Hii you made a changkyun fanfic called freelancer years ago did you complete it? How can I find it 😭
omg 😳
this is kinda crazy because i stopped writing it bc i wasn’t happy with my writing and i felt like rewriting it over and over was just proof that i shouldn’t be writing in the first place.
also i didn’t think anyone would even remember it bc it feels like it was so long ago when i wrote it, so this ask had me spinning for a whole day lmao. the funny thing is i’m leaving my job literally today and i was thinking of hobbies i can get back into and writing definitely was one of them
but after getting this ask i went back and read what i posted and while its not the best it wasn’t half bad.
unfortunately for freelancer my old computer blew up and i probably lost the rest of chapter 6 and anything i had planned freelancers but now that i’ve got a lot more time on my hand i think i’m gonna continue it (and also probably give it good revamp bc she needs it lol) ngl this really motivated me ☺️
either way thank you for reading freelancer and you really made my day.
size difference kink but in the “i grew up being made fun of for being chubby so now the idea of a giant of a man being able to toss me around and tower over me without making my weight a problem makes me really horny” way, you get what im saying?
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Go to "Blog Settings" -> "Visibility" -> "Third-Party Sharing" and turn on "Prevent third-party sharing for [blog]". (This post shows how to do it on browser and on mobile.) You need to do this with every sideblog. (Note: The option in settings might not appear if your app hasn't updated yet. You can still opt out via browser.)
Spread the word. Everyone on Tumblr needs to know about this.
MMA Fighter!Soap is a crowd favorite—especially with the ladies. He’s known for his wild behavior and high energy. The media consider him a “bad boy.” But that “bad boy” behavior has finally gotten him in trouble. If he wants to keep his career, he needs to find a willing good girl to help clean up his public image.
MMA Fighter!Price is a seasoned veteran to the sport. He’s well-respected. Admired. Ranked highly across multiple reputable sources. But he’s nearing retirement, and Price wants to move into promotional deals and coaching. He needs to go out on a final big win, and he needs the money. One last tournament is all he needs.
MMA Fighter!Gaz is brand new to the sport. He’s charismatic and confident but he’s the underdog. He works longer hours, trains harder, and does his best to remain humble in front of the camera. But he has a shadow hanging over him. His father once ruled this sport. A champion. A lot of people have their eyes on him. He plans on proving himself.
MMA Fighter!Ghost is the blood-beast of the sport. He’s brutal. Fights dirty. No one likes to face him. It gives him a bad reputation, but he doesn’t do much to soothe the public and media’s image of him. It’s a shield. A barrier. He likes to keep others at a distance. But this life is becoming a lonely one, and he thinks he might be ready to finally let someone in.
I'm just imagining a corporate!au where Price is the CEO (Chief Executive Officer), Ghost is the COO (Chief Operations Officer), and Gaz is the CFO (Chief Financial Officer). You're their personal assistant/secretary who is always under a mountain of work. Seeing that you're stressed, and wanting to make sure you have more energy to properly work for him, Price has Ghost find you your own office assistant without your knowledge.
One day you show up to work to find a huge, horny, Scottish man rooting through your desk. He tells you that he's your new assistant and his first job (Ghost's orders) is to clean up your space. After all, how are you going to properly serve your bosses if there's important papers all over your desk? *wink wink*
He might be an underling, but if you get promoted to girlfriend - or even better, mistress, then he can get your job! See, he's already thinking about helping you move up the ladder! You guys are going to get along great!
You go through Ghost's search history on his phone to try and figure out what sort of porn he watches but it's all videos of incredibly complex miniature landscape builds and model trains
ok but soulmate au with ghost but it's the fucking opposite of rainbows and sunshine. (18+)
you share his trauma. his stress. his anxiety. you do not know who he is, and yet you know the pain of a thousand punches because it's the only feeling he has ever given you. you know the grueling ache of abandonment and the terrible neglect of abuse and the disgusting amalgamation of all your worst nightmares before you even turn 20. everything that he gives you feels aggressive, like it burns, and he only ever gives you reprieve for so long until you just feel it all over again.
it makes you tired. it makes you sick. at first, as a girl, all you wanted to do was comfort him. you wanted to know who he was so you could kiss the cigarette burns that you feel and soak up the blood you know he bleeds.
but as you age, you begin to hate him. you hate him because he does this to you, he hurts you, doesn't he know that he's hurting you? doesn't he know that everything he feels, you feel tenfold, doesn't he know that the terror and the horror of everything he witnesses weighs down your chest, makes you feel like you're drowning over and over and over again?
for a few years into your adulthood, everything is quiet. you feel little except the ache in his back he never tends to, the creak of his knee joints that he refuses to stretch out. you wish you knew him so you could scold him for it, but you curse at a ghost. sometimes you think about doing something to get back at him--you think about carving a FUCK YOU into your arm, about throwing yourself in front of a bus just so he can fucking understand that his entire life is one fucked-up cycle of pain and misery and horror, but you can't bring yourself to do it.
you can't hurt him. you just can't.
and then, the real pain begins. it brings you to your knees, this pain. you scream, you wail, because it feels like you're being carved from the inside-out. your face burns. your chest heaves. you feel like your ribs are breaking, you can't breathe, you claw at the invisible wounds that your soulmate must be wearing, and you beg him to stop, you beg him to let me go--just fucking die already--please, please, please--
those weeks haunt you. the torture he endures, it is branded to you. you wear no scars, and you never lost any blood, but the phantom flesh that you know is gone follows you in your sleep and never shuts up. it talks, it snarls, it eats at your insides. even when he heals, you are never the same. you wake up from nightmares that you know you share with him. you look over your shoulder for the predators you know he has encountered, and you cry yourself to sleep over the loss of something that you can't even decipher because you have no idea who he is or what he buried to feel this way inside.
he's sick. he's twisted. he's a walking corpse, he has no redeemable qualities, he is selfish and mean and cruel, and you hate him, and if it wasn't for the pain that you would feel, the first thing you would do when you saw him is drive something right through his heart to finally stop the undying infection he spreads to everything that he touches.
you know it is him when you finally meet him. you would know him anywhere; you’d know him just by the scars alone who he is because you remember what it felt like when he got them. when you eye the sleeve of tattoos along his left arm--the fucked, shitty, sunburnt art that made it impossible for you to finish your university exams. the faded, grey circles that line the other, ones you recognize being from the burning cigarettes that you would smell when you closed your eyes. and when he removes his mask briefly, you recognize the scar that cuts above his lip and strikes through his eye--that one left you reeling on the bathroom floor particularly loudly. you thought he might be blind if it wasn't for seeing the darkness of both of his eyes.
you start to cry. you start to cry because as soon as he realizes who you are, as soon as you see that flicker of knowing flash across his eyes, all of the hatred and the anger and the poison that plagued you for all this time vanishes. everything you fought so hard to feel, all the misery you wanted to bestow upon him for making your life a living hell, it's gone.
because the universe is cruel, the universe has done what it has done, and it has made this singular person just for you, and against everything you believe, you know that you love him, and you hate yourself for it, and you hate the universe, too.
you have endured. but maybe you endured so he didn't have to. maybe you endured so that he could have this, the feeling that he feels right now, that feeling of sudden relief.
he slides a large hand over his chest, flinching slightly. he blinks, understanding suddenly that he's feeling your joy, your elation. when you shuffle your way over to him, breaching the conversation the men around him are having, you ignore their confused stares as you fling yourself into his chest.
ghost forces you against him, trapping you to him. he practically chokes, tangling a gloved hand into your hair, and you sob into the warm skin of his neck as he hoists you into his arms, into his lap. you don't pay attention to the curious voices around you, you just bury yourself into him and cry. his body is the evidence of all that has happened to him, and you aren't angry anymore because you're relieved.
he's real. he's alive. he's here. he's okay.
when you pull back to look up at him, you blink away the tears that are falling fast down your face. he stares down equally as intensely, drinking in the sight of those big, wet eyes. when he smooths a big hand down your face, he grumbles when he realizes what you are, how you know him.
he never realized this was what he and his soulmate shared. you in your life had never felt pain like he had--he had no idea what he was doing to you. he had no idea what you were surviving at the same time.
he closes his eyes and rests his forehead against yours, and your lips tremble as you cup his cheeks and hold him close.
it feels wrong to feel this kind of comfort, but he does anyways. he thinks, maybe, that perhaps the only reason he survived was because of you.
because there was someone else, far away, that loved him enough to keep him breathing. even when he thought it was over.
can’t stop thinking about a twisted ‘while you were sleeping’ scenario where you’re in an accident of some sort and fall into a coma, and when you wake up your mother is chiding you for not telling her about your fiancé, john price, who never ever lets up the charade. not even on your tenth wedding anniversary.
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