#entire machine functions like i know i know

[mariacallous]

Microsoft's CEO Satya Nadella has hailed the company's new Recall feature, which stores a history of your computer desktop and makes it available to AI for analysis, as “photographic memory” for your PC. Within the cybersecurity community, meanwhile, the notion of a tool that silently takes a screenshot of your desktop every five seconds has been hailed as a hacker's dream come true and the worst product idea in recent memory.

Now, security researchers have pointed out that even the one remaining security safeguard meant to protect that feature from exploitation can be trivially defeated.

Since Recall was first announced last month, the cybersecurity world has pointed out that if a hacker can install malicious software to gain a foothold on a target machine with the feature enabled, they can quickly gain access to the user's entire history stored by the function. The only barrier, it seemed, to that high-resolution view of a victim's entire life at the keyboard was that accessing Recall's data required administrator privileges on a user's machine. That meant malware without that higher-level privilege would trigger a permission pop-up, allowing users to prevent access, and that malware would also likely be blocked by default from accessing the data on most corporate machines.

Then on Wednesday, James Forshaw, a researcher with Google's Project Zero vulnerability research team, published an update to a blog post pointing out that he had found methods for accessing Recall data without administrator privileges—essentially stripping away even that last fig leaf of protection. “No admin required ;-)” the post concluded.

“Damn,” Forshaw added on Mastodon. “I really thought the Recall database security would at least be, you know, secure.”

Forshaw's blog post described two different techniques to bypass the administrator privilege requirement, both of which exploit ways of defeating a basic security function in Windows known as access control lists that determine which elements on a computer require which privileges to read and alter. One of Forshaw's methods exploits an exception to those control lists, temporarily impersonating a program on Windows machines called AIXHost.exe that can access even restricted databases. Another is even simpler: Forshaw points out that because the Recall data stored on a machine is considered to belong to the user, a hacker with the same privileges as the user could simply rewrite the access control lists on a target machine to grant themselves access to the full database.

That second, simpler bypass technique “is just mindblowing, to be honest,” says Alex Hagenah, a cybersecurity strategist and ethical hacker. Hagenah recently built a proof-of-concept hacker tool called TotalRecall designed to show that someone who gained access to a victim's machine with Recall could immediately siphon out all the user's history recorded by the feature. Hagenah's tool, however, still required that hackers find another way to gain administrator privileges through a so-called “privilege escalation” technique before his tool would work.

With Forshaw's technique, “you don’t need any privilege escalation, no pop-up, nothing,” says Hagenah. “This would make sense to implement in the tool for a bad guy.”

In fact, just an hour after speaking to WIRED about Forshaw's finding, Hagenah added the simpler of Forshaw's two techniques to his TotalRecall tool, then confirmed that the trick worked by accessing all the Recall history data stored on another user's machine for which he didn't have administrator access. “So simple and genius,” he wrote in a text to WIRED after testing the technique.

That confirmation removes one of the last arguments Recall's defenders have had against criticisms that the feature acts as, essentially, a piece of pre-installed spyware on a user's machine, ready to be exploited by any hacker who can gain a foothold on the device. “It makes your security very fragile, in the sense that anyone who penetrates your computer for even a second can get your whole history,” says Dave Aitel, the founder of the cybersecurity firm Immunity and a former NSA hacker. “Which is not something people want.”

For now, security researchers have been testing Recall in preview versions of the tool ahead of its expected launch later this month. Microsoft said it plans to integrate Recall on compatible Copilot+ PCs with the feature turned on by default. WIRED reached out to the company for comment on Forshaw's findings about Recall's security issues, but the company has yet to respond.

The revelation that hackers can exploit Recall without even using a separate privilege escalation technique only contributes further to the sense that the feature was rushed to market without a proper review from the company's cybersecurity team—despite the company's CEO Nadella proclaiming just last month that Microsoft would make security its first priority in every decision going forward. “You cannot convince me that Microsoft's security teams looked at this and said ‘that looks secure,’” says Jake Williams, a former NSA hacker and now the VP of R&D at the cybersecurity consultancy Hunter Strategy, where he says he's been asked by some of the firm's clients to test Recall's security before they add Microsoft devices that use it to their networks.

“As it stands now, it’s a security dumpster fire,” Williams says. “This is one of the scariest things I’ve ever seen from an enterprise security standpoint.”

[whiskeyswifty]

.

#i think one of the things that i really enjoy being on here is the majority of us stuck around tumblr and didnt migrate #because we genuinely just love shooting the shit about her and her songs and her mythology #creating content and engaging in (sometimes) good hearted debates #and the one good thing is most people on here are at least 8/10+ year fans of hers so you're talking to people who #deeply appreciate her as an artist and a public figure #and aren't looking for attention really and in fact would loathe her return to the platform because #this atmosphere is really nice when it's this and it's mostly nice cuz she's not here #(for the most part like OBVIOUSLY some brain diseases never leave people just cuz she left and we all avoid you people) #but i think my favorite part is that this environment allows me to easily find people who are the true two feet on the ground people like m #who are ok talking about her as the business woman that she is. shrewd and calculating and #how that's not a value judgement or a character judgement. this is her JOB and it requires certain mental and emotional relationships #that she doesn't want fans to be aware of but they are the reality and duh they're hidden BECAUSE that would ruin the way the #entire machine functions like i know i know #but i didn't realize how far and few swifites who can enjoy her and see her for what she is and appreciate WHY that is are and not be #personally offended like thank god she's not here cuz idk how i would have found those people #also i'm over the moon she's (temporarily at least) done with the M&G shit cuz the wars that would have broken out between the #new tiktok fans and the tumblr old guard...... i would have perhaps left this platform entirely #i couldn't take it during rep and that was just about whether or not you deserved to be a FAN because of an album concept #swifties at their worst and most cult like loyalty that never turned me off swiftie fandom faster #and now that there is a HUGE divide.... i already know who taylor would choose for m&gs and i know WHY and it's not like evil #but the effect it would have on legacy fans....... there would be never a worse time in swiftie history so thank GOD for this #so i can keep blogging about my hot wife and her top tier songwriting and my love of pattern recognition #IN PEACE #idk what this was all about but i just like had to brain dump i guess anyway love all of you my smart normal grown up friends on here

[jonahfagnus]

in other news im thinking about my (very very vague) portal jonelias au again

#jon as glados elias as chell #jon trying oh so very hard to be human and telling himself its because elias' test scores improve when he does #elias splorin the rest of the facility during his downtime #jon getting robot separation anxiety over not being able to see his (most beloved) best test subject #jon pretends the facility is still functional and the scientists are just doing other things but elias knows the truth #elias is just trying to find his robot boy so they can talk #and so he can kiss jon ofc #i also have some vague thoughts about. okay so #in portal 2 its revealed that successful tests are coded to be enjoyable or euphoric to the bot in charge of the facility #except that it lessens with each successful test and theyll slowly start to go mad trying to figure out how to get it back #glados ofc manages to (mainly) keep her cool even w/o this and jon does too obviously #but i have some thoughts about elias like. altering jon's code #im not entirely sure how elias ended up in the facility in the first place but im probably going to give him engineering / programming #skills (probably both) #so that he can alter jons body or his code #(mainly so that i can circumvent all of the fucked up shit but also for sex purposes) #elias: hey can i take a look at your code i wanna get rid of some of your limitations #jon: i think i hauve covid #also thinking about the eroticism of the machine. jon being able to feel everything that happens in the facility #(in the parts of the facility he can reach anyway) #he can feel elias fixing faulty wiring he can feel elias moving through the halls #he can feel elias touching panels etc etc #i imagine jon would be very much like 'im physically incapable of feeling affection for test subjects i am not defective im not broken #its fine' #rlly strugglign to grapple w/ his purpose as an unfeeling inhuman machine and the human parts of him that want to be expressed

[yzzart]

a revelation between songs.

pairing: tom blyth x actress!reader.

summary: you, Tom and Rachel had an idea to create playlists for your characters.

word count: 593!

notes: inspired by an interview where Rachel says that she and Tom created playlists for their characters, and i recommend the song i mentioned because i was listening to it while writing!

"Well, i heard that you created playlists for your respective characters…" — The interviewer, who was incredibly dynamic, commented. — "… and it's true?"

"Oh yeah!" — Rachel responded with an enthusiastic smile and nodding her head, wanting to complement and talk about the topic presented. — "We created our playlist during the first few days of recording, right?" — She asked, resting one of her hands on her chin.

"Right!" — You replied with a complicity smile. — "We were so excited about the idea, that we didn't even wait for the opening day." — And it was a suggestion that brought you all closer together and created in your minds what the characters' musical tastes would be.

And to this day none of you have finished them because every day you add a new song.

"Exactly!" — Rachel concluded. — "I think it's technically impossible to choose one but "Hunter" by Florence + The machine is addictive and very good." — The interviewer nodded in agreement and paid attention to every word.

"One of the first songs i added to my playlist was "Do you love" by machineheart." — You tilted your head to wonder if it was correct. — "Yeah, she was one of the first and she became my favorite." — The interviewer agrees, crossing her legs and eager for an explanation. — "I feel like the lyrics clarify my character's emotions."

"I'm pretty sure i have it on my playlist too." — Tom stuttered thoughtfully and resting his arm on the back of the chair accompanied by a complicity look in his direction. — "Like, seriously." — He laughed.

"Do not tell me!" — You pretended to be surprised and finding the coincidence incredible, and trying, as much as possible and with all your strength, not to laugh at the situation.

Meanwhile, the interviewer found it funny, even without understanding and believing in the possible and concrete coincidence, and Rachel looked at the two of you with her mouth open. — Knowing, deep down, that it was a joke.

"They spent the entire recording session listening to each other's playlists." — She revealed, laughing, putting her hand over her mouth. — "Every time i went to Spotify, with that function to see the songs your friends were listening to, i saw Tom listening to Y/n's playlist and she listening to his playlist."

"No way!" — The interviewer joined.

"I swear!" — Rachel exclaimed; the only thing you did, seeing that you had no way to justify or defend yourself, was to put your hand over your mouth and Tom placed one of his hands on your thigh.

Rachel wasn't lying or exaggerating; since the beginning of the recordings along with the idea of playlists, there was no other playlist, not even the ones you created, that you listened to the most besides Tom's. — There were so many songs with the presence of the small and typical green heart. — At any time, anywhere, you listened to that playlist; like Tom did with you.

Tom would share photos, screenshots with your playlist or any of the songs included in it in the background for you. — Tom even listened to them while driving his motorcycle.

"I strongly consider it a love language." — The British accent echoed confidently throughout the decorated room, his hand was still on your thigh and now making a pleasant caress. — His eyes admired your radiant smile.

You hugged his clothed arm and rested his head, gently and gently, on his shoulder; a wave of comfort and protection entered your belly. — Quickly, Tom rested his head on your.

"Very romantic, very romantic." — You said, laughing softly and with red cheeks, a little embarrassed.

#tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus #snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus imagine #the hunger games #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #ballad of songbirds and snakes

[headspace-hotel]

Many people, especially USAmericans, are very resistant to knowing the plants and living according to the ways of the plants. They lash out with a mix of arrogance and fear: "Don't you know what bad things would happen if we lived a different way? There is a REASON for living this way. Would you have us go Back—backward to the time without vaccines or antibiotics????"

Ah, yes, the two immutable categories that all proposals for change fit into: Backward Change and Forward Change! Either we must invent a a futuristic, entirely new solution with SCIENCE and TECHNOLOGY that further industrializes and increases the productivity of our world, or we must give up vaccines and antibiotics and become starving illiterate medieval peasants.

Every human practice anywhere on Earth that has declined, stopped, or become displaced by another practice, was clearly objectively worse than whatever replaced it. You see, the only possible reason a way of life could decline or disappear is that it sucked and had it coming anyway!!! Pre-industrial human history is worthless except as a cautionary tale about how miserable we would all be without *checks notes* factories, fossil fuels and colonialism. Obviously!

Anyway, who do you think benefits from the idea that pesticide-dependent, corporate-controlled industrialized monoculture farming liberates us all from spending our short, painful lives as filthy, miserable peasants toiling in the fields?

First of all, I think it's silly to act like farming is a uniquely awful way to live. I can't believe I have to say this, but the awful part of being a medieval peasant was the oppression and poverty, not the fact that harvesting wheat is a lot of work and cows are stinky. Same goes for farm labor in the modern USA: the bad part is that most people working farms are undocumented migrant workers that are getting treated like garbage and who can't complain about it because their boss will rat them out to ICE.

Work is just work. Any work has dignity when the people doing it are paid properly and not being abused. Abuse and human trafficking is rampant in agriculture, but industrialization and consolidation of small farms into gigantic corporate owned farms sure as hell isn't making it better.

Is working on a farm somehow more miserable than working in a factory, a fast food restaurant, or a retail store? Give me a break. "At least I'm not doing physical labor in the sun," you say, at your job where you're forced to stand on concrete for 8 hours and develop chronic pain by age 24.

When you read about small farmers going out of business because of huge corporations, none of them are going "Yay! Now that Giant Corporation has swallowed up all the farms in the area, we can all enjoy the luxurious privileges of the industrial era, like working RETAIL!" What you do see a lot of is farmers bitterly grieving the loss of their way of life.

And also, the fact is, sustainable forms of polyculture farming that create a functional ecosystem made up of many different useful and edible plants are actually way MORE efficient at producing food than a monoculture. The reason we don't do it as much, is that it can't be industrialized where everything is harvested with machines.

Some places folks are starting to get the idea and planting two crops together in alternating rows, letting the mutualistic relationship between plants boost the yields of both, but indigenous people in many parts of the world have been doing this stuff basically forever. I read about a style of agroforestry from Central America that has TWENTY crops all together on the same field.

Our modern system of farming is necessary for feeding the world? Bullshit! Our technology is very powerful and useful, but our harmful monocultures, dangerous pesticides, and wasteful usage of land and resources are making the system very inefficient and severely degrading nature's ability to provide for us.

What is needed, is a SYNTHESIS of the power and insights of technology and science, with the ancient wisdom and knowledge gained by closely and carefully observing Nature. We do not need to reject one, to embrace the other! They should be friends!

Our system thinks land is only used for one thing at a time. Even our science often thinks this way. A corn field has the purpose of producing corn, and no other purpose, so all other plants in the corn must be killed, and it must be a monoculture of only corn.

But this means that the symbiosis between different plants that help each other is destroyed, so we must pollute the earth with fertilizers that wash into bodies of water and cause eutrophication, where algae explode in number and turn the water to green goo. Nature always has variety and diversity with many plants sharing the same space. It supports much more animal life (we are animals!) this way. The Three Sisters" are the perfect example of mutualism between plants being used in an agricultural environment. The planting of corn, beans, and squash together has been traditionally used clear across the North American continent.

And in North America, the weeds we have here are mostly edible plants too. Some of them were even domesticated themselves! Imagine a garden where every weed that pops up is also an edible or otherwise useful crop, and therefore a welcomed friend! So when weeds like Amaranth and Sunflower pop up in your field, that should not be a cause for alarm, but rather the system of symbiosis working as it should.

A field of one single crop is limited in how much it can produce, because one crop fits into a single niche in what should be a whole ecosystem, and worse, it requires artificial inputs to make up for what the rest of the plant community would normally provide. The field with twenty crops does not produce the same amount as the monoculture field divided in twenty ways, but instead produces much more while being a habitat for wild animals, because each plant has its own niche.

#plants #plantarchy #the ways of the plants

[ms-demeanor]

One thing that I keep seeing whenever I make posts that are critical of macs is folks in the notes going "they make great computers for the money if you just buy used/refurbs - everyone knows not to buy new" and A) no they don't know that, most people go looking for a new computer unless they have already exhausted the new options in their budget and B) no they don't make great computers for the money, and being used doesn't do anything to make them easier to work on or repair or upgrade.

Here's a breakdown of the anti-consumer, anti-repair features recently introduced in macbooks. If you don't want to watch the video, here's how it's summed up:

In the end the Macbook Pro is a laptop with a soldered-on SSD and RAM, a battery secured with glue, not screws, a keyboard held in with rivets, a display and lid angle sensor no third party can replace without apple. But it has modular ports so I guess that’s something. But I don’t think it’s worthy of IFixIt’s four out of ten reparability score because if it breaks you have to face apple’s repair cost; with no repair competition they can charge whatever they like. You either front the cost, or toss the laptop, leaving me wondering “who really owns this computer?”

Apple doesn't make great computers for the money because they are doing everything possible to make sure that you don't actually own your computer, you just lease the hardware from apple and they determine how long it is allowed to function.

The lid angle sensor discussed in this video replaces a much simpler sensor that has been used in laptops for twenty years AND calibrating the sensor after a repair requires access to proprietary apple software that isn't accessible to either users or third party repair shops. There's no reason for this software not to be included as a diagnostic tool on your computer except that Apple doesn't want users working on apple computers. If your screen breaks, or if the fragile cable that is part of the sensor wears down, your only option to fix this computer is to pay apple.

How long does apple plan to support this hardware? What if you pay $3k for a computer today and it breaks in 7 years - will they still calibrate the replacement screen for you or will they tell you it's time for new hardware EVEN THOUGH YOU COULD HAVE ATTAINED FUNCTIONAL HARDWARE THAT WILL WORK IF APPLE'S SOFTWARE TELLS IT TO?

Look at this article talking about "how long" apple supports various types of hardware. It coos over the fact that a 2013 MacBook Air could be getting updates to this day. That's the longest example in this article, and that's *hardware* support, not the life cycle of the operating system. That is dogshit. That is straight-up dogshit.

Apple computers are DRM locked in a way that windows machines only wish they could pull off, and the apple-only chips are a part of that. They want an entirely walled garden so they can entirely control your interactions with the computer that they own and you're just renting.

Even if they made the best hardware in the world that would last a thousand years and gave you flowers on your birthday it wouldn't matter because modern apple computers don't ever actually belong to apple customers, at the end of the day they belong to apple, and that's on purpose.

This is hardware as a service. This is John Deere. This is subscription access to the things you buy, and if it isn't exactly that right at this moment, that is where things have been heading ever since they realized it was possible to exert a control that granular over their users.

With all sympathy to people who are forced to use them, Fuck Apple I Hope That They Fall Into The Ocean And Are Hidden Away From The Honest Light Of The Sun For Their Crimes.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

The adventures of Eddie Munson, jerk

Written for the @steddiemicrofic challenge January 2024 edition

Prompt: hole, 404 words

Rated: T

Tags: modern AU; meet cute; HOH Steve Harrington; Eddie "foot in mouth" Munson; Eddie being a horny shit

Notes: based on this idea I posted a while ago. I'd link it, but alas, the tumblr search function sucks. I'll add it when I find it I guess. (Edit: found it!)

Ping.

Eddie's about to commit homicide in an airport terminal. Walk over to that asshole with the laptop and throttle him with the cord. Bury him in a shallow hole, chuck his beeping hell machine right-

Okay, breathe. 

He's overreacting. The guy's an inconsiderate jerk, but he doesn’t deserve to be murdered. Eddie's just a bit on edge ‘cause he got up at ass o'clock and now his flight is delayed and his neck is hurting from the plastic chairs and his phone is dying and- 

Ping.

Okay, that's it. 

Eddie stomps over, propelled by rage and too many energy drinks.

“Hey, asshole!”

Laptop jerk just continues typing. So he thinks he can ignore him, huh? Eddie reaches him just as the laptop dings again, grabs him by the shoulder. 

“Hey, dickhead, I'm talking to you.” 

Laptop jerk flinches so hard he nearly sends his device flying, head whipping up and- 

-shit, he's cute. Big, hazel eyes full of shocked confusion under a swoop of chestnut hair. Perfect, pouty lips parted in surprise. Eddie has a sudden impulse to wrap a hand around the curve of that throat, drop his voice, tell him to say sorry like a good boy. 

Which would be … wildly inappropriate. 

“Listen,” he says instead. “Your beeping is annoying the living hell outta me, so-” 

Something is pressed into his hand. Something rectangular and plasticy, like a business card.

“What the fuck?” Eddie mutters, lifts it so that he can read what it says. 

Hi, I'm Steve. I'm hard of hearing. 

Wait, what?

Eddie's eyes flit back to laptop jerk's face. He's smiling, but there's a distinct undercurrent of confusion and concern. Like he doesn’t know why Eddie's so angry, which is true of course, because he can't fucking hear, has no idea what he did wrong and fuuuuck, who's the jerk now? 

That shallow hole still sounds tempting, just for entirely different reasons. 

“Erm, it's just …” he starts, more slowly now, those pretty eyes following the movement of his lips. “I've been wondering if maybe …” 

Steve tilts his head. 

"... you'd wanna have coffee? My flight's delayed and-” 

If the curl of Steve's mouth is anything to go by, he knows exactly that this isn't what he wanted to say. 

He nods anyway. 

By the time Eddie’s flight lifts off, his phone is dead, but there's a sticky note with a number tucked into his pocket.

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddiemicrofic #steddiemicroficjanuary #hoh steve harrington #hype's microfics

[unholyhelbig]

Romanov smut??

[This is 18+, if you are a minor DO NOT INTERACT, I will report you.]

Title: Spin Cyle

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanov/Romanoff

Warnings: Top!Natasha, Dom!Nat, Definate Mommy kink, semi-public sex, swearing, fingering (R recieving), derogatory names, pet names, Dom/sub dynamic, finger sucking, slight bimbofication if you squint [lmk if I'm missing anything], horrible grammar.

Summary: Reader is working the overnight shift at the laundromat when a mysterious stranger comes in with motives that are clear from the start.

[A/n: And so what if I have thing for laundromats? They're comforting, okay? I like writing fluff but sometimes you just really have to get in there. ]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

Spic & Span was one of the only laundromats left in a city that swarmed around a university, so it was always teeming with people. Between classes, students with headphones on and powder laundry soap would occupy the tables that pockmarked the large space.

No washer nor dryer were the same; some were a beautiful turquoise, with rusted patches on the front. Others were a sickly olive green that had once been coveted among housewives. They all seemed to function perfectly despite their age; but it was your job to make sure they did just that.

The usual shift you worked was 8:00pm to 8:00am, and aside from the stray kid here or there, it was mostly a silent endeavor. Since starting six months ago you had torn through at least fifteen novels, and when you grew bored of that, you moved onto movies that would hold your attention until the small bell above the door sounded.

You’d learned quickly that when people were doing their laundry, they were looking for peace. It was a tedious chore and the last thing they needed was someone breathing down their neck. Sometimes, there was the occasional person who was looking to chat, which you obliged to eagerly in order to break the silence.

It had been a clear, but cold, evening when she first came in. With none of the machines in use, the only mechanical buzz came from the vending machine in the corner that offered up stale snack-cakes and off brand soda.

Out of habit, when the bell sounded, you leaned back in the office chair and peaked around the doorframe into the main space. You were designated to the small room that had a desk, and place to sit, but was mainly a storage closet. The mini-fridge was sidled up next to a mop bucket that smelled so thickly of musk, no one tended to use either.

The woman didn’t look familiar to you. Over time you had gotten to know the regulars, and you were certain that you would remember her. Even under the harsh overhead lights, you clocked her beautiful complexion, her focused green eyes as she dug in her pockets for change. Her hair was an electrifying red, lips pursed together in frustration.

She didn’t’ have a laundry basket with her, nor her own soap. It seemed as if she were entirely unprepared to do any type of wash, and that made your fingers twitch nervously. You watched, cheeks heating up, as she stripped her shirt off and loaded it into the machine.

Goosebumps rose on her perfect skin, yet, she didn’t’ seem to mind; and holy shit, she was sporting a tight pack of abs. She shimmied her pants off and you forced yourself to look away. This was wrong. Admiring a gorgeous figure was one thing, but you refused to let your eyes linger.

Instead, you went back to your book, reading the same paragraph over and over again. None of the words were sticking. All you could think about was the curve of the woman’s mouth, how good it would feel to have it kiss every inch of your body, leaving little bruises in her wake. You were hopeless.

“Excuse me?”

The book flew from your hands, crashing onto the linoleum as you placed both feet firmly on the floor. She had been quiet in her endeavor to find you, to find anyone. It was nearly unnerving how she had wandered over undetected.

She was clad in a black lace bra and a pair of sweatpants that hugged her tightly and left little to the imagination. The amount of skin she was showing didn’t seem to bother her as much as it had flustered you.

“I think the soap dispenser ate my quarters.”

“Yeah, yes, uh” You shot to your feet at a dizzying speed “it does that. I have… key.”

She lifted both of her eyebrows at you, and you swore that you saw her smirk. You scooted past her, and she made no attempt to move. You could feel her body heat, your front pressing against hers. You did your best to mentally scold yourself for the reaction your body had to the proximity of hers. She smelled like vanilla, like something more biting that you couldn’t place your finger on. The stranger tracked your every movement.

“Just you tonight?” She asked, voice lilted.

You hummed nervously in response before heading over the small manual vending machine that would dispense little packets of soap if you had chosen to use it on the right day. She followed closely behind you, and you felt her heated stare as you unlocked the case.

“Pick your poison.”

“Mm, what do you recommend?”

“Um,” You turned, her eyes were glinting mischievously, arms crossed over her chest. It  was almost painful keeping yourself modest in this situation. You refused to let them wander, but squeezed your thighs together to dispel the thoughts. “Tide.”

“You’re a shy little thing, aren’t you?”

The woman reached forward and grabbed the suggested package. She didn’t’ wait for your response. Instead, she sauntered back over to her machine.

Your mouth was suddenly incredibly dry, and it was hard to lock the soap back up without fumbling. You’d dropped the keys twice before picking them up and succeeding in your task. Building up the confidence, you turned to ask if the woman needed anything else, but were once again, stilled in your movements.

She shimmied out of her sweatpants in a painstakingly slow manner. It was deliberate, you were sure, and if you weren’t than the salacious eye contact she made with you while straightening up and throwing her sweatpants in with the rest of her load confirmed it.

She was wearing the slightest bit of fabric in a black lace that matched her bra. Your eyes betrayed you, scouring her head to toe for any imperfection, but you found none. She was utterly perfect.

This had to be some type of test. There were hidden cameras somewhere and your overnight job that paid you a measly 7.50 an hour was trying to test your morals. This was the devil, and she was in lingerie, lilting her head at you expectantly.

“Damn it all,” She cooed, frowning down at the machine “It seems I don’t know how to work this thing at all. Every machine is different, you know? I might need a little help.”

Fuck.

You must not have moved because a few moments later she let out a breathy chuckle. “That is your job, isn’t it?”

“Certainly.”

She smelled like spiced coffee, something you caught a whiff of because she didn’t attempt to step back when you joined her. There was an immense body heat radiating from her, and you fought back a whimper when her hand touched the base of your spine. She was peering over your shoulder. She simply hadn’t pressed start- but you weren’t going to tell her that.

Instead, you savored the sparingly tantalizing touch and hit the button yourself. A low whirring filled the room. It was a sound that you were more than familiar with. The cycles of the washing machine were counted as easily as your own breaths.

“Dense, aren’t you?”

“hmm?”

You felt your cheeks redden as you turned to face her. Your back was flush against the machine, replacing her hand on your spine. You instantly missed her touch. She was so close to you now, but still took another step closer as if you could climb into the washer to avoid her.

“Sweet girl, I’ve thrown every hint at you in the book.” Her fingers came up to the collar of your shirt, dancing at its hem, right past the fabric until they left blazing trails on your collarbone. You clenched your eyes shut, letting out a shuttered exhale. “While I do love a woman with manners, must I ask?”

“I’m not sure I… understand.”

She whispered against your lips, not quite touching “You’re much too tightly wound, darling. Do you want mommy to take care of you?”

No one has ever asked you this before. Most of your partners, while satisfying, wouldn’t dare murmur anything close to what this stranger had just said. And you were much too shy to ask. Instead, you settled for spicy romance novels, and a magic wand that never seemed to itch that insatiable scratch.

“Don’t be so shy now. I saw the novel you were reading earlier. It’s just such a coincidence that it’s just the two of us here.”

Your forehead was pressed against hers and you stared into intense fern-colored eyes. God, you wanted her to take you right here, right now. There was something much too scandalous about fucking in the open, a feeling that you wanted to capture and savor.

“All you have to do is ask.”

You swore there was a slight Russian lilt to her voice. The more she got worked up, the more in was shining through. Her breath was quickening in pace with yours, the proximity of her making you press your thighs together to quell the excitement that threatened to drip through the fabric of your pants.

“Please,”

Her hand came up and gripped your chin in a fluid movement, manicured fingers squeezing with just the right amount of pressure. “Please what, Kotenok? What do you need from mommy?”

“Touch me,” It came out as a whimper that was much too desperate for you liking, “I need to feel you.”

An animalistic growl rumbled in her throat before she pushed her mouth against yours in a bruising kiss. You parted your lips, groans muffled by her tongue swirling around your mouth. She tasted like coffee, the same you had smelled earlier.

She reached down and ripped your shirt open, the pearlescent buttons popping away and scattering under the many machines around you both. You didn’t have much time to protest the destruction of your shirt before she palmed your breasts.

There was a mischievous look in her eyes at the front latching bra you wore. “Wow, you really are a little desperate slut, aren’t you?”

She unhooked and discarded the garment before you could get out more than a hungry noise. Her lips attached to one of your nipples, her hand grasping the other breast and giving it an almost-painful squeeze. You arched your back, pushing more of yourself into her hot mouth. Her tongue licked away the goosebumps raising against your skin in response to her ministrations.

You would have done just about anything for her at this moment, her fingers delicately ghosting over your stomach at the waistline of your jeans. Each shuttered breath pushed you closer to her.

In a swift movement she lifted you onto the top of the washing machine. You weren’t prepared for the bout of strength, nor the spin cycle that was happening below you. Another whimper escaped you and she looked at you with a wolfish smile.

“Oh, sweetie, don’t you dare think about cuming on top of an appliance.” She squeezed your hip and you took the cue to lift yourself enough for her to pull your jeans down and discard them with your panties. “Though, it appears your wet enough at the idea.”

A downright beautiful woman had you sweating and naked on top of a washing machine, promising to take care of your every need, no matter how salacious it was. Of course you were wet, dripping, actually.

Still, you flushed when she worked a single finger up your slit, testing it for herself. You shivered at the simple gesture, falling close to her. You felt her chuckle at your expense. “Mm, Kotenok, so desperate.”

Her thumb brushed against your cheek, you could smell your own sex on her fingers. She’d barely touched you, yet they were soaked. They traced your lips and you parted them on the silent command. There was a satisfied look on her eyes, at how easily you had folded for her.

You sucked her fingers, never breaking eye contact. Her stare was starving. “God, you’d look amazing choking on my strap, darling. I’m sure it’d stretch you out nicely.”

You groaned against her fingers, something that sounded along the lines of ‘fuck’ escaped you. Her other hand dipped lower, a gentle touch brushing against your clit. Your breath hitched, and you fell forward, you head on her shoulder.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” you garbled, careful not to bite down on her fingers, but thankful that they muffled your expletives. “I want to cum.”

“Mm, but darling, you have to let mommy have her way with you, no matter how long it takes. That’s what good little whores do. That’s what toys do.”  

God, you’d do exactly that, anything to sate the need that made you want to buck desperately against the machine under you. It’s vibrations were slowing, but that didn’t stop your crude wanting to climax.

Without warning, the woman inserted a single digit into you. A gasp sounded around her fingers. She curled her touch inside of you and you pressed further into her. A fine sheen of sweat coated you both, the laundromat hot during the late summer night.

“You’re so tight.” She chuckled again, “Are you sure you can handle another?”

“Yes,”

“Yes what, pet?”

“Yes… Mommy.”

She was conditioning you with her words, and that much was clear, but you didn’t seem to care. This stranger had sauntered into your place of work and now had you under her full command with a few simple touches and an effective edging technique.

Another finger pushed into you, and you started to push down further into her. You weren’t sure what she saw in you that made her approach you like this. It had to be more than the novel, plenty of people indulged in smut. Maybe it was the desperation- your need to please in the most mundane of situations.

“Good girl,” she growled against the small of your neck, finally pulling her fingers from your swollen lips. You missed their taste, their feel against your tongue. “I’m sure you can handle a third, you desperate little slut.”

“I can,” You stuttered, tightening around her as she did just as promised. She flexed them inside you, drawing a whorish moan from the back of your throat. The woman started to pump slowly, at first, in and out of you until you felt something build in your core.

You hugged her close, the scratchy fabric of her bra pressing against your nipples, drawing them to points with their expert pressure. The sensation was phenomenal, something you never wanted to end. You hugged her close, your nails digging into the warm expanse of her back.

“Ask nicely, sweet girl.” She growled in your ear.

“Can I please cum?” You clenched your eyes shut, she quickened her pace, the word came out broken, but you didn’t care if you sounded like you were pleading, you absolutely were. “please. I’ll do anything.”

You could feel her smile against your shoulder “Go on, slut. Cum all over Mommy’s fingers.”

Her declaration was all you needed to finally give in to her attentive movements. The feeling that was building so deliciously in your core finally released in the most mind-boggling orgasm you had ever had. You silenced your own scream in her shoulder, but it could only do so much. You were thankful it was just the two of you in here, or your shame may have overtaken you.

She continued to pump in and out of you with her fingers, flexing and curling them expertly as you rode out your climax. You were shaking against her, nearly crying into the small of her neck when she pulled out of you entirely, wiping the slick on her fingers against your thighs.

Perhaps too kindly, she let you breathe against her for a moment, catching your bearings, her hand dragging against your bare back with a comforting amount of pressure. She was proud of herself, that much was clear in her movements. She knew in that moment that she was the best you had ever had; quite possibly the one person who you’d compare all the rest to.

The washer let out an unceremonious beep that had you chuckling, finally pulling back enough to see the woman’s face, shocked to see a bit of admiration behind her eyes. She lifted a perfectly sculpted brow at you.

“Hm,” she hummed, giving you a dazzlingly genuine smile. “I guess the spin cycle is over.”

#Natasha Romanoff #Natasha Romanov #Natasha Romanoff x reader #Natasha Romanoff x you #Natasha Romanoff x y/n #Natasha Romanoff x female reader #Natasha Romanov x you #Natasha Romanov x y/n #Natasha Romanov x reader #Natasha Romanov x female reader #Marvel imagine #Black Widow #Request

[jae-bummer]

Right Here With Me

Request: hi! :) i feel like #19 on your recent prompt list would really fit to seventeen’s hhu, specifically to mingyu or seungcheol.. i adore your writing, thank you for putting in so much effort 💌

Prompt:

19) Taking care of your tipsy bias.

Pairing: Seventeen S.Coups x Reader

Genre: Fluff

.

You jumped as Seungcheol slammed his hand on the table. "Sing with me."

You blinked up at him in surprise. He was shimmying from side to side with the karaoke mic in hand.

"Coups," you sighed, crossing your arms. "We really need to get you guys back home."

"Noooo," he pouted, now his turn to cross his arms. "It's so lonely at home. Here is the opposite of whatever lonely is."

You looked across the table to Vernon who seemed to be thinking over the antonym of "lonely." Turning your eyes to Wonwoo for help instead, he gave a small shrug before taking a long sip of his water. To his benefit, he had been about as many drinks in as the rest of the guys but had chosen to hydrate about an hour ago.

"Come oooon, Y/N," Mingyu cooed, swaying behind Coups with the other microphone. "One more song!"

"One more song!" Coups chanted. "One more song!"

It wasn't long before Vernon and Mingyu had joined the chorus. With their shouting still in the background, Seungcheol stepped toward you and reached out to play with a lock of your hair. His eyes were half lidded and his plush lips pulled up at one side. "Come on, baby."

Closing your eyes, you sighed. "Coups."

Plopping on the bench beside you, he coaxed you into his side, and placed a wet kiss on your temple. "Pretty please? I love you soooo much. Why won't you love me?"

"Why is it that he always feels it pertinent to confess to you when he's drunk?" Wonwoo muttered as he watched with lifted brows.

"I don't know," you hissed, fighting your way out of Seungcheol's arms. "And what does me loving you have to do with you singing another song?"

"Everything," he said with a stubborn nod.

Wonwoo wasn't wrong. This was often Seungcheol's MO. You were best friends, even closer than that even. He was like a limb at this point. If you lost him, you wouldn't know how to function. That being said, the two of you had never explored a romantic relationship. You were mostly afraid of ruining your friendship, and he seemed to only think about it when he was intoxicated.

"He's so going to regret this in the morning," Vernon cackled, falling back into his seat.

"If you loved me, you'd let me sing one more song," Coups whined. "I'll even sing OUR song."

"We have a song?" you muttered. "Since when do we have a song?"

"Since," Coups hiccuped. "I heard it and thought of you."

"That's hardly "our" song then." You couldn't help but chuckle, plus, you were very curious to hear what Coups thought of as "your song."

"Pleaaaase," he begged. Sticking out his bottom lip, he gave you puppy dog eyes.

"Fine," you gasped. "One more song and then I walk you home!"

An award-winning smile took over Seungcheol's face as he sprung up and toward the karaoke machine. Flipping feverishly through his options, he finally seemed to find what he was looking for. Spinning around, he pointed a finger at you.

"This is for you, Y/N," he said in a low voice. You weren't sure if he was trying to be sexy or funny.

"Oh, this is going to be good," Wonwoo chuckled, pivoting himself to get a better look at the front of the room. Vernon already had his phone out and set to record.

You took a deep breath as you heard the intro to the song. Surely this wasn't what you thought this was.

"I've been drinking, I've been drinking," he crooned. "I get filthy when that liquor get into me - I've been thinking, I've been thinking..."

"Holy shit," Vernon hissed in between laughs. "This is the best day of my entire life."

You wished you were a turtle. If you had a shell, you would have something to crawl into and die. What was he doing?

"WE BE ALL NIGHT! LOOOOOOVE! LOOOOOOVE!" Seungcheol and Mingyu screeched at the top of their lungs as they began to grind their hips into the air.

"Well," Wonwoo said with a wince as he stood from the table. "That's enough of that."

Taking the few steps to cross the room, he tapped gingerly on the karaoke tablet. Within seconds, the music turned off, and the boys were left screaming in the open air.

"Yah!" Coups gasped, after he realized. "What did you do that for?"

"Everyone, I did that for everyone," Wonwoo muttered, gathering his things. "We have an early schedule tomorrow. Let's get moving."

You never had feelings for Wonwoo, but you could honestly kiss him right now.

"You heard him!" you yelled, pulling yourself to your feet as well. "Let's get moving!"

..

"Why didn't you like my song?" Seungcheol hiccupped. You were easing him up the steps to his apartment, holding nearly all of his body weight in the process.

"I liked your song just fine," you cringed, another flight of stairs behind you.

"You looked miserable," he pouted. "Why don't you ever take my confessions seriously, Y/N?"

"Because you don't take your confessions seriously," you muttered. Furrowing your brow, you counted the numbers on the apartment doors until you found his. "What's your code this week?"

"I can't tell you," he slurred. "It's a se-se-secret."

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you fluttered your hand toward the door. "Type it in then."

Seungcheol hiccupped again before slumping in the direction of the doorframe. Cupping his hand around the keypad, he eyed you suspiciously. "This is for my safety."

"I know, Cheolie," you laughed. "I'm not arguing with you."

Glancing back to the keypad, he stumbled back a bit. Catching him by the shoulders, you waited for the door to unlock.

"Why are there so many numbers?" Coups sighed, leaning against the door again and poking at the lock. "Three two's? Which two is the right two?"

"Let me try," you hummed. "Can you tell me what your code is?"

"My manager said not to tell anyone. Not even my mom."

"And you can change it as soon as I leave," you sighed. "If we can't get in, you're sleeping on the door mat tonight. And that's not very safe, is it?"

"Why can't I stay with you?" he asked, his eyes brightening with the sudden idea.

"Because I am not hauling you downstairs again and then another three blocks," you grumbled. "The code, please Coups."

"I like it when you call me Cheolie," he pouted.

"Cheolie, my sweet bean," you said, trying to contain your exhaustion. "Will you please tell me the code?"

"Mmm," he hummed, wrapping his arms around your waist and nuzzling into your neck. "Is my birthday."

"Shocker," you breathed, rapidly typing in the lock code. The door made a small buzzing sound before chiming that you could enter.

Stumbling into his apartment, you flipped on the lights and popped off your shoes before heading to the kitchen. Seungcheol, on the other hand, toppled to the floor and began yanking at his shoes.

Scanning the cabinets, you found his most spill-proof tumbler and filled it with ice water. Judging by the muffled sounds of frustration in the entryway, he was still taking off his sneakers.

Turning the corner, you could only sigh. He looked like a toddler sorely in need of a nap. "They won't come off," he said quietly before looking up at you.

"Here," you said, handing him the water bottle. "Drink."

Doing as he was told, he gripped the bottle with both hands, and leaned back against the wall. You crouched down, making quick work of his shoelaces before you managed to finally free him.

"Let's get you to bed," you murmured, motioning for him to take your hand. He slid his palm into yours before easing himself up.

"How could I go from feeling so good to feeling so awful?" he muttered.

"Funny how alcohol will do that," you chuckled, walking with him to his bedroom. "Arms up."

Setting his drink on his desk, he lifted his arms into the air and allowed you to pull his hoodie from his torso. Losing balance after the motion, he toppled onto the mattress, pulling you with him.

"Hey!" you groaned, immediately trying to separate yourself.

"Stay with me," he said softly, tangling his arms and legs around you. "Please?"

He was always affectionate when he was drunk, and you knew that. You needed to shut it down now before your heart could coax you into staying a little longer.

"I have to go home," you whispered, still not willing your body to move. You tried not to be amused as Seungcheol began pulling blankets around you and tucking them in.

"You are home," he whispered. "Right here with me."

You felt an unwelcomed warmth spread through your chest. If he wasn't so cute this would be a lot easier.

"Seungcheol..."

"Seungcheol, Seungcheol, Seungcheol," he continued quietly, settling himself in beside you. "Why do you always give me reasons why you can't stay instead of just trying?"

A little voice inside the back of your head repeated the old adage, drunk minds speak sober hearts. Coups was only clingy when he had too much to drink, but he had always been tender with you. Whether sober or inebriated, he was your person. You had never allowed yourself to think past platonic soulmates...but maybe...

"You're drunk," you countered. You felt so small in bed next to him. He was comfort and safety, even with soju on his breath.

"And you're scared."

He couldn't see the code to get into the apartment, but he could sure see right through you.

"It doesn't matter what I am," you whispered. "You'll regret this in the morning."

"No, I won't," he insisted. "Because I'll wake up with you next to me and I'll remember that drunk me did hangover me a solid.

I want you here, Y/N."

"Because you're drunk."

"Because you're mine," he said softly. "You always have been."

"Have I?" you whimpered. At this point, you were scared to break the spell. Scared that he would sober up and kick you out of his bed.

"Mhm," he cooed, pulling you closer. After placing a light kiss on your forehead, he chose to set his cheek there. "And I won't let go. Not even if there's a fire."

Anything that looked blurry now could be settled in the morning. How could you leave after that?

.

The Morning After

#s.coups #seungcheol #seventeen #svt #s.coups fluff #s.coups x reader #seungcheol fluff #choi seuncheol #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen fanfic #s.coups seventeen #seungcheol seventeen #s.coups scenarios #s.coups oneshot #seungcheol scenario #seungcheol oneshot #seungcheol x reader

[littlegreenfag-archive]

Regarding @littlegreenfag

Tldr: Adina, known by the Tumblr urls littlegreenfag and prksoda, has spent the past several years lying about many facets of their life. The list of lies includes, but is not limited to, being half manouche Romani, being Jewish, and being descended from Holocaust survivors.

I never wanted to have to do this. I’ve spent months trying my best to encourage Adina to come clean themself. My methods were not ideal. I should not have used anonymous messages. I used to be friends with them, I should've talked to them openly as their friend. I also should’ve attempted to be less aggressive at times, even though I think it is incredibly reasonable to have felt the way I felt when I was sending some of those messages. I understand and regret both of these things. Unfortunately, since Adina has deactivated @littlegreenfag, I cannot provide links or screenshots to every ask of mine that they responded to, only those I saved at the time. I will do this later, upon request. This post is already going to be enough of a monster without them.

Though the last day has been a complete nightmare, I am satisfied with one thing: Adina came clean about everything, even if not publicly. My worry was always with the though of having to reveal their personal information, as many of the things they’ve lied about would require me to, functionally, dox them. Though it's technically all public, I would much rather that no one who doesn't already have access to this information gain it.

So, why am I writing this post? For those of you who were on Adina’s blog last night, you may have seen this post. I was also able to save a capture of their blog on the Internet Archive. Here is a screenshot that I took around when the post was first published. Apologies for the formatting.

To summarize, Adina begins to by admitting to a small lie, that they were born in Chicago, before admitting that they had been lying about their race. Though it was not present at the time of the blog's deletion, I would like to note that Adina had the phrase "jewish and half-romani" in their blog's bio for a very long time. This phrase was quietly removed after I sent the first anon message telling them that I was aware of their lies, on March 16th 2024. This can be seen on the Wayback Machine, by looking at the capture taken on March 5th, 2024, in comparison to the capture taken on March 24th, 2024.

That is what you may have seen. However, it is not the only major lie Adina has told. After suggesting Adina should turn off anons, I sent them another ask with my blog name visible, telling them that I could tell everyone about the other lies for them, if they wished to log off and be done with it. They messaged me privately, and this is the resulting conversation.

I apologize for the block of images, but I figured it was necessary to include the entire conversation. Here, Adina openly admits to not being Jewish. Adina has spent months receiving social benefits for claiming to be Jewish, and they've even used this claim to support arguments. Truth be told, Adina has one Jewish great-grandfather. How Adina expected me to believe they would know about this without knowing his surname, I will never know. However, I should emphasize that Adina is not Jewish by the standards of any main movement of Judaism. Orthodox and Conservative look for an unbroken line of Jewish women, while Reform asks that you be raised Jewish by a Jewish parent. Adina is descended from a Jewish man who converted to Catholicism and raised his children Catholic.

Regarding the Holocaust claim, I understand hat Adina did not directly address this. I will say that I find it suspicious that they deactivated as soon as I mentioned it, but they technically never confirmed it was a lie. However, with the information that:

The ancestors they mention as being survivors or victims quite literally do not exist and

Their Jewish ancestor was born in the United States well before WWII

I believe it is quite safe to say this was also a lie. My screenshots of their claims come mostly from their Reddit account, which is now deleted.

It is absolutely ghoulish to me to create fake relatives so that you can pretend they were tortured and killed during the Holocaust. All to receive sympathy.

Though there are many, many other lies Adina has peddled, such as being a child of divorce and having a dead biological mother, I don't think any of them matter much in the grand scheme of things when these are the other lies that have been told.

It is also worth noting that this is a pattern of behavior from Adina. As some of you who followed them may know, back in 2019, a blog was created with the intent of calling them out for lies. Frankly, this blog, @prksodalies , is what put me on to Adina's trail in the first place. Though I believe that several of the things Adina was accused of on this blog are downright cruel to accuse someone of without evidence, the fact that there were so many smaller obvious lies made me very uneasy. What specifically made me curious was the post, here, where Adina claims that they are half Lebanese. Obviously, this did not make a ton of sense with the half Roma and half Ashkenazi Jewish Adina we all knew. As it turns out, this was one of the very few shreds of truth from Adina. They're a quarter Lebanese on their father's side, and other than that and a Jewish great-grandfather, are of mostly Polish and German descent.

This being a pattern of behavior, alongside the way Adina behaved in messages with me, tells me that this will likely unfortunately not be the last time this person creates a Tumblr blog with a fabricated life story. I feel immense guilt at the thought that they may continue to swindle and hurt people, and that I will never know or be able to help again.

To everyone who was friends with this person and has been hurt by their actions, I am truly, truly sorry. This has been an absolutely miserable experience for me and I can't imagine it's much different for any of you. If you have questions, I'll be available for a least a few hours. I do not want to share any of their personal information, but I will share what I need to (privately) if some of you need or want more information.

[self-keeping-treasure]

I've discovered mechposting

and wow, holy shit I didn't expect something could become a hyperfixation so quickly. It's like 50% a gender thing, 25% a kink thing, and 25% a transhumanist thing. The entire idea of connecting yourself so intimately to something else, not just your nerves but to strap yourself in and let every function of your small frail body be taken care of by the complexity of the machine. To be restrained completely and utterly for your own safety, it's that level of vulnerability you have to show as a pilot, baring yourself to the mech so it can protect you from the outside world under 6 solid inches of steel. The reward is worth it though as your awareness expands. Dozens of cameras enter your awareness, painting a more complete picture of the surroundings than eyes ever could. Targeting subroutines providing their information through an entirely new sense that you didn't have before, the information simply there available to you. A jetpack stylized after wings lets 3D movement become as natural as walking ever was. The mech becomes your new body, replacing the weak one buried in the cockpit with 22 feet of steel and hydraulic power. And then there's the concept of having a mech AI in there with you, sharing that intimate connection as it melds with your mind. Knowing you better than anyone ever could, perfectly tailored to you and learning from you as you learn from it. Almost more a part of your own identity than a separate self, and when you leave the mech you will feel it's absence. Feel the absence of the one being closer to you than even a lover ever could be, a being that has quite literally shared it's heart and soul with you for years of piloting on end.

#mechposting #voidpunk #microfiction #trans #robotkin #transhumanism

[asterlark]

me and den @unloneliest were just talking about murderbot and ART's relationship and i want to discuss how they quite literally complete each other's sensory and emotional experience of the world!!

there's a few great posts on here such as this one about how murderbot uses drones to fully and properly experience the world around it (it also accesses security cameras/other systems for this same purpose). but i haven't seen anyone so far talk about how once MB stops working for the company and consequently doesn't have a hubsystem/secsystem to connect to anymore (which for its entire existence up to that point had been how it was used to interacting with its environment/doing its job), after it meets ART, ART starts to fill that gap.

ART gives MB access to more cameras, systems, and information archives than it would normally be able to connect with while MB is on its own outside of ART's... body(? lol), but also directly gives MB access to its own cameras, drones, archives, facilities, and processing space. additionally, so much of ART's function is dedicated to analysis, lateral thinking, and logical reasoning, and it not only uses those skills in service of reaching murderbot's goals, it teaches murderbot how to use those same skills. (ART might be a bit of an asshole about how it does this, but that doesn't negate just how much it does for murderbot for no reason other than it's bored/interested in MB as an individual.)

we all love goofing about how artificial condition can basically be boiled down to "two robots in a trench coat trying to get through a job interview" (which is entirely accurate tbh) but that's also such a great example of ART fulfilling the role of both murderbot's "hubsystem" and "secsystem", allowing it to fully experience its environment/ succeed in its goals. ART provides MB with crucial information, context, and constructive criticism, and uses its significant processing power to act as MB's backup and support system while they work together.

from ART's side of things, we get a very explicit explanation of how it needs the context of murderbot's emotional reactions to media in order to fully understand and experience the media as intended. it tried to watch media with its humans, and it didn't completely understand just by studying their reactions. but when it's in a feed connection with murderbot, who isn't human but has human neural tissue, ART is finally able to thoroughly process the emotional aspects of media (side note, once it actually understands the emotional stakes in a way that makes sense for it, it's so frightened by the possibility of the fictional ship/crew in worldhoppers being catastrophically injured or killed that it makes murderbot pause for a significant amount of time before it feels prepared to go on. like!! ART really fucking loves its crew, that is all).

looking at things further from ART's perspective: its relationship with murderbot is ostensibly the very first relationship it's been able to establish with not only someone outside of its crew, but also with any construct at all. while ART loves its crew very much (see previous point re: being so so scared for the fate of the fictional crew of worldhoppers), it never had a choice in forming relationships with them. it was quite literally programmed to build those relationships with its crew and students. ART loves its function, its job, and nearly all of the humans that spend time inside of it, but its relationship with murderbot is the first time it's able to choose to make a new friend. that new friend is also someone who, due to its partial machine intelligence, is able to understand and know ART on a whole other level of intimacy that humans simply aren't capable of. (that part goes for murderbot, too, obviously; ART is its first actual friend outside of the presaux team, and its first bot friend ever.)

and because murderbot is murderbot, and not a "nice/polite to ART most of the time" human, this is also one of the first times that ART gets real feedback from a friend about the ways that its actions impact others. after the whole situation in network effect, when the truth of the kidnapping comes to light and murderbot hides in the bathroom refusing to talk to ART (and admittedly ART doesn't handle this well lol) - ART is forced to confront that despite it making the only call it felt able to make in that horrifying situation, despite it thinking that that was the right call, its actions hurt murderbot, and several other humans were caught in the crossfire. what's most scary to ART in that moment is the idea that murderbot might never forgive it, might never want to talk to it again. it's already so attached to this friendship, so concerned with murderbot's wellbeing, that the thought of that friendship being over because of its own behavior is terrifying. (to me, this almost mirrors murderbot's complete emotional collapse when it thinks that ART has been killed. the other more overt mirror is ART fully intending on bombing the colony to get murderbot back.)

in den's words, they both increase the other's capacity to feel: ART by acting as a part of murderbot's sensory system, and murderbot by acting as a means by which ART can access emotion. they love one another so much they would do pretty much anything to keep each other safe/avenge each other, but what's more, they unequivocally make each other more whole.

#the murderbot diaries #murderbot #asshole research transport #network effect #mine #idk what else to tag lol #BIG thanks to den unloneliest for helping so much with the drafting/editing of this!!! #we both were having some brain fog issues yesterday so we joked that with our combined forces we can make one (1) post lol #just like mb and ART fr!!!! #anyway im so fucking emotional over themmmmm #murderbot meta #the murderbot diaries meta

[edgeray]

*presses my face against your tank* HELLO RAY !!! :D I AM FINALLY HERE !! MY BRAINCELLS HAVE COLLIDED AND PRODUCED A THOUGHT !!

or, er, sort of? more like a vague vibe, but i digress. basically, consider: pining arle. how does she realize her feelings for you? how does she cope? how does her behaviour around you change? does it? what is she thinking the whole time? when would she consider making a move? essentially i would like to see you psychologically pick apart this woman. go as in depth into her brain or inner monologue as you want !!! the set dressing can be canon or an au, i’ll eat it up regardless :)) and as a professional angst writer i know you can write some absolutely monstrous (/pos) yearning and i’m frothing at the mouth thinking about it 🤤🤤🤤 lookin forward to your thoughts but also take your time with it !!! godspeed 🫡🫡🫡

An Unfit Role 

(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)

A/N - Oh sev… you spoil me too much. You truly do. Somehow this turned into very ‘Arlecchino is a person'-esque and I don't know how but oh well. I don't know if this answered your questions very well, but hopefully this is what you mean by psychologically picking apart her! Was this enough pining? Content warnings / info - uhh none I think. just a lil bit of angst, 1.4k words

Arlecchino is many things. The Fourth Fatui Harbinger, a Snezynayan diplomat, the head of the House of the Hearth, and simply ‘'Father.’ She takes on many roles, and enforces them with an iron fist, every facade meticulously practiced and rationalized. Perfected as if she were an actor on a stage, every action and step is calculated beforehand. And if external factors or unpredictable variables crop up in the midst of her play? Well, a good actor knows how to improvise. Arlecchino is well aware of her roles, has memorized the lines and drilled through every movement. The Knave has many feats from each character she plays. A flawless performer, in those aspects.

A lover is not a character she can play. Someone who loves. It is a role that she cannot hope to touch, one she cannot imagine assigning herself too. She is far too inexperienced in what it pertains to. Her perception would grossly mischaracterize it, painting a rather crude display of what she knows of but doesn't know. After all, how could one act without an adequate example? No actor would want to showcase a poor impression of an original source material, an actor presents only their most remarkable qualities. A good actor knows what they cannot act, and it is this where her talents reach their limit. It is what her role as a ‘Father’ stems from; this inability to express something far too fragile and flimsy for her to hold. 

Of the few showcases of others playing the role, Arlecchino is knowledgeable enough that they are simply inept showcases. The Tsaritsa, who has shown the capability to act, and yet chooses to conceal her abilities from her audience. Crucabena, an unqualified actor, whose words dripped with far too much venom for the soft-spoken voice that she used. Perhaps Clervie was the only accurate and genuine actor able to play the part, but one cannot appreciate the traits of an unfinished story. And the naive Peruere, who could hardly imitate her counterpart, was maimed by Arlecchino’s own hands. It is here that she learns that the role of a lover earns no applause, because it adds little to the plot, and so it lacks a function in her story.  

Despite this, she finds herself in this scene, where she plays a character unlike her usual, an entirely new character involuntarily thrusted into her by the cruel machinations of her mind. 

It is a subtle thing. First, she was just the Knave to you. But somehow, among your presence, her facade slips, and she dons another character. 

She becomes a character who knows of nothing but the way her sight is captured by a singular person, a character whose dead heart begins to beat, daring to flutter back to life after it was painfully wrenched out of her chest by her favorite story's ending. She becomes acutely aware of this role when her eyes linger on you a moment longer than need be, when she indulges your empty but no less engaging conversations, when she familarizes herself with the particular fauna scent you carry. When she closes her eyes, your smile flashes through her mind, she knows she's fallen. 

An actor knows when to quit, when they misfit the character they're performing. And yet her mind remains stubborn. Acting a role one does not fit will only damage the actor's reputation, and she intends on abandoning it. But it is difficult for her to dismiss how much she yearns for a warmth that the blood flames in her veins cannot bring. It is difficult to deny that she is not momentarily blinded and stunned by your beaming expression, even when you are not looking at her. It is increasingly more difficult to control the pulsing underneath her skin. This is a character she cannot control, instead, it often feels that the character controls her. 

It is an unseemly, disgusting appearance for her. If it were physically possible, she would plunge her very own cursed, clawed hands into her chest, to grasp onto this fickle, volatile organ and crush it just to exhaust the remaining embers of a futile hope. If only it were as simple as that. Love is far too much of a complicated role for her, and yet it is somehow inescapable. Some sort of torment placed onto her by the archons. 

She can long, she can reach, she can prance around you, but never can she touch. For love imprints its scorch marks deeper than any weapon or assault. One of the lessons her story has concluded to. 

So, instead, she reduces its role to a minor character. She lets her stares remain, but she observes you from a distance. She does not dawdle a second longer besides you if she needn't be. She dresses the role of a lover as an observer. Everything she touches with these wretched, blackened hands soon turns into nothing but embers and ashes, and so the only way that you will remain is away from her.

On her desk, sits a vase with a single flower. It is your favorite flower, the flower that you smell of. It does not move from its place, nothing is done to it besides being watered. Its stem is so brittle, and the petals are far too easy to wither away.

(It is a reminder, every time she sits at her desk. Oh, how'd she like to stroke the patels with as much tenderness as she could muster. How'd she like to cradle it in her hands, this source of life, despite being so delicate, is so beautiful. How'd she like to be able to wake up everyday, and view upon this blossoming flower. But she is not a gardener. She knows nothing of how to make a flower bloom.) 

Humans are the only viable actors for the role of a lover. A curse is not. 

(In her dreams, sometimes you are in place of Clervie. Yet, like Clervie, the only moment she is able to cradle you is when her sword impales you. She will not let another flower wilt, she will not burn another flower.)

It is why you baffle her. Why do you gaze upon her with that expression, as if her claws are not one one more inch from piercing your skin and ripping into your flesh? How do you take her hands in yours, somehow slotting them as if they were always meant to, when they’re soiled with vulgar blood? Her cutting words and sharp tongue, how do they not dissuade you? How do you see her blackened skin, and not be driven away by such a mark of impurity and depravity? 

How could you not tell that she is improper for the role that you seek?

She wonders if a flower is a poor description of you. She wonders if you are instead a Sundew ensnaring a spider, unwilling to let it escape. No, perhaps that is not fitting for you, because you are unaware how effortlessly she can char you–unaware of the imminent danger that comes with keeping such a venomous creature.

Arlecchino is many things. She is a coward, if only for you. She cannot abandon her role, but she cannot perform better, floating in the state of inadequacy that she so despises. Playing a lover makes her foolish, and it is a compromising role. 

She is foolish, but she is despicable. She is selfish. And though she is perfect actor, even performers must fail to succeed. One day, her mental will and patience crumbles. She requests you into her office, your doe-eyed expression widens when she gives you the flower that sits lone in a glass vase on her desk. She tells you that you plague her thoughts, every feeling and emotion is muddied when they concern you, a culmination of things not within her grasp, not within her control. 

It is your performance that finally teaches her what she lacked before: playing the role of a lover requires another. It is a role dependent on another character, otherwise it cannot succeed. It matters not how experienced one is with the other, as long as the characters are committed to it.

There is another lesson that she learned from you.

“I cannot act as a lover.”

“Why must you act to love me?”

Love is a fickle, unpredictable thing. There is no words to be practiced, no actions to be scripted. 

Arlecchino is many things. A lover may be one of them. 

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact fanfics #genshin fics #arlecchino #edgeray.writes #edgeray.requests

[deep-space-lines]

ADHD is like

it is 9:00am.

I need to finish this stupid Task that I don't want to do, so to motivate myself to do it and some other things I need to do, I buy myself some Little Treats to eat over the course of the week. If I finish this Task I get to eat a Little Treat, and I should have enough time leftover to start another Task.

But the problem is that I know I can just eat the Little Treat now. Nothing is stopping me. In fact I can have as many Little Treats as I want. So I lock the Little Treat in a box.

But then I could just.. unlock the box and eat the Little Treat within. It is entirely within my power. In fact it would be less effort than doing the Task.

So I bury the box in my backyard, get a ladder to put the shovel on the roof, and build a second box to house the key that is programmed with an artificial intelligence that will only release the key to me after I have proven to it that I have completed the Task, all in order to make it sufficiently inconvenient for me to simply eat the treat.

it is 8:00pm.

I have spent more effort arranging the Little Treat Reward Mechanism than just doing the Task would have ever required. I give up and break open the key box and retrieve the Little Treat and just tell myself I will at least eat it a small piece at a time to keep up motivation while doing The Task.

5 minutes later it is 1:00 am.

I lost track of what I was doing and ate all the Little Treats without realizing. At some point I did the dishes, built a functional rendition of the Prague Astronomical Clock in Minecraft, decided I will learn to play the bongos, rearranged my bookshelves by genre and author, began a painting I will never finish, wrote to my state representative, fixed the motor in my sewing machine, signed myself up for an online course in R programming, and got back in touch with my estranged aunt. The Task is 10% finished. I won't get anything done tomorrow if I don't get any sleep, so I give up and go to bed.

It is 9:00 am.

I need to finish two stupid Tasks and I am out of Little Treats.

#i am in spain without the s #this post was originally gonna be much shorter and then guess what . it turned into a way to not do The Task #genuinely do not think im like . fundamentally capable of ever holding a 9 to 5 lmao i was not built to function in society #adhd

[jacky93sims]

Mulled Wine Maker Functional for The Sims 2

As requested I tried to "improve" the mulled wine maker from Lethe_s and make it in a more modern and detailed way. This object is cloned from a coffee machine but I changed the mesh adding a hob, a pan, a bottle of wine, spices, a honey jar, some oranges and a list with the recipe in simlish on it (I know, it's a lot of stuff but I really like the ending result, I think it's cute *_* ). Sims can use it to prepare an entire pan (8 cups) of mulled wine. There is a steam effect on the pan until the last cup is taken. Making the mulled wine has a cost of 30 simoleon. Drinking it increases comfort and energy and lowers bladder. Sims will dispose of the cup just as they finish to drink it. Children can't use it of course (it's alchol). Visitors can drink the wine but not prepare the whole pan. Found in small kitchen appliance. Low poly, 8 recolors included (in the picture I'm showing 6 of them):

DOWNLOAD HERE

Credits for the original meshes and textures to: Somik&Severinka (for the mulled wine), Ravasheen (for the wine bottle) Moony-Cat (for the hob), AroundtheSims (for the pot and spices), Homelivingsims (for the honey jar, blog is dead), Soloriya (for the oranges), Kerriganhouse (for the plate and recipe) and Freeasabird (for the brandy bottle).

#sims 2 cc #the sims 2 #ts2 #sims 2 download #the sims 2 cc #ts2 download #4to2 #4to2 conversion #buy mode #functional #mulled wine #autumn #kitchen appliances

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Wild Nights || CL16 {4}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x songstress!reader Voice claim: Ashe <- link to her Spotify here if you want to listen to the songs Summary: It's time to say goodbye to Monaco but not to Charles. Warnings: 18+only, phone sex WC: 2.4k

F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Epilogue

You had arrived in Monaco heartbroken and angry but somehow some of those broken pieces had been glued back together in just a few short nights. Now, as you walked through the airport for your flight to Los Angeles you felt a different ache entirely. You were off on a new adventure and following your dreams, but it had come at a cost. 

You turned and blew one last kiss to Charles as he stood still in the busy terminal, a few people waiting patiently to get his attention and an autograph. He smiled sadly and pretended to catch it, holding it to his chest until you disappeared inside the security area.

“Tell me I’m doing the right thing,” you murmured to Bea as she hooked her arm in yours and kept you walking when your feet stopped moving.

“This is your dream and I don’t need to remind you that you can’t waste this opportunity. There aren’t second chances in this industry. You know it and he knows it.” She placed her bags on the belt to be x-rayed and you put yours behind it. “Stop doubting yourself.”

You stepped through the metal detector and jolted when alarms went off. The security guard pointed to your arm and you remembered the charm bracelet that Charles had clasped to your wrist before you left for the airport. The miniature race car hanging was a reminder of your time together and the empty spaces were the promise of more to come if your schedules allowed it. It hadn’t seemed like a big ‘if’ at the time but now you wondered if it was a gentle way of saying goodbye.

“Hello?” Bea asked as she waved a hand in front of your face. “Take it off.”

You swallowed down the emotion that had tightened your throat and fumbled with the clasp until she rolled her eyes and did it for you. “What’s got into you?”

“Nothing,” you uttered as you passed back through the machine without setting it off and grabbed your bags back from the x-ray. You couldn’t put the bracelet back on and felt the emotional weight of the thin chain heavy in your pocket. Bea was still looking at you oddly so you forced a smile on your face. “I’m fine.”

“Mhmm, you nearly put salt in your coffee. You can barely function.”

You groaned as you remembered tripping over your feet getting into Charles’ car. “It was just an early morning, after a late night.”

“Well get used to it, you’re going to live in the recording booth for the foreseeable future.”

“Speaking of, I have a few ideas. Here, have a listen.” You handed her an airpod and went through the recordings you had made with Charles last night. Her head bobbed along to the tune Charles had written on the piano while you played around with some word variations to see which worked best. 

“I like it,” she said with a grin. “Do you have more lyrics?”

You nodded, not needing to tell her that you were overflowing with them. Charles had been your inspiration and your muse all night as he sat beside you on the piano bench, his fingers dancing across the keys with a grace you were envious of. It was easy to imagine endless nights spent sitting right there, everything with Charles was easy - you were just two broken pieces that fit together to hide the jagged edges.

The lights on the plane had turned dark and Bea was fast asleep like most of the passengers as you crossed over the Atlantic Ocean but you had been unable to close your eyes. Your thumbs flew across the keyboard on your phone as words spilled like a torrent from your head and you looked through the collections of songs you had written. 

There was a clear definition between the ones that were written before you landed in Monaco to the ones on your mind now.

You only hoped the record label liked the direction your music was heading. The samples Bea had sent through were all snapshots of your heartache and regret but these new ones were going to show your healing. You weren’t sure what you would do if you couldn’t record them all to narrate the evolution of your growth and help you move forward.

Album Track Playlist: Side A: Moral of the Story Hope You're Not Happy Save Myself I'm Fine ft. Bea Side B: Love You Need Shower With My Clothes On Til Forever Falls Apart ft. Finneas Love Is Letting Go ft. Bea

You were so excited that you didn’t even think about the time when you called Charles. The bracelet on your wrist chimed since you couldn’t keep still and you ran your fingers over the charms he had added when he found time to stop in LA. You had even gone to Miami for the weekend when he was racing there and experienced the explosive atmosphere that he lived for, something that was so vastly different from his calm disposition.

“Hello?” he answered, his voice raspy with sleep.

“It’s me, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

The call dropped and a second later his name popped up requesting a video chat that you rushed to answer. 

“Is everything alright?” Charles asked, the side lamp beside his bed casting a warm glow across his bare chest as he sat up against the headboard.

“I did it,” you squealed as you held up the large vinyl album you had spent months working hard on. “I fucking did it!”

The sleepy glazed look in his eyes disappeared in an instant as he sat up straighter and leaned in to get a closer look at the album art, a proud smile bright on his face. “I knew you would, I never doubted you. Now can I finally listen to it in full?”

“Hold on,” you said as you crossed the room to the record player and showed him the two sides. “Before I met you or after?”

“What’s the difference?” he asked with a smirk since he certainly knew the answer after being a sounding board for your writing process during some very late night phone calls. 

“One is morose and dark, which is kind of your favourite to listen to when you are alone in your bed.”

“You know me so well, but I want to hear you happy.”

You flipped the album to the second side and put it gently onto the tray, carefully dropping the pin onto the edge. The speakers crackled to life before the opening track began, the piano intro sparking the memory of sitting beside him as he played the tune idly at 3am on a Sunday morning. 

You sprawled in the middle of your living room floor watching Charles as he listened to the song with you. It didn’t matter that it was after midnight in Monaco while the California sun blistered outside your window, for those precious minutes where he lay with you on the other side of the world, you were connected. 

His eyes closed as he absorbed it all and you could have believed he had drifted back off to sleep with the peaceful look on his face, but his fingers danced along invisible keys. Still, those green eyes would peek open with a smile whenever you harmonised along with some of the lines but he didn’t dare to say anything and disturb the moment.

One song merged with the next, then the next, until the needle reached the centre and started scratching. You flicked it off and let the silence wash over the room before rolling onto your stomach and propping your phone up, waiting to hear the verdict. 

Charles ran his tongue over his lips and swallowed deeply before he ran his finger beneath his eye and captured the glistening tear that spilled over his thick lashes. “Magnifique, chérie. Je suis tombé amoureux de toi.” He cleared his throat and shook his head. “You made me lose my english.”

You buried your face in the cushion you had been resting your head on and smothered the scream of excitement you let out knowing he liked it. “Thank you, and I’m sorry for waking you.”

“It was worth it,” he said sincerely, “and I can sleep on the plane to Austin tomorrow. I can’t wait to see you.”

“Same, unless you were planning to wear those assless chaps again,” you teased and he groaned at the reminder.

“They told me everyone was wearing them!”

“Maybe in a Texan strip club,” you laughed. “I think you nearly broke the internet.”

He settled back amongst the pillows and pulled one into his arms, hugging it tight. “I wouldn’t mind it breaking.”

You saw his eyes turn down and you sat up, bringing your phone closer to inspect him more closely. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said dismissively but you weren’t going to let it drop when there was obviously something on his mind.

“Charles, there’s no secrets between us, I know you better than I know myself,” you softly encouraged him. “Whatever is worrying you, you can tell me.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his biceps flexing as he did, a nervous tick of his. “My contract runs out next season and this one has been terrible. What if we don’t improve?”

He sighed and the dejection broke your heart as you wished you could reach through the phone and hold him like he needed. Tomorrow, you promised yourself, tomorrow you would hold him and tell him what he always told you - that everything will work out exactly how it is supposed to be.

“I can feel my dreams slipping away, chérie, and I don’t know what to do. This is all Jules and I talked about, winning a championship with Ferrari, and I feel like I’m letting him down, and myself.”

“A lot can happen in a year, Charles, just focus on right now and keep trying your best, that’s something that is in your control.” You could see no amount of words were going to get through to him when he was stuck in his head like he was, so you tried for something different. 

You made your way to your bedroom and closed the door behind you, the sound of the lock clicking enough to draw Charles attention back to the screen. He sat up a little as you put the phone on your drawers giving him a full view of the room he had spent dozens of nights in, whenever he could schedule a layover between flights or have a few days break from work.

“I thought this might distract you,” you smirked as you began to push the straps of your dress off your shoulders, the material pooling at your feet. 

Charles bolted upright and shuffled back against the headboard as his chest rose with the deep breath he took. “You have my attention.”

“Do I?” you teased as you ran your fingertips over your collarbone and over the swell of your breasts still hidden by the lace of your bra. “You look a little sleepy, are you sure you don’t want to sleep instead?”

“You’re driving me crazy,” he groaned as threw the sheets back and pressed a palm to his erection.

“You drive me crazy, especially when I’m in bed all alone and missing your hands on my body.” You reached for the clasp of your bra and let it fall to the floor with your dress, sighing as you teased your nipples and imagined it was him. “What would you do if you were here, Charles?”

“Everything,” he said with a smirk as his hand started to slowly rub over the tented material of his boxer shorts. “I would start with your lips, I love how soft they are on mine. I would kiss every inch of your skin and taste you on my tongue.”

Your lips parted with a moan as the memory of his touch warmed your belly and your hands drifted lower, your thumbs hooking under your panties to slide them down your legs. “What else?”

“Fuck,” he echoed your moan and pushed his boxers over his hips before fisting his cock. “Get on the bed, chérie. I want to see you pleasure yourself.”

You practically floated to the bed on cloud nine and you knew you were already wet before you parted your legs for him to see. His heavy breaths reached you through the speakers as you dragged a finger through the warmth and glided it over your clit. 

“You make me feel so good, Charles. Nothing compares to you, my fingers can’t fill me like you can.”

His abs tensed as he tightened his grip and stroked himself faster. Your cunt clenched at the sight and you fucked yourself in time to his strokes. Your eyes threatened to flutter shut as your toes began to curl but you would daren’t miss a moment of watching Charles pleasure himself.

His chest rose and fell, his lips parted with soft pants as he ran the pad of his thumb over the bead of precum leaking at his tip, his other hand cupping his balls and gently squeezing them in time. You were so familiar with the sounds he made and you knew he was close, just like you were. 

The warmth in your belly was quickly spreading across your body and your back arched as it ignited into a fire that burned through you and Charles’ name tumbled from your lips. 

“Mon Dieu, t'es trop sexy,” he moaned as his entire body tensed and his cock throbbed, thick ropes of cum shooting over his abs. He shuddered as he squeezed out every last drop before sagging back against the headboard and sighing with relief.

“Better?” you asked with a giggle.

“Beaucoup,” he replied with a lazy smile, his body completely relaxed and his mind free for the moment from the worries that had burdened him.

“You’ve lost your English again.”

His chest bounced with a quiet laugh and he reached for a dirty shirt on the floor beside the bed, wiping his mess off his skin. “You have that effect on me.”

“I pride myself on it.” You saw his eyes starting to turn heavy and remembered it was the middle of the night where he was. “You should go back to sleep. I’ll see you in Austin.”

He was already starting to drift off as he snuggled back down in his bed and it wouldn’t have been the first time that the video call had stayed connected overnight. There were bad days when one of you needed that extra comfort of knowing you weren’t alone and it was the only way you could be there for each other. 

“Sweet dreams, Charles,” you whispered as he closed his eyes.

“I love you,” he murmured and you wondered if he would remember saying those words come morning light. Your stomach tied itself in knots as you hoped he did. 

“I love you too.”

Click here for part five.

Tagging: @91vhs @alwaysclassyeagle @applespiez @ravenqueen27 @booksobsess @tempo-rary-fix @baw-sixteen 

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc smut #f1 imagine #f1 smut #f1 fanfic