Woo Damnn... When In Doubt, Bake Chocolate Chip Pumpkin Blondie Time Definitely Flies By Real Quick,

Woo damnn... 🍁🎃😁 When in doubt, bake Chocolate Chip Pumpkin Blondie ❤❤ Time definitely flies by real quick, coz October is ending soon 😭😭😭 . . . Ingredients: 1 1/4 c oat flour 3/4 c pumpkin puree 1/3 c maple syrup 3/4 teaspoon baking soda  pumpkin pie spice 1 egg  1/2 cup low fat yogurt 1/2 cup chocolate chips/chunks dark or semi-sweet Bake for 20 minutes ❤ . . . . . . . . #pumpkin #pumpkinbread #blondie #chocolate #psl #brownies #healthyfood #healthybreakfast #breakfastideas #snack #blogger #influencer #foodphotography #foodblogger #foodpics #food #autumn #fall #warm #halloween #autumnvibes🍁 #fallfood #pumpkins #followforfollowback #aesthetic #ａｅｓｔｈｅｔｉｃ #autumnaesthetic #warmtones #thirsttrappin (at Wherever You Are) https://www.instagram.com/p/CVbuGrBp5ff/?utm_medium=tumblr

Summer is over but still vibing over the Hot Girl Summer vibe.. . . . . . . . . . #hotgirl #hotgirlsummer #abg #summer #summeroutfit #fashionblogger #fall #fashion #aesthetic #influencer #blogger #la #body #bodypositive #tuesdayvibes #fitnessmodel (at Underworld) https://www.instagram.com/p/CVNiwaopCOy/?utm_medium=tumblr

I used to be very insecure of myself whether it be my physical appearance, hair, basically from head to toe, in and out. Hence i rarely post photos of myself. So here's me, more like my side profile, for those of you who's been wondering what i look like.

.

.

Prior to starting this new account, i owned one personal account where i followed all my friends from high school and university. I deleted it in fear of judgement and started a new one under an alias or alter ego that i created myself so i can pretend to be her when i don't feel like being myself (i know this might sound very messed up to some people) but this is how i cope with it ( i mean ya girl's gotta do for the sake of her sanity aight??)

.

.

Anyways, now that i've completed that chapter and ready to take on another new chapter of my life, instead of stepping down and backing out, i will stand up and speak for myself because nobody will ever do that to me but myself (yeay to self appreciation). I guess be ready for more recipes content (new recipe coming up soon), occasional awkward photos of me, and hopefully maybe reels (😘😜). So stay tune friends and thank you so much for still following and sticking with me. ❤❤

P.S: i dare you to spot something hilarious and odd from my clothing and comment down below. Go!

.

.

.

#selfhealing #selfreminder #selflove #selfappreciation #love #lovemyself #aesthetic #fashion #90s #redhead #blogger #instagood #influencer #reels

poison on your tongue.

premise: ransom comes to visit you in the middle of the night to sedate his hunger.

pairing: vampire!ransom drysdale x (f)reader

warnings: restraints / semi bondage, blood drinking, sort of dubcon, unprotected sex, yandereish, dirty talk, maybe somnophilia a little bit, sweetheart endearment used. reminder: you are in control of your reading consumption so if you don’t vibe with any of the above please do not go on. 18+ only.

word count: 1.2k

etc: uhhh, i had like several different versions of this in my head and went with the most fucked up one. but like there was a sub!ransom one where ransom is fed blood the more he begs for it, an enemies to lovers feeding off of someone together one, and a few other ones so like let me know if y’all would want me to ever write those thots out someday lmao.

♱ kinktober 11.

You don’t hear him when he slips through your door. Or when he’s removed the blankets from your body, the cool air of your dark room barley making you stir in your slumber. You only realize that he’s in your bedroom, like so many nights before, when you feel him tying your wrists together with your top, leaving your chest exposed to him, your shorts and panties soon following suit. His knee is between your legs keeping you spread and open for him. The heavy musk of his fancy cologne and the smell of copper burning your nose at his proximity to your body.

If you would of heard him you might of ran, grabbed the crucifix at the side of your bed. Even if the act would of been futile. Anything to keep him from sinking his fangs into you, taking from you like he has done so many other nights. You becoming one of Ransom’s most favorite snacks.

“Why?” You ask, no pleading to be found in your voice. No weary. You’ve been here so many times before. You weren’t scared of him anymore, not of what he was at least. Your only fear was your impending death you were sure was soon to come. Ransom constantly feeding on you, taking from your body to replenish his own in a sick hunger, doing your body no favors. At least when he was away for too long. As if your body couldn’t survive without his teeth in your neck, your thigh, your mound. As if your body could only function with the blood loss rather than without it. It craving Ransom to take from it, to devour it in a hungry kiss that left you shaking and spent and weak. You just didn’t understand why he had chosen you to be plagued with such torture.

Ransom hums against your skin as his lips kiss at your hips, his tongue licking the area you know he’s prepping to sink into. Making your skin more raw and supple, to hurt more. “Why what, sweetheart?” He humors you, looking up at you through his lashes, smiling against your skin.

“Why me? You could use anyone for your own personal blood bag. Why me?” Ransom’s chuckle makes your stomach tighten and bitterness grow. He leans up, one hand grabbing your tied wrists and moving them at a better angle above your head. The other resting at your hip, nail digging into the skin he was just playing with.

His mouth is inches from yours, his fangs now visible, sharp, taunting. “Because, you’re delicious.” His smirk makes you glare up at him. “No one tastes as good as you do. You’re so sweet and tender, and know all the right spots to hit, not just when I’m hungry.” You feel his knee rub against your bare cunt, your breath hitching in the back of your throat. “I knew from the first time I felt your blood touch my tongue, and your cunt around my cock that one bite would never be enough.” His mouth hangs open hungrily as he watches you try not to moan or wither against him. Your hands balled into fists, your glare soon turning heavy and hooded with lust. “I crave you.” It comes out as a growl before his mouth comes down on yours, your body responding to him without any thought or coercion.

His teeth sinking into your bottom lip as he kisses you roughly, your hiss vibrating off of his blood coated lips as he pulls away. Gaze never leaving yours as he licks your blood off of his mouth. The surface wound making your bottom lip pound. Ransom bringing the hand at your hip up to the small wound he’s made, uses two fingers to collect the blood there and puts them into your mouth. “Suck,” he demands. “I want you to taste how sweet you are.” And you don’t hesitate to listen, wrapping your lips around his digits and licking and sucking around them, cleaning your own blood off of his fingers. The bitter taste of copper covering your tastebuds with malice and pleasure. Your muffled moans bringing a smile to Ransom’s face.

Your brain already filling with the haze of pleasure and need from Ransom to the point where you almost find yourself begging him to get it over with; take from you, litter your skin with bite marks and blood. It always ending the same way, your body’s need taking over and ignoring any protest of ill feelings you have towards the man. His tongue leaking poison into your body, claiming you as his, making you crave his animalistic ways. Turning your body on a dime easily, just for him.

He takes his time with you, keeps you on the precipice before he finally gives you what your body is keening for, what it’s been programmed to need from him ever since that first bite. And when he finally sinks his teeth into your hip the strangled moan you let out is music to his ears. Your body shooting with a pain that turns into lust and arousal the more he takes from you. The more you feel him suck at your skin draining you of the very thing that helps keep you alive. Ransom moving up your body leaving a trail of bloodied skin and bite marks in his wake. The intensity of his fangs only heightening your bodies ache when he bites into your neck, your body arching off the mattress. Your body fighting itself to not push Ransom off and instead pull him closer. The pleasure he’s poisoned your body to feel for him always winning.

“Should I just feed off you tonight, or should I fuck you as well, sweetheart?” His tongue licks at the wound he’s just made, “should I drain you until you’re too weak and use your cunt until I’ve refilled you with my cum?” He’s leaving kissing up your neck, smearing blood along your earlobe and cheek, “What does my little blood bag want?”

The needy groan you let out paired with the vigor in your hips bucking against his knee is all he needs for an answer, your body already too fucked from his mouth and constant taste of copper each time you swallow. And soon enough Ransom has his cock inside of you and the mewls that fall from your lips are loud and repetitive as he does just what he said he was going to do; drain you until your vision is blurry, your head woozy from the loss of blood and intense pleasure of his mouth and cock. Your body lulling and succumbing to Ransom fully as he fucks you like a rag doll.

“You’re so beautiful like this, cock drunk and drained. Your body weak but your mind and cunt still craving me, still begging for more, for my cum.” He’s kissing your mouth and you try to keep up with his lips, can taste your own blood on his tongue. It’s so wrong what Ransom has done to you, you know you could put up a fight, use reinforcement. But you know it’s too late for that, your body signing an invisible contract with Ransom the first time your flesh met the euphoric pleasure of his bite. Your body, mind and soul now owned by a devilish man who would take and take from you until there was nothing left. “So happy I found you, sweetheart.” Ransom grunts against your skin, sinking his teeth into you one last time before your vision goes dark and you cum around his cock.

It's photo dump day y'all. 🍁🍂🍂 For some people, Wednesday means #wednesdaywisdom or #wednesdayworkout . But to me it's #photodumpwednesday . . . . . . . . . . . #photooftheday #photography #photographer #weeklyfluff #blogger #aesthetic #autumn #photogram #photodump #photo #fashion #fashionblogger #workoutwednesday #shamelessselefie (at Under Your Bed, listening to your breathing) https://www.instagram.com/p/CU-GPJqpwZ5/?utm_medium=tumblr

😩😩 omg this is such a well-written piece of workkk... the way you portray the story made it very sensual, beautiful and articulate. Thank you for making my heart flutters. ❤

slow tempered lovers.

headcanon premise: after agreeing with a sick katy to work her shift at the gallery she works at, you have an intense run in with one of the artists there. the two of you getting off on the wrong foot, until fate helps you get on the right one.

pairing: artist!shang-chi x (f)reader

warnings: very cheesy and humorous, oral, mentions of nude drawings, unprotected sex, body worship, praise, mentions of alcohol, time jumps, unedited!!!!! reminder: you are in control of your reading consumption so if you don’t vibe with any of the above please do not go on. 18+ only.

word count: 6k+, i’m sorry it’s so long besties omfg.

etc: this definitely starts out semi-slow burn, then picks up pace and gets more smutty by the end. the smut is a lot quicker though. but basically i just wanted to make a small hc series featuring autumnal vibes/things because helllooo it’s the best season. though this one is probably the least autumnal feeling than the others i have planned.

🍂 autumn hc series part one. 🍂

When you two first meet it’s more of an accident than anything. Living in the city was not for the weak and the hefty rent bill that always seemed to shock you each month those big bold numbers showed across your draining-very-quickly bank account. So finding a second job had been more of demand than a want. And finding one job in the city was hard enough, finding another had been even trickier. And just when you’re about to give up the search, pick up more hours at your current job and hope by some miracle you would either get a raise or land something big; your friend Katy calls in a fit of coughs and sniffles begging you to cover her can’t-be-missed art showing at the gallery she worked at. It taking about thirty minutes for her to convince you and then another thirty to teach you the bare minimum of art terms, if anyone should ask you about the artists being showed, and the promise to give you the salary for the night and to bring you your favorite pumpkin muffins from the bakery near her apartment.

And it would be the perfect payoff, the perfect deal, if it wasn’t for the fact that you forget everything once you arrive at the gallery. The names of the artists slipping from your mind, only finding reminders when you walk by the several art pieces on the walls. You finding yourself quickly avoiding too many pressing questions: ‘is the artist here tonight?’ ‘do you know what mediums they used?’ ‘how did you obtain such art?’. You coming up with a good system of saying “let me go check!” and scattering off into a group of people to hide your clueless shame. Or grabbing a glass of champagne from one of the carts and offering it to them, feening shock when you see no one has offered them one already, distracting with booze and fake sympathy.

Towards the end of the event you find yourself sat on one of the long cushioned benches, your name tag ripped off and hid away in hopes no one will know or assume you’re actually supposed to be running the event. Having ran out of excuses, answers, and interjections. A glass flute of champagne in your hand, pretending to be immersed in the art pieces in front of you; portraits of people drawn in dark charcoal, some full body, others close up expressing different emotions, another of a woman with bobbed hair with a scowl on her brows. The smudging of the medium incredibly detailed making each piece highlight what was trying to be shown.

“Mind if I sit?” You don’t reply outright, or turn to see where or who the voice is coming from, half afraid someone might have remembered you as supposed to be working here rather than loitering around and avoiding the guests. The other half being you were too engulfed in the art piece in front of you. Your mind coming up with several different questions as to who this woman could be and what grave emotion, or action could of led up to the hurt written on her face.

So you reply with a quick “sure” offhandedly, sip from your glass and continue to gaze at the photo in front of you. Paying no mind to the stranger who takes the inadvertent invitation and sits beside you. The two of you seeming to be transfixed on the artwork ahead of you, gazes stuck on the strokes of black and crinkle of the woman’s forehead, the sharp point of a weapon attached to a string that flows around her wrists and arm, the murky background that sets it.

The two of you keep that shared silence, that you are thankful for, for what feels like forever. Until the man besides you decides to speak again, “what do you think of this artists work?” He asks. The pin prick of anxiety poking at your spine and making you straighten your posture, tap your finger nervously on your glass. And when you turn to him you expect to see some very-important-art-personal written on a name plate and pinned to his shirt. But instead you’re met with a soft smile, a hint of a dimple trying to peak out from his cheeks. The man wearing business casual on top but black jeans on the bottom. The top two buttons of his white dress shirt undone giving you a full view of his throat and very top of his chest, a normal part of the human anatomy that shouldn’t make you lose your breath for a split second. Or have your eyes quickly snapping back to his ever growing smile that makes you feel even warmer.

It takes you a beat to answer him, remembering that you only let your eyes roam on him to find a name plate, or some sign that you had in fact been caught as not knowing shit about art. Which: he held no evidence of being on the hunt to find such a person. “It’s. . .” You start, turning back towards the work, your head slightly tilted to the side. “Very emotional. Like, the artist was trying to convey a certain emotion but got lost in the chaos of it.”

“Hmm.” The stranger also turning to look at the artwork in question, “chaos.” He mumbles lowly. You wouldn’t of heard it if the two of you weren’t as close as you were. You just now noticing that there was only a few inches of room between his jean clad thigh and your naked one. “And what chaos has he gotten lost in?” His attention back on you, the same soft smile still lingering on his lips, making you smile in return.

“The kind that causes the artists emotions to be more on display than the model, or subject itself. He’s trying to show this woman holding these daggers, the look of hurt or grief on her face as if she’s just had to use them, or is going to use them. And that should be the main focus. But to me, personally, the main focus is how the charcoal patterns are erratic. The lines are messy and smudged and blotted and pressed that it looks like the artist was going through something more grieving than the woman was.”

The stranger doesn’t answer for a beat. You actually have to look back over to him to make sure he hadn’t up and walked away while you were looking between him and the photo. And when you look to him his face is no longer soft, something else has taken over his features. An expression that you can’t find surfacing on your brain, because the intense look he has in his eyes, the way he’s staring at you, it has your breath catching and words falling short. You almost think you’ve made him mad, or maybe over explained yourself. That maybe he was looking a short answer of ‘oh I think it’s cool’ or something, maybe he wasn’t into art either. Maybe he was just here because he had to be just like you. Whatever it was, the feelings bubbling in your belly had your whole body tightening in anticipation for when the tension would despise.

“Did I offend you?” You ask gently.

The man seems to come back to himself, chuckles, shakes his head. “No, no. Quite the opposite really.” He runs his fingers through his hair, barley tousling it out of place. “I’ve been to these things a million times, and each plays out the same when questions get thrown around. ‘Where do you get your inspiration from’ ‘who is she’ ‘how many have you actually sold’. And each time I give the same generic answer or get the same generic answer back when I turn the questions on them.” He’s looking back to you now, that warm feeling from his smile engulfing you once more. “But no one has ever given me an answer like yours though. Where they can see me through the work and not just the muse.”

You don’t know if you feel more embarrassed or shocked at the realization that washes over you when you process his words, and realize you had all but called the artist who made the artwork in front of you, who happened to be sitting next to you: chaotic. “Oh my god.” You quickly stood from the bench, running your hands down your black dress. Were you even allowed to give your honest opinions on the work here was that in Katy’s job description, no your job description for the night?? You were only there to help direct, hand out drinks and name tags and maybe spew out some pretentious vocabulary words when someone asked an important question about the flow of a paint brush. “I’m so sorry, I-should not have said-anything.” You stumble on your words. Ready to take off in the direction of your work station. Throw yourself back out into the wolves.

“Wait, no,” he laughs. “I didn’t mean for it to sound like you were insulting me, or my work.” He’s standing in front of you now, not in a ‘please listen to what I have to say’ creepy way. But more of a humorous, we are definitely getting off on the wrong foot kind of way. “I thought what you said was great, real, honest. Not everyone is honest about your work once they find out they are actually speaking to the artist who made it.”

“How do you know I was being honest? My employment here could very well mean I have a script I need to follow to keep the masses coming back for more.” You pointed out, hoped it would come off more ground-standing than humorous so you could walk away without feeling too worried you were going to get Katy fired for it.

A look of confusion plays across the mans face, he looks around for a beat as if searching for something or someone, “you work here? With Katy? I’ve never seen you before.”

Shit. It was up until now that neither you, or Katy apparently, took into consideration that people who came to the gallery showings often would recognize that Katy wasn’t here. Or that they had never once seen you putting in work here, or that you didn’t mention Katy once as to tell everyone where her whereabouts were and why you a commoner were in her place instead. Making the situation even more fishy. And your brain can’t quite comprehend all of these thoughts so instead of bidding the stranger a goodbye you quickly walk past him and, what you hope is, out of sight from him and to the back room where you can freak out and call Katy during said freak out in peace.

🍂

When you two meet again it’s ironically due to Katy, once again.

An impromptu dinner party, that was more or less five of you in Katy’s small apartment, random displays of food on every counter space available. Assortments of liquor adorning beside said food, music playing softly in the background, while Katy insisted you all gear up to play a shorter version of Monopoly, that you were sure she was stretching the truth about.

You hadn’t expected to see him there. Hadn’t expected to see him standing in the small kitchen space, cheese and crackers in hand. His expression seeming to perk up when he recognizes you. “Oh, hey.” He smiles politely. “I met you at the showing right?”

You can’t help the sigh that you release or the prickle of embarrassment that still clung to you from just thinking about the mishap. “Yeah, that’s me.” You grimace but he doesn’t seem to notice, as he laughs softly, cut off from saying his next words as Katy enters the small space, making her presence more than known.

“Ahh, so you two meet, again.” She gives you a little smirk as she looks between the two of you. “I heard you completely trashed on my boys art here, y/n.” Katy teases as she reaches for a can of beer, smirk still ever present as she watches you scowl at her and flounder with even more embarrassment. So they were friends, and really good ones it seemed. You wondered how you had never met him before. You had met all of Katy’s friends, at least you did, when you had time to be a social butterfly and not worry about keeping a roof over your head.

“I didn’t trash on it.” You state, assure, convince, whatever tone you were using to take the heat from your cheeks, and embarrassment rolling off of you. “I just simply gave a too honest review to the artist who I didn’t even know was an artist.”

“His name was below the artwork, how did you not know it was him?” Katy’s laughing now, as if the most obvious thing was hilarity gold to her.

“In her defense, I didn’t tell her my name.” He interjects, sends you a sweet smile, maybe laced with a bit of sympathy because he too knows you’re suffering at the sake of comedy right now.

“Oh, shit.” Katy shrugs, nods her head as if it all makes sense now. She opens the beer in her hand, takes a sip and then continues her thought. “Well, y/n this is Shaun, or Shang-chi, and vice versa.” She smiles as if this introduction fixes everything and you definitely should not still be feeling completely ridiculous about the events.

“it’s nice to meet you,” Shang-chi holds out his hand politely. You give him a chaste smile before shaking his hand and quickly going back into your defense stance; arms crossed, foot tapping anxiously. Hoping that now that introductions had been spoke that Katy and him would scatter from the kitchen and leave you to wallow in embarrassment alone.

But that does not in fact happen. Katy moving over to one of the food trays closest to you, quickly noticing that she forgot a very important condiment that pairs amazing with the cheese her mother told her was a dinner-party-must. “I can go get it. I’m sure the corner store has it,” You insist, not waiting in the kitchen long enough to hear an excuse as to why you shouldn’t or couldn’t go.

The excuse never comes though, Katy quickly apologizing and thanking you before she all but volunteers Shang-chi to accompany you. “It’s late, he can’t protect you.” She smirks, calling back to the two of you the, now two item, grocery list as she goes back into the living room. Everyone bidding the two of you a goodbye before you leave the apartment and step out into the cool Autumn air.

The two of you walk in silence until you almost forget that he is beside you. The only tell being the crunch of leaves under his shoes and the slight shivering breath you both take when the wind whips a little too hard. “Was that your first time working at a gallery the other night?” Shang-Chi asks. His hands in his jean pockets as he keeps up with your stride.

“Wasn’t it painfully obvious?” Your tone is laced with sarcasm that only seems to make him chuckle softly. You figured Katy had told him by now that you were covering for her, so the question is a bit surprising to you, as is his reaction.

“I don’t think you did too bad your first time.” He states, “Katy is oddly overzealous when she runs those things. Like a sports mom, but with art.” The two of you laugh, you envision Katy running around the gallery making super everything was perfect, everyone had a drink in hand, everyone knew which artist was who, or how to correctly say gouache. “I didn’t take why you said as offensive you know.” Shang-Chi breaks the short silence that had spread between the two of you once again. “I’ve had many bad reviews about my art, especially from those closest to me,” You glance over at him, see his facial expression mock humor with an eye roll at his own words. But a grimace of sadness slowly follows it, and the thought of asking him about it hangs in your mind. But deciding against when you bring yourself back to the reality that you two have only just met. He’s probably not one to air out super personal things with someone he’s met all but twice now.

“I knew you were being genuine. Honest, I meant that.” He gives you that same warm smile that suddenly makes it seem way warmer than it is outside. The little fire of embarrassment dwindle down into cinders at his reassuring words. He huffs out a breath and looks ahead, “it was just nice to hear.”

You smile towards the ground as the two of you continue your walk. “Well, I can unintentionally bash, while also complimenting your work, again sometime. I am looking for a second job after all.” This makes him laugh and the way his eyes light up and his cheeks seem more rosy from the cold air, makes your stomach do a little flutter. Laughing along with him as you try to not to notice your heart beating a little bit faster.

“I’ll be sure to only hire you as a critic from now on. The only opinion that I will take wholeheartedly.”

🍂

After that it’s as if you two can’t stop running into one another. You’re sure no thanks to Katy, as you seen realize that all the surprise meets coincidentally come to play with her having a hand in it.

Your favorite cafe shop, where you almost crumble your pumpkin muffin on Shang-Chi’s sweatshirt when you turn and he’s there getting in line. Him letting it be known that Katy suggested he try the muffins here, that it was the best cafe on the block. Which wasn’t wrong, but not even the woman herself would bother to trudge herself down here, knowing the line would be too long and by the time it was her turn to order the fresh muffins would be gone and the hard old ones would be served up. So you found it surprising she would suggest the place, especially since you were sure Shang-Chi didn’t live even remotely in the vicinity. And when he added “She said it was your favorite” his smile doing you in, making your grip your muffin a little tighter. The flutters in your stomach back from the last time you two were in each other’s presence.

The feeling only growing when you take pity on watching him wait inline for so long. You sitting at one of the many tables as you watch him. The two of you making contact here and there to smile at each other and laugh softly at how slow the line was moving. It all ending with you splitting half your muffin with him and him being wowed. His smile crinkling the skin by his eyes.

And it continues like that. Surprise meetings, Katy mentioning something to one of you to get you there. You both feening ignorance at to what she could possibly be up to. But finding the time to walk beside each other in the park, that you walked home from work through everyday, Katy telling Shang-Chi that it was the best park to go to for the perfect views to sketch. Or Katy telling you about this amazing takeout place, that just so happened to be close to Shang-Chi’s apartment, where he seemed to order from almost every night because he didn’t feel like cooking something for one; the two of you occupying a table together. The conversations flowing between the two do you casual and easy. His smile still making your stomach flutter in a mess.

It’s not until you are begged by Katy herself to go to a karaoke bar, her quickly mentioning “Shaun will be there”, sly and slick like it would be the icing to get you to eat the cake; you knew she was plotting against you, or for you. You weren’t too sure which latter it was yet. Or if you even liked the thought of which it could be.

And instead of letting yourself sit in your stuffy apartment and dwell on it, or stand in the mirror for another second debating on your outfit, convincing yourself it wasn’t because you wanted to look good for anyone, at all, ever. And then ignoring the anxious feelings once you meet at Katy’s apartment, Shang-Chi giving you his signature smile when he see’s your enter the room, walking beside you the entirety of the walk to the bar. Holding the door open for you, ordering you a drink. Asking you what your go to karaoke song was and if you needed help belting it out. You definitely were not letting yourself think of how any of that was making you feel. And you were definitely ignoring Katy’s smirks and subliminal eye messages from across the room.

“Let’s do Hotel California next!” Katy cheers, hands you and Shang-Chi another shot. Her cheeks already red and voice hoarse from drinking and singing to hard. The warmth from the liquor burning your stomach, your cheeks heating from the commotion of bodies in the confined space and effort to give your best Celine Dione.

“I actually have to head out soon.” Shang-Chi pipes up. It doesn’t stop him from downing the shot Katy handed him. Or standing up from the couch ready to sing along with Katy as she sets in the next song.

“Shaun,” Katy groans, turns to him and raises her hands in the air like she’s about to protest something big. “You are freelance and work on your own time, what possibly could you be doing that can’t start at noon tomorrow?”

“I’m trying to find inspiration. I can’t do that with a hangover.”

“I’m pretty sure you can. Just pop an Advil and wear some sunglasses.” The shorter of the two grins.

“Katy,” Shang-Chi laughs softly. “I’ve been wanting to work with more live models. I’m sure my bloodshot eyes and vodka coated morning breath will surely not lure them in.”

Katy makes a face, turns to the projector as Hotel California’s intro begins to play. “You are staying for this song and then I’ll let you go, deal?” The two shake hands in agreement, smile and hum softly as they wait for the lyrics. When she motions for you to join you do so without argument and stand beside Shang-Chi microphone in hand. “Wait,” Katy interjects just as the first line begins, turning towards the both of you. A look of pure genius twinkling in her eyes. “You want live models, y/n is looking for a second job, why don’t you have her model for you? I’m sure it’ll be cheaper and,” She gives a sly smile, “you’ll get to know each other better. Not to mention less worry about responsibility, and more time for karaoke.”

The two of you freeze. Your gazes meeting each other’s. Shang-Chi’s expression one of confusion; brows raised, head leaned to the side. While you just look between him and Katy nervously, your palm sweating and surely coating the microphone in a sheen of it. Part of you wanted to scowl at Katy, ask her what she thinks she was doing not only mentioning you needing a second job. The odd feeling of embarrassment at the declaration being the main cause of your sweat. The other was: the possibility of spending more time with Shang-Chi. Which. . .was not something that left a bad feeling in your marrow. Quite the opposite.

“I don’t think Im the modeling type.” You declare. Breaking the tense filled silence.

“All you have to do is stand there.” Katy shrugs, reassuring you as she begins to sing along to her appointed tune. “And Shaun is desperate,” She smiles. “He’s been looking for live models for a while, just don’t think he’s good enough to ask someone other than his sister.”

Shang-Chi grimaces, giving the woman a tight lipped smile. “Thanks for that.” Katy sends him a wink and continues to sing along. He looks to you and gives you a genuine, apologetic smile. Which you return with a shy one. Feeling almost jittery at the attention and prospect. “I wouldn’t be opposed.” He admits. “I have been wanting to up my real-time-emotions work, since this really heavy critic said I’m slacking on it.” You can’t help the laugh that leaves your lips at the clear jab at the reminder of your all to embarrassing first meeting, again, and the too honest review you shot him with. Your stomach doing a little flutter when he laughs along with you. The alcohol making the whole thing funnier than it truly was, but the warmth of it soothing your anxiousness when Shang-Chi confirms that he means, and would love to have you model for him if you wanted to, of course. No pressure.

You tell yourself it’s the mention of pay that really sets it in stone for you. Really makes your decision for you. Definitely not the way Shang-Chi’s face looks softer and eyes look brighter at the prospect. Or him sitting down beside you on the leather couch to talk over his ideas for his next project. Leaving Katy to sing by herself, not seeming phased at all as she makes a grand performance.

🍂

And when you arrive at Shang-Chi’s apartment the next day, checking your hair in the reflection of very store you pass along the way. The Autumn wind doing little to help. Standing outside of his door for at least three minutes before having the courage to knock on the door. His bright smile and the smell of pencil led and wood of his apartment, being the only things that ease your anxiety. The two of you still feening almost shyness as you go over poses and Shang-Chi reassuring you every step of the way at your ‘I have no idea what I’m doing’ declarations and sympathy.

His soft words and heat from his palm as he reaches over and places it atop of your hand perched on your knee, making your insides boil down to a heat filled simmer. “You’re going to do great. Really, once you’ve been sat in the same spot for hours I’m sure you’re going to regret even agreeing to this.” He chuckles, “so, please. Don’t be nervous.”

You laugh nervously, “just as long as you make me look good!” You jokingly warn as you move to the directed stool he has placed in the middle of his apartment, a white backdrop draped on the far wall. His hands coming up to move your arm here and hand here. His hand on your back to help straighten you making you want to lean into him more. Your nerves lighting up.

He stops in front of you, smiling down at you as he moves a piece of your hair to fall slightly in your face. “You already look good.” He says so cooly and velvety smooth that it has your breath catching. The look of appreciation and fondness written all over his face. You almost wonder if you imagined it.

And that’s how it goes for the next few weeks. You come over to his apartment when you’re not working. You sit in whatever position, and expressions, he puts you in: lying on the couch with a book in hand, leaning against a wall or the balcony of his apartment, perched on a stool looking up. Even sitting on the floor at his coffee table as you eat from a bowl of takeout Shang-Chi orders after your stomach obnoxiously growls during one of your sessions. Your cheeks heating with embarrassment, him looking up from his sketchbook smiling, wasting no time to grab his phone and order something without question or word. The two of you growing more comfortable in the shared space.

“Have you always used pencil, or charcoal?” You ask as you are sat on the couch, holding the pose Shang-Chi directed you in. You watching him look up to you, work his hands along the paper, rub his fingers along lines, shade here and there, for what seems like hours. The only sound being the friction of the medium against paper, the wind blowing fallen leaves outside of the window. And the soft music playing from a record player on the otherwise of the room.

“Yes.” He answers with a small grin. “I’ve tried various forms of paint before. Even tried my hand at sculpting, which was definitely not for me.” He chuckles to himself, as if remembering the inside memory. It makes you smile. “I love the mess. Of lead. Charcoal. Both of it-all of it.” He looks up from the sketch, eyes on you as he continues. “Love how it leaves smudges on my hands and the way it feels between my fingers. And, as weird as it sounds, the bitter smell it leaves behind.” 

You smile at him as you hear the genuine contentment in his voice as he speaks to you. His eyes never leaving yours as he lets you in on a little piece of him. Your stomach fluttering. “What does it feel like?” The question is probably childish, weird. But with the way he describes the medium it has you absent mindingly moving from your pose slightly as you try to pear over at the black object in his hands.

You expect for him to maybe laugh at you and confirm your question being dumb, but instead he motions for you to come sit beside him. Hands you the piece of Charcoal between his fingers once you are sat beside him. His sketchbook placed in your lap next. You look down at the fresh new page, the hard dark medium between your fingers. Running the pad of your finger along the smooth tip, the slight ridges in the side, a smudge of black leaving itself ever present on your skin. “It just feels like chalk.” You declare honestly and it makes him laugh.

“Here,” he moves closer to you. “Try this.” He places his hands upon yours, his grip light and soft. The medium flush against the paper as he moves his hand along with yours, moving the charcoal along the white of the sketchbook. Your heart slowly picking up speed. You let him completely have control of the functions in your hand. Moving your fingers out to smudge lines, run circles along the murky paper. The black deepening on your fingers and leaving evidence of him on your flesh as his one digits move along yours, in between, almost lacing your fingers together. Pressing the pad of them into the tops of yours. Soft. Smooth. Gentle.

You try to pay attention to the lines he is making with your hands. The swoops, the direction, the shading, the feel of the bitter smoothness of the medium and slight coarseness from the paper. But theirs a haze over your mind. A dull haze of nothing but Shang-Chi and how close he is to you right now. Your breath hitching to an almost halt from the proximity of him. The feel of him this close. The touch, press, and movement of his hand against yours. You can feel his shallow breath on you, beside your face. The warmth washing over you as his chest leans more into the side of you. And when his fingers move yours in that same circular motion as before it has your body heating up with something you don’t expect. Has your body almost going rigid and stiff as your mind switches gears completely to something more intimate and dirty. Your mind flashing images of the same circular motion his fingers are doing against yours somewhere else. Somewhere more private. Your thighs slowly moving closer together, your cheeks warming at not only the thought but the shyness of even thinking such things right now. This close to Shang-Chi.

And when he mumbles the words “Just like that,” softly against the shell of your ear your stomach drops and your breath stops all together. Your conscious seeming to bring you back to the present and really acknowledge the low burning ache you now feel below your belly. You can feel the tension in the room between the two of you, not sure if you caused it. If Shang-Chi has been feeling your shift, your body language and breath changing. The warmer feel of your skin on his. But when his hands stop, the two of you turning to look at each other, your faces close, so so close. Mouths inches away that it would only take one of you shifting just right for them to connect. His eyes looking almost as drunk with lust as you feel.

“I see why you like it. . .” Are the only words that you can dig up from your hormonal brain. The only thing that seems to bring reality crashing fully down onto the both of you. The moment of tension turning tides at your words. Shang-Chi chuckling softly as he stares at you for a beat, his signature smile and dimple making you regret even speaking. Half wishing you just leaned forward instead. Let your mouths do the talking in another way, it being painfully obvious you both having had wanted the same thing.

🍂

The next session you two have is outside. Shang-Chi suggesting the two of you, not only get some much needed natural light and air from his stuffy apartment, but to also help him work more on his background and setting sketch’s.

So the two of you end up at the park. The cloudy sky casting a dull grey light upon the yellow and brown scenery. You sit on a cold bench, leaves blowing across your boots. Your gaze set across the park as Shang-Chi sits beside you making light conversation as he sketch’s. You only looking over to him when you feel a fallen leaf make it’s home in your hair, Shang-Chi laughing softly as his fingers work gently to pick it out of your hair. The tips of his fingers making the slightest of touches against your cheek as he removes the golden leaf from your tendrils.

And with the way he is looking at you, you think maybe this is going to be the moment you’ve thought about since that night in his apartment; where you wanted more than to feel his mouth on yours. That maybe your mind will get a moment of peace once you finally feel his lips on yours. That you will no longer have to daydream about it, or let your mind and fingers wander at night under the sheets.

But the first drop of rain is what breaks the stare between you two; landing right atop of your forehead. The two of you both laughing and looking to the sky. The one stop being the only warning before heavy drops start to fall in rapid motion. Quickly soaking the two of you as you both scurry up from the bench, Shang-Chi grabbing your hand as the two of you make a run for it in the direction of his apartment. Your clothes sticking to you in an uncomfortable fashion once you finally reach his apartment building, rushing in and stopping at his door. You two leaning against the wall as you try to catch your breaths, looking over at one another; hair soaked, jackets weighed down by rain and mud. A fit of laughter breaking out between the two of you and your current state.

Once your laughter has died down and your breaths have been caught. The two of you relaxing into the silence of the hall and the loud clattering of the rain against the building. You look over at the still open page of his sketchbook in his hands, droplets of water all over the page, crinkling it at the corners, making the page brittle. The smudges of the charcoal nature made rather than from Shang-Chi’s fingers. “Your sketch,” you point out. A small frown on your face as a pang of sympathy runs through you.

Shang-Chi not having the same reaction to the ruined piece as you. His smile taking you by surprise. “It’s alright.” He looks back up to you, “it conveys the real muse,” he moves closer to you, invading your space so there’s no room left but him. Him pressed flush against your front. His hand coming up to rest itself on the side of your cheek. “Soaked from the rain, but still breathtaking.” His words are soft and cut off as his lips meet yours in a passionate kiss. Your body letting out a sigh of relief at finally feeling his lips. Finally having his hands in your hair pulling your closer to him. Your hands all over him, even if the wetness from his clothes only dampens your hands more no matter where you touch. It’s as if your body and nerves had been craving to be touched, felt, seen by this man. That your mind could not keep up, it only realizing your attraction to Shang-Chi just days ago, your body having had known long before; it leaning in, keening, mewling at his touch.

The two of you waste no time in pushing through the door of his apartment, trying to shed the wet clothes of your body in a haste. The task seeming more impotent than anything. The struggle making your body ache and shake even more. You wonder for a second if Shang-Chi is going to take you to his room. If this is really going to happen. And by the way he pulls away to rid you of your shirt, his fingers running down your damp skin, pressing open mouth kisses to your neck, chest, the top of your breasts. His fingers fiddling with your bra before it slips down your arms. His mouth making quick work on your nipples. His fingers finding your jeans as you follow suit with ridding him of his shirt, taking a few longer seconds than needed to admire his chiseled body. Before you both get the others pants undone and work on pushing them down damp skin. Your mouth connected, moans and groans of frustration and need filling the room; you know that you two won’t make it to his bedroom. That you need him here and now. The pounding ache in your pussy, the feel of his clothed cock between your folds as he lifts you and you wrap your legs around his waist. Your back against his apartment door.

And when he enters you it’s slow and all at once. Shang-Chi letting a breathy “fuck,” fall from his lips as he fills you. Your body clenching around him. One hand gripping your hair to smash your lips back to his. The other pressed above your head against the door. His thrusts slow and calculated at first. Open mouthed moans and breaths shared at the sheer pleasure and intensity of it all. “Wanted to do this for so long, fuck.” Shang-Chi moans into your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there making your back arch even more against the door, your weight pressed into it. “So, beautiful. Don’t know how I wait so long for this.” He chuckles softly as he presses his lips to yours again, his tongue against yours, his breath mixing with your heavy ones.

He felt so good. Every part of him. Even the parts of you he wasn’t touching. All you could feel was him. His cock stretching you in a way that burns with a deep pleasure that’s finally being sedated that your body shakes, moves in rhythm with his to let him go deeper, to feel him everywhere. The drag of his cock against your tight walls making you even more drunk on him. The dampness of rain on your bodies soon turning into mixed sweat and pheromones of desire and need.

You not even having to tell him what you need. Shang-Chi moving his arms under your legs, holding you in this new position, gripping your ass, allowing him to go deeper inside of your. Your head lolling back against the door. A string of incoherent moans and declarations of “fuck, Shang-Chi” “harder, omg” leaving your hoarse lungs. The burn only becoming worse when you feel his pelvis positioned just right to rub against your throbbing clit, the friction making your toes curl and mouth go slack.

“I’ve been dreaming about how it feels to have you cum on my cock, baby.” Shang-Chi moans against your neck. “Please, cum for me, let me feel you grip me. Fall apart while I’m inside of you. Bet you look so beautiful when you cum.”

His words setting every nerve of your body on a euphoric charge. That all it takes is a few more hard thrusts and him moaning your name into your mouth, and you’re coming. Your mind going hazy with the blissful intensity of shakes and shivers and pleasure and Shang-Chi. Your body becoming so sensitive that you let out small squeals when his thrusts becoming faster and harder against your hips and sensitive core. Shang-Chi quickly following suit, his head buried into your neck, his wet lips on your skin, his words of “fuck, baby” embedded on you, as he quickly pulls out of you and comes. Your thighs and his hand coated in him.

And once the two of you have came down, breaths shallow and slow. Bodies whipped clean, except for the burning of fingertips and mouths singed on each other’s skin. Eyes heavy sedated. Lips swollen and sensitive from rough kisses, bites, and tongues. Throats raw and aching. Your body heavier than before as Shang-Chi sets you on the couch. Your head rested against his chest. His hand moving softly in your hair. His lips resting at the back of your head.

The sheer passion and softness of it all. Of his touches. Of his kisses. His gaze. The rain outside casting a dull grey glow across your bodies. Shang-Chi’s whispers of attempted conversation making you smile; it’s all more than anything you could ever wanted, but didn’t know you needed.

🍂

The next time you find yourself at Shang-Chi’s apartment for another session, he opens the door and greets you with a kiss. Passionate, close, and gentle.

“I’ve been thinking about the other night.” He admits cooly. Pulls you into the warm apartment, shutting the door behind you. Pushes your back up against it, the events of the last time you two were together in this very spot flashing in your mind already heating your body up and making you ache. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it since it happened; it was all you could think about, dream about, touch yourself to. Daydreaming about the next time, hoping and praying there would be a next time with him.

“I didn’t get to taste you.” He smirks, picks you up and carries you over to the couch setting you down with a bounce. The both of you laughing at the motion. The humor wearing off as soon as Shang-Chi’s lips meet yours again, him sliding down to his knees to rest in between your open legs. His fingers making quick work with the button of the plaid skirt, pulling it down to toss to the other side of the room where your shoes sit. Your stockings and panties following suit, until your lower half is completely naked to him. His mouth kissing a trail up the inside of your thigh, the sensitive, sensual touch making you shiver and shift. The anticipation as he keep eye contact with you the closer he gets to your, already soaked, cunt.

And when his mouth finally makes contact with your wet center it sends shockwaves through you. Your body arching up into his mouth. Your hand instinctly going to the top of his head. The back of your head finding the cushions of the couch, your eyes closed in pleasure.

Shang-Chi devouring every bit of you. Alternating between licking and sucking at your clit; his tongue moving in circles, flicking, and massaging the sensitive bud just right that it has you gripping his hair, cursing as a moan after moan falls from your open mouth. His tongue teasing at your entrance, his grip on your thigh tightening and untightening the more intensely his mouth pleases and devours.

“Mmm,” Shang-Chi moans against your core, the vibration making your legs stutter and shake against his shoulders. Your hips rolling against his tongue, making the pleasure even more intense and so good. You think you hear him tell you how good you taste as he laps at you. And how he wants you to come on his tongue. Your mind clouded by the ache and burn of pleasure that all you can hear is your own heart beating in your ears and the moans you can’t stop from letting out.

Your orgasm reaches you quick and like a thunderstorm on the horizon waiting for the right moment to wreck havoc. Your body going rigid as you arch into the couch, your legs shaking and body quiver, as Shang-Chi sucks at your clit as you come on his tongue. A soft satisfied moan vibrating from his lips onto your skin.

He kisses your inner thighs, gently places them back onto the couch on either of him. Leans up with a smile and kisses your forehead, him leaning his forehead onto yours in its wake. “I don’t think I’m ever going to get enough of you.” He says sweetly. One hand finding yours and connecting your fingers. The other rubbing small circles into your hip.

And all you can do is smile because you know you’ll never get enough of him either.

He shows you as much as, after a beat, he’s kissing you. Removing your shirt and bra, letting his mouth roam and caress your breasts. Making his way back down to your still throbbing pussy as he makes you come on his mouth again.

You showing your appreciation the following day when you waste no time in dropping to your knees at the entry way of his apartment, your mouth wrapped around his cock. His hands in your hair, filthy words spewing from his teeth bitten lips, as you taste and savor him. Showing him you’ll never get enough of him either. The feeling of his cum shooting to the back of your throat setting the notion in stone.

🍂

After that it kind of goes on in that same manner. You seeming to come over to his apartment more times than not to end up in his bed, on your knees, or begging him to let you rest after making you come for the third time that day.

Once the two of you have had enough of each other you either get back to what lead you both here in the first place: sketching. Or Shang-Chi orders food and the two of you sit on the floor of his apartment, naked and pressed to each other, as you eat and talk. No matter what it all usually ending in sex or you falling asleep in his arms.

But when Shang-Chi asks you if he can sketch you nude. The question brought up after a night spent in bed together. The two of you stood at his front door to abide each other a goodbye. His hands at your sides, smiling down at you. “It’s okay if you’re not comfortable with it. I understand. There’s no pressure.” His sincerity written all over his face as he runs his thumb down your cheek.

You knew your answer even before he reassured you that it was okay if you said no. That seeing your body in any form you allowed, just allowing him to touch and taste you, is enough, and would always be enough for him. Him giving you an out, a reassurance that makes your heart full. Even before any of that, the intense thrill that shoots through you at the thought of him sketching you completely naked for his and his eyes only; it was a done deal for you.

So when you are back at his apartment the next day, a cream colored sheet hung on one of the walls, a matching colored one adorned on the floor below it as well. You don’t know why your nerves act up. Shang-Chi having seen you naked more times than you could count up until now. There was no need for the anxious feelings swirling around inside of your belly as you laid on the sheet, his posing you and sitting atop a stool a good distance in front of you. But you know why after you’re in your position for a while, your body settling in on autopilot now used to the long wait of having to hold a spot. Your eyes catching his every so often, the intense look of being completely lost in you; blown out pupils, swollen lips from being licked too much, the swallow breaths and slight pink tint of his cheeks giving way to every feeling and thought Shang-Chi was currently having about you as he sketched your naked body with precise lines and shades. This felt more intimate than when you two actually fucked.

As if you whole being was on display for him and it wasn’t overshadowed by moans or pure thoughts of the aching pleasure to come. It was just you two, him seeing you, you seeing him. The appreciation and devotion to what he was doing, how you looked, the way your body moved and turned and formed. And how he could capture that, remember it, reach out and feel it and have the evident of black smudge on his hand as a reminder that this was real. He saw you. Could see you. Could touch and fed you and vice versa. It was all so much.

And when he is done he joins you on the sheet. He kisses you with passion and spends extra time running his hands along your body, caressing every curvature and line. Every crevice and ample piece of skin his mouth can connect to. “You’re so beautiful.” He whispers against you, “my muse, perfect.” He praises, worships your body with his tongue and hands until you are coming and he’s inside of you. Smudges of charcoal staining both of your skins as he wraps his arms around you, kisses you, thrusts into you. The passion he has as he fucks you on the floor, praising you, telling you how good you are, how good you feel, how are more than he could of ever thought up. It takes your breath away and leaves your bones aching and body needing him for always.

After you both have come and laugh softly at the little smudges the two of you have now littered all over your bodies, you lay in a quiet calming silence. Your body still reeling and aching. Hot all over.

And when the two of you finally move to the other side of the room, laying against each other on the couch, eyes looking upon the sketch of you; naked and exposed in all of your glory to him. You ask him, “what do you think?” You look over to him, “what do you see?”

His gaze meets yours, his soft smile there and lazy on his lips as he says, “Only you. There’s no trace of me in here expect how the lines came to be. Everything else is you. It’s all you.”