#armani lip magnet

[shopofthemoment]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: new Giorgio Armani ♕ Rouge D’Armani Full Size Matte Lipstick ♕ Maharajah 506 Box.

[makeupbox]

Swatch & Review - Armani Lip Freeze Sorbet (Lip Maestro and Lip Magnet)

#ArmaniBeauty's #LipFreezeSorbet collection features 12 shades of soft, foggy, candy-colored liquid and cream lipsticks in their 2 signature formulas.

I'm a little late to the game but so many people were taken by the frosted tubes and vibrant colors and asking for my thoughts on the shades that I decided to lip swatch the entire series so you can see which shades you like the most.

The shades go from soft rosy #neutrals to bright corals and pinks, as well as the most amazing #creamsicle orange tone.

[lokisgoodgirl]

That Little Dress: Clandestine F*cks [Avenger!Loki x Fem.Reader] 18+

Part of the Clandestine F*cks Collection [Link] A link to my regular Masterlist is HERE Summary: (13) The Avengers Expo rages on, but after your confessions of love, you and Loki have a little afterparty of your own Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Descriptive Oral Sex (F). Anal Play (Mild). Language. Secret Relationship.(w/c 2.3k)

“I want you to ruin me” you whispered, feeling Loki’s breath hitch beneath your palm.

It had been a long night at the Expo. The familiar surroundings were a balm after hours of painful schmoozing, ending with a covert walk from the limo to Loki's rooms.

You had made your excuses to leave before the others, but your secret lover had slipped away earlier unseen. No one would be back at the tower for hours.

“Ruin you?” Loki murmured, running his hands over the curve of your waist still wrapped in that sinfully tempting dress, “why would I wish to ruin what is mine, my love?”

Loki had arrived thirty minutes before you, but had thoughtfully remained dressed in his black Armani suit. His tie was hanging loose around his neck, several buttons undone: the luxuriously woven wool clinging to his muscular limbs in all the right places.

Tonight, you had seen so many women starting at him with blatant thirst. Their eyes crawled over his thick thighs and perfect ass; his wide shoulders atop that strong torso that demanded attention.

They were wondering what it would be like to run their hands through his hair, what it would be like to fuck him. You could almost hear their pussies clench as he passed, the scent of him, the magnetism of him. He could have had anyone he chose.

You had been desperate for him for hours, despite your dangerous quickie backstage. Needy wetness pooled between your legs, sliding between your thighs as you circled each other, mingling with the crowd. Stolen glances were all that you had allowed yourself.

You slipped his tie between your fingers, inhaling the weight of the exquisite cologne that clung to the sliver of bare skin between the open buttons of his shirt. “Say that again please…” you murmured, raising your face to meet his sultry stare.

“My love” Loki whispered knowingly against your cheek.

“My love” you repeated softly, running your hand to rub the growing hardness in his trousers, “I want you to ruin me.”

Loki growled, sending you flying backwards to land square in the middle of his bed. The alluring emerald chiffon of your dress spread around your legs as you bounced, the high thigh split lying open teasingly as his eyes ran wantonly over your body.

You placed your hands behind your hips, pushing your cleavage out with innocent eyes as he crawled towards you.

His gaze was smouldering, brimming with primal lust as he leant back on his knees. Trouser creases gathered around his hips, straining over that deliciously thick cock outlined against the fabric.

“That little dress” he muttered darkly, shaking his head, “the thoughts it has put in my head this night are positively obscene.”

“Show me” you whispered, running your palms up his spread thighs. He groaned as your touch reached his crotch, squeezing the girth that sat so tantalisingly beneath the soft wool.

With a hungry gasp, his mouth descended on yours; devouring you as he lowered you backwards. Loki’s fingers ran a trail down your cleavage, the structured V of your neckline a teasingly sculpted path for his touch to play.

“I love you, darling” he whispered solemnly between messy kisses, his tongue massaging yours, moaning gently.

“I love you, Loki” you sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. The adrenaline level in your blood hadn’t dropped since you had first heard those words from his lips mere hours before. You wondered if it ever would.

“Say that again” he murmured coyly against your ear, the velvet teasing of his words echoing yours making your hips rise involuntarily.

“I love you, Loki.”

He released a deep sigh into your hair. In one swift movement, he slid the pillow from beneath your head as you squealed in surprise: chuckling above you. He placed it to the side, his hands returning to trail down your stiff bodice.

“You realise that that little dress would have you locked away on Asgard?” he muttered, his fingers tracing the bare skin below your heart, “Inciting lust, I believe is the charge.”

“Inciting lust?” you giggled, “that’s a crime?”

Loki raised an eyebrow, regarding you with a regal air of seriousness. “Indeed, darling. Such wanton displays carry a price. Inciting lust within a Prince carries a particularly heavy penalty.”

He thrust his hips forward lightly, watching your eyes fall on his straining arousal with amusement. “Now what was that you were saying about ‘ruining’ you?”

The god effortlessly lifted your hips, sliding the pillow beneath them. You giggled as he gripped the sides of your thighs, fingertips digging into the soft flesh beneath the skirt of your dress. Dexterous fingers crept under the side-split, gripping your seamless thong and sliding it gracefully down your legs.

“Shall we try some further exploration tonight, my love?” he murmured, inhaling the damp wetness of your panties before casting them aside.

You nodded. You had talked about introducing anal play, slowly...of course. Although you would be lying if you said that tonight you didn’t want him to take you straight away. It was tempting. The thought made you squirm with desire as he towered above you in all his glory, removing his suit jacket and vanishing it into thin air.

He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, letting you enjoy the sight as his muscular forearms were slowly revealed; biceps flexing beneath that perfectly fitted expensive cotton. The sexual energy coursing from him was intolerable.

Dark hair fell around his perfectly chiselled face as he plotted the ways to make you a shuddering mess beneath his touch. Your hips thrust upwards as he knelt toward you, placing deep kisses from the inside of your knee to the top of your inner thigh, brushing the green chiffon to the side.

You closed your eyes, bracing yourself for the imminent wave of bliss. A short gasp escaped you as Loki’s warm tongue graced your centre, the flat softness pressing gently against your soaking heat.

“Fuuuuck, Loki…” you groaned, as he chuckled against your wet slit.

He knew exactly how you liked it. Slow and methodical. Building your pleasure with every careful lap of his tongue. It caressed between your folds, winding around your plump lips and pausing to suck them gently between his teeth as you thrust up to meet his open mouth.

His tongue dipped inside your core, making you moan his name shamelessly as he pressed the expanse of it against your swollen clit, sliding back and forth.

He was such a tease, but he knew what he was doing. And gods above, he was extremely good at it. You gripped the bedsheets as you cried out, needy pants rumbling from his throat as he pleasured you, enjoying every second of his submission to your bliss.

You rubbed your foot against his thigh, sliding up to feel the hard length of flesh pressing tightly against his trousers. Loki hissed against your skin, dipping deeper into your cunt; desperately burying his face between your open thighs.

You loved the sounds he made when he worshipped you, every well-earned whimper drawn from your lips making him harder.

Loki’s hands cupped your ass beneath the folds of your dress, raising your legs to rest on his shoulders. His eyes flickered upwards to yours. They glinted with pure mischief; the only feature of his beautiful face visible as he wrapped your thighs around his jaw, that talented tongue never ceasing.

“Lower…?” you pleaded, gazing up at him with your forehead creased in shameless pleasure. The fireworks in your stomach sizzled with a primal desire for him to enact the dirty whispers that had so enthralled you. Naughty, filthy. God, you wanted to feel that relentless tongue slide against the rim of your ass; the god of sex between your raised legs making you yield to him in every way imaginable.

He winked from between your thighs, flicking his tongue briefly over your clit in response. Tease, you thought, as you felt his hand brush underneath your elevated hips.

Loki ran his middle digit leisurely between your soaking folds, coated in a mix of arousal and saliva. He looked at the finger with a smile, licking his lips before latching greedily back onto your warm heat, making your eyes roll back.

Between your loud moans of pleasure, you felt his digit begin to rub your delicate back passage, the soft pressure making your stomach clench with unadulterated need. He circled the entrance, timing each rotation to the swirl of his tongue through the crevices of your pussy. It felt so naughty. So dirty. You were in heaven.

In that moment, you would let him flip you over and take you in any way he chose. You could imagine him tearing aside the layers of chiffon wrapped around your body to reveal what he craved. You wanted to feel his strong cock overwhelm you from behind, fuck you like an animal beneath his primal strength. It felt so fucking good.

“Lokiiii” you moaned desperately, feeling the thrill of taboo-laden orgasm building as he rocked you against his face. His muffled moans filled the air as he lapped religiously at your elevated cunt. A free hand slid down the bodice of your dress, grasping against the stiff material that concealed your breasts as the other massaged your back entrance.

You had never let any man touch you there, and now...you were glad. Loki discovering new pockets of undiscovered bliss was erotic beyond words, a pilgrimage of his devotion.

His finger edged slowly inside the tight muscle, dipping only a centimetre or two as you squeezed your thighs around his neck.

“God, baby it feels so good” you groaned, willing him to go deeper. He purred his approval as your hips raised further to his masterful tongue, keeping you balanced on the edge of climax as he sucked your clit gently.

The god withdrew the tip of his finger, rubbing the hallowed entrance again with a pulsing motion, enjoying the whimpers which fell from your lips as you teetered on the brink.

“Lick me lower...I want more, baby please” you whined, seeing the corner of his eyes crinkle in amusement.

He shook his head. In one motion, he lowered your hips to the bed: freeing himself from the grip of your thighs around his neck. "Not tonight, darling" he murmured, spreading your knees as you squirmed, mourning the loss of the delicate, forbidden touch of his finger.

Loki placed a solitary kiss on your stomach before lowering his face to your dripping pussy once again. You could feel the wet patch on the bed against your lower back between every gentle keen of your hips, the promise of climax dancing behind your eyes.

The sight of his cheekbones hollowing with every long lick against your core. His burning gaze enjoying the muscles in your face twitching with pleasure. His thick, strong arms wound around your thighs. The sight of his hair tangled between your fingers as he ate your pussy without mercy...

“Fuuuuuck, Loki…Loki, godddddd” you groaned loudly, making the most of the empty rooms above and below. “I’m gonna come, b-baby...do you want me to c-come in your..uhhh, fuck...in your m-mouth?”

The question was unnecessary, but it made your stomach soar watching his eyes glaze with desire as you asked it.

He nodded enthusiastically, releasing a deep moan. His nose brushed against your clit as he fucked you with his tongue, rocking you backwards and burying deeper between your thighs.

You felt the wet warmth glide dangerously close to your back entrance. God, how you craved it, you thought, as he returned to lapping your clit in the way he knew drove you to the edge of sanity.

With a strangled cry of his name, you came. Your fingertips pressed into his scalp as he finished you, holding your juddering thighs still. Loki groaned with you as you rode out your high, gently licking the centre of your pussy as your breaths staggered through sighs of release.

You tried to steady your breathing as he crawled up your body, pushing the fabric of your dress so it fanned around your hips. “Goddess” he murmured, a wide slick of your cum smeared across his chin.

There was a sharp buzz as your phone vibrated from your bag. “Leave it” he muttered knowingly, burying his face in your neck with a deep kiss. “It could be important, Loki” you giggled, as the phone buzzed again. “I’ll be two seconds…”

You could almost hear his eyes roll as you stood with difficulty, padding across the bedroom to where you had discarded your bag.

6 New Messages

Shit, you thought. All from Wanda. You hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye to her at the Expo. You checked the latest one.

‘Where the hell are you? I need to talk to you.’

You replied quickly, hearing a huff from the god on the bed. I’m fine! Just tired. See you tomorrow at 10 xx

Your gaze flickered to Loki who had also conjured his phone, looking at the screen with a frown as he leant back against the headboard.

“Everything alright?” you said lightly, your dress fluttering around your legs as you swept back onto the bed, straddling your lover. His phone disappeared in a flash of seidr, a smile returning to his solemn features.

“Yes darling” he said, drawing a finger across your cheek. “Megan sent a reminder regarding tomorrow’s evaluation, that’s all.”

You frowned. “Megan?”

“Yes darling” Loki repeated, his hands running down your back and scooting you over his crotch.

Gentle thrusts of his concealed cock grazed your soaking, naked pussy through the wayward fabric of your dress. “She will be the operations liaison present. She wants to see me beforehand, it’s not important.”

Loki leant forward to kiss you, his desperate thrusts against your slippery heat becoming harder as he sought relief.

“Shall we take this dress off?” you whispered coyly, unbuttoning his shirt as his lips made their way wantonly down your cleavage.

A dark moan escaped his throat, rumbling around the room as you purposefully rubbed your centre firmly against the thick protrusion in his trousers.

“I don’t think so, my love” he purred.

“That little dress is going to stay on all night. And I intend to appreciate it as it deserves. Loudly.”

-

Tags

@lokischambermaid @lokisninerealms @yelkmelk @123forgottherest @thedistractedagglomeration @lokiprompts @peaches1958 @evelyn-kingsley @lyn-soso @xorpsbane @mochie85 @vbecker10 @michelleleewise @ficitve-sl0th @simplyholl @toozmanykids @dangertoozmanykids101 @five-miles-over @trickster-maiden @handsaroundmyneck @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @muddyorbs @skymoonandstardust @holymultiplefandomsbatman @loopsisloops @chantsdemarins @gigglingtigger @itsybitchylittlewitchy @ozymdias @absentmindeduniverse @mad4marvelloki @imalovernotahater @anonymousfiction211 @lonesomegrace @nerdy-fangirl-65 @lokikissesmyforehead @ladylovesloki @mcufan72 @filthyhiddles @mischief2sarawr @skymoonandstardust @wheredafandomat @ladymischief11 @dustychinchilla74 @trojanaurora @cakesandtom @fictional-hooman @thomase1 @javagirl328

[virtue-and-beneviolence]

How I Met My Gangster

In which you find out your date, Hanma Shuji, is a yakuza in the middle of a McDonalds at 12:30 am.

Only warning is that this is unedited crack; wc: 750

You were probably an idiot for agreeing to a date from the tall man that offered you his jacket, helmet, and a ride home after you missed the last bus. You were probably an idiot to have taken him up on his ride in the first place. Standing (well, hunching) several inches taller than you and hands branded “sin” and “punishment,” it was no shock that this man could have overpowered you in a second, had he wanted to. Contrary to his first impression, he was so wholly disarming in his black jeans and henley, playful smile dancing across his features. He was such a goofy guy. He felt warm. He was more than a little magnetic. When he dropped you off at your building, he wrote his name and number on your hand like a flirtatious teenager.

Hanma Shuji.

That’s how you ended up on the back of his bike for the second time this week, headed to McDonalds for a midnight snack. You two placed an order that would put some stoned teenagers to shame and at the last second Shuji added, “An M&M McFlurry, for the lady,” and handed the cashier his black card. Wait. A black card?

The cashier hesitated. Your jaw dropped. Shuji was unbothered and held out the card a little further.

“Sir…?”

“Maybe you’re new…but this is the part where you take my card and slide it.” Shuji nodded to the cashier and subtly waved the card as if it meant nothing.

“Sir I…uh…can’t swipe that, i-it’s fake.” the cashier stuttered.

“The fuck it is!” Shuji said in exasperated disbelief. “Look I just want my Mc-fuckin-nuggets, can you just let me pay?”

“Can I see some ID, please?”

“Uh…” He pulled out his wallet and showed his license, “there, I made sure the names matched when my buddy printed it.” The cashier paused. You may have only known Shuji for a handful of hours collectively, but you laughed at his joke, “See? She knows it was a joke.”

“I have to get my manager.”

Shuji sighed and turned to you, “This never usually happens.” His cheeks were tinged ever so slightly pink either from embarrassment or frustration. You wouldn’t have noticed in the dingy lighting of the restaurant if it weren’t for the contrast of his signature white Henley. Your lips split into a smile, how many of that exact shirt did he have? Here you were on a date with what you thought was just some cute, edgy part timer or something. For fuck’s sake, he dressed in a shirt he probably got on sale 3 for 10 at Uniqlo, sweats, and slides. Where the hell did he get a black card? “This is so awkward, y/n I-“

You giggled at the absurdity of it all and cut in, “How do you even have one of those Hanma?”

“They offered it to me, and I took it? How does anyone end up with any credit card?”

“Yeah, but-“

“Sir, do you have an alternate form of payment?”

Shuji huffed and pulled out his wallet. He pulled out a 5,000 yen bill and handed it over, “I only carry 5,000 yen bills, is that acceptable?” He sighed the words. They took the bill and inspected it. Hanma leaned in, “Don’t worry, counterfeit isn’t my crime.” He turned back to you and winked.

Just what had you gotten into?

And why was it like kinda cute how he did that?

“You order will be ready soon, thanks for your patience.”

You thanked then and tugged Hanma away out of earshot. “So, what do you do again?”

“Ever heard of Toman?”

You couldn’t help it, you’re eyes went wide. You had caught the eye of an executive of Tokyo’s most notorious and dangerous gangs. “I thought those guys were nocturnal and, like, slept in Armani suits?!” You whisper-shouted at him in amused shock.

He shrugged, “Not really my style. I’ve got a couple for exec meetings if you wanna see that so badly.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you. You laughed, trying to stay calm. How was this guy, so chill and relaxed, a yakuza? Your order number was called and you nudged his arm with your shoulder as you walked past him to collect your food.

“For a gangster you’re really a down to earth guy, you know that?”

“You won’t say that when you see my penthouse.” He said with the cheesiest lilt.

“Now you’re just bragging, shut up and eat your Mc-fuckin’-nuggets, Han-”

“Shuji.”

“-Shuji.”

I'm throwin in @bajifuyutorabb bc you got the first bit when i started lol

Masterlist

[letstalkbeautyuk]

Armani Lip Magnets https://www.letstalkbeauty.co.uk/new-giorgio-armani-beauty-lip-magnets/ 

[10millionyearsdungeon]

Praesidium

A/N: Back to our regularly scheduled bullshit...We went into this with zero plan, zero ambition, and came out the other end with something resembling a drabble featuring Hitoshi Shinsou as a hot-shit, Kennedy-esque politician trying to escape from the “family business.” I’d like to thank @dymphnasprose​ for the inspiration, the banner, and for putting up with my crazed plot bunny hunting sessions in her DMs. Proudly part of The Smut Pile Mafia Collab-- huge thanks to @pleasantanathema​ and @present-mel​ for organizing it and keeping us degenerates on time for once. You’re the real heroes.

TW: Wax play, orgasm denial, tobacco use, death threats, graphic violence

=====================================================

You were always used to protection. Your family's name and wealth brought its own Kevlar shield; whether it was the broad shouldered bodyguards flanking you and your entourage during every frivolous shopping excursion or impromptu escape to one of the many vacation homes that dotted the globe, or the mere mention of your father and the weight of his near omnipresence in the highest echelons of high society, protection was almost always guaranteed. You could hear it in the hushed voices of the real estate giants and their trophy wives when you made your grand entrance to every socialite gathering. 

"There she is, Yanai's precious pearl…" 

Dripping in envy and awe, it was no surprise to you when you caught his eye. Heir and only daughter of the wealthiest family in the country, you knew your worth among the elite and so did he. You only knew of Shinsou Hitoshi by virtue of his reputation as a newcomer to the world of national-level politics, but his charm and charisma were undersold by every inch devoted to him in the papers. By all accounts, he left you dazzled by his lazy, almost sleepy smile and the low rumble of his succinct one-liners. 

He played the part of the laid-back Playboy to the hilt, and by the night of your first fundraiser gala Shinsou had you practically eating from the palm of his hand like a hungry stray. By your second date, you could practically taste the Harry Winston hiding in his Tom Ford smoking jacket by the time dessert arrived. Back then you never questioned how he managed to afford the heirloom, four carat diamond he slid onto your finger, nor did it occur to you how he managed to slither his way into the House of Councilors. Blinded by the magnetic sway he held over you and your well-paid collection of sycophants, the how and why seemed largely irrelevant so long as he kept you on his arm. In your waking moments, you could almost catch pieces of a broken conversation from your insomniac lover. 

"Find someone else...I'm done being your enforcer. I have an image to maintain now…"

Many a night he'd stumble in reeking of sweat and sulfur, dark liquor still burning on his lips when he pressed a kiss to your warm cheek as you slept in your shared bed. Morning invariably gave way to bruised knuckles and heavy dark circles as Shinsou hid his fading scars under his slate gray Armani suit. Prior to your wedding night, you thought you caught the rip of his silk and gravel voice grunting from a crooked alley. Following those familiar thunderclap grunts was the crunch of something hard and then a pulpy squilch that made your stomach twist in on itself. The begging that followed was unintelligible from your way to the nightclub, but his voice, your Shinsou's voice snarling a loaded promise of breathing tubes and chronic pain if the offending party didn't pay their due stayed with you until your bodyguard ushered you into the safety of your car. 

"Daddy, I can't do this," you cried. Your father dabbed at your eyes and shook his head at your tantrum. He wouldn't be so blasé about the arrangement or your uproar if he was the one who heard your groom's fist shattering bones just the night before. A vision in white brocade, the four carats on your left hand felt like ten tons weighing you down the aisle as your father all but dragged you to meet your husband at the end. As the crowd rose to receive your grand entrance, you couldn't help but stifle a quiet sob at the sight of Shinsou's surrogate fathers standing in the front pew. Yamada couldn't contain his excitement for his boy, but Aizawa glared on coldly when you met his gaze. Your father kissed your cheek and gave your hands a squeeze before abandoning you before your audience. Shinsou held out his hand, and you choked back another hiccuping sob-- how could you hold those hands the same way when they were capable of such senseless violence? Knuckles cracked and discolored with aging bruises, he groped for your hands and pulled you the extra two steps onto the altar, flashing you that same lackadaisical grin. It was a blur, a bad dream you couldn't wake from. Beyond the sporadic flashbulbs blinking in the crowd, you couldn't pull away from him. 

"I do…" Your voice didn't sound like your own, even as you felt it leave your throat. Shinsou pulled closer and rasped against your lips. 

"This is only the beginning, kitten." 

Kitten...

You couldn't deny how his pet name made you shiver. The single word held a scintillating promise of the night to come, yet all you could focus on were those hands and the crunch of anonymous bones under his blows. Would he ever turn those hands on you? As he gently slid his platinum wedding band over your ring finger, the mate to the ostentatious engagement ring occupying the spot, you melted under the tenderness of his touch. Your Hitoshi couldn't be capable of such violence. Your Hitoshi was a man of change, of reform who wanted to help bring his countrymen into a golden age. Your fingers numbly slid your ring onto your husband's hand and with the action sealed your own fate. The world swam out of view when he overtook you with a blistering kiss, hungry and needy against your lips. He didn't taste like smoke and scotch this time, a flavor you had grown to appreciate the longer you entangled yourself with him. He lingered for what felt like an eternity, the roar of applause and shared joy for the union a soundtrack erasing any fears you might have had prior. 

Your bridesmaids swooned over the intensity of Shinsou’s gaze throughout your opulent reception-- your father sparing no expense when giving away his precious pearl. Shinsou’s family kept to themselves mostly, with Aizawa only stepping from their shadowy corner to address your father over travel arrangements. Hitoshi’s eyes narrowed and that same cocksure grin blossomed over his features as you inched closer, hip pulled closer by that massive hand. “Hey,” you breathed with a soft smile. He returned it in kind and squeezed your hip through the eggshell Vera Wang gown and leaned in to whisper in your ear. Hair slicked back, all that tickled you was the heat from his breath as it fanned against your skin. “I can’t wait to get you out of that, kitten. Gorgeous as you are with it on, the thought of you in nothing but your jewelry has my mouth practically watering.” Predatory gaze amplified by that sex and gravel voice had you melting. He took you by the hand and bade you follow him across the floor of the resort ballroom. Cautiously, you glanced around the room, anxious that someone from the party would notice your sudden escape. Before you had a chance to object, Hitoshi held a finger to his lips and pulled you through the crowd and out of the room. “You really think I can wait any longer when you’re looking like that?” The wait staff cast cursory glances at you and your husband as he continued to guide you away from the noise and bodies keeping him from tearing your gown off and claiming you. “Hitoshi…” you whimpered, pinned with your back to the door of your honeymoon suite. He sunk his teeth into your shoulder and nearly purred at the gasp that left your lips. Fumbling for the key, Shinsou held you from falling into the open door and nudged you over the threshold with an eagerness you couldn’t place. Words were swallowed by hungry mouths and replaced with an exchange of passion tempered only by the quiet frustration of fingering over buttons and parting fabric to unwrap the prize of feeling your skin under his fingertips. Once released from your prison of beaded white silk and delicate lace, Hitoshi pulled away, raking his ultraviolet eyes over your nearly bare frame to further appreciate his prize. 

“Just when I thought you couldn’t be any more perfect.” Instead of shying away from his words, you moved with a certainty that was far from your own. Automatically reaching for his tie, you pulled him down to resume your heated devouring, earning a chuckle and a light spank on your lace-covered cheek in reply. “Impatient, kitten?”

Your fingers worked the buttons of his shirt nimbly, practically digging your nails into his chest just to feel him hiss into your mouth. Tongues waged a war to stalemate status as your husband gave your buttocks a squeeze before hoisting you up and wrapping your legs around his hips. Your sex practically drooled against his toned abs through your useless lace panties. The trail of your gyrating on the ridges of washboard muscle pulled wanton moans from your kiss-bruised lips.

“Feels like you are. Drenched for me already. Who knew my heiress was such a needy slut.” You whined under the degradation he heaped on you as he placed you on the pillow-top bed and guided your hands above your head. Shinsou pulled his tie over his head and wrapped it lovingly around your wrists, brushing his lips and teeth along the gently blushing skin along your blue-blood veins as he finished securing you to the headboard. He moved slowly, teasing every inch of exposed skin with languid grace. A panther in human skin, Shinsou sunk his teeth and sucked purple bruises along your ribs and thighs, parting your squirming legs casually. You felt the weight of his wedding band on your inner thigh and wriggled away from the cold of it. Hitoshi tsked from below, grin tugging on his lips as he pulled your panties down with his teeth. Tenderly, he rubbed a sole finger along your drenched folds. You bucked into the sensation and writhed for more, only to have your husband pull away and drag the slick-stained digit along his tongue. 

“Looks like I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson, kitten.” He blew on your clit, earning a choked moan. “You’re on my time now.” He withdrew, leaving you to whine for him to return, only to be answered by the closing of the bathroom door. You stared at the gold leaf ceiling, seconds dragging on like hours until he finally returned holding a candle, lit cigarette caught between his teeth. Hitoshi took a drag and guarded the flame from his dark red candle as he took a seat beside your whimpering form. He set the candle on the headboard and gently held your face in his hand, blowing smoke into your mouth. The intimate gesture, sharing the air in his lungs made you swoon. Distracted, you barely registered him removing your bra or how he grazed your pert nipples with scarred thumbs. You opened and melted into his attention, desperate for more. You caught his gaze, eyes glazed over with unadulterated adoration, and let out a strangled wail when the first drops of scarlet wax dripped over your shivering breasts. 

The shock of sudden warmth encasing your tender flesh in candy apple red kept you reeling into the next pour. Your Hitoshi leered above you, rapt in your reactions as he brought his free hand to rest on your bare mons. His long fingers grazing along your sopping clit and the continued dripping of hot wax on your skin had you writhing in place. His dark, rumbling chuckle made your blood sizzle under your skin as he admired his work. 

"I think she likes it," he purred, now moving with intent. Arching into the duvet, you pouted sweetly at your husband, legs gently rubbing together as if it would further entice him to continue. "Who knew my kitten was such a kinky slut?" 

"'Toshi, touch me more!" 

His eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline, and he pulled his hand away from your glistening sex. Frustrated whimpers echoing through the suite, you were cut short by another trail of red wax burning down to your navel. He took another slow drag from his slow-dying cigarette and smirked. If it weren't for his hardening cock poking your hip through his tuxedo pants you would have never known how hopelessly he needed every moan and whine he pulled from your tight body. Past games, he would have blinded you, muffled his voice behind black silk and noise cancelling headphones, but tonight was different. 

"Know your place, kitten. You're in no position to make demands."

You bit your lip and stifled another whine as the wax cooled in the mold of your belly button. Shinsou kept the candle hovering just over your bound body, constantly watching you with the same, slow-simmering lust burning in his deep violet eyes. He stopped short over your dripping pussy and licked the nicotine from his lips. You could see the plan unfold in his head before he had a chance to put it in action. Anticipation had every hair tingling as you waited for his next move. Before he could act, there was a stern rap at the door. With all the petulance and frustration of a child forced to share his favorite toy, Shinsou rose from the bed and trudged to the door. 

"Little busy in here."

"Business waits for no one." The intruder's voice was black ice on a fall morning, cold and sharp as Hitoshi shrank back from the door. His shoulders tensed as he scratched the back of his neck, an anxious tic he couldn't shake from childhood. "You can play with your toy when we're done."

"I told you I've gone straight. No more back alley deals, no more blood on my hands. I'm done."

Your blood ran cold and it crept into your belly to make a new home gnawing through the viscera. Unable to make out much more than the broad back of your husband at the door, you strained to listen to the conversation before the cocking of a gun took your breath away. 

"You're done when I say you're done. Never forget who bought you those votes, how you skated into your parliament chair, high councilor." The voice's tone was harsh, mockingly so with an edge of condescension that earned a defeated growl from your Shinsou. The owner of the voice stepped closer, peering over your husband's shoulder with a frigid smirk that nearly made your heart stop. Aizawa raked his dark, abyssal eyes over your exposed body, resting hungrily on your sex drooling into the plum duvet, and turned back to his surrogate son. "Be a shame if something happened to her. All those billions siphoned away…" From your spot on the bed you could feel the noose tightening around both your necks the longer Boss Aizawa spoke. 

"...all to attend a funeral as the dutiful, lovesick widower with his wife's blood on his hands." 

"Enough! That's enough...you win."

Shinsou buttoned his shirt quickly and cast a longing glance over his shoulder at your quiet sobbing. He never wanted you to know the underworld he clawed out of to finally live in the light. It wasn't enough to want change and leave the bloody past where it belonged. Some ghosts had a way of coming back to their old haunts. Tuxedo jacket slung over his shoulder, Shinsou slicked his hair back and turned his back on you, leaving you bound to the headboard with wax, his own Jackson Pollock masterpiece drying on your skin. You could feel your heart breaking with the gentle closing of the door, and the barely audible, "I'm sorry," whispered ruefully by your retreating husband. Protection was something you used to take for granted, but as you found that night and many after, it was something few in your precarious position could do without. 

[someforbuy]

GIORGIO ARMANI Lip Magnet Liquid Vibes Lipstick 513 Magenta

To create a seductive, romantic look, try the new product from the luxurious, fashionable Italian brand Giorgio Armani.

[anobscurename]

ocean eyes – chris evans

PART I | PART II | PART III

concept: a collection of happenings, but there do happen to be a lot of references to the other parts. it’s just plotless fluff at this point. the slowest of slow burns. there will be many more parts. this is your moving in – finally – and the welcome party that follows.

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 2.7k

warnings: a lot of teasing, ice cream, dirty thoughts, and a touch of sexual frustration.

author’s note: so this is part four, and we finally have some mackie and stan action! also, because i believe in all ice cream flavour superiority, i have left a little “choose your own response” thing. select whichever one fits you as the reader :)

“Is that the last of it?”

“I think so.” You were breathless from the move, boxes covering almost every viable flat surface of your new bedroom.

Chris had himself a rather nice house up on the Hollywood Hills, and through one of the many windows, you glimpsed the shimmering reflection of a spacious pool. The residence boasted three bedrooms, and now one was yours. It was enough to make your head spin.

“I’ll let you get settled, then,” Chris smiled, his hand finding your shoulder in a gesture that suggested nothing more than friendship – one which your body reacted to as something more. His hand was warm, and you hoped he didn’t notice the goosebumps that rose on your arms at his very touch. The scent of him invaded your nostrils, utterly intoxicating.

You folded your arms across your chest hoping to disguise the sudden gooseflesh. There was something about him that made your hair stand on end, but in a purely unadulterated good way – some kind of magnetic energy that made you want his hands encompassing every inch of your body, committing it to his memory. When he retracted his hand, you hoped he hadn’t seen the slump of your shoulders in soft disappointment.

He had.

And if you had been paying more attention to him, and not your own suddenly raging hormones, then you wouldn’t have missed the smirk that quirked his lips at the visible effect he appeared to have on you.

“Don’t take too long, though,” he added by the doorway. The mere glimpse you caught of his cheekbones in profile had your breath stuttering erratically, even more so than the weight of your neatly packed boxes ever hoped to achieve. “We have a welcome party to get to in a few hours.”

——————

The welcome party, you were to discover later, was a party of two – just you and your cab thief – to be later joined by two of his friends who happened to be in L.A.

You banished any and all thoughts of it being a date or not this time, and found yourself much more put at ease by it once you had set your resolve. You were his friend – barely even that, if you would let yourself admit it – nothing less, nothing more. And what type of date would it be with his friends there, in any case?

So outfit choice came easy. If you were to be living together, he would inevitably become accustomed to you looking borderline homeless at times, and should the occasion call for it, like an absolute goddess the next. And so your selection of clothing came effortless, settling for something in between: a homeless goddess.

You didn’t know where Chris was taking you, so the selected aesthetic happened to be minimalistic makeup and a black jumpsuit that could either be dressed up or down, but looked classy all the same. You decided to dress it down – pairing it with a pair of old worn in Docs you had on hand – and one look at him – as he waited patiently for you on the couch – you knew you had made the perfect choice.

He had his legs crossed, ankle balancing on knee as he bounced his leg subconsciously. Dodger’s head was in his lap as he absentmindedly petted him. His legs were clad in dark wash jeans, tailored to fit him perfectly, and his torso sported a dark blue button up under a brown leather jacket. His hair was slicked back – either from a shower or from styling product, only time would tell.

Hell, he’d even shaved for this, his face appearing much more boyishly charming than anything now.

It took a moment for you to register that Steve Rogers and Chris Evans were two different people, what with him sat there in an ensemble he must’ve stolen from the costume department.

It was Dodger that noticed you first. He had taken quite the liking to you when you first arrived – three hours ago, to be precise – and it had taken almost half an hour to get him to leave your room so you could begin in the tedium of unpacking. He had been practically inconsolable, and had scratched at your door for another ten minutes after until Chris eventually decided to spend some time with him out in the garden to distract him from your loss. You knew you and the boxer were going to be fast friends. Especially now that his tail was pounding furiously in its wagging, beating the couch cushions into submission. It was then that Chris noticed you, too.

He turned his head, and time seemed to slow. A second felt drawn into an hour as he took you in. There was an imperceptible, intranslatable crease in his brow before it slackened and his face broke into a soft, boyish grin. “Wow,” he said softly.

“Is it… too much? I can go change if–”

“No!” He cleared his throat, his hurried response jarring enough to make even Dodger cock his head. “No, you look perfect. Beautiful. Great.”

His smile was contagious and you found your face splitting into a delighted beam. “You’re one to talk. You clean up nice, Captain Armani.”

He rose from the couch. Dodger followed him off to bound up to you and give your hand a soft lick. Under his breath, you could hear Chris scoff at the Captain Armani tease. “You ready to go?”

“Um, yeah… What about Dodger though? Will he be alright?”

“He’ll be fine. We won’t be out long anyways,” Chris winked – more so to Dodger than you, but that did nothing to stave off the shiver that ran unbidden down your spine. “I promise.”

——————

Chris took you to a restaurant first – nothing fancy, and very clearly nothing too romantic, that was certain; corroborated by the subtle sink of your heart – before you both began your pleasant evening stroll, vaguely in the direction of the “hidden gem” dive bar him and a few of his friends had found when he’d moved to L.A.

It would be an unfaithful recounting of events if you said it hadn’t been a bit awkward at first, but soon enough, you’d both found your footing, and the quick witted teasing and fast fire rapport was almost second nature to the both of you.

“Favourite Disney character, and if you say you don’t have one, you can find somewhere else to live.”

The mirth in his eyes suggested he was joking, but there was an edge to his voice that said otherwise. He was serious to some extent, and for some unfathomable reason, you refused to let him down. Also because you really didn’t have a place to go should this all go sideways. You mentally made a reminder to have a fail safe contingency plan if things got messy – not that they would; you were insistent on that.

“It happens that I’m in luck, then,” you retorted. “Because as it so happens, I have a top five.”

You rattled off your list, loving the way Chris’ smile grew impossibly wider at each name drop.

Your conversation – more a debate on who was the badder bitch: Mulan, Moana, or Elsa – took a natural halt outside a cute hole-in-the-wall ice cream parlour. Suddenly, memories of the first time you met came flooding back.

“Cookies and cream, right?”

He arched a brow in confusion.

“Your favourite ice cream flavour. It was cookies and cream.”

“You remembered.”

It was enough to make you laugh, the surprise in his voice. “Of course I would. You tried to convince me it was the best in the world. Stupidly so, considering [I already am an avid cookies and cream worshipper] // [my allegiances lie with {insert favourite ice cream flavour here}].”

“Yeah, yeah. Do you want some? Before we go and meet Seb and Anthony?”

“Uh, sure,” you shrugged.

He gave you a playful nudge of the elbow and headed to the counter. The order came quick, and soon you were back on your slow crawl to the pub, ice cream already starting to sweat and melt in the sugarcone.

You watched in amusement as Chris all but moaned in ecstasy as he devoured the cookies and cream. The sound was enough to make you moan yourself, but the sight – well, that was a more humourous one to behold. He ate like a starving man, and some dark recess of your mind wondered what else he might be inclined to eat with such passion–

He had caught you staring, and he paused his ministrations. “What?”

“Nothing.” You had tried to stifle your giggle with ice cream, and it had turned into a cough, and now you were outright laughing at him. “Don’t stop on my account, I just think you and your dessert should find a room if you’re going to be so vocal about your pleasure.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you want some?” He smirked, offering you his mangled ice cream scoop, half gone already.

“I’ve got my own, I think I’ll survive.” The wink came natural with your response.

“No, really, you should try some.”

“It’s just hard to take you seriously. With all the ice cream on your face.”

He paused, confusion halting his steps. And rightfully so – he still remained immaculate, not a speck out of place. “Where?”

“Right…” – you suddenly grabbed his unsuspecting hand, still clutching his treat, and smeared the icy cold goodness on the side of his cheek – “there!”

Your howl of laughter was short lived as he slowly wiped the ice cream from his face before turning his attention to you. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that.”

It wasn’t menacing by any means, more playful, but when he came at you with his ice cream cone, every intent of menace was there. You were wearing black, after all, and a stain from that cream was going to be glaringly visible for the entire bar excursion.

Easily dodging his attack, you darted to the side and held your own ice cream out, hoping it would keep him at bay. He still advanced, and you knew you were screwed.

So you said fuck it, and ran.

Luckily, you had already been quite close to the bar, and although you wouldn’t be able to tell them where exactly it was should a stranger ask you in passing, you recognized the name on the sign easily enough. Taking one last mournful bite of ice cream, you discarded the rest in a garbage can, it proving more a hindrance to your escape than a good weapon.

Exhilaration flowing through you, peels of laughter leaving your lips, you burst into the bar, hoping you’d be safe. The patrons paid you no mind as you whipped around, eyes cautiously on the door, awaiting your doom.

Chris burst in not soon after you, both of you breathless. He had lost the ice cream along the way too, and with that immediate danger gone, you felt yourself visibly relax.

Among your panting breaths, you chuckled. “Truce?”

He nodded, swallowing thickly. “Truce.”

“Hey, Evans! Over here!”

Both of you turned your attention to the man who spoke. Sat side by side in a booth, waiting for your arrival, was the ever gorgeous Sebastian Stan and Anthony Mackie, the latter having risen to wave you over.

Your heart stuttered at the sheer bizarreness of it all.

“Holy shit,” you whispered. “How do I look?”

“You look great.” When you gazed up at Chris, there was a softness to his eyes and a gentleness to his smile. It astounded you how playful and teasing he could be one second, and how heartachingly genuine he could be the next. “Except…”

Your eyes widened. “Except?!”

He chuckled, reaching out a tentative thumb. When you didn’t pull away, he proceeded. One, large and wildly beautiful hand resting on your cheek, the thumb grazing your lip, you had to remind yourself that you had just run for your life and that was the reason for your heart threatening to break free from your chest – nothing more. But there they were again, the goddamn goosebumps. You shivered, undetectable to him, but what felt like earthquake tremors to you.

He swiped away the leftover ice cream that had been clinging to your lips, and, without a second thought, brought his thumb to those perfect lips of his. Time seemed to slow as you watched him lick and suck the ice cream off his finger, his eyelids fluttering, long lashes fanning closed.

And then the spell broke as he gave you a reassuring and completely friendly smile, unfazed at all by what had just transpired. “There. Much better.”

——————

Anthony was bewildered. “Wait, so he stole your cab?”

“And you let him?” Seb had paused while chalking his cue.

“She never let’s him forget…” Chris grumbled under his breath, taking a languid sip of his beer.

That earned him a mutual eye roll from you and Sebastian, and a look passed between you.

“What a baby,” you mouthed to him from across the pool table.

“I know!” He mouthed back with a smirk while sinking down to line up his next shot.

After an initial round of drinks, you and the boys eventually found yourselves migrating to the pool table. Anthony and Seb were the only ones playing, having gotten to the bar earlier than you and Chris and were pleasantly buzzed by the time you two had entered. Chris and you decided to sit the first round out, instead opting to drink a little more before.

“And then he followed you into an alleyway and you didn’t kick him in the dick?” Anthony gave Seb a pat on the shoulder in consolation when he missed the shot, but still had his attention focused on you, and the unravelling series of events that had led you to this moment.

Seb, still cursing from his failed shot, straightened from the table. “He would’ve been kicked in the dick the moment he tried to steal my cab, I can tell you that.”

Anthony and Sebastian found your story far more amusing than you ever did, but the more you spoke about it with them, the funnier it became.

“Well, it’s not so bad. I got to meet you guys.” You raised your beer in cheers.

Seb pressed a hand to his heart, mouthing a soft “aaw”, while Anthony, although smiling his adorable gap-toothed grin, rolled his eyes. “Man, get the hell out of here with that sappy shit.”

You laughed, hopping off your bar stool. “Alright, come on, it’s my turn. You’re all fucking it up, it really can’t be that hard…”

——————

Apparently it could be that hard. And you weren’t talking about the team of doubles pool game unfolding in front of you…

You were bent over the pool table, lining up your next shot. And Chris was…

His body was pressed against yours, leaning against you, every bit as warm as you expected, and rock hard with taut muscles that you could feel individually ripple at every movement. The smell of him – something delicious and indescribable – was all around you. Affable hands – leaving a blazing trail of goosebumps in their wake – travelled down to cover your own as he “helped you” play pool.

He was speaking low, directly into your ear, each husky word shiver inducing as every so often his lips would brush the shell of your ear as either he or you shifted.

“Nice and steady. Keep your eye on the ball,” he murmured throatily. The hand that wasn’t assiting your grip on the cue idly fell to land on the dip of your waist, travelling down to rest on the curve of your hip – searing hot through your jumpsuit. “Just like that…”

You involuntarily moved beneathe him, and you felt him stiffen. He cleared his throat, the rasp still tinted in his voice, eyes hooded with something unknown.

He drew back, leaving you cold and wanting – but much more clear headed. It wasn’t entirely lost on you, the way he shuffled uncomfortably, having to adjust his jeans – particularly around the crotch area.

“You know, Evans,” you smirked. “If I needed your help, I would’ve asked for it.”

To punctuate your point, you sank the ball you’d had your eye on, and, in quick succession, sank another.

He watched you, captivated, mouth slightly agape. “I…”

You shot Mackie a wink over the table as you missed the next shot, but managed to position the eight ball right in front of his and Seb’s most favoured pocket, effectively screwing them over. He groaned, but nodded and slow clapped in appreciation of the duplicity. You mockingly curtseyed to him, before handing the cue to Chris for his shot.

“Don’t worry,” Seb said, clapping Chris on the shoulder. “You’ll get ‘em next time, tiger.”

[zoeywu-blog]

【義大利美妝開箱】超熱門 GIORGIO ARMANI 小胖瓶Lip magnet #504 & 奢華訂製琉光唇萃 ECSTASY LACQUER#400

當初去義大利的時候只想到要買KIKO

但不知道是什麼魔力，最後在機場還是入手了兩隻GIORGIO ARMANI唇膏

我只能說，義大利在地品牌的魔力真的難以抗拒啊

至於售價部分，我記得比台灣定價便宜，但好像也沒便宜太多

這次入手的是GIORGIO ARMANI Lip Magnet#504  & 奢華訂製琉光唇萃 ECSTASY LACQUER#400

我挑化妝品真的很隨興，很少去看別人的排行榜，畢竟別人的蜜糖可能是我的毒藥

所以我都會試過之後選擇自己的喜愛，說穿了就是屬於耳朵很硬的那種

之前去日本買ADDICTION也完全沒做功課，就試了幾款專櫃推薦的熱門色直接下手

哈哈哈哈哈整個人走隨意路線

#504這顏色是我把小胖丁所有色號都塗過後，精心挑選出來的一隻

其實掙扎了一段時間，但發現自己最近都選重色唇膏，還是要平衡一下

所以就挑了這款 #504 表白，豆沙玫瑰粉的顏色

唇部試色

顏色真的很漂亮，氣質、柔和感都大加分

搭配妝感一起看#504

濃妝淡抹皆何宜，我想就是說它吧

顏色真的很漂亮，看了就���心情很好，學生、上班族也適用

如果有重要場合不能太招搖，擦上它絕對必勝

顏色真的是無話可說的漂亮，但其實也是有幾個小問題

像是一定會沾杯、吃完飯一定要補、唇況好的擦會更美

如果可以的話，還是記得要隨身攜帶隨時補妝唷

奢華訂製琉光唇萃 ECSTASY LACQUER #400

一樣紅很久的黑管唇釉，不過我發現自己對於唇釉有些難以駕馭

也可能因為我唇釉都選到深色，不擦好擦滿會有點落漆阿

唇部實擦

光澤感迷人，是非常大氣的正紅色

就個人來說，要下馬威或是需要氣勢的大場面

一定要擦上這支示威

不過個人小咖一枚氣場有點撐不起來 XD

詳細圖文請往→http://wp.me/p8FV56-jG

粉絲團玩玩 →https://www.facebook.com/zoeywu0503/

[makeupbox]

Monday Power Lip: Armani Lip Magnet 400

WHY - after owning 101 reds - can you find one more to obsess over?!?

I’m not a stranger to Armani’s signature scarlet, 400. It’s available in pretty much all their lipstick formulas. But I hadn’t tried the Lip Magnet in this shade specifically. Until this morning.

Love at first swipe.

This isn’t a transfer-proof formula. But I like the slow-setting silky formula for the comfort and how it doesn’t make my mouth wrinkly and parched. If I need to touch up around the center of my lips after a meal, so be it.

[monikafilefan]

One time on an airplane

This is a chapter from a very old outrageous UST fic of mine that I had way too much fun writing as a newbie. Really, it’s just for shits and giggles.

Tagging @today-in-fic

———

There it is. That rounded tight piece of perfected ass displayed right next to your shoulder. If he told you his ass was used as a template and chiseled into a statue of stone that women came to worship on Sunday, you’d believe him. Because that’s practically what you do yourself. Worship, adore, honor, drool—

Doesn’t matter, you do it all.

Mulder lifts the last piece of luggage into the overhead compartment across the aisle from your assigned seats. You hear him shove the bag in further, yet you don’t see him do it. No, you aren’t watching what his hands are doing at the moment; just his chiseled ass cheeks as the muscles ripple underneath his tailored Armani.

You hear him huff in frustration and mumble the word, “dammit,” and then, “tiny fucking spaces…”

You’re not frustrated at all. In fact, you’re extremely relaxed as you lay back and rest your head along the seat. You see, that ensures you use your trained investigators eye appropriately by examining the evidence from every angle possible. You feel a languid grin take over your face while your eyelids droop and you stare and stare and… you see him turn and hear the compartment snap shut; and you make your rebellious eyes do the same.

You fake being asleep which is completely STUPID because you’ve just sat down less than five minutes ago. You panic but don’t show it. Hell, you’ve gotten so good at not showing the deeper side of Dana since med school, that you can officially add professional fucking faker to the list of labels that follow your name.

And you carry a mass amount of guilt for it.

You can feel the intense stare he’s giving you while you impatiently wait for him to say something. But no, oh God, he’s going to do something instead! You hear his shoes squeak against the metal sides of the aisle, you feel him lean in so close that if you open your eyes, you’ll be nose to nose. He audibly gulps, and you hear his breath puff out in a long drawn out exhale. And you smell him—oh Jesus you smell him— his own unique bouquet that flips your belly around like a fish out of water.

Instantaneously, your nipples harden, digging into your useless too thin bra, as his breath caresses your ear. The anticipation is absolute torture to your body and your mind while the thoughts of what you wish could happen next dance around your brain.

You, with your legs spread wide while he pounds into your core over and over. Him, meeting you thrust for thrust as you straddle his hips, riding him sweet and slow. You, with your hands pinned above your head while he teases your entire body until you fall to pieces in his arms—

Oh Christ! His fingers run through a stray lock of hair and he tucks it tenderly behind your ear, his mouth sending streams of warm air against it. You bite your lip to keep it from yanking you over to meet his face and plant itself on his pouty mouth. But you’re weak; so weak in fact you that can’t help but open your eyes and see his hand sensually moving down your face while his fingers still glide along your hair.

You try not to look at him while he does it—his Mulder scent, his proximity—but his eyes are invading your whole fucking bubble. You can’t avoid them. They’re green and gold and swirling; they’re a goddamn vortex sucking you in.

It’s so intense! You flutter your lashes that feel like lead, while your vocal cords act before your brain does and you say his name right into his cheek. “Mulder.” No, you moan it as he leans back into you, branding your ear with his mouth. You take the opportunity to look down at his cock. Yes, you bravely look down at your partner's hard thickening cock, and just before he’s able to witness you’re appreciative assessment, the flight attendant snatches you from your sexually charged universe.

“Excuse me, Sir, but you’ll have to take your seat now.” The sickeningly sweet way she says it only pisses you off. How could anyone be so joyous as they interrupt one of the hottest fucking moments that you’ve had in years?

Son-of-a-bitch!

Yet, Mulder surprises you. He doesn’t jerk his mouth away from the lobe of your ear as if he burned his lips on scalding hot coffee. He doesn’t even move. He only blows out a steady cascade of air along the shell of your ear. You immediately begin to pant like a dog in the hot hot sun, deprived of water for days on end. Your mouth is dry as a bone, and you realize the wetness that once resided there has shot straight into your lace panties, flooding you.

You gasp, loudly, too goddamn loud for him not to react. You feel him blink rapidly against the side of your face, his lashes titillate and make you shudder from tits to toes.

Oh. My. God.

He can’t get any closer to you—while clothed anyway—and stays frozen like a statue while kneeling in the aisle of a packed airplane with his skin attached to yours. Just when you cannot take another heated second he suddenly, as if shocked by electricity, jolts to his feet and nearly takes out the attendant with his head. She stumbles backward, and you see him react with his arms flailing out completely uncoordinated.

You watch paralyzed and wide-eyed while gripping the armrests as he trips over his own feet, ramming his open palm into the woman’s breast and knocking her into the lap of an elderly man.

Gasps, shouts, and a rush of passengers move forward to assist the ruffled attendant who was just felt up by the careless FBI Agent who’s also sporting an impressive rock solid erection that tents his pants.

You’re too stunned to move so you can only watch as a red-faced Mulder awkwardly apologizes to her and the man, whom you pray won’t have a stroke from a pretty young woman’s ass being plopped onto his crotch, while Mulder jams the heel of his hand against his now inappropriate yet mouth-watering hard-on.

Jesus, your ogling has turned into a clusterfuck and you don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or ignore the fact that you were both two seconds from tongue wrestling while eye fucking each other in front of 60 strangers.

No, no Dana! Do NOT think about fucking of any kind!

Another flight attendant swoops in at that very second and takes charge which forces Mulder to make a decision. You’re not able to move with the crowd of people now standing next to your seat so you’re stuck looking at Mulder’s panic face that you’ve recently become quite familiar with since Texas. You see the hesitant look in his eye and immediately understand the problem. He’s afraid to slide past you to get to his seat while jutting his raging erection into your face.

So It’s your turn to gulp, and you toss up a quick please God, just in case He chooses now to answer one of your prayers. But as soon as you get your hopes up, you realize that he has turned around with his back to you. He bent himself at the waist to tuck his head under the fasten seat belt sign, and starts to squeeze himself along your front, simultaneously disappointing you and exciting you at once. Because yes, his perfect perfect ass and all its glory is now just inches from your face. He’s rubbing his legs along your own as you suck your entire bottom lip into your mouth and—oh you’re in trouble now—you have to actually slap your hand over it to contain the guttural moan you feel vibrating up your throat.

Your hand that’s not currently covering your mouth twitches and by its own volition, seems to rise in mid air, intent on grabbing just one of his fantastic cheeks.

God must be listening, because you’re able reassemble a monicome of self-control to stop your wandering hand from reaching for its laurels.

The last part of his leg leaves yours just in time for you to clasp your hands together and shove them in your lap. Christ, you hope he can’t smell your arousal when he sits down the same way that you can smell his heady scent wafting up your nose.

Mulder sits down right next to you and immediately leans forward, shedding his jacket and draping it along his crotch. You try not to stare out of the corner of your eye, yet those damn swirling whirling eyes of his draws yours to his like a magnet. You stare into one another. And stare and stare until your brain screams at you to breathe. Apparently, eye fucking Mulder shuts down your body’s autonomic response.

Point taken. There will be no more of that, you lie to yourself.

You tear your eyes away and suck in a breath as the flight announcements take place. You know Mulder is brewing up a way to discuss this heated moment in which, you know, will inevitably lead to a discussion of what you have pegged as “the hallway incident”. And in no way shape or form, are you ready for that mind-fuck of a conversation.

Disecting a body is what you should be focusing on, not the dissection of your feelings you hide deep in your soul. Because you know you’re weakening, mind and body.

You now have the rest of the flight to fantasize and down-right torture yourself with thoughts of that perfect ass, and now that perfect hard-on he’s probably still sporting, all the while you tune in and out to Mulder’s ramblings about the body you have to, in his words, “slice and dice.”

Over the next 29 minutes of shared sexual tension at 36,000 feet, Mulder wiggles, fidgets, and flips absently through a file repeatedly after filling the silence with case information that you already know. And you? You angle your body away from his and repeat the mantra of autopsy lingo in your head just to keep your attraction for him from banging against your Cerebellum.

Just as you start to contemplate that physically banging your head against the seat in front of you would work better, the seat belt sign turns off and you’re out of your seat in a flash, making a beeline to the tiny ass bathroom.

You’re summoned by the announcement of arrival seventeen short minutes later, so you settle back into your seat after your alone time where you splashed cold water on your face and aired out your arousal filled panties.

Just as you think you’ve reigned yourself in, you feel a warm hand grip your knee that sends tingles up your thigh. You gasp and vaguely register Mulder asking you if you’re okay. You nod and his hand disappears. Thank God!

You’re teetering on the precipice of erotic anarchy on a fucking airplane with nowhere for you to escape.

Twelve minutes. Twelve long agonizing minutes later you land, and Mulder stands next to your still seated form. You haven’t taken the chance to make eye contact again after earlier instances proved to be physically debilitating for you. So you just wait for him to slide past you once again to grab the luggage.

Oh shit! You forgot. How could you’ve forgotten he was going to need to shove your weakness into your face again? You should stand instead. You really should, but you don’t. You don’t move a damn muscle. And you suddenly realize, that no amount of avoidance will curb your desire for him or his luscious luscious ass.

There he is right in front of you now slowly rubbing the back of his legs along your knees and your eyes are glued to the glorious image before you. The rebelliousness of your eyes from the beginning of of flight has moved on to overtake control of your hand this time. Somehow, you forget you’re only supposed to look. Not touch. Never touch. Touching is too dangerous, too much, too stimulating, too—

Amazing! You yell silently as you run your hand over one taunt cheek, providing gentle pressure. You ensure—for the second time today—that you use your trained investigators eye appropriately by examining the evidence from every angle possible. It only seems fair you assess him with touch now as well as sight.

You feel Mulder stiffen and his glute muscle tightens. Because yes, your hand his still palming it. He spins his head around and down to gawk at the act at hand, literally. Your eyes don’t flick, dance or drift away this time. You keep them locked onto his like a vice. You can’t hold back a smirk at the sight of him attempting to swallow through what you can only assume is now a moistureless mouth.

Finally, he glances at you through his lashes and clears his throat to speak. You swipe your hand one, two, three times across his ass cheek before he can utter a thing. And by the grace of all that his Holy, you’re able to school your face enough to seem as serious as any human possibly can who’s been creaming her panties for an entire flight.

“You had some of my hair stuck to your pants,” you blurt out, hopefully in an unaroused tone since you can’t hear a goddamn thing with the sudden blood whooshing in your ears.

It’s getting too much, this voyeuristic obsession of ogling your best friends ass. Except... he’s not just your best friend anymore, he’s the only man that you want in your life, and you’re too damn chicken shit to admit it beyond your array of dirty dirty forbidden thoughts.

And that turns you on, unfortunately.

You wait for him to say something. Anything at all to break the tension, but no innuendo comes out of his slack-jawed mouth. Only the truth.

“Well at least one of us got to touch today,” he murmurs with a pinkening face, eyes still drilling into yours.

“You’re forgetting about your groping of flight attendants, Mulder,” you quip with a smile in order to deflect the attention off of your own indiscretion.

Oh no! You’re being pulled, pulled into his vortex of green and gold AGAIN, and you fear you might never come back this time. “Ouch!” A bag belonging to the teenager behind you whacks you in the head, yanking you out of Mulder’s swirling gaze.

You don’t even give a shit about how bad your head is now throbbing. You’re thankful for the blow to the head that knocked your sense back in. But if you could do what you really wanted, you’d laugh hysterically at how insanely close you are to sprinting right out of the best friend zone you and Mulder are encompassed in, and happily violate your number one rule.

Mulder’s mood from the beginning of the flight has changed drastically right along with your own. He’s no longer frustrated; you are. Both emotionally and physically, and you just can’t take it anymore.

The airplane exit doors open as soon as Mulder steps up to the overhead compartment. You see your opportunity to run from the area that’s been mercilessly taunting you with your every desire.

You stand, and you move with purpose.

“I’ll meet you by the gate,” you toss back over your shoulder as you hightail it down the aisle, fleeing yet again.

----------

[natalietien]

[ 彩妝x影音 ]一出就搶購不到的Giorgio Armani 奢華訂製柔霧唇露熱賣色試色

每一季各家媒體所介紹的口紅當中，

總是少不了Giorgio Armani ，

除了包裝給人簡約俐落的時尚感外，

擦起來的視覺效果也生火到一推出直接銷售一空～

雖然這個Giorgio Armani 奢華訂製柔霧唇露（以下簡稱小胖丁瓶）

已經推出好一陣子了，

不過因為他到現在在台灣還是極難搶，

所以我就想說來實際擦給大家看，

到底真的有那麼美嗎？還是其實擦起來還好而已～

 廢話不多說馬上就來看實擦影片吧～

↧↧（記得點選1080p HD畫質比較好）↧↧

影片如果不能看點這邊：https://youtu.be/oMJEsgaAMaY

 ↧↧更多的影音大家也可以到我的youtube訂閱我↧↧

（訂閱一下嘛～）

田以熙Natalie（點我）

 接著就是很簡單的圖＋文啦～

正好奶郎也在玩他的繩子，

我就順便一起拍藝術照了XD

 不得不說，

小胖丁瓶的包裝是真的很吸引人，

在市面上也是第一次看到這樣的包裝，

小小的很好攜帶，

也不用怕唇膏買一堆用不完

（雖然依照我愛買唇膏的密集程度小胖丁我也一樣用不完啦...）

這次實擦的熱賣色總共有六個，

我就直接從最淺色一路擦到深色

 影片中其實原本有先拍試在手上的的試色，

但坦白說我本來就不太懂唇膏試在手上的意義是什麼...

畢竟擦在手上的質地、顏色、顯色度，

跟擦在嘴唇就是不一樣～

擦在手上通常一定都比嘴唇滋潤、也比較顯色，

但隨著每個人唇色不同，

真的不實際是在嘴巴上絕對是會有落差的，

不過我還是意思意思擦了一下～

 首先是第一支＃504，

他也是屬於裸色的其中一支，

擦起來帶有淡淡的玫瑰色我覺得很漂亮

 這次照片因為是邊錄影邊按拍照的，

沒想到嘴唇近拍都沒有對焦XDD

所以以下就只好一直放自拍照了哈

再來是最熱賣的＃506，

之前有朋友跟我說這支誇張的賣到在台灣訂的人都要等到明年才能拿到...

我是不知道朋友有沒有浮誇啦～

反正可以確定的就是他在台灣已經買不到，

要嘛就找代購～要嘛就是要等好一陣子，

而之前我去北歐在英國轉機的時候，

櫃姐也跟我力推，

說這支每次有人來買都是包一大打！

所以囤貨也剩很少了～

昨天影片po出去後也有收到網友跟我說英國現在也買不到＃506

我個人覺得擦起來就是好氣色的裸色唇膏，

美是很美啦～

但是好像也不需要搶夠到這樣子XD

其實還有很多家品牌的裸色我覺得都很美呀～

 再來就是我個人覺得大家會比較不敢嘗試的＃502，

帶有點螢光的淺粉紅色，

一開始我本來以為自己擦上去會顯黑，

不過實際擦完後，

我覺得他滿適合春夏妝容的，

有一種俏麗的可愛感～

不過也可能因為它顏色比較淺，

跟其他支比起來比較沒那麼容易上色均勻～

建議擦個兩層最美

 這支也是其中的熱賣色＃500，

我太～～～～～喜歡這支的顏色了，

怎麼會有美成這樣有質感的桃紅色～～

這支也是六支當中最不掉色的，

但相對持色度高，

他，真的，超.級.難.卸！！

當時在影片中我用了：

一次眼唇卸妝卸不掉-->眼唇卸妝濕敷一分鐘卸不掉-->去廁所用眼唇卸妝露掉了一些-->最後再用了一次眼唇卸妝，

才算勉強有把顏色卸掉（但嘴唇還是有點桃...我也搞不清楚那是卸太多次嘴唇有點紅腫了還是怎樣）

雖然他的美足以讓我即使這麼難卸我還是愛他～

但這個情況還是要跟大家誠實的報告XD

 紅色系的＃302，

擦起來是稍微有點偏橘的亮紅色，

如果妳本身是紅唇控，

我覺得這支是春夏會滿適合的紅，

看起來比較活潑

 最後的＃400也是屬於GA當中熱賣的正紅色，

帶有點都會感的時尚紅，

假設你正準備要蒐藏紅唇唇膏，

我覺得可以從這支開始入手

 整體來說，

Giorgio Armani 奢華訂製柔霧唇露我個人喜歡以下幾點：

1.筆頭前端是尖尖的，所以可以輕易描繪嘴唇的邊邊角角，

也很好畫出唇峰

2.飽和度高

3.雖然是帶有柔霧感的視覺效果，

但質地還算水潤～

好啦反正這篇就只是一個很輕鬆的分享，

不是業配，

唇膏也不是廠商送我的～哈哈

最後還是要提醒大家一下記得訂閱我的youtube頻道＋點下小鈴鐺（雖然我不知道要去哪裡點）

這樣以後有新影片大家就能馬上看到了～

81~

↓↓↓以下地方也可以看到我～來吧來吧～

[letstalkbeautyuk]

I have found the most comfortable, pigmented matte lip colours 💗   https://www.letstalkbeauty.co.uk/new-giorgio-armani-beauty-lip-magnets/ #bbloggers

[inthefrow]

Spending my Friday night playing with makeup. What you up to? ❤️ . (Lips are Armani Lip magnet 400G fyi) https://ift.tt/2s6AfWk

[reviewsandotherstuff]

Favorite Compact Setting Powders

Favorite Compact Setting Powders

  Hi guys! A few months ago I did a roundup post of my favorite loose setting powders, you can check it out HERE. This post is a continuation of that, but this time, we’ll be talking about my favorite compact powders. Some of these powders may be meant as compact powder foundations or as pressed powders, but I tend to use them as my setting/finishing powder since I mostly rely on liquid or cream…

[missmarquin]

Magnetic, Interlude

In the future, romantic attraction is literal: each person is fitted with an electromagnetic bracelet which will pull you to your soulmate. It's hard, wondering who's out there for you. It's harder yet, when you have to come to understand yourself first.

This is a little interlude, set between chapters 2 and 3. It offers us a little background on how Otabek and Yuri met in this universe, and how they came to be where they are. 

Read on A03 (proper italics and such!).

Interlude

To Charge a Particle (Or Two)

‘A magnetic field is caused by electron-charged particles, constantly moving about.’

---

Yuri met Otabek when his parents moved to Moscow for business.

Yuri lived in a shit-hole of an apartment, rented by his grandfather-- because who knew where the fuck his mother was.

The tiny-one room apartment that he shared with his grandfather was as old as the first world war, with walls so thin that you could hear a person cough on the other side. Yuri’s room had been covered in peeling wallpaper and kept cold by a moldy window unit.

The moment that Grandpa had met Otabek, he’d yanked him inside apologizing for the mess. Not that the home was a mess, it just wasn’t put together, like Otabek was. He wore armani jeans and a leather jacket that would have cost more than their month’s rent. Still, Otabek would call the place homey. And despite everything, he always preferred to spend time at Yuri’s.

Yuri never knew why.

....

Otabek was different. Otabek’s parents were well off, buying a house on the opposite side of the train tracks, so to speak. The lawn was perfectly manicured by gardeners and the home cleaned to perfection by a maid named Yulia.

The last thing he’d wanted to do at the age of thirteen, was move to Moscow. The next last thing he wanted to do was hang out with a fucking ten-year-old. Funny how things turn out, sometimes.

School was easy enough, since he spoke Russian. But people fled from him, like he was diseased. And he knew why, he knew that he didn’t fit in. He was too well-worded, too well dressed, too high society, for the shit-hole of a corner in Moscow, that he lived.

Yuri was treated the same way, but not for the same reason. People were threatened by his ferocity, by his well-clipped claws and carefully placed fangs. The moment they’d bite into him, he’d bite right back, his green eyes searing, daring them to say something.

The eyes of a soldier, Otabek had thought. A scrawny slip of a blonde kid, three grades lower, and had no need to look like that. No fucking need.

So when he went to him, Yuri expected to have to fight back. Otabek only extended friendship. “Why fight each other,” he’d asked, “when people can just hate us together?”

Yuri had regarded him warily, like it might have been a trick, but he took his words at face value.

And then one day, Yuri had followed him home, to the sprawling yard full of unnecessary trees and flowers. The front hall full of tapestries and rugs that only made the place look more lonely. Yuri had shifted uncomfortably, feeling dirty while surrounded by such wealth.

The moment that Mrs. Altin had laid eyes upon Yuri though, she’d basically adopted him as her own, demanding that he sit and eat.

Yuri always did.

...

They were entire opposites, it shouldn’t have worked, but it did. Life just threw them together, it seemed, and the friendship that ensued was effortless.

Yuri liked Otabek’s home, because he had the things that he never would.

Otabek liked Yuri’s home for the same reason.

Whereas Yuri wanted material things, Otabek wanted homey comfort.

And therefore, they always ate dinner at that shit-hole of an apartment. Cramped on his bed, no room to stretch their legs, shoulders bumping into each other. Grandpa sleeping in his armchair out in the living room, his snoring loud enough to disrupt whatever it was they watched on the laptop that Otabek had sitting on his lap.

Their friendship required no work, it just came naturally.

The best things always did, it seemed. Maybe it was fate.

...

Yuri first realized that he loved Otabek when he was fourteen. Maybe that was too young, or whatever, but all he could remember was Otabek’s tight face as he explained why he had to move back to Kazakhstan.

Otabek was seventeen and freshly graduated, because of course he did so a year early. Only the best, for the oldest son of the Altin family, unable to ignore the wit that was as sharp as a tack. Otabek had responsibilities and such, apparently. Things that he had to do.

Things that couldn’t be done in Moscow, for whatever reason.

It was fucking hilarious that Otabek would eventually ignore his calling (as so called by his high-class parents that expected things), to work in a greased up garage instead.

But back to their youth and the first time in his life, where Yuri was face-to-face with the idea of losing Otabek. The idea of not having him there to be around, to do everything with, was unbearable.

They laid on his tiny bed, barely able to fit on the twin mattress. Yuri was an awkward mess of gangly limbs affected by puberty. Otabek droned on about his future, his parent’s expectations, and how this didn’t mean they couldn’t be friends--

But it wasn’t the same, Yuri had thought. Being friends from afar wasn’t the same as being friends up close. And his heart burned, and it ached, and the idea of losing him was an all consuming dark spot that--

And then Yuri had swallowed.

And then Yuri had contemplated telling him.

No Beka, you can’t leave, I fucking love you.

But he didn’t say anything, he just listened to Otabek ramble on and on, staring at the ceiling like it meant something. The only thing it was good for, was keeping his wandering gaze away from the tanned skin next to him, and the sharp jawline of Otabek’s face.

He still didn’t say it weeks later, even when he hugged Otabek tight in the airport, his fingers digging into his leather jacket, like he might disappear forever the moment he stepped onto that plane. And Otabek hugged him back. Not some little tug to the side, but a full wrap around of his arms, pulling Yuri tightly to his chest. One hand around his waist, the other resting against his golden hair.

Yuri cried. He hated it, but he did.

Otabek didn’t, but Yuri could feel the slight hiccup in his breath, the hesitation to pull away.

But then he did.

And then he was twenty yards away, at the gate. He turned and waved, just a little twitch of his hand. Yuri didn’t wave back, he shot him the finger instead.

And Otabek laughed, before turning away to board.

Yuri filed it away so he could remember it forever.

…

This was the one moment, he’d allow himself, Otabek decided.

It wasn’t the best one perhaps, standing in the middle of a busy airport, but he’d fucking take it. Because the moment that he boarded that plane, his life would be set on a different path. And that path fucking sucked.

So, he held Yuri to him, his palm flat against his skull, fingers carded through the feather-like strands of blonde hair. He could feel his shirt wet with Yuri’s tears, and he paused, he nearly jumped ship.

What the fuck would Yuri do without him?

What the fuck would Otabek do without Yuri?

This wasn’t friendship anymore, this was something else entirely, even if Otabek wasn’t exactly sure what. All he knew was that he didn’t want it to go away, he didn’t want to give up those days spent in Yuri’s shoebox of a room, too hot because the AC didn’t work.

But he’d have to.

Because the world wasn’t fair, and you had to work with what you were given.

...

And then there was Amita.

Despite promises of visits, it took just over a year for Otabek to finally come back to Moscow, and when he did, came Amita. A cunning woman, with a sly smile and knowing eyes. Long black hair, carefully piled into a braid on her head. A blouse and skirt combo that would have cost Yuri three months worth of pay to buy, even if he was only a waiter at a shitty diner, part-time.

Old Money, Otabek had told him, waving it off.

It’d been a long time since Yuri had felt so poor, but Amita made him feel like gutter filth.

And then he heard the dreaded word fiancee slip from Otabek’s lips, and it was like his whole world had cracked. There would be no happy ending for him, because even if Beka got his fucking bracelet, he’d do the right thing--

And that was marry Amita.

…

The moment Otabek was introduced to Amita, he knew that he’d made a mistake.

He should have never listened to his family, he should have never left Moscow, he should have never left Yuri. Because if he had just fucking ignored them, he wouldn’t be in this situation.

Amita was a fantastic woman. Kind, cunning and incredibly smart, she was a good choice for him. At least, that’s what his parents had said. And as they were a lot, they were correct. He and Amita mixed well, they got along together.

Except for the fact that you know, he didn’t love her.

Well, he did, but not the way that he was supposed too. He loved Amita, like he loved Maya. But he wasn’t in love with her, because he was in love with--

Yuri.

Yeah, that was a weird thought, and something he hadn’t realized until his mother had made it very apparent that this girl was to be his future. He didn’t want her to be. He wanted his future to be full of long legs and glimmering golden hair and-- holy fuck he can never, ever let anyone know that.

Which is why it nearly broke his heart, to introduce Amita to Yuri.

“This is Amita, my fiancee,” he’d said quietly.

He’d expected Yuri to get angry, but he didn’t. Instead he had looked sad, like Otabek had just kicked Potya across the stomach, and in a lot of ways--

In a lot of ways, that was the worst fucking thing Otabek could have ever imagined seeing.

Because Yuri looked like he had lost, and it fucking broke his heart.

It was a wound that never quite healed. Instead, Otabek just locked that feeling away, intent on being as happy as he could be, with what was expected of him.

…

Yuri got over it by the time that he was seventeen.

It was impossible to hate Amita, because she was just so… Well, she was herself. So he allowed himself to become friends with her. They swapped stories of Beka, Yuri delighting in ones that were particularly embarrassing for good measure. He’d share his own, causing Otabek to call out in alarm, batting away at him, while Yuri laughed.

The ache in Yuri’s heart was still there, but it was okay, it was fine.

Because Otabek was happy, he seemed to be in a good place. And Amita was good for him, really she was.

Then Otabek was scheduled to receive his bracelet.

“Why?” Yuri had asked him, “You have Amita.”

“Well, why not? Wouldn’t you want to know?”

Yuri scoffed at that. If things were all good, why worry about it at all? Otabek and Amita had been together for nearly two years, they were getting married-- what was the point? Even if Otabek’s bracelet pointed elsewhere, it’s not like he’d go after it.

But it wouldn’t. Yuri knew it, Otabek knew, everyone knew it. The two were perfect for each other, and so, their bracelets would be too. Which is why he bet against Amita (and really, who bets against their fiance? How stupid was that?).

It was a relief when Otabek’s bracelet didn’t activate.

But a worry when Amita’s did, and Otabek’s remained quiet.

And then Amita left him, to find her own perfect someone, leaving Otabek behind. Who fucking did that? Who left behind the most perfect person in the entire world? Just how stupid was Amita?

---

The moment Amita revealed that her bracelet had activated and his hadn’t, there was a moment of hesitation, despite their promise to still stay with each other.

Amita wasn’t his person, and while he was okay with that, he didn’t want her to be tied down to him. Sure, he loved her, but that wasn’t enough, not when there was proof of someone who could love her more. And that proof was wrapped around her wrist, blinking quietly with a gentle green light.

When she made the choice to leave, he wished it had been a relief.

Instead, that careful wall that he had built came tumbling down, and he just remembered all those feelings that had been so carefully bottled up.

It had taken a cross-country motorcycle ride to sort out his feelings.

Did he still love Yuri? Of course he still loved him, he could never stop loving him, that would just be stupid. But what should he do about it? And so, he’d packed a bag, kicked up the stand and just rode.

And he rode and rode and rode.

At the end, his choice was pretty fucking obvious, because he’d wound up right where everything had started-- On the front step of that shitty rat-hole of an apartment, Yuri leaning against the support column, with his arms crossed his chest.

Otabek had felt like he was coming home.

Because he had.

....

Until Yuri kicked him right back out, telling him that he was stupid to come for a visit without warning. That he didn’t have room for him, that he had practice, that he just didn’t have time.

And so, Otabek rode back home, no hard feelings. He’d just been happy to see Yuri, to hug him again. Because that was enough. Now he could just live. He could be himself, by himself, and it was a good place to be.

The wonders that something like closure could do.

Until Yuri turned twenty and fucked everything up again.

...

‘The moment that the current is interrupted, the magnetic field will fail-- that is, until the current is started once more.’