#rent luxury cars in london

[aslanhazzan]

Choosing a luxury car rental in London was the best decision! The seamless process and the sheer luxury of the car added an extra layer of prestige to my London adventure. An absolute must-try for those seeking sophistication

[chrispaulsrocks]

Opting for a luxury car rental in London was a game-changer! The seamless process and the sheer elegance of the car transformed my travel experience. If you're in London and want to explore in style, this is the way to do it

[muiitoloko]

Can we have a part two of "My, Yours"?

Title: Advantage.

Summary: Arthur finally gets what he always dreamed of and Guinevere gains some advantages.

Pairing: Harry Hart (Kingsman) × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Obscenity.

Author's Notes: I missed writing about Harry Hart.

First, Second and Third here.

As Harry drove you back to his car, the anticipation in the air was palpable, your heart racing with excitement at the thought of what was to come. The date had been magical, filled with laughter, good food, and meaningful conversation, and you couldn't wait to continue the evening with Harry by your side.

As you settled into the plush leather seats of the BMW, Harry glanced over at you with a smile, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "So, Guinevere," he began, his voice low and husky with desire. "I have a proposition for you."

You raised an eyebrow in curiosity, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you waited for him to continue. "Oh? And what might that be, Arthur?" you asked teasingly, your heart pounding in your chest at the possibilities.

Harry's smile widened at your playful tone, his gaze lingering on your lips for just a moment before he spoke. "Well, my dear Guinevere," he said smoothly, his voice laced with charm. "I could take you back to your house and end our evening here, or... I could take you to a fancy fucking hotel with a huge hot tub that I've already prepared for us and continue our date there. What do you say?"

Your heart leaped with excitement at the thought of continuing the evening with Harry in a luxurious hotel, the promise of passion and romance beckoning you like a siren's call. "Oh, Harry," you breathed, your voice filled with anticipation. "I would love nothing more than to continue our date at the hotel."

Harry's smile widened into a grin, his eyes twinkling with excitement as he shifted gears and started driving towards the hotel. "Excellent choice, my Guinevere," he replied warmly, his voice filled with satisfaction. "I promise you won't regret it."

As the car sped through the streets of London, your excitement grew with each passing moment, the anticipation building to a fever pitch as you neared the hotel. When you finally arrived, Harry helped you out of the car with a gallant flourish, his hand warm and reassuring in yours as he led you inside.

The hotel lobby was opulent and grand, with marble floors and crystal chandeliers casting a warm, golden glow over everything. Harry guided you to the reception desk with a confident stride, his charm and charisma evident as he checked you both in with a smile.

Once you had your keys in hand, Harry led you to the elevator, his hand resting possessively on the small of your back as he guided you inside. As the doors closed behind you, he pressed the button for the top floor, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leaned in close to whisper in your ear.

"Get ready, Guinevere," he murmured softly, his breath warm against your skin. "Tonight is going to be a night you'll never forget."

Your heart raced at his words, the promise of what was to come sending a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins. With a smile, you leaned into Harry's touch, your body buzzing with anticipation as the elevator ascended towards the top floor of the hotel.

As the elevator came to a stop, Harry reluctantly pulled away from you, his hand sliding down to interlace with yours as he led you out into the hallway. With a confident stride, he made his way to the hotel room he had rented for the evening, his heart pounding in his chest with every step.

Opening the door to the room, Harry ushered you inside with a gentle hand, his eyes shining with desire as he drank in the sight of you standing before him. "Welcome to our sanctuary, Guinevere," he murmured softly, his voice filled with warmth and affection. "Where all our dreams come true."

You smiled up at Harry, your heart swelling with love and desire as you took in the luxurious surroundings of the hotel room. "It's perfect, Harry," you whispered softly, your voice tinged with excitement. "Thank you for making this night so special."

Harry's smile widened at your words, his heart overflowing with love and adoration for you. "Anything for you, my dear Guinevere," he replied tenderly, his voice filled with sincerity. "Now, shall we make ourselves comfortable?"

With that, Harry took your hand in his and led you over to the plush king-sized bed, his eyes burning with desire as he looked down at you. "I want you, Guinevere," he murmured huskily, his voice thick with need. "More than anything in this world."

You nodded in agreement, your own desire burning bright as you reached up to cup Harry's face in your hands. "I want you too, Harry," you whispered softly, your voice filled with longing. "Take me, make me yours."

Harry's heart soared at your words, his desire reaching a fever pitch as he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. Lost in the heat of the moment, he pressed his body against yours, his hands roaming over your curves with a hunger that bordered on desperation.

With practiced skill, Harry began to undress you, his movements confident and assured as he stripped away your clothes one by one. As each piece of fabric fell away, he reveled in the sight of your naked body before him, his desire burning bright as he took in every curve and contour.

Finally, when you stood before him completely bare, Harry couldn't contain his desire any longer. With a hungry gaze, he pulled you close, his lips finding yours in a fierce embrace as he lowered you down onto the bed.

Harry hovered over you, his eyes dark with desire as he took in the sight of your naked body before him, absolutely divine. He watched as a butterfly landed delicately on your breast, its wings fluttering against your skin, but Harry was having none of it. With a hungry gaze, he leaned down and took the butterfly's place, his lips finding your nipple with a gentle suck.

You gasped at the sensation, a shiver of pleasure coursing through your body as Harry played with your other breast, his hand working wonders as he teased and tantalized you. The feeling of his warm mouth against your skin was almost too much to bear, but you craved more, needing him closer, deeper.

But Harry moved away, a string of saliva connecting his mouth to your breast as he looked into your eyes with a fierce intensity. Slowly, he began to open his pants, his gaze never leaving yours as he silently communicated his desires to you. You understood his unspoken message, the silent agreement passing between you as you nodded in response.

Harry then stopped as he took the belt off his pants, his gaze locking with yours as he hesitated for just a moment. "Guinevere," he began softly, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "I... I don't like using condoms. But I brought some just in case... I mean, I'm clean, and I believe you are too, but..."

You nodded understandingly, cutting off his rambling with a reassuring smile. "Harry, it's okay," you assured him gently, your voice filled with warmth and affection. "I trust you. And I don't want you to use a condom either. I want to feel you completely, to be one with you in every way possible."

Harry's heart swelled with love and gratitude at your words, his eyes shining with emotion as he reached out to cup your face in his hands. "You're perfect, Guinevere," he whispered softly, his voice filled with awe. "My perfect girl."

Impatiently, you helped him take off his suit and underwear, your breath catching in your throat at the sight of him fully exposed. He was big and thick, much larger than you had anticipated, and you couldn't help but wonder if you would be able to take him completely.

But as Harry's eyes met yours, all doubts melted away, replaced by a fierce determination to please him in every way possible. With a confident smile, you reached out to touch him, your fingers trailing down his length with a gentle touch.

Harry let out a low growl of desire at your touch, his arousal evident in the way he hardened beneath your fingertips. "Guinevere," he murmured huskily, his voice thick with need. "I want you. Now."

With a nod, you shifted on the bed, positioning yourself so that you were ready to receive him. As Harry positioned himself between your legs, a surge of anticipation washed over you, your heart pounding in your chest as you eagerly awaited his touch. But instead of moving to enter you like you expected, Harry surprised you by grabbing your legs and holding them wider for him, his intent clear.

You gasped in surprise, a whimper escaping your lips as you realized what Harry intended to do. "No, Arthur," you whimpered softly, your voice tinged with desperation. "I want you inside me... please..."

But Harry's expression remained firm, his eyes locking with yours as he confidently explained his intentions. "Guinevere," he murmured softly, his voice filled with warmth and affection. "Not all women are able to take me completely. It's rare, in fact, to find someone who can take me without feeling pain."

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin as he continued. "I don't want you to feel any pain, my dear," he whispered softly, his voice tinged with concern. "So I have to make sure that you're perfectly prepared for me, wet enough to receive me without discomfort."

With that, Harry lowered his head between your legs, his tongue flicking out to tease your sensitive flesh with gentle strokes. You gasped at the sensation, a shiver of pleasure coursing through your body as he worked wonders with his skilled tongue.

You squirmed beneath Harry's ministrations, unable to contain the moans of pleasure that escaped your lips as he worked wonders with his skilled tongue. Gripping the sheets tightly in your hands, you arched your back, offering yourself completely to his touch.

"Fuck, Harry," you gasped breathlessly, your voice filled with need and desire. "You're so good at this... a real pussy eater..."

Harry's only response was a low growl of desire, his mouth working tirelessly to bring you to the brink of ecstasy. He seemed completely focused on pleasuring you, his own desires taking a backseat as he lavished attention on your sensitive flesh.

In that moment, a fleeting thought crossed your mind, wondering if Harry had trained extensively for this, honing his skills as a lover just as he had as a field agent in Kingsman. You remembered hearing rumors of his prowess in the bedroom, of how he had seduced countless targets with his charm and charisma.

But even as you pondered his past exploits, you couldn't deny the desperation in Harry's actions, the way he seemed to be fucking you like a starving man, desperate to ensure your pleasure above all else. It was as if he needed to make sure you were enjoying every moment of it, as if his own satisfaction depended on yours.

And he was good at giving pleasure, so good...

Lost in the heat of the moment, you let out a guttural moan of pleasure, your body trembling with ecstasy as you surrendered yourself completely to the pleasure of Harry's touch. With each flick of his tongue, each caress of his lips, you felt yourself teetering on the edge of release, your senses overwhelmed by the intensity of the pleasure coursing through you.

And then, just as you felt yourself reaching the brink, Harry shifted his focus, his mouth closing around your clit with a tantalizing suction. You cried out in ecstasy, your body convulsing with pleasure as waves of sensation crashed over you in a dizzying torrent.

With a final flick of his tongue, Harry brought you to the peak of ecstasy, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave as you cried out his name in a voice thick with desire. As you came undone in his arms, Harry held you close, his touch gentle and reassuring as he guided you through the throes of pleasure.

As you basked in the afterglow of your lovemaking, Harry pressed a tender kiss to your inner thigh, his touch filled with warmth and affection. "You were incredible, Guinevere," he murmured softly, his voice tinged with awe. "Absolutely incredible."

You smiled up at him, your heart overflowing with love and gratitude for the man who had brought you so much pleasure. "You're the one who did all the hard work, sir," you chimed with a mischievous smile, eliciting a chuckle from him as he let out a laugh through his nose.

Harry then stood up, positioning himself between your legs, you watched with anticipation as he teased you with the tip of his cock, collecting some of your nectar to wet himself. The sight of him preparing to enter you sent a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins, your heart pounding with anticipation.

He waited for your consent, his gaze locked with yours as he silently communicated his intentions. When you nodded in response, giving him the permission he sought, Harry smiled warmly, his eyes filled with tenderness and affection.

With slow, deliberate movements, Harry began to enter you, his cock sliding into your wetness with a tantalizing ease. You hissed slightly at the burning sensation, feeling the stretch as Harry slowly but surely separated your walls.

It was too much, he was big, and it didn't even feel like he had reached halfway, yet you already felt full to the brim with him. But despite the initial discomfort, you trusted Harry completely, knowing that he would never hurt you intentionally.

As Harry continued to push himself deeper inside you, he paused, allowing you a moment to adjust to his size. He looked into your eyes, searching for any signs of discomfort or pain, his touch gentle and reassuring as he waited for you to give him the signal to continue.

With a shaky breath, you nodded again, a silent affirmation that you were ready for him to proceed. Encouraged by your consent, Harry began to move again, his movements slow and deliberate as he gradually filled you completely with his length.

You gasped at the sensation, feeling every inch of him stretching you to your limits as he buried himself deep inside you. It was a combination of pleasure and pain, the burning sensation of his entry giving way to a wave of ecstasy as you surrendered yourself completely to the pleasure of the moment.

Harry groaned softly at the sensation, his own desire reaching dizzying heights as he felt your tightness enveloping him completely. With each thrust, he delved deeper and deeper into your wetness, his movements growing faster and more intense with each passing moment.

Lost in the heat of the moment, you clung to Harry with a fierce desperation, your nails digging into his skin as you urged him on. "More, Harry," you gasped breathlessly, your voice thick with desire. "I want all of you... fill me completely..."

With a primal growl of desire, Harry gave himself over to the pleasure, his movements becoming more frenzied and intense as he pounded into you with reckless abandon. With each thrust, he drove himself deeper and deeper into your eager flesh, his cock hitting all the right spots with expert precision.

You cried out in ecstasy, your body writhing beneath him as waves of pleasure crashed over you in delicious waves. It was a whirlwind of sensation, the burning heat of his cock driving you to new heights of pleasure as you surrendered yourself completely to the ecstasy of the moment.

And then, just as you felt yourself reaching the brink of release, Harry shifted his focus, his hand finding its way between your bodies to tease your clit with expert strokes. You cried out in ecstasy, your body convulsing with pleasure as waves of sensation washed over you in a dizzying torrent.

With a final thrust, Harry brought you to the peak of ecstasy, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave as you cried out his name in a voice thick with desire. As you came undone in his arms, Harry held you close, his touch gentle and reassuring as he guided you through the throes of pleasure.

He then chased his own orgasm, his eyes rolled back in pleasure, his mind consumed by the overwhelming sensation coursing through his body. With each thrust, he felt himself drawing closer and closer to the edge, the promise of release beckoning him like a siren's call.

"Guinevere," he gasped breathlessly, his voice thick with desire. "My Guinevere..."

He was lost in a haze of pleasure, his mind filled with thoughts of you and the intense connection you shared. With each thrust, he felt himself drawing closer and closer to the edge, his body trembling with anticipation as he neared his climax. He had imagined this moment countless times, replaying it over and over again in his mind as he pleasured himself in the shower, your name on his lips as he imagined you in his arms.

"Oh, fuck," he groaned softly, his voice tinged with desperation. "I've wanted this for so long... dreamed about it... fantasized about you, Guinevere..."

He regretted not taking you to his house, not having you in his bed where he could worship you completely. He longed to feel your warmth against his skin, to leave your scent lingering on his sheets as a reminder of the passion you had shared.

But even as he lamented his missed opportunity, he knew that this moment, here with you in this luxurious hotel room, was more perfect than anything he could have imagined. He was lost in a whirlwind of sensation, his body consumed by the overwhelming pleasure of being one with you in every way possible.

As Harry gazed down at you, his heart swelled with love and desire, overwhelmed by the intensity of the connection you shared. He could feel the primal urge building inside him, the need to claim you completely, to mark you as his own in the most intimate way possible.

"Guinevere," he murmured huskily, his voice thick with desire. "Where do you want me to come, my love?"

His eyes searched yours, silently pleading for your consent, your permission to release himself inside you. He longed to feel the tightness of your warmth surrounding him, to fill you with his essence and mark you as his forever...

But he would never do anything without your permission.

You arched against him, receiving his thrusts, clinging to his back. "Inside me, Harry," you breathed softly, your voice filled with longing. "I want you to fill me completely, to mark me as yours in every way possible."

Harry's heart soared at your words, his desire reaching a fever pitch as he felt the weight of your consent wash over him like a tidal wave.

His perfect girl.

With a primal growl of desire, he surrendered himself completely to the pleasure, driving himself deep inside you as he unleashed his passion.

As he reached the peak of ecstasy, Harry closed his eyes and threw his head back, lost in the overwhelming sensation of release. With a guttural groan, he gave himself over to the pleasure, his body trembling with the intensity of his climax as he released himself inside you, filling you with his seed.

You cried out in ecstasy, your body convulsing with pleasure as waves of sensation washed over you in a dizzying torrent. It was a moment of pure bliss, the culmination of your desire for each other as you surrendered yourselves completely to the ecstasy of the moment.

And as Harry collapsed beside you, his breath coming in ragged gasps, you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close as you basked in the afterglow of your lovemaking. In that moment, you knew that you were truly his, and he was yours, bound together in a love that would last a lifetime.

As Harry traced patterns down your spine, you couldn't help but smile at the sensation, reveling in the warmth of his touch. "Did you have fun, Guinevere?" he asked softly, his voice filled with warmth and affection.

You nodded in response, a contented sigh escaping your lips as you snuggled closer to him. "I did, Harry," you replied warmly, your voice tinged with satisfaction. "It was amazing." The two of you were silent then, just clinging to each other for a few moments.

But then, to your surprise, you felt Harry's arousal stirring once again, his body pressing against yours with renewed vigor. "Arthur, where's your refractory period?" you teased playfully, unable to hide your astonishment.

Harry followed your gaze, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment as he realized his body's quick response. "I... I'm sorry, Guinevere," he stammered shyly, his voice tinged with embarrassment. "This has never happened to me before."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his adorable response, finding his innocence endearing. "It's okay, Harry," you reassured him gently, your voice filled with warmth and affection. "I'm not complaining, just surprised."

Harry laughed lightly at your response, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he leaned in closer to you. "Well, be careful," he warned playfully. "I might not let you leave this room anytime soon."

You grinned up at him, the prospect of spending more time with Harry filling you with excitement. "I wouldn't mind that at all," you replied teasingly, your voice filled with anticipation. "In fact, I think we could make good use of that hot tub you mentioned earlier."

Harry's eyes lit up at the suggestion, his grin widening into a mischievous smirk. "Oh, I like the way you think, Guinevere," he murmured huskily, his voice thick with desire. "I can't wait to baptize every inch of this hotel room with our love."

As Harry got up, a rush of excitement coursed through him at the thought of sharing the hot tub with you. He moved with purpose, his anticipation growing with each step as he made his way to the bathroom to prepare the tub.

Meanwhile, you nestled comfortably under the covers, watching Harry with a smile as he went about his task. His eagerness was infectious, and you couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement at the prospect of joining him in the hot tub.

But as Harry filled the tub with warm water and added a generous amount of bubbles, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling of possessiveness that gnawed at him. He doesn't know why he suddenly thought of it, but the idea of ​​you with someone else crept into his mind and now he couldn't dismiss it.

Thankfully, you hadn't acted as a field agent, which meant you hadn't been with other men in that capacity. But still, the idea of you being with someone else, even in the past, unsettled him deeply. He knew it was selfish of him to feel this way, but he couldn't help it.

Lost in his thoughts, Harry didn't notice you slipping out of bed and making your way to the bathroom until you wrapped your arms around him from behind, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder. "Are you ready for our hot tub adventure, Harry?" you asked playfully, your voice filled with excitement.

Harry turned to face you, his heart swelling with love at the sight of you standing before him, wrapped in nothing but the covers. "More than ready, my dear Guinevere," he replied warmly, his voice tinged with affection. "But first, there's something I need to tell you."

You looked at him curiously, a furrow forming on your brow as you waited for him to continue. "What is it, Harry?" you asked gently, your concern evident in your voice.

Harry took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to say. "I... I know this might sound selfish, but..." he began hesitantly, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find the right words.

You reached out to touch his cheek, your touch gentle and reassuring as you encouraged him to speak his mind. "It's okay, Harry," you reassured him softly. "You can tell me anything."

Harry met your gaze, his eyes shining with vulnerability as he spoke. "I... I don't like the thought of you being with other men," he admitted quietly, his voice filled with honesty. "It makes me feel... possessive, I guess. I know it's not fair to you, and I'm sorry for feeling this way."

You listened to his words with understanding, your heart swelling with love and affection for the man standing before you. "It's okay, Harry," you replied gently, your voice filled with warmth. "I understand how you feel, and I appreciate you being honest with me. But you have nothing to worry about. You're the only one I want, now and forever."

Harry's eyes softened at your words, his heart overflowing with love and gratitude for the woman who had captured his heart so completely. "Thank you, Guinevere," he whispered softly, his voice tinged with emotion. "You truly are my everything."

With that, Harry pulled you into his arms, holding you close as he pressed a tender kiss to your lips.

As you slipped into the warm, bubbling water of the hot tub, a sigh of contentment escaped your lips, your body relaxing instantly at the soothing sensation. Harry watched you with a smile, his eyes filled with adoration as he joined you in the tub, settling in beside you with a contented sigh.

The atmosphere was light and playful as you splashed around in the water, teasing each other with playful touches and flirtatious glances. Harry couldn't help but admire your enthusiasm, your laughter echoing through the room as you enjoyed each other's company.

But as the moments passed, the playful atmosphere began to shift, the air thick with anticipation as desire simmered just beneath the surface. Harry's gaze grew more intense, his eyes dark with desire as he watched you move through the water with a sensual grace that made his heart race with longing.

Sensing the change in Harry's demeanor, you met his gaze with a knowing smile, your own desire mirroring his as you leaned in closer to him. With a sultry glint in your eye, you trailed your fingers lightly over his chest, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your touch as you stoked the flames of his desire.

Harry groaned softly at the sensation, his arousal evident in the way his body responded to your touch. Unable to resist any longer, he pulled you into his arms, his lips finding yours in a searing kiss that left you breathless with desire.

Lost in the heat of the moment, you straddled Harry's lap, the water lapping at your skin as you ground your hips against his with a fierce determination. Harry's hands roamed over your body with a hunger that bordered on desperation, his touch igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume you both.

With a primal growl of desire, Harry guided you down onto his cock, sinking deep inside you with a delicious friction that sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You cried out in ecstasy, your nails digging into his shoulders as you rode him with abandon, your bodies moving together in a passionate rhythm that left you both gasping for air.

Harry's mouth found its way to your breasts, his lips attaching to your sensitive flesh with a hungry desperation as he lavished attention on you with a fervor that bordered on obsession. You arched your back, offering yourself completely to his touch as he sucked and nibbled at your skin, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your veins.

Lost in the ecstasy of the moment, you surrendered yourself completely to the pleasure, your senses overwhelmed by the intensity of the connection you shared with Harry. With each thrust, each kiss, you felt yourself drawing closer and closer to the brink of ecstasy, your bodies moving together in perfect harmony as you chased the ultimate release.

And as the night wore on, you and Harry indulged in your passion, exploring every inch of the luxurious hotel room in a frenzy of desire. You moved from the bed to the couch, the nightstand, and even the bathroom sink, each surface becoming a playground for your insatiable lust.

With each new location, the intensity of your lovemaking grew, your bodies moving together with a primal urgency that left you both breathless with desire. You lost track of time as you surrendered yourselves completely to the pleasure, your senses overwhelmed by the intoxicating sensation of being one with each other.

On the bed again, you tangled yourselves in the sheets, your bodies entwined in a passionate embrace as you chased the ultimate release. Harry's hands roamed over your skin with a hunger that bordered on desperation, his touch igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume you both.

But even as the night wore on, your desire showed no signs of waning. You found yourselves pressed against the wall, the cool surface providing a stark contrast to the heat of your passion as you surrendered yourselves completely to the ecstasy of the moment.

And when the floor beckoned to you with its promise of forbidden pleasure, you didn't hesitate to indulge, sinking to your knees before Harry as you took him into your mouth with a fervor that left him gasping for air. It was a moment of pure bliss, the intensity of your desire driving you to new heights of pleasure as you surrendered yourselves completely to the ecstasy of the moment.

As the night wore on, exhaustion finally caught up with you both, and you found yourselves wrapped in each other's arms, drifting off into a blissful slumber. The next morning, you awoke to the gentle sound of birds chirping outside the window, the warm rays of sunlight streaming through the curtains as you stirred from your sleep.

Harry pulled you closer to him, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as he murmured softly, "Good morning, my love."

You smiled up at him, your heart swelling with love and affection as you nestled closer to him. "Good morning, Arthur," you replied warmly, your voice filled with contentment.

But before you could fully wake up and start your day, Harry's hands began to roam over your body, his touch igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume you both. With a mischievous grin, he whispered huskily in your ear, "How about one last round in the shower before we head back to work?"

You couldn't help but laugh at his suggestion, the thought of making love to him one last time before facing the day filling you with excitement. "Sounds perfect to me, Harry," you replied playfully, your voice tinged with anticipation.

With a grin, Harry led you to the bathroom, where the warm water cascaded over your bodies, washing away the remnants of sleep as you surrendered yourselves completely to the pleasure of each other's touch.

As the steam filled the room, you and Harry lost yourselves in the heat of the moment, your bodies moving together in perfect harmony as you chased the ultimate release. It was a moment of pure bliss, the intensity of your desire driving you to new heights of pleasure as you surrendered yourselves completely to the ecstasy of the moment.

And when you finally emerged from the shower, thoroughly sated and thoroughly late for work, you couldn't help but laugh at the thought of facing the day together. "I can't believe we're going to be late," you exclaimed, your voice filled with amusement.

But Harry just grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he wrapped his arms around you. "Don't worry, my dear," he reassured you teasingly. "Fucking the boss has its advantages, remember? Being late for work is just one of them."

You laughed at his comment, unable to resist the playful banter as you teased him back. "Oh, really? And what other advantages do I have for fucking the boss of Kingsman?" you questioned with a smirk.

Harry's grin widened into a smirk as he leaned in closer to you, his breath warm against your skin as he whispered, "Well, let me show you..."

[360degreesasthecrowflies]

London is a city that has always been deeply uneven, with plenty of cultural treasures to hide the poverty in the Tower Blocks and the underpasses. London is effectively the main of the UK economy, and everything is geared towards it. Hence it retains a degree of economic dynamism that allows a degree of optimism, after all there's always a new restaurant, new exhibition, new flagship store, new play. Sure most workers are dirt poor, living on mashed avocado, and hoping the landlord gets visited by 3 Ghosts at Christmas, but there's the dream of making it in the big city.

Outside the London bubble, large parts of the country are either in despair, or have totally given up. Roads, bridges, hospitals, and schools are crumbling. Police have almost disappeared outside traffic stops. Courts are backlogged, prisons overfilled & well past their designed lifespan. Companies face significant trade barriers with the EU. The water industry is essentially operating on leveraged debt and mostly owned by oversea's pension funds, whilst the infrastructure collapses and raw sewage is being pumped into the rivers/seas. Everyone is underpaid compared to the cost of living, but also compared to many comparable roles in other countries.

In the shires, the more well paid commuter class can still have a nice life, but they are feeling a sharp pinch. Holidays cut. Cars held on to much, much longer than before. Meals out being reduced. Optional extras like music or sports for the kids cancelled. Impulse purchases stopped. All of which sounds like "oh poor Emma can't get her daughter Lucinda piano lessons boo hoo" but think about the economic impact. That is money that would have gone to a piano teacher (usually self employed), to the coffee shop whilst Emma waits, to a music shop for music, perhaps a CD or concert tickets to something Lucinda played at a lesson. Then when Lucinda grows up instead of having a career in arts or entertainment, even at her local bar or church, she doesn't know how to play piano. So society as a whole has lost a musician, and Lucinda as a person flourishes slightly less. The UK arts sector is one of our biggest economic powerhouses, yet it is routinely ignored and hammered by the govt. Art & music are regarded as luxury items, despite contributing £1.6 billion to the annual economy (2021 at 5.6%). That's huge, bigger than the fishing industry which contributes £1.4 billion (2021 at 4%). Yet with rents sky rocketing, and school budgets in utter crisis, arts/music get dropped and creative talent has to switch to more routine jobs to survive. UK Musicians are dropped from EU events following the botched visa system, and international work is increasingly harder for them to get.

Outside the diminishing middle class, the real difficulty and poverty of the UK hits home. People are not sure whether the next rent payment or electricity will quite literally bankrupt them and leave them homeless. Wages are mostly static, with few rises outside a number of key sectors. Some areas have seen wage growth, but that has been concentrated in a small number of jobs (especially finance/management). The population is aging, and the care system is left almost entirely to private companies in a very disjointed, expensive manner. For most people the only credible hope of a financially better life is to inherit or to win the lottery or to commit crime. This is strikingly similar to the pattern seen in many developing world economies.

For example, I have worked in the public sector for 20 years. In that time I have trained, gained professional qualifications, led larger teams, upskilled on IT/project management and become more productive. Since my pay has been capped at a 0.5% rise, it is a real terms wage cut. So I've become more productive yet I'm paid less. Why should I 1) carry on trying to be more productive, & 2) stay in the job? Productivity increases from workers have to be linked to a personal reward, as well as a benefit to an employer or there's no point for the employee. Hence "quiet quitting".

So the UK is in the dire position of poor infrastructure, rampant poverty, and a population that no longer believes hard work or being productive will improve their own lives, only maintain their survival. This is not a recipe for a flourishing economy or nation. The worst thing is that the UK has started to lose hope that things can get better without a magical solution. Without at least some hope, we are doomed.

Saved via reddit from user 'AgeOfVictoriaPodcast' - as an excellent (if depressing!) summary of the UK's economy and society in 2023 / the 2020s / post Brexit

[magicshopaholic]

Monza (Taehyung x OC)

Summary: You're in a pickle and, unfortunately, your ex-boyfriend is the only one around to help.

Pairing: Taehyung x OC

Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort

Word count: 8.6 K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: language, heartbreak, injury, anxiety

A/N: Set approximately two months after In Time. The sarcasm is off the charts in this one so proceed with caution. Credits to the loveliest beta readers @meirkive and @jeoniius: thank you so so much Mei and Tannie for the feedback and the reactions <3

Tagging: @bbl32, @quarter-life-crisis2, @dreaming-with-happiness, @kflixnet, @k-radio

Listen to: “100 words” by prateek kuhad

taehyung masterlist | main masterlist

There are bad people in this world. Terrible people, selfish people. There are people who head the most evil corporations in the world, taking money from hard workers and polluting the world; people who don’t believe in basic forms of human equality; and then the obviously terrible people - your serial killers and whatnot.

As she sneaks out of the idyllic bungalow in Monza at six am, Dilara reflects on this, and the fact that she was certainly one of these people in a past life. Maybe she killed someone. Maybe she started a war that killed many someones. She’d definitely done something, because as far as she’s concerned, it remains the only logical explanation for why she’s being forced to live, work and breathe in the same air space as her estranged ex-boyfriend.

It’s been less than two weeks since this ridiculous arrangement has been in motion. After the disastrous meeting in Yeongam, where she’d been ambushed with the news of this marketing plan, she’d gone to Seoul with her friends and proceeded to be the worst travel companion on earth. There had just been the race in Hungary after that before the month-long summer break had begun, and she’d scurried back to London to wrap herself in a blanket and wallow over her own bad luck.

For the first three weeks, she’d tried to block out any and every thought about the band and the impending arrangement, but the multiple discussions around logistics and travel made that impossible. She’d even tried her best to get out of it; she’d called Christian with a week to go, panicking at how close it was, nonchalantly mentioning if it wouldn’t be better that she could live close to the paddock, just to be safe.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be in the usual motorhome for most races,” he’d reassured her, as a dog barked in the background. “Take the win, Dilara. You get to live in the fanciest houses money can rent for the rest of the time.”

She didn’t know how to tell him that as the smallest driver on the grid, living in a luxury motorhome that’s bigger than many apartments was really not a problem for her. In fact, she’d be okay living in a secondhand car over sharing a fancy chalet with BTS, but the words died in her throat when he, once again, brought up just how important this was for Red Bull.

The first race after the summer break was in Belgium, last week. Spa-Francorchamps was a beautiful circuit, one of her favourites, set in the hills with the addictive air of excitement at the season resuming. However, she’d been able to enjoy none of that, having been asked to arrive on Wednesday for PR, four days before the actual race.

It had been hell. While Spa, as it turned out, was one of the locations where she’d thankfully been assigned a motorhome of her own near the circuit, it was still less than half a block away from the house BTS was staying at. She’d done everything in her power to ignore them entirely until she’d had no choice but to acknowledge them once the cameras had started rolling.

Max had been with her, fortunately, but it still didn’t dim the presence of all seven of them, particularly V, who seemed to be actively manoeuvring situations to try and talk to her. She couldn’t believe the audacity of him, which spurred her even more to try and avoid them at all costs, despite living in their backyard.

After Spa, Dilara had been asked to fly with them to Italy, for the next race in Monza. She’d ensured her cell phone, earphones and tablet were all fully charged, along with keeping two novels, her Kindle, and a bottle of sleeping pills to knock her out if none of the other tactics to ignore them worked.

A legendary race, Monza; she’d been hoping that this weekend, at least, BTS would not be the focus. Vicki, Red Bull’s press officer, had texted her the schedule on Wednesday; to her immense relief, there actually wasn’t any PR to do with BTS - or nothing that she had to do anyway. The group was still in Monza for press, but she was thankfully kept out of it.

However, this was also one of the locations where her motorhome would not be functional. Given how small the town is, even the hotels were not approved by Big Hit for their precious idols, and she’d found herself being graciously offered a bedroom in a fancy bungalow located fifteen minutes away from the track, with BTS and Max as her roommates.

It hadn’t occurred to her until then, amidst the haze of heartbreak and fury, that underneath everything, Dilara actually liked those guys. Despite everything her ex had pulled, the rest of them remained… nice, even if she was reminded every now and then that they were and always would be on his side. They weren’t forcing her to talk to them, but they weren’t ignoring her either. Of course, the scope for either was low, for she avoided staying inside as much as she could, returning only to sleep and use the gym.

The only time she’d attempted anything else had been yesterday afternoon, a bright Thursday, when her hunger had overtaken her humiliation, and she’d ventured into the kitchen to try and put together some semblance of a meal. So far, since Lexie hadn’t been able to join her due to a family emergency, Dilara had been surviving on microwavable salads and energy bars. Yesterday, though… she’d been starving and Monza had failed her when it came to food.

As it turned out, all it took to finally acknowledge one of the members outside of work was an attempt at cooking. One burnt egg and an overturned frying pan later, she’d found herself sitting at the kitchen island in silence while Seokjin made her a sandwich, tactfully leaving her to eat it alone.

He’d asked if she wanted to join them, though. She’d hesitated for a fraction of a second and glanced out of the window into the backyard, where the rest of them laughed and slurped ramen. The sight had made her feel incredibly lonely, and she’d simply swallowed and shook her head, quietly thanking him before retiring into her room.

However, even the first nice exchange she has with a band member can’t do much to improve her overall situation. She’s still avoiding them, her chest still hurts being in their presence, and the crushing humiliation still exists to the point where she can’t bring herself to look them in the eye.

On Friday morning, Dilara has had enough. Even yesterday at the paddock was painful at best; a few organisers from the Italian GP team actually came over to the garage to meet the band, gushing and going on about what an honour it was to have them on the paddock. The band responded graciously, thanking Red Bull for their hospitality and whatnot, while Dilara stood in the corner and tried not to throw up.

She leaves the house at six am. Since it’s free practice day, she figures she should ideally do nothing but some basic cardio to pump her up for the rest of the day. If there’s one thing the village of Monza has, it’s good weather; with nothing but her phone and earphones, she heads out for a run.

It’s a nice, empty path she runs along, and the quiet is refreshing because try as she might to avoid the band in the house, one thing she can’t get away from is their noise. They aren’t bad roommates per se, but as musicians, they have a tendency to keep playing music and singing… a lot. There have even been moments when she’s heard Jungkook or Jimin’s voices absently sing something and it’s taken her a few moments to remember that she’s supposed to hate it. When she’d heard V singing in the kitchen one time, though, she’d turned up the music in her own room until it had drowned out his horrendously hypnotic voice.

Now, as she’s running, she hears a beep amidst the playlist she has going on. She realises what it means belatedly; all of a sudden, the music stops and she groans, for she’s sure she’d charged her earphones last night. When she checks her phone, however, she realises that while she did charge her earphones, she forgot entirely about her phone.

It’s the icing on the cake. All of a sudden, she starts crying - no, sobbing. She flops down on an empty bench and covers her face with her hands, crying out every single emotion, the constant heaviness of being around the band all the time and generally just how unfair the world is for making her go through this. It’s a reasonably long self-pity session and she’s sure any remaining kohl from yesterday has now been successfully smudged, making her face an attractive and splotchy mess. 

Dilara stands up, her legs slightly wobbly, and starts slowly jogging again. She passes a small self-serve gas station and ducks through a short stretch of brambles into a blind turn, just catching a horrified face and the sound of an engine revving before she feels the wind knocked out of her and loses her balance. She feels her head hit the ground and her phone tumble out of her hand onto the road and she winces, hoping the screen hasn’t shattered. It’s only when the engine stops and a male voice starts worriedly cursing in Italian that she realises she’s been hit.

She tries to stand and lets out a gasp; a stab of pain shoots through her left ankle. She swears, an unfamiliar sense of fear going through her, realising that if she’s injured, she can’t drive today. “No, no, no…” she mutters, biting her lip and trying not to cry. A hand is placed on her shoulder.

“Scusa, scusami tanto! Mi dispiace!” 

Dilara looks up, brushing her bangs out of her eyes to see a Caucasian man - no, a boy, who literally can’t be older than fifteen, peering down at her. His blue eyes are wide and he looks afraid. He continues blubbering, his voice clearly still going through puberty, cheeks red with worry and shame.

The moment he sees her face, though, he suddenly frowns. “Komyshan?” he asks, sounding partly shocked and partly starstruck. “Sei Dilara Komyshan? Red Bull?” When she nods and raises a hand for him to help her up, he suddenly lets go and looks truly terrified, before picking up his Vespa and driving away.

“What the -” She can’t believe this. “Hey! Help me! Aiutami!” But the fucker doesn’t stop. She sees his stupid blue vehicle disappear behind a turn, guessing he’s a kid who took an adult’s bike out without permission. She doesn’t know if he thought she’d snitch on him to his mum or something; either way, she’s stranded in the middle of nowhere with an injured ankle.

She struggles and gets onto her knees before crawling up to her phone, ready to call for help, when she remembers it’s out of charge. Trying hard to ignore the rising panic, she crawls across the rest of the street and sits on the pavement next to the gas station, panting from the run, the shock and the pain. She doesn’t have any choice but to wait for someone. She looks around for a payphone when she realises she has no money, cursing the picturesque towns of Europe for being so sparsely populated.

Finally, some fifteen minutes later, a small car pulls into the gas station and starts filling it up. Dilara can’t walk so she waves, and a dark-haired woman in a beret notices her. When she starts walking up to her, she sighs in relief. 

“Lei parla inglese? Do you speak English?” Dilara asks hopefully.

“Si, I do,” she nods, noticing her situation now. “Are you hurt?”

“Um, yes.” Dilara realises the woman doesn’t recognise her, and she can’t help but be glad. “Can I - can I please use your phone to call a friend? Mine’s dead.”

She nods and hands over her iPhone, the screen already on the keypad. As she heads away to bring her car out front and Dilara’s about to start typing, she realises she doesn’t know Max’s number. In any case, he hadn’t even slept at the house last night, staying instead at a friend’s. In fact, apart from her mother’s, there’s only one phone number in the whole world that she has memorised. Her heart thuds against her ribcage when she realises she still remembers it.

Thumb paused over the screen, Dilara takes a deep breath, concentrating on the pain in her ankle, making sure it’s bad enough that she really needs to resort to this. Finally, she types out the number and holds the phone to her ear, holding her breath and half-hoping he doesn’t pick up.

After three rings, he answers. “Yeoboseyo?” His voice sounds unsure, and she knows it’s because it’s a call from an unknown number. She lets out a shaky breath, her throat suddenly tight. “Hello?” he repeats, before something seems to click. “Lara?”

The moment he says the name, Dilara hangs up, suddenly certain that she would rather be found dead at this gas station than turn to him for help. She turns to the Italian woman who drives up to her in her car. “Grazie,” she tells her, handing her back the phone.

“Did you call your friend?” she asks, frowning and taking it back. “I can drop you?”

As much as Dilara would like to take her up on the offer, she knows she can’t take someone back to where BTS lives. She can’t stand them right now, but she knows she can’t do this. Besides, the last thing she needs is for their location to get leaked and for Big Hit to panic and ship them all off to some remote island somewhere. 

“That’s okay,” says Dilara, smiling tightly. “My - my friend should be here soon,” she lies, trying not to panic at how she’s ever going to get back home. “Do you - do you think you could lend me a charger? I’ll send it back to your house.”

She shakes her head apologetically and Dilara’s heart sinks. “Don’t have one, sorry.” After offering one more time to drop her back, she drives away. Watching the black car disappear, Dilara swallows. She looks back at the gas station, hoping to see someone, anyone, maybe a payphone, maybe Max’s car magically passing by…

She starts to feel dizzy soon. She hasn’t had caffeine or anything to eat, and it just occurs to her once again that today is free practice day. She calculates that she probably has around four hours at best before she needs to be at the paddock and she suddenly begins to regret hanging up on V when she realises she could be stranded here for hours before anyone finds her.

She closes her eyes and lies back on the pavement, groaning when her head throbs slightly. She imagines someone finding her, and Italian headlines looking ridiculous when they report a Formula 1 driver found with a twisted ankle on some random street in Monza. She squeezes her eyes shut when the sun comes out from behind a cloud, just when she hears the unmistakable sound of a car.

Max max max super max max… The annoying fan chant plays in her head as she sits up, hardly daring to hope that it is indeed him, returning from whatever friend’s house he was staying at. When she sees an unfamiliar black car approaching, though, she frowns… until it gets closer and her heart stops when she sees who’s driving.

“Shit! Are you okay?” Dilara’s gorgeous ex-boyfriend, dressed in a grey hoodie with black joggers, and literally the last person she wants to see, hops out of the car and rushes to her side. She hates how her heart leaps in relief, partly because someone’s found her, partly because it’s not a random rapist or murderer… and partly because of the familiar scent of lotion.

“I’m -” She’s about to say fine, but it’s fairly clear she isn’t. “My ankle,” she says in a slightly strangled voice, adjusting her position so she’s sitting a little straighter.

His fingers ghost over her skin but he hesitates, clearly not wanting to put any pressure on the joint. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” He cranes his neck to peer up at her while she deliberately avoids his eyes and shakes her head. “Wait, is that -” His hand brushes her bangs back and she shivers; he doesn’t notice as he retrieves his hand with wide eyes. “Lara, you’re bleeding.”

“Don’t call me that,” she snaps, pretending not to notice how his face falls, and reaching for the same spot on her forehead to feel the sticky blood that, until now, she thought was just sweat. “How did you find me?” she finally asks him when the silence becomes too much.

“I called the number back,” he mutters, going back to examining her ankle. His blond hair, messy and unbrushed, looking darker and longer than she remembers, falls gracefully down the sides of his face, hiding his expression from her. “A woman picked up and said some girl with long black hair injured herself at a gas station. Said she’d already called a friend,” he adds, now looking up at Dilara with narrowed eyes, and she can detect a hint of reproach in his tone. 

She glares back defiantly, and for a moment she forgets the larger reason she’s not speaking to him.

“I need to get back to the house,” she states, refusing to ask for his help outright. “I have practice today…” She remembers, and she knows he can sense the worry in her voice. "Actually, I should go straight to the paddock - I need medical clearance. I don't have my stuff with me, though," she matters, mostly talking to herself at this point.

“Come on,” he says, sounding gentler. Without invitation, he reaches around her and helps her stand up, his right arm resting securely just above her waist and his left hand clutching hers, steady as a rock as he helps her limp back to the car. She tries to ignore how her heart speeds up at his touch. There’s nothing sexual about it, but the familiarity and security of it is so overwhelming that she finds herself leaning into him slightly, suddenly so relieved that he’s here - although she wouldn’t admit that to him in a million years.

When he opens the door and helps her in, her foot accidentally touches the doorframe and she gasps in pain, squeezing his hand automatically. “Fuck,” she mutters when she finally settles into the seat, already exhausted, and V helps her pick up her leg and move it inside.

“Is it fine?” he asks, looking up at her. His wide eyes make her heart stutter unexpectedly and she simply nods, looking away. He closes the door and climbs in from the other side, checking on her once more before starting the car and reversing. The stereo starts automatically and when Don't Know Why by Norah Jones starts playing from the middle of the second verse, she scoffs without meaning to. His hand appears from next to her and immediately turns off the music, and she can almost hear him rolling his eyes.

“What was your plan?”

Part of her can’t believe he has the nerve to make conversation. The other part is just afraid that if she engages, she'll start crying. But she can detect a mild annoyance in his voice, which immediately riles her up for if he didn’t want to come, there was nothing making him. “Excuse me?”

“Your plan,” he repeats. “You hung up on me and you’ve never fully charged your phone in all the time I’ve known you so I’m guessing it’s dead,” he adds, and her heart skips a sad beat at how casually he’s referencing the past. “So how were you planning to get back to the house?”

It’s a good question with an answer she thankfully did not need to think about since he arrived anyway, but she doesn’t want him to know that. “I was going to wait for someone else… and borrow a charger.”

“And this person was just going to wait for you while you charged your phone?”

“I was going to borrow it,” she explains snippily, not at all impressed at the accusatory tone in his voice. “And then probably… send it back.” When all he does is roll his eyes at what she imagines is her immense stupidity, she snaps. “You know, you didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to. If I remember correctly, I didn’t even ask.”

All that does is make him sigh and shake his head, his tousled blond hair making him look like a modern prince on vacation. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

It’s infuriating. “Excuse me? I travel by myself all year, you know? I would’ve figured it out.”

“That’s a lot of talk coming from someone who injured herself in two places on a jog.”

“You think I tripped over my own two feet and split my forehead open? I’m an athlete,” she reminds him hotly. “I know how to fucking run, thank you very much. Jesus." Dilara scoffs. "Some idiot knocks me down with his bike and of course you think it’s my fault. I should've just asked that lady to drop me at the paddock,” she mutters snidely, realising at only this moment what a missed opportunity it was.

He ignores this dig and turns to look at her in shock. “What idiot? What bike?” he asks immediately, the car swerving slightly.

“Eyes on the road, please,” she says through gritted teeth, reaching over and straightening the wheel, her fingers brushing his. “And hell if I know. Some stupid kid on a Vespa knocked me down, recognised me, and scarpered for the fucking hills before I knew it.”

When V speaks again, he sounds livid. “Wait, he saw that you were hurt and still left you there?”

“Yeah. Maybe you two could start a club or something."

He sighs. “Dilara, I’m so sorry about -”

“Okay, no, just… forget I said anything, okay?” she interrupts, already regretting her words. She deliberately continues looking out the window and winces as the car turns and her ankle touches the side of the door.

“No, but I have to say this. I never meant to -”

“No.” She says it forcefully this time. “I don’t want to talk to you, especially not about this, alright? And you’re not going to use this situation to keep me hostage and make me listen to you when you know I can’t go anywhere.”

He falls silent. Then -

“Everything that happened in March was not -”

“What the fuck, Kim? I just said I don’t want to talk about this!”

He goes abruptly silent again. She tries to savour it but it doesn’t last nearly as long as she’d like it to.

“Did you just call me -” He doesn’t finish his sentence and doesn’t look at her either. She looks at him, however, silently daring him to ask. He doesn’t; he just looks out the windshield, knuckles white on the steering wheel while she rolls her eyes and looks away. They drive in silence until they reach the paddock.

“Is anyone even here this early?” he asks, unbuckling his belt. “It looks empty.”

“Yeah, it’s barely eight,” she mutters, unbuckling hers as well and moving to open the door. “But the medics are always here and they’re the ones who decide whether or not I can race on Sunday.” She turns to look at him uncomfortably, not sure if she should be thanking him or asking him for more help. “Anyway, I’m gonna -” She pushes open the car door with one hand and gives him an awkward wave.

He raises an eyebrow, looking like an arrogant burnout in a high school chick flick. “You’re going to get up there yourself?”

That same challenging tone is what does it. “That’s right. Goodbye.” She hops out gracelessly, hanging onto the doorframe and balancing on one foot. From behind her, she hears his door open and close.

"Dilara, how are you going to walk all the way in there?" he asks again, his amused yet concerned tone grating.

"I don't know, Kim. Why don't you go ask the idol you fucked?"

Without sparing him another glance, mostly so she doesn’t have to see his expression, she manages to limp her way to a fire hydrant at the entrance of the medical enclosure, even the slightest contact sending a shooting pain up her ankle. The distance can’t have been more than ten feet but even that’s taken her an exhausting minute. The actual medical room is much further ahead inside, up a flight of stairs… she closes her eyes, terrified to even touch her foot to the ground.

Dilara needs his help. She hates everything about it, she absolutely loathes it, but she needs him. She hopes desperately that after everything he’s done to her, he won’t humiliate her further by making her beg for his help while she's hurt. Ten seconds later, she hears the car beep, followed by a quiet “jinjja”, followed by quick footsteps before the same steady arm appears around her waist again and another grips her left hand.

“Come on,” he says softly, and he takes her inside, patient with her snail’s pace. She bites her lip, feeling more and more certain that she won’t be able to race on Sunday. The pain, coupled with the fact that the medics and the team always err on the side of caution, makes it frighteningly obvious. Twenty-five points… her face screws up as she swallows a sudden sob. Everything she worked so hard for this season could come completely undone because of a stupid, stupid mistake.

“Where does it hurt?” He lowers his head to look at her, and while her immediate response is where do you think?, she just doesn't have the energy to fight with him anymore. “Are you worried about the race?” he asks after a moment, quieter. 

She don’t know how he knows, but she's not nearly ready enough to open up to him about this. “Oh, shit,” she sighs defeatedly when they reach the foot of the stairs, trying somehow to gather enough courage to make it through what feels like her Everest. 

“Dilara -”

“Let’s go,” she interrupts, her heart jolting at the sound of her name, how the L sound is rounded… She takes the first step but finds that she has no idea what to do next. Her eyes start filling up with tears, realising that this is so much worse than she'd initially thought. Before she can think of what to do next, however, she feels an arm go under her thighs and her feet are suddenly swept off the ground. Her arms automatically go around his neck before she realises what’s happened.

“What do you think you’re -”

“You wait any longer and you’ll just make your injury worse,” he murmurs, interrupting her. “Don’t worry, I won’t drop you. I’m…” He pauses before sighing quietly. “I can use both hands,” he says finally.

Dilara doesn’t say anything for a moment. “You being ambidextrous isn’t what I was thinking about,” she mutters, looking away but not arguing. His arms are strong and steady under her as strides up the stairs. She glances discreetly at his shoulders; they’re broader than she remembers. The thought makes her stomach flutter unexpectedly.

When the stairs finish, he gently lowers her, taking care to make sure she's steady before giving her his hand again so they can get to the medical room. The Italian doctor on call immediately recognises her and dives for her ankle, while an assistant puts her phone on charge so she can call Christian and inform him, should he have to start making decisions. The doctor asks her question upon question the entire time, though, until he finally deems it slightly sprained. 

“Can I still drive on Sunday, though?” Dilara asks, hearing the hope in her own voice.

He gives her a rather pitying look but before she can question him further, he frowns. “How did this happen? Did you injure yourself while running?”

“Not -”

At that moment, Christian Horner enters without invitation and, with one look at her foot which is elevated on a cushion, he turns to look at the doctor, face white as a sheet.

“How bad is it? Can she still drive?”

“We’re waiting for the X-ray,” says the doctor, taking off his gloves, “but I was just asking her how it happened.” Both men turn to look at her expectantly.

“I was - I was running, and -”

“This was a gym injury?” Christian interrupts, and she can’t help but hear reproach and reprimand in his voice already.

“No, not - not exactly -”

“She got hit by a Vespa.” All of them turn; Dilara had almost forgotten he was here at all. Even Christian, startled, jumps to see him standing near the door. “Someone hit her and drove off. She cut her head, too,” he adds, and the doctor seems to suddenly notice her forehead, brushing back her bangs to examine the cut.

Christian frowns. “Did you bring her back?” When V nods, he immediately shakes his hand. “Can’t thank you enough. She’s so lucky you were there.”

Thankfully, V doesn’t respond to this apart from a nod. As Christian and the doctor start talking, she continues looking up at him while he looks at the ground, as though respectfully staying out of the way. His tone when he interrupted Christian was… familiar, but she can’t tell why. It sounded like he was annoyed and normally, she would’ve assumed it was due to the fact that he was forced to pick her up and drive her and help her walk, but his words seemed… almost defensive? 

Suddenly, his eyes snap up to her. It startles her but she holds his gaze, not sure if she should be curious or thankful or what. Before it gets too intense, however, she hears Christian say her name.

“... want to press charges?”

Dilara doesn’t want to admit that she hasn't been paying attention. “I - against the Vespa person?” She shakes her head immediately. “Not really. I don’t even know the plate number or anything.”

“We can find that out,” says Christian. “But this was wrong. We can do it if you want.”

“It was a hit and run, dear,” says the doctor kindly. “You can get the person reported at the very least.”

“No, I - I mean, yes, I get it, but -” She swallows, feeling herself start to panic again, “I don’t care about that. I just want to know if I can drive tomorrow. Or even Sunday.”

Both men fall silent, Christian looking calculating. Then, he turns to V. “Thank you so much for your help today,” he says again. “I don’t know how we can thank you.”

“I’ve known Dilara for a while,” is all he says, face smooth and impassive, hands in the pockets of his joggers.

Christian nods. “However, we need to discuss some… internal matters, if you…” He trails off with a tilt of his head, indicating quite clearly what he means.

V gets it immediately. “Oh, of course,” he mutters, nodding. “I’ll…” He looks at her. “I’ll see you later.”

Dilara nods slowly, watching him leave out the door, suddenly registering the absence of the scent of lotion. Trying to ignore it, she turns back to Christian and the doctor, both of whom have already begun discussing what to do next.

“Okay, look, we need to wait for X-rays in any case to tell what can happen,” says the doctor after a while, applying a bandage to her forehead after having thoroughly cleaned it out, accompanied by a comment about her not being upfront about all her injuries. “And you, signora, need to rest.”

“I don’t -” But her words are ignored as she's helped onto a bed. The moment her bandaged foot touches the ground, she hisses, having forgotten how painful it is. 

“Si, and morphine,” says the doctor in his stride, brandishing a syringe that he taps and places in the crook of her elbow. “Flex,” he commands, and she clenches her fist, sighing when the pain dulls slowly.

“Alright, I think he’s right, Dilara,” says Christian, sounding business-like and tapping away on his phone already. “Get some sleep and I’ll let you know about Sunday…” He trails off, giving me a sympathetic look before patting her shoulder and heading out. She wants to ask him one last time what he thinks, whether she can drive, whether her ex-boyfriend is still out there… but her eyelids feel heavy and before she knows it, she's asleep.

When Dilara wakes up, for a moment she can’t remember where she is. When her eyes fall on her bandaged foot and she reaches up to feel her forehead, she remembers the hit, the car, the sprain… She looks around for her phone, finding it on the bedside table and instantly checks the time. Her heart thuds. It’s almost noon… Two and a half hours to FP1. 

She feels a hole opening in her stomach, a slow build-up of fear. She knew she wouldn’t be able to drive today no matter what, but the fact that no one woke her up means that there’s no news… which means she's probably not driving at all. She can’t see the doctor anywhere, but she can hear noise down in the paddock.

Dilara leans back against the pillow and notices something on the bedside table to her left, the one closer to the door. It’s a transparent Starbucks cup with something pink inside it. Without picking it up, she's pretty sure it’s the strawberry and banana muesli and yoghurt cup. Next to it is an iced black coffee, the condensation still sparkling on it in the sun through the window. She wonders if it’s Max or Daniel who’s sent it; it’s something she's had at the airport with both of them many times, but that would mean they know about her condition… and that they actually found a Starbucks in Monza.

The doctor’s assistant comes in then, a blond girl who’d helped Dilara charge her phone and dress her head wound. She notices her awake and her blue eyes widen.

“Hey, how do you feel?” she asks. Her accent is American and she looks vaguely familiar.

“Bit of a headache." Dilara answers hoarsely, before clearing her throat. “And famished,” she adds, hoping the girl will clue her in as to who sent the muesli, and if it’s actually for her.

She doesn’t disappoint. “Oh, well, your friend brought that for you a little while ago,” she says on cue, pointing to the cups. “Visiting hours don’t start till noon but he dropped that off, saying you hadn’t eaten anything all day.”

There’s something about the way she says it that makes Dilara doubt it’s Max Verstappen she’s talking about. “Um… which friend?” she asks casually, knowing that if it’s a driver, she would mention him by name.

She frowns, though. “Oh, um, he was wearing a grey hoodie… had blond hair. He looked, uh… he was...” She trails off and licks her lips, clearly trying to form a coherent sentence.

“Handsome?” Dilara guesses, waiting for her to confirm her suspicions.

The blond girl sighs, two pink spots appearing on her pale cheeks. “I think he was the most handsome man I’ve ever seen in my entire life," she says, a slight longing in her voice. "I didn’t know a man could look like that.”

“Yep, that’s him,” she mutters, her heart jolting weakly. She picks up the coffee gingerly; it’s still cold. She finds herself strangely calm with the knowledge that he’s probably not far… just in case she needs a ride back. After a sip, she realises it’s an iced Americano and she scoffs quietly; how could she forget the number of times they'd met with her holding two empty Starbucks cups?

The doctor arrives then and when she asks him the only question on her mind, he shakes his head slowly. Dilara's heart sinks, even though she'd somewhat expected it. Both he and the assistant leave after that, leaving her alone on the bed. She places the coffee back on the table, the constant chant of twenty-five points twenty-five points going on and on in her mind. 

The door opens a crack and for a moment she thinks it’s Christian, but the first sight of the dark blond hair wipes that image away. She looks at the clock on her phone to see it’s exactly noon.

“Hey.” His voice is deep and soft, almost a rasp. He enters cautiously, taking off his round black sunglasses. He’d worn the same ones in Suzuka… “How do you feel?”

Dilara shakes her head slightly, not trusting herself to speak. 

“Are you hungry?”

She looks up to see him glance at the muesli and yoghurt. She's about to say no when her stomach rumbles. “I don’t feel like eating,” she mumbles, before she realises that it probably sounds like she's being petty. She picks up the coffee and takes another sip, feeling a little better as the cold liquid hits her throat. “Where did you find a Starbucks? I didn’t see any near the house…”

He shrugs nonchalantly, hands still in his pockets. “There’s one around here,” he says vaguely.

She nods. “Was it far?” she asks, only partly to distract herself.

He shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, no. About fifteen minutes,” he answers after a moment.

She nods and take another sip, feeling a lump in her throat as she tries to think of something else to ask - but she doesn’t know how to talk to him anymore, and she doesn’t know if it’s harder to pretend she can make it through this weekend or to pretend it’s not affecting her that out of everyone that could be here right now, it’s Kim Taehyung.

As though reading her mind, he takes a small step forward. “What did the doctor say?” he asks softly, and she knows he isn’t referring to her injuries.

Dilara shrugs, feeling her lower lip tremble. “I can’t race this weekend,” she murmurs in a matter-of-fact tone, as though she’d been expecting it all along… which she had. She just hadn’t expected it to feel this horrible. All her hard work, getting over her initial slump, spending hours training and going over data, doing whatever PR they wanted… No one can say that missing this race is her fault, but when the season ends and she’s trailing behind Max in the points, they aren’t going to remember why. She’ll just be another Red Bull driver that lost to Max Verstappen, swiftly getting demoted to AlphaTauri while another one of their wonderkids gets a shot at the Red Bull seat.

Dilara doesn’t realise she’s crying until a tear rolls down her cheek. She wipes it away immediately, trying not to look at Taehyung but there’s no hiding it. He doesn’t say or do anything, not even when she sniffles and feels another tear fall, and she’s relieved for it. He doesn’t leave either, and she doesn’t ask him to.

The doctor comes in after about five minutes, once she’s done with her crying. He tells her kindly to go home and rest and to please call “Mr Horner” the first chance she gets. 

“And eat, per favore,” he says finally, gesturing to the muesli and yoghurt. “You need your energy.”

Dilara nods as he leaves, sighing and texting Christian the news. She doesn’t think she can talk to him right now; she’s too exhausted and she’s afraid she’ll start sobbing if she hears his voice, begging him to let her race somehow, even though she knows she won’t be able to.

She places her phone on the bed and looks up at Taehyung, still standing in the same place, hands in his pockets, as though waiting for a cue from her. “I should… I should call a car or something,” she says, her words still slurring slightly with the aftereffects of the morphine. 

He frowns. “I can take you home. The car is right here.”

She sighs, expecting this response. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why he stayed here all this time if it wasn’t to wait for visiting hours, or to take her home after. What she can’t understand is why? Why is he doing all this for her? Rescuing her off the side of the road… that’s just human decency. He’s not a monster; it’s not unexpected that he’d save her from dehydration or assault. But the rest of it; the coffee, the comfort, the offer to take her back home… she doesn’t understand it.

Or maybe she does. His guilt is quite clear; like she said, he’s not a monster. He feels guilty for what he did and is possibly trying to make up for it. She doesn’t know how she feels about it. She should be glad he’s sorry, but somehow it doesn’t make what he did hurt any less. She also doesn’t know whether to feel like a charity case, like rich people who donate to NGOs when they’ve cheated on their spouse or their taxes.

She shakes her head. “That’s… that’s okay. You’ve done enough,” she says honestly, raising the coffee in her hand slightly.

“And I can take you back home. I live there, too,” he adds, which she’d sort of forgotten until now.

“There are photographers and stuff here,” she tries to reason. “If they see you with me…”

He shrugs. “So what? You have a bandaged foot. What are they going to say? V of BTS helps his injured…” He trails off, looking at her expectantly, like he always does when he’s searching for the word… except this time he isn’t searching for the word. He just doesn’t know which word to use.

“Colleague,” she says, softly but firmly, holding his gaze.

He nods, swallowing slightly. “Helps his injured colleague get a ride home,” he finishes. “It’s not a headline. And it’s not one I care about.”

Of course it isn’t. Dilara doesn’t say it out loud but apparently something in her expression says it for her, for he backtracks immediately.

“I just mean… I don’t care if they photograph us. They know we… know each other.” He sighs. “Dilara,” he says softly, and her heart jolts in her chest, “let me take you home.”

Finally, she nods, exhaling. “Alright, fine.” She swings her legs over the side of the bed and he immediately strides over, hands hovering, ready to catch her if she needs it. She manages to stand on her own and take a couple of stumbling steps before her hand reaches out to grab his arm.

“You should eat,” he reminds her, and she picks up the yoghurt while he does the same with the coffee, and with his other arm securely around her waist, they head downstairs.

“You want to wait here while I get the car?” he asks when they’re outside near the exit. This area is far less crowded, with only a few staff members walking around purposefully. Dilara nods and takes a seat on a narrow parapet, watching him walk away, begrudgingly admiring how incredible he looks even from the back even in nothing but a hoodie and joggers.

Shaking her head in mild disbelief, she opens the yoghurt. After the first bite which hits her like a cold, sweet, crunchy train, she begins to devour the contents of the cup. She doesn’t even notice Charlotte, McLaren’s press officer, come up to her, smiling in greeting and sympathy.

“Hey, you,” she says, stopping next to Dilara. “I heard. How do you feel?”

“Like an idiot,” she answers, rolling her eyes. “Have they already put out a post on social media?”

“Just a few minutes ago.” Charlotte tilts her head a bit. “But it’s just one race. Rest up and you know you’ll be back in no time for the next one.”

Dilara nods, the yoghurt suddenly becoming difficult to swallow. “Just want to get to bed, to be honest. And get something else to eat after this.”

She notices the cup and frowns. “Hang on, is that Starbucks?”

“Yeah, apparently there is one here somewhere.”

“No, I know, I searched for it last night on Maps. I was planning on getting a morning coffee from there but it’s like an hour away,” she laments, shaking her head, not noticing how Dilara freezes mid-bite. “Don’t think anyone’s got the time to go all the way there and back.”

Even after she leaves and Taehyung brings the car around, helping her climb into the passenger seat with a little more ease than before, Dilara can’t help but run Charlotte’s words through her mind again and again. Clutching the empty yoghurt cup in one hand, she looks out the window as he drives them back, trying once again to understand what the hell goes on in his mind.

She should be grateful, in a way, or maybe even flattered. But all it does is create a low, uncomfortable pressure in her stomach, the thought that he’s willing to inconvenience himself just because of what he did half a year ago. She feels like the source of her discomfort is hovering just within reach, but she can’t put her finger on it. 

When they reach the house, he helps her inside with the same arm around her waist. Once they’re in the door and passing through the kitchen, she gently wriggles out of his arms, holding onto the kitchen island to signal that she’ll make it inside by herself.

“Will you be okay?” Taehyung asks. “I can get you something else if you want.”

Dilara shakes her head. “No, that’s alright. I just need to sleep.”

“I can cook you something. Ramen or…”

She turns to look at him, still standing where she’d left him, and raises her eyebrow. “You can cook?” she asks, deadpan, knowing the answer.

His mouth twitches. “I can try. I know how to make rice and everything,” he says, and she can hear a note of pride in his voice. It makes her heart do a backflip - in a good way, for the first time in a long time.

“Well, that’s - that’s great, but… I’m not hungry.”

“The doctor said you should eat, baby. If it’s not -”

“Don’t call me -”

“Yeah, I - I know,” he says immediately, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. Just… habit.”

Habit? Dilara didn’t know if she wanted to say anything to him about this display of generosity all day but that one comment - habit - pretending as though they haven’t been broken up for longer than they were together, gets her pulse racing.

“How far was the Starbucks?” she asks him after a moment, point-blank.

His face doesn’t move, but the fact that he doesn’t answer immediately makes it clear that he knows he’s caught out. “Does it matter?”

Goddamnit, Kim Taehyung. “It does to me. How far was it?”

He continues watching her, eyes unwavering, until he finally looks at the ground before looking back up. “About forty-five minutes,” he answers eventually, sounding a bit resigned.

“One way?”

“Sounds like you already know.” When she simply scoffs, he frowns. “What’s the problem?”

“The problem,” she begins with a massive effort, “is that I don’t need you going out of your way for me, okay? I don’t need -” She breaks off, realising she’s not making sense. “Look, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. So… thank you for today. Thank you for picking me up and getting me coffee and - and bringing me back here…”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he says softly.

“Yes, I do,” she says forcefully, frustrated at how she’s unable to put this into words. “I would’ve thanked anybody else, because it’s just the right thing to do. But you’re not doing it because it’s the right thing, you’re doing it because -” She breaks off again because he’s basically confirmed it now.

He raises an eyebrow expectantly. “Because?”

“Because you feel guilty. Because you’re sorry.”

“Of course I’m sorry!” Taehyung exclaims immediately, eyes going wide. Dilara wonders briefly if there’s anyone else in the house hearing this. “Dilara, I am so, so, sorry for what I did -”

“But that’s my point!” she interrupts him, feeling a prickle at the back of her eyes. “You’re sorry. But I don’t care about that anymore. If you’re looking to assuage your guilt or you’re looking for absolution, go adopt a puppy or - or donate something to charity. Don’t make me your charity.”

He looks stung. “How can you say that? I’m not trying to -” He frowns, suddenly looking like a child. “What was the word?”

“Assuage,” she repeats in a low voice.

“I’m not trying to assuage my guilt,” he says, stuttering slightly around the new word. “You’re hurt and I wanted to help -”

“Do you think Max Verstappen would’ve driven an hour to get me coffee?” she interrupts him again. “Even Lexie probably wouldn’t have done that. If you think this is going to make us even, it’s -” She scoffs, shaking her head.

“I don’t think this is going to make us even,” he says scathingly, but his voice trembles. “I know it’ll take a lot more to do that, and I will do whatever it takes to do that, Dilara, because I’m so fucking sorry. I had no intention of -”

“Yeah, I don’t want to talk about this,” she says immediately, turning around as the familiar lump in her throat reappears.

“Cheating on you was the worst thing I -”

“Fucking hell, you think that was the worst part?” Before she knows it, her empty muesli cup hits the wall behind him, four feet to his right. He shuts his eyes immediately but doesn’t flinch, for he has to know that if she wanted it to hit him, it would have.

“Come on, you won’t even let me apologize?” He sounds more frustrated than anything. “We have to talk about this some time. We can’t just not -”

“Yes, we can.” Dilara glares up at him, forcing herself not to look away. “Or do you think you’re the only one who gets to decide when we stop talking?”

Taehyung’s eyes flicker with something, but he doesn’t say anything. He runs his hand over his jaw, looking more troubled than ever. It looks a bit much to be just for an apology, but she doesn’t care. He’s an actor; this is something he does, something he’s good at.

“I don’t owe you a thing, Kim,” she tells him finally, picking up the cup and limping towards her room, the pain in her ankle suddenly not so bad. She intends for it to sound firm, but her voice trembles as well and she has to look away just in case she starts crying. “Thanks for the coffee,” she mutters, before closing her bedroom door behind her.

~

Thank you for reading. Don't forget to drop a review :)

[tartt9]

okay fuck it heist au

jamie is nine when he first joins his dad, denbo, and bug on a job. no one expects a nine-year-old, see. mummy doesn’t know where he is, and jamie knows better than to tell her. he doesn’t want to see that disappointed look in her eye. jamie’s just gone round to the pub to watch the footy with his dad, he hopes she thinks. but jamie is nine, and he doesn’t think about it, he just does what james says - he stands watch, he uses his quick fingers when he can, he ends up handing over a bracelet that he’s not sure is worth anything to james.

jamie doesn’t know what james does with the objects jamie manages to get his hands on. rings, watches, bracelets. he’s managed a necklace or two, because people like the way he looks, and he can get away with being a distraction. he’s not the smoothest talker, but he’s fourteen, and who really is the smoothest talker at fourteen? he looks older, his dad says. sixteen, maybe eighteen, if he’s pushing it.

there’s a heist in amsterdam. jamie doesn’t speak about amsterdam.

when they get back, jamie finds himself more and more frustrated, working for his father, not having anything to show for it himself - he barely gets a hundred quid out of jobs that he knows are worth more. he’s googled the fucking rolex he just lifted, he knows its worth. he’s getting tired of being pushed around. of being called names. he’s about to give up on the whole fucking thing, to find a real, important job like mummy has, when he gets a call from rupert mannion.

jamie’s never heard of the man in his life. who the fuck would have heard of rupert mannion? that’s the whole point. mannion says he’s heard about jamie. that kind of freaks jamie out, because who’s been talking about him enough for word to get all the way to london? but mannion’s heard, and he’s offering him more. a place to make a name for himself. luxuries of his own. he’ll never have to set foot on an estate ever again. but what about mummy? he doesn’t say that. 

he just says yes.

jamie moves to london, tells georgie that it’s for a job opportunity - something big, something important, something like what she does. jamie is wholly unqualified to be a nurse, or to really do much of anything. he bombed his gcses, he’s always been shit at school, uni is out of the question. he promises he’ll visit, he promises he’ll be back, he promises he promises he promises–

working for mannion is no better than working for his father. it’s different, of course; mannion’s hands-off while his father was controlling, obsessive. mannion’s got fucking wealth, his father somehow managed to piss away their spoils at the pub every weekend. but mannion and james tartt are both fucking snakes.

jamie does his job, of course - and he does it fucking well. he’s a smooth talker, he’s a good distraction, but jamie has always - always - been known for one thing. his speed. he can grab a watch from someone in half the time it takes others. and, once he’s got it, he’s gone in the blink of an eye. some people swear that jamie could keep up with a car if he put his mind to it. mannion uses that speed. jamie works with him, and his team, for four years. 

he’s twenty-three, and he actually does have a home of his own, now. it’s nothing extravagant, just a little flat that he can afford the rent for - it feels proper. it feels like home. mannion offered to buy him something more, but jamie denied the offer; he wanted something of his own. and mannion doesn’t know his fucking address.

so when jamie leaves, he’s safe. he’s done. he’s out. he’s done belonging to anyone but himself. he was under james tartt’s thumb from the time he was nine until he was nineteen, and under rupert mannion’s until he was twenty-three, and he’s ready to be his own man.

jamie takes up a job at a bar. it’s some fucking wanker’s place, it’s got a name above the door, but everyone’s always called it 8’s. he’s a good bartender, still just as fucking fast as he was in his previous life. and - the thing about jamie tartt - he’s a good fucking listener. he always has been. people don’t know he’s listening, but he is. and he has a fucking great memory. he loves being a bartender. it’s fun, it’s easy, he’s paid well and tipped even better. he’s got a pretty face and a northern accent and a jawline to kill for.

parker’s fucking obvious. she doesn’t think she is, and the people she’s nicking from definitely don’t notice, but jamie does. he asks her one night what the fuck she thinks she’s doing. tells her that the people she’s taking from won’t hesitate to get her thrown back in prison. she asks how he knows where she comes from. isn’t it fucking obvious to everyone else? denbo has the same fucking energy about him. but, jamie supposes, not everyone knows a denbo cullens. especially these fucking wankers. he tells her to cut it out. that he’s not in charge of her, but she can’t lift here - not at 8’s. 

see, the thing about 8’s is that it’s a place where jamie’s heard just about anything. he hears about the big premier league trades before they go through. he hears that there’s some rugby man who got caught with his manager’s wife. he hears this and that and everything, and he hears that rupert mannion and rebecca welton have gotten a divorce.

he’s twenty-four. he’s been out of the business for a year. good for welton, he thinks. better off without that old shriveled up wanker. 

he’s twenty-four. he’s been out of the business for a year. what’s that itching at the back of his neck, the longing in his chest, the energy in his fingertips, in his toes?

he’s twenty-four. he’s been out of the business for a year. why the fuck does he almost envy parker of her lifting off of 8’s patrons?

he’s twenty-four. he’s been out of the business for a year. rupert mannion and rebecca welton have gotten a divorce.

he makes a phone call. 

they call him 8 after that. 

[i-gotyou-dontworry]

Tom never owned an Audi. Sony had an agreement with Audi which, among other things, allowed Tom to rent an Audi for free in whatever city he was in. But Sony changed the deal to Hyundai, that's why Tom shot a Hyundai commercial dressed as Spidey and another as Nathan Drake. But Tom has never used the free rental clause with Hyundai. During the NWH premiere he got a Rolls Royce from his luxury car dealer friend (@wiresonly) who congratulated him for getting that car. We don't know if it was a free rental or a car he actually bought. We've never seen that car since that month (Tuwaine posted it when they went golfing after the NWH premiere). Z has been in LA very sporadically since, but we just saw her trusty Land Rover in pap shots from last week (a car that we've seen Tom drive). My guess is that Tom just has his 2 Porsches in London and that Rolls Royce was just a free rental

....then no idea🤷‍♀️

[wambold]

Water, water everywhere... or not.

I'm feeling a bit like a (rich) 16th century Londoner, timing my water use. The kitchen tap is broken -- it won't stop running and fiddling the valves under the sink has no effect. The only way to stop a steady stream is to shut off *all* the house water. Time to wash the dishes... step outside and turn the valve. Fill up the kettle, use the restrooms -- the water is on. All done... step outside and turn the valve. Bath time... put on shoes, step outside, turn the value... But it's still luxurious. I can turn the valve whenever I want. I don't have to wait until my next water day.

When's it going to be fixed? No idea. I reported it Thursday night on the property management website. I phoned the next day and they "called a technician". I bugged them that afternoon -- "tell us if you don't hear from the technician in 24 hours". ding. Saturday, 24 hours and a few minutes later , I called and left them a message. It's now Sunday afternoon. This is not the first time this company has been slow with repairs.

The icing on the cake is that when we using the big garage door to get to the valve, the door got stuck and then the opener belt snapped. *BANG* as the door dropped to the ground. It's a good thing we don't park the cars inside. I filed another ticket. We've rented this 1950s house for 15 years so occasional repairs are to be expected.

```https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/London_water_supply_infrastructure

[molsons112000]

So again, Oklahoma City bombing, how did he have a license to get the Van? Or was it a small truck to put the fertilizer in to blow up? And then all the car bombings. They got a license to get the car and then let's see the terrorist in London. They got a license to get the car to run over people. So how are these people allowed to have vehicles? .. If the people selling the cars can't do what we do in financial services, making sure that the people are not criminals and drilling down.Then we need to take away all the cars and just go to public transportation bicycles and walking... So I don't know how the ship bags that I see driving around even have a f****** car.I mean, it's ridiculous.All these people, killing people with cars and blowing things up like oh yeah, the world trade center, they rent it.What avan and blew up in the parking garage... So if people selling cars don't have high criteria for who's buying their fucking vehicles then we need to get rid of all car manufacturing... Either the auto industry is into solving the fucking problem of people using their vehicles as weapons of terror are we get rid of the industry but something has to get...

Like Saudi Arabia, originally they ban women from driving. So women should understand this. They were banned from driving and they were least likely to do the terrorist act. So Hey, getting the bad guys out of driving. Because now all the women are buying cars. Losing the scumbags, it's a good thing like scumbag. You make me use a horn burn in hell.

We need to start taking away the privilege and never give it back...

Do you know I can give you from prostitution to buying drugs?They put a lot of white people in jail that went into minority neighborhoods.They profiled them.They saw a white guy in the minority neighborhood.They pulled them over and they busted them for either buying drugs or lets see prostituition... No a black guy got profile as well.Eddie Murphy, how do you think they pulled him over?He was in a neighborhood known for known prostitutes, and he was driving around in a luxury car and they're like.Why is this luxury car in this neighborhood?That is known for prostitution... So the cops Hold over the car Because they were profiling....

So I can give you all these times like me at the airport.I paid cash for a ticket.They said I met a profile and they walk me to the game and stood with me... I don't get minorities White people to be profiled all the time.But when you do it's a bad thing fuck you....

According to a BMJ analysis, between 1970 and 2019, there were 25 vehicle-based terrorist attacks in the United States that resulted in 1,715 injuries and 808 fatalities. This figure does not include the September 11 attacks. 

Trauma Surgery & Acute Care Open

an analysis of vehicle-based terrorist events

Results There were 257 recorded terror attacks that involved some type of vehicle between 1970 and 2019. The attacks resulted in 808 fatalities and 1715 injuries when excluding the September 11 attacks. 76 events occurred at the West Bank and Gaza Strip, 25 in the USA, 16 in Israel, and 14 in the UK. Of the 257 terror incidents, 71% (183) occurred within the last 6-year span of inquiry.

Generative AI is experimental.

United States Department of Justice (.gov)

https://portal.cops.usdoj.gov › ...PDF

Drive-By Shootings

by K Dedel · Cited by 1 — Drive-by shootings are but one aspect of the larger set of problems related to gang and gun violence. This guide is limited to addressing the particular harms ...

Missing: total ‎| Show results with: total

Capital B News

capitalbnews.org

Drive-By Shootings: The Mass Casualty Crime No One Is ...

Jul 5, 2022 — There have been more than 700 drive-by mass shootings since 2012, most of them involving an assault-style weapon

According to Statista, there were 44,086 robberies involving a handgun in the United States in 2022. The FBI's Uniform Crime Reporting (UCR) Program defines robbery as taking or attempting to take something of value from someone by force, threat of force, or violence, or by putting the victim in fear. 



Statista

Number of robberies in the U.S. 2022, by weapon - Statista

Feb 13, 2024 — There were 44,086 robberies with a handgun in the United States in 2022. A further 11,797 robberies were perpetrated with a knife or other ...



Crime/Law Enforcement Stats (Uniform Crime Reporting ...

FBI — Robbery

In 2022, the District of Columbia had the highest robbery rate in the United States, with 357.5 robberies per 100,000 people, while Wyoming had the lowest, with 7.9 robberies per 100,000 people. Other states with high robbery rates include Maryland, California, New Mexico, Nevada, Alaska, Illinois, and Tennessee. 

Gitnux

https://gitnux.org › vehicle-homici...

Must-Know Vehicle Homicide Statistics [Latest Report]

An estimated 9,967 vehicular homicides occurred in the United States in 2014, accounting for 31% of total traffic fatalities. In 2019, men were

In 2022, there were 2,431 bank robberies in the United States, according to Statista. California had the most bank robberies in 2022, with 172, followed by Colorado with 155. 



Statista

Robbery: number by location U.S. 2022 - Statista

Feb 13, 2024 — Characteristic, Restaurant, Hotel/Motel/Etc., Park/Playground, Bank/Savings and Loan, Number of robberies, 3,818, 3,068, 2,646, 2,431,



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Justin Wingerter on X: "States with the most bank robberies in 2022 ...

Feb 7, 2024 — States with the most bank robberies in 2022, according to FBI data released Monday: 1) California: 172 2) Colorado: 155 California's population is six times larger than Colorado's.

Bank robberies are often considered low-risk crimes because bank employees are trained to comply with a robber's demands. However, 80% of the stolen money is never recovered. Banks have increased their defenses against bank robberies, making it more difficult for robbers to get away. 

Generative AI is experimental.

Featured snippet from the web

Number of robberies in the United States in 2022, by location

CharacteristicNumber of robberiesRestaurant3,818Hotel/Motel/Etc.3,068Park/Playground2,646Bank/Savings and Loan2,4319 more rows

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Feb 13, 2024



https://www.statista.com › statistics

Robbery: number by location U.S. 2022 - Statista

So what is the department of motor vehicles doing around the united states working with the auto industry to prevent these people from ever driving again.... Because to do these criminal offenses they have to have a vehicle... So somebody's gotta be the driver....

So how are they getting these vehicles and like uhauls...

U.S. Department of State (.gov)

https://www.state.gov › 1993-worl...

1993 World Trade Center Bombing

Feb 21, 2019 — On February 26, 1993, a bomb exploded in a parking garage of the World Trade Center (WTC) in New York City. This event was the first ...

So for the oklahoma city bombing and used a rented rider truck....

On the morning of April 19, 1995, an ex-Army soldier and security guard named Timothy McVeigh parked a rented Ryder truck in front of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in downtown Oklahoma City.



https://www.fbi.gov › famous-cases

Oklahoma City Bombing - FBI

So i'm wondering how these people are able to get these vehicles to perpetrate these crimes.... Isn't U-haul and writer truck in all these rental operations? Making sure they're doing their due diligence. And car dealers are making sure they're doing their diligence before. They sell a car or rent a car to individuals. And isn't the department of motor vehicles supposed to be doing their job and screening people highly related to being able to drive a car...

So why are all these excriminals able to purchase vehicles?????

The boys in the hood the drive by shootings they're getting vehicle....

How are all these bad people Vehicles to commit all these crimes.....

[a2zluxurylimo0]

Navigating Airport Transportation: A Comprehensive Guide

Airport transportation is a critical component of travel logistics, yet it often remains an overlooked aspect until the last minute. Whether you're a frequent flyer or an occasional traveler, understanding your airport transportation options can greatly enhance your travel experience, reduce stress, and even save you money. This article delves into the various modes of airport transportation offering insights to help you make informed decisions for your next journey.

Public Transit: Economical and Eco-Friendly

Public transit systems, such as buses, trains, and subways, are cost-effective and environmentally friendly options for airport transportation Jackson MI Many major cities have dedicated airport express services that provide direct and frequent connections between the city center and the airport. For instance, London’s Heathrow Express and New York’s AirTrain offer swift and convenient routes to their respective airports. The main advantage of using public transit is the low cost compared to other modes of transportation. However, it may require additional time for transfers and may not be ideal for travelers with heavy luggage or those seeking door-to-door service.

Ridesharing and Taxis: Convenience at a Premium

Ridesharing services like Uber and Lyft, as well as traditional taxis, offer the convenience of door-to-door service. These options are particularly useful for travelers with a lot of luggage or those who prefer a more personalized travel experience. Ridesharing apps often provide real-time tracking, estimated fare calculation, and the ability to choose different types of vehicles, including luxury options. While these services are generally more expensive than public transit, they offer greater comfort and flexibility, especially for early morning or late-night flights when public transit options might be limited.

Shuttle Services: A Balance of Cost and Convenience

Airport shuttle services strike a balance between cost and convenience. Shared shuttle services, such as SuperShuttle or hotel-operated shuttles, typically cost less than a taxi or rideshare but more than public transit. These shuttles often operate on fixed schedules and routes, picking up and dropping off multiple passengers along the way. While this can extend travel time due to multiple stops, it is a reliable and relatively economical option. Private shuttle services are also available for those willing to pay a premium for direct, non-stop service.

Car Rentals: Independence and Flexibility

For travelers who value independence and flexibility, renting a car can be an excellent choice. Most major airports have on-site car rental facilities offering a wide range of vehicles. Renting a car allows you to travel at your own pace, explore off-the-beaten-path destinations, and avoid the hassle of coordinating with public transit or shuttle schedules. However, it's essential to consider additional costs such as fuel, parking, and potential tolls, as well as the stress of navigating unfamiliar roads.

Hotel Transfers: Seamless and Stress-Free

Many hotels near airports offer complimentary transfer services for their guests. This option is particularly convenient for business travelers or those with early morning flights who prefer to stay close to the airport. Hotel transfers provide a seamless travel experience, eliminating the need to worry about finding a ride or dealing with traffic. These services are usually included in the room rate, making them a cost-effective option for travelers seeking convenience and peace of mind.

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Is It Worth to Hire a Rental Lamborghini and Rolls Royce Phantom in London?

To enjoy life in a luxury vehicle, Lamborghini Rental West London is one of the most audacious options.  Car rentals are one of the better possibilities in the quickly developing world of technology; many people use them for travel these days. Being able to enjoy a luxury or supercar without needing to be an automobile fanatic is the finest part about driving one.  

Our Lamborghini rental from Suave Executive Travel is a brand that epitomizes extravagance and elegance thanks to its potent engine, striking appearance, and well-known name.   Everyone can understand a supercar's value and worth, even when seeing one from a distance. It is more than just a means of transportation—it is a fashion statement in and of itself. It is a really popular choice.

Is It Worth to Hire a Lamborghini and Rolls Royce Rental in West London?

Whether you're heading to a major conference or meeting with a client, you certainly want to travel in style and comfort. A Lamborghini Rental West London can be rented in West London by anyone seeking for a speedy and secure means of transportation to business meetings. As a result, if you fly to the UK, you may advise the rental company of your position and expected arrival time. 

Exotic automobiles are typically significantly more luxurious than regular rental cars. They include heated seats and powerful engines that can take you anywhere you want to go, among other bells and whistles. When driving a Lamborghini Huracan, West London is the best place to hire one if you want to feel like a celebrity. Here are a few key advantages of hiring rental Lamborghini: 

Unusual Experience Operating a Vehicle

The majority of people picture luxurious events or thrilling driving experiences when they think about Rolls Royce Phantom Hire London. Even while these are certainly great reasons to hire a car range like this, there are a few more reasons you would want to choose one of these models. For example, renting an exotic car might allow you to travel in style or provide your guests an amazing driving experience.  

Enjoy the Look and Performance of Luxury

Rent a Lamborghini to enjoy the style, performance, and elegance of one of the most well-known supercar manufacturers worldwide. With its sleek appearance, powerful engine, and cutting-edge technology, our rental Lamborghini is a fascinating car to drive.    

Expert Guidance and Assistance

Most firms that provide Lamborghini Rental West London also give excellent service and help in order to ensure that their clients have a seamless and enjoyable experience. Rental companies make every effort to provide you with exceptional support and customer care throughout your rental, starting from the time you make your reservation and ending when the car is delivered to the designated location. 

More Wealthy In contrast to Conventional Options

Exotic rental cars can occasionally be significantly more luxurious than regular automobiles, with better performance and a more stylish design. They frequently include all the standard extras, such heated seats and powerful engines that can take you wherever you want to go. The perfect answer is this luxurious Rolls Royce Phantom Hire London.

Bottom Line

Traveling with the people you love makes for an unforgettable experience. The two main things that decide whether or not your trip is amazing are safety and comfort. Thus, get in touch with reasonably priced Rolls Royce Phantom Hire London businesses to enhance your trip. Travelling, whether domestically or abroad, is a means of strengthening relationships with loved ones. When travelling alone for work and taking extra precautions to ensure your safety, many vacationers are also accommodating. However, you may make sure you have pleasure in the proper manner by using personal transportation.

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"of service matched the sheer luxury of the car. Driving through London's streets felt like a VIP experience.

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Inside The Luxurious Life Of Jason Statham

Inside The Luxurious Life Of Jason Statham https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PASLYElrpAQ Inside The Luxurious Life Of Jason Statham Description: Jason Statham, known for revolutionizing the action film genre, has not only impressed us with his artistic skills but has also amassed significant wealth, with an estimated net worth of $90 million. Starring in blockbuster films like Fast and Furious and The Expendables, Statham's box office success has made him a prominent figure in the film industry. Statham's artistic inclination was nurtured from a young age, as his parents were involved in the entertainment industry. His mother was an actress and dancer, while his father was an actor and singer. Despite this connection, Statham's career path wasn't initially focused on acting. Before becoming a movie star, he had various jobs, including collaborating with his parents' jewelry business. The profits from this venture were invested in his diving career, during which he pursued the possibility of representing the British swimming team in the Olympics. Between 1984 and 1988, Statham dedicated 12 years to diving, almost securing a spot in the British swimming team for the Olympics. However, he eventually transitioned to professional modeling, participating in campaigns for renowned brands. It was during a casting for Guy Ritchie's film "Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels" that Statham's acting career took off. The film's success propelled him into stardom, even though his initial earnings were modest. Statham's income skyrocketed over the years, with notable pay increases for films like The Italian Job, Transporter, and The Expendables series. His best payment came from the Fast and Furious spin-off, Hobbs & Shaw, where he earned $20 million. Despite starting with a relatively low salary, Statham's persistence in performing his dangerous scenes without a stunt double and his consistent success at the box office contributed to his financial prosperity. Known for his roles as characters causing destruction on screen, Statham is also recognized for investing large sums in the remodeling of mansions. He and his wife, Rosie Huntington-Whiteley, have acquired several properties, including a $7 million house in London and a $10.6 million three-bedroom property. They often rent out properties for passive income. Statham's real estate ventures include selling a summer property in Malibu for $18.5 million, a significant profit from its $10,000 acquisition in 2009. He also owns a contemporary mansion in California valued at $12.9 million, featuring modern aesthetics, a dream kitchen, and luxurious living spaces. As a car enthusiast, Statham's garage boasts luxury sports cars, including two Audi R8s, a Lamborghini Murcielago, an Aston Martin DBS, a Jaguar XJ, and a Porsche 911 GT2, among others. His collection reflects his passion for speed and adrenaline. In terms of accessories, Statham's watch collection includes Rolex models like the Explorer 2, Submariner, and Daytona, with the latter valued at $585,000. He also owns a Patek Philippe Nautilus worth $63,000, showcasing his style and elegance. *Inside the Luxurious Life of Tom Cruise https://youtu.be/qrEuyBGo4p0?si=8rsXSw7FENjyAcJp *Inside $5 billion Amazon Headquarters https://youtu.be/RHwu1VMHiA0?si=fBnmivF1PEWIw8Cu For Collaboration and Business inquiries, please use the contact information below: 📩 Email: luxuryfieldin@gmail.com #lifestyle #luxurious #exclusive via luxury field https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCJhOMyDsJS5unW-iqcVEG7A March 15, 2024 at 10:03AM

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Navigating Heathrow: Top Car Rental Options for Every Traveler

Introduction:

Heathrow Airport, as the busiest airport in the United Kingdom and a major global travel hub, offers a plethora of transportation options for its millions of visitors. Among these, car rental stands out as a flexible and convenient choice for those looking to explore London and beyond at their own pace. In this article, we delve into the top car rental options available at Heathrow Airport, providing insights to help every traveler find the perfect vehicle for their journey.

Understanding Car Rental at Heathrow Airport:

Before diving into the various car rental options, it's essential to grasp the basics of renting a car at Heathrow. The airport is home to several reputable car rental agencies, located conveniently at the arrivals halls of all terminals. Whether you're a solo traveler, a family on vacation, or on a business trip, understanding your needs and budget is key to selecting the right service.

Top Car Rental Agencies at Heathrow:

Enterprise Rent-A-Car: Known for their extensive fleet and competitive pricing, Enterprise offers a range of vehicles from economy to luxury cars, making it easy to find a match for your budget and style.

Hertz: With their efficient service and wide selection of cars, Hertz is a go-to for travelers seeking reliability and variety. From compact cars for city driving to larger SUVs for family trips, Hertz caters to all needs.

Avis: Avis stands out with its premium service and exclusive range of vehicles. Ideal for those looking for a bit more comfort and sophistication in their rental experience.

Europcar: Offering a diverse fleet that includes eco-friendly options, Europcar is perfect for environmentally conscious travelers. Their competitive rates and flexible booking options add to the appeal.

Budget: As the name suggests, Budget is focused on providing affordable car rental solutions without compromising on quality. Ideal for budget-conscious travelers.

Tips for a Smooth Car Rental Experience at Heathrow:

Book in Advance: To secure the best rates and ensure availability, especially during peak travel seasons, it's advisable to book your car rental well in advance.

Review Rental Policies: Be sure to understand the rental agency's policies on fuel, insurance, and additional drivers to avoid any surprises.

Inspect the Vehicle: Before leaving the airport, inspect your rental car for any existing damages and ensure they are documented by the agency.

Plan Your Route: Familiarize yourself with the local driving laws and plan your route. Consider renting a GPS or using a smartphone app to navigate the streets of London and beyond.

Conclusion:

Car rental at Heathrow Airport offers the ultimate convenience and flexibility for travelers looking to explore the UK at their own pace. With a variety of options catering to every need and budget, and by following a few simple tips, you can ensure a seamless and enjoyable travel experience. Whether you're in London for business or pleasure, the right car rental can turn your trip into an unforgettable adventure.

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Make a Grand Entrance with Wedding Car Hire Options in London

Couples in London can indulge in the luxury of arriving in style on their wedding day with our Wedding car hire in London. Whether you prefer classic Rolls Royces or modern limousines, a variety of options cater to different tastes and budgets. Whether the ceremony is traditional or contemporary, renting a wedding car elevates the event's elegance. Our Professional chauffeurs guarantee a smooth experience, allowing couples to unwind and savor the journey toward their happily ever after.

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Home Away from Home: Unmatched Hospitality and Reliable Car Rental Services at Heathrow

The value of comfort and style cannot be stressed when renting a luxury car, whether for a holiday or work. Having an excellent vehicle at your disposal might make your trip feel more like home. London's cheap taxi Heathrow agencies provide a wide range of alternatives, giving you access to some of the most prominent high-end automobiles, all ready for instant departure from the airport.

Exceptional Service with Reputable Car Rental in Heathrow

 

Choosing a premium taxi service Heathrow allows you to complement the splendour and romanticism of the city with similarly fine automobiles. Before making a selection, familiarise yourself with the various car possibilities. Most people prioritise comfort and style when purchasing a reliable taxis Heathrow, so here are some tips for you:

Audi:

Opting for an Audi gives the ideal combination of limousine grandeur and sedan sophistication. When travelling with loved ones, portraying a rough yet attractive appearance is essential. Choosing an Audi guarantees not only a modern and athletic exterior, but also access to driving assistance, location help, comfort, and convenience. Audi's reputation speaks for itself, making them an excellent choice for individuals who value both style and utility.

Mercedes-Benz:

With a long history, Mercedes-Benz stands out as an excellent choice for Heathrow vehicle rentals. Renting a Mercedes allows you to smoothly transition to your hotel after a long and stressful travel, as well as provide room for relaxation while on the road. Driving around the streets of London in a Mercedes gives the impression of floating, wonderfully expressing the spirit of being in the city.

BMW:

BMW's involvement is essential for rounding out the luxury car lineup. BMW is renowned for its magnificence and durability, and it has a strong international image. It is a wonderful alternative for families traveling with children, providing a balance of refinement and functionality. Secure your children's seat belts as you drive from the airport to your hotel, ensuring their safety and comfort.

How to Choose a Luxury Rental Car Company for Heathrow Airport:

 

When traveling to a new location, you want to avoid problems with taxi rates Gatwick businesses in London Heathrow. Making educated judgments is critical, and the following are some elements to consider:

Reliability: Choosing the Hersham Taxis is as important as selecting a fantastic automobile. Your airport taxi Gatwick service provider should be dependable, with prompt arrivals in clean and comfortable cars. As a traveller, time and quality are critical, so study and read reviews of your service provider before making a selection.

Variety: Make sure you have access to a wide selection of private taxi hire Heathrow or taxi Chertsey to Gatwick. Limited options might lead to discontent. Everyone wants to travel elegantly and comfortably, with a choice of possibilities. Consider indulging in some diversity, whether it's your children's dream automobile or you're looking for your favourite model.

Summing Up!

When visiting a new place, the need to feel at home is necessary. Choosing trustworthy Heathrow taxi near me providers might help you realize your dream. Expect not just speedy customer service, but also contact with pleasant operators and a quality of service that makes you smile. Recognizing the importance of outstanding customer service, reputable airport pickups London and airport taxi Heathrow Company assures your trust and satisfaction, building a connection that will keep you coming back for more.