#this has been a glorious week for black people

[sbrown82]

[avidfics]

giving into sevika's advances

summary: Sevika has been chasing you for weeks and you finally give in.

warnings: Grumpy sevika, bratty reader, suggestive topics, light touching, reader takes charge

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Fidgeting. During interrogations, Sevika has had plenty of macho men fidget under her weighted glare. It was one of her favorite hobbies afterall. 

But for her to be fidgeting? Disgusting. Yet, sure enough, her thumb was reflexively flicking her pocket knife open and closed repeatedly in a flash as her eyes kept catching any movement from the bar’s swinging doors. Waiting. 

“Does my eyes deceive me?” Finn, one of the flunkies on her team shout loudly to the other people on her team in the otherwise empty bar. “Is the great terror of Zaun nervous?” 

A chorus of ooohs echo around the room, ignoring the heavy ‘thud’ of Sevika spearing the wooden table with her knife. “If you like being able to move your jaw I suggest you shut your mouth. Or I'll do it for you."

“Do it” he tosses right back. A cocky smile bright as he swags over and proudly offers the side of his face. “But 50 bucks bets that you won’t, cause your sweet little assistant will be here any minute and you don’t want her to see the monster you really are.” 

The fucking idiot hit the nail on the head, and boy was that annoying. Two months ago you showed up, looking like a vision out of one of her dirtiest fantasies. You strolled into Silco’s main base, ass clad in black jeans that hugged you like a second skin and a blouse, though modest enough, had a few buttons loose at the top that provided a peek at your cleavage if someone looked down hard enough. 

And sevika did look. She wasn’t ashamed. Your tits were fucking glorious and made her clit so sensitive her eyes crossed.  

Jinx- the wacko- loved your confidence immediately and after an extensive background check, and minor threatening, Zilco hired you. 

And Sevika had been trying to get in your pants every single chance she got, even though you weren’t her usual easily submissive type. You were prissy, stubborn, and had a stick up your ass that she desperately wanted to take out and replace with her silicone cock. 

She was pussy whipped and she hadn’t even had a taste. Even her team had noticed. 

Which is why she had to work double time to keep them in check and why her fist slams into Finn’s metal jaw with a satisfying crunch. The pain in her knuckles felt good and a bloodthirsty smile slicks across her face even as she presses the pocket knife to Finn’s neck. “Pay up fucker. And let it be a reminder that I could give a fuck about some assistant’s sweet ass.” 

“Good to know.”

+++

The topic of your sweet ass was not what you were expecting to hear walking into Silco’s bar to handle some paperwork. 

Especially not from the Sevika. Who looked dumbstruck at you even with Finn’s collar bunched in her bruised fist and the tip of a knife to his neck. 

Crap she looked good af. A black muscle shirt clung to her frame and cuffed at her biceps. Her hair was in a half hazard ponytail with loose pieces falling into her eyes. Giving her a slightly crazed look that made your face heat. 

But once again, this was a reminder that Sevika was not someone to mess with. She was the second scariest person in Zaun, and the blood on her knuckles served as an excellent reminder not to fraternize with your superiors, no matter how delicious they looked in a fitted tee.  

“Please continue.” You swivel away from her stunned look in your high heels. “My ass and I will be making the rounds.” 

Mumbled curses and the distinct sound of Finn’s goan of pain follows you as you strid away, a purposeful swing in your hips, to another member of the team to get details on inventory. They give you an easy grin and answer your questions but clam up as a shadow falls over the table.

“Scram.” It wasn’t a question and they hurried away. 

You huff a sigh and plop a seat on the now forgotten stool. Crossing your legs just to see dark whiskey colored eyes fasten to your legs for a heated minute. “Sevika, feel free to leave. I wouldn’t want you to worry about my ass and I.” 

A hefty groan leaves her lips, and she drags her hand down her face. “That’s not what I meant.” 

Whatever. You begin your work on your clipboard. “That’s what you said.” 

A whispered “smart ass” is muttered before you jump at her taking your clipboard out your hands and invading your space. “Believe me.” Dark eyes stare down at you with an intensity that makes you shift uncomfortably on the stool in an attempt to alleviate a budding tingle. 

“Your ass is very much a concern of mine.” 

‘Prove it.’’ Is on the tip of your tongue but you hold back. Provoking Sevika would not end well for you or your ass. Get in, get the job done, and get out. Those were the rules. 

You reach your hand out. A demanding arch in your raised eyebrow to convey a bravado you truly didn’t possess. “Hand it over. I’m sure there’s a face you need to pummel in an alley somewhere.” A mocking smile plasters across your lips. “Better get to it.”

One step. That’s all it takes for her to encroach closer in your space. So close you can see the way her nostrils flare. “Face pummeling is on Friday’s.” A heat was simmering between the two of you, and the more time you spent in her presence, the more you wavered on deciding if you wanted to cool it or let it go unchecked. Especially as she hid your clipboard out of your reach so her hands were free to grab the wooden legs of your chair and scoot you closer to her.

“Ep!” You were so startled that you wrapped your hands around her wrist and immediately regretted it. Her skin was a contrast. One wrist was so warm to the touch, while the other held a stark coldness. You wondered what the duality would feel like wrapped around in clean sheets, preferably naked. 

None of this escaped Sevika’s notice. The mocking smile that once graced your lips is now mirrored back at you. “I like the sound of you bossing me around.” The words trail as her eyes fasten to your lips. “Do it again.” 

The irony that she was the one making commands wasn’t lost on you. “Leave me alone, Muscle-head. I’m way too much for you. Better stick to your usual simpering type.”

A smirk, the one she wears before charging head first into a fight, emerges. “You don’t think you're my type?” An eye roll in return has her releasing a small chuckle. The unexpected feel of a warm, calloused hand gripping your bare calf makes your facade of boredom slip as you frantically look behind sevika to check for wondering eyes. Luckily, you had seated in a secluded nook of the bar, where a wall partially hid you both. But all it would take is someone popping their head in the entryway to see the inappropriate way your boss was holding you and how much it was turning you on.

And those damn hands just won’t stay still. Your legs were crossed, one over the other, but that didn’t pause Sevika’s frisky hands moving up and down your exposed legs, her thumbs circling around your knees and in a soothing way that hinted at how they would move against your clit. “Think you’re mistaken babe. You might be a bit more brattish than other girls I’ve had, but I guarantee when I get you under me, I’ll have you whining for my touch just like the others.” 

A scoff gets choked in your throat with the new caress against your sensitive skin. There was no hesitancy in her touch, just a heavy grasp that urged you to ease your tightly crossed legs so her wonderful fingers could be closer to where you needed them. 

But you needed to come to your senses. Taking a chance, you lean back and feign falling off the stool, and are satisfied by the speed of sevika hoisting you back up to safety. But it gives you leverage to fist her shirt by the collar and fold her massive body over to your seated height. 

With the new vantage point, her macho act was so transparent you snickered at what you now realized. These past weeks you were sooo apprehensive when it came to Sevika’s blatant advances because you’d have to be insane to entertain the enforcer of Zaun. The fierce enforcer of Silco who made men taller than you piss themselves with just a sharp stare. 

The same woman, who harshly gripped your waist to make sure you were safely seated, didn’t have her usual malice in her eyes when it came to you. In fact, when it came to you, she was oddly docile. Still demanding, but with a gentleness that you never noticed. 

Perhaps, you could have some fun afterall. She’s still leaning over you as you take a chance to goad her. “Strange, from my observation you’re the one doing all the begging.”  The noticeable way her jaw tightens is almost humorous. “And it sounds so good coming from your lips.” 

You both were in a trance as you dare to cover her hands with yours. And the way her eyes flare totally made it worth it. “Maybe I was too hasty to turn you down all those times.” you murmured against check.

“Ya think,” she saids with a grumpy attitude but the way her hands are frantically palming your exposed flesh under your direction is a dead giveaway of her need. “Made me chase your ass for weeks.”

“Poor baby.” you coo against her sensitive ear. “Let’s make a deal.” Both pairs of hands move up your legs and reach past your skirt and to your upper thighs, scrunching up your skirt so much your panties are surely peaking through. You can feel the tightly held restraint it was taking Sevika to not overpower your hands. Just that knowledge made a delicious shiver shoot up from your core. “We’ll continue with whatever this is but with one condition. I get total control of everything while we’re together.” 

A rough scoff rakes up Sevika's chest, yet she presses herself even closer to your body. Her nose dragging up and down your collarbone. “Babe, ya know who you're talking to right? Think I’m that whipped that I’ll follow you around as if you have beer-flavored tits? Why would I when there’s a brothel right down the street?”

Asshole

“That’s up to you. But let’s test it out first, yeah?” Her quick head nod is the only green light needed as you smile with satisfaction. Slowly you remove your hands off hers. “What do you want?” you whisper in her ear. 

The answer is immediate. “Need to get between your warm thighs.” The second after you murmur a concession your legs are spread wide to accommodate Sevika’s bulky form that was now pressed against your panty-covered pussy. A tiny moan leaves your lips as she presses you even closer so you need to depend on her to avoid tumbling out the chair.

You dodge the hungry kiss she tries to plant on your lips. “Uh uh, musclehead.” You pry up in the chair, pressing slow, wet kisses along her neck. “I didn’t give you permission.” A slew of curses are tossed from her impatient lips as she throws her head back. Which is perfect for you as you continue to attack her neck. The image of her tortured face will be in your memory forever. “What’s your choice, love? Me or the brothel?” It takes effort but you reach your lips to her ear and suckle her earlobe.

“Shit. You fuck.” she groans. 

“Good choice baby. Go ahead and taste me.” A hand holds the nape of your neck as her full lips takes over and devours you with the most desperate kiss you ever experienced. All you can do was sit there and take it with the knowledge that you were still in full control. 

It was over too soon but Sevika wore a goofy overly confident wolfish grin. “Knew you’d give in eventually.”

The eyeroll was inescapable as you give her a patronizing pat on the chest. “Sure musclehead. Follow me to your office, your going to finish my paperwork while I take a nap.”

She grumbles but is right on your heels. Taking the clipboard in one hand and your hand in the other. “Guess this makes me your obedient lap dog now, huh?”

“You said it not me.”

[2tcs]

Danny’s Journal or A Countdown to the Beginning

Summary: A look into the year leading up to the accident from the perspective of a forgotten journal.

February 9, 2002

Dear journal. Mom and Dad said they had a surprise for me and Jazz when we get home from school. Please God don't let it be another ghost gun or something. My hair is still singed from the last one.

Update. It was, in fact, a gun. Jazz now has a mild burn on her arm and is screaming how they need therapy. Not disagreeing but I don't think it's going to happen.

February 12, 2002

Dear journal. Happy birthday. A year ago Jazz gave you to me for my birthday. How my parents haven't accidentally destroyed you I don't know.

Me Tucker, Sam, and Jazz went out to eat for my birthday. Sam even had her family driver take us a town over to try that new restaurant. Well, that's what their excuse was.  I think they were trying to get me out of the house for a little bit since Mom and Dad are going on a rampage through the house disassembling all the appliances. It's 10 pm and I can still hear noise coming from the basement.

March 26, 2002

I have the best idea for an April Fools prank. It involves chez whiz and glitter.

April 1, 2002

The prank worked like a charm. The jocks are going to smell like cheese for weeks. And they ain't ever getting the glitter out.

On the downside. Dash broke my arm and Mom and Dad put a “Fenton Anti-ghost Cast” on me. It kinda glows and makes my arm feel weird.

April 23, 2002

Sam’s birthday party was a glorious disaster this year. Her mom decided to do a princess-themed party. We have been preparing for this day since Sam found one of her mom’s work journals. We managed to sneak paint and glitter bombs into the venue before anyone got there. We even managed to get one on each of the chandeliers. It was awesome. Everyone got covered in black paint and red glitter. 

What we didn’t account for was Grandma Ida hiring professional snake handlers to bring in a bunch of snakes for Sam. The snakes were non-venomous and luckily were all caught after one of the rich people bumped into the table that the snake cage was on. And the paint was non-toxic so it was easy to clean off the snakes too without them getting sick. Still kinda feel bad that the snakes got caught in the crossfire though.

May 20, 2002

🎵Schools out for the summer!🎵 Lol this is going to be so exciting. Our last summer as middle schoolers. Nothing but the big leagues after this!

June 13, 2002

Dad wants to go camping for Father's Day so we're going to head out tomorrow morning. Think I heard them mention Lake Arrowhead. That'll be cool. Haven't fished there before.

June 15, 2002

I don't know how but we're in Gotham. Apparently, there's some stupid ghost conversation going on so we're going to be stuck here for the next week. On the pulse side though I found a really cool cafe not too far from the hotel. And they don’t seem to care if you just hang out as long as their not busy and you buy something. Me and Jazz will probably be spending a lot of time here or at their library. It’s huge and has an entire section of space!

June 16, 2002

Turns out I'm allergic to something called Blood Blossoms. Mom and Dad ended up having some guy try to cleanse me of “the evil spook” after I accidentally brushed up against the flowers he had on his table. Jazz had to convince them to get me to the hospital. Luckily one of the guys walking around had an epi pen. So that helped. Still sucks and now I'm stuck at the hotel while Jazz frets like a mother hen. I don't think she's even realized that she has a rash on her hand from when she threw the flowers away from me.

June 19, 2002

So… Batman is real… wtf? He apparently has some questions for Mom and Dad but they haven't come back yet. He apologized to me and Jazz for waking us up and gave us suckers? Which. Weird. And Jazz threw them away when he left because “stranger danger is still a thing even if they are a hero”. RIP little Root Beer flavored DumDum. You will be missed.

And on the other hand, Robin was pretty cool. He's snarky and brave and hilarious and he is just so cool. 10/10 New favorite Robin. He even gave me a book recommendation for the report I'm supposed to turn in at the start of freshman year.

June 22, 2002

We were supposed to leave Gotham today. We were supposed to finally head to one of the lakes on the way home to do some camping and fishing. We were supposed to have a relaxing time. So please journal. Can you tell me why the giant wannabe scaly just threw the GAV? Now we are going to be stuck in this stupid city for another week while Mom and Dad fix it.

June 24, 2002

I made a new friend! Do you remember that cafe I talked about a few days ago? Well, I met a guy there. His name is Jason. He’s an absolute lit nerd but is way cool. The guy’s got muscles underneath his school uniform too. The guy looks like he could snap me like a twig yet isn’t at all like Dash. Hopefully, we can keep in contact after we head back to Amity. For now, we are planning on meeting up at the cafe tomorrow with our favorite books. I found “Star Stories”at the library so I’m bringing it with me. I don’t know if he likes stars but I hope he likes some of the stories about them.

July 9, 2002

Finally back at home. Dad had smuggled fireworks into the GAV (how they didn’t explode when KC threw it in Gotham idk) so we spent the 4th of July shooting them off at the lake. We ended up going to Lake Erie for the camping trip because Mom heard something at the convention about a ghost hanging out around there. Didn’t see any ghosts but the fishing was good. I even caught a bass the size of my head! All around it was really fun! Oh and the stars were so clear! The Summer Triangle was so clear you could point out Vega, Deneb, and Altair! It was so cool! Did you know that Vega is in the Lyra constellation? Or Deneb is in the Cygnus Constellation. And Altair is a part of the Aquila constellation!

Maybe I should ask if Mom and Dad could get me another journal for charting the stars. I’ll need the practice if I want to become an astronaut.

July 29, 2002

It’s a good thing that I got two of everything when me, Sam, and Tucker went shopping for school supplies. I got a lot of new space-themed stuff but the moment I got home Dad insisted on ghost-proofing my new backpack… It melted. I don’t even know how he managed to melt a canvas bag. It didn’t even catch fire first. Just started melting the moment Dad started spraying his new “Fenten Ecto-Rejecto Spray” on it. Wtf Dad.

On the plus side, Sam found a new coffin backpack and Tucker was able to get a new bag that had a pouch that he can put the walkman he got yesterday for his birthday. He is so hyped about it. 

August 6, 2002

School starts next week and I am so hyped. Finally going to be a high schooler. Cool Kids Club here we go!

August 15, 2002

Kill me now. May the Gods strike me down and end my suffering. May the Faits find me lacking and cut my string. May the Crone tear me from the tapestry, the mother rejects my thread from the loom and the maiden take the wool of my youth and set it aside.

Sam has just informed me that that isn’t quite what the Mother, Maiden, and Crone do but whatever. Just know that everything sucks because apparently someone called the house phone and told Mom and Dad that there was a ghost in the school. The A-listers are blaming me for ruining their high school debut.

August 30, 2002

Mom and Dad have started making more noise in the lab than normal. It’s gotten to the point that Jazz has been spending more time at the library to study. Speaking of Jazz, she has been obsessing over self-help and psychology books lately. I mean. Jazz has always talked up therapy but now she’s kinda getting snooty about it. Sam suggested we start hanging out at that gazebo thingy at the park so we can get our work done on the nicer days. We’ll have to hang at Tucker's place though on the rainy days. Sam’s parents have decided that it’s time to put their foot down and get Sam to “socialize with your actual peers Sammy-kins so that you can make better connections and start networking” or whatever. So basically Sam’s mom doesn’t want her to be associated with us plebs I guess.

September 8, 2002

Mom and Dad repurposed the fridge so they could put samples in it. Apparently, the one in the lab broke. The green stuff in the tubes kinda creeps me out. Jazz is yelling at them about it. I kinda agree. Cross-contamination anyone? Think I’m gonna eat out at Nasty more often.

September 28, 2002

Either I’m going crazy or the leftover chicken and noodle soup in the fridge was moving. Like the noodles were wiggling around like worms or something. Jazz ordered pizza.

October 5, 2002

There are new wires in the house now and they glow? Mom said that they had some sort of breakthrough and are using the samples that they have to coat some of the tech in the house to “ecto-proof” it. Apparently, the ectoplasm doesn’t like electronics so they weren’t really able to mix it with tech too well. Some of Mom’s blueprints look like Star Wars blasters. Dad’s are less impressive.

October 29, 2002

Mom and Dad have locked me and Jazz in our rooms because of the “Ghost Menaces”. Me and Jazz have both taped warning signs on our windows so some brave trick-or-treaters don’t accidentally get hurt.

November 1, 2002

The signs worked but I saw Mom and Dad taking off in the GAV around midnight. Whatever. Me and Tucker did manage to reach a new level in DOOM last night so that was cool. And it’s World Vegan Day today so Sam is going to take us out to eat at a vegan place for dinner. I have no clue what Tucker’s going to eat. Well probably get it to-go so he can get something.

I found out where Mom and Dad went last night. The cops showed up and gave Mom and Dad a ticket for destroying a part of the park's water fixture. Someone had organised a haunted forest thing in the park and my parents went absolute ape.

November 2, 2002

Who told Mom and Dad about Dia de Los Muertos? Or that there was a little remembrance celebration/party thing going on today because of it? I’ve decided to make deviled eggs in protest of their chaos and have also bought candy skulls to eat.

November 18, 2002

Apparently, there is an Occult Day(?) and Sam insists we spend the day researching cults. Tucker has found a tech cult online that says there is “Techno Magic” and he is now trying to learn it. Sam has found a book of curses and has been giggling since she found it. Sam giggling is terrifying. I am concerned.

November 28, 2002

The turkey came to life and attacked us. Mom and Dad are blaming ghosts but me and Jazz agree that this is totally their fault for putting the stupid ecto in the fridge. At least the rest of the food was edible. I mean. It had a kinda glowing but I haven’t gotten sick yet. So yay?

November 29, 2002

So the food wasn’t good and I ended up getting sick this morning. fml Jazz is mad that I ate some of it. I am fully aware of what food safety is Jazz. But I was hungry and after the turkey, I was just tired and hangry. I had no clue you had ordered pizza so :p

December 5, 2002

On the 5th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me! Nothing because my family is insane. Mom and Dad are already starting their yearly Santa argument. Sam and Tuck are both out of town to visit family for the holidays, Jazz is avoiding the house because it’s “disruptive to my mental development” and I’m grounded for yelling at Dad when he burst into my room and accidentally made my little Rover fall off the shelf and brake.

December 9, 2002

Mom and Dad’s insanity is ramping up. They almost never leave the lab now and whenever I try to bring food down to them they either just mumble and keep working or start arguing again. The whole in the wall has a frame now too.

December 24, 2002

I made a mistake when I brought Mom and Dad their dinner today. In my defense, I was just tired of them yelling about Santa. So I asked why they had hazmat suits but me and Jazz didn’t if ecto was so dangerous. Because if it’s that dangerous then the fact we have ecto in the fridge means that we should all have suits. Jazz is furious with me cause now our parents are making us try on our new suits tomorrow. I am terrified of whatever monstrosity they create no matter how “fashionable” Dad claims they will be.

December 25, 2002

It’s worse than I thought. Mine’s white.

January 15, 2003

Gods, I hate this. I’ve been sick for the past week and Jazz says we’re almost out of soup. I keep going back and forth between being hungry and puking up whatever Jazz feeds me. Mom says that she has some tea that may help but when Dad brought it up it tasted funny. It did make me feel a little better but it just had a really weird taste. Dad said it’s just because I’m sick so everything tastes funny right now.

January 19, 2003

Is it weird that I want to lick the ecto in the fridge? I’m pretty sure it is but it still kinda looks lickable to me. Like how you know that D batteries are not edible but almost everyone has licked one at some point?

Jazz just gave me a lecture about putting things in my mouth that I shouldn’t… Again…

January 27, 2003

Jazz scared me this morning. I walked into the kitchen this morning and just saw glowing eyes. Like a cat’s eyes in the dark. Jazz thinks I’m hallucinating from lack of sleep because of the all-nighter I pulled with Tuck trying to pass the next level on DOOM but I swear that her eyes were glowing.

February 9, 2003

I’m starting to worry. I know they're obsessed with their dumb portal but they haven’t eaten in 2 days. Jazz is planning on going down there and persuading (yelling at them) them to eat if they don’t come up for dinner tonight.

February 12, 2003

Happy Birthday to me. I am now 14 years old. Mom and Dad forgot it was my birthday again. They ran into the kitchen this morning because they completed their portal. They even dragged me and Jazz down into the lab to see them turn it on before we went to school. It didn’t work and now Mom and Dad are going to take a drive around town to clear their heads. They probably won’t be back until dinner time. Sam and Tucker are coming over after school though so at least it will be quiet while they are over. And I think Jazz is going to make a cake if the box of mix I saw her trying to hide from me yesterday is any indication. 

[37sommz]

000.⠀⠀NOW PLAYING: only angel [6.7k, smut]. ✼. view:⠀masterlist⠀⸻⠀join the taglist⠀⸻⠀request. ✼. synopsis:⠀michaela's all alone after her first podium. ✼. notes:⠀part two to the dts episode! did i take loose inspiration from hamilton's "say no to this"? yes. did this end up being way way way too long? yes. ✼. warnings:⠀18+, mdni, general language warnings, explicit sexual content, pwp, cheating, unprotected sex, jenson has a potty mouth, cheating!

✼.⠀SEPTEMBER 13, 2020 — tuscany, italy

Michaela stepped out of the shower, the warm water washing away the leftover champagne that stuck to her as if a second skin. Her skin glowed with the fading adrenaline of the day's exertions, the faint memory of the history made still ringing in her ears. As she toweled off, the sound of the distant Tuscan celebrations seeped into her luxurious hotel suite.

The air carried the glorious scent of victory, mingled with the faint aroma of leather and gasoline that clung to her like a signature perfume. She wrapped the delicate towel around her athletic figure, her muscles still humming from the exhilaration of the podium finish.

Her eyes scanned the room she had called home for the last week, taking in the plush, soft furnishings, the walls adorned with elegant artwork, the balcony beckoning with a breathtaking view of the vineyards the hotel boasted as being the source of their rich wine. Yet, amidst the opulence in celebration, there was a hint of loneliness.

Olivier had called her to explain his reasons for not showing up for the race weekend. She honestly didn't remember what excuse he used this time, leaving her to navigate the after-party alone. Though a nagging feeling gnawing at her loyalty reminded her of the difficulties the long-distance presented for the two of them, she traded the feeling in favor of the awaiting festivities just downstairs. She sighed, her breath misting the mirror as she readied herself for the evening ahead.

The bar was a buzz of activity, a cocktail of laughter and clinking glasses. Each face was a blur of familiarity and she felt a strange sense of detachment, as if she was watching the celebrations as a third party. The weight of the podium trophy held heavy on her heart as she found herself oddly alone. She had dreamt of this moment, but somehow the reality was bittersweet without so much as a family member, or even Olivier himself, beside her to share in the triumph.

She was more than aware Alex and Lando were off and away, likely already inebriated beyond recognition as she was intentionally late to her own after-party. Her eyes searched the room, hoping to find their friendly faces amidst the wave of strangers.

Unable to find their familiar eyes, a piercing blue-eyed gaze cut through the crowd like a knife to find hers. Jenson Button, lounged in the corner, a whiskey in hand, his eyes locked on hers. Michaela had been unaware the Brit had even been in Tuscany at all. Her mind scrambled to find an inkling of recognition of his presence at the Grand Prix but was left unable to as her mind slowly drew her attention back to the blonde former champion.

As if possessed by his gentle light, her feet carried her to the bar. A few bodies separated them as she claimed a place alongside the black and gold accented bar. Murmurs of congratulations from people she did not quite recognize were received on gracious ears and short exclamations of gratitude. Her impatience is tangible as her eyes flit back to Jenson's awaiting invitation. Unable to tear herself away from the continuous pour of well wishes and slurred speculations about that elusive Ferrari contract.

With a knowing smile, Jenson approached her, his move casual yet flooded with confidence. He leaned against the bar next to her, "Mind if I buy you a drink, Miss Sommers?" The way he spoke her name, with that hint of a smile in his voice, sent a thrill down her spine. She hadn't seen him this close since their brief interactions during her Formula 2 days nearly two years ago, and she had to admit—under the dimmed lobby lights—the years had treated him well. His eyes twinkled with a mischief that seemed to have only grown with age from his iconic days with Brawn.

"Mr. Button," she replied, her voice a soft purr, the slight buzz she carried with her from the shot of tequila Lando had convinced her to take earlier providing a humming tease to her accent. "I could never turn down a free drink."

The bartender, a young man with a wide-eyed smile in awe of the surrounding wealth, nodded at Jenson before crafting an elegant cocktail. The shaker rattled with ice against glass, a mixture of mint and lime swirling before Michaela's eyes. Jenson's own never left hers as he took the drink from the bartender, passing it to her with a nod.

"To your podium," he said, his voice smooth and direct like the whiskey in his own glass.

Michaela took the offered cocktail as a tremble of anticipation ripped through her spine. "Thank you," she whispered.

Her voice went weak as their fingertips brushing against each other's, sending a spark of excitement through her body. She took a sip, the cool cocktail a welcome contrast to the heat rising within her. She watched him over the rim of her glass, his eyes drinking in her presence. The touch of their fingers lingered in the air, unspoken words hanging like a promise between them.

"How have you been?" Jenson asked, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the marble floor and up her exposed legs. "I feel like I haven't really seen you this close since..." His words trail off as he catches sight of the silver 'O' that gleamed against her brown skin in dip between her clavicle bones.

Michaela took a deep breath, her heart racing as she felt his gaze linger on the necklace that Olivier had given her. It was a simple token of love, a reminder of the life she had waiting for her outside of the racing world. But, at this moment, it felt like a reminder of the invisible string tightening around her neck. She set the cocktail down, the chilled glass leaving a wet ring on the bar. "I've been busy," she replied, a chuckle leaving her lips in a whisper only heard between the two of them.

"Busy making history and such?" Jenson released a chuckle of his own. Michaela nodded softly, her eyes leaving his for the first time since he approached the Australian. Unable to keep her eyes away from his figure for too long, they lifted back up to his baby blues. The smile lines framed his face as if the borders of a portrait.

"It's quite the life to live, isn't it?" she said, her voice filled with a mix of exhaustion and excitement. The chuckles grew into laughter between them, the sound echoing through the bar as they reminisced about their early days in the sport, exchanging stories of the grueling training and the relentless pursuit of just one less millisecond. The whiskey in Jenson's glass swirled in rhythm with their conversation, the golden liquid reflecting the flickering candlelight adorning the sides of the bar like a liquid fire. A fire that mimicked the one filling her to the brim with a tensioned heat.

Michaela felt a strange, overwhelming comfort in Jenson's presence, one that was oddly familiar yet thrillingly new. His stories of his own glory days painted a picture of a man who had been where she was, a man who understood the highs and lows of the world she loved so dearly but could hurt her so deeply. A man who understood things Olivier could never dream of understanding.

His words danced around the topic of her personal life, hinting without asking, and she found herself leaning closer, eager to escape the shadow of Olivier's absence.

"You know," Jensen said, his eyes darkening slightly as they searched hers, "Sometimes you need to enjoy the moment, without the noise of everyone else around you." His words brushed against her ear as he leaned down towards her as if selecting his words for her ears alone.

Michaela's heart skipped a beat. The warmth of his breath against her ear sent another shiver of want and anticipation down her spine. "All alone?" she quizzed, her voice a careful whisper. If they remembered they were in a public setting, it didn't show. The curtain of attention surrounding them seemed to fade away as Jenson's fingers reached out to brush gently against Michaela's silver adorned wrist.

"I've got a room upstairs," he offered, his voice a seductive invitation that seemed to dance on the very edge of propriety and good behavior. "It's quieter. We can...talk."

Michaela can barely bring herself to laugh at the mischievous glimmer in his eyes in extension of the invitation. "Talk?" Is all she can muster before taking in a deep breath that visibly raises and lowers her chest.

Their eyes lock in an answer as the silence stretches out between them, charged with the weight of their unspoken desires. The room seems to hold its breath, the laughter and chatter of the celebrations fading away into a very distant hum.

Michaela's hand lingers on her cocktail, her fingertips leaving their prints on the glass. She considers his proposal, the promise of a private, intimate space calling to her in a way that she hadn't anticipated being so keen to accept. The hotel room upstairs, a sanctuary from the prying eyes of her colleagues, various C-listers, and the sponsors that adorn the sides of their carbon fiber machines. The suffocating weight of her own thoughts leaves her with little breath to gasp. With Olivier so far away, the choice—so close to her—feels almost irresistible.

Jenson's hand moved from its place atop the bar to Michaela's waist. His touch was feather-light as it brushed over the material of her satin mini-dress. The action is casual as if he had no worry about the prying eyes that Michaela tended to draw over to her considering her position in the sport. Tonight of all nights was a night she should have been on her best behavior. She should have been circling the room, schmoozing with the donors, and sharing glasses of champagne with her much drunker rivals. Instead, she was held captive to Jenson's wiles. The heat of his gaze as it swept over her figure drew a heat into her face.

Suddenly she was grateful for the low lighting of the crowded hotel lobby.

Then, with a nod of her head, she set her cocktail down and allowed him to lead her away from the thrumming bar. His hand slipped to the small of her back, a gesture that felt far too intimate for the public atmosphere of the after-party dedicated to her success. The warmth of his palm sizzled through the too-thin fabric of her black dress and the coolness of the air-conditioned lobby did little to dissipate the heat sizzling between the two drivers.

The elevator ride to his suite was an eternity, the air thick with unspoken desire. The gentle rock of their movements as they ascended in the elevator seemed to mirror the tumultuous waves crashing within her. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, a tornado of 'what if' and 'should I' that she couldn't quite contain.

As if he sensed the uneasiness that permeated through the younger woman, Jenson's hands grasped her body, pulling her flush against his solid physicality. Releasing her for a split moment, his steady hands reached for her lowered chin. Pulling her attention back onto him, there was no need for words to be exchanged in the quiet elevator. Within another split second, his lips were on hers in a heated dance.

Michaela's eyes fluttered shut as she felt her knees buckle into his embrace. Her hands found his shirt, gripping tightly as if it were the only thing keeping her from falling into the abyss of temptation that was Jenson Button. The action only brought him closer to her, pushing her infinitely closer to danger. His kiss was everything she hadn't known she craved: firm, confident, and hungry for more, more, more. It was a stark contrast to Olivier's smooth pecks, which had grown routine with time.

Desperate to feel impossibly closer, Michaela's fingers tangled in his dirty blonde locks. Wisps of her white manicured nails interlocked within his curls as her head fell back against the elevator walls with a moan. His lips attached themselves to the edge of her jaw, leaving sloppy kisses down the column of her neck. His right hand raised to cup one of her breasts, drawing another gasp of his name from her lips raw from the hungry kisses they shared. With a growl, Jenson grasped the back of her thighs, squeezing with an urgency unfamiliar to Michaela. Another moan and their lips were back together, Jenson's hands wandering along her backside squeezing occasionally before chuckling at her surprised whines and whispers.

When the elevator chimed, signaling their arrival, they broke apart, unwilling and breathless. The corridor was a blur as Jensen guided her to his suite, his hand never leaving her lower back as if she were a piece of art he was afraid to smudge. As they finally reached his door, Jenson maneuvered the smaller woman to stand in front of him. One hand fumbled for his key card while the other dipped underneath the skirt of her dress, gently playing with the hem of her lace panties. Michaela's hands reached up behind her, embedding themselves in Jenson's golden salted locks, tugging against them whenever his fingers swept against her heated skin.

"Jens," She gasped with a moan as a finger slipped into her underwear to toy at her folds. Her eyes rolled back as the anticipation of his touch crashed over her like a wave.

His response was a sultry, "I know", that makes her lose all sense of direction.

"If you don't get this door open..." She began to threaten. The words die on her lips as he presses his cock against her backside, the force pushing her against the locked door.

"Fuck..." She drawled out with another desperate moan, her hands falling to rest in front of her, steadying herself after the sudden movement.

"If I don't get this door open, I'll fuck you right here against this door for everyone to see." Jenson offered with a threat of his own. Feeling her arousal as it seeped through the delicate lace was enough to help him find the strength to wrestle the door open finally.

The door closed with a gentle click behind them, and suddenly, the world outside was gone. The noises of the hotel were swallowed up by the thick carpet beneath her heels. The weight of their encounter grew heavier in the quiet, luxurious room all the way up on the fifteenth floor.

Michaela looked around the suite, her eyes wide with a mix of awe and anticipation. The grandeur of the space was lost on her as Jensen's hand found hers, leading her through the dark space. The lights of the city center below them flooded into the room with a romantic light. Her heart raced, her thoughts racing faster than the car she'd driven onto podium position earlier that day—or the day before—she wasn't sure she could think clearly with the haze of lust lingering over her. The room was bathed in a soft, golden glow that reflected off the polished surfaces, giving the space a warm, inviting feel. The king-sized bed at the center was untouched, the sheets a crisp white, a stark contrast to the dirty thoughts swirling between them.

Jenson's hand slid around her waist, his thumb tracing the line of her hipbone as they approached the edge of the crisp bed. He pushed her gently, and she fell backward, the mattress enveloping her in a cloud of lust. He stood over her, his body a shadow in the dim light, his eyes burning into her wide-eyed soul. The warmth of his hands as they slid up her legs sent a delicious shiver through her body, drawing an exhale out of her that brought a smirk to his face. The way he looked at her, like she was the only thing in the world that mattered, made her feel powerful, desired—like she could conquer any race he put her in.

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her inner thigh. The tender touch sent waves of heat through her body, pooling at her core. She squirmed beneath him, eager and begging for more, but he took his sweet time.

"Patience, my love." He hummed against her skin. A longing whine left her lips before she could process the sensation he sent wracking through her.

His teeth grazed her sensitive skin, the light pressure making her arch up into his touch. Her hands found his hair again, tugging him closer, urging him on. His tongue followed the path his hand had laid, circling the edge of her panties before slipping them off.

Michaela's breath caught in her throat as she watched him spread her legs, his eyes never leaving hers. She felt vulnerable and exposed in the best way possible, as if she were laying bare not just her body but her soul. His mouth was a warm promise against her flesh, the contrast of his soft tongue against her sensitive skin driving her wild. She could feel her arousal growing, coating his lips as he kissed and licked at her.

"God," He groaned against her. The vibrations of his words sent shocks through her as her head pressed back deeper into the lush pillows beneath her. "You taste so good for me." Lost in a daze of need, Michaela could barely find the words to respond to his praise.

The first touch of his tongue to her clit was electric, sending a jolt through her that made her back arch off the bed. Her hands tightened in his hair, urging him to continue, as she let out a guttural moan. Still without words to respond to him, Jenson took his sweet time, teasing her mercilessly with his mouth, exploring every inch of her until she was panting and begging for more.

The tension grew unbearable, her body tightening like a coil ready to snap. "Stay still for me." He muttered between kisses to her most sensitive parts. "Wanna make you feel good. Gonna make you feel real good." The whispers exchanged between their ears only served to increase the intimacy of the situation.

As Jenson's hips pressed into the bed to relieve the stiffness of his straining cock, Michaela's eyes opened to meet his staring back up at her from between her open legs.

"Fuck—" She sobbed at the sight.

"Hmm, ah!" She cried as his thumb reached out to draw circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Yeah?" He drew out, pulling her legs impossibly wider as they threatened to close around his head.

Michaela still couldn't find the words to respond, her body lost in the intensity of sensations he brought as he worked her over. The strokes of his tongue grew faster, harder, each one bringing her closer to the edge. Her nails dug into his scalp, her body writhing under his seasoned touch. The room filled with the sounds of her gasps and moans, a sweet soundtrack that grew louder as she neared climax.

As her legs began to shake, Michaela released a high pitched moan, one that instantly drew a groan out of Jenson in shock her voice could sound that whiny, that desperate, for him.

"Shit! I'm gonna—" Her words cut off once more as the trembles ripping through her signaled she was close to her first orgasm. "Please don't stop." She hummed, almost babbling nonsense as Jenson worked through the thread that threatened to snap inside the pit of her belly.

He hummed from between her legs, "That's it, love." His head raised from its position as his fingers replaced his lips. Fucking into her walls at a pace that leaves her unable to form any kind of discernable sentence.

Her eyes rolled back in her head, and her teeth sank into her bottom lip as she stifled a scream. The orgasm ripped through her like a tornado, leaving her body trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure. He watched her, his eyes hooded with desire as he stroked her through it, his hand moving almost lazily.

"Good girl," He whispered out into the night. As his head dipped down at the feeling of a sudden chill he realizes Michaela's wetness has dripped down over his fingers. A gentle, "Fuck, Michaela, baby, you're dripping all over me."

With a laugh, Michaela comes down from her high suddenly shy in the older man's arms.

"It's just my way of complimenting you." She giggled before running a manicured hand through her tousled dyed locks.

Her face flushed in half embarrassment and half lust as she pushed herself up onto her elbows to watch Jenson lift his arousal coated fingers to his lips. He kept a hold over her attention as he sucked her essence from his fingers before rising from his spot on the bed to stand on his feet.

"Think you can do it again on my cock?" He mused with a raised eyebrow. With a playful roll of her eyes, Michaela nodded, unable to respond verbally—that seemed to be a recurring theme.

Catching her completely off guard with a squeal, Jenson pulled her by her bare legs to the edge of the bed. Stood in between her wide legs, he begins to work at the buttons of his pressed dress shirt. At the sight of the former champion undressing, Michaela finds the strength to rise to her feet. The four inches Jenson has over her are just enough for her hands to bat his away to undo the buttons herself.

Her careful fingers make quick work of the shirt, pushing it off his shoulders and revealing the chiseled abs and the dusting of hair that trails from his chest down to the waistline of his trousers. She runs her hand over his stomach, feeling the muscles beneath her touch. His eyes lock onto hers, and she sees that familiar hunger back in his gaze, the same hunger that she feels return deep within her core.

"I'm all yours, superstar." He whispers into her ear as his head dips to attach his lips to the length of her neck. "Take me however you want. Just wanna celebrate you for being so good." 

His words coupled with his actions sent another wave of arousal crashing over the Alfa Romeo driver. 

"So talented." He adds, accenting the compliment with a kiss that sweeps Michaela away from whatever thoughts she had left in her distracted head.

Her hands fumble with the buckle of his belt, a task she hadn't done in what feels like an eternity. The clink of the metal echoes around the room as it hits the carpeted floor. A thrill runs through her as she feels his hard cock pressing against her stomach through the fabric of his boxers. Her eyes never leave his as she takes the fabric in her hands and pulls it down, freeing him to stand tall before her.

Michaela's breath hitches in her throat at the sight of him. Jensen is a beautiful man, sculpted by the years of rigorous physical training and his unmistakable British charm. Her eyes take in the full length of him, a silent appreciation before she takes him in one of her hands.

"You're so pretty," She murmured out to him as he released a hiss in reaction to the soft touch to his stiff length.

"Me or my cock?" He spoke mirthfully as he relished in the feeling of one of her hands on his sensitive muscle and the other finding a familiar place in his tousled graying hair.

"Both." Michaela responded with the most decisiveness in her voice since they had arrived upstairs. They share another laugh before Jenson moans out loud for the first time all night.

With a flutter of kisses to the length of his strong, clenched jaw, Michaela took in the sight of him all pliant in her grasp. The man in front of her was straight out of a fantasy. Never in all her years of pining over the man did she ever envision herself in his position. Blissed out of her mind from his fingers and drawing him to the edge of orgasm.

Jenson's hands found the zipper of her dress, pulling it down her body with a gentle force. As she watched him, her chest rose and fell with every shallow breath as the fabric fell away, exposing her naked body to the coolness of the room. Her hand stilled on his cock as he gathered her straightened hair into a makeshift ponytail. With a forceful yank, he pressed her naked body against his, slipping his tongue into her mouth as it fell open with a moan.

The light kisses grew into a trail of heat down her collarbone and over the swell of her breasts. His tongue flicked over one of her nipples, sending a shiver down her spine as it hardened to a tight peak. A manicured hand reached down to cup at one of his heavy balls, a mixture of their moans mingling into a dance in the heavy air.

Michaela took the opportunity to guide him backward until he laid on the edge of the bed. She dropped to her knees on either side of his hips, her body hovering over his. Her eyes never left his as she took his length into her grasp. The feel of him pressing into her soaked cunt was intoxicating, the sound of his labored breathing music to her ears.

With a gentle squeeze of his base, she began to slide down his cock. The feeling of him stretching her was nothing short of glorious, the burn of his size between her thighs a delicious punishment for the temptations she had been resisting from the moment his eyes locked on hers downstairs in the bar. With a whiny groan, she took him in inch by inch, her eyes fluttering closed in ecstasy.

"That's it, baby." He encouraged her as she took him in. His strong hands grasped at the skin of her waist, gently providing an aid to guide her down, filling her to the brim. As she bottomed out, they both released a share of breath they had both held in.

Michaela began to rock her hips in a steady swirl that grew more desperate with every second. Jenson's eyes rolled back in his head, his moans growing louder as she worked herself over him. The sound of his pleasure drew sounds of her own as she began to bounce over him gently. One of his hands drift down to palm at her firm ass, squeezing at the skin before catching her completely off guard with a spank to the perky muscle. Her abs contract as a loud moan rips through her throat to goad her on to bounce faster in pursuit of a shared high.

Their rhythm grew to match the beating of their hearts—fast and erratic. The bed squeaked beneath them, the headboard slamming against the wall in a pattern that surely could be heard outside the suite. But neither of them cared. The only thing that mattered was the view of each other, blissed out, horny, and chasing the high that seemed to be within their fingertips.

"I'm so close, baby." Jenson grunts, his head falling back against the pillows as his hands squeeze at Michaela's curves. "Come for me, yeah? Be a good fucking girl and come all over me." His words only serve to push Michaela further to the brink of total insanity, the only thing relevant in her mind is the pursuit of pleasure.

"Wanna be good for you," She whined, "Need to come for you." Jenson hummed in appreciation as a hand reached between their bodies to toy with her overstimulated clit.

Michaela's eyes rolled back, her mouth falling open as she began to feel the beginnings of another earth-shattering orgasm. She threw her head back, her hair falling over her shoulders, and her moans grew louder with every thrust.

Jenson's words of encouragement did little to quiet the loud moans that escaped Michaela's mouth. Her hips stuttered above his as she ground down into him before the current of her orgasm ripped through her totally.

"Jens—Jens—Oh my fucking god, Jens—" She stuttered, her voice growing higher pitched with every passing second. Her nails dug into the skin of his chest, leaving red marks that stood out against his tanned skin.

With one final, powerful thrust, Jenson felt himself let go. His cock twitched inside her, filling her up with ropes of his warm, thick cum. The feeling of her pussy tightening around him as she came was more than he could handle. He groaned her name into the darkness, his eyes rolling back as his hips jerked upward involuntarily. Michaela's thighs held him hostage as she continued to whine out into the dark, completely uninhibited by the warm rush of her orgasm as it coursed through her.

Her walls tightened around him as she milked him for every drop of his cum. The warmth of his release inside her only heightened her own pleasure as it sent aftershocks through her body. She collapsed onto him, her breasts pressed against his chest as she struggled to catch her breath. His arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly as their hearts raced together. He murmured faint words of appreciation into her ear as his palms pressed into her sweaty back, massaging the knots from the strain of her two orgasms.

Their bodies remained intertwined for several moments, basking in the afterglow. The room was silent except for their heavy breaths and the occasional twitch of his cock inside her. The smell of sex filled the air, thick and potent, a stark contrast to the prior freshness of the untouched hotel suite.

Michaela leaned her forehead against Jenson's neck, feeling the pulse of his heart beneath her skin. "I can't believe that just happened." She whispered, her voice still strained from the exertion.

Jenson could only laugh in response, his hand still traced patterns over her brown skin. "I heard you had a major crush on me back in the day. I figured I'd test the waters, see if that crush still held up." When he received a scoff in return as Michaela slowly freed herself from his hold to lay to his side, Jenson laughed again.

"I'm serious!"

"Don't flatter yourself too much, Button," She grinned up at him. "I just wanted to thank you for the drink. You know, properly."

Jenson's eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned down to kiss her forehead. "You're welcome, Sommers. Anytime you need celebrating, you know where to find me."

Michaela couldn't help but laugh, the sound light and airy. "I'll keep that in mind." She rolled onto her side to observe the outline of his features. The warmth of his body left a ghostly imprint on the cooling sheets. The silence that followed was filled with a new kind of tension, one that was more comfortable, more intimate than the frantic passion that had brought them to this moment.

Jenson's fingers trailed lazily over her bare shoulder, sending shivers down her spine. "So, what's next for you?" He asked, breaking the quiet.

Michaela took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. "The Russian Grand Prix, in two weeks." She said, her voice still a little breathless. "I need to keep this momentum going, prove I'm not just a one-hit wonder."

Jenson nodded, his hand still playing with the sensitive skin of her shoulder. "And what about the boyfriend?" He asked, his voice a gentle caress despite the panic that sets into her body.

Michaela swallowed hard, the mention of Olivier bringing a sharpness to the air. She couldn't hide the shock she felt when she realized that Jenson knew more about her than she had previously thought. "What about him?" She asked, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice.

Jenson leaned in, his mouth grazing her ear as he whispered, "Is he going to be okay with this?" He didn't miss the way her body stiffened at the question, the way her breath hitched. "I know you're an adult, love, but I want to make sure you're not going to get hurt."

Michaela rolled onto her back, looking up at the ceiling, her chest still heaving from their exertion. She bit her lip, thinking for a moment before speaking. "It's complicated." She finally said. "But I can handle it."

Jenson studied her for a moment before nodding his head. "I know you can." He leaned in to kiss her cheek before sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "But remember, if you ever need anything—anything at all—I'm here for you."

Michaela felt a pang of something she couldn't quite identify. Gratitude? Lust? The aftermath of their encounter had left her feeling more than a little vulnerable. She watched him as he walked naked across the suite to grab a bottle of water from the minibar. The moonlight played over the muscles of his back, highlighting the scars from years of racing.

"Thanks, Jenson." She murmured, taking the bottle from his outstretched hand. "For everything."

He settled back onto the bed beside her, his cock still half-hard from their encounter just moments before. "Don't worry about me." He took a swig from the bottle before passing it back to her. "You deserve to be celebrated."

Michaela took a sip, the cool water soothing her parched throat. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt at the thought of Olivier so far away doing God knows what instead of being at her side. "What about you?" She asked, changing the subject. "What's next for you?"

Jenson took another gulp from the bottle before setting it aside. "Well, I'm technically retired from racing now," he said with a shrug. "But I've got plenty of things to keep me busy. Commentary, appearances, the occasional Le Mans race. It's a calmer life." His eyes searched hers, a silent question hanging in the air.

Michaela nodded, understanding the unspoken inquiry. "Yeah, I can imagine. Must be a big change after being in the thick of it for so long." As Jenson considered his response, he drew the Alfa Romeo driver into his body. With her head rested upon his broad chest, he pulled one of her thighs to rest over his. Then, hand found hers, threading their fingers together.

"It is, but I don't miss the pressure. It's nice to be able to enjoy the sport without the weight of the world on my shoulders."

Michaela nodded, her mind racing with questions about his life outside of Formula 1. "What's it like? Watching from the sidelines?"

Jenson's thumb traced circles over the back of her hand, the gesture brought an unfamiliar comfort to her conscience. "It's different, sure," he said, his eyes drifting to the floor-to-ceiling windows that showcased the moonlit Tuscan landscape. "But I've had my time in the spotlight. Now, I get to enjoy the sport in a new way."

Michaela turned to face him, propping herself up on her elbow. "Do you ever miss it?" She asked, curiosity lacing her voice.

Jenson looked at her, the corner of his mouth tilting upward in a small smile. "Every now and then," he admitted. "But I've had my time in the sun. Now, I get to see the next generation take over and make their own history." His eyes searched hers, a hint of admiration sparkling in his gaze. "And you, my darling, are going to be a big part of that history."

Michaela felt a blush creep up her face at his words, her heart swelled with a mix of pride and bashfulness. She knew she had more than enough talent, but the fear of not living up to the hype of being the first was always present. "Thanks," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

"You're welcome," he replied, his own voice a little hoarse from their earlier passion. He leaned over to kiss her forehead gently. The heat in Michaela's cheeks only continued to warm. "But it's not just my opinion. You're genuinely brilliant behind the wheel. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone drive with the precision you have."

The truth in his words washed over her, filling her with a warmth that had nothing to do with the post-orgasm glow. "Thank you," she whispered, her eyes shimmering with emotion. "That means a lot coming from you."

Jenson's smile grew, his eyes tender as they searched hers. "You know, I always had a soft spot for you, even when you were tearing it up in F2 against Leclerc." He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her cheek. "You've got a fire in you, Mick. Don't ever let anyone dull it. Not even that idiot you call a boyfriend."

Michaela felt the weight of his words, a strange mix of comfort and accusation that sent a shiver down her spine. "You don't know him," she murmured defensively, even though she knew he was right.

"Maybe not," Jenson conceded lowly, "But he should be here with you. I know what it's like to love this sport. And if he doesn't support you, if he doesn't understand what you're fighting for, then he's not the one for you."

Michaela remained silent, his words echoing through the quiet hotel room. The cool breeze from the open window blew with the curtains, the only sound aside from their measured breathing. The truth in his statement stung, but she couldn't deny the truth in his support, the way his arms felt around her, and the comfort in his voice. She knew that Olivier had his own ambitions, his own disappointments with his racing career to work through, but they were starting to feel like they were in different worlds.

Taking a deep breath, she let out a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of her thoughts. "I know," she murmured, her eyes drifting back to the ceiling. "But it's complicated."

A moment of silence enveloped the two lovers before Michaela's eyes drifted back to see Jenson's eyes already focused on her face. Pushing aside her shyness as she offered a hummed joke, "He's French. Everything's complicated with them."

Jenson's chuckle rumbled in his chest, sending a thrill through her as she felt his hand caress her bare side. "Well, you're a woman in Formula 1. I'd say you know a thing or two about complicated." His hand grew bolder, stroking her hip, pulling her closer.

Michaela couldn't help but smile at his words, feeling a sense of calm with him that she hadn't felt with anyone else. "You're not wrong," she said, her voice a little shaky.

Jenson leaned over, kissing her gently on the lips, the taste of her own slick still lingering on his mouth. "If you need anything, you know where to find me," he whispered as his thumb brushed against her tanned cheek.

Michaela nodded, her eyes fluttering closed as she savored the touch. She knew that she was playing with fire, but the warmth of his embrace felt too good to resist. "What happens next?" she asked, her voice a soft whisper against the stillness of the night.

Jenson leaned back, his eyes never leaving hers. "Whatever you want, my love," he replied, his voice a gentle caress. "Whatever you want."

Michaela felt a thrill run through her at his words. Her hand trailed down his chest, playing with the patch of hair that grew from his navel to his pelvis. "I want you," she murmured, the words coming out with surprising ease.

Jenson's eyes darkened with desire, and he rolled her onto her back, positioning himself between her legs. He took his time, kissing her neck and her collarbone, his teeth lightly grazing her skin. His cock was already on the way to being hard again, a testament to his endurance. "I'm all yours," he breathed against her ear, his hands cupping her face as he stared into her eyes.

✼. taglist:⠀

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@thearchieves @doodlehunz @evie-119

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@melancholyy-hill @vallusvsu @futuristiccroissantlampsludge

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[muzansfangs]

Guilty pleasure.

Starring: Muzan Kibutsuji x f!reader; Kokushibo x f!reader; Nakime, Douma, Yuichiro Tokito, Sabito, Makomo and Kotoha; mention to Inosuke and Kagaya;

Warnings: murder, death, use of guns, shotguns, blood, gore, mental and physical torture, explosions, knives, stabbing, abuse, angst, psychopathic tendencies, harassment, criminal plots, cheating, use of alcohol;

Plot: Muzan has finally found a way to take down part of the Ubuyashiky Empire. While you do not even know where he is, attending a dinner, supposed to be a date with Muzan, with his First in Command, you get drunk and a small accident takes place in the parking lot. What you do not know is that your soon to be husband is busy blowing up a building, while with the help of his loyal guards, he lets blood run down the streets.

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

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THIS PLACE IS ABOUT TO BLOW.

The night had barely veiled the sky, when Muzan hopped down from the car. After years of searching for that place, he had finally found it. The road was silent, exceptionally silent, and everything was set. For weeks he had tried to fetch Kagaya a blow. After the little stunt he had pulled with his daughter, with you, Muzan craved more. His arms factory, the industry located in a secret location that nobody could ever find, was now under his nose.

The new recruit, Kaigaku, had done a pretty decent job in stalking his cousin all the way here. Such a pity that a fine building was about to turn into ashes in a few minutes. Bombs had been activated in every angle of the company and all it would have taken to make them explode was a simple remote he was currently holding into his hand. A small black device with a red button in the middle.

"I believe there's still someone inside" Nakime pointed out, scrutinizing the area with a pair of binoculars and spotting two cars in the parking lot.

Muzan did not even bother glancing at them, he closed his eyes for a second and a small grin crossed his lips. There was such a difference between the person he was now and the one he was around you. He did not want to fail to attend your dinner, he went mad when he was not around you. Yet, he could not turn into somebody else only because now you were part of his life. If you love someone, you learn to love their edges too, right?

Also, everything he was doing now was for you.

"Awesome. This only means there will be some collateral damages" Muzan replied, before shoving his hand into his breast pocket and pulling a phone out to check the time. It would have been foolish bringinghis main device in the area. The police would have reasonably been able to track him down and, frankly, the last thing he needed was to be arraigned on a charge of murder.

Studying the area before attacking had granted him the chance to find a blind spot where the videocameras could not catch even small glimpses of them. Yet, since there seemed to still be people into the building, and he was smart enough to figure that some of them were Slayers, they had to be ready to fight. Bringing with him his most cold-blooded assassins would have surely helped me to get the job done in a matter of seconds.

"Be nimble. Don't toy with your victims. — Muzan said, his plum red eyes darting on the silver-haired man at his left — I'm talking to you, idiot" he remarked, earning a grin from Douma.

His presence alone was enough to irk Muzan. He would have gladly asked Kokushibo to take care of this but, since he could not trust Douma around you, he had no other choice than switch the roles of his bodyguards.

"Can I, at least, kidnap a lady? You know, like a souvenir to remember this glorious night" Douma chimed, causing Nakime to grimace in disgust and Muzan to load up the gun he kept on his belt.

As the raven-haired politician turned to face Douma and pointed the gun at him, the bodyguard knew it was time to shut up. It was not the first time Muzan killed someone. Five bodyguards had been murdered in the last two years, all murdered by the said man.

"Do not give me an excuse to blow your brains out  – Muzan deadpanned, locking eyes with Douma before turning to glance briefly at Nakime – Get in position now, both of you" he added shortly.

In a few seconds, the lights into the building they were watching turned down. Kaigaku had finally caused the blackout in the area. A few seconds passed by, before a couple of Slayers ran out of the building and checked the area around the parking lot. Their blades glimmered under the moonlight as their eyes searched for possible threats. They seemed young, probably barely around their early twenties. It was clear that they were no match for the two Moons ready to strike them down. They waited in the darkenss, until the taller one noticed the shiny car parked on the side of the road.

"Fox, that car doesn't belong to any of us" he pointed out, his turquoise eyes widening even so slightly in the futile attempt to catch some details that coukd have helped him to figure out what was going on. However, they were too far for that and they ventured down the desert street to approach the vehicle.

The other Slayer, the one wearing a white Fox mask with a peculiar scar on it, walked beside his dark-haired colleague. His grip on the hilt of his katana was tight, his knuckles had turned white as they carefully devoured the distance between them and the car. He seemed more tense than the other, as if he was expecting to be attacked at any given chance. Yet, it was not enough to save them.

It happened before they could even realize it. As the taller one got close enough to peek into the opened window of the parked vehicle, a knife was thrown at his back and impaled his right  shoulderblade. A wince of pain left his lips as he turned around hastily and slashed at the brunette woman standing a few strides away from him.

"Yuichiro!" the masked slayer yelled out, the blood spilling out from his colleague's wound splattered over his white mask.

Nakime dodged the attack and drew another knife from the suspender on her thigh "Good evening, fellas" she cooed, her red-painted lips curling up in a smile as Douma joined her and unfolded his tessens. He pouted, cocking his head to the side as he let hsi multicolored orbs analyze his opponents outfits.

"Distasteful choice of colors for your suits... The mask is cute, though, but I would love to look my enemy straight in the eye, as I tear him apart. I hope you don't mind it, dear" the Second in Command cheerfully said, before quickly slashing at the mask covering the shorter slayer's visage.

The sound of the two pieces of wood clattering on the dirty ground made the peach-haired guy flinch and his lavander eyes glint in anger. That blow, so fast and precise, could have killed him right on the spot. How was he not able to dodge it? There was no doubt that the two strangers in fornt of them were skilled fighters. They were Moons. They clearly had no chances against them and his mind only screamed for one thing: the urge to protect Makomo and the secretary, Kotoha. They needed to run as far away as possible and to call for someone to help them out.

If they somehow managed to survive.

"Go to call Makomo and Kotoha. Tell them to go, tell Makomo I love her" Fox said through gritted teeth, not even galncing at Yuichiro for a second.

"Sabito, no! If you think I'm going to leave you alone, you're clearly out of your mind" Yuichiro spat, before he coughed up some blood on his hand.

At that sight, Douma smiled brightly and nudged Nakime's ribs with his elbow "Woah, you compromised his lungs! Good job!" he beamed, as the brunette simply twirled the knife between her fingers and threw it at the already wounded slayer, hoping to get it through his heart.

As she aimed for the organ, Sabito's eyes switched on her as he was quick to knock it out of Yuichiro's way with an horizontal slash of his katana.

Nakime sighed "You know, I was doing your friend a favor by stabbing him through his heart. I was saving him all of this sufferings... Nevermind, though" she whispered, as she got ready to throw another knife.

However, a sudden shotgun and the sight of Yuichiro's dead body slumping onto the ground were enough to make her flinch. The bullet had went clean through the slayer's head, killing him right on the spot. While Nakime knew exactly who had fired the gun, Sabito's eyes widened in horror as he knelt down next to his comrade as if shaking his shoulder could bring him back to life. It was pointless. Yuichiro Tokito was dead. A tickle of blood was running down the curve of his nose, contrasting with his pale skin and the glassy eyes now staring into the void. It was over, it was all over.

"Incompetent Moons are a pain in the ass. Worthless, you are worthlesss" Muzan Kibutsuji flatly said, his deep voice piercing their ears before he came to their vision.

Soft whimpers and shaky breaths filled the air, as two women walked slowly in front of him. One of them was younger, her tiny hand hold a broken blade in her hand as her blue eyes serached for Sabito's ones. Her left eyebrow was cut, as if someone had smacked her and, as Muzan kicked her on her back, making her fall face down on the cobblestone, it was pretty clear who had done it. The other one was around her thirties, emerald eyes contrasting with long and dark hair loosened down her small shoulders. She was terrified, tears streaming down her cheeks as she watched the scene before her eyes.

"Muzan Kibutsuji" Sabito hissed, trying to craddle Makomo in his arms, as the tiny girl sobbed in fear and gripped the fabric of her boyfriend's shirt in her little fists.

Muzan gripped the older woman's hair and made her wince in agony, before he shoved her against Douma's chest, as a sign for him to hold her still. The silver-haired man sneered and gladly wrapped his hands around her wrists, holding them tightly behind her back. His breath fanned her earlobe, making the woman shiver in fear.

"What's your name, honey?" Douma whispered, propping his chin over her shoulder.

"Kotoha. Hashibira Kotoha" she merely murmured, squeezing her eyes shut in fear as Muzan loaded his gun again and walked up towards the young couple of slayers, sitting at his feet.

It was their end. No one was going to save them.

"That's right. It's my name. — Muzan replied, pointing his gun at Sabito's head — I've tried to ask them about it, but all they were capable of telling me were pleas for mercy. How pathetic... Tell me, is there someone else in the building?" he coldly asked him, his finger ready to pull the trigger as soon as the slayer had given him the answer he needed.

Sabito held Makomo tightly, tears welling up in his eyes, as he refused to waste his last breath to talk to him. Instead, he pressed his lips against Makomo's temple and closed his eyes.

"I love you. Close your eyes" he whispered softly.

Two shotguns filled the air, some bids flying away from the brench of a nearby tree as Kotoha almost fell on her knees. She knew she would have been the next, her heart was thrumming in her chest in anticipation as thanked the God for what had happened that morning.

If Inosuke had not changed his shift with Yuichiro, the young boy laying on her ground would have been her son.

"Nakime. You know what to do. A 'K' on her left cheek, now. Hurry up" Muzan ordered his Fourth in Command as Douma gripped Kotoha's jaw to hold her head firmly.

Terror filled her eyes as she tried to wriggle in Douma's grip, only to earn an amused chuckle from the sadistic Moon behind her "Come on, hold on tight, it's like a tattoo" he crooned, as Nakime pierced her cheek with the cold blade of her knife.

Screams of pain shattered the silent night as the Fourth in Command neatly cut on her flawless skin, dark blood oozing down from the lines forming the shape of a 'K'. The mark of Muzan, his message for Ubuyashiki.

"Please, stop! It hurts! I can't!" Kotoha screetched, as Nakime finally stepped back and Muzan flicked his gaze up to admire her work of art.

There was no sympathy in his eyes as he reached his hand up to tuck a strand of Katoha's hair behind her ear, apathy in his visage as he grasped her hand delicately and pulled her closer to him. He did not care about the pain he was putting her through. She was a tool for him to send a message to his enemy.

"Your role is important, my dear. You will deliver my message to Kagaya Ubuyashiki" Muzan said, holding her gaze as she sobbed uncontrollably.

His words confused her. Was he going to spare her? The dim ounce of hope seemed to twinkly in her eyes as she wiped some blood and tears from her face with the sleeve of her shirt.

"What do you mean? Do I have to call him? Do you want me to be a messanger?" she naively asked him, her shoulder shaking as she tried to collect her breath.

This made him smile faintly. His hand reached for something behind his back, as he made sure her gaze was transfixed on him. Kotoha Hashibira was indeed a sweet woman.

His free hand held up her chin as he spoke out again "Yeah, exactly. You are going to be my messanger, Kotoha. But, you see, I got nothing to tell him. Therefore, my message has be graphic. That is why I do believe in killing the messanger" Muzan reasoned, grasping the handle of the switchblade he had hidden in his back.

Her eyes went round as she shook her head "No! No, please! Why?" she screamed, but the blade through her heart made her choke on her words.

Blood dripped out of her mouth as Muzan stared deeply into her eyes and helped her to lay down onto the ground.

"Because it sends a message" he whispered in her ear, as she twitched a few last times, before life abandoned her body.

Silence swallowed them again, as Muzan grasped the controller and his bodyguards got back into the car. He stared at the building one last time, before hopping into the passenger seat. As Douma began to drive away, Muzan rested his thumb onto the red button and, with a click, the industry exploded. The sound of the explosion felt like music to his ears and he watched the smoke and flames envelope it through the rear view mirror.

♚

"He stood me up. He fucking stood me up" you slurred, eyes wide open as you stared up at Kokushibo in pure shock. You could not believe Muzan had cancelled your dinner through a stupid message.

Now, all dolled up and drunk, you were talking to his First in Command about how pathetic and stupid you felt for not having got back at him for that.

"As if buying me some Valentino dress and these stupid shoes... Argh, I have even forgotten the name of their brand" you ranted, dipping your head between your arms as you closed your eyes in irritation. You had drunk too much, that was evident, and now an exhaspered Kokushibo was forced to raise from him chair and help you to stand up.

"I think it's time to go home. – he lowly said, clearing his throat to catch your attention — And the brand of your shoes is Louboutin" he added, making you quirk up your eyebrows and smile up at him.

"Aw, that's so cute, you remembered the brand for me! Yeah, let's go home! Let's go! I wanna set his stupid collections of ancient tapestries on fire!" she chimed, giggling as the stoic man's ears turned pink for the embarrassment.

The restaurant was empty at that hour. You were the last two guests left in here, since you had kept on ordering bottle after bottle to drown your anger and sadness into expensive wine. Actually, all that you felt now was a suffocating dissatisfaction. You could barely stand on your heels and you clung to Kokushibo's arm as a koala.

As you almost toppled down a table, the man exhaled through his nostrils and hauled you over his shoulder making you squeak out in surprise.

"Coconut! Coconut, let me down! I can perfectly walk!" you protested, blushing as the waiters stared at you two with uncomfortable expressions plastered over their faces. They had recognized you, obviously, but Kokushibo had paid them enough to keep their mouths shut about this little stunt you had pulled.

"Stop calling me that" Kokushibo said, walking through the exit and up to his car. Just a little longer, he had to try not to strangle you for a little longer.

However, you were far from being done. Annoying Kokushibo was an art you had crafted since the first day you two crossed paths. It was in your veins, you were born for it.

"Oh, I understand! You were just looking for an excuse to stare at my ass, were you not?!" you taunted him, bursting out laughing for your own stupid joke.

"I suggest you to shut up" he warned you in a stern tone.

"I suggest you to take that broom out of your ass".

It was enough. He wanted to choke the life out of you, yet you were absolutely cute at times. Now, now as you were pestering him, you were hilarious too and he could not take it anymore. You were ready to say something else, he felt the muscles of your abdomen flex over his shoulder as you took a deep breath. This time, though, you were going to swallow your shallow speeches.

You did not process it, all you knew was that you found yourself settled onto the hood of his car and his maroon eyes bored into yours for a split second. What followed was his hand grasping your jaw and his mouth capturing yours in a passionate kiss that made your toes curl into your shoes.

It lasted a few seconds, your hands settled on each side of you for balance as his tongue explored your mouth. You were drunk, really, but sober enough to feel how passionate he was.

"Will you shut up for the rest of ride?" he breathed out, as the kiss broke.

Of course you were going to shut up.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! I have finally uploaded this chapter on Tumblr too. One more part and I will be finally get the perfect balance again. This chapter was rather dark and I am well-aware of it, but the story is supposed to be like that. It’s finally time to show some action, after all. Hopefully, I will bless you with some fluff in a while… Or so I believe!

As per usual, likes, comments and re-posts are greatly appreaciated!

Until next, x o x o

Tags: @mrskokushibo @ladytamayolover @tired-writer04 @hjjks @kakuchosbff @yazzzmints @bookandstar @z3r0art @cherrymanhuas @kazuhaslvt @selenenyx0124 @infinitedilf @yunixkill @shigarakithings @i-loveyou013 @yoriichi-second-wife @sunaswife @lucikittyxoxo @heartsforjeongin @ishmealmendes @wondermilka @dangerousdreamkitty @crazycatlddy

[m4gp13]

@titan-army-week

Day 2: "A new golden age"

Ok I know the Proclaimers are pretty much just known as the 500 miles guys but fun fact they're still making music and it's actually not bad.

by which I mean the lyrics and themes remind me heavily of some of the og pjo themes, specifically their song The World That Was from the Dentures Out album. The theme of the album is how 'toothless' Britain has become (hence the dentures) in recent decades. Britian as a nation has been gradually declining in power and influence from the end of WWII and because of that, people tend to look back on the 'glory days' of the empire with rose-coloured glasses (as the Proclaimers put it). They idolise it and see a return to that old ideal as the solution to many of the problems Britain has today, ignoring all the negatives of that old era and the positives of today. As well as this, the prioritisation of returning to that old 'golden age' is blinding people to the potential solutions for Britain's problems that involve moving forward rather than backwards. Now what does that remind you of?

Also, the lyrics of that song go hard.

"The world that was has now become a cause / Inspiring simple souls all over / Who have a knack for always looking back"

Instead of the TA rallying behind the initial cause of making a fairer world for overlooked and exploited people like them, they have instead allowed the so-called 'golden age' that the Titans were said to have lived in to become their cause. When Luke first turns on Percy he talks about making a 'new' golden age, however as time goes on and Kronos' influence over Luke and the army grows, it becomes apparent that the army isn't making a new golden age, they're trying to restore the old one. This shift of priorities was inevitable and that can be seen even when Luke talks about the new golden age. The fact that he's using that era as his goal shows that he's already looking backwards, not forward. He's not trying to forge a new path or come up with any actual new solutions. He's just falling back on the myth of this old utopia that Kronos has promised him, maybe because it's easier or simpler than trying to forge a new path.

"Black and white, one truth they know / The modern world will have to go / The world that was draws memories of our past / Which seem a wee bit hazy / From what I see, the summary seems to be / More meat with extra gravy"

Because the characters are living in the modern world and face problems in the modern world, they associate that world with the problems and see getting rid of that world as the solution to their problems. As for the old world, they didn't experience that era so they don't know what it was like. All they have to go on is the propaganda stories from the Titans. They ruled during that era and were cast down after it, so naturally they place that era on a pedestal and idolise it as this perfect world. They're selling this inflated sense of perfection that only exists in relation to the harsh modern world the characters live in and want to escape. However, the modern world and the golden age do not exist in vacuums. They're related to each other with one directly stemming from the other. The problems in the modern world had their origin in the old world.

"And though I feel I'm a rational man / Sometimes I'm sorely tempted / But worship of a past that never was is totally demented"

This is the kicker. The propaganda surrounding the golden age of the Titans is just that: propaganda. Golden ages only exist in hindsight, as a contrast to what came after. Eras don't get called golden until after they pass and decay. The glorious Golden Age of the Titans didn't exist until after it ended. Luke and his army are fighting to restore a utopia that never existed, and so they're fighting for essentially nothing but the restoration of the Titans' own pride. After falling so far, it has left them very insecure of their own power and sense of importance so they look back on this idealised version of their past out of a refusal to cope with their modern reality. The demigods have just gotten dragged along for the ride and are being utilised as fodder to restore the Titans' pride.

The Titans have weaponised their nostalgia for their own glory days to galvanise this army of idealistic youths to fruitlessly try to return them to a utopia that never was, dooming all of them to never achieve any of their goals.

[alexanderlightweight]

Can we get a peak of the next chapter of Like real people do? Because I do love Dragon!Alec

I hope you have a great day and I just wanted to let you know that every time I see you have posted it makes me smile!

anon i knew exactly what i was going to write for this, because Magnus has needs and sometimes that means he really needs to be able to admire Alec. i am having a great day btw thank you and this ask is a part of why it's so awesome! and your ask made me smile so i'm glad there are mutual smiles all around! i hope you enjoy

lumine

-

Magnus finds himself back in the room of ice and secrets so priceless that sometimes he shudders to learn one. Magnus provided breakfast, marveling at Alexander’s delight at being introduced to chocolate and insisting on sharing his tea because while Alexander’s own brews were interesting and good, there were things that couldn’t be found in Alicante.

Like a nice delicate oolong or the delightful burn of ginseng, which Alexander seems to have immediately taken too.

He stole Magnus’ cup when his own ran empty and then he’d fallen to the ground and pouted until Magnus procured another cup. Like an overgrown cat taking advantage of its big, sad eyes to lure its person into a trap.

Alexander didn’t join him, which while Magnus resents a little, is also helpful because it’s much easier to concentrate on books when you’re not distracted by six-feet of gorgeous and human-shaped dragon.

It also gives Magnus time to browse the books and see if there is anything helpful concerning Alexander’s species.

There is a decided lack of what he seeks, for both Alexander and Lilith and Magnus trudges out of the room, grumpy from a lack of Alexander and progress

A roar tears him from his thoughts and Magnus runs to the nearest balcony, the wards keeping it shielded from the snow and weather and he throws the doors open and walks out.

The storm is gone, he realizes numbly.

The storm that he fought for days upon end is nowhere to be seen, even though Magnus’ magic warned it would continue for weeks upon months.

Magnus barely has time to register this before the roar sounds again and he watches, awestruck as a giant, black dragon crests the mountains, rising higher and higher until what he can only assume is Alexander is no more than a speck.

Magnus watches the sky, heart in his mouth as he wonders, foolishly, if he’s been abandoned and then Alexander is not flying, but falling. A controlled dive no doubt, but it makes Magnus’ magic itch to reach out and create a safety net for his giant form.

At the last possible moment, he snaps his wings out and Magnus watches with shock as what he thought was a valley of snow when he walks around it, explodes into ice and water that crystallises and shatters upon contact with the air.

It was a lake. 

A frozen lake whose thickly layered surface tore from the mere pressure of Alexander using his wings. 

His dragon glides towards him and Magnus knows the exact moment he’s noticed, because Alexander begins to dance in the sky. It’s a glorious sight and the sun dapples across his scales leaving it to dance with the colours of a prism awash over the black.

“Magnificent.” Magnus murmurs and he wishes he were closer, that he could see and touch and feel Alexander in this form and then his dragon is landing above him and Magnus reaches out for his signature and, uncaring of how this will turn out, forms a portal taking him to Alec.

The roof is wide and flat and doesn’t shiver even with the bulk of Alexander’s draconic form nestled on it. Magnus runs because he doesn’t want to wait, can’t bear it if Alexander transforms back before Magnus gets to appreciate it.

“Oh, aren’t you lovely like this—” He whispers, because it’s true and Alexander gives a pleased rumble and nudges him, nose pressing against the whole of Magnus’ body in greeting. 

“Sweet boy,” Magnus croons and he pets Alexander’s nose and runs a hand over scales half the size of his palm and getting bigger as they climb Alexander’s form. “So beautiful, incredible,” because Magnus doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to woo or compliment someone whose very existence is such a marvel.

Whatever he does seems to work because Alexander is purring, his entire body vibrating with delight, as though Magnus has stroked a livewire inside of him just with his rambling words. 

“Come back to me?” Magnus asks, because as much as he wants to explore Alexander like this, he wants the one that fits into his arms more, the Alexander that he can keep close and claim with kisses. 

Though, he does lean forward and press a soft little kiss to the great expanse of Alexander’s muzzle and then he has an armful of frigid, naked and delighted Alexander. 

"What were you doing?" He asks, because he's curious if it was something like checking the territory, or figuring out how Magnus got in or even hunting.

“I drove the storm off." Alexander says proudly, like he’s making any sense and Magnus realizes that perhaps, he is. 

“Did you?” Magnus hums, like he’s proud but unsurprised and hides how actually surprised he is. "Tell me about as we go inside, darling?”

[dribs-and-drabbles]

Laws of attraction ep 5

Will I have much to say this week beyond ajkldsvdfjhljgf? (turns out yes and no).

Aaaaaaand we're straight back to our unhinged evil babygirl. (who wears four different colours like this?! 🤦🏽‍♀️)

I was right about the 'doll' being able to record sounds! So what has been recorded from that night?

Ploy and her beautiful mother in red (revenge?) and green (Tonkhao?)...and fuck this particular drone shot for being so glorious.

I like that Tinn and Charn can go from heated disagreements about good/bad and right/wrong and then be flirty with each other, acknowledging their mutual attraction.

It's true, though, that had nothing bad happened, Tinn and Charn wouldn't have had such a strong (emotional) connection. They may have just been a one night stand because Tinn may have realised that Charn was morally dubious and not wanted to see him again. But now, Tinn is challenging Charn (and vice versa) to reassess their values and to almost like each other despite their differences.

Ima need someone to tell me what flower that is and the symbolism behind it...

Please! They're too fricking cute!

Tonkhao loved the colour blue 😭 (blue that might be Tinn's [and Charn's] colour - check out the underpants - but also..."Expect the Unexpected"?! And then "Where everything can happen"?! What are these messages preparing us for?!).

Omg, someone tell Silvy to stop being so gorgeous (I've been listening to her music this week too).

The green tie and pocket square returns for when Charn is wanting to know more about Tonkhao. I like that the pocket square also has a bit of red on it (for the revenge in Charn's heart?).

So I read someone's theory that Wit could be the 'mole' - it sort goes in line with what Charn has said about how people are easily bought with money and the people closest to you will hurt you the most if they betray you. I hope Charn already suspects Wit and that's why he hasn't said anything about the doll to him.

It was kinda obvious that Chai was going to be killed in prison.

The desire for revenge, or their passion for justice, (or both), is getting stronger.

This is a godawful tie. Oh Charn. smh.

I want to see Thee smile. And be hugged. This must happen. (I've seen people talking about how they need Tanthai to be hugged/shown affection by Thee, but honestly, Thee needs the physical comfort too).

I really hope they're setting up Wit to expose himself as the mole. It feels really contrived, so it has to be a set up 🤞🏽 (And thank goodness it was).

Also, Silvy and Organ. You're both amazing. Don't stop.

At the very least there should be a fire extinguisher somewhere in that office. 🤦🏽‍♀️

I'm sorry but I laughed SO HARD when the building blew up 😂

THIS IS THE BEST FUCKING THING TO HAVE HAPPENED IN THIS ENTIRE SERIES SO FAR. AND SILVY WITH A RAINBOW BOA AND THE GRANDMOTHER WITH A GREEEEEN ONE!! ICONIC!!!

I love Silvy's rainbow dots tattoo. (this is becoming a Silvy appreciation post, btw)

I realise I haven't mentioned Tanthai or Thatthep...but the green (of Tonkhao?) is till looming behind/on them. I still don't know what to make of Thatthep in shades of blue...but it's interesting this ep that Tanthai wears dark green and then black (with white stripes) - so no blue. Is this indicative of Tanthai pulling away from his father?...

And it looks like we might learn more about Charn's past next week, bringing more angst. I like that Charn's in green as he decides to go back to Bang Don Pan Village - the source of his trauma - and I'd like to think this (and Rose in all blue) is showing that, even though Charn is telling Rose that he wants to control Thatthep's power and wealth, he will in the end pursue justice for Tonkhao and Tinn. The love of a good man (Tinn) will guide him there...eventually. (Also...and I'm only putting this here so I can come back and gloat later...but the handles of all the knives behind Charn look red - what if Charn stabs Thatthep in the end?)

[greenerteacups]

Hi there! Just wanted to ask something fun: what’s your favourite moment from each of the books you’ve written so far?

lovely lovely question. so much fun. let me see:

book one: i mean, the train station scene was the image that kicked off the whole series, so i have to pick that one. it resonated with me on so many levels — it introduces the running element of muggle music, which becomes a sort of leitmotif for draco and hermione's relationship, as well as draco's own character growth; it's a fun character moment, in that hermione gets to steal the show from draco's gift of an owl, leaving him speechless, when he'd surely have liked it a bit more the other way 'round, and that's going to be a precedent, too; i also just like the moment itself, as a piece of atmosphere and symbolism. it's his first year of being a gryffindor, and he's survived it, and it's sunny outside, and there's music playing.

there's also a fun nubbin of symbolism in that the song playing is supposed to be "white wedding," which is the epigraph from book 1 (and, in a sense, the whole fic), a song about redemption and starting over and yet also taking your past with you, as well as... well, a song about a wedding. so. take that as you will.

book two: narrowly, it's the moment at Theo's Yule Hunt party where narcissa has just collapsed, and the slytherins have all seen it. there's a beat where draco thinks they're going to turn on him, and use this vulnerability they've discovered to knife him in the back — only they don't. theo sizes him up and makes a call, and they help him get her out. daphne even breaks a school rule to do it. and pansy grouches and gripes about it — she gets in one jab about "hall-pass Slytherins," which still makes me giggle, to be honest — but she helps, too. it's a humanizing moment for them, and (hopefully) one of the first times we begin to see the slytherin kids as possible allies — utter brats, still, but nonetheless people with deeply cherished friendships, loyalties, and the capacity to show empathy and kindness for people they don't yet owe anything. it's maybe the most important moment of book 2, both in terms of theme and plotting.

book three: in terms of writing? i loved doing "The Last Marauder." god, what a fun chapter to write. sirius black's interactions with the golden quartet are some of the most entertaining exchanges in the series for me, bar none, because he's the furthest thing from a parental/supervisory figure that the kids have met (at least, that doesn't want to kill them). he's just unapologetically out of pocket in a way that's glorious for dialogue. (honorable mention here goes to daphne's moment at the League party, because when i finished the scene i sort of felt like daphne herself had burst into my room, held me at wandpoint, and demanded a larger role in the story. it was the moment she transformed in my mind from a tertiary character into a secondary one, and it was as glorious as you'd expect.)

as a moment per se, however, i think it has to be draco's patronus.

book four: "Padfoot Returns," by several orders of magnitude. no question. it's the scene that the whole series has really been building to, and writing it felt every ounce as cathartic as that sentence implies. i also got to do a lot of really fun imagery with smoke and rain and fog, and vamp a little about the ancient undying earth and the ghosts of Hogwarts castle, it was all just an uninterrupted pleasure, start to finish. took me about three weeks to get right, but it was three incredible weeks, let me tell you.

book five: so far, it's a scene in Myrtle's bathroom (which may or may not be cut for pacing reasons). after that, it's a duel in the Room of Requirement, because writing draco in fight scenes gets more and more fun every year.

[hdsudsfest]

HD Sudsfest Week Two

Week two of HD Sudsfest 2022 has been a glorious deep-dive into the world of washing and bathing, exploring love, lust, grief, healing, and so much more. If you’ve had a busy week and missed anything, then get cosy and enjoy!

[ ART] A Sudsy Serenade by @lilbeanz { G, Digital Art }

Harry has a horrible singing voice in the shower, but it makes Draco happy.

❤️ "the cover is breathtaking, and I adore all the expressions, and how cute they are, and Draco's little headtilt as he says Harry's name" —flightinflame

❤️ "This is beyond words! I adore every frame of it. They’re so happy, carefree and so in sync" —mxlfoydraco

[FIC] Rainbow Suds by @coffeedrgn87 { M, 13.8k }

Draco is mostly content. They have a fulfilling job, a wonderful Kensington flat, a gorgeous black kneazle, and an amazingly gifted friend who creates the most fantastic soaps. But something is missing. A little bit of human love and affection, perhaps? Spending time with Harry makes the discovery easy...or does it? Because there's this embarrassing little secret...

❤️ "I love your detailed descriptions of clothes and scents and food!" —emeffs

❤️ "Awwwwww! I love them so much! Also, this made me desperately miss the gorgeous handmade soaps I used to get at craft fairs." —vronwe

[FIC] How To Get What You Want (How To Disappear) by @moonpeachh { M, 43k }

With the passing of Lucius Malfoy, Draco begins to fear a similar fate for himself. He turns to cleansing and healing rituals with the hope that it might not be too late. His journey to penance leads him back to an unexpected place and a group of unlikely friends. But will it be enough to stop the disease he fears is growing in his veins?

❤️ "this is so so good!!! I haven’t been desperate to stay in a story like this in such a long time!" —Stark-and-clear-mundanity

❤️ "This is lovely and deserves all the kudos. The way I cried at the Greg section. Such a beautiful story." —Ella

[ART] Soap Suds by @ladderofyears { G, Digital Art }

Harry enjoys a shower at Grimmauld Place.

❤️ I love that you specifically drew Harry happy. cries hearts This is fabulous! (And I love his pink nipples. Ahem.) ♥" —lqtraintracks

❤️ "I love his expression here: he looks focused, proud and sure of himself. This is that Auror head attitude!!! Gorgeous work" —kheima

[FIC] Skinny Dipping-Hogwarts Edition by Meowfoy / @resilientkitteh { E, 3.5k }

Harry finally attends a year eight student party towards the end of their summer camp of sorts...the group starts to play Truth or Dare and Draco dares Harry to skinny dip with him in the Lake...and well one thing leads to another...

❤️ "hahahaha harry wasn’t subtle at all !!! this was super sweet and sexy !!" —nightshvde

❤️ "This was so so good!" —sazmoo

[FIC] On This Road of No Returning by Dayenu (Coffee_Scribbles) / @nina-scribbles { E, 13.2k }

There are always consequences to things like this. To getting close to people. Accident or not. 

More than anything, Harry just wants Draco’s hands on him to mean something.

But it doesn’t.

...Does it?

❤️ "Oh man, this was so good!! Tender like a bruise and a gentle hand pressed to it." —stark-and-clear-mundanity

❤️ "I think I was holding my breath all the way through. This is so delicate, so absorbing." —blueheart_V

[FIC] The Purpose of a Rubber Duck by KatIsSleeping / @dreamingandwideawake { E, 3k }

Harry just wants to take a nice, relaxing bath to fight off his nightmares. It doesn’t matter that Malfoy’s there as well. Even if he looks gorgeous. Which Harry doesn’t notice. At all. Everything will be fine. Or: The one where Harry stops being able to speak as soon as he sees Malfoy, the Gryffindors give helpful advice, and Harry and Malfoy fight over a rubber duck.

❤️ "Oh I adore this!! It’s so sweet and I love their banter back and forth... so so good!!!! Fantastic work ❤️❤️❤️" —nv-md

❤️ "HAHAHA love this !!! 😍 nobody ever tells harry anything lololl but this time it worked out alright i think 😌 thank you !!! 💖" —nightshvde

[ART] Rivulets by @bluebutter-art { M, Digital art }

It is known that newly turned Veelas must carry out the sacred rituals of bathing themselves in the old magicks coursing through the ancient waters of Lake Elmry, offering them the faculty to restrain their allure and Veela impulsivity. The only problem was this: the forests surrounding the waters were thick with potential danger– a shelter for rogue death eaters and rabid, unregistered Weres, ready to pounce on a vulnerable and unassuming prey. Harry– Auror on patrol overseeing this month's rituals– was unprepared to face the Veela he would be guarding tonight.

❤️ "Oh my god this is absolutely incredible …. My knees are weak, such a great and intense story told in just a few images… stunning 💖" —artcele

❤️ "Beautiful! I love when you do black and white. I can literally hear the rain pounding and the reflection of the moon is absolutely mesmerizing. Such a sensuous piece and that last embrace is everything ❤️" —rhapsodia89

[FIC] Slippery When Wet by @eevans22 { E, 11k }

Healer Draco Malfoy discovers a very interesting detail about how Harry Potter acquired his latest injury.

❤️ "Awwwwwww I love this!!! Adorable and hilarious and perfect <3 Thank you for writing!!!" —Sapphire_Jules

❤️ "The mortification, darling! Incredible and hot. Cute and funny. Hurrah!" —pixiewithdocs

[FIC] it's gonna be alright by The_HouseRyn/ @the-houseryn { T, 9k }

Somehow, Harry had forgotten to ward out Draco when he boarded up his house to keep out everyone else. Despite having plenty of reasons to leave Harry to his own destruction, Draco just couldn't. Not after loving him for so long, even if Harry didn't love him back anymore. He just had to get Harry to let Hermione in and then he could leave this cold version of the home he loved for half a decade.

❤️ "😭😭 this was so heartbreakingly beautiful. I love how caring this draco was even as he was battling his own hurt. i felt for both of them so much. I'm so glad their family got to have the happy ending" —beyondtheclose

❤️ "I feel strange saying this but I really enjoyed the angst in your fic as it was so wonderfully written...So heart-rending and beautifully written." —reveriepi

[FIC] Relief by @moonflower-rose { E, 4k }

Harry is all he can think about. It's driving him to distraction.

❤️ "Yesss, it's time for our annual moonflower_rose watersports fic!! Super hot, as always, and I really loved the dynamic between them! So great how much backstory and worldbuilding you were able to fit into this ficlet..." —gracerene

❤️ "OH MY GOD!!! I just adore this with all my bones. This Draco had me by the throat and would not let go. It’s so tender and deliciously sexy and wonderful. I felt lost in their world and didn’t want to leave. FANTASTIC WORK!!!!!" —nv-md

Enjoy these incredible works in our Sudsfest 2022 Collection on Ao3!

weekly roundup header art by @fictional do not repost

[maddiehu7]

Do I wanna know? | lalo Salamanca |

Chapter 1

I wake up to my alarm clock ringing

"Ugh" I groan reaching over and hitting it off my side table silencing it, time to get up I guess I rise groggily from my bed going over to the kitchen grabbing a water from the fridge chugging go it I walk over to my window pulling the curtain back a little looking outside

"Another glorious morning" I sigh to myself I've been a little...on edge lately with the whole looking for my dad thing but I'm powering through it, I walk over to my closet picking out an outfit for this hot summer weather I decide on blue jean shorts with a see through black long sleeve and a black tube top underneath and of course my signature black heeled boots

I look in mirror adjusting my top

"Not bad" I say looking at the outfit I created, I don't eat breakfast makes me nauseous so instead I pull out the files I have so far on my dad I have a couple friends in the police department so I've managed to gather quite a bit being here these past few weeks

"Mike Ehrmantraut" I whisper looking at his picture I can't believe I finally know who my father is I thought it'd feel great but...something feels wrong...off and I can't put my finger on it as I look at the picture longer I decide todays the day I take action I've been sitting on this information for a while to...scared to do anything about it but fuck it what do I have to be ashamed of he's the one who gave up his kid, I close the file putting it away grabbing my gun hiding it in my jean shorts flipping my shirt over it

"Here goes nothing" I say taking a deep breath heading out the door.

I pull up to a brown house with white on top it's nice I think, I put my car in park I don't even know what I'm gonna do now that I'm here I have a urge to run...hide but I take a deep breath ignoring it squeezing the wheel

"I can't do this" I run my hands through my hair going to pull away when a hand slams on my window I jump looking out to see my dad

"Shit" I sigh rolling down the window

"Who are you and why are you sitting outside my house" he says harshly

"Um sorry I thought this was someone else's house" I say acting more nervous than I am in hopes he believes me and lets me go

"You didn't answer me who are you" he says putting his hand on my window I quickly think of a fake name which is easy scince I always make them up being a bounty hunter

"Elena smith nice to meet you...?" I look at him questioningly pretending to not know his name he looks at me for a minute before heading back into his house I sigh loudly thank god I got out of that I think to myself putting the car in drive I just want to distract myself from this new awful feeling that I can't describe so I decide to eat my feelings and head to los pollos hermanos to try it out.

I walk in smelling the grease of delicious fried food and inhale smiling I look around at all the people when two men stand out to me one is shorter with a bald head an a blank look on his face the other one has black hair with a grey streak running through it and a handsome face with chocolate brown eyes I stare at him a little longer than normal thinking how hot he is I think he sensing someone looking at him as he looks around with a questioningly look on his face when he spots me he looks into my eyes trying to read me I quickly look away after being caught i still feel his eyes following me when I go up to the counter to order food I order a number 9 and bring it to a table across from that guy to eat i try the chicken and it's not bad which is nice sense it's cheap and close to me I'm enjoying my food when the guy from earlier slides into my booth I look up surprised sitting up straighter

"Hello" he says smiling

"Um hi" I say back awkwardly

"Oh sorry I'm Eduardo Salamanca but you can call me Lalo" he says reaching his hand out grabbing a fry from my plate popping it into his mouth looking at me

"Oh we'll help yourself Eduardo" I say pushing my plate forward rolling my eyes at him

"Your funny" he laughs sitting back his knees brushing against mine under the table I back up a little looking at him suspiciously, a guy comes over smiling at us

"Is everything to your liking" he asks folding his hands behind him Lalo perks up turning towards the man

"Are you kidding me, this is the best chicken I've ever had" he says smiling brightly

"I'm delighted to hear that" the man I'm assuming owns the place says laughing but it feels fake

"No really I'm serious it's crispy but not dried out and the seasoning it's so...flavorful!" he says overdramatized

"Well thank you, is there anything else I can do for you?" He questions there's something off about him I think to myself

"Is there any chance and I know the answers probably no...but is it possible to meet the owner" he says looking towards the counter for a second

"I am the owner" the man says calmly

"Really! How lucky for me" he says but I think he already knew who he was so why ask?

"Would you be interested in franchising because I'm eager to invest" he says like he's in a really bad play

"Well perhaps we should go to my office where we can discuss it further" the owner says

"Excellent, see you later princessa" he gets up to follow the owner winking at me

"Don't call me that" I yell after him to which he laughs, what the f just happened I think when the other man with Lalo slides into my booth

"Oh great another one" I say flopping my arms up towards him

"Who are you" he demands

"Nice to meet you to" I roll my eyes at him he just gets more angry

"Answer me" he says flashing his gun in his pants on purpose to scare me

"Oh the big guns literally" I say laughing he just looks confused that his intimidation tactic didn't work

"Look I don't know what you and your friend are involved in but leave me out of it ok" I say getting up from the booth walking away but he grabs my arm I turn around and he look me in the eyes seriously

"Stay away from Lalo Salamanca" he says letting my arm go

"No problem dude" I say putting my hands up walking away I walk outside still feeling eyes on me but I get in my car and drive around the block a couple times to make sure no one sees that I live right across the street, after a couple rounds I drive into my apartment parking lot

"What a day" I sigh out exhausted turning the car off getting out when all of a sudden I get pushed against the car hard I hit my head on the top of the car window stumbling I reach for my gun but someone grabs it first

"Fuck" I grumble when eveything goes black something being put over my head

(To be continued, let me know what you think of this new story! )

[pandoramsbox]

Sci-Fi Saturday: Dr. Cyclops

Week 20:

Film(s): Dr. Cyclops (Dir. Ernest B. Schoedsack, 1940, USA)

Viewing Format: Blu Ray

Date Watched: 2021-10-29

Rationale for Inclusion:

In looking over a list of science fiction films of the 1940s, most of the feature films were more horror than sci-fi: sequels to Universal Horror movies, dipped more into fantasy than science fiction, and/or re-hashes of the core story of Frankenstein. Narratives where science fiction didn't come conjoined with horror were mostly found in serials, like the Buck Rogers and Flash Gordon serials discussed last week. Across all formats, the mad scientist remained the mainstay of the genre.

Representative of this decade sci-fi cinema is this week's film, Dr. Cyclops (Dir. Ernest B. Schoedsack, 1940, USA). Mad scientist? Check. Horror paired with science fiction? Check.

On a technical level, however, Dr. Cyclops is a standout. It was the first science fiction film ever shot in 3-strip "glorious" Technicolor and one of the first sci-fi films to be nominated for a Best Special Effects Academy Award. These characteristics made it stand out and secure a spot on this survey. 

Reactions:

On a technical level, Dr. Cyclops did not disappoint. The Technicolor was vivid without being over the top, and my partner and I were both surprised by the quality of the visual effects. It was the first time on the survey where we found ourselves going "Oh, the effects are good" with no caveats, including but not limited to "for the era." Black and white cinematography can cover up a lot of sins when it comes to visual effects work, so the fact that we had this reaction to a color film was all the more notable to us.

An aspect of the film that took us by surprise, but in retrospect really should have been more obvious was how much of the film was based on the cyclops episode from Homer's Odyssey. The name "Dr. Cyclops" should have been a dead giveaway, but cyclopses are mythological creatures that existed prior to Homer's epic poem chronicling Odysseus's fraught trip home from the Trojan war, and their name has been applied to various works, characters, and vehicles without invoking the story of Polyphemus. Nevertheless, it wasn't until the bespectacled Dr. Thorkel (Albert Dekker) uses his experimental shrink ray on a group of unsuspecting scientists, and traps them in his lab, did the allusion sink in. Like Odysseus and his crew, despite their disadvantage in size, the scientists must use their cunning to blind their poorly visioned captor and escape. 

I was also amused to note that since Dr. Thorkel's shrink ray is powered by radium it means that, like The Invisible Ray (Dir. Lambert Hillyer, 1936, USA), Dr. Cyclops is a pre-Atomic Age atomic sci-fi film. Labeling a film as being "atomic sci-fi" will rapidly lose its novelty once we get to movies made during the Cold War, which is why I find examples of atomic energy figuring in science fiction narratives made prior to the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945 fascinating.

It also had not occurred to me until later that Dr. Cyclops would be the first film of this survey to deal with characters being miniaturized or shrinking. Using the survey as an excuse to watch The Incredible Shrinking Man (Dir. Jack Arnold, 1957, USA) and Fantastic Voyage (Dir. Richard Fleischer, 1966, USA) had occurred to me, but had I been thinking about shrinking people as a recurring sci-fi narrative, as I did killer brains, robots, and devolution, I would have included The Devil-Doll (Dir. Tod Browning, 1936, USA) in the survey too.

Oh well. I keep being reminded that when this project started it was meant as a representative survey and not a mission to watch every available science fiction film ever made. Still, I wish that I had given titles from the silent era through the 1940s the same attention I would later give films of the 1950s and 1960s.

[mayybirds]

TtVtL Chapter 8 Snippet~

I was hoping to have the new chap out this weekend, but it didn't quite get together in time. We're looking at sometime late next week for the update. So for now, here's a lil preview to whet your appetites:

Eventually, once the pins and needles in his legs have come and gone, and with some reluctant help from Eveline, who grumbles the whole time about it, Ethan manages to finagle himself, with minimal flopping, into a sitting position, and then gets to his feet once more, this time successfully. He stretches out his aching limbs, and then pulls the rough-hewn wood table that is the centerpiece of the cabin into the patch of filtered light cast by the window, places the chairs at either end for himself and Eveline.

Sunlight, Ethan decides, is a glorious thing he is never going to take for granted again. Not after yesterday’s long night, where he’d feared to never see the sun again, to die in darkness and decay. 

Eveline sits in hers carefully, regarding him unsurely as Ethan flops in his and rubs a weary hand over his face. He feels remarkably well-rested, all things considered, but the aches and pains in his body are definitely not minor. What he probably needs is food, and water, and yet more sleep, in all honesty, but while he’s certainly going to prioritize the first two, he’s not hedging his bets on getting more of the third. It’s already lucky the BSAA and Umbrella haven’t found them yet. 

When he pulls his hand away from his face, Eveline is still staring silently at him, and Ethan realizes he has no idea how to even start this conversation—what needs to be said now to get them situated and out of here without her freaking out on him, and what must come later—and flounders. “Uh…” Great start, asshole, he thinks sourly. “Sorry you couldn’t wake me up earlier. I’m…not usually such a heavy sleeper. Next time just kick me awake, or something.” The second it’s out of his mouth, his long history of reacting violently to being awoken forcefully occurs to him, and Ethan winces. “Actually, wait, don’t do that.”

Eveline just keeps staring, and he coughs awkwardly. 

“How long were you waiting for me to wake up?”

Eveline finally breaks eye contact to look at her hands, fidgeting with them in her lap. “Don’t know. A while.”

“Shit,” Ethan mumbles. With the cursed ambiguities of kid-speak, that could mean anything from thirty minutes to hours. “Sorry. You must have been…” Don’t say scared. “Hungry?” It comes out sounding more like a question than anything else, timid and unsure. He tries again. “I mean…it’s probably been a while since you ate, right?” Hell, the last meal they’d both been present for had been Marguerite’s god-awful rotting carcass of a dinner, and he severely doubts Eveline ate any more than he did. Though, in retrospect, maybe the rotten food was good for people who were infected? Mold grew on rotten things, right? Fuck, he’d never been that good at the biological sciences. He was a computer guy for a reason. 

Eveline is looking at him again, though, half-wary but seemingly half-intrigued by the concept of food, so he plows on. “I know I’m hungry, at least. Starved,” and he manages a half-hearted laugh that quickly trails off. “What about you?”

“I ate,” Eveline mumbles, not really answering the question, and points a finger out behind his shoulder. When Ethan glances over, he notices for the first time a couple empty cans on the bench next to the sink that look like they’ve been practically licked clean, as well as several empty test-tubes scattered about with the remnants of black sludge clinging to their glass sides, and winces—both at the clear picture being painted of Eveline having to feed herself what was in all likelihood cold beans while he took a fucking nap, as well as at the…other stuff.

He’s not going to ask Eveline if she ate mold samples. He’s not. If only for his own sanity. 

“Okay,” he says after a long moment, “But…are you hungry?”

Eveline shrugs, and he takes that as a yes. 

[toldbytendo]

"here lie the ashes: releasing the ideal of black love and embracing reality"

In this post, I'm going to be talking about love. I don't know why, because I've got ten thousand other things to be focusing on in my life, but the lover girl in me is dying inside and I need to talk about it.

I know I'm not alone when I say that dating, relationships, talking stages are one of the worst things about navigating romantic relationships in this life, like one of the *worst* things ever, with it's infamous talking stage that seems in essence to be a contest of 'who can act like they don't care the most', or social media's standard of what constitutes the 'bare minimum' that for whatever reason we all need to abide by, I could go on, but the point is, it sucks.

It's insane to me that we have all these ways of connecting socially and digitally and yet genuine connections feel so much harder to come by. We've all become so incapable of having deep, meaningful conversations, romance appears dead, and it's all so very very frustrating. But, that's actually not what I'm here to talk about.

Today, I'm in mourning, *cue drama*, if I had one, I'd be wearing a Morticia Adams coded dress, maybe a veil for some drama and holding a bouquet of dead roses (not black roses - *dead* roses), yes - it's that deep. I'm mourning the loss of an ideal, a notion, a fairytale if you so wish. As is the nature on this blog, this sacred little corner of the internet of mine, this article represents an outpour of clogged, internal suffering, and stifled emotion from not being able to burst into tears in my family home anywhere but silently under my blanket in my tiny room, where no-one can hear me cry (I'm feeling very dramatic right now) and I've decided to share this rather painful revelation with anyone who might be reading, (I applaud anyone for being able to get this far, hats off to you.) I thought about adding a little PSA that this obviously doesn't apply to all Black men but I'm tired of feeling like I need to do that, I think that goes without saying and if you don't think it does then this isn't the place for you.

I am mourning the notion of 'Black love'. Yes, I know, it sounds insane. I'm not even sure I'm saying what I'm trying to say correctly anymore but who cares. I'm mourning Black love. I feel like I've always been taught to hold onto the ideal of Black love - that nineties kind of romance that shows like 'My Wife and Kids' and Martin + Gina' tried to sell us, where people that understood each other in a way that only someone who looks just like you truly can, that sees beauty in your skin because it's the same love they have for their own, that celebrate Blackness in all it's difficult but equally glorious forms with you.

For the longest time, this has been my dream. I've imagined my ideal relationship with a gorgeous dark-skinned man, sharing our culture, raising a beautiful Black daughter who would grow up seeing herself reflected in her parents' love and adoration. But lately, I've found myself wanting to let go of this notion-and it's not because I've decided that Black men are bad people universally, or that they deserve anything bad. It's simply because I cannot find it in myself to hold onto a dream based off nothing. When I was younger, I could dream like that because there was no experience to support it, just a little girl who loved Disney and wanted a man with the same colour skin as her to make her feel like a princess for the rest of her life, but I'm ready to let that go, because the twenty-three year old woman writing this article does have experiences, and she can't keep pretending that they haven't completely altered her desire and hope that Black love will always prevail.

I've been processing this feeling for quite a few days now, potentially even weeks and I've decided that I'm in mourning, I'm grieving, I'm laying this beautiful ideal of what I thought my idea of love should look like, to rest. The reality is that dating Black men has been filled with its own set of trials and tribulations, I've encountered men who aren't emotionally available, who don't value commitment, or who carry their own traumas so close to the surface that they haven't begun to heal and project that in their encounters with women. The experience of dating Black men has been to say, disheartening. I've held onto this ideal so tightly and so close to my heart, that the hurt is magnified. The experiences I've gone through have shattered the perception that I first entered the world of dating with, perhaps that was my first mistake, having any sort of expectation, nonetheless ones that were founded on nineties romantic comedies but how was a little girl with a love for television and romance to know what awaited her on the other side.

Letting go of the dream of Black love feels like letting go of a piece of myself. It's hard to accept the possibility that my ideal relationship may not look like what I imagined. It's hard to think about my future daughter and what lessons she'll learn about love and relationships from me, and how I may not be able to pass onto her the same beautiful notion that I once believed Black love to be. Growing up, movies and television provided such a beautiful comfort in this world with Black love, it was portrayed as this amazing, unbreakable bond, it felt like such a given, after all, as the daughter of a Black man and woman, and niece, granddaughter and cousin of so many others, what reason did I have to believe that Black love could be anything other than...easy, something I could rely on. But now, as I reflect on my experiences, it's difficult to ignore that most of the disrespect, pain and rejection I've endured in this world has come from Black men. It's even harder to hold onto this beautiful ideal when I'm constantly surrounded by so much on social media showing Black men not respecting, protecting or advocating for Black woman in the way I was shown in movies and television when I was younger. Seeing this reality day in and day out chips away at the hope and optimism that I once had for Black love.

Admitting this is painful, writing this is painful, I really do feel like I'm mourning a part of my identity, even now, I can feel a slither of hope, a refusal to accept my own words as I write them, as my mind begins to bring every beautiful Black couple I can name from the internet to the forefront of my mind, an ideal I'd cherished for so long, even manifested in my stories, in pinterest boards, in my social media following. I struggle with feelings of self-worth, questioning whether I'm asking for too much or if my standards are too high. But I know I deserve a love that is respectful, protective, peaceful and unwavering.

The rampant internalised self-hatred within Black communities, especially amongst Black men adds fuel to the fire in my heart. This self-hate stemming from societal perceptions, feels manifested in the experiences myself and other Black women have had with Black men. In my own experience, I've found that this inability to love themselves and their skin colour translates into how I've been treated emotionally. I once knew a Black guy that told me he dates both Black women and White women. He admitted that White women didn't have to be a ten out of then-they could be mid or basic looking, they had that permission. However, if he dated Black women, they had to be perfect, ten out of ten, all the time, looking good, body set good, just everything. This comparison highlights a painful reality: Black women have to work twice as hard to be considered beautiful to some Black men and that's just an insane concept to me that I'm so *so* done being told to accept.

Why is this such a common theme with Black men? It often feels like we're being punished for being Black women. This societal conditioning that places White/Eurocentric beauty on a pedestal seeps deep into our communities, affecting how Black men perceive and value Black women. It's disheartening and exhausting to always feel like we have to be the best of the best to be valued.

Thoughts of my future daughter add another layer to this conflict. How much harder will it be to explain racism, discrimination and prejudice to my her when she may not even have a foundation of Black love in her own home? It's a tough and conflicting thought, one that raises so many questions in my head of how interracial families actually navigate these conversations. I've always wanted my daughter to see and experience the beauty of Black love in the same way that I had growing up, but more than that, I want her to understand her worth and not settle for less than what she deserves, even if it means stepping outside the boundaries of what I once thought was essential.

Maybe letting go is necessary, maybe it's time to broaden my horizons and be open to love in whatever form it comes. it's a tough pill to swallow but perhaps it's the only way to find genuine, fulfilling love in this complicated dating landscape.

This isn’t some article begging Black men to love Black women as they are. This is about us, Black women, living boldly and beautifully, being comfortable with who we are. This isn’t about forcing an agenda or trying to 'bring back' Black love. If anything, it’s the opposite. This is me laying to rest an ideal that I’ve long since held onto but desperately need to let go of.

Black women, myself included, are beautiful and perfect just as we are. Letting go of the notion of Black love is me letting go of the idea of struggle love. I can't continue to exhaust myself for an ideal of love that lacks evidence or support.

I want Black men who love non-Black women to do so wholeheartedly, and for those who already do, to continue doing so. This isn’t about holding onto something that isn’t working. It’s about recognizing our worth, our beauty, and letting go of the struggle. It’s about moving forward, finding genuine love, and being open to whatever form it takes.

Let’s continue to live our truths, embrace our worth, and find love that respects and cherishes us for who we are.

RIP Black love—you will be missed, but I’m moving on. To all my sisters out there, let's keep living our truths, embracing our worth, and finding love that truly respects and cherishes us for who we are.

Date of Death - 25/06/2024

#blackwomen#blacklove#blackgirlmagic#genzdating#blackwomanhood#datingstruggles#relationshipgoals#selfworth#loveandrelationships#blackcommunity#blackexcellence#sisterhood#loveyourself#blackempowerment#interracialdating#selflove#blackvoices#healingjourney#datingingenz#realtalk#blackmen#blackmasculinity#blackbrotherhood#blackidentity#blackmanhood#dating#modernlove#relationshipadvice#datingadvice#singleslife#datinglife#romance#love#relationshipproblems#datingculture

[aristocratic-otter]

Woohoo, I'm down to five WIPs again! (Ok, at least two are waiting in the wings. But I officially haven't started writing those yet, so they don't count.) It's late, but I haven't posted in forever, so I'm determined to do that today.

It's been a long time since I posted, and so much glorious work has gone up in that time. Friends, your talent humbles me, and at the same time makes me so proud of the brilliancy of this fandom. Thank you to @cutestkilla, @palimpsessed, @blackberrysummerblog, @nightimedreamersghost, @fatalfangirl, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @shemakesmeforget, @artsyunderstudy

Snippets and tags under the cut

From: To Heal a Broken Mind (House AU):

“I regret…I regret so many things. But, most of all, I regret pushing you away. Making you think I hated you. Making you feel less.”

He looks surprised. “Making me think you hated me? You didn’t hate me?”

I shake my head. “I never did. I just…there were so many outside influences in my life, people I desperately wanted to please or impress, and being friendly with Mage’s chosen one would have made those people very unhappy. I’m sorry. I should have made my own decisions about how to act. But I was young, and stupid.”

“We both were, Baz,” Simon says, and he reaches out a hand and lays it over mine. It’s warm and soft. It’s clearly been years since he used it in the kind of manual labour and exercise that used to make his skin hard and calloused. I stare at it. “I was a prat to you, too. I gave as good as I got, honestly. We were both immature brats. I stopped blaming you for that years ago, Baz.”

“I—” I clear my throat, trying to pull back the tears that burn my eyes at his forgiveness. I don’t deserve it. But I’ll take it. I try again. “I want to try again, Snow. Try to be friends, I mean. If you’re willing to give me another chance.”

Simon smiles broadly, and this time there’s no hint of sadness in his face. “I’d love to, Baz.”

If my heart wants to hear those words as “I love you, Baz,” I’ll never tell. 

From: Raising Dragons

I’m desperate enough that I’ve even asked Shepard Bunce for advice. He was the least comforting of all. “I don’t know too many hybrids,” he told me. “And they were all creature/normal hybrids, not creature/mage hybrids. But I do know that the creature powers and instincts were reduced in the hybrid offspring. Like the Jersey devil’s two kids can only make folk anxious with their screams, not out-of-their-mind-with-terror like the screams of their monster parent.”

From: Double Your Pleasure (EGF 2023, posting next week)

Suddenly, I need to see his beautiful eyes. “Baz…” I whisper.

His long, thick black eyelashes quiver, and his pale pink tongue peeks out of his mouth long enough to glide wetly over his lips. Slowly, so slowly, he tilts his head towards me and, when he’s finally facing me, his eyes flicker open. They’re misty with pleasure and so dilated I can only see a ring of pewter around the black irises, but I feel my heart settle into a more contented rhythm once I can see them. 

“I love you,” I whisper.

From: Westward Son (COTTA 2021)

Penelope’s alive and that’s the most important thing, I tell myself as we make the last few short crossings, from island to island and island to shore. I don’t tell Simon that. I know he’d agree with me, but he loved those animals. He’d given them all names and he’d cared for them and babied their every hurt. His face has been drenched with tears on top of river water ever since he realized.

From: Saving Simon Snow

Simon

Two days ago, I was certain I’d be dead of deliberate starvation by now. Two hours ago, I was certain that Baz’s plan had no chance of working, that he’d doomed himself along with me.

Now? I’m certain of nothing. 

I just know that Baz’s life rests on me convincing him to go through with this. I know he hates me. I know that being married to me is probably revolting to him. But I noticed what Baz apparently did not. I am magically cursed to not be able to be unfaithful to him. Baz is not under any compulsion at all. 

Even if I’ll never be happy, even if Baz is forced to keep me hanging around, a perpetual roommate, he can still find love in someone else’s arms. 

From: A secret project, gift fic for members of the discord valentine's exchange (will be posted on AO3 once everyone has gotten their valentines:

“Whoa,” Simon breathes. “D’you think it was real dragons? And are they still there?”

“Not likely,” I answer him. “This city has been settled for far too long for any dragon to be comfortable near it, I think. But they may have been here in the distant past. It was in this region where St. George reputedly slew a dragon. Though those old Christian priests were infamous exaggerators. Probably George fought a crocodile or a monitor lizard.”

Tagging for Wednesday, or just passing along a belated happy Valentine's day to you all, everyone above as well as

@annabellelux, @bazzybelle, @basiltonbutliketheherb, @bookish-bogwitch, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @dragoneggos, @excalisbury, @fight-surrender, @fatalfangirl, @facewithoutheart, @giishu, @ionlydrinkhotwater, @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @johnwgrey, @jbrrring, @jasonfunderberkerthefrogexists, @krisrix, @larkral, @letraspal, @messofthejess, @moodandmist, @martsonmars, @mostlymaudlin, @nightimedreamersghost, @onepintobean, @prettylightsbigcity, @raenestee, @theearlgreymage, @technetiumai, @tea-brigade, @whogaveyoupermission, @whatevertheweather, @yellobb-old, @yeonjunenby

[valkyrieandstrangeridingaragorn]

Hey, are you read or listen that Brie Larson will quitting from mcu?

I am not really know why but she say that after the marvels she will stopping be captain marvel and quit from mcu

There is a book that supposedly has some inside info about Marvel (although I'm not entirely sure we can believe what it says) and one of the authors went on a podcast to say this (x):

“[Marvel Studios] put Brie Larson in [a prominent place in the MCU]. I don’t know if Brie Larson was the wrong person for the role necessarily. But the toxic backlash means that Brie Larson doesn’t want to play Carol Danvers anymore.”

Then some people brought up something Brie said last year (she was asked what's next for her in the MCU and she said: "I don’t know, does anyone want me to do it again?") and now they're all saying she's leaving.

I don't know if that has something to do with the toxic hate she's had to put up with all these years, it might have something to do with her not liking how Carol is handled in The Marvels (I'm hoping that's not the case but I'm just putting it out there), it could be that she wants to focus on other non-MCU stuff after this or perhaps there's not much left for Carol in the upcoming movies... who knows.

She has spoken before about Marvel and their terrible ways (x):

Brie Larson: “I had no idea what I was shooting, what the movie was. I didn’t know if anybody else was in a scene with me. I didn’t know anything. And it’s not until you show up that you get your pages for the day. But you only get your part. So it was like a scene that was completely black redacted, and then just my one line.”

Everything about Carol has been handled in such a weird way by Marvel. Her first movie was glorious - I know I'm biased but I just love that movie so much - but after that, she was nowhere to be seen in IW and in EG she only had a short few moments despite the fact that she had pretty good chemistry with the others (I loved her cocky attitude and the way she handled herself with Steve and Nat. I wanted so much more!).

But this could mean nothing, we won't know for sure until she says so herself... which of course is not gonna happen only two weeks before the release of The Marvels. We'll have to wait a bit.