#or one conversation with anyone from that country

[nmhk]

It's weird disappointing how the republican administrations and senators are so freely and readily able to lie about things to further their own agenda, and then get caught in the lie and somehow, every time, [weasel || porcupine || raccoon || fox || etc ad nauseum infinitum] their way out of it

And every 2 and 4 years we keep electing the same or similar liars back into office. But no, we don't need no education. No history lessons. No civics classes. Nah, we're good, looking at our screens, playing our distractions over and over again. While other countries leap ahead, and the class warfare goes seemingly unchecked.

We'll continue being temporarily embarrassed millionaires, abashed race car drivers, ashamed fashion models, forever looking to celebrities for guidance. Forever letting people in power tell us how to feel, who and whom to love or hate. Forever consuming without thought like ungulates chewing cud.

They say, "it's a dog eat dog world," because they want us to treat each other as animals, competing for scarce resources. But resources aren't scarce. How did our world population get over 8 billion? Mercantilism brought trade to the world, but developed into this cut throat capitalism which demands scarcity (usually faked) to survive.

Not buying into the system is how we kill it. We don't want politicians influenced by corporations (they are people, my friend)? Don't buy their products. Don't look at ads. Don't support the monetary system that is a zero- sum game. We can easily see the effects by looking at our monopoly board and counting how many people have x amount of fake money. Those on Boardwalk and Park Place? Yeah, that's not us, is it? You want to win this game? The only way is to step away from the board.

Yes, yes it is easier said than done. But bartering still works.

Blah blah blah

I can only hold this energy so long. As can you. We need to work together, support each other, stand in solidarity against those who try and break us apart.

I believe in universal interconnectedness. We are all connected in a way that is unexplained and poorly explored. I don't know how many of you remember nine-eleven, but the pick 3 and pick 4 numbers drawn coinciding with thousands of entries matching these numbers, while being chalked up to mere coincidence, could also either be one of two other things. 1) the system is obviously rigged (in whatever way is most plausible) 2) thousand of people putting their thoughts and aligning their [energy || Chakra || life force || pure will power || etc] into wanting these numbers to be drawn, not once, but on multiple occasions, speaks to me of something greater.

The more obvious scientific answer is a rigged system.

My whole point is we can change the system of we all work together. Yes, I know! I'm an idealistic idiot. So what? Does my hope for humanity stop your everyday travails? Does it hurt my interactions with others that I try to see the best version of them in conversation? Why would someone poo-poo the idea of wanting interconnectedness if it doesn't hurt anyone?

Oh. I'm getting it now. That kind of hope can turn into a religion. I see. If it's only faith-based, it's bad. Okay. Well. I guess humanity isn't full of artists who move you with simple pictures and words. I guess nature can only be seen through a scientific lens. I guess since beauty is immutably subjective, there is no such thing as a beautiful flower or a beautiful poem.

That's fine. Stick to your science and gadgets. Stick to your distractions and fears. Don't read fiction more deeply than the words on the page. The answer is simple. No, androids don't dream of electric sheep. No, robots aren't capable of growing beyond the rules you establish for them. No, consumerism is the only way for people to survive in a technological world.

I just hope for the best for you

[alinathinkstoomuch]

ONE RULE AT A TIME

pairing: aaron hotchner x lawyer!reader summary: you and hotch have barely had any alone time—and he just can’t wait (no, like literally, he cannot wait) to get his hands on you, based on this request. warnings: smut 18+ MDNI, oh boy here we go... semi-public p in v sex, public fingering, public orgasm, slight corruption & free use kinks, extraaa horny hotch, slight d/s undertones, r has to sit through dinner with come in her underwear (yay!!), established relationship. word count: 3.8k (lol)

✧ masterlist | ✧ alina's 1k bar

You considered it rude to leave the table mid-conversation.

It was one of those rules, leftover from a mother who believed proper manners could carry a girl further than ambition. Elbows off the table. Napkin in your lap. Don’t interrupt. Don’t leave before dessert.

Of course, those rules technically didn’t apply here. Not with this group. These weren’t stiff-lipped dinner guests or white-gloved patrons of a country club. These were your friends. Or, more accurately, your colleagues—though you only ever called them that when you needed distance.

Still, the habit lingered. Your spine straightened every time someone new spoke, you nodded politely, you laughed at all the right cues. But it was getting increasingly harder to feign interest in anything anyone was saying, not with how close Aaron was sitting next to you.

It was criminal, really, how little time you’d had alone with him lately. Between your caseload, his travel schedule, and the world’s general refusal to accommodate a few uninterrupted minutes, tonight had been the first time in weeks you’d managed to make it into the same photograph. 

Unfortunately, the night you could both conjure up happened to involve other people. Talkative, never-quite-leaving people.

And you were trying your hardest to remain composed, executing your best poker-face saved for the courtroom to keep your thoughts and facial expressions appropriate. But then you felt Aaron’s hand brush your thigh under the table, and you forgot what someone was saying about….something. 

You didn’t look at him right away, you knew better. Instead, you set your fork down and reached for your wine glass, agreeing to God knows what conversation was happening. The question could’ve been ‘Have you ever committed perjury?’ and there you were, nodding along because the man you couldn’t wait to get alone was currently trying to initiate foreplay at the dinner table. 

His hand never paused, fingers tracing idle shapes above your knee, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake like breadcrumbs to your undoing. The room began to feel violently hot, and unfortunately there didn’t seem to be enough air for everyone to share. You reached for a cream napkin, blotting your mouth but also using it as a barrier from everyone else.

This wasn’t you. You had rules, standards, a personal code built on discretion, discipline, and never fooling around in public with a man who could get you to confess to crimes with just his fingers. You turned towards him, napkin still raised.

“Aaron,” you warned. “Stop that.”

He did just the opposite, his fingers pressing down a little harder now. 

You had never been the kind of woman to lose her head. You didn’t do public groping during candlelit dinner while someone ranted about office politics. You followed your rules. You were judicious, you were composed, you were the kind of person who scheduled spontaneity. 

And yet, here you were, pressing your thighs together under the table while Aaron Hotchner slowly pushed every moral you’d ever held into a shredder with one hand and a neutral expression. 

You turned to him again. “I’m serious. You need to stop.”

The bastard had the gall to tilt his head and furrow his brows like he couldn’t possibly imagine what you meant.

“I mean it. Quit that,” you chided, setting your napkin down. 

And his hand did move. He lifted it from your thigh and returned it to his side of the table. You exhaled—relief, technically—but it came threaded with something that felt suspiciously like disappointment.

Because yes, this was about professionalism, about decency, about not letting the I-haven’t-seen-you-in-too-long hormones reduce you both to a cautionary tale in public misconduct. Still…you couldn’t help but mourn the loss of that spark he had managed to light in a place it had no business burning. 

Though you didn’t have time to dwell or dissect your traitorous feelings before Aaron was abruptly standing and pulling your chair back for you, mumbling a curt, “Excuse us,” to the table. 

You looked around, mouth wide as your legs brought you up. “I’m so sorry,” you said, passing a look to everyone at the table who didn’t look the least bit fazed. “Back in a sec.”

Aaron’s hand found your wrist, his misbehaving fingers curling around yours as he started pulling you towards the back of the bar. You were so flustered your legs could barely keep up, tripping over themselves every second step like they were also struggling to process what was happening. 

“Where are we going?” you hissed, stumbling slightly as he rounded a corner. “You can’t just pull us away from dinner mid-conversation. What’s gotten into you today?”

“You looked a little hot,” he muttered, glancing back as he steered you past the bathrooms and down a corridor that was definitely for staff only. 

“Because you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself!”

He continued weaving through the turns and bends until you reached a narrow staircase that looked like it was in dire need of a health inspection.

“Think it’s this way,” he mumbled to himself, and all you could do was follow as he all but dragged you up the least stable stairs your feet had ever stood on.

“You are insane. We shouldn’t even be up here. You’re going to get us banned and I come here for drinks more often than I go home for dinner.”

“You come here to network,” he corrected.

You glared at the back of his head, noting his deliciously broad shoulders under the navy suit jacket he was wearing. “That’s what I said. Which is all the more reason we shouldn’t be on anything that’s not the ground floor.”

You reached the top of the stairs, and Aaron let go of your hand to use both of his to open up the fire exit door planted at the end of the stairwell. It opened with a creak of protest before you felt a gush of cold air greet you. 

“What is your pla—” You didn’t get the chance to finish before Aaron was manhandling you again, hungry hands ruching up your dress as they groped all they could reach.

“Aaron, we can’t do this here,” you breathed, head tilting up to the sky, the stars above shining down like innocent witnesses to your wildly inappropriate, excessively horny boyfriend. 

“Missed you.” He nipped your neck, nose brushing the pendant that rested on your collarbone. “So much.”

“I missed you too, fuck, but we can’t possibly do this here. Let’s just—wait until we get home.”

He grabbed your hand, bringing it down to his crotch. “Does this feel like it can wait?”

You should’ve pulled your hand back, should’ve ignored the feeling between your legs, but your immediate response was to curl your fingers around him. “This is so inappropriate.”

“I know.” His mouth was on your neck again and you felt him nudge and grind into your hand, then into your thigh, the hard press of his cock knocking all your sensible principles loose one by one. “You smell so fucking good.”

“You’re not listening,” you tried, weakly, because that’s what you were supposed to say. “I’m trying to be rational.”

“And I’m trying to make you feel good.” He grinned into your skin. “Guess we’re both busy.”

You made contact with the brick wall, just as Aaron pushed you up against it, hand dipping beneath your dress.

“We’ll get caught.”

He kissed your jaw. “No one comes up here.”

“We could get arrested.”

Another kiss. “I’d make sure you didn’t.”

“Oh, that’s reassuring,” you muttered, but your voice dropped when his thumb pressed down onto your clothed clit.

“If you really want me to stop, say the word.” The word. Your safe word. Not that you’d ever had to use it before, because Aaron had never decided to pounce on you on a restaurant rooftop like the idea of waiting for a cab repulsed him. 

You said nothing.

Little protests had left your lips when his hand landed on your thigh, but now that you had the chance to actually make all of this stop, you didn’t. You couldn’t. And you knew it was wrong. So deeply wrong and anyone could walk in, and there could be cameras and—

“Turn around,” he instructed, taking half a step back to slip off his jacket, his white shirt almost glowing in the dark. 

“What?”

“Against the wall.” 

He was already guiding your hips, manoeuvring you to spin your back to him. Your palms braced the scratchy brick wall, the one you were about to get very well acquainted with if you were to let Aaron have his way with you. Which, let’s be honest, has happened since the moment you walked into this place.

“What if someone comes up?” you asked quietly, pausing when you heard the buckle of his belt come undone, like that sound was your final chance to put a stop to all of this.

His response came in the form of hoisting your dress up, his chest keeping your back warm. “Can feel the heat through your thighs.”

Your breathing was already ragged and he hadn't actually touched you yet, not properly. You hated how easy it was for him to reduce you to this. 

“You ready?” he murmured, fingers finding the waistband of your underwear. 

You nodded, barely.

“Use your words.”

“…Yes.”

You folded into the wall, forehead grazing stone as he slipped your panties halfway down your legs. One of his hands rested on your hip, while the other gripped his cock, and you could feel the motion of him pumping himself a few times before his tip nudged between your thighs, thick and wet. 

Normally, he would tease, drag it through your pussy, because he knew you loved hearing the lewd sounds of how wet the both of you were. Loved the feeling of his veins burning your clit. But tonight, he just pushed in, the stretch knocking the breath from your lungs. 

It had been over 2 months since you'd felt him. 73 days, if you wanted to be exact. And somehow, he felt bigger than you remembered.

“Christ,” he groaned, forehead resting on your shoulder as he sank deeper. “You feel so fucking good. Tightest you’ve ever been.”

He pulled out just to slam back in.

“Can’t believe I waited this long. Should’ve had you like this the second we got in the car.”

You let out a half-laugh, half-moan, your body jerking with the next thrust. “I would’ve killed you.”

“Look at you, you’ve been fighting me all night just to end up like this.”

And he was right, which annoyingly, was the case with him nine times out of ten. You fought him because that’s what you’d taught yourself to do. Fight everyone in some form or another, directly or indirectly. It wasn’t even a conscious decision you made anymore, just part of your operating system. 

But then came Aaron. 

He was someone who didn’t hold back, who didn’t let you win arguments just to keep the peace. He pushed you, gently of course, and you could tell he took some smug satisfaction in challenging you when he knew you were wrong (a rarity). You hated it at first, the feeling of being matched, but also of being completely understood. It made you feel exposed, like he’d see your true colours and run. But instead, he was fucking you against a brick wall while your friends laughed over drinks downstairs. 

Your fingers scraped the brick and your knees buckled when his hand slid between your thighs again. “Aaron—”

“Oh, you’re close. You’re gonna come just like this, aren’t you?”

“I swear to God—”

“Right here?” he asked, his fingers dragging slow circles. “Where anyone could walk up and see how good I’m making you feel?”

The noise you made was inaudible. A whimper, a moan, a curse all jammed into one.

“Thought you had rules,” he mocked. “Thought you didn’t do things like this.”

“I don’t.”

“No?” He pinched your clit, and you pressed your forehead harder into the wall, teeth clenched, your thighs squeezing around his arm, like you could trap him there or stop him—you weren’t sure anymore.

Every part of your body felt like it was on fire, the breeze of the night doing you zero favours. You were close, so close, and there was nothing left to give him. You couldn’t match his pace nor his efforts, all you could do was stand there and take it. 

The moment his fingers quickened and his strokes pushed deeper,  your hand flew over your mouth, muffling a moan, then another. And before you knew it a cry was spilling into your palm as you came, toes curling in your heels, your entire body going rigid.

“Aaron,” you cried out, feeling both of his hands move to your hips, holding you in place. 

“I know, honey,” he panted. “Almost there.” 

He kept going, hips rutting in you as he chased the high you were still coming down from. Your cheek was pressed to the brick now, one heel slipping as your body fought to recover while he kept moving. 

“Just a little more. You can take it.” 

And you did, until his thrusts slowed, a series of curses lacing into your hair as he pushed himself flush against you. You felt him twitch and spill inside, his thumb tracing soft circles into your hip like a silent thank you.

He waited a minute, maybe less, before he was pulling out of you. Your brain scrambled to organise the next steps, cleaning up screaming the loudest, right before you felt Aaron’s calloused hands around your thighs, tugging your underwear back into place. 

“What are you doing?” you managed, looking down as he adjusted the fabric for you.

“You’re wearing them,” he said, smoothing your dress back down over your hips. “Just like this.” 

You spun to face him, watching as he fussed with his belt. “This is obscene, Aaron. I’m going to the bathroom to clean up and then I’m going home.”

“Don’t be dramatic. You’ve already made it this far and you know it’s rude to leave early.”

"You expect me to just go back out there like this?" 

He slipped his jacket on and then leaned down to press a kiss to your lips. "I expect you to sit there, make conversation, and pretend you're not still full of me."

Your mouth fell open. If your mother had been there, she’d have told you to close it before a fly flew in.

Aaron smiled gently, snaking a hand around the small of your back. “You’ll be fine.”

You had no choice but to move, one foot in front of the other as Aaron held the bulky rooftop door open for you. You took the stairs down far slower than you went up them, wincing with every step. You could feel exactly what he’d left inside you beginning to leak, trickling slowly from the cotton of your panties and down the inside of your thigh. 

Once you made it to the bottom you paused, glancing over your shoulder just as he reached you. “Head up, honey,” Aaron cooed. “You’re still the most put-together one at the table.”

You rolled your eyes but straightened up anyway because you’d be damned if your posture had to suffer.

Everyone looked like they hadn’t moved an inch back at the table, and Aaron, ever the gentleman, pulled your seat back. You did your best to sit in it as graciously as you could, trying to keep everything to yourself. You crossed your legs, which made it worse, so you uncrossed them. Then you sat forward. Leaned back. Nothing helped.

“Dessert menus came,” one of your friends said, sliding an embossed card your way. “But we figured we’d wait for you two.”

“Oh, how thoughtful,” you smiled, still trying to get comfortable. You started reading through the options, gladly taking the distraction. And you thought, foolishly, that you might at least make it through dessert with some semblance of normalcy. That was until Aaron’s hand landed on your thigh. Again.

You stiffened, eyes snapping to him, but he was mid-conversation with someone across the table, something about funding, completely unbothered, like he wasn’t slowly trying to finger you into oblivion at the table. You moved in your seat, tring to squeeze your legs together but the pressure only made it worse, your underwear still damp and clinging across skin that was already far too sensitive.

It made no difference. He just laughed at a joke someone made, all while his fingers traced lazy patterns from your knee to the hem of your dress. Your heeled foot found his under the table, and you gave it a kick. He looked at you then, all smiley. 

“Breathe,” he said quietly and entirely unhelpfully. “Don’t draw attention to yourself.”

“You’re crazy,” you muttered, your thighs already tensing as his hand slid higher, swallowed by your dress.

His fingers pressed the soaked material of your underwear, and you dropped your head, hand coming up to your temple like you were nursing a headache. He leaned in then, nodding towards the dessert menu before whispering, “So good for me, sweetheart.”

You disguised a whimper as a cough and felt his fingers dip beneath the fabric. You bit your bottom lip hard enough to taste blood.

“Listen to yourself,” he mumbled, right as he started circling your clit again. And you heard it, exactly what he was referring to. The wet sound of him mixed with your arousal, embarrassingly loud in your own ears even over the clink of cutlery and conversation. He was using one of your biggest turn-ons against you and you hated how well he knew it…hated even more how well it was working, that familiar feeling already making itself known in the pit of your stomach. 

Orange was your safe word. All you had to do was mention oranges—how they’re in season, how they’re not, ask if anyone liked marmalade, hell, just casually bring up vitamin C. No one would question it. Aaron would recognise it immediately and he’d stop.

But the syllables wouldn’t come. The tip of your tongue was useless, and your brain had apparently filed for resignation. So instead you shifted in your seat, spreading your legs a little wider. You lifted your eyes to meet his, seeing what looked close to pride.

Across the table, someone asked you a question and you nodded vaguely. You hoped it was a yes or no question because you absolutely could not be trusted to speak. Your mouth was too dry, and the rest of you was, well…not. 

Your hand reached for the cool glass of water, and you wrapped your fingers around it, absently smearing through the beads of condensation. But you didn’t lift it, for fear of dropping it straight into your lap and dragging every pair of eyes to exactly where Aaron’s fingers were now knuckle-deep inside you.

Your eyes fluttered closed for a second too long as he fucked into you, slowly. Not enough to push you over the edge, but far too much to pretend like you were functioning normally.

“Aaron,” you breathed, eyelids heavy, forehead clammy with sweat. 

“Need me to go faster?” he asked, quiet enough for only you to hear.

You nodded, focusing on the simple mechanics of breathing in and out, as if oxygen alone might be enough to hold you together. You just had to make it five more minutes. Five more minutes without gasping or moaning or knocking a water glass into your lap and revealing everything.

But then his fingers curled just right and your hips lurched forward helplessly. Aaron’s arm bumped the underside of the table, making the plates clatter and shift, not that anyone seemed to notice or if they did, they were polite enough to not comment. 

You dropped your hand to your lap, nails digging crescent moons into your thigh. Someone across the table laughed, and then someone else followed. Apparently there had been an endless stream of jokes while you’d been too busy getting off on your boyfriend’s thick fingers to notice.

“Are you alright?” one of your friends asked. 

“Yeah—yeah, all good.” You nodded, forcing a smile that was too tight. “Just a little hot, that’s all.”

Aaron hummed beside you, low and pleased, as though your answer had been for him and rewarded you below the table, curling his fingers deeper. You let out a sharp gasp, eyes snapping to the friend who’d asked if you were okay, checking to see if she was still watching. She wasn’t. You relaxed, only slightly, because your second orgasm was right around the corner.

You felt it in the way one of your heels had slipped off under the table, your toes curling against the floor. In the way one hand stayed pressed into your thigh, while the other clung to the edge of the table like your life depended on it.

“I’m gonna–”

“Shhh,” Aaron hushed you, leaning into your shoulder. To anyone else, it would look like the two of you were simply having a private conversation, huddled close to hear each other over the noise, leaving no clue, aside from your frantic breathing, that his hand was still buried inside you.

“I can feel you clenching around me,” he murmured. “So fucking desperate. What would they say if they knew you were dripping down my wrist right now?”

That was all it took. You were already close and he nudged you over with just a handful of syllables. Your eyes squeezed shut, like a secret you couldn’t hold anymore. Your breath left you in a wobbly exhale, and you forced your head to stay upright, even as your muscles went soft, your body completely spent.

You could still feel your pulse pounding in your ears but you blinked through the heat behind your eyes, trying to calm yourself with shallow sips of air. Aaron withdrew his hand, wiping his fingers on a napkin.

“You okay?” he asked, without any trace of smugness. 

You nodded, a little slow. “Yeah. Just… give me a second.”

“I’ll call us a cab,” he said gently. “We’ll take the desserts to go.”

He started to stand, but your hand landed on his thigh, stopping him. “I’m going to need some help,” you muttered, partly because you were afraid your legs might give out… and partly because you weren’t brave enough to look at the state of the chair.

Aaron leaned down, placed a soft kiss on your forehead, and whispered, “Okay, honey. I’ll come get you once the car is here.”

And then he was gone, walking towards the waiter you’d had that evening while simultaneously pulling his phone from his pocket to call a cab. That gave you a ten-minute window to come up with an excuse for why you were leaving early, which, you noted with a vague sense of resignation, was just another one of your own rules you’d managed to break tonight.

You adjusted your dress, avoided looking at the chair, and mentally crossed dignity off the list of things you’d be leaving with.

At least the dessert was boxed.

tags - @fandomscombine @pastelpinkflowerlife @hazzyking @bernelflo @risenqueen1521 @jazzimac1967 @camihotchner @abschaffer2 @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @pacmillo-blog-blog @stilestotherescue @kiwriteswords @anvdala @supersanelyromantic @yourallaround-simp @percysley @wowitsafemale @cinnamoncunt @keiminds @iyskgd @mystic-rox @insured-by-the-mafia @mggslover @Star-crossed-Sephie @tearykth @2dloveshp  @lovelystrawberry @imissaaronhotchner @justyourusualash @alexxavicry @storiesofsvu @ehedrick012110 @hopelessromantic727 @piatosniathenie @averyhotchner @softtdaisy @b1tchyr1ichy @wvffles @mayhills @star-crossed-libby @sreidmia @circuskatt @thehotchners @yasministration

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[canyonmoonchild]

⊹ Whiskey and Silk

Pairing: protective!harry x heartbroken!reader

T.W.: cheating (past, mention), explicit sexual content, praise kink, light choking, breeding talk, mild hair pulling, alcohol, strong language, one-night stand, emotional vulnerability

Words: 3,441

Synopsis: one reckless night with Harry Styles leaves you ruined in the best way.

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

I shouldn't have come here alone. But after finding that name on my ex's phone yesterday — a string of hearts next to someone else's name at three a.m. — I couldn't bear my friends' pity or their comfort. Their you deserve better speeches would only split me further open. I needed quiet, and the freedom to drown myself in whiskey without anyone trying to fix me. So I'd slipped into my shortest black dress, the one that made me feel powerful. Like maybe, if I looked dangerous enough, I wouldn't feel quite so wrecked.

The bar was cozy but a little battered, the kind of place that smelled like warm wood and heartbreak. A slow, bluesy song licked at the edges of my mood while I nursed a double whiskey neat, letting the burn match the ache inside me.

I couldn't stop seeing it — that new name on my ex's phone, proof that everything between us had been rotting for longer than I'd realized. My hands trembled around the glass, smudging the ring of condensation, mascara still clinging to my lashes in a messy ruin I hadn't bothered to fix.

That was when I felt him — a quiet warmth, settling into my peripheral vision. When I turned, I nearly forgot how to breathe. He was tall, lean, with curls falling around his face, a silk shirt half undone over a white tee, boots scuffed in the best way. His eyes found mine, warm and curious, playful, and something about them made my shoulders unclench for the first time in twenty-four hours.

"That drink looks like it's working overtime tonight," he said, voice deep but gentle, with a soft grin. "Mind if I steal this seat?"

I tried to brush him off, to keep my walls high. "Free country," I managed, voice sharper than I meant.

He only laughed, sliding onto the stool beside me. "Guess that's my invitation, then." He studied me for a moment, his eyes lingering on mine. "Who in their right mind would leave you sitting here alone?"

A bitter laugh slipped out before I could swallow it down. "Let's just say I'm suddenly single."

He nodded, thoughtful, no hint of pity. "Well... they must have left their brain somewhere if they walked away from you."

My lips twitched, a surprised smile threatening. "That's generous."

"I'd have to be clinically insane to pass up a chance to talk to you," he added, glancing at my nearly empty glass. "Let me get you another? You look like you could use it more than a lecture."

My defenses cracked, just a hair. "Sure," I breathed.

He raised a hand for the bartender, then turned back to me with that warm grin. "I'm Harry, by the way." I hesitated, then gave him my name — it felt strange on my tongue, like something new. "Nice to meet you," he said, voice dipping lower, like he might actually mean it. Then he leaned in, just close enough for me to catch a warm, earthy trace of cologne. "If you need a better distraction than that whiskey," he murmured, eyes catching mine with a spark that shot straight to my core, "I'm happy to volunteer."

For the first time that night, I felt a real smile lift my lips. Dangerous, tempting, too soon. But maybe I'd survive it.

Harry kept the conversation easy, teasing with a confidence that should have been off-putting, but instead felt like warm relief.

"Careful, Heartbreaker," he said with a grin, eyes tracing down to my glass. "I'm dangerous when I get you tipsy."

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. "I doubt you're that dangerous. Show me."

He leaned closer, close enough that I could feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of my dress. "Prove you can outdrink me, then," he challenged, flicking his gaze to the bartender.

"Prove I can't," I shot back, ignoring the strange flutter in my stomach. He laughed — a warm, rough sound that I wanted to sink into — and ordered another round. His accent wrapped around every syllable, and I couldn't help mocking him for it, letting the whiskey loosen my tongue. "God," I sighed, dramatic, "even the way you order a drink sounds posh."

Harry rolled his eyes, all wounded pride. "Heartbreaker, you wound me," he teased, laying the nickname on thick. I nearly laughed, but he caught me in that moment, seeing the crack in my armor. His gaze softened, the grin fading to something real. "You know," he said, voice lower, rougher, "they didn't deserve you. I hope you know that."

The words sliced right through me, leaving something raw and trembling in their wake. I tried to wave it off with a weak laugh, but the sound died in my throat.

Harry's expression gentled even more, and he reached up to brush my cheek with the backs of his fingers. "Hey," he murmured, so quiet, "breathe." I swallowed hard, and nodded, feeling the last shreds of the day's bitterness begin to slip. Before I could sink too deep into the ache, he broke the moment with a crooked grin. "So, Heartbreaker," he went on, playful again, "do I get a goodnight kiss first?"

I snorted, smirking despite myself. "Don't get ahead of yourself."

His grin turned molten, heat dancing in those green eyes. The air between us pulsed. His hand moved, slow, letting his fingertips hover just above my thigh — waiting, checking.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he said, voice so low I felt it in my bones.

I froze for a heartbeat, chest tight, and then slowly parted my legs a fraction, a silent permission. His fingers settled on my thigh, warm, steady, tracing slow circles that left sparks along my nerves. I tried to steady my breathing, tried to keep my head from spinning. "You're bold," I whispered, my voice shaking, but not from fear.

Harry only smiled, thumb brushing the hem of my dress in a teasing glide. "Let me take you somewhere you can breathe," he murmured, protective but hungry, all at once. I hesitated, thoughts of my ex's betrayal still lingering like a bruise — but then Harry's thumb dragged across my lower lip, soft and certain. "I promise you'll forget everything else," he said, so sure it nearly made me believe him.

That was it — that was what tipped me over.

"Okay," I breathed.

He paid without a word, hand never leaving me, then guided me out to the curb where an Uber waited. The city air hit my skin, cool and electric, goosebumps chasing up my arms. Harry slid into the backseat beside me, his thigh pressed against mine, heat radiating from him in waves. His hand stayed on me, a protective weight, reminding me I wasn't alone.

"So, Heartbreaker," he smirked, breaking the tension once more, "do I get a goodnight kiss first?" I shook my head, biting back a grin, but the way his thumb slid higher under the hem of my dress left me breathless. He leaned in, lips grazing my ear, voice a rough whisper: "Can't wait to hear you moan for me," he said, sending a violent shiver down my spine — then softer, gentler, "If you want to stop, say so."

My heart twisted, a painful, perfect ache — torn between guilt and a fierce, reckless desire to lose myself in him, just for tonight. I decided I wanted to let go.

***

Harry's place was exactly what I should have expected from him: sleek, modern, minimalist — but still warm in a way that made me exhale for the first time all night. Soft lamplight lit the space with a honey-colored glow, catching on a plush rug that looked like you could sink into it, and somewhere beyond the glass, the city sparkled under the night sky.

He stepped in first, casually toeing off his boots, then turned to me with that easy grin.

"Welcome to my humble cave. Make yourself at home, Heartbreaker." I tried to laugh, but it came out soft, uncertain. My cheeks felt hot. It all felt so fast. Harry stepped closer, voice low and gentle. "No pressure, okay? We can stop whenever."

I swallowed hard. "Thanks... I... yeah."

He brushed a curl back from his forehead, then cupped my cheek in a way that made my stomach twist, steady and patient. "You're still sure about this?" he asked, searching my eyes.

I nodded, because I wanted him — wanted this so badly I could hardly breathe.

"Yeah," I whispered. "I'm sure." The look that passed through his eyes was pure heat, but wrapped in something warm and protective.

"Good," he murmured, before leaning down and kissing me — a deep, unhurried pull at my lips that made my heart stutter.

The moment his tongue slid against mine, something inside me let go. I let my hands drift to his shirt, feeling the silk under my fingers, pulling him closer. When he pulled back, he let his gaze wander down, drinking me in from head to toe with such raw appreciation I nearly squirmed.

"God," he rasped, brushing a thumb across my cheek, "you're stunning... every inch of you."

My cheeks burned even hotter, a shy laugh slipping out. Then he stepped behind me, fingers tracing along the zipper of my dress, voice going dark with hunger.

"You wore this just to kill me, didn't you?"

I shivered. "Maybe," I teased, though it sounded more like a gasp.

His hands stilled, fingertips at the strap, and he paused — gentle, careful. "Can I take this off?" I nodded again, too breathless to answer out loud.

He slid the zipper down so slowly it felt like torture, the brush of his knuckles down my spine making my skin prickle with goosebumps. I felt the fabric slide off my shoulders, pooling around my ankles, leaving me in the black lace lingerie I'd chosen, half to feel powerful, half to remind myself I was still wanted.

Harry let out a shaky breath behind me. "Fuck," he sighed. "You're going to kill me tonight."

Heat flooded through me, pooling low and hot. He took his time exploring, hands smoothing over the curve of my hips, fingertips brushing along the lace, tracing where the sheer bra barely held me together.

"Perfect," he said, voice rough with awe. "Every. Inch."

He dipped his head to press hot kisses to my shoulder, letting his teeth scrape just enough to make me whimper. My hands found their way to his hair, threading through the soft curls, tugging gently.

"Harry," I breathed, overwhelmed already.

He pulled back to look at me, one hand cupping my jaw, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth.

"I've been thinking about how good you'd taste all night," he whispered, a wicked smile pulling at the edges of his lips. My knees nearly buckled. "Mine tonight, yeah?" he added, voice darker, possessive in a way that made me clench around nothing.

"Yes," I gasped, barely recognizing my own voice.

Harry grinned, the heat in his eyes almost too much to hold. "Let me hear you, baby."

Then he kissed me again, harder this time, coaxing another helpless moan out of me. His hands moved down to cup my thighs, lifting me like I weighed nothing, and walked me backward until my knees hit the bed. He laid me down so gently it made my heart ache, then sank to his knees between my parted legs. His fingers hooked under the lace of my thong, looking up with that infuriating patience.

"Can I?"

"Please," I managed, voice breaking. He grinned — and pulled it down with devastating slowness, baring me completely.

Harry just stared at me for a second, like he was trying to memorize every detail, and then he leaned in, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the inside of my thigh. Each brush of his lips felt like fire, leaving me twitching, breathless, practically vibrating with need.

He chuckled low in his throat, like he could read my mind. “So pretty,” he murmured, tongue teasing just at the crease of my hip. “So fucking pretty with my fingers inside you.”

I let out a strangled sound, hips jerking toward him, desperate for anything, everything. Harry’s hand smoothed along my stomach, grounding me, while the other dipped down, two fingers sliding through the slick heat between my legs. I couldn’t help the moan that broke free — it felt so good, so overwhelming, that I forgot to be shy.

“God, you’re wet already,” he teased, but there was reverence in his voice. “You want this?”

“Yes,” I gasped, shame long gone. “Please, Harry—”

His grin was pure sin. “Good.”

He sank his fingers inside me slowly, curling them just right, and I nearly came undone on the spot. The stretch, the fullness, after being so empty for so long — it stole the air from my lungs.

“That’s it, baby,” Harry whispered, voice low and rough. “Let me hear you.”

A broken, keening moan escaped me, my hips rolling helplessly against his hand as he worked me open with steady, relentless strokes. Then I felt his mouth — soft, warm, teasing — replacing his thumb on my clit, and I almost screamed. He sucked gently at first, then firmer, in rhythm with his fingers, every nerve ending sparking at once.

“Harry—” I panted, fingers tangled in his hair. “Fuck, please don’t stop.”

He laughed, breath hot against me, the vibrations making me whimper. “Not going anywhere, sweetheart,” he promised, his voice somehow both gentle and filthy.

I felt the orgasm cresting before I could fight it — too intense, crashing over me like a wave. My entire body went tight, trembling, clamping around his fingers while he coaxed me through it, praising me over and over.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he groaned. “Let go for me. There you go.” When I finally caught my breath, he pulled back, licking his lips with a grin that was almost obscene. “I could taste you all night,” he teased, and I let out a half-laugh, half-sob, completely undone.

I barely had a moment to recover before he kissed me again — deep, possessive, letting me taste myself on his tongue. Then he stood, peeling off his own shirt and letting it drop to the floor, revealing the lean, toned lines of his body, dusted with tattoos I’d only ever seen in photos. My breath caught. He was… beautiful.

He caught me staring, and smirked. “See something you like?” I nodded, too dazed to be embarrassed. His hands went to his belt, pausing just a second. “You still sure?”

“Yes,” I whispered, no hesitation left.

Harry stripped the rest of the way, and my mouth went dry at the sight of him, thick and heavy and flushed, already so hard. I licked my lips, heat rushing through me, and he noticed. His grin went dark.

“Want to taste me?” he asked, voice hoarse.

I swallowed hard, nodding again. “Yeah.”

He stepped closer, guiding me gently to the edge of the bed. I wrapped a hand around him, marveling at the weight, the heat, before leaning in and taking him into my mouth. Harry let out a strangled curse, one hand bracing against the headboard, the other threading into my hair.

“Fuck, baby, just like that,” he praised, voice wrecked. “God, you look so pretty with my cock in your mouth.”

That sent a shiver through me, a thrill buzzing under my skin. I hollowed my cheeks, sucking harder, letting him slide deeper, wanting to give him even a fraction of what he’d just given me. His hips flexed forward, controlled but needy, and I moaned around him, which made him curse again, louder.

“Shit — you’re gonna make me come if you keep doing that,” he warned, pulling back gently before I could finish him off. He leaned down, kissing me rough and sweet at once, breathing hard. “I need to be inside you,” he growled against my mouth.

A rush of heat coiled low in my belly at the thought.

“Please,” I whispered, clutching at his shoulders. “I need you, Harry — all of you.”

His eyes darkened, and he guided me back on the bed, settling between my thighs. One hand fisted in my hair, the other braced at my hip, as he lined himself up and pushed in, inch by inch, filling me so perfectly it stole every word from my mouth.

“Nice and slow, sweetheart,” Harry murmured, voice shaking. “That’s it… fuck, you feel incredible.”

I could only moan, overwhelmed by the stretch, the heat, the fullness. He paused once he was fully seated inside me, giving me time to adjust, his forehead resting against mine. I could feel him everywhere, a delicious, aching fullness that made my toes curl.

“Tell me how it feels,” he murmured, voice rough, eyes searching mine.

I gasped, clinging to his shoulders. “So good… you’re so big, Harry, it’s—” He kissed me, swallowing the rest of my words, then pulled back just enough to move, a slow, perfect drag that made me shudder.

“Good girl,” he rasped, hips rolling, steady and deep. “Taking me so fucking well.”

Every thrust made sparks explode behind my eyes, the pressure building again far too quickly. My hands scrabbled at his back, desperate for something to hold onto.

“Harry—” I moaned, nearly crying from how good it felt, how right it felt.

He grinned, then caught my chin with his fingers, forcing me to look at him. “Mine tonight, yeah?”

“Yes,” I gasped, barely recognizing my own voice.

“Say it,” he commanded, voice dropping to a dangerous, possessive rumble.

“Yours,” I breathed, dizzy. “I’m yours.”

His smile turned darkly satisfied, and he slammed into me harder, making me arch and cry out.

“Gonna fill you up, baby,” he growled, voice thick with lust. “Make you so full of me, yeah?”

My entire body went tight at the words, a deep, animal thrill pulsing through me.

“Yes — please, Harry—”

He shifted, pulling my legs higher around his waist, changing the angle so he hit even deeper. I nearly sobbed at the sensation, head spinning.

“Fuck, look at you,” Harry groaned, eyes blazing. “Falling apart on my cock.” I couldn’t answer, only moaned, letting the wave crest higher and higher. Harry’s hand slipped to my throat, gentle but firm, squeezing just enough to make my breath catch. “Good girl,” he praised again, voice breaking. “You’re gonna come for me, yeah?”

“Yes,” I whimpered, barely holding on.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, thrusts going rougher. “Come on, pretty girl. Let go for me.”

The orgasm slammed into me so hard I saw stars, my entire body locking up, squeezing around him. I cried out, voice ragged, lost in the pleasure. Harry cursed, hips jerking erratically as he followed me over the edge.

“Fuck, I’m coming — take it all, baby,” he groaned, burying himself to the hilt as he spilled inside me.

We both froze, breathing hard, his forehead still pressed to mine, sweat-slicked and shaking. When he finally pulled back to look at me, the heat in his eyes had gentled, soft and adoring.

“You were perfect,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Absolutely perfect.”

I flushed, overwhelmed, whispering a shy, “Thank you…”

He kissed me, slow and sweet, then carefully pulled out, watching my face as he did. I felt a messy, aching sense of relief, a flutter of satisfaction that went bone-deep. Harry stood, then returned with a warm cloth, cleaning me up gently, making sure I was comfortable before pulling me into his chest.

“I’m here,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my temple. “You’re safe, alright?” I nodded against him, too raw to speak, but feeling lighter than I had in weeks.

Harry held me there, arms strong and warm around me, while the faint city noise filtered through the open window. A distant hum of traffic, the soft beat of his heart.

“I know it’s fast,” he murmured after a moment, voice threaded with honesty, “but I’m glad it was me.”

My throat tightened. “Me too,” I admitted, burying my face in his neck.

He smiled, one hand smoothing along my back, soothing. “Sleep here,” he offered softly. “We can talk in the morning.”

I nodded again, too worn out to protest, letting my eyes drift shut while the last scraps of heartbreak burned away. Harry’s breathing evened out against me, steady and warm, and I let myself melt into it, safe in his arms, the faintest glimmer of hope flickering somewhere deep in my chest.

Maybe tomorrow would hurt. But tonight, I let him hold me.

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

author’s note:

first post — thanks for checking it out! feel free to drop your thoughts or just say hi. 💗

love,

🌙 canyonmoonchild

[thewisewill80sbyers]

Friendly reminder that I have communist ideals, I am an atheist and anti Zionist and I am pro resistance too, I'm not going to be harassing anyone online because that's simply not who I am and I am against that + I don't think that's useful in general, but I'm also not interested in entertaining your Zionist propaganda here, there is no conversation to be had after all the barbaric violence and injustice and the corpses of children that I've seen with my eyes every single day since this started that would ever change my mind and in particular there's no conversation about the situation that would change my mind about the dynamics of abuse of power that are clear, there's nothing complicated in what's going on, western governments are the ones in the wrong as they often have been and it's all connected to capitalism and the colonial mindset of our countries, and if you're okay with what's going on or can find any justification, especially because of religion, then you're either completely sick in the mind and have dehumanized Palestinians so much that it makes you blind or so ignorant that it would take months to fix that.

I want peace and justice for the people and the fall of abusive systems in society and I am not entertaining ideas of "justice" that don't make it truly fair for all of us as people.

So, block me if you have any problems with this. I have decided a while ago that the only way I am going to try to change people's minds about stuff this much important is if we're talking face to face, otherwise I'm keeping this space free of that, especially when I can see from what you write that I would need months of conversations to make you deconstruct that amount of propaganda and it's even difficult that it would work completely at this point, first of all because if you haven't changed your mind after seeing everything that happened I don't know what could work and then also because we don't have a trusting relationship and I don't have the energy to do that with strangers in this period of time in particular because of personal reasons

[cosmogyros]

.

[yuniper]

it just occurred to me that i could literally just go to rattay in real life, it's only a seven hour drive. i've literally been on longer drives than that. i could just up and leave and see any kcd location in real life.

[lulujamesspencer]

Please let’s not weaponise yet another thing against folks because you know who this kind of weaponisation gets used against, right?

Right?!

"this is DEFINITELY written by AI, I can tell because it uses the writing quirks that AI uses (because it was trained on real people who write with those quirks)"

c'mon dudes we have got to do better than this

[checkeredflagggs]

Adopt-a-Dad

Pairing: charles leclerc x mom!reader x max verstappen

summary: Avery, Charles’ stepdaughter, decided that Max is now her second dad — Charles panics, Max freezes, and y/n just laughs.

a/n: this came from a conversation on @sinofwriting’s discord

Masterlist

f1gossip

liked by user, user, user, and 172,382 others

f1gossip: Charles Leclerc seen with new female! New girlfriend alert or just a fling? It’s been a couple of years since the young man from Monaco has been seen with anyone consistently

view all comments

user1: Nooooooooo! This was supposed to be me

↳user2: This Is So Sad Alexa Play Despacito

↳user1: wow you’re old

user3: heart 💔 been broke 📉 so many times ⏰ i don’t know 🤔 what to believe 💯 mama 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 said 🗣 it’s my fault 😢 it’s my fault 🤦🏻‍♂️i wear my heart ❤️ on my sleeve 💪 i think it’s best 👍🏻 I put my heart ❤️ on ice 🧊

user4: can you hear something?

↳user5: what? Your heart breaking??

↳user6: it’s more than just your heart — the entire country of Italy just fell to their knees

↳user7: and the entirety of the teenage and middle age female population…

↳user4: wow just call me unoriginal why don’t you

user8: Ok I’m saying it's not new — look at that body language!

↳user9: you’re so right — that’s something you do when you’re comfortable with someone

user10: oh look a new golddigger…

↳user11: you don’t know that!

↳user10: I can take an educated guess…

Private Messages, Charles and y/n

charles_leclerc

liked by maxverstappen1, arthur_leclerc, pierregasly, and 1,823,129 others

tagged: yn

charles_leclerc: Happy anniversary, mon chouchou. These past 5 years have been everything to me ♥️

view all comments

user12: 5 YEARS?!?

maxverstappen1: congratulations on the anniversary

user13: not the soft launch…Charles we want face pictures!

oscarpiastri: happy 5 years!

user14: how on earth has he kept it from us for so long?!?

↳user15: that’s what I want to know!!

arthur_leclerc: glad you’ve been part of the family for 5 years now!

↳yn: thank you for welcoming me in ❤️

pierregasly: happy anniversary calmar & yn

f1

Transcript:

1: So Charles…this past week you hard launched a relationship

2: Yeah. Yeah I did. Y/N and I have been together for about 5 years now and I love her so much

3: So long!

C: yeah we decided pretty early on we weren’t going to make a big deal out of us. Keep it to ourselves for a while.

4: What made you decide to hard launch then? No one really knew who she was!

5: Yeah we talked when those paparazzi photos came out and we just decided together that we were ready for the world to know about us

6: You know I never hid her because I was ashamed but because I was almost greedy. I didn’t want to share her — I love her so much, even when she drinks redbull

liked by user, user, user, and 1,824,639 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

f1: Chaos in the paddock this week! Charles Leclerc sits down with us and talks about the ‘25 season, the car this year, and his unexpected relationship reveal

view all comments

user16: oh my god look at him — he’s so in love…

↳user17: he’s literally glowing

user18: thats adorable — how he explained that he wasn’t hiding her, he just wanted her for himself…

↳user19: find yourself a man like Charles challenge failed…

user20: I love that he talks about her redbull addiction 😂

↳user21: and that he loves her regardless of it

↳user22: she must drink a lot of he comments on it 😂

↳user21: ok im gonna laugh if she’s secretly a redbull fan…

↳user22: she’d be just like Charles then…

f1gossip

liked by user, user, user, and 823,526 others

f1gossip: Charles caught talking about yn again! This time on how they started dating and the challenges they faced — none more than the LN’s being fans of Redbull Racing since Sebastian Vettel

view all comments

user23: oh this is my Romeo and Juliet!

↳user24: hopefully without all the murder…

user25: I love them??

↳user26: love that the biggest Ferrari fan has a redbull girlfriend

user27: ok but what are the odds they just sit around and talk about max?

↳user28: I’m guessing pretty high

↳user29: gossip about max and shit talk the rest of the team

↳user28: as they should tbh

user30: that’s the cutest first date ever

↳user31: what was it? Can’t watch the interview yet

↳user30: yn was (is?) a dog walker and one day they ran ahead of her and tangled up with Charles and they like fell together

↳user30: and every time he finally got free and attempted to leave, they did it again

↳user30: so they just decided to hang out for the day and the rest is apparently history

↳user31: oh my god that is cute…

Bluesky

f1gossip

liked by user, user, user, and 728,453 others

f1gossip: newly revealed girlfriend of Charles Leclerc seen out with a young child. Possible daughter? Or is she just babysitting?

view all comments

user32: SHE HAS A DAUGHTER?!?

↳user33: what in the multiverse is happening right now?!?

user34: say it with me — GOLD DIGGER

↳user35: just because she potentially had a daughter doesn’t mean she’s a gold digger!

↳user36: and let’s say that again! POTENTIALLY. Nothing has actually been announced!

user37: ok but if that is her daughter?? Girl dad Charles?!!

↳user38: ok but that’s it! That’s literally it!

↳user39: we’ve been blessed with the possibility!

user50: why is this ok?! Like leave the woman and her maybe daughter alone!

↳user51: right?!? Like they literally chased her down to get these pictures

↳user52: she’s not a public figure — just let them live their life!

Private Messages, Charles and y/n

f1gossip

liked by user, user, user, and 827,632 others

f1gossip: At the Monaco GP this weekend, we’ve got yn, Charles Leclerc’s girlfriend, and her daughter, Avery! They stopped to answer some fans questions as they walked into the paddock with Charles and the Leclerc’s

view all comments

user53: oh they’re both so sweet!

↳user54: they really really were!

user55: hate how it happened, happy that it did…

↳user56: that’s the truest thing I’ve ever heard

user57: Avery is adorable! She was just hopping along, answering questions 🥹🥹

↳user58: this is now an Avery LN protection account

↳user59: insert that one meme — I’ve only had her a day…

user60: her little redbull suit…

↳user61: Charles was right — the LN’s are a redbull family!

redbullracing

liked by yn, max verstappen1, oscarpiastri, and 1,923,823 others

tagged: yn, maxverstappen1

redbullracing: Looks like we have a new fan visiting us for the weekend! Welcome Avery!

view all comments

user62: she beelined right to him!

↳user63: the pure panic Charles had when she first broke away from him to the acceptance when he saw where she was going to mild panic again when she didn’t stop and just rammed into him

↳user64: ok but max was so cute with her? Like he was just so gentle? He just crouched down to talk to her? And he lifted her up??

↳user65: girl dad max??

user66: Avery did not want to let go of max

↳user67: to be fair I wouldn’t either?

↳user68: the way that both Charles and yn were just ok with max holding her?

charles_leclerc: Not for the weekend! Just for a couple of hours!

↳maxverstappen1: don’t lie — she’d rather stay with me

↳yn: we have dogs to tempt her back

↳charles_leclerc: lewishamilton being Roscoe!

↳lewishamilton: …sure?

user69: ok but Avery is such a copy of Charles?

↳user70: do you mean the wink?

↳user71: the same stance?

↳user72: the look of frustration on her face?

↳user73: the look of concentration on her face when max started yapping?

↳user69: all of the above tbh…

arthur_leclerc: no no no Avery it’s Ferrari forever!

↳user74: sorry but I think we lost her to redbull…

↳arthur_leclerc: NO

skysports

skysports went live!

skysports: follow along with Nico Rosberg as he talks Monaco, new regulation rules, and drivers’ chances for this weekend

view all comments

user75: Nico!

user76: go bug Ferrari!

user77: who are you gonna curse this time?

user78: wait what was that?!

user77: was that Avery?

user79: AVERY

user80: Nico I swear to god I need you to get closer to redbull and max and Avery right now

user75: did Avery just ask max fk be her second dad?!?

user76: she did!

user81: the blue screen on max’s face right now

user78: Avery: “yeah mum and daddy watch your car all the time and they talk about you a lot and they get all red like they do when they talk about each other”

user76: this girl is a riot

user82: i love her

user77: Nico’s face right now…

user76: Avery again: “and daddy and his family are all Ferrari people except they suck and redbull doesn’t except this year they kinda do but not you and anyway I need support against the Ferrari and didn’t tell you that mum and daddy really like talking about you so I’m gonna call you papa and you can come and live with us and Leo and daddy said you have 3 cats and a dog that’s so cool I have the perfect place for a cat tree for them-”

user83: did Avery just wingman her parents??

user82: my question is why is it working?!?

user84: look at max’s face he’s totally charmed right now

user75: if he doesn’t go home with them…

user76: ok but Charles (and yn) watch max’s onboards??

user77: I need to know more information about that

user80: same! Is it strategy? Is it pining? Is jt foreplay??

user85: oh Avery is still going’

user84: love how she’s listing out all these reasons on why max should start dating her parents..

user85: they’re pretty and you’re pretty so it all works out

user83: I need another redbull adult in my life

user75: I need more access to pets

user79: apparently they blush whenever someone asks about max??

user76: Avery is a queen

user77: this is the content I pay to see!

Private Messages, Charles and y/n

Private Messages, Charles/Max and y/n

f1gossip

liked by arthur_leclerc, danielricciardo, pierregasly, and 284,193 others

tagged: maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc

yn: trying something new ♥️ (we’ll announce this one ourselves, thank you)

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[bogleech]

"The question was posed, "Why do people continue supporting Trump no matter what he does?" A lady named Bev answered it this way: “You all don't get it. I live in Trump country, in the Ozarks in southern Missouri, one of the last places where the KKK still has a relatively strong established presence. They don't give a shit what he does. He's just something to rally around and hate liberals, that's it, period. He absolutely realizes that and plays it up. They love it. He knows they love it. The fact that people act like it's anything other than that proves to them that liberals are idiots, all the more reason for high fives all around. If you keep getting caught up in "why do they not realize this problem" and "how can they still back Trump after this scandal," then you do not understand what the underlying motivating factor of his support is. It's fuck liberals, that's pretty much it. Have you noticed he can do pretty much anything imaginable, and they'll explain some way that rationalizes it that makes zero logical sense? Because they're not even keeping track of any coherent narrative, it's irrelevant. Fuck liberals is the only relevant thing. Trust me; I know firsthand what I'm talking about. That's why they just laugh at it all because you all don't even realize they truly don't give a fuck about whatever the conversation is about. It's just a side mission story that doesn't matter anyway. That's all just trivial details - the economy, health care, whatever. Fuck liberals. Look at the issue with not wearing the masks. I can tell you what that's about. It's about exposing fear. They're playing chicken with nature, and whoever flinches just moved down their internal pecking order, one step closer to being a liberal. You've got to understand the one core value that they hold above all others is hatred for what they consider weakness because that's what they believe strength is, hatred of weakness. And I mean passionate, sadistic hatred. And I'm not exaggerating. Believe me. Sadistic, passionate hatred, and that's what proves they're strong, their passionate hatred for weakness. Sometimes they will lump vulnerability in with weakness. They do that because people tend to start humbling themselves when they're in some compromising or overwhelming circumstance, and to them, that's an obvious sign of weakness. Kindness = weakness. Honesty = weakness. Compromise = weakness. They consider their very existence to be superior in every way to anyone who doesn't hate weakness as much as they do. They consider liberals to be weak people that are inferior, almost a different species, and the fact that liberals are so weak is why they have to unite in large numbers, which they find disgusting, but it's that disgust that is a true expression of their natural superiority. Go ahead and try to have a logical, rational conversation with them. Just keep in mind what I said here and be forewarned.”

From a facebook post, with a lot of comments from people who actually didn't realize it was like this. Yeah, I grew up knowing these kinds of people too and that's exactly how it is.

[gyaruhana]

please do one where Thanos starts off as your unlikely ally in the games, protecting you from danger and helping you survive. Over time, his protectiveness becomes obsessive, and he begins eliminating anyone he sees as a threat to keeping you by his side even as you start to notice his unsettling behavior you can’t escape his grasp🙏

Thanos/Choi Su-Bong - yandere bf

Synopsis: In an attempt to escape from Thanos, you join a game promising money that will help you escape him. Unfortunately, he also seemed to have joined the game.

A/N: I may have combined this with two other requests bc they were all so similar so.. i hope thats okay !!

Warning: yandere thanos, choking

If you had told your younger self you’d be in a game of death with 45.6 billion won up for grabs, you wouldn’t believe it. And yet, it’s true. After the tragedy that was Red Light, Green Light where many people met a rather unfortunate fate, you realized it’d be in your best interest to find someone you can trust and form an alliance with them.

Unfortunately for you, your boyfriend, Thanos, happened to also be a part of the games and had been watching you from a distance since he spotted you in the first game. You had originally wanted to get away from him because he was nothing but toxic though now it seems Thanos was one step ahead of you. That, or you just had terrible luck and Thanos decided to come here on his own accord. 

You didn't have time to think about it though because he suddenly got up and left his little group behind to make his way straight to you. He didn't seem happy at all. Perhaps it was because the last conversation you two had was an argument that was left off on a bad note. 

“Where have you been? Were you avoiding me? That makes me really fucking mad, you know,” he says as he grabs your wrist so you can't just walk away from him. Not like there was anywhere to go now. You were stuck with him here. 

“I was just taking some time for myself,” you respond defensively. You really just wanted to get away from him which is why you were here in the first place. Your original plan was to win some money and then disappear so you'd never have to deal with Thanos and his crazy behavior again. It was suffocating to be near him.

“Time for yourself? Don't fucking lie to me,” he says as he brings you closer to him. Nothing about him was gentle. Not his touches, or his kisses, or anything. “Well, you've had your time. You're not leaving my side now,” he continues as he looks down at you with a glare. He wasn't leaving any room for you to defy him. In his eyes, you belonged to him. You were his property and that meant you couldn't go rogue and do what you want. 

“You don't get a say in that,” you say as you lean back slightly to try to create some distance between the two of you. He lets out a bitter laugh before grabbing the back of your head, entangling his fingers in your hair, and forcing you closer. “Yes, I do. In case you forgot, you're stuck in a death game with me. Do you really think anyone else will help you? Nobody else here gives a fuck about you. The moment they get the chance, they'll let a bullet go through your head,” he says as he looks down at you with a slightly crazed look. 

You'd like to make a counter point but he’s not exactly wrong. A lot of the people here didn't seem to be trustworthy. Not like Thanos was any better but he probably wouldn't purposely kill you if you didn't piss him off, right? As much as you didn't want to, you realized you didn't have much choice. Unless you want to make an enemy right after the first game, Thanos was your only hope of surviving the rest of the games.

“That's better. Just keep your pretty lips shut and let me do the talking,” Thanos spoke with a slight smirk. You didn't respond to that knowing that you'd likely make some sarcastic quip that would piss him off if you did. You didn't have a choice this time. You couldn't run away to another country. You had to give in just this once.

You'd soon come to regret that decision. 

Somehow, Thanos had only gotten worse. He was always right next to you, no matter what. Either his hand would be over your shoulder or he'd have a tight grip on your waist. When it was lights out, he'd force you to sleep in the same bed as him. He'd kiss you all the time too but it was always rough with teeth clashing against each other and his tongue shoved down your throat.

You didn't notice it got worse until it was far too late. 

The moment of realization was during the third game. The game was called ‘mingle’ and it was simple enough. A number would be called out and you'd have 30 seconds to form a group of that number before getting inside one of the fifty rooms. 

Everyone stood on a circular platform in the center of the room and, per usual, Thanos had his arm over your shoulder, keeping you close to him as he spoke to his other stupid friend. The platform began to spin slowly as a childish song played. When the platform came to a sudden stop and a number was called out you formed a group and ran into a room. 

It was all going fine as you planned strategic moves and managed to keep on surviving. At least, it was going well. Until the last round when the number 2 was called. 

Thanos had immediately taken your wrist and dragged you towards a room, leaving behind his idiot friend without a second thought. However, the room was quickly stolen by two other players. You thought Thanos would just go to the next room over but that was not what happened.

Instead he pushed open the door and immediately grabbed one of the guys by their hair. He didn't think twice before he forced him out of the room. The other guy made an attempt to help but Thanos slammed him against the wall, his hand going around his throat as he choked him. The look in his eyes was far more scary than you remember. You could hardly process what was happening before the guy was punched in the face and pushed out of the room. 

Thanos pulled you in just before the door closed and locked. The sound of gunshots rang out soon after as Thanos huffed in annoyance. He looked guilt free despite the fact he was very much responsible for the death of two people. Actually, now that you really thought about it, he had killed other people in the previous games too.

Fuck. You were beginning to regret your choice of becoming his ally. You'd have much rather found someone else who could protect you from him because he was clearly fucking crazy. Crazier than he used to be. You thought he was just a manipulative, toxic bastard. You didn't think he'd be truly capable of murder. 

“Fucking dickheads,” Thanos mumbles under his breath with annoyance before glancing at your face. The corner of his lips quirked up when he noticed your expression and he wandered in front of you. “What? Something wrong?” He spoke though he already knew exactly what you were thinking.

“You killed those people,” you said as you looked up at him with a combination of fear and disbelief. He laughed in response before reaching a hand up and grabbing your face. “For you, baby. I fucking killed them for you,” he said as he looked down at you with a smirk. He found your expression such a turn-on really. The idea you were afraid of him meant you'd submit to him and that's all he wanted.

“You're fucking crazy.. crazier than I thought,” you spoke as you tried to step back and create some distance between the two of you. In response, he slammed you against the wall and got very close to you. 

“You're only just realizing this? You don't realize when I snapped the ankle of that bastard who looked at you so he'd lose? You didn't realize when our ‘friend’ and I returned but he had a bleeding nose?” He spoke as he got into your face with a dangerous grin. Well, when he said it like that, it became abundantly clear he had been killing and hurting people left and right since day one and all for you. You just had been too caught up in his behavior towards you that you didn't notice how he acted with others.

“Mm. Fuck, I love that look on your face. You're so afraid. Good. Because you're going to learn that you're mine forever, yeah?” He spoke as he brought a hand to your throat and squeezed it tightly. He let out a laugh as he choked you like it was the funniest thing in the world before slamming his lips to yours in a rough kiss. 

It was then you realized that, no matter how hard you tried to escape, you were his now - you always have been - and you will never taste freedom on your tongue again.

[robertreich]

Let me just come right out and say it: I love @BernieSanders. While many in the Democratic Party appear to be asleep, Bernie is leading the charge against the Trump regime. His "Fighting Oligarchy" tour is spanning the country and drawing massive crowds in Republican leaning districts. He's tapping into the anxiety that so many of us are feeling. And he's energizing us to stay engaged in the fight we're in right now — and the fights to come. Why do I love Bernie? I love his authenticity. Some people like Donald Trump because he says whatever he wants and he’s an asshole. Bernie’s authenticity comes from saying what he wants and speaking the truth. And although he’s blunt, he’s anything but an asshole. When he growls “this grotesque level of income and wealth inequality is immoral,” he means it. And he’s right. I love Bernie because he’s a true populist — a word that has gotten a terrible rap since Trump but should be redeemed. It means for the people and against the powerful. Trump pretends to be a populist, but he’s always wanted to be one of the powerful and has forever been in their pockets. Bernie is a true populist. I love Bernie because he has almost single-handedly changed the national conversation — turning proposals that had once been on the Democratic fringe into respectable, and in some cases mainstream, Democratic positions. Creating jobs by rebuilding infrastructure. Providing free tuition at public universities. Breaking up the big banks. Guaranteeing workers paid medical and family leave. The policies no longer seem far-fetched. I love Bernie because even at the age of 83, his indignation hasn’t faded. Nor has his energy. I love Bernie because he has more guts than any politician I know. Hell, he has more guts than just about anyone I know. Bernie — thank you for continuing to fight for a better world. I'll be right there alongside you, friend.

[ijustwannabecool]

Defending Your Honor

Charles Leclerc x Wife!Reader Summary... When online hate targets you, Charles takes matters into his own hands. A fan gets banned. The fandom gets obsessed. And you? You get reminded that Charles will always choose you, loudly, publicly, and intimately.

Trigger Warnings: Online harassment, misogynistic slurs, public confrontation, smut, explicit language

A/N: enjoy reading this little piece. let me know how you like it. dont forget to like, reblog, and comment your thoughts. request are open guys, so feel free to request anything. have a beautiful day :)

--

Charles wasn’t always online, but when he was, it was either to scroll through memes Arthur had sent or to check your Instagram.

Even after a long race weekend of press conferences, media obligations, debriefs; he always made time to find you.

That night, you were curled against him on the couch of your Monaco apartment, fast asleep in one of his red team shirts. The TV hummed softly in the background, showing some home renovation show you’d both forgotten to change.

He should’ve gone to sleep too. But instead, he opened Twitter.

You were trending.

Not in a fun way.

#JusticeforYN

His brows furrowed. Clicking into the tag, his stomach tightened.

A video from the Canadian GP paddock. You and Charles, walking hand-in-hand, laughing at something he’d whispered. Normal. Sweet. Intimate.

Then another clip.

You talking to Arthur, sipping on an iced coffee with a soft smile. And in the background a loud, jarring, hateful voiceovers:

“Charles’s hoe.”

“She’s only famous because she’s fucking him.”

“She thinks she’s special? Please.”

The woman recording was clearly visible. A bright red Ferrari crop top and cowboy hat. Screaming over the barrier.

Charles’s jaw clenched as the screen glowed against his face. You hadn't even flinched. You hadn’t heard any of it over the music and crowd.

But now he had.

Scrolling deeper, he found more: the same account tweeting threats. Saying she’d be at Silverstone. That she was going to “ruin” you. That she’d won a meet and greet through a sponsor.

Not on my fucking watch.

You found him pacing the kitchen the next morning, phone pressed to his ear, wearing nothing but boxers and a deep frown.

"...yes, I want her name off the list. Immediately. No, I don’t care who approved it. It’s a safety concern."

You rubbed your eyes. "Cha? Everything okay?"

His expression softened. He pressed the phone to his chest. "It’s handled, mon coeur."

--

Silverstone.

You were chatting with Lily and Carmen near the espresso machine when Charles stiffened beside you.

“She’s here,” he murmured under his breath.

Your chest tightened. You didn’t have to ask who. You saw the flash of red and country through the corner of your eye.

She was in line for the VIP meet and greet.

Charles excused himself with a kiss to your temple. You watched him cross the room with that quiet, purposeful energy that always made people stop and stare.

“Hi,” he said politely to the girl.

She lit up like a Christmas tree. “Oh my god! Charles, I’m such a fan—”

“Can I speak with you? Privately.”

They moved off to the side. You couldn’t hear the conversation, but you saw her face fall. Security flanked them moments later.

Charles returned a few minutes later and wrapped an arm around your waist, pressing a kiss behind your ear.

“She won’t bother you again. Or anyone else.”

Later that evening, tucked in your hotel bed, his hand slid beneath your shirt.

“Still thinking about it?” you asked softly.

He kissed your shoulder. “Only how I should’ve found her sooner.”

You turned in his arms, straddling his lap. “You’re not responsible for every idiot with a Twitter account, Cha.”

His hands gripped your thighs. "Non. But I am responsible for making you feel safe."

You leaned forward, brushing your nose against his. "I feel safe."

His lips were slow, reverent, then suddenly needy. His hands pulled your underwear aside and you gasped into his mouth.

“You’re mine,” he whispered into your skin, over and over. “Only mine.”

----

Fan Footage, Later That Week:

A blurry video of Charles sneaking a kiss against your neck before heading into the team garage. Captioned: “he’s obsessed with her and I love that for him.”

A Polaroid posted to your Instagram: your feet resting on Charles’s lap in the motorhome, coffee cups on the table, his hand on your thigh. Caption: quiet moments.

Another clip from a fan outside the paddock: Charles lifting your suitcase out of the car while wearing your name embroidered on the back of his jacket.

----

Twitter Aftermath

@f1gossipgirl: charles leclerc handled that like a KING. his wife is off limits, period.

@slowmoferrari: she didn’t even flinch. queen behavior.

@theylovecarles: charles removing a fan for disrespecting yn, then going out and qualifying P1? the husband energy is CRAZY.

----

That night, as you curled into his chest, Charles whispered, “They’ll never understand what you mean to me.”

You smiled against his collarbone. “They don’t have to.”

He kissed your hair, heart steady now. “I’ll always protect you. Always.”

[rafesangelita]

…DILF!RAFE X BITCHY!KOOK!READER AU

⋆𐙚₊˚🐈‍⬛⊹♡

DILF!RAFE X BITCHY!KOOK!READER first met each other over drinks at the country club bar, both of them seemingly washing away their problems with premium alcohol. she hadn’t noticed him at all until the bartender brought her a drink that she didn’t pay for. “courtesy of mr. cameron.” she looked up to see that the only man seated not too far away from her was already staring at her over his own glass. attractive, slightly intimidating and cold looking, and the cherry on top— obviously loaded with money, it didn’t take long for bitchy!kook!reader to come to the conclusion that this ‘mr. cameron’ was exactly her type. swallowing her pride, she made her way over, her hand brushing his thigh as she settled in to the seat next to him. “i could understand why i’ve decided to spend my friday night here all by myself, but you? it’s not making sense to me.”

DILF!RAFE X BITCHY!KOOK!READER who end up staying at the country club past closing time, both of them talking nonstop as they drunkenly laid out their dirty laundry to each other, neither of them sparing a single detail from their conversation. dilf!rafe finds out bitchy!kook!reader’s parents make him look like he’s dad of the year despite him having a really hard time balancing his work and home life. rafe tells her that he’s been divorced for almost a year now, his kids having decided to leave tanneyhill with their mother when things got really messy. “what guts me is that my kids wanted to stay with me first. they gave me a chance and they watched their mom leave for the mainland in tears, and i still couldn’t be there for them the way they needed. i basically live at work, and once they picked up on that, there was no going back.”

DILF!RAFE X BITCHY!KOOK!READER who come to the realization that they fit each other like puzzle pieces. bitchy!kook!reader— having never been part of a family, craving the attention of an authoritive figure, and rafe— seeing that she’s so much younger than him and wanting to redeem himself for not being the dad that he wishes he could be. the two of them end up back at rafe’s place that very night where it doesn’t take dilf!rafe a lot of time to figure bitchy!kook!reader out. seeing that she has never had anyone tell her no, let alone discipline her, he finds himself correcting her attitude and bratty tendencies by fucking it right out of her. he’s not letting up on her until he see’s tears rolling down her cheeks and the only thing she could say is a pathetic ‘sorry!’ every time he thrusts into her.

DILF!RAFE X BITCHY!KOOK!READER who develop an interesting relationship dynamic, both of them filling each other’s voids in the most perverted ways. making her cum until she was nothing but a blabbering mess, dilf!rafe never failed to pound her in until she was set straight. “you wanna stomp in your little heels and roll your eyes at me like i’m one of your girlfriends? i don’t think so. you don’t get to do whatever the fuck you want when you’re inside my house. you follow my rules when you’re under my roof, do you understand that?” of course, bitchy!kook!reader nodded without hesitation, her defiant demeanor melting away into nothing as rafe worked her body like no one else knew how to. dilf!rafe always comforted her after he was done ‘punishing’ her, her trembling form being enveloped by his big arms as her heart fluttered in her chest at the closeness and intimacy of it all.

DILF!RAFE X BITCHY!KOOK!READER who often find themselves arguing about bitchy!kook!reader’s irresponsible decisions to party on the weekends until she’s calling rafe for help, her heels clicking against the pavement as she struggles to stay upright on her feet. while rafe tries his best to keep in mind that she’s still young and living her life, he can’t help but to lecture her all the way back to his place. “i can’t stop you from having your fun, but at least be responsible about it. the thought of you standing out there all disoriented just doesn’t sit well with me.” he grumbles, his knuckles turning white from his tight grip on the steering wheel. while bitchy!kook!reader knows she should be receptive towards rafe’s words, she’s instead smiling at him as she rests her feet on his lap. “thank you for caring about me.”

୨୧ after hours with dilf rafe ୨୧ country club day with the kids

[bravo666]

mdni • price x f!reader

captain price has a ritual and his men know better than to disturb. every time 141 gets back from an op and rumbles back to hereford, they unload, debrief, file the necessary reports and then some, all that dreary bureaucracy that needs to be done within the first couple hours of touching back onto english soil. and then, at the first opportunity, he fucks off. captain’s privilege, he says.

the others do too—on the town or to the bunks or to their own flats or wherever—but price never joins them. he has his own destination in mind and it’s a solo journey, so quit nosing about trying to find out, sergeant. he’s only ever gone for a few hours, six at the most, before he rolls on back to base, squares his shoulders, and throws himself back into work. at least he always seems a bit lighter when he comes back.

said destination is a pub not one, not two, but three villages over. the further from base, the less likely it is for him to run into one of his men, and he’d just hate it if that happened, would feel like a dog dragging mud in through the garden door, crossing his wires. he might not like it about himself, but john price is a greedy and selfish man, and the pretty little thing that’s been tending bar for the past few years is a morsel that he wants to keep all to himself, cradled in his jaw and savored.

the dingy pub is nondescript and uncreative, a local establishment that’s been around since anyone can remember and hadn’t changed a whit. price found the place back when he was first made captain and started looking for further out watering holes, looking for some peace and quiet away from the places where the recruits drank. he almost wrote the place off his lists of spots before he saw the flustered young bartender duck in for her shift.

since then, he’s been a regular—for a given value of ‘regular’, as much as a military man can be—ever since. started swapping conversation after the third or fourth visit. polite conversation turned friendly, then raucous with laughter, then warm and teasing.

that’s as far as he let’s it go, naturally. with a job like his, he’s married to his work; there’s no room, no time in his life for a sweet little wife, no matter what he dreams at night with his cock fisted in his grip or whose face he happens to see play the role. he tried the whole wife thing once, chased after it, even, and all price has to show for it is an alimony payment set to automatically go out every month.

(his ex-wife couldn’t handle him in the end. she was the type of woman who needed him at every hour to keep her love alive and couldn’t stomach the weeks alone while he was deployed, and even when price was home, she didn’t have an appetite to match his when he slipped himself off his leash. they both jumped into it without looking ahead. such is life.)

so he ignored the hungry need for a woman beside him, and even if he ever did go down that route again, it couldn’t be her. she’s young and bright and untouched by blood. playful flirting and occasional brushes of fingers hovered somewhere plausibly deniable as a service worker buttering up a favorite patron, or—and price only lets this thought loose for a moment before snatching it and shoving it down with a growl—a friend. he’s gone half the year anyway, or something like it. every time he comes, he carries the irrational, ugly fear that in she’s moved on, moved out, got a new job, left the country, got married—

when he shoulders through the door now, sawdust sticking to his boots, his girl’s—because that’s what she is, even if it’s only the sight of her that he lets himself claim and hoard—wiping down glasses behind the sill, the pub just about empty as all the old timers went home. his first thought is that she’s still there, thank god. his second’s that she’s changed up her hair. it looks good. price pointedly ignores the way the sight of her with her new hair and those pretty lips makes him chub up a little.

his girl’s eyes crinkle a little when she looks up toward the door. “john,” she says warmly, and before he’s even seated at his usual spot on the bar, she’s filling him up his favorite pint. “how are you doing, handsome? just got back from saving the world?”

a snarling, hungry, traitorous part of his brain tells him that his wife is being so good, keeping him fed and watered, and the only thing next on her wifely duties is to keep his balls drained. he tells it to go stuff itself.

“still working on it, sweetheart,” price says with a sip. maybe it was worth it, when she asked a while ago why he showed up so irregularly, to tell her that he was SAS, if only for the way she called it after. saving the world. that’d be nice.

this time, though, he notices something else that’s new besides the hairstyle, and it makes his beer taste like dust in his mouth. a glint in the light, on his girl’s left hand.

not really his girl anymore, is she?

price swallows down his mouthful and tries to quell the sudden heat that rises in his veins, a raging anger that feels, inexplicably, like he’s been stolen from. his molars clench together for dear life as he rearranges, tames, quiets himself. it was fine. it was fine! she’s just his bartender, is all. his friend. modern country and whatever, she could go meet whoever, get engaged to whoever, fuck whoever, and if she was happy, then—then price would have to be happy for her.

(she better be happy, he thinks. if whatever little boy she’s found isn’t making her feel like a bloody princess every god damn day then he doesn’t deserve the fingers he touches her with or the cock between his legs—)

this was good, even. with a ring on her finger, price’d always have a reminder that pretty girls didn’t owe him anything, don’t belong to him like a dog with a bone. kill the fantasy, keep his head on the missions. a better soldier. it’s that tightening thought that lets him calm himself enough to say “congratulations are in order, i assume?”

his gi—the—she furrows her brow in confusion, but she follows price’s gaze—how could she not, with him practically burning a hole in her finger with his stare—and laughs. “oh, that,” she says, easy as ever. “no, nothing’s happened.” she wiggles the ring off her finger and sliding it across the counter to price for his inspection.

under his touch, the tell is obvious: it’s plastic, cheap, almost gummy plastic. the faux diamond is cheap acrylic, only close to sparkling because she’s gone through and polished it up. it takes him a moment before he puts it together, but before he does, he briefly becomes so angry that he thinks he might actually kill a civilian for treating her this way.

“bought that online for five quid,” she keeps going. “just to stop some of the patrons from asking questions, or flirting, or, you know, trying to introduce me to their nephews and that kind of thing.”

a decoy ring. a dummy, a shield, something with no actual suitor attached to the other end. price is so relieved that he can feel every muscle in his aching body untense, and it pisses him off because he knows he shouldn’t care this much about his friend’s love life. “smart,” he says, his voice a bit thick before he clears it. “smart. though, you know, sweetheart, you could always try telling them you’re not interested.”

“please, john, you think i haven’t tried?” she shrugs. “no, most of them don’t listen without seeing a little proof that that seat is taken. always thought they could convince me otherwise. the ring shuts up most of them, and the few that still don’t get the hint, i end up having to tell them stories about ‘my husband’ before they piss off.”

the word husband coming from her mouth makes something rumble in price’s chest that’s becoming dangerously difficult to ignore. he tries a chuckle, tries to focus on the feeling of his beard bristling his own cheeks and not the way they would feel against hers, and tries to lighten the mood. “so, what, you just make up stories about this husband of yours? grand tales of romance?”

but she looks away, and—is his girl flustered? she picks up a rag in her hands and starts wiping idly at the counter, like she’s trying to avoid his eyes. “oh, you know,” she says. “i keep it simple. just enough to, er, get them to stop, and consistent, so they can’t pick holes. he’s—he’s in the military. leads a team.”

then, quietly, “he’s out there saving the world.”

the dog slips his leash.

when price finally leaves to make the long drive back to base, his shirt rumpled and his chin wet with slick, he keeps the plastic ring in his back pocket, not bothering to give it back. why would he? she doesn’t need it anymore, because he’s going to buy his girl the real diamonds that she deserves.

[butchcockiness2]

just a reminder that calling covid cautious people "paranoid" or saying we must have "undiagnosed OCD" or "severe anxiety" for spreading truth about the dangers of covid is not only incredibly condescending and literally (i do not use this word lightly) gaslighting, it corroborates fascist and eugenicist rhetoric. covid IS NOT "just a cold." covid reinfections DO increase your likelihood of long COVID and death, including immune system deficit that is not something that can be felt, here's 85+ studies on how covid deteriorates the body. rapid tests DO often and in fact most times give false negatives (taking 3 spaced out helps bridge this gap, and NAAT tests such as the metrix and pluslife have much higher accuracy, those two over 97% each), and masks DO work, particularly well-fitted respirators (kn95/n95/ffp2/3 depending on country; two-way masking is much safer than one-way masking which is why everyone who can needs to mask to protect their community, but one-way masking is still MUCH safer than no masking). masking resources

don't panic or assume your life is over if you have an infection, get as much rest as you can for 6-8 weeks post infection to aid recovery and lower long covid risk (especially do your best to avoid raising your heart rate; this includes watching your heart rate during masturbation and sex!), and do practice harm reduction rather than demanding perfection from yourselves, absolutely.

but do not use "perfect safety is impossible" as an excuse not to care for your community and yourself by masking, do not encourage antimasking by calling covid cautious people paranoid or OCD or mentally ill for putting forth basic truths on our and your reality. there is a conversation to be had about caring for mental health of activists, but gaslighting us and denying the reality we live in is going to make it worse, not better. you are playing into eugenicist rhetoric whether you intend to or not.

this post is a fantastic guide to staying covid safer in your sex life! w more information on safety measures including NAAT tests and how to start re-incorporating exercise and heart rate raising including masturbation after covid infections

to everyone still masking, sending love ❤️ to anyone who stopped, it's never too late to start again!

[chrollohearttags]

makeup artist!armin…that is all 🫠

📝: black fem hairstylist!reader, friends to lovers, fluff to smut, praise, he’s also bi, alcohol use, switch!armin, choking, finger sucking, oral (a eating) missionary, cumshot, calls reader babe and my love

🎙️: I’m trying out something a lil’ different and trying to actually make my drabbles short so I hope y’all like it. Also I know like 3 of you might actually see this tonight but posting anyways bc I’m bored

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you never thought you’d see makeup artist!armin ever again..in the flesh at least. It’d been three years since you, him and twenty other attendees of one of the country’s most elite cosmetology schools had graduated as licensed beauticians. A majority of you had gone on to do extraordinary things with your newfound certifications…some working for prestigious salons, others starting their own businesses and continuing ones they were running illegally. But you and Armin? Leagues all on your own! Of course, the same could have been said when you were in school together. Seemingly attached at the hip and matching in both skills and wit. makeup artist!armin was naturally the talk among the class. The only male in a room full of gorgeous girls…chatting and keeping up with the conversations as if he were one of you. Offering advice on boyfriends and husbands, reciting the lyrics to every female rap song that played from the salon floor’s speakers as you all practiced balayage and full sets whilst the instructor watched. makeup artist!armin was a natural..able to analyze a face and turn anyone into the most beautiful version of themselves. Of course, it left much speculation on his orientation but when the question arose, his response was: “I like what I like, that’s all.”

with his fluffy blonde locks, warm blue eyes, scattered tattoos, including the pieces on his neck and hands…fingernails always donned with nail polish and sporting jewelry of some form, he was a dream. But it was him who was enamored with (y/n)..his girl to anyone who asked. Something you always figured to be a lighthearted inside joke, considering the number of empty, flirtatious passes you made at one another. Pretending to kiss, even allowing him to grasp your throat in the process because he’d only follow it up with some effeminate remark before you both broke into a laugh. “Armin moveee, you play too much.” “Babeee, c’mere. You didn’t have a problem last night. Why are you being mean to me?” But makeup artist!armin wasn’t interested in playing games anymore..especially when he saw you all over Instagram, going viral for your amazing work. Laying wigs, coloring, finger waves, silk presses..the works. You were the best of the best and people were dying to get a seat in your chair. Including an influencer with tons of followers and the money to burn, looking to get done up by the city’s finest for a club appearance. What you didn’t expect was the person traipsing behind her to be makeup artist!armin..looking even better than he had before!

“It’s been a while, my love. How are you? I see you look sexy as always.”

Hugging instantly as the excitement over took the both of you. makeup artist!armin couldn’t keep his eyes off of you as you styled the influencer’s hair, watching you two laugh and chop it up..joining in on the fun occasionally. Turns out he had been working with some notorious clientele, using his talents to earn quite a pretty penny and make a name for himself in the beauty sector. But the real conversation wasn’t done until after hours…when he’d finish up with your guest and you were closing up shop. The two of you would down some of the leftover shots you had with the client as part of her pregame whilst he decided to give you a complementary beat for old times sake…

talking about life and what it had been like since you left the academy. Divulging in juicy gossip about friends and old peers alike, work and what it was like having your entire catalogue on display for social media. Of course, what makeup artist!armin and yourself truly wanted to know was if there was a special someone around..

“Me? Nah, me and my ex been done. I don’t have time for dating..the money is my only love nowadays.”

“I feel that. All I do is work and go home.”

but he was hoping to change that last sentiment. Dressed in his black button down and slit jeans with silver bands on his fingers..he’d turn your face towards him as the guise of brushing on your highlight

“Y’know I really missed this, (y/n). I’ve been watching you and I’m so proud of what you’ve done. You’ve worked hard.” “Thank you, Armin..you’re always so sweet.” “Well duh, I’ve already told you, you’re my girl..”

makeup artist!armin couldn’t hold back any longer…bridging the gap of space between you two as the bright lights hung overhead. He'd confess that he’d thought about you everyday and wished that the two of you had kept contact. It was as if all of the sexual tension and feelings that the two of you had been harboring were just seconds from spilling over. Which only in turn led to you moving to the back of your salon, lips crashing together and tongues shoved into each other’s mouth as he mounted you onto a nearby countertop. Completely forgetting his masterpiece he’d painted on your face.

“Arminnn..”

“Shhh..it’s okay, babe. I know..you don’t have to tell me. I know you better than anyone.”

a statement that rang true when he’d pull you into a kiss yet again and clutch your throat as he’d done in a joking manner many times before. A movement they elicited a smile from you both.

“You still like that, huh? So nasty..”

“You said it..you know me better than anyone, baby.”

from your lips to your neck, he’d mark you with pecks, licking and nibbling at your ear as he whispered lecherous things; from how good you looked in the bodycon dress you were wearing to how he needed to hold it up while pounding you from the back..

“Mmmm..see, there you go playing wit’ me.”

“Spread your legs for me, baby and you’ll see how much I’m joking..”

leaving you with a heavy pat to the ass as he scooped you into his grasp and parted your thick thighs. Obviously much more fit than he was when you’d last saw him. makeup artist!armin tugged down the top of your dress, exposing your breasts as he planted a hand into your tummy..peeling your panties back with his teeth before diving into that dripping center. Wasting no time in lapping on your clit, gliding a finger or two in and sucking on your folds as if it were his first meal in months. He certainly was no stranger to eating pussy..regardless of everyone’s opinions on his sexuality!

“F-fuckkkk..Arminnn..” Pushing his head and shoulders back whilst still grinding on his mouth.

“I’m sorry, babe. What is it that you want? Because you’re realllly confusing me..do you want me to stop..or should I keep eating this little pussy until you come all over my face?” Laughing as he spat into your entrance and continued lapping. (Y/N)’s legs began to quiver, breath shallow and chest heaving as your eyes rolled back..you’d never felt anything remotely euphoric as this. He knew each of your spots, what made you tick and how to pleasure you. He navigated your body as well as an eyeshadow palette and like always, he wasn’t done until he was satisfied..

“Awww, babyy—don’t cry. I know it feels good but you’re gonna ruin your pretty makeup. Here..suck on my fingers.” That soft yet dominant taking over as he shoved two digits in your mouth. What followed was a trail of saliva and his tongue breaching your puckering lower entrance. Which nearly caused you to shoot through the roof.

“Look at that..now I’m in all your pretty holes, babe..I’ve waited so long to do this. Fuck..you taste amazing.”

you’d whimper and writhe around, grasping at the marble counters as that orgasm neared..he’d push those fingers in and out until splatters of warm juices hit his chin. “Sorry, my love..I hate to stop you but—” unbeknownst, he had been stroking himself through his boxers and was ready to let you get the real thing.

“If you want to come anymore, it’ll be on this dick. I really need to fuck you.” His voice was much deeper than before and you didn’t hesitate to let him inside. Pinning your legs back to the vanity, makeup artist!armin tapped that head and shaft against your folds before gently gliding in, keeping your eyes fixated on each other with his hand still around your neck. That fat cock splitting open your wet folds.

“Shit…your pussy’s so warm, babe. God, why’d you keep this from me?” But you were too in awe to answer..completely stuck on how big he was and how well he wielded it. Slowly stroking and rubbing your clit with the opposite hand. You were fixated on his gaze and sweet words, listening to him to praise you whilst he resided balls deep inside of you.

“Oh my gosh….’s so fucking big. Fucking me so good..” whimpering and barely able to fork coherent sentences. makeup artist!armin would chuckle softly as he watched it slide in and out, the bulge appearing when he sped up. “Damn, babe. I love this look on you…but I love even more how I look inside of you.” Pounding you into the vanity with his lips melded to yours.

“Ahhhh…yes, baby! Right there..’m gonna come.”

“I told you, if you want to, it’s gotta be on me.” makeup artist!armin would continue thrusting until he drew more splashes out of that cunt, making you squirt all over his torso and the countertop. It wasn’t long until he too was reaching his own climatic peak, burrowed over you with his face buried into the crook of your neck as he called out your name..whining about how badly he missed you.

“Oh God I missed you..I missed you so bad. Can I come for you, my love? Please? I’ve been so good..I waited all this time just for you..”

and it was no question that you’d welcome it..waiting patiently as he pulled out of you reluctantly. He’d spray those thick ropes of cum all over your tummy and even catch your face..

makeup artist!armin reveled in his latest and most prized creation yet. Laughing as those fluffy lashes swatted off remnants of his seed..droplets staining the glossy nude lip he’d just finished.

“I need a kiss after that. C’mere..” “Yeah, I agree.”

makeup artist!armin had long since dreamed of what he’d say and do once you guys reconnected. He was nervous, afraid that you’d reject his feelings but it was no longer a secret. That mounting love that had been festering inside of you both had exploded into a blaze of passion that couldn’t be extinguished any time soon. And now that he was back in your life, you’d never be apart again.