#bald guy fight tournament

[baldguy-fight]

BALD GUY FIGHT ROUND 1

[quarkslobes]

let me break down the megamind vs sisko fight for yall.

both: had their destiny predetermined by mysterious aliens, found their homes on an alien planet that was once foreign to them, fought an enemy that faked their death, had an english major alter ego, broke out of prison multiple times, are bald

megamind: thigh high platform leather boots

sisko: no thigh high platform leather boots

[ralsky]

Hardest decision of my life will be on the round 3 of @baldguy-fight : Megamind vs Shrek

[cipher-fresh]

Non Star Trek mutuals I am begging you to vote Benjamin Sisko on the bald guy tournament

[eazy-peazy54]

EGGMAN SWEEP WE GOT THIS GUYS

[stirdrawsandreblaws]

if sisko or fester win the bald guy fight tournament I'll shave my head for real

[tournamentdirectory]

These bald characters bring us joy. @baldguy-fight finds the best bald character.

[crabnator]

tell us about your lancer campaign!

I can always count on you friend

Long post ahead.

So the initial idea was a Long Rim band of mercenaries in outlaw space where my players would go through a very modular system of odd jobs to get money and progress through the mechs and stuff

That got immediately hijacked by a personal vendetta story after a flamboyant and eccentric pirate lord known as PEACOCK made them fail a mission and they steered the campaign into hunting that guy down. I was happy to oblige of course, and even put a bounty on him so they had extra reasons to go after him.

In order to get to him they had to find his deep space pirate fortress that was hidden somewhere. To get there they had to go after one his lackeys BACKBREAKER (im a big fan of titles/nicknames you see), who is this loud and agressive fuckhuge goliath of a man wearing corpse paint makeup like the dudes from kiss (and hes balding, which is important). They found backbreaker on an illegal mech fighting tournament ran by pirates in a mad max desert planet and promptly joined in order to kick his ass. After a few matches they were treated to a mix of rock concert and boss battle in which they fought backbreaker's four armed guitar wielding mech.

After the fight they found out backbreaker hates his boss and is super down for treason and they joined forces and became friends. They even stopped by a interplanetary shopping mall for some smoothies (and to steal an armored spaceship) on the way to the pirate fort.

After finding out where the fort is they rammed the ship into it at high speeds and proceeded to go find peacock. Who was in a god damn ship hangar retrofitted into a fashion show catwalk that played lady gaga instrumental music (which makes for GREAT boss music, i found out) and they fought peacock under strobe lights and glitter clouds.

Anyway during the fight they broke SOMETHING in the fort and it was about to blow up so they bailed as soon as peacock was dead. Unfortunately in the chaos backbreaker died in an explosion after saving one of the players by having HIS mech shoulder throw the player's mech out into space it was real sad.

That was act one! Last week we started act two which happens a few months later in the story.

The players got back together for another mission since they need cash again but this time they got intercepted by a corporate warship hailing them.

The ship was captained by the CLONE of one of my players. The player in question is this hotshot reckless ace pilot whos a giant commie and a runaway rebel and his primary color is red and the clone is this prim and proper corporate exec made by the player's father as his replacement (and his primary color is blue. Symbolism.) As it turns out: player's father is dying and needs a heir, clone wants to kill player to avoid any inheritance struggles.

So the clone shot down the party's flagship and now theyre stuck on an ice planet.

Excited to see what bullshit they'll pull next!

[gintama-polls]

One last call for nominations for the next long tournament, a favorite episode tourney.

Under the cut is the current list of entries, taken from the Gintama THE FINAL-related survey. If there's an episode not in the list below that you want included, feel free to nominate it using the above form by this Saturday, the 20th.

Entries:

1: You bastards!! Do you even have a silver soul?

3: Nobody with Naturally Wavy Hair Can Be That Bad9: Fighting should be done properly

20: Beware of conveyor belt

25: The hot-pot is a microcosm of life

32: Life Moves on like a Conveyor Belt

38: Only Children Play in the Snow

48: The More You're Alike, the More You Fight

61: On a Moonless Night, Insects Are Drawn to the Light

65: Youngsters learn the value of life from rhinoceros beetles

77: Yesterday's Enemy, After All Is Said And Done, Is Still The Enemy

87: Perform A German Suplex On A Woman Who Asks If She Or The Job Is More Important

99: Life And Video Games Are Full Of Bugs

103: There's A Thin Line Between Strengths And Weaknesses

105: It's All About The Beat And Timing

111: There's Almost A 100% Chance You'll Forget Your Umbrella And Hate Yourself For It

119: Within Each Box Of Cigarettes, Are One Or Two Cigarettes That Smell Like Horse Dung

142: Life Is A Series Of Choices

153: Sleep Helps A Child Grow

166: Two Is Better Than One. Two People Are Better Than One

175: People Of All Ages Hate The Dentist!

180: The More Precious The Burden, The Heavier And More Difficult It Is To Shoulder It

184: Popularity Polls Can…

187: It's Goodbye Once A Flag Is Set

201: Everybody's A Santa

203: Everyone Looks Pretty Grown up after Summer Break

204: Use a Calligraphy Pen for New Year's Cards

205: Meals Should Be Balanced

211: Ghosts Aren't the Only Ones Who Run Wild around Graveyards

214: Tis an Honor!

215: Odds or Even

216: I Can't Remember a Damn Thing about the Factory Tour

217: What Happens Twice Can Happen Thrice

220: The Bathhouse, Where You're Naked in Body and Soul"

230: It Would Take Too Much Effort to Make This Title Sound like a Text Message Subject

231: When You Go to a Funeral for the First Time, You're Surprised by How Happy the People Are

237: Please Take Me Skiing

241: We Are All Hosts, in Capital Letters

246: Festival of Thornies

247: Letter from Thorny

256: The Meaning of a Main Character

260: Pinky Swear

261: Unsetting Moon

264: Liquor and Gasoline, Smiles and Tears

265: Dog Food Doesn't Have As Much Flavor As You'd Think

268: An Inspector's Love Begins with an Inspection

272: A Reunion Also Brings to the Surface Things You Don't Want to Remember

273: When Compared to Time in Heaven, Fifty Years of Human Life Resembles Nothing but Dreams and Lottery Tickets

275: 9 + 1 = Yagyuu Jyuubei

282: A Phoenix Rises from the Ashes Over and Over

287: He's the Sweet Tooth, and I'm the Mayo Guy

296: Take the Initial Premise Lightly, and It'll Cost You

297: Keep Your Farewells Short

301: Ninja Village

304: Those Who Protect Against All Odds

305: Sworn Enemy

311: Jailbreak

315: Nobume

316: Farewell, Shinsengumi

320: Zura

322: Ten Years

323: Paths

326: Siblings

330: My Bald Dad, My Light-Haired Dad and My Dad`s Glasses

333: All the Answers Can Be Found in the Field

335: The Super Sadist and the Super Sadist

341: Guardian Spirits Are Also a Part of the Soul

342: Try As You Might to Make a Natural Perm Go Away, It Will Always Return

346: Geezers Carve the Things They Shouldn't Forget into Their Wrinkles

355: Rabbits Leap Higher on Moonlit Nights

356: Making a Dull World Interesting

361: The Creatures Known as Humanity

364: Two in Girl Years Is Equal to Ten in Man Years

366: Dun Dun

367: Gintama Final Ending Scamming Trial

Gintama: A New Retelling Benizakura Arc

Gintama: The Movie: The Final Chapter: Be Forever Yorozuya

Gintama The Final

[fakeshibe]

The sheeb listens to JRWI Riptide 3-word summary twitter thread, now with 100% less twitter!!!!

Before twitter totally went to shit, i had a thread that i was adding to every time i listened to an episode of jrwi! I had to write a summary or comment on the episode with 3 words or fewer, although exaggerated spellings and punctuation for emphasis were totally allowed so it wasn't a strict rule. It was just a silly haha way for me to try and motivate myself to keep listening cause i'm v bad at picking up new habits (like listening to podcasts), so i was hoping that posting about it would build the habit and get me to pay better attention so i could remember details to comment on. Heads up, this was already a very, very long twitter thread and i'm still updating it, so it's gonna be a long post. Also spoilers for JRWI Riptide, up to ~roughly episode 60 atm. will update though! :) also i'm copypasting from where i archived the thread on discord so all the emoji's are broken, pretend they're all normal, ok? JRWI SPOILERS AHEAD!!! FINAL WARNING!!!!

(Jan 2023) (First tweet in thread: finally successfully listening to podcasts!! so every time i finish an episode of jrwi i’m gonna reply to this tweet with a 3 word or less summary we’ll see if i make it past episode 10, not hopeful since it took me 2 months to finish episode 1 :sob: )

Starting from zero funny fish man :)

Chipwrecked! mmm monke :)

The Laughing City Gillion slaps balds

The Baldening slapping more balds (April 23)

The Curse of Loffinlot started listening again!!

Off With His Head! Gillion Marxist arc?!? :0

A Mist Opportunity Chip autocanniballism arc??!!? D:

A Hero’s Burden Gillion need hug :(

A Victorious Banquet! black rose mentioned?!?!?!?! :0

The Hangover (i made it to 10 episodes!!) omg the beloveds! <3

Return to the Open Sea Inception but Jay

The Endless Game (ft. Ranboo) ranboo is real?!?!? :0

Showtime! (ft. Ranboo) Chip discovers reaganomics

The House Always Wins (ft. Ranboo) farewell friend Clorten :(

The Chip on My Shoulder Gillion was right >:(

Fish and Chips i’m gonna cry :’)

The Siren's Call Gillion: '…That's tits' :thinking:

Striking a Chord chip's not normal :face_with_raised_eyebrow: :worried:

The One the empress… :flushed::flushed::flushed::flushed::flushed::flushed:

The Sanctuary the empress… :angry::angry::angry::angry::angry::angry:

An Act of Love Nat 20 kiss?!?!?!?!

True North Chip = Weaponised incompetence

Downhill Desires YASS COMRADE TIDESTRIDER!!!!

Empress of Malice Jay absolutely slays

The Hole in Your Heart Get deez'd bitch :sunglasses: (May 23)

First Blood pretzel is terrifying :squid:

The Pirate Code Gil discovers cat :)

Making a Splash scary teleport lady

The Paramount Tournament FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!

Jack the Jolly Roger chip pants collection (June 23)

One Remaining Rose ELIZABETH ALIVE?!!?!? WTF??!!?

Breaking The Ice Gillion got adopted (July 23)

Thunderdome of Destiny (ft. Pokay) gillion briefly homophobic

Wrath of La Alma (ft. Pokay) that's not good D:

Sign here (ft. Pokay) jay eated paper

The Luxbris Pearl (ft. Pokay) i cry lots

Indemnification (ft. Pokay) closed eye trickshots

The people’s Champion (ft. Pokay) combat against ball

A sea of Red and Gold oh shit.

The Navy's Armada Chip saying son :') :pleading_face: :sob:

Growing Pains ||ollie now big||

The Serpent borfd it

City of Steam new favourite episode :sob::sob:

Blossoming Trust pinky promise :)

The Perfect Crime OH SHIT!! D:

Robot Rumble imposter among us

What Binds Us awww :') awh :face_holding_back_tears::face_holding_back_tears: awww (August 23)

Shattered Kingdom Scotland confirmed non-canon :pensive:

The Duke of Everything (ft. Jschlatt) pretzels everywhere

The Block (omg!!! 50!!!! woo!!!!) plausibly deniable clown

Blistering Trials NO! GIVE HIM!!!! :(

Death March FUCKING WHAT?!?! WHAT!!??!

Not Ferin Well FUCKED UP!!! CRYING!!!!! :sob::sob::sob: :(

A Dead Man’s Tale (ft. JoCat) NEW SCOTTISH GUY!!!! :scotland::scotland::scotland::scotland:

Till Death Do We Part (ft. JoCat) many nat 20s

Mystery and Misery oh shit, chip…

The Hull of the World WAAHHHH EDYN :')

The Tides Between Us EMOTIONAL WHIPLASH WTF

A Price to be Paid Jay escaped employment (September 23)

Price is Right woah, solo episode?

Super Savvy Sleuthing Slugs chaos, of course

Chaos and Consequences ending was fucked

Farewells earl :( :( :( miss him :( :( :( :)

The City of Night new guy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (October 23) Riptide Origins: Humble Beginnings actual siblings real

Dressed to the Nines jay gets bitches

[handsmotif]

mobheads i need us all to submit teru to the bald guy fight

[baldguy-fight]

BALD GUY FIGHT FINAL

[miracleweaponhunt]

Miracle Weapon Hunt Chapter 35: A Truly Heroic Tournament

Roxanne looked up at the gentleman above her and Julian, with Cassandra slowly walking off to the side. A bald shirtless man with a wonky left eye looking at her, with the working one fixated on Julian. The only thing we was wearing seemed to be very worn out black sweatpants, his shirtless body having a host of tattoos ranging from swords to skulls to…a horse with the tail circling his left nipple, for some reason? There was something about him that was oddly…attractive?

Nope. No way. Roxanne couldn't even indulge herself there. If she was even capable of actually liking people, he certainly was not what she was looking for.

"Okay, what gives there?" Julian screamed as he tried not to choke, pushing his glass eye back in.

"Sider it a small test." The man replied in his gruff voice. "And you two failed."

"Wait, what?" Roxanne asked as she scrambled to her feet. "What do you mean we failed?"

"You look like an idiot." He replied without looking at her. "You can enter, but you're almost deffo gonna hurt yourself."

"Don't listen to him, Luca and Gavin failed too."

Caoimhe helped Roxanne up and waited for her to dust herself off. "Not exactly the type of thing you'd expect, but…"

"If you can't expect one attack, how are you meant to expect the onslaught of the Legion?" She and The large guy said in unison.

"He's done this twice already."

"Do I not have a point?"

"Anyway, sign ups are that way?"

In contrast to the hotel, the basement looked like a mess. Wooden floors and a faded blue paintjob., with streamers and balloons dotted around the room. A couple circular wooden tables for registered teams to sit at. And at the end, a wooden desk that almost blended into the wall.

The three walked over to it, with all three writing their names down.

Name: Julian Torres. Ability: Life Transfer. Fighting Style: Bear reanimation.

Name: Cassandra Torres. Ability: Regeneration. Fighting Style: Relic Axe.

Name: Roxanne ?????. Ability: N/A. Fighting Style: Undecided.

The three sat at a table at the corner of the room. The battlestorms would need to sit front and centre to catch the attention of everyone else, so whatever unnecessary interactions could be avoided were all the better. Seeing as the large guy was approaching them with an annoyed look and the sign up book in his hand, that failed.

"Right." He started calmly. "Which one of you is Roxanne?"

"M-me?" Roxanne asked. He looked at her calmly, but Roxanne already felt his contempt quickly melt her insides.

"Mind asking why your fighting style is 'undecided?'"

"Well, I haven't made up my mind yet."

"You even got a fighting style?" I know about the axe girl, but I don't know much about you two."

"Mind explaining who you are, anyway?" an irritated Julian asked, clearly trying not to snap at this guy.

"Me? Name's Cutter, and I'm the one looking after you runts while Zach's with the corro squad."

"Corro?" Roxanne asked.

"Coronation." Julian answered. "Look, she hasn't made her mind up yet, why does that matter?"

"Because not being sure of something before a fight is how you get killed. We got people for injurs or limbs, but we got nothing for lives."

"She's probably boxing!"

Cutter looked over to see Caoimhe looking over the table with a flashy purple drink in her hand.

"Trained with her back in Saoloro, she at least knows the basics."

"You box?"

"I mean, I dabble in a couple things, and boxing is one of them." This was one of the biggest lies she's told yet. She had to get grieving kids off her a couple times back in Miracle, but she resorted to either calling someone else or pepper spraying them if she absolutely had to. She's never directly laid a hand on a kid outside a quick shove.

Cutter opened his mouth to question her, but some more people entered the basement. Cutter immediately leapt to slam them all to the ground. The first one ducked underneath his arms, cartwheeling into the crowd and leaping back onto her feet with a series of finger snaps. The second more muscular one actually managed to throw Cutter's arm back and get behind him. The last one merely got slammed into the ground like Roxanne and Julian did, only for him to chuckle and slowly get back up.

"Yo guys, I think your stairs are uneven. You might wanna look into that."

"No Gam, you just got…" The muscular guy started.

"We can let him figure it out." The girl said calmly. "Our introductions are more important."

"Oh hey, it's the clowns." Julian whispered.

The girl pointed towards the couple dozen people sitting down. Her hair was blonde in the centre but the ends were magenta as they stopped at her shoulders, the same magenta was used for her face paint, which had a spade on her left eye and an upside down one on her right. She wore neck ruffles and fingerless gloves, only the white gloves looked more like a cartoon character's. She wore a short magenta jacket, opened to reveal the cartoon frog on her purple shirt. The outfit ended with just ordinary jeans and skater shoes.

"Salutations, asshats!" She said loudly. "Now, I hope you are all prepared for the festivities!"

"We didn't set up any?"

The girl placed a gloved hand on Cutter's mouth.

"You invited us, that's good enough! So, I would like to introduce the third ranked hero group, the Kerobons! To my left is my buddy Zee, and behind us is Gam. And I am your immaculate Capri!"

She held for an applause that didn't come, and Zee casually picked up Gam and sat them both down at a table. Both were dressed more like traditional clowns instead of the streetwear type outfit Capri was rocking. Gam was a scrawny looking weirdo wearing a neon blue jester's outfit with the same cartoon frog on each sleeve, with neck ruffles and a neon blue top hat, with straight dark blue hair underneath that went down to his shoulders. Zee was an incredibly muscular guy with a green afro style haircut and green clown pants, with a plain white t-shirt. Gam had a blue heart painted on each eye while Zee had green diamonds.

"I am begging you, keep your heads down until the next team arrives." Julian asked the other two.

This didn't take long until the next two players emerged. Cutter did his thing, only for one of the girls to deflect his attack and move past him, carrying the other past him on her shoulder to the sign ups.

"Well well well, if it isn't Miss Stone herself." Julian asked from behind her.

The woman turned around with a contorted grin.

"Well well well, if it isn't Julian. How's the dead bear going?"

"Not bad." Julian grinned. "Still rocking the rocks?"

Roxanne got a good look at the two women in front of Julian. A short woman with blonde hair and some attempt at a royal demeanour, dressed in a black gown that looked more suited for mourning then fighting crime. The woman behind her was a hulking muscular figure in a cyan dress that clearly needed to be replaced with how worn out it was. her black hair was sorted into a ponytail, and her nostrils were flaring from behind her partner. Both wore ordinary rocks on their necks as if they were fancy necklaces.

"The rocks are great around here, I thought you'd know that in your infinite wisdom."

"What can I say, I know about it about as much as you know about not losing thieves in alleyways."

"At least I'm respected enough to stay in the hero business."

"At number two."

"Not if you wanna help me during the tournament."

"Oh, you know I'm ready."

The two had the backs of their hands hover by each other for a second, before clapping them together and quickly turning them and slapping their palms. The two girls were about to go to their tables, before noticing a woman in a pristine white dress sitting alone. The short one gave a knowing smirk to Julian, who smirked back, before they sat down.

"Short ones Fiorella, big ones Gisella. Second ranked hero group, they're a riot."

Over time, more people arrived. A lot failed at Cutter's impromptu exam and left holding their necks. The fifth ranked hero group didn't seem to turn up, but a lot of intimidating looking fighters arrived. After the room started to fill and one table was left unoccupied, cutter moved to the book, tossing it in the air in front of him and violently punching it to the other end of the room. Julian just looked at Cassandra with a look of complete bewilderment.

"Okay." Cutter started with his arms folded and a tilt of his head. "Two ninety six contestants have entered for today, with the last four already 'cided. Now, normally old Zach would explain how things work, specially this year. But he's out on 'portant Lux things. Luckily, the man managed to make a video and upload it through that internet thing, so here's that being shown to ya."

A sheet came down where the sign up book was, and Zach's face came from the projector.

"This on? 'Kay, thanks honey. Welcome, all my current competitors! Now, the Fightston games have, since the beginning of the Skyspace, the games have been a show of strength between each Grand. But now we need that more than ever. We have made the heavy decision to temporarily suspend the other aspects of the game besides the tournament, to show the Legion that we are not backing down, not when the new generation is preparing to fight as we speak! But now, for the main prize. Second, third and fourth get cash prizes, as per usual. But for first place deemed most worthy of wielding it…the Gauntlet of Fightston! Well, hopefully I'll be back soon to start everything. See you in a few days."

The assistant turned off the projector, leaving just Cutter in front of a horde of shocked faces.

"I hope you liked that. Anyway, there's the prize. Zach'll explain it when he gets back, I'm off to bed."

[transrightsyamaguchi]

thoughts on volume 15 of real:

just checked the ao3 tag and there are e l e v e n fanworks in there. two of them are in english. i better start writing i guess. anyway volume live slug reaction:

GOOD LORD this one was intense. there are 4 more chapters that haven't been collected into volumes that i can read now but this volume ends on Such A Cliffhanger. lot to unpack.

first of all it is. quite obvious that the manga went on hiatus between the last volume and this one because this art is. Slick. look at it.

there is a gay love triangle happening in these three panels. ryo's unrequited crush on kiyoharu ("kiyo." since when does ryo get nickname privileges) vs whatever kiyoharu and aoki have going on. they barely even come into direct contact but they live so rent-free in each others' minds. the two worst personalities in the tokyo metropolitan area.

Horrible Things are Happening To Kiyoharu. good. just the kick in the pants this boy needs. he's been cut from the national team and replaced with aoki, and the tigers have just lost a tournament in the first round and nagano is leaving for germany, so their future is not exactly bright. maybe nagano will meet up with noel noa and they can train together.

we got a scene with kiyoharu crying with azumi at his mother's grave which would have been a perfect time for him to confess EXCEPT he didn't do that. he just proclaimed that he wants to win gold at the paralympics.

boy you have a pretty girl who has a crush on you right there and you tell her about Basketball. at least he got to cry it out a little bit. hash out his feelings with his mother and azumi.

takahashi is. not doing well at basketball. not being able to throw or catch the ball yet is demoralizing for him and in True Takahashi Fashion he gives up before he can properly try. maybe he was doing all that speed training because he was scared of what would happen when he tried to shoot. How Ever. the Cliffhanger that the volume ends on is him asking nagai what his position is. little hope spot for him. he may make a turnaround.

even bald he's cute when he cries. i love this boy and his complicated self.

nomiya is in jail. all that fighting caught up to him. we get more insight on his relationship with takahashi while he's reflecting in his cell. they were friends!! now they're enemies!! friends to enemies to lovers? young man yaoi? their backstories parallel each other through their mutual fatherlessness. which explains a lot about both of them.

but we also get a nomiya mother appearance and a hope spot for him as well. he gets a call from natsumi and her manga has gotten published in this universe's equivalent of shonen jump!! we love to see a girlboss winning.

immediately after that he gets a call from kiyoharu telling him to come to what may be the tigers' last practice. if it is i Will cry.

so as of now all six of our protagonists' parents have been accounted for and all three of them are from broken homes which is probably why i love them so much. having two living married parents who love each other is so 1996. anyway. there was a strong focus on Mothers in this volume, mostly on wanting to make Mothers Proud, which will never fail to make me cry. love when a tough guy is a mama's boy.

i realized while reading that kiyoharu is probably too short to play standing basketball. nomiya is five-nine and kiyoharu is consistently drawn a little shorter than him, so...five-six, five-seven maybe? little guy.

i leave you all with cursed noseless kiyoharu

[djarinsbeskar]

Foul - Boxer!Din AU

Definition - To break one of boxing’s rules (i.e. hitting an opponent below the navel, ear or while they are down), which can ultimately lead to point deductions if they are repeated.

A/N: The results of my Boxer!AU poll told me that the majority were interested in a jealous/protective boxer so I hope I have delivered! As always, relaxed fit = unedited, no beta. We also have a sneaky introduction to Paz in the Boxer verse which is super exciting! His concept art has been completed by the insanely talented @ronnieiswriting when I said I saw a mix of Jason Momoa and Winston Duke as our heavy. PLEASE heed the warnings in this chapter. There is nothing explicit but the topics hinted at might be triggering.

Word Count: 7k

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: SMUT! (unprotected sex), blood and violence, toxic masculinity and derogatory speech, hints at discussions of non-con, somewhat possessive behavior, spanking, dom!Din and everything that comes with it.

Main Masterlist | Boxer Materlist

He might as well have been in hell. A colosseum of decaying humanity and dirt floors that erupted in a burst of dust like poisonous ash every time his next opponent fell. The hollow thump of pure muscle meeting the ground of the makeshift ring only drowned by the cheers of spectators. Masked, shadowed—unseen as they dropped hundreds – thousands sometimes – on which gladiator would remain standing in the end.

He felt like a king, a god among men within the confines of his realm of rope and canvas. It was easy to forget—standing under the spotlights that highlighted the sweat and blood and sculpted beauty of primal masculinity that it was a hollow victory any time he fought in the seedy underground rings of Akiva.

Every gladiator was a slave. Even the victor.

Why the fuck did he think it was a good idea to let you come to one of these fights?

“Enough!”

Paz’s unassailable strength banded around Din’s chest, pinning his arms to his side—attempting to contain lightning in a glass jar. Sweat, blood—it all dripped into Din’s eyes as he growled at his opponent, passed out in the middle of the dirt ring—face swollen and puffy from Din’s fists.

Laser focus and animosity spilled from charcoal eyes as he tried to break free of his friends hold with a vicious yank forward of powerful shoulder and an unfaltering purpose. The bastard had it coming. One round a few punches wasn’t enough to slake Din’s anger, the fumes of rage seeping into his skin and clouding his senses until all he could think of was making the asshole on the ground before him pay.

The practiced speed that Din wrapped his hands slowed at the rowdy group on the other side of the room. Dammit, for all the money they brought in, could these cheapskates not provide separate fucking changing rooms so he didn’t have to be subjected to idiots jacking themselves up on testosterone and false hope?

But pissing contests and fragile masculinity weren’t what caught his attention. He could tune that bullshit out like a fine art. What caught Din’s attention was the obvious death wish one of his possible opponents had – if he even managed to get that far up the ranks to Din – when he waved a red flag in front of the boxers’ metaphorical bull.

“See that one in the front row? You know the one I’m talking about.”

Bawdy agreements and asinine gestures raked up Din’s spine, thorny—and prickling nerves of instinct that made him pause the music blaring in his ears. He fucking hated the scum he came across in these fights. Gang members, criminals—the dredges of humanity he sometimes worried he was part of.

“Gonna get her on her knees choking on my cock before the night is out. Sluts like that love titles, champions—why else do they attend? Good excuse to win tonight, eh fellas?”

“Do you wanna completely destroy your career?” Paz yelled over the chortles and raucous cheers for more, for revenge—for everything under the poor fallacy of a sun that strung in dim, bald bulbs along the notoriously infamous Avika fighting ring.

Din thought you would be safe, arrogantly assuming people would avoid even looking at you once they saw who you were with. And you had been—you were safe, but even he couldn’t protect you from the thoughts of others.

The larger man struggled with him, dragging him out of the ring when it was obvious his words were falling on deaf ears. All Din could hear was the little pricks voice in his head from hours before.

Din stood.

Inhaled, exhaled—tried those bullshit breathing exercises that were supposed to focus his mind before a fight. Help to rein in a temper like his from overflowing in devastating tidal waves to destroy all around him. Din didn’t lose his temper often—but when he did, it was lethal.

The breathing exercises didn’t work.

Because the idiot kept talking.

“Did you see the ass on that?”

Leers sounded from his group of friends. Encouraging the vile words that Din always knew came from a man who felt entitled to a woman’s body. He had seen enough of the underbelly of the world to know what that led to time and again. Din might have been shameless in his youth and even until recently when it came to sex, to one night stands, to women—but he fucking respected the girls he fucked or didn’t fuck.

“Traipsing around in a dress like that? She’s looking for the attention,” the asshole defended himself when one of his party voiced an alternative point of view. They were promptly shut down and didn’t speak again.

Din’s blood turned to ice. An image of you running a hand down his arm on your way to your seat when you parted ways for him to get ready, dress sinfully tight but effortlessly classy—a zip front he was dying to pull open with his teeth later that night.

“It’ll look so good with my cock buried in it…”

The ice in his blood turned to fury, white hot and molten as he tied off the tape at his wrists—throwing the roll into the dingy locker he had been given for the evening. The clatter of noise from where it slammed against the metal back was the only warning he was planning on giving them. The lull of conversation was fleeting, his warning going unheeded—when dim-witted morons didn’t read the murder in his gaze.

Looks like they weren’t nearly as intelligent as the pigs he thought them to be.

Grabbing his water bottle and phone, Din stalked towards the chipped door—distracting himself with a text of “don’t go anywhere alone in this place, sweetheart. Ask Paz to go with you” sent to you without a second thought.

The immediate response of “Yes yes I know, for the thousandth time. Don’t worry and focus on yourself” did little to assuage the roar of blood in his ears. There was only one thing he heard over the noise, one thing as his vision became hued in red and fixated on a single target.

“Wonder if she’ll let me fuck her there too—can’t imagine she’s a virgin but her ass will still probably be tighter than her cunt.”

Bald headed and littered in scars and tattoos of a gang known for their viciousness, the other boxer – if he could even be called that – thrust vulgarly into the air, mimicking the hold he would have on the girl. Din’s girl.

The fucker had a death wish.

And Din was only too happy to play the part of the grim reaper.

His friends voice hardly registered over that same ringing in his ears, the roar of protective aggression at the lecherous sneer on the other man’s face who now lay in a heap in the dirt, the filth he spewed about his masseuse, his girl. How beady eyes, cold and villainous dared to drift away from Din before the bell sounded—over his shoulder, to where he knew you were sitting. Knowing your body had been tainted by the gaze of a man who would sooner take what he wanted from you by force than look at you with anything akin to the respect you deserved—it made something snap inside of Din.

And he attacked.

He was lucky he had only been disqualified.

He was damn lucky no one called the cops.

But the perks of underground fighting, was that everyone who attended had something to hide. And no one wanted to be caught in the middle of shady transactions or betting on fighters to beat each other to a pulp. Hell, the savagery Din subjected the other guy to was exactly what half the fuckers who showed up hoped to see.

Din wasn’t just a nameless street fighter though, not anymore. He had something to lose. Any smear on his record for assault and he would be suspended from tournament participation quicker than the asshole’s body dropped after a crushing blow under the jaw by Din’s right uppercut.

Thank fuck Din’s main sponsor was equally as shady. A good man by Din’s logic, but merciless when it came to succeeding. Din being benched was the surest way to make his benefactors patience run out. No, Paz was right—Boba even more so when he clocked Din good in the cheek after Paz wrestled the irate male out of the ring.

“You fucking idiot, bloodlust is an ugly image, boy—”

“I am not a boy—” Din snapped at Boba, teeth bared and bloody from his split lip, neck straining when he spat the words viciously at his long-time coach. He ran his tongue over the metallic tang of blood before spitting it out of his mouth onto the dirt flooring by the chaotic rows of metal seating.

“You almost killed a guy in the ring, you little shit,” Boba snarled with equal venom, matching the anger reflected in Din’s gaze with furious sense Din didn’t want to witness.

“Let me go,” was all Din growled, eyes never leaving his coach’s even when Paz loosened his arms around his chest. Heaving, coal black eyes darkened dangerously and stabbed the former boxer with a dare to try and restrain him again. The other man shook a rope of dreadlock that had come loose from the strip of leather he kept his hair tied in and made to say something when Din interrupted,

“Where is she?”

Paz closed his mouth, heavy brows furrowing over his eyes as recognition dawned in their dark hues,

“Is that what this is about? Dammit, vod—it’s not like she’s your girlfriend, isn’t that what you always say?”

“Don’t fucking try me tonight—” Din snapped aggressively, the threatening hum between the two men charged to dangerous voltage.

“Din?”

Your voice washed over him – aloe on the burns his fury had scorched his skin with – and he was making his way over to you in the next moment, mind battling with instinct as he ignored the calls and curses of his friends.

Mine.

Not yours—

Mine.

He moved with feral grace, parting the sea of people who bleated from the sidelines but cowered in his presence once his attention was facing them and there was no canvas or rope to separate boxer from spectator. They were lucky. He didn’t see them. Would step on them if they were stupid enough to stay in his path. All he could see, was you—watching him with confusion and concern marring those pretty features, absent of fear in the face of an incensed, adrenaline fueled boxer post fight.

He exhaled a growl as he came to stand before you, the sound cavernous and deep in his chest—the hands you had lifted to examine his face intercepted by his own when he grabbed them. His fingers wrapped fully around your wrists, and he was reminded of how fragile you were – even if you worked out whenever you could and had a will of iron that would make you whack him for saying that – and just how easily a man like him, any of the fighters here tonight—could hurt you.

Never.

They wouldn’t dare.

Not with him around.

But how could they know?

How would they know to stay the fuck away from you?

Knuckles stained with dirt and blood; his hand rasped against the softness of your palm as he dragged you in the direction of the unused backstage waiting room fighters had been offered as a changing room. Where this whole fucking thing started.

“Din—Din, what the hell happened up there?”

You jogged behind him to keep up with his pace, long legs taking him farther than your shorter ones could when confined to the heels you had worn for the night out. He stalked through the dimly lit corridors to the flaky, chipped door with a temporary sign on lined paper with “ATHLETES” scrawled along the front of it like some ironic joke.

He almost bent the worn, cheap metal handle in half—nearly pulled it from its socket with how hard he tore the door open and dragged you over the threshold inside.

You whirled on him with a huff, eyes flashing and hands planting on your hips in growing annoyance.

“Din will you just—”

You didn’t get another word out.

His wrapped hands cupped your cheeks between them, his mouth on yours hungrily when he bent over you. Biting, clawing, desperate—the kiss was more a battle of tongue and teeth than anything else. There was nothing soft, nothing slow or affectionate about the way his teeth sank into your bottom lip so hard you gasped. The way the blood seeping from his split lip painted yours in a crimson rouge—smeared and varnishing you in a visceral mark of his claim.

“Mine,” he snarled unknowingly into your mouth, lapping his tongue along the prairies of your tastebuds, plundering the depths of your mouth to brand every inch of you he could reach. Inside and out. His hands had the same idea, forming down over the shape of your curves as he walked you back blindly to the disused vanity pushed against the closest wall. Topped with a row of mirrors undoubtedly used by performers for whatever this place had once been used for, the glass was now aged with discoloration.

It didn’t matter.

He didn’t have eyes for anything but you as he hiked your legs up to perch you on the edge, your fingers curled into the taut muscles at his neck and clawing down over the sweat slick muscles of his pecs—catching on flat nipples that made ripples of pleasure heat his body further. Mad him tangle a hand in your hair, yank your head back harshly and meet your eyes with dark desire before dropping to your neck. His newest target.

“Din…” your irritated, questioning tone had morphed to fervent sighs. His tongue mapped a trail from the corner of your mouth – tasting the tang of his own blood – to the rapid tattoo of your pulse, a delicate sheen of perspiration beginning to shimmer on your flushed skin from the arousal. Another layer of flavor for him to get drunk on.

So fucking hot under his hands.

So beautiful.

So his.

“Mine,” he repeated into the curve of your neck, framed by tremulous stretches of muscle either side that he carved with scrapes of his teeth to leave tracks of slow fading pink grazes before he bit into it. Your legs – already open and inviting him to settle between them – crossed at the ankles around his narrow hips to keep him close. It was fucking intoxicating the way he could make you feel, the desperate need he had for you.

Months of sleeping together, of knowing his body so intimately had given you a rare insight to his emotions whether he knew it or not. And you knew he didn’t need to talk right now, he needed to fuck. To work through whatever had affected him so badly in hard kisses and rough hands on your soft flesh. It didn’t stop your stomach from flipping at his possessive words though, deliriously spoken but whispering the unacknowledged desires you had for him beyond his body.

“Yours,” you admitted before you could stop yourself, your hand cupping under his jaw to lift his mouth back to yours. His raspy moan at your agreement turned positively filthy when you carded short nails through his damp hair. Din was weak to having his hair stroked, his staunch dominance buckling in violent shivers of pleasure when you dragged those skilled fingers down the back of his skull and neck.

Traipsing around in a dress like that…

His eyes flew open, and he broke the kiss—ripped his mouth from yours to press his forehead to yours, eyes searching while his free hand ran indulgently up your torso to the neckline of your dress,

“Never let anyone disrespect you, sweetheart—” he rumbled, his fingers already undoing the zip of the dress, the nude pink material tempting to the eye and celebrating those features you were most proud of—that he found irresistible to know you loved. That someone could make you uncomfortable in those clothes… fucker. He snarled and pressed a long kiss to your mouth, large hands spreading the sides of the dress open wide – no underwear, baby? – and shucked the material down your arms to leave you bare before him.

His appreciation for your body – fucking gorgeous – was only tampered by the frustration he had with himself at the noise of confusion you made at his words. Of course, you hadn’t heard anything that asshole had said thankfully—but fuck, he couldn’t get it out of his head. You read his desperation somehow, and nodded slowly with puzzled eyes, teeth sinking into your swollen bottom lip as you leaned back on your hands.

So trusting…

Fuck.

It made alarm and something akin to fear rise swell uncomfortably in his throat.

He tried again.

“Never let anyone take advantage of you,” he whispered against your mouth in earnest, his hands running up your bare thighs to press his thumbs into the seams of your legs and hips, “tell me—”

His mouth dropped to your collarbone, funneling those feelings into lapping down to your heaving breasts, sucking a nipple into his mouth with a groan and befuddling your mind to his request until he nipped the swollen peak – say it, baby – and caused your head to fall back against the mirror,

“Yes—yes,” you moaned, “I won’t—”

He snarled internally, dammit. Hearing you say it didn’t help. He wanted to say how he wouldn’t let anyone disrespect you, how he wouldn’t let anyone ever take advantage of you. But he couldn’t. Had to frame it like advice he would give any woman he knew instead of speaking it like the promise he wanted to make.

Din had been fucking you for the last few months now, exclusively after only a few months—but it never went beyond that. He had no reason, no excuse to be worried over your life or safety or what you did when you weren’t in his bed. He wasn’t expected to be involved in your life the way a friend or family member was. Not the way a boyfriend was.

He didn’t do relationships. Never had. Too much trouble and frankly—he liked his privacy, his space—and liked not being accountable to anyone but himself. The consequences of any shitty decisions he made would fall on him and him alone. If he demanded that of the women he slept with and then insisted on inserting himself into their lives in the next breath, he would be a hypocrite. And Din hated hypocrites.

He couldn’t.

But fuck. He never wanted to hear someone speak that way about you, never wanted them to think they had the slightest chance with a woman like you. His blood boiled at the notion of someone else’s hands on you, his tempered flared when he imagined your pleasure or smiles, or laughter give to someone who didn’t deserve you.

Like he did?

Fuck no, he knew he didn’t.

He never said he wasn’t selfish though, and he coveted you with sinful greed.

“Fuck me, baby—please, please—” you mewled into his neck as your hands that had started all of this with that first massage, fit into the sliver of space between your bodies to stroke along his cock over his shorts impatiently. His head fell back, and his mind blissfully emptied for a moment, grunting your name at the frisson of pleasure before those damned memories resurfaced again.

Look at the ass on that.

That.

Her. You weren’t a thing, a possession. You were—

He snarled. Misplaced anger manifesting in aggressive passion as he grabbed your wrist from where you stroked him to pin behind your back on the vanity.

“Always so eager, aren’t you—” he grinned darkly when you nodded, “turn around.”

The command was delivered low and dangerous, more a rumble of noise—deep echoes of jungle predators crackling like the kindling of threat, inspiring awareness that one wrong move would be fatal. But you never made a wrong move—not for as long as he had known you. Whether it was alleviating a pain deep in his muscles that had bothered him for months or pushing yourself slowing off the vanity to your feet as you were now—you always knew what he needed.

Wisps of hair fell into his eyes as he watched you—the decided turn of your naked body to dace the mirror—eyes never leaving his even as they caught them again in the aged glass. Bending forward, your ass pressed into the front of his shorts, and you rested your elbows on the vanity.

Perfect.

He didn’t realize he had whispered the word as he pressed his mouth between your shoulder blades, tongue trailing down the arch of your spine while his hands kneaded plush cheeks—spreading them and exposing your slick cunt to the cool air. The hitches in your breath, small squirms of your hips for relief—they all fed into his desire for you.

And he desired you. Constantly.

“I’m gonna eat your pussy until you can’t stand, baby—and then I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t speak,” he muttered against the shell of your ear, massive bulk bowed over your back and shadowed eyes – the duality of warm walnut and lethal obsidian – bore into yours through the glass.

“I want them all to know who you belong to,” he nipped your ear, flicking his tongue along the cartilage—the black ink on his back catching the light as his muscles rippled with movement, a roll of pleasure from your ass grinding back against him with a whimper of his name, “so don’t be quiet this time, sweetheart.”

Your eyes fluttered open molasses slow from where they had dropped closed at his words,

“What—what hap—” you tried to turn your head, the concern mingled with lust in those gorgeous, honest eyes making warning bells blare painfully – too close – and he silenced you with a kiss. Swallowing the worry that hinted at feelings that surpassed those expected from a fuck buddy, he buried it deep inside himself, in the shadows like a coward. To be locked away where he would remain safe from it.

Your tongue grew sloppy with a moan when he ground his crotch into your ass—dragging the solid thickness of his clothed cock between your soaked folds and up against your tight rear entrance.

Wonder if she’ll let me take her there…

Bastard.

He sucked on your tongue with a groan of your name, hand releasing your cheeks to fan up your ribcage and cup your breasts. You jerked in sensitivity when rough hands pinched sore nipples – he fucking loved how sensitive your tits got just before your period. The cry you released was nothing short of musical, tempting him lower as he kissed down your spine—wrapped hands sanding down over your ribs again when he lapped around the rim of your ass, circling it before he traced lower.

You were dripping.

He dropped to his knees behind you, eyes drunken with an ingrained pride that he was the one in this position, looking at the petals of your swollen pussy glistening with arousal he inspired from just a few kisses and rolls of his hips. He kept his eyes on the steady trickle of wetness from your twitching entrance, his teeth grazing distractedly down the back of your thigh as he did so.

A finger ruddy with flecks of dried blood caught a string of your arousal – don’t waste a drop – and he sucked it between his lips with an approving groan, the noise of your whimpers the perfect accompaniment. Blood and lust. The essence of humanity, that was what he tasted when he sucked his finger clean. It tasted like life. And he wanted more.

A sharp crack echoed through the room when his hand came down hard on one cheek, and again... and again—each strike making that dripping wetness gush until he couldn’t hold back anymore. He buried his face in your cunt, nosing at your entrance and tongue spreading puffy lips apart so he could trace in pitter patter swipes through your folds—greedily gathering anything he could get on his tongue before swallowing. Dehydrated on the sands of depravity and sordid company—your cunt was an oasis of relief where he eagerly drank his fill.

You tried to move, your hips slamming up against the edge of the vanity – that’ll bruise – and you keened with a shuddering cry when his mouth simply followed your attempt to escape the onslaught of pleasure that was too much too soon.

“Fuck—fuckfuckfuck—” you gasped, dropping a hand back to tangle in his hair, dragging him closer despite your protests. Mm, he loved when you got like this—overstimulated from the first touch. No matter how much you whined, no matter how many times he wiped tears that smudged your makeup when he unraveled orgasm after orgasm from the knots inside you—he knew you loved the intensity as much as he did.

He spanked you again – take it – your cheeks red and beautiful when he spread them side for him to spit directly onto your quivering cunt. His saliva dribbled and mixed with your juices to gather over your clit, his mouth forming over the little bud enthusiastically, urged by your slow ruts back against his face to streak his face with your essence.

“More—” you whimpered.

“Greedy—” he growled back.

The sound of your breathless laugh meshed delightfully with the swallow of a moan – guttural and primal – and made his cock twitch in his shorts. His hips snapped up uselessly from where he was kneeling—finding no purchase or warm embrace to bury itself in as his tongue took that pleasure for itself.

It licked and curled with practiced, seemingly illogical strokes along your clit and up to your entrance—sloppily kissing it before his tongue dove into your tight depths, thumb working in quick circles over your clit. He knew exactly what to do to make you come undone.

Your first orgasm was sudden—strong and surprising. He hadn’t even fucking fingered you and you were already spasming around nothing. Your muscles tensed as you went on your toes to lean even further on the vanity, trying to escape his tongue that worked you through each wave—drowning you in the pleasure he knew only he could give you. You were his. His his his his h—

You sobbed his name, a raw answer to his internal mantra his mind struggled against and failed to overcome.

Din wanted you.

He wanted your body, your mind, your time—he wanted what Paz had.

Fuck.

The way the older man mooned and gazed with shameless adoration for the little baker he had fallen for in so short a time. Hell, Din teased him over it constantly. And maybe he didn’t want that—but he wanted something. Din wanted something with you. Wanted you to visit him in the gym and stop him mid set just to kiss him and tell him that you would wait for him to finish so you could go home together. He wanted to buy you flowers without having to think of a fucking excuse like last time to distance himself from the sentimentality. He wanted to open his front door and feel our presence as more than just a visitor. That a toothbrush and the stray pieces of clothing you forgot at his place would turn to shoes at the door and your taste in décor mixing with his.

Din wanted you.

But he had no idea how to do anything but fuck you. He didn’t know how to date or be romantic. Was clueless to things like companionship—to the softer emotions he knew you craved. That all people craved. Din had no idea how to do any of it.

You lay with your cheek on the wooden surface of the vanity, eyes half-closed and spacey as you watched him lift his head from your pussy, face shiny from your release and when he licked over his lips, still hungry for more—you mewled.

“Don’t tap out on me yet, sweetheart.”

You shook your head, a whimper and almost childish refusal while your cheek remained plastered to the vanity, all strength having left your body and an adorable pout trying to lie and tell him you couldn’t take any more.

“Mm, yes you can—” he answered you, dragging his mouth back up your slit and along your tight ass where he lapped at the rim again. Later. It took time for him to stretch you to take his size—it was better left for when he had you in his apartment and could take his time.

His hand followed his mouths direction as it continued up to meet your mouth—smirking against your lips at the whimpers you made from the slaps he gave your pussy—the obscene, wet sound filling the area with each slap slap slap until his hand was damn near slipping every time he struck your cunt from how wet it was.

A bang on the door—a harsh slap to your pussy so you would moan just right for him, and he growled out a threatening “occupied” to whoever was outside. You were too high strung to even notice.

“No one else can have you,” he rasped darkly into your temple, his free hand tangling in the strands to pull your head back against his shoulder—the position no doubt edging on uncomfortable with the way your spine and neck were arched back—moUlded into his hard frame. Your eyes fell to half mast even as your lips parted—still smeared with specks of blood you hadn’t yet licked or chewed off—and he bit your jaw in warning.

“No one else—” you parroted, your hot breath fanning over his cheek even as you rocked back against him, a steel confidence entering your fucked out gaze—mercurial in the swirling heat, “just like no one else can have you.”

The boldness of your words, the conviction spoken in that voice of wooden flutes and bubbling creeks made his blood light with fire—yes. As much as he anted you, he yearned for you to crave him in return.

“No one else,” he repeated your words back to you, rutting his hips against you when his cock pulsed with a negligent ache that demanded to be addressed. He kept one hand in your hair when he pushed his shorts down enough to free his leaking cock, the turgid length swollen and angry as he rubbed the tip between your lips.

Maybe he would buy you flowers tomorrow, after all.

Din gave you no time to prepare yourself – that’s my girl – sliding inside you with one brutal thrust that had you pushed up against the mirror and his cock engulfed in fiery bliss. He felt the heat run up his spine, a volcanic metamorphism into marble as his muscles froze in an immediate pause to stop himself from spilling inside you after one damn thrust.

You weren’t doing much better—one hand clawing for purchase on the mirror and the other digging your nails into his hip as you panted his name, an incoherent string of curses and praise as your sensitive walls convulsed around him. The position had him pressed right against that one spot he cock curved up against that could make you see stars and your care for being caught dissipate in cries of ecstasy.

“Baby—fuck please, so—too deep—” you whimpered in inane babbles, tightening in residual spasms from your orgasm and the sudden intrusion of his cock, still a stretch after all these months. Too deep… he snorted, rolling his hips hard to try shove himself deeper still. He could never get deep enough, always wanting more—always seeking to conquer the untouched lands of your body.

“Mm, want me to stop?” he teased, dragging his hips back with a smirk at your immediate rejection of no no no fuck—please, no—hand pathetically trying to drag him closer to you by the hip. Lovely little thing… thinking you were strong enough.

“That’s better…” he purred, relief washing over him when he pulled out—the walls of your cunt stretching around him, refusing his exit, and trying to keep him nestled inside you. The pace he chose was brutal. He fucked you like he fought tonight. Violently, mercilessly—and deaf to the calls to relent. But where he wanted his opponent to suffer, he wanted to devastate you with pleasure, enrapture you with ecstasy and leave you moaning his name where others would curse it.

Wet cock slapping as he pounded into you in short, frantic ruts – need you baby… fuck I need you – there was no time for you to catch a full breath before he was knocking it out of you again. His fingers had to tighten in your hair to keep you up – your body trembling under his as he sank his teeth into the taut muscle at your neck and his cock sank into your welcome body – exposed and waiting for him to litter in his signature.

He would never get enough of the way his marks looked on your skin—the way you decorated him in yours. You were powerless to do much else than accept them right now – likely getting him back later – boneless and weak under the attack of his mouth and the dominance of his body.

He would make sure everyone in this fucking shithole of a place knew who you were with. They would have to be blind not to notice the blotches of poppy bruises snaking down your neck with the elusion to more hidden from unworthy eyes. The smudge of your mascara as tears pearled like crystals in the corner of your eyes when you glanced at him in strung out bliss.

“M-more—” you begged, dropping one of your hands between your legs to rub at your clit—fingers splitting around the girth of his cock as he fucked you to feel the thick length disappear into you over and over, the soaked mess amassed from your frantic desire for each other trickling down your thighs.

“Yeah?” he grinned, breathless and sweating for much more pleasing reasons than he had been in the ring, a languid kiss to your neck as he hiked one of your knees up onto the vanity—spreading you wider for him to sink deeper.

You spasmed, your head falling back against his shoulder with a cry.

“Yes—there, there baby, fuck you feel so good…” you rambled, fingers working feverishly over your clit in wet strokes, grazing his balls every time they slapped against your skin and making him muffle his moan in your neck.

Rolling a nipple between his fingers, his large—bloodied hand completely swallowed your breast, squeezing it and tickling sounds that belonged to him from you and into his mouth when you kissed him. One last kiss before you collapsed back onto the vanity, and he stood to his full height so he could ruin you with his cock.

His name was the only thing you remembered as he split you open with full, hard thrusts—the entire length of his cock stretching your tight walls around it and playing along raw nerves already on the brink of another orgasm.

“Gonna cum, sweetheart—” he strained, desperate for release as he watched himself fuck you in the mirror—him behind your smaller body, squirming under the pleasure while his muscles bunched and relaxed with each snap of his hips—the veins in his forearms prominent and tendons taut as he poured all that training and dedication and determination into you, into pleasing you.

“Inside—inside, Din fuck, please—”

His mind emptied. Nothing else mattered about tonight—not the fight, not the disqualification, not the rage. Your eyes—cloudy with lust and achingly trusting as you looked back at him were all he could think about. Nodding without even realizing, the thought of filling you running in his mind on a loop.

“Fuck—!”

He wanted you to cum before him, he always did—but he was so high strung, so tense that he couldn’t stop himself, burying himself to the hilt with several punched out moans—exhaled rapture with every pump of his seed against your waiting womb. Your eyes rolled closed at the amount, bloating you with his release and as he came, you worked your clit frantically—chasing that addictive edge you gladly hurled yourself over at just the thought of him coming inside you.

Din dropped his forehead to your shoulder with a gasp, your spasming walls too much on his sensitive length but he had to stay inside—the contractions of pleasure, the gush of your release might push his out. He couldn’t have that. So, he gritted his teeth, mumbled husky praise – good girl, that’s it—just like that, soak me – to work you through your orgasm and pressed open mouth kisses to sweaty skin, the salt tickling his tongue as he caught his breath.

His mouth worked over the sweep of your shoulder, up your neck to your jaw when your orgasm subsided, purring your name and nonsensical strings of words he had no idea made sense or not. He finally eased his softening cock out of you slowly when you shifted your hips—testing your strength and finding it lacking when you realized both he and the vanity were what kept your legs up.

“Feel… feel better?”

“Mhm…” he confirmed noncommittally, nuzzling the marks beginning to bloom and darken like a forbidden garden only he was allowed indulge in the scent of. One of his hands ran absently down the back of your thigh, feeling for his release—pleased to feel nothing but your sticky arousal, his own still nestled inside your sore cunt.

“Want one of those crepes you’re always raving about from that twenty-four hour place?” he purred, helping you stand—going so far as to pull the straps of your dress back up so that zipping the metal teeth would be easier. Your eyes brightened despite the lazy, satiated fatigue hiding in their orbs.

“Gino’s?”

“Mm,” he nodded, looking down from his greater height and lips quirking in an annoying desire to smile when one – bright as daylight – broke out on yours.

You nodded quickly, looping your arms around his neck to drag him down to your mouth, kissing him good and proper while his hands fell under the still open sides of your dress to settle on bare hips,

“Are you ever going to tell me what set you off tonight?” you mumbled against his lips cautiously, the ghost of a smile from the promise of dessert still lingering but a hesitant worry entering your gaze, unsure if his mood would sour again.

It didn’t.

He nudged his nose along yours, aquiline curve slotting along yours as he hummed in thought, thumbs rubbing lazily into your hips,

“Maybe later,” he settled on and captured your lips again.

You left the changing room together, his gym bag slung over one shoulder and his free arm wrapped around your shoulder—nose never leaving your temple or nuzzling into your hair with blatant affection as you blushed at how obvious it was to anyone who saw you what you had been doing.

You had both tried to tidy yourselves—cleaning the corners of your makeup and trying to flatten your mused hair was about all you could do. Din didn’t even attempt to cover the freshly fucked look of messy hair and heavy eyes as he pulled an unzipped Mythosaur Gym hoodie on over his muscle shirt.

A group were passing in the corridor as you asked him something—his former opponent with one eye swollen shut from the bruises forming around his eye, jaw, and cheeks. Din answered you easily, an automatic response to whatever you were asking as his eyes met his opponents, cold fury and arrogant pride flashing in their depths.

You remained none the wiser as you passed the group, Din’s body protectively placed between you and them. He probably should have told you; he knew you wouldn’t be swayed by it—comfortable in your body as you were, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He could protect you from slander and toxicity at the very least—and he planned to. Even if he had to do so in the shadows for now.

For himself, the swelling and bruising on the idiots’ face weren’t the only thing he had to satisfy himself with. He was the one whose cum was still buried inside you, clinging to your thighs and keeping you slick and wet for him to add more to later when he got you back to his place. And as you glanced up at him with a disarming smile after he dropped his hoodie over your shoulders without a thought once you both were outside in the crisp air of the early morning darkness—he secretly hoped that he would be the only one to have that privilege from then on.

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[guiltygearofficial]

Guilty Gear Plot Summary: Guilty Gear 1: The Missing Link

Welcome dear Gearsters! I have been informed that many of you look forward to Guilty Gear Strive, but unfortunately haven’t played all the old games yet! This is something that is understandable, not everybody has time to play every game in a franchise before tackling the newest entry, so I shall summarize every game before Guilty Gear Strive so you can fully enjoy Guilty Gear Strive’s Story Mode once it releases!

-Daisuke Ishiwatari

In the year of 1999, an event occured that would one day (today) be known as The Dawn of Revival

During this event all electronics suddenly ceased to function. Bummed out by the fact that TV wasn’t a thing anymore and the internet died in its infancy, humanity turned to its favorite hobby, from before the invention of electricity: Christianity.

A bunch of wizards calling themselves the Apostle 13 and their Homeboy The Original informed humanity about the fact that magic is real and also pretty cool

In the following years humanity learned how to magic. This was similarly real and also pretty cool.

Then the Gears (currently not guilty of anything yet) were invented by a group of scientists in A Country (The usa) for A Purpose (War & Cash)

Within this Gear Project known as The Gear Project were three scientists that are actually plot relevant: Freddy Mercury, His Girlfriend and That Man [DO NOT PUBLISH THIS YET COME UP WITH A NAME FOR THE THIRD GUY LATER)

Due to Reasons (No Money), the programm was shut down in 2014, until it stopped being shut down in 2042(They Found More Money).

Freddy mercury also disappeared somewhere around this time for some reason

In 2073 That Man [AGAIN DO NOT PUBLISH YET] creates the Ultimate Gear: Justice who could command all other gears and end all wars forever.

Justice then proceeded to blow up in Japan and start a forever war.

Oops

FYI: The Gear is now Guilty (of blowing up japan)

Humanity then proceeded to refuse to change society and reflect upon themselves and instead, blamed the beasts (for a lot of murder and also global warming) in a 100 year long war that would eventually be called The Crusades

Near the end of this 100 year war, a mysterious bounty hunter named fredSol Badguy appeared, who helped The Holy Order (Christian LARPers that fought gears) seal away Justice into the No Escape Box

5 years later, in the year 2180, the Second Holy Order is held, to find somebody to fight Justice again because the No Escape Box is breaking

Whoever wins the tournament gets to make any wish they want so a lot of weirdos join

Among them are May The PIrate Baby, Dr.Baldhead The doctor with no hair nor license, Zato-One who kills people for a living, Millia Rage who doesn’t kill people for a living (anymore), Kliff Undersn who is old, Potemkin a slave for the nation of Zepp (Giant Mean Zeppelin Country), Axl Low who is just some guy, Chipp Zanuff who owns the only volume of naruto in existence, Ky Kiske the personification of white bread and christanity and lastly, Sol Badguy, who is definetly not Freddy Mercury

During this tournament the following things happen:

Mays dad breaks out of prison. He was in prison for disrespecting women. He is now forced to wear a “I’m sorry women” hat whenever he is in public

Dr.Baldhead realized that mass murder was bad and put a bag on his baldhead to hide that he’s bald

Potemkin managed to stop Zepp from being Evil with the help of Gabriel, his new dad

Chipp realized that he one day wanted to become the president of his own nation so he got on that

Axl got thrown through time because he’s a time traveller remember this it’ll be important in 5 games

Kliff fucking died

At the end of the tournament, Sol Badguy faces Testament, the secret organizer of the tournament. He informs Sol that actually this was all a plan to revive Justice.

Testament gets his ass beat and dies, but don’t worry, he got better.

After that, Justice returns.

Justice gets her ass beat and dies, but don’t worry, she didn’t get better

Sol Badguy and Justice talk to each other, revealing their secret former identities: Freddy Mercury and his Girlfriend Aria

Sol then reveals that he also became a gear at some point. Now that his girlfriend is dead, he is sad about that and has officially become the Guilty Gear 1: The Missing Link

After that Zato-One proceeds to die offscreen before the next game

I hope that this has answered all questions you may have about the original game dear Gearsters! Remember to always Gear on Gearsters and look forward to the summary of the next games!