#damn british weather

[diazevan]

I need people to understand that British heat is abnormal. Yes, I know it's not as hot as your country, and it must seem so ridiculous to you that we complain about this, but this country was never meant to be this warm. Our houses were built to retain heat, for me it is currently 28° celsius outside, 35° celsius inside. Even with a fan running 24/7.

We don't have air con. Some people do but it is incredibly rare. Some houses aren't big enough or are too old to have it installed. Also, it wouldn't be a good investment, because we usually only get like 2-3 weeks of extreme hot weather.

The climate here is incredibly humid, the heat doesn't feel nice. It feels sticky and heavy. Our public transports such as buses and trains are not built for this weather either, which has led to damage.

We are not yet climatised to this weather. If you have grown up in a country that is usually quite hot, then you'll more than likely be comfortable in that. The same goes for a country that is cold.

Sadly, this all comes down to climate change, as most things do. British summers are going to keep getting hotter and this country is simply not built for it.

[xawkward-ariesx]

Of course, when I'm trying to sleep at 3am is when I finally figured out how to fix that transition scene that I've been stuck on for months, thank god I have docs on my phone

[alwaysshallow]

— gorgeous, part 2

Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader

previous part and next part

A man's attention, charmed by clumsiness. You truly hate it. (2,7k)

Read on AO3

The second time you see him? Two weeks later, a routine visit.

He doesn't call you at all, to ask something, he doesn't text you either; Bernie said that he reacted with a thumbs up reaction on a reminder about the visit, which made you chuckle. He seemed like that type since he wasn't talkative in person. You wouldn't accuse him of being super witty in text, he was just dry.

But, he would probably text if something was wrong with that adorable, orange stray cat that he practically adopted – so, you were pretty calm.

Control visit was necessary to check if the bone was healing good, if the kitty didn't need anything more.

And, besides, it was your chance to break the ice once again, and talk to him again. It was frustrating how you wanted it, but that's the thing about you – you could bring the best from everyone, make them talk, so what the hell was the matter with that incredibly tall, British guy? It was a mystery all along, and you were more than eager to solve it, especially when his cat was your patient.

Everything just needed to... work. You had to make it work, to get through that tough facade that he had because that was a facade, right? No one was this... composed, cold. Professional.

At least you thought.

You peeked out of your room again; the corridor was empty, you couldn't see even a damn soul that looked like him – and by that, you meant that scary skull mask that he had on the last time you saw him, since you didn't get to see his real face beneath it. He was already seven minutes after the time he was supposed to be in, and if he would make it fifteen, you were sure to close that clinic. Somehow, it was again a late visit, and you weren't so eager to wait for him forever.

Every minute counted when you were hungry, and you literally dreamed about a warm bath coming along with episode of Criminal Minds.

"Sorry. We had... problems." you heard, as the door opened finally after another two minutes; there he was, but... different.

The voice and his eyes were the only things that you recognized because everything else was just... different. He was without his skull mask and balaclava, looking perfectly normal, like he wasn't the guy that scared the shit out of Bernie two weeks ago. Black hoodie, jeans in the same color, white sneakers – his figure was even more muscled in those clothes, instead of military ones.

And you could see his face, what was probably the best thing about it all. Messy blond hair, not long, but long enough to curl a bit under the humid weather, face that had a big scar at the right cheek, and a couple of smaller ones in the rest.

You couldn't tell where exactly they were, as his eyebrow automatically arched in a question, and you felt your cheeks burning a little, so you started staring at the top of your shoes instead.

For fuck's sake, he was blonde.

Out of whole palette, he had to be a motherfucking blonde. The irony of it all striked you in full force; you thought he was brunette, just because of his mysterious demeanor. Like, maybe it was stereotypical way of thinking, but brunettes always were... different than blondes.

Yet, that one seemed to be the famous "exception" of the group; blonde that wasn't a talker, blonde that seemed like he's keeping everything to himself.

"You look like you've seen a ghost." he murmured, snapping you out of your thoughts.

One of his hand in his jeans, another holding the transporter – shortly after, he put it on the table.

You wish you could have Bernie here for support in that moment, but she had to leave earlier than she was supposed to – family business or something, but she needed that, so you just gave her a free time. She was too precious for her own good.

So, you were all alone with that interesting man. Maybe it was for the better? Less people, he could talk freely, he knew you a bit, and you really hoped for more scrapes of information from him. Every one counted. "Mm, no. You just look different" you sighed, seeing a glint of amusement in his deep brown eyes, but you said nothing about it, as you approached the transporter, seeing sleeping kitten in it.

You automatically smiled. "How is she?"

"Besides the times that leg hurt her more when she tried to walk or stand fully on her paws, she's good, I think. She wasn't really eating for a day or two, but I... managed." he said, his expression stern, when his gaze was darting between you and his cat, when you were examining her.

It seemed like everything was alright when you were touching her broken area, but you had to do an x-ray, so as the last time, you informed him and did your thing.

You came back a few minutes later, already with a scan so you wouldn't make it more awkward than it should be. Seemed alright, that x-ray; not too bad for a stray that was rescued and probably didn't trust Simon like normal cat would do, adopted one, not betrayed by humans. Involuntailry, you looked at her again, as she licked her owner's hand, when he played with her through a cat transporter.

A little smile crept up on your lips, as you observed that scene.

Something was making that big guy soft after all, you thought.

"It seems like everything is healing pretty good" you started "it's still early to let her walk on her own, so you have to be careful still, even if..." you didn't finish your sentence, as you tripped.

You didn't even realize what caused it, but you felt embarassement already, thinking that if you will hit something in result, will put you in a grave, and you probably you won't show your face to that man ever again.

Clumsiness? Your second name, so to speak.

Nothing like that happened though; a firm hand gripped your arm in place, preventing you from falling, and as you looked up at Simon, his stern, yet calm expression, you just felt like a blush is forming on your cheek. His hair was falling comfortably on his forehead, as he hummed, like he was considering something, when your gazes locked in, his eyes meeting your grey ones. Curiosity killed the cat, but you wanted to brush his hair with your fingers, just to see if they were as fluff as it seemed.

It also seemed like you were keeping eye contact with him for twenty minutes, when in total it was five seconds, when you snapped out of it and backed off before doing something more stupid than tripping – but hell, it was worth it for a close view like that.

"Careful over here." he mumbled in low voice, crossing his arms over his chest.

"...right, thank you. I don't wanna end like up like your cat, who's gonna treat her then?" you raised your eyebrow, trying to sound amused, you even made a joke (bad one) – you wanted his attention anywhere, but not on your cheeks right now. "Back to what I was saying, even if she wants to move more, you can't let her overwork herself, right? So it won't get worse."

He nodded.

You were grateful he wasn't teasing you about that blush on your cheeks; not only it would make your cheeks go redder, but it would be utterly awkward, and you didn't want that. Not at least after the time when you made a proper conversation with Simon.

First one – you noted – because that conversation that was two weeks later didn't even count as a conversation – more like, exchange, something professional. Right now, it was professional, sure, but it also seemed... comfortable enough for you to not stress what are you supposed to say, or if he's gonna beat you up.

You examined the cat again, searching if something was wrong, or if she needed anything else, but she seemed... taken care of perfectly, though. Her furr was so different from the last time; now, fluffy, she was being well-fed, you could tell. It cherished your heart, truly, it always was a good feeling when a stray found perfect home.

No matter if perfect home was in 6'4 giant with perfect, blonde hair, brown eyes that could make you drown in them easily. No matter if that giant didn't want to talk at all, or he was just reserved to strangers like you. A true wonder, that man – you wondered if he was like that to his friends too, because he had to have someone, right?

"Okay. You're good to go" you said after a few minutes, as you started to clean the room; at least to sanitize things that needed to be done, you couldn't leave it all on Bernie, when she's gonna open up the next day.

"How much?"

You raised an eyebrow, chuckling. "Nothing."

"Nothing? $50 will do?"

"Jesus Christ, Mr. Harris" you groaned, turning to him, as you continued cleaning, going to the very end of it. "You dropped $90 two weeks ago, which is way too much, and..."

"Thought it was average prices for something like that." he interrupted you; for a few seconds, your gazes locked, and you could swear that you've seen a glint of interest.

Have you catched it somehow? You couldn't help but wonder, when he was counting the money, taking bills out of his wallet; you took only $5, not accepting the other $45. Not only he was overpaying for a routine visit, something that you adviced him to do, but he was annoying about it. His look spoke volumes, as eyebrow was cocked, but he just accepted the things as you put them, without saying anything else.

"It's just routine visits." you muttered when he walked out of the examination room, and you closed it swiftly. "Not something to pay for."

"I'm just appreciating your work. Late one, to be exact, no one's staying as many hours as you do, 's all." he explained, observing how you closed the front door too. You knew he wanted to ask something, just by that look of his, but he wasn't saying anything else.

"I'm good, no need to do that" you smiled weakly. "Part of the job, I love it too much to not stay over my hours."

"Mhm."

He nodded to you, which probably meant goodbye, considering that after that, he walked away. So, despite he couldn't see it anymore, you nodded back, and got into the car, thinking. It was a good conversation, you tried to tell yourself – he showed his face too, pretty one. Not to mention, he catched you in embarrassing moment, when you were about to fall, so...

You rolled your eyes, sighing. Why that occupied your mind? It wasn't like something was about to happen between you two, yet, thoughts that you had looked like one of a schoolgirl that has a crush. Pretty embarrasing.

What was more embarrassing though, was the fact that your car wouldn't fucking start, no matter how much you cursed under your breath. You tried multiple times turning the key in the ignition, and yet, it wouldn't start, it sounded worse than your grandma with asthma. Having no knowledge about cars that was going beyond changing oil and such sucked because you had no idea what to do right now.

Calling your mechanic would be a good option, but Celia wouldn't pick up, you were certain. Doing something on your own? Not a chance, you'd probably fuck it up even more than it already was. Leaving your car here seemed like the best options, but your apartment was a bit far, and walking to it in the middle of the night...

"You want for that battery to die badly, huh?"

That familiar voice made you jump a bit, and turn to no one but Simon, who looked at you with his piercing eyes, a transporter in his hand. You couldn't help but wonder, how the fuck you didn't hear his walk? He was, like, a motherfucking giant, and in theory he should have a tough walk, the one that you usually hear. Heavy one.

But no, no. This guy was sneaky as a fucking cat, and his swift, not noticeable movements were just preparing you to have a heart attack.

"Pardon?" you raised your eyebrow, looking at him.

"If you're gonna turn your key multiple times" he leaned a bit closer "you're gonna kill your battery. It's better to wait 'till morning."

You hummed in response, as you looked at keys in your hand; he was right, it was no need for you to try, you had maybe a one in a million chance for that beast to start. So, you stepped out of the car after rolling your windows up, and you locked it.

"Better to call the mechanic?" a sigh came out of your lips, as you adjusted your bag that was freely on your shoulder.

"Probably. Wouldn't want to make it more of a mess" he shrugged, keeping the pace of the walk with you. "Livin' far from here?"

His deep voice, with a British accent to it, made you shiver at his question; it was getting to you. And when you crossed your grey eyes with his? It was hard to not trip again, even if it was a pretty straight road.

Was it a little too forward to say that you were a sucker for different accents?

"A bit." you replied. "Not my first rodeo with walking from here, so I have my shortcuts, you know."

Simon raised his eyebrow.

"Not your first?"

"Sometimes my car does little tricks, you know. Like today. So, I walk, what other choice do I have?"

"How long it's been since you checked your car?" he asked, after a few seconds.

You let out a chuckle, as you tried to remember when you actually visited Celia. A few months? Six? More or less, even if your mechanic actually was reminding you that you can hop in every once in a while. It's not like you were always busy, you could just have a day off, since you were your own boss, or you could just close earlier.

It was just... a fuck up, from your side, honestly. It wasn't your smartest thing you've done, but shit happened sometimes.

"Around six." you managed to mumble with a bit of shame, as he gave you a look.

"And for six months you occasionally walk to home in the middle of the night? Instead of, I don't know" he snorted, rolling his eyes "maybe going to mechanic?"

You huffed.

"You make it sound worse than it already is" you pointed out, amused, despite the fact that he practically called you out.

He was right, and you knew it very well.

"Although" you started talking again "it's the perfect scenario for tragedy, you know. Kidnapping, being murdered in those bushes. Really."

Simon, before completely disappearing from your sigh in some alley, gave you a polite look that spoke volumes about what you said. Yet, he didn't dare to disagree with you, he probably thought of that too.

The headlines in newspaper would be funny. Vet died on her way home or Mysterious disappearance of Addison Frost. That second one sounds like a book or something – you thought.

"Take care, once again. Would hate for Sparkles to have other vet." you managed to hear, when you parted your ways, walking in other direction to your homes.

Sparkles.

So, it's the name of his cat.

You smiled under your nose, as you thought how adorable it is to name an animal like that. What was his inspiration, though? Has he looked to ideas on the internet, or he had it in mind? He didn't seem like he was a big softie and just decided on that. Maybe he had an inspiration?

You couldn't help but wonder, thinking that probably Simon Harris will occupy your mind for a little longer, even if he was just a client.

A client that you managed to talk to, despite his cold demeanor.

Seemed like a reward to you.

[alocon]

A Soulmate Who Wasn't Meant To Be - Max Verstappen

written by alocon

Note: Based on the song A Soulmate Who Wasn't Meant To Be by Jess Benko

Summary: You are a Red Bull Racing driver who decided to make a song over the summer break about your ex... Who just so happens to be a Red Bull Racing driver. Said driver decided to listen to the song, reliving memories from when you were together as the lyrics progressed

Warning: Angst? I guess. Plus some social media at the end x

[The Masterlist] [Part Two Here]

A Soulmate Who Wasn't Meant To Be - MV¹

Max looked at his phone, reading the post and instantly heading to the link to listen to your new song. He sat back on his bed, listening as the guitar started.

"I never should've called"

[October 2010]

Picking up the phone, you sighed before you dialled the number that he had given you earlier.

“Hello, is this [Name]?” He asked once he picked up the phone.

“Yep. It is indeed,” you responded, hearing a sigh through the screen from the man.

He smiled. “I was hoping you would call.”

"’Cause I knew you would leave me"

[October 2010]

“Racing is the most important part of my life,” he said as you both sat in the coffee shop talking, getting to know one another. “It's always racing over anything. I want to be a Formula One driver one day.”

“I get it, I'm the same.”

"But I didn't think you could do it so easily"

[November 2018]

“No. I can't. Racing over everything, remember? Just like I said when we were 13. This is over.”

“Max you can race and be with me, you know?”

Max turned to you, bitterly laughing. It was obvious that any love he had for you was long gone. “Not when we're going to be driving together.”

“It's not like there's anything in the contract about us not dating. It's never changed how we drive together. Are you seriously going to throw us away for no damn reason?” You questioned, watching as he shrugged before nodding. You stood up. “Fine by me.” It was not fine by you, but you weren't going to let him see that. You walked out of his driver's room. Just like that. 8 years down the drain.

"I never should have held your hand on that cold rainy night"

[November 2010]

“You look nice,” the 13-year-old said, greeting you with a hug. You hugged him back, of course. Your 13th birthday was last week and he had got you some flowers for it, knowing that you loved them. He looked at you as you began to walk. Looking back, you slipped your hand into his, making him smile, cheeks flushing slightly. That wasn't the only time that you held hands that night. You held hands on the run home whilst you darted from shelter to shelter, attempting to avoid the awful weather. 

“You said the weather would be good,” you stated to him through laughs as you got to the bus stop, pausing to take shelter for a moment.

He was also laughing and turned to you. “I thought it was!”

"Cause further along it would cause another fight"

[December 2010]

“It's not my fault that your dad was following us all night!” You were angry at the accusations that your boyfriend was yelling at you.

“He got so mad about it. He wants us to break up because you decided to hold my hand.”

“And is that what you want, Max?”

He sighed, taking a breath to calm himself down. He stepped closer to you, pulling you into a soft hug. “No. No it's not. I'm sorry.”

"Stranger, that's all I see. When I look into your eyes."

[July 2023]

You stood on the top step of the podium, having just won the British Grand Prix. Beside you, in P2, was Verstappen. On the other side, in P3, was Lando. The champagne spraying had already happened and it was now time for a photo. You felt eyes on you.

Turning around, your eyes met Max's. He looked at you with something you couldn't read, but you didn't care. Your eyes gave back a completely blank look, almost as if you didn't know him. You shuffled along for the photo, both drivers on either side of you. You felt Max's hand place against your back. You shuffled out of his grip, swapping places with Lando so he was in the middle. His arm went to where Max's just was but you didn't push him away. You made a 1 with your hand, Lando making a 3 as the three of you posed with your race engineer.

"A Soulmate That Wasn't Meant To Be"

[April 2019] 

“What happened between you two anyway?”

You turned to look at Charles and Seb as the pair eyes you both sat as far away from one another as Charles’ driver room couch would allow. It was an innocent question. He didn't know. 

“I guess we were just soulmates who weren't meant to be,” Max answered, shrugging as he spoke.

You rolled your eyes. ‘Something like that,’ you thought.

"Stranger, who knows all my secrets"

[January 2010]

You gasped. “No way you did that!” You said, looking at Max as he laughed softly. 

“I did.” It took him a few minutes to calm down before he looked at you. “Your turn. What's your biggest secret?”

"Can pull me apart and break my heart"

[February 2019]

Your first time being around Max properly since you both broke up. He treated you like you weren't as important as him. He treated you as if you didn't have more wins than him, acting like he was the better driver, the better person, as if he didn't rip you apart into a bunch of tiny pieces when he out of the blue ended your 8 year relationship. The pair of you had been dating since you were 13 and he threw that away for nothing.

He used the excuse that racing meant he couldn't be with you but that wasn't true at all. You were both driving together for years and it changed nothing. But he went from, one day being excited about you also moving to Red Bull with him, to ending the relationship with no explanation. It made no sense.

"A Soulmate Who Wasn't Meant To Be"

[September 2014]

“Do you think soulmates exist?”

It was a question you had been curious to know for ages. You asked him so casually as you sat on his bed, watching a show on the TV on his wall. He looked at you, not even hesitating to answer. “Well if they do, I hope you're mine.”

"I never should've kissed, kissed your hand"

[October 2010]

You met him for the first time. He walked over and introduced himself to you. It was some dumb competition. 2 teams, hand the karting grid in each team. Your team vs his, whichever team scored more karting points got to choose everyone else's outfits the next week. Of course, you had won and, of course, Charles had expertly suggested that you all make them wear fancy dress princess dresses. 

You laughed as he walked over to you. “I wouldn't have to wear this stupid dress if it wasn't for your last lap overtake,” he declared, feigning annoyance before following your laugh, unable to hold it back any longer. 

“Well, for the record, Max. You make a very pretty princess.” You picked his hand up in yours, teasingly placing a kiss on it before breaking out into laughter again at the unimpressed look on his face.

"I am under your control"

[December 2023]

“Let Max Through.”

The three words that drove you insane. Even when you were quicker, even when you were fighting him for championships, it was always you being told to give up the place for him. Even when either of you could easily win, Horner favourited Max. You hated being in Red Bull at the moment. You hated how unfair it was. You hated the way that he was the golden boy and you were nothing. You would have more wins than him if Christian didn't berate you every time you didn't listen and let Max through. But not this time. This was your championship, and noone will take it away from you. 

"I will never understand"

[December 2023]

“We told you to give the place to Max,” you heard Horner say through the radio as you crossed the line. 

“I was quicker, though.”

“I don't care.”

“He's already world champion, does it matter?”

“Yes.”

You really didn't understand why you were nothing to them. 

"I never should have said “I love you”. You never said it back."

[November 2018]

“Seriously, Max. This is so out of the blue. I love you. I thought you loved me.”

He didn't reply, just stared at you with a blank expression. That was when you realised. He didn't love you. Maybe he never did. 

"So why do I still care for you?"

[July 2021]

“What happened?” You asked as you walked up to the pit wall, the red flag having just came out.

“Max and Lewis touched.” You looked to the screen, seeing Max's car in the wall. You felt your heartbeat grow faster. Shit. That looked bad.

“Is he okay?”

“Yes. We're getting him to medical now.”

"Stranger, that's all I see. When I look into your eyes, a soulmate who wasn't meant to be. Stranger, who knows all my secrets, can pull me apart and break my heart. A Soulmate Who Wasn't Meant To Be."

[August 2021]

You sat down beside Kimi and Anthonio, who looked at you. “He's being a dick again, I take it?” The Finn asked and you nodded, infuriated. 

“When isn't he being a dick to you. What did he do this time?” Antonio was the next to ask a question.

You shrugged, beginning to explain his major outburst to you, calling you the worst driver he's ever been teammates with, a bitch, saying he was glad he ‘got rid of you when he got the chance’, saying that you're nothing compared to him you'll never be anything. As per either his usual outbursts, Jos was sat watching in the corner.

"I wish I could go back to the day we met and leave you be."

[May 2022]

Those were the words you shouted back at him when, once more, Jos and Christian berated you for not letting him through. He seemed taken aback. You had not shouted back at him like that before. He never realised you could shout that loud and full of hate. 

“Don't say that about him.” Christian's voice boomed as he screamed at you once again.

“Well, if I didn't, maybe I would've been able to be respected by you guys, rather than treated like shit.”

"Sit and look pretty"

[August 2023]

“What?” You looked into the audience at the person who said that. As you went to speak, you heard someone do it before you could. 

“Fuck you.”

Such a simple phrase yet elegantly put by Max as he flipped the questioner off, before shooting you an apologetic look. He felt bad for snapping rather than letting you speak. He just couldn't help defending you. He really didn't hate you, he never could. In fact, he felt quite the opposite for you. He could never let you know that, though

“Being a Formula One driver is tough, even more so for women because we are judged by people like you. I do not just sit there and look pretty. I do my job.”

"Never should've called. Never should've kissed."

A lot of the time, you regretted getting with Max. It was always bound to go badly. Sometimes you wondered if you were really that stupid. Stupid enough to believe it was the right thing to do. That you would work out.

"Never should've said."

[January 2024]

You sighed, looking at the photo of you and Max you found under your drawers in your room. You saw some writing on the back. It must've been there for a while, likely falling out of your drawer after you rearranged it the previous week. You turned it over, recognising Max's writing.

“Diary thing, 

This photo is of me and the love of my life. My dad made me break up with her. I didn't want to but it was either her ass on the line or mine. And I didn't want him to terrorise her. Anyways I miss her, that was all. I never should've said that I wanted to break up with her”

What the fuck?

"Stranger, that's all I see. When I look into your eyes, a soulmate who wasn't meant to be. Stranger, who knows all my secrets. Can pull me apart and break my heart. A soulmate who wasn't meant to be."

The song came to an end and, by it, Max was crying. He opened his phone, finding the post on Instagram, typing out a comment. One that she didn't reply to.

youruser

liked by lewishamilton and others

youruser: Surprise, new song out now!! Link in my bio. Thank you lewishamilton for being my guitarist!! (Bonus Pic of Arthur because he took the 8th photo of me!)

tagged: lewishamilton, arthurleclerc

-view all comments-

lewishamilton: Such a beautiful song, thank you for letting me be the guitarist. So so proud of you ❤️ 

youruser: Thank you !! ❤️

georgerussell63: Great song!! Smashed it 👍

youruser: Appreciate it, Mr. Russell

charles_leclerc: Excellent song! Maybe I could be your pianist next time? 😉 

youruser: Absolutely, you're already on my collab list dw 😉  charles_leclerc: Right alongside Yuki and Pierre as your backup singers, I hope? We've all heard their excellent karaoke 🎤  youruser: Obviously!

carlossainz55: Such an emotional song, loved it 😭❤️

youruser: Thank you, Carlos!!

maxverstappen1: Lovely song! I really enjoyed it

landonorris: Right. That's it. You're paying for my therapy.

youruser: You're a driver too. Pay for your own ✋️🙄 oscarpiastri: Can you pay for my therapy tho? youruser: Ofc, send me the bill landonorris: ACTUAL FAVOURITISM???? WHAT THE HELL youruser: 😚😚

yukitsunoda0511: I am officially your biggest fan, I'm obsessed.

youruser: Yuki!! You're an angel 🤍 yukitsuonda0511: So are you! 🤍

danielricciardo: All 3 of us are crying over your song rn. 

youruser: Crying session in the VCARB garage, pull up.

estebanocon: Much better than your drunk singing 😉

youruser: I'll have you know, Mr. Ocon, that my drunk singing is wonderful. estebanocon: No its not. charles_leclerc: No its not. pierregasly: No its not. lance_stroll: No its not. youruser: Screw the lot of you.

pierregasly: She can sing? I didn't know she could do that. (Not well at least, drunk karaoke is always horrific with you)

youruser: 🫵🫵 When I find you.

lance_stroll: Well done, great song.

youruser: Thank you.

fernandoalo_oficial: So proud 👏 

youruser: Thank you !!

zhouguanyu24: Wow 😍

youruser: Thank Youuu omg

valtteribottas: Beautiful song, kiddo 

youruser: Thank you Val!

alex_albon: New favourite song.

youruser: Ahh thank you

logansargeant: I got to hear it early!! Luckiest person ever.

youruser: Logan you're actually one of the nicest person to ever exist. alex_albon: Ah So this is why he's crying. yukitsunoda0511: Lucky :( youruser: Dw Yuki, I'll show you early next time! X

liamlawson30: My girlfriend has been playing this on repeat.

youruser: TELL HER I LOVE HER liamlawson30: Nah, you've stolen enough of the WAGs.

nyckdevries: Excellent song!

youruser: Nyck!!! Miss you 💛

mickschumacher: Launch Party soon??? This is actually heaven in a song.

youruser: Thank you. Launch Party soon, you're so invited

nicholaslatifi: Great song!

youruser: THE GOAT HAS ARRIVED, THIS IS NOT A DRILL 📣📣 Thank you Nicky

sebastianvettel: So so proud of you, kiddo.

youruser: Thanks, I miss you Seb x sebastianvettel: I miss you too. Meet up soon? 

kimimatiasraikkonen: So many words for the song and every one of them is positive 

youruser: Kimi 😭❤️

nicorosberg: Wow!! Well done you two 🤩

youruser: Thank you, Brit (Kill Lew please this comment was his idea) lewishamilton: Thanks, Britney nicorosberg: Never mind. You're both annoying 😂

jensonbutton: Beautiful, beautiful song

youruser: Miss you Jens!

AlphaTauri: Wow??? 🤩

youruser: THANK YOUUUU

schecoperez: Is this about who I think it is?? Lovely song x

youruser: It might be, depends who you think it is about, thank you. X

formula1: Song of the year???

youruser: THANK YOU ADMIN X

christianhorner: It's not bad. 👍

user: "not bad"? I'd like to see you do better. *liked by youruser*

mercedesamgf1: THAT'S OUR GRID GIRL <3

youruser: Ahh 😭 love u admin mercedesamgf1: love u too

user: notice how other teams are commenting but not redbull??? The team she fucking drives for?

user2: They don't respect her as a driver or person, it sucks :(

-The End-

-Word Count: 2,601 (incl. social media. 2,061 without)-

Hi All, Hope you enjoyed! Have a nice day. Got nothing against Max btw, just fancied an angsty story btw. Thinking of another angsty Red Bull story soon Alocon

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Kay Francis (Jewel Robbery, I Loved A Woman, British Agent)— kay francis was an icon of glamor in her time and a top star of the 30s - she was the highest-paid actress at warner bros from 1930 to 1936. she tended to play characters who were charming, sophisticated, and elegantly dressed, and starred in at least one legitimate masterpiece, the sublime 1932 comedy trouble in paradise. her first big role was in the marx brothers movie the cocoanuts in 1929, and she and william powell made seven movies together between 1930 and 1932. even in her sillier movies she always elevates the material with her charm and presence - she never phones it in and there’s a sort of warm, knowing wittiness about her. a really good short promo from a retrospective of her movies that i think really gets her Vibe across

Elisabeth Welch (Song of Freedom, Big Fella, Dead of Night)— Starry-eyed, honey-voiced, magnetic. A Broadway star in the 1920s, she SHOULD have become a torch-singing Hollywood star when talking pictures came in. Instead she was faced with Hollywood racism, so she moved to Europe and juggled British movie roles and a top-class cabaret career. (Heard the classic songs "Stormy Weather" or "Love For Sale" or "As Time Goes By"? She introduced them all.) You need to hear her croon, so here she is co-starring with certified hot vintage man Paul Robeson [video below the cut]

This is round 2 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Kay Francis:

Jewel Robbery clip

"From 1932 through 1936, Francis was the queen of the Warner Bros. lot, and, increasingly, her films were developed as star vehicles. By 1935, Francis was one of the highest-paid actors, earning a yearly salary of $115,000, dwarfing the $18,000 Bette Davis – who would one day occupy Francis's dressing room – made. From 1930 to 1937, Francis appeared on the covers of 38 film magazines, second only to child sensation Shirley Temple's 138." Source: Wikipedia. Kay Francis is like the MOST FAMOUS Actress from the 1930s you've never heard of--and it was her and Norma Shearer who wore and made classic the 1930s tall, slim, bias cut silhouette. She ALSO has a WHOLE PODCAST episode devoted to her life and career in Hollywood--it's fascinating! She is both tough and a total wet cat.

One of the TALLEST Warner Brother stars at 5’9” and known as a “clothes horse” for her glamorous roles wearing the height of 1930s fashion. She fell out of popularity in the 40s, but her 30s work sizzles. The scene with her and Herbert Marshall in Trouble in Paradise where she says she doesn’t care about his reputation (because she’d rather sleep with him?) HAWOOGA

melted my gay heart with her butch look in stolen holiday

"My life? Well, I get up at a quarter to six in the morning if I'm going to wear an evening dress on camera. That sentence sounds a little ga-ga, doesn't it? But never mind, that's my life ... As long as they pay me my salary, they can give me a broom and I'll sweep the stage. I don't give a damn. I want the money ... When I die, I want to be cremated so that no sign of my existence is left on this earth. I can't wait to be forgotten." —From Kay Francis's private diaries, c. 1938

Elisabeth Welch:

[asa-do-your-thing]

Burn me down

Michael Gavey x Reader

18+ Minors DNI WC: 4.6k Warnings: Cigarettes, Alcohol, Smut, Wax Play, dom-ish Michael, Nerd in the streets, freak in the sheets A/N: I've asked you to choose a little something for my Birthday and you chose this! Yay! Here's to my 22nd birthday and a rather sweet and kinky Michael.

You stood in front of the Pub, taking quick drags of your cigarette. You damned the horrendous british weather, you damned the fact that the student's exchange office apparently 'lost' your exams in the mail, making you re-sit everything in the winter break, but most of all you damned that Michael.

He was supposed to be your buddy - your mentor, showing you around campus and helping you connect with the other students, though all he did was invite you to the pub where he'd drink his pint in relative silence before leaving again.

It wasn't like you disliked STEM students, no; most of them were the chillest friends one could wish for. But he? He was a right royal pain in the ass, trying to convince you of his intelligence everytime you'd meet up.

You shivered as the cold wind whipped around you, making your eyes water and your teeth chatter. The rain pelted down hard, turning the pavement into a slick, shiny mess that squelched beneath your feet with each step. You finished your cigarette quickly, flicking it away into a nearby puddle with a silent curse as rain dripped onto your fingers. The smoke from it mingled with the damp air, creating an acrid smell that mixed with the scent of wet earth and cobblestones underfoot.

You tucked the next one into your mouth, feeling the familiar burn as you lit it from a soggy match that barely stayed alight in the weather. Pulling out your phone from your jacket pocket, you frowned when you saw no new messages from Michael; he'd stood you up again.

Blowing out a plume of smoke, you sucked your teeth and were just about to turn back and head home when you just-about-avoided giving Michael a burn as he appeared out of nowhere, stepping way too close to you.

"Sorry," he mumbled and looked down at your shivering form. "You said to meet up at eight, why would you text me if I'm here at quarter to?"

You took a step back and offered him a cigarette, which he quickly declined. "It's rude to be on time, it's best to be early. Doesn't matter, you're here now," you said and gave him a one over. That man really did not have a single fashionable piece of clothing to his name, it was incredible. He looked like he'd raided your father's wardrobe. "What's the plan for this evening?"

Michael shrugged, his eyes clung to the glowing end of your cigarette as though the answer was hidden in the embers. "The usual, I suppose," he stammered. "Grab a pint, talk about... things?"

You chuckled, "Ah, the endlessly fascinating 'things'," you teased, flicking some ash off your cigarette onto the pavement. It mingled with the small droplets of rain on the ground like stardust on a cosmic canvas. "How absolutely riveting."

He frowned slightly and looked at you; his eyebrows knitted tightly with confusion. "I didn't mean to be vague," he explained. "It's just..."

"It's just...?" you repeated with curiosity.

"Everything," he muttered. "Everything has been so much more... complicated since meeting you."

You looked at him in surprise as your next words hung precariously in the cold night air. You weren't sure where this conversation was going, but it certainly wasn't in the direction you'd expected.

"Complicated?" you echoed his words, blowing a cloud of smoke into the wind. The bitter cold bit at your face and you withdrew back into your collar. His expression was unreadable underneath the dim wintry light, giving him an aura of mystery that was oddly arresting.

"Yes," he nodded slowly before rubbing his hands together for warmth. "Because you're so different from what I'm used to."

You raised an eyebrow at that comment but said nothing, intrigued by his sudden openness, a stark contrast to his reticent persona up until now.

"But it's not a bad thing," he quickly added, pulling up his shoulders.

God, he was so awkward. Watching two drunk, scantily dressed girls leave the pub, you could see into the establishment and shook your head, grumbling.

"That damned thing's full to the brim. Would you be cool with coming to my apartment and have a drink or two there? I should still have beer and schnapps." Tossing your cigarette butt away you gave him a small, cheeky grin. "Or are you afraid of being alone with a woman?"

Michael's eyes widened at your bold comment, but after a moment his face relaxed into a sheepish smile. "No, I'm not afraid," he admitted. His voice was quiet but firm. You could see the uncertainty in his eyes so you decided not to push any further.

"Good," you replied, slightly impressed by the unexpected admission. "It'd be a shame to go and drink my beer by myself." You proceeded to lead the way to your apartment, just a few streets away. The cold rain was unrelenting and by the time you reached your building, both of you were drenched to the bone.

As soon as you stepped inside however, warm, dry air greeted you like a comforting blanket. You hurried up the worn wooden staircase leading to your apartment, Michael following closely behind. He looked around with curiosity and slight apprehension as he entered your abode for the first time.

Your apartment was small but cozy. A worn-out sofa sat before a small TV set, a coffee table littered with textbooks and research papers spread out before it. The walls were filled with photographs of family and friends; some from home, some from university. The kitchen was compact but well organized, a fridge full of post-it reminders of upcoming exams and assignments.

"Make yourself comfortable," you told him as you headed into the bath to grab some towels for drying off. He hesitated for a moment before finally settling down on the edge of your sofa.

When you returned with two towels, his eyes were darting around your living room - taking in all the photos and personal items that adorned it - like pieces of a puzzle about yourself that he was eager to solve.

"Different..." he mumbled again, almost to himself while his gaze lingered on a picture of you posing with your old high school friends.

"What?" you asked, throwing him one of the towels and ruffling your hair with the other.

He fumbled to catch it and cleared his throat. "You're just... different from what I expected," he repeated, sounding unsure of whether he was complimenting or criticizing you.

"And how's that?" you quirked an eyebrow at him as you headed towards the kitchen, deciding to ignore any potential insult for now. "Want a beer or schnapps?"

"Uh... a beer, please," he said, trying to wipe the rain off his glasses with the towel you gave him.

You opened the fridge and grabbed two bottles. "And how exactly am I different?" you asked again, popping off the caps and joining him on the couch.

He took the offered drink quietly, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. "You’re more… real," he finally said, looking into your eyes earnestly. "I thought you're just another hippie lit student, but you do seem to be... uh, more scientific."

You burst out laughing at that comment, causing him to blush awkwardly. "Are you saying I am deep?" You took a gulp from your bottle before continuing, "Well, despite your stand-offishness and your slight academic snobbery, Michael," you said pointing at him with the bottle. "You are not so bad yourself."

He looked taken aback and looked away, taking a gulp of beer. Deciding that there wouldn't be much conversation from now on, which was usual for the both of you, you set your beer aside and walked to your wardrobe, pulling out an oversized T-Shirt and some short shorts, deciding to get out of your wet clothes. Not bothering to go into another room - you were still wearing your underwear, so there wasn't much to see anyways, you argued with yourself - you changed quickly.

When you turned back to Michael, he was staring at you with a startled expression, his cheeks flaming red. He quickly averted his gaze, muttering a soft, "Sorry."

"No worries," you replied nonchalantly, taking your seat back on the couch. You enjoyed his discomfort and couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction.

Silence hung in the room as both of you focused on your beer bottles, the familiar scent of hops and barley filling the room. The distant sounds of the city could be heard through the thin walls of your apartment as well as the constant tapping of rain hitting the windowsill.

After a while, you broke the silence, "So... about these 'things' we're supposed to talk about?" You smirked at him, noticing how he squirmed under your gaze.

He sighed heavily before looking at you directly; eyes full of seriousness. "I think... I think I like how things are complicated with you."

You were taken aback at his straightforward confession and blinked at him. He looked just as surprised by his own boldness, face paling slightly.

"Look," he stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, "what I mean to say is... I find it intriguing, being around you. You don't strive to fit in any mold and that's... refreshing. And after our... our... evenings, you don't go about shouting it from the rooftops."

You stared at him for a good few seconds before bursting into laughter once again. His obvious discomfort combined with his honesty was endearing in its own strange way. Of course he was mighty uncomfortable about your deeper, emotional talks once you were drunk enough, but who were you to hold it against him.

"You are one weird bloke," you said amidst your laughing fits.

His face reddened once more but this time he nervously stood up and sat down flush next to you, eliciting another round of small giggles from you. "What are you doing? Are you trying to cuddle me?"

"No, I'm not trying to cuddle you," he protested, looking both embarrassed and indignant. Yet, despite his words, he didn't move away. Instead, he found himself moving closer to you on the sofa, closing the distance between you two.

"Then what do you call this?" you asked, laughter subsiding as you turned to face him. His close proximity made your heart beat a little faster, to your own surprise.

"I call this... um... adjusting for... comfort," he said, sounding nervous and uncertain. But his eyes never left yours and there was determination in them that was hard to ignore.

"Yeah? And who's comfort are we talking about here?" you asked, looking at him with amusement. You wondered how much of his boldness was down to the beer or simply his genuine personality.

He hesitated before answering, "Yours. And mine."

Grinning, you set your bottle down and turned towards him, laying an arm over his shoulder (which wasn't very easy, that damned man was so much taller than you were) and licked your lips. "Oh really? Yours as well? I'd never have guessed." With that, you closed the gap between the two of you and kissed him softly, giving him the option to retreat from it if he'd wish to.

Much to your surprise, your kiss elicited a small groan from him and made him wrap his arms around you, tighter than you'd have thought. So your suspicions were true then - he was as interested in you as you were in him.

Michael's touch was warm, his scent of rain and musk mingling with your own, his unsure hands very rough on you, though you had to confess that you didn't mind it as much as you'd have thoought you would. He tasted like beer and something else, something uniquely him. As you kissed him deeper, you could feel his heart pounding against your chest. There was a spark that ignited between the two of you - a mutual curiosity and eagerness that had been brewing beneath the surface for quite some time.

When you broke the kiss, you both gasped for air, eyes locked on each other's. "I think we should take this to bed," you whispered huskily, leaning in for another kiss before standing up and offering him a hand to help him up too. He took it gratefully, his palm soft against yours as he rose from the couch with you guiding him through the darkened room towards your bedroom door. Once inside, you turned lit one of your copious scented candles, casting a soft yellow glow across the space.

You both undressed slowly, shedding layers until all that remained were your underwear and his slightly damp shirt clinginging to his broad shoulders. His tall, lanky frame towered over you as he sat down heavily on the mattress, pulling you into his lap with an easy strength that made your heart race faster than before. The wet shirt clung to your skin as it rubbed against yours during every movement.

As you lay in his lap, your heart pounding wildly in your chest, his fingers tracing your spine and shoulders, you couldn't help but notice how warm and safe you felt in his embrace. He kissed your neck softly, the stubble on his chin brushing against your skin, sending shivers down your back. You moaned lightly as he nibbled on your earlobe, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. His other hand slowly found its way to your breast, cupping it gently as he explored its softness beneath the padded fabric, causing you to gasp. "You're so beautiful," he murmured against your skin. You held your breath as he kneaded it gently, his touch sending sparks of desire straight to your core.

You couldn't believe how comfortable you were with him already; with someone you barely knew but somehow understood on a deeper level than anyone else ever had. The alcohol maybe? Or maybe it was just him—his innocent yet bold nature? You'd never know. All that mattered was this moment—his hand on your breast, the heat radiating from his body, the wet shirt clinging to both of you as if they were magnetized—made every nerve ending tingle with anticipation.

You pushed yourself closer into his touch, arching your back slightly when he pinched the nipple between his fingers teasingly before licking and sucking it softly. A groan escaped your lips at the sensation. You thought he'd be a virgin, but much to your surprise by the way he expertly unclasped your bra behind your back with a single hand and guided you gently onto your back it seemed like he did have a fair amount of practice.

His cock was throbbing against his pants, begging to be freed, but it seemed like he knew that wasn't the only thing that mattered right now. He wanted to get to know you in every way possible - and not just physically. He loved the taste of your lips on his, tangy from the beer but still sweet and soft. Both of you were shivering with anticipation. His hands traced up and down your sides slowly, feeling every curve and edge of your body as if they were made for each other. His fingers brushed against your underwear-covered mound and he gasped slightly at the wetness there before moving upwards to cup one of your breasts, holding it gently.

Your lips trembled as you whispered, "How long have you been wanting this?" Your breath caught in your throat as he clumsily lay next to you, his throbbing arousal pressed against your chilled skin. The way his fingers expertly teased and twisted your nipple made it clear that this was not a spontaneous decision, but rather a burning desire that had been building up inside him for a while. And making out with someone like Michael Gavey would never be just a spontaneous act - he would've started planning this weeks before.

"I... uh...", he muttered, clearly trying to conjure up a lie that he'd never thought about it, so you gave him a small smile. "Didn't mean to offend you," you mumbled as you moved a bit closer to him. His lips met yours again, hungrily, his tongue digging deep into your mouth as you felt his arousal press against your leg. You reached down and grasped it through his pants, feeling the warmth and length of him beneath the cotton. He groaned into the kiss, pressing himself against you harder. You could feel his heart racing as much as yours was, and it only fueled your desire even more. You could taste the beer on his lips and feel the barely-there stubble against your chin as he traced nervous kisses down your jawline, across your collarbone, and lower to your breasts.

When he took one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking gently at first and then harder as you gasped, you arched your back off the mattress. He moaned into your skin, humming quietly as he continued to tease you with his lips and teeth. His free hand slid down between your legs, pushing aside the damp fabric of your underwear to touch you directly. Your hips bucked up towards his hand instinctively as he found your already slick folds and began to rub gently. The softness of his touch only added to the intensity of the sensation that coursed through you both.

Your breathing grew heavier as you ground yourself against his hand, needing more contact but also not wanting to beg for him. As Michael's tongue danced around yours, your kisses became more intense, your bodies pressing closer together. His heart was racing, his breathing heavy with anticipation. His hand slid up your side, tracing the curve of your waist before landing softly on the lace of your black panties. You caught your breath as he ran his fingers lightly over the fabric, feeling the softness against his skin. He leaned away from the kiss gradually, smirking at your flushed face and parted lips as he pulled the delicate garment down to reveal what lay beneath.

"Oh," he breathed out, taking in the sight of you - already wet and ready for him. He gave a mocking chuckle, "So ready for me, like a little slut." You blushed even deeper and looked away, unable to meet his gaze. His free hand found its way to your chin and tilted it up gently until you met his eyes again. There was a twinkle in his green irises that made your stomach flip-flop uncontrollably.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, leaning in to capture your lips once more in a slow kiss that lingered for far too long before pulling away. A teasing smirk lifted the corners of his mouth as he took in another deep breath and sat up, straddling you, effectively trapping you under him. "Now tell me, how long have you been wanting this? How long have you been moaning my name before you went to sleep?"

Opening and closing your mouth, you blushed heavily and licked your lips as he gingerly picked up the candle and let a tiny droplet of wax fall onto your belly. "Michael!" you gasped and blushed even further, especially as you could see him biting his lips. Shit, you thought, he likes to see you writhing under him. "Michael, I... I... didn't want to bother you, I..."

To that, he only lifted an eyebrow and grinned, letting more hot wax drip onto your chest, which was echoed by a yelping moan. "You still haven't answered my question."

The heat from the candle wax dripping onto your skin sent shivers down your spine, but you didn't flinch away from him. Instead, you inhaled sharply and arched into his touch, feeling every inch of his presence against yours. His hands gently caressed your skin as he waited for your answer, his thumb brushing across the sensitive flesh where he had dotted it with hot wax. You licked your lips nervously, trying to gather enough courage to speak the truth. You couldn't lie to him anymore - you felt like you might explode at any second and were this close to begging him to fuck you senseless.

Oh yes, you knew he'd do that. These shy, standoffish nerds - you knew for a fact that they had the biggest cocks and were willing to use them.

"I've wanted this for weeks," you finally admitted in a barely audible whisper. "Every time I saw you at Uni or when we sat together in the library, I could feel myself getting wet just thinking about what it would be like to be underneath you." Your blush deepened at the admission, but at least now it was out in the open. He was looking at you with such intense curiosity that you could feel yourself melting under his gaze.

As if in response to your confession, he set the candle down again and kissed a trail from your collarbone to your other nipple, nipping softly before catching it between his teeth and sucking gently. Your back arched off the mattress as pleasure coursed through you; he knew exactly what he was doing to make you lose control. His other hand moved lower still, fingertips dancing over your clit. "Hm," he mumbled, "I think I still haven't heard enough."

Whimpring, you tossed your head from one side to the other, trying your hardest to form a coherent sentence, or even just a word, the way he was circling your nub with an ever quickening pace. Losing all your dignity, you looked up at him and whined needily. "Please, Michael, fuck, fuck me... I need you, I..."

You felt his hot breath on your skin as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your earlobe before whispering, "You need me?" He nibbled softly, sending shivers down your spine. "I think that can be arranged..." His voice was trembling with anticipation, giving away his own nervousness and excitement. He trailed his tongue along the edge of your earlobe, grazing it gently as he slid off of you and stood up.

You couldn't help but watch him as he pulled down his underpants. His cock sprang free, hard and ready for action, glistening with his precum as it lazily slapped up ointo his his stomach. He was certainly well endowed - not the thickest, but by god that must've been at least twenty centimetres. You licked your lips unconsciously, wanting nothing more than to taste him, to feel him inside you. He smiled shyly as he quickly rummagged through the pile of discarded clothes and pulled out a condom from his wallet.

"On your hands and knees," he commanded in that same low voice that made your insides melt as he opened the package and rolled the rubber quickly over his cock.

Obediently you complied, presenting yourself to him in a way that only heightened the anticipation building between the two of you. The room was dark now as he extinguished the candle, casting eerie shadows on the walls as he moved behind you. His warm breath fanned over the nape of your neck making you shiver again as he ran a hand through your hair teasingly.

A sharp intake of breath escaped from you when he lightly skimmed a kiss over your spine before tracing it back up, holding tightly onto your hair as you could feel him positioning himself in front of your pulsating pussy.

Without another word, Michael's cockhead pressed against your entrance, teasing and stretching it before he finally found the sweet spot. A low moan escaped from his lips as he sank in to the hilt, filling you up completely. He pushed further inside until he was fully sheathed within your tight heat. You felt him to the core, his length stretching and filling you up completely.

The feeling of his length inside you was both exhilarating and overwhelming, making you moan out in pleasure as he gently began to move within you. His hands cupped your breasts, massaging them gently as he slowly withdrew and thrust back in again. Every inch of him flexed inside you, rubbing against your walls as if trying to find that perfect spot that would make you scream his name.

He pulled out almost all the way before slamming back into you hard, forcing a gasp from your lips. His hips pounded into you with unyielding force as it seemed like every muscle in his body tensed up with desire. The sound of skin smacking against skin echoed around the room, creating a rhythm that seemed to match the pounding of your hearts in your ears.

He looked down at your exposed ass cheeks while he kept pounding into you, admiring how they shook and clenched with every thrust. One hand moved around to caress them in tandem with his hips, making sure those cheeks received some love too as he slapped them harshly.

Your legs trembled beneath him as he startet grunting more loudly, his fingers clenching around your hips, pushing and pulling in a way that made you feel like he was using you like a toy. Fuck, who would've thought that Michael Gavey was such a freak. Though as soon as that thought had run through your mind, he wrapped his arm around you, quickly rubbing your engorged clit while he pistoned into you at an impossible pace. That was enough for you to scream into your pillow and to half-collapse, him following you almost instantly as your cunt squeezed his cock dry.

He collapsed onto your back, panting heavily against your neck. His heart hammered against your spine, matching the erratic rhythm of your own. He remained in you for a few more moments, his pulsating cock still buried deep inside you; you could feel him twitching with every throb of his orgasm.

Finally, he rolled off of you and onto his side, pulling out of you carefully as he did so. You whimpered at the sudden lack of contact, your body feeling oddly empty without him filling you up. He looked at you then; his eyes soft and full of wonderment as he took in the sight of you lying there—sated, flushed, and thoroughly fucked.

You turned to face him on the bed, reaching out to touch his chest as if to make sure he was really there beside you. His skin was damp with sweat, and he shivered as your fingers traced the contours of his chest and abdomen before finally coming to rest on his softening cock. You gave it a gentle squeeze, making him groan and buck into your touch.

“I’m... I’m sorry,” he stammered shyly after a moment’s silence. “I… um… didn’t mean to be so…” He trailed off uncertainly, looking rather sheepish as he glanced down at you.

But instead of chastising him or laughing at his awkwardness—as any other woman might have done—you simply smiled up at him before leaning in for a kiss. It was sweet and tender—a stark contrast from the roughness that had transpired between you two moments ago.

"Michael," you murmured against his lips once the kiss broke, "do you think I didn't enjoy it?"

He looked a bit taken aback, his brows furrowing in confusion as he met your gaze. "I-I mean... I just..." he stammered, clearly still embarrassed by the sudden shift between his lustful and awkward side. It was endearing to see him this flustered, considering moments ago he had been a commanding force.

"Hush," you cooed, pressing a finger to his lips to silence his ramblings. "I enjoyed every single breathless second of it," you reassured him. His cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red at your words, but his eyes sparkled with relief and satisfaction.

You saw him gulp down his lingering nervousness before he finally managed to utter something coherent again. "I'm glad," he whispered, leaning in to press his forehead against yours. "Really glad."

[lisbeth-kk]

May Prompts

It's the day of the Fall in the Sherlock fandom...needless to say that today's prompt is fall...

The Luckiest Girl in the world (chapter 4)

Summary: Rosie starts to interact with her uncle in earnest, much to Sherlock and John's delight. Mycroft is not that amused...

Four Years Old

Shortly after our seaside visit, things were set in motion by the British Government, aka Mycroft Holmes. Papers were signed, and a few months before my fourth birthday, I was Sherlock’s legal daughter. My Papa. God, how I love him. Just as much as I love Dad. And the adoption came with more benefits. I got an uncle and two grandparents as well.

My uncle Myc, as I call him, which he wrinkled his nose at in the beginning, is a complex man. Like his younger brother, but also different. The walls around him are thicker and not as easily penetrable as Papa’s. Gaining access to Mycroft Holmes’s heart, is no easy feat. Only a handful of people have managed it, and I’m the last one in line. Walls can indeed fall.

Dad told me how Papa constantly bickered, argued and fought with his brother, but Dad knew there was love there. Uncle Myc did anything in his power to keep Papa safe, and later Dad and me.

When I started to really interact with my uncle, Papa apparently had the time of his life, because at the age of barely four, I had no idea who Mycroft Holmes really was, or what he was capable of. I just saw a pompous man, always dressed in a three-piece suit, and carrying an umbrella. The latter spurred my brain, not to mention my tongue, into action.

“Why do you always have that parasol with you?” I asked and pointed at his umbrella.

Papa rumbled and Dad chuckled. It was Papa who had told me the name of the item. 

“It’s an umbrella, Rosamund,” he said stiffly and glared daggers at his brother, fully knowing who had “taught” me the name.

I didn’t care what the damn thing was called, but stared stubbornly at him and waved a hand, as Papa used to do when he didn’t want to be troubled with trifles.

“Why?” I asked sternly, lifting my chin in challenge.

“Oh, John. That surely is the spitting image of what you looked like when you turned his offer down in that garage all those years ago,” I heard Papa say.

I had no idea what he was talking about, and didn’t bother asking, so I continued staring my uncle straight in the eyes, daring him to deny me an answer. 

“You got your stubbornness from your dad,” Papa always says.

Uncle Myc cleared his throat and sat down on the sofa, before he explained some nonsense, I didn’t believe for a second. How the British weather is unpredictable, that he sometimes needed it for support if his leg should, for some reason, give way. At that point Papa and Dad snorted in unison and I rolled my eyes. That got me a tiny hint of a smile. It probably reminded him of his brother when he was my age.

“When you’re old enough, I will take you to the shop that makes these, and let you choose your very own,” he offered in a tone that was supposed to be friendly, but his lack of training in that area, made it sound more like a threat.

***

“Did you see his face, John,” Papa laughed when everyone had left my birthday party.

Dad giggled and was almost unable to answer, clinging to Papa’s arm like it was the only thing preventing him from falling.

“I did! Please tell me he still got surveillance cameras in the flat,” Dad said breathlessly and looked up at Papa with a pleading expression.

Papa bent down and kissed his forehead, and whispered something I couldn’t discern. It clearly contained something sentimental, because Dad cupped Papa’s face and murmured “love you”, before they started laughing again.

The reason for this silly behaviour had everything to do with Nana’s gift. It was an umbrella. Light green, with yellow flowers, green plants, and a white bird with a large beak on the rim. That in itself, wasn’t what got my fathers into a fit of giggles, but rather my outburst after I’d thanked Nana for it.

“Look, uncle Myc! I got one too. Just like yours. “

Also available on AO3

Tags in the replies.

[victoria-daydreams]

Compliments to the Chef

AN: It's here people! I floated the idea and you all demanded it be written. Don't care if there's any inaccuracies about fine dining culture or rules, we're all here for Chef Luca. If you commented on my original post I went ahead and tagged you. I wrote this on my phone because I'm on vacation so excuse any typos or errors.

Taglist: @chiddybangchiddy @emjayewrites @ay0nha @adorabubblesblog @ayoarticulate @blowmymbackout

Word Count: 4.4k

Prompt: Thinking thoughts about writing a fic with Chef Luca from The Bear involving an black!oc/black!reader on a study abroad trip in Copenhagen and them falling for each other.

"How do you even function in this weather?"

The coldness of December in Copenhagen could be quite unbearable at times. In her thick peacoat, Dannie shivered as snow gently fell to the ground in large, fluffy clusters. The tingle of cold air on her golden brown skin felt as if someone was jabbing needles all over her body. It was an unfathomably cold evening and Dannie began to wonder if this outing was worth it.

Aya, a native to the country, only laughed and tugged at the thick knitted scarf around her neck. "You want my scarf?" she questioned, smirking at the American.

Glancing at her friend, red-cheeked from the cold, with snow falling in her dark, springy curls, Dannie shook her head.

"Don't think that will change me freezing my ass off," Dannie retorted, wrapping her arms around herself, trying to maintain some warmth.

Aya laughed again in response, "Come on, we're almost there," she said, linking her arm with Dannie.

Dannie's teeth clattered as the cold wind continued to permeate her coat and her wool sweater. Stiffly, she walked with Aya, her shoes crunching loudly against the snowy cobblestones underfoot. Despite the frigid temperature and the feeling of being frozen to the bone, it was beautiful day in the capital of Denmark. As far as the eye could see, picturesque buildings lined the streets in colorful rows. The vibrant colors of the architecture reminded Dannie of cakes and other tasty pastries. The two women passed by cafes which littered the narrow streets of the snowy city, filled with tourists and locals of all ethnicities and nationalities.

Finally, they arrived at the restaurant, its name written in Danish. Savory scents and muted conversations greeted Dannie as Aya spoke with the host about her reservation. Without a doubt, this was the most expensive restaurant she'd ever been to in her life just based off the interior. After taking their coats, the host showed Aya and Dannie to their table, which offered a splendid view of Copenhagen. A glass of water was poured for her followed by a menu being placed into her hands. Browsing the menu, Dannie's eyes nearly bulged at the prices of dessert alone.

"Aya, why does a desert cost damn near an arm and a leg?" Dannie asked, her brows raising in disbelief.

"Because it’s 'fine dining'," Aya explained simply. "Don't stress about prices tonight," she reassured, with a dismissive hand wave. "It's your birthday, I'm treating you remember?" she reminded.

"Aya, I love you, but I'm helping you pay for this," Dannie stated firmly, placing her hand over her heart. "I refuse to let you break your bank account over a tiny portion of food and dessert," she added jokingly.

"Aya?" a British voice called.

Dannie's eyes flitted over Aya's shoulder to see man dressed in a fitted navy blue shirt and black slacks with a black apron tied around his neck. Aya turned in her chair, her face lighting in recognition.

"Luka! Hej!" she exclaimed, waving him over.

Approaching their table, Dannie realized that this Luca was nothing short of a heartthrob. Strikingly warm blue eyes, tousled blond hair, and not to mention his wide and undeniably strong frame.

"It is so good to see you here again!" Luca said, smiling at her.

Playfully she rolled her eyes, "You don’t know how long I remained on the waiting list to eat here again," she quipped, standing up to give him a quick hug.

"I see you brought a friend this time," he noted, as Aya pulled away from him.

"Yes! This is Dannie, she's studying abroad here and today is her 26th birthday, so we're celebrating!" Aya introduced excitedly. "Dannie, this is Luca, my chef friend I've been telling you so much about!" she said, gesturing towards him.

Dannie gave him a shy smile and offered her hand to shake as Aya sat down.

"A pleasure to meet you Luca, I’ve heard so much about you," Dannie said, her voice laced with the warm southern twang she was born with.

"First, a happy birthday is in order, I cannot think of a better place to attend for such a special occasion," he responded, mirroring her smile. "And hopefully Aya here has only been saying good things," he joked, glancing at her before reaching for Dannie's hand.

The moment their hands brushed against each other, Dannie felt Luca slightly jump at the sensation.

"Good god, your hands are freezing," Luca commented, letting out a chuckle and moving his right hand to the other side of hers. "You need a warm drink in you," he said, in that thick accent of his sending a shiver down her spine.

"Well, I wouldn’t mind a hot chocolate, if a fine dining establishment like this can manage it?" Dannie suggested, enjoying the heat from his hands engulfing her own.

Luca's mouth curled upward and nodded, "Yeah, I think I can manage that just fine," he assured, rubbing small circles against her skin. "I'm sure the kitchen has everything I need for this special request," he informed. "Anything for you—as friend of Aya's," he added quickly.

If Dannie’s was not mistaken, there was a hint of red he saw on the man's lightly freckled cheeks.

"I will be sure to get that out you, Dannie," he promised.

"Thank you Chef Luca,"

Reluctantly, Dannie pulled her hand from his grasp. Silence lingered between them for a moment and blue eyes stared unblinking into dark brown eyes. His intense eyes sent another pleasurable shiver down Dannie’s spine. That look…God, it made the temperature in the room increase by at least five degrees. Aya sharply cleared her throat, snapping them from their heated gaze.

"Right," Luca began, clearing his throat himself. "One hot chocolate coming right up for the birthday girl," he said, with a grin before leaving for the kitchen.

Dannie watched his form retreat. Luca went to rub the back of his neck, clearly feeling sheepish. Three quick snaps drew Dannie’s attention back in front of her to Aya grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

"Girllll," Aya sung, her eyebrows raised high. "What was that?" she asked, leaning her body forward. "Did I just inadvertently play matchmaker? Is this love at the first sight?" she questioned.

"Listen, it may not be love at first sight, but…” Dannie answered, taking both of Aya's hand. "The spirit of Tamera has fully possessed my body!" she joked, causing both of them to quietly squeal together and lightly stomp their feet on the floor.

~~~x~~~

An hour later

"This has been one of the best meals I have ever tasted in my entire life," Dannie stated, dabbing the corners of her mouth with a napkin.

Aya hummed in agreement, "Including the specially made hot chocolate?" she asked teasingly, wriggling her eyebrows.

"Yes, the hot chocolate too," Dannie agreed with exasperation, rolling her eyes and laughing.

"Maybe we should send our compliments to the chef, personally," Aya suggested, a mischievous expression on her face.

"No!" Dannie whispered, her face growing hot at the mere thought of Luca coming back to the table.

"Why the fuck not?" she whispered back. "You two were practically eye fucking each other in front of me earlier," she pointed out.

"Okay, but—"

"Excuse me," Aya called, cutting Dannie off and a maître d' promptly was at their table. "The dessert was absolutely phenomenal. My friend here would like to personally send her compliments to the chef who made it," she explained, a barely hidden smirk on her lips.

"Of course, ma'am,"

Feeling utterly mortified, Dannie had taken to hiding her face behind her hand.

"Why would you do that?" Dannie asked, her hand sliding down to cover half her mouth.

"Come on, you’ll thank me later," Aya dismissed, picking up her wine glass. "You and Luca would be such a hot couple together," she said, before sipping her dry red.

"Really?" Dannie asked skeptically.

"Yes bitch!" Aya responded, almost in disbelief she had to answer that.

Dannie grabbed her own wine glass and raised it to her lips, thinking of Luca. His warm demeanor was definitely an attractive trait, as well as his prowess in baking such delicious treats. Any woman with a pulse will find that trait irresistible in a man.

"I was told I've been summoned,"

The sound of a British accent instantly snapped from Dannie from her musings and straighten up her posture. Looking up, Luca was at their table and smiling at the two of them, his hands folded behind his back.

"Yes, hello Chef Luca!" Aya greeted, with a knowing grin. "The dessert was to die for!" she complimented. "Dannie and I just had to tell you in person. Right Dannie?" she asked, nodding encouragingly.

"Everything was superb, Chef Luca," Dannie agreed, "Thank you,"

"You're very welcome and thank you. I'm so glad you enjoyed it," he said.

"Before you go Luca, could you tell the maître d we're ready for the check?" Aya said.

"Ah, yes the check," he replied. "I already have it here," he informed, unfolding his arms and giving the little black book to Dannie.

Opening the book, let out a small gasp of surprise. The receipt showed a balance of zero.

"Are you kidding me?" Dannie asked, glancing back up at him.

"The chef heard it's your first time in Copenhagen, wanted to make this an unforgettable experience," Luca explained.

"Job well done, I'll say," Dannie retorted, chuckling a little. "I fear wherever I go next in Copenhagen nothing will hold a candle to this,"

"Well, I know my way around the city pretty well," Luca began. "I can show you some spots that will blow you away, if you’ll let me," he offered, smiling shyly.

Dannie nodded vigorously with a smile, "That would be amazing, Luca. Thank you," she said, mindlessly playing with her ginger dyed hair.

Luca’a face seemed to brighten and a faint blush starting to cross his cheeks, "Saturday?" he questioned.

Dannie took the pen from the checkbook and wrote her phone number on the receipt.

"Saturday,"

~~~x~~~

Saturday

Dannie loved farmers markets. There was always just a magical feel when she visited one. Now, compound that with the fact that she was in a different country during Christmastime and she might as well been in Winter Wonderland. Above, the sun shone uninhibited in a perfect, cloudless blue sky. With a gentle breeze, snow from the ground and buildings swirled past Dannie as tiny crystals. She could not envision a more perfect day for a first date.

"I think you're a mind reader Luca," Dannie said, stealing a glance at him. "I absolutely adore farmers markets," she informed, with a smile.

"I promised I'd show you the best spots in the city, didn't I?" he reminded, their arms brushing against each other as they walked side by side.

She nodded, "You did," she agreed. "Keeping promises, a good quality to possess. I like that in a man," she stated, their arms brushing again.

Luca smirked, "Noted," he said, smoothly lacing his fingers with hers.

Dannie’s heart fluttered, her chest blossoming with warmth. She could've just melted right into a puddle at that very moment. They made their way deeper into the busy market, walking through the narrow lane as the mouthwatering aroma of roasted chestnuts and mulled wine was soon thick in the air.

Along a few connecting streets, each road was dedicated to different vendors. One street was filled with paintings and handmade jewelry. Another street had fresh produce and jams. While a different different part of the market was selling hot food based on scent alone from how strong it was.

"You know," Luca began. "Aya said you were studying abroad, but you never said what for," he said.

She chuckled, "You're right, we knew you were needed in the kitchen, so our conversation was pretty limited," Dannie recalled, with a nod. "History, that’s what's I’m here. I’m a history major,"

"Ooh, not my best subject," he mentioned, laughing lightly. "History class use to always put me to sleep," he joked.

"Why does everyone say that!" Dannie exclaimed lightly, laughing a little. "You mean to tell me there was never a time period you learned about and just became obsessed with it?" she asked,

"I became obsessed with baking at a young age," he answered. "You, on the other hand, are a true history buff. I can tell just by how excited you’re getting," he stated. "So, tell me, what are your favorite periods to study?" he asked.

"It’s World War I followed by the Roaring 20s, then World War II, lastly the 50s and 60s," Dannie listed, using her free hand to count them off. "I dabble in The Gilded Age as well," she added, shrugging her shoulders. "I don't know something within me just gravitated to those periods the moment I learned about them in school. I think it’s mainly the aesthetics, fashion, and music," she explained, smiling softly. "To be clear though, I would never want to live through those eras. The world is hostile enough to Black people as it is. I can hardly imagine what it was like back then," she finished, raising a finger.

When Luca didn't reply after a beat, Dannie began to internally panic thinking she said something wrong.

"Oh no, did I kill the vibe?" Dannie asked, with a horrified expression. "I swear every time I speak about my love of history it always somehow results in vibe killing,"

"No, no," Luca reassured. "I'm just admiring how cute you are nerding out over history, I do the same when it comes to cooking," he explained, with a grin.

"Well, join me in my cuteness and tell me what made you nerd out over cooking," Dannie said, playfully bumping his shoulder.

"I fear the amount of time that would take would consume our whole date," Luca joked.

"And I want to hear every second of it," Dannie said. "I'm dying to know how the man next to me became the esteemed Chef Luca,"

"Alright, you asked for it," he said, letting out a chuckle.

Listening with her full attention, Dannie learned from Luca how at a very young age he’s always had a passion for cooking and because of that he was able to hone in on his skills. Of course, this led to Luca thinking he was ‘the shit’ by the time he got to culinary school, carrying a major chip on his shoulder. That chip stayed him as he progressed into his career until he was unintentionally humbled by another chef after witnessing their skills in the kitchen. Without working with this chef, Luca swears he would not be where he is now had it not been from him.

"So, a slice of humble pie did the trick, huh?" Dannie concluded, her tone teasing.

"Yeah, yeah it did," Luca admitted, laughing and nodding his head. "You can either choose to accept it or deny it. Luckily, I accepted it and changed the course of my career," he went on.

They crossed into the main of the market, stumbling upon the Christmas market . The massive space was filled with all sorts of food vendors, stalls, vendor kiosks, and there was even a petting zoo with a variety of farm animals. At the center of it all, a gigantic Christmas tree stood, towering above everything in the square. The freshly cut pine tree was covered in lights, garland, and ornate ornaments.

"This will always be my favorite time of the year," Dannie sighed wistfully, admiring the lights and decorations around them.

"I remember spending my first Christmas here in Copenhagen," Luca mentioned. "It felt like I was in a movie," he added.

"If it snows on Christmas Day, that would just put the icing on top of the cake,"

He turned to look at her, "You know what, an idea just popped into my head,"

"What?"

"Has anyone ever made you dessert from scratch?"

"Yeah, some family members of mine, but never like a romantic partner or anything like that," she answered, and the realization dawned on her. "Wait—are you offering to do that for me?"

"I am," he nodded. "You mentioned cake and the gears in my mind started turning," hestated. "Plus, all the ingredients I would need are all around me,"

"Making a girl feel special, that must be your superpower Luca," Dannie joked.

“Not just any girl. I like to make you, feel special Dannie,” he corrected, squeezing her hand.

She giggled, "If you’re making dessert from scratch, chances are I won’t be able to enjoy the fruits of your labor tonight,"

"Guess you'll have to come back to my place again tomorrow then," Luca suggested, smirking slightly. "Come on," he said, leading her the nearest stall.

For the next thirty minutes, Dannie and Luca shopped at the farmers market, grabbing everything necessary for the surprise dessert Luca was going to make. Instead of the usual 'divide and conquer' tactic, they remained together, tackling neighboring stalls at the same time. After two laps around the market, Dannie and Luca were at there final stalls. Luca was at a strawberry vendor a few stalls down, while Dannie waited at a honey seller’s. Shifting the weight between her feet, Dannie could feel her feet start to grow tired from walking. Another minute passed before the older woman handed her the jar of honey with a smile.

"Is there anything else you and your boyfriend are interested in purchasing?" the older woman questioned, still wearing a kind smile.

Boyfriend. The term nearly makes her choke on her water she was drinking.

"Oh no, we’re not—" Dannie began, but stopped herself. "Thank you for the honey, ma'am," she finished, nodding her head and placing it in her canvas tote bag.

Not soon after, Luca appeared next to her carrying his own bag of groceries. Automatically, his hand came to rest on her lower back.

"Do we everything we need?" he asked.

"I believe so," Dannie replied, with a nod. "Can't wait for you to wow me again in a more intimate setting this time,"

"I aim to please, love,"

"A fucking pet name? Pick me up from the goddamn floor!" Dannie thought.

Grinning, she linked her arm with his, "Next time, instead you baking for me, I want to be apart of the baking process," Dannie informed.

"You’re already planning for a next time?" he questioned, arching his brow.

"Of course, do you know how rare it is to find a man who has a passion for baking?" she quipped, raising an eyebrow of her own.

"Back to my place?"

"Lead the way," Dannie encouraged, and Luca guided her out the farmers market

~~~x~~~

"I cannot wait to eat this cheesecake," Dannie said, leaning back on the counter and crossing her arms. "Too bad I have to wait until tomorrow to get a slice," she pouted playfully.

"We can have a slice of it over afternoon tea," Luca suggested, carefully placing the cheesecake into the refrigerator.

Dannie rolled her eyes, "Ugh, god you’re so disgustingly British," she teased.

He closed the door to the fridge, "Hey, don’t knock it until you try it," he retorted, pointing the tip of the wine bottle at her that he grabbed.

"I'll have you know, my drink of choice is a strong coffee," Dannie informed, lightly digging her index finger into his pec. It took everything in her to keep a straight face feeling the firmness of the muscle. "Not black coffee though, I'm not a serial killer," she clarified, laughing lightly which he shared. "But because you're so cute, I'm willing to try it for you," Dannie conceded, booping the tip of his nose.

"You'll thank me for expanding your palette," he quipped, causing her to roll her eyes again. "If you would be so kind to get the glasses, love,"

"Since you asked so nicely," Dannie said, moving over to the overhead cupboard.

Grabbing two wine glass, she turned back around just in time to get a perfect view of Luca's back. His shirt was just tight enough that she could watch the flex of Luca's muscles in his biceps and shoulders underneath the fabric.

"So goddamn strong," Dannie thought. "I wonder what it would feel like to have that grip around my hips or my ne—"

The cork escaped the bottle's hold with an echoing pop, snapping Dannie from her impure thoughts.

"You okay back there?" Luca asked.

She cleared her throat, "Yeah, totally," she answered, finally walking back over. "I didn't want to startle you as you opened the wine," she explained, placing the glasses down.

Filling both glasses, Luca handed her a glass first and then picked up his own.

"Cheers," Luca said, tilting his glass.

"Cheers," Dannie echoed, clinking their glasses together and sipping their wine in unison.

Lowering his glass, Luca’s gaze fell back on Dannie.

"After our afternoon tea and cheesecake, how would you feel going to the National Gallery of Denmark with me?" she wondered, swirling her wine around in one hand while the other reached for a blueberry left over in a bowl.

"I would love that,"

"It’s a date then," Dannie smiled, dipping the berry into the bowl of whipped cream and popping it into her mouth.

Pure bliss swept over her face at the sweet and tangy flavor flooding her taste buds.

"Fuck that was so good," Dannie laughed, shaking her head when Luca leaned in towards her. She swallowed. "Luca?" she asked, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe.

"Sorry, you…you got a little something…" he trailed off. "Right," he continued softly, reaching out with his thumb and gently wiping leftover whipped cream from the corner of her mouth. His thumb drew across her bottom lip. "There," he finished, dragging her lips apart slightly.

Dannie couldn't move from her spot, and from the looks neither could Luca.

"Silly me, I’m such a slob," she said, the words coming out in one soft breath.

He removed his thumb from her lips, "No, you’re fine," Luca responded, before bringing his glass back to his mouth and quickly downing the rest of his drink. Clearing his throat, he placed the cup back down on the counter. "It might not be the cheesecake, but might I offer you the best strawberry you'll ever eat?" he asked, regaining his usual warm demeanor.

Dannie smirked, throwing back the rest of her wine as well, "You may, since you forbade me from eating any earlier," she reminded, putting her glass down.

Luca grinned, plucking a freshly washed strawberry from the bowl and gently pressed it against Dannie's lips. The move caused a giggle to bubble within her chest and her face to flush with heat. Opening her mouth, Dannie bit down into the perfectly proportioned fruit in Luca's fingers which moved a little. The sweet juices filled her mouth, a drop of it escaping from a corner of her lips.

"How was that?" he asked, a cheeky smile on his face.

"Mmm," Dannie hummed in satisfaction, closing her eyes and nodding. She waited a moment after swallowing her first bite, still relishing the nectar of the fruit, before speaking. "Certainly the juiciest strawberry I've ever eaten," she responded, wiping the corners of her mouth with the back of her finger. "You flinched slightly when I bit into it," she pointed out, making Luca chuckle.

"I was hoping you wouldn’t notice,"

"Don't worry, I don’t bite..." Dannie promised, her voice dropping a pitch. Instantly, Luca's cheeks flared red at her words. "Unless, you want me to," she teased, and leaned forward to bite into the remaining strawberry.

"Fuck me..." Luca breathed.

Smiling coyly, Dannie turned her back to Luca and started to walk over to the living room. Suddenly, a pair of warm, strong hands gripped her waist and spun her back around. Luca's face was expressionless, but his pupils had darkened considerably and flickered over her face. Dannie met his stare through hooded eyes, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. The tension between them was palpable and it hung thick, making the soft and shallow breaths from both of them more pronounced. Luca ran his hand across her lower back before pulling her closer, dipping his head towards her.

The little space remaining between the two sent Dannie's heartbeat into overdrive. Their faces were barely an inch from each other. Her eyes dropped to his lips, slowly making their way back up her his by way of his jawline. It was as if a dam broke. Within a blink of the eye, Luca pressed his mouth against Dannie's. Inhaling sharply, any and all thoughts flew from her head at the feeling of his lips. Dannie softly moaned into the kiss, her eyes closing while her fingers found their way to grip on Luca's blond locks. Eagerly, she returned the kiss as he walked her back until her lower back was pressed into the edge of the granite countertop.

"God, you're so beautiful," he huffed out before leaning back down to kiss her roughly.

Luca's palms slipped beneath Dannie's sweater to glide across her warm skin, his lips nipping hungrily at her lower lip. Only heavy breathing and the smacking of lips filled the air of the kitchen. With practiced ease, Luca wedged his leg between her own while his left hand skirted around her midsection until it he hooked her leg around his hip. Dannie's hands gently made their way to unbutton Luca's shirt, finally being able to fully appreciate the taut muscles underneath her fingers.

Another moan fell from Dannie, this one breathier than before. His body responded, grounding himself into her. Moving his mouth to the corner of hers, Luca's lips trailed down her neck, peppering open mouthed kisses down her jaw and neck. Dannie could only pant his name in quick, short gasps.

"Luca…Luca…." she breathed, her head thrown back.

Slowly, he drew back from her, forcing Dannie to open her eyes and lift her head up. Staring into his smoldering eyes, Dannie was mesmerized by the flush that stained Luca’s cheeks and neck, not to mention his swollen lips. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers, both their breathing labored.She felt herself chasing his lips as he withdrew. Luca wrapped his arms around her thighs and effortlessly lifted her onto the cool countertop.

"You're too good at this," Dannie commented breathlessly, before capturing his lips in another slow, languid kiss. "I bet there has been many girls in this same position," she suggested, kissing him again while her hands busied themselves with undoing his belt.

"Not on the island darling," he whispered, running his tongue along the slope of where her neck curved into her shoulder, making her shudder uncontrollably.

"No one has had the pleasure of christening this?" Dannie questioned, slowly dragging her legs up to wrap around his waist.

"Until now, no," Luca answered, his face retreating from her neck. "Would you like to do the honors?" he asked, smirking at her.

Her legs tightened around his hips, "Yes Chef,"

[mikhailwrites]

Get well soon / Ghost x Soap

Kinktober #17 - Sickfic

Gaz takes one look at him before the morning briefing. “Shouldn’t you be in bed or something?” Soap waves him off. It’s not that bad, he keeps telling himself. It’s not like he’s a kid anymore; he can tackle terrorists; some puny flu ain’t a problem. And it ain't, until he collapses.

Ever since he was a kid, Johnny didn’t get sick often. A hardy highland bairn and all that. But when he did, it was always bad. His joints hurt, his head pounding, his stomach was all wobbly, unable to hold anything down, and he had a fever that would make anyone worry, if not straight up calling an ambulance.

Every time, it only lasted for a few days, but it was nasty and left Johnny exhausted.

Soap hasn’t been sick in years. Since he’s made it to SAS. It was a miracle, what with all the travelling, bad weather and harsh conditions they had to endure. Yet, at the same time, they were in top shape. Johnny’s life depended on his body functioning like a well-oiled machine, and he made every effort to keep it that way.

That’s why he is surprised – no – shocked when he wakes up with a sore throat, achy joints and a headache. They haven’t been deployed for several weeks, so it’s only typical British winter; wet and freezing - he has to deal with. There’s no way it is bringing him down, especially right before his leave to spend Christmas with his parents and siblings in Scotland.

Unless, of course, it is and in a rather spectacular manner at that. Gaz takes one look at him before the morning briefing. “Shouldn’t you be in bed or something?” Soap waves him off. It’s not that bad, he keeps telling himself. It’s not like he’s a kid anymore; he can tackle terrorists; some puny flu ain’t a problem.

When he’s lucky to make it to the bathroom before he throws up his lunch, he starts to have some doubts. Still, he has duties to attend to and no time to be sick. Who else is going to harass some poor recruits? And the damn paperwork isn’t going to fill and sign by itself.

He soldiers on as usual, with the sole example of skipping the gym; Soap is happy he’s able to drag his sorry arse about. No way he could lift any weight like this. Some bloke in the mess hall makes an off-handed comment about Soap looking like shit. Soap ignores it, which gets him a bunch of raised eyebrows. Soap has a reputation as someone you don’t want to mess with.

Today, he only grunts out some half-hearted insult as he goes about his business. Unaware of a pair of brown eyes watching him intently from behind the skull mask.

It only gets worse from there. The headache is absolutely killing him, no matter the amount of painkillers he’s already had. The bad knee aches and itches and twitches, making him even more fidgety than usual. Soap is also reasonably sure he’s running a fever. He should drink a lot of water. Would, too, if not for his damn upset stomach. He’s downright miserable.

He stands in the rain, raincoat doing nothing to keep the humid air from clinging to him. He’s so cold, shivering like a bloody chihuahua. Looking at his watch, Soap sighs. Still an hour to go. “No slacking off, keep up!” he hollers at the recruits who are drenched in rain and mud. At least he’ll be done for the day. Sweet Jesus, how he looks forward to his bed! Soap daydreams for a second, imagining the warm blanket and the quiet to soothe his headache.

Blinking the image away, he sees one of the recruits struggle behind. Soap is ready to go to him and make him do at least fifty mud-kissing push-ups. He takes a step forward and pauses as the world spins around him. Johnny takes a deep breath, trying to keep his balance. It only makes it worse, somehow. He needs to sit down but is far too unstable to attempt it. Instead, he stands there, praying the dizziness would go away. He can wait it out; he can do it. The moment his vision darkens, and the low hum fills his ears, he knows he’s fucked. And there’s nothing he can do.

The last thought to go through his head is that the nice thing about passing out is that you’re not present to the embarrassment of it.

He wakes up and, for a fleeting moment, thinks he’s feeling much better. It’s a lie. A few seconds later, his hand shoots to his forehead, clutching at it and moaning weekly in pain. It’s not a headache – well, it’s not just the headache. There’s something more tangible about it now.

Soap startles as someone opens his mouth and puts something small, round, bitter and disgusting on his tongue. Then, he feels the cold, hard edge of the glass being pressed against his lower lip. Someone cups the back of his head to steady him, but it hurts, and he tries to make it stop, so Soap tries to turn away. The hand simply grabs a handful of his mohawk and forces him to stay in place as the glass is carefully pitched, and he’s gulping down a bit of cool water along with the pills. There’s some more water being slowly poured into his mouth in small increments, and, finally, his head is laid back on the pillow.

Johnny waits before he tries to open his eyes. It’s thankfully dark in the room, the blinders shut, lights off except for the small desk lamp; its light warm and soft enough for him to bear with it.

He turns his head, surprised to see Ghost there. “You’re an idiot,” Ghost says in the most flat way imaginable. “You knew you were sick and just kept pushing yourself.”

“It was fine... until it wasn’t,” Johnny sighs, his voice a whisper, as he wants to avoid overusing his throat out of fear of a coughing fit.

“Yeah, genius, it usually is,” Ghost stands so abruptly that Soap thinks for a second he’s going to hurt him. Instead, he leaves, leaving Johnny alone, confused and unable to process what just happened. Not with how his brain is mushed with the fatigue and a fever.

When he wakes up again, he actually feels much better. The headache is gone, leaving behind a different kind of pain. Gingerly touching the back of his head, Soap figures he must’ve hit it when he collapsed. His throat is still sore, and he feels awfully weak but still a lot better. Whatever the pills Ghost gave him, they worked.

As is often the case, he must’ve summoned Simon with his thoughts because there’s a soft knock, a brief pause, and then Simon enters. He’s lost the jacket and traded the mask for a balaclava. Moreover, he’s holding two cups of what’s presumably a tea and has a book tucked under his arm.

Setting the cups down and sitting on the chair by Johnny’s bed, he looks much softer than the last time. “How are you feeling?”

“Better... the pills worked,” Soap rasps, his voice rough. Almost like Simon’s, he realises.

“Good. Here, drink this,” he nudges the cup to Johnny. On second glance, only Simon’s has tea; Soap’s is something else. “It’s supposed to help with the fever and sore throat.”

Johnny takes the cup, cradling it against his chest. Who would’ve thought that infamous Ghost could be so sweet? “Thank you, LT.”

The drink is vile. Sour and weirdly sweet, with a hint of bitterness and tastes like about the half of “My First Chemistry Kit” mixed together. Soap forces it down his throat, nearly choking on it. Setting the cup down, he focuses on Ghost, who opens his book.

“You don’t have to stand guard by my bedside, Ghost. I’ll probably not die of cold,” Soap smiles.

Ghost doesn’t say anything for a while. It’s obvious he’s hesitating about something. Soap, for once, doesn’t push him. “Do you want me to go?”

“No... I just... didn’t want you to feel obliged or something,” Johnny hurriedly clarifies. Having Ghost here is nice. Not being alone, feeling like he’s cared for.

“I saw it... when you passed out,” Ghost admits, closing his book and setting it aside. There’s something about his voice that makes Johnny focus more. For a moment, his thoughts clarify enough to offer a possibility. Ghost was worried about him.

Soap blinks a few times. Oh. Damn. The whole talk about Soap being an idiot suddenly makes much more sense. “I’m sorry.”

Ghost nods, his gaze intense and warm. It doesn’t look like he’s going to say anything else, so Johnny relaxes. Not for long, however, as realisation hits him. “Wait a minute. Weren’t you supposed to be up north? Checking out the newest SAS candidate batch or something?”

“I switched with Kyle,” Ghost says, way too casually for Soap not to get immediately suspicious. It’s not like Ghost to get out of the assignment, even one he might consider menial. He must notice Soap’s furrowed brows as he sighs. “Fine. I asked Kyle to cover for me so I could keep an eye on you. I knew you were being reckless and stubborn but didn’t know how far you would take it.”

Soap almost takes offence. Nearly says that he didn’t ask for a bloody nanny. Then he reconsiders because he’s laying in bed, feeling like shit, after he collapsed on the job. Creepin’ Jesus, Ghost is right. Right to call him reckless and right to keep an eye on him. “Thank you, I guess…,” Johnny mutters, averting his gaze. At least he can blame the blush on fever.

“I don’t want your thanks, I want you to do better,” Ghost says with a conviction that startles Soap a little. “I need you to do better, Johnny. I need you to have my six out there, but I can’t bloody well trust you with it when you don’t even have your own shit together, can I?”

Soap feels his jaw drop as he stares at Ghost. That’s some harsh truth right here. And it hurts something crazy because he longs for Ghost’s approval and trust. He yearns for him in a way that would get him fired from the force. “I just… didnae want tae bother anyone.”

What little can be seen of Ghost’s eyebrows disappear under the balaclava as he raises them in clear astonishment. “Didn’t want to bother anyone? You nearly gave me a heart attack, Johnny.” The way Ghost says that, the way he drops his gaze and digs his gloved hands into his knees, is stirring something in Johnny. Hope.

 Soap fidgets with the hem of the blanket out of sheer necessity to do something with his hands. There’s a lot going on in his tired, slightly delirious, overheated head. Too much not to end up in some serious trouble. “Kiss me?” He blurts out like a madman he is.

Simon’s head whips right up, eyes blown wide with shock. It’s precious to see him like this, but he regains his composure quickly. “Johnny… you’re not thinking straight.”

“Yer right aboot that,” Johnny smirks, unable to resist the call of the particularly bad pun.  He sobers up quickly. “I want it, Simon. Do ye? If not, just say the word, and we can just… blame it on the fever.”

“What I want is not important,” Simon tries to buy some time to think.

“I’m not hearing a no, Ghost,” Soap presses him on, licking his lips on purpose, just to tease the other man.

Simon huffs out a quiet laugh before he tucks the balaclava up on his nose, revealing thin, scarred lips, blond stubble and strong jaw. There’s no hesitation when he gets up from the chair slowly, leaning on the bed and closer to Johnny, whose mind is a neverending repeat of “yesyesyesyesyes…”.

Johnny angles his head up and with Simon so close, closes his eyes. He feels Simon’s breath on his face, there’s a trace of cigarette and a mint he took earlier. Johnny parts his lips slightly, waiting, waiting…

And Simon does kiss him. On the forehead. The absolute wanker!

He stays close as he says: “Let’s have this talk when you feel better.”

[comfortless]

"held back by a leash that no one’s ever thought to untie, constantly growling and leaping at anything that gets too close just to simmer down to whimpering and begging the second he’s pet just once" ??? 😩 This is so real and relatable (I'm crying in the corner of my room). Lord have mercy, I need to kiss every ridge and groove on your brain.

The way I giggled when you mentioned his fleshlight is crazy. I was actually thinking of saying something similar but then I decided against cause the message would've been too long. I was trying to decide if he would be the type of man to get one of those insanely realistic sex dolls. Maybe he felt particularly desperate to have something in his bed (something that can't just get their clothes and leave before he wakes up) or he would just be curious. If he actually got it, by being impulsive, now he has this thing in his house and kind of regrets it. Yeah, it's soft and doesn't look bad, but it definitely doesn't look like a real woman either. It gives him the uncanny valley effect and puts it out of sight for now. How would he even get rid of something like that? Is it recyclable?

I've got brainrot when it comes to this man, I know. I might start reading Letters to Milena by Kafka so I can yearn more accurately for a man that doesn't even exist. This time I have no nice poems to quote but I feel like Konig is very much Sleep token coded. Idk what type of music you like but their lyrics are yummy.

P. S. Your fics are like vitamin D + Omega 3 getting me through this shitty British weather with my sanity more or less intact. Lots of consensual kisses!

oh my gosh and you are more brazen than me because i thought the same, just… kept that to myself!

if he has the money why would he settle on some little silicone tube when he could at least have something to cuddle up with, too? it isn’t like he has visitors often (or at all), though there are some nights when he definitely feels pathetic and disgusting for having it: haphazardly shoves the doll in the closet and settles for his hand instead…

also much to ponder in regards to his impulse control…! for the most part, he probably considers himself to be pretty rational; reasons with every decision by thinking well, x happened so then comes y. his dating life is shallow at best and utterly devoid of anything at worst, it’s… reasonable that he would have some sort of outlet, even if he knows that buying the damned thing has basically sentenced him to never having any sort of stable relationship. if some sweet woman actually gave him more than just the time of day, if she actually wanted to be with him but… she sees that mimicry of a woman’s warmth lying in his bed? she’s either laughing at him or immediately making up some excuse to leave. and if that happens, then of course he’s got to find a way to get rid of it. he’s tossing it in a hole in his backyard or burning it. sorry environment. this is König’s world now and the sex doll can no longer be in it..!

he would never pull something comparatively ridiculous in his career, maybe a few mistakes here and there but he plays a character when he’s König. and König is all menace or indifference, never the pitiful thing that gets so wound up over his own purchase he’s got to destroy it at all costs. though in the time that he did have it… the soldiers around him are certainly aware that he had some ‘girlfriend’ he spoke rather highly of at home that always had her legs open for him. he never seemed in higher spirits, though…

Letters to Milena is sooo quotable for him. i will give you this one: “Auch ist es vielleicht nicht eigentlich Liebe wenn ich sage, daß Du mir das Liebste bist; Liebe ist, dass Du mir das Messer bist, mit dem ich in mir wühle.”

i have an entire ridiculous playlist that is just… all over the place with songs that remind me of him, perhaps i will give Sleep Token a chance and throw a few onto it! ^^ i am always looking out for König-coded songs… Never Land by Sisters of Mercy is possibly my favorite to suggest when it comes to him. <3 the full length is my go to but - a fragment encapsulates it almost as well!

burying you in a world of hugs right now, anon! pleeease send your weather my way! it is HOT here! your messages are vitamin C and a lovely cup of earl grey to me! <3 i am glad that you appeared!

[wannab-urs]

Build Me Up Buttercup | Ch. 2

Just to let me down?

Summary: You get a verdict on your essay and have a little run in at the bar

Word Count: 800ish - sorry it’s so short. I couldn’t resist the cliffhanger and had to cut it off.

Warnings: Still none... but we're getting closer!

P.S. I plan on updating this daily but also if I can't get a chapter finished, I can't get it finished, ya know?

You’re sitting in the library, presumably working on an essay for Modern British Lit, but really you’re thinking about Dr. Miller. Yesterday, you had been closer to him than you ever have before. You sit at the back of his class and never raise your hand to answer questions, afraid he’d dismiss your answer outright. 

He’s hot from a distance sure, but up close? Holy shit. The way his curls fell over his eyes as he worked. The way his tongue poked out between his lips. It’s almost cute. And then the way his biceps bulged beneath his weathered band tee… He’s seriously gorgeous. He has to be, what? In his mid 50s? You were used to men that old looking like your granddad… he was far from looking like a grandpa yesterday. 

The sound of an email notification interrupts your train of thought.

See me in my office 

-Miller 

How formal. God damn, he’s an asshole. He’s an asshole. He’s not fucking cute.

You assume it’s about your essay, so you decide to stop by his office after your Chaucer class. That class is a trip. The professor wears these weird ass outfits all the time with vibrantly colored pants and you’re honestly kind of living for it. But he also keeps giving you Bs on all your essays without any feedback as to why they’re not As. You’d take your solid B in that class over your 57 in Miller’s class any day though.

You resolve to go to his office hours again later today and go back to trying to write your essay.

He’s preoccupied again, taking notes on a book you can’t see the name of, when you get to his office. Today he’s opted for a black Led Zeppelin shirt that’s obviously vintage, small holes revealing tiny peeks of his broad chest. His hair is even more unruly today and the disheveled former punk vibes are a really good look on him. Bastard. 

Before you even open your mouth to speak, he does that hand thing, like he’s shooing you away. You decide to just sit down and wait for him to finish what he’s doing. 

After what feels like half an hour but is probably a minute, he sets his pen down in the book and closes the cover. The book is called “Neoliberalism on the Ground” Seems… actually interesting. Your eyes flick up to his face and he’s looking at you expectantly, as if you asked to see him. 

“Well?” You arch an eyebrow at him.

“I reread your essay.” You stare at him waiting for him to elaborate. He doesn’t.

 “And?” 

“And it was good.” 

It was good? That’s all?  “And?” 

“And I’ll change your grade to a B.” 

A fucking B? Fine. Whatever. Best you’re gonna get. “Why the change of heart?” 

“Didn’t read it the first time.” 

“Are you serious?” No like, is he actually fucking kidding right now?

“Saw the neo-gothic cathedral on the cover, gave you a D, moved on.” 

“What!? I spent hours on that! Days! And you had the audacity to not even fu--- to not even read it? Are you kidding me?” 

“Listen, sweetheart, if you had to read 98 amateur architecture essays, you’d skim too.” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

“Do you want me to change the grade back?” 

“Do you want me to report you?”

“Fair enough.” 

God, you want to strangle him. “Is that all, then, Miller?” 

“Don’t call me that.” Jesus fucking christ. 

You roll your eyes and stomp out of his office.

You’re sitting at a hightop in the bar just off campus with Cooper and your other friend Em, filling them in on the essay drama. 

“So, yeah, he called me ‘sweetheart’ and I left,” you finish. 

“Wait, is Dr. Miller the hot one?”

“Yes, Em, pay attention,” Coop says, rolling their eyes. 

“Yes. He’s attractive. That is SO not the point, though?!” Your friends are ridiculous. 

“So… how did you get him to up the grade? Did you give him head under his desk or something?” Em teases, a conspiratorial glint in her eye.

“Gross! No!” 

“I would have… I’ve seen him on campus. I’d suck the meat off them bones.” 

“You are absolutely disgusting, Emily. No I did not give my professor a fucking blowjob to get a better grade!” 

“I’m just saying! You could do worse…” 

“I just asked him to show me a modicum of respect. Jesus fucking Christ.” 

“Oh my god is that him?” Cooper is staring hard at the back of some dude’s head at the bar. He has curly brown hair streaked with gray and broad shoulders covered in a green flannel. Shit that could be him.

“There’s no way Dr. Miller is here right now. I will literally kill myself.” 

At the sound of his name, Dr. Miller turns and looks over his shoulder, immediately locking eyes with you. 

“Oh shit, that is him,” you say, ducking your head and hoping he won’t see you. Play it cool. There’s no way he actually heard you. 

“Is he still looking?” You ask, peeking up at your friends.

“Um-” Cooper starts.

“Hi there, sweetheart.”

Tag List: @beskarandblasters, @cutesyscreenname, @atinylittlepain, @wednesdayday, @whoiscaroline, @goldenhxurs, @northernwindd, @djarinxore, @worhols, @amanitacowboy, @silkiers, @4ueijos, @livinxdeadxgrl, @chknikkbxss, @thepriceofpepper, @lexic-22, @sunshinebtrfly, @ccelinea, @harriedandharassed

[sushisocks]

opinions on darragh macguire go 🎤

*grabs the mic with such fervency i almost topple off my soap box*

NO IDEA WHAT HE LOOKS LIKE AND YET I NEED THAT MAN CARNALLY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Imagine spending YEARS of your life, DECADES, fighting for the independence of your people. From activism to politics, some might call you extreme but if that’s what it takes to make them listen, then that’s what you’ll be.

AND THEN YOU HAVE A KID!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! We know NOTHING about the circumstances of Sean’s conception and birth - whether his mother was a woman loved by Darragh who died in childbirth or when he was very young still, or a one-off who didn’t want anything to do with the child once it was born and nursed. 

What we DO know is that Darragh sure as HELL stepped up to the plate!! We know Sean LOVED his dad, that he has LOTS of memories of his dad. Darragh CLEARLY did his damn best raising Sean, sharing what he knew and making Sean feel loved. The fact that Sean is so clearly homesick, probably would not have left Ireland if given the choice, yet does not EVER insinuate blaming his father or carrying any sort of grudge for where he has ended up, speaks TONNES about how Darragh handled having to flee Ireland with his probably-still-rather-young son. 

That man was a GOOD father, who probably had emotional intelligence up the wazoo, and that’s truly NOT a large jump given that we see the same still cooking in Sean. I think Sean in many ways is the spitting image of his father, just younger and less weathered by the world.

“No politics is politics” is still one of the truest, most based, realest fucking lines in the game, and ITS SAID AS A QUOTED FROM DARRAGH BY HIS GODDAMN SON!!!! That tells us SO MUCH about not only where Sean comes from, but also who Darragh was. He might not have had the booksmarts or the means, but he showed Sean a love and sense of being that really did do him well in the long run.

And like, shit man, any Irishman being a menace to the British government at that time (and ever) is a goddamn hero in my book. That’s a man I’d have a fucking drink with, I’ll tell you that.

The BEST goddamn father figure in the entire franchise is a man who we don’t even have a picture of. Darragh MacGuire, ladies and gentlemen. I’ll die on that fucking hill.

[kumeko]

A/N: For the @gotonyzine zine! Crowley definitely fell first and realized first. Unfortunately his angel is a bit of a dense block.

…

…

…

…

The weather was warm, the clouds non-existent, and Crowley imagined this was a rare nice British summer day. He wasn’t sure when or why he’d decided to stick to the UK after centuries of traveling across the world. While it wasn’t the warmest place he’d been, it also wasn’t the coldest. It was an insufferable middling, the kind of nothing that came from staying on the fence for too long.

In a sense, it was the perfect place for a demon from hell and an angel from heaven to meet. A neutral place, a mid ground.

That didn’t make the country any better, but it made him feel smart and that was worth much more.

Speaking of his angel, Crowley leaned back on the metal bench in the park, amused as he watched Aziraphale hurry across the park to him. “You’re late,” he mildly reprimanded, more to tease his companion than anything else.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry about that.” Aziraphale dabbed his handkerchief to his face and neck as he stopped in front of the bench. He breathed heavily, exerted from however far he had to run to get here. It was mildly flattering. “I wanted to try that ‘skateboarding’ thing that everyone talks about.”

Crowley barked a laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

Aziraphale frowned. “I am.”

“You? Skateboarding?” He rubbed his moustache, unable to imagine it. “Please. You know how much work I had to put in to make it a thing? And priss you wants to try it?”

“What?” Aziraphale paled. He paced back and forth as Crowley watched. “I should have known you were behind this too.”

“What can I say? I had to make up for our recent losses.” Crowley shrugged. For all the nice things that had happened in the past decade, the 70s looked to undo so many of his tiny accomplishments. “We lost the Beatles. Elvis died. A war ended. Nixon stepped down. Don’t get me wrong, they all did their part and it was great, but…the 70s hasn’t been good for my side.”

Aziraphale spared him a glance while he paced. “The Beatles?”

The angel’s tone was flat, a muted surprise at best. Crowley smiled. “You know how it is. Musicians. Us. I’m a damn fine muse, if I say so myself.”

“Yes, I’ve seen you in a dress.” Aziraphale exhaled tiredly, running a hand through his hair. “Of course, all artists are yours. I should remember that better.”

Crowley studied the angel. How should he take that? Aziraphale liked the dress? He liked him in the dress? He was just being kind? It was hard to tell with him sometimes—Crowley had long known that angels were stuffy, rigid things, but Aziraphale took that to a different level.

“You know, for all of those ‘losses’, it doesn’t feel like my side’s winning,” Aziraphale pointed out. He finally came to a stop in front of him.

“Well, I didn’t say you were winning, just that my side is starting to lose.” Crowley shrugged. “Give it time. Besides, I can’t be amazing all the time. They’ll get expectations or something like that. I’m trying to have an easy life.”

“But you should want—” Aziraphale cut himself off. Crowley could just guess where the convo had been about to go: you should want to do your job properly.

Only, what sort of angel tried to encourage a demon to do bad?

Answer: the conflicted one biting his tongue in front of him. Crowley snickered.

“Anyways. Let’s get down to it.” Aziraphale plopped down beside him, his back straight, knees perfectly angled, body looking like it was about to escape. Maybe it was. “Our weekly report.”

“Date,” Crowley corrected, stretching his arms above him leisurely.

Aziraphale flushed a fetching shade of red. “Check-up.”

“To-may-to, to-mah-to.” Crowely shrugged, used to their mild quibble. They’d had it for years. It was a concession that Aziraphale had upgraded their meetings to ‘check-up’ as opposed to whatever professionally stuffy thing he had labelled them before.

“Why is that a saying? Does this ever happen?” Aziraphale threw his hands in the air. “No one’s going around correcting tomato pronunciations.”

“Someone must have.” He rolled his eyes. As usual, Aziraphale had a flair for the dramatics. Not that Crowley was one to talk.  “We were there for the inquisition. It was probably something blah blah enlightenment blah blah.”

“Those were dark times, now it should be better.” Aziraphale sighed. He pressed his hands into his thighs and exhaled softly. “Alright. Back to it. Are there any big movements on your side?”

“Not really.” Crowley shrugged lazily. He lolled his head back, staring up at the bright blue sky. Hell, it was nice today. Maybe he could give his plants some sunshine, if they behaved. “Like I said, it’s kinda a bad decade for us.”

Azirphale snorted. “Bad decade? You?” He turned to him disbelievingly. “Have you seen the state of the world?”

Crowley pursed his lips. Somewhere in the distance, a group of labourers marched in protest. “Well, admittedly, I hear how that sounds.”

“You hear?” Aziraphale gestured around them. A woman walking three dogs passed by, her smallest dog giving them the stink eye. There were sirens as cops came to handle the protest. Nearby, a small boy kicked another boy before running away.

Crowley curled his lip. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“I’m not being dramatic, I’m being practical. We have bars. With drugs. And so much lust. And pollution. And guns.” Aziraphale trembled, no doubt thinking of just how many sins were walking the earth now. “I’m surprised the horsemen haven’t just touched everything.”

“Well, they would have tried, but I don’t think the big guy down there’s ready yet. And they’re still figuring things out ever since Pestilence left.” Crowley shuddered. No matter how many times he dealt with the horsemen, they were all off-putting in different ways. Certainly not the kind of demons he wanted to hang around and have tea with. Or talk about nothing like he did with Aziraphale. “I still can’t believe that happened.”

Aziraphale hunched over. “Isn’t that a bad thing? Pollution is much stronger than Pestilence is.”

“These days, sure. It’s a lot easier to contaminate than disease…” Crowley trailed off as he noticed Aziraphale’s pose. That wasn’t good. For an angel, he got worried far too often and about inconsequential things. It was endearing at times. At others, Crowley wanted to give him some opium or weed.

“Oh, come on. It’s not nearly that bad.” Crowley reached over and patted his back. “I mean, a war ended. Nixon left. The only nice thing is that the hippies are finally done with their little spiel. I think the 70s is more your decade than ours.”

“I wouldn’t say that…” Aziraphale rested his chin in his hands, pouting. “If we’re doing well, it’s because nothing else is happening. We haven’t done anything big in a while. They’re going to start asking for results soon.”

“Then you’ll just have to do something big,” Crowley suggested lightly, pressing his thumb against Aziraphale’s jacket. The small indentation made him smile.

Aziraphale answered flatly, “If it were that easy, we wouldn’t be here.”

“True.” There was nothing else he could say to that.

They both sat there, watching as pedestrians passed, as children ran across the park fetching with their dogs. Crowley absent-mindedly brushed his moustache. Aziraphale scuffed his shoe. The wind picked up, stirring the flowers and grass.

Aziraphale finally broke the silence. “You don’t think those weird box things are going to catch on, do you?”

“Those what?” Crowley raised a brow, perplexed.

“Those metal things. The ones they press buttons and it has a screen and it changes colours.” Aziraphale stared at a tree blankly as he struggled to remember. “It’s, uh…technology…”

That sounded vaguely familiar. Crowley pursed his lips, running through his memories, before guessing, “A computer?”

“Yeah! That!” Aziraphale exhaled, pleased. “They’re kind of weird looking, aren’t they? Do you think they’d catch on?”

“I don’t know, they’re really big and clunky, right?” In all the centuries that passed, the one thing that hadn’t changed about humans was their penchant for strange ideas. For better and for worse. “I don’t know why anyone would use that. It’s not like they do much.”

“Me neither.” His angel beamed, ecstatic. “I’m sure it’ll go away soon enough.”

The shiver running up Crowley’s spine told him it wouldn’t. Maybe he should look later into taking advantage of the thing. It’d definitely make for an easy accomplishment. For now, though, he merely raised a brow and asked, “You seem eager. Why? The big guys upstairs mandate computers are our work now?”

“No, no.” Aziraphale shook his head quickly. Rubbing his neck nervously, he explained, “It just feels…I don’t know. Big? It feels like it might change everything. And, well, you know how it is. A lot’s changing already.”

“Angel, we’ve been down here for how long?” Crowley raised a brow, pointing at the buildings behind them. At the plane flying above them. “I don’t think these were here before the flood.”

“Well. No, they weren’t,” Aziraphale mumbled, eyes on the ground.

It wasn’t a look Crowley liked. He cocked his head and frowned. “Then, what’s wrong, angel?”

“Most of those changes were really slow.” Aziraphale wrung his hands helplessly. He answered slowly, trying to find the words. “Like, it took them so long to figure out how to make their own fire. Or a house. Or even clothes.”

Crowley wrinkled his nose, remembering those early years. “Remember how long it took them to figure out alcohol? Major success on our part, but we were far too slow about it.”

“That…” Aziraphale shot him a frown. “Anyways, the point is, it took them decades to figure out all of that and now mere years is all it takes before they’re flying planes and driving cars.”

“Well.” Crowley had to concede the point. “That is a bit fast, I suppose.”

“They’re going to space.”

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes at his companion’s theatrics. “A lot fast.”

“Do you think it’s the end of days?” Aziraphale worried his lip nervously. His hair looked like a sheep’s wool in the light. “You haven’t heard anything from downstairs, have you?”

“I told you, the head honcho hasn’t made his move yet.” Seeing Aziraphale only bit his lips harder, Crowley sighed and added, “Trust me, I’m a big deal these days. They’d tell me.”

Probably.

Actually, he wasn’t entirely certain of his status other than they bought his fake reports hook, line, and sinker, so either lower management thought he was doing a great job or they were just waiting to crush him.

Aziraphale still looked gloomy. It wasn’t a look that suited him at all. Crowley crossed his arms behind his head and continued, “Besides, it’s not like all the changes are bad, right? I mean, life has gotten way more interesting now that they’ve started making movies and shows.”

A smile flickered across his angel’s face. “They’re making it harder to sell books.”

“Turn your bookstore into a video store.” Crowley reached up and twirled his mustache. “I got a ‘stache, and that’s definitely a great change.”

Aziraphale’s smile grew wider. “It is a change.”

“Hey.” Crowley glared at him briefly.

“I’m sorry.” Aziraphale leaned closer, almost too close, as he examined the mustache. His breath ghosted Crowley’s skin and he held his own. “I suppose it is good.”

Only when Aziraphale leaned back did he finally let himself a small breath. Lightly, Crowley rebuked, “It’s great and you have no taste.”

“Fine, fine, it’s great,” Aziraphale repeated, chuckling. He reached down and squeezed Crowley’s hands gently. His skin was as cool as a cucumber’s, something Crowley hadn’t quite figured out if it was an angel-thing or an Aziraphale-thing. “Thanks.”

Crowley allowed himself a moment, allowed himself a chance to savour it. Then he got up, letting the angel’s fingers skim his skin. “It’s nothing. Because nothing happened. So, I’ll see you next week, usual time?"

“Yeah.” Aziraphale pursed his lips, his hand still gripping the air. He stared at it, as though it was asking a question, before quietly requesting, “Wait.”

Such a quiet word shouldn’t hold any power, but Crowley froze all the same. This was new. This was different. Aziraphale rarely stayed on the bench after they’d finished exchanging, even rarer had an entire chat with him. Extending the session on his own accord? Next to impossible.

Yet, that was what happened. Perplexed, Crowley stared down at him.

“I…” Aziraphale tugged his collar as he stood. “Look, let’s…let’s watch one of those movies together.”

Something in him jumped at the idea but Crowley kept his feelings in check. “What’s this, angel?”

“For research,” Aziraphale mumbled before shaking his head. “No, that’s not—it’s a thanks. For helping me feel better.” He smiled awkwardly. “We could watch that space movie or something.”

“Star Wars?” Crowley guessed automatically, still processing everything he’d heard.

“Yeah, that one.” Aziraphale smiled, nodding eagerly. “Is that fine?”

Crowley would have watched static if Aziraphale had asked. He grinned. “Lead the way, Angel.”

There were definitely some changes that were better than others. Their ever-adapting relationship was one of them.

He looked forward to seeing just how far it would go.

[elk96]

Too Good To Dream Of

Pairing: J. Robert. Oppenheimer (Cillian Murphy's Portrayal x male OC)

Words: 3282

Warnings: internalised homophobia, period typical homophobia, overstimulation, smut, anal sex, blowjobs, aftercare, flirting, biting, little bit of rough sex, gay sex.

Summary: A man from Oppenheimer's past comes to work at Los Alamos. With the help of whiskey and many martinis, a new fire lights up.

This is not in any way meant to be disrespectful towards J. Robert Oppenheimer!!- ( or Tim Dalton for that matter).

 The weather was windy-again-and quite cold. The only one who didn’t seem to care was the one who had brought that enormous amount of people there: Robert Oppenheimer. Holding firmly his porkpie hat in his head, he stood still, waiting for the new member of the laboratory team to step out of the car.

Tim Womak.

The enigmatic man from the past.

He didn’t seem to care about the weather either-in fact, didn’t give a damn would be the most suitable expression. With just a button up and a pair of worn-out jeans to protect himself from  the harsh air, a bright smile on his face, and dry paint in his hands and temples, he passed security and followed Groves to his house. 

Robert was to meet him of course, welcome him to Los Alamos, but he found himself unable to lift his boots off of the mud. 

They would definitely meet at the gathering at Robert’s house. He would make amends for his terrible manners there.

A swift glance of a pair of brown-green eyes pulled him out of his thoughts. Tim waved with enthusiasm, carrying his enormous suitcase with ease.

Whatever terrible thing Groves had said in his absurd manner didn’t affect Timothy one bit.

    The party was glorious, expertly fitted to Oppenheimer’s reputation and style. Martinis were served, the fire was burning bright and warm, the food was spicy and the converstation never seemed to die out. Although, this time, he wasn’t the only one who had center stage. The new chemist was able to hold his ground in all topics Oppenheimer or anybody else introduced, poetry, music, science, religion. The only thing he stayed out of were politics, as his belief was long settled. He was not in any case going to start searching the world with a lantern for an honest man. There were none. Some people had called him a pessimist. Others, a cynical. Tim considered himself to be quite pragmatic actually.

“May I serve you another one”?Robert asked as he made himself a martini. All others had left, but Tim seemed to be willing to stay for a little while longer. 

“Oh, thank you Julius. I prefer my whiskey-Good god, some things remain the same, don’t they”?, Tim laughed as Robert shot him an annoyed gaze at the mention of his first name.

“Although I must say, you have made endless progress since I’d last seen you in Cambridge. Charming, charismatic… I am stunned”.

Robert scoffed as he sat on the couch next to the British. Cambridge was a black spot in his past, a place he didn’t fit in, a place nothing good came out of. He couldn’t fathom how Tim would remember anything of him-the other was older, much handsomer, excelled in theoretical and experimental level. An artist as much as a scientist, he would have girls walking on his side, reading his poems or admiring his sketches. 

He didn’t have the skinny built of Robert either, when he was tired too tired of the world he’d often find some of his various friends and relieve some tension on the pitch.

“Thank you”, Robert replied carefully. They’d had very few interactions in the University, but Robert always had this feeling of…uncertainty. His heart beat faster as if he couldn’t exactly tell where he stood with the man.

Tim observed him silently sipping his whiskey. His eyes were the deepest green, illuminated by the warmth of the fire’s light.

“20 years have passed and you still remain handsome as ever, you bastard”, Tim murmured with a soft smile. “How come you didn’t marry”?

“Never found the right one”, Robert answered, cheeks flushed. “ I am really glad we have you with us, Tim. Your contribution will be invaluable to the creation of the device".

"Bomb", Tim sighed. "It's a bomb, Julius. Stop romanticizing the world, it isn't going to change that way".

“Isn’t art the best way to romanticize the world?”, Robert asked sharply. “Poems, paintings…”.

“This is the only way to escape from the world, not change it”, Tim sighed deeply and poured himself another whiskey. He got up and started walking up and down the small living room, tormented by some inner turmoil. “Art… What good is art if you can’t bring yourself to confess what your soul screams”? My poems are blank, poems…written to be published, you know”? he asked sadly.

“I quite like them though”, Robert answered somewhat defensively. “I’ve read most of them, I think”.

His statement had a bigger impact on Tim than he had expected. He suddenly stilled, eyes piercing through Robert’s blue ones. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, fingers clutching his glass. He gulped down his whiskey and returned to the couch.

“I wrote another one, today…which I will never, ever, dare publish”, he muttered, handing Robert a wonky piece of paper. He held it carefully with his fingertips, bringing it close to his chest, so as if to feel it, rather than read it.

Tim was standing a few feet next to him, too nervous to stay seated.

In the crowded room I stood amazed,

As memories of youth in me ablaze.

A face from college days of long ago,

Julius, with his eyes as deep as sapphire’s glow.

Twenty years had passed, a lifetime it seemed,

Yet his presence remained as if I'd only dreamed.     

Piercing blue eyes, a lanky frame so slight,

My heart raced faster at the nostalgic sight.

Secretely, I’d harbored feelings, kept them concealed,

For love like ours, society had not yet revealed.

I watched from afar, my heart’s silent plea,

Hiding emotions in a world that couldn’t see.

The poem continued, but Robert was in no state to read more. His mouth suddenly full of saliva, he wiped a hand over his reddening face. All he had to do was breathe, he could do that, yes, he could…

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to upset you like that. Don’t worry, I’m leaving”, Tim whispered, whishing the ground would swallow him up whole.

Robert let out a strangled noise of refusal, and Tim snapped his head back so fast his neck could break. His eyes took in the physicist’s form, from his tightly wound body, to his half-parted lips, to his eyes that finally revealed all he would not dare say. 

He approached him in slow, wary steps as if to not scare a wild cub.

The sound of the couch crouching beneath his weight was all that filled the room.

Robert was at a loss of words, Tim was observing him intensely and at the end he took the leap of faith.

He leaned in, only enough to press a feather-like kiss on Robert’s lips. He drew back and as the other hadn’t pulled away, he kissed him with a little more pressure-and oh, how his lips felt divine against his own. He inhaled Robert’s aroma, tobacco, and ink, and that distinct smell that was only ever his.

Tim’s hands came around Robert’s skinny shoulders, his tongue parting the other’s lips to lick into his mouth.

He felt Robert release a small whine and shivers ran down his body.

When they parted for air, Robert was only a little less than shocked.

There were so many things that would change. It was not acceptable-it was forbidden. It could end both men’s careers. Could they be kicked out of the Manhattan Project?

Tim thought of Grove’s reaction if he learned that his best physisist and chemist were fucking instead of working. That thought lent him the smile he needed.

“I understand if you simply don’t want to…If you’re not ready…”. He leaned in to kiss Robert’s neck. “Let me take care of you tonight. Only this night”.

After 30 years, he sent a silent thanks to the gods.

Robert let out a strangled whine, shut his eyes firmly, too scared to fully surrender to what was happening. Tim pulled back, still hesitant.

Robert took in his form: the messy hair, wet lips, the steady show of his pulse on the side of his neck.

It felt right. It felt like everything he’d ever wanted. And so, he took it.

The two men licked into each other’s mouths with passion, enjoying the warm wetness of their tongues. Robert placed both his hands on the sides of Tim’s face, trapped in his arms as if he were, perhaps, a woman. Tim growled when Robert tagged on his hair. 

“Do you want to take this to the bedroom”?, he asked with pleading eyes, and Robert had no option but to nod. 

Tim picked him up in his strong arms as if he weighed nothing-which was not that far from the truth-and without once breaking the kiss, he carried the physicist to the bed. He kicked the door close, and layed Robert on the bed.

His heart was beating stronger than ever, finally, oh, fucking finally…Robert Oppenheimer was his.

“I’ll take care of you”, he rasped out, beginning to undo the buttons of Robert’s shirt. He hovered over him, placing a wet kiss beneath his ear, nibbling on the soft skin. Robert moaned, and Tim moved to the side of his neck, leaving a hot trace of saliva along Robert’s skin. Robert writhed underneath him, struggling to grab his biceps, his back, anything he could to feel him close.

Once Tim got rid of that shirt, he focused on Robert’s chest. Leaving open-mouthed kissed from the column of his throat to the sternum, he smirked as Robert gasped and whined. He took one of his hard nipples in his mouth, licking and sucking on the sensitive bud, feeling Robert’s body tense with pleasure. 

He sucked on his nipple for a while, alternating between the scrape of teeth and the soft lapping of his tongue, while Robert lost complete control of himself. His breathing was laboured, ragged, and his straining cock pushed more and more hard against Tim’s stomach.

“Please…Tim please”, Robert uttered. 

Tim looked him deep in the eye. “You’ll have to tell me what you want”.

Robert let out a long whine. “Take me…take me into your mouth”.

Tim kissed his mouth hard, pushing him further on the bed. He quickly unbuttoned his trousers and threw them to the floor, along with Robert’s briefs.

“Fuck”, he muttered, seeing Robert’s long, hard cock leaking with precum.

“Please…”, Robert whined again, but Tim was determined to take his time. He’d been waiting for twenty years for this moment.

He left a trail of kisses and nibbles on Robert’s thigh, licking gently on his balls. He sucked one of it on his mouth while smearing the precum all over Robert’s tip. He licked at his slit, tasting the salty liquid, hearing Robert’s enchanting moans.

He took him in his mouth, sucking harshly, running his tongue along Robert’s shaft.

“Ah, yes…Yes. Fuck”, Robert breathed and Tim pushed himself to take all of his cock in his mouth. His nose touched Robert’s pubic hair, inhaling his scent, feeling the tip brush against his throat.

Robert thrusted his hips on reflex, and Tim pulled out once he heard him mutter a little ‘sorry’.

“Every part of myself I will give you”, he said. “Fuck my mouth Robert. Take your pleasure”.

He locked his long fingers with Robert’s hands as the latter attempted to do as he was told. The first thrusts were hesitant and swallow, but when Tim moaned around his cock, Robert let go of his worry. He grabbed Tim’s hair, keeping his head steady as he thrust into his mouth. The tip of his cock hit the back of Tim’s throat, and each time, Tim would purr with pleasure. Robert had turned into a loud, moaning mess.

“Yes, please, yes…yes, yes, yes”- His voice died out as his orgasm hit him hard. Stars danced in his closed eyes as his back arched, his cock pulsating, sending thick ropes of cum into Tim’s mouth.

He swallowed it all with a smile, kissing gently Robert’s stomach as he regained his breath. Tim licked Robert’s lips, their tongues dancing in a violent rhythm. Robert tasted himself on Tim’s lips, the saltiness of his cum, and he let out a moan.

“Turn around”, Tim whispered in his ear, and placed a couple of pillows beneath Robert’s stomach and crotch.

His ass was exposed to him, the flesh firm, the skin soft. He licked around Robert’s hole, his whole body tensing. Tim’s hands came to rub circles on his back, trying to soothe him.

“Don’t worry…I got you”, he muttered and began to plant kisses all over Robert’s cheeks. He bit and nibbled on the flesh, making sure he would leave marks on his way to Robert’s hole. He sucked gently on the skin around it, and then finally, he licked a long stripe over his hole. Robert cursed.

Robert had never been with a man before. Tim took all the time needed to prepare him for his unforgiving cock. He licked and lapped at his hole, pushing his tongue inside. Robert’s tight walls clenched around Tim’s tongue.

“More…I need more Tim please”, Robert said desperately, and Tim was quick to comfort him.

He smeared some lube over Rober’s ass as well as his fingers before he pushed his index inside of him. Robert groaned at the strong burning of his stretching skin.

“Relax baby. Try to relax for me”, Tim whispered and with his other hand he grasped Robert’s semi hard cock. 

“Fuck, you’re leaking again”, he observed and as he massaged the head, he pushed his finger to the knuckle inside Robert’s ass. He stretched him open, twisting and turning it as Robert moaned and whined to no end.

“My cock…I need-it’s not enough”, Robert gasped.

Tim gradually pushed in a second finger and started pumping them in and out of Robert’s ass. His cock hardened in his hand. Robert was clutching at the sheets, fighting to regulate his breathing before he came undone a second time. 

He took Tim’s third finger easily, his hips thrusting up and down at their own accord. 

“Are you gonna cum soon baby”?, Tim asked, bewitched by the sight of Robert unravelling in front of him. His walls clenched harshly around Tim’s fingers. Robert let out a whine.

“Good boy Julius, such a good fucking boy for me”, Tim praised as he fucked the cum out of Robert’s cock. With a final, strangled moan, Robert collapsed on the bed, limbs heavy with exhaustion. Every breath came with great effort, muffled as it was from the mattress.

Tim turned him around gently, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on that sharp cheekbone. 

"Are you okay"?, he asked and Robert let out a laugh in response. 

With admirable, new found energy he climbed on top of Tim, laying kisses over his bare skin. Robert's thigh brushed against Tim's cock and it made him yelp. 

"Robert, no".

"Yes", the smaller man smirked as he brushed his tongue against Tim's cock. He licked the precum running down Tim's thighs, all the way to the bed. Robert had already cum twice and Tim had yet to be properly touched.

"You'll guide me through it", he said in a low voice, taking Tim's cock into his mouth. He swirled his tongue over the tip, moaning at the taste of it.

"Stop", Tim breathed but that only made Robert push deeper.

"Stop, I mean it, I can't…".

Robert smirked against his cock as Tim moaned loudly. 

"You fucking- I told you to stop" Tim spat out. With a single, swift motion he dragged Robert underneath him again. Shutting his mouth with a harsh kiss.

"You don't get to disobey me", Tim smiled.

"I get to do everything I want".

"What is it that you want then Dr. Oppenheimer"?

"I need you to…".

"Use your words", Tim ordered as he palmed Robert's cock.

"Fuck me", Robert whined at last.

Tim was gentle. Patient, aware of the delicacy of the creature he held in his hands. He pushed his cock in Robert's hole inch by inch, letting him get used to it. While he suffocated Robert with kisses to distract him. 

   The physicist grabbed onto Tim's back for real life, relishing the feel of the weight of him, the strength of him. Both men moaned when Tim bottomed out inside of him.

"Move", he whispered.

Tim began rolling his hips, and Robert whined. The feeling of being full was divine almost, certainly too much for the physicist to bear. He pushed Tim strongly towards his body, and Tim at last picked up the pace. A loud curse left Robert's lips as Tim's cock brushed against his prostate.

"You're too tight", Tim groaned, snapping his hips harder and faster by the second. His balls slapped Robert's ass with every thrust, their united grunts feeling almost obscene.

Tim pushed his tongue in Robert's mouth while he jerked him off with his hand. The grunts turned to desperate pants and breathy moans. The kiss was all teeth, their lips were left bruised when they finished.

Tim's eyes locked into Robert's blue ones, seeing his love reflected back at him. 

Tim increased the pace.

Robert's hands were to leave claw marks and bruised on Tim's back.

Oppie whispered Tim's name as he came. His cum leaked down his stomach and Tim's hand. 

Robert made the mistake of gripping Tim's ass hard, pushing his legs against it, pushing Tim's desperate cock deeper in his ass.

With a sudden grunt Tim grabbed Robert and pulled him on his knees. 

He grabbed him by the throat. 

He started thrusting deep inside him at his most vigorous pace, and Robert was moaning, whining, crying of the overstimulation.

He turned his face to trap Tim's lips with his.

"Give me one more, Robert, cum with me" Tim managed to say in between his breaths.

Tim's hand came down to jerk at Robert's overstimulated cock. 

Robert closed his eyes, letting himself get carried away as he ruined the sheets with his cum. 

He was faintly aware of Tim's teeth biting on his shoulder as Tim came inside of him, Robert's walls milking his cock completely.

They collapsed on the bed, as good as dead, feeling their hearts beat on the top of their chests.

Even after all his hard work Tim was the first one to return to the real world. He reached for Robert's face, turned it towards him.

He looked…gone. Like he wasn't able to utter a word-tears were running down his cheeks.

Tim felt the stab of guilt in his chest.

He placed the softest of kisses on that delicate nose.

"Robert…My Julius. I'm sorry". He ran his fingers through his short hair. His voice was hoarse. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to hurt you".

Tim wiped the tears that leaked down Robert's jawline. He was almost too afraid to touch him with a heavier hand, but as he ran his fingers along Robert's cheekbones, his muscles relaxed. 

Robert smiled, his eyes coming back to life again. He brought Tim's face to his lips and then hovered on the bed until his body was pressed flush against Tim's.

Tim continued peppering his naked, sweaty skin with kisses.

"This was the most beautiful thing I've ever felt", Robert whispered. 

"Are you okay"? Tim asked again, concerned.

"It's burning", Robert asked in a low voice. "It's burning me alive…the memory of that feeling. 

Robert tilted his head for a sloppy kiss. He tasted blood on Tim's mouth and a smirk came on his lips. He ran his hands over Tim's strong biceps, his back, his toned stomach. He saw and felt him melt under the touch.

Such close actions of intimacy must have been very rare for him.

"Next time I'll make you feel better" he whispered, and Tim hugged him as tightly as he could without their bodies hurting.

"It was the best night of my entire night, Julius", he said very seriously, totally unimpressed by Robert's disgust to the name. "You remind me why I keep on living".

Robert smiled, closing his eyes. 

 "Stay for the night", he pleaded. " Every night".

After the longest of times, J Robert Oppenheimer slept with an easy heart and a tired body. Tim stayed awake  throughout the night, admiring the delicacy of his body, trying to memorise the even sound of his breath.

He cursed the sun that had to rise and put an end to this heavenly moment- because it was all of heaven Tim was ever going to taste.

"I love you", he whispered over Robert's shoulder, words he thought he'd never utter.

Perhaps he had imagined the answer he had gotten. 

"I love you Tim", the physicist repeated.

It was way too good to ever be dreamed of.

He left with the promise to return for the night, that night, and every night. 

[deadpresidents]

Exactly 100 years ago, President Warren Gamaliel Harding escaped the sweltering summer weather and increasingly dark political climate of Washington, D.C. to embark upon a lengthy cross-country trip through parts of the American West still relatively unaccustomed to frequent visits by the nation’s Chief Executive. Billed as a “Voyage of Understanding”, Harding’s trip was seen as a prelude to his potential campaign for re-election the following year, and an opportunity to put some literal and figurative distance between the President and the rumors of rampant corruption swirling around some of Harding’s friends and closest aides from Ohio, as well as several Cabinet members — rumors eventually proven to be true, resulting in indictments, convictions, prison sentences, and even suicides. As President Harding prepared for his Western tour, he could feel the heat as the scandals plaguing his Administration began to reach a boiling point. Speaking privately to the famous journalist and editor William Allen White, Harding said of the Presidency, “My God, this is a hell of a job! I have no trouble with my enemies…But my damn friends, they’re the ones that keep me walking the floor nights.”

Harding’s planned 15,000-mile Voyage of Understanding began on June 20, 1923. Traveling aboard the private Pullman railroad car Superb, the 57-year-old President left Washington, D.C. accompanied by First Lady Florence Harding, Speaker of the House of Representatives Frederick H. Gillett, new Interior Secretary Hubert Work, and a large retinue of aides, friends and their families, doctors, Secret Service agents, and members of the press. Work had become Secretary of the Interior a few months earlier when the previous Secretary, Albert B. Fall, became the “fall guy” for the Teapot Dome scandal. For his role in the scandal, Fall was later convicted of accepting bribes — the first former Cabinet member in American history to serve time in prison for crimes committed while in office. At later points along the journey, Harding’s party was also joined by Secretary of Agriculture Henry C. Wallace (father of future Vice President Henry A. Wallace) and Secretary of Commerce (and future President) Herbert Hoover.

The last week of June 1923 was spent traveling through the Mountain West — Colorado, Wyoming, Utah, Idaho, Montana, and Yellowstone National Park. The beginning of July saw the Presidential party in the Northwest and celebrating Independence Day in Portland, Oregon before boarding the USS Henderson in Tacoma, Washington on July 5, 1923 to sail to Alaska. One of the expected highlights of the Voyage of Understanding was the northernmost  leg of the trip, as Harding became the first incumbent President of the United States to visit Alaska and Canada. The Territory of Alaska had been purchased for the United States by Secretary of State William Seward in 1867 when Warren G. Harding was two years old, and at the time of Harding’s visit, Alaska was still 35 years from being admitted to the Union as the 49th state. But the President spent nearly the entire month of July traveling through the state, mixing public appearances with private recreation and sightseeing. On July 15, 1923, Harding hammered a golden spike in Nenana, Alaska to officially complete the Alaska Railroad. And ten days later, the President crossed into Canada, fishing on the Campbell River in British Columbia on July 25th and then making an official visit the following day in Vancouver, where he was greeted by one of the largest crowds of his voyage — estimated at over 40,000 people — and where he also squeezed in a round of golf at the exclusive Shaughnessy Golf Club.

The President returned to American soil on July 27th, arriving in Seattle and making several speeches in a busy six-hour period — first to Camp Fire Girls at Volunteer Park, then to nearly 30,000 Boy Scouts at Woodland Park, and finishing the day addressing over 30,000 people at what is now Husky Stadium at the University of Washington where he predicted statehood for Alaska, where he had spent most of the month. After making a brief appearance that evening at the Seattle Press Club, Harding boarded his train that night to travel to Portland, Oregon.

But something was not right. The President seemed to be exhausted, perhaps from the grueling trip through geography much wilder than Harding’s native Ohio or swampy Washington, D.C. Despite his exciting journey through Alaska and the energetic welcome provided by the Canadian people, Harding was clearly wiped out by the time he reached British Columbia. The President did head to the country club while in Vancouver, but he was so tired that after six holes of golf his foursome skipped directly to the eighteenth hole, seemingly completing the round without tipping off the press that Harding couldn’t play the entire course.

From the White House, nine days before embarking upon his Voyage of Understanding, Harding wrote a quick note to Solicitor General James M. Beck who had wished the President a safe journey on his upcoming trip. Thanking Beck, Harding wrote, “I shall try to remember not to overdo (it) in crossing the continent.” And, on June 14, 1923, six days before leaving, President Harding wrote a short letter to a young girl from Hartford, Connecticut named Vivian Little, who had recently sent the President a four-leaf clover as a good luck charm. “Thank you so much for the four-leaf clover which you were so good as to press and send to me,” the President wrote. “I hope it will bring me good luck and that it will bring you still more of the same.”

However, any luck that President Warren G. Harding still had seemed to be running out. Ill and exhausted after leaving Vancouver, Harding tried to rest aboard the USS Henderson as it sailed to Seattle in the early morning hours of July 27. At some point around 3 AM, Harding and the other passengers aboard the Henderson were jolted awake as the ship crashed into the USS Zeilin, an American destroyer accompanying the Presidential party while they traveled through the foggy Puget Sound. This was not the first mishap of the Voyage of Understanding. While traveling through Colorado early in the trip, three people from the President’s party had been killed in a car accident. And now, after a few weeks in Alaska where Harding was able to at least temporarily forget about his Administration’s many troubles, the President was not only sick and tired but two of his Navy’s ships had just smashed into each other almost as soon as he had returned to the continental United States. While the USS Zeilin was badly damaged in the collision, the USS Henderson was not and there were apparently no major injuries on either vessel. But when the President’s valet, Major Arthur Brooks, came to Harding’s stateroom aboard the Henderson to inform him that the captain was calling for all hands on deck, he found the depressed President lying on his bed with his face buried in his hands. “I hope the boat sinks,” President Harding quietly muttered.

It was just hours later that Harding made his whirlwind tour through Seattle, putting on a brave face at his public appearances, but clearly not feeling well. While he was never considered a brilliant orator like Abraham Lincoln, Benjamin Harrison, or his immediate predecessor, Woodrow Wilson, Harding was a strong speaker and excellent communicator who had a unique ability to connect with audiences, but he was obviously — and unusually — halting and confused while speaking in Seattle on July 27th. As he boarded his train at Seattle’s King Street Station that night, Harding was examined by his doctor and by Interior Secretary Hubert Work, who had once been a physician, and they decided to cancel the next several days of planned activities. Instead of stopping in Portland and then visiting Yosemite National Park, the Presidential party was ordered to proceed directly to San Francisco where Harding could rest before giving a speech on the radio planned for July 31st which was expected to be heard by over 5 million people.

Despite the four-leaf clover that had been sent to him by Vivian Little before his Voyage of Understanding, Warren Gamaliel Harding’s luck seemed to be running out. And, as his train sped through Oregon en route to San Francisco’s Palace Hotel on July 28, 1923, President Harding was also running out of time.  

[fabiopaninaro]

Don't know why i'm writing this, maybe it could be cathartic, maybe it could help me find some other friends here.

Don't know why i'm using all these photos to write this post.

It's been ages since I last posted on this platform, and it was about a completely different subject.

Nothing wrong with that, of course. but my tumblr's nickname is based on that very person, so it's strange to change all of a sudden.

I've always felt a particular connection with music. It helped me through a lot: when I was being bullied at school for my weight, when nobody wanted me, when everything at university seemed to be falling apart.

But i've always been a little bit reluctant to try new singers and bands. That's when my friends came to stop this habit of mine.

They sent me photos of this fella right there in these photos, and I was like "ok, he's hot but does he make good music?". It turned out that yes, he makes good music. But I was only listening to 2 or 3 songs, so I didn't really had that much to judge.

But my friends, who are big fans of The 1975, practically forced me to buy a ticket to go to the SATVB Tour in Milan. It would have been an occasion for us to reunite (I live in Turin, they live in Milan and we don't see each other that often now that we work). So we bought tickets like a year ago and almost forgot about it.

The day of the concert was coming and honestly, I was feeling a little bit under the weather because of some things that were happening in my life last month. I had to drive for an hour and half (back and forth) to go there and I was alone in the car. Tiredness, money, time: everything was worrying me.

But I went anyway. Just to see my precious friends.

I started to study the setlist some days before the concert, just to shout some other lyrics rather than the only ones I knew. I was stunned by the verses, the words they used, the voice Matty has and the melodies the band uses in their songs. I went to the concert not knowing what to expect, maybe one of the usual concert I went to.

But boy, was I wrong.

Singing those song was liberating. I took some videos and then I tried to enjoy the rest of the show. Sometimes I was just admiring the stage, admiring Matty and how well he performes and owns the scene. My friends was like: "are you still on this Earth?". That was the right question, because I felt like I was being moved to another dimension where just the band and me were there. Nobody else existed.

I was unthinkingly worshipping Matty.

In the next days, I also recouped all the interviews, claiming that it was just to "practice my listening skills with British accent" - I work in an English private school and I've studied foreing languages at university. But it wasn't just that, ofc.

That's how my "obsession" started lol

All this wall of text to say that I need to make friends here. Because I noticed a lot of wonderful users that 1) write ff so beautifully 2) are so damn funny 3) have my same interests 4) helped me with my obsession lol

Since I'm new to this fanclub, I would like to chat with somebody who could explain me all the inside jokes or all the memes that sometimes I find on IG. And why not, practice my English as well.

My inbox is always open!

Love ya all.

-B