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#billionaire space race
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On 20 July 1969, 650 million people throughout the world watched with bated breath as Neil Armstrong successfully fulfilled President Kennedy’s vision. The United States achieved what had seemed impossible just a few decades before. We had sent a man to the moon.
On that historic day, the entire world came together to celebrate the enormous accomplishment as Armstrong’s voice boomed from our television sets: “That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”
In just eight short years the US, led by our extraordinary scientists, engineers and astronauts at NASA, had opened up a new world for humanity. And while the entire world rejoiced, there was a special joy and pride in our country because this was an American project. It was our financing, our political will, our scientific ingenuity, our courage that had accomplished this milestone in human history. We had not only “won” the international space race, but more importantly, we had created unthinkable opportunities for all of humankind.
Fifty-three years later, as a result of a huge effort to privatize space exploration, I am concerned that Nasa has become little more than an ATM machine to fuel a space race not between the US and other countries, but between the two wealthiest men in America – Elon Musk and Jeff Bezos, who are worth more than $450BN combined.
After many billions of dollars of taxpayer funding the American people are going to have to make a very fundamental decision. If we are going to send more human beings to the moon and eventually to Mars, who will control the enterprise and what will be the purpose of that exploration? Will the goal be to benefit the people of the United States and the entire world, or will it be a vast boondoggle to make billionaires even richer and open up outer space to corporate greed and exploitation?
At this moment, if you can believe it, Congress is considering legislation to provide a $10bn bailout to Jeff Bezos’s Blue Origin space company for a contract to build a lunar lander. This legislation is taking place after Blue Origin lost a competitive bid to SpaceX, Musk’s company.
Bezos is worth some $180bn. In a given year, he has paid nothing in federal income taxes. He is the owner of Amazon, which, in a given year, has also paid nothing in federal income taxes after making billions in profits. Bezos has enough money to own a $500m mega-yacht, a $23m mansion in Washington DC, a $175m estate in Beverly Hills and a $78m, 14-acre estate in Maui.
At a time when over half of the people in this country live paycheck to paycheck, when more than 70 million are uninsured or underinsured and when some 600,000 Americans are homeless, should we really be providing a multibillion-dollar taxpayer bailout for Bezos to fuel his space hobby? I don’t think so.
Let’s be clear, however. This issue goes well beyond just one contract for Bezos to go to the moon.
The reality is that the space economy – which today mostly consists of private companies utilizing NASA facilities and technology essentially free of charge to launch satellites into orbit – is already very profitable and has the potential to become exponentially more profitable in the future. Bank of America predicts that over the next eight years the space economy will triple in size to $1.4tn – that’s trillion with a “t”.
In 2018, private corporations made over $94bn in profits from goods or services that are used in space – profits that could not have been achieved without generous subsidies and support from NASA and the taxpayers of America. The satellite business is growing rapidly. SpaceX alone plans to launch tens of thousands of its Starlink telecommunications satellites over the next few years.
In addition to the launching of new satellites, corporations like SpaceX will be making substantial sums from the “space tourism” business. Recently, three extremely wealthy individuals paid $55m each in order to visit the International Space Station. The good news is that if you are a billionaire tired of vacationing in the Caribbean, there are some exciting travel opportunities for you. The bad news is that American taxpayers are subsidizing some of that trip.
And while it may seem like a bad science fiction movie today, decades from now the real money to be made will not come from satellites or space tourism but to those who discover how to mine lucrative minerals on asteroids.
In fact, both Goldman Sachs and the noted astrophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson have predicted that the world’s first trillionaire will be the person who figures out how to harness and exploit natural resources on asteroids.
NASA has identified over 12,000 asteroids within 45m kilometers of Earth that contain iron ore, nickel, precious metals and other minerals. Just a single 3,000ft asteroid may contain platinum worth over $5tn. Another asteroid’s rare earth metals could be worth more than $20tn alone. According to the Silicon Valley entrepreneur Peter Diamandis, “There are twenty-trillion-dollar checks up there, waiting to be cashed!”
The questions we must ask are: who will be cashing those checks? Who will, overall, be benefiting from space exploration? Will it be a handful of billionaires or will it be the people of our country and all of humanity?
As it stands now, as a result of the 2015 Space Act that passed the Senate with virtually no floor debate, private corporations are able to own all of the resources that they discover in space. In other words, the taxpayers of this country who made it possible for these private enterprises to go into space will get a 0% return on their investment.
The time is now to have a serious debate in Congress and throughout our country as to how to develop a rational space policy that does not simply socialize all of the risks and privatize all of the profits. Whether it is expanding affordable high-speed internet and cellphone service in remote areas, tracking natural disasters and climate change, establishing colonies on the moon and Mars or mining asteroids, the scientific achievements we make should be shared by all of us, not just the wealthy few.
Space exploration is very exciting. Its potential to improve life here on planet Earth is limitless. But it also has the potential to make the richest people in the world incredibly richer and unimaginably more powerful. When we take that next giant leap into space let us do it to benefit all of humanity, not to turn a handful of billionaires into trillionaires.
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bitchycatwizard · 2 years
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I have been sitting on so much cursed information and I don't know if sharing this will make me feel better or worse about it but here goes.
The worst possible OFMD modern au concept comes from Rhys Darby himself and Taika is a fucking accessory to his nonsense.
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Here's the link
[ID: text from the article linked that reads:
"In an interview with Waititi and Darby, Malay Mail asked the actors to imagine what their characters would be doing to deal with their midlife crisis instead of pirating if they were alive today.
"That’s a good question, I think Blackbeard would be trying to be a deejay,” said Waititi who also directed the first episode.
"He’d be trying to record an album with his mates in a garage somewhere working on their songs about how cool it was growing up in the ‘80s.”
Darby thinks his character Bonnet would be part of the ongoing space race that seems to be the go-to activity for the privileged few with bottomless bank accounts.
"I was going to say space exploration because that’s like the biggest risk these days,” Darby said." End image description]
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shreygoyal · 2 years
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Space tourism launches give off “black carbon” particles, which have a climate-warming impact between 460 and 1,500 times stronger than CO2 per unit of mass.
(Source)
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mrskokushibo · 5 months
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Warnings: Explicit sexual content, mention of BDSM. Strictly 18+. MDNI. SMUT. NSFW.
A/N: This little drabble is inspired by the Upper Moon Car H/Cs by @flametrashira , fic discussions with my dear @koku-shibou , and the character of Bruce Wayne from The Dark Knight.
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MASTERLIST
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Billionaire Kokushibo who meets you at an art gallery opening party. After your eyes meet, he can’t take them off you and neither can you take yours off him. The instant attraction draws you both to work the room toward each other while politely mingling with the other attendees.
Billionaire Kokushibo who finally gets close to you at the bar and chats you up with a polite ‘Would you like a drink?’ From then on it is just you and him, moving from small talk to flirting as the evening continues.
Billionaire Kokushibo who convinces you to leave early and go for drinks at his place. Your inhibitions are as blown away because despite wanting to take it slow and be a good girl, waiting with one-on-one time until the second date, your pussy has already determined the outcome of the evening for you. Yes, you are wet. Very wet. Because who are you fooling here, he is beyond ridiculously hot.
Billionaire Kokushibo who leads you outside of the venue and lends you his suit jacket while you wait for the concierge to bring his car. He has chivalry engrained in him and would never let a lady freeze. When the car arrives, you almost squirt. It is your favourite black Bugatti W16 Mistral. He opens the door for you and lets you in and then quickly walks around the sexy vehicle and jumps into the driver’s seat.
Billionaire Kokushibo who revs the engine a little extra just to show off. He drives fast and smooth, you can tell he has advanced racing skills. He doesn’t speak much while he drives, doesn’t touch you, or makes any indecent comments, but you can see in the corner of your eye that he has a small fleeting smile on his lips every time he casts a quick glance your way.
Billionaire Kokushibo who arrives at his modernist mansion in the most expensive part of town and gets welcomed by his butler. They exchange a few words and the butler takes care of the car while Kokushibo leads you into the house and into the minimalistic but luxurious living space with a view of the city. Politely, he directs you to the comfortable lounge sofa and asks about your drink preferences. He gets the drinks and sits down opposite of you in an armchair.
Billionaire Kokushibo who, after getting your next drink, sits down next to you and initiates a kiss. He is a great kisser and smells intoxicating of purple lilies and white musk. His hands caress you just enough to make shivers run down your spine in arousal and your pussy throb beyond control.
Billionaire Kokushibo who undresses you slowly as if he was unwrapping an expensive Ming vase that he just purchased from an auction at Christie’s. He kisses you down your neckline and goes straight for your breasts. While kissing you he is taking off his crispy white shirt that was already slightly unbuttoned showing off a glimpse of his trimmed, perfectly toned chest.
Billionaire Kokushibo who now unbuckles his belt and the two of you finalise your mutual undressing. He stops for a moment to have a good look at you and you can’t help but drool internally at the sight of the magnificent muscular apparition that is Kokushibo. His perfect cock draws most of your attention as it is large and girthy and leaks everywhere.
Billionaire Kokushibo who takes you on the sofa. He is gentle at first, making you come only by using his mouth, but once he enters you, his pace increases in speed and intensity. The elegant space is filled with lewd sounds of skin slapping skin and the loud squelching of your wet pussy being pounded relentlessly by this utterly hot male. Soon enough he is cumming inside you eliciting a deep, quiet growl to accompany his release.
Billionaire Kokushibo who leads you to his bedroom where you spend the rest of the night fucking each other’s brains out until you are both covered with sweat and cum, needing to shower several times in-between sex. You fuck in the shower, too, by the way.
Billionaire Kokushibo who is very embarrassed in the morning as he needs to ask his butler to change his bedding. The two of you made an indescribable mess. And this will not be the last time that happens.
Billionaire Kokushibo who buys you a penthouse in the city so that you can walk to your work as a store manager. He lets you design the place but takes the initiative to have your bedroom soundproofed so that the two of you can be as loud as you want to be. He also orders to have a sex room and adjacent specialised wardrobe built for you two, where you can store all the sexy lingerie you already own and will purchase, as well as sex toys and other gear.
Billionaire Kokushibo who is into BDSM and the sex room is made purposely for that. Both of you are switches so that the games you play are hot. To say the least. You love being tied up in Shibari and used like a slut when it is his turn to be the Dom. He goes hard as steel when you gently put the collar around his neck when it is your turn to be the Dom. He leaks all over and squeals when you peg him.
Billionaire Kokushibo who buys you lavish gifts and orders catering from Michelin-star restaurants when you decide to stay in for a longer sex sesh. He knows the value of a good woman and will spoil you beyond belief. He buys you a matching Bugatti W16 Mistral so that you can think of him when you need to go for a drive to visit your friends.
Billionaire Kokushibo who asks you to marry him when on a holiday in Paris. He books the Eifel Tower just for you two and proposes on top of it. Afterward, you go out for a lavish dinner and spend the rest of the night fucking at the Suite Imperiale of the famous Hotel Ritz and indulging in the most expensive champagne the hotel has to offer. Yes, you don't just drink it, you bathe in the champagne as well, and, of course, have sex in the bath.
Masterlist
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Image: Marsiankaa on Pinterest
Tagging 💜: @horror4themasses @doumadono @muzansfangs @crescentmoontsuki
Banner by @cafekitsune
Pictures in title: Pinterest and Bugatti Motors.
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emjayewrites · 3 months
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The Fast Lane (A Formula One Series)(2/?)
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SYNOPSIS: Jesenia joins the private, membership-based dating app Raya searching for a sugar daddy. Instead, she unknowingly finds her biggest “whale”: Lewis Hamilton, a famous Formula One racing driver.
PAIRING: Sir Lewis Hamilton x Jesenia "Jessy" Hart (face claim is @/loriharvey)
WARNINGS: drama, angst, cursing, explicit sexual content, not-so-glamorous life in the influencer/racing world, kind of pre-established relationship. RATED M (18+)
PINTEREST: Jessy's F1 Outfits
PLAYLIST: The Fast Lane Spotify
TAGLIST: @royallyprincesslilly, @mauvecherie-writes, @saintslewis, @peyiswriting, @hamiltonvuitton, @cocobutterqwueen, @qveenmelanink, @ashanti-notthesinger, @lewisroscoelove, @lovebittenbyevans, @lew1s-prix, @jasmindaughteroftheworld, @eugene-emt-roe, @apenasumlug4r, @simpfortoomanymen, @roseseraj, @alika-4466, @httpsserene, @queenshikongo3, @cherry2stems, @non-stop-imagines, @anubisnoir @myescapefromthislife @chaneajoyyy @yeea-nah @mitruscity @lewiscrown @weetjy @a-moment-captured @sugardontbesweet @shaytheeprettiest @livinglifethroughfanfic @blveeeeeee @formula-hamilton @purplelewlew @trinitoldyouso @slytherinjimim3nthusiast @certifiedlesbianbaddie
AUTHOR'S NOTE: A bit of a change up to fit the story. Please let me know if you wish to be added/removed from the taglist. Anyways, enjoy! Dividers by @inklore!
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CHAPTER TWO: The Letters of XNDA
Lewis was unconventional, an adrenaline junkie, and the epitome of Jack of All Trades. Jessy has been privy to gaining access to spaces of top-tier people, the multimillionaires and billionaires of the world, yet no one could ever be like Sir Lewis Hamilton.
After an amazing weekend in Monaco, Lewis invited her to another race — the Spanish Grand Prix in Barcelona.
Of course, she agreed to attend, but Jessy soon realized there must be a time when she put her foot down and said no. Until then, she'll play along and be the supportive grid girl.
Before heading to Barcelona, Jessy returned to Miami to handle a few business meetings and the like. Her second collection for her swimwear line, Silver Doe, will be released in July and there were still so many preparations. During that time, she spent an unhealthy period online researching her mark.
She still had yet to learn his intentions with her and their arrangement, but she knew that he was hooked on her, especially after that night in Monte Carlo. Once he had a taste of her, he became an addict and was unable to stop. They christened his penthouse apartment, fucking on almost every surface imaginable.
Jessy couldn't deny that she enjoyed herself and his sexual proclivities both surprised and satisfied her, however, she had to keep her focus. She devised a well-thought-out plan before meeting him, and she refused to let it all go to waste.
She delved into any resource she could get her hands on: from his wild, partying days several years ago to his very interesting dating history; Jessy explored it all. She steered clear of learning his likes and dislikes, preferring to have a more natural way of learning these things, but she did discover that he loved music, so much so that he even recorded songs and had a feature on Christina Aguilera's album.
Suffice it to say, Lewis had a lot of business ventures and interests outside of professional racing, and he always seemed to keep Jessy on her toes. Like herself, Lewis was an enigma; he was a rulebreaker, an Alpha, an icon. Lewis was that guy; he was him.
And despite this, the fame complete with a large fanbase, the nose and ear piercings, and the tattoos, he was still very soft-spoken and down-to-earth, which made it quite difficult for Jessy to find a flaw and profit off of it.
Most of the guys she previously hung around with or dated had flaws. From gambling to drug problems, they had weaknesses she used to get whatever she wanted from them. But Lewis's only weakness was his close friends and family, and although Jessy wanted to finesse him, she's not that terrible of a person. With this in mind, the only other choice was to play into the media coverage.
Since pictures of their time in Monte Carlo were swirling around the internet, many tabloids contacted Jessy for comments, not to mention the several hundred thousand or so followers she gained on Instagram. She adhered to her manager and publicist's advice and turned down the chance to comment on her dealings with Lewis, but that didn't mean that she wasn't going to use this to her advantage.
Everyone, from sleazy tabloids to huge media conglomerates, wanted a piece of Lewis as well as whoever kept his company, so why shouldn't she give the people what they wanted? Of course, she would never post a picture of them in bed together; that was too distasteful and she wasn't as attention-hungry as the usual thots who hung around celebrities. But no one said that posting her existence would be a problem, thus Jessy decided to do just that: she'll give them just enough to keep her relevance in the blogs, and perhaps more sales for Silver Doe.
It's a win-win.
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Trap music blasted from Lewis' motorhome inside Circuit de Barcelona Catalunya's paddock. Despite being several feet away, she could still easily decipher the lyrics to Future's "Life Is Good". Her entrance into the motor event and retrieval of all of her clearances was very quick, to say the least, and she couldn't help but think that this wasn't security's first rodeo with random women visiting Lewis.
Upon her research, she discovered that Lewis constantly surrounded himself with gorgeous women. From professional models to rappers and everyone in between; if she was gorgeous, Lewis had her. Jessy pushed all of those intrusive thoughts aside, deeming it unnecessary to think about the past women in Lewis' life. For the time being, she was the woman on his arm, and she had to put all of her energy into the job at hand.
Thankfully, regardless of her position as the first or eightieth woman to visit Lewis, she was met with equal respect from everyone, including his teammate and other competitors. Word spread quickly among the paddock about Lewis' 'new gal', and she was pleasantly surprised by the warm welcome. After her first race in Monaco, Lewis made sure she had everything she needed, even assigning an intern to be her designated guide.
Katie, the intern from Mercedes-AMG Petronas, was a friendly young woman in her early twenties with an energetic personality. When Jessy arrived in Barcelona, Katie welcomed her and kept her company during the drive to the paddock. She also filled Jessy in on all things Formula One with an enthusiastic speech.
Katie and Jessy strolled through the paddock, discussing the upcoming race weekend. This year, things were a bit different than in previous seasons. There was a new track in Las Vegas to debut, and the racing weekend was now extended to four days instead of three. "Lewis has a few interviews today, but I'm confident you can squeeze in some personal time with him. Do you have any questions about the schedule so far?" Katie said as they headed towards the drivers' RVs after finishing their tour of Lewis' team's motorhome.
Jessy shook her head, feeling overwhelmed as the young woman continued talking. Trying to understand the intricacies of F1 was an understatement; it would take a lot of time for Jessy to truly grasp everything. Katie's words fell on deaf ears as Jessy struggled to process it all.
What in the fuck am I getting myself into?
For Jessy, learning a sport without much prior knowledge was second nature. With both her father and stepfather being professional athletes, she grew up in the world of competitive sports, along with all the challenges that came with it. But F1 racing was proving to be a whole different ball game.
Katie gave a cheerful smile and wave before leaving Jessy at Lewis's door. She lifted her hand to knock, but just as she was about to, the door swung open, revealing Lewis in all his glory.
"Hey there," he said with a charming smile, inviting Jessy in.
"Hi," Jessy responded softly as she entered his motorhome. She glanced around the area, noting the slight disorderliness with scattered exercise equipment and clothing, along with his earphones and keyboard resting on the sofa. Despite the mess, it was a comfortable and surprisingly spacious living space. It exceeded her expectations in terms of size and quality.
Lewis closed the door behind them and turned to face her. He took in her appearance, the way her shoulder-length hair accented her delicate facial features, and how the curve of her hips filled out the tight jeans she was wearing. "You look stunning," he commented, causing a warm flush to creep up on Jessy's cheeks.
"Thank you," she said softly.
Lewis spoke with sincerity, "I'm happy you made it. I've been looking forward to spending more time with you. How was the flight?"
Jessy felt a flutter in her stomach at his words. It was clear that Lewis was interested in her, and with his reputation as a ladies' man, it both excited and intimidated her. She reminded herself that this was just a temporary fling; she couldn't let herself get too caught up in every little thing. "The flight was smooth, barely any turbulence. And Katie meeting me at the airport was a nice touch. Thank you for arranging that."
Lewis smiled, "No problem. I knew Katie would be a great help. Did you bring any luggage or just your gorgeous self?"
Jessy chuckled and took a seat on the sofa, "One of your bodyguards or someone brought it to the hotel. Is that where we're headed?"
"I usually stay here during race weekends," Lewis revealed, "But I can call them later to bring it 'round if you need anything."
Jessy glanced around the motorhome again, taking in more of her surroundings. "So, this is your home away from home?"
Lewis nodded, "Yeah, it's nice to have a comfortable space to relax in between races and all the chaos that comes with it." He took a seat next to her on the sofa and leaned back, looking completely at ease as his toned arm, decorated with tattoos, rested comfortably around her shoulders. "So...did you have time to think about what I said a few days ago?"
Jessy rolled her eyes playfully at him, causing Lewis to make a disapproving sound with his tongue.
"Jesenia, you're killin' me, woman," Lewis joked, pretending to be disappointed as he ran his hand down his face. "Have you, though?"
Jessy glanced down at her immaculately groomed hands. "I have," she confessed.
"And?"
She took a deep breath before meeting his gaze again. "I'm not sure if it's such a good idea."
"Why not?" Lewis probed gently.
"Because...you're asking for a lot." She raised her chin in defiance with a wry smile. Lewis reached out to caress her cheek. "What's in it for me, spending most of my time traveling between countries for your little races?"
"Little?" winced Lewis jokingly, "I thought you had more respect for me after that night in Monte Carlo?"
Jessy shot him a sardonic glance. "Just because you know how to swivel your hips really well doesn't mean I'm going to uproot my entire life for you. What about my business? My career? There needs to be some sort of return on investment for this, Lewis."
Lewis leaned in, his smirk growing into a menacing grin. "Return on investment, huh? Is that what this is all about?" His hot breath tickled her skin as he got closer, making her feel trapped and vulnerable.
Jessy resolutely met his gaze. "Is it not a valid concern?"
He raised an eyebrow at her. "Of course it is," he said, his tone taking on a more serious note. "And I understand that you have your own life and career to think about. But I can assure you, Jessy, that being with me will bring you many benefits."
Jessy's eyes narrowed in disbelief. "Such as?"
"Well, for starters, you'll get to travel the world," Lewis pointed out. "I know how passionate you are about seeing new places and experiencing different cultures."
"That's true," Jessy admitted.
"And let's not forget the gifts," Lewis added.
"You suddenly want to discuss presents, but every time I mention clothes or jewelry, you throw a fit."
Jessy's breath hitched as Lewis's fingertips traced a path down her bare skin. Goosebumps formed in the wake of his touch, and she trembled under his gentle exploration. "I know," he murmured, his lips hovering just above hers.
"But I do appreciate nice things," she continued.
"I know you do." Lewis brought his lips to her neck and placed a gentle kiss on the sensitive skin there, eliciting a shiver from Jessy. "And I want to give you nice things," he whispered against her skin.
Jessy's resolve began to crumble under the weight of Lewis's seductive words and actions. As much as she wanted to concede, she couldn't deny that there was still a part of her that was skeptical of his intentions.
"And...what else?" Jessy asked hesitantly.
"Well..." Lewis hesitated for a moment before meeting her gaze again. "There's me."
"You?" Jessy repeated incredulously.
"Yes," Lewis confirmed. "I may have a hectic schedule during race season but when I'm not racing, I have plenty of free time to spend with you. And judging by your reaction, you miss having me inside you, don't you?"
Lewis's words resonated with Jessy, causing a wave of memories to flood her mind. She knew he was right about one thing – she did miss the intensity and passion of their love-making. But was it enough?
Fuck no. "Maybe I do, maybe I don't," Jessy replied, trying to sound nonchalant despite the growing desire in her body. "You seem to be real confident for a man that went right to sleep without a second care on whether I had an orgasm."
A smirk slowly formed at the corners of Lewis's lips. "I could feel you," he said in a low, seductive voice. "I felt how you tightened around me."
"And what if I say otherwise?" Jessy challenged, obviously playing mind games. Of course, she did, many times over to be exact, nevertheless, she enjoyed every chance she had to tease him.
Lewis couldn't help but chuckle at Jessy's provocation. "You know that's not true," he said with a knowing smile.
"Oh really?" Jessy raised an eyebrow, her expression daring him to prove her wrong.
"I can show you," Lewis replied confidently, his hands sliding down her sides to rest on her waist. "Right here, right now."
Jessy's breath hitched as Lewis's hands began to roam over her body, fueling the fire within her. His touch was intoxicating.
"Prove it then," she demanded, meeting his gaze with determination.
Lewis leaned in closer, his lips almost brushing against hers. "I will," he whispered before capturing her lips in a heated kiss.
Jessy moaned into the kiss as Lewis deepened it, his tongue exploring every inch of her mouth. Sparks flew between them, and she found herself losing control under his skilled ministrations.
Their bodies pressed against each other as they continued to kiss passionately, their hands roaming over each other's bodies. Jessy couldn't get enough of him – his touch, his scent, everything about him made her feel alive and desired.
Their kisses grew more frenzied and their breaths came in short gasps. Lewis suddenly pushed Jessy onto the couch and settled between her parted legs, their lips still locked. Jessy instinctively wrapped her legs around him as Lewis's hand slid up under her shirt to knead at one of her breasts. She moaned louder at the sensation and ran her fingers through his signature braids, pulling him closer to deepen the kiss even further.
But just when things were getting heated between them, they were interrupted by a loud knocking at the front door.
They both froze, their lips still slightly swollen from their intense kiss.
"Who could that be?" Jessy asked breathlessly, her eyes locked with Lewis's.
He shook his head, equally surprised and annoyed by the sudden interruption. "Someone from Merc, unfortunately," he replied with a frown.
They both reluctantly untangled themselves from each other and stood up, quickly straightening their clothes. Jessy shot one last longing look at Lewis before he headed towards the door. Sighing irritably as he opened the door, a communications assistant appeared before him. "Let me guess, time for those interviews?" he asked, and the woman nodded in confirmation. "Gimme a minute?"
"Of course," the woman replied, her eyes following Lewis as he walked back to where Jessy was waiting. She smiled patiently as he spoke to Jessy.
"Sorry to interrupt, but I have to go," Lewis said with a tinge of disappointment in his tone. "I'll make it up to you later."
"How long will you be gone?" Jessy inquired, hoping it wouldn't be too long.
"It could take a couple of hours, possibly longer. These things can be unpredictable. I'll text you in an hour or so with an ETA," Lewis explained.
Before she could say anything else, Lewis leaned in and gave her a quick peck on the lips before walking out with the assistant in tow.
She was deemed speechless for several moments, completely off guard by Lewis' public display of affection.
What the hell was that?
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The excitement of the F1 weekend had taken hold of the city, and the paddock was filled with people wearing their favorite team colors and vendors selling all kinds of merchandise. The Spanish Grand Prix was just around the corner, and she had the opportunity to attend Free Practice Day, the second day of the event where drivers and teams could get accustomed to the track, experiment with car setups, and gather important data.
Yesterday, once Lewis finished his driver duties and returned, they resumed their activities from earlier that day, making up for lost time. They eventually took a break for dinner at a local restaurant in downtown Barcelona.
The next morning, with a long day ahead of him, Lewis left not too long ago, but not before giving a small gift as a token of his affection.
Jessy stood in the luxurious bathroom of the motorhome, admiring her reflection in the mirror, Her hair and makeup were kept simple yet chic, with a few tendrils falling temptingly into her face. The outfit put together by Lewis' stylist, Eric O'Neal, was hung up close by on a hook and a stunning Cartier watch was placed on the counter. The watch gleamed under the bathroom lights, its gold links and sparkling diamonds catching the light. Its intricate design was a work of art, with a sleek face and delicate hands. Jessy felt like she was living in a dream, but she didn't want to break the spell. She put on the elegant outfit, followed by delicately placing the watch around her wrist, marveling at how perfectly it fit. She couldn't help but feel giddy, knowing that this gift came from Lewis himself. Then, she exited the motorhome to head to the track.
As expected, news of her presence at the race weekend traveled quickly through the blogs, and she even made a splash as a headline in Daily Mail: F1 Driver Lewis Hamilton spotted dining with model Jessy Hart in Barcelona. She was quickly becoming a popular topic of conversation, as her phone constantly buzzed with various notifications, and everyone wanted to know all about her.
Jessy had nothing to hide; like Lewis, she had a unique dating history. However, growing up in the public eye was not new to her. Both her father and stepfather were NFL players, but they did their best to shield her and her sister, Jenesis, from the media's attention. Despite this, reporters often mentioned them in articles about either man. It didn't take long for the public to uncover her past, and the rumors began to spread like wildfire. She was certain that her intrusive mother would call soon, eager to gather all the juicy details about her situation with Lewis.
Jessy navigated through the bustling paddock and arrived at the pit lane. Cameras clicked and flashed, reporters shouted for interviews, but she kept her head down and focused on finding Lewis. She didn't want to cause a distraction; after all, this wasn't about her. The teams were setting up their garages, polishing their cars, and doing last-minute adjustments. Revving engines echoed through the pit lane, making it almost impossible to hold a conversation without shouting.
Finally, she spotted him at the Mercedes garage, deep in conversation with his race engineer. She couldn't help but smile as she watched him, his passion and determination evident in every gesture he made.
As if sensing her presence, Lewis turned around and caught sight of her. A bright smile spread across his face as he excused himself from the conversation and walked towards her.
"Hey beautiful," he said, pulling her into a hug.
"Hey," Jessy replied with a grin as she took in his appearance. He was decked out in his team's gear, yet out of her peripheral vision, she spotted an anorak folded on a chair with designs quite similar to the outfit she currently had on. "Are we matching?"
"Maybe," Lewis said, sotto voce, taking her hand and leading her to a quieter corner of the garage, away from the prying eyes and constant buzz of activity.
Jessy quirked an eyebrow, his response piquing her interest. "So, why did you suddenly think we have to coordinate outfits? Isn't that just playing into a tired stereotype?"
Lewis chuckled, reaching out to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. "Because I like it," he said with a wink. "You don't wanna match with me?"
Jessy was about to say something, but before she could, a team member appeared with a clipboard in hand and interrupted them.
"Lewis, we need to go over some details about the car before the second practice starts."
"Right, coming," Lewis replied, glancing apologetically at Jessy.
"It's okay, I'll just hang around here for a bit," Jessy said with a smile.
Lewis gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before heading off with his team member. Jessy watched him walk away with admiration; there was something so attractive about seeing him in his element.
As she waited for him to finish up, Jessy took the opportunity to explore the garage. The smell of rubber and fuel filled her nostrils as she walked among the cars and equipment. She couldn't help but feel exhilarated by being so close to the heart of Formula 1.
She was trying to take a closer look at one of the Mercedes cars when someone cleared their throat behind her. Turning around, she came face to face with someone she recognized from her research -Lewis' boss, Toto Wolff.
"Can I help you?" he asked politely in a thick Austrian accent. The facial expression he held was stoic and his lips formed into a thin line.
"Oh no, sorry," Jessy replied quickly, feeling slightly embarrassed. "I'm just...uh...I'm Lewis' friend."
Toto's expression softened as he recognized her from photos he had seen circulating in the media. "Ah yes, Jessy Hart," he said with a smile. "It's nice to finally meet you."
"It's nice to meet you too," Jessy replied politely.
"I can see why Lewis is so taken with you," Toto continued. "You have quite the beauty about you."
Jessy blushed at the compliment and thanked him, not quite sure how to respond. Just then, Lewis returned and joined Toto and Jessy in their conversation. Toto and Lewis caught up on some details about the car, while Jessy tried to blend in and listen attentively. After a few minutes, Toto excused himself and left the garage.
Lewis turned to Jessy with a smile. "I see you've met Toto," he said.
"Yeah, he seems nice," Jessy replied.
"He's more than nice," Lewis chuckled. "He's one of the most respected figures in Formula 1."
With a bit of time before his second practice session, Lewis saw an opportunity to introduce Jessy to the rest of his team. "This is Peter, but we call him Bono, He's my ace, my engineer," he said with a friendly slap on the shoulder to a man with glasses and brown hair. "Bono, this is Jessy. You may see her often if she takes on my offer to travel with us."
"That's good news. It's always helpful to have some extra support in keeping him from getting too overwhelmed," joked Bono, earning a laugh from Lewis.
"It's still up in the air, but we'll see," replied Jessy, stealing a glance at Lewis.
Their eyes locked for a moment before Lewis broke the silence by saying, "Yeah, you'll definitely be seeing more of her."
The second practice started shortly after, and Jessy watched from the sidelines as Lewis drove the car around the track with precision and speed, navigating expertly around the tight corners and straights. The mechanical hum and vibrations echoing throughout the garage created a symphony that breathed life into the space.
A moment later, Jessy's phone buzzed in her purse. She pulled it out to see her mother's name on the screen. With a sigh, she stepped outside the garage and answered her phone, trying to tune out the loud sounds of Formula 1 cars zooming by on the track. "Hey Mom, what's up?" she asked, leaning against a nearby wall.
"So when were you going to tell me that you're with some race driver?" her mother replied, curtly. "Some British guy named Lewis, huh? Honestly, I'm not surprised; you always knew how to pick your men. Anyways, how long you've been dating him?"
Jessy couldn't help but roll her eyes at her mother's constant prying. Their relationship had always been distant and overbearing. Her mother ran their household like a business, always making shrewd decisions. After her father's affair, Jessy's mother was determined to find a new husband, and she quickly snatched up Jessy's stepfather (who coincidentally played on a rival NFL team). Fortunately, James Bullard treated Jessy as his own daughter and loved her just as much as his biological children. However, this didn't stop her mother from being critical of every aspect of Jessy's life - from her brief career in modeling to her current venture as a swimwear designer. No matter what Jessy did, her mother always seemed to have an opinion about it all.
"Mom, it's not like that," she protested. "I met him a week or so ago. It's not like we're dating or anything."
"Mhmm, we'll see about that," her mother replied skeptically.
"Just be cautious, Jesenia. These race car drivers have a reputation for being playboys. You can't just keep living carefree like this forever. Your future is something you need to start considering. Take Jenesis, for example. She's six years younger than you, and she's already expecting her third child with DeVon."
And yet, she still doesn't have a wedding ring. "I know, Mom," Jessy replied, trying to reassure her before quickly ending the call. "I'll talk to you later. I'm kind of busy at the moment."
She let out a frustrated sigh as she walked back into the garage, trying to push her mother's words out of her mind. It was just like Paula to always bring up her little sister and her sister's terrible baby-daddy whenever a new man came into Jessy's life.
"I need a fuckin' drink," she muttered to herself. She allowed it to affect her for all but ten seconds before she plastered a fake smile onto her face and watched as Lewis pulled into the pits after finishing his second practice session. Sweat glistened on his forehead and his heart was pounding. Exhilarated but exhausted, he couldn't help but take a moment to catch his breath. His team quickly went to work on the car, making adjustments and analyzing data while Lewis debriefed with Bono.
After a few minutes of discussion, Lewis turned to Jessy with a grin. "You ready for some lunch?" he asked.
"Definitely," Jessy replied eagerly.
As they walked back towards the hospitality area in the paddock, Lewis casually draped an arm around Jessy's shoulder. They sat down at a table filled with delicious food and chatted about their morning so far. Jessy shared how impressed she was by Lewis' driving skills while he talked about some upcoming races he was excited about.
Amidst the chaotic lunch crowd, she caught a glimpse of Spinz walking alongside Brazilian soccer star Neymar Jr. as they made their way into the team's motorhome.
"Holy shit." Jessy tried to remain composed as she whispered to Lewis, "Oh my God. Is that really him?"
Lewis glanced at Jessy before turning his attention to their special guest. "Yeah, that's Neymar. We met at an event last year and he decided to come watch me race."
As soon as their eyes met, Lewis got up from his seat to greet the famous soccer player. "Hey, how's it going?" he asked with enthusiasm.
"Good, good," replied Neymar in his trademark Brazilian accent. Neymar's gaze shifted over to Jessy and judging by the flirtatious look he gave her, he liked what he saw. "Menina bonita."
Jessy's heart skipped a beat as she watched the exchange between Lewis and Neymar. She couldn't believe that he was hitting on her. But then, Lewis' response brought her back to reality.
"Fuck no," Lewis drawled, shaking his head. "Find another one, mate."
"Ah, she's your girl then?" Neymar asked with a grin.
Jessy could feel herself blushing and tried to play it cool as she replied, "Yeah, he wishes."
Lewis chuckled and sent her an amused look before introducing her properly. "This is Jessy Hart. Jessy, this is Neymar Jr."
"Nice to meet you," Neymar said with a charming smile.
"You as well."
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They returned to the Mercedes garage, where Lewis gave Neymar a tour and explained the technical details of Formula One racing. Jessy and Spinz watched from a distance as the two men conversed with passion and excitement about their shared love for speed and competition.
"How are you handling all this attention?" asked Spinz. "I've seen you all over the media lately."
"It's been hectic," was her reply. She planned on using this publicity to her advantage, but she also didn't enjoy being constantly watched, especially by her nosy ass mother.
"Lewis told me that you might be joining us on the road," Spinz commented, causing Jessy to let out a groan.
"He's been telling everyone that," she replied to Spinz. "I told him I would consider it."
"Unfortunately, he can be a bit of a control freak," Spinz acknowledged, causing Jessy to raise an eyebrow in concern. "Not in a crazy, overbearing way, but if he likes you, he'll want you around. Look what happened to me."
Jessy laughed at his statement. "Yeah, I'm starting to see that. But we'll see."
Lewis and Neymar walked through the crowd that stood near the pits, signing autographs and taking pictures with excited fans. She couldn't believe how easygoing Lewis was with his fans – always taking time to interact with each one of them instead of rushing off to his next obligation. But then again, this was another trait that made him so likable – his genuine kindness towards others.
After they finished signing autographs, Lewis returned to Jessy with a sly grin on his handsome face.
"You ready to get out of here?"
Jessy eagerly nodded and followed Lewis as he led them back to his motorhome. Her luggage sat unassumingly in the living room, like an old friend waiting to be reunited.
'Bout fucking time, she thought.
But as they stepped inside, Lewis' behavior changed abruptly. He had her against the counter in a flash, his lips capturing hers in a passionate kiss. His hands roamed eagerly over her body, tracing the curve of her waist and the delicate contours of her back. His touch ignited a fire within Jessy, setting every nerve ablaze with desire.
"You think that's cute flirting with Neymar?" growled Lewis in her ear.
She felt his possessiveness in the way he held her, as if she were his prized possession, and it thrilled her to the core. It was a side of him she had yet to see, but one that excited her even more. She leaned into him, savoring the feel of his strong arms around her.
Breathless, they broke apart for a moment, their eyes locked in a fierce dance of longing and anticipation. Lewis couldn't help but notice the mischievous glint in Jessy's gaze, a taunting twinkle that stirred his hunger even further. He knew she was enjoying this power she had over him, and he couldn't deny that he loved it just as much.
"You're jealous," she taunted, her voice dripping with seduction. "Jealous that he can make me wetter than you can."
Lewis' eyes flashed with desire at her bold statement, and he couldn't resist the urge to prove her wrong. He took her by surprise, his lips crashing onto hers once again in a frenzy of need and passion. He held her close as their tongues tangled in a dance of dominance.
"Do I look jealous to you?" he breathed against her lips.
Without another word, Lewis scooped her up and placed her on the counter. Jessy had never felt so alive before – every touch from Lewis sent electricity running through her veins and every kiss left her craving more. His hands grasped at her clothes as he slowly removed them, his lips burning a trail along her exposed skin.
Moaning heavenward, Jessy was overwhelmed with a surge of heat as Lewis' mouth engulfed one of her nipples, his tongue flicking over it in a teasing rhythm. She arched her back in pleasure, urging him on. But just when she thought she couldn't take anymore, he switched to the other side, giving it the same attention and driving Jessy wild with desire. She tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as he pleased her.
One by one, Lewis's clothes joined hers on the hardwood floors and he bit his bottom lip at the naked, ethereal being that stood before him.
"Turn around," he ordered in a deep voice.
"Or what?" she challenged, teasingly raising an eyebrow.
But before she could even blink, Lewis had grabbed her by the waist and forcefully turned her around so that her back faced him.
"Ow! What the fuck?" she exclaimed, more from shock than pain.
"Shut up," he growled, his voice sending shivers down Jessy's spine. "You're so fuckin' bratty, you know that? You need discipline."
Jessy began to chuckle at his words, but it quickly turned into a moan as she felt him enter her from behind. His movements became more forceful and intense. He was relentless in his thrusts – each one hitting a spot deep within her that made Jessy lose control.
"Baby..." she moaned out his name as he continued to take her from behind with unforgiving passion.
"See? That wasn't so hard, huh?" Lewis crooned into her ear as he nuzzled against her neck. "All you needed was some dick, yes? You need Daddy, right baby girl?"
Jessy could only whimper in response, completely lost in the pleasure he was giving her.
Just when she thought she couldn't take anymore, Lewis pulled out of her and flipped Jessy onto the counter once again. Her eyes widened at the sudden shift in positions and she eagerly spread herself open for him. Without warning, Lewis plunged back inside of her with an animalistic grunt. Jessy's moans filled the kitchen as he continued to move inside of her, his hands gripping tightly onto her hips. Her body trembled as she felt herself building towards climax.
"Harder... please," she begged, her voice breathless and desperate.
Lewis complied, thrusting harder and faster into her. Jessy cried out in ecstasy as she finally reached her peak, her body convulsing in pleasure. He followed soon after, his movements becoming more erratic before he stilled and collapsed onto Jessy's sweaty body.
They stayed like that for a few moments, trying to catch their breaths and come down from their high. Finally, Lewis pulled out of Jessy and stood up straight with a smug grin on his face.
"I told you that I don't play," he whispered in her ear as he kissed the top of her head.
Motherfucker.
TO BE CONTINUED....
250 notes · View notes
robertreich · 7 months
Video
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Why Does Flying Suck so Much? 
You might not believe this, but I’m old enough to remember when flying was fun.
Now I'm sure you've got your own airline horror stories, which I hope you’ll share. But what happened to make flying such a nightmare?
The answer is simple: the same things happening across most industries. In fact, a close look at airlines reveals five of the biggest problems with our economy.
Number 1: Consolidation means fewer choices.
While there were once many more airlines, a series of mergers and acquisitions over the last three decades has left only four in control of about 80% of the market.
This kind of consolidation has been happening all over the economy. For example, four companies now control 80% of all beef production, and two control over 60% of all paper products. This lack of competition has led to:
Number 2: Companies Charging More for Less
Even before recent airfare spikes, air travel was getting more expensive because of new fees for things that used to be free, like in-flight meals, checked bags, or even carry-ons.
Spirit Airlines even charges $25 to print your boarding pass at a ticket counter! It’s just a piece of paper!
One of the ugliest ad-ons is the fee some airlines charge for families to sit together. That doesn’t even cost them anything!
Airlines are leading an economy-wide trend of adding often unexpected new charges to goods and services without adding value.
And you’re getting less in return. Airlines have cut an estimated 8 inches of legroom and two inches of seat width in the last two decades. Doesn’t bother me (I’m short), but many of you may feel the squeeze.
This parallels other industries where you’re paying more for less — just look at how cereal boxes, rolls of toilet paper, and candy bars are all shrinking.
Number 3: Exploiting Workers
While their jobs have become more difficult, many flight attendants haven’t had a raise in years.
And a lot of their hardest work is totally unpaid, because most flight attendants don’t get paid during the boarding process. They’re off the clock until the plane’s doors close.
And if the flight is delayed, those are often extra hours for no extra money.
Again, this mirrors trends in the overall economy, where too many workers are pushed into unpaid overtime or made to do work or be on call during their off hours.
Number 4: The Illusion of Scarcity
Airlines pretend they have no choice but to raise prices, cut services, and limit payroll. But their profits are in the stratosphere. In the five years before the pandemic, the top 5 airlines were flush enough to pay shareholders $45 billion, largely through stock buybacks.
During the pandemic, they got a $54 billion bailout from taxpayers (you’re welcome).
In the years since, they’ve resumed flying high, with nearly $10 billion in net profit expected across the industry in 2023. They can afford to take care of workers and customers.
Whether it’s multi-millionaire movie moguls pretending they can’t afford to pay writers or a grocery chain blaming “inflation” for high prices while raking in record profits, this illusion of scarcity is a sham.
Number 5: Misdirected Rage
Instead of being mad at the people at the top, we’ve been tricked into being mad at each other. Fights have broken out over whether it’s ok to recline a seat or who gets overhead bin space. But reclining’s only an issue because airlines intentionally put the seats too close together. And bin space is only running out because they’ve made it expensive to check bags — and also risky, with the rate of lost bags doubling over the last year.
Airlines are pitting us against each other the same way billionaires and their political lackeys pit groups against each other in society, hoping we’ll blame unions or immigrants or people of other races or religions or gender identities for why it’s so hard to get ahead, and that we won’t notice how much wealth and power is in the hands of so few.
So what do we do?
A lot of these problems could be solved with tougher antitrust enforcement — which we are starting to see. The Justice Dept is suing to block JetBlue from buying Spirit Airlines. We need that kind of anti-monopoly protection across the board.
Another part of the solution is unions. Airline workers are among the wave of American workers organizing to demand better pay and working conditions.
And then there’s your power as an informed consumer. Companies get away with bad behavior when we accept their excuses that there’s just no other way to run a business. They’re counting on us not knowing what’s really going on. So share this video, and share your airline stories in the comments.
Finally, try to be a little nicer to service workers and your fellow passengers — on planes and in life. After all, we’re all on this journey together.
368 notes · View notes
h-c-u · 9 months
Text
Breaking the Billionaire
Summary: Being in control can be exhausting.
Pairing: sub!Toto Wolff x soft!femdom!reader
W/C: 5.2k
Rating: +18, dom/sub, size difference, anal sex, pegging, overstimulation, aftercare.
A/N: Toto gets pegged. And there is over 1k words spent on aftercare. I don't know what else to say... It's like... 5AM, so please have that in mind...
Masterlist | List of tags
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As soon as you caught Toto's gaze right after the race, you knew what he needed this evening. He didn't have to ask, and you didn't have to reply, but you still smiled and nodded to confirm your unspoken agreement. Before anything could happen though, he had to attend the trophy ceremony, and give a few interviews, which you honestly didn't mind, because it gave you a chance to watch him from the sides with the knowledge that your mere presence in the corner of his eye was enough to give him peace and comfort.
When he was done with everything, he walked almost sheepishly to you, placed a long, soft kiss on the top of your head, and let himself be pulled into your arms. He buried his face in the nook of your neck (even though the angle of him leaning down so much wasn't exactly comfortable) and inhaled deeply, momentarily flooding his every sense with you. You gently ran your hand over his back and with the other, you cupped the back of his neck. One of the Mercedes media people just took a picture of this moment, but it was a conversation for later because you knew Toto wasn't in the right mind space to discuss anything like that.
- Let's go... - you whispered quietly, and he nodded. Even though he straightened his posture, he didn't let you go; his arm staying wrapped securely around your waist.
Today was one of the rare days when you were the one behind the wheel, and yet you were focusing more on the person next to you, than on savoring this moment. The ride back to the hotel was quiet, and when you stopped at the red light, you rested your hand on Toto’s thigh, wordlessly letting him know you were there for him, no matter what.
As soon as you closed the door to your hotel room and made sure it was locked, Toto dropped to his knees in front of you; his bag, phone, and keys landing on the floor, while he wrapped his arms around your waist and pressed his face against your abdomen. You instantly saw the change in his posture, and you couldn't help but smile, appreciating the depth of trust he had in you. You gently ran your fingers through his hair, softly scratching his scalp and in response, he let out a sound that could be only classified as a purr.
- Get ready... - you whispered as you leaned down to place a gentle kiss on the top of his head, and yet he didn't stand up right away. Instead, his hands traveled from your waist down your legs until they reached your shoes. He unlaced them and took them off for you with an almost blank expression on his face, but that was to be changed. - Up. - you said in a more authoritative tone, and this time he immediately stood up. Despite the fact he was towering over you, his demeanor and posture made it feel like he was the one who was smaller. – Undress. Leave just the shirt. - your voice was quiet, yet it was far from weak. His hands immediately went to his belt, but you were not watching. Instead, you went to your suitcase and took out an unnecessarily complicated leather harness, a toy you both chose a few months ago and a small bottle of lube, which you placed on the bed. When you turned around, the only thing he was wearing was the shirt you asked him to leave, the first two buttons permanently open.
- Undress me. - you said with a soft smile, but there was a slight warning in your voice because even though he enjoyed ripping your clothes off, this time was different. This time if his moves became too rapid, or if his fingers lingered too long in places they shouldn’t - there would be consequences.
Without saying a word, he got closer, and with a subtle uncertainty in his moves, he started slowly unbuttoning your shirt. His big, long fingers struggled with tiny buttons for a short moment, but eventually, all of them came undone. Without breaking eye contact, he slid both hands under the material on your shoulders and slowly removed the blouse from your body. When he tried to reach for the clasp of your bra, you stopped him and directed his hands lower; you'd rather have your breasts safely tucked in and secured for what would happen next.
He undid the string on the back of your skirt and loosened the lacing holding it in place, allowing it to fall to the ground. Carefully not to break the delicate material, he slid his fingers under the band of the tights and moved them down, gently caressing the skin of your thighs, but no longer than necessary. He had to kneel again to take them off completely, and when he did, his face was right in front of your clothed core; so close that he was able to feel the heat radiating from there. He looked at you with a question in his eyes, and when you nodded once, he slowly slid down your panties as well, leaving your pussy bare. You could see that he very obviously swallowed, salivating at the mere thought of your taste.
- Harness. - the tone of your voice stopped his thoughts from galloping, but he still needed a moment to process your request. Eventually, he took the harness and the toy from the bed. First, he secured the dildo to the front of the gear because it was much easier to do when no one was wearing it. When it was done, he lowered the contraption and let you step into it. Because he was still kneeling in front of you when the harness was in place, the toy was right in his face, and you noticed that he swallowed again while eying the familiar shape. He tightened the straps on your hips, and then he moved to the ones around your thighs. With one hand he reached between your legs to grab the longer strap, and when he was bringing it forward, he let his thumb graze between your folds, letting the touch linger. When you let out a quiet "Tsk, tsk, tsk...", he instantly went back to secure the harness. It's not like you didn't like him touching you there, but today you didn't give him permission to do so. The other strap was tightened around your thigh without any more surprises or misbehaviors.
Toto looked up at you with an unasked question in his eyes, but you didn't say anything. Instead, you gently cupped his cheek and ran your thumb over it. He closed his eyes and leaned almost forcefully into your hand as if he was a dying man and only your touch could save him... You let him relish in that sensation for a moment, while your hand slowly traveled into his hair, where you grabbed a fistful of it and harshly yanked his head, pulling him back to reality. His jaw was loose enough for his lips and teeth to slightly part, making it possible for you to thrust your hips forward and pull his head by the hair at the same time, burying the toy deep in his throat in one swift move.
He had no time to prepare, but out of instinct, muscle memory, or some other ungodly reason, he was still able to relax enough for the dildo to cross the barrier and slide down completely until his nose was tightly pressed against your abdomen. Because it happened so quickly, his brain didn't get the chance to catch up and he tried to sharply inhale, which only made him choke and gag. He tried to move away, but you just tightened your grip on his hair and held him steady until his eyes started watering and his shoulders were convulsing in a desperate attempt to retreat. He still didn't tap your thigh three times, so you knew you could do even more. Only when his face was red, his cheeks soaked with tears and the drool was dripping from his chin and seeping into his shirt, you yanked him back, allowing him to catch his breath for a few seconds. His frenzied gasps were louder than thunder in the dead quiet of the bedroom, but the stoic calmness in his eyes told you everything you needed to know...
By now you knew him and his body well enough to recognize what he could and more importantly couldn't handle. That's why you didn't even hesitate before pulling him onto the toy again. This time he was more prepared, and even though his face could still be used as a flag of a certain communist country, he had no issues with the brutal pace you set, only letting out a few gurgling noises then the dildo bruised the back of his throat.
It wasn't long before his shoulders relaxed and his eyes closed again, dwelling in that comfort of not having to do anything and just letting himself be used. He gave up control of his movements not even pretending to struggle when you harshly guided his head; he gave up control over his breath every time you buried the silicon cock so deep it burned his esophagus; he gave up control over his mind, allowing you to engulf him in the reality of your creation. A reality, where he didn't have to make any decisions and his existence, was dictated by your whim.
As soon as you saw how pliant he became under your touch, you held his head pressed against your abdomen again, but this time he didn't choke or gag... He stayed still, slowly breathing through his nose even when you finally let go of his hair. You couldn't help but gently smile at the sight of his lips wrapped tightly around the toy’s girth, not even a millimeter of silicon seeing the light of day. His mouth was pressed tightly against the harness, and you could feel his saliva rubbing off on your bare skin around there. His eyelashes were stuck together with tears, but there was no longer any trace of wetness on his cheeks. The crimson on his face summoned by the rough beginning was also gone, and now he just sat calm and content at your feet.
- Good boy... - you said quietly, running your hand through his hair, gently scratching his scalp. You could see his glossed eyes light up almost immediately when the words left your mouth, as he looked at you with pure adoration.
You retreated your hips, and the toy left his lips with a quiet "plop", and when it did, he loudly swallowed the excess saliva in his mouth, but didn't even bother to wipe the wetness around it. You leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head, a complete contrast to the rough fucking his throat just received.
- Bed. Knees together on the floor, chest on the mattress. - you whispered, still keeping your lips lightly pressed against his hair, but as soon as you straightened your back, he moved into the position you requested, not even bothering to stand up. His shirt rode up exposing his ass and already hard, leaking cock that was currently pressed against the side of the bed. For the moment he put his hands under his head, patiently waiting for your next move, and he didn't have to wait long. You opened the bottle of lube that you retrieved earlier, squeezed a generous portion onto the silicone dildo, and made sure every inch was covered. Next, you let a big drop fall in between Toto’s cheeks. He tensed for a second in reaction to the cold substance on his skin, but he relaxed again almost immediately.
With a tight grip on the toy, you guided its tip to thoroughly spread the lubricant around his entrance, gently pressing a little bit deeper from time to time, until he started subconsciously pushing his hips backward urging you to continue. Instead of giving into his needs, you retreated for a moment and went around the bed to get one of the pillows.
- Hips up. - he did as you asked, and you slipped the pillow under his abdomen, propping his pelvis higher, so it would be easier for you to stimulate his prostate with every thrust. What you didn't plan on was his cock being trapped in between the pillow and his abdomen, but you left it there, so Toto could get even more stimulation. The new angle also meant that his knees were off the floor, reducing the risk of carpet burn.
With one hand you gripped his hip and with the other, you pressed the silicon tip to his entrance. You didn't even have to tell him to relax, because he was already docile, just laying there already expecting what was about to come.
At first, you pushed gently, letting only the tip breach into his body. You even gave him a moment to adjust, though he didn't look like he needed it... You couldn't help but admire the way his back arched in this position, with his ass high up in the air, while his torso laid flat on the mattress and his cheek was pressed against the sheets as he looked back at you. You gave him a reassuring smile and finally, you snapped your hips forward, shoving in the whole toy in one quick move. He clenched his jaw in response to the burning sensation of his muscles being so suddenly stretched. The lube helped a lot and allowed you to slide completely in with no resistance. He wasn't prepped to accommodate such girth without any discomfort, but not even a few seconds passed, and his face relaxed again; you knew from experience that he could handle much, much more.
You leaned over his relaxed body and placed your hands on his waist over his Mercedes-branded shirt, which shifted your weight there, essentially pinning him to the mattress. If he tried, he could free himself from under you, but you both knew he wouldn't. Especially when you slowly moved your hips back, and the tip of the silicone cock dragged against his prostate, drawing a quiet whimper from his mouth, and his hips tried to chase that feeling.
A quiet chuckle left your mouth at the sight of how desperate he already was, but you didn't want to torture him any longer, so you thrusted forward, and Toto’s quiet whimper morphed into a deep, loud moan. You angled your hips even more down to make sure he would get as much pleasure from this experience as possible. With another thrust, you could see his eyes rolling back into his skull, and with the next, his lips didn't even close... When he was in this state, he was extremely responsive, letting go of all the inhibitions, and filters, and trusting you with his vulnerability completely.
When you increased the tempo, his eyebrows furrowed and the loud moans shifted into a continuous one, changing the tone in the rhythm of your moves. His hands gripped the sheets with such strength that his knuckles turned white. He tried to push his hips, to meet yours in the middle, but he was torn between that and thrusting down to stimulate his cock which was currently trapped between his own body and the pillow. So instead, he ended up flailing aimlessly trying to get both at the same time, but ending only railing himself up even more, because as soon as the pleasure on the one side started to overwhelm him, he moved away from it, chasing the same sensation in a different place.
For a moment it was amusing... Such a strong, powerful, and intelligent man was reduced to his basic instincts, not even able to focus for long enough to properly cum... Utterly helpless because of a fake cock pistoning in and out of him with force it made the bed shake. His face twisted by desperation and torment... He was a perfect mess; a masterpiece of your doing and as much as you wanted to admire it for eternity, you didn't want to torture him.
- Shh, shh, shh, shh, shhhhh... - you cooed at him, slowing down for a moment in an attempt to calm him down. He let out a disappointed groan and tried to buck his hips against yours, but that didn't work, because the toy was already buried fully inside him. - Stop that. - that was enough for him to go limp. - I'm going to use that tight little hole of yours now because you can't even be trusted with your own pleasure, is that right...? - your condescending words didn't match the loving and caring tone at all, but he didn't care. He just nodded enthusiastically, unable to form any words. - And you will take it, like a good boy I know you can be... Am I correct...? - he nodded again, and you could see the tears starting to form in his eyes. - Don't. Move. - you growled and tightly gripped the material on the back of his Mercedes-branded shirt with both hands and yanked him back and up, so you had leverage to pull him harder and deeper onto your strap.
You set a brutal pace from the beginning, focusing solely on Toto's orgasm. Your arms quickly grew tired and started to ache from manhandling his weight, but you pushed through it because you knew it would be worth it. His desirous moans, whines, and whimpers were creating a beautiful opera, and there were moments in which you could have sworn all the sounds he was making were overlapping on top of each other in perfect harmony, accompanied by the loud, rhythmic, squelching noises created by your every thrust. The tears were streaming down his cheeks, but you could see that he was almost on the edge of falling apart... You leaned down a bit more, moved one of your hands, grabbed a fistful of his hair, and yanked his head back. That slight but sudden pain was enough to finally push him into the arms of release.
With a scream mixed with a sob, he came, spilling his seed all over the pillow, sheets, and his own stomach, before you released your grip on him and let his body fall onto the mattress. You gave him a moment to catch a breath and admired wave after wave of orgasm rippling through his body, making him twitch and spasm uncontrollably. The toy remained nestled right against his prostate, keeping a light but constant pressure on it.
His breathing was still quick and shallow when you moved inside him again, drawing a hopeless, pained groan from his mouth when you dragged the dildo slowly out and back inside of him... And then again... And again... Until he was sobbing and biting down on the sheets from the overstimulation; all of his muscles tensing and relaxing rapidly, stretching the material of the shirt almost to its breaking point.
You didn't stop when he begged you to; you didn't stop when he tried to climb onto the bed and away from you; you didn't stop when his cries went silent and all he could do was lay there and take it, while uncontrollable spasms ravaged his body and tears were streaming down his cheeks... You only stopped when a barely noticeable blissed-out smile showed up on his face.
You released the hard grip you had on his hips from when he tried to get away and gently massaged the spots you dug your fingers into, the red marks already forming on the skin there. When Toto's breathing calmed down, you slowly moved your hips away from his, allowing the strap to slip out of his hole with a hollow "pop", as his body twitched one more time. With one hand gently rubbing his lower back, you removed the cum soaked pillow from under his hips, allowing his back to rest in a more comfortable position, because as much as you loved the way his spine arched during moments of deepest pleasure, it wasn't exactly the most relaxing pose.
He started to shift slightly, which you recognized as him trying to stand up, but you just put more pressure on his back, keeping him in place.
- Shh, shh, shhhhh... I've got you, honey... Just lay here for a moment longer, ok...? - you whispered, and when he nodded, you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.
Still in the harness, you went to the bathroom and started a scorching hot bath with hotel-provided bath salt that smelled vaguely like the lily of the valley. While the bathtub was filling up, you went to the kitchen area and retrieved a trash bag from under the sink before coming back to the bedroom.
- Can you try to stand up for me, love...? - your voice was quiet but steady because you knew when Toto was in that state, loud noises and harsh lights were sometimes too much. He nodded slowly and pushed himself up on the mattress, but he lost his balance and his knees hit the floor. - It's ok, it's all right... - you smiled gently. - Is it ok if I touch you...? - you were sure it was, but you still asked, slowly presenting a concept of choice back to him, and when he nodded you slid under his arm and helped him stand up. His legs were still shaking, but with your support, he was able to move. - Let's go to the bathroom... - you rubbed your hand over his back to ground him back a little bit more in reality.
The room was already filled with steam and a light flowery scent, and the only light was coming from a small lamp fixed to the mirror, so it was pleasantly dim inside.
You slowly guided Toto to the bathtub and sat him down on the edge. You quickly opened the buttons of his shirt and slid it off him, softly tracing your fingers over the indents that were left by the stitches in the material. He turned around on his own and placed his feet in the hot water without making even the slightest sound indicating that it was too hot. Before you left, you placed a quick kiss on his shoulder, and for a short moment, he leaned his head against yours.
- I will be right back, I promise. - you whispered and pressed one more kiss to his skin and you went back to the bedroom, where at the speed of light you stripped the bed and put everything that was stained either with lube or body fluids into the trash bag and picked up the phone to call the front desk.
- Hello, we had a little accident in our room. Could we request a full change of bedding? Some of the sheets and the pillow are stained with red wine. I've already placed them in a trash bag, so it will be easier to handle. I am more than fine with being charged for cleaning or even replacing them... - you said, and when the concierge confirmed the room number you added. - We will be in the bath because of, you know... the wine... - you chuckled, and he mirrored the sound and asked another question. - Oh, yes, that would be amazing. Will our clothes be cleaned by tomorrow? Perfect thank you so much. Yes, just charge it to the room... - you caught Toto's gaze from the bathroom; a weak smile was present on his face. You blinked slowly, wordlessly letting him know that you love him. - 5 minutes, thank you again. You too... - you disconnected the call. - Just a moment longer, honey... - you quickly grabbed your shirt, skirt, and Toto's pants and put them in a separate bag. Next, you went to the kitchen, where you re-opened the bottle of wine you drank with yesterday's dinner and spilled a generous portion into both bags.
The whole ordeal took you less than two minutes, after which you closed the bathroom door behind you and finally unbuckled the straps of your harness. You put the whole contraption in the bathroom sink to clean later. You also got rid of your bra, which left you completely naked when you wrapped your arms around Toto's torso and pressed your cheek to his neck for a moment.
- Is it ok if I wash you or would you rather do that yourself? - you asked quietly, presenting him with another choice.
- It's ok... You can... - his low, deep voice was almost gone from all the screaming and crying. - I love you... - he added when you came into the bathtub, reached for the soap, and sat in front of him.
- I love you too... - you smiled and placed a soft kiss on his knee before you started softly soaping up his feet, calves, and eventually thighs, being extremely careful around his oversensitive cock. - Can you please try to stand up for me...? - you requested and without saying a word, he complied. - Thank you... - there was a very quiet beep coming from the other side of the bathroom door, indicating that the hotel staff got here and was about to change the bedding. You seriously doubted that your lie would hold up, but it's not like you could just say "Sorry, I fucked my partner so hard I've ruined your bedding. Would you be so kind and replace it?". - Turn around, Love... - you gently washed the back of his thighs and around his used hole, at the same time making sure that there weren’t any tears. When you ran your fingers around the sensitive muscles, he flinched, but since everything looked ok, you retreated not wanting to cause him any additional discomfort. You sat on the edge of the bathtub again. - You can sit down now... In the water, please... - he followed your instructions without questions, as he nestled in between your legs, resting his head on your stomach.
With your foot, you reached for the faucet and stopped the water from flowing, because the bathtub was already full. Before you continued washing him, you buried your face in his hair for a moment and inhaled his scent deeply, which was your own, small way of grounding yourself back in reality. There was a quiet rustling coming from the bedroom, but you paid no attention to it, focusing on finishing your task. You washed his shoulders, arms, forearms, and hands and then you moved to chest and back.
- Dive. - you asked when you put back the soap and reached for the shampoo, while Toto submerged under water completely and stayed there for over a minute. You knew it was his way of resetting himself, and as much as it freaked you out in the beginning, by now you were used to it, and you knew he could last without a breath longer than an average person. You also knew that he would emerge back when his mind was in the right place, so you just let him stew under the surface, where all of his senses were muted.
And eventually, he came back up, wiping the excess water from his face and hair.
- Are you all right? - you asked when he leaned back and rested his head on your stomach again, this time with closed eyes. His body was much more relaxed; he even draped his arm over your knee.
- I am... Thank you. - he said quietly, struggling to push every word through his vocal cords. - It was exactly what I needed... - he added and rubbed the back of his head against your skin, searching for any form of reassurance that you were there.
- Do you want to address anything...? - you asked while opening the bottle with shampoo. There was no longer a need for you to ask him about everything because he was back to his regular self. He took a moment to think about it as you were soaping up his hair.
- I really liked when you held me in place when I tried to get away, forcing me to take more... - he finally replied and rubbed the skin on your knee with his thumb. You couldn't help but chuckle as you ran your nails over his head, gently scratching the skin there.
- I need to hit the gym more then... Because my muscles will be sore as fuck tomorrow. - you continued massaging his scalp and he leaned back again. - Was anything too much?
- It was perfect... - even without seeing his full face, you could tell he was smiling. - Did you...?
- No, but I didn't need to today... Seeing you fall apart because of me was more than enough. - it could have been awkward and yet it wasn’t because you knew your turn will come soon enough, and that he will fuck you so hard you'll forget every word besides "please".
- Are you sure? - he looked up at you and you couldn't help but laugh quietly, as you wiped the excess of foam from his forehead.
- Yes, love, I am sure. And I really appreciate that you asked. - you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the place you just liberated from the residual shampoo. - Dive. - this time he spent only a few seconds under water to rinse his hair. - All good? - you asked when he emerged.
- All good... - he replied, his voice still weak. - Your turn. - he smiled, quickly turned around just enough to wrap his arm around your waist, and swiftly pulled you in front of him, making the water splash everywhere as you both laughed.
When you were both finally clean and dry, the hotel staff was long gone, and the bed was freshly made. You felt a little bit bad for how you treated some of the things, but mostly you were just tired, so you didn't even try to protest when Toto pulled you closer and tightly wrapped his arms around you, as well as hooking his leg over yours, essentially trapping you in the cage made entirely from his limbs, which was exactly what you needed after an evening like that.
- You were amazing today... Thank you for taking such good care of me... - he whispered, and you were able to only hum in the response. Just enough to acknowledge his words, because you were too exhausted to disagree, dismiss or even agree with what he was saying.
Despite the fact that the texture of the sheets, all the scents, and the bed placement were unfamiliar, you didn't have trouble falling asleep, because the most important thing, Toto, stayed constant, providing you with the same level of support and comfort wherever in the world you were.
He stayed awake much longer than you, still wired after the experience you gave him, but he didn't let you go even for a second, allowing himself to be completely mesmerized by the familiar sound of your slow, quiet breathing. 
A/N 2: Please don’t feel obligated/pressured to reblog, because I write mostly for myself. A comment would be appreciated though :) Love, G.
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gentilfarfalletta · 1 month
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Misha Kahn, Billionaire Space Race, Aluminum, stainless-steel, 15 x 72.5 x 47.25 in
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unabashegirl · 1 month
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Enticing 39 || Harry Styles
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Summary: Harry is a young billionaire and CEO of his own company. He mostly keeps to himself, he is stern and very meticulous when it comes to business. He also likes to keep his personal life very private for the sake of his newly born son Oliver Styles. It isn't until he meets Y/N Y/L/N that everything changes. She becomes his new nanny after his previous one quits due to personal reasons. She is young, caring, and sweet. Will they ignore their feelings? Will Harry's girlfriend accept their love and leave them? Will she be able to cope with his busy agenda? What about Oliver's mother? Where is she? Who is she?
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word count: 1.4
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As Y/N rushed to her old apartment to get ready for work, her heart raced with a mix of anxiety and anticipation. She knew she had left Patrick in a state of anger and confusion the previous night, and the thought of facing him again made her uneasy.
Upon entering the apartment, Y/N was immediately greeted by the familiar sight of her belongings, which still occupied the space despite her recent absence. The room felt like a time capsule, a reminder of the life she had left behind.
Before she could even begin to sort through her things, Patrick's voice, laced with resentment and anger, cut through the air like a sharp knife. "Where the hell were you last night, Y/N? You disappeared without a word!"
Y/N froze, her heart pounding in her chest. She hadn't anticipated Patrick being there, and the confrontation she had been trying to avoid was now unfolding right before her.
Patrick's eyes bore into her, demanding answers, but Y/N remained silent, her emotions too raw and tangled to form a coherent response. Instead, she began to move around the apartment, collecting the necessary items for work.
His frustration mounting, Patrick followed her around, his voice growing more intense. "You didn't even come home! Do you have any idea how worried I was?"
Y/N continued to focus on her preparations, avoiding eye contact with Patrick. She knew that any words she spoke would only lead to further conflict, and she didn't have the emotional bandwidth to engage in a heated argument.
Patrick's anger escalated, and he finally snapped, his voice raised in frustration. "You can't just run away from our problems, Y/N!"
With a deep breath, Y/N finally turned to face him, her voice firm but weary. "Patrick, I need to get ready for work. We'll talk about this later, okay?"
Patrick's eyes blazed with resentment, but he begrudgingly nodded. Y/N knew that this was far from the resolution they needed, but for now, she had to prioritize her responsibilities and give herself some distance to collect her thoughts.
As she hurriedly gathered her work essentials and tried to make sense of the tangled emotions within her, Y/N couldn't help but wonder if there would ever be a way to find a peaceful resolution to the complex web of relationships that had entangled her life.
Y/N's heart still raced as she rushed to get ready for work in her old apartment, the tense confrontation with Patrick fresh in her mind. The unresolved tension between them weighed heavily on her, but she knew she had to compartmentalize her emotions and focus on the task at hand.
Amidst the flurry of getting dressed and grabbing her work-related items, Y/N couldn't help but reflect on how much her life had changed in such a short time. The chaos and uncertainty that had become her daily reality left her longing for a sense of stability and peace.
As she prepared to leave, Patrick's resentful voice still echoed in her ears. She knew that their relationship had reached a breaking point, but the path forward remained unclear.
With a deep breath, Y/N left her old apartment, locking the door behind her, and made her way to work. The familiar routine provided a temporary escape from the turmoil of her personal life.
Arriving at the office, Y/N focused on her tasks, throwing herself into her work as a way to temporarily distract herself from the storm of emotions that raged within. It was during these moments of intense concentration that she could momentarily forget the complexities of her personal life.
Hours passed, and the distractions of work began to lose their effectiveness. Y/N's thoughts drifted back to the unresolved issues with Patrick and the impending paternity test results. She knew that she couldn't evade these challenges forever, but she needed time to gather her thoughts and consider the best course of action.
In the midst of her inner turmoil, Y/N's phone buzzed with a new email notification. It was the paternity test results, arriving earlier than expected. She hesitated for a moment, her hand trembling as she opened the email. The words on the screen held the potential to change everything.
With a deep breath and a sense of trepidation, Y/N began to read the contents of the email, knowing that whatever it revealed would determine the path forward for her and the people she cared about most.
As Y/N read the email containing the paternity test results, her heart pounded with anticipation. The words on the screen held the potential to change the course of her life. And then, the truth was revealed — Harry was the father of her unborn child.
A mix of emotions washed over Y/N — relief, gratitude, and a sense of validation. She had always believed in the strength of their connection, and now, the paternity test confirmed what she had felt in her heart.
Instead of immediately contacting Harry with the news, Y/N decided to surprise him in person. She felt that this was a moment worth celebrating face-to-face, and she wanted to see the joy on his face when he learned the truth.
With the lunch hour approaching, Y/N ordered sandwiches and soups from a nearby café and headed to Harry's office, which was only six blocks away from her own workplace. The short walk gave her time to gather her thoughts and savor the moment.
Arriving at Harry's office building, Y/N felt a sense of excitement and nervousness. She had spent so much time in uncertainty and chaos recently that this moment of clarity and happiness felt surreal.
Y/N entered the building and made her way to the elevator, riding it to the floor where Harry's office was located. As she approached his office door, her heart fluttered with anticipation.
With a deep breath, Y/N knocked softly and entered. Harry looked up from his desk, surprise registering on his face at the sight of her.
"Y/N? What are you doing here?" he asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
Y/N grinned, unable to contain her excitement any longer. “I have some great news," she announced.
Harry's curiosity deepened, and he gestured for her to sit down. Y/N placed the bags containing lunch on his desk and then reached into her bag to retrieve the email containing the paternity test results. She handed it to him, her eyes locked onto his.
Harry scanned the email, his expression transitioning from confusion to realization as he read the words. His gaze met Y/N's, and he looked utterly shocked.
"Harry," Y/N began, her voice filled with emotion, "the test results confirm that you're the father of our child."
For a moment, silence hung in the air, and then, a radiant smile broke across Harry's face. He stood up, crossed the room, and embraced Y/N tightly.
"Y/N, I..." Harry began, his voice filled with gratitude and joy, "I can't believe it. I'm going to be a father again"
Tears of happiness welled up in Y/N's eyes as she hugged him back, relieved that the uncertainty was finally over, and their journey as parents was about to begin.
In that moment, the pull of their shared journey, the trials they had faced, and the unspoken love that had always lingered between them became too powerful to ignore. Overwhelmed by the intensity of their emotions, Harry leaned in and kissed Y/N gently on the lips.
The kiss was a celebration of their newfound clarity and the prospect of becoming parents together. It was a testament to the deep connection that had always existed between them but had been overshadowed by the chaos of their lives.
When they finally pulled away, their foreheads rested against each other, and they shared a tender, wordless moment. Harry's hands cradled Y/N's face, his thumbs wiping away the tears that had escaped.
"Y/N," he whispered, "I miss you”.
Y/N's heart swelled with love and gratitude, her hand reaching up to cup Harry's cheek. "I do too”.
Their eyes locked, and they knew that, despite the challenges and uncertainties that still lay ahead, they had each other and the unwavering support of their families. The future, once shrouded in doubt, now held the promise of happiness and love as they embarked on this new chapter of their lives, united by the miracle of their child.
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TAGLIST: @0oolookitsme, @happycupcakeenthusiast, @kennedywxlsh, @hsfics, @stylesbrock, @cuddlingwithharry, @sucker4angstt, @bluemoonedwings, @cherriesrae, @vornilla, @mellamolayla, @harryscurls21, @stilesissaved, @be-with-me-so-happily, @harryssattelitestomper, @jerseygirlinca, @tenaciousperfectionunknown, @lomlolivia, @stylesfever, @daphnesutton, @n0vaj3an, @breezykpop, @kathb59, @sassamanda77
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wh0rganic · 4 months
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Help me name my anti-capitalist space TTRPG!
I am in the process of developing a splat book of sorts for Cyberpunk Red and could use some help deciding on a name! Check out the game description and vote below.
[UNTITLED SPACE GAME] will explore the absurdist end-game of the billionaire space race to colonize Mars. Combining inspiration from genres such as cosmic horror, sci-fi, and capitalist dystopia, [UNTITLED SPACE GAME] is as much of a work of speculative fiction as it is a TTRPG. Players will find themselves as the newest recruits in the Interplanetary Resistance – an alliance of humans, aliens, and androids hell-bent on toppling the billionaire superpowers that have turned Mars into their own personal playground. This group of scientists, machine workers, and android liberationists will serve as your guides and allies as you acclimate to the Red Planet. While any good resistance movement has to get comfortable with bloodshed, players can also expect to navigate covert operations and diplomatic relations with the various people that call Mars home.
Please reblog after voting!!
One note: [UNTITLED SPACE GAME] is currently under development, with a test game planned for Summer 2024. This test game is closed to new players at this time.
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cwseriesshowdown · 3 months
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Semifinals: Veronica Mars vs The 100
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Veronica Mars: As the daughter of well-respected County Sheriff Keith Mars, Veronica's biggest life problem was getting dumped by her boyfriend, Duncan Kane, until the murder of her best friend, Lilly Kane. After Lilly's murder, Veronica's life falls apart. Keith mistakenly accused Lilly's father, popular software billionaire Jake Kane, of involvement. When Mr. Kane is proven to be innocent, he has Keith ousted as sheriff in a recall election, who the corrupt Don Lamb then replaces. Keith opens a private investigation agency, Mars Investigations, where Veronica works part-time. Veronica helps her father solve cases and conducts her investigations on behalf of schoolmates.
The 100: When nuclear Armageddon destroys civilization on Earth, the only survivors are those on the 12 international space stations in orbit at the time. Three generations later, the 4,000 survivors living on a space ark of linked stations see their resources dwindle and face draconian measures established to ensure humanity's future. Desperately looking for a solution, the ark's leaders send 100 juvenile prisoners back to the planet to test its habitability. Having always lived in space, the exiles find the planet fascinating and terrifying, but with the fate of the human race in their hands, they must forge a path into the unknown.
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mariaofdoranelle · 10 days
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The Courtship Deception - Part 8: Bubble
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Written for @throneofglassmicrofics
A little fluff because you have no idea what I’m posting tomorrow 😈 (or maybe you do!! I’m not as secretive as I think I am)
Warnings: implicit sexual content and Rowan’s explicit butt
Words: 959
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She was panting, her head on Rowan’s shoulder while he ran a lazy hand up and down her naked back. Straddling him on his work chair, Aelin missed his length filling her, but if she needed a break before the next round, he might be feeling much more wrecked.
An unemployed heiress dating a hot guy that worked mostly from home was a recipe for unproductiveness, and they were living proof of it. Distracting him wouldn’t look as cute in the long term, and Aelin knew that she would have to promise to let him work eventually, but she needed to catch her breath first.
“You hungry?”
She shook her head, turning down his offer with her face still pressed against him. “Can we snuggle in your bed?”
“Sure.” He kissed her head. “Lemme just—“ Rowan motioned for her to stand up and picked up his clothes from the floor. Aelin just stood there, naked as the day she was born with her nose wrinkled, dreading the thought of having to put on her tight dress again just to cross the hallway.
Instead, she opened the door just enough to stick her head out, ignoring her boyfriend’s protests.
“Are you glued to the TV?” Aelin shouted in the living room’s direction, where Fenrys and Lorcan played video games on Rowan's Playstation. “I’ll cross the hallway—naked! Don’t look!”
“Gross!” Was all Lorcan said, while her other bodyguard stayed silent.
“Rowan too,” she added.
Fenrys groaned.
She giggled and tiptoed out of his office, purse and clothes in hand. It was two steps away from his bedroom and both men were facing away from them, but Rowan still blocked the sight of her body with his own.
Once inside and with the door closed, he trapped her against it to thoroughly kiss her neck. Aelin moaned, hands guiding him by the roots of his short hair, and she was so grateful for the yelling because of the video game outside, it allowed her to be slightly loud without feeling embarrassed later.
After trailing both hands down his back, Aelin playfully pinched Rowan’s butt, earning a surprised yelp from him and a nip on her jaw.
Rowan picked her up and dropped her back on the bed, where she leaned on her elbows while he crawled his way to her, knees and fists on the mattress while he hovered over her.
The streaks of sunlight brushing his silver hair gave him a heavenly kind of handsomeness, a contrast to his sinful body on display and the ink adorning it. Moments like this, being alone and with his gaze focused on her, had been giving her a funny feeling lately. An unsteady feeling in the pit of her stomach, racing pulse. It was most likely caused by the uncertainty of her situation, and how Rowan tangled himself in her mess. But he was smiling down at her, the highs and valleys of his facial muscles heightened to gently pull back and give space to a light smile, joyous creases around his eyes like engravings, evidence to this blissful look he gave her.
Aelin shook off the emotion and shoved him down on the mattress, straddling him. Shamelessly turned on by the pecs and abs in sight, she kissed and groped them—
A distinctive ring tone burst the little bubble they were in.
She shot him an apologetic look and ran to her phone, knowing how bad things could get if she didn’t answer it.
Aelin couldn’t be more wrong for thinking her dad would get off her back after Chaol and Dorian pulled off from the deal. Instead, he was researching princes and lords day and night. She even wondered about Gala Airlines’ role in her marriage agreement, considering that Rhoe wasn’t looking for billionaires without royal titles yet.
“Fireheart, where are you?”
“At a park with Moonbeam and Salvaterre.”
“No, you’re not. You’re in front of a park with Moonbeam and Salvaterre.”
Aelin grimaced. “How accurate is the GPS? I’m near the sidewalk, in front of a few houses.”
“Well, it is a residential area, and—“ Rhoe sighed. “That’s actually not the reason I called you—“
Loud shouts from the living room stilled her father. Aelin was gonna kill her bodyguards and their video game madness.
“Darling, what’s going on?”
She winced. “It’s the children playing.” Not a lie.
“Dear Mala,” he muttered, “thank gods they grow, huh?”
Some, not so much, Aelin thought with her lips pressed together, trying not to laugh at the “children” in the living room. Under her hips, Rowan trailed lazy circles on her thigh, the image of patience.
“Darling,” her father continued, “my secretary was doing some research for our plan. What do you think of Prince Sartaq?”
A fist pressed against her mouth in an attempt to gather some patience. Aelin told her father she was doing prince research as well, but she had actually been looking for someone to invest in Gala Airlines with no bride requirements, while humoring Rhoe’s royal family delusions to buy some time before they eventually clashed.
She hummed, pretending to think his suggestion through. “You know how the khaganate works—I don’t wanna be a young widow.”
Rowan shifted underneath her a little, his body growing tense. She barely paid attention to her father’s ramble, bugged by how unnatural her lover’s silence felt all of a sudden, him looking away in a fixed yet agitated look.
Aelin shifted to the other side of the bed to give him space, but also for being unable to read Rowan with her dad’s voice in her ear.
As far as their relationship’s agreement went, there was nothing to look into here. He was okay with the uncertain terms of their relationship, wasn’t he?
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seat-safety-switch · 2 years
Text
You might not know this, but your local sports stadium is having a bit of a crisis. It’s practically falling down, the billionaires explain, and we need to fix it. The only way we can fix it is to use public funds, because the banks (which we are on a first-name basis with) know that governments are beholden to public rage, and won’t want to lose their football, baseball, racquetball, jai alai, or hockey teams to a rival city. Without such amusements, they’d have to resort to buying ridiculous public entitlements like a library or intact footbridge.
Regulatory capture is all around us, and I figured it was about time I got a slice of the pie. You see, car racing is still seen as a rich person’s hobby. This is likely because wheel-to-wheel competition driving consists almost entirely of stacking up a bunch of money and then setting fire to it, often literally. And unlike giving millions of dollars to the billionaire ownership of a team of hockey players each getting paid millions of dollars, funding a racetrack is seen as a little tacky. Amongst the cognoscenti who are capable of fogging a mirror for long enough to get elected at your local municipal council, it’s just not good government.
Of course, golf courses are hugely funded by those same governments. They have all the essentials of a good race track: a large amount of open space. Humanity has trained and formed from birth a special race of warriors who are perfect for driving cars extremely quickly on rough terrain while only occasionally killing themselves and spectators. They’re called Finns. And while I’m not a Finn (you may have already been able to tell by my lack of interest in reindeer testicle-flavoured Slurpees) I do like to race shitty cars very quickly offroad. That’s why I asked city council to pony up the big bucks to form my new golf course. It’s a private club, I explain to them, very elite, and I have the perfect site for it: right next to my house, where the low-income apartments currently are.
Things went well on our inaugural race, until the Mayor and his cronies dropped by, bags in tow. Apparently they didn’t get the memo about just how exclusive this country club really was. We bought you a golf course, they explained, while looking confused at the scent of two-stroke oil and the sound of screaming small-displacement turbocharged gasoline engines. We deserve to play on it.
That scam ended awfully abruptly. Once I’m out of prison, though, I’ll be right back at it. These bars can’t hold me forever, mostly because the state only agreed to pay JailCo 30 cents per bar, and the investors didn’t want to blow the budget.
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sciderman · 8 months
Text
since we're here in osborn hell, here's one of my favourite little chapters from it came from outer space! with one rare appearance from one norman osborn
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Peter could throw up. 
With how mad he was, he could tear through concrete like tissue. 
It was everywhere. 
Everywhere he looked. 
Every tabloid. Every sleazy celebrity magazine. Every news outlet. 
Harry Osborn. 
Son of billionaire scientist Norman Osborn and heir to Oscorp, 23rd largest company on Forbes’ Global 2000 list. 
Gay. 
Like it’s such a fucking big deal. 
Harry was being jumped on by everyone. Everyone wanted a ride. Everyone wanted to point and heckle. 
Caught in the act, with some big-name fashion model Peter’s never heard of. 
High cheekbones, and a sprinkle of freckles. Tight cherub-like curls. Legs for days. 
Carved by Michaelangelo. 
Peter burned with envy. 
Peter bit that down, and focused on Harry. 
His best friend. 
Publicly outed. 
The million-dollar photo, printed in every paper.  
Harry’s hand shielding his face. Hiding his eyes from the camera. 
Peter tore the paper to shreds. 
Peter Parker had spent his whole life hiding. 
Harry Osborn didn’t have that luxury. 
Peter had wondered if Harry had even tried. 
Red marks circling his neck, and going about his day. He didn’t seem to care who saw. 
It wasn’t a big deal. 
Spider-man momentarily stumbled over his feet as he leapt from rooftop to rooftop. A beeline to Oscorp industries. 
Harry wasn’t taking interviews. 
In fact, he’d disappeared from the radar all together. 
“Oscorp Industries will not issue a statement at this time, but would like to assure stakeholders that Harold Osborn will step away from the public eye.” 
Typical. 
So fucking typical, that they’d try to bury Harry like this. 
Take everything they’re ashamed of and sweep it under the rug, like it never happened. 
“I need to talk to Harry. Harry Osborn.” 
Peter’s fingers frantically drummed the desk of reception. His heart was racing. Thrumming in his ears. He’d attribute it to the pace at which he swang across the city to get here. All the blood in his head left his limbs numb. 
“I’m sorry, Harry Osborn isn’t here. Can I take a message?” 
“No. No. I’ve tried that already and they don’t –” 
Peter released his grip from the counter when he noticed the faint cracking sound under his fingers. 
“I need to see him. I’m – I’m Peter Parker.” Peter said, unsure if that meant anything at all to anyone. “I’m his friend.” 
The receptionist offered a sympathetic frown. 
“I’m sorry, Mr Parker, but without an appointment I can do very little apart from try to pass on your message.” 
Peter stepped back, throwing hands up in defeat. 
“Thanks.” 
Normally that would be the end of it. 
Peter should just go home and forget about it. 
It’s not his problem. 
Peter backed towards the wide, glass doors of the Oscorp building. 
Before he sprinted, a mad-dash, leaping over the key-card terminal that granted employee access. 
“Mr Parker!” 
His sneakers skid as he made way to the elevators, frantically pressing the button. 
A team of three security guards came on the approach. 
Stairs it is . 
Peter slipped fast to the stairway, racing up the steps, three at a time. 
More cardio than Peter would’ve ever liked to do in one lifetime, and he was still catching his breath from swinging here. But the suit made him stronger. Made his bounds lighter. Pushed him forward, faster. 
He’d lost the three initial security guards floors below – they didn’t have the superhuman stamina to climb a skyscraper. But more guards found him on higher levels, jumping him. 
He threw one against the wall. One sent flying through the door they came through. One backing away, clearly not paid enough to be tossed around a stairwell by an angry 20-something out for blood on a Tuesday afternoon. 
More guards at every level. Couldn’t slow him down. Peter barraged through them unrelentingly. He moved too fast. He lept and dodged, feather-light on his feet. 
One guard knicked him with a taser. 
He didn’t feel it. 
He grabbed it and ran, snapping it in half. He threw it down the stairwell, narrowly avoiding someone’s head. 
He didn’t care what damage he wrought. 
He didn’t care about anything, but reaching the top. 
“Peter.” 
He was greeted as he burst through the doors of the executive level of the Oscorp building. 
Norman Osborn. 
“If you wanted to talk, you need only make an appointment.” Norman said, civilly. “You know we’ll always accommodate you here, Peter. You’re family.” 
Family.
As if Norman even knew the meaning of the word. 
Guards stormed into the room after Peter, grabbing him by the shoulders and arms. As if that was enough to hold him back. 
Peter didn’t startle. In fact, his glare didn’t leave Norman at all. 
Norman looked at Peter with a fascination in his eyes. An uncomfortable fascination that made Peter’s skin – both of them – crawl. 
Maybe it was a common Osborn trait.
The ability to undress Peter Parker with their eyes. 
Peter was too mad to overthink it. 
Too fired up to consider how a lanky 21 year old being able to effortlessly rush past high-grade security in a multi-billion dollar corporate building might raise suspicion. 
“I won’t press charges, Peter.” Norman said, with a perfectly civil smile. 
Peter could wholeheartedly believe he had the teeth of a shark hiding behind it. 
“You’ve always been like a son to me.” Norman continued, “And a brother to Harry. I know you care, so deeply for him. And I appreciate that. We both do.” 
“Where did you send him?” Peter stepped forward. The staff detaining him could barely keep a hold of him. “Where is Harry?” 
“He’s an adult, Peter.” Norman said, in an unbearably patronizing tone of voice.  “He can make the responsible choice to leave for himself.” 
“You didn’t send him away?” 
Peter thought back to that afternoon in 2004. Waving as Harry got into a car that would steal him away to a European Boarding School for the worst years of Peter Parker’s life. 
“He did it of his own accord.” Norman said, coolly. “He had enough reason to.” 
Peter didn’t believe him. 
“It was such a shame to see you two falling out,” said Norman, in patronizing pity. “You were so close.” 
Peter charged at Norman, unable to stop himself. He’d lost all vision. All sense of self-preservation. He’d managed to grab Norman by the front of his suit before he was torn away by security. 
Peter let them pull him back. 
“He’s your son, Norman. You can try to bury him, but he’s part of you.”
Peter delivered the kind of look that only a man who had the power to snap another man in half could deliver. 
“And everything comes to the surface.” Peter spat, as he was escorted away. “Eventually.” 
Norman smiled. 
“I think you might be right about that, Peter.”
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ronearoundblindly · 1 year
Text
Threadbare (3)
Steve Rogers x Fashion Designer!Reader
Part Three: Rupture/Fracture (see previous or series)
Summary: Steve skirts the line between protector and absolute doofus. Your fashion show begins.
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[Image submitted by ask and does not reflect reader's race or body type. It's just a visual of the gown described in this chapter. Also from an unknown source. Credit to the creator.]
Warnings for canon-level violence and some mild language. This story is rated Teen. WC 4251
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Captain America: Man of Action.
Steven Grant Rogers? Eh, not so much.
It’s a risky strategy—to do nothing—but Steve’s run out of ideas.
He doesn’t know what’s upset you. He doesn’t know what Tony does know. He doesn’t have a backup plan to his initial, lame, ‘date’-in-the-diner-downstairs idea, and yes, he knows that was pathetic in-and-of itself. Steve got the words out, though, didn’t he? That’s progress in the trench warfare he’s waging on the one thing that still completely intimidates him: womanhood.
That’s not to say Steve is fighting against you and all you are, but he doesn’t know where he fits in anyone’s equation of life and partnership. Relationships imply relating to each other, and he lives in a tower with superheroes, a billionaire, highly-trained agents who are all ranked above the other 99% of their classmates, and several legitimate aliens.
This does not instill him with confidence on his relating-to-the-average-human skills.
Before Steve was a super soldier, he was also pretty shit with women. It never got better because there was no time to try.
Since Steve has time now, he’s convinced he’ll do something stupid, and that’s really why he sits on his laurels.
This behavior apparently frustrates more than just Steve.
“So how’s your girl?” Sam Wilson asks nonchalantly, petting his beard while watching the final assessment of their newest recruits.
“Faulkner looks injured. His form is off and he’s slower than usual.” Steve makes a note on his tablet.
“Yeah, guy got kneed in the berries for a bad pickup line at the bar last night. Don’t change the subject.”
“Not necessary,” Steve grumbles in avoidance.
Sam scoffs. “You didn’t hear the pickup line.”
“Guy gets hit like that and you think that makes me want to talk about dames more?”
“Ladies, Cap, go with ‘ladies.’”
“Old-fashioned man with—“ he yells out “—find your balance, Pritchard, then block—“ then sighs “—old-fashioned notions.”
“This might surprise you, but we noticed. Maybe you should make some effort to be in her space, huh?” Sam jots something down. “I’m just saying, she spent weeks here. With you. Close. Convenient. Maybe it’s your turn?”
Steve scans the fighters across the room, his brain processing nothing he’s seeing for a moment.
“Maybe it is…”
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Steve isn’t actually doing nothing, per se; he’s simply keeping tabs (respectfully) from afar. He sets up an alert for your location if the posted cops call in anything whatsoever. He’s got an alert for Richard Fisk, too, and that has let him know that the man who threatened you has spent one overnight in jail on the opposite side of the city within the last week. It reassures Steve that Kingpin’s son is not wholly focused on you. Maybe this will all blow over? That’s good, right?
 Your storefront’s curb still sports a police cruiser, but inside aren’t the same two men from your run-in with Fisk.
Steve rolls the garment bag he brought off his shoulder and does not take an extra deep breath right before pulling open the door. It’s a normal breath. He’s fine. Fine.
Again, as several other times before, you’re nowhere to be seen.
“Oh my god,” your fourth assistant squeaks from behind the counter.
He knows his name. They know each other’s names—clearly—but have never met.
The young man stands taller. “Oh…my god. Hell-oh.”
Steve…is not sure whether the once over your youngest employee gives him is flattering or objectifying but rallies to get to his point.
“You must be Byron,” Steve tries casually, suppressing the awkward smirk rising with gentle heat to his cheeks. “I was wondering if the lady of the house was in to return this.” 
Steve’s glad he has the jacket as a prop, something to do with his hands as he nervously glances toward the upstairs where he knows you live anyway. You’re here. He knows it. You’re working, and Steve doesn’t want to interrupt you. He has no other options, or at least, no other options that don’t make him feel a bit creepy.
“‘Fraid not, sir. But—“ Byron gathers his wits more admirably than Steve seems to be “—I’m sure I can help with anything you require, Mr. America.”
“Just Steve is fine,” he smiles back. Steve scans the open fitting rooms for Dominica or any of the others he has a rapport with, but no such luck. “And just the jacket.”
“What seems to be the problem with it?”
“Oh, no, it’s not mine. I was just standing in for a fitting when I got called away and…accidentally took it.”
Byron eyes Steve suspiciously. “You…you stood in…for the fit of another client’s jacket? Another client that…looks like you?”
Steve rolls his shoulders in discomfort. “She asked me to,” he defends lamely.
Byron keeps looking at him as if Steve’s grown an extra head instead of just a head taller than his original stature. “Ok,” your assistant shrugs, “let’s see who the marker is for.”
Steve shoves the hanging bag in Byron’s outstretched hand, nervous again. He shouldn’t have come. This was a bad idea. Damnit, Sam, stay in your lane.
Deftly, clearly recalling a move he’s executed thousands upon thousands of times, Byron unzips the bag, tucks the opening under the shoulders of the jacket, runs his hand down the left side seam, and flips up the corner to peek at the lining.
Steve sees a glint of metallic he never noticed.
“Remind me of your middle name, Mist—sorry, Captain Rogers.”
“It’s Grant,” Steve blurts without thought. “Why?”
“This is your jacket, sir, down to the threads.” Byron smiles, a glistening white band of teeth bared for the enjoyment of all, and gleefully spins the garment around to show a delicately stitched ’S G R’ in silver against the deep purple.
Steve’s cheeks are on fire.
“But…” he stammers. “That’s not…” Steve hunches over the counter as if it will settle a bet his mind and heart are arguing.
You asked about the color…and he said he loved it.
You shyly asked if he’d spare the time to help you…and he jumped at the chance.
You made him a custom jacket and tricked him into having it fitted.
Steven Grant Rogers: Idiot.
“Captain!” a voice exclaims from the stairwell. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
Tarik shuffles down the last few steps looking a little worse for wear and sidles up beside his coworker. His gaze drops to the counter.
“Oooh, I see ma’m’selle went with the midnight—“ Steve doesn’t understand the next few words he uses and Tarik notices the glazed look. “The shine,” he clarifies. “Gives it that color-changing look.”
Byron leans to his left. “He says he wants to return it.”
As soon as Tarik tries to lift the hanger up though, Steve pulls it back.
“No, no. Not returning. I only…thought…” He tucks the jacket back under the protective liner, scrambling for an answer. “I didn’t know…it was for me,” Steve tries once more, like that helps to explain anything. “Hey, can I ask you both a question?”
The young men put on perfect customer service faces and wait.
“Is that unit outside keeping everyone safe in here? I mean, do you all feel, ya know, covered, I guess?”
They look at each other quizzically.
“Yeah, I guess,” Byron shrugs.
“Nothing’s happened,” Tarik mutters.
While Steve is pleased to hear that, his concern for you isn’t exactly diminished. “But she’s never here alone, right? Is no one staying overnight? You’re not…worried about Fisk?”
“We’ve been working some insane hours since the overhaul,” Tarik admits, but there’s no chance for Steve to ask what that means. “Doma was here until three in the morning, so she’s off today. Abby’s set to come in—“ Tarik checks his watch “—an hour or so for Ronny.”
“It’s family dinner night,” Byron jumps in. “Mom’ll kill me if I miss.”
Steve softens. His ma would be the same way if she… “Family dinner night,” he repeats, holding the garment bag a little closer. “Right, and no other unnerving customers bothering you?”
The younger assistant gulps and continues to stare.
Apparently, Steve counts as ‘unnerving.’
If there’s no threat anymore, then truly how the hell is Steve supposed to get closer to you again? In the most bizarre way, a villain looming over you was the perfect excuse for Steve to spend all that time and effort on you, and shifting back to ‘normal’ scenarios of dating a civilian isn’t exactly in his wheelhouse.
“Ok then,” he drawls, “would you—if it’s—if you wouldn’t mind letting her know I stopped by?” Steve waits for Tarik’s polite nod, fighting the urge to say you can call him. You could have called Steve this entire time. He left his personal cell at the fittings, so you absolutely have the number. If you haven’t used it yet, there’s probably a reason.
He finishes with a lame, “I’ll be on my way. Have a good evening and dinner with your family.”
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Steve’s being supportive. He’s just here as an extra set of hands should the need arise. He’s absolutely not being a creep. He only sits atop your roof watching one cop return from the routine perimeter check in case you need help.
He won’t bother you, he doesn’t expect anything, and he can’t even see you. There’s nothing untoward about it.
Steve crosses his arms across his chest and watches the sun go down but with much less of a view and a swath of boring gray clouds all over. “For safety,” he grumbles lowly. “That’s all.”
He justifies staying because the cops neither spotted him nor cased the top of the building. He’s filling a gap in your security. It doesn’t, however, alter the fact Steve is skulking around the rooftop of the girl he likes, but he’s here. He expects nothing in return except the piece of mind that you’re okay.
Maybe some would find his night shift boring, but Steve brought his sketchpad and can see just fine in the ambient street light. The freedom to sit and draw all night long is wonderful.
No one watches him. No one looks for him. His phone sits at his hip, and since the Team think he is with you, no one calls.
Abby finally leaves at 1am, yawning a goodnight to the officer in the passenger seat and walking away unfazed. Steve even hears the man ask if she wants an escort home, but your assistant says ‘no.’ From the way the offer is worded, it’s as oft repeated as it is rejected.
If Fisk were going to leverage one of your employees, he’d have made that move by now, and Steve’s impression of Kingpin’s son is the man enjoys direct control. He wouldn’t want you obedient to keep others from harm. Fisk wants submission. He wants you to do what he says for him, not for anyone else. The irony is that Richard Fisk isn’t intimidating enough on his own and uses the muscle of bodyguards to complete the illusion of strength.
Steve knows the type. He’s only worried when he’s not close enough to handle Fisk himself, if it comes to that. 
Luckily, the night passes quietly, and close or not, Steve doesn’t have to do anything. The rounds of perimeter checks are like clockwork while the lights glow from your apartment onto the thin windowsills below him.
Steve huffs. That means you never officially turn in. He crosses his arms again, wondering if you fell asleep at your drafting desk.
Byron returns, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, wearing an actual fur vest, at 5am.
The cops change shift at 6, the cruiser replaced by an identical car and two very similar passengers.
Byron emerges right at 6:10 with coffee for the officers in hand—two insulated tumblers—and fifty minutes later, one of the pair takes the cups back inside before his round.
Steve naps in the gentle spring sun as if this is truly a vacation, waking hungry enough for a late lunch and a walk in the park a few blocks over.
This is probably the park you stroll when overwhelmed, and stressed, as you probably are right now, but you never come out. He keeps walking, passing close enough to see your shop before another lap, and another. He gets a strange amount of enjoyment from trying every street vendor setup nearby until he’s back on the roof before sunset, remembering how you tucked your feet up on the folding chair and under the blanket about a week ago. It’s stupid that feels like forever ago.
Steve sighs before leaning comfortably on the cool concrete and his little bedroll.
He wishes he had the stones to barge in and demand you take a break, but the access door he’s staring at only opens from the inside and he doesn’t want to end up like Faulkner.
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The white noise of the city must have lulled him to sleep. He’s startled from his propped-up position by a thunk on the slab at his back.
There you are, letting go of the mug from one hand with a phone in the other.
“Hold your horses, Stark. Let the man get his bearings,” you hoarsely joke before pulling it away from your ear and extending it toward Steve. Your voice sounds good in the morning. 
Of all the things rushing through his mind, all he gets out is, “what time is it, Button?”
You give him a small, tired smile and stand back up from crouching at his side. Your bare feet teeter while one side of your open robe sash brushes the ground.
“Time for you to learn to take your charger on sleepovers, sweetie,” Tony’s voice blares. “No breakfast in bed for you.”
Wiping sleep from his eye, Steve focuses on you stretching your neck from side to side.
“You okay?” he mouths.
The same tired smile flashes as you nod.
“What’s that racket? You two sleep with the windows open? How hot did that room g—“
“Tony,” Steve interrupts, more forcefully than intended, “what’s happened?”
“Three ping fire.”
“Don’t you mean three alarm fire,” Steve groans and buries his face in his palm, shifting to wake his tingling legs.
“Location pings, Casanova, and as the dude with a suit intended as a walking fire hazard, I’m not exactly in a position to steal that department’s lingo. Ya feel me?”
There’s silence while Steve picks up the dead phone at his hip and pockets it. “No, I do not feel you.”
Tony releases a raspberry on the other end. “I am suppressing half a dozen jokes to make you feel supported in your romantic endeavors right now. I hope you appreciate that effort.”
Steve picks up the mug left beside him and moves to say ‘thank you.’ It’s not a travel cup like Byron or Abby brings out to the cops which Steve assumes means this was your drink. Tony must have called while you were waking up, too.
“Your efforts are—“ Steve turns to see an empty roof again “—unnecessary.”
You’re gone. The access door closed again.
“I bet you’re already halfway here,” Tony muses. “You doing that power-run thing?”
The call disconnects and Steve lets it fall with his arm, limp in his lap. He sips at the steaming tea for mere seconds before it occurs to him.
If he texts himself from your phone, he’ll have your number.
“Damnit,” Steve exclaims when the locked screen taunts him.
Thank god the Team doesn’t actually know how bad he is at this. It’s embarrassing, really. He deserves to skulk around on concrete treetops and sleep on stone.
He leaves the mug and phone by the door before rushing off. He notes how impressive it is that not only is the roof access door so quiet that he didn’t hear it twice, but that also counts as a security concern. He might just be splitting hairs. He’s also impressed by how you could sneak up on him. Perhaps he’s gotten too comfortable with even the fake idea of being with you, but the fantasy is pretty great.
As Steve runs back to the Tower, all he can think about is how perfect breakfast in bed sounds, and it’s distracting enough to slow him…just a little.
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Fighting helps. Kinda. Or rather, fighting takes Steve’s mind off of other things right up until the tide of battle turns and Tony Stark has a spare second to insert himself into Steve’s life as well as everyone’s comms.
“So what’s it gonna take for you to really do this thing?”
Steve doesn’t understand at first because he’s busy checking in on the agents around him like he’s supposed to be doing. Stark, on the other hand, casually flies toward the hidden base of their enemy’s operations.
“What? You thought you fooled anyone?”
“Not the time, Tony,” Steve gripes, sending the shield in a bouncing arc off two trees and three bad guys. Honestly, he also did think that everyone bought you two together. Why wouldn’t they? It was convincing enough to haunt Steve.
“Guy’s not usually jonesing to drive a golf cart if he’s already on the bullet train, if you know what I mean,” Tony blusters.
“Really, Stark,” Wilson yells from his position on the other side of the valley, “a train metaphor was your best choice?”
Steve purses his lips in response, slamming into one guy, using the momentum to jump, and kicking another guy dead in the chest. That guy ricochets back into a third. The third guy’s gun goes off and drops two more guys. Steve still doesn’t want to have this conversation, even if the actual attack situation is going well for his side.
“I’m just saying if he needs some help sealing the deal—“
“—leave him alone, Stark—“
“—then I can put in a word.”
“Oh!” Steve pops the shield straps back over his arm after mowing down another line of men. “Like you put in the words that made her leave?! What the hell did you say?”
Dang it. If you and Steve were really dating, he’d already know the answer to that.
“Easy, Straps and Abs, it was a test.”
Sam beats Steve to it. “And did she pass?”
There’s a burst of sound and an explosion in the distance.
“Um. She got pissed, for sure, but I don’t know yet. I may have suggested that she only liked Cap for being, ya know, a shiny, blond beefcake.”
“You used those exact words, did you? I take it back,” Sam mutters. “That is the most hypocritical thing Stark’s ever said.”
“Somebody’s gotta top me,” Tony snorts. “Might as well be—“
“Are you KIDDING?” Steve finally breaks.
“It’s important to me that she likes you for you. Sue me—though I’m obligated to warn you you’ll be stuck in litigation for—“
“Stark!” both Steve and Sam shout in frustration.
The leagues of bad guys lose formation as their base crumbles and their radios cut out. They exchange confused looks and disagree on whether to continue attacking or retreat.
“Relax,” Tony purrs before Iron Man touches down in front of Steve. The helmet opens. “I’ve got a ticket to the Tovarich Spring Show with your name on it, and I think…” Tony scans the floundering group just as backup jets arrive to help arrest the survivors. “We’ll be home in time for Rogers to put on a ballgown and hop in a pumpkin.”
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One spot of purple in a sea of white.
This isn’t how it was supposed to be.
“Ma’am, the screens you wanted set up are all positioned, and we are ten minutes from showtime,” the stage manager says in seeming slow-motion beside you. “Ma’am,” she tries again when you don’t answer. You’re too distracted by the wrong arrangements.
“I ordered butterfly bush…”
“What?”
“I ordered…I didn’t order white roses,” you croak.
Fisk’s signature flower sits on every table, lines every aisle, adorns the entire rim of the runway, and you did not order them.
Richard ‘The Rose’ is messing with you. It makes your blood boil more than it makes your hands shake because he’s not going to get what he wants. You’re not going to give it to him, but you are going to show what you can do. He can’t take credit for your work. He will not own you.
“We don’t have time to change them—“
“He’s here!” Abby bounds over, gripping your shoulder, panting after running all the way from the press tent. “Captain Rogers is here. He’s wearing the jacket.” 
A nervous smile forces its way across your lips before you grasp Abby’s hand, quickly looking back at the single stalk of butterfly bush dangling in beautiful fuchsia clusters in a vase of roses. It’s a sign, proof that Fisk was able to rewrite your order, a threat that he can rewrite your life if he so chooses.
He’s wrong. You’ll show him. You’ll show everything tonight.
“Thank god for that,” you whisper, squeezing your assistant, “because Steve’s probably about to get a hell of a show.”
The stage manager calls for all the models to line up. You fuss with the finishing touches on all the men, asking how they feel, delighted when each and every one answers with some form of ‘great,’ ‘fantastic,’ or ‘never better.’ That’s what this whole line is about: confidence and comfort.
There’s no cookie-cutter mold for a handsome man. Every frame is inspiring.
You’ve explained to the models that they can reflect however they feel in the clothing on their walk down the runway. If they feel like strutting, then by all means. If they feel like beaming a beautiful smile, it’s welcome. Several pick a pocket to sink a strategic hand into.
A one-minute warning is given.
From your spot deep in the stage left shadows, you can see Steve front and center, pulling at his lapel anxiously before petting his thumb back and forth over the smooth fabric.
Nailed it, you think. He looks happy, so it’s just an added bonus that he looks so good and is covered.
Suddenly, his eyes find you and Steve sits straight up at the edge of his chair just as the lights go out.
The countdown softly descends from ten nine eight seven, the music cranks up above the short round of applause, and you exaggerate silent words, hoping not-quite-beyond hope that the super soldier can still see you in the dark.
‘For you, handsome.’
They’re off. Ten models. Slim and slight men radiant in perfectly crafted, fitted clothing that makes each look like a king in his own right. Not one is taller than 5’6’’ and not one weighs more the 130lbs. Next year, you’ll go bigger, but this statement is essential. One particular build is flawless to you, whether it ever changes or not.
Steve Rogers was just born to be loved by you in any body.
You get to watch it dawn on him, too.
Model 1: he’s a little miffed.
Model 2: his jaw goes slack.
Model 3: he’s transfixed and taking a shaky, deep breath.
By model number four, Steve doesn’t even see anymore, his head turning to where he knows you still stand, a soft expression in the soft glow from the stage.
Even in the dark and shadow, you feel pinned, flattered, and embarrassed. Your hands smooth down the navy overlay of your full skirt and tug at the thick structured cuffs to your metallic threaded bodice. It’s the same silver laced into Steve’s jacket.
Politely, Steve stands to cheer with the rest of the crowd, staring without demanding your attention, and you wait for all the models to start their final walk before stepping out into the cacophony of light and sound. The models flank you. Several grab your arm in appreciation.
It’s so bright. So loud.
The screens of fabric you had the crew raise are still visible at the back, lit through from the entrance where no one should be during the show, yet you see movement. Figure after figure files in, and then the noise shifts. Hands aren’t just banging together. Bullets are banging on the metal scaffold across the ceiling. Your audience’s screams morph from triumph to terror.
People scramble, knocking chairs and each other out of the way, pushing in opposite directions to avoid the same source of fear.
It’s chaos, and you can’t hesitate.
“Behind me,” you scream as loud as you can, and race to the edge of the runway.
Steve lunges for your feet as you pass, but you don’t let him stop you. Whatever he yells to do is lost in the din as you spin to flair your long skirt over the edge.
Rose stems snap and litter the floor.
Your back to Fisk’s men, you beat your fist to the star placard on your chest and activate the battery. It hums to life as electric current races through the silvery details on your chest and down your body, stiffening the thick, bulletproof fabric now on display high like a peacock’s plume.
And it works.
Steve stares up from the floor at a wall of red and navy around a silver star, and you have succeeded where Tony Stark could not. You created a shield not of metal but of thread.
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@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @shelbygeek @rogersideup @eyebagsanonymous @yiiiikesmish @trudy-shams @darsynia
A/N: I made myself entirely too emotional with this, so I am praying that you all like it as much as I do. I seriously need to go scream into a corner now though.
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[Light Masterlist; Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]
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