delicatness

Naem is Jackie, am ver delicat lady. I no screem, I chirp polite. Am ver picky, only play wit red dot, nothing else. Humain say am princess, is correct

Ultima lacrimă se revarsă.
Ultima bătaie a inimii o strigă lasciv de tare pe cea cu coasă.
Ultima speranță în suflet o apasă.

Și-a întins trupul pe patul șubrezit, după care a continuat să privească tavanul, într-un mod nestingherit.

Duhnea a iubire.
Duhnea a dor.
Duhnea a el și puțin amor.

Singurătatea o îmbrățișa frenetic de puternic în fiecare seară.
Ar fi voit să îl simtă lângă ea în călimară.

A oftat profund și dureros.
Suferința îi pulsa adânc în fiecare os.

Și-a îndreptat privirea spre fereastra tristă.
Simțind cum întreaga ființă se revărsă într-o risipă.

Ar fi voit să îi sărute ale lui buze moi.
Ar fi voit să privească luna amândoi.
Ar fi voit să îl sufoce în ale ei brațe.
Ar fi voit să îi rostească dulci șoapte.
Ar fi voit să adoarmă cu capul pe al lui piept.
Ar fi voit să mai audă un “ mereu te aștept.”

Visa cu ochii deschiși.
Agonici și de durere stinși.

Îl adora atât de mult.
Ar fi voit să audă de la el un “te ascult”.

O lacrimă i s-a prelins pe obrajii de porțelan.
Îl iubea atât de mult și nu doar de un an.

În stomac fluturii fără milă o bruscau.
Cucuvelele întunecate pe pervazul geamului, doine îi cântau.

Boceau și ele.
Fiind crispate de a ei durere.

Luna s-a apropiat de a ei fereastră îndeosebi de mult.
A început să îi sărute palid și rece, al ei trup.

Cerul suspina și el prin trăsnete.
Norii întunecați și reci,credeau că i se făcuse farmece.

Copila, a mai oftat încă o dată.
Avea inima atât de pură și curată.
Și-a cuprins trupul înfrigurat.
De durere și delir, mâncat.

Duhnea a iubire.
Duhnea a dor.
Duhnea a el și puțin amor.

Absența lui o sufoca fără vreo temere.
Copila, iubea atât de mult și se transforma în muiere.

Îi lipseau ochii lui triști și întunecați.
De dureri și patimi, brazdați.
Îi lipsea a lui prezență.
Tot ce mai putea acum admira, era doar o întunecată absență.
Îi lipsea al lui zâmbet otrăvitor de minunat.
Îi lipsea al lui chip atât de crispat.
Îi lipsea a lui voce puternic de frumoasă.
Îi lipsea a lui îmbrățișare ce îi fusese demult o casă.

Duhnea a iubire.
Duhnea a dor.
Duhnea a el și puțin amor.

Trupul îi era tot mai stors de puteri.
Cuprins de gânduri și atâtea temeri.
Liniștea în cameră s-a așezat impunător.
Chiar și până în gât a simțit al lui dor.

Cucuvelele jeleau și mai tare ?
Ea, respira tot mai greu, ce are ?

S-a ridicat și-a luat o înghițitură de apă.
Apoi s-a întins în pat, detașată.

Aștepta timpul să treacă.
Aștepta ca el să se întoarcă.
Aștepta să ajungă la sfârșitul vieții.
Să mai găsească liniște în razele dimineții.
Aștepta ultima răsuflare.
Căci în urma ei știa că nimic nu mai doare.

Stelele plângeau și destinu-l implorau prin gând .
Să îl mai întoarcă din al plecării drum.
Universul plângea nemuritor.
Fiind șocat de al muierii dor.

Duhnea a iubire.
Duhnea a dor.
Duhnea a el și puțin amor.

Oare avea să mai revină?
La a lui copilă?
Oare avea să mai rămâie?
Alături de iubirea lui cea dintâie?
Oare avea să o mai strângă la piept ?
Oare avea să îi mai rostească un “ veșnic te aștept” ?
Oare avea să o mai sărute?
Delicat și dulce pe a ei îngustă frunte ?

Take what’s yours

This is a Zig x MC (Shirin) fanfic…it s my first and i am not a native english speaker so please dont get to hard on me.

Disclaimer:I dont own any of the chracters only borrowing them for the fanfiction

Pairing: Zig x MC ( Shirin)

Rating: it gets steamy but nothing  to explicit


“Zig!-Wait!”, Shirin gasped , as he pushed her against the wall between two huge bookshelves in the library. Lifting her up and spreading her legs with his body. “Shhh…”,he puts a finger on her lucious lips, “it may be late, but we might not be the only ones ‘trying to study’”, he smirked wickedly at her, kissing her neck and again pressing his strong frame against her warm and smooth one,caressing her tighs and hip with his delicat hands. “But we cant..”, she sighed,trying to hold on to her last bit of composure, but she already knew,that she couldnt resist him,-she never could-, from the very first moment they met. Crossing her legs around his hips and pushing her skirt slowly up her already semi-exposed tighs whispering, “then come and take,what is yours anyway,”with a devilish smile her eyes dark with desire,just like his own. “You dont need to tell me twice”, he groaned ,kissing her hard ,captuaring her mouth with his tongue,while she quickly unbuckels his belt and unbottoning his jeans. Everything around them seemed to melt away in the blurr of their rushed pleasure ,as they moved rythmically,bodies wrapped against each other and the only sound is their heavy breaths and hushed whispers of passion and love.

Scoala si sitemul de invatamant

Recent ajuns in Tulcea, recent venind acum 4 ore. In fine, lasand la o parte detaliile neimportante. Am avut ocazia sa ma reintalnesc cu un grup de prieteni formidabili, ce nu i-am mai vazut de o caruta de ani.

Am iesit pe faleza, un loc formidabil, trebuie sa il vizitati, este nemaipomenit. Un loc de vis, scos din basme. Stand la terasa, am abordat un subiect, pe de o parte mai delicat, dar pe alta, neimportant. Scoala, sistemul de invatamant. Mai exact, despre note, despre a fi „robori” sau a fi „creativi”. Si m-am gandit sa il impartasesc si cu voi, poate imi lasati opinia dumneavoastra. Sa trecem la treaba.

Scoala, ce este scoala? Este importanta ? Are un rost in viata? Pe jumate are, inveti anumite chestii ce nu ai cum sa le inveti la coltul blocului. Cunosti persoane ce iti devin prieteni pe viata, unele persoane chiar iubit sau iubita. Dar totusi,ce este mai important la asa numita scoala? Sa fi un elev de nota 10? Sa memorezi o gramada de litere scrise pe un caiet, pe care, dupa vorba unui prieten: „De ce sa mai retin? Nu mai sunt la liceu, am terminat, nu mai are rost sa retin”.

Asta ar trebui sa fie scoala? Sistemul de invatamant? Sa te puna sa inveti chestii pe care nu ai la ce sa le utilizezi in viitor? Spune-mi tu mie, draga cititor, la ce te-a ajutat in pat formula lui Pitagora? Ai folosit constructia subiectului de la un roman, la plata facturii de la curent sau internet? Nu, nu cred.

    Atunci intrebarea mea este, de ce? De ce in al nostru sistem de invatamant se pune atata presiune pe elevi, atata importanta pe note, sistem ce ne pune sa invatam lucruri ce nu ne vor fi de folos in viitor, sa primim note, sa se faca atatea diferente, critici. Voi, astia ce ganditi sistemul, cum ar fi sa va dam note? „Tu, da tu asta ce dormi, 2, repetent. Votezi anul viitor”, „Ce ai zis? Nu ai invatat legea, 1, stai jos”. Sa va facem si voua cum ne faceti voi noua.

    Stiu, poate unii o sa dati vina pe profesori, ca nu le pasa, ca nu isi dau silinta. Aici va contrazic, ca si elevii, si profesorii sunt victime ale sistemului nostru de invatamant, un sistem ce claseaza elevii pe note, ce ne baga pe gat chestii nefolositoare.

Si tot mai des auzim „Invata, sa ajungi un om de succes”, ce rost are sa inveti atatea, sa fi un om de nota 10, sa ai succes, bani, masini, vile, ce rost are sa ai toate astea pe cant tie in scoala ti sa taiat aripa, creativitatea, nu ai avut sansa sa iti dai drumul imaginatiei, sa fi tu insuti, creativ, vesel.

    Elevilor de pe a 12-a, sunt nevoiti sa dea un examen, asa numitul BACALAUREAT. Un examen ce face diferenta, ma gandesc ca ai auzit si tu, „Daca iei bacul ajungi cineva, daca nu iei bacul, ajungi sa lucrezi la un bar sau la KFC”. Stai linistit, sunt oameni ce au bac si facultate si isi cauta un job la un bar sau chiar KFC. Elevi care trebuiau sa ceara voie sa vorbeasca, sa se ceara la baie, dar dupa cateva luni, li se cere sa ia o decizie importanta, o decizie legata de VIITOR.

    Scoala a dat gres, a dat gres cu mine, poate si cu tine. Eu nu am avut posibilitatea de a ma exprima liber, am fost tras la raspundere pentru dorinta mea de a fi creativ, de a gasi o alta solutie pentru anumite probleme decat acele solutii ce sunt impuse de scoala.

Mi se zicea de multe ori: „Invata, sa ajungi cineva in viata, sa lucrezi pentru o companie multimiliardara si sa ai un viitor, o familie”. Da, dar pe mine m-a intrebat careva ce vreau? Daca vreau sa fiu cun CORPORATRIST, inchis intre patru pereti ce toata viata sa si-o traiasca dupa un program strict. Nu, nu ma intrebat nimeni de ce vreau, despre ce vise am si pe care doresc sa le urmez.

    Dar acum, dupa terminarea liceului mi-am dat seama ca nu mi-a fost asa de folos dupa cum mi se tot spunea, nici acea foaie de carton pe care scrie cu un font mare „BACALAUREAT”. Acum intr-un final am posibilitatea de a face ce imi doresc. Sa fiu eu insumi si asta imi e de ajuns. Calatoresc, lucrez pe domeniul ce il iubesc, si nu, nu l-am invatat la scoala.

    Stiu, poate unii nu sunteti de aceeasi parere cu mine, poate nu am avut o exprimare corecta si nu ati inteles ce am scris. Dar sunt curios de opinia voastra de pe aceasta tema.

UnBetivNotoriu(IG:Un_Betiv_Notoriu)

Wonders

A short Snowbaz blob inspired by Rainbow Rowell’s “Midnights”. Partial credit to @carryonsnowbaztrash for being the Wren to my Cath and making this story beautiful. 


December 31st, 2012

When Baz was little, his mother used to tell him that scones tasted like love with just enough sugar.

And then she died, and it hurt, and Baz stopped putting sugar in his scones altogether. They tasted awful, but it made him feel bitter, which eventually made him reflect on life and realize everything he was doing wrong, something he desperately needed.

But the overall point was that his scones always tasted fucking awful.

Nevertheless, it was almost the last midnight of 2012, and he was craving some crappy sour cherry scones.

The party below his feet- just one floor down - thrummed and pulsed. He closed his eyes, breathing in and out slowly. He was alone. He was alone.

Flour, baking powder, baking soda, skip the sugar, butter, sugar-free cream, organic vanilla, and so went the routine. He supposed that his scones now tasted like love minus the sugar, but that was ok. Scones didn’t need sugar just like love didn’t need lies. He would just have to accept that.

As he finally slid them into the oven, the crowd below the floor below roared excitedly, causing the floor to vibrate beneath his feet. Baz closed his eyes and tried to pretend that there was no sound at all, that he would be able to sit on the granite countertop in the dark and appreciate the sound of the oven humming through the silence.

He did.

And it lasted for about thirty seconds.

“I NEED HELP!”

“What?” Baz snapped irritably, still keeping his arms wrapped tight around his legs, protecting himself.

A boy looked at him with wide, perfectly ordinary blue eyes, standing at the top of the staircase with a confused expression on his face. “I need somebody to kiss for New Year’s. Right now. It’s urgent”

Baz scowled. “Go look downstairs. There are plenty of slutty sorority girls just waiting for a bloke like you to go and snog them.”

The boy pursed his lips, and Baz noticed that the light from the oven perfectly illuminated the freckles creeping down his neck, the dramatic curves beneath his cheekbones, the way his hair flopped down over his forehead in a golden mop.

“A bloke like me?” he asked quietly, laughing as he advanced towards Baz. “That’s rude.”

“I’m rude,” Baz confirmed. “Now go away before I kill you.”

“With what?” the boy giggled, kneeling down to check what was in the oven. “With scones?”

“Yes. Sugarless scones that will make your throat clench up and your stomach shrivel with disgust. Please leave.”

“Ah-ha!” he yelped, bouncing to his feet and pointing a finger at Baz, who scooted further away from him. Baz didn’t want to, though, and he knew it. The boy’s shoulders were strong, and he looked like a god from an Egyptian myth as he stood in the dying oven light.

Horus, standing in my kitchen, Baz thought. He wanted to call him Horus, but he knew that that would make him Osiris, sitting in the dark, and he didn’t like to consider himself the ruler of the underworld.

“What?” Baz asked. The boy had eyeliner smudged around his eyelids, and Baz wanted to kiss him. Badly.

What a shame.

“You said that you were rude,” he smirked, joining Baz as he slid onto the counter. “You were wrong, because you said please.”

“What a revelation,” he said, rolling his eyes and looking away. He knew that the boy was watching him with those perfectly ordinary blue eyes, but he didn’t look up.

“I’m Simon Snow,” he said.

“Baz,” said Baz. “Please leave.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s going to be midnight in approximately fifteen seconds, and there’s no chance that I’ll make it downstairs and find somebody to kiss within that time frame,” he said certainly. “That and I think you’re cute, so it would be a shame if I didn’t kiss you on New Year’s Eve and pull you out of your depressing sugarless-scone making.”

“My baking isn’t depressing,” he argued.

Simon snorted. “You just ignored the flattering part of that statement.”

“Yes, and?” Baz rolled his eyes.

“And I really like that you’re hugging your knees right now, because you look adorable, and I’m going to have to crawl across a countertop to kiss you, which is a lot of hard work to do in five seconds.”

Baz kept his knees right under his chin.

“Three seconds,” Simon warned him. “I’m going to kiss you.”

“I’m quite aware.”

“And?”

“That’s all.”

“I’m going to kiss you, Baz.”

“Please don’t.”

“Too late.”

Baz didn’t brush his hair out of his eyes. He didn’t touch Simon’s face. He didn’t even close his eyes. But Simon’s lips were soft, and they tasted like sugar. Like sugar and mint and taking risks.

His chest thrummed wildly, banging and clanging away behind his ribcage, with screaming louder than the crowd beneath them. Slowly, he let himself fall away, just for a minute, and he kissed back, feeling Simon’s pulse drum away in his cheek.


December 31st, 2013

Somebody was smoking something, but Baz couldn’t tell what it was. Maybe it was several somebodies smoking different somethings, so the whole world just reeked of smoke and sickness. He had a pounding headache, and he wanted to go home, go home to his dormitory with no screaming party-goers and just enough silence.

“Simon!” somebody was screaming from across the room in a high-pitched, only slightly drunken voice. “Simon Snow, get your arse over here!”

Baz flinched, then bolted toward the girl who was screaming. Her eyes were bright with excitement, or maybe it was just the reflection of a million different cigarette lighters.

“Excuse me?” he asked. “Did you say Simon?”

“You’re Baz,” she said breathlessly, eyes wide. “You look just like Simon said. A little less like Ezra Miller, maybe, but similar.”

“Ezra Miller?” Baz snorted. “Wait… how do you know Simon?”

“I’m Penelope, his best friend,” she grinned. “And his brain.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” he laughed out. “Want to get out of here?”

She shook her head. “I’m finding Simon.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to make sure that he isn’t smoking pot or doing drugs or making out with some slutty sorority girl.”

“That’s very unfair, Penelope,” Baz said, shifting uncomfortably. 

Simon… with a girl.

Simon Snow, making out with some slutty sorority girl. He trembled at the thought.

“Penny,” she corrected him, waving her hand to dismiss the idea. “SIMON FUCKING SNOW!”

“Yeah?” responded a blonde boy with perfectly ordinary blue eyes and freckles sprinkling down his neck like sparks. Baz felt like he was going to be sick.

He smiled at Penny, waiting for a response, but then his eyes fell on Baz, and he froze completely.

“Baz?”

“Snow?”

“Perfect.”

“What?”

“Now, I don’t have to look for anybody to kiss.”

“Well, that’s an idiotic reason to be glad to see me.”

“Well, I’m also glad to see you because you’re a very attractive person and the first boy I ever kissed before New Year’s.”

“First? Have you kissed a lot of boys since then?”

Simon laughed. “I’m a philosophical studies major with no social life outside of Penny and Netflix. Do you think I kiss many people?”

Baz noticed that Simon hadn’t answered his question, but he didn’t push him further.

Penelope had disappeared into the crowd without either of them noticing, and he was thankful.

“Five minutes until midnight,” Baz leaned in and whispered. He could feel Simon shiver. “I have a few friends who live here. I know my way around. Follow me?”

“Follow you,” he agreed. Cautiously, Simon grabbed his hand and let Baz lead him through the smoke and warm bodies, jostling and pushing them every which way. Baz felt the blood in his fingertips warm at Simon’s touch, boiling and sparking with electricity. The stairs creaked under their feet, and people parted for them like the seas for Moses. He liked it this way. Somehow, it made him feel good that people stared, that they could see that there was a boy holding his hand, and that boy was beautiful.

As they climbed onto the roof, Baz squeezed his hand harder, so hard that he could feel the pulse through the soft, smooth skin on his thumb.

Simon gasped, and Baz laughed.

“This is beautiful,” he breathed. “It’s like… like…”

“Like somebody spilled ink on the sky?” Baz guessed.

“Like somebody fell in love, and then the sky decided to mirror that love.”

Simon turned his head slowly to look at Baz, and his eyes were no longer a perfectly ordinary cornflower blue. Instead, they matched the sky.

“What happened to your eyeliner?”

“I found this guy,” Simon shrugged. “He reminded me that the point of life isn’t to attract slutty sorority girls. I suppose that I found the guy and lost the eyeliner. What about you? Are you still making sugarless scones?”

Baz hesitated, then laughed. “I found this guy. I told him that I was going to murder him with sugarless scones, so I made more just to stay true to my promise.”

“And are you going to kill him now?” Simon giggled, leaning in as the house below them thrummed with the screams of ecstatic millennials. “I mean… it’s New Year’s Eve. You can do anything, if you want.”

Baz smiled, letting his fingers run down Simon’s cheeks, connecting the moles into constellations with his forefinger, just like he had wanted to do one year ago. “Will I see you again tomorrow?”

“Next New Year’s,” Simon promised softly.

“Why?”

His lips looked so soft, so beautiful, so true.

“Because the wonderful unknown becomes the known,” Simon breathed, pulling Baz closer. “And then it’s not wonderful at all.”

“Not at all,” Baz repeated, trying to hold down whatever wrenching pain was taking place in his chest.

Simon was so lovely, so real. He smelled like smoke, and the sky was in his eyes.

Baz kissed him. Suddenly, the roar beneath their feet resembled thunder, and the sound in their ears dulled to nothingness, like worlds colliding and like seconds slowing to a halt and like sugar, sugar, sugar, like sweetness and rarity and the only day of the year that Baz had ever looked forward to. Simon’s hands were in his hair, pulling and pushing, while his lips pressed against Baz’s delicately, carefully.

And the unknown had never been quite so wonderful.


December 31st, 2014

“This is the third fucking time, Snow, I swear-”

“This is perfect.”

“No, this is once a year.”

“I’ll stay tomorrow.”

“And the tomorrow after that?”

“No, the New Year’s after that-”

“Simon.”

“Yes, Baz?”

“Stay. Please.”

“Why should I stay? You hate sugar, you hate pop music, you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you!”

“You hate me for not being with you, Baz, and that’s enough.”

“I don’t hate you, Snow.”

“What, then? What is it that’s keeping you from loving me?”

“Three days in three years. That’s not enough time to fall in love with somebody.”

Silence.

“Yes, it is, Baz. It fucking is.”


December 31st, 2015

Baz was sitting in his dorm room, and it was New Year’s Eve.

It was New Year’s Eve, and he was all alone, studying for his Greek adverbs test and waiting for the melancholy of the whole situation to sink in, to lull him to sleep in a mist of his own tears, sugarless and heavy. Outside, a million leftover Christmas lights lit up the campus, and a million college students danced beneath their blinding light, beer sloshing around in their red solo cups and empty sloshing around in their chests. Somewhere, deep down, he knew that he wanted to join them. Without a doubt, he had a small urge to dive into their young antics and wave his arms and wish for a better tomorrow. But he didn’t.

Instead, he knew that Simon Snow would find him if he set foot outside of his dormitory, and the world would fall apart all over again.

It was quiet up here, without anybody bothering him, with the taste of awful scones lingering on his tongue, with the soft vowels of different languages dancing in his mouth. He could learn to love it.

Somebody was knocking on the door.

Shit.

He stayed as quiet as possible.

“Baz, I know you’re in there,” Simon Snow’s voice crept into his room, and Baz had to keep himself for banging his head into a wall, then screaming at the world just for good measure. “Please open the door.”

He didn’t say a word.

The door opened anyways.

Simon Snow stood in his doorway, decked out in a big, red sweater, and holding two solo cups, with that idiotic grin on his face that he always had. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” Baz grumbled, biting into his scone spitefully. “Please leave.”

“Not until we talk,” Simon smiled, sitting on the edge of his bed. Baz only scooted further away. “I brought you a drink, and you made scones. It’s perfect.”

“You’ll hate my scones,” Baz argued. “And I don’t want to wind up drunk, thanks.”

“I’ll love your scones,” said Simon. “And one drink isn’t going to intoxicate you. Besides that, this isn’t alcohol. I brought you hot chocolate.”

He snorted, and grudgingly took the cup. “You’re hopeless.”

Simon smiled sadly. “Ten minutes ‘til midnight, Baz.”

He fell silent and looked down, watching the miniscule marshmallows float around in his drink. He wanted to cry. “Please leave.”

“No,” said Simon. “How’s life been for you?”

“Fucking wonderful,” he grumbled, biting his lip. “Not that you care.”

“Of course I care. I always care.”

“Not last year. Not the year before that.”

He sighed, rolling his eyes at Baz. Don’t you dare do that, Baz wanted to scream. Don’t act like this is my fault, like I’m the one that screwed up four perfectly good New Year’s Eves.

“But really, Baz. I want to know. How’s school been? You must be close to your Master’s.”

“I am,” he nodded solemnly. “I’m gone for good after this.”

“Me, too.” Simon looked at his watch. “Seven minutes.”

Baz stared for a minute, his throat clenching up. “How about eight?”

“What?” Simon looked up, confused.

“What if you stay here for eight minutes, maybe nine?”

“What do you mean?”

“Stay, Snow. I want you to stay here and talk to me, and I promise, Simon, I promise- I’ll make you scones with sugar in them, I’ll listen to you talk about philosophical things that I don’t understand, and I’ll probably love you. Isn’t that enough?”

“Baz-”

“No more midnights,” he begged, holding back tears. “No more waking up at a party the next morning and wondering where you went. No more running away. I don’t care if it’s not so wonderful anymore. I don’t care if it’s not cliche-”

“I do.”

“You shouldn’t. You’ll never get anywhere in life if all you value is wonder, Simon.”

“Why can’t you just love me for the midnights?”

“I won’t Simon. I just won’t.”

“Why?”

“If I’m going to love you, I’m going to love you because you say things like ‘the sky reflected love’ and because you don’t run away when I threaten to kill you with sugarless scones. I’m going to love you because you have a bestfriend instead of a brain and because you brought me hot cocoa instead of beer,” he said quietly, keeping his eyes fixated on the spot between Simon’s eyebrows. He couldn’t look him in the eye. He couldn’t because he was afraid that they wouldn’t be perfectly ordinary blue eyes; they would be the sky.

“But I’ve already done all of those things,” Simon said, and Baz could hear his voice breaking slowly, gradually.

Good. You’re sad.

Sad matters.

I matter.

“Exactly,” Baz said quietly, daring to reach out and touch Simon’s shoulder. He was trembling. Trembling was good. Trembling was progress. “I love you, Simon. Not for the midnights.”

Simon was crying, slow and sweet, with just enough sugar. Baz looked him in the eye, and his eyes were the sky, dazzled with the reflection of the lights outside the window and the candles on the bedside table and love.

“Not for the midnights,” he repeated, his voice barely audible. “How long until-”

“Three minutes, Simon,” Baz whispered, looking at the clock hanging on the wall. “Three minutes until midni-”

Simon leaned forward and kissed him, desperate and sloppy and impulsive, and Baz kissed back, slowing him down.

He tasted like sugar and cigarette smoke and mint.

“Not for the midnights,” Simon whispered against Baz’s lips.


The End

When Baz was little, his mother used to touch his cheek, her hands covered in flour and butter, and she would affectionately tell him that scones tasted like love with just enough sugar. After she died, he made them with no sugar at all, as if to compensate for the fact that his world fell apart whenever he thought of her.

Now, his world was still shattered into a million pieces, but he made his scones with sugar anyways.

But mostly, he was in love.

In Sickness and In Health (Part 4 of 4, COMPLETE)

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug
Pairing: Marinette Dupain-Cheng x Chat Noir, Marinette x Adrien
Rating: Teen
Words: 11153

Read on AO3
Part One  Part Two  Part Three

It is done. @outsidethecavern @arejayelle @panda013 and everyone else who is interested!

“Did you see the video from that akuma attack last night?”

Alya’s voice echoes down the hallway, loud enough to be heard before Adrien even reaches the classroom. He smiles at that - the infamous Ladyblogger didn’t seem to have an off switch, even at seven in the morning. It was as strange as it was heartening, having such a big fan of him and Ladybug sat right behind him in class.

“You know I didn’t, Alya,” a voice pipes up. Marinette.

Adrien can’t tell if he should speed up or slow down. Seeing Marinette’s face (always painted pink when she looks at him, Adrien) is a compelling reason to enter class, but at the same time, he’s curious to hear what the two girls have to say about Ladybug and (hopefully) her dashing partner. It’s early, the hallways mostly empty of anyone who might question why he’s lingering outside of the classroom. He waits.

“I still don’t get why you’re not all about Ladybug and Chat Noir,” Alya huffs, “They’re pretty much the two coolest people ever.”

Marinette laughs heartily. He can practically envision her rolling her eyes - she’s preternaturally good at amused indignance. “It’s not that I don’t care about them,” she says, “It’s just that I’ve got enough on my plate without obsessing over two spandex superhumans, unlikesomeone I know…”

There’s more laughter, and a brief scuffle Adrien can only assume is some kind of play fight. When their giggles die down, Marinette speaks again. “Okay, fine, show me the video.”

“I knew I’d win you over, girl,” Alya says.

“Yeah, yeah…”

At this point, Adrien’s looming is bordering on creepy, but he hasn’t gotten caught yet. As devoid of people as the school is, Adrien has to guess that the flu is still running rampant. It’s currently proving to work to his advantage. From the classroom drift the tinny sounds of screams and rumbling. Last night’s akuma hadn’t been particularly difficult for him and Ladybug to take down, but it had certainly put on quite the show.

“Did you see that?” Alya exclaims, “Look at Ladybug’s sick move there with the street sign! Her reflexes have got to be amazing.”

“But did you see Chat’s dodge there? He not only managed disarm the akuma, but open up an attack for Ladybug and avoid getting hit. That’s really impressive.”

The warmth and pride that radiates from her voice nearly does him in then and there. Adrien wants to see her face, see how she watches him on the screen of Alya’s phone. He makes up his mind and enters the classroom.

Keep reading

Rester collé contre toi et entendre ton coeur battre, puis ta voix me parler légèrement, pour sentir tes mains me caresser les cheveux et aussi faire balader les miens delicatement contre ton ventre..

jellybeanie2-deactivated2016090  asked:

Can I request a scenario with Oikawa, Bokuto, and Daichi where a wasp gets into their crush (and friend)'s room and they have to devise a plan to kill it without any wasp spray, and the guys want to look macho and heroic ((whether they scream at the sight of it and if they wasp assassination goes according to plan is up to you))

alright so quick lesson in entomology

this is a Japanese (giant) hornet (aka satans honey bee):

these things can grow up to 4.8 centimeters (1.8 inches) and their sting is not lethal if stung just once, but it does have a corrosive effect on the skin. they don’t produce honey, like other species of hornets they just waste space and terrify people

Christ almighty if that thing was in my room id just burn the house down 



【OIKAWA】
He was right on the verge of asking you out, he was so close to ushering out the words when the sudden yelp you emit cuts him off.

“What is it, ________-chan?” Oikawa questions curiously, he’s reaching for your hand when suddenly, he hears a buzzing whir around his ear.

It’s not the hum of a fly, or a passing bumble bee, it’s deeper than that, the baritone hum of the rapid beat of wings instills fear in the setter, that kind of deep hum can only mean one creature.

Without sparing so much as a second glance to confirm his rising suspicion, he darts after you into the bathroom conjoined to your bedroom.

He closes the door behind him hastily, nearly clipping his shirt in the door crack. Switching the light on, he looks at you in your state of panic. He’s thinking that maybe the two of you can wait it out in here, you can sit on his lap while he strokes your hair to calm you down, he can hold your hand and tell you it’s alright. Oikawa nearly considers the possibility of confessing to you in a bathroom, but quickly abandons the thought. He’s pulled out of his day dreams when you speak.

“You have to kill it.”

Oikawa’s heart stops. For a split second he’s thinking about his feelings for you, and how it might not be worth putting his life on the line for.

“But it’s your house!” He shrieks back. “So? you have to kill it before it kills us!” You argue, gesticulating wildly. He hates that he can’t argue with your logic. What he hates even more is that he shares it with you.

“Do you have any spray?” He asks, hopefulness raising the tone of his voice. You shake your head indignantly, and move to sit on top of the bathroom counter.

Oikawa curses his luck. Then, an idea hits him like a volleyball to the face.Or rather, the back of his head. He’s thinking he can trap it under a glass and a magazine, and set it free and win your affections without killing it. He notes the half empty water glass on your counter.

“________-chan, do you still have the magazine I gave you?”

You nod. It was the magazine that he appeared in, he brought you a copy and exclaimed that his career as a model had began.

“It’s still on my nightstand.” You affirm, and it makes Tooru gulp. He reaches for the glass, dumps the rest of the water out and stands by the door with his spindly fingers slowly clasping around the doorknob. He looks back at you, and is met with a reassuring, yet nervous gaze.

He gives a small, quirky smile. When he receives one back, he embarks on his mission. Slowly turning the doorknob he peeks out, calculating brown eyes scan your bedroom for the insect, pinpointing it on the window sill. He slides the door open a little more, and weaves his lithe body out of the small opening with all the grace of a feline.

You have half a mind to shut the door, but decide against it in favor of watching Oikawa through a much smaller crack.

 Momentarily, he disappears from your slim line of vision to grab the magazine. He thinks he hears the horrible buzzing again, but the bug hasn’t taken flight. Yet.

Oikawa, fully equipped, slowly makes his way towards the window. He’s trying to pump himself up, telling himself that this is worth it, and how proud of him you’ll be when he releases it. He thinks of the kiss on the cheek he hopes you’ll give him too.

However as the setter encroaches on his target, it suddenly takes flight, directly towards him.

Oikawa shrieks, abandons all bravery in favor of chucking the magazine and the glass at the hornet, and flees back into the bathroom, almost knocking you over in the process.

Later that evening when the hornet decides your room has nothing to offer except two scared teenagers, it leaves. In its wake, a broken glass, and a Volleyball Monthly magazine on the ground outside your window.

However, the acceptance of his confession on your part makes Oikawa think that the whole ordeal was worth it.

【BOKUTO】
You’re both laughing as Bokuto manages to pin the last corner of the blanket up, completing the less than pitiful blanket fort he some how convinced you to build in your room when you’re supposed to be studying.

As he crouches back down, you maneuver to lay on your back, stealing Bokuto’s pillow in the process.

“Hey!” Bokuto screeches, reaching for the plush cushion that you tuck under your head.

“Hey! Hey! Hey!” you mimic his trademark call, giggling.

“what the heck, ________, that’s mine.” Bokuto smiles, fixing himself to lay his head on your stomach. “You’ll just have to make due, I guess.” He shrugs, then receives a whack in the face from said pillow.

“Bo, that tickles!” Squirming, you try to push the boy’s head off, instead he decides to lay on you entirely.

“Bokuto get off! You’re heavy!” Not even putting much effort into it, your shoving at the musculature that’s almost suffocating you.

“That’s because I’m swole.” He answers, pressing his back into your chest and laying his head next to yours. Quietly, you accept defeat, taking it in the form of going limp and turning your head to look at him.

“So when are you going to go out with me? You’re breaking me heart.” He teases, leaning in closer to press your noses together.

“I already told you, you have to prove to me that you’re boyfriend material, Bokuto.” you sigh, reaching over to run your fingers through his spiked hair.

He closes his golden eyes, and rolls off of you just enough to lay at your side. “Am I doing it now?” He asks softly, opening his eyes and leaning closer.

“Bo please,” You protest. To your surprise, it comes out much weaker than intended, and you find yourself closing your eyes. Your lips brush his and you can smell the faint dregs of the mint gum you shared on the way home.

“________, I want you so bad.” He mumbles, moving an arm over to cup your cheek as your lips connect fully, with intention, purpose.

The thing is, this isn’t the first kiss shared between you two.

You indulge, longer than you should. The glide of his slightly chapped lips siphons the breath right out of your lungs, replaces it with something slow, easy and comfortable.

When his breath fans across your face and Bokuto grows hungrier, his teeth begin to nibble at your bottom lip.

All of it feels so good, so right, and yet you remind yourself that you’re hurting him by not giving providing the answer he already knows.

This is when you’re thrust back into the shores of reality. You pull apart slowly, like you’re surfacing, a strand of saliva connecting your lips, your eyes half lidded.

“I should go start dinner-” You stammer, slowly making your way out of the newly dilapidated fort entrance.

“Stay with me for a while.”
Bokuto says, collecting your wrist in his firm grip. You cave instantly, and fall into supine submission by his side.

He wraps a single arm around you and tugs you to his chest, nuzzling into your hair and inhaling your scent shamelessly.

Closing your eyes, you decide suddenly, you could use a nap.

After a moment, both of your breathes sync together in time with your heartbeats, and it feels like the low him to a lazy love song. You’re just about to fall into slumber when you hear something.

Buzzing.

You crack your eye open and look up at the stooping roof of your fort. The blanket selected to be the roof is thin enough for you to make out the shape crawling on it.

“Bokuto-” You whisper, and he simply grunts in response. Until the buzz sounds again, then the shape on the blanket disappears. Bokuto’s halcyon eyes shoot open, with the intent to kill.

It’s a wordless exchange between the two of you, yet it feels tangible because of the fear refined into instinct. Instinct that tells you nothing good comes from that sound.

“________, run! I’ll kill it!” Bokuto hollers, Rising up quickly and destroying your fort as you scramble to the door.

Now is his chance, he decides.

Stretching to his full height, his eyes search for the intrusive bug that’s flying around your room. He doesn’t bother grabbing a weapon, opting instead for his open palm once the bug lands on the reflective glass of your mirror.

All of it happens in a whir of chaotic motions, Bokuto shouts, there’s a bang as the mirror is hit and falls off its hinges to shatter against the floor, you think you hear the crunch of an exoskeleton, but that’s probably the glass of the mirror.

Later, when you’re scrubbing bug entrails off of Bokuto’s hand, you’re amazed he didn’t get stung.

“________, I told you I’d kill it! Who’s a good boyfriend now? I saved your life!” He cheers, beaming at you so widely you can’t stop yourself from giggling as you lather warm water and soap over his awaiting, bug splattered hand.

“True, that was pretty heroic of you, but you smashed my mirror.” You respond, holding his hand under a stream of lukewarm water.

Bokuto wracks his brain for the pickup line Kuroo told him once that involved a mirror.

“You don’t need a mirror to tell you you’re beautiful ________, I can do that for you!”

You roll your eyes and decide that maybe having the energetic captain around isn’t such a bad thing.


【DAICHI】
Your lips are connected in a bond of sweetness and bliss, and Daichi can hardly ignore the rapid spring of his heart beat. You have just accepted his confession, after weeks of pining he’s finally obtained the nerve to ask you out. He can feel the delicate press of your lips curve into a smile, it makes him smile too as he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you closer.

His chest is solid, built from years of practice. however, the sinewy muscle paired with a thin cotton t-shirt isn’t enough to mask the increasing thrum of his heartbeat, you can feel beneath your finger tips as you slide your hands up his abdomen to wind around his neck.

For a dreaded second you think he’s stopping, until you feel the hot slide of his tongue swipe across your lower lip.

Parting your mouth, you crack your eyes open momentarily to look at him, and you do, albeit only for a second. A whir of yellow and brown accompanied by a buzz shoots past your line of sight, and lands on the table beside your bed.

It’s probably the biggest one you’ve ever seen.

Imbued with panic you pull away hastily, backing up and leaving a confused Daichi standing at the foot of your bed.

“Daichi! there’s a hornet!” You shout, pointing a finger at the insect crawling over a stack of books. The brunette nearly jumps out of his skin, but remembers your presence and decides to swipe on a calm-as-possible facade.

“I’ll get it,” He states, without really thinking about it. His gaze follows the bug on its flying path until it lands on the dead center of your bed, where Daichi had planned and hoped to ahem, hold you.

You slide him a shoe from your closet, a sandal, of all footwear, Daichi inwardly curses. With that, you scamper into the hallway, peeking your head around the door frame.

He swallows, the inebriation from kissing you only moments before ebbing out of his system, adrenaline and astute paranoia taking its place in Daichi’s veins.

His fist tightens around the sandal as he slides forward to the left of the bed, behind the intruding insect. Daichi thinks he has the element of surprise, when in reality the bee’s four eyes have had a visual on him since it intruded into your room.

He slams the sandal down on your comforter just short of clipping it, but the hornet just manages to evade death by a wing.

Great, now it’s mad.

Against his better judgment, Daichi strikes again, swinging his muscled arm through the air and more or less slapping the large hornet from its original course, right towards you.

You dash down the hall and into the kitchen, where a can of flammable air freshener awaits. If only the lighter had fluid.

Cursing your luck, you run back to the end of the hall way and call for Daichi.

Half of a heart attack later, he answers, affirming his unstung, well-being.

Seconds later he actually appears, and struts down the hallway like he’s on his way to accept an Oscar. “I think you’ll find your room hornet free, ________.” He thinks you can’t tell, but by the nature of his smugness you know he wants another kiss.

Which of course you’re happy to oblige.

1. I’m lonely so I do lonely things.
2. Loving you was like going to war, I never came back the same.
3. You hate women, just like your father and his father, so it runs in your blood.
4. I was wandering the delicat car park of your heart looking for a ride home.
5. You’re a ghost town I’m too patriotic to leave.
6. I stay because you’re the beginning of the dream I want to remember.
7. I didn’t call him back because he liked his girls voiceless.
8. It’s not that he wants to be a liar, it’s just that he doesn’t know the truth.
9. I couldn’t love you, you were a small war.
10. We covered the smell of loss with jokes.
11. I didn’t want to fail at love like our parents.
12. You made the nomad in me build a house and stay.
13. I’m not a dog.
14. We were trying to prove our blood wrong.
15. I was still lonely so I did even lonelier things.
16. Yes, I’m insecure, but so was my mother and her mother.
17. No, he loves me he just makes me cry a lot.
18. He knows all of my secrets and still wants to kiss me.
19. You were too cruel to love for a long time.
20. It just didn’t work out.
21. My dad walked out one afternoon and never came back.
22. I can’t sleep because I can still taste him in my mouth.
23. I cut him out at the root, he was my favourite tree, rotting, threatening the foundations of my home.
24. The women in my family die waiting.
25. Because I didn’t want to die waiting for you.
26. I had to leave, I felt lonely when he held me.
27. You’re the song I rewind until I know all the words and I feel sick.
28. He sent me a text that said “I love you so bad”.
29. His heart wasn’t as beautiful as his smile.
30. We emotionally manipulated one another until we thought it was love.
31. Forgive me, I was lonely so I chose you.
32. I’m a lover without a lover.
33. I’m lovely and lonely.
34. I belong deeply to myself.
—  Warsan Shire, “34 excuses for why we failed at love”
Eşti al meu, sunt a ta

Şi în fiecare zi, mă faci să te iubesc şl mai mult, şi mai mult. Mă faci să te iubesc pentru că ştii să ai grijă de mine. Te iubesc pentru că nimeni nu are grijă de inima mea, aşa cum o faci tu. Te iubesc pentru că faci parte din viaţa mea şi pentru că doar în braţele tale sunt fericită. Te iubesc acum, şi te voi iubi până la adânci bătrâneţi şi încă o viaţă mai apoi.

Tu mă tratezi ca pe o copilă atunci când greşesc. Chiar dacă ţip şi urlu şi cred că totul e ca mine, tu ai răbdarea să îmi explici de fiecare dată unde am greşit, până realizez. Tu mă tratezi ca pe o prinţesă răsfăţată atunci când am nevoie de asta. Mă alinţi, mă iubeşti şi îmi dai cele mai dulci săruturi. Mă îmbrăţişezi şi mă mângăi delicat pe obraji şi mă săruţi pe frunte. 

Te iubesc pentru că îmi pupi mâna atunci când ne plimbăm pe stradă. Te iubesc pentru că atunci când totul din jurul meu mi se pare banal şi trist, tu eşti mereu lângă mine şi îmi oferi toată dragostea ta. Te iubesc pentru că ai ales să stai lângă mine. Te iubesc pentru că atunci când privim stelele, tu îmi spui că eu sunt steaua ta şi nicio stea de pe cer nu e mai frumoasă ca mine. Te iubesc pentru momentele în care mă faci să răd în hohote. Te iubesc pentru că eşti singura persoană care îmi dăruieşte doar lacrimi de fericire. Te iubesc pentru că exişti şi asta nu se va schimba niciodată. 

Vreau sa vorbim acum , sa vorbim cate-n luna si-n stele , sa stam pana la 2-3 noaptea , sa ma alinti cum numai tu stii …
—  un anonim delicat