seen from China
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seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Australia
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Türkiye
seen from China
seen from China
seen from Canada
seen from China
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seen from United Kingdom
Que no se note que me dió hueva al final, pero tomen un supermini cómic de los amiguitos ;).
Liam es medio terco, y la otra que lo jode con fundamentos.
Chapter 3 (+18)
Jack Abbot x Housewife!Female character (Eleanor)
Summary: There were some things people thought they understood. Jack and Eleanor Abbot looked like a certainty. He was a doctor, brilliant, tireless, forged by pressure and long nights. She was a debutante turned housewife, radiant in her element, organizing fundraisers with effortless grace, charming donors twice her age, and arriving at the hospital with boxes of lemon cake for an exhausted staff who barely had time to breathe. They were the kind of couple people pointed to and said: That makes sense. However, between military deployments, overnight shifts, and the relentless churn of the ER, even the most wistful love can erode. Some said that she wanted too much, some said that he gave up. Small absences became long ones, silences stretched and a promissing union turned into a bitter divorce. But are they ready to leave each others lives? Or is this a forever kind of thing?
Notes: There is two Easter eggs in these. One is a hint to something that is going to shatter their relationship. The other is a reference to Desperate Housewives.
This is my favorite chapter so far, love to write that 90s ER vibe
Tag: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drama & Romance, Marriage, Post-Divorce, Bickering, Family Drama, Married Couple, Married Life, Jealousy, Medical Inaccuracies, Post-Break Up, Established Relationship
Warnings: Oral sex (f receiving)
It wasn’t every day that Jack Abbot forgot his lunch. Usually he was pretty good at remembering it, Eleanor always left it waiting for him in a neat package on the kitchen bench.
But today was one of those mornings he’d spent his limited morning hours badly.
He’d never needed an alarm to wake up, unlike his wife, that threatened to throw her stupid alarm clock against the wall more times than it was polite for her to admit. The room was still wrapped in that pale, tentative quiet before dawn. He remembered wanting to buy blackout curtains, but Eleanor said no, that these ones would let the light gently illuminate the room, making it easy, natural to wake up in the morning.
If it was true or not, he couldn’t tell. He always woke up before the alarm, and thanks to the ER, no amount of sleep seemed enough to make waking up ‘natural’.
But one thing he knew to be true, was that the curtains and the light made Eleanor look beautiful.
One arm flung above her head, the other resting on the lavender silk duvet. The strap of her ivory silk nightgown, a frivolous gift from her mother, had slipped from her shoulder, baring the smooth, porcelain curve of it. The pale light caught the delicate hollow of her collarbone, the gentle swell of her breast beneath the thin fabric. Her lips were slightly parted. Her breathing deep. Even.
He watched her sleep. Even though he didn’t want to disturb her, it was impossible to resist, to not get close. God, her warmth was addcitive. If he could, he would never leave her. Not to the hospital, not to anything.
He pressed a gentle kiss to the exposed curve of her shoulder.
She stirred. A faint murmur escaped her lips.
He kissed her again, closer to her neck, letting his lips linger on the frantic pulse at the base of her throat.
“Jack,” she murmured, her voice thick and syrupy with sleep. Her eyes remained closed. “Go back to sleep.”
“How,” he whispered, a smile in his voice, “when you look like this, princess?”
A soft hum vibrated in her throat. “I know.”
He chuckled, low and warm. “You know? Cheeky.”
Jack told himself he had five minutes. Just enough time. He always told himself that.
He slid lower beneath the covers, the silk whispering against his skin. His hands found the hem of her nightgown, his touch warm and familiar. Eleanor was not wearing any underwear, that was not new. He knew that from back when they started dating. At first, he thought that she did it for him. Eleanor often did a few little things for him, just to entice, just because she knew would make him crazy. She didn’t need to do much, truly, he would get hard for her even if she was in sweaters, but fuck, did it make him a sexist or something if he really liked that she always put an effort for him? Cause he fucking loved it.
The no-underwear however, was just personal preference. And from all her nightwear choices, this was his favorite.
His fingers traced up the outside of her thigh. Over the dip of her hip. Coming to rest on the soft plane of her stomach.
A quiet, instinctive sigh escaped her as her thighs relaxed, falling open. An invitation. For him, she would always be open.
“Are you awake, baby?” he asked, his voice a soft rasp in the quiet room.
She shook her head slowly, her brow furrowing adorably. “No.”
“Want me to wake you up?”
Her answer was a lazy, deliberate movement. Her thigh bumped against his arm, a sleepy, permissive nudge. Unmistakable.
Jack’s smile widened.
He pushed the silk duvet down, exposing her legs. The morning light was stronger now, painting her skin in shades of pearl and rose. He bent his head and placed a soft, open-mouthed kiss on the inside of her knee. Her skin impossibly soft.
He kissed higher. Along the sensitive inner tendon of her thigh. He felt the faint tremor that went through her and nudged her legs wider with his shoulders, settling between them. The intimate scent of her filled his senses, warm, musky, uniquely Eleanor. He pressed his face against her, his breath hot through the thin silk of her nightgown where it was rucked up around her hips.
Jack inhaled deeply, hooking his fingers in the silk at her hips and tugged it up slowly, baring her completely to the cool morning air.
She made a soft, needy sound in her sleep.
Perfect. So fucking perfect and already glistening for him. Fuck, he could eat his pretty little wife every hour of the day, making the neighborhood learn all the pretty sounds she made for him.
He lowered his head and kissed the inside of her other thigh, his lips a slow, warm drag. He kissed her calf. The back of her knee. Mapping her with his mouth, relearning the terrain of her body as the light grew.
He took his time, Jack could make her cum in minutes, but he wanted to enjoy her for a little while.
Finally, he brushed his lips against her inner thigh, his stubble grazing her smooth skin. A faint shudder rippled through her.
“Jack…” His name was a breath, a sigh. Not a question. A recognition.
He hummed in acknowledgment, the vibration whispering across her skin.
Then he lowered his head the rest of the way and put his mouth on her.
A soft, lingering press of his lips to her very center. He held it there, letting her feel the heat, the moisture of his breath.
Her hips rose slightly, a sleepy, seeking tilt.
“Impatient, huh, princess” He whispered against her core. One of his steady hands ground her lower stomach. She always squirmed too much.
He began with his tongue. A slow, broad stripe from her tight entrance to the swollen bud of her clit. He did it again. And again. Languid. Unhurried. Each pass a little firmer, a little more deliberate.
Her breathing changed. Deepened. A soft, rhythmic panting filled the quiet room.
Jack circled her clit with the very tip of his tongue. Tracing lazy, widening circles. He felt the nub harden under his attention and her thighs began to tremble against his shoulders.
He knew her body better than anyone ever did. Every curve. Every quiver. Every secret that made her gasp. He could make her arch off the bed and scream his name, completely undone. But not now.
Now, he wanted this. The slow, torturous build. The delicious tension of pleasure coiled tight but not yet released.
He pressed his tongue flat and dragged it slowly, so slowly, up her slit before returning to her clit. He sucked it gently into his mouth, applying a soft, rhythmic pressure.
A moan, low and throaty, escaped her. Her hands fumbled for his head, her fingers tangling his hair, looking for support, looking for more.
“That’s it, princess” He murmured against her, his voice a rough vibration that made her jolt. “‘ Doing so good for me” Her hips tried to meet his mouth, but he didn’t let her.
Instead, he increased his pace. Tiny, flickering strokes with his tongue. Then a firm, steady circling. Alternating keeping her guessing, never letting her settle into a predictable rhythm. He wanted her floating, not too much to get her all awake, but enough to keep her moaning and twisting.
He could feel her arousal pooling, slick and hot. The sweet musk scent of it filled his head.
Her breath hitched. Became a ragged pant. Her hips began to move in tiny, helpless circles against his mouth, seeking more friction, more pressure. She hate it that he was this good in torturing her and that she loved it
“Jack… please” Eleanor said between a moan that die in her throat. He knew what she was asking for, he ignored. She could handle a bit more.
He focused his tongue on her clit, a relentless, pinpoint attention. “C’mon princess, you can handle a bit more, can’t you? Just a bit more for me” He whispered before sliding his fingers down from her stomach right to her core. He didn’t push inside. His fingertips massaging her labia in small circles, slowing touching her inner walls, feeling the heat, the pulse of her. Just enough to tease her hole, enough to let her wanting more.
The dual sensation, his mouth, his fingers below, made her cry out. A sharp, broken sound. It was so early, felt so loud, deliciously dirty.
He kept his pace deliberate. Unhurried. He was drawing the pleasure out, stretching it thin as a wire, making it ache. She would definitely make him pay later. Nothing ever comes cheap with Eleanor.
He felt her body begin to tighten. The trembling in her thighs became a violent shake. Her fingers clenched in his hair, pulling harshly. Her back arched delicately off the mattress.
He pressed his tongue harder. Faster. A firm, fluttering rhythm right on the brink of too much. Pushing it inside her pussy along with the tip of his finger.
A low deep pulse inside her began creeping, a slow-motion uncoiling. It gathered strength, rolling through her in relentless waves. She didn’t scream. No sound came from her open mouth, besides a sigh. A long, trembling exhale of pure release that seemed to go on forever.
He gentled his tongue, Jack didn’t leave her all at once, no he lap at her softly, drawing out every last aftershock, every drop of release, until she was whimpering, pushing weakly at his head, oversensitive.
He finally pulled away, pressing a soft, damp kiss to the inside of her trembling thigh, before crawling up her body slowly.
Even if her eyes were merely fluttering opening. Heavy-lidded, hazy, soft with spent pleasure. She could see his boyish smile.
The morning light was golden now, streaming across the bed, illuminating the sweat-damp strands of hair on her forehead
Eleanor looked at him, a slow, sated smile spreading across her swollen lips.
“Good morning, handsome” she whispered, her voice hoarse.
Jack hovered over her, bracing himself in his arms. He looked down at her wrecked, beautiful face. The crumpled nightgown shoved up around her waist, her breasts rising and falling with each breath, her nipples still hard. He had to take care of that.
“Good morning, princess” His own voice rough.
She reached up, her fingers brushing his jaw. She pulled him down into a kiss. It was slow. Deep. Languid. She could taste herself on his lips and tongue, and the knowledge made her hum against his mouth. Her husband was good at waking her up naturally, better than the curtains. Infinite times better.
The kiss depeended. Grew hungry. Her hands slid into the back of his neck, holding him close. His body settled over hers, the hard ridge of his erection pressing insistently against her thigh through his sleep pants. She loved that he would get so hard just by making her cum. He was such a boy. She bet there was already pre-cum stain in his pants.
She broke the kiss, panting softly. Her eyes were clear now, focused on his. Full of love. And a dark, simmering need.
“You,” She breathed, her thumb stroking his bottom lip. “You are…”
The loud alarm clock rang, breaking their peaceful lovely rhythm
“Late!” she gasped, shoving at him. “Jack, that’s my alarm!”
The world snapped back into place.
He rolled off her with a curse, smacking the plastic clock until the beeping stopped. 6:37.
“Shit.”
He dragged on yesterday’s scrubs from the chair, hair still a mess and a boner that he would need to think of maggots in a wound to soften it. “No, no, baby, wear the clean ones” Eleanor followed him down the hallway barefoot, silk robe slipping off one shoulder, pushing on his hands the clean scrubs, that he was jumping around the living room trying to put it on.
“Keys.”
“Got ’em.”
“Wallet.”
“Yeah.”
“Hospital ID.”
He turned back for that one. She handed it over and he kissed her quick, too quick. He didn’t miss the look she gave him.
And Lunch? It sat neatly packed on the fridge in their kitchen inside a plain grey thermal bag, a card was knotted to it with his name written in looping blue ink with a lipstick stain in form of a kiss.
——-—
The ER at 8:52 a.m. was already a war zone.
Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. The linoleum was scuffed dull from gurney wheels. A television mounted in the corner played muted CNN some overseas embassy wreckage after an international conflict or something too far away for anyone to care about.
A half-burnt pot of coffee sat on the warmer, thick and bitter enough to peel paint.
A stack of paper charts leaned dangerously beside a beige computer terminal that looked like it weighed more than a toddler. Someone had taped a NO FOOD AT STATION sign above a desk covered in half-eaten donuts.
Pagers went off constantly. Not polite chirps, shrill electronic screams clipped to belts and waistbands.
“Damn, Abbot” Someone called from across the desk cluster, flipping through carbon copies “You’re up to eleven already. You planning to actually discharge anyone today?”
Jack didn’t look up. “Working on it.”
A tie hung loose around one resident’s neck. Another had his sleeves rolled high, forearms ink-smudged from carbon copies. A pair of scuffed loafers were propped up briefly on a metal drawer before a passing nurse snapped, “Shoes down,” without breaking stride.
His fingers were already hurting from typing and writing orders when his stomach growled hard enough to hurt.
It was almost lunchtime. Shit.
That’s when he remembered.
“Fuck,” He muttered, scrubbing a hand down his face.
“What?” Another R2 grinned. “Forget to call your decorator back?”
“Left my lunch at home.”
A low whistle. “I guess it is vending machine for husband-of-the-year Abbot, like the rest of us degenerates.”
He couldn’t help but to frown. It is not that he minded the food. He didn’t. Or he did. Slightly.
Shit, Eleanor had spoiled him too much with her basil purees, ossobucos and risottos with ingredients he never heard of. Food that tasted like food. Not bad seasoned plastic.
And now to go back to the vending machine? To bland paper like sandwich tuna?
Before Jack could respond to the provocations or start to look for coins in his pockets, two hands covered his eyes.
He didn’t need to turn around. He knew the perfume. Knew the laugh.
“Eleanor,” he said, already smiling.
She removed her hands as he turned, and her arms naturally slipped around his neck. She was wearing a white summer dress that didn’t wrinkle and heels that clicked softly against the linoleum.
Her lipstick was fresh. She smelled faintly of something floral, sweet and clean, entirely at odds with the metallic air of the place.
Conversation at the station didn’t stop.
But it shifted.
A beat slower.
“You forgot this,” She said, holding up the grey thermal bag, the note knotted with a red ribbon caught the attention with the stained kiss mark under his name written in cursive.
A couple of the guys exchanged looks.
“Hey Abbot,” Someone said. “If that’s lunch, what’s she bringing for dessert?”
Groans. A half “Dude—”
“Man’s on a balanced diet” One of the R3 said, before one of the nurses hit him on the arm.
Jack rolled his eyes and told them to shut up.
Eleanor giggled, soft, unbothered and smoothed his lapel like none of it matters.
“You didn’t have to drive all the way down,” Hands sliding to her waist without thinking, pulling her an inch closer. He could feel eyes on him. Didn’t care. “I would’ve grabbed something from the machine.”
“You were going to eat powdered cheese for lunch,” She replied calmly. “That is not happening, Dr. Abbot”
A couple of interns snorted.
A nurse cleared her throat pointedly when Eleanor leaned in and kissed him. Not a peck. Not inappropriate.
Just… longer than it should have been for the middle of a busy ER.
“I missed you,” she murmured.
“It’s been three hours.” He raised an eyebrow
“You left very abruptly,” She replied, fingers smoothing the front of his scrubs. “I barely got time to say goodbye.”
A couple of the residents exchanged looks.
“Barely?” Jack huffed. “You almost didn’t let me out the door.”
“And whose fault was that?” she whispered near his ear, her hot breath send shivering throughout his spine. ” When you make me cum like-“
Across the station, someone made a gagging noise.
And they didn’t even hear what Eleanor whispered.
“Jesus Christ,” Muttered one of the techs from behind a stack of charts. “Get a room.”
“They probably have,” Another replied.
And rumor had it, it wasn’t just one.
Break room. On-call room. Supply closet near radiology.
Some were still betting in the ‘if’.
Others were already ahead of the curve, betting in ‘which shift’.
Jack pulled back slightly, grinning “Ignore them.”
She hummed in agreement close to his mouth, ready to kiss him again.
“Abbot.”
Dr. Phillips’ voice cut through the station like a scalpel. Residents fixing their postures, grasping their charts going to see their patients or pretending to discuss an important case with a med student. R3 and R4 quickly disappearing to get back to work.
“Trauma two. Or are we hosting brunch?”
Phillips was Jack’s attendee, he was at the same time divorced, miserable and brilliant. He stood rigid near the board, silver hair clipped short, wedding ring long gone, only the faint groove where it had rested for years remained.
Eleanor rolled her eyes, before turning with a beautiful smile in her lips.
”Good morning, Dr. Phillips”
He never looked at Eleanor for more than a second. She reminded him of something he didn’t like. Or someone.
“Mm.” He checked his watch. “Abbot. Move.”
Jack was already stepping away, following his attendee.
“I’ll put your lunch in the staff fridge,” Eleanor said quickly, giving him one last kiss. Shorter this time.
“Don’t flirt with the med students,” He shot back playfully.
“Honey, I only flirt up, thought you knew that” She winked, before letting him go.
Jack was halfway down the corridor when she called after him:
“Don’t forget Caroline’s dinner tonight!”
He slowed.
Just for a fraction of a second.
Enough.
When he turned, she saw it.
The fatigue. The exhaustion.
Three shifts in a row. Twelve-hour days. Charting past midnight. R2 salary that barely covered the mortgage. The checks from their wedding had been generous , but that money was not infinite and it was finished. Of course Eleanor had the allowance from her father, but Jack wanted to be the one paying for everything. But it was hard to think that on his current paycheck.
“We don’t have to go,” She said quickly, stepping closer again. Lower voice now. “Really. I shouldn’t have pushed. You’re exhausted.”
He shook his head. “We’re going.”
“You don’t want to, it is fine. You need to rest. I will cook a nice dinner and see Caroline another time” She gave a small shrug like she didn’t care. Like she hadn’t already picked out a dress. Like she wasn’t dying to see Caroline’s new home.
“And miss her husband?” Jack said solemnly. “Dick Dickson?”
Eleanor laughed despite herself. “Richard Dickson. And you hate him.”
“Me? No,” Jack said, straight-faced. “I love the guy. My best buddy. Can’t wait for him to tell me a half-hour story about a golf club some guy in New Jersey made just for him.”
“Italy,” Eleanor corrected. “And don’t even start. How someone as lovely as Caroline ended up married to that man, I will never understand.”
Eleanor was being polite. They knew perfectly well why. Caroline’s family had lost everything in a tax-fraud scandal: estates gone, bank accounts and investments shut, farms sold, ancient hand-painted porcelain china auctioned off.
Richard was dull, with a receding hairline, twenty years her senior, talked endlessly, and always seemed to have a ketchup stain somewhere on his shirt. His suits were always as wrong as his attempts to make conversation, his voice always too loud.
But
He had turned his father’s single store into a chain of mattress shops across the state and was doing very well for himself, especially with awful over the top funny type of commercials, he paid to put on tv calling himself ‘the mattress king’.
He was safe. A good goofy guy that was not as funny as he thinks he is but she laughed at his jokes out of politeness.
It wasn’t exactly the life of breeding competitive horses, but close enough to Caroline.
Comfort over love. Over pedigree.
Eleanor could not blame Caroline, let alone shame her. Richard was decent and old guys loved to parade hot young wives.
She could’ve waited a bit longer, maybe find a guy her age. But who are we kidding?
She did her major in art history, and worked for her cousin's gallery who lost everything in the scandal. She didn’t have a job, had no idea how to fend for herself, and did not want to give up the comforts of life.
She would not survive being poor.
And the more she waited more the rumors of the scandal would spread, no one from their circle of friends would want to be associated with her. Social status devalues as fast as it grows. If not faster.
So if an old guy offered to pay for her overpriced coffee because her card was declined, asked for her help in choosing what to order, because he never knew what those ‘fancy flavors’ were, and has a chain of mattress stores, yes, Eleanor could understand that choice.
“How could she resist the mattress king of Illinois?” Jack said.
“Jack.”
“I’m serious, princess. Really. I can get my mind off things. It’s good.” He glanced at her, catching the hint of worry still on her face. “You picked out the dress already, didn’t you?” He asked.
Her expression betrayed her, as she bit her lower lip.
“…maybe.”
“The black one?” The way he looked at her, she didn’t need any more hints to guess what he was thinking and which one of her dresses he was mentioning.
“Abbot!” Phillips barked again.
“That thing should be illegal, princess” He said it with a wink. God, he was impossible!
Eleanor laughed pushing him lightly toward the trauma hall. “Go, before he writes you up for being happily married”
He leaned in one last second, kissing her again. She let it for a few seconds before gently pushing him on the chest, laughing as he disappear to save another life.
Eleanor turned her back, passing by the station again when one of the other R3s shook his head.
“You two are going to give Phillips a coronary.”
“Jealousy is truly a disease” Eleanor replied smoothly “He might want to check that up”
“Not jealousy,” The resident said looking Eleanor up and down. What was his name? She could not remember. Jack would definitely like to know who was checking his wife out “It’s the eyes”
“What eyes?” She sigh annoyed. Didn’t this guy have any patients to see? Or was just Jack that worked in this hospital?
“Those ‘fuck me’ eyes. You continue with that, we will have to put a cold shower in here, Eleanor”
Eleanor tilted her head, studying Jack’s colleague as if evaluating a specimen. She wanted to say that ‘Eleanor’ was for Jack and her friends. For him, it was ‘Mrs. Abbot’.
“Oh sweetheart, is that what you think that looks like?” She pouted as she pit him with all her being, like she was seeing a puppy trying to walk and failing.
Letting her gaze travel over him slowly, from head to toe, clinical, unimpressed.
“That explains a lot.”
A small snap of her fingers, as if remembering something trivial.
“I should host a dinner. Introduce you to a few of my girlfriends.” Only the ones she did not like, to match with this sketch of a man. Her smile widens just enough.
“It might be very educational for you. Help understanding what ‘fuck me’ eyes really are. “ than she twisted her lips down as remembering a bad detail “Though I can’t promise you will get many of those.”
She gave a pity smile before turning on her heels “See you, gentlemen”
emotional support sketches. i would post more but it takes forever to glaze them
Silly question: would you guys read my Metallica fanfic?
Hello?? Is this thing on??? Tempest Universe??
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Anneliese Castle has spent most of her life being kept out of sight. Homeschooled, fiercely protected by her older brother, and far too used to secrets, she's never exactly had a normal teenage life.
Then Tony Stark offers her an internship.
What starts as a summer internship quickly becomes something much bigger—and Anneliese finds herself pulled into a world she was never supposed to be part of.
Peter Parker x OC | Civil War → Homecoming → Infinity War → Endgame → so on and so fourth (hoping to get up to BND)
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Frank Castle's little sister. A girl with secrets. And one very complicated summer.
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AN: Welcome to what I want to name the Tempest Universe. I am hoping to publish this both on here and possible Wattpad. This is a fem!OC x Peter Parker inspired by the character Psylocke. Honestly after BND I got sucked back into the the marvel-verse. So I hope you guys enjoy it :3 First chapter should be up by tonight.
Better than him.
sano manjiro x shibata misaki (oc fem).
Synopsis: When the vassal fails to cherish his maiden, the king sees her worth.
Warnings: mentions of sex!. English isnt my first language so i apologize for any mistakes.
Banner from the Pinterest account @toniosuke.
Shibata Misaki was a pretty girl with hazel-green eyes and jet-black hair. She also had a slim, well-defined figure. Kind and sweet, that was how her classmates described her, and she did well in school, too.
For those reasons, it came as quite a surprise that she was dating a delinquent: Kurosaki Ren.
Surprisingly, they had been together for eight months. They had met at a mutual friend’s birthday party, and after he spent some time pursuing her—with perhaps a little persistence—they started dating. The first four months were nice, or rather, normal for a teenage couple. But then everything changed: Ren joined the Tokyo Manji Gang, a juvenile delinquent organization.
Misaki wasn’t exactly happy about it, but no one had asked for her opinion, so she kept it to herself. She had noticed that her boyfriend would sometimes show up with bruises on his face or scraped, reddened knuckles. She had also noticed that his friends were the kind of guys who thought getting into fights made them look cool. Even so, she was surprised when he told her that he had joined Toman as a member of the Third Division.
Misaki knew almost nothing about gangs. Well, she knew what everyone else knew: violence, motorcycles (although her boyfriend didn’t own one, and she didn’t even think he knew how to ride), illegal activities, and so on.
She never imagined that simply joining a gang could change someone so much, but Ren had changed. He had never been the most attentive or affectionate boyfriend, but before joining Toman, he had at least seemed interested in her and in what she was doing. Now, every conversation somehow ended up being about Toman or about how amazing some guy named “Mikey” was. He used to ask her out at least twice a week; now she was the one who had to make plans, and whenever he suggested meeting, it was always at his house.
And that led to another problem: every time she went over, he would try to pressure her into having sex, and he became more insistent each time.
When they had first started dating and he had wanted to take their relationship further, Misaki had made it clear that she wasn’t ready yet. For quite a while, Ren respected her decision and never brought it up again… until he joined the gang.
Now, he seemed to care only about that.
Despite those attitudes that didn’t sit right with her, Misaki stayed. She wasn’t entirely sure why. Maybe it was because she believed it was normal for her boyfriend to want to have sex with her. Some of her friends who had been in relationships had told her that it was common for guys to be that persistent, and others had even said that, sooner or later, she’d have to give in because she was his girlfriend. But, for some reason, she wasn’t interested in sleeping with him.
Maybe because, deep down, she knew Ren wasn’t someone she truly loved.
Art Wip Cyberpunk Fanfic : Memories of sand and chrome
