#i should just Not do brain warm ups after i do my muscle memory warm ups

[tyblackthornsheadphones]

Hiya! Maybe some hurt and comfort fic with the moon boys after the reader got hurt in a street scuffle thing? :)

i reread this only once and yes, i did notice the inconsistent verb tenses but honestly i don’t have the energy to go back and change it. i tried to keep physical descriptions of the reader to a minimum so it should be gender neutral and any race. if not, please let me know so i can fix it.

i also kind of forgot the reader was supposed to be hurt and wrote it more emotional but i hope it’s fine anyway. (i’m so bad at following requests i’m so sorry)

if you wanna support me you can buy me a ko-fi.

the two men had come out of nowhere, forcing you into an alleyway under the dark cover of the night. your only comfort was the thought that your boys were watching the city for these exact types of people, maybe they would come save you. and if you managed to hold off the two men for just long enough, you could get out of this alive.

you weren’t a fighter. marc had taught you basic self-defence, but even so you wouldn’t have been able to take on two big, buff men with guns and eyes that spoke of deranged thoughts and lack of care for any life but their own.

the rest was a blur. a white caped hero throwing punches, a body jumping in front of your own, blood on the concrete and on gloved hands.

“let’s get you home, amor.”

jake was angry, you could hear it in his tone, but you were still frozen in fear from the encounter, your mind buzzing yet simultaneously unable to string together any coherent thoughts. so you didn’t respond, and he carried you home in his arms, jumping into the loft through the window you always kept open for him on nights like these, the one you’d forgotten to close before leaving.

you have a routine for when your boys come back from their duties as moonknight. the suit heals their wounds, but it doesn’t wash away the blood. you run a warm cloth over their skin until the blood and grime is all washed off, a slow repetitive process that gives their mind the time to deal with the violence they committed and store away the memories somewhere far back.

it’s easy to let your muscle memory take over.

“you don’t have to do that tonight,” jake says, “let us take care of you. we want to make sure you’re alright after that.”

you shake your head. there’s still a part of you that’s numb, and you don’t think you could put your feelings into words, you don’t think there’s any real way to voice the way you were convinced you were going to die, the way your brain flashed through everything you regret and your friends you haven’t seen in a while and the goals you’d never accomplish.

the suit falls away and it’s just your jake. not the hero of london or the fist of vengeance, just your worried boyfriend.

you clean his knuckles of the blood that always somehow manages to seep through the bandages that make up their suit. his body tenses, and when you look up, you meet marc’s eyes. his jaw is clenched in a way that you recognise, he wants to speak but doesn’t quite know how to say it, he’s worried talking about it might not be what you need right now.

“i’m sorry,” you say finally, “for going out. a friend needed my help and i thought i could walk back home after. i didn’t think…”

“not your fault,” marc replies, “we should’ve gotten them before they even had the chance to touch you.”

“it’s not your fault either, you know,” you put the dirty cloth down.

he shakes his head. there’s no point in having this argument, it’s the same every time. you argue that it’s impossible to save everyone, that london is a huge city and they’re just one body that can only accomplish so much. marc’s dumb guilty conscience convinces him that any person he can’t save in time is blood on his hands, not the fault of the criminals who committed the act, but his for not being able to save them.

you understand why, and the fights always come back to the same thing.

the last remnants of adrenaline are fading and your hands grow shaky. marc leads you to bed, but you know this is the part where he leaves, back into the headspace while one of the others (usually steven) hold you under the safety of the blankets. he likes to take care of you, to provide, but he still struggles to be soft.

“i was so scared,” you finally admit when the lights are turned off and the room is dark and the boys can’t see your face. it’s easier to admit when you don’t have to look into the eyes of the men who act as london’s protectors, constantly in dangerous situations. you don’t have to deal with the feelings of inferiority, like comparing yourself to marc’s strong and brave ex-wife who would surely have been able to defend herself.

you don’t even know which one is fronting. maybe they all are. when the tears start to fall, all you care about is the comforting familiarity of the strong arms around you and the scent of the men you love.

#rin’s writing #x reader #moonknight #moon knight #moonknight x reader #moon boys x reader #moon boys x you #moon boys x y/n #moon knight x you #moon knight x reader #moon knight x y/n #moon knight system x reader #moon knight system #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector x y/n #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #jake lockley x y/n #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #steven grant x y/n #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #moon boys #moon knight fanfic

[wil-o-wispy]

The Wife, the Lover and the Bastard Son - Part 2

Chris Redfield x FM! Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 (you are here) | Part 3 | Part 4

Synopsis: It's the morning after Chris Redfield took care of you and things are oddly... domestic?

Includes: MDNI - NSFW, fluff, banter, angst, oral (FM reader receiving), porn with plot, use of pet names (sweetheart, good girl, pretty girl, baby, gorgeous), minor reader injury from previous part, reference to drinking in the previous part. Reader is referred to as 'Doc' otherwise. Reader is the wife of (dead) Albert Wesker and is a former Umbrella scientist.

A/N: WOO this took so long to get out. I can't write linearly to save my life and my writer brain wanted to work on plot stuff taking place after this chapter. On the bright side the next few parts should get done quicker. Hopefully. This is also my first spicy writing thing so have fun!

wc: 6.5k+

The first thing you notice when you wake up the next morning is the pounding headache behind your eyes and a throbbing in your foot. You lift an arm over your face and groan, the cheery brightness of the morning sun still too much for your blurry eyes to properly accommodate to. For a few precious minutes, you just lay in bed trying to string together a coherent thought other than, ‘I’m never drinking whiskey again,’ because you know that promise won’t last the month.

Then it all comes back to you. The almost-bar fight. Chris driving you home. The broken glass. Chris comforting you. Bits and pieces of the previous night stitch themselves together and you are both relieved and embarrassed of its events.

It feels like a monumental weight has been lifted off your shoulders. Sure, the dirty looks would stay along with your reputation, but Chris Redfield doesn’t think you’re a monster. However, the relief is almost overshadowed by a creeping sense of embarrassment. You never show that kind of vulnerability in front of anyone. Not even Albert after the Mansion incident.

Despite the conflicting feelings, you’re thankful that Chris had the foresight to put you into your bed and tuck you in. Everything after crawling into Chris’ lap and crying your eyes out is hazy due to your alcohol consumption, but you do have a distinct memory of being lifted off the ground and carried by a pair of strong, warm and comforting arms past a broom propped up on the doorway to the kitchen.

The broom. The glass. Your foot. There’s still blood and glass in the foyer that you have to clean up.

With a groan, you roll out of bed, stretching to relieve some of the tightness in your muscles that accompanies a bad hangover. It’s at this point you realize you’re wearing a sweatshirt that you hadn’t worn the night before. Your heart stops in your chest until you lift the hem of it and see you’re still wearing the nice shirt you wore to your D.S.O. interview the day before.

Chris. Always the gentleman.

You take stock of what you’re wearing; oversized sweatshirt, nice shirt, nice pants, no socks, but a sizeable amount of gauze is on one foot. While you take stock of yourself and your surroundings, you also notice a couple aspirin and a sports drink on your bedside table that you know you didn’t have in the house last night. Chris cared both about your comfort and boundaries while intoxicated, as well as the aftermath of it. He even went out and bought you items to help with your hangover.

Another event to add to the overflowing list of reasons why you don’t deserve him.

Or do you? He doesn’t fault you for your dead husband’s actions. He goes to bat for you when the B.S.A.A., D.S.O., or any other anti-bioterrorism organization is up your ass. He listens when you need to vent and drink your sorrows away. He’s kind. He’s considerate. He’s a good man. He’s everything that Albert wasn’t.

Stop it.

You pop the aspirin in your mouth and wash it down with the sports drink, dismissing any other thoughts on how good Chris had been to you. Things in your life were already too complicated. No use in entertaining far-fetched fantasies. He’s got to be this considerate with anyone, right? You couldn’t recall a specific instance comparable to last night that would justify that thought, but you try to think of one as you strip off the clothes from the night before and throw on some clean loungewear. You opt to wear some sleep shorts and a t-shirt.

As you get dressed, you rediscover an offer letter that you’d forgotten to reject. Even though your last name gave you a reputation, numerous branches of the B.S.A.A. requested your transfer every year due to your expertise in bioweapons research. After all, who would be better at combatting these threats than someone who witnessed their creation and aftermath? This one was more tempting than most; an offer to work in B.S.A.A. Europe HQ in Germany, Head Researcher position, fully furnished apartment included and competitive salary.

You crumple the offer letter and toss it in the trash. Tempting, but stability is on the top of your list of priorities at the moment. An international move is the opposite of that. You go into your bathroom attached to your bedroom and do your morning routine, opting to worry about a shower later.

You go out into the hallway, hobbling a bit with the injured foot but staying upright without trouble. The aspirin is starting to kick in and you’re already feeling a bit better. You make a list in your head of things to get done before burying yourself in blankets on the couch; sweep up the glass, mop the foyer of the remaining blood, take a shower, make a greasy breakfast, binge watch something.

Your mental list is interrupted by sounds coming from your kitchen. Confused, you turn down the hall and see Chris’ car keys still on the table in the entryway. You also see the floor is devoid of glass, blood, and the medical supplies from the night before.

Chris hears you pad into the kitchen and flashes his signature grin as he turns bacon on your stove with a fork. There’s a plate with finished bacon pieces on a paper towel next to the stove, as well as two plates with toast.

“Morning Doc.”

“Morning. You stayed the night?” Your tone is cordial. It’s not accusatory because, oddly enough, you don’t mind Chris sleeping over. At any point before last night, you would have been miffed and probably would have given a speech arguing you could take care of yourself and that he had a lot of nerve spending the night considering your history. But Chris making you breakfast still stirs up that guilt of him doing more nice things for you to add on to the laundry list of favors he’d done for you over the years. But you can’t deny the smell of what he’s cooking makes your mouth water.

“Yeah, I took the couch. You had a lot to drink. I just wanted to make sure you woke up okay.”

You snort. “Right. You sure you weren’t just avoiding having to sleep in the barracks last night?”

Chris chuckles at your joke and holds his hands up in playful surrender. “You got me. Can’t pull the wool over your eyes.”            

You return the smile and hobble next to Chris by the stove, leaning on the counter next to him just watching him cook. You have to make a conscious effort to focus on the food, and not to stare at Chris’ battle toned forearms for too long.

“Now I can accept you making sure I don’t choke on my own vomit, but this-” You gesture to the stove and the entryway, “-is crossing the line. You’re in my house. I’m supposed to take care of you. Not the other way around.”

“What? I can’t treat my host to breakfast and a cleaner house?” He’s still jovial when turns his attention back to the stove and turns the bacon.

“That’s reverse hospitality,” You quip.

“Then consider me a reverse guest,” Chris answers.

You let out an exasperated sigh and your body slumps. “Chris, seriously you didn’t have to do all that-”

“I wanted to.” Chris stops looking at the bacon in the pan and looks you in the eyes.

You two stare at each other in silence, gazes locked in a battle of wills.

“You don’t have to do everything yourself.” Chris says softly, with a hint of authority in his tone.

“I know that.” You bite back, challenging him.

Chris raises an eyebrow, and you see a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Do you?”

More silence. You let out another sigh and you break from his gaze to stare at the floor instead.

“You’ve already done more for me than I could ever hope to repay. I don’t need to owe you more favors for something like last night.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“Bullshit.” You look back up at him in disbelief; mouth open and eyebrows knitted together.

“No bullshit. I’m serious.”

You open your mouth to argue more, but Chris shushes you and places a cup of hot tea in your hands before you can protest. You didn’t even notice it sitting next to the stove. You feel the comforting warmth of his fingers ghost over yours as he guides your hand to take hold of the mug handle.

“No bullshit, you have my word. Now sit down, rest that foot, enjoy your drink, and let me handle everything else.”

You open and close your mouth, trying to articulate a response. There’s not much you can say to argue against that, especially when his gentle touch is making your brain go haywire. The captain is a man of his word. Those perceptive eyes of his hold no hint of deception, only genuine kindness like you saw the night before. Not to mention there’s something undeniably attractive about him wanting to take care of you in such a gentle, authoritative manner. You relent and take a sip of tea trying to calm your racing heart.

“Thanks.”

Chris’ face lights up and he flashes another smile. “Thatta girl. How do you like your eggs?”

You try to ignore the butterflies erupting in your stomach when he says that. “I’m not picky, however you’re having them.” You push yourself off the counter, snatch a piece of bacon from the plate and hobble over to the barstool sitting area at the kitchen island behind Chris.

“Save some for your meal.” You hear Chris smiling as he says that.

“I’m making sure it’s crispy enough. Sue me.”

Your conversation goes on in that comfortable rhythm all throughout breakfast; casual conversation with witty remarks thrown in followed by a joke that starts the cycle all over again. Chris sits on the stool next to you, and you both enjoy the two plates of toast, scrambled eggs, and bacon that Chris had made.

“You’re going to spoil me at this rate.” You say with a grin.

“You make that sound like a bad thing.”

“It kind of is. You’re going to make me miss having you around to clean up my messes and make me food.” You eat your toast, keeping up the playful banter.

“And what if I am?” The way Chris says that doesn’t make it sound like he’s joking, but you brush it off and roll your eyes, munching on the last of your bacon. “I’d call your bluff.”

“Why do you think it’s a bluff?”

You sit there just looking at your fork for a beat, trying to think of the best way to phrase your thoughts. You can’t think of anything, but you turn your gaze back to Chris and answer him with a question. “Because why would you care if I miss you?”

“Because who wouldn’t want the attention of a woman like you?” Chris’ expression shifts from that kind expression you’re used to, to a more wistful and romantic one.

Your mouth goes dry and your heart races in your chest. It feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room. “People with half a brain and a shred of common sense.” The statement is said with your signature dry sense of humor, but there’s also an edge of something akin to a warning. It doesn’t deter Chris in the slightest.

“Ouch. At least I’ve got my looks going for me,” he quips with a smirk. It amazes you that he’s still joking about something you think is so serious. It makes you want to wipe that sexy smile right off his face. Whether it’s with a kiss or sharp words is still up for debate.

“Chris-” You warn sharply.

“Doc-” Chris says, pleadingly.

“No. It’s a bad idea. End of story.” Your tone comes out much gentler than you intend. You pick at the last of your food, not wanting to look at Chris and betray your true feelings that you’ve tried so hard to suppress over the years. He killed your husband. Your evil, narcissistic, psychopathic husband. Despite who Albert was, it felt like you would cross some sort of moral boundary you couldn’t come back from if you indulged in those thoughts. But the longer Chris looks at you with that wanting gaze, the less imposing that boundary becomes.

“You know me. I love bad ideas.” As Chris speaks in a low, romantic tone, your mind runs wild and your cheeks flush red with all the possible interpretations of his words.

You hear the barstool next to you squeak, Chris’ hand comes into your vision, rests delicately on your cheek, and tilts your head back towards him. His face is dangerously close to yours. You see every detail of his face; his dark hazel eyes, the small mole under his right eye, the stubble on his jaw, the subtle hair growth around his mouth and chin, and finally his lips.

You don’t know who leans in first, but one moment you’re committing Chris’ face to memory, and the next your lips are against his. Your eyes close and time stops. The kiss is slow, methodical and fills you with a pleasant warmth that makes your stomach flip and heart skip a beat.

You can’t remember the last time you had a kiss like this, and you don’t want to. All you want to do in this moment is experience everything Chris has to offer. Everything.

It feels like an eternity has passed when you both finally break for air. You breathe in a shaky breath. Shaky from how weak in the knees the kiss made you, as well as nervous energy from crossing that boundary you’d made for yourself. You just kissed the man who killed your husband and you liked it. Not only that, but that kiss stirred something lustful inside you that makes you want even more.

“Look at me pretty girl.” Chris whispers. His hand still holds the side of your face while his thumb caresses your cheekbone.

You open your eyes, and you see Chris smiling at you. It falters and switches into something much more concerned when he sees your conflicted look.

“We can stop if you want to. I can leave and we can agree this never happened if that’s what you want.” You can feel his hot breath on your face as he murmurs in a low tone.

Maybe it’s the residual feeling of safety due to the events of the night before, an accumulation of repressed want from years working alongside each other, or maybe it’s just the need to feel someone else’s loving embrace. Morality be damned. Maybe it’s the pounding of your heart drowning out all common sense, but you crave the man in front of you more than anything in the universe right now. Your next words come out in a wanting murmur.

“I don’t want you to stop.”

This time, it’s you that leans back in to kiss Chris’ incredulous expression, but he immediately melts back into your lips. Once it’s established that this is something you’re craving, Chris earnestly returns the enthusiasm. Sweet kisses morph into fervent tastes for more as your lips intertwine with Chris’. Tongues dance in a teasing duel for dominance that you are all too happy to lose just so you can feel how eager Chris is to feast on your sighs of pleasure. Bask in your shivers of ecstasy. Relish in your desperate pants for oxygen from him taking your breath away.

The only thing you can even comprehend with his inviting tongue intertwining with yours is that it’s not enough. You want more. You need more. More of his warmth, more of his lips, more of him. The heat that Chris awoke in you has grown from mere embers to a growing, starving flame that wants to savor and devour everything that’s yet to come.

It doesn’t take long to know Chris feels the exact same way. Committing your pleasure to memory with his hands and lips won’t do. With how far you were leaning into his embrace, you were halfway to touching his lap already, but Chris eagerly expediates the process. His hands abandon your cheek and neck to claim your hips and guide you to sit on his lap where you belong. You take a sharp intake of breath and clutch Chris’ shoulders for balance from the change in position, but Chris is quick to soothe your concerns while keeping his lips on any inch of your skin he can reach.

“Don’t worry baby I’ve got you. I’ve got you…”

You reposition yourself on his lap so you feel more secure in Chris’ grasp, but you accidentally grind against his crotch. A deep groan is released from Chris’ lips and he kisses your skin with more fervor. Being positioned the way you are on his lap, it’s difficult not to notice the growing hardness underneath his jeans.

“All that for me?” You try to be sultry, but don’t do a good job of it because you can barely get any discernible words out with how hard you’re breathing.

“Have you seen yourself sweetheart?” Chris leaves wet kisses from your collarbone to your neck, then captures your lips in a ravenous kiss. “Fucking gorgeous with your cheeks all red like that…”

Chris lifts you up off his lap effortlessly and you gasp and hold onto his shoulders as he places you on the counter in front of him. Once you’re secure, his hands are quick to wander and caress everything he can reach; from your hips, to your ass, to your thighs, then hips, then ribs, lower back then repeating the pathing again. Eagerness and patience are at war with each other as he alternates between greedily clutching each soft feature and methodically caressing every one of your curves as if trying to commit them to memory.

You’re breathing heavily when he rips his lips away from yours and starts kissing you down your jaw to your throat. He feverishly leaves open mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck, kissing and sucking at the skin tenderly yet enthusiastically. You can tell he’s savoring every part of you, clearly eager to do more but wanting to enjoy every detail of your physique first. It takes no time at all for him to find the spots that make you squirm and pant in his embrace. When his teeth lightly graze your pulse point, your legs reflexively tighten around his waist, but you accidentally bump the barstool behind Chris with your injured foot with a loud clunk and curse. The throbbing in your foot is back with full force, making you wince. Worse, Chris pulls away from your neck and stares at you intensely with a worried look. Slightly flushed cheeks and labored breath.

“You alright?” He looks behind him and sees the scene of the crime, and lightly scoots the barstool a safe distance away with his foot. Chris moves to lean down and examine your foot, but you’re quick to grasp his face and lovingly bring it back to yours. You kiss Chris’ cheek and give him a reassuring smile.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.” You lean back in to kiss Chris, ignoring the shooting pain from your injured foot and getting lost in the intoxicating taste of his lips. Chris’ worried expression melts away somewhat, but he still speaks lowly between breaks for air.

“You need to rest that foot on something.”

“Later,” You whisper, going back in to capture his lips again.

The captain slides one of his large, calloused hands on the back of your head and strokes the hair there, and you think you’ve convinced him to drop the subject. Oh how wrong you are.

In one moment, you’re getting lost in the feeling of Chris’ hands on the back of your head and shoulders, and the next Chris has pushed your plates to the side and laid you swiftly, but gently, on your back.

“Chris!” You whine as you try to sit up, but you’re stopped by a large hand putting weight on your ribcage and fleeting kisses down your neck and chest. His voice is muffled from how close his face is to your trembling body, but you hear him speak in that authoritative, husky voice again as he continues to kiss further down your chest. “Uh uh, you stay put.” You’re about to protest the change in position, wanting nothing more than to keep Chris’ lips on yours, but his lips on your inner thigh make your words die in your throat. Chris lightly sucks the area while his darkening gaze is honed in on your face.

“I meant it when I said you need to rest that foot…” Chris places another lingering kiss on your inner thigh slightly closer to your aching core. “…so be a good girl and put those pretty thighs over my shoulders.”

The effects of his words are immediate; blood rushes to your cheeks so quickly that you feel lightheaded, the heat in your abdomen that was kindled by his touch burns hotter, and your lips part in silent shock and anticipation of what he’ll do next. For once, your brain has short circuited, and you don’t have anything to say. All you can do is gape and nod as you hook your knee with the injured foot over his shoulder.

“Good. Now I want you to relax and let me take care of you. Okay?” The low vibrating timbre of his voice is so close to your aching clit that you arch your back and whine, nodding.

Chris continues to be a paradox of patience and eagerness as he coaxes more and more delicious sounds from you. His large hands greedily grasp the flesh of your hips and thighs, but don’t grope close enough to give you the stimulation you crave. His mouth worships the space between your thigh and groin but never dares venture further than the rolled-up edge of your night shorts where you’re clenching around nothing. He never stimulates what is begging to be loved underneath despite how much both of you crave it.

“Chris…please.” You beg, eyes clouded over with lust and need.

“Hmmmm… I don’t hear you say that a lot.” You can practically hear the shit eating smile in his voice as Chris keeps kissing you the same way as before, but one of his fingers teasingly traces the hem of your shorts. He’s right. You don’t. That little comment would infuriate you if the wetness between your thighs and throbbing clit weren’t on the top of the list of things on your mind right now. If you have to say please to get Chris to take care of you, you’ll relent and do it.

“Please just to-oooh!” Your desperate request is cut short by a moan being released from the back of your throat.

Chris keeps kissing the sensitive spots between your thighs, but two of his fingers have slipped under the edge of your shorts by the groin and is lightly rubbing the fabric over your engorged bundle of nerves. He experiments with different speeds and pressures until he finds the ones that make your back arch, eyes roll to the back of your head, and thighs close around his face. Just when you’re bucking your hips into his hand and you feel your pleasure building, you feel his fingers retreat.

“Chris!” You whine, body relaxing back into the counter but desperate for more of his touch.

“I know baby, I’ll take care of it.” Chris assures you as he hooks his fingers into the crotch of your shorts and underwear, pulling them to one side then practically diving into your dripping folds. His mouth is greedy when he’s finally between your thighs where you want him to be. Chris’ tongue laves at your entrance with long, languid strokes at first, but quickly devolves into him thrusting his tongue into your cunt so deeply that his nose is bumping your clit with each plunge of his tongue and you writhing and panting in pleasure as your climax quickly builds back to where Chris’ fingers left off.

He tries to be patient and draw it out for your sake, he really does, but you taste too good. Your moans and whimpers of ecstasy sound too pretty. The way you’re grabbing his forearm arm that’s caging your hips to the counter for dear life that so obviously signals how close you are is the biggest turn on. His mouth gorges on your release and he swears it’s his new favorite meal.

That starving flame in your abdomen that Chris has been feeding this whole time is so close to overtaking you, but you need more and Chris can sense this in how you tremble around him and desperate cries of his name tumble from your lips. He replaces his tongue with one of his fingers and he keeps up the same speed and intensity while his lips latch on to your clit, gently sucking on the sensitive bundle of nerves and tongue making purposeful, salacious strokes that makes your face contort in delight.

You fall apart in mere moments. Your back arches as you feel your orgasm crash through you like a tidal wave and the pleasure is almost overwhelming. You cling to Chris’ forearm as you ride out the powerful sensation. Even with your thighs closing in around his head, his lips don’t let up their assault on your clit until you’re bordering on being overstimulated and trying to push his head away. Your thighs twitch from the aftermath, your cunt and clit throb from the greedy attention of Chris’ lovemaking, and you’re pretty sure you have breadcrumbs in your hair from the toast in the long forgotten breakfast that was made for you.

Even with all of that, it still leaves you with a warm, comfortable sense of pleasure and a blissfully hazy mind.

Chris gently laps up the mess between your folds with his tongue, both determined not to let a drop of you go to waste as well as to prolong your pleasure while you come back down to Earth. With a final quick kiss to your clit that makes your hips twitch into his mouth, Chris tenderly moves the crotch of your panties and shorts back over your pelvis. He uses the collar of his t-shirt to wipe your release from his chin, and licks his finger clean.

You feel boneless when he sits you up. You’re breathing is shallow, but slowly returning to normal when Chris brings you to his chest. You rest your head on his shoulder and lazily wrap your arms around his waist. His hand is under your shirt at your lower back, hand pressed against your spine and rubbing the area firmly while his other hand cradles your head at the back of your neck. For the first time in what feels like years, you feel wanted and loved. The warmth of his hands and arms as well as his breath in your ear feels so addicting. You don’t want him to let go.

“You still with me gorgeous?” He whispers into your ear.

“Yeah…” You mumble, smiling into Chris’ neck as he cuddles you. A deep chuckle vibrates in Chris’ chest, and he plants a soft kiss on your temple. Then another one on your cheekbone. Then another next to your ear…

You giggle and close your eyes, “Someone’s eager.”

“Hard not to be with such a beautiful woman in front of me.”

After a few more kisses Chris gently moves you off his shoulder so you can sit up and look at him with half lidded eyes. For a moment you just sit there blinking slowly at him relishing in his embrace, and he’s just smiling at your fucked out expression. His hand slides from the back of your next to your cheek. He rubs the skin there with his thumb for a moment, then leans in to kiss you properly.

Just when Chris is a breath away from tasting your lips, a jarring ringtone cracks through the air and brings you back to reality. It’s Chris’ phone, but he doesn’t make a move to answer it. He only pauses at the first ring and captures your lips in a sweet kiss on the second.

“You’re not going to answer that?”

“They’ll call back if it’s important.” Chris murmurs against your lips and goes back in for more, seemingly drunk off the taste of you and your affection as you chuckle and kiss him back. After a few more seconds, the phone stops ringing only for it to resume again almost immediately after.

“I guess it’s important.” You sigh against Chris’ lips when you reluctantly pull away. Chris lets out a frustrated breath and pulls back, still not making a move to answer the call. His gaze darts from your eyes to your lips like he’s thinking about ignoring it again. You know better. The captain is a busy and well-respected man. You’ll be damned if that gets ruined because he can’t keep his hands off you. You smile sympathetically at him and kiss his cheek.

“I’ll clean up while you take care of that.” You move to get off the counter, but Chris’ strong hands at your hips stop you.

“I told you that you need to rest your foot.”

“You can convince me to elevate it again after you deal with that soldier boy. But until then-” You lean to the side to grab Chris’ phone, remove his hand from your hip, then plop the phone in his palm. “-duty calls.” You reply cheekily, giving the speechless captain a smirk before lowering yourself off the counter to collect the plates.

Chris shakes his head, smiles, presses a button on his phone and lifts it to his ear. “Hello?” You turn on the sink and begin washing the plates. You hear Chris reply in a more serious tone, and turn out of the kitchen to take the call in the living room. “Yeah, this is Captain Redfield.” Over the sound of the water you can’t hear who’s on the other end, but you can gather this is a serious conversation. You just hope it isn’t notifying Chris of a new outbreak, or something else that would require his immediate attention. You’d hate for it to disrupt such a pleasurable morning.

After you finish washing the plates, you turn off the tap and begin drying them. The speaker on Chris’ phone isn’t loud by any means, but in the silence of your little house you can clearly hear the conversation in the living room from your kitchen sink. And on the other end of the call, you hear a familiar, grating voice.

There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach. It doesn’t take a genius to know that it’s the D.S.O. agent from your interview the day before. From the sound of it, the agent still had a stick up his ass and seemed to be grilling Chris with the same intensity he was questioning you. You can make out the tinny voice of the D.S.O. agent, clearly not liking Chris’ answers. “You want to know what I think captain? I think you’ve been soft on her.”

You can hear the scowl in Chris’ voice when he answers the agent with the same level of disdain while also remaining professional. “And I think you’re being harsh because you’re trying to see things that aren’t there. Aren’t government agents supposed to practice due process? She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“Her husband almost destroyed the world. You really expect me to just take her word that she didn’t help?”

“She has been nothing but cooperative since then. Every bit of information she’s given the B.S.A.A. has checked out. Plus, her work after the fact has prevented more outbreaks than I’m cleared to talk about. There is no reason to suspect her of bioterrorism.”

There’s silence on the other end of the call, then the sound of a throat being cleared. “Well captain I called to inform you that I need to bring in a third party to verify your claims. No hard feelings of course, but I do believe your history with her is clouding your judgement.”

A range of emotions hits you all at once when you hear that. Anger at this asshole for being thick in the head. Annoyance at the fact that you’ll probably have to do yet another pointless interview about Africa. Then finally, a paralyzing uneasiness at the agent’s implication against Chris. You’ve been too soft on her. Chris’ high professional opinion of you alone results in distrust.

“Yeah, you do that. We done here?” You hear Chris reply cooly, but the rest of the conversation in drowned out by your inner turmoil.

Chris being in close professional proximity to you already turns heads, and not in a good way. Sure the people who can understand your work respect your intellect and appreciate the help, but everyone else sees the shadow of Albert’s memory.  

All is takes is someone breathing the name Wesker and the seed of distrust is already planted. Chris being in your corner alleviates some of that, albeit with bewildered looks and reluctant agreement.

You working with Chris is already unusual, but people respect him so they go along with the strange dynamic you two have. Would that respect remain if people knew you were fucking him? Would his team still follow him with full confidence into battle with no questions asked if they knew he was making you cry out his name after the mission was said and done? Would Chris still be sent on missions to clear up the loose ends of Umbrella’s misgivings if his superiors knew he was coming home to you, who literally slept with the enemy? In your mind, absolutely not.

How could you be so reckless? So selfish? You know you won’t be able to salvage any of Chris’ reputation by your own volition. Only taint it. In your mind, there can easily be a future where you and Chris are together, but the world slowly falls apart because of the distrust of you and the once infallible captain. True, Chris isn’t the B.S.A.A.’s only veteran, but he’s undoubtedly one of the most revered.

Before you can spiral further, two calloused hands grip your hips and a pair of lips tenderly kiss the space behind your ear. You can hear a smile and a suggestive mischievousness in Chris’ voice.

“I have to head out soon to handle a few things, but I’m going to make sure that foot is nice and elevated before I go.”

You heart flips and you can feel your cunt throb hearing his offer. You momentarily consider letting Chris have another taste of you, but instead you stick to your resolve. “You can head out now. This isn’t going to work out the way you think it will.”

You feel Chris’ grip on your hips soften and wait for his response. You can clearly envision him connecting the dots in his head of why you had a change of heart.

“Don’t let one asshole ruin something good for you.” Chris’ voice is soft, soothing. Pleading. One of his hands leaves your hips and tries to lace itself on top of your hand gripping the sink. You snatch your hand back and move away from his addictive embrace so there is an appropriate amount of space between you two. Your voice is serious and even. You look at Chris head on. His previously captivating eyes are confused.

“That’s not the point. You are so lucky people look up to you. I’m not going to ruin that by entertaining this.”

“I think that’s a joint decision-” Chris starts, but you’re quick to shut him down.

“No. You don’t get a say in this. You need to go, and we are going to forget today even happened.”

“Doc, that’s just one agent-”

“Among dozens more who think what he’s thinking but keep their opinions to themselves, so they don’t speak out against the B.S.A.A.’s golden boy.”

Chris looks like he's carefully picking his next words but you speak out before he has the chance to form a compelling argument. “I refuse to drag you down to my level. End of discussion. Leave.”

Chris is standing a few paces away from you next to the sink, still looking like he wants to keep insisting on a potential partnership that you know is doomed to fail. Your shoulders slump and you try a different tactic.

“I really do appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but I changed my mind. I don’t want you here right now. Please respect that.”

Chris processes your words. He nods his head and heads to the door. “Alright.”

You see him put his hand on his keys on the entryway table, but he doesn’t pick them up. His wanting eyes dart over to you one more time while you refuse to meet his gaze.

“I’ll check in on you next week. Do you need me to get your car picked up?”

Your car is still broken down in the parking lot of the bar from the night before. You sigh in frustration. “Thank you for reminding me. I’ll handle it. Drive safe.”

You can’t look at the front door. You’re not too sure if it would happen, but you don’t want to risk your resolve crumbling if you get a glimpse of Chris’ face. His infuriatingly kind, tempting face.

After a long pause, you finally hear Chris pick up his keys in the entryway and the front door open. “Keep that foot elevated, will ya Doc?”

“Will do.”

Another long pause, and you hear the front door mercifully close. A moment after, an engine starting up, and a large vehicle driving away.

In the silence of your kitchen, solitary living suddenly feels suffocating. Your mind is still racing. Even after being pushed away minutes after eating you out, Chris still wants to do things for you and it makes your heart ache. As strong as your resolve is right now, you’re unsure if you’ll be able to hold out and it terrifies you.

You need distance. Not just emotionally. Physical distance. You know the solution immediately.

In a matter of minutes, you dig out the offer letter from the trash and call the number on the header. When someone finally answers, you’re cordial. Calm.

“Hello, this is Dr. Wesker. I’m calling to learn more about your transfer offer.”

In the span of an hour, your escape plan is set. Europe HQ has booked you on a red eye flight to Germany for later that evening, a work visa is expedited, your new apartment keys are waiting for you across the globe, and you're throwing everything you can't replace in Germany into a suitcase without much throught for organization.

They were surprised to hear you wanted to transfer so quickly, but they were quick to accommodate your reasonable requests. And when they asked if Captain Redfield would still be checking in with you, they were more than understanding about you wanting a local agent to look after you.

Chris Redfield always tries to save everyone.

It’s your turn to make sure you save him from yourself.

_______________________________

Thanks for reading!

#chris redfield x reader smut #chris redfield x reader #resident evil fanfiction #reader is the wife of (dead) albert wesker #reader is a former umbrella scientist #chris redfield #albert wesker #the Wife the Lover and the Bastard Son #angst #no use of y/n #domestic fluff #frenemies to lovers #no beta we die like men

[wolfpawzjakey]

I read your post and remembered something from my Brainrot.

fatal flaw of Percy - loyalty and I headcanon his dual Roman heritage of Venus and Apollo. The common symbol of these gods is a swan... The swan in culture is a symbol of loyalty to their beloved, these beautiful white-feathered creatures choose one pair for life and die if she dies or they remain lonely for the rest of their lives. Do you understand what I'm getting at? When Jason dies, Percy remains alone forever. He is the grandson of the goddess of love and the grandson of the god known for his tragedies, loyalty is sewn into his soul by the rest of the threads. He and Jason were doomed from the very beginning.

When Jason dies, a part of Percy dies with him and he no longer feels life the way he should - the sun is not as warm and bright, the air is heavy and life is no longer so good without Jason. a couple of years pass and Percy is still lonely and fiercely rejects all those in love with him. His loved ones are worried about him, they say that life goes on, that Percy shouldn't bury himself alive, that he should move forward, that his Jason wouldn't want endless grief for him. But Percy can't, he just can't, he doesn't even see That he can fall in love again, Jason is his soul mate, his soulmate is the love of his life after all. Percy is loyal, terribly loyal, and he will remain loyal to Jason until they reunite in Hades.

ANON YOU ARE SPEAKING MY LANGUAGE.

I absolutely love your thought path and agree entirely. I love letting Jason live him life out filled with new memories and love. But letting Percy live out the rest of his life after losing Jason is just as tempting.

Not to be that guy but Percy losing his will to live, maybe struggling to keep up his self care, going from bright, snappy Percy to a bleak version of himself. He loses weight, loses his muscle, he’s hardly functional and if anyone had any handle on him, he’d have been banned from battle long ago. On top of him battling depression though, I feel as though his temperament would drastically change, especially as time progressed on. He pushes more people away with time. He’s either so depressed that he’s impenetrable to anyone’s help, so enraged at the misfortune he’s faced in his life (obviously when a tragedy happens that’s so large and impactful, like the loss of a lover, the other impactful things you’ve been pushing away for later just tumble out), or spending his time just locked away, sobbing until he’s listless and numb.

No doubt passes through my mind that Percy is either the strongest person externally after someone important in his life passes away or the absolute worst. But all in all, we know he deals with sui*idal thoughts. He’s had them represented to us in the writings and even if they weren’t explicitly there or not there at all, there’s literally nothing a single person could do to convince me he wouldn’t have such thoughts after living the life he does. NOTHING! So losing Jason, it’s like a 24/7 struggle. He is either diligent in ignoring it or it’s a one more small tick of a box and it’s over for him. No doubt in my mind. I’d dealve deeper into that but this post is more about jercy and the tragedy of it all than it is my character deep dive all about Percy and how dingy his mental health must be after some digging.

Jason, I miss u everyday.

Thank you anon for your genius brain moment and for sending me my first ask

#jercy #jason grace #percy jackson #pjo #hoo #toa #jason grace deserved better #asks #idk what to call my replies #pawz replies #tw sui ideation #tw sui implied #sui mention

[wheels-of-despair]

Live A Little | A Worth It AU | Ralph Penbury x You | Masterlist

In This Edition: You and Ralph venture out of your cabin! Words: 1.3k

You wake to the sound of angry whispers.

"It's not proper!"

"Those kids have been through Hell together!"

"They're not married!"

Ralph's eyes open. You hold your breath and listen closely, watching each other beneath the covers and not daring to move a muscle.

"And?"

"And it's despicable! Having to share a room with… with…"

"With my niece, and the boy who saved her life?"

"I thought you said his sister was on board! Send him there, or back to the lounge!"

"My girl wouldn't leave that boy to get on a boat and save her own life, and you think she's going to let him go because you said so?"

A proud smile spreads across your face. You knew Aunt Molly would always be on your side.

"Ugh!" The other woman groans in frustration, and you hear the door open.

"If you think for one minute that I'm--" Molly shuts the door, and your eavesdropping is abruptly cut off.

"She's got it wrong," Ralph whispers. "You're the one who saved me."

"Aunt Molly is never wrong," you smile.

"Then perhaps we'll have to agree to disagree."

"That won't do," you argue, reaching out to cup the side of his face. "Because we saved each other."

You're already close, but you both move your faces forward just a tiny bit for a kiss.

The door closes again.

"Food's here, kids! I let you sleep through dinner last night, but I draw the line at missing breakfast."

Aunt Molly sits on her bed and tells you about how the other survivors are being treated by the generous crew and passengers of the Carpathia while you eat, but you find it hard to concentrate. You do notice that she makes no mention of the argument with her roommate… whose few possessions have disappeared.

Molly leaves again when you've finished eating, and you and Ralph return to bed. You've never been so exhausted in your life. You're grateful for your tiny bed, and the boy you're sharing it with.

There are no windows in your cabin. The only marker of time is whispered words on well-timed bouts of consciousness with Ralph. You remember getting up to eat once more, and to visit the lavatory. You have a vague memory of Molly suggesting that you switch beds, now that Hettie had found other accommodations, and guiding you and Ralph to the slightly larger mattress.

You'd continue to sleep inches apart anyhow.

"Should we go find Victoria?" you ask, during one of those rare occasions you're both awake at the same time.

"No," Ralph sighs. "I don't want to see her."

"I don't want to see anyone but you," you breathe.

"Likewise," he says.

And then you both drift off again.

"I can't stop dreaming about it," Ralph admits another time.

You know exactly what he's talking about. It haunts you too.

"What would you like to dream about?" you ask.

"You," he answers.

"Perhaps if we concentrate on happier things, we'll dream about them?"

"It's worth a try," Ralph sighs. "I want to see snow. Real snow, not just a flurry. I want to be in a warm house, with you, looking out the window at the falling snow. At Christmastime."

"That sounds wonderful," you smile, closing your eyes and trying to picture it. "I'll make us hot cocoa... we can bake cookies… maybe it'll be so hot, we'll have to take our clothes off…"

"Mm…" Ralph hums.

You both drift off again, hoping to experience the romantic scene you've set instead of the horrifying vision of the sea swallowing an unsinkable ship.

It's not until after dinner, delivered by Molly, that you feel truly awake again. Your aches have subsided. Your brain isn't foggy anymore. Your body still wants to remain in bed, however, so you lie there on your back next to Ralph, looking at the ceiling.

"I think I'll enjoy being on solid ground again," you muse.

Ralph doesn't respond. You turn your head to see a worried expression on his face.

"Ralph? Are you alright?"

"Do you still want to marry me?

His question makes your heart stop. Is he having second thoughts? You turn your gaze back to the ceiling, rather than stare at him in fear.

"Of course I do, Ralph. Do you still want to marry me?"

"Absolutely, but… do you think your parents will allow it?"

"I'd like to see them try and stop us," you respond without even having to think about it.

Ralph looks taken aback by your comment.

"I love you, Ralph Penbury," you smile, squeezing his hand and gazing at him in adoration. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Whether it's an hour or a lifetime, I want it to be with you. And I don't give a damn what anyone else has to say about it."

Ralph's eyes begin to water. He leans over for a kiss. It starts sweet, but soon turns desperate. Passionate. Something you haven't felt up to in days.

"I'm so happy I met you," he breathes.

"So am I," you smile, cupping his jaw and staring into his beautiful eyes. You can't imagine spending another day without him.

"Let's do it," you suggest.

"Do what?"

"Let's get married."

"Have we not just established we're going to?" he asks.

"Now."

"Now?"

"Let's get married now," you clarify. "They can't object if it's already done."

"Do you mean it?"

You nod.

"But… weddings take months to plan."

"Do you want to wait months, Ralph?"

His brow furrows, and you can see him weighing his options.

"You'd be willing to forego the dress, and the flowers, and the church? Your family being present? All those traditions? For me?"

"I don't need any of that, Ralph," you smile. "All I need is you."

"Are you sure?"

"Ralph, please don't think that I'm trying to pressure you into this. We don't have to do this if you don't want to. We're both tired and hazy still. If you want to--"

"No," he interrupts. "Are you sure you want me?"

The unsure look on his face pains you. How can he not see that he's your entire world? You lean forward for a deep kiss.

"Now who's mad?" you ask, pulling back with a smile. You cradle his face in your hands. "Of course I want you, Ralph. You're the only one I've ever wanted. And I'll still want you tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that. We don't have to do this now, if you're not ready. I'll wait forever for you."

Ralph stares at you for a moment, then laughs.

"I love you," he says, leaning over to pepper your face with kisses.

"I love you too, Ralph," you giggle, lying helplessly under his attack.

"Well, my love, shall we find ourselves a minister?" he asks when he finishes.

You grin and roll out of bed. You visit the lavatories and fix yourselves up the best you can, and set off in search of a holy man. A steward directs you to the person you're looking for.

You had no idea a wedding could happen so quickly. All the ones you'd attended back home had taken months to plan, like Ralph said. Hundreds of guests, many of whom the bride and groom probably didn't even like. Thousands spent on venues and decorations and dinner for hundreds. So much commotion, the people it was for barely had time to speak to each other.

And then there was this. A quiet ceremony in a dark corner of a ship's library, days after an event that would surely be one for the history books. In the clothes you'd been wearing for days. No fanfare at all; just you, the man you love, and the man reading scripture who would happily sign the necessary papers for a young couple who chose love in the face of tragedy.

It was perfect.

#writings of despair #ralphtanic #ralph penbury #ralph penbury x you #ralph penbury x reader #ralph timewasters

[thxrnking]

Day One - A Night Children AU One-shot

Tag List: @phoenixriaartemis @anja-the-sane-sibling @simplycreatorjo @miraimeity @sparklingdiva678 @punsandquips @lyna-possibility @32nder @libralelia @luvvy-star @caitlynnrosespn @generalakuma @anonymous-gremlin @mightnightmooon @delphinus-dancer @mudpuddlenl

Summary - Today's the first day of the rest of Jack's life. So what's his choice?

Content Warning - implied physical abuse/torture

----

Everything hurts. A pounding throb is threatening to tear my head apart while my limbs ache, every muscle feels over-stretched, and I’m pretty close to just slipping back into unconsciousness. Something itches though, at the base of my brain, something pushing me to stand and look. I have no idea at what.

It takes some time to drag myself up, every muscle crying out in overworked agony. With a stretch, my joints crack and pop back into place, releasing pressure I had no idea I’d been carrying and drawing from me a long sigh of relief.

You’d think standing would be easier now that I’m sat up. You’d think. Not even halfway up, my head reels, swirling worse than a snow-globe. Everything’s spinning around me and I land heavily back on the bed. I think I might be sick.

I don’t know what happened. I vaguely remember my friends, there was dancing, but after that there’s nothing. No faces, no names, not even a vague feeling in any direction. Just a great blank slate where my memories should be and the more I look at it, the more my head hurts. It takes a minute or two but I finally manage to stand. My balance is still off and I stumble into my dresser which isn’t fun, and all thoughts leave my head when I catch sight of myself in the mirror.

At least I think that’s me. Same pale complexion, stellar cheekbones, striking jawline, but that’s not my hair. I’ve had the same hair my whole life, short, red, gently styled. Easy to maintain and iconic; but the hair in the mirror is an inch shorter, and black. Well except for a small pink streak near the top of my head.

I reach for it in shock, barely believing as my reflection does the same. What the-?

“You’re awake.”

The sudden voice scares me near shitless. My knees thud against the dresser but I don’t have time to feel the smack, turning to see Wanderlust standing a short way away. At least I think it’s Wanderlust. He looks taller; his clothes and his crown are darker, more twisted. Over his shoulders is a feathered cape that can only mean one thing. Mother.

“What happened to you!” I blurt, but he doesn’t even blink.

“What do you remember?” he asks.

“Nothing. I-”

Wait.

Cold. I remember being cold. I don’t remember what happened to my blazer, but my shirt was torn and damp and I was littered in cuts and bruises. I look down at my chest. My smart shirt isn’t torn. It’s purple and neatly pressed and fits me perfectly. As ever it’s good at hiding Mother’s sins.

A hollow ache blossoms in my chest. I’d been alone. Restrained and locked away. Never mind days it had to have been weeks. Had anyone even realised I was missing? Did anyone care?

I start to cough, hacking and spluttering; desperately trying to catch my breath as my chest spasms over and over. My stomach twists, wrenching violently as I drop to one knee, trying and failing to catch myself against the dresser.

I’m going to be sick, or I would if there was anything in my stomach. For a few minutes I’m retching as my body tries and fails to eject something, anything from my mouth. When was the last time I ate something?

Then comfort floods me as something warm comes in beside me. An arm wraps around my shoulder and pulls me in. I look up. Wanderlust holds me, his grip firm and strong as he pulls me close, gently hushing me. The ache in my chest fades to a dull pain.

I remember.

Wanderlust was the one who found me. Walked right in with a new smile, some new clothes, and quiet promises to keep me safe. I’d flinched away but he didn’t care.

‘Trust me.’ he’d said. The two dumbest words I’d ever heard him say. Of course I trust him.

Wanderlust moves to stand, pulling me up with him and without thought, I follow his lead. I hold tight as I try to get my legs to take my own weight. I’m not ready to let him go; he’s so warm. His fingertips drag along my forearm, sending goosebumps dancing across my skin and I think he knows what he’s doing because his lips are quirked in such a shit-eating smile. I just might melt in that smile. Gradually, he drags them towards my hand, taking it and interlocking our fingers, holding tight.

My head is swimming as we stand there; he’s holding my hand up, while the other has dropped to my back, holding me close; it’s almost like we’re dancing. As if we’d ever be allowed to stand this close.

But we are.

With a gentle twist of my fingers as he lifts my hand, Wanderlust encourages me to turn, wrapping his free arm around my waist again and pulling me back against him.

“Look at us,” he tells me.

So I look.

This can’t be us, I tell myself. The arm around my waist tightens like he’s afraid I might walk away. I should. We agreed a long time ago that we can’t be together. No one will accept us, and there’s more important things to focus on.

But look at how entwined we are. Wanderlust’s chin on my shoulder, his chest pressed firm against my back, his arms tight around me. His lips brush against my cheek as he presses a soft kiss and I can’t help but drown a little.

How many times have I let go for the greater good? For the sake of safety or sacrifice? Don’t I deserve this? Don’t I deserve to be happy?

“What do you think?” There’s a sly smile on Wanderlust’s lips as his reflection pins me with an unyielding gaze.

I stare at us. At my hair. At his crown. In his eyes. My eyes flit to every point of contact; like a drink of cool water after hours in the hot sun, it’s all too much and not enough. I push myself back into his hold, and Wanderlust pulls me closer. He’s only too happy to give me what I want. Finally.

“Perfect.”

#Just Dance 2024 #Jack Rose #jd Jack Rose #jd Jack Swan #jd Wanderlust #Night Children AU #NCAU #Jacklust #Wanderrose

[dollya-robinprotector]

dollyaaaaa ur art is so nice n clean always!! im wondering how u draw so quickly n consistently? bow much time does it take for u to draw stuff ö i love seeing ur art pop up on the tl always, its so inspiring!! have a great rest of ur day >:333

Not gonna lie, I usually avoid the ask related to my drawing time or process. I cannot count how many asks I have received on this same matter, but...

Well, I should clarify one thing: I am not uncomfortable answering these ask. I answer some if I can. I just don't know how to answer most of them. English isn't my first language so even if I want to write a tutorial it's just gonna be... "messy" I think? Also, I have this love-hate feeling when it comes to drawing fast.

As you can see I draw almost daily. To answer asks, to present my own ideas,... there are two reasons for my fast-drawing skill:

I think way too much. My trains of thought often crash onto each other and my brain is just purely chaotic, to the point I'm overloaded and stop thinking. That's not good. So before things get complicated or fade to nothingness I would draw them out. it's how I preserve my ideas, keep my sanity intact, and not shut down from thinking.

It's my practice. I grew up knowing practice makes perfect, so I kinda draw to train my muscle memory. A kind of habit as an artist. I remember coming across an interview with BL artist Hotoku and I saw their comment on how to get through a "slump":

and it was at that moment I realized there's nothing more important than to draw when you are an artist. A "slump" (or artblock, etc...) is a disaster for all art creators, so I choose to prevent and get out of it simply by drawing more.

I remember I doubted Hotoku's answer for some time, but now I understand them perfectly. I, too, love and think about drawing all the time, almost that I don't want to do anything else besides drawing. It's complicated to describe, but I think I gaslighted myself successfully into a drawing maniac.

After all, all that I'm capable of is drawing. If it's not for my artworks, I'd be nothing. I can not satisfy my parents, my coworkers, my senpais, or even myself, so at least seeing some strangers on the internet appreciate my drawing warms me up inside I think, ehe~

As for how long it takes me to draw, it depends. Some simple sketches to answer asks took from a few minutes to maybe some good hours. The asks keep coming and I'm delighted to it, but the most I can do is answer 5 - 6 of them a day, usually, I could only do 3 - 4 or least, so I have to admit and apologize because I can not answer everything sent to my ask box. I do the most I can. The asks are a huge part of my creative inspiration and mental comfort, so I always give them my best. Thanks for sending me these asks everyone~

I called off my work today and shut down all the notifications from my boss, so maybe I'll rest more. But I would get back to draw as soon as I can.

#dollya ask #I kinda went on a ramble with this one but #I just can't help #other whom've sent ask about how I draw I hope you understand I can not answer them all #dollya art #non dol posting

[sairee]

Coming home (Ghost x Soap)

After an intimate time together, Ghost and Soap are filled with giddy happiness while they lay in bed.

Chapter 31 excerpt of Don't Let Me Go.

“You were amazing…” Ghost murmured in praise, his voice thick with tiredness. Soap looked at him with a lazy smile plastered across his face and rested a hand against Ghost’s chest.

Soap opened his mouth to speak, but quickly snapped it shut as he pressed his forehead to Ghost’s chest and let out a giddy laugh. He raised his head again, clearly trying to suppress his laughter.

His laughter was contagious and Ghost couldn’t help but smile at hearing it. He wanted to keep hearing, forever. After a second, Soap seemed to calm himself down as he looked deeply into Ghost’s eyes.

“I’ve thought about doing that for so long,” Soap said sincerely.

“You thought about me?” Ghost asked cheekily to which Soap rolled his eyes with affection.

“Like you weren’t thinking the same things…”

“I keep it professional, Sergeant.”

Soap scoffed. “Yeah right. You were just as desperate.”

“Even before we were together?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“I don’t know,” Ghost said playfully, dragging his fingers along Soap’s spine. “How should I feel about my subordinate constantly having inappropriate thoughts about me?”

Soap pursed his lips trying, and failing, to hide his smile. “First of all,” he started, “it wasn’t constantly.”

“Just most of the time.”

“There were many instances, yes,” Soap relented. He traced his hand over the muscles of Ghost’s chest. “That can’t be a crime considering how you look…” Soap let his eyes drop as his hand wandered over the taut muscles. As if suddenly snapping back to attention, he turned his focus back to Ghost.

“And secondly,” he spoke up again, “you made a move on the Sergeant in your charge. Where was your professionalism then, huh? You oughta be written up.”

“And I’d do it again…” Ghost smirked.

“Yes please…”

Ghost lightly pressed his lips against Soap’s who sighed into it and kissed back. They stayed like this for a long time, lazily kissing and licking at each other’s lips, wandering hands full of gentle touches. If the world ended right now, Ghost would happily watch it crumble away as he held Soap in his arms.

Slowly, Ghost became aware of a question nagging at the back of his mind and he let it tumble out of mouth. “You thought about me?” he asked, this time the joking edge of his words replaced with sincerity.

“Of course.”

“And?”

Ghost let the rest of the question hang in the air. With a genuine smile, Soap slid one of his hands up to cup the side of Ghost’s face and he melted into the touch.

“It was everything and more,” Soap said earnestly, brushing his thumb across Ghost’s cheek. “Just like you.”

Ghost felt those words burn and sear into his brain permanently. Soap shifted his position so he was laying down next to Ghost and resting his head on Ghost’s shoulder. Ghost tightened his grip on the other man, hoping to keep him here forever.  

Soap wrapped the chain of Ghost’s dog tag around his finger and started playing with it in tired absentmindedness. It had slipped Ghost’s mind what was written on the tag, the memory only entering his mind again when Soap abruptly stopped fiddling with it. He grabbed the dog tag to read it better, then flicked his eyes up to Ghost.

“Simon…” Soap asked slowly. “Why does your dog tag not have your name on it?”

He knew exactly what it said.

Ghost.

There was nothing else. He was no one else.

“Because I’m just The Ghost,” he replied carefully. After poignant silence from Soap, Ghost felt pressured to speak again. “It was thought best to not put my name on the tags. If I died in the field, I would remain as I lived – unknown. It’s not like the military had anyone to send my remains to anyway…”

With a melancholic expression, Soap gently placed the cool dog tag back onto Ghost’s warm chest. His face was twisted in thought and he subconsciously bit at his lip. After a few seconds, he spoke up.

“Call me a sentimental fool, but I’d care. I’d want you to return back home.”

“I don’t really have a home anymore…” Ghost wasn’t trying to get Soap to pity him but stated it as a simple fact.

“Then return to me.”

Ghost looked up at the ceiling, an overwhelming feeling blooming in his chest. He blinked away the tears that threatened to come out.

“Yeah…” he whispered. “I’d like that.”

Full (spicy) chapter ao3.

#johnny is simons home #i'll scream it from the rooftops #ghostsoap #soapghost #soap x ghost #ghost x soap #john mactavish #john soap mactavish #simon riley #simon ghost riley #codfic #cod #mw2 #my writing #chapter 31 #dont let me go cod #dont let me go fic #ghoap writing #op

[foolish-sparrow]

Legends Never Die

A/N: So I am not going to lie I have absolutely no idea where this came from. I have been playing The Last of Us which may have something to do with it but. . . Yeah.

Warning's: Torture, gaslighting, manipulation, blood, injury, alcohol, major character death, toxic family relationships, and trauma. Reader does not have a good time

When consciousness begins its slow tortuous descent from your brain to the rest of your body, you had begged it to stop.

The viper had her fangs in deep, will you manage to escape her hold?

When consciousness begins its slow torturous descent from your brain to the rest of your body, you had begged it to stop.

First, it was the continuous barrage of dripping water raging havoc on your throbbing temple; your hearing far too dulled to even comprehend anything else. There was the sensation of something warm and wet as it trickled from your ears and down the side of your face, sometimes catching on the layers of crusted red that already stained your skin.

You don’t bother opening your eyes. You knew what you would see, and even if it was anything different from the dark grey walls of your hellscape, you knew it would only because you were under the influence of her magic.

The sharpness of her voice echoes in your mind, the way it coils around your throat like a viper; head level with yours with its deadly teeth on display.

Remember, it speaks, eyes the same color as your own, you gave me no other choice.

Perhaps she was right, perhaps you should have just done what you were told rather than trying so hard to gain her acceptance. After all, you were to be the future Ruler of your kingdom, the person your people would look up to for guidance and safety.

But all you had cared about was proving yourself to her, selfishly wishing to hear the very words that she has spoken to your sibling time and time again.

“I am so proud of you.”

Tears begin to fill in the corner of your eyes. You had thought yourself too weak to even conjure them up anymore, yet here they were.

“I’m sorry,” you croak out, voice hoarse from unuse as your swollen throat tried to form the letters. “I am so sorry.”

Footsteps echo against stone, calculated and teasing as they grow louder. “Pathetic,” the viper sneers, and when you finally open your eyes, the deadly snake is replaced with the sight of The Queen.

Your mother.

“Such a waste,” she sighs, the words – having been said to you countless times before – do nothing but chisel away at your broken form rather than strike deep like they used to. “You could have been so much more, and yet here we are,” a feigned sigh of disappointment, the muscles in your neck too strained to keep your head up for the rest.

She places a hand on your stained shirt, right above where your beating heart is fighting to keep you alive. “Useless. The only thing you have left to offer is your magic, and even that has started to become impotent.”

“My apologies,” you mumble, the words having been ingrained into every single sentence you spoke to her.

The corner of her lips twitch, and before you know it the hand she had on your chest glowed a dull green before your body felt like it had been set on fire. Every single nerve ends sizzling hot and causing muscles to spasm and your vision to blur.

You are aware that your mouth is open, but there is no sound, no screaming. Any air that had been resting in your lungs releasing in a single breath.

The pain is intense, all-encompassing, and rendering any voluntary motion impossible. You can feel the cold metal of your restraints rub deeper into the untreated sores already there, droplets of blood forming on old wounds and smudging your skin with each twist of your arm.

You can feel that last strings of consciousness begin to snap one by one, darkness forming over you like a storm cloud and daring you to keep yourself awake as it plagues your mind with memories long since forgotten while under the influence of your mother’s torture.

And just how quickly it all started, it was gone once your mother pulled her hand back.

Labored breaths reverberate from the walls, the small space quickly becoming humid and causing your clothing to become unbearably clingy. Sweat layers against your skin and leaves you wishing for a gentle breeze to brush through your hair and whisk you away.

There is a noise behind you, however, you are given no time to react before your small damp world becomes dark once again.

- - - - - - - - - - ☆ - - - - - - - - - -

Cold washes over your body and alerts you into consciousness. Eyes snapping over to find your mother standing before you with a now-empty bucket held in her grasp.

“It would seem some are questioning your whereabouts,” she hums, and you can’t distinguish the look hidden behind her eyes, “even after the treasonous things you have committed. It is hard to fathom the reason why they care.”

It doesn’t take long for you to figure out who could be asking questions. While it had been a strict rule growing up for you to always stay behind the castle walls unless supervised there had been instances where you couldn’t stop yourself.

Music. It flowed through your veins and sang freely in your heart.

Your mother had been against your passion from the beginning, arguing that your entire focus should be on preparing yourself as the future Ruler. And that something so frivolous was nothing but a distraction.

Your father had disagreed, even going so far as to gift you a fiddle on your birthday.

You can remember the pure happiness swirling around you as soon as your eyes covered its wooden surface, how pictures of a dancing Buck – your family’s emblem – were carved intricately on its surface.

You had hugged your father tight, tears of joy and gratitude filling your vision as you looked into his eyes.

You spent many hours with and without a tutor, practicing and perfecting. The desire to show others leads you to sneak out at night in disguise and bare your talents to anyone who would listen.

You formed your first friendships on those nights, something you had been denied of before then.

You have no idea where your beloved instrument is now, probably burned or broken like you are. Never knowing when freedom will have you in its grasp again.

You can feel her stare as she becomes quiet, probably analyzing her next move. “Your sister is to be coronated on the next full moon. It is such a shame you will be unable to attend.”

Fear clutches your heart at the implications, eyes going wide and causing the viper to grin in satisfaction. Your reactions had been beginning to become boring to witness, and interest was what was keeping you alive.

“Mothe-“

“Hold your tongue. You are no child of mine.”

The words alone are enough for your jaw to be commanded shut, eyes boring holes into the stonework above you. Instinct has your body feeling more awake than it had been in days. . . Weeks? You were not entirely sure how much time has passed since you first awoke here.

No more words are spoken, the heavy wooden door closing before the ripples of magic surround it once again.

Terror has your breathing becoming labored, your chest rising and falling unevenly as you twist your arm in a futile attempt at escape. Whispered curses fell passed your lips the more you struggled.

Through the haze in your mind you attempt to remember any part of your magic training that could help, but seeing as you were so short after your mother’s continuous draining you feared that there wasn’t enough inside you, to begin with.

It is with that knowledge that you slump back against the table in defeat, sobs forcing their way into the world and letting no one but yourself of your own desperation.

“I-I’m sorry, father,” you whimper, longing for his comforting embrace to make you feel better, “I didn’t mean to do it, I s-swear.”

You would not get a response, not from him. Never again.

But even in death, he was still there to guide you, it seems; the sound of the thick door handle echoing throughout the space before a new voice fills your mind.

“Hush now, young one, I am here.”

It is more enough for your eyes to snap open, quickly searching out the arrival and blinking in disbelief when wide unblinking gold orbs stare back at you.

It was your father’s owl, Persephone.

Her voice is gentle when it once again filters into your mind, the jingling of keys averting your attention to what was held in her grasp. “You need to leave.” With some difficulty she manages to get the key into the shackle and twist, freeing your limb.

It is tender at the wrists from the constant rubbing, and you wince when your muscles complain from lack of use, but adrenaline has you shaking it all away. Fingers reach for the key and free yourself before turning back to Persephone.

“How did you—”

“No time,” she interrupts, eyes still unblinking as she looks at you, “go.”

“What of the guards? I am too weak to get anywhere so quickly.” Your legs would have given way had you not been holding yourself up, dulled pain shooting up to your knee and rendering your legs unstable at best.

“Here,” she flies back to the door and gestures for you to open it, your lack of balance meaning you need a moment in order to do so.

You watch, wary, as the magic surrounding the wooden frame warps when you tentatively reach out a hand. The sensation as if you were wading through particularly thickened air.

And nothing more.

Taking a deep breath you step through, beyond relieved when you get through unharmed.

Persephone waits until your attention is back on her, flying over to the end of the hallway just to your left.

“There,” she uses a talon to gesture at an unlit torch. Confusion clouds your senses before you reach out and grab the surface and pull. A soft click resounding before the screech of shifting stone has you glancing back in hopes no one could hear.

The pathway beyond is pitch black, your eyes failing to see more than a couple of feet before you.

Casting one last glance at Persephone, your savior, you express all of the gratitude swirling deep before taking a step into the unknown.

- - - - - - - - - - ☆ - - - - - - - - - -

With a few muscles still complaining, you heaved yourself until you could sit. The air was fresh, the small breeze only strong enough to dance with the wisps of your shortened hair and the individual pieces of grass beneath you.

There was a slight chill, but you pushed it aside to focus on other things. You needed to keep moving, staying in one place for too long is a very dangerous thing for you to do.

And so with that in mind, you rose to your feet, the beaten and worn stained boots trudged towards your grazing companion. A smile complimented your features when the large black stallion perked up in interest upon your approach.

“Hello old friend,” you greet, chuckling when he pushed his snout against your outstretched hand. “Not much further now, you may have a treat when we get there.” His deep voice echoes in your mind, relenting his nagging for the time being.

Time has been rough, and you like to think you had managed to adapt to it at least a little. But the truth was you had been lucky. News of your escape had spread far and fast. Posters littering every town with a sum for your head.

You had even heard children singing little rhymes, their joyful voices like a mocking shadow that whispered into your ear as you slept.

Changing your appearance had been the easy part. After all the clothes you had escaped in were dirtied and torn, bloodstains covering its surface and leaving you looking the furthest thing from Royalty.

Coming up with a new name had also been easy, but responding to it was where you struggled. Especially since there was no title, no respect, or pride as it was announced.

It made you sound entitled now that you think about it, but it was simply what you were used to.

Reaching into one of the saddlebags, you retrieve a map you had. . . “acquired” and looked upon its surface. It wasn’t detailed in the slightest, only marking major cities, but you had managed to crudely draw in villages and towns when you passed.

You didn’t want to have to steal from the innocent and hardworking, working any and all jobs that you were given. And it was during those moments that you truly realized your skills were not of use for laborious activities.

You were taught to fight, of course, a well-made sword was deadly under your guide. But you were brought up to rely heavily on your magical abilities, taught to wield them as if they were an extension of your physical body.

Perhaps to a point, it is.

But your studies had been cut short, and the circumstances with your moth—with the Queen meant that you feel like the magic within you has been. . . lessened. Or perhaps locked away. You weren’t quite sure what she had been doing to you but any time you used your magic it would cut off quickly and left you feeling exhausted after only a couple of minutes.

Whatever money you did manage to garner though, you saved up to buy the cheapest fiddle you could find. You were aware that it was a risk, your love for the instrument was something The Queen was aware of, after all. But you also knew that it was a way for you to earn more money in a way you would both enjoy and be good at.

All in all, it was a good investment, and you were happy with the purchase. The instrument itself was poorly made and constantly needed tuning, but you had grown fond of it – it was like the first step into your new life, an unknown, dangerous step.

“Well,” you sigh after placing the map back and patting your horse’s neck, “you ready?”

“Do I have a choice?” He says while turning his head to you, and you grin right back.

“Of course you do, I have no chance of matching you in a race.” The thought makes you laugh, something that was scarce in and of itself.

The stallion snorts, tapping his hoof once against the ground, “you need me to look after you.”

Not a complete lie, you think, patting his neck one last time before hoisting yourself onto the saddle. But I have enough pride to keep that to myself.

It was one thing you had guarded like a mother wolf with her pups, teeth bared and eyes locked on. Emotions, feelings. They were not to be trusted by anyone but yourself.

I will not make the same mistake again.

It only took but a few hours until the sight of thatched rooftops and wooden beams began to peak in the distance, smoke contrasting heavily with the clear blue of the skies above.

As you close the distance you make sure to tighten the buckle keeping the two sides of your cloak together and pulling down the brim of your bycocket down to cover more of your face. From what you could make out there didn’t seem to be any of the Royal Guard loitering around, but you couldn’t be too careful.

Once right on the outskirts you hop off the saddle, taking hold of the reigns as you decide to continue further on foot. Stopping short when you notice a wooden sign placed in front of the first building, worn lettering placed against its surface.

Whitestone.

Letting go of the reigns you quickly retrieve your map and lean it up against your horse’s body so you can write down the location and name; a disgruntled snort coming from your companion to show off his offense at being used as a makeshift table.

“Oh hush,” you mumble, patting the spot you had just been leaning against.

There is a merchant just off to the right of the sign, a single cart behind him that has all of his wares. “A stranger! It isn’t often we get new faces in these parts.” His smile is wide and aura welcome, but you supposed that was to gain interest for what he was selling.

“Yes sir,” you nod, “passing through.”

“Why the rush? You look like you could use the rest,” his words aren’t completely wrong but you didn’t like to rest in inns or taverns; too many people and too high a chance of being caught out.

“Oh, um, I appreciate the kind offer bu—”

“Splendid! My wife actually owns the inn. Tell her I sent you, should help with the, uh, suspicions. Ever since the young Royal has been declared missing people have been worrying that they will turn up and go on a murderous rampage.” He has leaned in to whisper this to you, and the words send a spike of fear straight to your chest.

Does he know? Have I been caught?

The terror begins filling your body, shoulders tensing and locking as your complexion pales. The merchant picked up on this but thankfully mistaking it for something else. “Ah, my apologies stranger, I promise they haven’t turned up in these parts so you have nothing to worry about.”

“R-right,” you manage to force out, but fear still has you in its clutches. “Um, perhaps I shall go to the inn. Thank you.”

You don’t hear his response over the harsh beat of your heart, but thankfully your horse senses your struggle and gently guides your legs to begin moving as you still have hold of the reigns. His ears twitch as if he is making sure that no one can bother you while you regain your breathing in an attempt to calm yourself down.

“Thank you,” you breathe out after a moment, placing a hand against his side in gratitude.

He doesn’t ‘verbally’ reply, but his snort of air says all he needs to.

- - - - - - - - - - ☆ - - - - - - - - - -

After leading your horse to the trough of water and giving him the promised treat, you enter through the front door of the inn. The environment has always been something you have felt more at home in, especially when comparing it to the wide lonely spaces of the castle.

You didn’t need to overthink people’s words here, there was no politics or manipulation. Just drunken people having good times with the good company.

It is currently midday, however, so the lively atmosphere usually accompanied with the building is calmed for the time being.

Making your way over to the bar, you take a seat right as someone rounds a corner, no one having the time to comprehend anything before you find yourself soaked from head to shoulder by. . . you lick your lips. Yep, that was alcohol.

“Oh no,” you hear a voice cry out, the image of a tall slender woman entering your vision before she has dashed away back to where she came. Returning seconds later with a rag in hand. “I am so sorry – I tripped – please let me help.”

Despite yourself and the sticky sensation you can’t help but laugh at the situation, reaching out to steady the woman’s frantic motions. She was currently leaning all the way over the bar, attempting to scrub you dry.

You can’t help but take notice of her hair, its golden shine reminding you of the sun and its glory. “It’s perfectly alright,” you smile, once again gently taking hold of her hands so you could gain her attention. “I am not harmed, so there is nothing for you to apologize for.”

Her nose scrunches in confusion, but she does stop her hurried attempt at wiping you clean, “I just spilled ale all over you,” she states, like you weren’t there for it, “of course I am going to apologize for that.”

“What I meant was that you needn’t feel guilty over it,” you reiterate, watching as the shy glint of that very emotion shines in her eyes, “accidents happen.”

She averts her eyes at your words, fingers picking at the cloth, “yes but unfortunately for me they happen too often.”

You open your mouth with reassurances ready on your tongue, but they don’t get the chance to escape as another person rounds the corner. She looks like a spitting image of the one before you, the only difference being that age clouds her features with wrinkles and specks of grey.

Her eyes take in who you assume to be her daughter, before gazing at you, then back to her daughter and sighing. “Not again, Yoohyeon.”

“I’m sorry mother—”

“It’s alright she didn’t mean to—”

Your eyes meet after realizing that you spoke at the same time, red coloring her cheeks as you can feel yours do the same.

The older woman lets out another sigh before turning her full attention to you. “A bath is on the house, it is the least we can do. I will also have Yoohyeon clean your clothing.”

There is a rebuttal at the ready, but the woman sees through it right away.

“Please, I insist.”

Fear bubbles deep, but you hesitantly agree to the offer. A shaky smile spearing when one is directed at you before she begins picking up the dropped mugs from the floor.

Yoohyeon turns to you then, very visibly still embarrassed. “I will show you to your room,” she mumbles, gesturing for you to follow.

When you reach out of earshot from the main part of the inn you can no longer deny the urge to call out, “hey, uh, miss Yoohyeon?”

The way she halts at her name is abrupt and you almost collide into her back because of it. “I’m sorry again,” she bows, somehow coming to the conclusion that you had changed your mind and now aimed to scold.

Perish the thought.

“Hey,” you whisper out, waiting until she lifts her eyes to meet yours. “I promise you I’m not upset. In fact, if anything, I am going to use this opportunity to earn myself a free drink.” You add a smile to your statement, happiness filing your chest when she does the same.

“I think I owe you more than one after that,” she quips, and you’re delighted at how her laugh trickles into your ears and sends shivers down your spine.

“I will never say no to free drinks,” confidence filters into your veins. You might have been watched at social events but there was no denying your natural charisma when interacting with others. You wished to make them smile and laugh, to learn about their interests and what makes them angry or sad.

You thrived around people, it was part of who you were.

Yoohyeon leads you to the door that is at the complete opposite end of the bar, opening it to reveal a small room with a single bed to the right, a dresser, and a medium-sized wooden bathtub placed on the other side.

“If you could leave your clothes just outside the door when you change, should have them cleaned and ready before your bath ends.”

You cast one more look around the room before turning back to her with a gentle smile, “that won’t be necessary,” you state, watching as she tilts her head before bringing your hand up and whispers a spell. Green sparks dancing off your fingers and drying your clothes within a blink of an eye.

Magic wasn’t a universal thing, not everyone that lived upon the lands could wield it. But it wasn’t uncommon for simple folk to be gifted its capabilities, and so the risk of casting magic by itself wasn’t entirely a dangerous thing.

But even if it was you couldn’t help but decide it was worth it at Yoohyeon’s expression alone. Her mouth is wide with wonder as she flitters her gaze between your now clean clothing and the hand that had made them so.

“A spellcaster,” she breathes, awe accompanying her words. “I have never met one before.”

“Well,” you grin, giving off a large bow for dramatic effect, “I am happy to be the first.”

Excitement clouds her vision as questions spring from her lips, the enthusiasm means that laughter is pulled from yours. This was a nice change, you decided, being able to show a tiny piece of yourself without the fear of being reprehended for it.

“Have you ever set anything on fire?”

An image of you as a child comes to mind, fingers outstretched and mouth open as you create little roars. You always loved your father’s tales of dragons – mighty beasts that could create fire at will, soaring through the skies with freedom to guide their wings.

The Queen was very quick to halt whenever you did this, stating that it was not the kind of behavior a Ruler should be demonstrating.

“No,” you smile, but memories of the Queen have it coming out strained, “I have never mastered the art of the flame. Perhaps one day.”

You were far too afraid to ask anyone for lessons as your magic would have a certain ‘signature’ due to your Royal heritage. And the prospect of teaching yourself from books could do more harm than good should even the smallest mistake occur.

Yoohyeon doesn’t seem to notice the beginnings of your inner turmoil, her eyes sweeping the length of your body as if the very clothes you wore would come alive and begin to dance.

“Amazing,” she whispers, and by the sudden change of color brightening her cheeks you reckon that it wasn’t supposed to be spoken aloud.

Still, you can’t help but find her blunders completely endearing.

“Thank you,” you reply just as tenderly, holding her gaze when she raises it to meet yours.

The sun’s rays are radiant and warm when they filter through the window; your eyes brighten in wonder as they embrace Yoohyeon’s entire being and let it glow with golden radiance.

She is far more magnificent than any magic that could pour from my fingertips.

“Well,” she says after a moment, running a hand through her hair, “I shall leave you to have some rest. Please let us know if you need anything. . . ?”

“Y/N,” you fumble, almost forgetting the name you had given yourself, “my name is Y/N.”

“Y/N,” she smiles, and you need to resist the urge to close your eyes when the gentle way she speaks your name washes over you. “I hope you enjoy your stay.”

And with that, she leaves, your world becoming dimmer once the door closes behind her.

- - - - - - - - - - ☆ - - - - - - - - - -

Despite it going against the rules you had set for yourself, you can’t deny the urge to sleep on an actual bed again. Awakening a few hours later, the sun no longer warming the earth with its presence.

You make your way back to the main part of the Inn, and a smile breaks free when the sounds of music and laughter filter into your ears.

You follow the commotion, your passion coming alive when the sight of musicians playing and people dancing has your muscles itching to do the same. Your legs lead you to your horse and fetching your fiddle before you’re joining in.

The other musicians don’t even blink an eye as you join them, grinning in a drunken stupor as they follow your lead.

There is a smile on your face, unapologetic and wild as you let the music encase you within the moment. You were not the treasonous child of Royalty; there was no draining of your magic or the sharp fangs of a viper here.

Only you, fiddle in hand and true emotion pouring from its strings.

Through the haze of euphoric happiness, you meet the eyes of another; their sparkle indistinguishable even amongst the growing crowd.

Yoohyeon.

Just the sight of her has your heart working in tandem with your fingers, their frantic motion for upbeat joviality slowing until melodic glamour filters into the space.

Your eyes close as the improvised song envisions the way your emotions attempt to find themselves through the haze of embedded fear. Faltering and tripping over themselves thanks to the efforts of the Queen and her aim for making you a shadow of who you once were.

And once they find their footing within your chest, only then do you reopen your eyes to find the person behind the lightness there. Your gaze finds Yoohyeon as she watches you with rapt attention, mouth open in awe like she could see right through you.

You didn’t know it then, but the emotion that had settled within your heart during that moment would be your greatest unknown.

When your song came to its end, you replied to the roaring crowd with a bow, thanking the other musicians that had allowed you to join before making your way over to the bar.

You place your fiddle safely beside you, breathing in a content sigh before you find yourself enlightened by Yoohyeon’s much-welcomed presence.

“A spellcaster and a talented musician,” she says, a teasing yet awed look within her eyes, “there has to be some weakness you’re hiding.”

Just a tainted past, you think, replying instead, “of course there isn’t, I am simply impenetrable.”

Her laugh rings deep, infectious with the way it draws out your own. “Right, of course.”

Just as she had promised earlier, any drinks you wished to have were on the house, and just like you had said you were certainly taking advantage of it. Poor rolls of the dice leaving you tipsy within seconds.

“Yoohyeon!” You call once you notice that she is free for the moment, “dance with me?”

A request, one that is met with little hesitance as she takes your offered hand, and before you know it you’re twirling her around with bright laughter. The alcohol in your system means that steps are faltered and accidental collisions with other people are made.

You don’t know when it happens, the blur in your vision and gaps within your memory don’t bother with the minor details. But at some point the tempo decreases, Yoohyeon’s hands finding themselves on your shoulders with her body drawing in close.

The sight of her, smile tender and eyes alight with glee and alcohol leaves you breathless.

Her scent embraces your senses and urges your eyes to close. Safety. She made you feel safe.

It dawns on your muddled brain, and you are left to push away the implications when she leans the side of her head against yours. Golden hair tickles your cheeks and causes your hands to twitch with the desire to know how soft it is to brush it away from her eyes.

There is a small voice within the back of your mind, feint as it was. You do not know this woman, do not forget that the past is on your heels at every moment.

But tonight, you tell it to keep it down, as you doubt another chance such as this will appear for a very long time, if ever.

A shift has you opening your eyes, the world around you is nonexistent. Only you and Yoohyeon, and her lips on yours.

Wait. . . What?

- - - - - - - - - - ☆ - - - - - - - - - -

When you awake, it is with a throbbing headache and no memory of the night prior.

You reach a hand to your temple, rubbing the pulsating part as if it would banish away the nauseous feeling.

Unfortunately, your magic wasn’t even enough to cure the likes of a simple hangover, and you couldn’t help but curse out the world because of it.

Still, you needed to push through it and leave as soon as possible. You had already stayed far too long than you would have liked.

And so with a groan of utter despair, you roll off the comfort of your bed and sit up. Something in the corner of your eyes instantly caught your attention.

It was your fiddle. . . Had you played it last night?

Flashes riddle your mind, but the more you try to remember the more your mind burns in pain. But you catch glimpses of gold within the sea of black, a star lighting the void.

And nothing more.

Shaking it away, you reach for your instrument before taking an unsteady step forward and leaving your room.

You did with to give your thanks to the family, doing so when you see both the innkeeper and the merchant talking to each other behind the bar.

“Thank you,” you force out, the hangover making it sound slightly pained and slurred, “I am truly grateful for your kindness, but I must be on my way.”

Due to your state, you don’t notice the wary look in their eyes as you make your way to the main entrance, but as soon as you see the familiar greens of the Royal Guard your body becomes alert, panic setting in deep and fast.

“We know you’re in there,” you hear one of them call, “let’s not make this any more of a struggle than it already has been.”

I’m the back of your mind you sense it, the hiss of its tongue as it draws near.

A viper.

“Surrender yourself, ‘Y/N’” its voice sneers, and you can feel the ropes of her magic begin to coil around you, “didn’t you always say you would be loyal to the Queen?”

“I am,” the words grit themselves between your teeth without your consent nor your control, “I am loyal to the Queen Mother.”

You watch with tears in your eyes as the door slowly opens, the viper in your head, with its eyes the same color as your own, now standing before you.

You can feel yourself trembling, and when she takes a step forward that’s when you see it.

Around her neck. . . A single owl feather.

You don’t know what happens next, but you know a scream is tearing itself from your throat, eyes ablaze as fire sweeps around you in all its burning glory.

A dragon, just like in your father’s stories. It rages in your veins and explodes through your magic.

You have no control where it goes, no semblance on how to stop it as it sweeps the whole inn with a roaring tenacity that allows nothing to stop it.

You hear cries, both of pain and terror, but only one catches your attention.

And when you turn to look, Yoohyeon is enveloped in flames.

#dreamcatcher reactions #dreamcatcher scenarios #dreamcatcher imagines #yoohyeon scenarios #yoohyeon imagines

[diaryofamadfatwoman]

Moving On

Welcome to Week 3 of my journey to better health.

I had lunch with my sisters on Friday, so getting on the scale on Monday was a real nail biter. Drumroll please... unfortunately, I only lost one pound for the week. Although I M.ade A.djustments D.aily following our delicious Mexican Food meal, my effort did not pay off as well. But I am not defeated. I am pressing on.

On my Health Management System I engage my cooking skills, and you can too, or enlist a willing cook.

My daughter introduced me to Red Lentil Spagetti and I bought a tray of vegetable kebobs which I cut into smaller bites, seasoned and sauteed'. After boiling the spaghetti, I simply topped it with the vegetables and sauteed' shrimp. It was delicious but next time I will boil the spaghetti in a broth and toss it in olive oil for added flavor. Here is a picture:

This is an Eating Well dish. Any meat protein would work here, but it can be eaten alone as the spaghetti is high in protein and gluten-free. It also contains protein-rich mushrooms.

According to an online nutritionist I follow, real food contains enzymes that promote healthy metabolism. All our organs participate in burning energy so it is important that our liver, kidney, gallbladder and digestive system is healthy. Additionally, deep sleep, exercise and fasting also improve metabolism. And what more is metabolism than energy...the fuel that keeps our bodies running.

I imagine that if we think of our bodies more as machines, it will be easier to comprehend that it needs just enough fuel to get us from point A-Z per day simplistically speaking, rather that hoarding excess calories that weigh us down, right? Afterall, we cannot overfill a gas tank can we?

There is something to be said about a good man who happens to be your husband. I should be in good shape thanks to my wonderful husband. Many years ago he bought me a treadmill, a stationary bike and even resistence bands. Unfortunately they have become like 'against the wall' art. He even bought me a nice massage chair for days when my muscles are sore. He is really just that kind of guy. However, it is down to me to show my appreciation by taking advantage of all these resources.

When it is warm we walk 2-3 miles daily. Now, in the winter months, we tend to nest and I have not been using my exercise equipment; however, one night while watching TV, I felt like walking inside the house and so I do it one hour every night. It has been great. Because I am concerned about my balance and strength, I practice standing on one foot and have added countertop arm presses. The stronger we are in our older years the fewer falls, and therefore, the more stable we are. If you are young, start moving and keep moving right now.

I was reminded this week of a good resource to help me move and gain strength. She is a firecracker of a lady on YouTube named PaulaB. She does timed exercises for older adults. I plan to incorportate some exercises from PaulaB and start using my resistence bands this coming week. I will let you know how it goes.

Although it is difficult to choose to keep moving, it is a choice to take my thoughts captive and move on.

Did you know our brain has a drain system? A good night's sleep removes toxins from the brain into the venous sinuses. Imagine the focus we can have, memories we can retain! Gives a whole new meaning to brain drain. Reminder: Keep drinking...water or tea, that is.

Well that is it for this week. Thanks for joining me. If you missed them, you can catch up on the two previous blogs and remember to like, share and follow.

[celestial-thoughts]

TUF 18, Chapter 8 // Fight Night (finale edition part 7)

Fandom: The Ultimate Fighter Pairing(s): Shayna x Dakota, platonic Shayna & Ronda, platonic four horsewomen

"Hey, time to wake up." The sound of Dakota’s soft voice in her ear pulls Shayna out of her sleep. The hotel room is warm and humid, perfect for keeping her muscles warm and loose. It's actually Shayna's second time being woken up by Dakota today. The first time was a few hours ago when she woke her up to eat breakfast, before letting Shayna go back to sleep. But now, it's nearly 3:00 pm, and Shayna knows it's time to wake up.

She sits up and gives Dakota a hug, seeking the comfort of physical contact. "Should I get dressed before you do my hair?" she asks Dakota.

"Yes, I still have to finish up with Jess. But I wanted to make sure you were awake," Dakota says. "Do you want me to do your hair in the living area, or in here?"

"In here please," Shayna says. She's not quite ready to see other fighters yet.

Dakota gives her a reassuring squeeze. "Okay. I'll be back in a few minutes. Try to remember to breathe." She presses a bottle of water into Shayna's hand, and then slips out of the room, leaving Shayna alone again.

She starts to get dressed. She pulls on the green and black shorts and sports bra, and stares at herself in the mirror. The last time she wore these clothes was on The Ultimate Fighter, when she lost to Julianna. Everyone had expected her to be the one who would win the whole thing, and she had come up short. She shakes her head, trying to get the memory out of her brain. This isn't the time to dwell on the past, not when she has a job to do tonight. She puts on her black and green Team Rousey t-shirt and black joggers. Then she puts on her black UFC sweatshirt, zipping it up, and then puts on her socks. She sits down on the floor, sips at her water, and focuses on her breathing.

A soft knock on the door pulls Shayna's focus back. "Come in," she says.

Dakota enters the room, closing the door behind her. "How are you feeling?" she asks, sitting down on the couch behind Shayna and beginning to brush her hair.

"I don't really know," Shayna says. "I'm just trying to not let myself get overwhelmed."

Dakota doesn't say anything, but gives Shayna's shoulder a squeeze as she starts to braid Shayna's hair into cornrows. There's another knock at the door, followed by Ronda poking her head in. "Can I join you two?" she asks. "I just want to give you a quick rundown of the night."

"Sure," Shayna replies. Ronda walks in and shuts the door behind her, sitting on the floor facing Shayna.

"You're fighting third on the main card," Ronda explains. "It's Raquel and Roxanne, then Jess and Peggy, and then you and Sarah."

Shayna starts to nod, but Dakota nudges her with her foot. "Don't move your head," she says, focusing on the braids she's trying to do.

"I'll be in the locker room with you until your fight, and then I'll be out there in your corner," Ronda continues. "But I'll have to head back to Chris as soon as your fight is done so I can be in his corner for his fight."

"You're not cornering for Jess?" Shayna asks, even though she's pretty sure she knows the answer.

"No," Ronda says, shaking her head. "I didn't want to have to chose between cornering for her or Peggy, so I'm not cornering for either. Miesha is doing the same for Raquel and Roxanne's fight."

"Makes sense," Shayna says. She feels Dakota’s hands leave her hair. "You done Dakota?" she asks.

"Not yet," Dakota says. "I still have half to do."

As Dakota begins another braid, Ronda continues talking to Shayna. "You and Jess will be in the same locker room. Peggy and Jessica are also sharing a locker room." Ronda turns her attention to Dakota. "You can go with Shayna and Jess as far as their locker room, but you won't be able to go in with them."

Dakota nods, and Shayna is relieved to hear that she'll be able to have Dakota with her a little longer. "Will I be able to see them after their fights?" Dakota asks.

"Yes, but not until after Shayna's fight is done," Ronda says. "But I'll make sure you can get back to see them after."

"Thanks," Dakota says. She ties off another braid. "Shayna, please drink your water," she says, noticing that the bottle of water she gave Shayna before leaving to finish Jessamyn's hair is still almost completely full.

"Fine, but only because you asked nicely," Shayna says, not missing the look that Ronda is giving her as she takes another sip of her water.

Ronda stands up from the ground. "I'm going to go chat with Jessica and Peggy. I'll see you in the locker room Shayna," she says, ducking out of the room.

Shayna and Dakota sit in silence as Dakota continues to braid. When she finishes the last one, Dakota slides down onto the floor next to Shayna. "Hey, you okay?" she asks. Shayna doesn't answer, just wraps an arm around Dakota’s shoulders and pulling her close. "Hey, look at me," Dakota says. Shayna turns to look her, and Dakota can see the fear in her brown eyes. "You can do this," Dakota says. "And just know that no matter what happens, I am so proud of you."

Shayna pulls Dakota into a hug. "Thank you," she says softly.

"I was wondering," Dakota begins, a little spark in her eyes. "How does one go about getting an MMA corner license?"

Shayna can't help but smile. "You really want to do that?" she asks. Dakota nods, and Shayna has to swallow to keep herself from tearing up. "I'll put you in touch with Josh. He'll help you through the process."

They sit in silence, Shayna drinking her water and Dakota not leaving her side, until there's another knock at the door and Jessamyn pokes her head into the room. She doesn't say anything, just nods. They stand up, and Dakota checks Shayna's bag one last time to make sure that she has everything she needs. Then they join Jess, Marina, and the rest of the coaches in the living room.

As they walk down the hallways of the hotel and make their way to the arena, Shayna keeps a tight grip on Dakota’s hand. She needs to feel the comfort of having Dakota by her side for as long as she possibly can. Nobody speaks, their footsteps echoing through the hallway, security flanking the group.

When they finally reach the locker room door, Dakota manages to pry her hand away from Shayna's long enough to give Jess a quick hug. "You got this," she says as she hugs her, and Jess smiles before heading into the locker room. The rest of the group follows, leaving Dakota and Shayna alone in the hallway, with only the security guards left. "Hey, you can do this," Dakota says to Shayna. "Anything that happened before this doesn't matter, and whatever comes next can wait. Be in the moment." Shayna nods, taking comfort in Dakota’s words. "And remember," Dakota adds. "Win or lose, you'll always be a champion in my mind."

Shayna pulls Dakota into a hug. "Thank you," she says. "I'll see you on the other side."

"See you soon," Dakota says, passing Shayna her bag before following the security guards down the hallway and up to the arena, into the area of seating reserved for the families and friends of the team Rousey fighters, and she's directed to a seat in the front row, just as the main card fights are about to begin.

She barely registers any of the first fight, only that Raquel wins by a unanimous decision. Then she hears the sound of Jessamyn's music and she focuses back on the cage. It's a good fight, both fighters giving everything they have for all three rounds. But Dakota is confident that it's going to be Jess who gets her hand raised at the end, and she's right. Jessamyn gets a unanimous decision victory over Peggy Morgan, and Dakota can't wait to congratulate her. But that can happen later. Right now, she needs to focus on Shayna's fight.

There's a few minutes between the fights. Then, the opening chords of Metallica's "The Four Horsemen" fill the arena, and Dakota turns to see Shayna walking in, Ronda and the rest of her coaches behind her. Dakota can't help but smile at how confident Shayna looks. When Shayna and Sarah meet in the center of the cage, before the fight has even begun, Dakota knows how it's going to go. She can feel it. The fighters touch gloves, then step back to their corners.

The fight is absolutely incredible. Both Shayna and Sarah are giving everything they have throughout the entirety of the first round, and when the round is over, Dakota can tell that any nerves Shayna had earlier are gone. This is where she's most comfortable. Both fighters are no strangers to going past the first round, and Dakota knows that Shayna has good stamina to make it through another round. She could make it through the whole 15 minutes if she wanted to. But as soon as the second round starts, Dakota can tell that the fight isn't getting that far. Shayna maintains control from the very beginning, taking Sarah down 30 seconds in and starts grappling with her. It doesn't take long before she gets Sarah's back and locks in a rear-naked choke, one that Dakota knows very well having been on the receiving end of it in training. And sure enough, Sarah taps out.

Dakota lets out a scream of joy, and Ronda turns around from where she has been watching from outside the cage. She smiles and gives Dakota a thumbs up, before entering the cage and throwing her arms around Shayna. She whispers something in her ear, before turning and quickly leaving the cage. "Come with me," she says to Dakota, who stands up and follows her. The two are met by security guards, who begin to lead them down a series of hallways. "I have to go get Chris ready to fight, and Shayna is going to have to be checked out by medical staff before she can come back to the locker room," Ronda explains. "I figured it was easier if you just left the arena with me. I'll bring you back to the locker room."

"Is she injured?" Dakota asks, suddenly concerned.

"No, it's just protocol," Ronda says, leading Dakota to a room. "I'll catch up with you guys later," she says, before heading down the hallway to another room and going inside.

Dakota knocks on the door, and it opens to reveal Jessamyn. "Hey!" she says, giving Dakota a hug before stepping aside to let her in.

"Nice job!" Dakota says. "It was a really good fight."

"Thanks," Jess says, tugging on a sweatshirt. "Where's Shayna?"

"Ronda said she has to be checked by the medical staff," Dakota says. "But she had to go get Chris ready so she just brought me back with her."

Jess nods. "She had a great fight," she remarks, and Dakota nods in agreement.

The two make small talk for a few minutes, until they hear a knock at the door and Shayna enters the room, where she is immediately greeted by Dakota jumping into her arms. "Well hello to you too," Shayna laughs.

"You were so good!" Dakota says.

"Thank you, for everything," Shayna says, hugging Dakota tightly.

"I'm so proud of you," Dakota says softly, her lips next to Shayna's ear.

Shayna sets Dakota back down and gives Jess a high-five. "Nice fight," she says.

"You too," Jess says. "I really thought she was going to pass out from that choke you had on her."

"She would have if she hadn't tapped out," Dakota says. "Believe me, I know."

"You never passed out when I practiced it on you in training," Shayna says. "You just came close."

Dakota wraps Shayna in another hug. "I'm glad I got to be here for this," she says.

"Me too," Shayna says.

They sit in the locker room for a while longer, watching the rest of the fights on the card. Then, security comes to escort them back up to their hotel suite, where Shayna and Jess both quickly shower and change. As they're in the bathroom getting ready to go out, Jess turns to Shayna. "Are you going to talk to her?" she asks quietly.

"Yes," Shayna says. "If I can get her alone." Jess nods, hoping that Shayna follows through.

Shayna, Jess, and Dakota meet up with Marina, and the four girls head out in search of food. Ronda is planning on meeting them later, but she has interviews to do. They find themselves in a crowded restaurant, and they manage to get a corner booth, where they immediately order appetizers. After a few minutes, Jess stands up. "I'm going to the bar," she says. "Marina, you coming?" She gives Marina a look, and Marina understands what she's trying to do.

"Yeah, I'll come," Marina says, standing up as well. "Be back in a few." They walk off, leaving Shayna and Dakota alone.

Shayna takes a deep breath. She might as well do this while she's sober, because once she starts drinking, she doesn't know what will happen. "Hey, so I was hoping I could talk to you about something," she says to Dakota.

Dakota turns to look at her and smiles shyly. "Sure, what's up?"

Well, no going back now. "I like you, Dakota." As soon as the words leave her mouth, Shayna feels a weight leave her shoulders. "I've liked you since the day I met you, and I kept coming up with excuses for why I didn't tell you, but the truth is that I didn't tell you because I was scared of losing you so soon after I met you. And if you don't feel the same way, I completely understand because you're way out of my league, and so we can just pretend this conversation never happened. But I just needed you to know."

Shayna's words hang in the air between them, and for a moment Dakota doesn't say anything. And then, she lets out a quiet laugh, and Shayna doesn't know what to make of this reaction. Dakota looks up at Shayna. "You think you're out of my league?" she asks. She laughs again, shaking her head. "Shayna, I've had a crush on you since you walked into that gym for the first time. But I thought there was no way that someone like you would be into someone like me."

Shayna slides closer to her. "Well good news. I am." She leans in and kisses Dakota, and for a moment it feels like the world around them has stopped. They pull away from each other and Shayna's brown eyes meet Dakota’s hazel ones. "So, can I take you out?" she asks.

Dakota smiles. "I'd love that," she says. Shayna pulls her back in for another kiss, a shorter one this time. Suddenly, her phone buzzes in her pocket and she pulls it out to find a text from Jessamyn.

Jessamyn: let me know when it's safe to come back to the table ;)

Shayna rolls her eyes and is about to respond when two more texts from Jess come in, this time in the group chat with the two of them, Marina, and Ronda.

Jessamyn: Attachment: 1 image

Shayna opens it to find a picture of her and Dakota inches apart, clearly having just kissed. The angle that the picture was taken from shows enough of both of their faces to know that they're both smiling. For a moment, she considers flipping Jess off from across the room, but then she reads the second message and can't help but smile.

Jessamyn: how would y'all feel about a fifth roommate? :)

Dakota peaks over Shayna's shoulder at her phone screen. "Well, I guess the cat's out of the bag," she says.

"I'm gonna kill her," Shayna says, but she's smiling.

Dakota gives Shayna a quick kiss on the cheek. "No you won't," she says.

"Yeah, I know," Shayna says. She turns back to her phone and sends a response back to the group chat.

Shayna: slow down, Duke.

Shayna: and you can come back over. just don't be annoying.

Jessamyn: no promises.

Jess and Marina return to the table, and Jess slides Shayna a bottle of beer. "Consider it a peace offering," she says.

Shayna rolls her eyes, still smiling. "I'll consider it a temporary peace treaty," she says. "Seriously, you had to do that?"

"I'm your best friend, it's my job," Jess says.

Ronda joins them a little later, and the five of them spend hours eating and drinking and laughing. At one point, Shayna pulls Dakota onto her lap, and the rest of the girls tease her for being "soft," and Shayna is grateful for the dim lighting that hides her blush.

It's nearly one in the morning when Shayna and Dakota finally return to the hotel room. They get ready for bed and climb into bed, Shayna immediately wrapping her arms around Dakota. "Goodnight," Dakota says, giving Shayna a quick kiss before immediately falling asleep.

Shayna looks at the girl in her arms and smiles. She thinks back to the conversation she had with Jess on the show, when she was hopelessly pining after Dakota with no intention of ever telling her. Then she thinks about walking into the gym and seeing Dakota standing there. She thinks about how Dakota planned a whole trip to LA to come visit her, because she wanted to surprise her.

So maybe she didn't win The Ultimate Fighter. But she got something, and someone, so much greater out of it.

#the ultimate fighter #tuf 18 #shayna baszler #dakota kai #ronda rousey #jessamyn duke #marina shafir #four horsewomen #my writing

[fantasyideas1]

quotes almat

Poetry Eternal spring in my pants, your beauty melts the snow, I love you lustfully, serenely, endlessly drowning in love for you, priceless and sweet passion for you, juicy, tender, passion dissolves in the body, unbroken gaze with you is also sex at a distance, I feel the love attraction growling in you, wild and free passion, I taste sweet moments, I feel body and soul as a continuation of my happy eternity in you, perfectionist bliss for the eyes, hot bliss for my eyes, I have an auto orgasm from you, violins float in the sky, in the wide wings of the clouds, I keep us in my dreams, I cherish you in my soul, tenderly singing, we are immortal in my soul, we are united in my thoughts, we are complete in my soul, you are the idealism that warms eternal values with sacred sacred memories , Jokes You will walk around with a machine gun like this, and not a single potential criminal will come up to you asking what time it is. I have a surge of stupidity in terms of strength The subject is lying on the couch, and suddenly he is shocked, the doctor says damn, you woke up, you should have fallen into a coma, in the sense of a lucid dream Inspiration as if a tick bit the balls without adding salt She's having another ovulation, run over you, run over you, she's nagging, rolls up to you like in a Cadillac, hey baby My girlfriend has a trumpet calling sign above her anus The girl says girls my boyfriend has chimney sweep written on his penis Athletes change their shoes, are they more beautiful than super models? Look at this weightlifter, she can lift any super heavy lazy dick, five hundred kg (kilogram) of pure muscle, how masturbating is that? Why is it impossible to get a dry orgasm like a burp or a fart, girls could get a fart (fart, orgasm) through both holes If my name has weight, I have the right to have my say, put it on the scale He saw himself in the filter as a girl, the guy looks at himself and says how ugly I am, I definitely wouldn’t be able to stand up to something like that All the girls have their clits sticking out when he walks by, aggressive erection of nipples and clits when he looks at them, keep your voice down If you are a bad doctor, he will philosophically explain that death is not the end, but the beginning of life Speaking to a tall man I need binoculars to see your face and a telescope to see a drop of your mind We decided what to do with you, two sides of women decided what could be done with me, and my brain is a football ball, I sat and counted the goals, what score I was interested in, I stopped listening after the fifth hour With spermotoxicosis, so much accumulates, even boil sour cream Kegel exercises? Penis bodybuilding, biceps balls, muscular boner, pour protein directly into the penis, what's next, bodybuilding penis competition, put the dick in a thick vagina and powerlifting has begun The technicians want you to levitate above the floor, like in a pedophile fairy tale about young wizards, so that the floor does not get dirty, paid prizes for shoes, shoe covers I didn’t know that Fast Food could help make a flamethrower from a set fire to a fart, but I didn’t expect fireworks in addition, you need to serve in the army, use your fart to shoot tanks, use your methane for bombs without fire, just gas, funny, humiliating, creepy, deadly, in the next world it’s a shame to say what you died from, you blush and smile Author: Musin Almat Zhumabekovich

#quotes #life quotes

[savagenewcanaan]

Savage New Canaan The Magic Of Tuning Your Vehicle

I've been racking my brain on something to discuss this time around, and it simply slips my mind, oh author's block, the muscle mass for muscle mass cars and trucks has actually left the structure, hmm possibly a cup of coffee will repair it, perhaps warm water cascading over my noggin, need inspiration, require support, do not wish to dissatisfy, love muscle autos, I really feel just like a cavern male this morning ooo-oooo-- aww, well give an old man a break, just possibly it'll all return.

 Adjusting is an important part of making your car run right, and I'm not only talking about the engine adjusting, I'm discussing suspension and also chassis adjusting additionally, the engine in the very easy part, unless obviously you run a turbocharger or supercharger, either among these make the engine harder to tune, and it needs to be tuned perfect whatsoever times if you have either among these, or two fours on a tunnel ram, all of these points will certainly make it go much faster, however require precise tuning, you can no more tune by ear, it takes timing lights, vacuum cleaner gages, as well as computers, no more simply a screw motorist and a wrench.

 Say goodbye to simply going to the automobile components store and also getting your cap, rotor, wires, and plugs, and open up the plugs and also tossing all of it on, you will clearly do this additionally, today you will attach your computer, timing light, and also vacuum gage, you can not have any vacuum cleaner leaks, allow your cars and truck to over warm, or obtain lazy about your auto generally, it's a should to keep it in best running order at all times, or you can expect big troubles with it.

 It made use of to be in the old days that if your engine determined to backfire when it had a supercharger, you can anticipate the electric motor to scatter around the roadway, however there have actually been some developments, and straightforward ones, like pop off valves, that make this practically a distant memory, yet you would certainly much better await constantly you'll invest maintaining your auto after you add this sort of efficiency alteration to your car.

Michael Savage New Canaan

 Now the suspension adjusting part can obtain just a little engaged, and it's actually not my specialized, but I will certainly provide it the old college shot, when adjusting your suspension you'll wish to think of what it is your going to use the auto for, if you build a 1/4 mile vehicle, it clearly will not handle that well in the edges, as well as if you develop a car that deals with through corners, it'll still do alright in the 1/4 mile, however you possibly aren't going to win a great deal of races, so you really need to offer this some believed, so you get the right auto for you.

 The very first thing that I can think of here if you intend to be truly affordable in any type of kind of auto racing is the to consider the frame of your automobile, and the power of the engine that your structure for it, if you have a uni-body car, and also your developing an engine with even more then 500 HP, you may want to think about making it a complete structure auto, by either having a special structure constructed, by a company like Reher as well as Morrison, to guarantee that it can deal with the power, if you make a decision to choose below structure connectors to save money. then you must look in to the products that get on the market, contrast, as well as acquire the best that you can find, and bonded them on, do not screw them on the most effective outcomes.

 What sub structure adapters will provide for you, is fool your uni-body car in to assuming that it has a full structure, it will make the entire cars and truck a lot much more rigid, which naturally will make it manage much better, now I will certainly attempt to clarify the difference in between the two types of suspension, first of all, if you have actually ever been to the drag strip, you'll observe that when the drag cars and truck launches of the line it squats down in the back, this is the initial big distinction between the two suspension arrangements, with a drag auto you want to transfer as much of the weight to the back of the vehicle as you can when it launches off of the line, this is just how you'll make those hole shots, as well as win races.

Savage New Canaan

 In 1/4 mile auto racing they use ladder bars, as well as four link shock absorber to obtain the power to the pavement, and also getting the power to the sidewalk is nitty-gritty in 1/4 mile racing, you desire as much of the power from those back wheels reaching the pavement as possible, that is what the burn out is everything about, it's not just a phenomenon, it heats up the tires as well as develops adhesion to the tarmac surface area, it's an essential component of the getting the power to the pavement that I have been talking about, when you get your ladder bars, and also your 4 web link shock absorber tuned in perfectly, it will link, and also you will launch like a rocket.

 Things that I discussed above are specifically the important things that you don't need in a real road race car, in a roadway race vehicle your not mosting likely to warm up the tires to obtain grip, you'll depend upon walk patterns, and also tire compounds to develop the type of traction that you'll require to be affordable here, what your looking for below is the whole auto to stick to the roadway, you do not desire it to slide, so the majority of people will try to get the major part of the weight over the facility of the automobile, this is what is called a mid engined automobile, you desire that weight to be dispersed over the entire car ideally, by making it a mid engined automobile it goes a long method towards accomplishing this goal, you do still require to at least put weld on below frame adapters on the vehicle, here once again I would certainly recommend to have a specialist build a structure for your vehicle rather.

 Road vehicles utilize the rules of aerodynamics to create down stress on the car to assist maintain in when traveling, and to puncture the air to aid the automobile to relocate along the road much easier, as well as they make use of shocks, springtimes, as well as persuade bars to assist restrict the pitch and roll of the cars and truck body when it goes it to a difficult edge, the cars and truck requirement to stay as degree as feasible to maintain in on it's wheels, as opposed to on it's roof covering, and this is a highly specialized sort of adjusting, you must always have a professional to establish this up for you, it requires to be best if you desire the very best results from your work, time, and cash, the specialists will also do their magic on the guiding of your auto additionally, as well as they will do it ideal and safe.

[ohbaby-obeyme]

the neat thing about being an artist is that i can draw my fav characters wearing my clothes whenever i want :)

#i hate his hair so i simply did not look at the sprite and just made it up #my art #asmo #nsft #i GUESS. dick outline #also this was supposed to be a warm up. i always do this #i should just Not do brain warm ups after i do my muscle memory warm ups #bc they never stay warm ups #+ yes this is what i'm wearing right now fsdkljfslkdjf #gotta throw on a hoodie to grab food but. that's cute too so :)

[sukirichi]

Breakfast for Choso with ingredients #17 and 34 with #2 sugar? Wine is optional.

EASY 

— Nothing is ever easy with Choso, but for him, you’d push through hell and back.

meal order: breakfast + 17, 34 (fake dating, rentboy au) + 2 (enemies to lovers) + biting, scratching, choso eating reader out, sex on the beach

warnings: mature content, unedited fic, choso is mean and harsh when he’s angry

notes: thank you so much for this anon! I really enjoyed writing this and this totally made my day. I hope you like it!

word count: 10k+ LOL CHOSO BRAIN ROT

check out the fanart @tigressnej-chan made, it s so beautiful HURRR

Your day was absolutely ruined. Dark, deep bags covered your under eyes as you stormed through the convenience store downstairs your apartment, body clad in an oversized hoodie and socks visible through slippers, hair greasy and lips chapped. You’re aware you look like a mess, but did you care?

Absolutely not, especially when you haven’t been sleeping well the moment you moved into this cursed apartment because of a certain fucker.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. That specific fucker – the cause of your ruin and the devil who prevented you from living a good life – waltzed inside the store, the small bell chiming to signal his presence. You scoffed at his confident, suave walk, further irritated because he just had to be insanely attractive – in an alternative, laid-back kind of way.

He wasn’t even your type; you preferred more refined men who wore pressed suits and leather shoes, but you had to admit this man was insanely attractive.

With deep, sunken eyes, a dark tattoo across the bridge of his nose and dark hair twisted into twin ponytails, large, muscular body covered in a black sweatshirt and a red scarf – he looked very much like a former member of a gang who retired because their barbaric ways wasn’t his thing. It was an odd theory, and you sat there at the corner of the store, glaring at the man who tiredly pressed the coffee maker machine for a dark roast.

As if feeling eyes on him, his lazy eyes slid over to yours, and almost automatically, one corner of his lips tilted up in humor. This fucker knew how much he annoyed you, and he only further pushed your buttons by walking over to you, the steam of his coffee nearly blocking your gaze.

“Good morning,” he greeted sarcastically, well aware that it definitely not a good morning for you.

“Have fun last night, neighbor?”

“Yes.”

“Jeez, you won’t even bother denying it?”

“I see no point in it,” he invited himself by sitting next to you, long legs crossed over his muscular thigh. You found yourself staring at how he seemed so firm even in loose sweatpants, averting your gaze and staring at your soggy ramen noodle cup instead.  “And you’re not trying to hide the fact you’re listening, either.”

“I wasn’t listening!” you slammed your fist down the table – he didn’t even flinch, only continuing to sip his coffee as if you weren’t burning in anger beside him – as you hissed, “The walls are too damn thin and you’re so fucking loud.”

“No, I wasn’t. She was loud, though.”

Scoffing, you crossed your arms against your chest. He really was shameless. You already knew this man didn’t have enough shame in his body, but you didn’t think he’d have absolutely nothing.

Upon witnessing your stupefied state, he reached over to knock at your skull. “Still there, princess?” you cringed at his nickname for you; you didn’t even know this guy’s name, for pete’s sake! “Or are you still too bothered by the fact I got some good fucking last night?”

You flicked his arm away from you, nearly seething in your seat. “God, you’re insufferable. I should move out.”

“Yes, I think that would be for the best too,” he nodded to himself as he stared at his now empty coffee cup. Had it been that long already? Apparently, it was, because your noodles turned cold and your neighbor was already leaving your seat, dipping for a mocking bow. “Have a nice day, neighbor. Don’t think of my cock too much,” he teased, even going as far as winking until your jaw dropped.

You watched as he threw the paper cup in the proper bin, a little surprised he was decent enough to do mundane tasks like that. Sometimes, it was so easy to forget your neighbor was also a decent human being, but whatever.

You absolutely, utterly hated him, and you kept mumbling to yourself of the different ways you’d get your revenge on him as he walked out the door, his annoyingly gorgeous ass in view. “Yeah, right,” you scowled to yourself, “As if I can get that image out my mind now.”

He would not be an easy feat.

Despite your constant pleas for him to at least be silent during the weekdays to give you enough peace of mind to study for the finals, he didn’t stop. Hours just after the sun sets, you’d hear giggles and sloppy kisses on the hallway.

No matter how much you pressed your hands into your ears and set your music on full volume to block out the noise, you could always hear them.

Your neighbor was undeniably a fuckboy. 

Every night, he’d have a different girl dangling in his arms. You knew, because the voices squealing his name while he fucked them right next door were always different. Some days, it was deep and throaty, and on other days it’d be high-pitched and nearly scraping at your ears. They all said the same thing though, such as fuck, right there, you feel so good or harder, harder, please, I’m so close!

To say you were traumatized was an understatement. You never wanted to hear such things again, but alas, your neighbor apparently couldn’t give a single shit because he was fucking someone again.

As if things couldn’t get worse, the person he brought home this time around just had to have the most fucking annoying voice ever. Or maybe it sounded like the others, but you were in the middle of memorizing veins and brain chemicals in alphabetical harder when you heard the headboard of his bed slam against your wall, the sound hard and loud enough you dropped your book in surprise.

They didn’t stop. If anything, he kept going harder until nothing but his low sexy groans and his partner’s screaming – that was right, she was fucking screaming – like she was having her insides rearranged.

You didn’t doubt the possibility that maybe she really was. Your neighbor was such a huge, attractive guy, after all, it would make sense he was capable of such. Before you knew it, you could no longer understand the words in your textbook. You kept rereading the same line over and over again, but nothing registered into your mind. You were so close to screaming at them to stop and shut the fuck up because it was three in the morning and they were still going at it, but you weren’t that mean.

Yes, you hated him, but you weren’t going to blue ball someone or make sex awkward. Sex with your ex was always awkward, so you knew how painful it was to live with that memory. No matter how much you hated your neighbor, you wouldn’t go that far.

So you trudged all the way up to the building’s public balcony, bringing a blanket with you to survive the chilly bite of the night.

You used your phone’s flashlight to read all over the textbooks, keeping your little note cards organized and color coded beside you. Finally, you could make sense of things a little bit more, and you chugged at your Red Bull to keep you awake. Time passed by so fast whenever you were lost with your nose stuck in a book, and your attention was only ripped away when the balcony door swung open, revealing your neighbor with messed up hair and bruised lips.

He looked totally fucked out.

“Oh, fuck, no – what are you doing here?”

“This balcony is for all tenants,” your neighbor barely blinked as he walked closer to you, but instead of joining you on the table, he leaned against the railings and stared into the night sky. He seemed so placid, a little approachable despite his intimidating face even, and for a moment, you were studying his sharp, masculine features before he turned your way with a passive face. “Last time I checked, I’m a tenant, therefore I have the rights to be here.”

“I don’t care,” you retorted childishly, pulling your books closer to you as if he wanted to steal it. He only raised a brow at your actions, the large muscles of his arms bulging up from where he stood.

It felt so hard to not salivate at the sight, but for the sake of your pride, you had to push those thoughts down and remind yourself why you hated him so much. “I evoke your rights. You’re not welcome here.”

“You’re awfully harsh to a stranger.”

“You’re not a stranger, you’re my neighbor who brings girls in his home every night and I can never get a wink of sleep because all I can hear is them moaning and the sound of balls slapping!”

“Vulgar,” he smirked, and he had no business looking so attractive with that arrogant smirk on his face that it took all energy you had in you to not whack him with your book.

“I think I deserve an apology.”

“I think you should mind your business.”

You stood up with a scowl, nearly shoving the book right in his chest. “Bro, I’m this close to slapping this book right in your pretty face. You see how thick this is? I’m not kidding, this will hurt. Listen, I’ve got a final exam and a suture practice this weekend. All I’m asking for is just a few hours of sleep – that’s all. I just don’t get why you always seem to be balls deep in someone at every god forsaken hour; I can’t focus on my work when the noises are so distracting. At this point, I remember their begging more than I’m familiar with nerves. I need to study, okay? I really want to graduate.”

He fell silent at your sudden rant, then, he tilted his head to the side, a small smile on his lips. “You think I have a pretty face?”

“After everything I said, that’s all you remember?”

“It’s kind of hard to listen to every word when I’m distracted by your eyes.”

His comment caught you off-guard, and your eyes widened, arm coming up to hide your face that soon began to felt warm. He only chuckled at your reaction, the sound deep and throaty that it went right straight into the pools of your belly. “My eyes – what are you talking about? Seriously, what’s wrong with you? You’re so creepy!”

“Hmm,” he snickered, “That’s the first time I’ve heard that.”

“What, no one tells you you’re creepy?”

“No, people always say I’m handsome,” he said it with such a straight face that you gave him an are you serious look, and he raised one shoulder to shrug. “I’m surprised you’re not attracted to me, to be honest.”

“Wow,” you drawled out, shaking your head with a laugh as you plopped down back to your seat in defeat. “Aren’t you full of surprises? First, I get a really horny man as my next door neighbor who keeps me up at night with his shenanigans, and now he’s got the audacity to ask me why I’m not attracted to him?”

“I mean,” he scrunched his nose cutely, a huge contrast to his domineering stature. “Why aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I give up. I’m just gonna crash at my friends tonight,” you mumbled to yourself while gathering your things, leaving your neighbor all by himself. As you reached the door, you called out to him one more time, “Oh, and by the way, you reek of pussy. Go shower or something.”

“So how’s your exams going?”

“They’re fine,” you lied through gritted teeth, slicing through the fish a lot harsher than you intended. The knife scraped against the plate and you winced at the sound, ignoring your father’s loud munching. “Not too much of a big deal. My professors are nice and my classmates are nice too. I’m fitting in really well and I think I’ll even come out on top of my class this time if it weren’t for that stupid little bastard…” your last words ended up as a whisper, eyes glazing to the side as you glared at nothing in particular.

“Stupid little what?”

“Nothing, nothing,” you waved your hand in the air, “Someone’s just distracting me from my studies, is all.”

At the mention of someone distracting your usually composed and unbothered self, your father straightened up in his seat, a large smile on his face that made him look younger than he really was. “Is it a guy? Do you finally have a boyfriend?”

“Ugh, dad, really, you’re the only father who’s so eager for his daughter to have a boyfriend. Shouldn’t you be more proud that, I don’t know, I’m pretty and smart? I don’t need a boyfriend or anything.”

Your father nodded, “True, you don’t need them, but trust me when I say life is going to get pretty lonely when you grow old and you’re all by yourself. It’s still better – and life is a lot happier – when you’ve got a stable supporting and loving figure in your life.”

“I have you for that.”

“And you always will,” he patted your hand gently across the table, “But a parent won’t always be there for their child, and if you’re still not prepared for the future or ready to stand on your own two feet, then that means I didn’t do a great job at raising you; that means I’ve failed as a parent. Tell me, have I failed? Have I raised my wonderful daughter to be so repulsed by the idea of love that she’s willingly closing her doors and locking herself away in isolation?”

“No…”

“I didn’t think so,” he grinned to himself, and you watched with a frown as his eyes crinkled in happiness. Your father was such the complete opposite of you; he was always so loving and open to everyone, while you were mopey and afraid of attachment.

“Don’t be too afraid to love, child. It’s one of the most wonderful things in this world – it’s a blessing – the absolute core of our being. Why do we exist if not to love?”

“Not everyone is a romantic like you, dad,” you sighed, “Plus…how is it so easy for you to finally find someone after Mom died? Isn’t she your soul mate?” you questioned, putting your fork and knife down as you looked your father in the eye. “I just can’t believe you’re getting married again.”

“It’s already been years since she passed away, Y/N. And yes, she is my soul mate, but that doesn’t mean I’m incapable of loving someone again. Our hearts aren’t limited like that, and your mother wouldn’t want me to keep mourning her when she’s resting in peace,” he gestured to the both of you after swallowing his food, “She would’ve wanted the both of us to be happy.”

At the mention of your passed mother, your shoulders deflated, and your eyes watered at the thought of her kind smile. You wished you could see that again.

“I miss her…”

“I know, child, I know,” your father smiled encouragingly, “I also know the reason you’re so afraid to love is because you’re scared they’ll end up leaving you too, like how your mom just slipped past our fingers like that, but it’s only her body that withered. She’s still with us, right in our hearts and in our memories.”

“You really do sound like a lovesick fool.”

“That’s because I am,” your father laughed with a slap to his knees. When his phone buzzed for his alarm, he quickly dabbed a towel on his lips, standing up to excuse himself. “Now, this lunch was lovely and I dearly missed you, but I need to go back to work. We doctors just never get a break. This is a life you have to prepare for if you want to follow my footsteps.”

“I won’t follow your footsteps – I’ll surpass you.”

“I’ll be waiting for that to happen then,” he announced proudly; pride bursting in his chest at how determined his daughter was. “Oh, and Y/N?”

“Yes?” You squinted at the mischievous look in his eyes, wary of what your cunning father had in mind this time.

“You won’t outsmart me. You better bring a boyfriend or at least introduce someone to me on the wedding – or else I’m pulling you out of the university hospital.”

“Wha – Dad, that’s not fair!”

“All is fair in love and war, child, you’ll learn soon.”

“Oh, I just hate men!”

You really did hate men.

Your final exam was tomorrow already and you’d lost count of the coffee and Red Bull you’ve inhaled today, all so you could study one last time for the test, but no, something – or rather someone – just had to get in your way.

“I’ve had enough,” you announced before slamming your door open; not hesitating as your fists came banging down on your neighbor’s door. “Hey! Keep it the fuck down – someone’s trying to study here! Seriously, man, is it really that hard for you to keep it in your pants for one night? This is what, the sixth woman you’ve had around the past four days? Don’t you get tired? Because I sure as hell am very tired of you!”

The moans and the sounds of bed creaking stopped. For a moment, you almost smirked to yourself when they fell silent.

If only you knew it would be that easy to shut them up, you would’ve done so long ago. You were about to turn back into your room when his door swung open, and you were met by his sweaty and muscular chest heaving up and down – either in anger or from his previous activities – you couldn’t tell.

Your throat felt dry as you peered at him under your lashes, almost afraid of the way he loomed over you. Thank goodness he found the time to wear pants, though, because had he been baby naked, you would’ve run for the hills already.

His dark eyes cut through yours as he seethed, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m the one who wants to ask you that,” you were surprised to find your voice despite the way your pussy actually ached just by the sight of his chiseled body, but when you did, you forced yourself to stand up taller, refusing to back down from his gaze. “It’s literally three in the morning and you’re about to fuck a hole through my wall!”

“I thought you said you’d be crashing at your friends. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know I had to have your permission to come back home. Next time, I’ll give you a heads-up, good sir. And for your information, unlike you, I actually don’t like bothering the people around me so I came home. Now would you please kick her out and shut the fuck up for once?”

“Babe, are you coming back here or what?”

Red acrylic nails wound from his body out of nowhere, and your mouth fell open as you watched the naked woman press kisses on the blades of his shoulder. You were conflicted, torn between feeling jealous that she got to touch him like that because damn was he fine, but you also felt appalled your neighbor would be this type of person.

“Babe?” you repeated with a sarcastic laugh.

Stepping away from your neighbor’s tempting pecs, you waved to the stunning woman behind him. “Hi, I’m his neighbor, I don’t mean to be a cock block or anything but I’ve been a witness to his fuckboy ways for months now. If you think you’re special to him, I assure you, you’re not. Yesterday he was just banging two girls until the sunrise. If you’re really as sane as I hope you are, I suggest you skedaddle before this man feeds you with more lies. You’re not special, hun, he’s just going to fuck everything that walks on two legs.”

“Is that true?”

“Nadia, you know how this works—”

“I was literally just on the phone with you last night!” the woman named Nadia pushed him away, but because he was bigger, he didn’t budge. Nadia turned to you, her lipstick smudged and a suspicious white stain on the edge of her lips. You couldn’t even bring yourself to look down her head, and you and your neighbor both watched as she got dressed and left, hands up in the air. “Thank you for this. I should’ve known better than to waste time and money on him.”

You snickered as Nadia pressed on the elevator buttons, a scowl sent his way. Turning to him with pride swelling up in your chest, you smirked, “How does it feel—”

“Happy now?” he growled, his eyes so dark and slit into tiny cuts you took a step back, your heart pumping frantically for different reasons. You never thought he’d be this bothered for not being able to bust a nut. “Satisfied now, Y/N? Do you even realize what you’ve just done?”

“Uhm, yes,” you scoffed, matching his tone. “I just saved that poor girl’s life. Who else knows what you would’ve done and said to her. We don’t deserve to be looked down on and treated like this, you know.”

“Neither did I. I’m just doing my job.”

“Job? You don’t even have a job! You don’t even go to university for fuck’s sake – your apartment is rundown and smells like sour cunt and feet! Maybe you should even thank me because I’m trying to give you ideas on better things to do!”

“Yeah, and be like you?” he snapped, tugging at the strings of your hoodie until you fell a step forward. “Dressed in loose shirts to hide the fact you’ve got no tits and your ass is flatter than your back? Lying to her neighbor that she’ll crash somewhere but ends up waddling back home anyway because she’s always cooped up in her apartment studying to prove that she’s not as worthless as she is and that she doesn’t have a life or friends to begin with?” tears pooled at your eyes at his words, and you knew it hurt because it was true, but did he really have to say it that way?

However, his anger got the best of him, and he didn’t stop there. “I don’t want to be like you. I don’t want to skip meals and lose sleep studying for something I don’t care about because I don’t know anything else other than following daddy’s footsteps so he’d notice me more than his new bride. I’m happy with my life.”

“How did—”

“Like you said, the walls are thin. You’re not exactly so quiet to yourself, neighbor. It’s kind of pathetic you talk to the walls when you think I’m asleep because you’ve got no one else to talk to.”

Hands balled into fists at your side, you stood on your tiptoes to spit the words out. “You’re a terrible human being,” no matter how much you tried to exert dominance over him, your lips still quivered as you fought back the urge to cry. “Go fuck yourself.”

“You’re the one who needs to go fuck yourself and get laid,” he didn’t let you have another word as he slammed the door in your face, but you still heard him through the door anyway. “Uptight bitch.”

You were wrong.

Your neighbor wasn’t just difficult – he was completely impossible.

[Dad:] Don’t forget your date!

[You:] Dad…don’t push it.

[Dad:] I find it hard to believe my beautiful daughter can’t have one. Go out there and make some friends, Y/N, I know you isolate yourself too much. It doesn’t even have to be a boyfriend. You could date a girl for all I care. I just don’t want you to be too bored at the wedding. Bring a friend.

[You:] Fine, fine, okay.

[Dad:] But a boyfriend would still be better. Your old man isn’t getting any younger and I want grandkids in the future.

[You:] Dad!

[Dad:] love ya kid !

And so it was the turn of your events that had you groaning in your swiveling chair, the grip on your phone so tight you wouldn’t be surprised if you ended up breaking it. As if your week couldn’t get any more horrible with your neighbor’s hurtful words still living at the back of your mind, your father hadn’t stopped talking about you to his co-workers and his equally crazy mother that your grandmother didn’t waste time in calling you.

You loved your nan, you really did, but more often than not, she was much more of a pain in the ass than your father was. The old woman was ruthless, shooting you question by question on why her pretty granddaughter was still single, then came the demeaning comments of how you “weren’t living life to the fullest.”

Frustration eating away at you, you let out a silent scream.

The escort site blinked back at you mockingly, temptingly, as if to remind you that your problems could easily be solved with just a click. You chastised yourself for always having the need to solve problems fast and as easily as you could, because before you even realized what you were doing, your heart started beating a mile a minute as the other line kept ringing.

You ended up lying to your grandmother that yes, nan, I have a boyfriend, can I study for my exams now please, to which the pressing woman responded with, oh, finally! well, I won’t bother you anymore. study well, my dear, I can’t wait to see him!

Just thinking about how she would react if you came alone at your father’s wedding had you breaking out in a sweat, and you chewed at your nails while waiting for the site to pick up.

You were truly desperate now, so much so that you were actually calling a rental boy site.

“Good afternoon, thank you for calling Kamo Escorts! I’m Ijichi, here to assist you. What can I help you with?”

You held back a really painful cringe, biting the insides of your cheek as you got your heart to calm down. “Uhm, yeah…so this is like my first time c-calling a site like this and I don’t know what to do but…yeah.”

“I see, we get new callers too. Would you like a guide?”

“Yes, please, that’d be great thank you.”

“Kamo Escorts is all about, well, as you can see on our webpage – we have men and even women you can hire to escort you on special events. We mostly cater to clients who only need a pretty face to dangle off their arm for social company or even care, or whatever reasons the client may have and the relationship is purely business and professional, but in some cases, the escorts may have sex with the client too under the condition they are paid more.”

The gasp that left your lips was barely stifled, and you furrowed your brows at the implication. “Wh-what, so that’s like a real thing? Isn’t this…?”

Ijichi chuckled from the other line, almost as if he’d been asked this question many times before. “In a way, it is, which is why Kamo Escorts is commercially advertised for purely social company only. You may, however, negotiate with your escort if you would like more services, but we do require that you keep our escorts’ dignity and not look down on them. The service we provide may not be your typical honorable one, but we are dedicated and equally eager to be of service to this society. Should we find that you’re dehumanizing or harassing our escort, we won’t hesitate to…take some action,” the light warning of his tone didn’t go unnoticed by you, and Ijichi took note of your hesitant silence. “Would you still like to proceed?”

“Ye-yeah, I didn’t want the sex anyway.”

“Very well, then. What event are we looking for?”

“It’s for a relative’s wedding,” you supplied, “I need a date.”

“Any preference in escorts? Male, female, tall, short, sociable or introverted?”

Your eyes widened, your back flattening against your chair. “Oh, wow, so this is like a Build-A-Bear, okay, wait,” you chewed your nails again, racking up on your mind on who or what exactly you liked. “My ideal guy is…someone tall, and has pretty broad shoulders…I think I prefer a more introverted one too because people with too much energy sort of drains me…and someone caring and attentive, yes. Handsome too – but if that’s too much to ask for then—”

“It’s okay, Miss. I assure you all our escorts are definitely blessed in the gene department.”

At his confidence, you scrunched your nose and made yourself small on your chair. “Okay, but now that you say it, if he’s too handsome then I’m going to look like a potato next to him.”

“We’ll find someone compatible for you; we always never fail to please our clients. We’ll be able to match you with a more suitable escort if you’re more descriptive with what you want.”

“Okay, okay,” you continued, “Oh, and I like guys with long hair too, but really, anything is fine. I just want someone to effortlessly pretend they’re enamored after just one date and that they’re very glad to be there with me on the wedding. It’s even better if they’re introverted but can communicate well and isn’t shy at all. My relatives are kind of…freaky.”

Freaky couldn’t even begin to describe the chaos of your relatives.

In fact, had you not been paying for this service, you would’ve almost felt bad for the guy. He had no idea what he had coming for him – but then again, neither did you.

“I think we’ve got just the perfect guy for you,” Ijichi answered after a beat, “May I ask when is this event and how long you’d like to book the escort service for?”

“The event is in two weeks. I don’t need to meet him before the wedding because I’m very busy with exams, so I hope this guy can just act really well. As for the duration…I think just one day is enough. After the wedding, I’m coming right back home.”

“Convenient then,” he mused to himself, and you heard slight clicking from his side. “Let’s see…someone introverted and able to communicate well…definitely not Satoru, and his entirely booked by sugar mommies too…” Ijichi whispered to himself, followed by a slight humorous snort. “One last question: would you like someone older, younger, or the same age as you?”

“I’m in uni – I’d be more comfortable if they were closer to my age.”

“Oh, perfect, his schedule is oddly open for the whole month. Wonder what happened, he’s barely had free slots before…” the man was speaking to himself again, and you sat there pouting, even more dumbfounded at how this whole process worked.

Ijichi talked about this escort service and guided you so easily you almost couldn’t believe that it was as…simple as that. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but deep down in your mind, you were waiting for something fishy or weird to happen.

“I found someone for you. He’s one of our best escorts and I believe he’ll be great for this event. However, due to privacy issues, the disclosure of contacts and personal information can only happen once the escort agrees to this service. We’ll shortly get back to you if he’s up for the job. If not, I’ll find you another one quickly; you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Okay, thank you so much!”

“It’s our pleasure. Thank you for contacting Kamo Escorts – we hope to see you again!”

Once the call ended, you fell back on your bed with a sigh. Your neighbor wasn’t around the whole day, leaving you in peace and silence, and you took advantage of the rare quietness by pulling out a book. Hours passed, and you were nearly finished with half the textbook, fingers slightly numb from practicing sutures over and over again when your phone lit up with a text.

It came from an unknown number, but the words were loud and clear. Hey, this is Choso, I’ll be your escort for the wedding. Please text me here for the details and what else you expect from my service. I’m only a text and call away, please don’t hesitate to ask me for anything else.

You blinked at your phone, unsure of how to process the whole thing.

So it was official now – you rented an escort and you had a date for the event. Quite frankly, you were kind of expecting that escorts would be a lot more…flirtatious or even eager to please, but this Choso guy sounded too formal for you to picture yourself having this stranger be a good company for your event. Ijichi sounded so sure though that you no longer questioned it; smiling instead now that you’ve finally solved one of your problems.

Life felt a lot easier.

At around four in the morning, you were too worn out to keep going. Your exam was in the afternoon so you still had plenty of time to sleep, your stomach grumbled, prompting you to leave your unit to get some snacks.

Keys in hand and feet cold in your socks, you locked your door, halting in your steps when you saw your neighbor. Different from his usual comfortable clothing, he was dressed in a formal white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his large, masculine hands coming up to loosen his tie. He wasn’t aware of your presence, almost blindly walking to his door and sighing. You didn’t miss the fact his shoulders were slumped, and he looked absolutely worn out.

For a moment, you actually felt worried, until you remembered what he said to you.

“What, no pussy to fuck tonight?”

He froze in front of his door for a moment, slightly tilting back to see your aggravated stance. Upon seeing it was just you, he shook his head and turned back to unlock his door. “No thanks to you.”

“Aw, did I ruin your reputation?” you mocked sarcastically, “I’m surprised people aren’t smart enough to pick up the smell of women’s perfume on you already. Seriously, are people that desperate for touch?” It was ironic; you’d never admit it, but you weren’t any better than them. You were equally desperate to be touched despite your aversion to romantic relationships, but he didn’t need to know that.

“It’s normal when you’re someone people are naturally attracted to. Not that you’d get it, of course, because it’s clear you don’t get some.”

“At least my apartment doesn’t smell like pussy.”

“At least I don’t masturbate every night then pass out after one weak orgasm.”

Your cheeks burned at his offhanded comment, and even with his back turned to you, you could see the slight smile tugging at his cheeks. He must’ve felt so cocky, thinking that he’d defeated you, so you blurted out the most intelligent thing possible: “How dare you!” while grabbing onto his shoulders to make him face you. “Look me in the eye and take that back!”

“Whatever you’re planning,” he crooned, head tilted to the side and making strands of his bangs fall over his eyes. He looked absolutely handsome under the flickering lights of the hallway in that moment, and you hated how you weren’t able to take your hands off of his strong shoulders, his masculine and spicy perfume clouding your mind. “It’s not going to work. Surprise surprise, but you’re not as cute as you think you are.”

Your eyes burned with fire, the nerves in your body so closing to popping. He infuriated you so much. “And you’re not as sexy as you believe you are!”

“Oh, yeah?” The positions are suddenly switched as he cornered you beside his doorframe, both of his arms planted beside your head. Because he was taller, he had to lean down to look you in the eye, his warm, minty breath brushing over your lips. You stared at him with wide eyes, fingers raking over the wall in a silent attempt to flee. Upon seeing your pursed lips, he laughed.

“Then why are you so shaky? Do I make you nervous?” his head dipped down, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Say…you only pretend to hate me, but you actually wish it was you I’m fucking every night, don’t you? Tell me…do you touch yourself when you hear me eating someone out?”

“I-I’m not—”

Before you could combust under his gaze, he pulled himself away from you, a satisfied smirk on his face at your flustered state. He chuckled lowly, keys spinning on his thick finger. “I was just teasing you, princess. No need to get so worked up.”

“I never want you near me again!”

He raised both brows as if to challenge you, and you knew from the glint in his eyes he was up to no good. “Princess, you jumped on me first.”

“I didn’t!” You shouted, immediately slapping your palm over your lips after realizing people were sleeping. He snickered at your reactions, and you pushed past him back to your unit, suddenly losing the appetite to get your precious snacks. “God, I hate you so much.”

“Believe me, the feeling is mutual.”

Difficult. Unbelievable. Complicated. Idiotic. Nothing was ever easy with him.

“Would you stop fidgeting?” your father scolded from his chair, his body barely moving as the stylists fixed his hair and makeup, but his eyes glared at you from the mirror. “You’re a lot more nervous than I am, and it’s my wedding.”

“Sorry, I can’t help it.”

Your father sighed to himself, standing up after they were done with him. He checked his appearance in the mirror for a while, nodding to himself in satisfaction. It was still a little surreal that he was going to get married again, to a woman half his age of all people, but he was happy, and his bride seemed to really love him too, so you no longer questioned your father’s decisions. He was an adult, anyway, he could make his own decisions.

“You’re waiting for your boyfriend, you say?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s he like?”

You stiffened at the question. Not wanting your sharp-eyed father to pick up on the smallest cues, you lied through your teeth despite not having any idea on who or what kind of person the escort was.

Other than discussing details of how you two supposedly met, conversations had been crisp and short. You were lucky that the escort seemed to be nice and smart enough to not always ask you to explain everything, and he was crisp and curt in his texts too. No flirty or suggestive messages, not even a single emoji. He seemed a little stiff, and while you worried if you could fake chemistry with someone who seemed like a wall, you were also assured by the fact he wasn’t some creep.

“Nice. He’s sweet. You’ll like him.”

“And when did you meet him?”

“Dad, do I have to tell this story all over again?” you groaned, “We met after exams, he goes to a different uni and he studies law—”

“Law. Impressive.”

“Of course you’re impressed,” you rolled your eyes. Coming from a family of doctors and engineers, your father, and pretty much everyone else in the family, also expected that you’d date someone who was equally intelligent and had enough connections in different industries at least. It just so happened you were really lucky your escort also really did study law for a bit before he became an escort; a detail you never got enough explanation for. “He’ll be here anytime soon. Just you wait.”

In reality, you were the one who couldn’t wait.

You were excited and nervous at the same time to see this mysterious escort, and you were in the middle of talking to your father and his bride when someone called you.

“Y/N?”

You turned around with a bright grin. That must be him! You clasped at the hems of your dress so you could meet this mysterious, rigid man properly, but the moment your eyes met his equally startled gaze, you choked on your own breath. “Y-you—”

Choso stood before you; handsome as ever in his suit and tie, his iconic twin tails still there. How ever would your father believe you now that he was a lawyer, especially with his messy hair and face tattoo? You loved it and found it sexy on him, no denying that, but your father was a little bit more traditional. But that aside, it was Choso?!

His professionalism arose and he regained his composure quicker than you did, the smile on his face so natural and alluring even you almost fell for it.

Choso wrapped an arm around your waist before kissing you on the cheek, and the skin felt extremely hot under his lips. You couldn’t move, couldn’t even speak, because Choso was pressed flush against you, and he looked at you with stars shining in his eyes you didn’t know whether to be flattered or afraid.

Maybe a fucked up mix of both.

“I’m sorry I’m late. Traffic was bad,” he explained with a small smile on his lips, and he looked so handsome and smelled so good in that moment you were left gaping at him as he bowed to your father, arm politely extended. “You must be Y/N’s father. It’s very nice to meet you sir. I’m her boyfriend, Choso.”

To your surprise, your father eagerly shook his hand with the brightest grin he’d worn the whole night before he faced you with a laugh. “No way,” he beamed, gesturing to Choso. “He’s your boyfriend? You managed to snag this fine man?”

“Dad!” your ears burned with embarrassment. Choso only laughed; making you painfully aware of his large, warm hand resting at the small of your back.

“I heard you’re a lawyer, son?”

“Yes, sir.”

Your father nodded in approval, the two exchanging over words about what his plans were for the future and how his studies were going. You stood there with a pounding heart, fearful that Choso could fuck up any moment, but he was so effortless and easy going. Had you not been the one paying him, you would’ve been fooled too.

So this was the life of an escort.

“So how much did my daughter pay you?”

“Dad, I didn’t—”

“I mean, there’s no way she actually charmed you with her non-existent social skills. My daughter here can’t even talk to someone and look them in the eye, much less ask someone out, so how did this happen?”

Choso laughed at your father’s lighthearted comment, saving the day for what seemed like the hundredth time already. “I approached her first, sir. We were both eating in this small diner and it was cramped, so we shared tables and started conversation,” Suddenly, his grip tightened on you as he pulled you closer, your ear now resting above the lulling and steady beating of his heart. How was he so calm?

He lightly squeezed your hip and it had you freezing under his touch, stiffening even more when he looked down at you so adoringly. “Guess it went downhill from there.” God, you had no idea who this man was.

“Really? What did you guys talk about?”

Choso opened his mouth to speak, but it was there, that damned glint on those dark eyes again that you clutched at his bicep. He may be damn good at this job, but knowing Choso, he was enjoying this way too much.

Anything you couldn’t predict or control properly was a huge no in your game, and you pulled Choso away before he could say something downright humiliating.

“Dad, just go focus on your wedding. I want to spend time with my boyfriend, okay?” You couldn’t even begin to fathom the inward cringe upon your words, the feeling only worsening when Choso fought back a laugh masked with a cough. Before your father could say anything else, you dragged Choso rather harshly, but he didn’t mind; he followed you obediently. “Come with me. I need to talk to you,” You didn’t stop until you were both alone in a desolated corner, and finally, you hissed at him. “What are you doing here?!”

“I should be asking you the same thing – but it turns out you’re my client.”

“Client? So you really are my escort?”

“Yes, I am.”

“So those women…”

“All my clients,” he confirmed your thoughts. “I assure you they knew what they were getting into. In fact, they were the ones who asked for that special service that caused you to lose your sleep every night. That woman the other day was just pissed because she booked me for three days, but I lied that I was available until the duration she wanted when I wasn’t.”

“You mean you were still working an escort for somebody else?”

He shrugged. “Pretty much.”

“Why did you lie then?”

“It’s more money,” Choso stared down at his hands before his eyes flitted back up to yours, his face unreadable. “I’m saving up so I can move somewhere else. Our apartment isn’t exactly the most ideal considering my profession. I need to find someplace quieter with thicker walls this time,” he smiled, “That way, I’ll no longer bother my sweet neighbor,” your lips felt dry at his words, your tongue darting out to lick at them while Choso scrutinized you under his gaze.

“I have to admit though – you asking for escort service is the last thing I’d ever imagine you doing. Not that I’m complaining since it’s still money in my pocket, but you’re not the most pleasing company to be with.”

“Oh, you bet, Choso. Had I known you were going to be my escort, I would’ve declined long ago,” you groaned, your head dropping in your hands. “What was Ijichi thinking when he said I would be compatible with you?”

“You’re not,” he stated, “But I am compatible with you – as I am with pretty much everyone else. I’m one of the best escorts, and soon you’ll see why.”

You didn’t understand what he meant by then, but it seemed Choso was quite eager to show his skills off when he dragged you back inside the reception event. The whole time, you couldn’t pay attention to anything or anyone else other than Choso. It still felt hard to believe that the whole time, he really was doing his job, and upon seeing how easily he had people believing you two were an item despite you just standing silently beside him, you felt guilty that you disrupted his “work” like that.

Guilt gnawed at you as Choso made everyone laugh, and soon your relatives were cooing, praising you and congratulating you that you were “happy” now.

Back then, you always looked down on him and even called him a mere fuckboy, but Choso was so much more than that. He was intelligent; his past as a lawyer proved that, and whatever happened that caused him to work in this industry kept lingering in your mind.

There was no denying it now.

You respected this man – admired him even.

“And now it’s time to join the newly married couple on the dance floor! Come on, people, bring your dates up here for a twirl!”

You remained planted in your seat, too comfortable with Choso’s jacket draped around your bare shoulders. You’d lost count of how many times your head ducked down for the lack of sleep, and as much as you loved your dad, you wanted nothing more than to go home and rest.

Choso offered his hand to yours, a teasing smile on his face. He wriggled his eyebrows up and down, and he looked so utterly ridiculous that you couldn’t believe the boring man you were texting was the same infuriating yet undeniably attractive bastard who was your neighbor was the same fun. The world is very small, it seemed, and you weren’t sure whether you were brave enough to venture these strange places and feelings.

“Uh-uh. No. I’m not dancing.”

“Two left feet?”

“No, I’m wearing heels. My feet hurts.”

“Then take it off.”

“And get my feet dirty?” you scoffed. As if to prove your point, you snuggled deeper into his jacket that smelled heavenly like him, closing your eyes as you pretended to sleep. “Sitting here isn’t so bad. Plus, look at them, all staring at each other with goo-goo eyes. It’s revolting,” you shuddered.

Through the sickeningly romantic music playing in the background, Choso fell silent. You cracked an eye open, frowning when Choso studied each of your features carefully. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You seem to hate the idea of love.”

“Because it’s pointless.”

Choso narrowed his eyes at your answer, brows bunching up at the way your shoulders squared to keep yourself away. Then, he stood up and sighed, offering his hand to you once more.

“I won’t really ask you to explain why, because frankly, I don’t care,” you stared at his large palms for a few seconds. There must be a ghost possessing your body because you looped your fingers through his and allowed him to guide you on the dance floor despite your mind’s protests, and soon, Choso’s eyes were all over you. “But if you don’t want your money to go down the drain and you really want to convince everyone, I suggest you forget about that mindset for just a few more hours,” his voice dropped down to a low whisper, his forehead pressed to yours. His eyes turned solemn, his hand on your waist gentle. “Dance with me. Let’s show them how madly in love we are with each other.”

“We met just last week, remember?”

“Love at first sight, princess,” Choso kissed your forehead, sending your heart thumping and running to another dimension. Oddly enough, you didn’t mind, and your hands travelled from his strong arms to his broad shoulders instinctively. “Take your heels off. You can step on my feet and I’ll dance for us both. Just put your arms around my neck – yes just like that,” he nodded with a smile when your fingertips nervously played with his hair, and Choso began to dance you both in time with the music. “Are you good?”

“I don’t like this lack of space between us.”

Choso smirked, “Why, do I get you all hot and bothered?”

“Jesus, Choso, you can’t be serious for a minute, huh?”

“It’s kind of hard to be serious when you’re so flustered and adorable right now,” you pulled at his hair in response, but of course, he wasn’t really hurt.

“Look at me,” he demanded, but you refused, keeping your gaze planted on your bare feet on top of his again. “Hey. I said look at me,” he tilted your chin up until you’re forced to be like prey under his gaze, his breath tickling the bow of your lips. “I am your escort for tonight – and I humbly ask that you do your part as my client so I can perform my job well. I need you to look into my eyes and pretend you’re in love with me.”

“I don’t want to fall in love with anyone,” you suddenly admitted, “I’m scared.”

“You don’t have to be,” he replied, softly this time, and his hands ran down tenderly to your hips to pull you closer to him. “I’ll be there to catch you.”

You couldn’t remember who leaned in first. The only thing you remembered was that the music faded in the background when you kissed him – or maybe he kissed you – fuck, you didn’t really remember. Eventually, the kiss grew too heated, his hands squeezing your waist while you moan at the taste of chocolate and wine on his expert tongue.

Choso easily read your mind and swooped you away from the crowd, the both of you stumbling until you made it out to the venue and onto the beach.

The salty air kissed your skin while Choso carried you bridal style, arms looped around his neck while he kept moving his lips above yours. He was laughing through the kiss with how messy and eager you were, tugging at his shirt to encourage him to unbutton it. Choso set you both down on the darker, isolated part of the beach where nothing but the sound of waves lapping against one another could be heard with your breathless pants and his chuckles.

You were lying on his jacket, dress bunched up to your chest while your legs were spread wide open for him. “Ch-Choso,” you choked out when his tongue ran flat across your slick folds, his hands keeping your hips pinned down to the sand. “I-I, please.”

“I got you, princess,” was all he said before he completely dived into your heat, his sharp nose brushing into your cunt.

It didn’t take long until you were spasming in his hold, legs closing around his head. Choso groaned into your pussy, a finger working its way inside your sopping cunt while he licks and slurps your arousal like it was fucking water. Now you understood why those girls always lost their mind – Choso was a fucking expert when it came to worshipping pussy.

Choso pulled his fingers out of you, making you whine at the sudden emptiness, but he was kind, eager to please you that he immediately replaced it with his tongue.

You cried out when you felt his tongue entering your hole, one thumb pulling the hood of your lips up to reveal your sensitive pearl. Choso rubbed your clit fervently, his other hand reaching up to squeeze and tug at your breasts while he drank your juices dripping down his tongue as if you would be his last meal – and he honestly wished you were, because you tasted like heaven on him and he wanted more.

Once he felt you clamping down on his tongue so tightly he struggled to retrieve his warm muscle back, he helped you reach your high by pinching your clit. You moaned out his name, the sound sending blood straight down his cock, and he groaned into your pussy the moment you grinded on his face as you relaxed from your orgasm.

Choso didn’t give you the chance to recover from your orgasm, pulling you up to his lap before he’s kissing you again. You moaned when you tasted yourself on his tongue, his face and cheeks sweet from your arousal and cum.

You should be ashamed, but you couldn’t find a single bone in your body that felt shy right now. Choso was right – there was no point in being shameful when it came to your pleasure.

The kiss was sloppy, more tongue than lips and teeth clashing onto another. Choso grinded you on his hardened erection in search of your heat that would bring him relief, but he slowed down and pulled away from you, a string of saliva connected from your lips. He wanted you – wanted to fuck you so badly – so he searched your eyes for the answer when you aligned the tip of his cock to your entrance. “Is this okay? Are you sure with this?”

“Yeah,” you gritted your teeth when his tip entered your tight cunt, your walls sucking him in greedily already. Choso’s head dropped down to your shoulder, his teeth sinking down to your shoulder. You slowly sat down on his thick length, but then froze before he could bottom out. “Wait, no, I’m broke! I can’t pay for your extra services!”

“It’s free for you, princess,” he rasped out, “Now sit on my lap so I can feel you around me already.”

“Do you always have to be so vulgar?”

Through the pleasure that had his abs rippling, Choso managed a laugh. “You might want to get used to it.”

“Why would I?” you breathed out, eyes shutting tight once he fully slid into you. He allowed you to get used to the sudden stretch; it had been too long since you’ve been touched this way that you were impossibly tight around him right now. Your chest rose and fall with each faltering breath, your nails running down his back when Choso gave a deep, experimental thrust that immediately hits your sweet spot.

You moaned, cheek resting on his shoulder as Choso set the pace, squeezing your ass as he bounced you up and down his cock. “You’re gone after this. Once this contract is over, you’re moving away and I won’t get to see you anymore. I-I won’t lose sleep anymore after hearing you fuck all those women and gosh, I hate you so much, you know that?”

“I hated you too,” he groaned through your skin, “Or at least, that’s what I told myself so I wouldn’t get hurt.”

“Hurt? I would never hurt you,” Really, you praised yourself for still being able to form coherent sentences even after Choso kept fucking into you.

“I’m an escort, princess, I’m everybody’s and nobody’s at the same time,” he explained almost angrily, and his lips zealously sucked love bites to the sensitive flesh of your neck, “Even if you won’t hurt me, we’re bound to crash and burn at some point. This is why we’re not allowed to get attached to anyone,” his lips brushed over her collarbone, his canines dragging along to make red marks. “Why we’re not allowed to fall,” he squeezed her breast in the palm of his hand, twisting the peaked nipple until you whined, hips bucking deeper into his cock. “Why we’re not allowed to love.”

“I-I don’t understand.”

“I’ve always liked you,” he laughed through the pleasure, holding your hips down so he could drive his cock deeper into you. Yes, he was selfish, yes, he was frustrated – and his feelings burst through the way Choso powered into you. You fell limp in his arms and he easily caught you like he always did, his eyes blown wide as he stared right into your eyes, his dick still pummeling through your gummy walls.

Choso inhaled sharply when you clenched down on him, an elongated moan spilling past your lips. “I liked you the moment you moved in and you fell flat on your face before you could greet me.”

“Shut up, don’t remind me of that!” you raked your nails down his back hard enough to draw blood, and Choso concealed the pain with light chuckle, the pain only prompting him to absolutely use you. “You’re seriously bringing it up now when you’re – ah, fuck – b-buried in me?”

Choso tugged at one of your legs and wrapped it around his waist, the sudden change of angle had you pressing down deeper into him. It felt like you were sinking closer and closer to his cock, the tip of his dick kissing your cervix until you’re crying out in his arms, scratches evident on his back.

“For now,” he breathed out, “I want to at least be selfish enough to want you now, just for now if fate won’t still allow it.”

“W-we can try,” you said in your lust-filled gaze, lips crashing down messily to his while you bounced on him, your hips slamming down at the same to meet his thrusts. “It’s not going to be easy, but we can try, right?” You cupped his face, surprised with the sudden vulnerability from his hooded eyes, looking so innocent and beautiful as if he wasn’t painting your insides white.

“Okay,” he nodded, brows pinching together. And that was all the both of you needed before Choso sank his fangs down the column of your neck to hold on his low groans; your head thrown back as you both drown in the pleasure of being with one another.

In the blink of an eye, all tenderness is Choso’s touches replaced by the hunger in his eyes and the power of his lust-filled thrusts. You were a moaning mess by the time your hips sit flat on his pelvic bone and his balls brush on your ass from how deep he was hitting you, and you felt his teeth nibble at the side of your breasts again as he warned, “But for now, I’m not going to go easy on you – not when I’ve wanted you for so long and I’ve been so hard for you these all time.”

And you allowed him. Because nothing was ever easy with Choso, but for him, you’d try pushing through hell and back.

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