#real-deal italian

[fieriframes]

[FIERI: And this place is still putting out real-deal Italian right in the middle of Arizona. But as the great Moltke used to say, Genius is diligence]

[soup-soup-soup-soup-soup]

SOUP-ER BOWL ROUND 3

THE MOST ICONIC DISH FROM VIETNAM, THIS BEEFY BROTH IS A GUARANTEED SMOOTH RIDE TO FLAVOR TOWN--IT'S GOT BRISKET, IT'S GOT MEATBALLS, IT'S GOT TENDON AND TRIPE, IT'S GOT ALL YOU CAN THINK O-O-O-OF--GIVE IT UP FOR---PHỞ BÒ!

(image credit: saigonscorneria.com)

SAYING CIAO FROM ITALY, THIS SOUP IS A LITERAL MARRIAGE OF INGREDIENTS--GREENS, BEEF MEATBALLS OR OTHER MEATS, AND OF COURSE PASTA--THEY'RE ALL HERE--IT'S MINESTRA MARITATA, ITALIAN WEDDING SOUP!!

(recipe: https://www.allrecipes.com/recipe/13024/italian-wedding-soup-i/

image credit: cookingclassy.com)

[starlene]

So when Italy does an English-language production of The Phantom of the Opera, they get Ramin Karimloo and some wild stunts on a flaming chandelier?

But when Finland does an English-language production of The Phantom of the Opera, we get an all-Finnish cast with one Estonian exception, and a bland direction with hardly any visuals to write home about?

How’s that fair, I’m just asking??

[italian-ld-curtain]

Listen, I don't know what's going on with that other guy. Management doesn't seem to have an issue with it though, so I'm ignoring it! Mamma mia or whatever

[chialattea]

ah,,,, im free…, im finally done w this semester.,,.,, now all the stress has boiled over and I’m like

[crazybiaatch]

tfw you don't want to do ur school work bc it's so stressful it sends you into panic attacks but then if you don't do the school work the school will punish you and may even take away your ability to graduate (dramatic much?) so the thought of that causes you stress and you're just caught in a repeating stress cycle until you implode

[shiv--roy]

just made a stupid mistake at my job, gonna casually contemplate throwing myself into a river

[4unnyr0se]

❥ being satoru gojo's sugar baby

warnings: rich asf gojo, reader is a bitch in the first part, fem! reader, lingerie, riding, cunnilingus, doggystyle, breeding, mentions of pregnancy, gojo hates stupid people, not proofread, reader gets so spoiled, spanking, asphyxiation

MDNI | 18+ content

word count -> 1.6k

Being Satoru fucking Gojo wasn’t easy. Being handsome, rich, and popular with the ladies? Talk about a workout. He had so much money he didn’t know what to do with it all. It’s only the result of being fucking brilliant at business practices, always knowing when to strike a perfect deal. And that bore the fruit of luxury cars, Italian jackets, and beautiful women aplenty. Gojo liked fucking the pretty girls he met in the clubs, sure. They were good for a decent cock-sucking, their expensive lipstick always forming a nice little ring around his dick. Poor things, it was probably the only nice lipstick they owned. Gojo felt bad for them in a way, they would never know what it was like to be spoiled by a man such as himself. They were so fucking fake, expecting to be spoiled just for having a decent pussy to fuck. Don’t get him wrong, Gojo liked fucking the college girls he met in the clubs, but he wanted something that was real. He wanted a good girl to spend his infinite cashflow on, not a whore who didn’t know what a fucking tax bracket was. 

He met you at his usual club, not recognizing your face from behind the bar. Hm, you must have been new there, Gojo would never ignore a pretty face like that, even though you were so grumpy looking. Did you hate your job like he hated bimbos? Gojo wasted no time in sitting himself down in your section of the bar counter, ordering a shot of the most expensive vodka the club offered. You called him an asshole and Gojo could have proposed right then and there. 

Gojo attended the club every night, sitting at the exact same spot and ordering a different, expensive drink each time. He noticed how you softly smiled when he told the local club bimbos to piss off, no doubt enjoying him shooing away drunken, stupid girls. Eventually you finally caved and gave him your number, resulting in him giving you a kiss on the back of your hand like a prince would.

Every day he would call you, text you, ask about your day. Did anyone give you trouble at the club? If it was a shitty coworker of yours, Gojo would have them fired. It didn’t matter if he didn’t own the club, he was half of the club’s monthly revenue. Gojo could do whatever the hell he wanted, he was practically paying everyone's salaries. His texts brightened your day, along with his visits to the club when you worked long evening shifts. He had stopped ordering drinks altogether, just slipping you a healthy $300 every hour or two. You had refused at first, but Gojo had this really annoying habit of being able to convince anyone of anything. It got to a point where you just held out your hand for the money at the start of every hour, which made his cock throb with desire. You were growing accustom to being spoiled and he fucking loved that. You were spoiled without being stupid, that was so fucking sexy to him.

One night, after a very annoying shift, you invited him to visit your crappy apartment downtown. Gojo jumped at the opportunity and practically threw you into his Bently, no doubt breaking a couple of traffic laws to make it to your place in record time. It was so humbling, your apartment. There were cracks in the fall and the faucet had the most annoying drip, this would absolutely not do. You deserved to live in a fucking castle in the sky, not in this shithole.

Gojo bought you a townhouse a stone's throw away from his penthouse. You protested and groaned at him not to, claiming you weren’t worth it. Gojo quickly shut you up with a passionate and longing kiss, whispering against your plush lips that he would buy you the moon and the stars. After that, you really couldn’t complain. Everything was paid off for the fifty-year lease that Gojo had signed; he was so disgustingly rich. Why did you have to go back to working at that sleazy club? Oh, right, you had to afford to eat and shop. Don’t worry; Gojo gave you a ridiculously large sum of money every week to buy whatever the hell you wanted, sending you more money if you run out. You only spend a couple of hundred dollars a week on groceries, but then there was this stunning vintage Dior dress in a shop window, and you simply had to have it. You sent Gojo a picture that displayed the price tag, and he swore he came in his pants. Fuck, you looked amazing wearing designer dresses. And you were modeling for him; he wanted to marry you so badly.

You bought lingerie one time, lacy and black, and so fucking expensive. Garters and stockings and the works, a gorgeous French design. Gojo just about lost his mind when he saw that photo you sent, driving over to your townhouse as soon as he had an opening. He tackled you in a passionate and longing kiss, ripping off the lingerie with his hands. Whatever, he’d buy you another set. No, twenty more sets.

His lips trailed across your body, leaving searing, hot kisses in their wake. You were covered in Gojo’s bites and bruises, looking like an ancient Greek sculpture. Gojo fucked you right on the floor of your living room, not bothering to carry you up the flight of stairs to your bed. You just looked so good in the lingerie you purchased with his money. His money, his lingerie, his sugar baby. Your sobbing pussy was squeezing his massive fucking cock, sucking him into you like a vortex. Your manicured fingernails left angry crescent-shaped prints on his back, his Italian jacket, and other expensive clothes long forgotten about in a pile next to the door. His cock slammed into you over and over again, the tip of his dick kissing your cervix until you were screaming his name, swearing you were gonna cum all over his cock. Gojo fucking loved hearing your moans; they sounded so expensive when his ringed fingers were wrapped around your throat, squeezing it ever so gently. He moaned into your ear as your orgasm washed over you once more, the third one in the hour. He still wasn’t finished, oh no. He had you folded into a mating press, begging and whining to be cummed in by one of the wealthiest men in the world. And who was he to deny his princess? Gojo shot himself deep inside of you, painting your womb with his seed. It looked so pretty seeping out of who; he just had to take a picture. You wouldn’t mind, right? He’d just give you another five grand for a few more dresses. 

Oh, even his aftercare was expensive. Running you a bath infused with freshly-pressed lavender and rose oil, soaking into your skin beautifully. Your fucked-out face was flush from the steam in the bathroom, making your already perfect skin so smooth. Gojo never wanted to stop touching you, not for a moment. He wrapped you in your Egyptian cotton sheets and held you tightly in his arms, thanking you for being his baby. As he whispered sweet nothings in your ear, his precious baby’s ear, you drifted off.

After that perfect night, Gojo basically lived in your luxury townhouse. He would be there when you opened your eyes and when you closed them. There to take you out on romantic restaurant dates and feed you the highest quality sushi there was. He was there to buy half the fucking boutique if you wanted him to. Those dresses were too pretty for anyone else to wear besides you. You no longer protested when he bought you stuff, only kissing his chest while humming a thank you in his ear. The expensive lipstick you wore stained his cheek, not that he minded one bit.

Apart from the expensive gifts, dates, and other such things, Gojo loved fucking you. You modeled every single set of lingerie he wanted you to, especially black and blue sets. He loved your little fashion shows, the way you would always sit on his lap and grind down on his thigh, your arousal soaking the delicate fabrics. His hand would slap your ass, commanding you cum on his thigh and ruin your panties. He’d fuck you face down ass up with an expensive vibrator on your puffy clit, smirking sadistically as you sobbed that it was too much, you couldn’t take it. He’d make you ride him in his home office, making sure his video camera was always off during meetings so no one except for him could see that pretty ass bouncing up and down on his cock, milking it for all it was worth. He’d demand you sit on his face, not letting you off until he had his fill, your cum covering his mouth and face. Gojo would command you to lick it off him, hands squeezing your waist, and was adorned with a leather garter belt.

God, he wanted to breed you. He never wanted to use protection, which you objected to at first. But he whined and pleaded, claiming it would only be once. Well, once turned into always. He always came inside of you multiple times a day. He wouldn’t stop until he was sure that he had fucked his cum inside of your pussy, sticking a finger inside just to make sure it was still there. He would babble on about how you two would have the most perfect wedding and have such cute babies, how he would take care of you. You would be so pretty, all swollen with his child. 

Satoru Gojo took care of you from the moment the two of you met, your companionship being the most valuable asset he had. To him, you were the most precious thing, and he would take care of you until the day that he died.

[fieriframes]

[FIERI: Here in Florence, Italy, we're parked at Fratelli Briganti, a family-owned landmark that's been serving up some real-deal Italian since the 1960s. FIERI: Is this truly authentic Italian?]

[sushirrrry]

fiabesco a harry styles x reader one-shot 2.2k words cw: so much fluff

“No, that's not– give it to me.”

Harry’s hands reached for the small device in your hand before you could speak another word. You huffed out a sigh of annoyance before you crossed your arms over your chest.

Harry looks at the phone and then back to the kettle, a few times to make sure that he's right, but you know that you are right.

“That's the right color, I promise.” Your words feel like they mean nothing as the two of you stand in front of the small display. You aren't even sure he's heard you.

It had been like this all day; you were both tired, drained from the house moving process. It was easier to shop online, you had told him. But Harry’s idea was to get you both out of the house, to give you a break from the four walls that you had moved into and been staring at for what felt like days.

That was proving difficult, as the photos and the real-life images were not matching up to either of your standards.

“This is not the same color as online,” Harry scoffed as he turned the kettle around in his hands. “This is like, a dark grey,” He holds the phone, then picks up the kettle. “This is chrome.”

You rolled your eyes, but Harry took notice before he put his hands on his hips and shook his head. The sleeves of his long-sleeved grey shirt were pushed up now; the clothes you both wore must have been filthy as you had been moving in the early hours of the day. The Italian heat was no joke, your frizzy hair and pink cheeks would speak on that.

You could tell that you were getting frustrated at one another. In all honesty, you knew that Harry wanted everything to be perfect and it was a bit frustrating to know that the item in the store wasn't what you both had wanted.

But you look at it with another eye, and note that it could work. “Let's just get it.” You say to him, shrugging. “If we don't like it in the kitchen, we can bring it back. It's not a huge deal.”

Harry’s the one to roll his eyes this time, “Aren't we here to buy this so we could have tea this evening? Isn't that why we're here and not showering?”

It was true– you had both come to the conclusion that the kettle was an important part of the first night ritual. It had dawned on you then that you couldn't really use the item and then bring it back.

“Well, let's buy this one– we can go to another store—” You were cut off by his grumbled words.

“Whatever– do whatever you want.” His visible frustration was pressing you as you bit on your lip. You thought about the photo he had shown you from the website and you really believed that you were looking at the same one.

A lot of the times, the photos were different than real life, and you think the shine may not have been as present in the photo. But you weren't sure.

As you bit your lip, you breathed outward as you spun the small kettle around in your hands.

“Do you really think—"

“I said do whatever you want! Get the fucking chrome then!” His voice was raised then; visible anger crossing his eyes as they knit together, and his hands stayed in his hips. It was a raised voice at me, and I could tell that we had both pushed each other to the brink.

Harry never got frustrated at you; he never yelled or raised his voice, he never looked angry. There weren't any frown lines crossing along his cheeks and forehead because Harry was hardly ever upset or mad at anything.

But you were pushed to your emotional breaking point as you set the kettle down on the shelf a bit too hard, making the metal shelf rattle as you did so. The tightness of your jaw only exceeded your need to cry as you pushed back the tears in your eyes.

You grabbed ahold of the bag that you held on to your shoulder as you started to walk towards the exit of the small kitchen store, nestled in the small nook of the Roman street.

Getting your dream home with the love of your life should have been a happy thing; it should have been a moment where the two of you relished in the sun and drank freshly made orange juice in the early summer mornings to beat the heat of the sun.

Instead, you were fighting back angry tears and walking away without another word because you didn't want to cry in the store. You pushed through the door, onto the street and didn't care if Harry was following you.

But he had been, he was right on your heel because that was the kind of person he was. Harry was kind; he never meant to hurt your feelings or make you frustrated. As soon as he raised his voice, his regret only further mad his anger grow– at himself this time, not the situation.

It was just that he had wanted the evening with you to be perfect. Everything had fallen into place so right. You had loved all of the furniture to the respective rooms, you set the TV up to be able to watch a film at the end of the night. After you had both showered, made love on the empty rug that blessed your living space floor, you would snuggle up on the sofa and watch one of your favorites— Notting Hill. A cup of tea in both of your hands as you allowed yourself the ideal summer night.

But instead, you two were frustrated and burnt out and in need of a meal and a shower, which felt more like it would lead to getting snuggled in bed and falling asleep on either sides.

You let a tear fall, but not anymore because now you could feel the exhaustion in your bones as you felt his presence on you now. You hear the scuffle of his trainers behind you as you lick on your lips and taste the saltiness of the tear that fell.

“C’mon, baby, I’m sorry.” You hear his voice, feeling the way that his hand grips at the back of your neck. It's in the comforting way that you like, as he guides you to turn and face him. Your head fits against his chest as you let it rest there for a moment; not caring about the way that you're sweating.

The hand on your neck moves into your hair as Harry keeps you there for a moment; letting his fingers glide into it, just below the placement of the clip holding your hair back.

“I didn't mean to snap at you,” He tells you, his lips placing on the top of your head as you stand against the wall of the store. The small nook feels private as you let out a huge sigh.

Harry laughs at that; his vibrato of a laugh is felt as you're against him, which makes you’re the edges of your lips move up in a soft smile.

“You're not mad at me, are you?” He asks, nudging an answer from you still.

This time, Harry nudges you away from him, but he places his fingers along your chin to raise you to look right into his eyes. It's a fluid movement, but you take in the way that his facial hair has grown out, the way that his skin has browned, and his eyes are light against it.

You purse your lips, swallowing as you shake your head with a discreetness that you're not even sure he could catch. But he must, because you see the way that the dimple pops along his cheek matter-of-factly.

“I think we're both stressed out,” He nods, “And we're both just a little on edge, hm?” Harry keeps pressing questions but your eyes stare at him for a moment before he presses on your chin again. His fingers feel strong as you hold your stare at him.

“I’m sorry,” You let out, wanting to keep yourself together, “I think we both just need to take a minute and get ourselves together. We were bound to lose ourselves at one point or another.”

The warm Italy breeze hits you and your shut your eyes for a moment as you feel the way that it trapezes across your skin.

“Hm,” Harry tuts, “I think I know a fix for this.”

His hand drops from your chin, grabbing ahold of your hand as you move through the small streets. They're cobblestoned and hold the footsteps of so many others before you— through love, breakup, first kisses, and first glances.

You don't know where he's leading you, but it's fine at the moment because you feel a burst of nostalgia and an outpouring of gratitude that you may have taken for granted before.

Who cared about the color of the kettle when the skies were the fiercest shade of cerulean and the sun hung in its highest peak? Who cared about any of that when the man of your dreams hung tightly onto your hand as he whisked you away and into the streets that would hold all of your memories from now on— bits of happiness here and there were awaiting you?

Harry pulled you along the streets, guiding you and marking small memories here and there as he would turn to ensure you were still with him. Even with the grasp his hand had in you, it felt important for him to know the smile and eagerness was still on your face.

As you arrived by the small socks that held rocky beaches and tented umbrellas, your eyes glided over the small gelato stand that had become accustomed to your routines since visiting Italy to begin with. But now your adventures together here had made this more of an availability than ever before.

Your heart stung at the pricelessness of the moment as you approached the stand with Harry on your hand.

“Bit of a treat to reward ourselves, hm?” He asked you, and your bit your lip as you tried to figure out what flavor you would get.

“Think I’m going to get pistachio,” You tell him, your heart settled on it.

Harrys hums for a moment before he tilts his head and purses his own lips. “Would it be boring for me to just saw custard?”

You laugh a little, nodding, “Yes, no custard. You have to do the lemon.”

You convince him; he orders the pistachio for you, and the lemon for himself— even if it was just so you could have both for yourself, taking bites of his when you could a chance.“Un pistacchio e un limone, per favore.” Your heart clenches at the words he speaks, the language flying off of his tongue as he does so with ease. You long await getaways together had turned into where you had felt your deepest love affairs. 

He hands you yours, and the spoonful is glorious. It melts in your mouth as you both stand off to the side now, the sound of the river behind you as you let your eyes meet his again. You watch the kink of his smile as he hears the pleasure take over you.

“Good, then?” He asks as he takes his own bite. His lips drift over his lips as he nods to confirm it himself, humming in satisfaction.

“This was the perfect idea.” You tell him, taking another bite.

You both head over to a bench by the water, taking in the sites of the tourists and the loved one who have made their trek around the city. So much love and admiration as you sit in a bit of silence.

“What are you most excited for?” Harry asks you, breaking the quiet. You ponder the question for a moment before turning to face him a bit more.

“I think I’m just excited to build a home,” You say, watching as his eyes crinkle by the sides. It's subtle, but you notice with such ease that happiness looks marvelous on him. “Build a family.”

Harry looks at his treat before lifting his eyes to you. “So many,” He mumbles, “So, so many of our little babies.”

You hum before using your thumb to brush over his cheek; your chin leans in to give him the softest, most chaste kiss before pulling back and giving his eyes an easy glance.

“Sono così grato per questa vita.”

Harry leans in to kiss you, your hands wrapping into his hair as you accept it with ease.

“Un fiabesco.” He says against your lips, his eyes taking a glance into yours. It's the kind of dreaming that cannot be done unless you're asleep, certainly.

Your troubles all wash away as you melt away into the sun of the day, leaving bits of memories here and there along the streets of Rome, waiting for you to remember them later— smiling at the love and memories that had adorned them before you, and very much afterwards.

[fabydoll]

❛ . . . THE PREFECT TROPHY WIFE .ᐟ

ϑϱ⭒ ݁ waring ৎ ݁ ۪AU, dilf | himbo! jk ౨ৎ single daddy! jk ౨ৎ toxic behaviors ౨ৎ billionaire! jk ౨ৎ mentions of a milf | cougar! lisa ౨ৎ implied large age gap ౨ৎ implied foreigner! oc

masterlist ♡ next ♡

Jungkook was barely able to keep his large doe eyes from fluttering shut; he wasn't at all used to this—to any of this, from the countless and tiring meetings with the most boring and bland individuals he's ever met, to planning and making plans to better help maintain the company and keep investors interested. To keeping this multi-billion empire he had inherited running afloat, if he was going to be honest, he missed the days when all he had to do was look pretty and have crowds of people adore him.

Having no worries, no cares in the world, being free.

"Mr. Jeon, Mr. Jeon, Mr. Jeon!" His secretary annoyingly yelled, snapping Jungkook awake from his reverie, snapping back to his much more boring reality. He gave everyone in the conference room an apologetic yet charismatic smile.

Immediately going into handsome older CEO mode.

"Yes? Chaerin, is there something you wanted to tell me?" Jungkook smoothly asked, giving her his iconically heart-stopping gorgeous smile, totally acting as if he hadn't almost fallen asleep in the meeting, missing half of everything that was going on.

"Um… um, yeah, um," Chaerin stumbled, trying to collect her thoughts together, her cheeks flustered as she fumbled with the documents.

"So, ahem," she cleared her throat, adding an awkward chuckle, "INUV wants you to sign the documents to begin the process of expanding our companies together." Jungkook nodded; he only about half understood what she was talking about, but as Chaerin was handing him the papers to sign, she stopped—getting lost in his big, beautiful, doe-warm chocolate brown eyes.

Was he even real?

"Chaerin, Chaerin, Chaerin, Chaerin! The documents?! Please!" Chaerin's cheeks flushed an even brighter red than before. Jungkook just snatched the papers out of her hands, mumbling yet loud enough, "I swear, secretaries these days always thinking you're in love with them or something."

Everyone in the luxurious, opulent conference room laughed, some hiding their giggles under the table, their briefcases, or hands.

Chaerin just quietly and embarrassingly plopped herself back in her seat.

"Here," Jungkook said, handing the documents back to a disgraced Chaerin, who, without looking up from the ground, gave it to one of the INUV executives, who was still trying to hold back his laugh.

Jungkook cleared his throat while adjusting the buttons on his designer Italian suit, clapping his muscular and tattooed hands to get everyone's attention back on him. "Anyways, besides that little interruption," side-eyeing Chaerin, "it was an honor to do business with you all, and we promise to do nothing but our absolute best."

He ended by shaking hands with the lead executive before walking out as everyone clapped, with Chaerin clumsily following behind him. He needed to get back to his office to finish some more paperwork that would officially finalize the deal, not before stopping to give one of his employees his autograph.

Then, after that, head to Sweet Bears, his favorite bar, to relax and unwind.

Jungkook was already in the elevator about to push his own private floor number, but midway stopped, hearing Chaerin's annoying high-pitched voice yelling, "MR. JEON!!"

He cursed himself for not going faster, silently praying that those doors closed before she could make it in.

But God only hears those who are faithful.

She slipped in before the elevator doors could close, huffing a bit from the fact she literally sprinted in heels to get into the elevator with Jungkook. He rolled his eyes; he thought after absolutely embarrassing her at the conference, maybe she would quit.

But no.

Jungkook internally groaned as he felt her seductively eyeing him up and down, biting her lips as she held her files close to her chest. He felt like he was being sexually harassed. Chaerin was an amazing secretary, and she knew how to do her job; if he was being honest, without her, the company would probably have already lost a few million.

But her infatuation and borderline obsession with Jungkook was either a reason he would fire her or the reason he would snap her in half once he got fed up with her.

The only reason why she was still here was that she happened to be one of Jungkook's biggest investors and his father's best friend's daughter.

There was an awkward moment of silence with the background of smooth jazz playing, as Chaerin still eyed him like he was the finest eye candy she had ever seen, which he was, but still.

"Miss Shin, hope there's nothing wrong for you to have come running in the elevator like that," Jungkook said through gritted teeth as he plastered

a fake smile on his gorgeous face.

She didn't even deserve to have him give her one of his beautiful fake smiles.

Chaerin giggled, a stupid one, and twirled her hair as she held her paperwork close to her chest. "Nothing much, I was just going to ask you if you were off tonight?" she said as she bit her lips with a seductive, flirtatious gaze.

Ever since Jungkook's private divorce from the wealthy and powerful businesswoman Lisa Manoban, young girls, older women, and men of all ages have been throwing themselves all over Jungkook.

Lisa Manoban is one of the most influential self-made entrepreneurs in all of Asia, having multiple companies that are each worth billions of dollars. When I say she has power, she has power. She met Jungkook through a mutual friend; at first, Jungkook was her pretty himbo sugar baby before deciding to marry him at his 20th birthday party in Bali.

She was the breadwinner and wanted Jungkook to stay at home and be her pretty trophy husband and house husband that she could flaunt his beauty and youthfulness to all her other rich older milfs and cougar friends. Having someone young and as beautiful as Jungkook depended on you was a new type of power, one that Lisa had never felt before. It was addicting—so was his sex power in bed, because damn, was he truly gifted by Adonis himself.

Who knew a guy could taste so sweet in bed?

And also, all the bragging rights that come with having a pretty himbo, boy toy, beauty pageant king, and supermodel as your trophy husband and house husband.

But after giving birth to their adorable toddler, Kwan, they quietly separated but did not publicly divorce. But people still thought they were married and happily threw themselves at the new handsome but beautiful now DILF Jungkook.

Who could blame them?

He still looked as handsome as ever, looking like he was still in his 20s (and acted like he was still in his 20s), now just being a hot young DILF. He aged like fine wine, being as attractive and charming as ever with his fit and muscular physique and flawless golden-tanned skin.

He still kinda looked like the beautiful and young, naive doe-eyed himbo trophy husband he used to be.

"I'm actually very, very busy tonight. It's my 4-year-old son Kwan's school recital tonight, and I promised him that me and mommy would take him out for ice cream. I also have some work at the office I need to attend to," Jungkook said, lying through his teeth. Kwan was with Lisa in Thailand, as it was her week with him.

"Oh, um, that's totally fine. Maybe we can—" Jungkook had already walked out of the elevator, and the elevator had already closed before Chaerin could finish her sentence.

He needed to find some way to fire her.

Quickly.

Sweet Beer was his favorite beer parlor and bar. He remembered how, when he was young, he would skip class just to come to the parlor with friends and pick up girls, flirting with the cute waitresses that would end up in his bed later that night.

He couldn't help but smile and roll his eyes at the memories while driving there.

Those were the good times, when he didn't have a single care in the world.

Ting! The small bell rang as Jungkook walked in, causing the 50-year-old woman to turn around to see who it was, immediately stopping her sweeping, dropping the broom and happily running to him, arms wide open, like a mother who hadn't seen her son in years.

Koko!! You came!" Mrs. Yun happily yelled.

Jungkook happily embraced Mrs. Yun as they rocked back and forth, unable to hold back the overwhelming feelings of joy they felt; it felt like years since they had last seen each other. "Mrs. Yun—Eomma! How could I not come!?" Jungkook said as they kissed each other on the cheek.

As Jungkook pulled back from the hug, Mrs. Yun cupped his cheeks, holding his beautiful face in her hands. She felt like she was about to cry; it felt like yesterday when a 16-year-old Jungkook would run away from home to come to her bar shop, complaining about the unbelievable pressure his parents were putting on him and how he wanted to run away.

She was always the one to comfort and reassure him that with time everything would get better.

Here he was now, all gowned up, married with a kid of his own; time had gone by so fast. "Oh, Koko," she sweetly said, giving him another big, tight hug before letting go and wiping her tears with her apron. Jungkook sighed, adding a small laugh. "Eomma, don't tell me you're getting emotional?"

"Me? Getting emotional? No, no, I'm just shocked you've grown up to be such a gorgeous young man," she said, having a pretty sappy tone in her voice. Jungkook smiled a little. "But enough talk about the past, how's you and Lisa going? Is everything going well? Hope she isn't giving you any trouble. And Kwan too, how's my Kiki doing?"

Jungkook just let out an awkward laugh; he hadn't told Mrs. Yun about the divorce—not yet anyway. He was still a bit shocked by it, truthfully, and still didn't know how to tell anyone about it. Knowing how Mrs. Yun was, she would probably let it spill to his parents, and for a fact, all hell would break loose then.

"Everything is going good; it's going extremely well actually, and Lisa and Kwan are doing great," Jungkook said, giving her one of his gorgeous fake smiles. Mrs. Yun gave him a look; she always had the motherly ability to tell if he was lying. "Are you sure, Koko? If something is going on, you talk to me."

"No, I promise Eomma, everything is grea—" The sound of crashing glass hitting the floor and breaking cut Jungkook off, who looked to Mrs. Yun for what or who caused that sound. Mrs. Yun just chuckled. "Don't mind that; it's just my new barista."

"New barista?" Jungkook knew every single barista that worked here—totally just from encounters and not sleeping with them.

So, who was that?

Mrs. Yun pulled him by the arm towards the bar. For someone who was in her late 50s, she was strong, especially considering how much Jungkook worked out and how tall he was. Jungkook looked at Mrs. Yun; was someone supposed to just appear? Mrs. Yun just winked at him.

"Y/n, dear, I have someone I want you to meet."

At first, it looked like she was talking to no one. Jungkook was about to ask her if she had forgotten her medication yet again.

But then a beautiful young girl appeared from the door by the bar. She had long and somewhat curly yet straight golden blonde hair with beautiful and angelic lightly sun-kissed skin, with some of the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen; they were completely two different colors.

"Yes, Mrs. Yun?" she softly asked as she carried more empty glasses of beer, almost dropping them on the counter. Giving both Mrs. Yun and Jungkook an apologetic smile, Mrs. Yun just smiled excitedly, introducing them to each other. "Meet Mr. Jeon and Jungkook, my love, meet Y/n, my new stunning barista!"

The sun-kissed girl just blushed as she heard Mrs. Yun call her a 'stunning barista,' before extending one of her small and dainty hands to Jungkook, shyly saying, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jeon," who shook it, holding her delicate hand in both of his bigger and larger hands before kissing it, mumbling against her soft skin.

"The pleasure is all mine."

BOUNS ੭ ꒰ for all my ogs before my account got deleted 😭꒱

Jungkook was barely able to keep his eyes open, he wasn't used to this at all, as his executive was talking about the 3.4 billion won deal, they had with a company that would love to partner up with them. He never liked meetings, but they were important to keep his multi-billion empire running a float. "So, Mr. Jeon do you have anything else you would like to add?" His secretary chirped out as she was giving INUV inc. the paperwork to sign.

"No, I have nothing else to add. But it's an honor to do business with you and we promise to do our absolute best." Jungkook said using his 'boss voice' as he shook hands with INUV's executive.

As everyone in the luxurious, opulent conference room clapped.

As soon as the meeting was over, he made his way to the elevator he needed to get back to his office to finish some more paperwork that would finalize the deal, but his secretary, Chaerin, voice stopped him as he was entering the elevator.

"MR. JEON!!"

He silently prayed that those doors closed before she could make it in.

But not all prayers come true.

She ran in before the elevator doors could close, Chaerin was an amazing secretary and she knew how to do her job well but her infatuation with Jungkook was either a, be the reason he fires her or b, the reason he fires her.

The only reason why she is still here is because she happens to be one of Jungkook's biggest investors and best friend's daughter.

"Miss Shin, hope there's nothing wrong. For, you to have come running in the elevator like that." Jungkook said through gritted teeth as he plastered a fake smile on his gorgeous face.

Chaerin giggled and twirled her hair as she held her paperwork close to her chest. "Nothing much, I was just going to ask you if you were off tonight?" she said as she bit her lips while eyeing him up and down with a flirtatious gaze.

Ever since, Jungkook's divorce with the Lisa Manoban, young girls, older women and men of all ages have been throwing themselves all over Jungkook.

When he was still married to Lisa, she was the one who was the breadwinner, with her owning large companies and being a supermodel.

She wanted Jungkook to stay at home and be her pretty trophy husband and house husband that she could flaunt his beauty and enjoy his sex power in bed.

Due to the fact that when Jungkook was in his youth he was a pretty himbo and boy toy when he first met her and had won multiple beauty pageants and was supermodel too.

But times have changed (kinda).

He still looked as handsome as ever, looking like he was still in his 20s (and acted like he was still in his 20s) with him now just being a hot young DILF.

He aged like fine wine, with him being as attractive and charming as ever with his fit physique and flawless golden tanned skin.

He still kinda looked like the handsome and young, naive himbo trophy husband he used to be.

"I'm actually very busy tonight it's my 4-year-old son, Kwan, um school recital tonight and I have some work at the office I need to attend too." Jungkook said lying through his teeth, Kwan was with Lisa, as it was her week with him.

"Oh, um that's fine maybe we can-" Jungkook had already walked out of the elevator and the elevator had already closed before Chaerin could finish her sentence.

He needed to find a way to fire her. Quickly.

But first he needed a beer.

Sweet Beer was his favorite beer parlor and bar. He remembered how when he was young, he would skip class just to come to the parlor with friends and pick up girls. And flirt with the cute waitresses that would end up in his bed later that night.

He couldn't help but smile and roll his eyes at the memories while driving there.

Those were the good times, where he didn't have a single care in the world.

"Koko!! You came" Mrs. Yun happily yelled as soon as she saw he was entering the door, hearing the ding from the bells up on the door.

"Mrs. Yun! How could I not come!?" he happily said as they kissed each other on the cheek and embraced, Mrs. Yun was just like a second mother to Jungkook, she was there for him even when his own mother couldn't be there for him.

"Well, you know how much it makes me happy to see you come here, it's been such a long time!" Mrs. Yun said as she pinched his cheek. The parlor had been going a little slower than usual, but Jungkook's presence had really brightened up her mood.

"I know, I know it's been such a long time and I'm sorry it's just the divorce with Lisa, work and Kwan along with everything that's been going on lately."

"I know it must be so stressful, but come I want you to meet someone special" Mrs. Yun said as she pulled him, for someone that was in her late 50s she was strong, especially considering how much Jungkook worked out and how tall he was.

She pulled him until they were at the cashier, Jungkook looked at Mrs. Yun who just wink at him.

"Y/n, dear, met Mr. Jeon."

At first it looked like she was talking to no one, Jungkook was about to ask her if she had forgotten her medication again.

But then a beautiful young girl came out of the big walking closet/cabinet near the cash register, she had long silky hair and some of the most beautiful eyes Jungkook had ever seen.

"Yes, Mrs. Yun?" she softly asked as she carried more empty glasses of beer where she placed them on the counter.

"Meet Mr. Jeon and Jungkook, my love, met Y/n my new stunning barista!"

Y/n blushed as she heard Mrs. Yun call her a 'stunning barista', Jungkook couldn't help but to smile too, something he hadn't done for a long time, as he saw her cute cheeks turn a light pink blush.

She was so cute and pretty at the same time.

Maybe, Mrs. Yun was right she was someone special.

𝜗℘ㅤׁㅤ. . fabrianna's thoughts . . . yellow! I'M BACK! after my account got deleted i knew i still wanted to continue "the perfect trophy wife" series but changed a few things, like the first chapter i wanted to make it longer and with much more thought, detail and dialog. and i'm pretty happy with the finale result, tell me which one is better the original or new one? planning on doing the same thing with second chapter "Sweets of deals" but still don't know. i promise this time i won't just disappear and plan on releasing more ꒰ like a fanfic i'm currently with a dilf cop taehyung꒱ but anyway hope yall enjoy, toddles.

𝜗℘ㅤׁㅤ. . taglist . . . n/a

[lunarflux]

x: Thomas Shelby found his match in an information bookie who has eluded the grasp of the Peaky Blinders long enough to crumble their power over Birmingham. But at last, he found you. The ghost he'd been chasing was finally in front of him, but you were trickier than he expected. Dangerous, cunning - and a bit too much like himself. To buy your loyalty, he would have to sell his in equal measure. Loyalty for loyalty - blood for blood - how much were either of you willing to spill before the game changed entirely?

part 1: the new board

word count: 1,412

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

"What do you want?"

"You're the one who came here, Mr. Shelby. I believe I should be the one asking that question."

It was odd, being seated across from a mirror. Whoever you were, you wouldn't budge. A cigarette dangled from two dainty fingers, wisps of smoke swirling into the air between you.

Tommy didn't know who you were. The Emerald of London to some. The Ghost of Birmingham to others. Your real name never crossed anyone's lips. You were practically a phantom - a meddlesome one at that. Some of the usual gamblers started avoiding certain days, ones that were particularly important to the Blinders, and by the third race with meager winnings, he knew.

There was a new player in the game, and until they were wiped clean from the board, the uneasy feeling that made home in the pit of his stomach would not go away. Gun deals gone awry, exchanges with people he thought would always owe him - all of it was going sour.

It took weeks of dwindling business before Tommy told Finn to find you. What he expected to see - a new information bookie operating from a damp, abandoned warehouse - was anything but. No, you were cunning. Charming, even. You had a certain allure about you. Your face held little expression aside from what could only be described as deceitfully cold, only ever showing the briefest emotion in your eyes. And when you spoke, it was intertwined with a feline-esque hum - almost like every conversation someone tried to work from you was a waste of your time. Finn only said that when he found you in the old bookshop across town that something was off, and though he couldn't articulate what made him uneasy, he knew that you would not easily be burned from the streets of Birmingham.

Tommy sat across from you, his still face hiding the mild headache your presence brought to the front of his mind, and he waited. At first, you two waited in silence.

You sighed, tapping the ash from your cigarette down to the floor. "Very well then. What business do you have here?"

"You've been selling information to the Russians."

"I have."

"What do they have on you?"

The corner of your lip twitched into a grin. "And what makes you think they have something on me?"

Tommy bore his eyes into yours, not willing to admit that this was one of a few conclusions he made about your motives. "What are they paying you then," he said plainly, less of a question and more of an anticipatory retort.

You tilted your hand out, motioning to the air to allude how silly the accusation was. "They pay whatever they think what I have to give them is worth."

"And the Irish, they pay as well."

"The Russians pay, the Irish pay... The Italians pay, the politicians pay... The Blinders can pay, too, if that's where this conversation is going."

You were woven into the system more than he thought - more than any of them thought. It was only whatever you sold that involved them that led him to believe you had a personal stake against them. It seemed now that this wasn't the case. They were just one of the last to find you.

"So, you'll resort to extortion to keep you out of our business."

"People don't pay me to stop, Mr. Shelby. They pay me to keep playing. It'd be bad for business otherwise. Take me out of the picture with the drop of some coins, and my credibility goes out the window."

Tommy hoped that his silence would push you to reveal more, but you continuously proved him wrong. He had to keep asking questions. It was what you wanted. You wanted him to pry as far as his cold composure would allow him to.

"So, where do your loyalties lie then?"

"I have no loyalties," you said, feigning confusion at the notion. "That's what makes me good at what I do."

"What is your loyalty worth then?"

"That's not how this works, Mr. Shelby. If the information someone else buys is at the expense of the Peaky Blinders, I'm afraid you'll find no sympathy from me."

Silence. Just a few more seconds, and maybe your curiosity would peak.

Again, you sighed, not attempting to hide your boredom. "Fine. Humor me. What are you offering?"

"Protection."

"I don't need protection."

"If I could find you, then there's nothing stopping the rest of them from finding you."

"On the contrary, if they wanted to kill me, I'd already be dead."

You knew you were valuable - more than Tommy cared to admit. Your awareness of the situation was your advantage, and it was a benefit not afforded easily. He had to offer you something worth considerably more, and it was not something he could give freely. However, he would not be the one to offer it up. You needed to ask for it, only then would he know what actually mattered to you.

Tommy kept his gaze on you. "Name your price then."

"I have to know what you're trying to purchase before I can tell you what it's worth." You wanted something more. Not something tangible. Money was so easily spent. "Tell me then, what is it you want from me?"

Tommy's eyes narrowed in the slightest to study your face. The cold, icy wall behind your eyes revealed so little. At the mention of payment, you were amused. At the thought of taking sides, you found humor. No, you were alone, and that's how you wanted it. So, what would be more valuable to you, something that didn't cost something physical? The answer came to him slowly, like a the sunrise peaking over the city until it blinded him completely.

"Your loyalty," he finally answered.

Your true smile - the one that only surfaced in the face of something that truly interested you - was more unsettling than he cared to admit. But he knew. Your loyalty would cost him dearly, whether it be from his pocket or something much deeper.

"You want to buy my loyalty?" You chuckled, a low and sinister tone like the monster beneath your grin was daring to reveal itself. "No, my loyalty stays with me, and I would only sell it for -"

"My loyalty."

The words slipped past his lips before he even really knew what he was saying. This had to have been what you were goading him for. An equal share of his respect. He would not have you entangling yourself with the Peaky Blinders with the assumption of your loyalty alone. You had to trust him as much as he forced himself to trust you.

You leaned forward, close enough for him to feel the icy shards trying to reach him from your leer. "And what is your loyalty worth?"

He was at a crossroads. Protection had a price, and people paid it. But loyalty - that was something else entirely. How much did he want you on their side that he was willing to give himself in equal measure? Your dealings with his enemies said enough. You had a pull over every corner of the city, and the longer you remained a black widow on the outskirts of all the chaos that followed, the closer the walls enclosed around him. He hated to admit it, but he needed you. He needed you on their side.

At least long enough to make sure you were hooked without expecting more than he was capable of giving.

You sat back and took a long drag of your cigarette, blowing the smoke out towards the ceiling. The phantom of that smile lingered at the corner of your lips, almost like you were amused - satisfied, even - that he was willing to offer up something with a value only you could determine. It was only a matter of time before you came to your own conclusions about what his loyalty was truly worth to you.

"I appreciate the consideration, Mr. Shelby." The phantom smile lowered until the cold façade reclaimed your face. "I will consider your offer."

Tommy rose slowly and placed his cap back on his head. His jaw tightened as he chose his next words carefully. "The Garrison. After close. Meet me there if we have a deal."

You lifted your chin with a nod. The conversation was far from over, but the new board has been set. Now, he just had to wait.

[the-muppet-joker]

ok now I KNOW your evil Mario 666 cause you've been ignoring these asks. If you were the real deal you woulda replied to these by now

You caught me red handed (red like Mario's hat). In truth, I run almost every blog on Tumblr. You sit in a crowded theater, watching me Muppet and Joker all over the stage. You turn to your beloved mutual sitting next to you. "Get a load of this guy!" You say. They turn to you, face suddenly froglike and smeared with a red clown smile, and say "I am Croaker." You startle back fearfully and jump out of your seat. An usher comes to your aid, and as your start babbling and pointing in fear, the usher catches you by the shoulder and says with a wicked smile: "I am Croaker." You whirl around and everyone is standing up, chanting: "I am Croaker. I am Croaker." You run out the exit and out into the rainy street looking for someone, anyone. You see him. EvilMario666. Surely you can trust him in this madness. "Evil Mario, Help! Surely everyone cannot be Tumblr User the-muppet-joker!" Evil Mario 666 chuckles darkly, in italian. His face looks a little green. He leans in close and whispers in your ear:

"Mama Mia. I am Croaker."

[copperbadge]

[ID: A screengrab of an app, with the heading "2024"; beneath the heading is an image of a grid decorated to look like a grassy field, covered with little digital plants such as trees, cacti, and toadstools. In the corner is a count of the plants, 117, and also the number one to indicate one real tree has been planted.]

Duolingo, for all its faults, has been really helpful for learning Italian, because it gamifies it exactly at the level I want. But it's also stalled in terms of what it can teach me; I've completed all the modules and it has started to become simply repetitive drilling. I decided I'd go off the paid subscription when the year is up, because I can do flashcards and translation on my own, and I wanted to find new ways to gamify that so that I would keep at it.

Enter Forest! When you want to focus on something, you open the app, set the amount of time you want to focus, and "plant" the timer. It basically locks your phone to a handful of apps (you can select which ones) so that you either have to focus outside of your phone, or focus on the apps you've allowed. If you successfully spend the entire time without "cancelling" the plant, it gets added to the grid. It also awards you coins which you can use to buy new kinds of plants, but slowly enough that you have to work a little for them. There's also a "friends" function where you can friend and compete with others, although I haven't explored that yet.

For me it's useful because it locks me out of stuff I shouldn't deal with while I'm studying, preventing me from, for example, feeling guilty that I haven't responded to a text immediately. It also gives me a little dopamine hit when my plant grows successfully, and unlike some other apps I looked at, once your plant has grown, you don't have to do anything further -- there's no maintenance, per se, which keeps it from getting overwhelming. It's primarily useful to me as a way of rewarding myself for doing something daily, which I will need once I'm not getting night owl chests and streak rewards from Duolingo. I've been on Forest long enough now that I know it'll work for me so I thought I'd recommend it.

Forest has a free version, but a lot of the features I wanted (custom tags, the ability to create a library of favorite settings, etc) were only in the paid version. That was a bummer until I looked at the cost of the paid version which was literally a one-time payment of $3. So I paid the $3 and honestly, more than worth it.

I use it for everything from locking me down while I'm doing my ADHD video game to timing how long I spend on writing and crafts to rewarding myself for doing my Italian lessons and breathing meditation.

[starlittragedies]

i read a fic a long time ago where barty was italian (we love italian barty on this blog !!!) and he gives nicknames to everyone he likes and I WHOLEHEARTEDLY AGREE WITH IT.

he calls regulus tesoro/caro, pandora piccola, evan amore/rosa/fiore, and dorcas dolcezza.

i also think that it pisses his friends’ partners (more specifically james and marlene).

james has always been a little jealous fella but it goes beyond when its barty we’re talking about (its kinda barty’s fault). the bloke can’t stop himself from taunting james by saying things like “i had regulus first” or “did regulus ever tell you about the summer of fourth year?”. so him having a nickname for darling regulus just sets james off more.

but marlene…

oh sweet marlene’s reasons are quite different. she gets irked by it because she DOESN’T have one. when she and dorcas had dated for a good amount of time and she was introduced to the pantheon barty quite liked her. she was funny, always kept it real, and kept his wits about him.

he treated marlene (to some extent as he would say) as a good friend. she would have had her nickname given by now but being as she is considered as a friend by barty crouch jr. it would mean that she had to deal with him being a little menace to her life as all his friends do (a good example of this would be regulus who somehow will always find that one of his socks will be missing its pair). and the form of her little minuscule personal hell served by barty is NOT getting a nickname and just being called “mckinnon” for the rest of her days.

[waldau-archived]

Hi waldu!! It’s minnieminshi!! I saw that your drabble requests are open and I was wondering if I could request number 11 from the prompt list with Wonwoo?

I know his blind ass without his glasses would be so cute lol

“Morning kisses that are exchanged before either person opens their eyes, kissing blindly until their lips meet in a blissful encounter.” + wonwoo

mimi thank you for requesting!!! i wanted to write a honeymoon scene for any one of the members and wonwoo seemed the most perfect one for it.

you don’t know if it’s the magic of the cool italian breeze wafting in through the window that’s slightly ajar, the warm covers that feel a bit too warm right now, or the fact that you’re aware you’re sleeping next to your favourite person in the world, that's keeping you from going back to sleep.

scratch that. you know exactly what’s keeping you up.

you pretend to be asleep, and wonwoo continues his ministrations on your skin. you feel him press a kiss to your forehead, his most favourite place to kiss you. as much as he teases you for being shorter than him, there’s nothing he loves more than having you just in reach so he can kiss you, as a way to greet you when he sees you, or as a way of telling you he’s proud of you, or as a way of telling you he’s there for you when you’re down and that you should know it.

you want to wake up and return the favour, kiss his face silly and relish the fact that he won’t ever tell you to stop even if you go a bit overboard, because he trusts you to know his limits. the thought of it makes your heart clench.

he’s no longer your fiancé. he’s jeon wonwoo, your husband, the man you married two days ago before he whisked you off on a surprise honeymoon to italy to spend a week with you. no friends or family or obligations or commitments. just the two of you, happy, in love, together.

so you keep your eyes shut and just feel as wonwoo moves down to your temple, letting his lips linger there. “i love you,” he whispers, and then he moves to your cheek. “i still can’t believe this is real.”

you can’t hold back any more at that. you turn around with your eyes shut and lean up in the direction of his warmth, willing to kiss whatever part of him you reach first.

he chuckles, his voice deep from not being used this early in the morning, and you realize you’ve hit his chin. you try again, and this time it’s the corner of his mouth.

“not ready to wake up yet?” he asks, hand gently combing through the tangled mess of your hair. you shake your head. the covers rustle under his movement, and you feel a gentle kiss on your lips. you blink your eyes open to see wonwoo looking at you with nothing but love, his eyes looking slightly unfocused without his glasses.

you get to wake up to this for the rest of your life. seems like a pretty good deal. the best, even.