re about to approach. 

“Andrea—“ He grabs your upper arm right before you exit your house. 

“Please, let’s just—talk later or tomorrow.” Your words are hurried and snappy, the apples of your cheeks hot and crimson. You knew you weren’t ready for all of this, you fucking knew it. Javier wasn’t having any of it, he shakes his head. 

“No.” His mustache twitches in a disapproving frown. You scoff with a taste of copper on your tongue making your face screw. 

“No— I’m saying no to you.”

He cuts you off, “We need talk about this now because I know you-“

“If you loved you’d listen to me when I say no. Let me go.”

Let me go. 

He doesn’t bother you the rest of the night, he doesn’t invite you to dance which you didn’t expect considering the optics of it all but sitting in silence side by side made you feel green. And you couldn’t help but think of what it means for Lorraine to be pregnant. You’d hope she wasn’t in a relationship, that poor man should know how bitter she still is. 

You feel bad for her a bit, whoever the father is wasn’t in the picture which was a mortal sin in her family. Preacher's daughter pregnant and unmarried, heavens. 

You can’t help but feel uneasy. You try to smile and enjoy the wedding but Javier’s eyes burn, he’s waiting for you to say something—anything. You pulled the love card, low blow. So you know he has no choice but to give you space to think. It wasn’t like you were jealous but you saw every muscle in his face drop at the sight of her mothering figure. You suppose you’d have a reaction if Xavier came to you with a pregnant girlfriend. 

For a fleeting moment you wonder if his face was something toeing the line of concern-worry. Concern, you understand, is close to love. You were brutally shaken out of the bubble the two of you created in the past week. 

The sun set and you found yourself avoiding the table that the two of you housed. Javier really only shook the hands of those who approached him and asked him in spanish borderline insulting questions about his career. Your mother fortunately was a woman to be feared so once she announced the night was coming to a close the crowd flooded the front lawn, watching Genie climb into Frankie’s Ford Escort with a giggle and struggle to fit the train in the car. Just married chalked on the windows and streamers and cans tied on the bumper. They drove off with beeping horns and cheers. Javier brings his fingers to lips and whistles a splitting one. The married couple had reservations at the nicest hotel an hour out of town. Their tickets to Puerto Rico awaiting them for the next week.

You walk past Javier and head straight to the backyard to close up some chairs , the only person focused on cleaning just yet. Your mother was still doing her part in crowd control at the yard. 

The moon was bright that night, and your feet were killing you. You just wanted to be in bed. Be in bed with him. You know he followed you, you focused on your attempt of cleaning (avoiding him)--in your peripheral you saw him folding chairs a few feet from you. You sigh to yourself, not wanting to talk now but you feel him.You can feel that his anger became sadness. And you can't stand to see him sad. 

He still talks first.

“I got a hotel out of town tonight.” 

You pause standing up straight, looking at him while he corners the table he was dissembling. 

“I’m–I’m going to stay here tonight I think.” 

Javier’s entire face drops, gone ashen under the moonlight. He looks at the grass below him like he’s trying to decipher if all of this is real or not. He nods, “Alright. I’ll see you then?”

You nod, crossing your arms like you're holding your body from its instinct to jump into his arms. You needed to think. “Yeah, goodnight.”

The air is thick between the two of you and he frowns. Placing his hand on your elbow, leaning down to press a warm kiss against your lips, you can’t help but lean back into it. “Goodnight,” He kisses the corner of your lips, “I love you.”

You aren't sure why you freeze but Javier walks right past you before your brain could catch up with your heart. 

You cry holding your stomach, alone in the aftermath of the simplest presentation of love. 

#javier peña #javier peña x ofc #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x you #javier peña smut #ao3 #fanfic #javier peña narcos #javier pena x reader

[sunshinescribes]

The Shadow and the Soul

Inspired by Pablo Neruda’s “One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII”

Pairing: Choso Kamo x Fem!Reader

Rating: EXPLICIT (18+), MDNI!

Summary: Choso tries to love you like you deserve.

Warnings: SMUT! No Curses!AU, established relationship, body worship, soft sex (PinV), mentions of childhood trauma, daddy issues (Choso), Kechizu and Eso live!

Choso tries to love you like you deserve.

He kisses you with reverence, soft and languid, as he trails his lips across your skin—his own show of worship. Choso doesn’t stop until your fingers thread through his dark tresses and that lovely peal of laughter leaves you.

His heart always soars when he hears it, and Choso soon loses himself in you. Between your legs, lapping at your sweetness until you’re a twitching, sensitive mess, or deep inside of you, rolling his hips in a feverish tempo that has apologies spilling from his lips like prayer. Choso gives you everything.

Sometimes he doesn’t feel like it’s enough. Not even fucking close.

Every moment not spent with his brothers should be yours, but responsibilities forced upon him when he was far too young to fully understand them keep Choso away from you for days on end.

He can never prepare for it. It always creeps up on him suddenly, the message from his father that fills him with dread.

Come home.

There’s a small, rebellious spirit within him that tries to convince Choso to stay. It’s hard to ignore when he’s laying beside you, carefully tracing the curve of your jaw with trembling fingers as anger and frustration build inside him, making the voice in his head clearer. Louder. 

Stay. Stay. Stay!

The voice never wins. 

Choso places a tender kiss on your cheek before he leaves. He scribbles an illegible note that he sticks on your phone and begrudgingly makes the torturous trip back home to fix whatever mess his sorry excuse of a father has made. 

Choso would completely cut ties with his father if he was certain Noritoshi wouldn’t seek out another dispensable son to do his bidding. Choso refuses to offer up one of his dear, sweet brothers, who has no clue what kind of monster their father is. They were too young; they hadn’t seen the way he had used their mother—the way he wore her to the fucking bone until it became impossible for her to keep up with his endless demands.   

Choso had seen his mother break, and he swore no one else he loved would be a pawn in Noritoshi’s games. Even if that meant returning to a house devoid of comfort and whose walls whispered the suffering of his childhood. Even if he allowed himself to be treated as a puppet, shifting to life at the commanding flick of a wrist, a cold demand. 

He bears it all for his brothers. For you.

Noritoshi Kamo doesn’t know about you. Choso makes certain of that. 

Even if his father bothered to feign interest, Choso still wouldn’t divulge a single detail about his life away from home. He never speaks your name. Doesn’t call to check up on you, not even when he hears the familiar chime of your ringtone as his phone vibrates in his pocket.

Somehow, his father always appears like a phantom. He fixes Choso with a speculative look, surely catching the way his fingers twitch at his side—itching to pick up the call, to hear your lovely voice. Choso mutters the name of a younger brother instead, watching with barely contained rage as disinterest sweeps across Noritoshi’s face. 

He just needs to get through the week like he always does. Tend to the work his father finds beneath him, make appearances, spin a tale or two and keep the Kamo family name above reproach. It’s arduous work—disgraceful and thankless—but Choso finds solace in what waits for him when he’s done. 

Yuji. Kechizu. Eso. You. 

He just has to get through the week.

The moment Choso returns to your shared apartment, he seeks you out. Desperation has him practically tripping over his feet as he shifts through the tight space. He was only supposed to be away for a week, but Noritoshi had been cunning, crafting a new order to prolong the days. 

Two tortuous weeks without your comfort and care. It’s a miracle Choso hadn’t ripped the doors off their hinges the second he gained his freedom.

It’s nearly midnight now. Choso expects you to be fast asleep, lost in the land of dreams, but instead he finds you on the couch, wrapped in the blanket Yuji definitely bought as a last-minute birthday present. The design is hideous, a mishmash of weird bubbles and colors that clash in the worst way, and yet you swear you love it. It’s the softest thing in the world Cho. 

He thinks you’ve got it beat.

Your eyes lift from the television when you spy him in your peripheral, and Choso melts the second that the corners of your mouth lift into that sweet, sleepy smile.

You barely get his name out before he’s crowding into your space, hands instinctively reaching out to draw you flush against him. Choso rests his head against your chest, listening to the soft patter of your heart. It’s pure magic the way it soothes his frantic nerves, if only a touch.

“You okay?” you ask, brushing back the mutinous strands of hair that caress his forehead. 

“Missed you.”

Choso knows he sounds pathetic…small, but he doesn’t care. Being away from you and his brothers is a torment, and maybe his father finds delight in that—keeping him away from the ones he’s trying so desperately to protect. Trapping him in that prison Noritoshi calls a home, to serve and bend and break, just like his mother.

But this is Choso’s home—the only one he’d fight tooth and nail to return to. Here in your arms, he’s safe. Loved. Even though you deserve the sun and Choso hates that he can’t catch it in his hands and give it to you.

You’re quiet as you weave your fingers through his hair. Choso practically trembles when your nails lightly scratch his scalp. 

He knows you want to ask what’s wrong—where are you always running off to? Why do you come back strained? There’s a part of him that wants to tell you everything. About his father and his cruel indifference. His mother, who he loved but could not save. The confession tries to claw its way up his throat, but Choso always swallows it. 

What good would it do to burden you with his misery? 

The silence stretches a minute longer before you finally settle on something to say.

“Yuji came by while you were gone. He needed help with some schoolwork…” Choso makes a noise caught between a groan and a whine, thankful that you were there to help, especially after Yuji made it painfully clear Choso is terrible at explaining things, but disappointment also finds a home in his heart at having missed his younger brother.

I should have been here.

You must sense it, because you quickly tack on: “He asked if we wanted to see that new thriller with him next week. I heard it’s really bad, but he seems excited.”

Your words smother his shame, replacing it with something sweeter, and Choso can’t help but smile. There’s always a hint of affection when you talk about his brothers. They must sense it too, because they’re nearly as bad as him at vying for your attention. Eso is especially brazen.

Choso lifts his head slightly, finally meeting your eyes again, and he swears he feels his heart ache. You’re lovely, everything he never knew his heart secretly desired. You make him feel so…human, instead of like the apathetic curse of a son his father believes him to be. 

Choso isn’t sure which one of you moves first, but he feels his worries wash away the moment your lips touch. He sighs contentedly, the softness of your kiss a remedy and a wonder. It has him chasing your lips when you break away to catch your breath—making him whisper honeyed words against them until you’re kissing him again.

He could spend an entire lifetime just like this, tasting your mouth and siphoning the air from your lungs. This is heaven, pure delight. Choso is so caught in the drag of your tongue against his that he barely notices his growing erection. You aren’t as oblivious. Your hands finally leave his hair and travel low—lower—until your fingers tug at his waistband.

“You really missed me?” You tease, calling back to the words he spoke earlier as your hand brushes against his dick. “Didn’t even call me…”

Choso lets out a shaky breath. His eyes lower to watch your hand wrap around his aching cock. 

“Sorry. I’m s-so sorry—”

He catches the way pearly beads of precome smear your fingers, making them nice and slick.

“Shit…” Choso sighs as a pleasant haze begins to fall over him. You work him so well, squeezing his cock in a way that makes Choso choke. You’re so good to him—so fucking wonderful. He can’t help but tell you—practically cries it out when you quicken your pace, demanding that he spill his load all over your skilled hand.

It doesn’t take Choso long to get there. You rub your thumb across the head of his dick, whispering his name low with the faintest hint of a command. Choso bucks his hips, fucking into your fist until he feels that familiar pull that tells him to let go.  

Choso comes with a soft whine. Curses and praise spill from his lips as mind-numbing euphoria rushes through him. He shakes, slowly coming down from his high. 

You don’t give him much time to recover.

“Lay back,” you whisper. 

It almost surprises Choso how quickly he complies, shifting around on the couch until he’s flat on his back.

He watches you with half-lidded eyes, anticipation building to a fever pitch the longer you make him wait. You discard your pajama pants with little urgency, and Choso’s breath catches when he notices you weren’t wearing anything underneath.

You crawl up his body, laughing at the dazed look on his handsome face. Choso can’t help but smile back. 

The head of his dick brushes against your pussy, coating him with your wetness. Choso could come from this alone; he swears he could. It’s almost torture the way you rub against him, teasing him until frustrated whimpers pass his lips. 

Your movements stall for a second, brief enough for you to dip down and whisper against his lips: “I missed you too.”

Choso wants to tell you he couldn’t stop thinking about you—that he wanted nothing more than to hear your voice and that laughter that sets his heart alight, but before the words can leave him, he feels you sink down on his throbbing cock.

Choso blinks through the pleasure, his dark eyes fixed on the sight of his dick vanishing inside of your warm, wet pussy. The litany of praise that pours from him tickles your ear just right. Your eyes dip, taking in the captivating sight of Choso beneath you.

Nothing goes unnoticed by you—the way his lips part so that another pathetic whine can escape. The pretty blush that colors his cheeks as you ride him slow and steady. You can’t help but grin. You love how he falls apart for you—the way he becomes a whimpering, teary-eyed mess of a man.

“Love you,” Choso groans. “love you sooso m-much.”

Choso thinks he must sound delirious because he can’t stop saying it. His trembling fingers find purchase on your hips. Choso lifts his, driving deeper into your needy pussy. The way your walls hug him has Choso seeing stars, but he doesn’t look away from you—he can’t. He wants to see everything. The flutter of your flashes as you fight to keep your eyes open, the way your bottom lip trembles with each pretty moan you gift him—you’re divine, everything he could ever want or need. 

“Love…you too Cho–OH!”

Your confession undoes him. Choso fucks up into you, hitting that sweet spot inside of you. It’s not entirely on purpose, but once he knows he’s found it, Choso doesn’t let up. He slams into you again and again, drawing closer to his release with the awareness that you are too. You’re both so close. Nearly there.

“Gonna come, baby…’m gonna—”

You nod, trying to meet his powerful thrusts. Your walls flutter around him, coaxing his aching dick to give you what you want most. 

“Come…come for me,” your words come out in urgent whine, “Choso—”

Choso doesn’t make you repeat yourself. He clenches his teeth and unthinkingly digs his nails into the flesh of your hips. Choso thinks he apologizes; he can’t fucking tell, not when he’s coming so hard. He floods your tight cunt with everything he has to offer.

It must be enough because you follow right behind.

You fall forward, whimpering softly into his chest as your walls clench around his tortured cock. You shake through your orgasm, fisting his shirt, until delicious waves of ecstasy wash through you.

Exhaustion leaves you both boneless and gasping for air. Choso feels like he could float away if your body wasn’t anchoring him to the couch. Even still, he manages to snake his strong arms around you, keeping you as close as he possibly can. 

Choso kisses the top of your head. He murmurs soft praise and rubs soothing circles into your back until sleep extends you a welcoming hand. He’ll clean you both up in a bit, but for now, Choso holds you like he’s making up for the nights he wasn’t able to.

Choso tries to love you like you deserve. For once, he starts to think maybe he’s doing just that. 

divider credit: cafekitsune

#sunny.fic #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo x you #choso kamo x y/n #x reader

[lya-dustin]

Petals Consumed

For the spring @hotd-bigbang with the image prompt below: Cherry Tree/Cherry Blossoms

Some angsty Rhaecole/Rhaenyra x Criston Cole that takes place in my Aemma Velaryon fics (except shock and delight) particularly Someone Will Remember Us. Setting wise its a year into Rhaenyra and Laenor’s marriage since Aemma was born exactly 9 months into their marriage.

Title inspired by a sonnet of Pablo Neruda from his book of 100 love sonnets

Please don't ask for a word count i measure my fics with my heart not numbers.

There is a cherry tree in the gardens, it wasn’t meant to be there, fruit trees were meant for the kitchen gardens and the hothouses, but someone many decades or a century ago had eaten the fruit and left the seeds to their fate.

It had grown, just as the castle and their house had done. Gone from the Aegonfort to the Red Keep, from three siblings to a family with all its troubles.

Rhaenyra knows who comes here even if the sound of his boots and armor would make him blend in with the rest of the Kingsguard.

“Your highness.” Criston speaks quietly, shame heavy in his words and yet there was something there that tied them back to their shared past.

“Ser Criston.” Rhaenyra doesn’t look at him, the events of last night had her wondering how it all came to that.

She had feared he’d hurt her sweet little Aemma for what she did to him. To think she was so quick to misjudge the man she once trusted enough to give herself to.

“I apologize for my behavior last night, I assure you it was never my intention to scare you or have you believe I would hurt your child.” He apologizes, not the false and forced things he does when he is caught by Ser Harold, but the genuine things that came easy to them before.

“I should be the one apologizing, I cruelly misjudged you when I know you are not the sort of man to hurt a child.” She misses him, as shameful as it was. She had cared for him, perhaps not loved him like she loved Daemon, but Criston still had a place in her heart that couldn’t be so easily removed no matter how sweet Harwin Strong is to her. “For that and all the pain I have caused you, I am sorry.”

His silence is enough to have the Princess of Dragonstone break her resolve to shit the door completely and turns around.

There is no forgiveness, at least not one spoken, but her white knight’s face says it all.

He is in disbelief of her words, forgetting the spoiled princess was more a shield she hid under and not the real woman he knew.

She still loves him, loves him in the mix of something between both lover ---as a terrible idea it had been then and remained now--- and her friend.

He looks as handsome as he did that first time she brought him here, a spring just like this one where there was only laughter and joy and sense of understanding built on knowing they will never see you as one of them.

She had many companions and only a handful she’d consider a friend and now those two Rhaenyra had called her friends had become her enemies. Rhaenyra had underestimated the venomous hold Ser Otto had on his daughter whom he had sold like a whore to her father and she had overestimated the passion and love Criston once held for her.

In Alicent’s case she had hoped her reason would prevail, in Criston she had hoped reason would fail. Rhaenyra had managed to hurt them so much they now wanted to usurp her with Aegon.

There is no going back now, it was stupid of her to think he would forgive her even if the became strangers from now on.

“I will go, I will not force you to forgive me, Ser Criston, I know your forgiveness is undeserved.” It hurts, as all injuries do, but she cannot make peace and move on with her life without apologizing to him.

She supposed Laenor’s aunt, Septa Teora, knew what she was talking about when they spoke about it yesterday morning during their walk together.

One day she may apologize to Alicent, but Rhaenyra doesn’t know when will Alicent allow her to speak to her alone.

The princess takes her leave and just as she is about to shut the door forever, Criston stops her, his hold on her wrist firm and gentle and before they knew it, his lips were crashing onto hers with all the pain and love and hate and sweetness only kisses in mummer’s tales have.

There is no forgiveness, especially when she takes Harwin as her lover to hide the fact Jacaerys was conceived that morning under the cherry tree.

#hotd bigbang #rhaecole #rhaenyra targayen #criston cole #rhaenyra x criston cole #someone will remember us fic #hotd fic #hotd au #hotd big bang spring 24 #hotd spring prompts 24

[solipseismic]

2023 poetry rec list

technically a day late but who cares! i don't. it's gonna be a long one this year too despite not having read or written as much poetry as of late; i'm putting my overall fifteen favorite + poetry book recs up here and the rest below a cut to spare your dashboards :)

2022

2021

books:

calling a wolf a wolf (kaveh akbar)

cinema of the present (lisa robertson)

dictee (theresa hak kyung cha)

pilgrim bell (kaveh akbar)

prelude to bruise (saeed jones)

the crown ain't worth much (hanif abdurraqib)

top 15:

abecedarian requiring further examination of anglikan seraphym subjugation of a wild indian reservation (natalie diaz)

about eight minutes of light (robert king)

at luca signorelli's resurrection of the body (jorie graham)

ginen the micronesian kingfisher [i sihek] (craig santos perez)

gods, gods, powers, lord, universe-- (chen chen)

kupu rere kē (alice te punga somerville)

look (solmaz sharif)

ode to the 9,000 year old woman (@/goodbyevitamin)

one art (elizabeth bishop)

petitioning the patron saint of childbirth (danielle boodoo-fortuné)

so mexicans are taking jobs from americans (jimmy santiago baca)

the death loop (jon lovett)

the difficult miracle of black poetry in america: something like a sonnet for phillis wheatley (june jordan)

the madwoman as rasta medusa (shara mccallum)

vocabulary (safia elhillo)

& the gun echoed for centuries; interlude with drug of course; & the light devours us all (yasmin belkhyr)

a brother named gethsemane (natalie diaz)

a map to the next world (joy harjo)

between autumn equinox and winter solstice, today (emily jungmin yoon)

cherish this ecstasy (david james duncan)

coffins (derick thomson)

conflict resolution for holy beings (joy harjo)

failing and flying (jack gilbert)

ginen tidelands [latte stone park] [hagåtña, guåhan] (craig santos perez)

how to be a dog (andrew kane)

i love you to the moon & (chen chen)

i'm sorry birds (@/quezify)

insomnia and the seven steps to grace (joy harjo)

i was sleeping where the black oaks move (louise erdrich)

i watch her eat the apple (natalie diaz)

moth wings and other things (@/grendel-menz)

my father (ollie schminkey)

my soldier, my stranger (scherezade siobhan)

new year's day (joan tierney)

october (louise glück)

praise song for oceania (craig santos perez)

praise the rain (joy harjo)

real estate (richard siken)

sharing a cigarette with joan of arc (dante emile)

song of the anti-sisyphus (chen chen)

table (edip cansever, transl. richard tillinghast)

tear it down (jack gilbert)

temporary job (minnie bruce pratt)

the blue dress (saeed jones)

the lesson of the moth (don marquis)

the universe, as in one last song for the lonely hearts (michelle hulan)

throwing children (ross gay)

untitled (joan tierney)

voices (naomi shihab nye)

when i die i want your hands on my eyes (pablo neruda)

why i am not coming in to work today (jess zimmerman)

wolf moon (nina maclaughlin)

yes, it was the mountain echo (william wordsworth)

#2023 #last post of the 2023 tag :) #here's to another year of gay poetry #to be is to be backlit #poems #poetry #croidhe #poetry recs #poetry rec list #writing

[lexiklecksi]

Incorrect quotes (tag game)

I need an excuse to post my favourite incorrect quotes from the incorrect quotes generator so I’m tagging my writer friends @aquadestinyswriting @the-down-upside-finch @charlies-storybook @basalamander-corner @betweenthetimeandsound @hippiewrites to give you the same excuse! (nsfw warning for some quotes in the *** line) Have fun reading these unhinged dialogues that my characters could say!

Enya: This bloodline ends with me.

Meara: That's the fanciest way I've ever heard someone say "I'm gay".

***

Enya: Talib, we tried things your way.

Talib: No, we didn't.

Enya: I did it in my head and it didn't work.

***

Talib: We’re having a moment, aren’t we?

Enya: If by 'a moment' you mean me not wanting to strangle you for the first time since we met, then I guess we are.

***

Meara: Can you cut me some slack, Enya? I’m sort of in love.

Enya: I’m sorry, but that’s really not my problem.

Meara: I’m in love with you.

Enya: *blushes* Oh. That brings me in the loop a little.

***

Enya: Look at me straight in the eyes and tell me the truth, Meara!

Meara: You can’t expect me to look into your eyes and be straight.

***

Talib: Go fuck yourself.

Hadwin, smugly: Sure, but only if you watch

***

Talib: Well, Hadwin and I finally did it!

**The rest of the squad:** *gasps, shocked expressions, etc.*

Talib: That's right... We kissed!

***

Meara: Mira spat in Neruda’s ear today when they were sitting on the couch together.

Kairi: ...What?! Why?!

Meara, shrugging: You tell me.

***

Kairi: How do Nerida and Mira usually get out of these messes?

Meara: They don't. They just make a bigger mess that cancels the first one out.

***

Saoirse: Okay, what does A stand for?

Enya: Arson.

Saoirse: Aw, you're so good. Okay! B! What does B stand for?

Enya: Barson.

Esmeralda: *laughter*

Saoirse: What stands for C?

Enya: Commit arson.

Esmeralda: Oooo.

Saoirse: D!

Enya: Don't come near me, I'm going to commit arson.

Esmeralda: *more laughter*

***

Meara: If you water water, it grows.

Kairi: ...What.

Quasim: They've got a point.

*** nsfw warning

Nerida: Hey, I’m getting in the shower. Wanna help me out?

Nalu: ...Have you never taken a shower before?

*** nsfw warning

Nerida: I feel like doing something stupid.

Nalu: I’m stupid, do me.

*** nsfw warning

Karim: What’s your body count?

Isobel: Do you mean sex or murder?

***

Henriette: What if people had food names and food had people names?

Wilhelmine: Hey, spaghetti, we’re having Henriette for dinner.

Friedrich: What is wrong with you people?

Gustav: Shut up, chocolate.

***

Friedrich: We’re going to have to split up, like in Scooby Doo.

Friedrich, to Henriette and Wilhelmine: You guys are Scooby and Shaggy. You can search the bathrooms.

Friedrich, to Gustav: Velma, you get the spooky looking fridge in the basement.

Gustav: What? Why am I Velma? And why do I get the… dubious looking device?

Friedrich: Because only Velma would say “dubious device”. Gustav gets the spooky fridge in the basement.

Wilhelmine: And what does that make you, Fred?

Friedrich: Bitch, I’m Daphne.

***

Wilhelmine: I'm cold.

Gustav: Here, take my hoodie.

*meanwhile*

Friedrich: I'm cold.

Henriette: I can't control the weather, Friedrich.

#incorrect quotes #wip: Drachenbrut #my ocs #tag game #writing community #funny dialogues

[nemo-of-house-hamartia]

Dear Nemo, so nice to see you back! for the meme game, can you make one for Jacob and Dottie as a ship? I miss seeing them on my dash.

Hello Hello Duckling! So nice to see you in my inbox! I was so happy to see your ask! (and sorry for taking so long in answering! I appreciate your patience! I hope you don't mind but I took the chance to make this meme for Jacob and Dottie a bit farther ahead in their story than what I usually draw/write.)

✨JOTTIE (JacobxDorothea)🎩

MOODBOARD

PLAYLIST:

"Temple of Thought" - Poets of The Fall

"Amaranthine" - Amaranthe

"My Love Will Never Die" - Claire Wyndham

"Dancing on Broken Glass" - Poets of The Fall

"Jealous Gods" - Poets of The Fall

"War" - Poets of the Fall

QUOTES

“If I had a flower for every time I thought of you...I could walk through my garden forever.”

― Alfred Tennyson

“I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone”

― J. R. R. Tolkien

“You make me thank god for every mistake I ever made, Because each one led me down the path that brought me to you.” ― Pablo Neruda

“I choose to love you in silence… For in silence I find no rejection, I choose to love you in loneliness… For in loneliness no one owns you but me, I choose to adore you from a distance… For distance will shield me from pain, I choose to kiss you in the wind… For the wind is gentler than my lips, I choose to hold you in my dreams… For in my dreams, you have no end.” ― Rumi

THEIR AESTHETIC:

A walk along the Thames in the dead of the night with the stars as their companions and protectors; an impromptu dance on cobblestone and the beating of their hearts as the sole music that gives them rhythm; a sweet song he hums with his low voice; a glance that alone speaks of years spent together, of hardship fought and conquered, of peace finally found; low laughter shared at a memory of the family they created; a morning spent in bed, cuddling and laughing together; the perfume of orange blossom and smoked pipe; a stack of letters neatly preserved if a little worn out for all the times they had been read; a violin playing and a voice singing the song of their hearts, just for his ears alone; warm tea sipped together in front of the fireplace; a soft blanket shared together; falling asleep on a worn-out sofa in each other's arms, the only place where they feel safe enough to let go of all worries; hearing the beating of his heart, strong and steady, just as he is; hearing her breathing while asleep, safe and sound in his arms.

#assassin's creed #assassin's creed syndicate #jacob frye #dorothea starrick #my oc #Aesthetic Meme Game #Duckling #thank you for sending this request #it made me so happy #I always get a little emotional when I write about Jacob and Dottie #they have such immense part of my heart