Secret.

"Im very proud to admit the car is mega, but you still need someone to execute well"

‼️SAY ‼️IT ‼️LOUDER ‼️

Ares, my god.

If I could give you a name, I would call you Ares. In Ancient Greek ἀρή (are) means "ruin" and throng of battle. In fact, nobody likes you. They don't acknowledge you. They fear you and prattle on about your personality. They say that you are reckless, bloodthirsty and brutal.

But you are so soft and delicate with me. You treat me as if I am an angel. It seems as if you are a man who won't show this side to anyone other than me.

You are completely the opposite with me. Even in the very intimate circumstances you appear such a pliable, ductile man to me.

You give me what I couldn't receive from the very first man that I saw when I opened my eyes. The trust that was never given to me as good as one gets, since I met you, you returned that favour.

Your brutality and undying thirst for strife excites me. It's your dark side that makes my soul unholy to depart in the Paradise.

Perhaps it will end up in Hell, in the nether world. Somewhat I would find joy in thinking impiously and irreligiously about you every moment of my soul's stay in the lower world.

Could it be profane to be in love with such suave , well-proportioned and robust man? You are majestic, strong, virile and noble. It is not my fault. It's just what fate decided for me.

I love you, I adore you, I'm devoted to you and I'm deeply infatuated of you.

My lover, my Ares, I give you my heart, my body, my innocence and soul for you to use however and whenever you want.

To my lover.

-K.M

Sirop de Fraise

pur sucre

Oh, fraise. You make me feel unsteady with your saccharine juice.

And, why so? I haven't the faintest idea.

It is particularly strange to think that I might be attached to a red fruit. A tiny one, at that.

Fraise, strawberry, is my God. It crafts a welcoming juice into my mouth's sensitive parts. I feel its nectar flowing in my lips, tongue and palate. It graciously stains my lips, leaving behind a natural reddish color and finally making me more esthetically appealing to men's eyes.

Fraise, fragola, brings me to paradise. While the essence floods down my esophagus, my cheeks burn. Try guessing where my mind went to? I couldn't tell you.

Fraise, fresa, la reina de las frutas. Why do they call her that? In its composition, it is the only fruit in the world that has the seeds on the outside. And in addition, its intense fragrance and sweet taste make it irresistible. So, remember that you are savoring the queen of fruits. Does this make you a queen too? Well, it depends. Do you have seeds on the outside? My man used to have freckels for seeds. He had them everywhere. Even in his adam's apple.

Fragum, fragaria, Fragaria. Wild strawberries grew in the forests of France and Italy during ancient Roman times. They used to believe that the "fraga" were special fruit that had medicinal properties and used them to heal wounds or to make spells.

Erdbeere, strawberry, the first fruit to ripen in spring, making them a delightful harbinger of warmer days. My man, who loved munching on some strawberries, smelled of their fragrance. And he augmented my fertility. I was devoted to his seeds and sperm. It would surge in my insides, producing a new feeling in my head. We had unique offsprings. They were all made of love and strawberries. We took care of them and brought them up, nurtured them to be as lavish and eager as strawberries.

Be careful about the origins of your strawberries. Check out their provenience, because in sylvis proveniunt fungi, fraga, myrtilli et cetera.

Placentne tibi fraga?

‘The Godfather’ (1972) dir. Francis Ford Coppola

Michael Keaton, Bridget Fonda, Samuel L. Jackson, Robert De Niro and Pam Grier - Jackie Brown (1997)

Emily Brontë, from "Wuthering Heights," originally published in 1847

Yeah right, he fucking loves me.

im late to the game but this picture of mick has me feeling some type of way

our little teddy bear

lando norris x oc

words: 200

“I can’t look at her.” Lando comes in, holding your daughter out away from his body, face turned.

“Lando, what?” You question, instantly worried something is wrong.

“I can’t look at her!” He exclaims again, setting her down on the couch cushion next to you and backing away. “She’s too cute, if I look at her, I’m going to cry.”

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lando: (resigned sigh) kind of like a dog 😶😐