Yuri Visual

"This birthday has been absolutely amazing" he said wrapping his arms around my waist and putting his chin just above my right shoulder. "Bub, we barely just started" I chuckled. "Yeah but just looking at this beautiful view with you is more than enough to make me happy" he stated. I smiled then turned around so I'm facing him. I pulled down our mask since there weren't anyone else around. I gave him a kiss on the lips. "You realize how much I love you, right?" I said. He smiled. "How much do you love me?" he asked cheekily. "If I'm being honest, I love you more than love itself" I started making him smile wide. "I love you more than how much I love the scent of vanilla" I said. "I love you more than how much I love the moon and the stars" I continued. "I love you more than how much I love listening to music" I added. "Lastly, I love you more than I can ever love myself" I confessed. He looked at me lovingly. "Brielle" he said softly. "Yes?" I replied. "Will you marry me?" he asked. My heart skipped a beat. "Yes" I said. _ Gabrielle Margareth Rivero is a multi-talented woman. She travels thousands of kilometers away from home to work and achieve her dreams. What she thought was going to be a simple, laid-back and independent life in another country becomes one full with modelling, acting and guesting offers after her name ends up on the news. But then , her plan to stay single for who knows how long ends up in the gutter when she suddenly meets the guy of her dreams; Theodore King, a superstar and billionaire with the visual and charisma of a God and a heart of an angel.

Crimson Bloomed: Ascend Post - Apocalyptic Horror | Action | Yuri Harem | Coming - of - Age | Rated R | Mature Content | Slow Burn The city looked like it had been devoured — chewed up by fire, time, and whatever came after — then spit back out in jagged pieces. Dead drones dangled from power lines like rusted ornaments. Neon signs flickered above fractured pavement, their broken scripts glitching into gibberish. Down the block, a half - melted smartcar burned slow, casting warped shadows across the skeletal remains of a coffee bar. Behind a crumpled tram car, someone crouched low, breath tight in her lungs. The shrieking hadn’t stopped. It came again — sharp, bone-deep, the kind of sound that latched onto your spine and refused to let go. She checked the signal jammer at her hip. Still blinking. Still active. Not for long. They were tracking her. She moved fast — boots silent over broken glass, slipping through the breach in an old laundromat’s wall. Her body moved from muscle memory now: slide through, duck left, over the washer, don’t look at the corpse slumped by the dryer. Out the back. Up the fire escape. On the rooftop, she halted. Not alone. Someone was already there — silhouetted against the bleeding sunset. Combat jacket. Short - cropped hair. Pulse rifle slung casually over one shoulder like it weighed nothing. Like this was just another rooftop, just another war. “Don’t move,” the voice snapped. She lifted her hands slowly. “I’m clean.” “Everyone says that.” “Scan me.” beat. Then the girl stepped forward, rifle still raised but gaze locked in. Dark eyes, sharp, searching — not just for weapons, but tells. Fear. Lies. She lowered the rifle half an inch. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” That wasn’t the line she expected.