#The MMA Complex

[riddle-in-time]

i just think mello would thrive in a full-contact sparring based martial art

#like bjj/wrestling/mma type thing #no traditional style or judo it´s too restrictive #let him get creative #near would love the technical complexities of bjj but not the actual training/sparring aspect #mello #ni talks

[momochiiee]

This week I offer you a sweet fluffy bear. Next week? Who knows

Meet Clayton, my litol meowmeow too soft to be true and built like a closet

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Do NOT Repost!

♻️ Reblogs are appreciated and encouraged 💖

#pokemon #pokemon gijinka #original characters #momochiiee ocs #momochiiee art #clayton #this man is just a heartbroken big baby that tries his best to overcome his complexes #he won't give up on himself #sought a hobby and pursued it to occupy his mind from the numbing emotional pain #in the original setting he was pursuing a gym challenge #but in gijinka seeting he's an MMA fighter

[eccentrcks]

𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐎𝐂: 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐫𝐨𝐞.

This gorgeous artwork of Marlene was made by my talented baby sister. Give her some applause for this! 🫶 I also made a taglist out of boredom, so don't mind me. Taglist to those who inspired me to make this profile and ref. sheet: @revnah1406, @welldonekhushi, @littlemissclandestine, @alypink, and @darkhazard19.

⎯ 𝗚𝗘𝗡𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗟 𝗜𝗡𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗠𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡:

Name: Marlene

Full Name: Marlene Jamie Monroe

Alias(es): "Mona" (General nickname by her family), "Marlie" (childhood nickname), "Chicky" (Captain Price), "Squirt" or "Baby Girl" (Phillip Graves), "Marl" (David Mason).

Age: 23

Gender: Female

Nationality: American

Ethnicity: Irish, Native American, Welsh.

Hair Colour: Chestnut brown.

Eye Colour: Light brown

Height: 5’11” (181cm)

Weight: 187lbs (84.8kg)

Body Built: Athletically average.

Languages Spoken: English, Irish, Gaelic, Welsh, Cree, Spanish, Russian, Chinese, Japanese, Bulgarian, Mandarin, French, German, Portuguese, etc.

Date of Birth: August 29, 2002.

Place of Birth: Fairbanks, Alaska.

Blood Type: AB-

Sexuality: Heterosexual.

Marital Status: Single

Occupation: N/A.

Status: Unknown.

-

⎯ 𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗧𝗦:

Myers-Briggs Type: INTJ-T (The Architect)

Calm and reserved: Despite having her moments of being a spitfire, she is actually a well composed individual and this really helps her in matters of survival. Although pretty social sometimes, then she can be completely asocial, Marlene is not exactly the kind of person who wouldn't instantly show her actual personality to others whom she'd just met. She handles stressful situations with the pressure very well most of time.

Selfless and loyal: Marlene may be an impassive and hardened young woman, but she has a good soul and heart. Those who are lucky to be a genuine friend of hers are privileged to see her display her true self at most times. Has the tendency to put others before herself. Marlene's love language is giving gifts, acts of service, and physical touch- which the latter is a rare thing of her to do frequently as a young adult now. Keeps it discreet though.

Tough as nails: She is unbelievably durable and endures a lot of life-threatening situations. Often gets underestimated by others, but tends to straighten them up with a surprise. It still hurts, yes, although she just quickly learns how to suck it up and keep going without letting it drag her down.

Jaded and weary: It's safe to mention that Marlene didn't had a normal childhood and went through a lot of hardships growing up with a paranoid survivalist of a mother. Kind of a sore spot for her to be asked about. Has a bad case of PTSD and denies her clinical diagnoses constantly. ("I'm fine." is her favourite saying) Has a complex relationship with her mother, her only parent that raised her this way, which means Marlene cares and resents her at the same time, yet she internally respects the woman who taught her most of everything she knows. She suffered from losses who were dearly significant to her... somethings she isn't ready to openly talk about. So the girl is just simply exhausted from existing.

Adaptable and intelligent, also a polyglot: If thrown into an environment that Marlene hadn't been in before, she will learn and adapt if it's necessary. Growing up traveling with her mother had taught her some things. She's quite a multilingual genius, speaks and read around 37(ish) languages, but also graduated high school at sixteen before attending Stanford University and finishing in three years for her computer science degree. So in a shorter summary, she's an eager and fantastic learner.

-

⎯ 𝗦𝗞𝗜𝗟𝗟𝗦 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗔𝗕𝗜𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗜𝗘𝗦:

Primary Weapons: Knife, Karambit neck knife, Remington 700PSS, HK-MP5K, HK-MP5A3, TP-82, XM177E1, and Pipe Bombs.

Fighting Style: Hand-to-hand combat, some MMA.

Special Skills: Great at reading others' body languages and sensing danger.

Talents: She can learn to speak at another language in a short span of time, craft explosives such as a pipe bomb within an hour if she has the resources, and create traps with the right stuff.

Shortcomings: Can get paranoid most of the time, chronically insomniac, has some trust issues, and suffers from terrible migraines.

-

⎯ 𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬:

"Born and grew up outside of Fairbanks in an isolated cabin for five years of her life with her mother, who had Marlene at eighteen, and mostly traveled around on the road after. She grew up with tough love and Melissa, her mother, was fiercely overprotective with her only child. Once they settled somewhere in California when she was eight where Marlene finally got enrolled in a public school where her peers would eventually learn about her intellect. She never knew how, or where, her mother earned her huge incomes to financially support themselves, but knows Melissa just has an every important job whenever she isn't home. Besides, whenever her mother was confronted, she was just met with a firm look by her and the woman stating that it's none of her concern as Marlene should just focus on herself. Eventually this led to her rebellious behaviour before incidents occurred and slowly shaped Marlene into a withdrawn teenager in college."

"Her history with Taskforce 141 was purely platonic. Met them through her mother, one by one when she was an teenager, before the group realized she was Melissa's baby girl and they all knew the same woman who met each of them outside of their occupations. She've met Phillip Graves when she was a kid when he came by to confront her mother before a father-daughter bond was formed between them since then. David Mason is her godfather and one of the people whom Marlene looks up to- much to Graves' dismay."

"When she was done with college at nineteen and the year 2021-[REDACTED]."

"Until 2022, she was brought into the CIA's custody in middle of a late evening walk, more like by Taskforce 141, and interrogated after some evidence of her was caught stealing some invaluable intel and secrets, appearing as one of their employees, before she was picked up by a black van after that. She kept denying the accusations and evidence for weeks until Graves, allegedly dead at the time, safely liberated her despite Marlene being in a frail condition with the help from David Mason and proof that she was truly innocent. Someone had framed her."

"Then not too long hours after she was brought into his protective custody, no one knew who helped her other than the fact that she escaped CIA's custody, as one of The Shadow Company's bases was attacked. Mostly everyone made it out, but Marlene who was soon announced dead after she passed out from the blood loss with the base getting bombed into nothing once they were forced to leave her behind. Leaving Graves and David angry, distraught, and vowed to avenge her once they find the culprits. Her remains were never found after that."

Theme song: Methods of Madness by Secession Studios.

*Profile will be be updated once the story progresses and kept her backstory vague(ish) for now.

#cod oc #cod oc: marlene monroe #my oc #call of duty oc #call of duty #cod #cod bocw #cod black ops #cod mw2 #cod mw3

[mythicalmisery]

Fighter/Artist AU : GhostxSoap

Soap quickly made his way from his last lecture to his motorcycle sitting in the parking lot. Knocking over anyone who stood in his way, earning him a few choice words as he practically sprinted down the halls. He had three midterms that week and was fucking exhausted. One would think that being an art major would be less stressful, but that was wishful thinking. 

He slid his helmet over his slightly grown-out mohawk, lifting the kickstand and setting off on that familiar drive to the other side of town he took every week. Soap had a particular affinity for sketching real-world objects and people. He believed that capturing the human form, with all its complexities and intricacies, was one of the most challenging and rewarding aspects of his craft. To hone his skills, he sought out places where he could observe people in their most natural states and one of his favorite places for this purpose was Price's MMA boxing gym.

Price's MMA gym held a special place in Soap's heart. It wasn't just a place for fighters to train and beat the shit out of each other. Soap had practically grown up within the confines of that gym, having spent his high school days cleaning it after hours in exchange for some pocket change. It was during that time that he earned the nickname "Soap" because of the way he scrubbed the floors and equipment spotless.

One of the main reasons Soap loved the gym was the owner, an old family friend, retired military captain John Price. Price had been a mentor to him, teaching him valuable life lessons and discipline. Soap considered him a father figure, especially after his own father had passed away when he was just a child.

Soap’s best friend, Gaz, was among the gym’s most dedicated fighters. Gaz had dreams of making it big in the world of UFC, and he trained tirelessly, leaving no room for distractions. Despite their different paths in life, Soap and Gaz remained close friends even as his career started to take off. Soap often joined in on his training sessions and sketched Gaz as he practiced his punches and kicks, capturing the intensity of the man's movements. 

Every week, Soap would visit the gym, finding a comfortable spot in the corner, sketchbook in hand, and losing himself in the world around him. He sketched the fighters as they sparred and practiced. Each line and shadow made with his pencils captured their movements and forms on paper forever. The clanging of weights and the thudding of punches in the background became a form of comfort for Soap over the years. Easy to get lost in the symphony of noise. 

This particular day, he noticed something was off as soon as he stepped foot in the gym. It was uncharacteristically quiet. Everyone standing around was talking in hushed voices and whispers. As Soap sat down in his usual corner, he instantly noticed the subject of everyone's attention. A newcomer, and a striking one at that. Blond hair, tall, and with a physique that could only be described as imposing. Soap recognized him from one of the hundreds of fights he was forced to watch every week with Gaz. His name was Simon “The Ghost” Riley and he was quickly becoming a rising star in his weight division. Sports networks raved about him and were labeling him the next big thing in the world of mixed martial arts. He was talking with Price in the corner of the ring, Gaz also joining them off to the side. If he remembered correctly, the man was from Manchester. Price had mentioned wanting to bring in more talent, guess it finally happened. 

For three whole weeks, Soap couldn't tear his eyes away from Simon Riley. There was something captivating about him, something that drew Soap in like a moth to a flame. Simon's powerful physique and the way he moved in the ring were a sight to behold. He quickly became Soap's favorite subject to draw, and he couldn't help but blush every time he caught himself focusing too hard on the details of Simon's impressive figure. Gaz certainly never let him forget it after casually flipping through his drawings one day and noticing a recurring theme. He had offered to introduce Soap to the man but he swiftly denied the invitation, painfully aware that the fighter was well out of his league. 

It was during the fourth week of his new infatuation that shit hit the fan quickly. Soap had been lost in his sketches like normal when he felt a sudden tug on his sketchbook. It happened so suddenly he was powerless to stop it. Startled, he looked up to find the one and only Simon Riley holding his sketchbook with an unreadable expression on his face. Flipping through the multiple pages filled with sketches of himself. 

"Seems like I have a stalker," Simon teased, his lips quirking up into a playful smile.

Soap's cheeks flushed crimson as he stammered, "I-I'm not a stalker. I just... I’m an art student, I come here to practice, I swear”

Simon chuckled, his brown eyes twinkling with amusement. "Well, you're quite talented,” he admitted, still studying the sketches. “These sketches are impressive.”

Soap was still furiously blushing as the man handed him back his sketchbook. Soap couldn’t believe he was having a conversation with Riley, he was even more intimidating up close. 

“Thank you, and I’m sorry” he managed to say, his voice a tad shaky. 

Simon’s teasing grin softened into a warm smile. “No need to apologize. I’m flattered, actually. Not every day I meet an artist who appreciates my…assets.” He winked, making the man's blush deepened even more. How cute. He mercifully decided to let Soap off the hook and started to back away. 

“The name's Simon, Simon Riley, by the way.”

“I know who you are,” the man stated, causing that lopsided grin to reappear on his face. 

“And does the artist have a name?”

“You can call me Soap.”

“Soap? What the hell kind of name is that?” Simon chuckled.

“It’s a nickname, you haven’t earned the real one quite just yet.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Soap,” the Brit said as he turned to head back to the training mats. 

From that day forward, whenever Soap visited the gym, he couldn't help but steal glances at the fighter whenever he could. And it seemed that Simon was just as intrigued by Soap. He began to pay more attention to the artist in the corner, watching him sketch with a keen interest. He would often strike up a conversation with Soap between training sessions, asking about his art and life outside the gym. Soap found himself drawn not only to Simon's physical presence but also to his genuine interest in getting to know him. One day, after finishing his training session, Simon decided to take their interactions a step further.

He leaned up against the ropes of the ring, that stupid smile plastered on his face. “Hey, Soap,” he called out, beckoning him towards the mats with a toss of his head. 

Soap blinked in surprise. “Me? In the ring?” He asked, his voice wavering slightly with a mix of excitement and nervousness. 

Simon just grinned and nodded his head back at him. “Yeah, why not? Just some light sparring. It will be fun.”

Soap hesitated, but the prospect of getting into the ring with his crush was too enticing to resist. To be that up close and personal with the man. He slowly shook his head and made his way to the ring. Rolling under the ropes and hopping up to face Simon who had that beaming smile aimed at him. It took everything in him not to melt right through the mat. 

“If I pin you, you tell me your real name. Deal?”

“Yeah cause that’s bloody fair coming from the professional fighter,” Soap scoffed back.

“Ah, don’t sell yourself short Soap, you seem like you know your way around the ring” Simon embellished with a wink. Cheeky bastard.

Soap watched countless sparring sessions, but had never imagined himself as one of the participants. To his surprise, he held his own quite well, showcasing a natural talent for the sport. Maybe spending years in the gym watching fighters had taught him more than he realized. Simon seemed impressed by his movements and techniques. His usual playful demeanor was giving way to genuine respect, even though he was going easy on the artist. They exchanged blows, both men sweating and grinning as they moved around the ring. 

As they sparred, Soap couldn’t help but stare at the man's body before him. The taught muscles shifting under his tight black athletic wear. Yeah, this was a bad idea. He glanced up at Simon's face, noticing the mischievous glint in Simon’s eye. Fuck. He definitely had been caught ogling the man's body. 

Suddenly, without warning, Simon hooked his left leg around Soap's ankle, sending him sprawling to the mat. Before he could even register what happened, Simon was on top of him and pushing down all his weight. He was trapped. 

Soap struggled beneath Simon’s crushing bulk, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “You… you did that on purpose. I was distracted,” he accused, though he couldn’t hide the hint of a smile on his face. 

Simon laughed above him, his eyes locking onto Soap’s with an intensity that sent shivers down his spine. “Maybe I did,” he admitted, leaning in closer until their faces were mere inches apart. “But I have to say, I like seeing you blush.”

Soap’s heart raced as he realized the proximity between them. Simon leaned in, his lips hovering just above Soap’s, leaving no room to wonder about his intentions. When Soap didn’t pull away, Simon closed the gap, capturing Soap's mouth in his. The kiss was electrifying, sending a rush of desire through Soap's body. It was a moment Soap had only ever dreamed of, and he responded eagerly, their lips moving in sync as the world around them faded away. 

When they finally broke apart, Soap's face was flushed, and his breath was unsteady. Simon grinned down at him, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he admitted.

Soap’s voice quivered as he replied, “Me too.”

“I expect a real name to call you now since I won,” he cheekily stated.

“You bloody cheated ya wanker!” Soap shouted at the man. 

“Don’t be a sore loser now mate,” Simon punctuated with a kiss to the man’s nose.

Soap huffed as he finally accepted defeat, the man was impossible. “John. John MacTavish”

Simon beamed at the man beneath him, hands holding Soap’s face like a prized possession as he leaned back in for another kiss. 

“Nice to meet you, Johnny”

Epilogue

As weeks went by, Soap and Simon’s connection deepened. They spent more time together outside the gym, going for coffee and sharing meals. Soap found himself falling hard for the enigmatic fighter, and it seemed that Simon’s interest in him was just as strong. 

One evening, after a particularly intense sparring session that had ended with a playful wrestling match on the gym floor, Soap finally mustered the courage to ask Simon a burning question. “Why do they call you ‘The Ghost’?”

Simon’s expression grew somber, and he sighed. “It’s a nickname I got during my early fighting days. They said I moved like a ghost in the ring, that I was elusive and hard to predict or some shit like that.”

Soap nodded, but he could sense there was more to the story. “Is there a reason you chose to become a fighter?”

Simon hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I had a tough upbringing, Johnny. Fighting was a way for me to escape the fucking shit in my everyday life. What started as a necessity for survival turned into my salvation. It gave me purpose and a sense of control over my life. God, that sounds pathetic doesn’t it,” he scoffed. 

Soap could see the pain in Simon’s eyes. He reached out to place a hand on his arm and scooted towards the man where they were still sitting on the mats. “It’s not pathetic Si, I’m glad you found something that brought you solace,” he said softly. Eyes never leaving the others, making sure he knew he meant every word. 

Simon smiled, his gaze softening. For once in his life, he truly believed Johnny had meant what he said. He was so used to people lying and using him, causing him to always stay distant and closed off. Something about the little artist in the corner had knocked all those barriers down the first time he laid eyes on him. “And I’m glad I found you,” he admitted, leaning in to capture Soap’s lips in a passionate kiss. The man had sketched his way into his heart forever. 

#ghostsoap #ghostxsoap #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #call of duty #fluff #call of duty modern warfare #artist au #fighter au #my writing

[cezbox]

MMA AU doodle (I got so many au-)

I like Travis and ETS concept, fight with your own idol is complex feeling and it have potential to be emotional fanfic or something-

#i got brainrot of them #yes more heroes #yes less villains #travets

[simillia]

hey there, can i request a megumi fushiguro x chubby fem reader please? megumi pining to reader and being completely unashamed of it. thank you and have a good day.

𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓

ᥫ᭡ — 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: the undefeated champion of underground, mixed-martial arts, falls in love with his medic.

ᥫ᭡ — 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: romance, tooth-rotting fluff, mma! fighter au, body-worshiping, light make-out session, lowercase.

ᥫ᭡ — 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: megumi fushiguro x chubby! reader.

𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨 — honey, i’m so sorry for making you wait for this response, hope you’re satisfied with this prompt. <3

𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝟏𝟔𝐭𝐡, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟐 — ᥫ᭡

megumi fushiguro, underground champion of the hidden ring, silently advances towards the center stage; fist drawn with precision. taking no time to think, he retracts quick enough to weave passed a few sharp swings. inhaling softly, those onyx irises faintly stare at the opposing fighter; prompting him to strike hard and fast. three, carefully aimed, punches to the head are all it took to make his prey crumble against the mat. thus, the match had ended brutally. with him raising a steady fist— defending his title as the undefeated king, once again.

the bell rings promptly, as a affirmation that solidified the reality of this win; whilst officially declaring this fight over. satisfied, an arena of cheers broke through an invisible silence. upon hearing such a standing ovation, the champ lightly smirks before walking to his corner. there, his team awaits with open arms and determined smiles. on their way to the back room, spectators briefly replayed recent events in disbelief. simply because they couldn’t believe how incredibly talented the fushiguro name had become in less than a year. much credit to the rigorous training regiments and complex formations created by gojo satoru— a retired heavyweight champion.

“excellent work out there— had the arena shaking in disbelief,” gojo exclaims, pressing a steady hand to the back of his protégé’s head; grinning from ear to ear. those bright and shimmering irises hidden behind a pair of dark shades, despite being within a dimly lit building. “a takedown that quick hasn’t happened in years. what made you go for such a tactic?”

“didn’t feel like wasting my time,” megumi responds lowkey, unwrapping bandages from his bruised knuckles, whilst entering this personalized dojo as the newly appointed titleholder. his darkened irises follow the sound of deepened grunts and firm jabs to a punching bag. a head of strawberry blonde hair peaked from around the corner, with the television sounding. replays and discussion about this night echoed through. holding the bag still, is one of the top female fighters in the game; nobara kugisaki— her almond eyes re-watching the calculated punches of her colleague, in absolute amazement.

hearing the incoming conversation, yuji itadori playfully chuckles a response— to a question he wasn’t even asked, “you don’t have to lie! we pretty much know the truth, dude.”

“and that is?” his question didn’t take much time, at all, to be answered by his fellow colleague. deep down inside, he knew what the goofy-idiot planned to say. and, as much as one would hate to admit it, the boy was right about that much.

“you’re just in a rush to see your little girlfriend,” yuji playfully retorts, rushing to jab the center of heavy bag once more. sweat trickling down his forehead, allowing his chiseled biceps to flex and shine against the light and strain. is it such a crime, to want to finish a fight earlier? honestly, it makes room for the more intimate moments in life. preferably a night spent with a partner— whom, will most likely focus on patching up the wounds of his battle. ideally, it wasn’t such a bad idea.

“that has nothing—,” megumi hadn’t even begun to respond when he is ultimately cut off by his instructor.

“girlfriend!? since when?” gojo is stumbling over his feet in absolute shock. there is nothing weird about fighters having a significant other— however, it is absolutely terrifying to hear that someone as stoic and irritable as megumi has the slightest interest in someone. that poor girl; doesn’t even know what she’ll be getting herself into, dealing with him. how’d this happen? when did this happen? and why wasn’t he told? it’s as if he didn’t raise the boy half his life.

hearing this exaggerated cry of confusion, nobara faces both parties with a teasing smirk of her own, “you haven’t figured it out yet? he pretty much simps over her everyday.”

everyone watched as the white-haired male grasps at the soft tufts of his tresses in absolute distress. he couldn’t believe the his ears, and to think he hasn’t even met her yet. or has he? the only woman who can stand his personality for long, other than those he trains with, is his childhood friend. could it be? man, he really hasn’t been paying attention has he?

“you literally have no idea! just yesterday—,” yuji chuckles, getting ready to indulge in a hilariously cute story. before he is unintentionally interrupted by a deepened sigh of anger and exhaustion. which ultimately silenced the voices of everyone.

having had enough of the teasing, megumi placed the bandages in the disposal and collected his robes from a hook on the wall. on a good day, he’d argue with these three clowns. but, tonight he had other places he’d rather be. cracking open the back door, he mutters curtly, “m’going to the medic, don’t wait up.”

as they called his name, he blocked their voices and quickly shut the door behind himself. those onyx irises staring at the photographed wall as he calmly walked to the medical wing. perhaps, they were right. he is a fool for love. who wouldn’t be for someone as enduringly beautiful as you are— the trained medic. he remembers meeting you as if it were yesterday. starting with him entering the hospital ward after a hectic fight; heavily injured and exhausted, wanting to be at peace. and there enters the prettiest nurse he’s ever set his wiry optics on. a nurturing soul is an absolute understatement; you’re a queen. so thick and utterly curvaceous with the most charming smile, delicate features, pretty hair, and a scent of delicate oak so subtle that nobody, including you, would notice. honestly, he was stunned by your body type— plump from head to toe, with gentle fingers that worked to sterilize a needle. smitten from that moment on, he disclosed his interest slowly before winning you over completely.

halting at the sight of another entrance, megumi exhaled softly before proceeding into the room; and there you sat against the couch, television re-enacting several programs— mixed martial arts being one of the first. you made sure of it, not wanting to miss a single thing. though, his sudden appearance made your gaze leave the screen quickly. a smile brightening the room after realizing.

“well— aren’t you here early,” you muttered softly, moving away from furniture and walking to assist in mending any injury. your fingertips danced across his soft skin, trailing to find anything for repair. “after a fight like that— i wasn’t expecting you to come.”

“you were watching, huh?” he rasped out, finding the gesture to be incredibly enduring. grasping at your palms, he leans towards the warmth of your touch. releasing a sigh of exhaustion. he had some bruised knuckles: consisting of scarred tissue and broken skin.

noticing these slight damages, you prompted to use a disinfectant pad that’ll work to cleanse the sore and soak up pools of dried blood. you worked diligently, not wanting to risk an infection while responding to his questions wholeheartedly, “when am i not? i’m your biggest supporter, remember?”

“you’ve mentioned,” he chuckles to himself, eyebrows rising in utter contentment. watching as you tendered his calloused hands with such care.

“you’ve got to learn to be more careful," you chaste, wrapping bandages around them once more before tossing out the used padding and equipment. “hate having to patch you up all the time— it worries me.”

megumi runs his bandaged fingers against the base of your neck, leaning forth to capture those plush cheeks in kisses. plentiful with his appreciation. each peck made that smile grow bigger, until you were grinning. he did this quite often, opting to showcase his love through acts of service and touch. “forgive me for worrying you so much— i’ll try not to make a habit out of it.”

finishing with one final kiss to the forehead, you turned to stare into the prettiest shade of onyx black irises imaginable. amused by his love, you shakily reach out to touch his jaw— wanting to make sure this is real and not a feverish daydream. his skin is soft beneath your fingers as they traced the scars that danced upon his cheeks and when doing so a smile appears.

ᥫ᭡ — for more content click here. to join similia’s library click here.

#simillia #reader insert #reader interactive #x reader #anime #chubby!reader #x chubby reader #jjk headcanons #jjk fluff #jjk 0 #jjk imagines #jjk megumi #megumifushiguro #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro x chubby reader #megumi x you #megumi x y/n #megumi x reader #megumi x chubby reader #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu yuji

[embossross]

The Devotion of the Girl in the Mirror

Chapter 4 >> Chapter 5 >> Masterlist

✣ Pairing: Rindou x AFAB fem!Reader w/ a chapter cameo of reader/yuzuha

✣ Warning: 18+ explicit content, minors DNI

✣ Series: part of the In the Belly of the Beast fic universe

✣ Chapter CW: bdsm play feat. reader/yuzuha (gasp!), bondage, overstim, vibrators, exhibitionism, group BDSM feat. 2 other subs getting masturbated (one fem!AFAB and one fem!AMAB, idk crowd jeers, a little bit of degradation, bad communication & angst, drinking)

✣ Story CWs: BDSM dob/sub relationship; sex (oral, ptv, pta, etc.); genre typical drug use, alcohol, smoking

✣ Synopsis: A story of two lonely people find love for better or worse. Or, dom!Rindou is sweet on his girl. Or, on paper, you and Rindou have nothing in common. But sometimes chemistry defies logic, and with every conversation, you find yourself more bewitched until all you see, smell, or hear is Rindou.

✣ Word Count: ~8.5k

The black dot may have been nothing but a circle, a representation of the sun or an eye, except it is written, which makes it punctuation. As a symbol of punctuation, it may have been a period at the end of a sentence, except there are three, which makes it part of an ellipsis. As an ellipsis, it may have indicated a trailing off of a thought except it accompanies a blank space on his screen, an auto-generated signal from his phone, which means you are still typing, as you have been for the last five minutes with no message yet in response to his text.

It should not take this long to respond to an invitation to dinner.

With every minute that passes, his ire rises higher.

Rindou strains through another set of lat pulls, refusing to let you and your silent treatment slow him down. Opposite him, Benkei deadlifts a stunning 300 kg. When the bar hits the floor, the clang echoes off the mirror-lined walls.

There is a gym in the basement of his apartment complex, guaranteed to be empty in the early pre-dawn hours, which he prefers for the privacy it offers. Wakasa’s gym is never empty. Fighters practice boxing, MMA, and jujutsu with retired pros morning and night. Most of the customers sport tattoos from one syndicate or another, and Rindou often recognizes the guys on his own payroll by the free weights or sweating in the saunas. Rindou only started returning to Wakasa’s gym for the occasional practice bout or strength training session in the last few months. Wakasa’s been filling his ear with the idea of taking you and his girl on a double date, a vacation to the mountains when your semester wraps, and Rindou has been coming by to talk the details.

A text finally lights up his screen, and Rindou forces himself to ignore it for a solid minute while he finishes his set even as his eyes dart back against his will.

I can’t do dinner. Plans with Naoya. But I could do drinks.

Wakasa lopes forward, hands in his pockets, before Rindou can answer. It’s his turn to leave you with the ellipsis of anxiety and doom. He locks his phone and tosses face-down on a bench.

“Wanted to tell you we got the goods through Nagoya yesterday,” Wakasa says tonelessly. “Ushioda’s really come through. My guy says customs not only didn’t check, they agreed to decrease security personnel during offboarding. Ran is going to be a menace about being the one to make this happen, but he’s worked his magic on this.”

Rindou matches Wakasa’s subdued attitude beat for beat, but in his mind, he runs through a month’s worth of memos and emails to recall if he knew about this plan. “You sent a shipment of girls through the port? That’s fucking brazen.”

“Mochi wanted to test the limits early with something cheap before we put our expensive shit through there,” Wakasa said.

According to Takeomi, Ushioda begged on bended knee for clemency for his son. It was hard to say whether love or shame drove the father, but the outcome was the same. Acme Corp would smuggle Bonten contraband through the Port of Nagoya, so long as they streamlined into their regular shipping schedule to avoid setting off any alarm bells.

This was the second shipment received through the port after moving a little marijuana through a few weeks earlier. Rindou tries to keep his expectations in check as operations continue smoothly, but his hopes rise against his better judgment.

“Mochi says he wants to do a few more runs, but that you should start thinking through where you could source the heroine,” Wakasa relays.

They could source through the triads as the Chinese and Russian gangs already have inroads with the producers, but they would each take their cut and ruin Bonten’s margins. The drug would be new on the market. Rindou doesn’t want to price high outright. Start cheap and once the clientele can’t live without their fix, then drive the prices up. They could run a deficit to start, but that would mean Koko up his ass. Cutting the triads out completely isn’t an option either as they would need to ship out of China, but if they could build their own supplier network, they could negotiate a better rate.

“It’s gonna be too obvious if we have guys coming in and out of Afghanistan all the time. They don’t even run direct flights out of Seoul. We’d get picked instantly. I’m thinking we could get away with sending someone through to Turkey though. With a little palm greasing, they can cross into Iran without getting their passport stamped. The IRGC run the heroine trade through Afghanistan, so we could develop our own connections from there,” Rindou says.

Wakasa nods along at what he already figured. “Who you gonna send?”

“Not me if that’s what you’re thinking. I hate plane rides,” Rindou says.

“Of course, not you. We need you. I was thinking Hanma.”

Rindou groans. “I fucking hate that guy.”

“We all fucking hate that guy. But that’s why he’s good at this shit. He’s done great work in Hong Kong. Send him over there. He knows how to make the coldest man sweat,” Wakasa suggests.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll think about it.”

He finishes another set of lat pulls, while Wakasa and Benkei chat away about the insipid rise of Peloton. Endorphins rush to his brain, and he feels magnanimous enough to finally shoot you a reply.

See you at 5.

If he has anything to say about it, Naoya will be eating dinner alone tonight.

--

Two people could not be dressed more oppositely. Fresh from his post-workout shower, Rindou wears nothing but a pair of sweats. Droplets of water scatter across his bare shoulder blade as his long, wet hair drips freely. Strong chest and arms still pumped from muscle training great you at the door. You, meanwhile, dressed for an Arctic exploration in a floor-length parka, bulging in all the wrong places, a fluffy scarf wound three-times round your neck, and an equally fluffy, fur-lined hood. A mask completes the look, so the only skin he can see is a sliver of your forehead and your narrowed eyes.

“Just looking at you makes me feel cold,” you scowl.

“Just looking at you is making me cold.”

You barge right past him into his apartment. The heater works overtime to keep the entire complex a toasty 23 degrees. Past the entryway, where you slip out of your boots, the dining room table is lined with boxes of Chinese takeout; Unsure what you’d want to eat, Rindou opted to order a smorgasbord of options.

Beneath the unflattering coat, you wear a black dress. The long sleeves and tasteful length contrast a daring vee that dips down to show off the swell of your lovely, little breasts. You’re packaged like a delicious gift for the unwrapping, and Rindou can’t resist planting a soft kiss to the back of your neck as you hang your coat. He expects the battle tonight will be a long and painful one, but still you dressed up for him.

“Good to see it’s you under there. For a second, I thought it might be an assassin,” Rindou jokes.

“Easy for you to laugh all warm in here! It’s freezing outside. They’re calling for snow tonight into tomorrow, which sucks. I can’t miss class at this point in the semester,” you complain.

“Well, I’ve got everything you need to warm up,” Rindou says. He gestures at the table laden with food, and then, more critically, brandishes the bottle of wine bought just for tonight. “And if the weather’s too bad tomorrow, I’m sure they’ll cancel. You can just hang out here all day.”

“My professors are all sadists. I wouldn’t put it past them to host class as they get double-bypass surgery. They’d have the surgeon right there in the lecture hall,” you grumble.

Rindou half listens as you launch into a prolonged rant about your upcoming finals. His attention is understandably split as he searches your lively expressions for the ugly shadow of jealousy. Behind every word, he hunts for double meanings.

The look of pure betrayal on your face when he ran into you yesterday in Chiba will not soon leave his mind. It colored his scenes yesterday with Mayuri, turning him mean and unmerciful as he bound and belted her ass red. She deserved his full attention after putting her trust in him, but Rindou twice almost walked away to call you. Had you answered, he might have berated you for daring to look at him like that, like you’d caught him fucking your mother or murdering the family pet. Like he’d done something unforgivable to you.

Now, as you gripe about exams, every bit the picture of the beleaguered uni student, your words ring false. Like you are filling time and space to put distance between the you of yesterday, so judgey and offended, and the you of today. You tell him how exams are two months out, and like a good student, you are already studying in earnest in the pits of what you dub “flashcard hell” as Kii has taken to posting flashcards over every expanse of wall in her apartment, springing prep questions on unconsenting listeners, and crying periodically about how she should have spent fewer hours sleeping and more time reading the supplementary materials. Rindou hums in sympathy in all the right places, and he almost, almost begins to relax into the conversation. Like an idiot.

“Are you feeling the dumplings or the pork?” Rindou asks, plating up a hearty helping of food for himself.

“Neither. I can’t eat, remember?” you say.

“Oh, come on. Stay the night. It’s too cold to be going out.”

“True, but I promised Naoto. We’re going to this really fancy curry restaurant, and he said he’d pay, so I’m planning to go all out and get dessert,” you say.

Noticing his wine glass is running low, Rindou drains the last dregs and pours himself a healthy portion. This will be easier drunk. He debates pouring you more as well, wondering if a little tipsiness would make you spunkier or mellow the worst of your impulses. Because he senses the fit approaching, the moment you break your pretense that everything is fine and well and force a confrontation.

“You know, I don’t like playing games,” he says.

 “I don’t like playing games either.”

“Then, don’t.”

Rindou says it shortly, definitively. The barest hint of command reinforces his voice, and he watches the way you receive the order, squirming in that delightfully submissive way of yours before you reject your inclination to obedience. You set your jaw.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say.

Rindou sighs. He expected you would be difficult but not passive aggressive. Not like this.

“You have dinner plans with Naoto? Seriously?”

“Yes?”

“Bullshit,” Rindou snaps. “I expected you to be immature about what happened yesterday, but this? You’re better than this. Forget your conveniently timed dinner plans, and let’s act like adults. Then, we can have a nice night.”

“It’s a work event. Naoto was nervous about going alone, so he asked me to come with him. This was planned weeks ago. I just forgot until he reminded me,” you insist, standing up from your chair, like the added height will strengthen your lie.

“Convenient,” Rindou sneers.

In the six months you’ve been together, you have never had a genuine fight or even argument. Seeing your smiling face typically puts Rindou in too good a mood, curbs the worst of his temper, so he is slow to pick fights. You, meanwhile, listen so well, adapting your behavior without him having to utter a word. Bickering typically becomes flirtatious banter in a matter of minutes, the kind that ends with your panties in his pocket.

So, Rindou doesn’t know what to expect from you in a real fight. He half expected you to fold at the slightest correction. You are still young, so he doesn’t write off the possibility of some kind of petty manipulation either, the silent treatment maybe, or more probably breaking into a mess of tears, the kind that bring so many men to a panic; Unfortunately for you, Rindou doesn’t capitulate to a woman’s cries or begging, going cold at any miserable attempt to manipulate his emotions.

Faced with you now, the tendons in your neck pulse as you square of against him without any sign of crumbling. You worry your lower lip between your teeth until it is red and swollen. It is the only sign of anxiety. Otherwise, you stand strong.

“If you feel like I’m somehow attacking you, it must be a guilty conscience. Because I haven’t said or done anything to you.”

“What do I have to feel guilty about?” Rindou demands coldly.

“You’d have to tell me. Because I thought about it all day and night –”

“See, I knew you were wound up about yesterday –”

“I thought about it all day and night,” you raise your voice to drown him out. “And, yes, it was weird to see you with someone else. Yes, it hurt. It was so unexpected. But, if you think I’m trying to punish you over it, you’re out of line because my eyes are wide open. You’re not my boyfriend –”

“No, I’m not. Which is why you shouldn’t –”

“I know, I know. How can I be hurt or angry when you’re not my boyfriend? You didn’t cheat on me or break any promises. I have nothing to be upset about.”

“Right.”

Confused and more than a little wary, Rindou sits back down at the table. He has held conversations like this a few times in his life. Most subs understand the importance of negotiation implicitly and take him for what he is. There have been a handful of in the past, however, usually inexperienced women like you, who struggled to work through the limitations of their relationship with him, crashing futilely against the boundaries of what he offered.

Because he doesn’t do relationships. Blame it on the dangers of his work, the secrecy inherent in the lifestyle, or some intrinsic flaw in his makeup. Regardless, he never plans to tie himself down to one woman. All that road offers is the erosion of his freedom.

“Since you wanted to talk about it so much though, bringing it up and all, I would like to ask about what I should expect,” you continue. “Because I didn’t realize you were seeing other people, and that raises questions. Like, are you practicing safe sex with these women? Have you been getting tested for STDs? Should we be using condoms? And, are you looking for more long-term subs? How would you even fit in another sub? Would we have to see each other less, so you could make time for a new one? What should I expect going forward?”

Each question is too reasonable to deny, so Rindou answers plainly, “You’re the only person I see regularly, so I use condoms with everyone else and get tested on the first of every month. If you want to use condoms together, that is entirely your decision. I’ll accept whatever you decide. I’m not looking to train anyone else right now. If I found someone that suited my tastes, I might consider it though, and yeah, that would mean adjusting my schedule around because I’m going to go out on a limb and assume you would not be open to training together.”

“No!”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Rindou says.

“How many women have you been with since we got together?” you demand.

There is no good answer, and Rindou groans, “Seriously? Don’t start overreacting now.”

“I’m cool! I’m being so cool. Just answer the question,” you smile, but it is a mockery of your normal, gleaming smiles. Teeth clenched tight together, it is more like an animal baring its fangs.

“No! I don’t owe you a fucking itemized list of every woman I’ve fucked. Just like I don’t run around town telling them about you. I haven’t cheated on you. I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“I just wanna know how and when you’re finding time to meet other people.”

Rindou rolls his eyes. “Because that’s rational. You don’t actually want to know the answer to that.”

“I just don’t know where you’re possibly finding the time to meet all these women –”

“Again, you’re exaggerating. Not all these women. Some, like Mayuri, I knew before you. Some I meet through work. Straightforward stuff.”

“Mayuri is the woman from yesterday?”

“I think we’re done with this conversation now,” Rindou says tightly.

A shininess blurs the color of your eyes then, and Rindou sighs. He wants to wrap you up in his arms and praise you for being such a strong, beautiful girl because despite all your tough words, this isn’t easy for you. If he could be a better man for you, he would consider it, but there is only so much he can offer, and the burden of accepting that is on you.

“Thank you for being honest with me. I really do need to head out and meet Naoto, but I’ll think about the condom thing,” you murmur.

“Baby, don’t leave like this,” Rindou tries. There is no more fight in your stance and now that the threat of conflict is ended, he finds the energy draining from his whole body.

“I’m fine! We’re fine. Seriously, Rindou. I’m not going to overreact or stamp my foot at you like that might change something. My eyes are wide open like I told you. I understand where you’re coming from completely. We can hang out soon,” you say.

Rindou doesn’t like the idea of you leaving when your foundations are so shaken, wants to stuff you full of gone-cold Chinese food and cuddle on the couch until you fall asleep on his shoulder. Even if neither of you yelled or descended into insults, he feels like he fought a war, and the only way to recover is in your arms.

He follows you to the entryway.

You redon your winter gear in a hurry. The puffy coat is plush and cozy as he pulls you close and kisses you long and slow. You return the kiss with wind-chapped lips not fighting him at all. The heat that always explodes between you blazes, and he cups and caresses you through the barrier of the coat.

He wants you to stay.

You break the kiss after only a minute and smile.

“I’ll call you, ok?”

And then, you are gone.

--

When Rindou sleeps, he dreams of shopping malls built like mazes, window shopping displays of the finest goods, and he understands without knowing that to obtain even one miraculous product from these stores would spell his salvation; But whenever he tries to enter one of the stores, the maze shifts, redirects him until he is walking forwards again, searching. Still searching. During the slippery seconds between sleep and waking, that liminal space where dreams and life converge, he stews in resentment for what he can’t possess. That resentment often follows him into the day, though he tries not to dwell on it. The recurring dream started sometime in his early twenties. He remembers that dream joining him in sleep on at least a monthly basis, but for all he knows, he dreams it every night only to forget with the rising of the sun.

The weeks that follow the lingerie incident remind him of that dream only there is no supernatural force reworking the architecture of time and space to prevent him from entering the store. It feels like he’s piloting a plane headed straight for a cliff. There is still time to push the emergency button and eject to safety if he is only willing to abandon the plane to its solitary, fiery fate. But, he is a pilot, and the plane is all he’s ever known, and the longer he goes without pushing the button, the slighter his chances of escaping unscathed.

Because you are not fine.

The three weeks that follow pass at a crawl. Time reshapes itself into molasses around the giant you-sized absence in his days. It is easy, at first, to deny the obvious as you offer such convincing excuses to blow him off. After all, your friends do often lean on you for emotional support, and finals are drawing close, and your mother does deserve a break. So what if you leave his texts on read for hours at a time?

On the fourth day, he calls you in the free period he knows falls between your Wednesday lectures. When you answer, Rindou mistakes your sing-song hello for the voicemail you have relegated him to recently. You apologize for not having time to talk, squeezing more words into a breath than humanly plausible as you explain your packed study schedule. You promise to see him soon before you hang up.

You sounded fine on the phone. The same voice, light and airy like spring personified, that Rindou knows so well.

But you are not fine.

The ice wall between you thaws a little in the second week when Rindou reminds you that he bought tickets to the Inaba/Salas tour. Again, you surprise him by joining as planned at the stadium. Throughout the concert, you smile and cheer along, and the open delight on your face as you groove to the music invites him to join in the fun. At the end of the night, he drives you home to where you swear your mom is waiting. He kisses you breathless in the front seat of his car. You sigh hot and sticky into his mouth, notched into the crook of his shoulder like you have carved a space for yourself there, and whisper “Sir” with more fervor than a prayer. Everything seems fine.

But you are not fine.

Only a few days later, you agree to a date. The familiarity as he texts you details and soaks up your liberal usage of emojis relaxes him into thinking all is well. He takes you ice skating at Tokyo Midtown Gardens. With your little gloved hand in his, you half carry each other around the rink, equally graceless without the surety of solid ground. Rindou laughs more than he has for two weeks. You both fall again and again, Rindou toppling each time so as to shield your body from the worst of it. As you sprawl on top of him, padded from head to toe in winter wear, you promise to kiss his purple bruises better and call him your hero. Back at his apartment, you do just that, licking and kissing every part of his body, losing track of time. The trains stop running, so you sleep where you belong in the cradle of his arms. He wakes up at 6AM to the sound of you shuffling, halfway out the door citing an early start to the day. You would have left without a goodbye, but at his groggy inquiry, you tell him you are fine.

But you are not fine.

Rindou wants to confront you about the change. He hates playing stupid games more than accusations or tears and would rather have it out at this point. But, whenever you visit, he never broaches the subject. Because you are so singularly you! And fuck it. He misses you. The contrast between seeing you fives time a week and this drought is stark. Now, when you leave, you don’t send him dumb memes or answer his calls to talk about your day. You don’t rush to make plans to see him again either, and Rindou knows he can’t accept your lame excuses anymore. Something is fundamentally broken.

For the first time in maybe ever, Rindou throws himself into his work. The timing is convenient with recent developments, so he offers to take the meetings outside the perimeter of Tokyo when before he might have dragged his feet. He personally briefs Takeomi every day. When Kakucho mentions a security threat in passing, Rindou volunteers to help even though it falls well outside his purview. Anything to keep the body active.

You had come to fill up the hours of his day, to be the dessert he could look forward to after a meal of veggies. Rindou can’t comprehend how he used to fill the interminable hours between six PM and sleep without your assistance.

So, he works, and he tries not to think about anything much at all.

The plane soars onward without any assistance on his part. The details of the exposed cliff face, jagged and unforgiving, grow clearer by the hour. There will be no escape. When he crashes, Rindou knows he is going to explode.

--

Ran once said all of Bonten has PTSD in one form or another. Overexposure to high stress, life-or-death situations puts too much stress on the adrenal system, so now half the executives drop to their stomachs when a car misfires, stand with their backs flat to the nearest wall in every new room, avoid crowds like some people avoid traffic tickets. Rindou considers himself free of this affliction, but on the road, hands flexing on the steering wheel and eyes split between mirrors like a car might strike out into his lane at any moment, he is every bit as activated.

The hour is late, creeping towards midnight when Rindou pulls onto the expressway. There are predictably few passenger cars sharing the road. Semitrucks kick up a mist of rain that obscures his windshield.

To fill the sleepless hours, Rindou is developing all kinds of new habits. Driving, brain preciously blank to all but the threat of traffic, is one of them. So is going to the office. Just today, he went to the Ueno office of all places rather than watch the hours of the day tick by in his apartment. There is no email unanswered, directive unissued, or memo unread to keep his brain occupied. He wishes there was because his apartment holds as little allure now as it did this this morning.

A notification lights up the display. It’s a reminder that the BDSM club in Roppongi – the one where you first met – is open for play tonight. Rindou palms his cock, and it feels like an animal, a dead one, in his pants. Not even a stir. His mood is too black and distracted to responsibly dom anyone, so he dismisses the notification.

Screeching the tires, Rindou almost misses his exit. He brakes hard down the ramp until he shoots out on a quiet street. At the drab buildings, he does a double take, recognizing the north entrance to Nakano Station.

He has driven straight past his real exit and an extra twenty minutes without noticing to arrive in your neighborhood.

Rindou feels drunk despite not taking a sip of alcohol all day. He pulls into a gas station and refills the tank. While it pumps, he pops his contacts out of sore eyes. Everything blurs like a photograph in soft focus. He closes his eyes against a headache and breathes deep for 120 torturous breaths. Back in the car, he unearths his glasses from the glove compartment. They’re the same style, though a stronger prescription, that he wore as a teen. Catching his reflection in the rearview, Rindou sees the boy he once was. Just as lost, letting things happen around him without a thought, only leaping to action when stronger powers (namely Ran) prompted). Someone who watches as life happens.

Nothing is in his control.

The BDSM club is five minutes closer to Nakano than his apartment, a negligible difference, but after the driving mix-up he changes course. Nostalgia takes the wheel to lead to where you first met, where he has not visited since.

The ticket takers at the theater don’t recognize him, hesitating until he points at the tattoo on his throat. He looks unkempt: hair ratty and unbrushed, jacket slung over his shoulder and button-up crumpled at the ends, and his glasses highlight the eyes of a man who has barely slept in days. It is no surprise that subs don’t flock to him when he enters. He doesn’t look like the all-powerful dom tonight. Best he sits back and watches.

Rindou pays for a full bottle of bourbon, served neat and hard on the taste buds. The club is busy as it’s Saturday, and couples and groups clog the four stages. There are no tables left close enough for a view of the action, so Rindou stands in the corner, taking heavy swigs straight from the bottle until his stomach cramps.

There is little variety on stage. Three doms whip, cane, and flog their subs. All older man with younger women. They are impersonal, showing perfunctory delight at the infliction of pain. These are the kinds of scenes that bore him when done without finesse.

On the fourth stage, he recognizes Lady X, a domme he knows from many shared nights spent just like this, bringing women to their knees. Lost in his memories is Lady X’s real name. Yuzu something…Yuzuriha? Yuzuyu? In the clubs, she always goes by her alias or is called simply Lady, but Rindou remembers her vaguely as the sister of the tenth gen leader of the Black Dragons.

Lady is the antithesis of Rindou as a dom.

If Rindou finds control in manipulating a pliant body and acceptance in a sub’s embrace of his touch, whether it offers pain or pleasure, Lady finds release in giving her subs what they want. Where Rindou hoards women’s orgasms like precious jewels, flaunting his ownership of them only to hide them away again, Lady distributes them like cheap birdseed, doling out orgasm after orgasm to her thankful subs. Eventually said thanks turns to pleading, as one orgasm becomes four and the pleasure twists to something monumental. Lady then ups the vibrator or nips the woman’s clit with blunt teeth because, as she told Rindou once over a drink at this very bar, her goal in every scene is to create a world where her subs’ worst problem is the existence of too much pleasure, not its absence, nor its inverse, pain.

Tonight, Lady commands the largest audience of patrons. No surprise there as she strikes quite the picture herself, tall and lovely in a pencil skirt as she brings three subs on stage to piteous tears. Rindou slides closer to her stage for a better look.

Suspended in a harness of ropes, the first sub weeps wretchedly. There is a hitachi wand held to her clit. The setting must be high because the buzz travels from the stage to his ears. The woman cries but does not beg for mercy. There is the sheen of the acolyte behind her eyes, like she might commit unspeakable acts if they only bring her back here to Lady’s ropes and generous toys.

A second sub at her side stands restrained but not suspended. Her arms are tied above her, so that she can do nothing while Lady strokes her cock. Lady’s little hand smears messily over the tip, which is an inflamed red. There is a puddle of cum on the floor from the woman’s past orgasms. Little drips of semen harden on her legs. Every touch must hurt, but Lady keeps playing with the tip, forcing her back to hardness whether she likes it or not.

The third sub is just an ass in the air. A perfect ass at that.

Bent over a wooden block and shackled at the ankle, so that her legs are to the audience, the sub’s pussy is spread wide around a vibrator taped to her clit. Her feet kick ineffectually against her restraints, little trembles jiggling her thighs.

Rindou enjoys watching Lady work, so self-assured, so competent at bringing her subs to the brink and past. His eyes stray again and again to the pretty ass in the air. A stir in his pants makes him question his decision to abstain tonight. It has been over a week of his own hand.

After fifteen minutes of more of the same, Lady releases the first two subs from their ropes and cuffs. They are felled heaps on the stage, panting in puddles of their own slick and cum. Lady rounds to the third sub, leaning toward that hidden face in private conversation. Then she stands, and sighs for the audience’s benefit.

“Here I am being so generous, telling this slut to cum as many times as she wants, and she hasn’t cum once! What to do?”

Lady answers her own question by crouching down in front of the sub’s spread pussy and burying her whole face in it. There is a lull in the music, and Rindou can hear just how lewdly Lady laves that pussy with her tongue. Her fingers stretch the sub’s hole at a brutal pace. The woman keens loudly and kicks her feet again. Everything from her little naked toes to canting hips look beautiful in the throws of overstimulation.

Of course, Rindou knows without knowing. A presentiment colors the scene. He leans forward with interest, compelled toward that wet cunt, not wanting to miss a moment of the action, but his stomach sickens too. He ignores the sensation, blames the bourbon warming its way down his belly.

Lady tuts as the sub continues to hang on the precipice without teetering over.

She turns to the audience and says, “Little slut is having a hard time coming without permission from her old dom. Isn’t that the most pathetic thing you’ve ever heard? Why don’t you let her know she has permission to cum? Tell her to squirt all over my hand.”

Eager to join in more actively, the crowd of about thirty hoot and holler in encouragement, mixing in obscenities about the sub’s wet cunt and place beneath Lady’s toys. Rindou claps along.

Four fingers slam in and out of that sloppy hole, and the time between shakes and cries from the sub evaporates until she is blubbering at the stimulation. Lady yanks her up by the hair to gift her the added sting at her scalp, and it pushes the sub over the edge.

Correction: it pushes you over the edge.

Because Rindou knows that ass, and he knows those toes, and even at a distance with the lights too bright and a row of people in front of him, he knows that pretty pussy, too. That pretty pussy now clenches around Lady’s fingers in an orgasm far too long and powerful for your overstimulated body.

Rindou watches your face screw up in pain and tears, an expression just as familiar to him. It is an expression that should belong solely to him.

All three subs follow Lady dutifully off stage after your orgasm finally settles. She bundles you all in blankets, heaping compliments and affection down on you as is your due after such a trying scene. Rindou hovers within earshot as Lady pets your head and rubs a tear from your check. Twenty minutes elapse as you come out of subspace, during which time Rindou drains half the bottle of bourbon.

“I look like a racoon. I’m gonna head to the bathroom and fix my makeup,” you laugh, pointing at the streaks of mascara that paint your cheeks.

You replace the blanket with an overcoat to shield your nakedness then weave your way through the crowd. Compliments on your performance rain down from all sides. Rindou shadows your step. Not far from the bathroom, you drop your phone. When you turn to pick it up off the floor, Rindou is there, already scooping it off the ground.

“Rin – Rindou!” you yelp.

“Not trying to scare you,” Rindou says immediately, defensively, and he passes the phone back to you without even scanning the lock screen for a peek at your messages. “Just saw you and wanted to say hey.”

“Well, hey…um…”

“You might wanna fix your makeup. You’ve got…” Rindou gestures at the cakey residue you already know is there, and you curse.

“Yeah, sorry. I need to go to the bathroom and deal with this.”

“I’ll come with you,” Rindou says, opening the door for you.

“Rindou, you can’t come in here with me,” you whisper.

He almost tells you it’s his club and he can do whatever he wants, but Rindou wears his secrecy like a second skin and only smirks at your worries before following you into the women’s bathroom. It is a six-stall affair with a wall mirror above the sinks. He can hear a woman pee behind the door of one stall, but he ignores the stranger’s presence as you ignore his, turning to the mirrors.

“You did good up there. Looked like you had a lot of tension to work out, which isn’t surprising considering all the studying you’ve been doing. Didn’t you have a paper due this week?” Rindou prompts.

You rub dry fingertips against your cheeks. When that doesn’t work, you wad up three paper towels, wet from the sink, and scrub.

“Yeah, I had a paper on Bashō’s references to music and instrumentation in his poems, which was due on Thursday. It could have been a lot worse honestly. I like the subject, and I thought my first draft was good for once. Of course, I had a complete breakdown on Wednesday after dreaming that the paper was really supposed to be about Nishiyama Sōin and that I’d miscited every source in there, but um, I managed to calm myself down.”

“Good. I don’t know why you always have nightmares about your papers. You always get an A.”

“Not always,” you say darkly.

The woman in the occupied stall hurries out, casting a few curious glances Rindou’s way as she washes her hands. She doesn’t dry them, leaving little splatters of water on the counter. Then, they are truly alone.

“Are you planning to stick around now that you finished your scene? Can’t imagine you wanna do another after that? It looked intense.”

“You really watched that?” you ask.

“Most of it,” he confirms. “You did good.”

“Thanks,” you say without looking at him. You dry your hands while staring at your now streak-free reflection in the mirror.

“If you don’t wanna stay, I could take you home. Or, if you’re hungry, I know a 24/7 breakfast place not far from here. You never eat enough after a scene,” Rindou says.

“Um, I’m good…Have you been coming here often?”

“No, it’s my first time in forever. You?” he asks in a tone that just misses casual.

“It’s my second time in the last two weeks. I’m kind of trying out stuff right now,” you say.

“Trying out stuff…” he tests the words.

“Are you okay? You look a little tense.”

Normally, Rindou chooses his words with precision, but he finds himself unable to process his surroundings. He exists somewhere outside his body, outside his brain, outside this room entirely. He peers down on the scene almost like a security camera, removed and distant. No, rather more like footage from a security camera, viewed days after the fact in a little room by someone who neither knows nor understands the context of the scene. Trying to think through the likely consequences of his words or choosing an alternative phrase, he finds his thoughts vaporous and ungraspable. So, he simply speaks.

“I didn’t like it.”

“Like what? Watching me with someone else?” you say quickly.

He grunts because that’s easier than searching for any kind of answer.

“You said we could fuck other people.”

“I know. You didn’t do anything wrong,” Rindou agrees. It is the correct and automatic response, but he can’t resist tacking on the truth at the end. “I didn’t like watching.”

“Well, that’s flattering at least,” you mutter.

In a different reality, one where he sent you up there with a pat on the ass, he might have liked watching Lady work your cunt up to a waterfall before returning you to him, still hovering on the precipice, edged and needy. He might have liked teasing you all night with the possibility of an orgasm. But he did not like watching you cum for someone else. Not without his permission. Even with a filmy gauze slowing down his brain from the half bottle of bourbon, he knows that much.

“We’re not okay, are we?” Rindou asks.

“No, Rindou. We are not okay.”

“Well, can we talk about it?”

“I don’t know. Can we talk about it without you making me feel like a complete idiot?” you snap.

A woman pushes open the door to the bathroom, but upon hearing the direction of your conversation, she turns right around, leaving you to a privacy tinged by history. The door creaks back into place with a choked slam.

“Like a…? You’re not an idiot?” Rindou insists.

“I know I’m not an idiot! I have spent the last few weeks going back and forth between feeling so sad and then so goddamn angry with you! Because I know that I could not have been more chill about things if I had a lobotomy to remove my frontal cortex first! I was so cool about everything, so understanding, so kind, and you treated me like, like some fucking bother you had to get out of the way!”

The first feeling to reemerge from the confused pit you dumped him in is embarrassment at himself as he is admittedly slow on the uptake, stuttering out, “Wait…this isn’t about…? This is about our conversation at my apartment?”

“Yes!” you hiss, hands flapping emphatically and voice echoing off the tile. The overcoat swallows you whole, a sea of black fabric trailing the floor, but somehow you stand tall within it. “Yes! I came that night so prepared to listen to your side of things and be reasonable and empathetic and all the rest, and you treated me like I was a hysterical child that you had to manage. Far be it from me to criticize the great Rindou! Not that I even did criticize you before you were jumping down my throat. I am not unreasonable. I am not hysterical. And I am not a child. I did not appreciate being treated like I was.”

Rindou remembers back to the hours before you arrived at his apartment that day. How he’d been so sure you would accuse him of cheating or play mind games to negate your own jealousy. The whole time you were there, he maintained that sureness even when you acted contrary to those expectations.

It, he admits, hadn’t been fair.

Worse, it may have been patronizing.

He groans, not at you but at the memory, and rubs a hand over his face. “Fuck, yeah, yeah, you’re probably right. I see that. I didn’t want you to blow things out of proportion, so I tried to shut you down before you could. But I guess I acted like a prick.”

“A prick might be understating it. I came to you to have a conversation in good faith, and you made me feel so…small. Insignificant. Like, I’m just this easy thing to you. Like you could use and discard me, so I better shut my mouth before you throw me away.”

Rindou opens his mouth to give a rebuttal-like reassurance that you are wrong about your supposed disposability to him, but you plow forward, pointed finger punctuating every word, which is a welcome distraction from the look of raw pain on your face. It is like the sun. Too painful to look at directly.

“I know what that feels like, Rindou, because I’ve been treated that way before. I’m young and people call me sweet, and that means people think I’m stupid or superficial, but I’m not. I’m capable of dealing with the hard things and having the hard conversations, and I do not deserve to be treated like I’m too naïve to know how things work.”

There is a layer of grime on his tongue. He focuses on how foreign it feels in his mouth rather than the thumping organ in his ribcage. The way his heart races and the room feels too small is not dissimilar to the sensations he feels when someone fires a gun, when his life is momentarily suspended. A kind of physical panic that quickly settles into alertness.

He breathes deep, calming. Rindou smells the antibacterial soap and weak air freshener blowing from the vents. The colors of the room appear saturated, more contrast and more details accessible to the eye. Most importantly, he sees you clearly. The veins of your throat strain as if bursting with tension your body can’t contain. There are new smudges at the edges as tiny tears wet your eyeline. There is every emotion in those eyes from disgust to anger to sadness, but most of all, there is a question lingering there as you silently beg him to answer: where can we go from here?

“I have never thought of you as some easy thing. I fucked up. I don’t know what was going on in my head that day, but you’re right. I wasn’t seeing you. I should have shut my fucking mouth and listened. I’m sorry.”

Relief warms your eyes.

“I accept your apology,” you say.

“Really?” Rindou asks. After weeks of brewing resentment and your impassioned speech, he didn’t expect a speedy turnaround no matter how many pretty speeches he made himself.

“Yeah, I don’t like being angry. It takes a lot of energy,” you half laugh.

The abrupt about face from anger to laughter throws into stark relief that the is very drunk and very tired.  Beneath that, Rindou recognizes a more abstract emotion, too: happiness.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say something sooner. I didn’t realize what you were upset about,” Rindou says, and then he adds helpfully. “Because I’m stupid. Thanks for forgiving me.”

“Yeah, you are stupid, but I figure you deserve a little grace because this was the first time in six months that you disrespected me. So long as you never treat me that way again. Seriously. My mother taught me to never put up with that from anyone,” you say.

“On my honor,” Rindou vows. “So, can I buy you something to eat now?”

The happiness explodes out like a shaken soda bottle. One second, he’s filled to the brim with it, and the next it’s gone, bubbling to nothing on the tile because you don’t say yes. Instead, you stare grimly at the wall, all traces of reconciliation gone as you clutch the sleeves of your overcoat tight.

He wonders if his apology is not enough, if he might prove his sincerity to you in some other way. If you were Mikey, he would cut off his pinky. He would gladly gift you the ring, index, and middle fingers of his left hand, too, if you demanded them. But fingers out of the question, he has nothing to give you to prove himself, and you don’t say yes.

“Rindou…I do accept your apology for insulting me, but that’s not all…The truth is, I tried to be cool about it, but I’ve had weeks to think, and…I’m not okay with things going back to how they were if you are dating or hell, sleeping with other people. I’m jealous and hurt. And I can’t accept it,” you say.

“It’s normal to be jealous,” Rindou tries, tone bracing and supportive. “I got jealous today, but I worked through it. I’ve been a dom since I was nineteen, and I’ve never been tied down to one person before. It’s not the way I know how to do things. That’s why I didn’t make any promises when we got together. I didn’t cheat on –”

“Please don’t start that again! I know! I know you technically didn’t do anything wrong. And I know that I can’t make you stop seeing other people. It’s your relationship, too, and you can have your boundaries, but…”

“But?”

“But if I can’t ask you to stop seeing other people, then you can’t ask me to keep loving you.”

You clap a hand to your mouth as if shocked by the confession, or like you might herd the words back into your mouth where they will remain unspoken. But it is too late. He can count on one hand the number of times anyone has told him they loved him, and he will not forget this.

“Baby…” Rindou tries to reach for you, but you scramble away, and now tears fall down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry, but that’s the problem, ya know? It hasn’t just been sex or hanging out for me. What we were doing, for me at least, was love, and it hurts too much to love someone who…I tried to take a step back, just have fun with you every once in a while, but there’s no medicine for falling in love, and every time I saw your stupid face, my heart started doing backflips. It doesn’t listen to me when I tell it we shouldn’t love you anymore. And that’s why…”

Your face blurs. It takes Rindou several confused seconds to realize his eyes are wet and blink the moisture away. When you reappear, you have steeled your nerves for the finishing blow.

“That’s why I don’t want to see you anymore. I need space and time to get over you, so um, please just stop calling and texting and all the rest. Just stop.”

Your face blurs again, and this time Rindou knows it’s because his eyes are watering. He blames his stupid glasses. He needs a stronger prescription.

There is no such excuse for your tears that drip past your chin to land on your collar. You wipe fruitlessly at the leakage, too slow to stimmy their fall.

If you say anything after that, Rindou doesn’t hear you over the ringing in his ears. Three women enter the bathroom arm-in-arm and immediately jabber at him about how he isn’t welcome, like three harpies sent to drive him away. Rindou doesn’t fight them as they push him out the door with their words.

Outside in the club, in the dark and music, far from the bright quiet of the bathroom, Rindou feels like he’s stepped onto the surface of Mars. Like he’s planets away from where you are, and he might as well be.

He doesn’t know how to find his way back to you because he stands now amid the wreckage, engine on fire, wings cracked. The plane has finally crashed.

A/N: entering my villain era

"'I was always watching you.' This could have been a breathless declaration of love or a final farewell." - Yōko Ogawa, The Diving Pool: Three Novellas

#tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader smut #tokyorev smut #tokyo revengers x reader #rindou smut #rindou x reader smut #rindou haitani

[asparagus24]

Guarding hearts 🖤 (teaser)

Pairing: idol!seungcheol x female bodyguard!OC

Genre: fluff, smut, angst (these are the overall genres, every chapter will have its own genre)

Warning: mild violence (other tags will be added as per the chapter)

A/N: this is just a teaser I’m still working on the whole thing but this is basically the overall theme.

Description:-

the bustling city of Seoul, amidst the dazzling lights and pulsating energy, an exceptional female bodyguard stands tall, her commanding presence matched only by her unwavering dedication and formidable skills. Meet Yoon Jaehee a remarkable student and sister.

A promise leads Jaehee guarding none other than the internationally acclaimed K-pop group, SEVENTEEN As the frontman of this immensely popular group.

Seungcheol is no stranger to the spotlight, drawing adoring fans wherever he goes. With SEVENTEEN’s growing popularity, it's no wonder that they require the protection of someone as capable as Jaehee.

Jaehee possesses a unique blend of strength, agility, and razor-sharp instincts, honed through years of rigorous training in various martial arts and combat techniques. Her impeccable situational awareness and ability to anticipate potential threats make her an ideal guardian for high-profile individuals like SEVETEEN

Beyond her exceptional physical prowess, Jaehee exudes an air of unyielding confidence and professionalism.

Despite her stoic and enigmatic facade, Jaehee is not without her own complexities. Her unwavering professionalism often hides a compassionate heart, her deep empathy making her fiercely protective of those under her care. Seungcheol, with his warm and genuine personality, manages to unlock a softer side of Jaehee, revealing a bond that transcends the boundaries of their professional relationship.

As they navigate the whirlwind of fame and the challenges it brings, Jaehee and Seungcheol forge a unique connection, built on trust, respect, and an unspoken understanding. Together, they form an unbreakable team, where Jaehee’s unwavering dedication and expertise intertwine seamlessly with Seungcheol's infectious spirit and talent.

Follow them on this heartfelt journey filled with suspense, passion, and the realization that true love can blossom in the most unexpected of places and where duty and desire seem to separated by really thin line.

The moonlit streets were bathed in an eerie silence as Jaehee walked briskly, her senses heightened by an inexplicable unease. A chilling breeze whispered through the alleyways, causing her to quicken her pace. The sensation of being followed prickled at her skin, compelling her to glance over her shoulder every few steps.

Heart pounding, Jaehee’s instincts kicked into overdrive. Her years of training as a MMA practitioner took control, preparing her for any potential threat.

As she turned a corner, she caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure trailing behind her, confirming her suspicions. Fear intertwined with determination, urging her to confront her pursuer head-on.

Without hesitation, Jaehee spun around, her body tensed and ready to strike. She lunged forward, launching a swift and precise attack, catching the unsuspecting figure off guard. In a flurry of movements, she immobilized him, pinning him against the wall, her grip firm and unyielding.

“OWOWOWOWOWOW WHAT THE FUCK????”

ok so turns out she had just attacked the world-renowned boy group SEVENTEEN’s leader, Choi Seunghcheol

#vernon #dk #dino #hoshi #jeonghan #joshua #jun #mingyu #scoups #seungkwan #the8 #wonwoo #woozi #seungcheol fluff #seventeen x reader #seventeen seungcheol #seventeen #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut #svt fluff #svt #seungcheol x you #seungcheol #seunghcheol x oc #seungcheol x reader #choi seungcheol #seungcheol smut #scoups x Reader #scoups x you

[theanticool]

Do you notice any differences between boxing and MMA fans? As i've watched more boxing recently I've encountered boxing fans on Twitter and forums and I can see that a strong sense of nationalism is there, the dismissal of history to get behind a hype train(reactionary), Though I feel as though boxing fans are more fragmented. This means some people are fans of certain fighters and weight classes and just disregard others in a way I have seen really in the UFC. I'm curious what you think the differences are between them.

There are different types of boxing fans just like there are different types of MMA fans. Lots of reactionaries or casuals who dismiss history of things that aren't easily presented to them. Look at how dismissive a lot of boxing fans were of Usyk and Inoue until they beat AJ and Fulton and compare it to how dismissive UFC fans are of non-UFC fighters. There are fans super dedicated to preserving the history of both sports. There are fans who only care about what's going on now. MMA hasn't quite gotten to that time where we're wondering if the current best heavyweight in the world could hang with Fedor yet like boxing fans do with Ali and Tyson, but we'll likely get there someday.

As for general differences I've noticed?

I agree with you that the decentralized nature of boxing leads to people being more fans of certain fighters rather than the sport as a whole. Like, there's a decent chance an avid Terence Crawford or Canelo fan has never seen an Anthony Joshua or Tyson Fury fight while I doubt most people who have watched one UFC champion have never seen others. The really funny part is that you'll have fans of like the 5 top P4P guys being dismissive of the other fighters' accomplishments out of straight ignorance and disrespecting the sport in the process.

I think that also attributes to boxing having more tribalism in it. There is an established boxing scene in almost every country with there being ATG fighters and world champions from like every corner of the planet. Plus boxing's long history of mixing with politics and political movements. There's a lot there. For as much as MMA is an international sport, the UFC is an American business. If Jan Blachowicz had won a world title in boxing, you bet your ass he would have defended it in Warsaw. If Tom Aspinall were a boxer, he'd probably never leave the UK after winning the heavyweight title. There's also just a lot less casual race science being thrown around by MMA fans than there are in the worst parts of boxing online discourse.

I think your average boxing fan tends to be older, though I think there has been an influx of new boxing fans thanks to guys like the Pauls, Ryan Garcia, and other big social media figures. But if you go to a boxing card at like the Hulu theater or the Barclays, you'll see what I mean. It's a lot of guys in their 50-60s. In MMA, I think you get a lot of guys in their 20s-40s. And you can tell they are young because they are chugging beers while jumping up and down screaming at like 7pm. I think this is also reflected in the fact that the online community for MMA is generally much larger than for boxing.

MMA fans are more obsessed with boxing than the other way around. Real little brother complex.

But again, there are different types of fans across both sports.

#inbox #boxing #mma

[gojocumdumpster]

Hiiii! Can I request our cute lil Cosmo teaching reader how to grapple/jiu jitsu moves? Then things get a bit steamy and one thing leads to another… (Some of the bjj positions HAVE SO MUCH SMUT POTENTIAL IM SORRY)

I don’t mind if reader is a total beginner or has some mma foundation, but if it’s okay w you, I prefer reader to be a gurlie. Thankssss~

I like where this is going ngl😭 send more request guysss

idk what grapple is so i’ll just do wrestling if that’s okay?

Type of story: 🔥

Afab reader

Warnings: Sex,climax,sweat,tits and nipples,moans and groans

Today was the day, you signed up for a private trainer idk what they’re called to help teach you fighting skills. You hadn’t gotten into much fights after you graduated high school and college but it was time to learn how to actually fight, you were decent at punches but not good enough. Ring…Ding…Ding!!! you rolled your eyes as you heard the annoying sound of the alarm go off. “Fuck..what time is it?” you said whispering to yourself. You grabbed your phone off the nightstand, took it off the charger and stoped the alarm. On your phone it said 9AM, “Finally I woke up on time.” you said hopping out bed, you headed to your bathroom and took your shower.

You brushed your teeth and did your daily skin routine..now it was time to figure out what you were going to wear. “Was I supposed to buy a kartate uniform?” you said walking back and forth. “Oh well.” you said grabbing your outfit. (leggings and an athletic crop top) You changed into your outfit and headed to the kitchen, “i’ll just take a protein bar..” you put it in your bag along with your iced water bottle, you grabbed your keys and headed out your apartment complex. You had arrived, he had his own personal training gym thingy it had a gym, cafe, swim area, and more. In the back was personal training rooms with either a personal trainer, groups, dous, trios, or just by yourself.

You walked in and headed to the reception center, “Hi! I had booked a personal trainer session for 10:00AM?” you said to the receptionist with your gym bag. “Yea, for cosmo?” they said typing your information in the computer, “Yes for cosmo I think that’s his name.” you said. “Okay he should be ready just walk all the way down and take a right and down those hallways you should see room B308 it’s the last one.” they said looking at you smiling. “Okay thanks!” you said making your way down, as you made your way down you saw lots of people training, i’m pretty sure there was lots of bodybuilders. You had walked down the hallway and saw B308, you took a big breath and walked in. There you saw a blonde muscular man stretching on a mat. “Well, hello there.” he said getting up to greet you. “Hello! You must be cosmo i’m guessing?” you said, “Yep that’s me!” he said shaking your hand.

After you guys talked for a while it was time to stretch before getting into the real deal, he helped you stretched but every once in a while he would run his hands down your body and squeezing the plush of your hips to “help you stretch”. After that he had asked you some questions “Have you ever wrestled before?” and other questions relating to that. Of course you said no but it wasn’t professional wrestling, “Okay! show me what ya got.” he said before getting into a wrestling stance. “Just pretend he’s your younger siblings you got this y/n just wrestle how you wrestle your siblings..” you said in your head. You took a deep breath before charging at him, before you could even exhale you were already on the ground.

You weren’t gonna give up that easily, so you tried to push him off of you since he was sitting on top of you, you tried to roll over but nothing was working. Eventually you just had to give in, he put both hands on the side of your head and hovered over you, slowly he lowered down until his nose touched yours. He then slowly went in to kiss you. You had some experience since this wasn’t your first time, he got off of you and began taking off his shirt. There you saw a body that you only saw in the magazines. “You like what you see?” he said smirking at you. “Mhm..” you said licking your lips. He had token your clothes off and you were left in your panties, he trailed his hands down your body as he played with your tits fondling with your nipples.

Whimpers we’re coming out of your mouth non-stop, you were just so desperate to get to the main part…”P-ple-please fu-fuck me” you said looking at him with dazed eyes. “Hmm? Speak up.” he said smirking at you. “Please fuck me!” tears were building up as you were getting anxious to get fucked, he slowly took off your panties revealing your soaked cunt. He folded you in half with your legs next to your head and he had also token his boxers off and he was trimmed, with a flushed pink tip. He rubbed against your lips before slowly sliding in, “Fuck..” he groaned before slowly thrusting at a steady pace.

The room was filled with moans and groans, he kept at a steady pace before he flipped you over and put you in doggystyle position there he thrusted at a face pace “Mmmh! F-fuck Co-cosmo!” you said panting as you couldn’t catch your breathe, “I’m close fuck.” he said panting as he put his head down as he felt himself coming close to a end and so we’re you, you felt a unfamiliar feeling normally you never felt this good when you came but this was different. “Fucking cum, cum, cum” he repeatedly said. “T-to much co-cosmo fuck! I’m coming!!” you said before letting out a loud moan, soon cosmo followed right after you. You guys were both a sweaty mess, “I guess you can call this wrestling?” cosmo said chucking at you.

#kengan ashura headcanons #kengan omega #kengan ashura x reader #kengan ashura #Cosmo imai #Cosmo

[architectofsuffering]

Shishio Tsukasa is such an amazing character.

He's really three dimensional.

First, let's talk about him in the first arc of the story (when he was a villan).

This guy is extremely strong, we all know this, he's literally referred to as the strongest primate high-schooler (if my memory is correct which it usually is). He beat a fucking lion for God's sake. But he's not just strong, he's really, really smart.

Not just street smart, but also book smart.

Let's start with his street smarts- he immediately knows how to get the formula for the miracle fluid from Senku, can predict how Senku'll behave (in that same scene he is seen stating how he knows Senku will never lie about science), which means he knows how people in general can and will behave, he knows who's good for what job (see Gen and how he definetly found Senku in two days); and this is just his street smarts.

There aren't many depictions about his book smarts but cmon. This guy goes for MMA fights to get money for his sister's treatment, for that he obviously needs to train a lot but he was still a student and atleast passing his classes (considering he'scalled the strongest highschooler), plus there's the fact that he took one look and one sniff of the 'miracle fluid' and immediately knew what it was, plus when Senku and Co left in 'a hurry' he obviously didn't believe it, he knows these people. He's so smart.

We also know that he's incredibly charismatic, I mean, how did he get all those people, with conflicting world views to rally behind him? I'm surprised my boy wasn't a politician. He'd be too good at it.

Now let's take a deeper look at him.

We know he's 18 years old.

Technically an adult.

But he's never had the chance to be a boy and it shows. He sees everything in black and white.

Old people bad, young people good.

It also shows in how quickly he forgives Senku when it comes to reviving his sister. This man- no, boy (because he is a boy) does not have a lot to himself. I mean we knew he was poor in the old world, but it really shows in how he clings to the people around him [instantly forgives Senku, starts getting along with Gen even after he betrayed him, etc (trauma about losing his sister maybe?)].

He's a boy, a child and he's done bad things, like all children do.

I'm not trying to excuse his actions.

He was horrible and a murderer.

But look at him, he's so complex, so wonderfully three dimensional. I'm so completely and utterly in love. Not with him, but his qualities, how he was made.

Boichi-sama and Inagi-sama did a lot of work on Shishio Tsukasa and it shows.

#dr. stone #wow #tsukasa #tsukasa shishio #my boy would have been a great politician #character analysis #simping #the three dimensional-ness #inagi sama and boichi sama worked so hard on him #im so happy #this series gives me life #you helped me pass science good sir

[jensettermandu]

Are there any fun facts about Jennie and y/n?

what i have in my head when i think of the two is;

first of all, y/n has two older brothers who she's very close to, they are her adoptive parent's biological sons. y/n is also very much a daddy's girl and gets called princess by him😭she's that type of girl ik. she also comes from a middle class family who has a lot of military bg (her both brothers and dad) She used to be an equestrian until she moved to L.A to study business. Her dream jobs used to be to either be a model or do something professional when it comes to horse riding. Her dream future is to move to Montana and live on a ranch cause she's enthralled by the lifestyle. Born to be a country girl, forced to be a city girl🤧😔. big animal lover🥰. she's also the type to have high standards when it comes to partners bc of the men in her life so i have no clue wtf went through her mind when she met jennie 💀. y/n was also the type of girl who thrived off of her popularity in high school and lived a cliché mean girl life with lisa and she cannot escape the mean attitude because her beauty has always perceived her and so she uses it as a shield to not get used by other people esp men who assume she can only be pretty but not smart at the same time when in reality she's lowkey a genius.

when it comes to jennie she comes from an upper class family🤭where everything had always been handed to her on a silver platter, she never struggled during her childhood when it came to money. her parent's are divorced though and she barely knows her father simply because he's a busy man, neither of them ever tried to fix it. i think she has a complex when it comes to her father and despite acting like she doesn't care she wants to prove that she's better than him by being richer and still having time to live a life even if it's an unhealthy lifestyle?? (things are just off in her poor head😭💀) oh and she's totally a mommy's lil girl with some attachment issues. she dropped out of college at 20 as she was too greedy for money and got her parents to invest in her. jennie practices boxing for fun and she's genuinely good at it and enjoys it. she used to be a nerd during her youth and was very invested in studying. an avid sports enjoyer and is always seen attending the big MMA fights as she gets shown on the big screen, she sponsors fighters and actually invested in a whole boxing school for kids😭🥰💕🤧 jennie is just too lost in her current lifestyle, but her dreams are quite the opposite and domestic. i think her dream future would be to have a family and someone who would love her until she would learn to love herself while living somewhere far from the noise so she can heal and enjoy a calm life while genuinely loving the ppl around. oh she's the type who would want three kids and defo at least one boy🥺. although she feels like those dreams are quite unlikely atm.

#jsmandu.inbox

[howtofightwrite]

So, I know you can't learn martial arts from merely videos or watching others but in a couple of stuff I've seen before, learning in this way is specifically said to be a superpower (and not limited to martial arts). Is that all right to portray?

You don't need my permission. You don't need anyone's permission to create, and you should never feel that need. If you're wanting to write something, do it.

The advice we provide is about trying to help you have the best reaction from your audience. Most of the time, when one of us says, “it doesn't work,” (or something to that effect), it's because it doesn't work in reality, or because it's unlikely have desired result on the page.

Ultimately, it is up to you, what you choose to do with that.

Now, I do have a problem here, and I want to make this very clear, this is my problem, not yours. I see the people who think you can learn martial arts from watching a video, and in most cases, it's not a problem. But, then I run across the people who think they can learn self-defense from watching a video of a technique being demoed, and that breaks my heart. It's a horrible situation, because the belief that they know what they're doing could genuinely protect them, but if anyone calls that bluff, the results will be tragic.

The reality is a lot more complex. If you have a martial arts background, you can learn quite a bit from watching video of other martial artists. It's not like these videos are a bad thing. In fact, I'd argue that the dissemination of martial arts demo videos is (on the whole) a good thing. Especially when it comes to preservation of rare schools.

More than that, if you know what you're doing, you can learn from them. Not, “replicate the technique,” but identify pieces that might be useful, pick up on weaknesses that you might have missed. You can learn a great deal of theory of what allows combat to work and function, and excellent theory for both weapons and hand to hand combat. You will learn rapidly if you have the context to put the theory together with what you already know. Hell, you can learn a lot from watching videos of yourself, if  you know what you're looking for.

But, watching videos alone can't get you to that threshold.

So, when this is a superpower, it's kinda tricky. Sometimes, it's a “superpower” that is entirely within the range of what a sufficiently skilled martial artist could actually do, and sometimes it's a “Batman style superpower,” where it may appear credible, but is beyond human capability.

A character who can sit down and analyze someone's fighting style from watching video of them in combat is entirely plausible. (With a lot of specific caveats, like the quality of the video, how much they can see, and so on.) People who can do that exist, and it's not as impressive as it sounds. A sufficiently committed MMA fan will probably learn to do this to some extent, and any fight announcer will need to be able to do this on the fly. Any competitive fighter or their coach will watch tapes of both their fighter's previous bouts and the bouts of upcoming opponents to address weaknesses and generate strategies to focus their training regimen around. This really another skill in its own right, and it can exist independent of martial arts training (though, you need to both to operationalize what you're seeing into a counter strategy. Also, importantly, that MMA fan, and possibly the announcer, will be limited to examining things they're familiar with. Now, that can result in a kind of, “adjacency,” situation, where they recognize something as a variant of a technique they're already familiar with, but much like linguistic, “false friends,” this can also be misleading.)

A character who can sit down, watch a video of someone in combat, and completely copy their fighting style would be a superpower. Especially if this is how they developed their martial arts skills in the first place. The biggest problem here is that watching someone perform an act does not teach you the  less visible components, like where to put your weight; when, and how to move it. If you don't know what to look for, watching someone else won't teach you what to look for.

Now, I'm talking about martial arts here, but, there are skills you can learn from watching video tutorials. In fact, if you find the right tutorials, you may be able to learn quite a bit about various martial arts, including their philosophies, their history, and how they perform their techniques, however, in the last case, that is not a substitute for formal training.

A good example of this is the HEMA community, which does have a lot of video tutorials discussing the specific details of their techniques. It's not a substitute for training, it's certainly not a substitute for supervised practice, (and a novice engaging in unsupervised “practice” is a recipe for completely botching their muscle memory; which could seriously impair their ability to ever learn martial arts correctly.)

Learning martial arts is a lot more than just, “watching someone do a thing,” it requires a lot of training and practice to get it right. Repetition to the point that you no longer have to consciously think about what you're doing and can simply act. Watching a video can't do that for you. But, that's why this is a superpower, when it shows up.

There's another very important component to this from a writing standpoint, which is a character who cheats their way to power never respects their power. They made none of the sacrifices and have none of the experiences to teach them why doing the thing might be a bad idea. They've never had the training experience of hitting someone a little harder than intended or being hit too hard, and that lack of context hurts them. More importantly, writers who cheat their characters into power don't respect the power their character wields either. This is where a lot of hyper aggressive characters come from, especially the ones who treat the hyper aggressive violence in their heroes as okay or even laudable, because the author themselves never learned to moderate violence to situationally appropriate levels. How much is too much? If you don't know, you don't know. You'll just go for it and because none of this is real, there's going to stop the writer or the character from going too far. Then, there's no narrative consequences either because they don't realize they did and create a world where abuse is normalized, even expected. It happens entirely by accident.

There's a real reason why mimicry (of basically any variety) is frequently restricted to villains and villainous characters. Your character has the ability to replicate, and in the processes, devalue, the sacrifices and even the very identity of the character they're copying. In this case, if you have someone that can flawlessly replicate someone else's techniques, they're saying, to the original, “your training meant nothing.” This is even worse in cases where a character can fully copy that individual, as it elevates this tone to, “your very existence is meaningless, everything you've experienced is irrelevant. I can do all of this without giving up anything.” The superpower to copy another is existentially brutal. It may not seem that harsh at first glance, but the full implications are subtle, and vicious.

It's a great power for a supervillain to utterly obliterate someone's self-worth.

-Starke

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#Starke answers #How to Fight Write #Writing advice #writing reference #writing tips #martial arts

[donnerpartyofone]

Getting bummed out thinking about how many of my chronic problems could have been headed off at the pass with proper care, though at the same time I really did seek treatment when certain things were starting, I just never got what I needed. My general experience with doctors has been that they don't really care what's going on with you if

a) Your symptoms do not exactly match some very common 101-level thing with clear instructions in the proverbial manual, and/or

b) Your symptoms are not catastrophically bad yet (and even if they are the doctor might still loop back to (a) to avoid having to solve a mystery, like if they didn't learn it in undergrad then they don't want to deal with it at all)

My big complex thing is probably all because of stress, which is sad; my knotted up shoulder affects my neck which affects my jaw (tmj, $$$ out of pocket for corrective appliances), which affects my ear which now rings permanently, and my back problems also seem to put some kind of pressure on my right lung, so I haven't really taken a clear breath in like 20 years. I saw a chiropractor when this first started happening and he took x-rays and everything, but I soon developed the suspicion that he wasn't a real doctor, and by this I specifically mean like, maybe he was a fugitive from the law and he had assumed the ruse of being a respectable clinician to hide out, and now he's just stuck doing the actual job like in SISTER ACT or something.

He was extremely, cartoonishly handsome with a permanent 5 o'clock shadow and a dramatic grey streak in his hair like a soap opera character, the only thing he was missing was an eyepatch. I know people get addicted to seeing chiropractors because of the satisfaction of having your back cracked and stuff, but this guy never did anything like that. I would lie down and he would sort of vaguely push on different parts of me in a way that was almost imperceptible. Then he showed me some stretches I should do; when I tried them in front of him, I would just get to the point where I started to feel something good before he'd start going "NO! DON'T GO THAT FAR, YOU DON'T WANNA DO THAT!" and I'd back way off while thinking But now I'm not stretching, this is just my normal range of motion, what is this supposed to do?? I really didn't get anything at all out of seeing that guy, although I did get some short term relief from his in-house acupuncturist, a pleasant hippie lady who was into MMA and ran a pit bull rescue. I don't know, people are funny.

[miskick]

I wonder if these still get around a little faster-- 

hello! it’s Kona, back again, with her feisty mma magician! if you like aggressive girls with inferiority complex issues, feel free to give this a like or a reblog and I’ll be sure to check you out! this is an independent, selective & low activity Persona 3 OC, established in 2012, lying dormant for a couple years but ready to come back! forgive the rust, and I hope we can all get along! 

#persona 3 rp #persona rp #persona 4 rp #persona 5 rp #PROMOS ≫ ( showing off other talents! ) #[ forgive me i'm still getting my bearings lmao please bear with me ]

[lynzine]

Modern Conveniences Avatar Characters Would Like Most

Katara - Washing machine (I just watched a video on how long it took to wash clothing pre-washing machine and good grief... I think she wants this for everyone’s sake.)

Sokka - Machine tools (look, he’d like the security stuff, but once the War was over, I think he’d have been really into inventing stuff and it is amazing how much faster you can do things when you have machine tools)

Zuko - Streaming services, Netflix, Hulu, Disney+, HBO Max, etc. (I’m going with the theatre lover Zuko here and I think he’d really like TV and movies. YES, I know it’s not the same as theatre, but I maintain that he’d like it.)

Aang - Cellphones, so he can stay in touch with friends around the world. (I wanted to say GPS, but let’s be honest, Sokka’s the one who wants Aang to have a GPS.)

Toph - Honestly, don’t know. I want to say video games, but she can’t actually play them (she’d probably recreate them in real life). And all of the aids that she could use for reading and stuff just seems redundant. She can have people read to her and... let’s be honest, that’s just things people do anyway. So, I want her to have something beyond “text to speech” reader... @ljf613 thoughts? You are my Toph go to. Edit: I have since been informed that there are video games for blind people/blind people can enjoy and now I feel very silly because of course there are. My mistake. 

Suki - Taser. ...what? I think she’d love them! But... if I can’t pick that, I think she’d be really into some of the more complex VR games. 

Mai - Phone/any music player with earbuds that she can hide under her hair. (She listens to music and podcasts when she’s bored.)

Ty Lee - Ziplines... Does that exist in Avatar’s world. Certainly. But I’m also thinking of all of the gimick-y flight/jumping things we have now that are probably safer than in Avatar’s world. 

Azula - The Internet. I kinda of think she’d actually really like instant access to information (everything from science to MMA fights) and she’d also be addicted to becoming a social influencer (it’s a lot of power). Don’t think she’d be great at the second one but she’d have a pretty instant following...

And... that is a list off the top of my head. I’m kind of disappointed in myself for Sokka and Katara’s because I’m sure I could think of something more interesting... but... it felt right. And it was the beginning of my list. 

#Katara #Sokka #Aang #Zuko #Mai #Ty Lee #Toph #Azula #Suki #Avatar The Last Airbender