#and Chinese exhibitionist

[gabi-theladylover]

New GBends 'cause I find them silly

[macfrog]

ace sex on fire chapter six

this entire chapter is me making up for 1. the golfing line in chapter two, and 2. joel's entire experience of tlou2. naughty dog i'm waiting for ur response. 24 hours to reply

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel takes you on a day trip to go golfing. it turns out to be more fun than you expected

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) golf. idk what else to say. age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalanced power dynamic, more sugardaddy!joel, discussions of pregnancy + reader perhaps not wanting children, sort of possessive!joel?, praise kink, unprotected piv car sex, daddy kink, exhibitionist fantasy, creampie, more teasing + flirting, angst + pining, alcohol consumption, cursing

word count: 9.7k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

“Good girl. He there?” The image of Daniel flits across your vision, bright blue eyes trained on you. He looks…intrigued, and stunned. He’s not breaking his stare. “Mhm,” you say again, and start to lift off of Joel. “He watching?” “Y-eah,” you choke out, bouncing steadily. “Put on a show for ‘im, pretty girl. Show him what you do for me.”

The cab squeaks to a halt right outside the office, dropping you at the bottom of the concrete steps leading up to the revolving door. There are already bodies filtering in and out of the building, despite how early it is.

You thank the driver – Mick, you’ve come to learn. He seems to run this route on weekday mornings; it’s always him who shows up at your apartment when you can’t be bothered to walk to work, or miss the damn bus. Mick tosses a thumbs up over his shoulder and you swing out into the brilliant sun.

It’s Thursday. You’ve been home sixty-five hours, by your count. Joel gave you a couple days after landing stateside to catch up on sleep, readjust. He’d gone back to work Tuesday morning, though, 8AM sharp. Martha had text to ask where you were, and had sent six laughing emojis back when you replied with, How the fuck is he back already?

You make the climb up the steps, back to work, back to normality. It drags like a weight at your heels, the thought of returning to that gray office after three days wandering around picture-perfect, painted-pink Paris. After three days of Joel.

That split-open feeling, the cavity between your ribs – it’s sewn itself up since you got back to your own apartment, your own space. Since you showered a couple times, washed your clothes, started smelling like yourself again instead of Joel. Its sutures are made from the sound of the subway squealing to a halt, the smell of Chinese takeout from the place across the street.

But there’s a tiny piece of you, small enough to stay hidden from even yourself sometimes, that you know misses it. Misses…him. It only hurts when you touch it – the sewn-up scar, messy in your frantic attempts to close it up – it aches when you remember his hands on your waist whenever you wanted them there, his lips below your ear whenever you needed him.

As you approach the glass doors, you hear a whistle from behind, and turn to watch Joel slip out of his Rolls and jog up the steps. There’s a sports bag hanging from his left hand.

“Am I a dog?” you ask when he reaches you.

“It was an endearin’ whistle.”

“Very endearing. Don’t do it again.”

He nods once. “Yes, ma’am. Feelin’ awake yet?”

“Almost.” You follow him into the building, clicking along the polished marble floor at his side. “You didn’t waste any time getting back into the swing of things, I hear.”

You both nod good morning to the receptionists, and Joel hits the button to call the elevator.

“I’m an important man, baby,” he says, shrugging. “My job ain’t just answerin’ the phone ‘n making coffee.”

You scoff, slapping his back as he leads you through the sliding doors, which closer over and shut you both into your first moment of privacy in almost seventy hours. Joel immediately turns to face you, words behind his eyes that he can’t seem to sort into a coherent sentence.

In what you hear as an attempt to summarize, he says: “Back to reality.”

You brush the shoulders of his blazer, tug on his tie to straighten it. It’s the most you can bring yourself to do that doesn’t involve throwing yourself at him. There’s a throbbing right below your chest, like a magnet tugging you towards the man stood in front of you. Touching the padded shoulder of his suit will have to do. For now.

You lift your eyebrows, staring at the knot of his tie. “Yep.”

It’s pretty reductive, Back to reality. But then, what else is there to say? What else that wasn’t said between your bodies in Paris? A line was crossed there – you both went somewhere you can’t come back from so easily. And moving forward the way you had been before, seems equally as impossible.

There are eyes on you here. There are people who care to know what might be going on – whether they like it or not doesn’t matter. No more strutting out onto the terrace, running your hands all over one another, connecting skin and tongue in ways you wouldn’t have dreamt up two weeks ago.

No. This stays secret. A secret between you, Joel, and the French skies.

Joel places a hand on the small of your back as the elevator doors whip open. He ushers you out, and then, once in view of Martha’s desk, sidesteps to an appropriate distance.

“Welcome back,” your colleague greets you as you approach her desk. “Missed you, kid.”

You smile coyly. “Thanks,” you mumble. Guilt isn’t the easiest of emotions to hide.

Joel taps your arm gently and then nods towards his office. “Catch-up,” he says, and Martha rounds her desk to follow after him.

You drop your jacket and purse over the back of your chair and slip in behind them, leaning back on one of Joel’s leather couches with your arms crossed.

“Alright,” Martha sighs, “few things needing done this morning. First…”

You take a deep breath and slump down until your ass sits comfortably on the couch cushion, your knees draped over the arm, cradled inside your elbows.

Joel notices, and smirks to himself. He dials into his voicemail, hits a button, and a familiar voice echoes from his desk.

“Hey, Joel,” Drew’s voice says, “hope you enjoyed Paris ‘n aren’t still too hungover. I know what Jean-Marc’s like…”

Martha moves to the next bullet point, tilting her pad and tapping the tip of her pen to some messy scrawling you can’t read. You nod, eyes flitting up to watch Joel.

“Just wanted to check in and make sure you’re still good for later. S’posed to be a good day for it. Let me know if you need any help with directions. Alright. Looking forward to seeing you two soon. Cool.”

The machine cuts. Joel sits back in his chair, rests his heels on the wood in front of him. Black, shiny, ridiculously expensive shoes crossed over on top of a black, shiny, ridiculously expensive desk.

“…now, Ken needs to receive this as soon as possible, alright? I said I’d have it done by end of day yesterday – I did not, so I need you to –”

“Who’s you two?” you ask Joel, peering over Martha’s notepad.

He looks up, tossing a rubber band ball in his hands. “You ‘n me, darlin’.”

“I’m sorry,” Martha declares, “am I talking to myself–?”

You push her notepad out of your view, still staring at Joel. “What do you mean, you ‘n me?”

Martha drops her hands with a sigh. You repeat your question.

“Us,” Joel says, hint of irritation in his voice like you’re supposed to be in on something. “We’re goin’ golfing with him.”

“We’re going golfing?”

Martha, now exasperated, swings the pad under her bicep and crosses her arms over her chest, makes something of a growling noise. “You two are unbeliev…Are you listening to me?” she demands, clicking her fingers in front of you.

“No,” you reply simply, eyes locked on Joel’s.

His lips curve with a soft laugh. “You ain’t read your emails?” he asks.

Your head darts between him and Martha. Bewildered. “I was catching up on sleep, thank you very much,” you assert, nodding with finality at the blonde updo hovering over you.

You know she cares about you – at least enough to water your monstera deliciosa while you were gone – but Martha can be sharp; her outspokenness is something to admire and to fear, in one small five-foot-three frame.

She snorts, glancing over to Joel with a disbelieving shake of her head, but he doesn’t take her up on it. Just looks at her blankly and then turns back to you.

“We’re meeting Drew up at Aspen Heights. Few of his buddies are in town, he wanted to introduce ‘em to me.”

“And I’m coming – why?”

“Because he met you last week, musta liked you, ‘n he invited you.”

Your mouth opens to reply, some retort to bring into question the need for your presence at a fucking round of golf, when Joel and his words cut yours short in your throat.

“And I want you there with me.”

Martha raises her eyebrows when you look up at her. The thing is: this all seems very normal, from her perspective. You did such a good job at keeping Joel right in Paris, didn’t you? He made his flight there on time, he met with Jean-Marc without a hitch, and he was actually an hour early for his flight home.

That last part was because you’d woken up with the sun and couldn’t get back to sleep, so you woke him, too and…well. Kept each other busy until you physically couldn’t anymore. There wasn’t much point hanging around in the hotel suite when your cases were packed and your bodies were…fragile, so you left for the airport.

To her ignorant eyes – and bless her – this is all just networking. It’s you building work relationships, Joel at the helm overseeing everything and setting it all up for you. This is clear – that that’s all she thinks – when she says:

“He’s doin’ you a favor, sweetheart. You should go.”

“I don’t even have any golfing gear. I’m in suit trousers.” Your eyes trail down your black pinstripe pants, legs dangling from the arm of the couch.

“And you look fantastic,” Joel quips, though you know he’s half-serious, “but you do gotta find somethin’ more…” he waves a hand, “…golf.”

“Something more golf. That’s helpful.”

��Here,” he says, stretching into his back pocket. His hips lift from the seat of his chair, and your eyes land on the space just south of his belt buckle. He pulls his credit card from his wallet – the same one you could probably recite the numbers of by heart at this point – and holds it out. “Go grab somethin’ nice. My treat.”

My treat. Like he didn’t treat you all damn weekend.

You pull yourself up and take the card from his fingers.

“’n what about my list?” Martha asks.

Joel shrugs. “Ken can wait one more day. You got two hours,” he tells you, and then sits up straight, rubber band ball placed safely next to his Newton’s cradle. “I’ll have Rand take you.”

You follow Martha out of Joel’s office when his phone starts ringing and his head falls into his hands, letting you both know it’s not a call you want to be around to hear. As he lifts the handset, he lightly calls your name, and you exchange a sly smirk as you slip out the door.

Martha wanders off behind her own desk as you pull your purse over your shoulder. She loads her computer back up, chin lifting as she squints through her glasses at the screen.

“There’s a golf shop downtown,” she tells you, two index fingers tapping away on the keys. “Alan uses ‘em. Don’t think they’re too expensive, either. Wouldn’t know for sure, though, he spends so damn much anytime he’s in there.”

You watch her for a moment, nodding along. “Thanks, Martha.”

She holds up a finger as you walk past her desk toward the elevator. “Remember you still got my to-do list to tackle, so don’t be long!”

----------

Rand drops you on a quiet side street. He gives you his number, tells you to text him once you’re done, and the sleek black car rolls off.

On the corner sits Ace’s Pro Golf, a small, charming store, peeling wooden front painted fern green with golf-themed decals decorating the windows. You set off inside, passing under two transparent putters crossed over one another on the window above the door. An old brass bell rings out from overhead when you enter.

Its exterior is misleading. This store is huge. Overwhelmingly huge. Walls stacked with bags, clubs dangling from pegs. Baskets of balls and tees and other accessories dotted all over the creaky wooden floors, which are lined with racks upon racks of golfing clothes – shirts, trousers, dresses, skirts.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, edging towards the rails.

You slip between them, hand running along the multicolored choices, when your phone starts to ring, vibrating somewhere deep in your purse.

“Hey, Mom,” you mutter, slipping your cell between your cheek and your shoulder as you begin to search through the shirts in front of you.

“Hey, baby,” her voice sings to you. “Wasn’t expecting to catch you, thought you’d already be at work. Where you at?”

You sigh. “I’m shopping. Joel’s taking me golfing later.”

She almost chokes down the line. “Golfing?”

“Yeah. It’s this friend he went to school with, I met him at lunch last week. There’s a few of ‘em going, so he asked me along, too.”

“Nice guy. So, you’re shopping for an outfit?”

“Mhm.”

“Any…dress code?”

“Dress code?” You straighten up, switching the phone to your other ear. “Like, golfing gear? I dunno.”

She laughs. “Alright.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing! Nothing, baby.”

“Meant something, Mom. Tell me.”

“No, I just…” She sighs. “You’re sure this isn’t, like…It sounds an awful lot like a date. Like, you’re going on Joel’s arm.”

You’re silent. You suck in a deep breath, fixing an order of words in reply, when your mom cuts in again.

“I bet I’m way off. Forget I said anything.”

“Yeah, gross,” you refute, metal hangers squealing against the rail when you unfreeze. “No. Not a date. It’s, like, networking, or whatever.”

Mom snorts. “Right. Exactly.”

“Not – a date,” you repeat.

You’re relieved when she changes the subject. “Show me what you’re looking at.”

You huff, pulling the phone down and switching to FaceTime. In a second, your mom’s bright, swollen cheeks and ringlet curled hair are on the screen, and she flashes you a pearly smile.

“Was thinking maybe this…?” You angle the phone to show her a navy-blue polo shirt. “And then a white skirt?”

“Nah,” she cuts, and you flip your camera back to your face.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Too blue. You look better in neutrals. Try beige or brown. Boring colors, y’know? Blend into the walls.”

You hiss something she doesn’t need to hear under your breath and then follow it up with a slightly more polite, “Screw you.”

Her image on your screen shakes violently with how hard she laughs at herself. “I’m messing with you. You know you’ll look beautiful no matter what you choose. Wait a second, though – can you even golf?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever touched a golf club in my life.”

“Thought as much. Does Joel know you’re about to embarrass him like this?”

“He’s aware.”

“Please get him to take some videos. I gotta see this.”

“You know what,” you grumble, holding back your own laughter now, “I’m hanging up. You just solidified your place in the nursing home, you know that?”

She’s still laughing, words pushing through her cackles in desperate punches. “Wait, wait! I gotta tell you why I called you.”

“Alright, go. Thirty seconds.”

“Riley’s pregnant.”

Your face screws up. Lips curl upside down into a grimace. “Oof. Good…good for her…?”

Your mom throws her head back with a roar of laughter. “Be more enthusiastic about it. A little niece or nephew for you!”

“’s more like a…second cousin, or whatever. I bet Aunt Rose is over the moon.”

“She called me screaming this morning. I just thought you’d like to hear, being that you’re in a permanent state of baby fever.”

“Ha,” you state, blank expression never changing. It causes her to erupt into another fit of giggles. “That’s nice, I guess. For Riley. Tell her I said congrats.”

“I will. And I’ll leave out the part where you almost threw up. Alright, I’ll let you go. Good luck golfing. Come back with a hot millionaire boyfriend, maybe! Love you!”

“Yep. ‘kay. Love you. Love you, too – ‘kay – bye – bye, Mom.”

You hang up mid-laugh and her caramel cheeks disappear from the screen. You drop your phone back into your purse and slot the navy-blue polo under your arm, spinning to the rail behind you to find a skirt to go with it.

Riley, pregnant. That’s fucking insane. You two used to spend entire summers riding your bikes around your hometown, spending all of your allowance down at the mall. You swear you’re not old enough to have babies yet. Swear you’re not even old enough to be out of Mom’s house, living on your own in the city.

But then here you are, five years in, making a mental note to buy a baby gift for your cousin, on top of the pre-existing ones reminding you to message that girl who lived across the street when you were kids to say, Congrats on your engagement, and pick up a new home card for your two friends who are on their third mortgage.

Your mom finds it funny – always has. The instant repulsion you feel, the way you recoil whenever you’re asked about kids, about a partner, about a three-bed-two-bath in the suburbs with a big yard and good school nearby.

You don't think any of it's for you. And that’s fine, and every time you skate over the topic, your mom tells you it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s –

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

“Oh,” you snap out of your daydream, clutching a white skirt in your hands, “sorry. I’m sorry. No, I’m good, thanks. Sorry.”

The assistant smiles kindly and nods. Then he spins on his heel and waltzes off, disappearing behind a cardboard cutout of a golfer mid-swing.

It’s not lost on you, by the way – what your mom said. Sounds an awful lot like a date. You’d be lying if you said it hadn’t also crossed your mind. Joel, wanting you there with him. Giving you his card to buy somethin’ nice, which, after the last week, you translate roughly as: something I’ll like. Something he’ll see, and his second thought will be ripping it off your body.

His first thought will be what you’d look like taking it off for him.

And for that reason, you slip the short skirt under your arm beside the polo, and head across the store to find some more stuff to waste Joel’s money on.

----------

Rand pulls up by the curb a few yards down from Ace’s, where you’re sat on a bench enjoying an ice cream. He rolls the window down and lowers his black sunglasses.

“You bein’ paid for this?” he asks, grinning.

You nod, gleeful. “By the hour. Want an ice cream?”

He snorts when you hold Joel’s black card up between two fingers, tilting it in the sunlight. And then he puts the car in park, climbs out, and jaunts over to the ice cream cart by your bench.

He orders a three-scoop cone, and you nod in approval when he sits down alongside you, unbuttoning his suit jacket.

“Respect it,” you say, cheersing your own half-finished cone against his.

----------

When you get back to work, Joel’s already changed into a crisp, clean golfing outfit. It weakens your knees a little when you saunter into his office.

A long-sleeved, dark polo shirt that shows off every curve and flex of his toned arms, paired with gray, just-tight-enough trousers. And pristine white shoes so sharp and clean you’d swear he’d had them polished just for the occasion.

You ignore the way your head lightens at the sight of him and throw yourself into the chair to his right, white back from Ace’s falling between your ankles.

“Alright, Tom, thanks for lettin’ me know,” he says, arms folded, sat back against his desk. He leans back, places the phone back in its cradle, and looks you up and down. “Have fun?”

You shrug, leaning forward to pick a piece of lint from his thigh. “Didn’t know what to get for the most part, so there’s probably stuff I don’t need in there.”

He squints down at his cell phone. “Like, uh…Duke’s Scoops?”

You stare back at him, mirroring his cheeky smirk. Your leg swings, arms cross over your chest, covering the way your breath falters. He’s seen the transactions.

“You gonna grudge me three dollars on an ice cream, Miller?”

“Six fifty,” he mutters, glancing down at his phone again to double check. His tongue runs across his top lip. You want to replace it with yours. “So…that’s at least two ice creams, pretty girl.”

“It’s a hot day. Rand deserved something to cool down. We sat on a bench in the shade ‘n had a nice chat. He taught me how to swing. Verbally,” you add, when Joel’s eyebrows lift.

“Taught you how to swing,” he echoes, and you nod.

“Did you know he used to compete? Junior league?”

He pouts his bottom lip. “Mighta come up in the, what, fifteen years since I met him?”

You beam in reply, standing up and hooking your fingers through the string handles of your shopping bag. “I’m gonna go get changed now.”

“Could just get changed in the car on the way, ‘s a thirty-minute drive.”

You lean in close, eyes flitting over to Martha’s desk to make sure she’s not watching. Your lips brush softly against his ear. “I don’t wanna take any time away from other stuff we could get up to,” you murmur, and Joel’s hand locks around yours, attempting to pull you back as you skip off.

“Be right back,” you call, letting the door fall shut on his suggestive smirk, his tight trousers, and the hard bulge beneath them.

You return five minutes later in your getup. Joel has much the same reaction as you did with him, though he’s not half as good at hiding it. He sits upright in his chair, fingers tight around the armrests.

“Uhuh,” he says, eyes diving to your legs and then resurfacing somewhere around your chest. “Let me just –” he leans over to his phone, “– call Drew, let ‘im know we ain’t comin’…”

“Shut up,” you scoff. “Looks good, though, right?”

Joel’s eyes are still trained on your bare thighs, one crossed over the other. “Looks…better than good.”

You bat your eyelashes. “Still mad about the ice cream?”

“No, ma’am. Not mad at all.”

He stands, slinging both his bag and yours over his shoulder, and walks around his desk to meet you. You give him one final warning.

“You know I’ve never played golf before, right?”

“I know,” he affirms.

“So…bringing me is kinda pointless. I am not gonna bring anything worthwhile.”

“You in that outfit,” Joel mutters – and as he passes by, he makes sure to brush his swollen crotch up against your ass – “makes it worthwhile already.”

----------

Aspen Heights is a hundred and fifty-acre course, vibrant green fairways rolling over hilly land laid out like crinkles in a sheet of green felt. Rand drives slowly up to the clubhouse, gravel crackling under the tires of the Rolls as you and Joel lean over to stare at the landscape – the unkempt, sprawling wild plants guarding the pristine course, the bunkers like giant splotches of white paint on the grass.

You turn back and look to Joel, brows knitting in an expression which could be translated as amazement, could be intrigue, or could simply be: What the fuck are we doing here?

He mirrors it, shaking his head. And it makes you laugh.

“What?” he asks, smiling.

“You could buy this place, easy. Don’t act like you don’t fit in.”

“If you think I fit in here,” he grunts, getting out of the now parked car, “you think very highly of me, angel.”

He doesn’t deny that he could afford to buy it.

The clubhouse is…much the same. Huge, grand, surrounded by a wide-open porch and fronted by a dome-shaped room, paneled by windows that reflect the scene before them.

You follow Joel’s lead, climbing the steps to the double doors by his side, staying close enough that he can guide you with a bump of his arm against yours, but far enough apart that it doesn’t look like you’re showing up together.

Inside, you follow two smartly-dressed attendants through to a room finished in dark oak, shining wooden floors under bare-bulb light figures, a solid marble bar in the center and six perfectly symmetrical high tables surrounding it.

You glance nervously around the room. Drew’s stood over by the windows with three other men – a tan guy with a white baseball cap on, fluorescent orange polo buttoned up to his neck, a shorter guy with tight black curls, fiddling with the cap of a bottle of water, and finally, a guy with dark hair combed within an inch of its life into perfect place, shoulders almost ripping through his blue polo. He looks like he’s been copy-pasted straight from a magazine called Golf Weekly, or something.

Joel takes one step across a patterned rug and Drew notices you both. He breaks off from the group.

“Hey, man.” He grins at Joel and leans over to shake his hand – well, it’s more of that slap-hand thing. They slap each other’s palms, fingers lock, one quick shake of the wrists together, and then a nod of the head. You know?

Then he leans over to you, kisses your cheek. “Sorry it’s just us guys,” he says, hand on your arm. He looks over to the three men by the window, now looking out over the course and pointing. “My girlfriend was supposed to be joining us, but she got called in to work. You two woulda gotten along, you ‘n Rach.”

You smile warmly. “That’s okay. Thanks for asking me.”

“You play much?” Drew asks, leading you both over to the windows.

You shake your head and Joel breathes a laugh.

“Total beginner,” you admit.

Drew bats a hand. “We’ll show you the ropes. This is, uh, this is Steve,” he points to Fluorescent Orange, “Caleb,” Water Bottle holds his hand out to shake yours, “and that’s Daniel.”

Up close, Daniel’s handsome. Sharp jawline, shadowed by the beginnings of stubble, a dimple in the center of his chin. He steps forward, holding a hand out, and you take it. His palm engulfs yours and squeezes – soft but sure. And then you pull away.

The men all nod to Joel, who probably nods back from behind you, and then catches you gently in his arm, cradling it around your back out of view of the others.

“We’ll be getting started soon,” Drew says, “they’re just fixing up a few buggies for us.”

Joel nods, lets go of you, and crosses his arms. You knot your hands awkwardly at your waist. He stays right by your side, though, which you’re grateful for. The last thing you need is another Jean-Marc, some cloaked assistant swooping you off away from the comfort of Joel.

“How’s business, Joel? Drew was tellin’ us about some deal you’re tryna nail.”

Daniel’s eyes are sharp, cerulean blue drilling deep into the warm brown of Joel’s, which calmly stare back. He looks a little younger than Joel, maybe on the cusp of forty, only a few light strands of grey through his deep brown fringe. There’s no wedding ring on his finger. You don’t know why you’re even looking at that.

Joel doesn’t reveal much in the way of answers. Typical of him – or typical of the Joel he is to the rest of the world. “Yeah, ‘s good. Just takin’ my time, we’re workin’ on it.”

Daniel nods, maybe a little too enthusiastically. He crosses his arms, biceps bulging, and then rounds on you.

“You gotta be run off your feet, chasing after him all day, huh?”

You tilt your head toward Joel. “He keeps me busy, yeah.”

Daniel leans into you, laughter crooning from his lips. It wobbles you a little, forces you one step nearer Joel’s side. You smile back, as pleasant as you can muster the courage, and he eventually leans away.

Before he can ask another question, Drew’s calling you all over to the sliding patio doors. Daniel hops back a step, nods to you, and says, “After you.”

“Thanks, Dan,” Joel cuts, stepping into the space the blue-eyed man had left specifically for you, sweeping you off as he goes.

----------

There isn’t anything about golf that intrigues you. Not even remotely. You’ve never watched it, never wanted to play it – the most you’ve dabbled in it is minigolf, and even that became a fucking bore after two anniversary dates in a row there with Blake.

Still, you watch patiently and politely as the men take their shots one by one, starting with Drew, all the way through to Daniel, who gives his driver a quick shine with a gloved hand before stepping up. On your left, Joel scoffs quietly to himself.

Daniel swings back, and his biceps swell under the tight sleeves of his shirt. You watch as his arms follow through, sending the ball hurtling through the air and well past its three predecessors.

Joel nudges your elbow.

“Ow,” you mumble, running a hand over the skin.

He gives you a perplexed look. “I said, you can use my clubs. You in there?”

“Yeah,” you reply, a little too defensively. “Just…paying attention.”

“Hm.”

The men on your right groan as Daniel strides back over to join them, a satisfied grin across his face. Your eyes trace him as he leans on his driver, one white pant leg crossing over the other.

When you turn back to the tee box, Joel’s lifting his own club from his bag. His broad, muscled shoulders flex under the dark material of his shirt; his tall figure walks over to the tee, delicate fingers dancing along the handle of the club, and he clears his throat.

And suddenly, the memory of Daniel and his stupid biceps is dust in the wind.

Joel takes, like, half a practice swing. Doesn’t even have to aim, not really. Just pulls his arms back, sucks his waist in, and goes for it.

His ball lands a couple meters ahead of Daniel’s. And you wonder when the fuck golf became this sexy.

He turns back and runs his tongue over his top lip, breathing a little heavy. The sight drives you fucking insane for the second time today. And then he’s smiling at you, jerking his head in a gesture for you to join him.

You step forward, a little shy, a little hot, and wander mutely over to him.

“I got you,” he says, and reaches for your wrist.

You move to take the driver from his hand and Joel clicks his teeth, shaking his head.

“Said I got you,” he utters, and pulls your body into his, shelling around you. His beard scratches lightly against your ear.

“Joel,” you whisper, laughing nervously and tossing a quick glance back over to the men standing just feet away. Drew just said something apparently hilarious. Caleb gives him a solid whack on the shoulder and doubles over laughing. Steve’s watching a butterfly float by.

“They ain’t watchin’,” Joel says, curving his arms around yours and fixing your hands on the handle of the club. “s just you ‘n me.”

You wriggle under his grasp and feel the hum of laughter from his chest between your shoulders, the weight of his belt riding on your ass. Your cheeks heat when his chin rests on your collarbone.

“Alright,” he says, hands tightening around your own. “You’re gonna line it up, stand with your legs a little apart, little more…”

The toe of his shoe taps your heel and you widen your stance.

“Good girl,” he whispers. A pulse shakes through your body. “Now, on your backswing, you’re gonna want your left shoulder under your chin, ‘n your hands above your right shoulder. Yeah?”

“Got it,” you mumble, so unconvincing that it makes you laugh after you’ve said it.

He gives your waist a tiny squeeze and steps back, watching as you carefully lift the club and curve it around your shoulders. You hear him from behind.

“’attagirl. Keep your knees bent, you got it.”

You take one good swing, and hit the ball on your first try, but it’s…it’s bad, for sure. It’s pretty terrible. The ball lands on this side of the fairway, muddled in amongst the longer grass of the rough. But it’s your first ever shot – least not with colored balls and spinning windmills in the way – and so when you turn back to Joel with a huge beam across your lips, your expression is reflected in his.

“Good job!” he chuckles, stalking back over to you.

“Good job,” you echo with a laugh, handing him the club. You twist and hold your hand up to shield your eyes, staring down the course. “Look where it is, ‘n look where yours are.”

He glances back over to where your sad little ball sits. “We’ll get a few drinks down those guys,” he whispers, hand on your back. “See how good they are in a few holes’ time.”

----------

You’re back in the clubhouse after finishing the eighteenth hole on something of a high. Joel managed to worsen the accuracy of your competitors only so much – your end of the deal was to improve as the round went on, which you try to argue you technically did, given that you began to land your shots on the fairway around hole seven, but your argument is let down by Joel’s reminder that, on hole thirteen, he had to dig your ball out of the bunker for you.

“And I am eternally grateful to you for agreeing to never fucking talk about it again,” you say through gritted teeth, and he laughs.

“Last time, promise.”

Drew joins the pair of you at your table and slaps an arm down on Joel’s shoulder.

“Your round, asshole.”

Joel grumbles, gives your elbow a cursory tap, and slides off to the bar. Drew takes his seat, nudges your arm.

“I am impressed,” he tells you, slurring his words a little.

“Yeah?” you ask, and he nods. “I didn’t think I was so good.”

“Oh,” he shakes his head, “you weren’t. I meant I’m impressed you stuck it out.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you hiss.

He snorts, head bobbing with the alcohol bubbling in his blood. “I’m kidding. You were great, for your first time. I’m really glad you came.”

“Me, too,” you admit.

Drew opens his mouth to say something else when a clatter from across the clubhouse interrupts him. You turn at the same time to see a waiter on his ass at the other side of the room. His metal tray rattles against the wooden floor, flutes smashed in a pool of champagne by his side.

“Oh, shoot,” Drew mumbles, setting his glass down on the table.

You push off your stool, sliding your drink alongside his, but he motions for you to stay.

“I got it,” he says, palm lightly tapping your wrist. “I got it.”

He shuffles off to the waiter, now being helped to his feet by Caleb. The last you see is Drew bending to grab the silver tray, before he’s swept out of your view by –

“Poor guy,” Daniel muses, fist locked tight around a lager. He pulls Joel’s stool out and slips onto the cushion, elbow brushing against yours.

You readjust awkwardly in your own chair and pull on the hem of your skirt.

“So,” Daniel clears his throat, the bottom of his glass scraping along the wooden tabletop, “how’d you find your first round of golf?”

You smile politely. “Uh, good. Yeah. I wasn’t expecting to be much, but it wasn’t too scary.”

He chuckles. “Yeah? Think you’ll be back?”

Your shoulders jerk with a shrug. “Maybe.”

He nods and dives headfirst into some long ramble about golf – something about the time he brought his sister and her kids here and how much worse they were than you, so you should really be proud of yourself, and he’d love to see you around here again sometime – but you’re only half listening. You’re stealing glances over at the bar, hunting for a chiseled jawline and monochrome beard.

You spot him locked between Steve and some other guy in all black, waiting for the bartender to draw up his order of drinks. He’s nodding, saying words back to the pair, but keeping his eyes locked on you.

You give him half a smile, half a, There you are, what the hell’s taking you so long? Can you come the fuck back? and hope he reads the words across your face.

“…so, as long as you stick with what you know, it���s actually a really enjoyable game.”

Daniel stares at you blankly, waiting for a response.

“Sure, sure,” you answer, after too long a pause to convince him that you were listening. “Sorry,” you close your eyes and give your head a shake, “was just checking on that waiter.”

Daniel nods. Follows the trail of your eyeline across the room, and looks back to you. “So, uh,” he clears his throat nervously, “I know this place downtown – Italian, has this big open rooftop seating area. If you’re interested, I’d, uh…I’d love to take you, sometime.”

You stare at him for a few seconds, frozen. Like, actually convinced the air in your lungs has turned to ice, frozen. Your eyes probably look like they’re about to burst out of your head, your mouth stuck in a dumb O-shape as you search frantically for the words to form a reply.

He smiles awkwardly. Watches as you blink straight back at him.

“I…” you manage, after what feels like fucking hours. “…That’s – so nice, Daniel, I – really – I’m flattered. Um…”

He interrupts, and it’s like a cold flannel on an acid burn. “Oh, Jesus. I – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to – I’m sorry.”

“No,” you shake your head, suddenly animated, “no, listen. It’s – you’re –”

Daniel’s still apologizing. “Are you – sorry, I don’t mean to assume – are you and – you and Joel…?”

His head jerks. One eyebrow cocked. His fingers press into the table, making counter-rotating circles across the gleaming surface.

You stare from his hands to his face, open-mouthed. “N-no,” you tell him, with a single shake of your head. And then you realize he’s being serious. “No, no, we’re not – no, absolutely not. We’re just – friends.”

“Right,” he says, brows knitting. “It’s just – the guy hasn’t taken his eyes off you the entire time I’ve been sat here, so I just figured…maybe…”

You follow Daniel’s gaze across to the bar again, where Joel’s still standing, this time with Drew at his side. He’s mouthing Yeah, in reply to whatever Steve’s gabbing about, but not fucking listening to a word of it.

“No,” you say again, looking Joel dead in the eye. “We’re just friends.”

You turn to look back at the slick-haired man by your side, and he nods.

“But, uh,” you look into your glass, the ice suddenly more interesting than Daniel’s hopeful expression, “you’re a really nice guy, and I appreciate you asking, but I’m…not…exactly looking for anything right now. I’m – yeah.”

“Right – no, absolutely,” he says again, flustered. His fingers wrap tight around his glass and he shifts as if to stand. “That’s absolutely fine. I just thought I’d ask, y’know?”

He laughs nervously. You feel kinda guilty. He’s being so decent about it, and he means well, but you really just wish he would…fuck off.

He isn’t given the option.

Drew comes bounding over like a golden retriever and leans in to Daniel, another freshly poured pint swinging in his fist. “You’ve improved your game, Gilbert,” he sings in your suitor’s ear. “Must be years since the last time you scored an eagle!”

Daniel copies Drew’s guffawing, nodding along. He opens his mouth to say something, but Drew jumps ahead, offering to buy him a drink to celebrate.

“C’mon, my treat,” the blond tells him, and swaggers off towards the bar, a vice grip on the blue polo shirt.

The shadow of Joel slips around your back as soon as the two figures are out of view. He brushes against your shoulders and nudges his stool nearer to yours with his foot, before sitting back into it with a sigh.

You stare at him, smirking behind your hand, elbow resting on the arm of your chair. He catches your eye and watches you for a few seconds.

Sorry, he mouths eventually, and sneaks a hand onto your thigh.

You lean into him, feeling the weight of Daniel and his proposal and his fucking Italian restaurant fall like insignificant grains off sand off your shoulders. You trace a finger along the shape of Joel’s knuckles. “I feel bad,” you whisper.

“The hell for?” his voice asks, a deep rumble by your temple.

You shrug, looking up at him. “He’s a nice guy. He asked me on a date.”

“And did you want to go?”

Your face pulls into a wince, lips flinching. “Not really.”

“Then what’d I tell you about doin’ stuff you don’t want to?”

You don’t reply. Your mind sails back to that boat ride in Paris, when he basically told you off for feeling guilty about rejecting a fucking marriage proposal, never mind a downtown dinner. It doesn’t bear thinking about what fantastic rant he’s currently bottling up where Daniel’s feelings are concerned.

Joel’s a no-nonsense guy, you know this. Known it for as long as you’ve known him. He’s rational, he’s pragmatic. He says what he thinks, and you deal with however you feel about it. He doesn’t waste time making anyone feel better with lies or cushion-soft landings. His yes is yes and his no is no. And sure, maybe there’s something in there that you’d do well to adopt, too.

But there are inconsistencies to him that you can’t work out – yet. Something that makes him break his rules. He still hasn’t shared whatever the hell Jean-Marc said to him that made him sweep you off of that terrace minutes later. He won’t admit why he keeps dragging you along to these so-called ‘work’ events.

Part of you wants to break him open, chip away at him like the sculptures in the Louvre until his beating heart is in your hands, the rhythmic pulses sharing secrets like it’s speaking in Morse code.

And part of you – bigger, stronger, wiser – hopes you never get close.

When you come back to the room, sound of glasses clinking and men’s roaring laughter washing away any thoughts of jilted boyfriends or lonely golfers, Joel lowers his head to look you in the eye.

“You wanna go?”

You nod, scrunching your nose. “That okay?”

He leans in close, as close as he reckons he can get without drawing attention, and smiles softly. “You coulda asked to go home the minute we pulled up ‘n it woulda been okay. Let’s go.” And he takes your hand.

Drew’s slung over the shoulders of some argyle-patterned men who you’re sure have spent more time drinking than they have actually on the course. He’s lifting his glass, about to toast to life, or love, or fucking golf, when Joel sneaks by behind him, never letting go of your hand.

The Rolls Royce is sat in park at the bottom of the stone steps, hazard lights blinking. Joel holds the door open as you hop in under the twinkling ceiling.

“Well?” Rand asks, looking in the mirror. You respond with a toss of your head, squinting. “Did you keep your feet straight like I taught you?” he demands.

“Honestly, I was more focused on making sure I hit the ball, Rand.”

He snorts. “Office, Joel?”

“Office, Rand.”

As the partition closes, Joel’s hand comes up to cup the back of your head. You lean into it, tilting to look at him properly through eyes glazed with tiredness, alcohol, relief to be back in only his company.

And he’s staring back, eyes flitting from yours down to your mouth when you speak.

“Did you…did you send Drew over to get Daniel away from me?”

Joel’s eyes stay fixed on your lips. “You didn’t want me to do that?”

You ignore him. You want him to answer your question. “Did you?”

And then he looks up. Searches your eyes for a second, and then says, “Yeah.”

Your stare falls down into his lap. To his closed fist, resting on his thigh. His fingers are stroking the back of your head in lulling movements. You focus on the shine of his watch. And horror sets in.

“You wanted him to stay?” Joel asks, bringing you up for air for half a second.

You’re quiet when you reply. “…No. I didn’t want him anywhere near me.”

And that’s somehow scarier. That you didn’t want this decent, attractive-enough man around you. That the entire time he sat nipping your ear, your eyes, your hands, your heart was searching all over the room for Joel. Listening for the twang of his voice, looking for him out of your peripheral. Counting every second until he sauntered back to your side.

It’s rolling. The feeling. Like a snowball gaining speed down a mountain. Starts off a twinge, a plucking somewhere buried deep in your heart, and turns and turns and turns until it’s a weight behind your ribcage. Unable to burst free.

You take Joel’s wrist and move his hand to the curve of your thigh, then lock your fingers between his. He lets you. You lift your free hand to the cut of his jawline, training your fingers down his bristled beard, and he lets you do that, too. And when you pull his face down to meet yours, lips warm and wet and starving, he opens his mouth and slips his tongue past your teeth.

Your hands are knotting in his hair. You’re leaning back, trying to pull him down on top of you, but he’s stronger. His hands take a strong grip of your waist and hoist you over the center console and into his lap, your knees pressing into the soft leather either side of his hips.

“You gonna tell me what you’re up to, pretty girl?” he asks, tipping his head back. His shirt smells like his cologne. Fresh, sharp, clean. It sends your head spinning.

Your lips find his jawline and nip kisses and bites along the sharp ridge. He tastes like whiskey, tastes like the sun, tastes like he did four days ago. Sweet and smoky and laced with something intoxicating.

Joel sighs. His hands knead into your hips, and he pushes you down, grinding you into his body.

He’s hard. Already.

“Feels like you already know,” you mutter, still peppering his neck with kisses.

He laughs the cocky way he always does when you’re on this road, heading this way. His hands find your hair again and he pulls your head back, drawing a whine from your lips.

“You gonna take it like a good girl? Take daddy’s cock?”

“Mhm,” you mewl, rubbing your damp panties over the bulge in his pants.

Joel unzips his trousers and shifts the waistband loose. You move his hands and peel back the top of his boxers yourself, and he watches from under heavy lids as you take him in both hands.

“That’s – my girl,” he chokes, eyes following your pumping fists. His head tips back with a quiet groan.

You push yourself up, shuffle nearer to him until your cunt hovers over his cock, and pull your panties to the side. You’re fucking soaked, already wet enough that Joel’s thick head catches on the cusp of your entrance as you line him up, stealing a gasp from your lips.

You sink, slowly, letting him push through into your sex inch by inch, feeling yourself pull open around him. Your brows furrow, jaw falls wide at the white-hot feeling between your legs, and you look up to see your expression reflected in Joel’s.

His hands clutch at your hips. “So – fucking – tight,” he hums, eyes rolling.

You lock your knees and begin bouncing, resting your hands on top of Joel’s. You’re steadily picking up pace, each nudge of his tip against the edge of your pussy sending another spasm of stars across your quickly-blinding vision.

“Off,” Joel mumbles against your lips, fingers pinching the fabric of your shirt.

“Huh?” you ask back, looking down to where he’s already peeling it up your torso.

“Just the skirt,” he pants, desperate, “nothin’ else.”

You lift your arms and let him pull the polo from your body, tossing it onto the carpeted floor. Joel unhooks your bra and pulls the lace down, before he’s angling his hips up again, hitting you somewhere deep enough inside to steal the breath from your lungs.

And then his lips are on your naked chest, sinking into the valley between your breasts, kissing over to your nipple. His tongue flicks over and over until the bud is pointed, enough to take it between his lips and graze over it with his teeth.

Your thighs are burning. Your skirt sits bunched up on your hips, only just covering your ass as Joel’s hands press into the supple skin, lifting you effortlessly up and down. You melt into his touch, let him do the work for a few seconds as he sits back in his seat to watch your body on his.

“My good – girl,” he groans, voice thick with arousal. “You know how pretty you look right now?”

You hook your hand around his neck, draw him in a little nearer. Shake your head with a filthy smile on your lips. “Tell me.”

Joel laughs shakily. “Wanna – fuckin’ – show you off to everyone, babygirl.”

He’s kissing you slowly, his tongue pressed to yours, when you pull back and separate your lips. He’s planted a seed in your mind.

Joel’s hips stop moving immediately. “Y’okay?” he asks, light hand on the side of your head, keeping your eyes on him.

You nod, breathing heavy. “Mhm.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head, “just…”

You look down to your skirt, your bare thighs spread over Joel’s lap. The thought flips over and over in your head, unsure if it’s brave enough to trot down to your lips and show itself to Joel.

“Baby?”

It’s Joel, though. Same guy who bent you over his desk, same guy who fucked you senseless feet away from his flight attendants. Same guy who, a few days ago, you were in this exact position with: writhing in next to nothing on his lap.

Fuck it. Right?

“…want him to watch,” you say, in a small voice.

Joel’s expression doesn’t change, save for the way his eyes narrow. “Want who to watch?”

You look at him a beat longer, and it sinks in. He gets it.

“Yeah, babygirl? That what you want?”

“Mhm,” you reply, shifting with him when he starts moving his hips again. The car moves forward, pushing you closer into him. “Want him to – watch you fuck me.”

“Dirty girl. You want him to watch you cum for daddy, pretty girl?”

“Ye-ah,” you moan, Joel’s hands now pushing your waist down, the stretch of his cock deep inside you almost burning with pleasure.

“Yeah, you do,” he whispers, watching as your face pulls and your brows knit together.

“Only cum for you, daddy,” you whimper.

“I know, darlin’, I know. Close your eyes.”

By this point, Joel’s assured tone, his strong hands on your hips, his fucking length buried inside you, are enough to convince you. You just do as you’re fucking told – as soon as you’re fucking told.

Your eyes flutter closed, and you lean forward, hooking your chin over his shoulder and feeling him turn, his lips pressed close to your ear.

“Good girl. He there?”

The image of Daniel flits across your vision, bright blue eyes trained on you. He looks…intrigued, and stunned. He’s not breaking his stare.

“Mhm,” you say again, and start to lift off of Joel.

“He watching?”

“Y-eah,” you choke out, bouncing steadily.

“Put on a show for ‘im, pretty girl. Show him what you do for me.”

You focus on the feeling of Joel, cock fucking deep into you, nuzzling against your walls and splitting you open; the sound of his voice in your ear, gently encouraging, sweetly reassuring; the smell of him, the taste of him, the heat from his skin, and…the sight of the steel-blue stare behind your eyes. The tight polo shirt. The round biceps. Watching you.

Watching you be fucked by someone else. Watching you come undone for someone else. For the same guy whose stare he couldn’t shake while he so much as talked to you. Watching your face as it twists in filthy pleasure; listening to you make sounds, whisper words, whisper daddy in the ear of your fucking boss; have him whisper words back that make your cunt tighten around him and push the image of Daniel two steps back with shock.

“Tell me again, angel.” Joel’s voice starts to swipe Daniel away.

Your eyes peel open, the backseat of the Rolls a blur as you roll your head back. “What, daddy?” you whimper.

His hand takes your jaw, holds you in line with his own. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

You breathe a laugh. It pulls across your mouth two seconds later. “M-me.”

Joel mirrors your grin. His hips buck once. You cry out. “Yeah?”

“Uhuh,” you yelp, getting louder as he snaps up into you deeper, faster, harder.

You’re drawing around him, warm and wet, feeling him deep in your stomach as your movements become sloppy and staggered. Pleasure swirls like a whirlpool between your legs, tightening, tightening, tightening.

Joel’s face sharpens into your vision. His eyes are fixed on yours. You watch his lips shape the words good girl, before he pulls your foreheads together, noses flush against one another.

“’n who fucks it like this?” he asks into your mouth.

You take a deep breath, inhaling his question, and let a satisfied exhale carry your answer back out.

“Just y-you, daddy.”

And you both fall.

You rock back and forth as the feeling drowns you both; open-mouthed, silently screaming, eyes trained on one another as you ride out your high together.

You throw your head back, eyes losing focus just inches under the stars until they blur into little white halos. Your arms lift up to lean against the tiny dotted lights, steadying yourself.

Joel’s hands clamp around your waist, holding you down on his cock as he shoots hot ropes of cum deep inside you, mixing with your own and filling you up. Your name escapes his lips hand in hand with a deep, throaty moan.

You body aches. Your cunt throbs around him, still humming with pleasure as your body curls again, falling forward until your face is hidden in the crook of his neck. His hands run up and down your spine, lips press featherlight kisses to your ear, shhing, whispering praise, bringing you slowly back into the car with him.

“Daddy…” you whisper into the soft cotton of his shirt, and you feel the weight of his cheek on your head.

His hands cup your cheeks and he lifts your face until you’re staring at one another. Your eyes are tired, you can hardly keep them open, but Joel holds you upright.

“We gotta stop this,” he whispers, and your foreheads fall together again as you laugh. “I’m gettin’ too old for it, baby.”

He’s still buried deep inside, slowly softening, but you don’t want him to go. Not yet. He reaches for your bra, helps you slip it back on, and you bend back to take your shirt in two fingers.

When you’re dressed, you sink back into him.

Joel laughs, brushing the wisps of your hair disturbed by pulling your shirt over your head. “That what you were thinkin’ about? While he was talkin’ to you?”

You smile lazily. Shake your head no. “Was thinking…about you taking me to the Italian he was talking about.”

Joel’s smile grows bigger. Biggest you think you’ve ever seen him smile before. It breaks into a laugh, a toothy chuckle, and then he kisses you.

You melt into him, tongue and teeth crashing against one another. Joel’s open palms surf along your thighs, molding around your skin. He squeezes the dimpled skin on your hips between his fingers.

“Tonight work for you?” he asks, and you giggle.

“No,” you tell him, “I got Martha’s to-do list to work through.”

He nods knowingly, eyes closing. “You want a hand with it?”

You smirk. “Can we fool around in your office between items?”

His head tips back against the headrest with an obvious expression. “What do you think?”

The car slows to a stop and Rand’s knuckles rap against the glass of the partition. You slip off of Joel’s lap, fix yourselves quickly, and then amble off back to the top floor, still a little weak in the knees.

“Home time, Martha,” Joel calls almost as soon as the elevator doors pull open.

“Excuse me?” she yells back.

He laughs. “I’m lettin’ you go early. It ain’t fair that we get to go have our fun ‘n you’re stuck here ‘til five. Let us know what needs done, ‘n then you can get goin’.”

“Ain’t that chivalrous?” Martha beams, blinking at you.

You saunter by her with a smile and toss your bag under your desk. You spin around, brace yourself against the arms of your chair, and throw yourself back against the comfortable leather.

“So,” she announces, almost fucking skipping over to you with her trusty notepad back in her clutches. “I whittled it down to just six things, so it shouldn’t keep you much longer than five o’clock…”

You lift your brows and nod along.

“…as long as you don’t find anything to distract yourselves with, that is.”

----------

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[dullsaredoomed]

DOLLHouse Mafia uses multiple faces : DULLHouse Mafia, gross hypocrisy of Pierrot

In this post, we will meet this Pierrot again.

It is often said that psychopaths do not know human emotions.

And DULLHouse Mafia, these Zombies don't really understand what emoji means.

Chatting is simple, but has limitations to express feelings.

Many meanings can be misunderstood.

All symbols must be used properly.

When you use emoji, when asked why, you'd better answer that why you used that emoji.

When I asked what is that mean, they just ran away and secretly contacted Pierrot to distort the truth.

They hid their own rudeness. That's why they can't have any honor.

But... Why they ran away...?

THEY RAN AWAY BECAUSE THEY USED THAT EMOJI FOR BAD MEANING

Or… it could be Pierrot who did that to me.

You know, you can sign up Telegram with many fake numbers.

EVEN under-human-IQ Pierrot can too.

If that's true, it makes sense why Pierrot did everything in so hurry.

I gave them a chance to explain but they just ran away.

LOSERS are always running. That's what LOSERS do.

Like this way...

They don't know how to use facial expressions.

These crazy Zombies simply do that if they don't like it when someone "fact check"s them.

They hate ANY FACTS, because they are trash in their actual life.

They don't even apologize for it after acting very rudely.

It is obvious that their Parent Zombies didn't educated them, or their Parent Zombies are already in jail or somewhere.

Even if Humans are unpleasant, Zombies are fine.

And then they come back to completely different face.

One more thing.

You can definitely understand by looking at some crazy Zombie's bio. (I still have something to say about this Zombie more)

The Zombie wrote in the Bio she(The zombie disclosed her name and face, so you can recognize the Zombie is a female) likes the certain country, but this Zombie leaked dozens of Chinese CCs in this April, and that of one creator.

But one thing is, the creator had set up a 'national copyright' on their CCs.

The last line is 'People's Republic of China' and It means that the CCs are authorized by the nation. And the CC creator added this line on their post.

我的所有作品都已申请版权 (…) 不信的可以试试

What is that mean?

The creator said "I have the copyright of this product, … if you don't believe it, TRY IT".

The Zombies are illiterate, so they can be brave. Before I tell them something, they blocked me.

Ignorant barbarians are generally brave from ancient time.

And the TOP of it? the Zombie disclosed her social network ID carelessly. The social network was WECHAT, One of the famous Chinese social network service. This exhibitionist trait will ruin her own life. In the worst case scenario, the Zombie may be deported or denied entry. Or, will have some penalties. 'copyright infringement' is heavier than we think.

Generally, If you LIKE something, you should respect its right, preserve and protect.

But if the DULLHouse Zombies LIKE something, they will spoil it, steal it, and spray it indiscriminately. This will work in their real life too.

But it's... JUST ZOMBIES. Right?

We are certainly sure, that DULLHouse Zombies use different grammar against ordinary Humans.

Let's get back to Pierrot issue.

This crazy Pierrot doesn't usually chat much, or simply do bot-like chat but he/she/they started to be excessively nice to other zombies these days.

And said like this today for example:

Pierrot : Let~me~DM~You~so~I~can~see~what~the~issue~is~♬

Aww... Gross. YOU ARE BEING VERY KIND ZOMBIE, PIERROT.

What the fuck has happened to Pierrot?… LOL

You should do same way to others as you did it to me.

Pierrot suddenly says in nice way and will send DM kindly…?

But NOBODY could imagine what they can in DMs.

Like any lower lives do, Pierrot only moves when He/She/(they) is(are) criticized or whipped.

That lower life makes them to rely on donation.

Be careful, if the virus spreads to that little head, they'll turn around. Their second, third or multiple faces will show up.

Like this way, this Pierrot could do rampages to his own friends, family and lover. Or this Pierrot may even kill them.

I think Pierrot can't have a family or lover, so he can run the stupid channel 24/7.

P.S.

After the dirty atrocities, the-Mod-Zombies in that beggar group started pretending to be good Zombies altogether.

In normal days, they were just lying down and opening their mouths waiting for a CC drop.

Actually, they don't do chats, but THEY ARE NOW.

For example, some female-type Zombie named like Yeti-boop-boop-gulf(I will not remember their real nicknames) is being unnaturally kind now.

Maybe this Zombie is not a female. Could be a shemale or something judging by their facial structure.

Now I see…

They are really feeling sorry to me.

When Zombies do what they usually don't, there must have been some enlightening in their tiny brains.

[stingchronicity]

a little known fact abt me is that i used to attend a hindu temple

[onyourhyuck]

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐊ᵃ𝐫𝐦𝐚. | Season 2

synopsis; park areum is a journalist who happens to get her life involved with the mafia leader war and havoc, lee jeno. areum’s brother was kidnapped by the japanese mafia na yuta and areum was able to successfully get jisung back— however with a price that she betrays lee jeno by selling out important information of his base whereabouts. it’s been a year ever since that day and areum happens to get involved in the mafia world again.

warning: mafia au/theme, thriller, action, romance, smut!!, lots of fighting here and mentions of blood, park areum is a bad bitch ykyk, dreamies are here for plot, love triangle!!!!, angst.. massive angst, death mentions of characters, alcohol mention, guns mention, switch!areum, switch Jeno!, rough kissing, gripping, degrading, praising, love scenes, unprotected seggs [wrap your willys sons pls, use it 😃], slowburn romance, prepare for a long ass ride.JEALOUSY, Exhibitionist scenes (almost caught etc) semi public scenes with sexual tension. PLOT TWISTS AND CLIFFHANGERS <3 THIS IS SEASON 2, CHECK SEASON 1 OUT BEFORE READING THIS SEASON PLSSSS.

PART 12 / 25. PART 13 LINK.

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striking light of guns being shot in the warehouse, constant rushed footsteps overlapping each other, yells of dead fallen soldiers and innocent life’s being took…

jaemin hates to see it. the lives he took will eventually eat him up where there will be no going back for him. he knew that hell had a special place reserved just for him.

renjun quickly slides down the pole on the side, lifting the entire body mass and weight to curve to the edge, where his right dominating leg powerfully hits the japanese mafia soldier pointing gun at jaemin from behind. the japanese soldier yelled in surprise of the coming harsh kick from renjun, jaemin turning around in shock.

that was close. the japanese soldier falling off the edge into the middle pit, squashed, beaten and stamped over by the korean and japanese mafia fighting to the death and to live.

jaemin looking at Renjun, giving him a righteous path. “thanks injun. Did not see that one coming.”

the Chinese scoldingly glared at jaemin but nodded. “be more aware next time. we need you the most.” renjun admitted before leaving. jaemin glancing down reloading the gun.

‘come out yuta, you’re the one who needs to die in order to stop this war.’ jaemin spat.

“boss! boss!” haechan runs towards the taller male with a serious expression. “we overtook the best soldiers he sent, however the bastard yuta didn’t come along. we have the other soldiers hand cuffed to the front lines, waiting for the police to come.”

“areum contacted the information and roots to this whole building already, we need to leave now before they arrest us too.” haechan continued as jaemin nodded, no mater if the Korean police are also against the japanese, they will eventually be against them too; the police are not people you should trust.

especially if you’re a mafia. it’s a doomed friendship from the start.

“okay, gather renjun’s tropes and your tropes back to the base safely, take the wounded too.” jaemin pauses, saddened expression to the half dead soldiers on their side. “we can’t leave our wounded brothers when they sacrificed so much for us already.”

Haechan understood what he meant, the group aren’t like the other mafias that stereotypically do illegal work and cause violence. yes, jeno lead them with violence and with an iron fist but this was against the bad mafia groups who hurt others for the fun of it. jeno strongly wanted to do the right thing by using violence back, but now, if only he were alive he would’ve changed his ways.

park areum was the sole reason for this transformation. the woman did not only change jeno but she possibly changed everyone in the mafia. haechan gained a best friend for life out of the change along with maturity, he was able to become sensitive and show it. renjun wasn’t okay with allowing women in the training, he had strong values of them being weak— but when areum joined he was quickly proven wrong. he holds admiration for the journalist. jaemin learned to love again, haunted and trapped by his ghost ex lover, he was finally able to love and be happy with life.

she holds everyone accountable for their happiness. every soldier under jeno wants to protect areum, not just because she’s with his child now, but because they all look up to her as a role model.

the police were quicker than they thought, rushing from the entrance of the front as the tropes escaped to the back door entrance, hopping into the cars. detective baekhyun and detective chanyeol screaming with their guns aimed in the echoing warehouse. “it’s the police get on the flo- holy shit they’re escaping out the back door, go get them!” baekhyun ordering the men behind him to start chasing cars honestly.

chanyeol dropping the weapon once the men have been handcuffed on the floor with their ankles tied too. he sighs, “man we’re late again! fuck.”

Baekhyun rubs the back of the head, embarrassed. “why do i think our badge means nothing when the mafia are better at arresting than us? are they looking down at us?” baekhyun said again in disbelief.

were they being underestimated? perhaps…

areum pushes the laptop away as she munches on the donuts on the side with tea, renjun really hooked her on sweet pregnancy tea, somehow it enhanced the taste buds to her cravings.

it’s been a few weeks ever since the news of jeno being dead.

she won’t lie, it really did effect her but also the mafia group itself. jaemin was overworked and determined to find yuta, he was practically sniffing him out like a dog ready to bark and chew more than it can handle. areum helping out with gathering the morse codes and secret locations, as of right now she found five of their locations in the span of the few weeks.

jaemin and haechan were just as impressed as she was with herself because apparently, finding out japanese riddles and morse code was easy to areum! the woman carries knowledge in her blood at this point.

haechan swore that the pregnancy made her smarter. on the other hand, jisung was able to take a liking to renjun and kun, jaemin was also quite obsessed with jisung due to the cuteness he projected.

jisung taking gun lessons and how to shoot, it was kinda like call of duty for him but make it real life.

arriving back home the tropes were quick to scatter themselves around; some people went immediately to find themselves water bottles that were prepared by the people who did not go out to fight today, the soldiers that stayed in the base prepared food and water in the middle. kun was also there with medical equipment for the people that were unfortunate today.

jaemin seeing areum helping out with the soldiers water and food now, he approached forward with a tired smile.

areum smiles back, passing the water bottle and large cup of warm spicy noodles and chopsticks with side dishes on the side. “eat up. today was a success.”

jaemin takes the bottle and noddles, sitting down on the chair. clothes roughed up, hair messed up as well, blood on the sleeves and dirty hands. but he ate anyways, they were starving. dirty hands were the least on their mind right now. “not entirely success. yuta wasn’t there, so he survived yet another day.”

he sounded bitter, areum’s lips falling. he was right. but no one died on their side today. she sits nearby jaemin, watching the man eat the noddles finally. Haechan joining areum’s side.

“hey, did you eat?” hyuck spoke upbeat, dancing around as he chews on the noddles. nothing makes life more better than eating spicy noodles after fighting in the war. “i ate nonstop as i helped you guys. i was able to check everyone’s cameras attached to their clothes as well as the vitals of our team. no one died, only massive injuries.”

“i know, you were great help. thank you.” hyuck chuckled. jaemin sighs, “i did say not to get involved anymore but even my words didn’t stop you.”

areum shrugs. “you should know me by now, when did words ever stop me?” she’d cheekily say and jaemin grins, she was right. jisung came down running the large stairs, skipping as he then stole the warm new noodle box next to haechan.

the tan boy looks over seeing the boy eat heavily, “yah…park jisung…that’s my second batch of food.” he points out, jisung pulls away chewing and swallowing before replying.

“hyung just make new one later.” jisung simply told, haechan’s jaw dropping, sarcasm leaking out the tone. “yeah thanks so much, you solved my problem park jisung!”

areum glares at the two boys, scowling. “can you not argue at least for one day?”

jaemin shaking the head. “i think we found the new Tom and jerry.” he pointed out as hyucksung kept on bickering in their own world.

areum turns around to the boy, brushing down jaemin’s hair. the man felt quite safe around her so he didn’t bother flinching or moving away in surprise, allowing her fingers to lightly pat the hair down as he kept on eating. stomach going full in a minute.

“areum,” his dark voice trails. “i have favour to ask of you.” he’d tell. areum raising eyes as she nods, “yeah?”

he puts the empty cup down, sipping from the water bottle before turning his entire attention to the journalist next to him. admiring the beautiful face he’s met with. “why don’t you go back to the cabin for a little bit? it might help you relax and stay in jeno’s presence more. i just, don’t want you stressed with police and mafia world. i need you away for a little. can you do that for me?”

the cabin was something areum rather avoided— not because she hated the place, she absolutely loves the cabin. it holds so many fun memories of her and jeno, it was the day they really started clicking emotionally and making them understand each other. but areum is scared that she will break down when she goes inside the cabin, only thing she will be reminded of is jeno itself.

she doesn’t know how to deal with this emotional and physical pain absence of the man, in fact, the only thing areum does to avoid feeling the reality is by working.

jaemin saw the uncertain expression falling, he was quick to gently hold areum’s hands in his. hiss like breathe coming out, deeply resting the forehead onto areum’s shoulder. areum was silent, but she was thinking about it. “i know this might be hard for you but..”

“i’ll do it.” areum mutters catching jaemin out midway, he pulls away with wide eyes. “you mean it?” he trails, areum nodding slowly.

“the bed sheets are losing his scent, they only smell of me now, hopefully the cabin bed will be different...” areum mutters looking down. jeno’s presence is slowly leaving and she still wasn’t ready to let go. jaemin squeezed her hands in his hands tightly, whispering. “i’m so sorry areum. i’ll try to spray all his perfumes he wore often on them to make you happy.”

areum embarrassed, she laughs gently. “that’s kind of embarrassing now, don’t worry about it.” jaemin let’s go off the hands, smiling. “it’s not. i completely understand it, when you really love someone you can’t help but like their smell.”

it somehow made areum realise that when you really care of someone, you become attached to the slightest things that reminds you of them. jaemin was similar to areum, he used nayoung’s perfumes on his clothes before.

jisung hums slowly joining in, “i agree, mina wears my hoodies ever since we are doing long distance. i guess it helps you feel more closer to them when they’re not around you as much.”

Haechan gasps, “you have a girlfriend? You?” the younger boy scrunching the nose up in an upset pout.

“yeah and you don’t? shocking, right.” jisung shot, haechan’s expression falling. “bro don’t even test me today, i told you i have girls!”

jaemin did not waste the time putting areum to the cabin, in the next few minutes after travelling for hours she will arrive at the cabin completely. It’s late going nightfall.

the car stopping at the front, areum taking the large bag that she packed, she were first to get out soaring a glance to kun and renjun.

“thanks for the ride. I’ll call you when I’m ready to leave.” areum tells, renjun nodding at the passage seat. kun spoke out sternly, “remember that you’re entering your tenth week in the pregnancy soon, so don’t over work yourself.”

areum shortly smiles. “i know, don’t worry about me. keep an eye on jisung and update me on the situation.” they nodded before the car drove off reversing and then leaving through the wood path for the vehicles. everyone seemingly to be asleep except for animals that are nocturnal.

the women made herself go inside with the spare keys jaemin gave, as she enters with the door closed, the memories flooding areum’s brain haywire. the way jeno stumbled down the stairs worried areum was possibly kidnapped or left without a word, the way she came home drunk and he had to take care of her.

mr and ms Kim’s twins were here playing with him on the ground, the sweet lingering memory came with a hint of sadness. she purses a deep breathe that left her shaken, walking upstairs.

creaking left and right until she arrives to the top of the open bedroom, large wide windows allowing the starry sky overlooking the clean bed. the times where they shared it for the first time…

areum wasn’t sure how to feel other than needing to cry out, maybe it’s the pregnancy making it even worse with her amount of mood swings. she’d put the bag down on the bed, sniffling the wet nose.

squeaking…

the door slowly swung open, a heavy slow motion movement of the door she swore she closed. it did not take her a moment to realise because it was already telling her intuitively, that someone was standing behind the door ready to launch at her.

the woman grabbing a gun that she took with her, turning around with eyes darkly eyeing the person who came out at the same time. Door opening to reveal.

the person who was behind the door, had their own gun ready to shoot the person but they stopped lowering it a little. their mouth was about to open until a shot was heard, making the person flinch scared for their life.

areum tightly holding the shaking gun when she accidentally shot out of nervousness and amount of shock running down her body, freezing it. skin going deadly pale as her eyes wide in disbelief, tears streaming, heavy hot breathe exhaling out, hands turbulence in front.

the man was quick to relax his stiffen body as thankfully the bullet missed the body by an inch, quick to realise that the woman was simply scared. the relaxing soothing voice, he couldn’t grasp why areum was so shocked as if she saw a ghost.

little did he know he was presumed dead to areum. he didn’t realise it sooner, but areum was shocked unable to figure out if this was her delusional mind playing tricks or if it were reality.

“areum, hey, slowly lower the gun.” jeno soothingly told approaching very cautious and on alert, areum’s wet pupils shaking when the man came closer slowly. areum gulping, “stay back- you’re supposed to be dead.” she spat.

jeno quickly stops, mind going blank. “what?” areum stuttering, “you got shot and died. everyone came back except you. this is my mind playing tricks on me.” the words were fast paced, jeno gathered so much info in just a small amount of sentence. he shakes his head. “areum, listen to me..”

the voice felt so real to areum so comforting, she longed to listen to that voice for weeks, but it can’t be reality can it?

“please, i promise you I’m alive. i survived.” jeno quietly told coming to the front again, this time areum staying quietly as she sobs gently. she felt a hand finally lower the gun and take it from her own grip, dropping the gun to the floor.

her lungs largely inhale as she looks up, jeno eyeing the woman with kind eyes, his body engulfing her close to his chest. “see, i’m alive..?” it was almost a question rather than a statement.

areum only sobbed harder shaking her head, hitting his chest the more he pulled areum closer, mumbling words of hurt and sadness as well as relief too. everything was high on emotion, jeno unable to say anything but take whatever areum was giving him.

she hits his chest as her hiccuping voice from roughly crying, “you got shot! do you wish to die?!” she grabs the collar, upset that jeno ended up getting hurt but at the same time this was out of love and relief. jeno knew this. he looks at the woman who pulled him down by his collar.

he couldn’t lie but areum scolding him will always have him on his knees melting, he somehow found it even more attractive. areum awaiting an answer in small silence.

“did i ever tell you that you’re hot when you are angry?” jeno whispers with half smirk lips, areum biting the bottom lip, stale voice speaking. “lee jeno i’m serious.”

“areum.” jeno spoke out again wiping those crying eyes that sparkly whenever she’d sob, areum had him under her spell. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for scaring you, for making you believe i was dead.”

the woman wasn’t expecting jeno to go on his knees in front of areum, holding her legs with his veiny hands. she gulps at the sight of jeno being the submissive one. no arguing, just him accepting that he was in the wrong, that areum was scared and that she really loves him for being depressed for these weeks. jeno understood everything.

he didn’t need to be in his ego for areum. she had no other way but to no longer stay upset, as her hands grab a hold of jeno’s jaw pulling the man up.

jeno on the knees with his face stretching forward into a longing deep kiss, areum passionately putting in the emotions on something she desired to do for so long. the man melting in the action his face following the woman’s dominating loving side, as his jaw was still held by areum.

areum breaking the kiss, jeno dimming down watching the woman pull with a breathy intake. she murmurs softly, “I’m…”

“pregnant, jeno…”

everything felt surreal to the man when hearing those words come out of his loved one. jeno looking at areum before standing up, looking at the stomach as he came forward with his hands lightly perking on the top.

the clothes made it seem like there was no bump, but there most definitely was a little one forming. jeno felt it, the round shape above in his palm. his eyes twitching in excitement and sparkling as if he were the most happy person on the planet. areum watching the reaction, jeno spoke first.

“areum, how many weeks..?” jeno trails, happily smiling. areum was really in awe at the positive reaction. “nine weeks, jeno are you…not upset?”

the man shaking his head quickly. “areum, i love you. a baby with you won’t change my love for you, in fact— it only increased my love for you.” he slowly trails, going on his knees as he slowly hugs the little bump.

in such gentle manner, areum couldn’t help but smile like a giddy idiot.

“i’m going to be a dad.” jeno softly tells, looking up to the woman who nods softly. “mhmm, so don’t get shot again.” she’d bring up again, he couldn’t help but think her stubbornness was always going to be hard to look past.

but he loves her, he deserves to be told off for his off guard actions. “you really won’t let go off it will you?” jeno whines.

she still is his karma for sure, but this time, areum is his good karma.

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MASTERLINK FOR HIS KARMA.

@onyourhyuck please refer from copyrighting and translating my work!

Y’all take a guess if it’s a boy or a girl or how many, because i have that already planned out 😳😳…

[the-modernmary]

my best habit || aaron hotchner x reader (ch. 4)

Chapter summary: The BAU makes it's plan to get inside your law firm, and you reflect on your previous relationship with Aaron — the good and the bad.

A/N: i'm baaaaack! this is a little bit of a filler with a hell of a lot of introspection + background on the past relationship with hotch

masterlist || read on ao3

'Cause the love that you gave that we made

Wasn't able to make it enough for you

To be open wide, no

-Alanis Morissette, “You Oughta Know”

~~~~~~~

The plan was simple enough. They had a warrant to bug the office, but lawyers are naturally suspicious, so they needed somebody who already had a rapport with partners to place the bugs. That’s where you came in. They were going to give you pens and other random office supplies with covert listening devices in them, and you just needed to leave them around. You were also going to wear an earpiece so that they could talk you through it every step of the way. Easy enough.

Aaron stood at the front of the room, his hands resting on his hips and his face stone cold. You had seen Aaron on television a few times when he had to speak to the media, but that was the extent of your knowledge of his FBI persona. You had never given much thought to his work life, and the only times he even talked about it was in passing. Watching him completely command the attention of the room was really a site to behold. Suddenly, you understood all of Aaron’s career changes and his unbridled ambition- he was made to be FBI Director.

You nodded slowly as you listened to their plans, trying to ignore the side of your brain that was screaming danger. You looked over at Aaron, hoping that he would understand your unspoken question and would give you an honest answer. When he met your eyes, he gave you a subtle nod, as if to say You’ll be fine, we’ll be right there with you. That was the only confirmation you really needed. Aaron looked so confident that it was almost infectious. Besides, a dead civilian wouldn’t look very good on Aaron’s FBI record, so you had to believe that it really was going to be that simple.

You took a deep breath. “Okay, I can do all that. I’m scheduled to go in this afternoon,” you told the room, avoiding everybody else’s eyes on you. You could tell that some of them weren’t totally sold on the idea yet.

“Good, that gives us just enough time to get everything set up. I want you all to go over the office blueprints with Y/N and set up a concrete plan. I don’t want anything left up to chance. While you do that, I will head down to intelligence with Garcia so that we can grab the coverts and prepare them,” Aaron said firmly, and you found yourself nodding along, as if you were a member of his team.

The way he gave orders was almost hypnotic because it was so different from the way he gave orders during sex. When he was with you, there was always a hint of affection and reverence in every word he said. Here and talking to his coworkers, it was almost paternal, like he was assigning weekly chores. You were getting a more full picture of who Aaron Hotchner was, and it was exciting, if not a little overwhelming.

You were torn from your thoughts at the sound of ruffling papers as Reid spread out the floor plans to the office across the table. The next hour and a half was spent going back and forth with the group of profilers to see what the best course of action was. You let them take the lead considering you had zero experience in this particular field, but you were pleasantly surprised when they asked for your opinions, asking you whether or not anybody ever went in certain areas in the building. Working with them was easy, even with David Rossi clearly psychoanalyzing every move you made, probably trying to figure out how the hell you and Aaron fit together.

After figuring out the best excuses to get in each of the partner’s offices, the team had decided that you were prepped and ready. “You’re welcome to grab some lunch in the cafeteria on the second floor,” Reid told you as the rest of the team was slowly filing out of the conference room. “But the food’s not great, to be honest. The only people who ever really eat there are tourists and kids on field trips.”

You raised an eyebrow at him as you shouldered your purse. “With all that security, the FBI has tour guides?” you asked amusedly.

Reid nodded eagerly as he finished folding up the blueprints. “The FBI has actually had a tour component since 1937, even before it settled here in the Hoover building. After 9/11, they stopped the tours and closed the building to the public and didn’t reopen until 2008 when the FBI made the Education Center. It closed and was redesigned multiple times since then, and now it’s known as the FBI Experience. You have to contact your congressman to request a tour at least four weeks in advance so that the FBI can do a background check,” he said quickly, his hands doing half of the talking for him.

You laughed as the two of you made your way to the door. Aaron had mentioned something about the genius Dr. Reid in passing, and he was just as amusing and endearing as Aaron said he was. “That sounds like a lot of work. If that’s the case, then I might have better luck just asking one of you to give me a tour after this whole thing is done. You sound like you know more than the tour guides anyways.”

Reid stood up a little taller at the compliment, but your focus was immediately drawn to Aaron’s office. Specifically, Aaron, in his office, alone, with the blinds shut and the door wide open. You had promised to be on your best behavior, but the temptation was almost too much. You wanted to see more of Hotch, the FBI agent. “Excuse me for a second, Doctor,” you mumbled, flashing him an innocent smile.

Spencer gave you a small wave as you walked off, headed straight for Aaron’s office, your heels clicking rhythmically on the floor. As if sensing your presence, Aaron’s head shot up the second you stepped into his office, his face void of all emotions. You shut the door slowly behind you, having to hide your smile when you saw him shift in his seat nervously. “Y/N, this isn’t the place-”

You held both of your hands up as you made your way towards his desk. “Don’t worry, Agent. I didn’t come here with the intention to seduce you in front of all your coworkers,” you promised. “Although that can always be arranged.”

You were rewarded with a small grin from Aaron and something that was close to laughter, although it just sounded more like an exhale. “How can I help you?” he asked, unable to mask the lightheartedness in his words.

You sat on the edge of his desk. “Well, I’m going to be rubbing shoulders with a potential serial killer for the rest of the day. Don’t I get a kiss for good luck? Doesn’t even have to be a kiss on the mouth,” you teased. Aaron tensed up. That was the wrong thing to say, apparently. Maybe he remembered that he was at work, and there was no room for playfulness in the FBI. Or maybe he realized that you would be the second woman he’s been with that he’s sending into a dangerous situation.

This was all new territory for the two of you. Previously, there were so many unspoken rules for the relationship, and that’s what made it work. It kept everything easy and fun and none of you had to sift through any baggage.

He didn’t talk about cases he was on and you didn’t mention Jack or Haley- not that you would even want to. He would order dinner for the two of you, but it couldn’t be from anywhere he used to take Haley. So that took away their Chinese place and their pizza place and, God forbid, their Italian place they went to for anniversaries- you preferred Indian anyways. Every once in a while, you’d meet up in hotels that were way too nice and expensive for a fling, but it was always somewhere out of the city, like Baltimore or Fredericksburg, because between the two of you, somebody in DC was bound to recognize one of you.

But there you were, sitting on his desk in the middle of the FBI headquarters, completely thrown off your game. Part of you wondered why he had wanted to continue this thing with you. It wasn’t some midlife crisis- he was too composed for that- and it wasn’t to help heal heartbreak the way it was two years ago. You weren’t complaining about it, though. There was something addictive about Aaron, something that made you think about him even when you hadn’t seen or heard from him in months, and a nagging voice in the back of your head told you that he probably thought the same thing about you. At least, you hoped he did.

You were so entranced in your thoughts that you didn’t even realize he was talking to you. You refocused your eyes and snapped your head back in his direction, where he was looking at you with worry in his eyes. “Hm?” you questioned.

Aaron’s eyes narrowed, like he was trying to read your mind. “I asked if you were sure that you’re ready for this? You all came up with a plan faster than I expected.”

You put on a practiced smile as you slid off his desk, careful not to rustle any of the precariously stacked files next to you. “What can I say, I’m a fast learner. Plus, I went through a major James Bond phase in 7th grade, so this is like a dream come true for me,” you joked, and that seemed to satisfy him.

His face softened, and you once again found yourself fascinated by how much younger he looked when he let himself relax for even half a second. “It’s going to be fine, and I’m going to be talking to you through the earpiece the whole time,” he said. It surprised you just how comforting that single sentiment was, but something about Aaron walking you through the whole process made it less daunting.

Casual flirting with him had worked at the beginning of the conversation, so you decided to try that again. “It’ll be like you’re whispering in my ear all day,” you mused, batting your eyelashes. “That’s kind of sexy, in an exhibitionist kind of way.”

Aaron chuckled and shook his head fondly. “Behave,” he told you firmly, but there was the slightest hint of playfulness.

You made your way towards his office door, throwing a wink his way as you did. “No promises,” you sang. “But I’ll do my best.”

After grabbing something to eat at the cafeteria- Reid was right, the food was terrible- it was time for you to head to the weirdest internship shift you’ve ever had. Most of the team would be in an undercover van outside of the building so that they could listen to everything. You were able to get a ride from Morgan in one of the FBI SUVs, which would drop you off a few blocks away so it didn’t look suspicious. The two of you made some small talk on the way, asking about school and life at the FBI, all very surface level stuff, but nice nonetheless. It helped calm your nerves.

After a while, he pulled over and handed you a bag from the backseat. It was a simple black satchel, not very different from the usual one you would bring to work. “Okay, here is everything you’ll need. You remember the plan, right?”

You nodded quickly as you put in the earpiece, trying to hide any signs of nervousness. “Yup,” you said, popping the ‘P’. “Honestly, this isn’t even the worst thing I’ve done while working.”

Derek chuckled, maybe despite himself. “Remember, we’ll be right outside of the building. Just treat it like a normal day.”

You didn’t think that was even going to be possible, but luckily, you were proven wrong the moment you stepped into the elevator.

“Woah, hold the door for me!”

You stuck your hand out quickly just before the elevator doors closed, and your friend Chris came barreling through. He was a third year when you were a first year at George Washington and the two of you met in your tax law class. You quickly became fast friends, and you met most of your law school friends through him. When he got hired as a staff attorney at the same firm you were interning at, you couldn’t have been more excited.

You clutched the satchel a little tighter, knowing full well that the entire BAU was about to hear this conversation. “Hey,” you said, your voice light.

Chris just raised an eyebrow at you. “Hey?” he asked incredulously. “That’s it? What the hell happened to you last night? We were all supposed to go out and you didn’t show up. No phone call, nothing. And then the only response we got from you was three hours later when you just said ‘Sorry, something came up, next time!’”

You sighed and reached over to press the button for the third floor. It was crazy to think that the interrogation had been less than 24 hours ago- it felt like a lifetime to you. Aaron’s voice came through the earpiece. You can’t tell anybody about the investigation. Make an excuse and change the subject.

“Sorry, mom,” you huffed, staring at the elevator doors. “I got busy, and I’m not attached to my phone all the time like a certain newlywed. How are you and Sam, by the way?” You looked at Chris pointedly with that comment and, like expected, he was frantically shoving his phone back in his pocket. Chris had gotten married two months ago and was still very much in the honeymoon phase.

Good job, Aaron said into the earpiece, and it made you smile despite yourself.

Which, unfortunately, did not go unnoticed by Chris. He narrowed his eyes at you for a few seconds before gasping. “You’re deflecting! And I know that smile.” He thought about it for a second before his eyes went wide. “Oh my god, you ditched us last night because you were getting railed.”

Your friends knew you way too well. You rolled your eyes at Chris. “Wow, that is a reach if I’ve ever seen one.”

The elevator doors opened and you all but sprinted out of there. “You’re not denying it!” Chris accused and you had to bite back a groan of annoyance. You loved your friends, but you did not want to have this conversation right now. “Come on, spill. What is their name?”

You heard Aaron take a sharp intake of breath. You weren’t going to tell Chris, even if you weren’t currently wired where all of Aaron’s coworkers could hear. You never told your friends about Aaron because you were worried about their reaction. They would have worried about his age, or if he was taking advantage of you, or if you were in any danger because of his job. They would have pressured you to pursue more of a “true” relationship with Aaron, and you weren’t going to pretend like that was even a possibility.

You liked Aaron, and it really seemed like Aaron genuinely liked you, too, just not in a way that would make sense to people, especially not your friends. Aaron was always nice to you. He treated you like an equal, not just some random college girl he was sleeping with. He was interesting, and being around him was easy. Aaron would invite you over sometimes and the two of you would just do your work while eating take out before you would have sex. Sometimes, you’d ask him for help with your homework, because there really wasn’t any better tutor, and he was happy to give it. At the time when you first met, the two of you were just kind of lonely, and it was nice to have somebody around who just got it.

You also liked the version of you that Aaron brought out- smarter, wittier, and even a little bit more put together. Definitely much more ambitious. And if seeing him at work was indicative of anything, you thought that he liked the version of himself that you seemed to bring out- more easygoing and playful, like he didn’t have the weight of the world on his shoulders.

And also, yeah, the sex was really fucking good.

You sped up your steps, but Chris was right at your heels. “You’re such a chismoso, but fine. His first name is nunya, last name business.”

You heard him groan behind you, and you turned around so that you were walking backwards. “Y/N, you suck so bad. This is going in the group chat, and we are going to find out who you’re sleeping with.”

You laughed, finally feeling relaxed and calm for the first time since you heard about this plan. “Mhm, good luck with that,” you called to him. “Now if you don’t mind, I have to get to work. Not all of us get paid to sit around and look pretty.”

“Yeah, you just get college credit for it,” he snorted and you just turned back around. You were sure you were going to get so much shit from your friends later, but the bag on your shoulder was getting heavier every second.

Placing the listening devices was as easy as they told you it was going to be. You were able to go throughout your shift fairly normally, sitting through meetings and writing emails, mostly. If you needed to get into somebody’s office, you would just tell them that they needed to sign something or ask them if they wanted any more coffee. The only times Aaron would say something into the earpiece was if they couldn’t get a signal on the device and you needed to move it slightly.

When it was time for your break, you flipped your phone over in your hands a few times, debating on whether or not you should text Aaron. You wanted to see him again. You wanted to hear him moan in your ear while his hands roamed every inch of you. You desperately wanted his mouth on you, his head in between your thighs. You could imagine Aaron on top of you, brushing your hair from your face, and telling you how pretty you were. Maybe you’d text Aaron later, when he wasn’t in a cramped van.

“Y/N?” You snapped your head up to see a woman you knew to be Julian DuPont’s assistant. DuPont owned the law firm, and he came from a very rich and powerful DC family. He was the whole reason that the FBI couldn’t just sneak in and bug the office themselves- he would be suspicious about anybody he didn’t personally know. Even having been an intern at the law firm for almost an entire year, you had only spoken to him one-on-one a handful of times. Sure, they were all positive experiences, but you knew he could lie to almost anybody.

“Yes?” you asked cautiously.

She gave you a sweet smile. “Mr. DuPont has asked to see you in his office right away.”

Your mouth instantly dried up and your heart started to beat so fast that you would have sworn everybody could hear it. “Uh… Yeah, of course, um… Did he happen to say what it was about?” you stuttered out. He was the first office you had placed the bug in. Maybe he found out and was about to fire you in front of everybody. Or worse, your brain supplied unhelpfully.

The assistant shook her head and guided you wordlessly to DuPont’s office. Stay calm, came Aaron’s voice through the earpiece. I will tell you everything you need to say if you get stuck, but you’ll be fine.

When you got to the office, the assistant close the door behind you, leaving you alone in the office with Mr. DuPont himself. He gave you a warm smile, which should have comforted you, but you didn’t think you had ever seen him smile for anything not related to winning a case or getting money. “Sit, please,” he ordered, gesturing lazily to the chair in front of his desk.

You tried to keep your breathing even as you sat down quickly, rubbing your hands on the tops of your thighs. It felt like you were in the principal’s office. You stayed silent so that he could have the first word.

“As you may know, I’ve been watching your progress very closely, both here and with your professors,” he stated, leaning forwards in his chair. “You’re very intelligent, and I think you have a bright career in front of you.”

“Thank you, sir,” you said, trying to put as much confidence in your words as possible. There was a ‘but’ coming, you felt it. You could vaguely make out mumbling in your earpiece, like the BAU were trying to profile what Julian was going to say half a second before he said it.

DuPont straightened out a pen on his desk- to be specific, the pen with the listening device in it. Your breath caught in your throat. “I would like to capitalize on that potential and have you work here after you’ve graduated, but I need to see how you do in an actual courtroom. Law students are allowed to practice law under the supervision of an attorney, which would be me. If you do well, and you pass the bar, you’ll have a job here as an associate right after graduation. Think of it as a trial run, or a try-before-you-buy program.”

You let out a sigh of relief, not even caring how dramatic it may have looked to Julian, and you closed your eyes for a second just to ground yourself. He didn’t know, it was just a job offer. The secret was safe. The earpiece went silent again. “Sir- I… Thank you so much. I would love to, of course. It would be an absolute honor.”

DuPont nodded and leaned back in his chair. “That’s good to hear. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting to attend to. We will discuss this more at a later date.”

You shook his hand quickly before exiting, your heart pounding. You were going to need a drink, or five, tonight. Maybe it was stupid, but part of you wanted to hear something from your earpiece. It didn’t even need to be Aaron speaking, but you wanted somebody from the BAU to remind you that everything was okay.

Ignoring the questioning look from Chris, you sat down at your desk, attempting to process everything that just happened. Once the adrenaline went down, you let yourself get excited. A job offer, and a nice one at that, at a fancy private firm with a nice salary. You were set.

You grabbed your phone so that you could send the news to your friends, but a notification caught your eye.

From: Aaron Hotchner

Congratulations, associate. I told you that you’d make a wonderful lawyer someday.

To: Aaron Hotchner

Thank you :) You know this means I’m going to practice my opening statements on you all the time, right??

From: Aaron Hotchner

I’m looking forward to it.

[pswkua2]

Forgotten Shawna lore:

Her blue aodai suit is an enchanted piece clothing. Sometimes when Shawna tries to do something it disapproves, her stiff collar tightens which chokes her (to discourage her from doing that thing). Her waist part can also tighten to force her to sit or stand straight. The outfit can also ‘unzip’ to force Shawna into embarrassing exhibitionist situations. Nobody knows who created the clothes or controls it, all my protagonists wake up in those enchanted Chinese/Vietnamese outfits after crossing to the other world.

(was reminded of this while wearing my own custom Aodai which had a tight and stiff collar)

[chelsfic]

Part Six - Wish You Weren’t Here - Diego Jiménez x Reader - Starz Power

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

A/N: Here is some much needed smut. Along with some friendship fluff with Julio!

Warnings: Smut

Julio sends you a text when he gets to your building. You peer down through the sheer curtains of your living room window. The shiny, black Cadillac SUV sticks out like a sore thumb on your street. Your neighbors probably think you’re in witness protection or something. If they only knew the truth…

You send him thirty heart emojis in response. It’s been a week since Julio started driving you and you think you’ve managed to successfully weasel into his good graces. The key is to annoy him with friendship. A talent of yours, luckily.

You press a kiss to Pig’s head on your way out the door. 

“Bye, my baby!” you whisper into her calico fur. She blinks up at you and stretches out on the couch in luxury as you leave. 

It’s flurrying outside and now that you don’t have to walk in it you can appreciate how pretty the city looks under a fresh blanket of snow. You hop up into the passenger seat--literally hopping, you’re short and this vehicle is giant--and take pleasure in the heated leather seats. 

“Hey,” Julio greets you, handing you a cup of coffee.

You stare at it like he’s just handed you the Olympic torch. Then he gestures to the box on the center console and you squawk in joy.

“Julio! You got me coffee?? And...and--” you open the box--“Croissants! You went to The Usual Place? For me? I knew you liked me. Now we’re friends forever!”

Julio rolls his eyes and groans dramatically but you spot the tiniest indentation of his lips, the smallest hint of a smile. 

“Just don’t eat all the chocolate ones,” he grumbles.

You smile and warm your hands on the coffee cup as he pulls away from the curb. You’re really getting spoiled having him drive you to and from work every day. How will you be able to deal when you have to get yourself to the store to buy groceries this weekend? Unthinkable! You laugh a little under your breath. How quickly the snobbery becomes you.

Julio watches you from the corner of his eye and smiles sadly. He went out of his way this morning to make you happy. He’s still pissed at Diego. Julio has watched his boss pull you into passing kisses and embraces all week long. He doesn’t think anything else has happened yet--God knows Diego’ll let him know when it does. But he sees how you can’t stop smiling after Diego kisses you. And--despite his best efforts to remain aloof--you’ve somehow managed to make Julio like you. So he was pissed when his boss asked him to pick up Francesca and two of her friends last and bring them to the penthouse. He loves Diego but the boy can be stupid. And unintentionally cruel. He just prays you don’t find out. And he prays Diego isn’t stupid enough to continue his exhibitionist shit with you now that everything is...changing.

“Julio?” 

You startle him from his musings and he arches an eyebrow at you comically, watching you stuff the last bite of croissant into your mouth.

You take a sip of coffee to wash it down and continue, “Has...has Diego ever had a--girlfriend?”

Oh. God. You are thirteen years old. You’re starring in your own dumbass rom com Thirty Going On Thirteen. You slap your hand over your eyes so you don’t have to watch Julio’s face as he answers.

Julio clears his throat but he doesn’t succeed in covering the short laugh at your antics, “Diego? I’ve known him almost ten years. I’ve never seen him with a...girlfriend.”

You let your hand fall away from your eyes and look over at Julio earnestly, “So...he’s never had anything...serious?”

Julio turns to look at you as he stops the car at a red light. The pity in his eyes forces you to look away.

His voice is soft and you want to punch him. “His life just makes it...hard. You shouldn’t…”

His voice trails off. He wants to warn you. To help you. He likes you, damn it. You’re a little weirdo and it’s hilarious that his boss is so enthralled with you, but he knows Diego is going to hurt you. Still...it’s Diego. His boy. And he can’t bring himself to say something that would feel like a betrayal. You decide to save him.

“I know, Julio,” you offer him a fake smile. “Thanks.”

You do know. Really…

***

...It’s so easy to forget when Diego’s lips are trailing fiery kisses over your mouth, your jaw, the crook of your neck. You forget all the reasons this isn’t a good idea--all of Julio’s unspoken warnings. Your mind is given over to your body’s needs, overcome with the pulsing secret inside you, the yearning to ride Diego’s love into a blinding light that will doubtlessly eclipse all others. 

The mop clatters to the floor beside you and you launch yourself into Diego’s arms, forcing him to support you or buckle beneath the sudden attack. He perches you up on the kitchen counter, never letting his lips leave yours. If you had room to think you might marvel at how quickly this man has conquered your shyness, your reserve, your logic. 

He breaks the kiss to whisper into your ear, “Would it kill you to wear something with a little more...access?”

He grinds his hips against you for emphasis. Even through the denim fabric of your jeans you can feel the sweet bulge of his erection and you mewl in wanton need, pressing your mouth into his stubbled cheek to muffle the mortifying sound. 

“Sorry,” you huff, your breath shaky and short, “mini dresses with holes cut out the sides aren’t really p-practical…”

The words stutter to a stop when Diego’s fingers go to the waist of your pants, popping the button open and lowering the zipper. He shoves his huge hand inside, cupping your sex in his warm palm. All thoughts of Francesca and her ridiculous outfits fly from your head. You grind against him with a needy wail, burying your face into his shoulder in embarrassment as pleas fall from your lips. 

“Oh...my god, Diego. Please, please, please…” 

Diego smirks and lets his fingers drag through your folds, circling your mound with a feather-light touch that forces you to thrust your hips to gain any friction. You groan in frustration against his shoulder. He uses his free hand to grasp your ponytail, wrapping your hair around his fist and pulling it back until your upturned face is exposed to him. He eyes glint and he grins arrogantly as he increases the pressure against your clit, rolling the sensitive flesh between his fingers, all the while watching your face as you come undone. You’re sure you look pathetic--mouth hung open in lust, eyes dazed and half-lidded--you wish you could hide from his knowing gaze but when you try it, Diego tightens his grip on your hair and shakes his head slightly.

“I’m gonna watch you come on my fingers, guapa,” he hisses and laughs when the words evoke another lustful moan from you. “You like that, huh?”

He keeps his thumb rubbing relentlessly against your clit as his fingers dive down to plunge inside you, thrusting away into your wet cunt until you’re quivering around him and nearly sobbing with your coming orgasm.

You suddenly hear Julio clearing his throat from the elevator entrance and your body immediately tenses in alarm. Diego’s hand stills and you give the smallest cry of protest. Oh, god, you’re so close. But this--being watched--might be Diego’s thing... but it is definitely not yours. You lock eyes with him and you see the realization in his.

“Julio!” he growls, looking over his shoulder, “Turn around!”

Diego turns back to you. He releases his grip on your hair and lets you hide your face against his shoulder, cradling your head and ducking down to whisper, “Come for me, now.”

He starts up again, rubbing, circling and pulsing his hand against your wet sex. His movements are frenzied but expert and you’re crashing into your orgasm in seconds, swallowing your cry and clinging with your arms and legs wrapped around him like a baby koala. He rubs his hands over your back soothingly and ducks down to kiss you.

Julio pipes up apologetically, “Jefe...we have that thing…”

Diego lets out a ferocious growl and nips your lower lip sharply enough to make you gasp, “Ouch, Diego!”

His eyes go soft and molten and he kisses you gently to make up for it. He leans back and your arms fall away from his shoulders, you’re both out of breath and flushed. 

“Okay,” Diego grunts, running his hands through his hair. He’s already transforming before your eyes into the steely, dangerous version of himself that he wears out into the world. His eyes fall back to yours and soften a bit as he says, “We probably won’t be back until after you leave for the day...”

Quelle romantique. You’re sitting there, looking utterly debauched with your hair a mess and your pants undone, smelling of sex… Diego really has drawn you into something whether you like it or not. Julio’s unspoken warning lingers in your mind. There’s no room in Diego’s life for a serious relationship. If that’s true then you’ll just have to learn to accept it. But you don’t want what this is to be entirely on his terms--frenzied exchanges between murders and business meetings. You guess if you want something more you’re going to have to ask for it.

“Maybe--” your voice sounds high and squeaky in your ears-- “afterwards you can come by my place. I’ll order some Chinese food and…”

Diego looks up from tucking his gun into the waist of his pants. His face is a comical blank.

“Your place?” he repeats.

“Yeah…” you smile playfully, letting your hand brush up the length of his muscled arm and resting your palm against the back of his neck. You can see Julio’s guarded, worried expression from the corner of your eye but you ignore him. “My place.”

My rules.

Diego looks half intrigued, half reluctant. In the end all he’ll give you is, “Maybe. If we don’t get done too late.”

You try not to look too deflated, certain you’ll be spending another night alone. 

“Well...text me if you’re coming and I’ll order the food.”

Diego looks unnerved as he leaves the penthouse. Julio casts you an exasperated look and you shrug your shoulders with a grimace of apology. You don’t know what’s wrong with you either.

***

Walking home from the train station that afternoon you have to shake your head and laugh at yourself for reveling in the luxury of being driven around this morning. You’re still a poor girl even if your bank account is looking a little healthier lately and you may or may not have a millionaire drug lord coming over later for snuggles and...you know. A giggle erupts from your throat and an elderly lady passing by gives you a mean glance. Whatever...your life is so weird you might as well go with it.

As you’re skipping up the steps to your apartment something shiny a little down the street catches your eye. You glance over and do a double take. Dang--someone must’ve won the lottery. A gleaming, midnight blue muscle car is parked a few cars down from your building.

Well...good for them, you think and forget all about it.

A/N: Omg! Whose car is that?? It’s Tommy’s!

Tag List:

@lockedoutofmyotherblog @1zashreena1​ @lannister-slings-and-arrows @glowingpena​ @flower-petal-blooming​ @symbiont13​ @pullthedamnlever​ @sparrows-books​ @joalsglasses​ @ishqinbbc​ @pre-schoolervengance​ @skys-luce-stellare @popculturepriestess​ @nolongertwo​ @ughwhyareyoulikethist​ @squidlywiddly87​ @damndamer0n​ @xboxdudett​ @khicks3

[luyang]

LuYang Delusional World x LuYang Delusional Hell _ online stream recording from LuYang on Vimeo.

Experience the world premiere of Chinese multi-disciplinary artist Lu Yang’s new work DELUSIONAL WORLD in her first live-streamed performance. Lu Yang’s dizzying virtual world is a neon dreamscape lurking in our networks. Exploring digital voyeurism and online cultures, DELUSIONAL WORLD summons audiences to our new online gallery to encounter a frenetic collision of Chinese mythology, sci-fi futures and live performance. This free mind-bending, hyper-pop performance features a contemporary dancer fitted with motion capture technology, who projects fantastical digital avatars of the artist that materialise as deranged deities, Manga-inspired mutants and cyborgs. Live-streamed from Chronus Art Centre in Shanghai, this experimental performance presents a darkly humorous virtual world where the audience and artist interact through a live chat. DELUSIONAL WORLD is commissioned by ACMI, Arts Centre Melbourne, Asia TOPA and Exhbitionist, in collaboration with curator Mathew Spisbah, Chronus Art Centre and Meta Objects. It is presented as part of Asia TOPA 2020. Presented by ACMI, Asia TOPA, Arts Centre Melbourne and Exhibitionist.

powered by MetaObjects Dancer : Qin Ran Hell scene by Extreme John Music : GameFace

[lastarpeggios]

Reminiscing about my student life, I do not know a single other (Belgian/Dutch) person who’s had worse student housing experiences.

Out of my friends I was also the one who consistently had the lowest budget for rent, so that may explain a lot of it. But I also think I’ve just been unlucky.

-My first year, in the Netherlands, I lived at what used to be an army base that was, a year later, declared unlivable and destroyed. My time there was more or less fine, except that there were a couple of days during winter where we did not have hot water, and there were mice during summer and at one point there was an infestation of ants underneath my bed. My housemates at the time were a 35+ year old German woman who smoked a lot of weed and listened to house music in the room adjacent to mine. There was always a weird smell coming out of her room. Her hair was dyed in a very bright shade of red and after she’d dyed her hair in our bathroom our entire sink would look like someone had just lost a lot of blood. There was also a Chinese couple that introduced themselves as cousins but I could hear them having sex a lot. I don’t know, it was weird.

-My second year in the Netherlands during the first semester I lived in a huge mansion with about 20 other students, 1 of whom I never ended up meeting. I lived pretty isolated from the rest of the students, who spent a lot of the time partying at our ground floor. One day when I went to school in the morning I found a housemate on the porch, he’d stayed there all night, drinking. There was also a wasp nest right outside to the bathroom window so there were always wasps in the shower.

-The second semester I went to Seoul, where I lived in a dorm with 2 Filipino girls who were incredibly nice, but because we didn’t speak a common language at first (eventually we ended up speaking Korean to each other)  there were some misunderstandings. On the first couple of nights I went to sleep before they did and when they finally went to sleep they left the lights on and I never figured out if this was because of a particular reason. Because I was too afraid to upset them I always left them on for a long time... I didn’t have access to the internet the first couple of days, which meant that I couldn’t contact my parents to let them know I’d arrived in Korea safely, the first time I’d been on a plane, so far away from home,...

-My third year, by far the worst, I had an exhibitionist landlord. He owned a cafe next to the house where I stayed with two other girls and once in a while he would come over to take a shower and walk around naked from the 2nd floor up to the 3rd, where the shower was, in the kitchen. The first time I saw him was when I had just gone to the toilet on the second floor and as I flushed the toilet and opened the door, there he suddenly was, in all his nakedness. I wasn’t wearing my glasses so I didn’t see him very clearly, thankfully. I locked myself back up in the toilet, scared to death. I called my mom in tears and she, livid, called the landlord. Who, the next time I had to go to his shady cafe to buy coins to be able to take a shower - because yes, we had to put in a coin to take a 15 minute shower - he shouted at me and threatened to throw me out and I, unable to defend myself, couldn’t help but start crying. I saw him naked a second time after that. It was a year I avoided cooking and taking showers. There were some mice too, but I remember not being very scared of them. Rather, I was always scared once I heard someone walking up the stairs outside my room.

-My fourth and fifth year, after I’d moved back to Belgium, I stayed in a really shabby place, so shabby that when a truck drove by the walls of my room would shake so much one day the mirror on my wall dropped to the floor. I also had a fly infestation during the exams and one day the heater in our bathroom was caught on fire, but other than that this was largely okay.

-My sixth year I lived in a really beautiful mansion. This was my most expensive and largest room yet, but I’d grown so tired of cheap rooms and the bad luck they’d brought me, and my parents too wanted to cut me some slack. Except for the bad internet in my room, I loved living there. Until the day when, maybe 2 months after I’d started living there, a city security agent knocked on my door and told me I’d been living there illegally because my landlord hadn’t gotten a permit to rent out my room. They told me I could be thrown out by the police at any time, while also assuring me they wouldn’t do this right away... My landlord also shouted at me when I contacted him about this, threatened to throw me out, etc. I also once lost my keys and had to pay 50 euros to get new ones, which I now realize was a total fraud but I was desperate at the time and a bit scared of my landlord. A friend of one of my housemates wrote a negative review on google and was contacted and threatened by our landlord with legal procedures unless he removed it, which he did.

-My seventh and eight year I lived in an incredibly tiny house, but it was clean and my landlords were nice and I liked living there.

[shes-soparticular]

Might Just Be My Everything and Beyond

Shawn’s girlfriend leaves town for a bachelorette party. He’s left to his own devices.

A/N: Just fluff. P.S. I’m now taking requests and am happy to start a tag list for anyone interested :)

Words: 4180

     He’s never wanted to be that boyfriend. The hopelessly co-dependent kind that can’t be left to his own devices without his girl around to entertain him. But today? Watching Alex throw sunscreen and sandals into her suitcase? He’s feeling a little like that boyfriend. Their bed is presently covered in a pile of her summer clothes, her pointer finger pressed to her lips as she ponders the fabrics like a complex equation. Feeling that familiar wave of neediness come on, he walks up behind her, wrapping his arms tight around her shoulders to stop her as she throws another pair of shorts into the suitcase.

     “I know you’re going to have blast in Vegas with your girlfriends but you know what else would be super fun?” Shawn rests his chin on the top of her head, trying his best to hide the pouty tone of his voice. “If you stayed home with me instead.” When she initially announced she was planning her best friend’s bachelorette party as a liquor fueled weekend in Las Vegas, he’d thought it was a great idea. Alex had been busting her ass at work over the last few months in addition to putting up with his insane tour schedule for the better part of a year, so a long weekend to blow off steam with her girls was well deserved. It wasn’t until he started listening in on all of her planning that he got a little nervous. The club crawls, the all day pool parties, the front row seats at Magic Mike…and if he’d overheard her conversation with her raunchiest friend, strippers weren’t completely off the table. Regardless, he knew he had nothing to worry about. She was an adult, she had more than earned his trust over their two years together, and it wasn’t like he had any concern she was going to run off on him with a Vegas stripper. More than anything, Shawn selfishly felt like he would be missing out. He wanted to hold her hand in front of the Bellagio fountains, wanted to slather her in sunscreen poolside, wanted to carry her out of the club on his back once she refused to wear her heels. (Because this happened every single time Alex wore heels.)

      “And what benefits are in store for me if I stay home?” She inquired, leaning her head forward to deliver a soft bite to his forearm. Her attention was still mainly focused on her wardrobe choices, but as the queen of multi-tasking, she could manage to entertain his pouting.

     “Well, we could stay in all weekend watching conspiracy theory documentaries. Order your favorite Chinese food…” Dropping his arms from her shoulders, he let his hands settle on her hips, thumbs hooking under the top of her pajama shorts. “Have all the sex.”

     “Mmm…you really know the way to my heart, don’t you?” She places her hands over his, momentarily pushing them teasingly further under the hem of her shorts before pulling them away completely, earning a frustrated groan from him. “Let’s put that plan on hold until next weekend? You know I have to go to Vegas, this is my best friend’s bachelorette we’re talking about. I have to be there to make sure it’s a weekend to remember.”

     Something about that statement makes his brow furrow. “Why don’t I like the sound of that?” Watching as Alex resumes her packing, he flops down on the bed next to her suitcase, giving up on sidetracking her. At least for the time being.

     “Don’t worry, this weekend isn’t about me. I’ll be good. You know that.” Her statement is matter of fact, but as she holds up a pair of bikini bottoms that look more like a thong than swimwear, Shawn doesn’t feel especially at ease.

     “But that whole “no talking to boyfriends” rule? Is that really a thing? You’re really not allowed to talk to me for three days?” This was by far his least favorite part of this Vegas trip. Although those bikini bottoms were giving this rule a run for its money. The concern in his voice is enough to catch her undivided attention, bringing her to stand between his knees where they dangle off the edge of the bed.

     “I know, it sounds dumb but we all made a pact. We’re going to have a true girl’s weekend which means not reporting back to the men at home.” Resting her hands on his thighs, she leans forward to give him a soft consolation kiss. “I’m sure I’ll post plenty to Insta and Snapchat. You’ll have proof that I’m alive.” He won’t challenge her now, but he already knows there’s not a chance in hell she’ll obey this rule. Even with his exhaustive touring, they’d never gone a day in their relationship without speaking to one another. Without at least checking in.

     “What if I came with and just hung out in your hotel room? You wouldn’t even have to tell anyone.” Reaching up to her with grabby hands, he simultaneously locks his legs around hers forcing her to lean all the way forward. With an indignant sigh, she lets herself collapse on top of him, her hair hanging around them like a curtain. “It could be our little secret.” Shawn knows how much she loves an opportunity to sneak around. It could be that she’s simply an exhibitionist, or, more likely, it takes her back to the beginning of their relationship when dodging his fans and the media made their romance something of a team sport.

      “I’m sharing a room with two other girls, I think they’d notice you in my bed.” She momentarily lifts herself up, moving her legs to straddle him more effectively. She may not be giving into his requests, but she’s also not strong enough to deny him attention. No matter how much packing she has yet to do or how early her flight leaves the next morning. “You’ll be fine here on your own. It’s just three days and we’ve spent far longer apart.” Even though he knows she’s right and that he’s being far too dramatic, he still can’t shake the sulking feeling. “You’re just getting a taste of being the one stuck at home.” Her eyebrows raise with her statement, amused by the role reversal. Of course she’s right. He rarely thinks twice about leaving for weeks…months at a time. That’s not to say that it isn’t insanely difficult to be away from her. Obviously if he had his way, she’d travel with him for the entirety of tour. But regardless, it’s a thousand times easier to be away from the one you love when you’re moving at such a fast pace you barely have time to reflect on it. Yes, there were days and nights that the urge to hold her nearly drove him to cancel a show and fly home. Yes, there were days and nights that hearing her muffled voice from across the ocean was enough to rip his heart out. But at the end of the day, there was an entire team of people relying on him to keep his shit together.

     This would be different though, considering there’d be no performance to focus his nervous energy on. Instead, he’d be rambling around the condo on his own, with little else to think about than what she was up to. And not even being able to call her? That would make it infinitely worse. “Fine, leave me here. All alone.” Just because he knows that no amount of pouting is going to convince her to cancel her trip, doesn’t mean he’s not going to give it his best effort. “Have your fun.”

   While she won’t admit it, his plan is almost working. His puppy dog eyes are melting through her and it’s nearly enough for her to fake the flu and call the whole trip off. But considering the bride-to-be has been her best friend since the third grade, there’s really no contest. Shawn will be fine on his own for three days, she knows that. As long as he stays away from the stove. “My mopey boy.” Alex pouts right back at him, leaning in to kiss that look right off of his face. “I’ll be back before you know it.” She punctuates her statement with another kiss, her hands taking their own initiative to roam underneath his shirt. Just as her lips start a trail down his neck, she catches movement out of the corner of her eye. Shawn’s hand has somehow found those bikini bottoms, which he is presently trying to shove under the blankets to hide them away from her. He can deal with her going to Vegas. He can deal with her dancing all night with her friends. He can even deal with her throwing singles at some oiled-up dudes. But he cannot deal with seeing her in that thong of a bikini through his phone screen without any means of taking it off. She catches his wrist in the nick of time, holding it down on the bed as she tries to wrestle the bottoms away from him. Unfortunately, he’s got them in a death grip, his other hand free to tickle her side in the exact spot that makes her unable to function. “Okay, okay, but if you make me forget my swimsuit, I’ll just have to skinny dip.”

              Immediately, he releases the bottoms in defeat, tossing them back towards her suitcase. Fine. If he’s going to be subjected to that evil piece of fabric from a thousand miles away, he’s at least going to make up for the lost opportunity in advance. Without warning, he rolls them over, her back landing on top of a pile of clothes yet to be packed. “You’re the worst, you know that?” Giving her no time to respond with her signature sarcasm, he captures her lips in a hungry kiss. She’ll make it to Vegas, but if he has any say about it? It’ll be on no sleep and smelling of him.

      Day one starts off fairly easy. For starters, Shawn absolutely gets his way and they’ve only been asleep for an hour or two when her alarm goes off at 7:00am. He watches with tired satisfaction as Alex rushes to finish packing, throwing items into her suitcase without consideration. He’s pretty sure that in her haste, his jeans from the night before end up in the mix, but he keeps that to himself. He’s not proud of it, but he takes advantage of her guilt long enough to con her into granting him one last quickie rather than taking a shower. So when she gets out of his car at Toronto Pearson, she’s still flushed and smelling of sex and he feels pretty good about sending her off that way.

      At first, time passes quickly. Mostly because he spends most of the afternoon catching up on sleep. It’s around 5:00pm when the updates start rolling in, beginning with a wholesome group photo that Alex has posted to Instagram. He has a sneaking suspicion that this will be the last photo taken in Vegas where they collectively appear sober and bright eyed. In any case, he’s glad to see a sign of life from her. As the night pushes onward, he’s quickly proven right as he watches several of her friend’s snap stories as they go shot for shot with one another, the sound of their woohoo’ing driving him to turn down the volume on his phone to the lowest setting. Okay, so maybe he’s relieved he didn’t go and hide out in her hotel room. Granted, it’s not like he’s any stranger to the sound of screaming women. Around 11:00pm, he nearly chokes when he comes across a video of Alex taking a shot of tequila with her hands held behind her back, the whole bar cheering her on. At midnight, there’s a photo of her holding back the bride-to-be’s hair with in the backdrop of an opulent marble bathroom. He checks for the last time shortly after 2:00am to see that they made it out to the clubs in one piece, though he takes note that Alex has already taken her heels off. Predictable. With one day under his belt and two to go, he drifts to sleep surprisingly quick considering her fingers aren’t threading through his hair.

     Day 2 becomes a bit harder. Not only is he bored out of his mind, but when there isn’t a single update from Alex or any of her friends by 1:00pm, his stomach starts to churn. He knows these girls, they live for social media and a bachelorette party is prime content. Reminding himself of the time difference, he’s soothed temporarily but it’s not long before he’s refreshing each social media account desperate for updates. Just as he’s about to break the rules and call her, the bride starts posting video after video of the group poolside at a day club. He swipes past all of the photos of obnoxious inflatable pool toys and selfies of the other girls until he finds a video starring Alex. From the cover photo alone, he recognizes the cut off short covered ass belonging to his girlfriend. Honestly, he could pick it out of a lineup with ease. The way there’s just a flash of cheek peeking out from underneath the faded denim, the shorts completely filled out to the point that his breath hitches in his chest. As if he hadn’t kneaded that ass in his palms less than 48 hours before.

      Eagerly, he hits play on the video only to instantly hear the beginning of the Lost in Japan remix. The camera zooms in on Alex as she turns towards her friends, a giant, open mouthed smile plastered on her face. Instantly, she raises her comically large, neon colored drink into the air, hips already swaying suggestively to the song. “That’s my man!!” Her voice is hoarse but full of pride and excitement, and he swears his heart almost can’t take it. Without shame, he replays the video over and over, maybe a dozen times. There’s a matching smile stuck on his face as he hears her shout “that’s my man!” again and again. Alright, so maybe Day 2 isn’t so bad either. At least not until he sees the group photo of the girls hanging all over the dancers from the Magic Mike show. Alex, in particular, is sandwiched between two incredibly buff dudes that would put even Shawn’s physique to shame. The way her hand rests on the tanned abs of one of the guys causes a rush of jealousy to burn upwards through his chest, but all he has to do is rewatch the pool video for the twentieth time and the feeling fades away. “That’s my man!” Do people still use personalized ringtones? Because he’s pretty sure he’d like to hear that sound bite all day, every day. Some would call it odd to be this infatuated with someone this far into a relationship, but every glimpse of her gives him butterflies.

      By Day 3, he swears he’s about to lose his mind. The minutes seem to crawl by and nothing helps pass the time any faster. In typical Shawn fashion, he spends a while juggling. He does an Instagram Live for 20 minutes. He tries to figure out how to make this chicken thing Alex always cooks, but he burns it and turns to cereal instead. He screws around on the guitar for awhile but inspiration never strikes. Finally, he calls in the reserves and invites his buddies over for a boy’s night. He also swears to himself that he’s not going to check in on Alex…because he knows if he does, he’ll end up calling her. Since he has a feeling that she’s expecting him to fail at the three day communication embargo, he’s doing his best to power through this final day without proving her right. Inviting his friends over turns out to be the right call, as his mind finally leaves Vegas and joins the world of X-Box and craft beer. It isn’t until he hears Brian snickering from the corner of the room that Alex is brought back to his thoughts.

     “Dude, Alex’s friend Chelsea is live on Insta right now…I think you might want to see this…” He passes his phone to Shawn, the rest of their friends leaning in to see what all the fuss is about. Sure enough, there’s Alex, on a karaoke stage with the bride-to-be, microphone held sideways in her hand. She’s…rapping? Not just to any song, but the incredibly raunchy Ludacris song “What’s Your Fantasy?”. “She’s getting every. Single. Word. Right.” Brian can barely catch his breath he’s laughing so hard, and Shawn isn’t sure whether he wants to laugh along or rub his temples. Alex would. She’s almost more of a ham than he is, always the person in the room cracking jokes the loudest, always willing to make a fool out of herself to get a laugh. Based on what he can see from the video, the crowd is LOVING it and he almost feels a weird sense of pride? For his girlfriend performing a dirty song? It doesn’t make a lot of sense but this is one of those strange, inappropriate moments where the only thought in his head is I’m going to marry this girl.

                The next morning, he wakes up long before his alarm, energy already coursing through his veins. Boyfriend energy. There’s a notification on his phone, only a few hours old, for a text from Alex. He grabs his phone so fast he nearly fumbles it, trying to swipe into the text message to see what was finally important enough for her to break her silence. It turns out to be a video, just a few seconds long. Clicking on it, he’s treated to the sight of Alex climbing into her hotel bed, hair piled in a top knot and sheets pulled up to her chin. “I love you. I miss you. One more sleep, baby.” She blows a kiss to the camera at the same moment one of her friends shouts at her to shut up. The video cuts off just as she yells a “make me” back, face twisting from puppy love to bitch, try me. Jesus, where did he find this woman?? Just like the pool video, he plays this one several times before texting her back. No more sleeps. See you soon, honey. Travel safe. Love you. He is whipped. Completely. Shamelessly. Happily. Whipped.

                      When he finally sees her coming down the escalator, he has to fight to stifle a laugh. Half of her face is obscured by a massive pair of sunglasses, the hood of her sweatshirt pulled up over her head and tied around her face. A baggy pair of sweatpants he’s never seen before and a sad pair of flip flops complete her outfit. She moves slowly when she steps off the escalator, a slight limp in her walk as she favors one ankle. She doesn’t notice him at first, but the second she does, her shoulders slump even lower.

              “I am…not okay in this particular moment.” Alex wheezes, voice barely above a whisper and clearly lost from all of the drinking, screaming, and rapping she’d been doing in Sin City. Leaning directly into him, it’s clear that she’s wiped out and wrecked from her three-day bender.

              “What? My girl can’t rally like she used to?” Shawn readily accepts her into his arms, relieved to be able to feel her again. And also, maybe, a little relieved that she made it home in one piece.

              “The problem is that I did rally. For 72 hours. Now I never want to see vodka again. Or tequila. Or champagne.”  She pauses for a beat, head still pressed into his shirt. “Whiskey is still okay though.”

              This time, he allows himself to laugh at her expense but pulls her in tighter all the same. “Well as long as you’re not claiming to swear off all alcohol. That I wouldn’t believe.” She whimpers into his chest, understandably unable to match his energy. “Come on baby, let’s get you home before you drop.”

      By the time he gets her into the apartment, he realizes that she might still be a little bit drunk. Trying in vain to convince her to lay down on the couch, she attaches herself to him once more, arms slung around his neck, doing her best to climb him like a koala. “I missed you. Every second. I should have let you come along.” While he’s touched to hear this admission from her, he really is happy that she got to spend the weekend on her own, letting loose with her friends in her element. There will be plenty of other vacation opportunities for the two of them, a few that he may or may not have started researching when he was climbing the walls on Day 3.

              “I don’t know, it looks like you had a great time. Especially at Magic Mike,” He leans back far enough from her so she can spot his raised eyebrow. “You seemed pretty damn enthusiastic for that, by the way…”

      An incredulous squeak escapes her, face turned up to look at his. “I was only hyping it for the bride! Why would I be horned up for those meatsuits when I come home to this?” Her hands settle on his cheeks, giving his face a soft squeeze. “And this…” Her statement is punctuated by her pelvis grinding into his.

              His hands instantly catch her hips, stilling her before she can go any further. “I’ve had three days of blue balls watching your stories. Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

              There’s an actual look of shock on her face, considering she’s not used to being turned down. “Who says I can’t finish?” There’s a determination on her face that makes him second guess himself. But upon giving her a once over, he pauses long enough to think of the most delicate way to let her down.

      “For starters, while you look like the most beautiful train wreck, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you this tired.” He bites his lip, hoping that critique won’t upset her. But she seems to willingly accept it, blowing the loose hair out of her face and rubbing her tired eyes. “You need a shower and a nap. As much as I want to make up for lost time.” There’s a mixture of disappointment and gratitude on her face, which he answers by patting her butt towards the bathroom. “Go shower. I’ll nap with you after.”

              As she showers, he gets busy making her a cup of tea with a copious amount of honey to sooth her throat. Being the king of using YouTube to teach himself new skills, he watches a few videos about wrapping sprained ankles until he feels confident. By the time she’s finished, he’s ready and waiting to fix her up. She complies with his orders, relaxing into their headboard, cup of tea balanced on her chest while his hands gently affix the wrap around her injured ankle. Fingers ghosting over her skin once he’s satisfied with his work, he grabs a pillow to rest underneath her foot. “I’m glad you had fun. But. I’m calling it now, no Vegas for your bachelorette party.” He chuckles, crawling up the bed to join her. “I hear Calgary is a great bachelorette destination. Maybe Winnipeg.”

              Swallowing the last of her tea, she discards the mug on the nightstand and rolls to pull herself into him. “You know, there’s this key thing that needs to happen before it’s my turn for a bachelorette party.” It’s a lighthearted statement which she follows with a soft kiss to prove as such. She’s never been the type to put any pressure on their relationship nor has she ever been preoccupied with any timelines. As evidenced that weekend, Alex was more of a “live for the moment” type of person. That was one of the many things he appreciated about her, considering so much of his life had to be tightly planned. With her, there was never any pressure.

              “Just putting it out there. You might want to give it some thought.” He flashes her a knowing grin, bringing his face to hers for just one more kiss. There isn’t a single doubt in his mind that this is the woman for him. And sooner than later, much sooner, he’s going to make sure the whole world knows it. “Now go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up and you can tell me all about Vegas.” She settles into him once more, head on his chest and ear over his heart. “And we can talk about your karaoke performance…it’s given me…some ideas…” The last sound he hears before her breathing turns deep is an embarrassed laugh and a murmured I love you.

     Yep, he’s definitely going to marry this girl.

tagging @fourtristattoos for boyfriend!week 

[starker-stories]

An Accord (WIS), Chapter 10

Okay, let's try this again.

I posted this chapter Friday, like it was supposed to be, and then found an absolutely massive amount of serious mistakes. So I deleted it and spent the day fixing them.

So here's Chapter 10, take 2...

This fic is on a weekly update schedule. Every Friday.

Tumblr Chapter Links: ch1, ch2, ch3, ch4, ch5, ch6, ch7, ch8, ch9, ch10, ch11, ch12, ch13 AO3 Chapter Links: ch1, ch2, ch3, ch4, ch5, ch6, ch7, ch8, ch9, ch10, ch11, ch12, ch13

Tags: Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Polyamory Negotiations, Polyamory, Cheating, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Domestic Nightmare Tony Stark, Reconciliation, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, WinterIronSpider, Happy Ending, Clothed Sex, Domesticity, Peter Parker is legal age in the state of New York, College Student Peter Parker, Takes place about 2 years after Civil War. Closeted Character

Summary: “My boyfriends are super-villains,” Peter said giggling. “I’m the only pure innocent one in this place.”  ——————————————————————————————

Chapter 10: Brooklyn

“I hate being the only person in this house that gets hungry,” Peter said, breaking their post-kiss snuggling session.

Bucky laughed. “I’ll cook.”

“Menus. By. The fridge. I am not waiting for one of Pretty’s delicious, but time consuming, Depression meals.”

Bucky climbed out of bed and started pulling his shirt on.

Tony shrugged. “If you want,” he said, climbing out of bed and not bothering to put his clothes back on. Bucky didn’t either.

Peter pulled his jeans on. “Not all of us are exhibitionists, Tony.”

“My body is a fuckin’ gift and you are blessed to see it,” he answered as he headed to the kitchen. To get the menus.

Bucky raced past him for the bedroom door, poking him in the stomach as he passed. “My body is a fuckin’ gift. You need to work out with me.”

“I’m going on fifty,” Tony defended.

“I’m in my second century. I’m cooking. I can only eat so much Asian food and pizza in a month.”

“Don’t let the teenager order dinner. He refuses to let any restaurant that doesn’t normally deliver make an exception for the billionaire in the house.”

“It’s not fair,” Peter argued, speeding past both of them using his spider abilities. He settled on the kitchen stool, waiting to see who would get to the kitchen next: Tony to the menu drawer or Bucky to the stove.

“You are depriving whatever poor waiter Molly sticks with bringing me dinner of a ridiculously huge tip,” Tony said, tossing the menu for Marea on the counter. “Touch that stove, Bucky, and I swear…”

Bucky picked up the menu. “So what’s Molly’s Place have to offer?”

Tony sputtered. “I’d tell Michael what you said, but I value my permanent reservation at his restaurant too much. It’s Marea and it’s the best restaurant in the city.”

Bucky looked at the menu. “Billionaire, right?” he asked, grinning.

“Leave me a few pennies in the bank account,” Tony said.

“Il branzino, il caulini e l'antipasto, il di manzo.”

Tony’s eyebrows headed for the ceiling.

“I’m fluent in Italian, Spanish, Catalan, French, German, Finnish, Hungarian, Romanian, Czech, Serbian, Russian, Chechen, Chinese, Korean, Vietnamese, and Arabic. Oh yeah, and English. All accentless except for English. Now that I’m me again, I can’t get the Brooklyn out of it.”

Tony hooked his arm around Bucky’s neck and kissed him. “I can live with the Brooklyn,” he said, happy that Bucky wouldn’t ever speak unaccented English again.

“And I was impressed by your Italian, French, Spanish, Russian, and Chinese!” Peter said.

Bucky shrugged. “He wasn’t involved in the overthrow of as many governments as I was.”

Peter burst out laughing, then caught himself. “I shouldn’t find that funny, huh?”

Tony chuckled. “Yeah, Pete. It’s fuckin’ hilarious.” He winked at Bucky. “Maybe not as many, but it’s a non-zero number.”

“You’re both awful!” Peter said, a smile still on his lips. “Wait. You didn’t,” he asked Tony, more seriously.

“Sometimes privatizing world peace is a less than honorable pursuit. And do you think the same people are running Afghanistan as were before my visit there? Not an official government on that one, but it counts.”

“Sorry. That mess was my fault,” Bucky said sheepishly.

“I’m sure he did a lot for Russia there, Pretty, but not arm the damn Taliban. That would be Howard and then me after your dead twin brother put me in charge. So yeah, Pretty,” Tony smiled, “a non-zero number.”

“My boyfriends are super-villains,” Peter said giggling. “I’m the only pure innocent one in this place.”

“Why do you think we keep you around,” Tony said.

 “That’s why we keep you around,” Bucky said, almost in unison. They high-fived. And found their hands stuck together with webs.

“Where did you…” Tony said in shock.

Peter chuckled. “Bucky… how many guns do you have hidden in the penthouse?”

“A… lot,” Bucky said sheepishly.

“Tony,” Peter said in a sing-song. “How many of those bracelet thingys do you have laying around in case the micro-repeaters stop working?”

“Um… like he said.”

“Do you think I only have two webshooters?” Peter laughed.

“Get us out of this,” Tony said, irritatedly. “I have to call and order dinner.”

“I can do it.” Peter picked up a phone.

“I am not going to listen to you mangle the Italian language, kid. Get your super-villain boyfriends out of this. Or we’ll kidnap you and take you to our secret lair.”

“Wait,” Bucky said, “that sounds like fun.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Tony grinned.

“Yeah. It does,” Peter chimed in. “When I’m not fuckin’ starving! Karen, hit them with the dissolving fluid.” He aimed his hand at Bucky and Tony’s joined wrists.

Tony’s left eyebrow questioned him.

“Tony… of course I can move Karen to my webshooters like you move FRIDAY to your glasses. If you want your proprietary tech to stay proprietary, stop letting FRIDAY do everything for you.”

“He’s…?” Bucky started, incredulously.

“A genius? Yeah. Gonna put me out of a job. Give me the goddamn phone.”

“Nope,” Bucky made a grab for it. “I am not gonna listen to you mangle the Italian language.”

Which led to a string of cursing in said language as Peter facepalmed. “I am never going to eat.”

~~~~~

“That wasn’t Italian,” Bucky said as they finished dinner.

“Of course it was. I mean I am fond of Gargulio’s for old times sake, but Marea’s better.”

“Not the food,” Bucky said, making a dive for the last of the desert.

Tony laughed. “Not exactly Italian. But you didn’t speak it when you went to Gargulio’s did you?”

“Italian? Fuck, I could maybe manage proper English.”

“You would’ve heard the difference. It’s Napoletano. Like your English can’t lose Brooklyn? My Italian can’t lose Naples because I learned it from my mom.”

“She was actually from Italy?” Bucky said, still hesitant to bring up the subject.

Tony nodded. “She came here to go to university. An unexpected me put an end to it.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said quietly, looking down.

“Why? Did you kill her?” Tony asked.

“Yeah.”

“You gotta stop taking credit for his bullshit, Pretty.” Tony reached out and brushed Bucky’s hair back then lifted his chin, turning his face to him. “When those words were said, were you you?”

“I did it.”

“Not what I asked. Before 1945, would you have done that?”

“Never.”

“You didn’t kill her, Bucky.”

Tears welled in Bucky’s eyes. His jaw clenched as he tried to keep them back. Tony ran the backs of his knuckles lightly across his temple and his tears fell.

Tony scooted his chair next to Bucky’s. “You didn’t kill her.” He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the side of Bucky’s head. He closed his eyes and his own tears silently fell.

Peter watched the moment pass between them. Tony’s mom’s death was something that had weighed heavily on him his whole life. He was finally getting closure. How could he be jealous of that? They needed each other right then. Peter stood and both men looked at him. He walked around the table and put kisses on top of, first Tony’s, then Bucky’s heads. “Take Bucky to bed,” he said tenderly. “I’m gonna go study.”

“Baby,” Tony said, looking up. He pinched the bridge of his nose after sliding his fingers over his eyes to wipe the tears. “Do you mind?” he asked Peter quietly.

“Not even a little,” Peter said. “Take him to bed.” He paused and brushed his fingers through Bucky’s hair.

~~~~~

“C’mere, Pretty,” Tony said. Their tearful moment past, he felt playful. He turned Bucky and pushed his back gently against the closed door. He draped his arms around Bucky’s neck and chuckled. “Peter’s shorter than me.”

Bucky stood straighter.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Fine!” He pulled himself up on Bucky’s shoulders, stood on tiptoes, and kissed him.

“Not used to taller guys?” Bucky grinned.

“Not in awhile, no.”

“Problem?”

“You’re shorter than me laying down, Pretty,” Tony said with a smirk, standing flat on his feet. He dropped his voice to a whispered purr. “And when I’m on top of you.”

“Fuck,” Bucky said on a long breath.

“Problem?” Tony asked as he grabbed Bucky’s hands and led him to the bed. They rolled facing each other, Tony on his left side, Bucky on his right.

“I’m used to being the most charming, smug, and seductive one in the bedroom, that’s all,” Bucky said laughing.

Tony kissed the laugh off his lips. He brushed Bucky’s hair back. “I love that sound, Pretty.”

Bucky ducked his head, resting his forehead on Tony’s chest. Who was taller than him laying down. “You asked me something when we were all talking earlier.” He put a light kiss on the square inch of skin underneath his lips.

“Hmm? And?”

“Yes, I am.”

“I know, baby,” Tony said tenderly. He’d watched it happen, Bucky slowly fall in love. When he settled into it, it made Tony realize his own love. Feeling actual love for anyone was new, brought out by Peter. Feeling love for Bucky, just as deep but different and needing both, was entirely outside of his experience.

“Will Peter mind?”

“I’m pretty sure Peter already knows. He’s just scared because he’s younger.”

“You’re younger than me.”

“I mean, being an adult. He’s not, but he’s more than just a kid. I kinda toss an extra five years or so on him from the shit he’s been through.”

“About the same age I enlisted,” Bucky nodded. “That’s about how he feels.” He paused. “I love him, too.”

“I know that. And both of us love you. Not just because you give great head.”

“Tony,” he said in mock complaint.

“Most seductive and tallest,” he said, tilting Bucky’s face up for a kiss.

Bucky laughed. “And I thought you were tickling Peter when I heard you two laughi… Oh fuck… He can hear us!”

“Not yet, but I’m gonna fix that,” Tony purred. He ran his palm slowly down Bucky’s chest until he reached his waist. He stopped briefly at the button of his jeans before unfastening it.

It took some entirely unseductive wiggling around before they were both naked and in each other’s arms again. Bucky’s kisses were biting and hot. Tony’s were possessive and deep. Their hands clutched and pulled. It was very much closer, tighter, harder, now!

“I know you like riding me,” Tony said, struggling to catch his breath. “Do you like it on your back?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Bucky said, rather flatly.

“Not what I asked.” Tony rolled himself on top of Bucky. He reached his arms under Bucky’s shoulders and slid himself up along the man’s body. “Baby, that’s something you gotta get used to with me.”

“You talk too fuckin’ much during sex?”

“Okay, that’s two things you gotta get used to with me.”

“The leftovers of your fuckin’ Long Island accent make three?” Bucky grinned and bit again.

“All right, Brooklyn. Since you aren’t objecting…”

Tony found the lube under the pillow he always put it under and kissed Bucky through the awkwardness of doing so. One-handed he managed to squeeze enough of a dollop onto his hand to reach between them and stroke Bucky’s cock. He didn’t play, but directly went for things he’d discovered by rubbing him through his pants.

“Fuck,” Bucky panted, eyes wide at how fast he’d gotten so far.

Tony rubbed precome and lube over the head of Bucky’s cock. “Oh baby, that is… Fuck me, you’re gorgeous when you’re getting gone.”

“Getting? You’re gonna make me come.”

“I’m not gonna make you come before I’m ready to.” Tony took his hand off of Bucky’s cock, reached beneath his balls and slid his still-slick hand between his cheeks. The tip of his forefinger circled his rim and Bucky pushed down against it.

“Greedy,” Tony said, nipping his lip.

With only slightly less finesse than he’d done before — dammit! he and Peter were going to have to compare notes! — Tony coated his finger with lube and worked it inside of Bucky. “I’m not your fuckin’ child bride, Tony.”

“Ya ever think that I wanna do this because I…” Tony slipped another finger inside, “…like watching you?” He spread his fingers apart and slid his third in between them. “Fuck…” Tony moaned, watching the way Bucky moved when his fingers pressed up.

“What?” Bucky asked before he lost the ability to speak. From where he was lying… gasping… writhing… groaning… Tony wasn’t getting anything out of it.

“That, Pretty. That’s what I want. If I just want to get off, I can do that on my own.” Tony slid down a little which let his fingers push in deeper. They made Bucky gasp again. “This…” Tony breathed over his nipple before touching the tip of his tongue to it. Bucky’s breath caught. “…I only get with you.”

“From another person, you mean.”

Tony combined the movement of his fingers and the slow, wet drag of his lips across Bucky’s nipple. Bucky tried to move away from the overstimulation, but was held by Tony’s other hand on his shoulder. He could break free, easily, but he didn’t.

“I meant what I said, Bucky.” He dragged his open mouth down Bucky’s abs. The other man rolled his body up to meet his mouth. Kissing up the center of his body from his navel, Tony’s tongue swirled around the divot of his collarbone,

Bucky nearly came off the bed when Tony entered him. His back arched and Tony’s hands pulled him down, deeper onto his cock. He only thought about it after he’d cried out, but there was no way Peter didn’t hear that.

Tony pulled back with a long slow drag until he was almost entirely out of Bucky. Tony snapped his hips upward as he pushed hard and deep inside. Both hands on either side of Bucky’s head, his fingers tangled in his hair. He kissed him again, slow and soft, His thrusts were slow and long. He leaned up and whispered in Bucky’s ear. “I wanna learn you, Bucky.”

Bucky’s whimpers were nothing like Peter’s. Those were high, desperate, and pleading. Bucky’s broke into little short breaths, low and rising only at the very end. They started out demanding but Tony made them fall into begging.

Bucky groaned, his body broke out in a fine sweat, as Tony was managing to drive him fucking nuts with the way his thick cock scraped just the right way inside of him. Enough to get him hot but nothing more. Enough to make him need.

“Oh god!” Bucky cried out when Tony stopped playing and started fucking him hard. Not fast, but hard. He hadn’t realized that the two things could be separated. Bucky pushed down onto Tony’s cock. “Oh fuck Tony!” I didn’t…” His words were unintelligible. Broken on a rising moan. “That… could…” His attempt to make sense was lost to a loud cry. His cock dripped precome onto his belly.

“Around my waist now, baby,” Tony crooned and Bucky hooked his ankles across each other on Tony’s back. Tony stretched himself out over the taller man, pulling himself deeper as he slid up. Bucky’s heels dug in.

“Oh fuck, Pretty,” Tony moaned, his dark eyelashes fluttering. He snapped his hips sharply, seeking the depth that the new angle gave him. Tony reached up over Bucky’s right shoulder, and threaded his fingers into his long hair, holding his arm still, unable to move. But he said, “Hold me, baby.”

“Tony, no. I can hurt you.” Bucky realized that Tony meant for him to hold with his left arm.

He thrust in hard again. “Hold me, Bucky.” He kept Bucky’s right arm pinned with his elbow on the mattress under his arm, and Tony reaching up still into his hair.

Hesitantly, Bucky wrapped his left arm around Tony’s chest.

Tony kept a regular rhythm, deep and hard but not fast. He ached to go faster. Being inside Bucky was nothing like Peter. He knew Bucky could take it rougher. His body was used to responding to rougher. Tony hated knowing how that adaptation came about. He wasn’t going to blend himself into the body-memory that Bucky had of those times. So no matter how much his Pretty’s responses made him want to go faster, he stayed slow.

“Please…” Bucky moaned on a broken breath.

“Please what baby?”

“Faster. Please.”

“Mm hmm,” Tony purred as he dragged his lips, wet, open mouthed, across the stubble on Bucky’s sharply defined jaw. He went no faster.

“Tony,” Bucky drew out the name on a moan low in his throat.

“Mm hmm?” His thrusts were shallow, deep, and kept Bucky filled. The hand in Bucky’s hair lifted his head to where he could kiss him. It was Tony who bit, held Bucky’s lip in his teeth, and sucked. He nipped sharply and let go. As he did, the snap of his hips finally went faster. Tony felt the fingers of Bucky’s left hand dig into the muscle on his side. Then he heard the faint electromechanical whir of his arm’s strength being pulled back even as the man groaned, distracted with the pleasure of finally being fucked faster.

He released his hold on Bucky’s right arm and moved the man’s hand between them. He waited until Bucky wrapped it around his cock before he sucked his earlobe into his mouth. “Not yet,” he whispered.

Bucky’s eyes opened and he was about to say something when he saw Tony’s smirk. “Oh, fuck you,” he groaned.

Tony laughed softly. His words stuttered. “You can do it now… make yourself come… whenever you want. Or you can wait…” Tony’s smirk returned. “Gets better. Your… choice.”

“Fuckin’ hate you.” The whining moan Bucky made when Tony scraped his teeth along his neck and bit where it curved into his shoulder, proved his words a lie.

Bucky took his hand off of his cock entirely and out from between their bodies. He put it flat on the bed. “Now you have a lot to live up to,” Bucky said, Tony’s smirk transferring to his face.

Tony leaned back more on his knees and balanced his left arm near Bucky’s waist. “Gimme that hand,” he said, reaching behind himself, floundering around for Bucky’s left hand. He leaned forward, holding it by the wrist once he had it. He growled in Bucky’s ear. “I love you.”

Tony leaned back, pulling Bucky’s ass onto his haunches. When he rose up with his thighs, he fucked hard and deep. One hand was on his waist, urging him down to meet him. Bucky started pushing down to do that. Bucky was hot around him, the rocking movement and the man’s eagerness making him clench around Tony’s cock. Tony was groaning in pleasure, letting the powerful sensations distract him from the fear of what he was going to do. He took Bucky’s left hand and put it, flat palmed, on the center of his chest. The first test had been for Bucky. This one was for him. He was more deeply in love with Bucky than he wanted to admit. And Tony couldn’t love, not really love, without trust.

Bucky’s eyes went wide. He was going to object, but when he looked up at him; he saw Tony’s eyes tightly close. He watched as Tony pulled his lips into his mouth and bit them shut. He saw the wince of remembered pain and fear. He saw the struggle on the man’s face as the present warred with the past. He watched the two fight to reconcile. But Tony never moved Bucky’s hand away from the most vulnerable part of his body.

The man he’d betrayed so deeply, giving him that level of trust was unbelievable. “Oh Tony,” Bucky breathed out, overcome. He ground himself down on Tony’s cock, needing to be closer, and was rewarded with the man increasing his pace, pounding into him hard, but without anger or wanting to cause anything but pleasure. Bucky fell into babbling when Tony was at the height of his thrust and, more often than not, managed to hit his prostate. “Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck…”

Tony kept his eyes closed as his hand held the back of Bucky’s hand. Instead of the metal fingers curling around the edges of the arc reactor, trying to hurt him, Bucky touched with nothing but the flat of his palm. He moaned, raised himself up and held in deep, feeling Bucky surrounding him. Tony’s fear finally broke and he let go of Bucky’s hand.

He listened to Bucky panting, fast and shallow — catching, holding, shuddering, letting go. Small deep groans that ended on another caught breath. Bucky’s legs dropped from around his waist and he pushed up with his feet on the mattress, adding his force that of Tony’s as they fucked. Tony pushed himself deeper, ground their hips together, filling Bucky with his entire length. He opened his eyes and looked down.

“Oh Pretty,” he moaned at the sight.

Tony lost himself in those blue eyes, dark with desire, eyelashes fluttering until his eyes closed. Bucky’s lips parted with his ragged breathing — full and swollen, flushed bright pink, wet and shining.

Bucky’s scream was low and loud. His eyes flew open as, untouched, his orgasm tore through him.

“That’s it, Bucky. Come for me, baby. Oh god… oh fuck!”

Tony groaned as his breath held. Both breath and release escaped at the same time. As he shuddered as he came and fell atop Bucky. He draped his arms over his shoulders, under his neck, and held on as the quakes passed through him.

Bucky wrapped his arms around Tony’s chest. They held each other as gasps settled into slow panting and then as their breaths evened out. Yet once they had, they still didn’t let go.

Tony took Bucky’s face in both his hands and kissed him tenderly. He saw the wetness on Bucky’s cheeks and felt it on his own. “You are in control of you, Bucky.” He kissed him again. “You did not kill my mom,” he said quietly

“How did you know I wouldn’t…” He looked down the space between them at Tony’s chest.

“I just knew,” Tony said, brushing the long, sweat damp strands from Bucky’s face.

“I could’ve killed you.”

“Uh huh.” He paused for another kiss. “So can Peter. But, Bucky, look,” Tony said, rolling onto his side. He took Bucky’s left hand and pressed his fingertips onto his side where he had grabbed him while they were fucking. “Are there any bruises?”

“No, but I didn’t try to hold you hard.”

“Yeah, you did. You didn’t hear it. You were too focused on something else,” he said with an over-confident smile. “But I heard it. I heard you pull it back. The way I can feel Peter doing the same thing.”

“I’ve torn the shit out of beds before. I could’ve hurt you.”

“And Peter breaks headboards and walls and shreds my sheets,” Tony said with a shrug.

“You’re crazy.”

Tony chuckled. “Maybe. I just have a fetish for guys who can break me into little pieces — and don’t.” Definitely a fetish. Definitely a power rush of truly epic proportions.

“You made me come even after I stopped touching myself,” Bucky said smiling.

“He does that,” Peter said, coming into the bedroom. “A lot.”

“You give me too much credit, babe,” Tony said smiling as he noticed that Peter was carrying his clothes instead of wearing them.

“I have a feeling he doesn’t.” Bucky, who was still on his back, more or less in the center of the bed, held his left arm open wide for Peter.

Peter crawled onto the bed and over to where Bucky was and settled in his open arm. Though he pulled part of a pillow under his head. Resting it directly on hard metal wasn’t exactly comfortable.

“God that was hot. I came so hard,” Peter said as he kissed Bucky’s chest. He ran his finger through the mess on his stomach. Looking first at Tony, then up at Bucky, he put his finger in his mouth, sucked it, and smiled.

Tony reached for the towel he kept under the same pillow as the lube. He wiped Bucky’s stomach clean. Both he and Bucky chuckled and shared a glance before turning to accuse Peter. “You were sitting outside the door, jerking off to us,” he said.

“Not through all of it.” He curled up closer to Bucky, tangling their legs together. “I did get my studying done. Fast,” Peter added with a grin. “It was so different only listening. Having to use my imagination to see.” He slid his arm across Bucky’s waist. “Bucky gets to be in the middle tonight. How do you like to sleep? Side, back, stomach?” Peter asked, looking up at him. “We used to sleep spooned,” he began, not saying who the other one of the ‘we’ was. Steve, obviously. “But on my back is more comfortable.” He hesitated. “Body habit.” “On your back then,” Tony said. He’d seen the container tubes in Siberia that Bucky would’ve been put in, to sleep on his back. “Until your body decides on another habit,” he added with another little kiss to Bucky’s shoulder.

He balled up a pillow under his head and stretched out along Bucky’s side. Tony reached across Bucky’s stomach to hold Peter’s hand. Bucky’s right hand slipped up from between his side and Tony’s front, to join them.

[onyourhyuck]

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐊ᵃ𝐫𝐦𝐚. | Season 2

synopsis; park areum is a journalist who happens to get her life involved with the mafia leader war and havoc, lee jeno. areum’s brother was kidnapped by the japanese mafia na yuta and areum was able to successfully get jisung back— however with a price that she betrays lee jeno by selling out important information of his base whereabouts. it’s been a year ever since that day and areum happens to get involved in the mafia world again.

warning: mafia au/theme, thriller, action, romance, smut!!, lots of fighting here and mentions of blood, park areum is a bad bitch ykyk, dreamies are here for plot, love triangle!!!!, angst.. massive angst, death mentions of characters, alcohol mention, guns mention, switch!areum, switch Jeno!, rough kissing, gripping, degrading, praising, love scenes, unprotected seggs [wrap your willys sons pls, use it 😃], slowburn romance, prepare for a long ass ride.JEALOUSY, Exhibitionist scenes (almost caught etc) semi public scenes with sexual tension. PLOT TWISTS AND CLIFFHANGERS <3 THIS IS SEASON 2, CHECK SEASON 1 OUT BEFORE READING THIS SEASON PLSSSS.

PART 19 / 25. PART 20 LINK.

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the Chinese man runs through the entire base just to find jaemin coming to the base after the successful operation on winning against the Japanese troops of mafia that were sent to fight them— yet jaemin felt like he failed when he saw no sign of yuta.

renjun gasps up at the railings shouting with a special white piece of paper with an important note. his voice engulfing the echoing base. “the yakuza have areum! i repeat, the kraken gang have areum!”

the soldiers gasp in turns as they turn to jaemin, the man with a shocked and terrified expression; they have areum, this wasn’t what they needed to hear. “what else does it say Renjun!” haechan shouts first with anger, he’s going to kill them if they hurt areum.

the Chinese boy looking down at the note as he read whilst speaking. “We have areum, come unarmed and surrender to us peacefully, we will leave her alive in return.” renjun looks up as he was met with thousands of soldiers listening in, they’re being blackmailed and bargained with.

with possibly the best substitute because knowing their new boss jaemin, he’s going to do as yuta says and wants. haechan will in a heartbeat surrender if it means for areum to stay alive.

they’re just hoping areum isn’t being tortured, or worse, beat up…

the long lashes flutter open, revealing dazed-half asleep eyes meeting a ceiling. the woman laying on top of rich silky bedsheets, a double fancy bed in an unfamiliar room.

“you’re finally awake.” enticing chuckle would be heard, areum sitting up in a rush when remembering exactly what happened. the woman going off the bed as she runs to the front corner she could find, the japanese man with healthy long black hair watching with a tilted head, wide smug expression with curved lips watching areum up and down, observing carefully the smart and heavily pregnant woman.

he tuts his tongue at areum’s glare, he felt hurt when the woman he’s peaked interest in is looking at him so angry— then again, he sorta likes it. that glare sent him shivers, the fear and angry he desperately feeds out off. “you don’t have to glare at me like that, areum-ah.” yuta eased forward relaxing manner, his hands in the air surrounding for areum to show that he’s not dangerous to her.

areum stepping back the more yuta comes forward large steps, the wall stopping areum from going any further away. the japanese man slithering on to areum as his face rests on the side between the woman’s neckline, “gosh areum, why are you so tense Hm?” areum growls an answer in annoyance. “why did you take me, what are you planning bastard?” a harsh warm breathe comes out as he laughs at the straight forward answer. she’s such a journalist, he loves the way she catches onto situations; unlike people he met he’s never met someone so interesting like areum.

a hand caresses areum’s face on the side, running down to her chin lifting the face so she has to forcefully face Yuta now. “that’s not very nice areum, aren’t we friends? did you forget last year how we made a deal? i think that makes us friends does it not?” yuta said with eyebrow raised.

“I’ve never had any friendship with you.” areum shot back and yuta sighs, “so stubborn and angry, loosen up will you?” he tells glancing into those doe-like eyes, the man’s voice trails as if it were a leaking patrol ready to set on fire, causing an explosion for areum. those long nails tracing up and down to her neck until his eyes met her stomach.

“afterall, i won’t kill you. you’re my present after i win this war.” yuta replied, backing away. “i wasn’t expecting you to get pregnant though, guess that gives me two gifts.”

areum cringed deeply as she looks down covering her stomach protectively. seriously he called her child a present? she scoffs out loud, jeering at yuta with menacing hatred. “my child isn’t your gift, it doesn’t belong to you. it belongs to jeno.”

the man was fine with everything but the last line he heard, he can tolerate anything but the name ‘jeno’. yuta growls grabbing areum’s hair in his hand, a glint of killing intent in his eyes haunt areum, she helps with surprise— yuta darkly laughing. “it’ll belong to me once your little group surrenders themselves to me. i suggest you start making yourself known to not piss me off.”

he trails softly. “i have a tendency of killing whoever talks nonsense. you’re lucky for now, but I’m running on thin patience with you.” his hands unclasp themselves from the black soft locks before him turning around. areum biting the inner tongue.

areum couldn’t help but think In her head if jeno is okay..praying to god that he is.

jeno sits up from the bedroom that he seemingly woke up, it was his neighbours house. doyoung comes rushing after he took the first aid away, the older man signing as the younger man was awake in a daze and filled with anger. he needs to save areum.

“i saw what happened on the last minute.” doyoung tells softly as he pushes a spare shit to jeno, the boy taking it with one hand that he caught, putting it on. “hyung.. they have areum.” jeno spoke with a ragged breathe. “i’m going to kill them.” he said again.

doyoung gulps lightly tapping the man’s shoulder. “be safe alright? i’ll give you a ride if you need to go anywhere.”

jeno looks up at the older man, his neighbour, the one who saved his life once and now twice, to the point he thinks of the older male as his father figure. the man smiles and jeno nods. “thank you, i do have a place i need you to take me. are you up for it?”

doyoung walks to the front of the door with hands on his hips. “jeno, I’m born ready to help. get your butt moving, I’ll be in the car waiting for you.” the man said as he walks out down the stairs, jeno couldn’t help but smile, but that faded when he thought of areum.

“I’m coming to save you, areum. wait for me.” jeno mutters standing up with the shirt on his muscular soft body, he left the room following doyoung.

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MASTERLINK TO HIS KARMA CHAPTERS.

reblog! Like! Follow for more~!

@onyourhyuck please refer from copyrighting and plagiarising my work! REBLOG, SHARE AND LIKE THIS TO SEE MORE CONTENT OF THIS.

ㅠㅠ rip areum, yuta x areum ship moment here </3 sana crying in the corner

[dungeonofimaginesandheadcanons]

How about some hcs about the standards of beauty in the magi world? For males and females pls

Anon I am going buck wild over this request I LOVE anything to do with worldbuilding. I’m going to be going by country and it’s going to get lengthy so this will be under a cut!!

Sindria

Women

It seems like pastel and light colors are what most of the women wear

All of the women in this image have long hair, so it’s safe to assume that’s fashionable there

I’m going to assume Sindria is at least temperate, if not tropical, so it makes sense all of the women are dressed lightly

Tops seem to vary from tank tops to midriff bearing- modesty doesn’t seem to be of the utmost importance

Flowers!! Though whether they’re just for the actual festival and are celebratory or are day-to-day fashion is up in the air, since Sindria seems to be a country with a lot of flora I think they’re probably utilized regularly!

Men

Similar to the women, loose, flowing clothing seems to be the way to go. Tunics, skirts, and dresses for the men as well!

The men wear either short sleeved shirts or no shirts according to this image

Neutral colors! Except for one man, all of the other men seem to be wearing brown or an olive color

 All of the men are wearing headbands wrapped around their forehead and tied at the back of their heads

Belts! It looks as if the men wear belts around their waists

Kou

General

Kou is special lol it gets its own general section

Fashion in Kou is heavily restricted by class. To the best of my knowledge brown is worn by slaves, green by the working class, and white is worn by nobility. Everyone wears the same thing except, I suppose, the royal family since they’re all dressed differently.

Women and men both wear the same kind of robes. They have a straight collar, with long, loose sleeves, pinned at the chest and tied at the waist with a sash. They all go down to their ankles.

Royal Family

Women

Kougyoku and Hakuei dress moderately differently, but I attribute that to the fact that Hakuei travels more than Kougyoku and clothing any more opulent that Hakuei’s is doesn’t really suit that sort of lifestyle

Both of them look to be wearing multiple layers, so I’d hazard a guess there’s at least one robe that works as an “undergarment” underneath their visible layers of clothing

They wear long sleeves that widen considerably at the end, which matches up to my (very, very basic)  knowledge of ancient Chinese clothing, and we know the Kou Empire is matches pretty much tit-for-tat to ancient China (particularly the Tang Dynasty)

They both wear some sort of garment over the top of the rest of their robes that is tied with a sash, which is a common element in pretty much all of the Kou Empire’s clothing

Women in ancient China to the best of my knowledge had their hair kept very long and they tied it back or, in the case of royalty, had it in intricate updos. That seems to apply to all the images of Kou royal women, so I think it’s safe to say that’s also part of their day-to-day fashion

Men

Off the top of my head I remember some trivia that whatever Kouen has going on on his shoulder isn’t fashionable, even if he thinks it is.

The goatee also is not. I’ve noticed all of the young Kou men in magi short of kouen are clean shaven, from Hakuyuu straight down to Hakuryuu and Kouha. In fact, the only Kou men we’ve seen facial hair on is Emperor Koutoku and Kouen, and the latter got dissed by his siblings for it. So I assume it’s considered fashionable to be clean shaven.

Kouen’s cape also is not fashionable. Sorry, but he’s magi’s walking fashion disaster.

Also wear multiple layers of clothing, but there are variations. Hakuyuu, Hakuren, and Hakuryuu all wear a tunic and pants, with the tunic tied closed with a sash. Kouen and Koumei both wear long robes tied at the waist.

Kouha’s fashion is markedly strange. He wears a sleeveless buttoned tunic, with openings that bare his chest, and... poofy shorts. That’s bizarre by any standard, but I assume nobody comments on it because he’s considered rather eccentric in general and it plays to his personality.

Sasan

Women

We don’t really have anything too definitive on Sasan women. We’ve only seen one, in Sinbad no Bokuen, and that took place almost fifteen years prior to the beginning of magi

Sasan is a religious country, so it’s unsurprising that lone woman was dressed conservatively. Mystras and Spartos also seem to be aghast by scantily clad women.

I imagine all of the women wear long dresses and sleeve, and their clothing is probably thick since Sasan is up in the mountains and likely pretty cold.

They probably wear boots.

The woman we saw wore makeup and jewelry, so that’s likely considered fashionable. Very classic makeup too- cat eyes, long lashes, and red lips are considered fashionable.

There’s probably pants on under those dresses, it’s way too cold for there not to be.

Men

There’s even less to go off with the men. We’ve only ever seen the knights in Sasan, who wear white tunics and black pants under armor, and white head wrappings.

They probably wear something similar, though. I’m guessing. Probably. A long sleeved tunic and pants tucked into boots.

Mostly monochrome colors- white, black, and grey. Nothing crazy. Sasan seems pretty strict on conformity.

Coats are probably necessary. I imagine the men wear very long coats.

Artemyra

Women

My favorite by far

Pink and white!!! Pink and white!!!! They wear pretty much exclusively pink and white from what we’ve seen

Modesty? Not a problem. Sideboob, underboob, full boob!! Who cares!!

A lot of feathers in their clothing, and even in their hair!

Gold jewelry is fashionable.

Their hair is worn either down or braided in some way

It seems like mostly adult women and older girls wear dresses. Teenage girls and young girls wear a short sleeved top and poofy shorts

A common cut for tops for appropriately aged teens and girls seems to be poofy sleeves and a large cut out that bares the center of their chest (no nips!) down their stomachs, and tied with a chord.

Men

Long tunics in pastel pink

That’s it. I’m not joking.

Tied at the waist with a chord.

They also wear a head covering? Kind of like a bonnet and tied under the chin.

Heliohapt

Women

Topless. No joke- boobies 100% exposed. This is canon. An exhibitionist’s dream.

Long wrapped skirts tied with long sashes around their waist.

Lots and lots of jewelry- around the waist, neck, wrists, in between the breasts. So much that the jewelry could pass for a shirt if the nipples weren’t right there.

Short hair is very fashionable. Cut at an angular bob around the chin area and with bangs.

Think about the type of costumes halloween stores would be selling if they could get away with “Sexy Egypt”. Heliohapt women’s clothing is just heavily sexualized Egyptian-based clothing.

Men

Loose, pretty much exclusively white clothing

Long sleeveless tunics, that expose the sides are fairly common. They’ll be off shoulder and held up by a belt

More gold jewelry. SO MUCH.

It doesn’t seem like pants are too common- the tunic covers everything that needs to be covered.

They wear sandals that lace up the calf and tie below the knee.

Reim

Women

It seems like long, light colored dresses are fashionable

Cinched either at the waist or just below the breasts

Flowing, light material. Very pretty, give an almost ethereal look to the outfits.

Going off of Scheherazade’s outfit, red is probably a pretty popular accent color.

Leaves, berries, flowers, etc are popular hair accessories

Men

TOGA! TOGA! TOGA!

Pants who? In Reim, they die like true men- in togas.

Long hair is popular for men

Dark blue is a common color for accents for men as well.

Men don’t tend to wear jewelry of any kind, and keep things relatively simplistic

Imuchakk

Women

Skirts or mid-length pants

Clothing tends to stay in the white to blue range, but you might see some purple thrown in there

Geometric patterns are popular!

Seems like women walk around barefoot, snow be damned. Nothing gets in the way of an Imuchakk woman’s sense of fashion ig

Fur! We’re going to bare our stomachs and legs but those fur arm and leg warmers will keep them warm enough i suppose

Most of the women have had long hair except Pipirika, so I’d say long hair is considered fashionable to Imuchakk women

Men

Men go shirtless

Long fur skirts

More leg warmers and arm warmers

Hinahoho has long hair and Rurumu’s father had long hair, so i think long hair would be fashionable to men as well

I headcanon facial hair is considered very good looking on Imuchakk men

Okay I’m done. I know I didn’t include Magnostadt, Balbadd, and Partevia, but in all honesty that’s out of partly due to laziness and partly due to either repetitiveness or total lack of content. Magnostadt everyone wears pretty much exactly the same thing except a few teachers who wear a ton of different things so it was hard to get a grasp of any content, and I feellike Balbadd and Partevia are pretty similar to Sindria so I didn’t want to just type the same things over and over. Some don’t have pictures just because I had to base on multiple singular characters.

[nola-unchained]

fifty totally random character development questions:

1. Do they prefer to wear headphones or earbuds when listening to music?

2. What do they do when they’re feeling tired and need to stay awake?

3. Do they usually eat mild, medium, or spicy salsa?

4. Pizza, McDonalds, or Chinese take-out?

5. How do they react to finding out someone has a crush on them?

6. How do they feel about unrequited love?

7. How would they fare in a zombie apocalypse?

8. Gold, silver, or copper jewelry?

9. How much ice do they put in their drinks?

10. Do they use Instagram, Facebook, or Tumblr? If so, how much/often?

11. What’s their desktop background?

12. How are they at taking care of plants?

13. Did they have any phases? (e.g. emo, punk, scene…)

14. How did they do academically in high school?

15. Are they the big spoon or the little spoon?

16. How do they like their eggs?

17. How do they like their toast?

18. Queso or guacamole?

19. What are they like as a neighbor?

20. How do they behave when confronted with deadlines?

21. What’s the weirdest thing you’re likely to find in their room?

22. What fictional character do they relate to the most?

23. Do they like raisins in their pastries? If no, will it stop them from eating it?

24. When forced to do a group project with other people, what role do they usually play?

25. Does your muse listen to vinyl records? Do they use iTunes? Do they legally or illegally download music?

26. How would your muse do at taking care of a goldfish?

27. Is your muse a dreamer or a realist?

28. Android, iPhone, or other?

29. What’s their Subway order?

30. Trendsetter, trend follower, or trend ignorer?

31. What about themselves do they usually not tell people? What are they embarrassed of?

32. What’s their ideal vacation?

33. White, red, or rose wine?

34. Are they outdoorsy? Do they enjoy hiking, camping, etc.?

35. What’s their Starbucks order?

36. What colors make up most of their wardrobe?

37. Do they believe in any conspiracy theories? Fear a zombie apocalypse/AI overtake? How do they think the world will end?

38. Do they play video games? If so, which ones?

39. What would you see if you looked through their trashcan?

40. What kind of videos do they get recommended on YouTube?

41. Are they an exhibitionist? Do they ever change in front of windows? Have sex when they know people can see/hear?

42. How do they feel about astrology?

43. Why do people usually call them on the telephone? To complain? To ask for advice? To ask them to do something for them?

44. Have they ever had any pregnancy scares?

45. Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter?

46. Do they meme? Enjoy memes? Create memes? Find them horribly annoying? How about shitposts?

47. How do they go about asking someone out or confessing their feelings about someone to them?

48. When do they usually go to bed?

49. In the “sleep vs. grades vs. social life, pick two” situation, which two do they pick?

50. What do they think is the meaning of life?

[revivedandabandonedkids]

This is haihiro my dudes

also it's in second person pov

//

The true appeal of alcohol isn't the taste, because lord it tastes like shit, but there's a charm in the feeling of intoxication, of escaping your own skin for a while, of existing without being. Maybe the same argument could be used for cigarettes, or even drugs, but you wouldn't know. You've never tried, and you're in no hurry to do so. Either of so. The wind is breezy and it tussles your hair unattractively. You spit out a chunk of hair and you ask, "Why do you behave the way you do?"

Kira Hiroto doesn't answer the question like you'd hoped he would, which is mildly disappointing. But he hands you another beer, so you let it slide. Instead you fire a new accusation. "You think I'm a bother." The statement burns on your tongue and seizes your heart. What other possibility could it be? Why else would he be sitting out here, if not hiding from you. It's insulting, seeing as he is the one who "invited" you here.

Hiroto doesn't nod his confirmation, to your bewilderment. He's usually the quickest to jump in to criticize you.

"You're mistaken." He chortles in that way that makes your knees a little weak. "I am a very selfish person. I'm using you."

"Strange definition of 'use', but hey, whatever floats your boat."

He laughs, then shakes his head. "No. I'm definitely using you."

"Well, I'm no linguist, but I'm under the impression that in order for you to quote unquote, 'use me', I'd have to be beneficial to you in the first place. What am I beneficial for? And if you say your happiness I will puke."

"My happiness." Hiroto says smugly.

"Fuck you."

"On this very public open space? Wow. Never took you as an exhibitionist."

You scowl, and he meets your eyes challengingly, a rare clarity digging into the back of your skull. You wonder why things have to be so hostile between the two of you all the time. Why can't there be sweet gazes and tender touching? Everything is a competition with him, and it's tiring sometimes.

"But really, that's not how using someone works."

He shakes his head again, more insistently this time. "I know what I'm talking about."

"Do you?" You retort, because it is second nature to banter with him, and because he is the one who is mistaken. "Most people would argue otherwise, seeing as I'm the golddigger here."

"Since when have I been known to mind what most people say?" His tone is light, but his shoulders are tense. "Anyway, that's not what this is about." He swings his legs between the ledges childishly, stubborn as ever. Very well. throughout all the years you've been together, you've somehow built up a tolerance for all his nonsense, you have the patience.

You take a seat beside him. "Care to enlighten me on what this is about then?"

A sigh. "I've been using you as a means to rebel against my family."

You fail to hold back the snort. "You don't say. That explains why the entire party of people were eying me like I personally slaughtered their 4-month-old kitten and draped its kitten intensils all over their fancy velvet duvets."

"If it helps, I'm pretty sure it's less about you being a dude than it is about you being a, how do I put this lightly?"

"Commoner?"

"Essentially." he shrugs.

"No offense, but your family is actually the worst."

"Non taken."

"So what exactly are you hoping to achieve from this?"

Hiroto takes a swig at his bottle. "I'm hoping they'd take away my inheretance."

"Your what now?"

His gaze into the distance is hazy and unfocused. You wonder what he's staring at. Perhaps everything at once, or maybe nothing at all.

He doesn't answer. It only bothers you a little bit, because if you're being honest, you didn't expect him to.

"You know what the best part of alcohol is?"

You have your answer, but you know that Hiroto has a different answer in mind. You also know that he's not exactly waiting for an answer from you.

The intoxication, you think.

"The fact that you could use it as an excuse for anything. You can say anything, do anything and forget all about it the following morning. You won't be held responsible."

"I guess." You offer.

He hums, and you feel his icy fingers slide into your palms. Slowly, they warm up. You feel a little giddy, whether it's from the alcohol or the rare display of affection is anybody's guess. You tighten your hold as to stop the trembling.

"I'm not saying you deserve much, because you're pretty horrible yourself, but you deserve better than this." He rests his head on your shoulder. It burns upon contact. His hair tickles your cheek quite a bit.

"Nope." You answer idly. "It's not about what I deserve or even what you deserve. It's about giving into the current situation or continue fighting.”

“Thanks for the life lecture.” He elbows you in the ribs.

“Anytime.” You crack the slightest smile.

Nothing has been resolved, as usual. You down your drink and rest your head on top of his.

It’s chilly outside.

[END]

//

I'd like to inform everyone that I am legally allowed to drink alcohol now but uh I haven't tried any yet. I might be trying some tonight though? Happy early Chinese New Year my dudes.

I thought I was over angst. I really thought so. Boy I was wrong. But in my defense this really isn't all that angsty. It's just sort of sad.

This ended up way longer than I expected it to be and I have no idea if I'm going to throw it up on ao3 or not