Just Some Guy With A Mustache Romane & Geschichten

He had a mustache that could hide a small family of gerbils. "Your Majesty," he sneered, mustache twitching. "You shouldn't have come here. This is a place for men." "And yet," I said, gesturing to the smoking doorway, "I seem to be the one with the smoking gun. Also, your mustache is violating at least three HR policies. It's very distracting." I pulled the trigger. He fell, his mustache drooping tragically to the floor. I scanned the room. "Clear. And significantly better looking."

Ruby gripped her tray like a shield, scanning for an empty table. That’s when she saw him. Kai Kingston. Standing in the center of the room like the sun— and everyone else orbited him. He wasn’t even trying. He stood there in a simple gray hoodie and dark jeans, sleeves pushed up to reveal forearms that definitely didn’t belong to someone who “didn’t care.” His hair was a perfect mess, he laughed like he owned the oxygen supply, and people practically leaned toward him when he spoke. It was disgusting. But also unfairly attractive.

Fuck. What does this guy thinks he's doing

“Boss won’t like mistakes.” Ethan listened carefully his curiosity mixing with growing unease. Boss? Who exactly were these people working for? The answer arrived moments later. Another figure stepped into the room. Silence fell instantly. Even the guards straightened their posture. The man who entered last walked slowly, his movements confident. He wore a tailored black suit that fit his tall frame effortlessly. His dark hair was neatly combed. His expression remained composed as his sharp eyes scanned the underground prison. Ethan felt a strange chill crawl up his spine.

"Yeah, whoever wants to do this menial work can have it. I'm free from the grind." With a teasing grin, I added, "Oh, right—you're still a corporate lackey at that big firm, aren't you?" Jason immediately jumped, holding the flowers in one hand and reaching to tap my head with the other. "You don't get it! I'm Giselle's husband, and that's what matters. Being a lackey outside for a while doesn't take away an ounce of my dignity!" My playful grin froze for an instant. Realizing my lapse, I looked down, then back up with a mischievous smirk. "You're getting married? So soon?"

He is not that indisciplined, but I know that he did this just to get me worried. When the bell rings, I zoom with the speed of light, and I'm struggling to catch my breath when I set my eyes on him. He is wearing old, shredded jean pants, and a white shirt. He has a small bag over his shoulder, and he looks like he is unsure this is the right house. “Hey,” he says, his worried face breaking into a smile. I look over my shoulder, making sure that the servants have disappeared, like Maybelline ordered them to.

And maybe a few likes. Pure research purposes. As one does. It took an hour, but I had a list of suspects. And God, I hated every single one of them. Like this guy with a private account and a profile picture of… a goldfish? pollux_420. Then there was a strange man. Justin. With perfect teeth, a beard, and one of those smug, expensive haircuts. He commented on every post Katie made the second she posted it. Probably jerking off to her selfies while sipping his matcha latte.

“So, you imbeciles think pointing a gun to my head should frighten me?” Getting out of the car, Joshua stares the guy in the face. His light complexion with blue jeans and a golf T-shirt. He looks frightened as Joshua's eyes darken, and he grins, “so, gents, are we doing a staring contest, or are you naive?” “Hey, shut up,” said the second guy. He looks in his fifties; he got bearded and tanned blue eyes and is a bit overweight, wearing black pants and a white T-shirt.

the guy threatened, whom I named Moustache. Since we arrived, they haven't bothered to conceal their identities. Either they were incredibly stupid, or they weren't planning on letting me out alive. The one guy had an angry face with a contrasting thick black moustache to his bald head. I named him Moustache. The other had a scar across the left side of his face. I called him Scar. He looked even more frightening than the one in The Lion King. Scar walked down to the window. The window was just one big open rectangle. The glass hadn't been installed yet. Scar looked down as he smiled at himself.

"Well, there were times I noticed that you looked girly. You know, with your face and height, I realized you look way more girly than I am." "What!?" "You look girly." "What in the world made you see me that way?" Like hell that I'm girly! "Hmm… let's try thinking about it, shall we?" He asked with a smirk. "Okay?" "To start, let's talk about your face. How were you able to maintain such smooth skin? How do you shave your mustache or beard?" This guy is utterly ridiculous. "Uh, I don't… my face never grew a mustache nor a beard."