#golf shirts from china | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sweatermakers · 9 months

Text

youtube

polo sweater Maker

YS Sweater Manufacturer https://knittedsweater.net

polo sweater Maker alp n rock sweater，sweater women star，bob marley sweater，jampers for ladies，cadigan ho tit trm，pullover with hand，loose knit blanket，junge 104 pullover，scandinavisch trui，neck cover sweater，gebreide trui vest，light knitwear men，custom virgin wool，custom dog clothes，black woll sweater，hooded jumper mens，belly top pullover，girls sweater kids，knitwear set beige，men nylon pullover，tea n rose sweater，ellesse mikele men，vestido cuello mao，sweater knit dress，chandail de hockey，crop shirt pullove，sweaters men black，sweter for men s.r，bulk sweater china，custom aka sweater，two in one sweater，pullover d hombres，kids fleece jumper，sueter mujer plaid，chompa de meliodas，turtle neck female，80s sequin sweater，mens camo pullover，sweater for men lv，boys deer pullover，pullover mit print，polo sweater Maker mens woolen pullover herren company https://knittedsweater.net/mens-woolen-pullover-herren-company/ polo sweater Maker cool disn pullover，chandail essential，chompas de beisbol，sweater sheep wool，o khoc len cadigan，men gucci sweaters，sueter adidas dama，winter sweater men，luxury pet sweater，sweter bekas korea，vestidos plus size，kaponlu uzun hirka，top and skirt sexy，menknitted sweater，sweater custom y2k，black bone sweater，maglione uomo lana，pullover with logo，pullover fox homme，ladies sweater set，quiksilver sweater，luxe gebreide jurk，oversize pull down，bezch sweater baby，harry potter kazak，golf sweater women，oversized cardigan，cloud knit sweater，sweater logo women，replicamenclothing，copper were jumper，sueter hombre nike，custom knit hoodie，tejedira de chompa，women cape sweater，elbise erkek kazak，women sweater vest，nurse logo sweater，no button cardigan，womens turtle neck，polo sweater Maker cashmere jumper sueter company https://knittedsweater.net/cashmere-jumper-sueter-company/ polo sweater Maker sweater essentials，sweater polo shirt，sweater logo label，dog jumper sweater，camisola argentina，polyester sweaters，reflective sweater，sweater3d logo men，kadin orgulu kazak，aka v neck sweater，olive jumper women，sueter por mayoreo，green jumper women，cotton jumpersuits，sweters lana mujer，maglioni di natale，women maxi sweater，tapisserie sweater，kids cargo sweater，zipper mem sweater，cashmere tank tops，sueter mujer gorro，dark green sweater，cozy knit pullover，thick neck sweater，butwal blue sweter，women cashmere set，sweter para hombre，pull de luxe homme，sweater definition，sweater for womens，bugs bunny sweater，nordic jumper wool，sweater from korea，womens sweaters 1x，contrast kids knit，trui met hoofddoek，jarum kait kniting，maxi winter skirts，baby sweater short，polo sweater Maker customized dos agujas sueter https://knittedsweater.net/customized-dos-agujas-sueter/ polo sweater Maker russische pullover，star print sweater，pulls chaud enfant，army green sweater，sexy sweater women，childrens clothing，long crochet dress，womens crop jumper，women s turtleneck，robe pull en coton，knit sweater blank，woolen sweater men，sweater men maroon，luxury dog sweater，mens black sweater，sweter con capucha，tight knit sweater，chandail scolaires，sweater knit women，leopard mini dress，cashmere mongolian，boazli kazak kadin，frauen strickjacke，jumper thermometer，custom sweater top，luxury men sweater，mongolian cashmere，cardigan guangzhou，bayan tiriko kazak

#zip cardigan Producer #pullover groovie manufacturer #maglione donna manufacturer #fold sweaters Maker #wool pullover sweater Maker #women sweter Producer #wholesale sweaters Maker #Youtube

0 notes

count-demonlord-of-decadence · 1 year

Text

Madam Wong Bei-Tseng peeked into the room.

“Good; you’re ready” she hissed, “You have a client.”

Siu-Chiu sat on the military grade cot solving self made math equations on a notepad waiting for this announcement. She wore a black and white Hello Kitty blouse and matching skirt, frilly white ankle socks and an orange friendship bracelet on her left wrist. She wore accentuating makeup to make herself look younger, per Madam Wong’s direction. Anything to appeal to the clients.

A black man entered the 152 cubic foot room dressed in a brown golf shirt, that betrayed his beer belly and tan khakis. His head and face were freshly shaven. The cot groaned as he sat as close to Siu-Chiu as possible. He introduced himself as Tony, then overtly wished he’d given her an alias. He engaged in the kind of small talk one would expect of a man not sure how to go about committing the felony he just paid Madam Wong to commit. Which in and of itself is a felony.

Her name is Chen Siu-Chiu. Chen is her family name. You can call her either Chen, Siu-Chiu or Sichi; whichever you like. Some clients wish to call her other girl’s names. this is fine too. She was born and raised in Haidong City, Qinghai in Western China. She’s been here for two years; she’s been doing this for two years. Her family was back in China. They never ask how old she is; it might shatter the illusion.

She’d just about rather get it over with than endure this meaningless preamble. A hurricane is more than just a hurricane to those at landfall. She gleaned from the conflict within him she had two choices. Talk him down and wait his hour out, or…

He kissed her like it was “against the rules”. Though I shouldn’t describe the initial collision of teeth and lips or the subsequent forcing of one tongue in another’s mouth as kissing. Siu-Chiu gave him a good 23 seconds before shoving him out of her mouth.

He looked unsure of what to do next, like he anticipated an admonishment. So Siu-Chiu did what was in everybody's best interests. She laid her hand on what was clearly his throbbing penis beneath those khakis and said the first English words she ever learned, “You have big cock for me?” Tony stood up and stripped off his clothes so fast it had to have been rehearsed. Through a series of hand gestures, sentence fragments and pelvic motions Siu-Chiu understood to take his cock in her mouth. It was about as large as she could accommodate orally without discomfort. He wasn’t forceful about it, just standing there while she put a condom on him and did her thing. Some clients can only get off by girl’s choking as their mouths are forced onto some of the most massive members imaginable. Terence, with his nine inch member and fetish for ethnic slurs should be around to hire her Thursday. Tony gave a high pitch moan and a full body shudder while ejaculating. Siu-Chiu knew he wouldn’t be satisfied with just a blow job, so she offered her body to his mouth until he got his strength back.

He was fucking her hard, but not aggressively, like most clients. Most felt they had some sort of masculinity to affirm; dominance to establish. Few were violent and sadistic in their desires but there were some. Siu-Chiu's second client ever was such a man. He never gave the girls a name. But he was known for his ten inch member, sodomy and desire for screams. Siu-Chiu had three sessions with him before she developed enough to be repulsed by him. She almost felt sorry for the younger girls subjected to the beast. But it taught her that no one cared about their plight. It’s how she learned no rescue was coming, no salvation was at hand unless they made it themselves. Siu-Chiu saw only one course of action, to accept this fate and survive until she saw her moment. She had a talk with Madam Wong, and knew exactly how much she was earning. The other girls were content to have Madam Wong buy things for them or accept the petty cash she handed out. Siu-Chiu was good at math and sought to be Madam's apprentice. Officially Siu-Chiu was too young for responsibilities, the Madam has told her she has more promise than any other girl in her age group. They’d see when she turned 18. Four more years of servicing guys like Tony, Terence and Omar.

One would think this would make Siu-Chiu hate men, but she wasn’t that naive. She knew she liked men. Her current life taught her to be bisexual, but she had no romantic interests in women. Not all men were like these beasts. All men have their vices, Siu-Chiu learned on the job. But they all weren’t beasts. Siu-Chiu chatted with one particular client, Crow, no surname. He once confessed to her that he bore no malice towards the girls. Nor did he have any particular predilection towards minors. He was aroused by the level of illegality in committing such acts. The violation of the social norm. He proclaimed he couldn’t get an erection unless he committed a felony at the same time. Crow was her eighth client and the one who taught her to understand the variation in people. Siu-Chiu learned most of the clients are acting out a fantasy or some repressed emotion. She understood that as her desire to escape this life and live a happy one meant being dedicated to surviving these men’s abuse.

More contemptible were the women in her life; starting with the older girls. The older girls taunt, bully and beat the younger ones out of anger and frustration of their plight. Madam Wong held the older girls, those 16 years and older, responsible for all the household chores except the cooking. Madam Wong preferred to do that herself because she liked to eat good food. She designated one older girl the title of “top bitch” and held her, and her alone responsible for the other girls and chores. At present it was a North African girl using the alias Chelsea, she designated one of the younger girls the title of “top dog” and held her responsible for any and all tasked forced upon them by the older girls. Currently it was a white girl named Bella Carpenter; but Siu-Chiu bullied her into the position. The older girls would force their chores on to the younger girls and beat them if they failed to carry them out. But they too were slaves under Madam Wong. To Her the girls were nothing more than a means to an end. Despite having alluding to her starting off as a girl just like them. Despite still seeing clients at least five times a year herself; Madam Wong had no sympathy for the girls. If a girl was sick, or on her period, or pregnant she would be assured of seeing at least one client because Madam Wong knows a guy into that sort of thing. Also, at least eight times a year, she would invite her girlfriends over to amuse themselves with the girls. They were all women around her age, some mothers, one a grandmother. They would play perverse games like how many hotdogs can this girl fit in her mouth? Or can she fit that vegetable in her cunt? Mostly for gambling purposes. They were most amused by making the girls fornicate with animals; then ridicule and then demean them for it every Chinese New year. They treated the girls as objects for their amusement or disdain. Siu-Chiu remembers a night nearly 14 months ago, where these women ordered her to suck a Labrador retriever's dick. When she refused she the women cursed her, literally spat on her, then beat her with a sjambok until she complied. Swallowing the dog’s semen wasn’t wasn’t planned, but it amused the women enough that they gave her seven dollars between the nine of them. They offered her ten dollars to let the dog fuck her; when she asked for 20 they chastised and ridiculed her. They paid her 14 dollars and gave her the nickname “dog slut”.

But she got her money. That was her prize. Her only hope to escape this life and live a happy one. And in order to do that, she was willing to endure any degradation, any humiliation. Beastiality wasn’t these ladies only vice. Sometimes they would put the girls in fights against one another, again for the purpose of gambling. Mostly unarmed, but sometimes armed. Usually this was reserved for disciplinary actions or a means of solving disputes; but not always. The last time Siu-Chiu was involved with these women she had to see how many sausages she could fit in her mouth, compete in a race with four other girls to see who could run the furthest with a dildo stuffed in their vagina. And see how long it took one of these old ladies to choke her until she lost consciousness. Once they made the girls blind taste a drink and try to guess what it was. Based on the three previous girl’s reactions and the delight of the women, Siu-Chiu correctly guessed it was their urine. For spoiling their game they made the three first girls beat Siu-Chiu up. Her only consolation was the fifth girl gave her two dollars afterwards as thanks.

Once girls enter the sex industry, their average life expectancy is seven years, with homicide and AIDS being the top killers. Victims are often drugged, tortured, and neglected to the point of starvation. By some estimates, as many as 27 million adults and 13 million children are currently enslaved around the world — more slavery than ever in the history of the world. This “hidden” problem is larger than many of us can imagine. It is estimated that there are 100,000 children in the sex trade in the United States each year. On average, two children are sold every minute. The Justice Department has estimated that nearly 450,000 children run away from home each year, and that one-third of teens who end up living on the street will be lured toward prostitution within 48 hours of leaving home. The FBI says it has rescued 2,700 children since 2003 under its “Innocence Lost” initiative. It has partnered with the the non-profit group the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children in its work. An estimated 30,000 victims of sex trafficking die each year from abuse, disease, torture, and neglect. Eighty percent of those sold into sexual slavery are under 24, and some are as young as six years old. Over 50% of human trafficking victims are children. According to a 2009 Washington Times article, the Taliban bought children as young as seven years old to act as suicide bombers. The price for child suicide bombers was between $7,000-$14,000. UNICEF estimates that 300,000 children younger than 18 are currently trafficked to serve in armed conflicts worldwide. While the majority of human trafficking is for sex — and a great deal for labor — people are also trafficked for organ harvesting. The federal Trafficking Victims Protection Act (TVPA)—the principal federal statute addressing human trafficking-related issues—treats those coerced into participating in commercial sex activities as victims, even if they have engaged in criminal activity. Those forced into prostitution can come forward without being jailed for crimes they were coerced into committing. To learn about how to combat human trafficking, visit the Polaris Project‘s website

#my fiction #bad fiction #Evilcorey's pointless fiction

0 notes

newgenerationseo · 2 years

Text

Beanie Caps and Custom-made Headwear Manufacturing

Beanie Babies were first introduced by Ty Warner in 1993 at the World Toy Fair in New York City, NY. The toy was produced in a factory and first sold in local stores in Chicago in 1994. It's a small hat that fits comfortably on your head. A beanie hat is a handmade headgear or head wear without a brim. A simple and plain-looking handmade hat that goes well with almost anything a baby wears.

During winter, we start thinking about keeping ourselves and our kids warm by wearing coats, long-sleeve shirts, shoes, and even hats. These are all must-haves that every parent is looking for in the winter months. With the option to add a logo or have the hat embroidered, you can add whatever you want to create the perfect-looking hat through the best Beanie Manufacturer.

NEW GENERATION-Custom Hat Manufacturer

New Generation is a professional Custom Hat Manufacturer in China that specialized in manufacturing high-end custom headwear. A beanie is a closed-brimmed hat made from triangular panels of material joined by buttons at the crown, which may be sewn together on either side. The beanie is made of fabric, wool, leather, silk, felt, etc.

The traditional use of the beanie hat is simple. Keep your head warm in cold weather. Because of its essential function, this style of hat has been independently found in many cool climate regions throughout history. In fact, even Vikings wore knitted hats. Hats can be knitted or woven, cuffed or uncuffed. These caps are also called skull caps, scarry, ski caps, wool caps, knit caps, and stocking caps. In the past, caps were called dinky or carrots.

As a top-rated custom hat manufacturer, it is committed to producing high-quality products with personalized designs and following sustainable best practices in all its processes. During these 20 years of experience, the company has emerged as one of the topmost hat manufacturers and suppliers. NEW GENERATION is known to be producing a quality range of baseball caps, golf caps, snapback caps, fitted caps, flexfit caps, trucker caps, 5 panels camp hats, military caps, bucket hats, beanies, etc.

Features of these Caps

Eco-friendly Production process

Safe and Secure

Durable and Long-service life

Superior quality raw materials

Superior Quality Control Process

Exclusive Design and embroider

#Beanie Manufacturer

0 notes

jimmydemaret · 4 years

Text

FootJoy Men's Short Sleeve Sport Golf Windshirt (XXL, Charcoal/Black/White)

FootJoy Men’s Short Sleeve Sport Golf Windshirt (XXL, Charcoal/Black/White)

Check out F J Golf Shirts. FootJoy Men’s Short Sleeve Sport Golf Windshirt (XXL, Charcoal/Black/White).

F J Golf Shirts – Today’s Clearance Price [price_with_discount]

Limited Stock F J Golf Shirts, FootJoy Men’s Short Sleeve Sport Golf Windshirt (XXL, Charcoal/Black/White).

USD$93.52

[ad_1]

FootJoy Men’s Short Sleeve Sport Golf Windshirt (XXL, Charcoal/Black/White)

Today’s Promo Price.…

View On WordPress

0 notes

smallgodseries · 3 years

Photo

[image description: An ink and wash illustration in the form of a New Yorker cover. A middle aged middle-American in a white polo shirt, brown sport jacket, brown belt, and green golfing pants. He wears a red ball cap (made in China, natch) on his floating question mark of a head and holds a cell phone in one of their Mickey Mouse white-gloved hands. Text reads, “Number 82, QANON ~ SMALL GOD OF APOPHENIA”]

He is a tempting god. He calls from the shadows, offering a world that makes sense, offering a delicate yet immutable weave of claims and connections, a chance to render reality comprehensible in a way that few others can match. The human mind is drawn to story, after all. We like the rising action, the narrative connection. We like each act to be distinct and succinct and complete.

He can offer that. He understands human nature on a level few can match and fewer still would aspire to, for he understands something that is better off left in the apocrypha. He understands the means and the making of gods.

He turned himself into one, after all.

It began simple and small: a few connections drawn between terrible things, a dash of justification, a pinch of magical thinking, all combined into a draught of horrors. As more and more drank from his cup, he was able to make it larger, to add more ingredients and season them just so as to keep them all connected. Past a certain point, his witch’s brew no longer demanded any unity, any logic; all that mattered was that a thing be added to the mix, and it would be accepted by those who came to drink.

And then one day, he realized he was no longer adding anything at all, and the cup still did not run dry; the brew had become self-replenishing, and his first act of divinity was complete.

He can make it all make sense. He can make the day you were born correspond with the day you will die; he can make it fit together in a sweet and seamless whole, perfect and complete. He can take the loose edges away. All you have to do is open up the door and let him in.

All you have to do is give in to temptation, and drink.

We beg you to abstain.

....................

Join Lee Moyer (Icon) and Seanan McGuire (Story) Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for a guide to the many small deities who manage our modern world, from the God of Social Distancing to the God of Finding a Parking Space.

Tumblr: https://smallgodseries.tumblr.com

Twitter: https://twitter.com/smallgodseries

Instagram: https://instagram.com/smallgodseries/

Homepage: http://smallgodseries.com

#Small Gods #smallgodseries #Seanan McGuire #Lee Moyer #icons and stories

169 notes · View notes

kythed · 4 years

Text

what love tastes like

terushima yuuji x reader

synopsis: in which you learn that falling in love tastes like monster

“Taste,” he says. He holds the cold rim of a freshly opened can to your lips, and first it’s metallic, salty, but then it’s sweet.

You take a sip.

“So you’re telling me you’ve never tried Monster before?” he asks, taking a drink himself. The two of you are sitting on a park bench across the street from a gas station. He licks his lips-- the silver ball embedded in his tongue winks at you, a shallow token of youthful rebellion that somehow seems more significant on him.

“Never. I’m more of a Dr. Pepper girl.” You reach for the can again, letting the saccharine liquid sloshing inside coat your tongue. It’s really too much for me, you think. But of course, you won’t tell him that.

“Not anymore,” he says, and he slips a firm hand around the back of your neck, pulling you towards him and daring you to look away with a wicked grin-- it’s attractive, to say the least. “Now you’re my girl.”

You’ve barely parted your lips to respond before his mouth is on yours, tongue halfway down your throat, and you’re whimpering into the kiss as he snakes a hand down your back and presses your body to his. The whole ordeal tastes like Monster and feels far more energizing than the packaging promises.

Within your first day of meeting him, Terushima Yuuji has already claimed you as his own.

And you’re okay with it.

He’s about as healthy for you as the Monster is-- which is to say, not at all.

In your next couple months of dating him, this becomes apparent. He takes you to the edge of the woods at twilight and lights your first cigarette, laughing as you take a draw and end up coughing. Plucking it from your fingers, he holds the cig high as smoke curls into the hazy sky and eventually melds with the faintly orange cumuli. “Guess it’ll take a little practice before you can smoke with the big dogs, huh?”

You flush and snatch it back, determined to prove your aptitude for defiance. By the end of the night, you can blow smoke rings-- he applauds, and for some odd reason your heart swells at his lazy grin.

(The next kiss tastes like tobacco and novelty.)

He shows you each of his tattoos, some of which peek out from underneath his clothes, some of which aren’t exactly visible to the onlooker’s eye. There’s a tendril of ivy climbing down his forearm, a flock of wild cranes taking flight from his left shoulder. A dark silhouette is on his chest, kneeling low to who knows what. You trace the image of an unlit candle on the back of his neck, asking what it means-- for a millisecond, his mouth tightens into an expressionless line, but then he laughs. “Why, you want one too? Let’s go to the parlor then.”

When you decline, he takes a permanent marker from his bedside table and prints a small label on your inner wrist. ‘Mine’ it says, accompanied by an oddly appropriate smiley face. “Then this will have to do.”

(This kiss tastes like ink and enigma.)

He brings you to a decrepit manor on the outskirts of town-- legend has it a young, newly wealthy couple purchased it twenty years ago, unaware its foundations rested on a centuries old cemetery. The spiteful spirits drove them to the brink of madness. The sort of madness that could only be alleviated by the resounding finality of death.

“They were found hanging from their bedsheets in the west wing,” Yuuji whispers to you, his breath tickling your ear. An unwanted tremor runs from your head to your high-tops. You don’t believe in ghosts, so it must be because you’re cold. (At least, that’s what you tell yourself.) “I want that kind of love.”

You turn, surprised to see his expression remains entirely serious. “The kind where you die for one another?”

“The kind where you die with one another,” he corrects, wistfully gazing into the dingy bay windows protruding from the manor’s anterior.

You remain silent.

“Life is just an accumulation of bad decisions, and love is just an accumulation of bad decisions you make with another person,” he muses, still peering at the grandeur of the lonely estate. He turns to you, a dangerous glint in his eye. “Wanna make a bad decision with me?”

The next hour is spent in the modest company of Yuuji, a couple of baseball bats, and the empty halls of a long dead house. There’s no one to witness the two of you shattering each dusty antique vase save for the portraits on the wall. Soon, their frames, too, receive a violent visit from a vindictive bat, usually accompanied by Yuuji’s unadulterated glee and a resounding whoop.

You’re not a fan of destruction. Especially not the destruction of rare, precious items reminiscent of a life bygone. Yet, it’s exhilarating to indulge in it, to swing your bat with a meaningless vengeance and watch as whatever priceless heirloom that evoked your baseless wrath fractures into pieces. You demolish a set of fine china found in the dining room cabinet and Yuuji gathers you into his arms, kissing you fiercely (it tastes like some sort of perverse, seductive joy, rosewater mixed with ashes). He chuckles into your mouth when you push your tongue into his, retribution for your first kiss many weeks ago. It’s deliciously gratifying.

If Yuuji is right, and love is just a mosaic of bad decisions and desire-- maybe you’re okay with that. Maybe this is all I really need, you think, watching Yuuji from the corner of your eye on the drive home. Yellow street lights cast irregular shadows on his angular features, lending him an otherworldly sort of beauty.

“What is it?” he asks, without taking his eyes off the road. One of his hands inches up your inner thigh, giving it a quick squeeze before retreating to the responsibility of the steering wheel.

You hesitate, just for a second. An unseen force constricts around your throat; you banish it with a hard swallow. “I love you.”

One second passes. Then two.

He says nothing the rest of the ride home, and you sit in mortified silence, watching traffic blur by with glassy eyes. You must’ve misread this whole thing. You’re just a fling Yuuji plans on discarding whenever he grows tired… your mouth goes dry with regret.

When you pull up in front of your house, he walks you to your front door. You can hardly stand to look him in the eye.

“Well, thanks for today,” you say, examining your shoelaces with false interest. “I had a lot of--”

“I love you, too.”

Startled, you look up. “I- what?”

“I said,” he says, stepping close, putting a hand beneath your chin to tilt it upwards. Your body is eclipsed by his larger one, and you’re overwhelmed with the sudden urge to hide from his penetrating gaze. “I love you, too.”

A beat of silence.

“Oh,” you breathe, and, suddenly, his lips are on yours, kissing you fervently— but this time, it’s chaste, it’s… loving (and it tastes like honeyed laughter). Only for a second though.

Then his hands are on your waist, fingers gripping hard enough to leave bruises; he’s aflame with a hotblooded passion-- your body is his Holy Grail and your mouth is its rim. He leads you into the hallway, fumbling to close the door behind him. You gasp when he pushes you up against the wall and harshly sucks at the sensitive skin beneath your jaw, your nails digging into his back through the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

“I love you,” he mumbles, painting your neck with a line of ardent kisses, trailing from right below your ear to right above your collarbone. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

There’s something a little too tender in the way he caresses your face the next morning to wake you after he’s slipped his clothes back on, in the way he smiles softly at your bleary eyed confusion, in the way he holds you in his embrace a fraction of a second longer than you hold him in yours before saying goodbye.

Terushima Yuuji may play the part of a reckless delinquent, but he’s not your average troublemaker. There’s something inscrutable behind his gaze, even as he sprays obscene graffiti on stop signs and shoplifts alcohol from the neighborhood drugstore, a walking cliche of hoodlum culture.

There’s something a little too careful about the boy who claims to be careless.

Yuuji is still fun, of course. He takes immense pride in being fun. He invites you to one of his friends’ gigs, some sort of grunge-esque affair with a heavily pulsating bass line and a preponderance of cheap liquor in red plastic cups. The drummer winks at you during one of the songs-- later Yuuji slugs him in the jaw, taking a few hits in the process, and makes a show of kissing you sloppily while the poor drummer nurses his rapidly forming bruise with a pack of frozen peas. (The kiss, of course, tastes like blood and pride.)

He teaches you how to use a switchblade-- “Just in case,” he says, wrapping his hand around yours in an effort to show you the proper grip. In exactly what situation you’d be forced to use a switchblade remains unclear, but when you ask he just laughs and shrugs, spinning the knife in between his slender fingers. “You never know.”

(He tells you a story of a fist fight years ago and lifts his shirt to point out a pale, faded scar-- the other guy brought a knife concealed in his sleeve. You then agree it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.)

The two of you trespass on the regular, scaling fences and picking locks to dip your feet in private pools, to run barefoot on the soft grass of a golf course late at night, to explore taped off tunnels and underpasses.

All of it is fun, all of it depicts your relationship as something accidental, something reckless, the convergence of two beings as coincidental as the convergence of the two cells that provoked the Big Bang.

But your intimate moments, the faintest imprints in between the lines, tell a different story. One onlookers don’t see.

They don’t see how Yuuji places a hand on the small of your back to guide you over a crosswalk, or how he pours a coffee and carefully blows on it before bringing it to you. They don’t see how he laughs when you laugh and smiles when you smile.

They don’t hear what he whispers to you under the sheets-- sweet nothings that would make Cupid himself blush-- as he touches you slowly, purposefully, following your curves deliberately as a sculptor molding clay.

They don’t feel his kisses, delicately placed on your lips, your neck, your stomach and thighs. They don’t feel his eyelashes fluttering on your cheek as he allows himself to rest with you in his most vulnerable state.

It’s during these moments that deep secrets are so shyly exchanged in the sleepy haze of late nights and early mornings. He bares his soul to you in all its imperfection (you suspect you are the only one to have ever seen it in this state). He shatters himself bit by bit like the vases you splintered so long ago, offering you the fragments so you can gradually piece together the entire portrait.

“You know how I told you my dad taught me how to fight?” he asks one of these times. Your head is in his lap as he strokes your hair ever-so-lightly. You nod, looking up into those sweet brown eyes-- they look sad today. “That’s only half true. He didn’t teach me, but I had to learn because of him.”

You take his hand and brush your lips over his knuckles, humming softly, and he takes this small act of comfort and stores it away like he always does.

I’m sorry.

“I’m scared of trying to be someone different than I am now, but I want to be. I wish I could be.”

You can.

“I’m sorry for getting you into so much trouble these days.”

Don’t be.

“I think we should run away, just you and me. We could make it, you know.”

I know.

Of course, all good things come to an end. You know that.

You just aren’t anticipating something so good to end so soon-- as suddenly as Terushima Yuuji becomes yours, he disappears.

One morning, he’s sleeping in the bed next to you, and the next he’s gone without a trace. Literally. He leaves behind no extra t-shirts, no stray sock or phone charger, no note. You pad down the hall, ducking your head into each room.

“Yuuji?” you call. “Is this some sort of joke?”

It’s not.

You call his phone and reach his voicemail. Hey, this is Terushima. Not available right now, probably busy doing somethin’ stupid or taking a piss. Leave a message if you want.

The sound of his voice grows more and more painful to hear over the next six months. At first, you call every day, then every week, then every month. At month six, you’ve stopped calling at all. If he wanted to answer, he would. You don’t even know why you’ve kept it up so long when he obviously left for a reason.

So, you pick up the pieces of your broken heart and cobble them together again. It’s not a graceful recovery, but it’s a recovery, and that’s what matters. The gaping hole he left is gradually filled by your family, your friends-- you don’t go on a single date, but that’s okay. (You’re just not ready. You tell yourself that you will be, someday.)

Soon, you’re whole again. As you discover, there are ways to find yourself other than falling dangerously in love with a dangerous boy.

You run into him one day, eight or so months after his disappearance. You’re filling your car at a gas station, and at the park across the street, he’s sitting next to a girl you don’t recognize. She laughs at all his jokes and sips a can of Monster he offers her. As if he can feel your stare, Yuuji glances over and catches your eye. He jogs across the street, dodging traffic, and you two exchange tentative pleasantries before the conversation comes to an uneasy rest on the taboo-- why he left.

It wasn’t because of you, it turns out. At least, not really. You were just the catalyst.

“I was the problem,” Yuuji says, laughing, though the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “You remember how I once told you I thought love was making your bad decisions with someone by your side?”

You nod, and the wound has scabbed over enough for you to remember it lightly, with a slight curve of the lips.

“You showed me that wasn’t true.” He tugs on the collar of his t-shirt absentmindedly, not quite meeting your gaze. “I started wanting to make good decisions instead. And that just wasn’t me. Love isn’t for me.”

“It could’ve been,” you say simply. He stares at you, momentarily unable to form a response. Then he laughs it off, a sound you used to adore that now sounds harsh and grating.

“Maybe someday,” he says, but his expression tells you otherwise. It tells you how scared he is of ever being that person.

The thing about love is that it gives you something to lose. It gives you a reason to make good decisions. It gives you something to fear for.

As he turns to leave, Yuuji freezes in his tracks. He throws a look over his shoulder. “Just for the record-- it hurt. Leaving. I did love you.”

You smile. It’s a genuine smile, but it’s sad, too. “I know.”

And the thing about fear is that some people can’t bear it well enough to let themselves love someone.

You watch his retreating back for a brief moment before climbing into your car. It’s not until you’re halfway home that you realize you’re crying. Tears roll down your cheeks into your lap, staining your jeans.

You hope he comes to love that new girl, the one he’s sharing a Monster with. You hope she loves him back with all her heart. You hope she spends hours and hours picking through his pieces and reassembling him from the bottom up. You hope she comes to find that his kisses taste like tobacco and novelty, like ink and enigma, like rosewater and ashes and joy. You hope that, to her, those kisses never taste like regret.

You hope that this time, he’s scared. But not so scared he can’t let himself stay.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #hq terushima #terushima #terushima yuuji #terushima x reader #terushima yuuji x reader

1K notes · View notes

dansantat · 3 years

Photo

NOW WE ARE TWO: A Eulogy for My Father

Adam U Santat (October 21,1943 - April 27, 2021)

Today is April 27, 2021.

When I was very young and we lived in New Jersey my father took us to the beach and he lifted my tiny frame over his neck and we walked out into the ocean together. My mother watched us from the coast as we wandered 50 yards into the shallow sea. I was terrified of whatever lurked in the water convinced that sharks would come and eat us. My father gripped my legs and whispered, “I’ve got you. You don’t have to be afraid.”

I don’t exactly know why this particular memory rests so clearly in my mind, but it’s a good one. That was my father in a nutshell.

I interviewed my parents for a memoir I’m currently working on. This is what I know of my father.

He was born in the small village of Khlong Dan, Thailand on October 21, 1943, though the official birth certificate indicates October 27 because of a typo (21 sounds like 27 in Thai) He was the youngest of nine kids. His parents immigrated from China and started a merchant business. For fear of being racially ostracized by the local Thai people the oldest brother changed their name from “Lim” to “Santativongchai” (he found the word in an old book)

They collected rain water off the storm gutters in order to drink. He didn’t get hie first pair of shoes until he was 10 years old. They were sandals, really. Knowing facts abut Western culture was cool and he had an insatiable desire to learn everything he could about America. Coming to the United States was a dream of his obsessed with Elvis Presley, Paul Anka, and movies like “Shane” He admits to being spoiled by his mother and says he was lazy during most of his childhood, but was gifted in math and science. And he truly was. He attended medical school, paid for by his older sister, Yawanit, and he came to Newark, New Jersey in 1969 to do his internship.

My mother followed a year later

His first car was a Red ‘69 Camaro. No air conditioning. He ran the car into the ground because he was unaware of the fact that you had to change the oil. He never owned a car before then.

This was the American dream.

I was born in 1975 and they soon made a mass exodus to Southern California along with many of their Thai doctor friends with brief career stops in Wykoff, New Jersey and Hopedale, Illinois until we settled in our newly built four bedroom home in Camarillo, CA.

He worked for the state of California as a pediatrician, and eventually as a cardiologist, and then a psychiatrist continuing his education over the years to fill the needs of the state. He was an accomplished man in his field.

He loved golf, tennis, and buying things he would see on TV. He loved Ralph Lauren clothing, he owned one of the first Apple computers, and he loved making weekly trips to Los Angeles to buy classical CDs and audio equipment.

Three weeks ago I stepped inside my parent’s home for the first time in over a year. The COVID-19 Pandemic had kept us apart . “Stay at home. We’ll see each other after this is all over.” my parents told me.

Under normal circumstances I would happily avoid their company for fear of constant nagging about a plethora of reasons which mostly dealt with my weight, or my political views.

But this was different.

My father had been diagnosed with Stage 4 liver cancer and he returned home to hospice care. My mother was helping him get situated on his favorite couch because he refused to use the hospital bed that hospice had offered him and recommend that he use.

They say that doctors make the worst patients.

Besides his stubbornness my mother was angry at him for not putting up a fight, turning down Chemotherapy and Immunotherapy and opting to just let the cancer take him. She herself having been a breast cancer survivor over 25 years ago (along with living with lupus for 45 years) could not comprehend the thought of just giving up. But my father knew the odds. He had taken one look at the CT scan and he knew the primary source was in the liver and it has metastasized to the lungs, his jaw, and his pelvis.

His body was dying but his mind was still as sharp as a tack.

I understood the diagnosis, as well. When speaking to the doctor on the phone he did not mince words by emphasizing quality of life. My father’s days were limited, and I was there to make the most of the time that was left between us before he departed.

“I have one last question for you before I go.” he said to me.

“Anything. What’s your question, Dad?”

“How much....do you earn annually?”

My mother and I quickly glanced at each other and we both immediately let out a huge laugh. “HA HA HA! You have one last question and that’s what you want to ask me?!”

He was always curious about my finances.

He is my Asian father.

Normally, this type of question would be a point of heated contention and it would typically result in an argument at a restaurant, and yet, here he is living his last weeks and he STILL wouldn’t let the question go. And this time, without argument, I simply tell him.

Why deny a dying man his last wish?

“I’M SO PROUD OF YOU!” he shouts as we all share in a good laugh.

“I have one more question...”

“What is it, Dad?”

“Why do you always get upset when I ask you that question?”

This too would have normally resulted in a heated discussion, but I simply gave him an honest and simple answer, “Because you taught me that it was rude to ask people that question.” And I left it at that.

My mother gets up and heads to the kitchen and it’s in this moment that my father pulls me in closer to discuss more pressing matters.

“I don’t want you to worry about me. I’ve accepted my fate and I’ve lived a good life. I’m worried about your mom. I want you to take care of her after I’m gone.”

“Of course.”

“I’ve saved up a lot of money. Use it to buy a house with a guest house for her. Make sure it has a big yard so she can do her gardening and she’ll be fine.”

“I promise, Dad. I’ll spoil her.”

“Good.”

My mother returns to the family room with an assortment of shirts for my father to wear. I grab a blue button up collared shirt from Tommy Bahama. “This shirt actually isn’t too shabby.”

“It was originally $125 and I got it for $90!”

Always in pursuit of looking his best while also landing a great deal.

He is my Asian father.

“If you like the shirts they’re yours now. All of this is yours.”

None of the items that my father owned interested me. What interested me was giving him one last amazing experience before he was gone. The one thing my father truly treasured among all his possessions was a one of the finest wine collections I had ever seen. It contained over 500 bottles of wines he had collected over the course of twenty years housed in three separate wine refrigerators, which were spread throughout different rooms in the house and sent their electricity bill skyrocketing to the moon, and my mother’s nerves to the very edge of insanity.

“Hey, what do you think about going into your wine collection and we drink the most expensive wine you have?”

“No,” he says hesitantly.

“But don’t you want to know what you bought? Don’t you want to at least know what the best wine you own tastes like? I don’t think you should leave this world without enjoying your one great vice in life.”

My father looks away from me and mutters, “No...It’s yours now. All of it.”

This is not how I want it to end. I want him to have one last good memory.

My mother interrupts, “I’m hungry. What are we having for lunch?”

I try to keep my father focused on his bucket list. I’m hoping for just one last memory, “Whatever you want, Dad. My treat.”

He looks at me and says, “I want a Pink’s hot dog.”

My mother and I look at each other in shock. This request from a man who was obsessed with his blood pressure. A man who constantly avoided salt like it was Kryptonite to Superman was now requesting for one of the saltiest most nitrate rich foods in America.

“With mustard and relish.”

25 minutes later I returned home with three sodium bombs per his request. My father, who hadn’t eaten in three days, grabbed a hold of his hot dog, and ate the entire thing. My father, a man who did everything in his power to stave off death by cardiovascular disease to the point of obsession, was indulging in the one thing he avoided like the plague.

SALT.

As I sat on the couch and watched him eat his hot dog I could see the look on his face as he solemnly took each bite thinking, “What was the point of being so scared for all these years?” I took solace in the fact that for the first time in my life, I saw him as a person unafraid.

Later that day, a few of his closest friends came over to wish him well. I met them at the front door, “Hey, do me a favor. Can you see if you can make him agree to having one last glass of wine?”

It was a good idea.

HIs friends all walked in, paid their respects, and then peppered him with little hints like, “Hey, how about one last sip of wine before you go?”

My dad finally agreed.

“That fridge has the best stuff!” my dad shouted as he pointed to the fridge closest to the door.

I was not as knowledgable about fine wines as my dad and his friends were. That’s what Google is for.

I reached into the back of the fridge and found a bottle of Opus One from 1995.

This was $600 bottle of wine. It wasn’t his best but it it would do nicely.

The room let out an audible “oooooh” when I entered the room with the bottle.

His best wine glasses were brought out, we each poured a glass, and we toasted my father. We share stories about his life, he boasts to his friends about my accomplishments, and we are basking in a moment of complete harmony.

For this moment in time, I was his perfect Asian son.

He thoughtfully studied the peaks generated by the swirling of the wine on the edge of the glass

“It’s been a good life. No regrets.”

I was glad I could give him this.

This week I bought that house for my mom. I told my father this as I fulfilled his last dying wish while I held his hand.

“I’ve got you, Dad. You don’t have to be afraid.”

“I’ve got you.”

24 notes · View notes

reggiedarlin · 3 years

Text

The Boy in The Band.

Chapter three:

Sirius received the email that night. He opened it on his laptop and read everything he needed to. To say he was excited was an understatement, he called Lily to come round so they could fangirl over getting to meet the people they’ve been in love with since Year 10. “I can’t believe you get to meet Remus on his birthday!” exclaimed Lily unbelievingly. “I can’t believe I get to meet him at all! It’s so crazy, like out of all the entries and mine was picked. Just, wow!” spoke Sirius still in a haze about everything. “I’m so excited I can’t believe I get to come with you as well! I cannot wait to meet James!” “I bet you can’t.” smirked Sirius. Lily threw a pillow at him.

In the next few weeks, Sirius kept finding himself checking his phone. He and Remus had been messaging some of the messages were about the meet, but most were just friendly conversations like they had been friends for ages and Remus wasn’t an A-list celebrity in a rock band. Lily’s birthday had passed at the end of January and Sirius had managed to get Lily a special message off James courtesy of Remus as he had told the older man all about how much Lily loved James.

“Sirius Black, we are meeting the Drowners in two days! We need outfits!” Lily and Sirius had come up to Manchester from London for the meet and they both still needed outfits. “Where should we go?” Sirius asked Lily who has family here so she knew more than he did. “I think the Trafford Centre would be our best bet and if we don’t find anything there The Arndale is about nine miles away so we can get a taxi there.” said Lily checking directions between the two places on her phone. The pair set off from their hotel to the Trafford Centre.

“Holy Jesus.” gasped Sirius as they walked in to the centre. The centre was a two story building with a glass roof as if you were in a giant conservatory room and the walls were covered in renaissance art with giant, stone pillars holding the marvellous building upright. “It’s great right, this isn’t even all of it. There’s a China Town, golf course, cinema and wait till you see the food court!” Lily announced excitedly. After Sirius had had time to take in all Lily had told him they set off looking for outfits. After about half an hour of looking, Sirius having found a band t-shirt and ripped jeans to go with his Docs and leather jacket, they had come into New Look and Lily immediately saw something she liked, it was a ditsy, pastel green wrap dress that tied at the side. Lily came out of the changing rooms in the dress, Sirius loved it. It hugged her curves in all the right places, it hung flatteringly on her round hips and made her breasts perk up, but not so they were extremely noticeable, Lily loved it too. “Lily. You have to get that dress, if you don’t I will, and we both know I would pull it off, but I have to say you look even more stunning than you normally do. So Lily bought the dress and they headed to to food court before going back to the hotel.

****

“Remus,Remus!” chanted James down the just picked up phone. “James why are you calling me I thought you said you were going to Trafford?” came Remus’ thick Welsh accent down the line. “Yeah I’m ‘ere, but I just saw the most gorgeous girl in my life! She had strawberry, red hair that was wavy and she was trying on a dress with, who I ‘ope, was ‘er friend. It looked amazing on her and bloody ‘ell Remus she was just bloody gorgeous.” ranted James frantically to his friend. “Woah, woah. Calm down mate. If you liked her that much why didn’t you just go up to her and ask for her number?” questioned Remus confused why his mate hadn’t just gone up to the girl. He was 22 for heaven’s sake. “Because, Remus, her friend was wearing a Drowners sweatshirt. How much bloody attention would I ‘ave drawn to me self if I’d gone over and he’d freaked out.” “That’s true, but mate don’t worry abou’ it if it were meant to be then you’ll see her again.” Remus told his mate walking back to their lounge sofa, holding his phone to his ear with his shoulder while trying to peel an orange at the same time. “You’re right. I’ll be back ina bit see ya mate.” “See ya Jamie” Remus hung up and turned on the TV. It turned on to the news, Remus almost dropped his orange at the headline. “Drowners competition winner Sirius Black spotted in Manchester today with someone who seems like a girlfriend. Sirius was seen, as in the picture, wearing the same brown Drowners sweatshirt he was wearing in the picture that won him the competition.” Remus took a second glance at the girl next to Sirius in the photo and he realised she looked exactly like the girl James had described to him on the phone mere moments ago. He had to admit James had good taste she was stunning, on the bigger side, but stunning nonetheless. It hit Remus like a brick. James had seen Sirius. It all matched up, the Drowners sweatshirt, the red haired girl James had been entranced with. He frantically reached around for his phone needing to check he had seen a brown sweatshirt. James picked up on the third ring, “’Ello? Remus, I spoke to you like two minutes ago-” “James! The girl you told me about was her friend wearing a brown Drowners sweatshirt?” Remus interrupted needing answers. “Yeah ‘e was. Why?” “You just saw Sirius Black and that was Lily! You know, the one I got you to do the birthday message for because she’s been in love with you since she was like 15!” Remus told the other lad his words getting faster and faster as he kept going. “NO WAY! IT WAS! HOLY SHIT! I WONDER IF HE’S BRINGING HER TO THE MEET TOMMOROW?” shouted James hoping he would be able to talk to her and get her number. “I’ll message him!” “Ok, thanks mate.” This time James hung up the phone. Remus opened Instagram and went to his messages. He clicked on Sirius’ account and typed a message;

@Remus.Lupin: Hey, I was wondering who are you bringing to the meet tomorrow, if you’re bringing anyone that is x

@Siriuslygay: Hey, I’m just bringing my friend Lily. She’s hoping to talk to James if she can. Like I’ve said before she really loves him x

@Remus.Lupin: Oh right ok x

@Siriuslygay: Why’d you ask? x

@Remus.Lupin: Oh just wondering is all. See you tomorrow x

@Siriuslygay: Ok, see you tomorrow x

#Marauders #Sirius Black #lily evans #matt hitt is the loml #damiano david #conan gray #James Potter #Remus Lupin #marlene mckinnon #dorcas meadowes #wolfstar #band au

13 notes · View notes

cashcowclothing · 8 months

Link

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Luau Vintage Hawaiian Aloha Black Silk Button Up Shirt 2XL Pocket Embroidered.

0 notes

transsergio · 3 years

Text

Emotions That I Simply Do Not Have (Read on AO3)

Chapter 1/3 - More Like A Relapse

Penemily + Hotchreid / Mature / 1893 words

Hotch and Emily have a drunken night together that Emily wants to forget, but Hotch can't let go. She and her girlfriend Penelope make a plan to get him out of their lives.

There's a brief paragraph describing Emily's dissociation in this chapter.

This started out as a parody of H*tchniss but then I got really into it. Hotch is pretty out of character and I'm picking on him this entire fic. There is no actual Hotchn*ss involved, which is why I didn't tag the ship, and because I don't need to fight with straight people today.

Emily’s head loathes her. She’s been hungover before, obviously, but this is something different altogether – she’s half-naked and her memory has completed ghosted her. There was tequila, she guesses, maybe vodka, shots, Hotch was going to give her a ride home because there’s something dangerous about a wasted agent wandering the city at night; snippets that don’t explain much beyond the ache hammering at the center of her skull.

At least Emily knows where she is. This is her apartment, her bedroom, her matted skin and grimy oils. The sheets reek of alcohol, so maybe she spilled some, or maybe it’s been sweat from her very pores. She’s missing a bra and she forgot to close the blinds last night. Only, she never forgets. It’s muscle memory. Did she…open them at some point?

The sink is running in the kitchen. And her toaster oven is beeping. Oh my god. She brought someone home last night. Hotch never would have left her in a cab with a stranger. How could Emily have picked someone up between the curb and her front door? She was a flirty drunk, but in no way smooth.

Emily moves on a slow incline, craning her body into an upright position. She winces. Sunlight beams directly into her eyes. It’s been a minute since she remembered exactly why she kept the windows covered. She pushes the duvet aside and swings her long, bare legs to the floor. They’re not bruised (yet), so she must’ve remembered to skip the stairs and go for the elevator this time. She’s tumbled down them before. Penelope made her promise she’d wear shin guards the next time she went out, Emily remembers, laughing under her breath.

Penelope, who definitely did not go home with Emily last night. She couldn’t have. She implemented a strict curfew after spending three consecutive nights in the batcave – bed by eleven, sharp. Unless Emily made a distress call sometime in the night. Emily scrunches the sheets between her fingers. A distress call, something like, “Come help me puke into my toilet for an hour and a half,” would bring Penelope running. Well, not running, but speed-walking, half awake. And it would be too late for Penelope to get home, with no one to text that she made it safely (except everyone else in the BAU, but that wasn’t the point). The point was, it could be her in there, popping Toaster Strudel in for the both of them.

Emily wobbles to her feet and kicks her crumpled slacks from her path. Oh, there’s her bra, launched to the other side of the room. She runs her fingers through her hair and hopes she made a difference, though it’s unlikely. Feet shuffle over her wooden floors, and someone opens and shuts the fridge door. Penelope uses fridges, coincidentally. That very well might be her.

There’s a cough, a low clearing of the throat. Emily stands upright like she’s been called to duty, and palms her forehead. Her headache makes it clear it did not like that. The cough does not sound like Penelope. Fear drains the strength from Emily’s limbs. Please, dear god, tell her that’s not a man.

Emily wants to crawl back into bed and have nothing to do with whoever’s in the other room. She wants to huddle under her covers and listen until the front door opens and shuts and it’s safe to emerge. She wants to have been sober last night. Instead, her phone vibrates on her dresser. Emily hadn’t realized that when it reverberates against the wood, her cell sounds exactly like a jackhammer, but she does now. She hears the same sound echoing in her kitchen.

Emily lunges for the text, from Garcia alerting them to a case, and slams all one hundred of those tiny Blackberry buttons to make it shut up, shut up, shut up. The bedroom door swings open.

“Two murders in Kentucky, looks like,” Hotch says. What? No.

Emily rubs her eyes with the backs of her hands. They come away streaked with dried mascara flakes and last night’s eyeshadow, but Hotch is still there. He’s standing in his boxers, a white undershirt, and five o’clock stubble. He doesn’t flinch at the fact that Emily is bare-chested in a pair of black boyshorts. This is bad. This is so bad.

Hotch says softly, “Can I…” Can he what? Can he call later tonight? Can he leave a toothbrush here? Can he have a drawer for his pajamas? “Can I get my shirt, please?”

“Oh.” Emily steps aside. His blue button-down is in a wrinkled pile beside Emily’s nightstand. Should she cover herself in the meantime? Would that make it weirder? He’s already seen what he’s seen, after all. The thought makes Emily gag.

“I’m going to get ready in your bathroom,” Hotch tells her. He makes too much eye contact. “There’s toast in the kitchen for you, if you want any.”

“Great, thanks.” Emily is tightlipped and dedicated to looking anywhere but his face. That leads to his boxers, and his dick inside his boxers, and the knowledge that they clearly had sex, and Emily might need the bathroom first if she didn’t vomit everything out last night.

Hotch disappears, and so does Emily’s presence in her physical body. She autopilots herself into her clean clothes, grips her dresser and stares into the mirror above it. C’mon, Emily, come back down to Earth. She tries what her therapist taught her in high school, focusing on a texture, on the feel of the woodgrain under her hands. How could she have come so far, a continent away, and still need the same techniques for the same problems? Hotch was an exercise in self-loathing and misery. Only this time, that exercise would be staring her down for extended periods of time while they mutually hunted killers.

Hotch reenters in the same suit he wore last night. Did he seriously have to wear a suit to the team’s night out? He couldn’t loosen up enough for a polo shirt and golf pants?

“Look, I understand if you don’t want to see me again in this capacity,” he starts. “But I had… a great time, honestly, and I’d be open to another meeting.”

Emily’s eyes are dead. “No, thanks.”

“You’ve decided already?”

“Yep. I’m good. See you on the jet.” Emily yanks the bedroom door open. His cue to leave. He takes it, if not wearing the look of a kicked puppy.

He makes it into a cab, and the cab leaves, and clears her block, and turns the corner. Emily stays for another five minutes just to be sure the car doesn’t loop back around, looking for a second chance. She washes her face clean and falls to her mattress. This will only take a second – she stabs her face into her pillow and screams. And one more time. And maybe a long one, just to be sure. Emily comes to work that day hoarse, unbathed, and willing herself into another life.

A month later, they’re gathered at Haley’s funeral. Hotch gives a beautiful speech, and Emily’s all but forgotten the number of texts she’s received since their hookup. The sheer volume of “Thinking about you.. do you like Thai food?” and simple, two-word messages like “Good work..”, alongside “Hey. Horny?” are a thing of the past, at least for today. Maybe not tomorrow. Emily doesn’t really know how grieving works. She does, however, know what it feels like to want.

She ushers Penelope into a storage closet while the rest of the team (plus Kevin) is at the funeral reception’s buffet. They’ll make up some story about going to the bathroom and try to defuse JJ later, assuring her that she wasn't left out intentionally. Right now, life is for living.

Emily’s lips move across Penelope’s jaw, her neck, her chest. She presses them to Penelope’s like she’s made of china, set on keeping Penelope’s lipstick intact. Penelope grips Emily while her own wrist is between her teeth to stifle her sound. Emily is gasping for breath when her fingers reach for the button of Penelope’s sweater. She is desperate to have her undone.

“Wait, wait,” Penelope huffs, putting an arm’s length of space between them. Her chest is heaving. “I can’t do this here, not today.”

“Today is why I want to do this,” Emily counters.

“We have time.” Penelope’s voice breaks. She fusses with her little hat and rights it atop her hair. “We have time that Haley didn’t –”

“How do we know?” Emily interrupts. “It could be me next. You’ve already been shot once before, and I just can’t… I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with you on the fringe of my life.”

Emily wipes a tear streaking down Penelope’s cheek. Before Penelope can reach for her compact, Emily passes her hers. She says, “I don’t mean we have to do anything right now in… what is ironically a closet,” Penelope laughs and dabs at her makeup, “but I want you. And seeing you with Kevin today, having to be next to you while he holds your hand? It’s maddening.”

A quiet passes. Penelope sniffles and the crowd outside makes somber conversation. Penelope whispers, “I’m scared.”

Emily closes the distance between them and cradles Penelope in her embrace. “I know; so am I. Can we be scared together?”

Penelope nods into the crook of Emily’s shoulder. They sway in the warmth of one another, in the cramped haven that is shelves of industrial cleaner and mop buckets.

“So what do we do?” Penelope asks. “Should I break up with Kevin, or tell him the truth? Neither option feels, uh, super-duper.”

Emily snorts some of the hat’s feathers from her nose. “If you want to be outed, I think telling Kevin he’s your beard is a great idea.”

“Stop. Kevin wouldn’t do that.”

“Penelope. He’s a man. He’s going to feel used, emasculated, and plenty bitter. I don’t see a reality in which he doesn’t out you.”

“I know, I know, but I don’t think Kevin’s like that. He’s sweet on me.” Penelope further buries herself in Emily. “On the off-chance that he would, though, I guess I’ll dump him.”

Emily hums in agreement. They keep themselves safe in their darkness a little longer, resistant to go out and face the mourning. Emily’s heart is busy fluttering, anyway. She and Penelope might remain a secret, but this is officially more than a hook-up. It’s all Emily could dream of when she stormed Penelope’s batcave the morning after Hotch. When she spun Penelope around in her desk chair and strung their mouths centimeters apart – a question and a dare all in one. Penelope leaned through the divide and they were kissing, slow and tender but driven by a force that urged them on. Emily had wanted Penelope for so long, but that morning, she needed her.

When they return to the team’s table, Kevin is at Penelope’s side. Emily puts her focus on Morgan, on caring about Hotch’s well-being, anything but Kevin’s soft, drooping face. It’s like his skin could slide right off at any second. No, Emily will ask what they can do, will let the team explain that their power extends to waiting Hotch out, will squeeze Penelope’s hand as they leave for their next case in Nashville.

#penemily #emily prentiss #penelope garcia #aaron hotchner #cm fic #criminal minds fanfic #cm fanfiction #mine

9 notes · View notes

petersspidey · 4 years

Text

Stress Relief

A/N: This one kind of just came to me. Takes place probably somewhere after Age of Ultron before Civil War

Captain America x Reader

Warnings: Smut

Masterlist // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 //

You were an Avenger. Tony had come across you years ago. You had been trained somewhat like Natasha, and could fight and your ability to read minds felt useful enough to Tony to make you part of the Avengers team. Along with everyone else, you lived in Stark Tower.

It was late one night, and you knew Cap and Tony had just gone out on mission. It was nothing so important that the two of them couldn't handle it together. The rest of you didn't need to tag along.

You were sitting in the lounge on one of the main floors, when Tony and Cap walked off the elevator together. Tony looked annoyed, and Cap looked pissed.

"I still can't believe you let that happen!" Steve exclaimed

Tony ignored him, and kept walking over to the bar at the side of the room. You stayed still, confused by what was going on.

"Tony! You can't just ignore this, you know we're going to have to go back out there." Cap continued.

Tony spun around, "Look old man, there's nothing we can do now. What's done is done. They are more than long gone. We did what we could, but we have no idea where they went and we're just going to have to wait and follow their tracks from here before we can do anything about it,"

"Or we could go out there! And try and Follow them that way and get this done now!" Steve exclaimed

"Or… they would already be in China or India, or Australia for all we know. So just let it go Cap. They'll show up on our radar again and we can get them then. And this time we'll know to bring back up." Tony said.

He poured himself a drink, and walked out of the room. Steve just stood there, you could tell he was frustrated by what had happened, and by what Tony was saying.

"Tough mission?" you said, breaking the silence.

Steve spun around, he hadn't realized you were sitting there listening the whole time.

"Yeah, that's an understatement," he said. You could still see the anger in his eyes, even though he was trying to calm down.

You had always thought Cap was handsome, but what girl didn't fantasize about Captain America. And you had definitely fantasized about him more than once. Although, you knew he didn't think about you that way. Or at least, he didn't think of you that way while you're around, knowing that you would be able to read his thoughts.

"What happened?" you questioned

Steve sighed, "we thought this would be a quick and easy mission. Little did we know, they had a ship on standby as well as several dozen mutant dogs. Before we could even realize the guy was flying away, we were still getting attacked by seventh round of the mutts,"

"Tough break," you said, sipping on your drink

Steve rolled his eyes at you. Not wanting to hear anymore things like what Tony had been saying.

"I'm so frustrated, I should have known that something like this would have happened." He said

"Actually, I'm really the only one who could have known something like this would have happened, which is why I told you guys to bring me in the first place, but oh well. Maybe the next time we run into them," you said, giving Steve a smirk, knowing you just made him more mad.

You could see Steve clenching his jaw and his fists, "Man I just really want to hit something,"

"Ok Bruce," you joked.

He rolled his eyes at you again, "I'm just going to go down to the gym," he said, turning to leave.

You stood from where you were sitting on the couch, "and do what? Hit one of your punching bags. Like that would help. Besides, you broke all the ones we had in the building. Tony had to order more, and they haven't shipped yet,"

"Fine, i'll just go to a local gym then…"

"And break their equipment too?"

"Well then what do you suggest, Y/N? Because I can't just take deep breaths, I need to vent," Cap said

"Well, I have an idea that does involve you breaking something," you said.

"Oh yeah, what's that?" Cap asked.

You could hear him racking his brain trying to figure out what it possibly could be. You saw images float through his head. Images of wood snapping under an axe, golf clubs and bats being swung into glass.

"I hear you thinking Cap, but none of that's right,"

"So tell me, Y/n,"

"Well, I know something that could relieve your frustration, and your stress and all you would have to do is break my headboard," you said,

Cap un-clenched his fists, you could hear him thinking about it; breaking your headboard. You could see images of his lips on yours, him pulling your hair, and slamming himself into you. You smirked, because you knew exactly what was about to happen.

Before you could say anything else, Cap moved across the room, grabbed you from under your thighs and lifted you up. You wrapped your legs around his back, and your arms around his neck. He threw his lips on yours and began giving you sloppy kisses and he moved toward the elevator to bring you upstairs.

When the elevator doors opened, he pushed you against the wall. He was squeezing your ass, and only kissing you harder. When the elevator opened on your floor, he let you down. You walked backward down the hall to your room as Cap left his arms around you and was placing wet kisses down your neck. You opened your door, and walked in. Cap slammed it shut behind you and pushed you down onto your bed.

He moved on top of you, he pinned your hands above your head, only holding them down with one of his hands while the other roamed your body.

"Do you like this shirt," He said

"I mean-"

"Good,"

Before you could even finish answering, Cap began tearing it with his free hand. The fabric was ripped from your body. He let go of your hand above your head to unbutton your jeans and slip them off along with your underwear. You sat up, and undid your bra, and watched him take off his shirt and pants. You could already see his toned body through his thin white shirt, but this was so much better. He undid his belt and pushed his jeans and underwear down his legs. He stepped out of the fabric and moved back toward you.

You could see his cock getting hard, growing in size, the closer he got. Steve grabbed your feet and pulled you to the end of the bed, so your legs were hanging off, and your ass was right on the edge. He took one of your legs in each hand and spread them apart. He slowly slid one of his large hands up your leg, toward your centre. He lightly used one finger to feel between your folds.

"So wet for me already, Y/N," he muttered softly

Cap took another step forward, and started rubbing his cock against your pussy. He had moved both hands so they were placed on your thighs, keeping your legs spread. You kept trying to move your hips, just to be able to feel Cap's cock move against your pussy; and to feel it throb against your clit.

"Don't do that, Darling. I'm in charge here," he ordered

"Fuck," you said, under your breath. Him saying that, only turned you on even more.

He kept his cock, pressed against your pussy as he slid one of his hands up to your breast. He kept eye contact with you and he spread your legs, teased you with his huge cock and flicked your nipple between his fingers.

"Please, Cap. I need you," you begged.

Stever just smirked, and pressed against you harder, twisting and flicking your nipple more vigorously. You just moaned, closed your eyes and leaned your head back. This was probably the biggest tease you have ever gotten. You could feel your wetness dripping out of you. Your thoughts were so hazy, you couldn't even focus on Steve's to see what he was going to do next.

"You really want me that bad?" He asked

"Yes," you moaned.

Cap let go of your breast, and moved your legs so they were over his shoulders. He positioned his dick at your entrance and slowly slid in. His cock was huge and it felt tight going in at first, despite how wet you are. But when you felt yourself open up to him, you couldn't help but gasp, and clench the bedsheets around you.

Steve smirked, and slowly pulled back out of you, before slowly pushing back in again. Cap slowly rocked into you, back and forth, lightly rubbing circles around your clit. He had teased you for so long that you were already getting so close.

He just watched you, mouth agape, eyes clenched shut, fists still digging into the sheets, and moaning so loud that the rest of the compound definitely heard you.

Suddenly, he took his hand off your clit, knowing you were about to come. He wanted to tease you more. He started thrusting into you harder. In and out. He pounded his cock deep into your pussy. You could feel his balls slapping against you.

The sound of your skin hitting each other echoed through your room. You continued to moan Steve's name, begging him to go harder. You needed to come so badly.

Cap quickly pulled out, "Turn over," he ordered.

It took you a second to process what he had said, and before you could complete the action yourself, Cap had grabbed you, and started turning you over on the bed. You sat up, so you were on your hands and knees. He placed a hand on your hip, and used the other to glide his huge cock back into your pussy.

He kept one hand on your hip, as he continued to slam into you. He used his free hand to smack your ass hard. You knew there would be a mark there tomorrow. You arched your head back, moaning loud. Cap reached forward and grabbed your hair. He tugged on it, arching your head back farther. He told you to keep moaning, or he'd have to pull harder.

Dominant Steve turned you on to no end. No man had ever made you moan so loud. You clenched the sheets in front of you, feeling Cap's huge cock pump in and out of you. He began thrusting harder, moaning your name.

"Fuck, Y/N,"

You moved one of your hands to start rubbing your clit. You knew the both of you were close to orgasm. You started shaking and moaning harder as you could feel your orgasm nearing. Steve sped up again, his grip on your waist getting stronger.

You couldn't even say his name, it all felt too good. You could feel your orgasm building, and suddenly you were pushed over the edge. You moaned hard, as your pussy began throbbing over Cap's cock. It was your orgasm that pushed Cap over the edge. You could feel him shuttering, his cock twitching inside you as he filled you with his come. You pushed back against him a few times as Cap continued to ride out his orgasm.

"Fuck," he muttered, panting.

He slowly loosened his grip on your hair and your waist and gently pulled out.

You continued to breath heavily, as you rolled on your back to look at Cap. He stood at the end of your bed, hands on his hips, breathing just as hard as you.

You giggled watching him.

He stayed there for a second, catching his breath.

"Good stress relief?" you asked

"Well, I do feel much better," he admitted

"Well, I'm here for you if you're ever stressed. And besides, we never did break my headboard, so we might have to try that again."

Cap just chuckled, and moved to lie down beside you.

#captain america #steve rogers #Smut #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #captain america fanfiction #captain america smut #captain america imagine #captain america imagines #mcu x reader #mcu fanfiction #MCU #petersspidey #fanfiction #peter parker #peter parker smut

227 notes · View notes

lovemesomesurveys · 3 years

Text

Department One: Apparel And Jewelry

What are you wearing today? A t-shirt dress. They’re so comfy.

What does your favorite shirt look like? All my many graphic tees.

What kind of underwear do you prefer wearing? Hipster.

What are your favorite kind of jeans? Skinny jeans. It’s crazy though cause I literally haven’t worn jeans at all for the past 4 years now. I live in leggings and lounge shorts.

What do the last pair of shoes you wore look like? They’re black Adidas with the white stripes.

How many shoes do you own? Like 6 pairs.

How much jewelry do you own? Lots of, but I usually just wear the same earrings everyday.

Do you own any real diamonds or other expensive jewelry? No.

Has anyone ever gave you jewelry as a present? Yes.

Do you like diamonds or gemstones better? Both are nice.

Silver or gold? I like both.

Department Two: Electronics Do you have a DVD player in your car? I don’t have a car.

If you have one, what does your camera/camcorder look like? I don’t have one of those either, I just use my phone.

How much did it cost? --

What kind of cellphone do you have? iPhone 12 Pro Max.

How often do you send texts? Not often.

Do you have your own computer or does your family share? I have my own laptop.

How many computers are in your house? Two.

Do you still have a VCR? Nope.

How many DVDs do you own? I don’t know; a lot.

Does your car have a GPS? --

What kind of ipod/mp3 player do you have? I use the Spotify app on my phone to listen to music.

How many songs are on it? --

What size is your TV? I think the one in my room is a 42 inch.

How many TVs are in your house? Four.

What video game systems do you have? I personally just have the Switch, but my brother has a few other game consoles that I sometimes use.

What about handhelds? The Switch.

How many video games do you have? I have 5 for the Switch.

Department Three: Home What kind of shampoo do you use? Dove shampoo.

Soap or shower gel? Soap.

What does your comforter look like? I don’t have one on my bed, currently. Actually, I haven’t had one for awhile. I get too hot.

Does it match your pillows? --

What size is your bed? Full.

Do you or your parents like to decorate the house with various things or is it plain? It has various decor.

Does the furniture in your house match? Yeah. What does your couch look like? They’re gray.

How many does your dining room/kitchen table seat? We don’t have a dining room/kitchen table.

Do you have any fancy china? Yes.

Do you have outside furniture? No.

What do your curtains look like? The curtains in my room are black.

Department Four: Grocery What kind of bread do you get? Wheat, white, sourdough.

What is your favorite kind of cake? White cake, funfetti, red velvet.

Do you get a lot of sweets from the grocery store? Sometimes.

What kind of soda is your favorite? Coke, Pepsi, Dr. Pepper, and the cherry versions of all 3.

Do you drink juice? What kind? No, I’m not a juice fan.

What is your favorite chewing gum? Mint.

Do you usually get candy from the check-out aisle? No.

What is your favorite soup? I’m a ramen gal.

Have you ever had soup when you were sick? Yeah.

What are your favorite canned vegetables? Green beans and corn.

What do you eat for breakfast? Usually over-easy eggs and Eggo’s.

Poptarts or toaster strudels? Both. What salad dressing do you prefer? Ranch.

Ketchup, mayonnaise, or mustard? I like all 3.

What kind of cookie do you like best? Sugar and shortbread.

What kind of snacks do you get at the grocery store? Chips and dip, cookies, and ice cream.

Do you get the meat from the deli? No.

What is your favorite frozen dinner? Healthy Choice pesto pasta, Lean Cuisine spaghetti and meatballs and spinach and artichoke linguine, Smart Ones scrambled eggs and hash browns, and Hungry Man salisbury steak.

Do you prefer frozen dinners to actual cooking? No.

What is your favorite kind of pasta? Pesto pasta and spaghetti.

Do you eat meat? And if not, do you eat vegetarian meat? I eat meat.

What is your favorite fruit? Bananas.

What about vegetable? Spinach, potatoes, broccoli, green onion, avocado.

Department Five: Health And Beauty What kind of makeup do you normally use? I stopped bothering with makeup a few years ago; I just don’t have the energy or motivation for it. I wore a little for my brother’s grad party back in June, but that had been the first time in years and I haven’t worn any since.

Do you wear more makeup on special events? --

What is your favorite makeup brand? I liked CoverGirl, Maybelline, Wet n’ Wild, and NYX.

Do you use any acne products? No.

What kind of perfume do you use? I don’t have a perfume, but I have a beachy smelling body spray that I’ve been using the past few months.

Have you ever been on a diet? Yeah, a high protein one.

What products do you use in your hair? Just shampoo, conditioner, and sometimes detangling spray.

How often do you brush your hair? It’s so short right now I can go a day or two wthout brushing it and it’s fine.

What do you take when you have an upset stomach? Honestly, a heating pad really helps me with that. Sometimes, though, Pepto Bismol might be necessary. Peppermint tea can be helpful for me sometimes as well.

Do you take any prescription medicine? Yeah.

Department Six: Movies, Music, And Books What is your favorite movie of all time? I couldn’t possibly choose.

What genre of movie do like best? I like variety, but horror, psychological, and drama are at the top.

What was the last movie you watched? The new Marvel Shang-Chi movie.

What was the last movie you purchased? I don’t recall.

What is your all time favorite band? Linkin Park.

Do you still buy CDs? Nah, that was many years ago now. <<<

What was the last CD you bought? No idea.

What was the last song you listened to? I don’t recall at the moment.

What is your favorite book? I couldn’t possibly choose that either.

Do you even like reading? I love to read and do a ton of it. I finish one and go onto another. I’ve been really into a few different series by a few different authors and they’ve provided me with a lot to read for the past couple years.

How often do you read? ^^^.

Department Seven: Sports And Fitness Do you own a bike/scooter/skateboard/etc.? Nope.

How old were you when you learned to ride a bike w/o training wheels? I don’t ride bikes.

Have you ever been camping? Nope, and I have no interest in doing so.

How often do you work out? Literally never. <<<

Are you in good shape? No.

Do you go to a gym? Nope.

Have you ever been fishing? Yes, I briefly tried it out once.

Have you ever been on a boat? Yeah.

Can you play golf? I played mini golf once a a kid.

Ever rode on a golf cart? No.

Would you ever go hunting? No.

What is your favorite sport? I’m not into sports.

Ever played on a sports team? Nope.

Department Eight: Toys What was your favorite toy as a child? Barbies.

Do you still play with toys? No.

Do you collect any toys? Well, figurines and knickknacks.

Did you ever have building blocks? I had Legos.

Did you play with dolls? Yep.

Barbies or Bratz? Which were better? Barbies hands down.

What is your favorite board game? I have many, I love board games.

Do you like to do arts and crafts? I’m not crafty, artsy, or creative, but arts and crafts can be fun depending on what it is. Nothing too complicated. I enjoyed it a lot as a kid.

Do you think that kids now have it better than when you were young? In some ways.

#personal #text #survey #surveys #categories

2 notes · View notes