#Platinum Package

[solarosette]

Platinum Package  (177.00$)

Unveiling the pinnacle of comprehensive beauty care – our Platinum Package. This luxurious ensemble of seven meticulously curated products transcends traditional skincare and haircare, offering a holistic approach to elevate your beauty and wellness regimen. Discover the regal benefits each component bestows upon your skin and hair visit us at https://solarosette.com/product/platinum-package-2/?lang=en

[cuz-reasons]

My packages are on the way yippee

[wolfpacking00]

Packaging Vffs Machines - Wolf-Packing Machine Company Elevate your packaging efficiency with Wolf-Packing Machine Company's vertical form-fill-seal (VFFS) machines. Our advanced technology ensures precise packaging, streamlining your production process. From snacks to pharmaceuticals, our machines handle various products with ease. Trust Wolf-Packing for reliable solutions tailored to your needs, delivering consistent product quality. Explore our range of Packaging Vffs Machines to optimize your packaging operations and achieve unmatched efficiency.

[dragonmama76]

Eddie and Steve had a will they/wont they going on for years while Eddie did the whole famous rockstar thing. And now he’s on a break. Two platinum records with Corroded Coffin behind him, Eddie can finally concentrate on Steve. And the miracle is that Steve never resented Eddie for focusing on his career. That wasn’t a problem for him. He waited (sometimes patiently and sometimes not) until it was his turn, and when they got together, it was just as incredible as both had expected it would be.

So you can’t blame Eddie for writing his first solo album all about Steve. He’s done hiding in the closet for his career, so it’s he/him pronouns and filthy imagery. Shockingly it sells like you wouldn’t believe. In fact, he’s getting picked up in markets he never reached before. And when he gets the numbers for radio stations, he’s killing it on stations totally unfamiliar to him. But he’s still completely wrapped up in Steve so he’s not paying a lot of attention and he lets his manager take care of everything.

The mystery is revealed the day they get a package from Wayne. It contains clippings from newspapers and magazines, and a note that just says, “Something you want to tell me, boy?” All the headlines are some variation of “Former Satanist Eddie Munson Releases Worship Album quietly signaling his conversion to Christianity”

Eddie is furious and Steve has to watch him throw a tantrum yelling and screaming. When he eventually calms down Steve reminds Eddie that doing zero press and releasing songs like, “On My Knees in Worship” and “He is my Sunrise and my Salvation” might in fact be a little misleading.

They spend the rest of the night giggling about all the good Christians listening to songs about their sex life.

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Fleetwood Mac - The Chain 1977

"The Chain" is a song by British-American rockband Fleetwood Mac, released on their 1977 album Rumours, which won Album of the Year at the 1978 Grammy Awards and received Diamond certifications in several countries, including the UK, Canada, Australia, and the US, in where it is certified 21× Platinum by the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA). As of February 2023, Rumours has sold over 40 million copies worldwide, making it the 5th best-selling album of the 1970s and the 9th best-selling album of all time. It was inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame in 2003, and was selected for preservation in the National Recording Registry in 2017, being deemed "culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant" by the Library of Congress.

"The Chain" was created from combinations of several previously rejected materials, including solo work by Lindsey Buckingham, Stevie Nicks, and Christine McVie. The song was assembled, often manually by splicing tapes with a razor blade, at the Record Plant in Sausalito, California, with engineers Ken Caillat and Richard Dashut. Stevie Nicks wrote the lyrics about Lindsey Buckingham as their relationship was falling apart. Buckingham and Nicks share lead vocals on the song.

In 1997, Fleetwood Mac released a live concert CD/DVD package called The Dance, which featured the reunion of the Rumours-era Fleetwood Mac members. The rendition of "The Chain" reached number 30 on the Billboard Mainstream Rock Tracks chart. Additionally, the studio version began appearing on the charts in 2009, where it peaked at number 81 in the UK. In October 2023, the song was certified quadruple platinum by the British Phonographic Industry (BPI) for sales and streams of over 2,400,000 units.

"The Chain" received a total of 92% yes votes!

[bodilouisville]

Don’t miss out on our February packages! These specials are valid for both locations until February 28th.

[splatoonusna]

My Nintendo members can redeem 10 My Nintendo Platinum Points to enter for a chance to win a fresh prize package inspired by the in-game event (up to 3 entries total). If you win, you will receive-

A 24" x 20" Metal Print of the Grand Festival Art

1 of Each Splatoon 3 Grand Festival T-Shirt (Past, Present and Future)

This is currently only for the United States and Canada (excluding Quebec) Sweepstakes begins 6:00 PM PT on 7/30/2024 and ends at 11:00PM PT on 9/17/2024. There will be 5 Winners.

Check out the Link Here for full Details and to Enter the Sweepstakes! Good luck fellow Squid Kids!

[17020]

vitamin deficiency had hit ren kaji like a truck.

the sugary treats that sat in his pockets were constantly in his mouth, sometimes acting as replacements for nutritious foods. he had never given the side effects of living off of lollipops any thought, until his body began to show that it had had enough.

kaji did not wonder why he had been feeling more fatigued after patrols, brushing it off as him not sleeping enough or just being tired of the same, monotonous routine. he also, did not pay any mind to the growing pains on his bones, and how his nails were easily breaking with every punch that he threw.

the one who did notice, though, was you.

because it was not fun to hop into the shower after a long, tiring day, only to find platinum strands scattered all over the floor.

you were a bit puzzled as to why your apartment was suddenly covered in your boyfriend's hair. it did not take long for you to realize that something was wrong when you laid on top of your boyfriend on your sofa, his fingertips softly drawing circles on your back and giving you small scratches on accident.

ren kaji paid no mind to his health, which meant that you had to assume the role of his personal nurse, and it was no easy task.

pills and capsules were an absolute no, as he straight up denied them as they were 'a total hassle'. effervescents were your next choice, disguising them as soda and offering them to kaji, earning a scowl in return as he shook his head in denial.

so when you stumbled across vitamin lollipops while inside the pharmacy, you knew you had hit the jackpot.

every vitamin you could think of, stuffed inside your boyfriend's favorite treat. the packaging was identical to kaji's usual lollipops, which was the cherry on top. you had a perfect plan, and in order for it to work, patience was to become your strongest virtue.

it was a slow start.

every morning, you would offer the blond gremlin next to you a vitamin lollipop, even stuffing them in his pockets for him to grab when he's on patrol. he would take it from your hands with no issue whatsoever, being under the impression that they were the same as usual. his brows furrowed.

"'nother flavor?"

"mhm. they brought back the cherry ones, and there's orange too."

"oh. cool."

slowly but surely, you had turned into kaji's personal lollipop dealer, with him shooting you texts asking you for more lollies. it took weeks for kaji to fully 'return' to normal, if you could even call it that—your boyfriend was better than ever. sure, the lollipops cost a pretty penny, but the shine on your boyfriend's radiant skin, strong nails and full set of hair made it all worth it.

one morning in particular, your boyfriend stared at you, his palm open and extended towards you.

"need something, ren?"

"you give me an orange lollipop every morning before i leave."

you chuckled at your boyfriend's subtle pout, "i ran out, ren. i'll get some more today, alright?"

kaji nodded before placing a quick peck on your forehead, heading out the door.

who knew the perceptive ren kaji was so easy to condition and fool?

n. first time writing for winbre how r we feelin tonight

[bidamonalbarn]

the pen is pretty good! it's gel ink so I'm obsessed with the ink - relatively fast-drying it's not gonna smudge when writing. it's 0.5mm so a little thinner than I normally like my gel inks but still very nice. I just have an obsession with gel ink ballpoints I fear..

also I purchased new pens I'll let u guys know how that goes

[onelittlespiral]

Hey hi, I need your help asap! I was talking with my roommate and he told me about your new special deal. And I wasn’t really interested but my roommate let slip that he was gonna ask you to turn me into a nymphomaniac hunk for him. And I don’t want that, so I rushed to write to you. Please can you turn my roommate into anything that will prevent him to turn me, maybe show him a taste of what he wanted to force me into? Thanks a lot!

Subject: Customer Service Ticket #3478

Dear (REDACTED),

We hope to alleviate any concerns you have about our services. However, at this time, we are unable to process any changes regarding Order #100765. Any changes will need to be made by the authorized purchaser. If there is any other way we can be of assistance, please feel free to contact us at the number below. Otherwise, we know that you’ll soon be satisfied.

Sincerely,

The Spiral

We knew you’d come around and round and round and round…

One email and I was left in a panic. I can’t believe my roommate would try to change me. I called the number included on the email, dialed 2 for customer service, and waited as the hold music played. All the while I was left thinking. We had the usual quibbles about dishes and cleaning up and all that, but committing to the kind of shit he had laid out in his order? It had to be some kind of prank. I was just in circles, kept thinking how there must be a way to cancel the order. All the while I was listening to instrumentals of jazzy horns and synths. You waited five, ten, twenty minutes on the line, hoping for a response. You had other plans today, but this had shot those down. You could only sit, wait, and listen.

After 30 minutes of waiting and stewing, someone finally picked up on the line,

“Hello, is this (REDACTED)?”

“Yes! Finally. I have been waiting forever. You’ve got to help me man.”

“I’m sorry to hear you have been waiting so long. Have you been just listening to that horrible hold music for half an hour?” He sounded condescending, like he wasn’t taking my dilemma seriously.

“Yea, now I need your help. I need to cancel an order.”

“Are you sure you need to boy toy?”

The words bounced in your head and your jaw went slack. You feel strange… dizzy and confused. “Huuuh?” was all you could get out.

“Yeah boy toy, just tell me what you need changed? Unless the wait helped you calm down?”

Your mind raced, to think of what you needed. But the more you tried to think, the harder it felt, “Uhhhhh…”

The man’s voice turned helpful, “Well, let’s go over the order just in case, shall we?” You sat and listened as he rattled off details. “Let’s see, we have an order here for a sexy hunk, with an increased sex drive. One of our best lines. That sound okay?”

He sounded confident. Was it really the best? You must have wanted the best, “Yes.”

“Good, so that comes with our lean muscle package, with abs, pecs, and a bubble butt extension. Does that feel right?”

You feel a shift beneath you, and looking down something feels wrong. You weren’t expecting to see perfectly tanned skin, pulled tight against your six pack. As you glide your hand down your form it all feels so firm. So muscular. Your mind tries to think of a reason not to, but you mumbled, “Yes, sir.”

“Good boy toy,” you lit up a bit. You liked it when he called you that. “Now, it also does come with a facial remodel. And I have it in the notes here you want the hair platinum blonde?”

You felt pressure in your face. Your open mouth snapped tight as your bones shaped and remodeled themselves. The pain was sudden and sharp. But by the time you lifted your hand to your jaw, it had stopped. Quickly, the memory faded to the background as you relaxed again, drool pooling out newly plumped lips, “Yuuh.”

“Perfect, perfect. Now, the last change I have here is a priority shift. You want to think only with your hungry hole boy toy?”

The hormone levels in your body jumped as your ass shifted uncomfortably beneath you. You needed to contain it, have some sense of control. Or do you? As you let yourself relax, you began grinding against the ground beneath you. Only one thought was left in your mind: you needed your hole filled. You began playing with yourself, and a faint moan was all that the operator needed to hear.

“I think that’s everything. Boy toy, wake up.” The fog receding in your mind did nothing to mask the horniness. If anything it made the need more clear. “Thank you for calling The Spiral customer service line. Goodbye!” And he was gone.

You barely could manage to navigate your way home. Every man was a distraction, as your mind raced with fantasies of being groped and used. But something within you made sure you made it through the complex door and safely into your apartment. You wanted to just lay down and try to sort out the day. But the man spreading out on your couch stopped you in your tracks.

A small voice in the back of your mind tried to say something was wrong. But your roommate on the couch looked so right. His features glistened in the dim light, highlighting his muscular physique and masculine features. His old, well worn wife beater and grey stained shorts left little to the imagination. And the sloppy demeanor and funk he emanated clashed with your clean and well-toned body. But the way his eyes fixed on you, the hunger and swagger in his gaze, left you weak in the knees. The attraction was instant, and with no willpower left, you buried yourself in his body and began worshiping this pillar of masculine energy. Inhibition was gone as you licked at the thin fabric separating you from your prize. And as he pulled his waistband down and shoved his sweaty cock down your throat, you let his flavor coat your pallet.

“Welcome home boy toy,” he groaned. That’s right. You were his little boy toy.

A buzz came from your roommate’s pocket.

Subject: Order #100690 Fulfilled

Dear (REDACTED)

Your order has been fulfilled. We have also closed Ticket #3478 at this time. We know you have many options, but thank you for the support.

Sincerely,

The Spiral

[phoward89]

Based on this ask

You work as an aide in the Presidential Palace. It's not your cup of tea per say, but it's a job. A job with crappy pay, but a job nevertheless.

Your father was so proud of you for getting the job after your fall out with your ex. Yea, after you broke up with Odysseus Odair there was some tension at work, since you worked on the marketing team for his father's luxury cruise line company. So, you quit your job. You had to find a new one and a new place too, since your breakup had turned your life upside down.

Your father offered to let you move back home, but you wanted your independence; turned down his offer. He did help you find a new apartment and pay your deposit along with the first month's rent.

And after scouring the help wanted ads and job posting boards, you received a call for an interview for an office aide position in the Presidential Palace you applied for. You went to the interview and got hired right on the spot.

But, although you work in the Presidential Palace you've never come face to face with President Coriolanus Snow.

Or at least you haven't until the day you're running late.

The line in the coffee shop was ridiculously long. So long, that by the time you get your morning coffee you're a few minutes late for work. And, since you don't have a car, you have to run in heels to the Presidential Palace to prevent yourself from being too late.

As if 10 minutes late isn't bad enough.

But you're afraid of getting fired. You really need your job as an aide. Your savings account isn't very large, so if you lost your job you'd be screwed when it came to paying the rent.

So, you run a few blocks in your black kitten heels- paper coffee cup tightly held in your hand. You feel a sense of relief as you reach the large wrought iron gates and the hedges that surround the palace that you work in. Quickly, you rush thru the open gate and down the long pathway that leads to the large ornate entrance doors of the Presidential Palace.

The grip on your paper coffee cup is like a vice as you scurry inside of the palace. Your heels loudly click against the marble floor as you rush down the huge hallway, heading towards the fork in the road that’ll lead to your closet of an office that's right next to Chief of Staff Festus Creed’s office.

You're speed walking and just turned the corner to your office whenever you smack right into a towering solid wall of a man. You wobble slightly, nearly twisting your ankle due to your heels, and accidentally crush your paper coffee cup against whoever you ran into. The hot latte spilled onto your hand, your white blouse, and the jacket of whomever you accidentally bumped into.

“Watch where you're going, you clumsy, silly girl.” Berated a smooth, but low baritone.

You look up to apologize to the man you accidentally collided with, only to come face to face with the President of Panem himself.

President Coriolanus Snow.

And was he even more handsome in person then he was on tv, posters, and campaign ads. Platinum blonde hair, perfectly slicked back in a coif, striking icy blue eyes, clean cut angular jaw as sharp as a diamond, prominent nose, tall with broad shoulders and a thin waist; one that would be considered sluttty- President Snow was the whole package.

And as your bad luck would have it, you just collided with him and accidentally split your entire flimsy cup of morning coffee on him. Oh, how embarrassing.

To say you're flustered and embarrassed would be an understatement. You wish that the floor would open up and swallow you whole.

Feeling like you’re currently under a microscope, you ramble out an apology of, “I'm so sorry, Mister President. I was rushing and didn't see you.”

“Yes, well, you just ruined my sports coat by not paying attention. It's a Tigris design and now I'll be attending a very important luncheon looking like a fool because I can't wear it.” President Snow complained, his voice cold and insulting.

“I'm so sorry; I can always buy you a new one so you won't be embarrassed about having a stained jacket during your luncheon.” You offer, feeling horrible for ruining President Snow’s suit jacket.

“Very well, go buy me a new jacket.” President Snow tells you in an aggravated tone. “Tell Tigris at her boutique that you need a man’s medium sports coat in royal maroon.” He instructs you before walking past you with regal grace.

Great…

Now you have to go out and buy a jacket that'll most likely deplete your savings. All because you accidentally spilled your morning latte on the president; ruined his jacket.

You step into a posh boutique and immediately start to hear your checkbook crying. Oh boy, the atmosphere just reeked of high end couture; of things you'd never be able to buy. But here you are, in a place you can't afford to buy President Snow a replacement jacket.

A tall, slender woman with warm blue eyes and a few black streaks in her otherwise light blonde hair approaches you. Her plum painted lips smiled as she greeted you with, “Hi, are you looking for something in particular? I have a few pieces that would look fabulous with your complexion and hair color.”

“Oh, I'm not here for myself. I'm just here to buy a men's jacket.” You tell the woman, that you assume is Tigris from how her hair’s styled.

“Are you looking for something in particular for your partner?” The fashionista asked while leading you towards the men’s section of the store.

“A royal maroon sports coat in a medium.” You tell Tigris what President Snow told you to in order to get his replacement coat.

She nods as goes to a rack that's against the wall where a bunch of jackets are. You see her go to one of the lower racks where jackets are in various shades of red. Tigris skims thru the jackets, only to pull one out that's a perfect match for the one you accidently ruined.

And when Tigris tells you she'll ring up your purchase you know it's time to walk to the gallows; to accept the syphoning of your savings.

Although you work in the Presidential Palace as an aide you've never been in his office. Yes, you knew exactly where it was, but never had a reason to go into it. Your boss, Festus, was the Chief of Staff so he was the one that went into the office for things.

And you should be knocking on President Snow’s office door, considering you need to give him his new jacket, but you can't do that. You're still embarrassed by the incident this morning and, to be completely honest, the platinum haired president intimidated you with his stoic, cold demeanor. Thankfully, you're friends with President Snow's secretary, Leo Davis.

The man's nice and befriended you in the staff’s break room during lunch shortly after you started working for the Snow administration. He's a family man and gives out good advice.

“Leo, I need you to give this to President Snow.” You tell the lanky man, who's sitting behind a desk a few yards away from the large mahogany door of the president’s office, as you place the boutique bag on his desk.

Looking between you and the bag, Leo asks, “What is it?”

“It's a new maroon jacket for President Snow. I bought it to replace the one I accidentally ruined by spilling coffee on it.” You honestly tell Leo, who just nods.

“I’ll give it to him.” Leo assures you.

“Thanks.” You gratefully tell him before pivoting on your heel and going back to your own wing of the Presidential Palace to work in.

“Coriolanus, here's the replacement jacket that you made Y/N buy you.” Leo tells his boss, the President of Panem, as he walks into the office with the Tigris Boutique bag in his hand raised high up in the air for the most important politician in the country to see.

Coriolanus nods. Gesturing to a sitting chair in the corner, he says, “Please, put it over there.”

“Tigris is your cousin, you should've just called her for a new jacket instead of sending Y/N out to buy you one with her own money.” Leo tells his boss while going over to the corner chair and setting the bag down on it.

“She offered to buy me the jacket to make amends for foolishly colliding into me and ruining my sportscoat with spilt coffee.” The president defended himself against his secretary. Honestly, the cold blonde didn't see the problem in letting you buy him the jacket. You offered, after all.

“Y/N can't afford the fashions in your cousin's store. She's borderline broke despite being the daughter of Colonel Javani Halvir.”

“Colonel Javani Halvir's daughter works here? On my staff?”

“Yes.” Leo nods. “She's an aide for your friend and Chief of Staff, Festus Creed.”

“Send for Festus, I want to know everything about Miss Y/N.” Coriolanus orders Leo, causing the man to just nod and do as he's told.

President Coriolanus Snow found out very little about you from both Leo and Festus. Just surface level stuff, but nothing he truly wanted to know. The president want to know every single thing about you.

Apparently, hearing that you're the daughter of his late father's bestfriend (who had been deployed between a couple of district bases after the war) and stirred a lowkey obsession over you inside of Coriolanus soul. The cold hearted man never thought he'd meet anyone with a link to his past, a link to a time before the war. But then he met you in a whirlwind of colliding bodies and spilt coffee in a hallway.

Coriolanus, having a teeny tiny obsession with you, began to stalk you. He even felt bad about ordering you to buy him a new jacket since you truly couldn't afford it. Your purchase at Tigris' boutique had drained most of your savings.

Yes, he used his closeness with Livia Cardew to scour through bank records until he found your account.

But, although he felt bad about the jacket, the president wasn't going to reimburse you the money. He was too proud to do that. Coriolanus had an image to uphold and admitting he made a mistake in allowing you to spend your own money on that royal maroon sportscoat would destroy his image. President Snow's a cold, callous, and calculated man; nothing can change that.

He won't let it.

But, to make up for the whole jacket incident, Coriolanus does leave a large cup of coffee on your desk on morning. And under your cup’s a napkin with a tiny note scribbled on it in his flawless flourish.

Miss Y/N, please accept this coffee in replacement of the one our collision made you spill on me the other day. Please, come by my office at noon. We need to talk.

Coryo

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @princess-harvey @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3 @jacesvelaryons @tempt-ress

[amuromi]

★ ₊ ⊹ ⋆˙ ┈ 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 X ᶠ!ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ┈ 11.0k

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ┈ NSFW! actor!au, unprotected sex, pet names (baby), oral (f!receiving), ooc Toji (no, really!!)

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐀!𝐍��𝐓𝐄 ┈ This is very self-indulgent because I was once again infected with brain worms because of this post.

✮ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 & 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!! ✮

Toji is a typecast kind of actor. He started out as just a guy they call in when they need some muscle. He’s got the training for all sorts of things. Martial arts, swordplay. If a background character needs to look believably menacing, he’s the one to get on contract. And over time his bit parts as henchman number three and thug with one line slowly evolved into something more involved, because there is no denying that Toji has a face for film. Eyes that come with a vulpine sharpness, like he knows something you don’t, and a scar at the corner of his mouth that’s as marketable as any beauty mark. Really, he looks mean, but that’s exactly what a villain is supposed to look like. He’s all harsh angles that any photographer would kill to work with. So he slowly builds up a filmography from the most insignificant masked goon to a formidable kingpin, front and center. Goes from an uncredited extra to damn near top billing as a main antagonist and that’s just fine with him when the bigger roles come with a paycheck to match. It’s not anything new for him. Toji spent his whole life fighting and training. How else could he make all those stunts look so easy? It’s only right that he makes a career out of all those grueling days of harsh conditioning. And it sweetens the deal when he finally finds his girl. 

Every villain needs arm candy. It’s a constant revolving door of pretty faces standing next to him whenever the director yells “action!” So many that they begin to blend together in his mind and he spends interviews bullshitting his way through any thoughts regarding his female co-stars. “She was fine, I guess.” And of course, he thinks she did a great job in that movie he’s never seen. Empty platitudes to satisfy the interviewer and keep his manager happy that he’s playing nice about the tedious media circuit. Usually his roles don’t require that much attention to detail. He’s coasted this far on his graveled voice and dour expressions, so he never bothers to pay more than the bare minimum of attention. He learns his line and character names. He knows who the blonde character named Amy is but without the blindingly bright platinum hair he couldn’t pick the actress that played her out of a lineup. So it makes his life a lot easier when they find him a girl that works. 

Something about charisma and chemistry. All the buzzwords he’s fed over conference calls boil down to you being his girl. The perfect match for his onscreen persona. Real pretty with just enough training that you can fill in on most of your own stunts. So it makes sense when the two of you start cropping up as a package deal. If there’s an action movie in need of a big bad, Toji’s name is put forward, and if he needs a girl–and, sometimes, even when he doesn’t–his people are quick to toss your name into the ring. He’s not sure on the details, if your agents have worked out some kind of joint agreement or if it’s just coincidence that all the casting directors settle on you as his opposite but he’s not complaining. 

You’re real easy on the eyes in a way that goes beyond basic celebrity standards. You don’t look standard. The other girls he’s worked with were standardized. All coming in the same kind of package, but with you he can pick out true individual features. He can tell when the makeup artists fuck around with your eyebrows and overdoes your lipstick. Maybe it’s ’cause he’s always looking at you nowadays, but it might also just be how gorgeous you are. Of course he wants to know what such a pretty girl looks like. It’s one of the perks of the profession and Toji is nothing if not selfish about almost everything. He’s not acting for the art, it just gives him the biggest payout at the end of the day. He likes his bank account with a ridiculous amount of zeros and it just so happens that you come along with that. 

He can’t see why his manager is suddenly complaining when your names start getting tossed around in tandem more often than not. Why shouldn’t Toji date you if he wants to? And he wants to. But apparently he’s supposed to maintain a certain aura in the media. Mean and unapproachable. Which he is. There’s plenty of videos of him manhandling the paparazzi to attest to that. But that means he’s gotta be something unobtainable, and making heart eyes–he’s definitely not doing anything like that–at his favorite little co-star is certainly the opposite of unobtainable. 

He tries to be pragmatic about it, saying he’s just keeping in character. Mean to everyone but his girl. But his manager isn’t going for that. Something about your people using him for clout since he’s got a few years of experience on you as the new kid on the block. Still Toji can’t see the problem. This whole damn industry is built on connections and favoritism so why can’t he help you a little if he wants to. The mere mention of his lack of concern has Shiu groaning, the sound chopped up and drawn out by a poor connection. 

“You’re my most difficult client, do you know that?” The man sighs like he’s trying to wrangle a toddler into behaving. 

“I’m your only client.” Toji reminds him, earning a scowl through the laptop screen. 

“And whose fault is that?” Shiu sounds so put out that Toji doesn’t bother entertaining the idea that it’s anything other than his fault. Somehow. Even though it was Shiu that approached him after he spent a couple years as a free agent that productions had to play phone tag with to book. Now he’s at least a little serious about this whole acting thing, but Shiu wasn’t there from the start so he gets what he gets. An insanely marketable asset if the only thing you want to be known for is managing the big, scary guy in every action movie out in the past few years. In pigeonholing himself into what he’s good at, Toji has tied Shiu’s hands but that’s not really his issue. Especially not when he’s pissing him off, telling him to stop talking nice to you. 

“All I’m saying is a little discretion would be highly appreciated.” Toji nods like he’s taking his manager’s words to heart but he knows there’s not much the man can do without shooting himself in the foot by pissing off the only person he’s got on contract. 

The people wanna see the two of you together. Toji wants to see the two of you together. And you’re not putting up a fuss about seeing him on every set you show up to. The only person upset with the arrangement is Shiu, and Toji barely listens to anything the man says in the first place. So when you let slip during a break to reset a scene that you’re going through the audition process for some indie thriller starting up production he’s quick to piece together enough information to get himself in the door of an audition without Shiu knowing. You’re new enough that you’ve never had anyone else as your love interest and something cocky and maybe a tad bit possessive in him wants to keep it that way. He likes how the two of you look together, so why ruin a good thing by letting someone else work with you when you already work so well together? And you just have to look so happy to see him when the final cast is announced. 

Here you come, all smiles and newly dyed hair, asking why he didn’t tell you he was trying for a part, too, and he just shrugs to keep from telling a lie. Because the truth is he wasn’t supposed to be trying for a role but like clockwork a villain was needed and he showed up to fill the spot. And it works out in his favor because he’s not here to play some one note guy with a gun. Instead he’s playing a psychopath or sociopath–he’s still not a hundred percent on the difference but you explained that there definitely is a difference–and it just so happens that his character is obsessed with you. Shiu made a snide comment about “a little on the nose, isn’t it,” when the first script came through but Toji elected to ignore him. It’s not some well-guarded secret that he likes working with you so who cares if it seems a bit much that he’s somehow always one step behind you. 

Apparently, the fans care. They care a lot. He’s still trying to wrap his head around people caring so much about what he’s doing. When Shiu gets to throwing around media jargon he usually tunes him out but he hears enough about it from you that he’s starting to recognize certain terms. Fans, stans–two different things, maybe–fansites, and saesaengs–at least that’s what Shiu calls them, and they’re bad fans. Toji would rather call them what they are, which is crazed stalkers, but in the industry there needs to be a code word for everything. He’s caught you scrolling through your own tags on social media more than once, “just to see what they’re saying,” you insist, and then sulk when Toji takes your phone because you don’t need to have an unfiltered experience about how people view you online. It’s a dangerous place for someone so sensitive. You don’t have the same aloofness that he has to how people perceive him and he doesn’t need you getting your feelings hurt. 

Supposed fans like to pick at every little thing people in the spotlight do. An hour on whatever app you’re scrolling that day would pick you apart like buzzards over roadkill and leave you nursing your hurt feelings for days to come. New insecurities you haven’t even considered having would crop up because one person made a comment on your nose. Never mind the fact that it looks perfect just the way it is. At least to Toji. But you’re always quick to remind him that he has something nice to say no matter how you look, which isn’t wrong but he’s never lied or over embellished his thoughts. You are beautiful. It’s not his fault for pointing out the obvious. And his blatant, albeit silent, admiration works towards your newest project together. He hears the crew whispering between takes about how unnerving he is on camera, and how it doesn’t entirely seem like an act when he’s looking at you. 

It isn’t. Although Toji isn’t quite unhinged enough to stalk you or slaughter anyone that gets too close. He doesn’t need to anyway. You offer yourself up so sweetly like you can’t tell how frustratingly tempting you are. He tries to behave. For your benefit. He doesn’t care about Shiu’s constant reminders for “discretion.” And if your agent has anything to say to you about it, you’ve yet to mention it. And you never turn down his offers to go out after work. 

Someone asks for your autograph when you enter the restaurant together, begging for a picture with the two of you before a starry-eyed hostess ushers you to a private table. That picture will cost him another afternoon of Shiu yapping in his ear about tarnishing his reputation but that’s a problem for later because Toji is still thinking about how you rested your hand on his chest and leaned against his shoulder for the photo. There’s probably nothing to it. Intimacy like that comes like muscle memory after so many photoshoots for movie stills and promotional images. There’s a poster somewhere of the two of you posed in just the same position but that had been directed by a photographer. This you did on your own. Toji tries not to dwell on it as you flip through the menu. He knows from experience that you’ll stare blankly at the words printed on the paper, flipping through each page like you’re reading it, just to look up with that deer in headlights face that you get anytime a waiter asks for your order. You can deal with a swarm of paparazzi with a breezy smile but the moment someone asks you what you want to eat you freeze up. 

“I don’t know what to get,” you hum, still looking over all the options. Toji knows what you want. It’s an Italian restaurant and he knows you like pasta. He picks your order before his own, setting the menu aside to watch you pretend to make a choice. It’s cute, because he knows you’re genuinely trying to pick but without fail you start to blank as soon as the waitress saunters over to the table looking far more primped than the others he’s seen milling around. There’s gloss on her lips and her hair is pulled back so neatly it looks freshly done. It almost looks like she’s just clocked in except her cheeks are flushed bright and there’s a slight tremble to her hands. The hostess must’ve spread the word that celebrities were dining at table 17. She smiles real big, eyes fixed on Toji as you frantically flip through your menu, trying to decide on something. He reaches over to take it from you, giving the overeager waitress both your orders before sending her on her way. 

“Thanks,” you smile. Of course, he wants to say, I got you, baby. Instead he keeps his mouth shut, nodding in acknowledgment as he waits for you to start up a new conversation. You’re on about something to do with production, how you’re still not used to being important enough to have your own assistant on set, when the waitress returns with your drinks. Her hand linger on Toji’s glass, condensation dripping over her fingers as if she’s waiting for him to reach for the cup and brush his fingers over hers. It’s like something straight out of a romance movie and he might’ve found the humor in the attempt if it weren’t so annoying. Instead of reaching for his drink he sits back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest as he glowers at the girl. 

She interrupted your story about you assistant messing up your breakfast order yesterday, but you don’t seem bothered as you stick your straw in your drink, humming happily after the first sip. He ordered you one of those Shirley Temples that you always get, candied cherries floating in the soda and grenadine. After a beat longer of Toji’s unflinching glare, the waitress finally retreats with a quiet chirp about your food being out soon. You thank her and Toji wants to tell you not to waste your breath, but that would probably only confuse you. For as intuitive as you can be, you still haven’t grasped the fact that Toji would kill to be your man. It would almost be endearing how oblivious you are if it wasn’t grating on his last nerve. Here you are thanking a girl for flirting with him like it didn’t take every shred of his patience to not tell her to fuck off and leave him alone. 

“So, anyway,” you continue, twirling the straw wrapper between your fingers, “he’s so used to assisting Kyoko”–some other actress Toji’s heard of in passing–“that he never actually asked for my order and just came back with her usual. Apparently she likes tomatoes in her eggs but I had to pick them out. And my omelet still ended up tasting like tomatoes. It was so bad I couldn’t finish it.” You screw your face up like just recalling the story has brought the taste back to your tongue. Toji already knows about your aversion to tomatoes. He always reminds the wait staff to remove it from your order whenever you’re out together. All it took was one time watching you peel a tomato off your burger for him to commit the little quirk to memory. 

“You should get a new one,” he tells you. He’s had his fair share of assistants but they’re a rotating roster of equally intimidated people flinching every time he calls their name like he’s going to tell them to go play in traffic. Usually he just wants a drink or something from the restaurant up the street but something about Toji is just so suffocating that most assistants barely last through filming. There are very few people that can tolerate his terse personality but he’s glad you’re one of them. So pretty and so sweet like you don’t realize that everyone on the production staff avoids him unless it’s absolutely necessary to speak with him. It’s half reputation and half unmitigated judgment. Toji would like to think he’s not all bad. He can be cordial in a distant way when not provoked but so many people seem to have an expert ability to pluck at his nerves. 

“Nah, it’s fine.” You’re laughing like it isn’t a big deal that you weren’t able to eat because some inattentive staff member didn’t do their job correctly. “I told him what happened and he apologized, even asked if he should go and get me my actual order, but by then it was about time for filming to start.” You wave your hand dismissively. “It wasn’t anything serious.” Except it was because you’d had to go hungry because of someone’s incompetence. There’s a reason Toji is always taking you out. Most actresses have a habit of skimping on meals to look as trim as possible and he’s not about to let you starve because that’s what the media thinks looks best. He likes you just the way you are and, as far as Toji is concerned, his opinion is the only one that should matter. Not even your own as your food arrives and you whine about not being able to finish it all. 

“I’ve seen you eat more than that.” It comes out just a hair too harsh and he can see it settle over you as if he meant it as an insult. “It’s just pasta,” he says before you can get too in your head about it. “It looks like more than it is.” You grumble something under your breath, likely something snarky about how he doesn’t have to worry about portion control because you’re always saying how his stomach is a black hole. His physique is a testament to how far the human body can be pushed thanks to his tumultuous upbringing. A chasm of memories that don’t quite fit together, punched with holes like a moth-eaten shirt. Something about trauma and dissociation Shiu had said after a night of drunken oversharing. 

It sounded like he was reading off the first link he found in the search results while he was looking up why Toji was such an abrasive asshole all the time. Realistically, Toji knows he has things to work on just like he knows he doesn’t care enough to put in the effort. It is what it is and as far as he’s concerned the future is far more interesting than the brick wall his brain has built between the present and the past. The future has you and there’s not much he can think of that’s better than that. Not when you’re sitting across from him yapping about whatever pops into your head and happily eating the food he knew you’d like. 

“I mentioned in an interview once that I really liked this one author, and they’re releasing a new book soon. Apparently they sent me a signed advanced copy! There was a little handwritten note and everything!” It’s cute how you’re famous and still getting excited about another public figure acknowledging your existence. There’s something so genuine and humble in your happiness that seems to be missing from most of the big names he’s worked alongside. Toji isn’t always the easiest to work with considering how short his fuse is but he’s not one to take it out on people. He’s more hard stares and gruff one-liners while he’s seen other actors shout at the staff like they’re children needing to be scolded. So far, the egotistical people he’s worked with have enough sense not to snap at Toji directly. The only person that’s ever mouthed off to him is you, and it’s always within reason. He is a dick sometimes and you’re just so preoccupied with pleasing everyone that you’ll bite at him for being a bit too short with a co-star or snapping at a member of the wardrobe staff for taking too long for his liking. You make everything more pleasant for everyone involved. A little ray of sunshine in Toji’s otherwise dreary life. 

He was right about the food. You finish your pasta and two of your cherry drinks before Toji pays the tab, ignoring the waitress’ number written at the bottom of the receipt. He hardly notices the blue scribbles, but you do. It seems to flip a switch in your brain as you stare at it before Toji crumples it and shoves it into his pocket. You’re quiet as you leave the restaurant, going a few paces before you finally find your voice. 

“Are you gonna call her?” Your tone isn’t as playful as it usually is when you tease him about all the attention he draws. He’s gotten free drinks at bars and comped meals at restaurants because some waitress or bartender thought he was handsome. Toji has grown used to women giggling behind their hands as he passes and men peeking at him from the corner of their eye like he won’t notice. There’s a certain allure to his surliness that no one but you seems to be immune to. You and maybe Shiu. Usually the most you’ll give him is a laugh and a sarcastic quip about how he’s a public liability for all the attention he commands. Usually a joke about him stopping traffic. But you seem a bit more serious today, a bit more bothered than usual. For a second, Toji considers that he might be hearing things where you didn’t mean them. But then he catches the slight pout of your lips tinged red from your drink and he knows something’s up. 

“The waitress,” you say when he takes too long to answer, “she gave you her number, right?” It takes Toji a moment to realize this is the first time anyone has been so forward with their flirtations in front of you. Of course there were always the compliments and thinly veiled innuendos, but it never goes too far considering most people just assume the two of you are together like that. This waitress had taken a chance slipping him her number, but it’s not like Toji wants it. He hands you the rumpled receipt without a second thought. There at the bottom, in that same sparkly blue pen she used to take your order, is her name and number. 

“Kanna.” You say, eyes narrowing as you stare at the digits of her phone number. Toji decides to test the waters because there was certainly a hint of disdain in your voice as you read her name. You mumble something about her handwriting being messy and Toji can’t help but laugh. 

“Jealous, baby?” Sunlight dances over your lashes as your eyes snap to his face. He watches you try to hide your expression, your pout disappearing as you hand him back the receipt. He shoves it back in his pocket without a second glance because he knows you’d say something about littering if he dropped it on the ground just to prove a point.

“No.” You say it too quickly for it to be true. 

“Liar.” Toji laughs because you’re so clearly bothered. Usually someone making a pass at him wouldn’t get you so flustered but there’s something different about you today. You’re more openly affectionate. There’s still those moments of hesitation but you’ve been more free with grabbing his hand as you walk and leaning against him when you’re idle. That girl couldn’t have rattled you. She was hardly anything to look at, less so when Toji is constantly surrounded by a plethora of perfectly curated women that fit rigidly into the popular look of the moment. Trendsetting hairstyles and the latest designer clothes. You’re more subdued, less artificial in your style choices, yet he still finds you leagues more beautiful than anyone he’s ever seen before. Certainly more so than that random waitress and her glitter pen. 

Toji has to hold back a smile as you walk ahead of him. Taking three steps for every one of his and still only managing to stay a half step in front of him. He can tell you’re trying to distance yourself, arms crossed and lips pouted as you rush forward. Toji let’s you. It’s not like you’re far ahead and, lucky for him, you’re headed to the same place. The hotel is a few blocks away and Toji takes the time to enjoy the way the sun moves over your hair, golden light settling like a halo around your head. It’s only when you reach the towering silhouette of the hotel that the sun is eclipse and you go dull. Without the shower of gilded light you look more dejected than annoyed. A kicked puppy rather than an angry dog. You make it as far as the elevator before Toji decides he’s had enough of the running. His grip on your arm is as gentle as he can manage while keeping you from slipping away from him. His free hand finds your hip as the floors rush past. Your shuffling lifts your shirt ever so slightly and Toji finds his thumb brushing over the exposed skin above your waistband before he can contemplate the consequences.

Toji touches you all the time. As his on screen love interest, he’s inclined to be physically affectionate when the cameras are rolling. But even off screen he can’t help the way his true desires bleed into his actions. The media eats it up every time a picture of the two of you surfaces, the rumor mills running overtime to concoct a front page story for one tabloid or another. But that’s always been part of the show. The same way you leaned into him when that fan asked for a picture is the way he holds your waist on the red carpet. This is different. There are no cameras. No one to impress or enthrall. This is simply Toji wanting to touch you, and you letting him. The feeling of his fingers dipping beneath the hem of your shirt have gotten you to go still, leaning back into his chest as he watches your reflection in the polished metal of the elevator doors. 

“Let go.” It’s only the two of you in the elevator and yet your voice is no louder than a whisper. Toji scoffs, hands loosening little by little. 

“You want me to?” 

“No.” Your voice is even smaller than before. The quietest admission like you’re unsure of it yourself. Still, Toji lets go and watches you stumble because you were leaning so heavily against him. 

Immediately he can feel the absence of your warmth against his chest, but he’ll let you come back to him. He’s made his intentions clear. From here, the choice is yours. When the doors ding open, you nearly sprint down the hall and Toji assumes you’ve made your choice. He can live with it. He doesn’t blame you for it. The moments you’ve shared together always felt a bit too good to be true, just as perfect as when the cameras are rolling. But you stop in the middle of the hallway. Your room is further down but you don’t move to go any further, as if something has rooted you to that place. Toji sets a leisurely pace in his approach. 

There’s the expectation that you’ll go running off again the moment he gets too close like a rabbit evading a wolf, but you surprise him with your stillness. Even as he recaptures your waist, hands more purposefully dipping under your shirt as he pulls you into his chest. This isn’t the place for it. A picture like this would be a PR nightmare and he’d never hear the end of it from Shiu. But Toji can’t bring himself to worry about that right now. Instead he asks which room you want to go to. His is closer but he doesn’t doubt you’d be more comfortable in your own. You lead the way, swiping your card to unlock the door before pulling him inside. 

After a month of filming, you’ve turned this temporary situation into your own. It smells like you more than any industrial strength cleaner that the housekeepers use. He recognizes the smell of your shampoo and that scented lotion that you love so much. The bed is freshly made and that damn duck that a fan gifted you months ago is propped up against the pillows next to the remote. A bit of tension leaks from your shoulders as you laugh and explain that the housekeepers have been doing this for weeks, setting a cute little scene for you to return to after they’ve straightened up the room. You set the remote and duck on the nightstand as you sit at the edge of the bed, perched as if you don’t want to crease the freshly steamed linens. You look nervous and it stops Toji from wandering further than the little entryway. He’s flanked by a closet and a mirror just like in his room but he can’t take his eyes off you. Your hands are tucked between your thighs and he tries not to focus on the way you’re shifting and squirming, squeezing your legs together. 

He can almost see the heat flooding through your body and he’s more than capable of flushing it out if you’ll just ask him to. He feels like a leashed dog waiting for the command to pounce. He reaches up to brace his arms against the dropped ceiling annexing the entryway from the rest of the room. For all your silence, your body is speaking for itself. Toji’s eyes don’t miss the way your throat bobs as you swallow, eyes focused on the way his arms flex above his head. 

“I can’t tell you what to do,” Toji says even though he really wants to. He knows you’d listen, too. But this isn’t something he can script and direct. You have to decide for yourself, give him the words he’s looking to hear. “You gotta tell me what you want, baby.” He sees the little pet name land, watches how you dip your chin and look up at him through your lashes. Embarrassed and he hasn’t even done anything yet. 

“Don’t make me,” you mumble. It’s so starkly different from the sultry confidence he sees on set, a true testament to your skills as you struggle to find the words to say you want him. Because he knows you do. It’s clear in the way you keep stealing glances at him even as you point your face away, hiding like he can’t see the way your teeth nip nervously at your lip. 

“I won’t.” He agrees. “Won’t make you do anything you don’t want to, so you gotta tell me. What do you want, baby?” 

Toji wants to think he’d be able to turn tail and head back to his own room if you denied him, take a cold shower and forget this ever happened, but he knows it’s a lie. He’s already so swept up in your orbit that denial would feel like a punch to the gut. He’s taken worse, but not from you. It would be like sucking the air from his lungs. It’s gotten so bad that he can’t imagine a day without you. Work was only a pretense. He got to see you everyday because you were contractually obligated. Now you’re far past coworkers hanging around each other because it’s what the job demands. He likes to think you see him as a friend, maybe something more. He could live with just being a friend as long as it means he gets to spend time in your bed. He’s got so few people that he talks to on a day to day basis that Toji imagines it wouldn’t really make a difference what you called him as long as you do call him. 

Finally, you don’t say his name, or anything really, but you extend a hand towards him and he rushes forward like a tsunami swallowing the shoreline. He kneels and tries not to think of how stupid he must look prostrating himself at your feet. You don’t seem to think any less of him for his poorly concealed eagerness. It's a desire grown over years of working alongside you. A sort of desperation that will knock the breath out of your lungs as soon as you give him the go ahead. Because Toji has had women. Countless, faceless. He’s slept with enough people to know this feels different. He wonders if this is what it's like for desire to feel real. Because why else would he be so hung up on you after so long. He’s not a man after a chase. He won’t run after anyone. Unless it’s you. He’s been running so fucking hard that he’s nearly out of breath and here he is so close to the finish line in a marathon he hadn’t realized he was running. And you’re the prize brushing his hair back and touching the scar at the corner of his mouth like he’s something to be gentle with. 

“You scare me.” He hears you say it through waves of blood rushing in his ears. He’s familiar with fear but never from you. From day one you’d been strangely calm around him. Like a deer sitting beside a mountain lion without a care in the world. Toji knows he’s something to be afraid of. He’s lived his life. He knows exactly how dangerous he is, how terrifying he must seem. It was stupid to think you were above that fear just because you smiled at him. 

“I’m scared you’re gonna hurt me.” You say softly. But you’re still touching him. Humans tame predators, he reminds himself. A wolf can be turned into a dog with the proper treatment. He thinks again of how he’s kneeling at your feet. He’s been tamed–whipped as Shiu called it–by you. 

“M’not gonna hurt you.” He tries to work the gravel from his voice, to sound less brooding as he reassures you. It doesn’t work. He’s set in stone. Too old to learn a new trick. If you’ll have him, Toji will be whatever you need, but you gotta take him as he is. Because it’s all he has to give. 

“Promise?” Your tone is so soft he half expects you to stick out your pinky or make him cross his heart. 

“I promise.”

“I’m serious, Toji. I don’t want to be just another girl to you. If we do this, we’re doing this. You can’t use me and leave me. I won’t let you.” He hears the unspoken words. I won’t let you hurt me. So that’s what you meant. Of course you aren’t afraid of him. You’re scared in the way everyone seemed to be of each other. Scared to commit, scared to be vulnerable. Toji loathes to think he feels the same. Rejection would hurt if it came from you. But it hasn’t. You’re still playing with his hair and Toji hears a damning thought surface in his head; I could marry this girl. He shoves it down before it can fully form. It’s too soon, too optimistic. He knows who he is as much as he tries to be better when he’s with you. Toji could hurt you. Get scared and break your heart. He knows if he did he’d never see you again. 

No more stupid videos getting sent to him at 5AM because you’re in the makeup chair at the crack of dawn. No more ordering your food because you can’t ever get the words out yourself. No more shoving you to the inside of the sidewalk because you like balancing along the curb as you walk. He could live without seeing you on set ever again. That had only been a symptom. The root of it was simply you. In any way he could have you. 

It’s pathetic but he’s addicted in a way he never thought possible. Never let himself think it was possible. Not for a guy like him. Movies gave him an outlet for his more violent tendencies. He would’ve done just as well as a boxer or something else where he could get paid to rough people up in a way that was above board. He’d done it the illegal way for years. Got away with it too. You have every right to be scared of him. Every right to leave him. But in this moment you’re here and he’s selfish. He leans up to kiss you. 

It doesn’t feel new. There’s no picturesque fireworks clouding his head. It isn’t new. He’s kissed you a hundred times over by now. It doesn’t feel new, but it feels right. Especially without the motivation of a camera. He isn’t kissing a character, he’s kissing you. And you’re kissing him. 

��Stop thinking so hard.” Because Toji can tell by the way your hands flutter over his shoulders with nervous uncertainty that you’re not all here. You’re thinking about this like someone is going to snap at you for messing up an angle or pressing too close and smearing your makeup. He hears you mumble a feeble apology. 

“None of that. We’re doing this, baby. You and me. Don’t think about anything else.” That gets you to loosen up enough for Toji to work you out of your clothes. He’s never had the pleasure. There’s never been a reason for his hands to be pressing underneath your shirt and it feels like his hands are melting into your skin as they push towards your chest, taking your shirt with them. You’re warm and pliant, softening like butter under his touch. Toji gets you out of your shirt with a bit too much eagerness, ruffling your hair as you squeak at his desperation. He can’t even find it in him to care if he looks overeager now because he is. 

He’s been after you for years and he’s not about to let this opportunity slip through his fingers. Beneath your clothes is an endless expanse of skin hidden only by the covering of your underwear. Plain cotton, nothing special, but it has him throbbing in his pants because it’s you. And you have the audacity to mumble about “didn’t know we were doing this, would’ve worn something nicer,” like Toji isn’t practically drooling at the way your pretty blue panties sit on your hips. He thumbs at the elastic, pulling it back just to hear it snap against your skin. It’s like unwrapping a gift and he’s looking to savor it. 

“They’re gonna know,” he says as he kisses along the shape of your breasts peeking out the top of your bra. He could put a mark there. Bite down on the soft skin and leave a print of his teeth in your skin, put a bruise there with his greedy mouth as he licks at the line where skin meets fabric, hiding the rest of you away in the cups of your bra. He could mark you up and they’d know. Everyone would know exactly who did it because Toji isn’t ashamed to admit he’s been after you like a dog, barking at anyone that got even remotely too close for comfort. A co-star could simply be complimenting the outfit wardrobe had chosen for a particular scene and he’d be looming behind them with murder in his eyes. Of course you look gorgeous but only he should get to look that hard at you. 

“Don’t!” You squeak when he noses over your skin, looking for a place to sink his teeth. “Don’t leave any marks!” He almost wants to ignore you and latch his mouth on to you anyway, but Toji resists the urge. You’ve asked him to behave and he wants to be a gentleman for you. Or, at least, the closest a man like him can get to it. He can still tease you about it, though. 

“No?” He mocks you. “You don’t want me to leave any marks? What, you got someone else that gets to see you like this, baby?” You squirm at his patronizing tone, a pout working its way onto your lips. He nips at your bottom lip before smoothing the expression with a kiss. 

“You know that’s not what I meant,” you whine. “Makeup and–” He kisses you again, slipping his tongue between your parted lips, because of course he knows. Makeup would make a fuss if he left marks on your neck, wardrobe would pitch a fit if they found hickeys in a place their designated outfits couldn’t cover. You’d be in the makeup chair even longer as they painted over all the places he’d marked you up. 

“You taste like cherries.” He mumbles against your mouth. The taste has him fumbling for his pants like a fucking virgin because it’s so innate to you. Those little fruity drinks you love so much have him pressing painfully against his zipper. Toji has you leaned up against the pillows as he sits back on his knees to pull his shirt off. He doesn’t miss the way your thighs twitch, pressing tighter together at the sight of him looming over you bare-chested. He doesn’t toss his shirt far because he wants to see you wearing it later. Right now you smell like you. Your lotion, your shampoo. He can’t wait to tired you out and wrap you up in his clothes until you smell like him. 

He wants to mark you up in other ways if he can’t do it with his lips. So everyone knows exactly who you belong to. The idea that you had to make him swear to not let this be a one off kind of thing is utterly laughable when Toji hasn’t wanted to stray away from you since nearly the first time you met. Nothing anyone else has to offer could be better than what you can give him. Although he’s happy that the little waitress tried. You wouldn’t have been so worked up if she hadn’t. He’s been teetering on the edge of insanity being so close to you everyday and it’s nice that he’s finally caught a glimpse of what you’re like when you get so wrapped up in your mind that you start acting out of character. Because Toji hasn’t felt this crazy over anyone and he’s glad he’s not suffering this lovestruck psychosis alone. It’s dumb and childish but he’s got so little in his life that’s sweet and pure that he isn’t about to poison this with toxic hang ups about maintaining his persona.

“Did it make you mad, baby?” He asks as he bullies his way between your legs. You move with him, thighs parting to give him space even as you shrink back into the pillows, brows pinched as you watch him settle his cheek against your thigh. “Did that girl at the restaurant upset you?” He wants to hear you admit it. He smirks at the way you screw up your face, nose scrunching in distaste at the mention of another woman. 

“Don’t say things like that when we’re like this,” you grumble, jerking the leg he’s resting on. He bites at you in retaliation and because he wants to hear you squeak about leaving marks again. 

“You are mad.” He smirks and watches the way your cheeks puff indignantly as you pout at him. He wants to kiss that petulant little expression off your face but Toji can’t bring himself to move even an inch away from where he’s resting. With his face cushioned by the pillowy warmth of your thighs he can see the mess spreading between your legs. A dark spot is forming in your panties, getting bigger with every shift of your hips. Toji slips a finger under the elastic and can practically hear the sound of the fabric sticking to your skin. It makes his mind go blank and all he can think about is getting closer. He blinks and suddenly his face is buried at the apex of your thighs, panting like a dog as he noses against the soiled fabric, tongue chasing the taste of you seeping through the cotton. 

“Wait!” You squeak, and he tries to. He pulls back but only far enough to look up at you. His nose stays nuzzled against the seam of your cunt, brushing against where your clit is throbbing through the fabric. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks even though he can think of a few things as his finger drags through the space between your panties and pussy, making a slick noise that has him grinding against the mattress. So fucking wet. 

“Nothing…” Toji recognizes the face you make in an instant. He’s seen it a hundred times over by now. It always reminds him of a puzzle the way you fix your expression whenever a camera is rolling. It’s always your mouth first. Smile dropped, pout gone, lips pressed into a neutral line. He sees every piece of your face fall into place until it’s perfectly blank. He watches you awhile longer until your composure breaks again and your brows dip into something resembling anxiety. 

“Nervous, baby?” He doesn’t need you to answer but you do anyway, nodding slowly. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. Just lemme take care of you, okay?” You nod again and Toji rewards the loosening of your muscles with a gentle kiss to your stomach. “Behave.” He says and watches the way you tense up again. It’s less nerves, more anticipation as you watch him slink back between your legs. He decides to spare your underwear, pulling them down nice and proper instead of tearing them off of you like he’s so desperate to do. It takes a few seconds longer and gives you a chance to knock your knees together as he sits up to pull the bundle of fabric off your ankles. 

“What did I say?” He asks, loving the way the timbre of his voice seems to send a shiver through your prone body. “Behave.” You don’t resist as he spreads your legs again but you start to squirm the longer he stares. Toji has spent many a night in the privacy of his hotel room fisting his dick to whatever image of you his mind could conjure but nothing could come close to the real thing. 

“S’pretty, baby.” He mumbles, tongue tripping over the words. He’s just lost any semblance of cognitive function. All he can see is you, spread out and dripping on the sheets, and he can’t wait another second to get his mouth on you. 

I’m gonna marry this girl, he can’t help the thought as your lashes flutter and lips part the moment he gets his mouth on your pussy. You’re still nervous, twitching and squirming like you aren’t sure what to do with yourself. Toji decides for you, arms hooking under your legs to hold you still. That still leaves your hands to flutter anxiously, skating over where his fingers dig into the meat of your thighs and brushing across his hair like you’re afraid to touch him. It makes him groan in annoyance, the sound humming against your clit. It makes you go limp, hands falling still. One rests against his head and the other over his hand. Toji loosens his grip on your leg just enough to thread his fingers through yours, pointedly ignoring how intimate the small touch feels even though he has his tongue buried in your pussy. He’s being greedy, tonguing at your hole and nosing against your clit as your cunt makes a mess of his face, but the moment is softened by the way your fingers squeeze around his. 

He feels your nails against his scalp. Not quite gripping, more so petting and it feels like something akin to a reward as he makes a mess between your legs. You don’t tense up again and Toji realizes the idle movement of your hands is grounding you even as your thighs shake around his head. He can barely breathe but he can’t even fathom pulling away when you’re making such pretty noises and trying to grind your hips against his face. You’re slurring something between those soft sighs that sounds an awful lot like “thank you,” and Toji wrenches his mouth away from you because he’s one more head scratch away from cumming in his pants like some virgin. He doesn’t even bother to get his underwear down all the way. He just shoves the waistband low enough to get his dick out and nearly collapses on top of you the second he feels your cunt against his skin. 

Toji braces an arm beside your head, leaning close enough to feel your breath ghosting across his skin. He kisses you to get you to close your eyes, but he keeps his half lidded as he watches you squirm as you taste yourself on his tongue. The mess you’ve left on his face transfers to yours as he rubs his face against your cheek like a needy puppy. It would be more embarrassing if you weren’t acting just as clinging. He can feel the needling sensation of your nails digging into his shoulder. It sends shivers down his spine, lingering just right on the cusp of pain and pleasure. Toji tries to kiss you again but it ends up being more of a heady clashing of teeth and tongue as he presses his parted lips against yours. Still tastes like cherries, he thinks, enjoying the mix between sweet and savory as the taste of your arousal still sticks to his tongue. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he groans as you press a wet kiss to the corner of his mouth, right where his scar is. And because you’re so frustratingly sweet you blink up at him, slow and wide like the little doe eyed beauty that you are, and ask, “Like what?”

“Like that,” Toji groans as you raise your brows and tilt your head, lips pulling into another one of your signature pouts. “Fuck, turn over.” He hooks an arm under your back and flips you fast enough to leave you gasping. Your hand flutters to find him again where it’s settled against your heaving stomach. He can feel your pulse flutter as you catch your breath, body shivering with something softer than anxiety. Anticipation weaves its way through your body. Toji can tell in the way you tense and relax at each minute movement he makes. He decides to tease you as he fists the base of his cock, squeezing hard to keep from cumming on the smooth expanse of your back. His hand moves from your stomach to leave you teetering on quivering arms as he trails his finger up your spine. You bend to match his touch, arching as his fingertip traces over the contours of your back. Goosebumps raises where he touches and you shiver, head falling between your shoulders. 

Toji takes advantage of the vulnerable position. Your hair is usually down during filming and there’s little reason for that to change in the coming days so he feels little guilt about the way his teeth scrape against the nape of your neck. It makes your arms give out and Toji’s teeth tighten on the soft skin as your new position presses you back against his hips. He hadn’t meant to leave a mark but there’s likely to be one now. He pulls away, lapping apologetically at the faint indent of his teeth before grabbing your hips to keep you flush against him. If you move again he’s going to ruin the sheets instead of you, but you’re still squirming like you want him to embarrass himself by coming too soon. It becomes plainly clear that your intention is to kill him as you toss your hair over your shoulder and look up at him through your lashes, mumbling a soft “are you gonna fuck me now?” 

The answer is a resounding yes and Toji can’t bring himself to think of anything else as he guides his dick inside you. This time he does collapse, falling forward before he can catch himself. It pushes him inside in one go and you let out a long whine, grinding against him as Toji rests his forehead against the back of your neck. You’re starting to sweat now with all that wiggling you’ve been doing and he licks along the column of your neck to distract from the way your pussy is choking his dick. He can hear you whining, feel it too with the way his chest is flush against your back. A soft litany of “please,” and “move,” with his name punctuating each little gasp. He can feel you trying to grind against him, held still partially by the weight of his body. He’s got you almost completely pinned and decided to finish the job. You squeak as he presses his knee against yours, spreading your legs until you collapse onto your stomach. 

“Stay there,” he says like you have any hope of moving without him peeling his heavy body off of you. He has no intentions of doing anything remotely close to that as he shoves a pillow under your hips and his arm under your jaw. 

“Comfy?” He asks. He can feel the way your cheeks are squished in the crook of his arm as you try to nod and go back to begging. He nips at the shell of your ear, soothing the sting with his tongue, as he pulls his hips back. You’re close. He can feel it in the way your pussy is desperate to keep him inside, squeezing tight every time he pulls away. It’s got him on the edge, filling the hotel room with the heavy sound of skin against skin. He’s glad the bed is so sturdy. 

There’s no squeaking or knocking headboard as he drives you up the mattress with his desperate rutting. He gets a hand between you and the sheets to pinch at your nipples, rolling the sensitive buds between his fingers. It makes you keen and that’s the only thing Toji can’t be bothered to keep quiet. He wants to hear every little sound you make after giving him so much lip about the waitress. You had so much to say earlier and he’s only too happy to hear you out. Neighbors be damned. It’s likely the floor is mostly if not completely vacant given that two celebrities are boarding here but Toji can’t help but want you to be loud in case there’s anyone to hear. This all feels a bit too much like a dream and he’d relish a noise complaint just to make it all seem real. 

“You feel so good, baby.” Toji grunts in your ear. “So good for me.” Something like a giggle works its way out of your mouth and Toji almost tells you to shut up because the sound goes straight to his dick. His hand leaves your breasts to find that spot between your legs. Your breathing stutters as his calloused fingers find your clit. It’s like lighting a fuse. You start up your squirming again, nails scratching at his arm tucked under your chin like you’re trying to get away. It takes Toji a second to realize that you are. Curling up on yourself, trying to run from the feeling of his body on yours. You’re not saying anything, but you are drooling. He can feel it slicking down his forearm as he loosens his hold just enough to make sure you’re not suffocating under his strength. He can hear those stuttering little breaths and soft mewls that are soon accompanied by a hand pushing blindy at his wrist. 

“Fuck no,” Toji grumbles. His hand leaves your clit just long enough to roll you onto your back. He hears a little sigh of relief as you relax into the sheets for a moment. There are tears sparkling in your eyes and wetting your lashes. Your whole face is shining with sweat and spit and it makes Toji a little prideful to see you so thoroughly ruined because of him. 

“You gonna be good for me, baby? Gonna behave?” He asks once you catch your breath. Before you can answer he’s already gathering your wrists in one hand to press them into the pillows above your head while his other hand slaps his dick against your messy cunt. He grinds the head of his cock against your clit, precum staining your skin as he teases you, asking if it feels good. He huffs out a laugh when you nod. It’s so earnest, so desperate. 

“Yeah it does. You don’t have to run from it, baby. Lemme make you feel good. Want you to feel good for me.” He pants, leaning down until you’re nose to nose as he presses back inside you. The sound you make is lost in the press of your lips as Toji lavishes you with more sloppy kisses. He can feel himself teetering on the edge, balls tightening with each little whine that leaves your lips. His hand finds its way back between your legs and he has your back arching within seconds. He can feel you trying to pull away again, arms tugging at where he has you pinned even as your greedy legs lock around his waist. He can feel your muscles trembling as he draws tight circles on your clit, whole body pulling taut as you get closer to the edge. 

The only words leaving your mouth are his name and soft gasps of “please, please, please,” like Toji is in any position to deny you what you want. He lets go of your wrists if only because he knows you won’t try to run from him now. Instead your arms wrap around him, pulling with enough strength to catch him off guard. Toji nearly collapses on top of you as you pull him into a surprisingly chaste kiss. A shudder runs down his back as your nails drag against his scalp and it’s all just a bit too much. Your pussy milking him like you’re trying to get pregnant–belatedly, he realizes he should’ve worn a condom–and your lips in his ear telling him to let go.

“Wanna feel it. Want it inside,” you whine. It’s so damningly sweet that Toji can’t find it in himself to even attempt to deny you. The thought of pulling out had briefly crossed his mind but your thighs are still locked around his waist and he isn’t above doing something stupid to satisfy himself. The consequences can be dealt with later. He lasted longer than he expected but there’s no mistaking how pent up Toji has been as he cums inside you. He fills you up and then some, feeling it leaking out. The tension bleeds from his body as he curls over you, grip loosening on your wrists enough that you wriggling free to wrap your arms around his shoulders. There’s the prickling heat of your nails scratching at him as you wrap yourself tight around him like you never want him to leave. Toji returns the favor. You shiver, a happy little sigh leaving your lips as he wraps his arms around you. 

“Clingy,” he says quietly, still loud enough for you to hear and he feels the way your arms tense then loosen, trying to pull away like you missed the humor in his voice. “Stop it.” He mutters, sitting back up to pull you into his lap. 

Usually Toji isn’t one to stick around after he’s gotten what he wants out of an encounter but the usual instinct to peel his partner off of him as soon as possible is absent with you. He revels in the way your head rests against his chest, soft breathes ghosting across his skin. Toji’s hands find your waist, fingers sinking into the softness of your skin as he lifts you just enough to pull out. There’s a puddle forming on the sheets from the way he’s leaking out of you and he entertains the thought of plugging his fingers inside you for half a second before remembering how stupid that would be after he already came inside you with no protection. You don’t seem too worried about it and Toji supposes that’s all that matters. He watches the way the mood settles into something less frenzied, more coherent, but the anger never comes. He’s expecting you to snap at him for being so careless but all he gets is a soft smile and even softer kisses. The taste of cherries still lingers. 

“We should do something about that,” he says, eyes still trained on the space between your bodies. Stained white and sticky from how hard he was fucking you. It streaks up your thighs and shines bright on his pelvis, staining the freshly changed sheets. You blink slow, like a kitten, before finally acknowledging the mess between your legs. 

“Should be fine, I’m on the pill. I’ll stop by the store later if you’re worried.” He’s not. Part of him wishes you hadn’t mentioned birth control. He’s selfish when it comes to you and even though it would be the worst outcome, Toji finds himself wondering what it would’ve been like if he did get you pregnant. Then he remembers your careers and lets the thought slip away into the recesses of his mind. It’s a desire for a later date because you’ve already said this isn’t gonna be a one and done kind of thing. There’s time for things to get more serious, to have a proper discussion instead of letting it happen on a whim. He clings to the idea of a future with you because that’s really all he has. As soon as he set eyes on you, you began to infiltrate his every thought like a weed invading his mind. But you’re not a weed, far too pretty for that. And even if you were, he likes the way you cloud his mind. Gives him something sweet to think about when there’s always been such a lack of nice things in his life. He kisses your neck, tasting sweat and perfume. After a while he gathers you up and makes you decent enough to make the trip to his room. 

“I owe Shiu money.” He groans halfway through his shower. You’re sitting just outside the tiny cubicle, perched on the toilet. Freshly washed and wearing his shirt just like he wanted. 

“You made a bet about me with your manager?” He hears the uncertainty in your voice even over the spray of water and realizes how the admission must sound. He shuts off the water and steps out into a cloud of steam to see you looking crestfallen. There’s a hesitance on your face that makes his stomach churn. Anxiety isn’t something Toji is entirely familiar with and he finds that he hates the way the acidic feeling settles in his chest. 

“Not like that, baby. He just knows how much I’ve been wanting you. He called me on my bullshit years ago.” It would be embarrassing admitting that he’s been pining after you for so long if you didn’t smile and try to hide your face. He hears you mumble, “Thought it was just me,” as you tuck your face into the collar of his shirt to cover your smile. There’s a tremble or hesitance in your voice like you can’t believe Toji would pay you the time of day, like he wasn’t just chomping at the bit to get you in bed. It’s a fair assumption given his usually detached disposition that so few people take the time to see past. You’re one of them but he can appreciate the air of unknowns that lingers around him. Toji is just like he seems on camera. 

Rude, abrasive, volatile when provoked. He acts something like a grizzled guard dog but even they have people they’re gentle for. It’s almost sickening how easily he can see himself with you. Made worse by how easily you accept him. You’re giving him that look again, like he’s your favorite person in the world. 

“What’s that look?” He asks as you watch him get dressed. He brought you to his room so you can nap on an unsoiled bed. He wonders if the housekeepers will tuck your duck in again after washing his cum out of your sheets. 

“What look?” You have the nerve to ask like you’re not looking at him with more softness than he’s seen in his entire life. He decides not to mention it. The need for discretion that Shiu has been trying to drill into him will be lost in the wind soon enough. Toji already couldn’t take his eyes off you and now he has more reason to be with you all the time. Media be damned, he’s gonna be all over you now that you’re his, officially. And you seem to share the sentiment as you curl up on top of him as soon as he gets in bed, humming happily when his arms find your waist. He hears a sleepy murmuring of “I’m your girlfriend,” soft and giggly like you couldn’t be more happy about it. It’s like a final nail in the coffin for Toji. He’s always thought of you as his girl and now it’s finally real. No cameras, no audience. Unscripted and real. 

[romcomeon]

「 ꨄ︎ 」 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐐𝐔𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 .ᐟ

⁀➴ in death, we never part

⋮ NOTE DETAILS — solomon x gn!mc. zombie!solomon au. early halloween special. cw: blood, biting, signs of decay. wc ≈ 1.7K .ᐟ

⋮ SINCERELY, ME — featuring our beloved immortal sorcerer... or is he?

It is human nature to keep dark, bloody secrets.

That sickeningly sweet smell of decadent flesh, carefully paired with a bright savory drizzle of blood and barrage of soft tissue — all perfectly packaged into an impeccable main course near complete from being served atop a dinner table.

You were torture; Solomon could no longer resist.

Locked away in the safe confines of his room, his nails scratching the underside of his hardwood desk. Traces of luminous liquid splatter on the floor in spontaneous droplets, syncs of 'pitter-patter' as the pool casts a mirror-like shine with arrays of blazing candlelight illuminating the study. For speckles and shards of broken glass have scattered across the table.

The sorcerer pants, his head hung low as he tries to catch his breath. What little remained of his beating heart and working lungs, idly coming to a halt with every 'tick' of the grandfather clock mounted against blood-stained carpet walls.

It was a day he dreaded most. The day his self-restraining elixir loosens from its knot along the woven thread.

With a simple nudge then slip of his hand, the bright diamond-shaped vile smashes itself on the table's surface. His last hope, oozing in a small puddle, rendering the potion useless.

Curses muttered beneath shaky breaths: that vile was airtight for a reason. "Drat." Solomon's voice cracked, with each gasp of air growing more frantic than the last.

His hand lifts itself up and tangles within platinum locks, feeling his hair grow thinner with each pulling stroke. Whisked in the air was the growing aroma of oxidized flesh, tickling his nostrils, causing his mouth to salivate.

No.

The heavens forbid he turns into the cadaver buried all those centuries ago. Every twitch of gray eyes whose irises slowly turn translucent, every prick of blood trailing from the corner of his lips, every sign of life losing itself from his fingertips.

You feel the wooden door crash against its frame, locking you with the sorcerer. A fellow human, you thought.

"A fellow human," you hoped still. You could only stand in horror, watching as the familiar figure morphs itself in tainted galore, with every following tick leaving the other gnawing at the high black collar for his turtleneck.

For one second he was his usual cunning self, entertaining your simple choice of visiting Purgatory Hall.

Despite the warm welcome, you've noticed how his usual light skin had gotten paler, almost gray and dry. How the bags under his eyes grew more prominent. How with every chance he took a stealing glance, his breath hitches; lens scanning you with underlying intent.

"Have you been sleeping?" you asked, placing the cup of a nauseating mixture of spices on the table.

Solomon raises a brow. "Hm?"

You simply cocked your head, pointing at the glaring dark circles on his face. "Your eyes. You look dead as hell," you said.

"Ah," he followed with a soft chuckle. "It's from spell research. Not to worry."

You hummed in discontent —that wasn't the answer you wanted. "You always say that," you pouted, resting your chin on your hand, with your elbow supported by the plush blue armrest. "What are even you researching anyway?"

He sighed, taking a sip of his concoction. "It's rather important," he says in rehearsed diction, before staring back at you with that lingering gaze once more.

Seems like you could never get a proper answer, only averting your eyes so as to not shiver from his blatant choice of action. Had it not been obvious? You think he wasn't able to catch himself this time. Sure you recalled the moments of his longing stare, but those were different. Those were momentary glimpses that he'd use to tease you when given the incentive.

These were different.

Those weren't the only oddities you've noticed. Along the cuffs was an ombre of muddled blue, with veins bulging from its underside. Before you were able to point it out, Solomon excuses himself, tugging his sleeve to cover the marks.

You blurted out in concern, "where are you going?"

Solomon clears his throat, his expression, once blank and unassuming, quickly shifts to a reassuring smile. "Nothing, just something... urgent."

You see the latter's face turn bitter, seconds before he coughs into the palm of his hand.

With a shake of his head, he wipes whatever residue remained, closing his eyes as he gives you one final look. Solomon spoke through gritted teeth.

"Stay here."

Before you were able to interject, the sorcerer strides off to his room.

You hear the 'tap' of leather shoes against tiles grow quicker, yet fainter, the further he goes away. You were left sitting there, on the couch, with two cups and a teapot. As the echoes mellow down to an eerie silence, you felt something shiver down your spine.

The warm atmosphere shifted to an unnerving heat, with chills adding up as the flames burning within the living room lamps started to muffle out.

Luke and Simeon didn't seem to be here, and Raphael had been called back to the Celestial Realm upon Michael's request.

You took one final scan across the room: shelves open and hanging, plants wilted and dying, lights beyond blinding — the room beyond empty.

That caused you to get up, immediately inspecting the armchair in search for any more clues. Squinting your eyes, you knelt down on one knee, finger tracing over the brown dried up residue, slashes and mists that have long since passed.

The liquid trailed off to the underside of one of the pillows. You hesitate for a moment, your peripheral view scanning for any peering eyes.

Now that you've assessed that the coast was clear, you gently picked up the large cushion, angling along one of the many blazing lights to take a proper view of what you suspected was underneath.

You shrieked, causing the cushion to fly off and hit the light turquoise walls. Reflective fabric, with subtle hints of gold.

The brash ring of shattered glass bounces along the walls, hitting your ear without warning. You flinched again before making any further assessment, causing you to slowly turn your head towards the now dark, barren hallway; with a luminescent crimson glow beneath the doorframe.

The end of the cold marble hall marked the end of it all.

That was moments ago, before you started wishing to have moved cowardly, escaping this haunted wasteland before luring yourself in a weathered cage.

Inhale. Exhale.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. Your eyes shut tight, your feet twisting and turning you to face back.

In moments if your timing is just right, you'd swiftly open the door by the handle and dash long the halls. It didn't matter how long the run would be. You had to leave.

One step, and his erratic suffocation stops.

The eerie tension palpable in the air got thicker, cutting through the fog and reforming with ease. Your lips quivered, whispers growing louder with each dropping note. "What did you do to them?"

There was no response. You were only greeted by the unburied silence.

Two steps, and you hear the floor creak.

It was subtle, though you feel the walls inch closer, cornering you from him. Whatever he was. Be damned, whatever monstrosity extinguished the light of humanity.

His motions felt precise and calculated, yet wild and uncontrolled. Your ears could pick up the soles of his shoes grazing against the floor, as if he’s dragging through a limping stance. It’s inconsistent, almost as if the little spark surviving in his core tries to reignite and rule over his carcass.

The tiny sounds stop, but continue again with every branch his conscience falls.

Solomon mumbled incoherent phrases, his voice slurred but retained his clear and concise diction. Like a fork to a plate, his prolonging the roll of the ‘r’s or ‘ch’ of ‘ts’ only further cemented the anguish.

Three steps, and his hands found your body.

Solomon pulls himself closer, limbs dangling as his hands would only cling tightly onto any grasp of loose fabric. You feel a gush of cold air hitting against your neck, with his revellent embrace sinking you into his ashen body. His lips graze over your lower neck down towards your shoulder. Solomon lowered his gazing, taking a whiff of your intoxicatingly delectable scent.

He shook in delight, cocking up his head to whisper in your ear.

“Starlight…” 

Bloodshot speech with a croak of each syllable, but something was different. Solomon chuckled — that all too bastardous sneer you came to know and admire. The shift in tone and pitch had his timbre stabilize, as if you could picture his coy smile atop the barren pale face whom ghosts your every whim.

“Moni..?” you asked, your voice nearly squeaks.

“Oh, starlight,” Solomon hummed, thumb gliding along your chin in expertise. “You shouldn’t see me like this. Gifted to live forever but, at what cost?”

He lifts your chin up, while his other hand pushes back locks of hair that guarded your neck. 

Solomon sighed, “keeps your eyes away. I'll handle the rest....” 

"You shouldn't have seen this," he grunted, almost annoyed.

You gulped, yet obliged with his words. Eye remained shut, feeling him inch closer. “What are you doing?” 

Solomon shushes you, giving your neck one final kiss. It was like that for a few moments, gentle praises while the reek of a living corpse circulates your thoughts.

“Would you hate me if I did this?” Solomon asked. That question came when you feel the lining of his teeth press on your skin, digging deeper like a tease, yet horrific with how it pained even in the dullest touch.

Your demeanor faltered, your foot lifting to take the final step. “If I?”

Burked by the absence of common ground, yet arguably, he’s human still. Only proven by a simple answer, after Solomon playfully nips at the tougher parts of your cartridge.

“We’ve dealt with other atrocities before. Certainly, I can accept the offer of being…” Solomon trailed off.

A final cheer was the last you could hear.

— would you take the fourth step?

check out my masterlist! | divider by cafekitsune

[datura-tea]

some ulysses facts

ulysses is not the name he was born with; he named himself after ulysses s. grant

he's from the twisted hairs, a tribe that was forcibly assimilated into the legion after vulpes inculta "pacified" them at dry wells. their history and culture were erased, and some of their people were crucified along interstate 40. the rest were broken, brainwashed, and absorbed into the legion

he rose through the ranks of the meritocratic legion slave army, becoming a frumentarius who worked as an undercover courier for caesar

he was one of the scouts who scouted the hoover dam for the legion

he was walking the wastes when he found the community that would become the divide; there, he found a potential home. until courier six came and delivered a package that blew it all up

in the wreckage of his potential new home, ulysses was saved by medical eyebots who saw the flag on his back and recognized it

he was sent by caesar to become an emissary to the white legs, who tried to honor him by mirroring his hair, which, unbeknown to them, was personal to him, because woven in the braids was ulysses' and his tribe's histories

he left the white legs shortly after they showed him their new hair, fashioned after him - it felt like a hollow mockery of his dead tribe

he defected from the legion after the battle at new canaan, becoming a bighorner herder at wolfhorn ranch and working and roaming he wastes as a courier

he found the big mt by tracking irregular weather patterns, and there he found father elijah and christine royce

he directed father elijah to the sierra madre, knowing elijah would find his death there

he rescued christine and nursed her back to help in a cave, learning about the brotherhood of steel from her. she gave him a recorder, which he used to create the logs that courier six would find along the divide

he spoke with the think tank asked them one question - "who are you, that do not know your history?" - and this shook them, made them remember the old world. they told him about the missiles under the divide

he went back to couriering, finding out that courier six was still alive from johnson nash - he was supposed to deliver the platinum chip but somehow knew it would be trouble, so he passed it on to courier six, hoping that the job would kill them

but discovering that courier six, the person that destroyed his new home, the person that he has been obsessing over for years, was still alive, awoke his desire for revenge against them

he made a plan to teach courier six a lesson about history - his, and theirs, together - and accountability, and how one person can make such a huge impact on the world, even unwittingly

he lured courier six to the divide, to see what they had wrought, and what he has planned

his plan: aim missiles at dry wells and the long 15, two strategic locations that would cut the throats of both the legion and the ncr. whether they launch would be up to the courier after their confrontation

he does not want to nuke the world and kill millions. only two locations that would weaken both warring armies. again, the decision to nuke these locations is up to courier six

[tmbgareok]

Tmbg may be ok but I think they're goshdarn tops.

I was blessed to be able to hit Medallion this year, but also happened to transition over the summer. I didn't think of it til I goty phenomenal package with my desdname

Not a HUGE issue for me, but I scrambled to ask if they could rerecord or postpone my song/ ask if they had any spare membership cards.

The folks at TMBG got a blank card to me faster than my insurance company could, and I can't thank them enough.

Someone a while ago asked me what is the big tie-in between. They might be Giants fans, and as a high school art teacher, I immediately related "queer".

It took me 20 years to come out as non-binary, and I'm still working with that, haha. But, I can't tell you the amount of students that I have made in roads with this past year. As I started teaching high school, just talking about how much we love they might be Giants with kids (KIDS!!) with Flood buttons on their jackets and bags was a delight. I play their music constantly in my classroom (as I did when I taught elementary) and it is universally beloved... Or at least tolerated, LOL. That said, they mean so much to me, and seeing that they respected and were able to accommodate even something out of the norm, really means a lot to me. I can't thank the Yhey Might be Giants crew enough.

Ive related this to my queer students during lunch and the amount of delight they've had on my behalf almost overshadows my own.

I adore the music you all put out, my kids are constantly delighted with your work, and especially now, you've gone octuple platinum in my room. Thank you for all you do, and the best of health and love to you and yours,

🥰🤗Mal

Your note is most appreciated but

YOU MUST BE THINKING OF SOME OTHER BAND.