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ha-rinrin · 9 months ago

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Dare to Disrupt

soo, where is a little peak of how the piltover x reader fic is going

i had to make it all over again cause I wast satisfied with the original idea, thats why is taking so long

masterlist

In Piltover, life runs like a well-crafted machine. The sun rises on time, the gears of industry turn, and the people march to the rhythm of progress. It’s a city built on order and precision—where every street, every invention, every person seems to have their place.

Including you.

You wake up to the soft chime of your alarm, a reminder of the day ahead. Your apartment is neat, compact, perched high in one of Piltover’s quieter districts. The shelves are lined with polished tools, inventions stacked neatly in the corners, waiting for their turn in the spotlight. Everything here has its place, just like in the city below.

Breakfast is the same as always—tea, a pastry from the bakery down the street. There’s something reassuring about the routine, the predictability of it all. You follow the same path every morning: workbench, breakfast, streets buzzing with life. You’ve built a steady career here in Piltover, rising through the ranks as an inventor. Your gadgets are useful, respected, admired by your peers.

And yet, even as you go through the motions, there’s this quiet voice in the back of your mind that never quite goes away—a small whisper that says you don’t completely belong.

Piltover is orderly. You’re not sure if you are.

Your work is precise, just like the city demands. Today, you’re refining the design of a tool for the enforcers—something sleek and efficient, like everything in Piltover. It’s good work, and you’ve always been proud of your ability to meet the city’s high standards. But sometimes, it feels like you’re just building things to fit into a world that’s already decided what it wants from you.

The hours pass quickly, your hands moving automatically as you adjust gears and wires, tightening bolts until everything snaps perfectly into place. There’s a strange comfort in it, the way everything fits together so seamlessly. But even as you work, a sense of detachment lingers. It’s like you’re on autopilot, going through the same steps you take every day, without really thinking.

Out the window, Piltover hums with its usual precision. The streets below are busy, but never chaotic. People move with purpose—engineers, merchants, enforcers, all playing their part in the city’s grand design. You watch them for a moment, feeling both a part of and apart from it all.

You’ve never really felt like you belong here. It’s not that you don’t fit in—on the surface, you do. You’re good at what you do, and you’ve earned respect in the circles that matter. But there’s always been something about Piltover’s endless order that makes you feel like you’re living in someone else’s world, following someone else’s rules.

Everything is so clean, so perfect, so planned. There’s no room for mistakes, no space for chaos or uncertainty. And while you can play the part, sometimes it feels like you’re just going through the motions—fitting into a mold that was made for someone else.

As the day wears on, you find yourself walking the same streets, greeting the same faces, moving through a life that feels too smooth, too scripted. You’ve spent years here, building a career, making a name for yourself. But it’s hard to ignore that small, nagging feeling that you’re not quite… yourself. Like you’re following the script Piltover handed you, but there’s something more just out of reach.

By the time you leave the workshop and head home, the sky has turned a soft orange, the city bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. You walk the same path you always do, passing the same shops, the same people. It’s all so familiar, yet it never quite feels right.

When you reach your apartment, you sit by the window, gazing out at the city. The towers of Piltover rise up, gleaming and pristine, a testament to progress and perfection. But your eyes drift past them, to the shadowy edge of Zaun, just visible in the distance. It’s a place you’ve only ever heard about—a world of smoke, steel, and chaos. A world that doesn’t follow the same rules.

You’ve never been to Zaun, never even thought about it seriously. But sometimes, in moments like this, you wonder what it would be like to live in a place where everything isn’t so perfectly ordered. Where things don’t have to fit neatly into a plan. Where people aren’t shaped by the city’s rigid expectations.

The thought fades as quickly as it came, replaced by the familiar weight of routine. You’ve built a life here in Piltover—a good one. You’ve worked hard to get where you are. But there’s a part of you that can’t help but wonder if you’re playing a role, rather than living a life that’s truly your own.

Another day, another invention, another step forward. Piltover’s clockwork continues to tick, and you’re just one more piece in its perfect mechanism.

But somewhere, deep down, you can’t shake the feeling that you were meant for something a little messier. Something a little less perfect.

You hear the explosion long before you see it.

It rips through the quiet of the evening, a deep, echoing boom that sends a shudder through the floor of your apartment. For a moment, everything is still, like the city itself is holding its breath. Then, the chaos begins. Alarms sound, people shout, and somewhere in the distance, you hear the heavy boots of enforcers rushing toward the disturbance.

You stand by the window, staring out at the skyline. From your vantage point, you can see the plume of smoke rising from one of Piltover’s lower districts. It’s not the first time something like this has happened—a malfunction, an accident, maybe even sabotage. But something about this one feels different. The blast was… bigger. Closer.

Suddenly, there’s a loud crash at your door, rattling the frame. You jump, heart racing. It’s not the typical noise of someone knocking. This is more like a kick. You instinctively move toward the door, hesitating for just a moment before throwing it open.

And there she is.

A wild figure bursts into your apartment, practically tumbling over the threshold. Her blue hair is a chaotic halo around her head, and her mismatched clothing is covered in soot and dirt. She’s grinning, a mixture of exhilaration and mischief in her eyes, but there’s something else there too—urgency.

"Let’s go, let’s go!" she shouts, grabbing your arm and pulling you inside. “I’m not sticking around to meet the welcoming committee!”

“Wait—who are you?” you manage to stammer, trying to catch up with the whirlwind that just entered your life.

“Name’s Jinx!” she exclaims, still tugging you further into your own apartment. “And I really hope you have a place to hide. Like, right now!”

You hear the thundering footsteps of enforcers echoing down the hallway, and it hits you—she must have come from the explosion you just witnessed. Your heart races as she pushes you further into your living room and slams the door behind her, locking it just as the sound of shouting grows louder outside.

“Are you insane?” you blurt out, struggling to comprehend what’s happening. “You can’t just barge in here!”

“Oh, but I can!” she replies, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “And I just did! Besides, what’s a little chaos between friends, right?”

You blink at her, caught off guard. Friends? You’re still grappling with the fact that a notorious troublemaker has just invaded your home, and she’s treating it like an everyday occurrence.

“What are you even running from?” you ask, trying to gather your thoughts as she flops down onto your couch, kicking her feet up onto your coffee table, clearly at ease.

“Enforcers! Boring, uptight, law-abiding enforcers!” she scoffs. “You’d think they’d have better things to do than chase me. I mean, can’t a girl blow up a building in peace?”

“Blow up a—” You can’t even finish your sentence, the chaos of the situation’s still overwhelming you. “That was you?!”

“Maybe,” she says, a smirk dancing across her lips. “But let’s not dwell on the details! You’re not going to turn me in, are you? I mean, what kind of monster would do that to a girl who just wants a little fun?”

Her tone is light, but there’s an underlying tension as she leans closer, her mismatched eyes searching yours. The thought flickers through your mind—what if you did? The enforcers would love a tip-off from a good little Pilty like you. You could snag a reward, maybe even some recognition for doing your civic duty.

“Why would I do that?” you blurt out, trying to sound indignant, but your heart races with the weight of the dilemma. Jinx’s eyes narrow slightly, a playful grin never leaving her face.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because it’s the right thing to do?” she replies with mock seriousness. “Or maybe you’re just itching for a pat on the back from the enforcers. You’re a smart cookie, right? They’d love to hear about the lunatic that just crashed into your life!”

She leans back on the couch, putting her hands behind her head, clearly reveling in your discomfort. “But hey, why do that when you could be the exciting one for a change? Live a little!”

You shake your head, feeling a mix of annoyance and intrigue. “I’m not a criminal, Jinx! I just—”

“Just what?” she cuts in, her voice teasing. “Want to sit around in your tidy little apartment and twiddle your thumbs? Come on! You have a chance to be a part of something thrilling. What’s the worst that could happen?”

You glance around your apartment, taking in the cluttered workbench and the half-finished projects. The thought of turning her in tempts you like a whisper in the dark. But there’s something about her reckless enthusiasm that draws you in, a spark of excitement in the mundane.

“What if I wanted to keep my hands clean?” you ask, your tone more challenging than defensive.

“Then you’ll just be another boring Pilty!” she counters, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Look, I get it. You’re scared. You don’t want to be tied up in my mess. But you’ve got a choice here! You can be the hero who turns me in, or you can be the legend who helps me stick it to the enforcers!”

You open your mouth to protest, but Jinx jumps to her feet, bouncing on her heels as if charged with energy. “And speaking of being legendary, let’s check out what you’ve got here!”

Without waiting for your response, she starts rummaging through your things, her wild energy radiating through the room. “Ooh! What’s this?” she exclaims, holding up a small device that looks like a cross between a gadget and a toy. “Looks like it could do some serious damage! Are you planning on selling this to the enforcers?”

“It’s just a utility tool!” you protest, feeling your cheeks flush. “I use it for small projects. Nothing too special.”

“Nothing too special?” she scoffs, glancing around at the scattered tools. “You’ve got a whole setup here! This place is just screaming ‘Pilty!’ Seriously, where’s the chaos? Where’s the fun?”

Her enthusiasm is infectious, but you can’t shake the unease creeping in the back of your mind. “This isn’t really the time for—”

“Oh, but it is!” she interrupts, her eyes sparkling. “Just think! You’ve got the perfect hideout for a crazy girl like me. And let’s be real, if you were going to turn me in, wouldn’t you have done it by now?” She flashes you a conspiratorial grin.

“I—” You hesitate, wrestling with the conflicting feelings of intrigue and fear. “I just don’t want to get caught up in this mess.”

“Caught up? Please!” Jinx waves her hand dismissively, her tone breezy. “You’ve already got me here, and I’m not going anywhere. So why not embrace the madness? Besides, it’s not like anyone would believe you. ‘Oh, I saw Jinx in my apartment!’ They’d think you’re insane!”

The idea of living a little more dangerously starts to sound appealing, but the nagging voice of caution remains. What if the enforcers do find out? What if they come looking for her?

But as you glance around your cluttered apartment, the weight of your monotonous life presses down on you. This is your chance—your chance to break free from the predictable routine that has left you feeling so hollow. You can feel the thrill of adventure bubbling just beneath the surface, and it tempts you like a whispered promise.

“Maybe I could just… help her,” you think, your pulse quickening. Jinx is a wild card, yes, but perhaps there’s a spark of excitement to be found in her chaos. The thought of being part of something bigger, something more vibrant, sends a rush through you. Maybe you don’t want to turn her in. Maybe you want to be part of her story.

“Okay, let’s say I don’t turn you in,” you find yourself saying, your voice steadier than you expected. “What then? What do you have in mind?”

Jinx’s grin widens, her excitement palpable. “Now you’re talking! We could make some noise, shake things up a bit! I’ve got plans, but I need someone smart to help me execute them. And who better than someone with all these fancy gadgets?”

You feel a mix of exhilaration and dread. This is what you’ve been craving—an escape from the mundane, a break from the predictable. But the idea of getting involved in something so reckless also terrifies you.

“What kind of plans?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, half hoping she’ll backtrack.

“Oh, just a little something to remind the enforcers who’s really in charge around here!” she replies with a wicked twinkle in her eye. “Nothing too crazy. Just a bit of mischief, maybe a few fireworks. You in?”

You take a deep breath, wrestling with the conflicting emotions swirling inside you. The thrill of possibility dances on the edge of your consciousness, but so does the fear of the consequences.

“Do you really think we can get away with it?” you ask, trying to gauge just how reckless this girl is willing to be.

“Of course we can!” she exclaims, as if the answer is obvious.

Her infectious energy begins to chip away at your reservations. The idea of becoming a part of something thrilling and rebellious is undeniably appealing. The enforcers would never suspect someone like you to get mixed up in something so wild.

“Just think,” she continues, leaning in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You could finally fill that empty spot in your life. Stop being just another face in the crowd”

“Stop being just another face in the crowd”

You feel a surge of adrenaline at her words, and suddenly the thought of joining her seems like a thrilling escape from the suffocating routine of your life. The dull ache of monotony that has lingered for so long begins to fade, replaced by a flicker of excitement.

“But what if we get caught?” you ask, your voice trembling slightly. “What if they find out I helped you?”

Jinx laughs, a sound that dances through the tension in the air. “Caught? Please! What do you think is going to happen? The enforcers are too busy chasing after me to worry about some nobody in a boring apartment! You’ll be fine. Besides, a little risk is what makes life worth living, right?”

She leans forward, her mismatched eyes alight with fervor. “Just imagine it! No more boring days. No more blending in with the walls”

A part of you craves that thrill—the idea of finally breaking free from the shackles of your ordinary life. The monotony of your routine suddenly feels like a cage, and Jinx is the key, offering an escape you never knew you wanted.

“What do you have in mind?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper as curiosity tugs at you.

“Alright!” she exclaims, a gleam of mischief dancing in her eyes. “I’ve been working on something big, and it’s going to be spectacular! All we need is a little ingenuity and a touch of chaos. First, we’ll need to grab some supplies from my stash—explosives, smoke bombs, maybe a few gadgets for distractions.”

“Explosives?” Your heart races, a mixture of fear and exhilaration flooding your veins. “How big are we talking?”

“Not too big! Just enough to make a statement,” she assures you, her grin widening. “Trust me, it’ll be a blast—literally!”

You watch her bounce around the room, rifling through your tools with a wild enthusiasm. Your heart beats faster with every passing moment, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within you. This is madness. But it’s also a chance to feel alive.

As she holds up a particularly colorful contraption, Jinx’s eyes shine with excitement. “What do you say, partner? Ready to dive headfirst into the chaos?”

You hesitate for a moment, weighing the thrill of adventure against the safety of your ordinary life. But the allure of the unknown, the intoxicating possibility of breaking free, pulls you in.

“Okay,” you say finally, a mixture of resolve and trepidation in your voice. “Let’s do this. But we have to be smart about it.”

Jinx’s laughter rings out, bright and infectious. “Smart? Who knew you had a wild side hidden beneath that boring exterior! Don’t worry; I’ve got a plan. We’ll be out in a flash and back before anyone even notices we’re gone.”

As she starts plotting out the details, you feel a rush of excitement coursing through you. The enforcers may come after Jinx, but for now, you’re ready to embrace the chaos. You’re ready to step into the unknown and shake off the monotony that has weighed you down for far too long.

Together, you’re about to step into a world where the stakes are high and the adrenaline is real, and for the first time in a long while, you feel truly alive.

With her by your side, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this is exactly what you’ve been waiting for.

#jinx arcane #jinx x reader #jinx x y/n #jinx/you #arcane jinx #jinx x fem!reader #jinx league of legends #jinx posting

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makingfanfictionstosleep · 2 months ago

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theirs to share

a/n : jjk characters not mine. contains heavy lemons / mature scenes as the story progresses. reverse harem. femoc x nanami/geto/gojo. jjk alternate au. Wattpad Link : Theirs to Share || Story Masterlist : Jujutsu Kaisen

<…previous ... next…>

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

TWENTYNINE

The drive to the hotel was quiet—one of those silences that didn’t beg to be filled. The adrenaline from the battle had long faded, leaving in its place the heavy lull of fatigue. You leaned your head against the tinted window, watching the city blur by in streaks of neon and shadow, muscles sore, your core still thrumming faintly with residual cursed energy.

Suguru sat beside you, one arm slung lazily over the back of your seat, head tilted slightly as he watched the road ahead. The Rainbow Dragon spirit that had guarded you so fiercely now rested in its compact form, curled inside the sleeve of his robe like a tattoo brought to life, dozing just like its master.

You let out a slow breath. “I just want a bath.”

“Mm,” he hummed in agreement, his voice low and gravelly from the fight. “A bath... and a massage. Maybe food. Then we’ll sleep for two days.”

You cracked a soft smile. “Together?”

He glanced at you, then gave a lazy grin. “Obviously.”

The car pulled into the grand circular drive of the Château Argentum, all glass, marble, and opulence. Bellhops moved efficiently, and as soon as you stepped out, someone took your bag with a bow. At the reception, the moment Suguru presented the black card, everything shifted. The staff stood straighter, whispered into earpieces, and addressed you both with quiet respect.

“The penthouse has already been prepared,” the concierge said with a smile. “The bath has been drawn, and we’ve arranged for two massage therapists to meet you there shortly. Would you prefer robes or a change of clothes first?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the seamless service. Suguru, however, just gave a small nod and murmured, “Robes. We’re not moving more than we have to.”

Moments later, you were escorted to the top floor, where the elevator opened to a private suite larger than most apartments. The scent of essential oils hung in the air, steam curling from the open bath area. City lights stretched out beyond the panoramic windows, glittering like a sea of stars.

You dropped your gear, already unfastening your jacket. Suguru was behind you, undoing the buttons on his shirt one by one with practiced ease.

“This,” he said as you both stood in the gentle warmth of the marble bath chamber, “might be the only mission reward I don’t complain about.”

You let out a tired laugh. “We earned this.”

He stepped into the tub first, then held out a hand for you. “Come on, elemental goddess. Let’s soak before the massage puts us both to sleep.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, your bodies could finally rest.

The suite’s private spa room was nothing short of indulgent. Soft lighting glowed from behind onyx-tiled walls, casting a sultry ambiance that shimmered off the water’s surface. The jacuzzi was already bubbling, steam curling around the edges like a beckoning whisper.

Suguru was already in, half-submerged in the warm water, his long hair down and damp, clinging slightly to his shoulders. The sculpted lines of his chest were slick under the soft golden glow, abs flexing subtly as he swirled the champagne in his hand. He looked utterly relaxed—powerful, in his element, and absolutely sinfully handsome.

You stepped out from the changing room in a bikini that was barely there—strategically designed, elegant but criminally minimal. It hugged every curve of your body, offering just enough coverage to tease. The cool air against your skin and the heat of his gaze had an instant effect on you. Your nipples peaked beneath the thin fabric of your top, pressed visibly against the material, drawing Suguru’s eyes like a magnet.

He noticed.

And as you hang your robe, your back turned to him, he drinks in the sight of you, eyes trailing over your curves. He lingers on your ass, the material disappearing between your cheeks. He imagines pulling those tiny bottoms aside, exposing you completely. He wants to touch you, to claim you, to ruin your tight hole. He's hard, his arousal growing with each passing second.

He didn’t say a word. Just slowly licked his lips, his dark eyes now clouded with unmistakable want.

You eased yourself into the water beside him, the heat instantly working into your sore muscles. His arm casually draped along the edge behind you, close enough that your shoulder brushed his bicep. His proximity was intoxicating, but it was the sensation of the spa jets that made your head tilt back with a soft, involuntary sound—half sigh, half mewl of relief.

Suguru’s fingers tightened around the champagne glass, his jaw ticking at the sound you made. That quiet, raw sound curled something deep inside him.

He leaned just a little closer, voice low and deliciously rough. “That sound again,” he murmured, “and I might forget this is supposed to be relaxing.”

Your lips curved. “Spa jets. They're doing things.”

His hand, warm and broad, brushed your knee under the water—deliberately casual. But the look in his eyes wasn’t casual at all.

The warm water lapped gently against your skin, the hum of the spa jets melting away the last traces of tension in your body. Suguru’s hand was still brushing slow, idle circles just beneath the surface of the water, close enough to make your nerves buzz—but it was his eyes that made you feel bare.

They weren’t just hungry anymore.

He turned his head toward you, letting his gaze drift—purposefully—from the glistening line of your collarbone, to the way your top clung wetly to your breasts, and then up to your face. There was something more intense there now. A thought unspoken—until he finally voiced it, low and smooth.

“You know…” he started, his voice like silk with a thread of gravel, “watching you fight today… I should’ve been more focused.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Focused on the mission?”

He chuckled once, dry and unapologetic. “No. Focused on not getting completely turned on by the way you moved.” His voice dipped even lower. “You were breathtaking. All grace, all fire. That blush you had—when you were pissed off, defending those kids? I wanted to bite it off your cheeks.”

Your breath caught, heat rising again, this time from a place far different than anger.

“I almost regretted taking this mission with you instead of Satoru or Nanamin,” he murmured, eyes dragging over your face like a touch. “Not because you’re lacking. Because you’re a damn distraction.”

You blinked, caught between flattered and flustered, until he leaned just a little closer. His tone changed—deeper, more earnest.

“But in all the best ways,” he added. “You’re not just strong—you’re terrifyingly good. The way you control the elements… the precision, the fluidity. It’s not just jujutsu, it’s art. And anyone who gets in your way doesn’t stand a chance.”

A slow, genuine smile curved your lips, blooming from something deep inside you.

Suguru noticed, and his hand found yours under the water, fingers lacing together.

“Just wanted you to know,” he said, squeezing gently, “you’re more than enough. More than strong. And so damn hot, it’s criminal.”

You smiled at his praise, but your heart was thundering for a whole different reason.

Because while Suguru had been distracted by the sight of you fighting… you had been just as guilty.

You didn’t say it out loud—but it replayed in your mind, vivid and visceral. The way he had moved earlier, fluid and powerful, dodging and striking with raw, unfiltered precision. No curses. Just him. Just that massive, sculpted body moving through the chaos like it was nothing—like he was born for it.

You remembered how your breath caught when he floored that last attacker, the crack of bone echoing through the hangar. How the sleeves of his shirt clung to his biceps, how his back flexed under the fabric, how his hair came loose and wild in the scuffle.

And you’d been thinking—not that you’d admit it—that if a man could move like that in a fight… gods, what would it be like if he moved like that in bed?

A delicious shiver rippled down your spine.

You’d probably die. Or ascend. Or both.

Pinned under all that strength, all that heat—you wouldn’t even fight it. You’d welcome it. You’d crave it.

But you kept that thought to yourself, biting your lip gently as you leaned into the jacuzzi’s jets and the champagne haze, trying not to let the images devour you.

Beside you, Suguru had no idea just how thoroughly you were affected under his presence—or maybe he did, because he looked over again, his eyes sharp with intuition, like he could sense the storm in your mind.

And the corner of his mouth curled.

The warm hum of the spa jets blurred everything but the sound of gently bubbling water and the soft clink of Suguru’s champagne flute as he set it aside.

You didn’t need to look to know he’d turned his full attention to you—the change in the air, the focused heat of his gaze, was more than enough.

Then you felt it.

A soft press of his lips against your bare shoulder.

You stilled. Your breath caught in your throat as he kissed you again—slowly, reverently, the warm brush of his mouth contrasting against the cool air of the room. Each press traveled inward, closer to the sensitive skin just below your neck.

He didn’t rush.

His fingers drifted up, teasing along the delicate tie of your bikini top. Not untying—just toying with it, feeling the faint trembling in your breath, the way your body leaned just slightly into him.

“You really shouldn’t let me get this close when you look like that,” he murmured against your skin, voice lower now—molten.

You gave him more.

You tilted your head, exposing your neck to him, the steam curling between your bodies as the tension simmered. Your thighs pressed together involuntarily, desperate for friction, and you felt it—hot, slick, and unmistakable. The way your body responded to him so easily, so helplessly.

Suguru’s mouth found the column of your neck.

And this time, he didn’t hold back.

A soft suck just beneath your jaw. A lingering kiss at the base of your throat. His teeth grazing lightly over your pulse, before pulling gently at the skin, adding to the constellation of marks Nanami had already left behind the day before.

You whimpered—barely audible—but he heard it. You knew he did.

His hand stayed resting behind you on the edge of the tub, never rushing, never demanding. Just his mouth on your neck, and the slow, thoughtful way he took his time admiring every inch of exposed skin he could reach.

“You’re trouble,” he whispered, breath ghosting over the fresh mark he left. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You gasped softly when his fingers found you beneath the surface, slipping between your thighs and discovering just how ready you were for him. He let out a low, satisfied hum near your ear.

"So wet for me already…" he murmured, voice thick with heat. His breath brushed your cheek, and you could almost feel the smirk in it. “Mmm… I loved watching them make you come before you left.”

The memory alone made your body jolt, your walls fluttering around nothing, betraying your rising need.

His tone shifted, deeper now—commanding. “Did you like me watching?”

You froze for a beat—heart racing, breath caught in your throat. You couldn’t find the words fast enough.

His mouth returned to your neck, this time with a firm nip that sent a shock down your spine. “Answer me.”

Your voice came out a whisper. “I loved it.”

“I know,” he replied darkly, fingers curling slightly where they rested. “You’re even wetter now.”

Before you could catch your breath, he eased a single digit inside, slow and sure, his eyes locked on you, devouring every reaction.

And all you could do was fall apart in his arms again, bit by bit.

His finger moved with expert rhythm, curling just right as your body writhed subtly beneath the water, barely able to hold still under his touch. The pulse between your legs built fast, hot and coiling with a hunger that had been simmering since the fight ended.

Your head tipped back against the edge of the jacuzzi, a soft cry slipping past your lips, echoing between the tiles and steam.

Suguru watched you through heavy lashes, his free hand drifting up your body, brushing over the thin fabric of your barely-there bikini top. Your nipples had perked beneath the wet material, tight and sensitive—and he noticed.

With a wicked smirk, he pinched one gently, rolling it between his fingers, watching as your lips parted and your hips lifted just slightly toward him.

“You’re so perfect like this,” he murmured. “Falling apart for me.”

With a practiced tug, the knot behind your neck slipped loose, the top falling open, exposing your chest to the warm air and his hungry gaze. He didn’t waste a second—he leaned in, lips wrapping around a nipple, tongue flicking slowly as his fingers kept working below, drawing you toward the edge.

You cried out softly, back arching as he alternated between both sides, his mouth hot and relentless. The pressure inside you tightened, then burst as your release hit—your entire body shuddering under the waves of pleasure he pulled from you with ease.

He held you through it, never letting go, as if your pleasure was his reward. And in a way, it was.

Still breathless from the waves he’d already pulled from you, your body trembled as Suguru rose from the water and lifted you with ease, your limbs instinctively wrapping around him. His strength never failed to steal your breath—how effortlessly he held you against his soaked skin, carrying you from the steamy embrace of the jacuzzi to the plush lounge bed tucked in the spa’s private corner, too desperate to make it all the way back to the hotel suite.

The air was thick with heat and desire, your skin damp and sensitive as he laid you down, eyes dark with reverence and hunger. He kissed you deeply, slowly, as if grounding himself before what came next. Then his hips pressed forward—slowly, torturously—pushing into you inch by inch, letting you feel the full stretch of him.

You gasped, fingers digging into his arms. “You’re… not all the way in yet?”

His low chuckle was laced with heat. “Not quite,” he murmured against your ear, “but you can take it.”

You shuddered at the sound of his voice, at the sheer weight and heat of him filling you inch by inch, so deeply. Your body clung to him, trying to adjust, overwhelmed by how much there was to feel—how intimate it all was, how devastatingly good he made it.

He gave you a moment, kissed your forehead, stroked your thigh soothingly—and then he began to move.

One slow, purposeful thrust. Then another. Deeper. More intense.

Your breath hitched, fingers tightening in his hair as he set a rhythm that stole your thoughts. He moved like he had all the time in the world, like this was where he was meant to be—inside you, claiming every trembling gasp and moan as his own.

“I want you to remember this,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Every second.”

And you would. You already did.

Every thrust sent waves through your body—burning, delicious waves that left you trembling beneath him. Your back arched against the plush bedding, head thrown back, lips parted in a breathless moan as he buried himself deeper each time, drawing out every sensation like a symphony only he could conduct.

“Eyes on me,” Suguru growled low against your ear, his hand slipping under your thigh to tilt your hips up just right. “I want to see you when you come.”

Your eyes fluttered open, finding his—dark, intent, and smoldering. The connection was too much, too raw, and you whimpered his name like a prayer, body clenching around him as if begging him never to leave.

He leaned in closer, lips brushing your ear with a groan. “Say it again,” he demanded, his voice hoarse, his rhythm picking up, deep and punishing. “Say my name.”

“Suguru…” you gasped, barely coherent as pleasure ripped through you again. “Suguru, please—”

“That’s it,” he praised, dragging his mouth down your neck, breath hot and heavy. “You like it when I talk about them, don’t you?”

Your body jolted as he hit that perfect spot inside, the memory of Nanami and Satoru flashing in your mind. You didn’t have to answer—your body betrayed you.

He felt it. “You just clenched around me,” he murmured with a dark chuckle, “so that’s a yes?”

You whimpered, overwhelmed, as the thought alone had your body unraveling, another wave crashing over you, tearing through your core as your hands clawed at his back.

Suguru didn’t stop. He held you through it, riding your high with relentless precision, his breath turning ragged. You could feel him starting to lose control, his body trembling with restraint as he chased his own edge.

“Mine,” he breathed, thrusting deeper, voice rough with possession. “I’m not stopping until I’ve marked you all over again.”

And he didn’t—not until he finally shuddered with a deep groan against your throat, his release hitting hard and fast, burying himself fully as he spilled into you, holding you close like he never wanted to let go.

The world stilled around you—sweaty, tangled, breathless. Nothing left but your names echoing off the walls and your hearts beating in sync.

The room was quiet, save for the sound of your uneven breaths slowly settling. Suguru didn’t move right away. He stayed inside you, chest pressed to yours, arms braced on either side of your head as he watched your flushed face—satisfied, dazed, beautiful.

Then he smirked.

“Still breathing?” he murmured, voice low and cocky.

You huffed a soft laugh, trying to bat at his shoulder but barely having the strength. “Barely. You’re insane.”

He leaned in, kissing your temple, then your jaw, his lips slow and warm. “Only for you.”

His hands wandered—playful now—sliding down your side, trailing across your stomach and cupping the soft inside of your thigh with a casual possessiveness that made your pulse pick up again.

“You know,” he said, voice husky, teasing, “we’re not done.”

Your breath caught.

“What?” you whispered, heart stuttering.

He grinned, devilish and full of intent. “You think I’d let you off the hook after all those pretty little sounds you made? You didn’t even beg properly yet.”

You swallowed, thighs twitching under his touch as he slowly began to move again, not withdrawing, just rocking against your sensitivity like a warning. A promise.

“Don’t worry,” he purred, kissing your neck with lazy affection, “I’ll be gentle. At first.”

You whimpered, your fingers curling into the sheets, your body already answering him before your mouth could.

He chuckled softly, then kissed the tip of your nose.

“Rest for a minute, sweetheart. Hydrate. Maybe snack. I’m just giving you a break—this is intermission.”

And from the way his eyes gleamed as he finally pulled back, only to scoop you into his arms for the bathroom, you knew round two wasn’t far away.

20 notes · View notes

mjwhisperer · 10 months ago

Text

𝙵𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝙲𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝙲𝚊𝚕𝚕

Fluff

1989

Los Angeles

Word Count: 4.8k

The distant roar of the crowd outside was a relentless, almost primal force, swelling with each passing second. Their chants and cheers merged into a single, pulsating wave of sound that reverberated through the concrete walls of the stadium. The vibrations traveled down the dimly lit corridor, slithering like tendrils of anticipation under the door of Michael’s dressing room, knocking with a sound that was more felt than heard.

Inside, the room was bathed in a warm, amber glow cast by a series of incandescent bulbs framing the large vanity mirror. The air was thick with the scent of cologne, mingling with the sharp tang of stage makeup and the faint musk of leather. The vanity itself was cluttered with the tools of his trade: brushes of various sizes, compacts of powder, tubes of foundation, and an array of other cosmetics that had become part of his daily ritual. A half-empty glass of water sat to the side, the condensation forming tiny rivulets that ran down its surface, pooling on the wooden tabletop.

Michael stood before the mirror, the reflection of his face half-shadowed by the dim light. He was meticulously fixing his curls, each twist and coil of his hair a deliberate act. The soft whir of the air conditioning unit in the corner barely registered as he concentrated, his fingers nimble and practiced. The curls bounced back into place with each adjustment, a testament to his unwavering focus. Next, his hands moved to his waist, tightening the black leather belt until it sat just right, snug against his hips. The metal buckle gleamed under the lights as he adjusted the straps around his legs, the belts crisscrossing over his thighs with a satisfying snap as each one was secured. The leather creaked slightly with each movement, the sound almost drowned out by the distant echoes of the crowd.

You stood leaning against the far wall, the coolness of the brick seeping through the fabric of your tour jacket, which clung to your body in the slight chill of the room. The jacket bore the symbols of the tour—bold, flashy, a representation of all the sweat, passion, and soul that had gone into the performances. But tonight, that emblem held a new weight. This was the last night, his final show. Michael had confided in you just the night before, in a quiet moment away from the buzz of the crew and the lights, that this tour would be his last. The words had hung in the air between you, a mixture of resignation and relief, their finality striking you with bittersweet force.

Watching him now, as he slipped into the black and silver outfit for the last time, you felt a lump form in your throat. The outfit was iconic—each piece meticulously designed to catch the light just so, the silver accents glinting like stars against the deep, inky black. It had become synonymous with him, a second skin that the world recognized instantly. And now, you were witnessing its final curtain call.

Michael’s gaze caught yours in the mirror, his dark eyes meeting yours with a soft, reassuring smile that barely curved the corners of his lips. It was a smile meant to soothe, to comfort, but you knew him too well—there was a flicker of something else there, hidden beneath the surface. He broke the eye contact, turning his attention back to the mirror as he zipped up the bodysuit. The fabric stretched over his torso, smooth and unyielding, but as he adjusted the plain white T-shirt underneath, a smudge of makeup had already begun to stain the collar. The makeup, applied with such precision to cover the telltale spots of vitiligo that had spread over the years, was a daily battle he fought in silence.

His eyes narrowed in frustration as he noticed the stains, a soft groan escaping his lips. He sighed deeply and retreated behind the dressing screen, the privacy it offered a small comfort in the moment.

“What’s wrong, baby?” you asked, concern threading through your voice as you pushed off the wall. The movement caused your arms to uncross, and the tour jacket shifted slightly, the fabric brushing against your skin. The room felt colder without your posture braced against the chill, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to recapture the warmth.

“This shirt,” he muttered, his voice low and edged with irritation, “it keeps getting stained with my makeup.”

You watched as he unzipped the bodysuit, the sound of the metal teeth separating loud in the quiet room. His hands moved quickly, pulling his arms free from the sleeves with practiced ease. The plain white T-shirt followed, discarded with a flick of his wrist, landing in a crumpled heap on the floor, the fabric already marked by the faint residue of makeup and sweat.

“Did you put the powder on beforehand?” you asked, your tone soft as you stepped closer to the screen. The question was almost rhetorical; you knew the answer before he spoke. “It wouldn’t transfer if you did.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, the familiar gesture bringing a small, knowing smile to your lips. His expression softened, the earlier irritation melting away as he gave you a crooked smirk. “This is why I’m glad I keep you around,” he teased, his voice warm as he brushed past you, the subtle scent of his cologne lingering in the air as he moved back to the vanity. He unscrewed the lid of the setting powder, dipping the large velvet puff into the container with a practiced hand. The soft patting of the powder against his skin filled the room as he applied it to his neck and chest, his movements deliberate and focused.

You turned toward his bag, rummaging through the neatly packed items until your fingers found another pristine white T-shirt. The fabric was soft between your fingers, crisp and fresh, free from the stains that had marred the first one. With a quick toss, you sent it flying toward him. Michael caught it effortlessly, a small smile playing on his lips as he unfolded the shirt.

“Thanks, baby,” he murmured, his voice carrying a note of appreciation as he pulled the shirt over his head, the fabric sliding down to cover his lean torso.

“You’re welcome, hun,” you replied, stepping closer to him, your fingers brushing against his arm as you smoothed down the shirt. The contact was brief, but it sent a spark of warmth through you, grounding you in the moment. “You’re going to be amazing tonight,” you added, your voice filled with quiet confidence.

Michael’s smile widened, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of gratitude and determination. He tucked the shirt into his black pants, the fabric molding to his frame as he zipped up the silver bodysuit once more. The material hugged his body, accentuating the broadness of his shoulders, the strength in his arms, and the lean lines of his torso. It was a perfect fit, every inch of the outfit crafted to enhance his presence, to make him larger than life on stage.

As he turned to face you, it felt as though the room around you shrank, the walls drawing closer, suffocating the space with the gravity of the moment. The crowd’s cheers outside grew louder, their energy a living, breathing thing that pressed against the door, trying to seep into the quiet intimacy of this room. But in this small, sacred space, it was just the two of you, cocooned in the final, fleeting minutes before the stage would inevitably pull him away.

“I couldn’t do it without you,” he said softly, his voice a gentle murmur that cut through the distant roar of the crowd. As he walked over to you, his presence filled the room, his height and the broadness of his shoulders creating a comforting shadow. You reached out, your hand finding his, but instead of clasping it fully, you let your index fingers intertwine. That slight touch, simple yet profound, sent a wave of calm through you. It was as though that small connection was enough to anchor you both in this moment, making everything feel right in the world.

“I’ll be on the side watching, cheering you on, dancing,” you replied with a smile, your voice laced with a playful confidence that belied the mix of emotions swirling inside you.

Michael stepped in closer, his chest almost brushing against yours as he looked down at you, his eyes softening with affection. “And I’ll look at you every second I can,” he said, his voice tender. “I’m glad you’re here with me tonight.”

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” you said, your voice steady but your heart heavy with the significance of the night. “Even with this being the last and final one.”

Michael reached out, his fingers gently cupping your cheek as his thumb brushed over your skin in slow, tender strokes. His touch was so warm, so familiar, that it felt like a balm to your soul. His skin was smooth, soft like a baby’s kiss, and you leaned into his palm, savoring the comfort he offered. “I’d hate to quit, but… I want to focus more on my acting,” he confessed, his voice a mixture of resolve and uncertainty.

“I know, baby,” you whispered, your eyes searching his. “But your fans are going to miss this, miss you.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes clouded with thought. “I know, but I’m doing this for me,” he said, a hint of stubbornness in his tone.

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head slightly as you asked, “Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”

He nodded again, this time with more conviction. “Positive. You’re not mad, right?”

You shook your head, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Never. As long as you’re happy, I’m not mad.”

Relief washed over his face, and he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was both sweet and filled with unspoken promises. “I’ve got to go,” he murmured against your lips, his breath warm against your skin.

“Do what you do,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I’ll be watching.”

His smile deepened, and before he pulled away, he kissed you again, this time deeper, his lips lingering on yours as if trying to imprint the moment into his memory. You inhaled deeply, taking in his scent—a mix of his cologne, the subtle musk of sweat, and something uniquely him that you had come to love after so many years together. It was intoxicating, comforting, and a reminder of all the moments you had shared.

A sharp knock on the door shattered the stillness, jolting you both back to reality. Michael broke the kiss, leaving you both breathless and momentarily disoriented. “We’ve got to go,” he said, his voice laced with the urgency of the moment.

You nodded, watching as he walked over to grab his jacket, pulling it on and tugging at the edges until it fit snugly against his body. The leather gleamed under the dim lights, a final touch to his iconic ensemble. He twisted the doorknob and paused, turning back to you, his hand outstretched. Without hesitation, you jogged over, your hand slipping into his as you held on tightly, both of you walking down the corridors, flanked by crew members and security.

Michael pulled you closer as you walked, his arm wrapping around your shoulders, drawing you into his side. His lips brushed the top of your head in a soft kiss, and he whispered, “You’re my good luck charm.”

“And you’re mine,” you whispered back, your heart swelling with love and pride.

The noise of the crowd grew louder as you neared the stage, the sound like a tidal wave crashing against the walls, eager to break free. The sea of fans was vast, stretching out into the darkness of the sold-out stadium, their energy palpable even from behind the scenes.

As you reached the edge of the stage, you were gently guided away from Michael, the moment of separation tugging at your heart. He paused, turning back to you one last time, pressing a kiss to your cheek. The warmth of his lips lingered on your skin as he was led away to his spot.

You stood on the side of the stage, your eyes never leaving him as he took his place. A thick fog of smoke began to billow around him and his band members, the heavy mist swirling under the intense lights that flashed and danced across the stage. The booming intro blared through the speakers, shaking the very floor beneath your feet, and the massive screen above came to life with a visual spectacle that was the perfect prelude to the night’s performance.

The crowd’s chant reached a fever pitch, their voices blending into a singular, powerful cry of his name, “Michael! Michael! Michael!” The sound reverberated through the stadium, a tidal wave of adoration crashing against the walls and vibrating in your chest. In that moment, as the fog began to clear and the spotlight found him, you knew you weren’t just watching a performer; you were witnessing the man you loved, the man the world adored, stepping into his final act with all the grace and fire he had.

The show unfolded in an explosion of light and sound. Michael’s energy was electric, like a lightning bolt striking the stage over and over. He moved with a fluidity that defied gravity, each step, each spin a testament to his unparalleled talent. His joy was palpable, radiating out into the audience as he shared the stage with his crew, his makeshift family, every move synchronized in a dance of pure, unfiltered joy.

From time to time, he would glance over at you, his eyes locking with yours, a warm smile tugging at his lips. And each time, you mouthed the words, ‘I love you,’ hoping that the love in those three words could somehow shield him from the emotional crash you knew was coming when the final curtain fell. You knew that as soon as you both returned to the hotel, the weight of this night—his last show, his final tour—would hit him hard, and you braced yourself for that moment.

As the show neared its end, you stood there on the side, tears slipping down your cheeks despite your efforts to hold them back. Michael’s smile was brighter than ever, his eyes twinkling with a mix of happiness and melancholy. You watched as he danced with a group of children on stage, the sight warming your heart. It was moments like these that reminded you why he had been so beloved by so many—the joy he found in sharing his talent, the way he lit up the lives of those around him.

“I love you!” Michael’s voice boomed across the stadium, the words filled with sincerity and gratitude. “Goodnight, everybody!” he called out, waving to the fans before leaving the stage. But you knew it wasn’t over—not just yet.

Moments later, he reappeared, now dressed in all white, his black slacks and signature loafers a striking contrast to the bright stage lights. The first notes of “Man in the Mirror” filled the air, and you felt the emotional weight of the song settle over the stadium. This was it—the last performance, the final moment he would share with his fans from the stage.

Michael’s voice was powerful, filled with raw emotion as he sang. You could see the strain in his face, the way he poured everything into this last song, and it made your heart ache. He spun across the stage, and then fell to his knees, his voice rising to a poignant crescendo. You bit your lip, fighting back more tears as the reality of it all hit you harder than you had expected. Two years on the road with him, two years of watching him give his all, and now it was coming to an end. It burned inside you, the bittersweetness of it all.

As the final notes of the song echoed through the stadium, Michael’s voice was the only sound you could hear, powerful and resonant. He gave it everything he had, his voice carrying the weight of a thousand memories, a thousand goodbyes. You watched as he fell back to his knees, his sweat-drenched face glowing under the lights. You wanted to rush out there, to be by his side, but your own emotions held you in place, your body frozen by the intensity of the moment.

Michael hopped around the stage in circles, sweat glistening on his face and neck, his energy seemingly endless. And then, as the final chord of “Man in the Mirror” played out, he spoke into the microphone with a deep, resonant voice, “Make that change.”

The stadium lights dimmed, casting everything in shadows. Michael hugged his crew members one by one, thanking each of them with a sincerity that spoke volumes. His name was being chanted again, both by the crowd and his crew, a final tribute to the man who had given them all so much.

He bent down, picking up a bouquet of roses that had been left on the stage, the deep red petals stark against the darkness. He held them gently, as if they were a symbol of everything this night had meant to him, and then walked to the other side of the stage, preparing for the encore of “Man in the Mirror.”

“I love you!” he called out one last time, his voice echoing across the vast space before he turned and walked off the stage. His steps were steady, purposeful, as he made his way toward you, his hand reaching out to yours.

You took his hand, your fingers interlacing with his, and the two of you walked down the ramp and back into the dimly lit corridor. The noise of the stadium faded away, replaced by the soft echoes of your footsteps and the muffled voices of the crew.

Michael pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. Your tears, no longer held back, flowed freely as he held you, his own tears threatening to spill over. “Thank you,” he whispered in your ear, his voice thick with emotion. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering as he wiped the tears from your cheeks with his thumb. “I love you so much. I don’t know what I’d do without you pushing me harder and harder.”

You smiled up at him, your hand cupping his face. “I love you more,” you whispered, pulling him into a deep, lingering kiss. Your tears mingled with his, a silent testament to everything you had been through together. When he finally pulled away, you were both breathless, your emotions swirling between you in a way that words could never fully capture.

“Come on… let’s go home,” he whispered, his voice gentle as he took your hand once more. The two of you continued down the corridor, but Michael kept getting stopped by interviews. Each time he was asked if this was truly his last show, his answer was a simple, heartfelt yes, even as the emotions began to catch up with him.

Finally, you were both escorted to the waiting limo. Michael slid inside, and you followed, the door closing behind you with a soft thud. The interior was dark, offering a momentary reprieve from the intensity of the evening. As the limo pulled away from the stadium, the flashing lights from outside briefly illuminated the space before fading into the night.

“I hate it, but I’ll miss it,” Michael admitted, his voice tinged with sadness as he stared out the window.

You reached over, taking his hand and holding it tightly. “I know,” you said softly, your voice filled with understanding. “But I have some better news.”

Michael turned to you, a curious expression on his face as he raised an eyebrow. “What is it?” he asked, his tone cautious but hopeful.

You reached into your back pocket, pulling out a small white box tied with a pink and blue ribbon. “Open it,” you urged, handing it to him with a smile.

Michael glanced at you, then down at the box, his fingers carefully untying the ribbon. He removed the lid, his eyes widening as he saw the contents inside—a black-and-white ultrasound photo and a positive pregnancy test. For a moment, he just stared at them, his expression unreadable as he processed the news.

Then, slowly, a warm smile spread across his face, and a single tear rolled down his cheek. He picked up the ultrasound photo, his thumb gently brushing over the image, his eyes filled with a mix of awe and disbelief. “We’re having a baby?” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion.

You nodded, your own tears spilling over as you reached out to take his hand. “Yes,” you whispered back, your heart swelling with joy as you watched the realization dawn on him.

Michael’s smile grew even wider, his eyes brimming with a joy that seemed to radiate from him, filling the entire limo with a warmth that wrapped around you like a blanket. He took the ultrasound photo in his hands, staring at it as if it were the most precious thing in the world. Carefully, he placed it back in the box, his hand trembling slightly with emotion. Then he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was as tender as it was full of promise. His other hand found its way to your stomach, resting there gently, as if he were already protecting the tiny life growing inside you.

“This… this is the best news I could ever get,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, his eyes searching yours for reassurance, for confirmation that this beautiful moment was real. The love in his gaze made your heart swell, and you knew that this was the beginning of something extraordinary.

You smiled softly, reaching up to caress his cheek, your thumb tracing the lines of his face as you looked into his deep brown eyes. “I wanted to end the night on a good note,” you said, your voice tender, filled with the affection you felt for him. “To give you something to look forward to down the line.” You paused, letting the words sink in, watching as the realization of what this meant began to dawn on him. “I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while now,” you admitted, your heart beating faster with the intensity of the moment.

Michael’s brow furrowed in curiosity, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to process what you were saying. “How far along are you?” he asked, his voice a mixture of wonder and disbelief, as if he couldn’t quite grasp the reality of it all.

“Eight weeks,” you replied with a smile, your voice tinged with excitement and a little bit of nervousness. The words hung in the air between you, full of promise and the hope of new beginnings, of a future that you could finally see taking shape.

His eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, he was silent, just staring at you as if he were seeing you for the first time. “And you’ve kept it hidden this long without telling me?” He shook his head with a playful grin, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “No wonder you’ve been sick. You had me thinking it was the food, but really, we’re having our first baby.” There was a note of awe in his voice, as if he were still trying to wrap his mind around the idea.

You nodded, your smile growing wider as you watched the emotions play across his face. “I couldn’t resist, but now you know,” you said, the relief of finally sharing your secret washing over you. “We’re starting our family, Michael. Something we’ve both wanted for so long.”

Michael’s smile softened, his gaze becoming more intense as he brushed his nose against yours, the closeness making your breath catch in your throat. “How could this night get any better?” he whispered, his voice low and filled with so much love that it made your heart ache.

You shrugged lightly, leaning in even closer, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, the familiar scent of him surrounding you. “We can always have more down the line,” you teased, your voice playful, though the words were filled with a truth that you both understood. The future was wide open, and the possibilities were endless.

Michael chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest as he pressed his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your lips. “I love you, girl,” he murmured, his words filled with a tenderness that made your heart skip a beat, the intensity of his gaze making you feel like you were the only person in the world.

You closed your eyes, savoring the moment, letting yourself be fully present in the love that surrounded you. “I love you more, handsome,” you whispered back, your voice barely audible as you leaned your forehead against his, your hand tightening around his as if to anchor yourself to the moment, to the love you shared.

Michael’s hand rested on your stomach, his thumb gently rubbing back and forth as he stared out the window, lost in thought. “I can’t believe it,” he whispered after a while, his voice filled with wonder. “We’re going to be parents.” He turned to look at you, his eyes shining with tears, and you could see the mix of emotions swirling in their depths—happiness, excitement, fear, and above all, love.

You nodded, tears welling up in your own eyes as you reached up to wipe away the single tear that had escaped down his cheek. “I know,” you whispered back, your voice trembling with emotion. “It’s going to be a big change, but I know we can do it. Together.”

Michael smiled, his hand cupping your cheek as he leaned in to kiss you again, this time slower, deeper, as if he were trying to pour all of his love into that one kiss. When he finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other’s as you shared a quiet moment of connection.

“I’m going to be the best dad I can be,” Michael said softly, his voice filled with determination. “I want our child to grow up knowing how much they’re loved, how much they’re wanted.”

“And they will,” you replied, your voice filled with conviction. “We’re going to give them the best life, full of love and happiness. They’re going to have everything they need, and more.”

Michael smiled, his hand slipping into yours as he squeezed it gently. “Thank you,” he said, his voice choked with emotion. “For this, for everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You smiled back, your heart swelling with love for the man sitting beside you. “I love you, Michael,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you leaned in to kiss him again, your lips brushing softly against his.

“I love you more,” he whispered back, his voice filled with so much love that it made your heart ache. He pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you as the limo continued its journey through the city, the two of you lost in your own little world, dreaming of the future that was now within your grasp.

As the limo sped through the streets, the lights of Los Angeles flickering outside the windows like distant stars, you leaned your head on Michael’s shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your hand. The ride home was long, but neither of you cared. The world outside the limo seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you, cocooned in your own little world of love and hope.

The future stretched out before you, full of possibilities and new beginnings, and as you rested your head on Michael’s shoulder, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together, stronger and more in love than ever before. The journey ahead was uncertain, but with Michael by your side, you knew that everything would be okay. You were ready to start this new chapter, to build the family you had always dreamed of, and as the limo carried you both home, you couldn’t help but feel that the best was yet to come.

#michael jackson #badera #fluff #imagine #oneshot #mjj #writing #wattpad

30 notes · View notes

sims4t2bb · 10 months ago

Text

weekly update

Hello, and happy Sunday to all! We hope everyone had a great time celebrating the 20th anniversary of our favourite game, The Sims 2, around the community yesterday. We know we did! 😎

This week's update can be found, as always, under the cut. Happy Simming! 🌱

— Database

Announcements

All asks, questions and submissions have been answered and our inbox is now blissfully empty! 📭 If your ask/submission hasn't shown up on the database yet, feel free to submit it again!

It's come to our attention that over thirty pages of the database have broken images. We're working as hard as we can to fix all affected pages! 🧚🏻

Because the database was maintained by several awesome people before us, there was some inconsistency in username formatting and shortening. From now on, we will use only full + lowercase usernames to keep it simple! 📉

Fixes

All of the broken images on the affected Kits pages have been fixed.

— Base Game

Buy Mode

Amateur Hour Child's Violin conversion by @platinumaspiration has been added.

Another Wall-Mounted Coat Rack With Shelf and Yet Another Wall-Mounted Coat Rack With Shelf conversions by @lordcrumps have been added.

Bullseye Dartboard, Compact Bar, Guerdon Goods Mini Fridge, and Guerdon Goods NanoCan 2.0 conversions by @platinumaspiration have been added.

Crystal Box Shower Stall, Double Delight, Post Modern Shower Stall, RAW Walk-In, Under the Sea Clawfoot Tub with Shower, and Unicorn Dream conversions by @platinumaspiration have been added.

Happy Camper Picnic Table and Urbanity Concrete Picnic Table conversions by @nuttydazesublime have been added (thanks @kayleigh-83!)

Wall o' Gym Lockers, Large and Wall o' Gym Lockers, Small conversions by @earlypleasantview, plus edits by @memento-sims, have been added (thanks @swishbishbosch!)

Residential/Venue Wall Speaker default replacement conversion by @morepopcorn has been added.

Decorative

Alphabetised all items.

The coding has been cleaned up and standardised.

Better As A Pair and Imagined Landscape conversions by @lordcrumps have been added.

Build Mode

Stonework Wall conversion by ePSYlord has been added.

Debug

The top menu has been updated to include links to the other base game subpages: build mode, buy mode, and decorative.

Crafted Violin conversion by @platinumaspiration has been added.

— Expansion Packs

City Living

Plink Shower conversion by @platinumaspiration has been added.

In the Mood Fireplace conversion by @platinumaspiration has been added.

Short Slate Tile conversions by @nelphaell and @suratan-zir have been added (thanks @swishbishbosch!)

Seasons

Vintage Subway Tile Shower conversion by @platinumaspiration has been added.

Get Famous

Designer’s Deluge and The Swan’s Ablution conversions by @platinumaspiration have been added.

Island Living

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Snowy Escape

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Growing Together

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Lovestruck

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Spa Day

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Vampires

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Parenthood

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Strangerville

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Realm of Magic

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Werewolves

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— Stuff Packs

Fitness

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— Kits

Bust the Dust

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Country Kitchen

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Industrial Loft

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Blooming Rooms

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Décor to the Max

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Little Campers

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Desert Luxe

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Pastel Pop

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Everyday Clutter

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Bathroom Clutter

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Greenhouse Haven

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Basement Treasures

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Book Nook

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Party Essentials

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Riviera Retreat

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#weekly update #admin post

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thesilliestrovingalive · 11 months ago

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Updated: June 28, 2025

Reworked Character #4: Fio Germi

POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING: Viewer discretion is advised due to references to death, alcoholism, and SA.

Real name: Fiolina Hortensia Germi

Alias: Teatime in the Battlefield

Occupation: Master Sergeant of the S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S. and the lead medical technician of the Regular Army’s special forces

Retirement plans: Become a sports doctor and an astrophysicist, open up a bakery, and start a family with the man she loves most

Special skills: Chiropractic and massage therapy, knowledge in military medicine and dentistry, housework, acupuncture, and astronomy

Hobbies: Ballroom dancing, going on a picnic, giving her friends massages and checking their teeth, doing sewing and embroidery projects, and frequenting petting zoos, nature reserves, art galleries, and outer space museums

Likes: Peppino, being in Tarma’s arms, baking cakes and other sweet treats for her comrades, reading books on wildlife, art history, and constellations, and having a huge amount of space on the battlefield while maintaining distance

Dislikes: Her eyeglasses becoming broken and useless, sneezing and coughing on the battlefield scolding hot and freezing cold baths, insects and creepy crawlies, and how loud thunder is

Favourite food: Homemade sandwiches and gelato

Favourite drink: Iced tea (preferably Queen Mary)

Sexuality: Heteroromantic demisexual

Gender: Female

Age: 15 (in 2022), 21 (in 2028), 23 (in 2030), 25 (in 2032), 27 (in 2034), 34 (in 2041), 36 (in 2043), 37 (in 2044), and 40 (in 2047)

Blood type: O+

Weight: 145 lbs. (66 kg)

Design: She’s a 5’ 2” (157.48 cm) Italian mesomorph with sloping shoulders, upper arms that carry some of her weight, a bit of belly fat, voluptuous breasts and hips, and prominent thighs. She has olive skin, droopy blue-grey eyes, and brownish freckles scattered across her face and neck. Her hair is identical to Fio's Metal Slug Tactics portrait, but it's an orangish-brown colour, and the ponytail is secured with a rusty orange hairband.

Her fingernails are painted in an English lavender hue with translucent bronze glitter. She wears thick, winged copper eyeliner, pale plum eyeshadow, a golden pink blush on her cheeks and nose, and raspberry lip gloss. As a result of battle injuries and her own clumsiness, she bears a bullet wound near the centre of her left calf, six brutal stab scars on her left shoulder, and numerous cut marks and scrapes on her arms and legs. She has a jagged minor incision running along the right side, extending from just below her pelvic bone to the center of the diaphragm.

Her military gear consists of polarised silver-plated transition lens eyeglasses, a metal dog tag necklace with her name, and a cordovan Eisenhower jacket. She wears a pink lavender T-shirt with a dogwood rose stripe running along the front and a carmine bra underneath. She wears carmine gloves, fern green wristbands, and a gold-buckled leather belt to secure her green-tinted khaki army cargo shorts, which fall just above her knees. She also wears ebony paratrooper boots, over-the-calf dark moss green socks, brownish-black elbow pads, and the same knee pads that are worn by Fio in her concept art for Metal Slug 3. She has a khaki waist pack attached to the back of her belt, which carries olivine military binoculars with light blue lenses, her nail polish, lip gloss, eyeliner, an eyeshadow palette, a circular medium purple blush compact with a built-in mirror, two makeup brushes (a large one and a small one), and a makeup sponge. She has an integrated belt loop for her sheathed hatchet, a gun holster for her handgun, and a holder for her tonfa.

An embroidered cockade of Italy pin is placed on her left breast pocket. The pockets of Fio's Eisenhower jacket carry around a Ventolin inhaler and a wooden calico Japanese Bobtail maneki-neko figurine, which is a gift from Eri. The figurine wears a metallic green collar with a red stripe and a gilt-brass bell. Its right arm is raised, and its left paw holds a koban coin. The pockets of her army cargo shorts carry a canister of pepper spray, a bottle of azithromycin pills, and a bottle of specialised prescription supplements specifically designed to manage her cystic fibrosis.

Over her T-shirt, she dons a Soldier Plate Carrier System (SPCS) with a MultiCam pattern, which carries her walkie-talkie and ammo for other firearms. Her black ammunition bandolier is slung over her right shoulder, and the back of her Eisenhower jacket features an embroidered S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S. logo. Fio carries an ebony load-bearing backpack containing camping equipment, fire bombs, stones, portable ammo boxes, a canteen full of water, and a woven picnic basket filled with prepared sandwiches. She carries her latest sewing project and its accompanying supplies, a Hexagon Arms M-3685, a cat o' nine tails whip, medical supplies, a scientific telescope, and Peppino, her greyish-brown teddy bear with purple eyes and a pearlescent blue bowtie. She also carries a dirty white picnic blanket with embroidered orange Calla lilies, pink cyclamen, and lavender carnations.

On her left wrist, she wears a metallic pink mystery watch with a transparent crystal dial that showcases black hands in the centre of a bronze inverted triangle. Shimmering golden Roman numerals, ranging from I to XII, are positioned around the dial, separated by three dots each.

She always wears a pair of teardrop-shaped pink opal earrings and a gold chain necklace featuring a red coral cornicello amulet, believed to ward off bad luck and bring good fortune. She wears a khaki army cap, once worn by her father during his military service.

Character summary: She's initially reserved and timid around strangers, but she warms up and becomes more open once she gets to know new people, especially if they're genuinely kind and respectful. There are times when she feels uncomfortable around new people, especially if they exhibit peculiar behaviours, invade her personal space or are excessively loud. She's not kindly outspoken and full of energy around strangers because she's afraid of coming across as annoying. She's a compassionate, considerate, and overly cautious listener who's really good with children and lends everyone a generous helping hand. She's sensitive and unafraid to show her true emotions, often engaging in introspective thought.

She possesses a steadfast commitment to justice, having no tolerance for individuals who seek to stir up strife, and is slow to forgive those who inflict harm on others for their own selfish purposes. Despite her quiet and calm demeanour, she's surprisingly prone to stress and anxiety, particularly when confronted with obnoxious noises, unwanted physical contact or situations where she can't escape. Even though she is a seasoned warrior, she harbours an intense fear of insects and creepy crawlies, often resorting to hiding behind any comrade nearby and insisting that they handle the situation. On occasion, she displays an almost childlike naivety and exuberance, typically after completing a mission or while off duty.

She's a very friendly and gentle clean freak who'll do anything to help out her family, friends, comrades, and those in need. She prepares all her meals with love and dedication, considering others' likes and dislikes, hoping they'll enjoy what she's made. She would be utterly heartbroken when someone didn't like the food she had taken the time to prepare, causing her to shrink into herself and apologise. She's a nature-loving girl who's incredibly clever and always thinks optimistically. When talking to others, she often uses lively hand gestures and animated facial expressions to emphasise certain ideas. She gets easily flustered by compliments and flirtatious advances, blushing deeply and becoming nearly speechless. She's a somewhat superstitious person, believing in things like placing one's hat on a bed is a sign of bad luck for homeowners and spilling salt being a harbinger of financial troubles.

She's a great strategist who excels in keep-away tactics. However, she often pushes people away due to fear and isn't the most skilled fighter, but can fight when necessary. She compensates for her limited combat skills by carrying an ample supply of ammunition. Her teammates often rely on her for resupply when they exhaust their own ammo, especially Ralf, who has a bad habit of not carrying much. Additionally, she's skilled at barrage fire, effortlessly overwhelming enemies and bolstering her confidence in the heat of battle.

Whenever she's faced with the death of a child, a comrade or friend being severely injured, being touched inappropriately or being rudely insulted, her face darkens. She becomes cold-hearted and deadly serious, and her tactical prowess shines through most. She's quite curious around strangers, nervously trailing them and asking a few questions to get to know them. Despite cherishing the importance of friendship, she sometimes feels isolated by her exceptional intelligence, privileged upbringing, and cystic fibrosis. She values maintaining a healthy work-life balance and prioritising her time with loved ones, holding both in higher regard than success. She believes that living in or exploring beautiful places helps her become a better person by gaining a deeper appreciation of the world around her.

She originally harboured romantic feelings for Marco when she first laid eyes on him as he helped her resolve a computer error she couldn't figure out while trying to send confidential files to her superiors after a tedious investigation into criminals who had infiltrated the Regular Army. However, those feelings quickly dissipated after she confessed to him eight months before the Great Morden War, and he revealed that he wasn't interested in romantic or sexual relationships. Although their relationship was a bit rocky at first—Fio was extremely nervous due to his high rank, and Marco struggled to trust her, deliberately pushing her away to create secure comfort for himself—they eventually set aside their differences and grew very close. Once Marco recognized that her skills were up to par and was impressed by her basic knowledge of computers, Fio felt a sense of cherished pride and developed a somewhat platonic relationship with him, which he indifferently accepted.

Her affections eventually shifted to Tarma, whom she found charming due to his silliness, emotional intelligence, Hokkaido dialect, the soothing sound of his voice, pleasant smile, and knack for building professional motorcycles. She finds immense comfort in Tarma's presence and often offers him solace when he's having a rough day or struggling with self-doubt.

After her romantic relationship with him fully blossoms, she forms an exceptionally close physical and emotional bond with him. However, her tendency to become overly attached manifests at times, especially when feelings of fear or loneliness arise. Despite being in a romantic relationship with Tarma, she maintains a non-possessive attitude, unconcerned if he flirts or sleeps with other women and men, considering it his personal freedom. However, she does prefer openness and honesty, ensuring that he communicates with her about his actions. She sometimes gets into debates with Tarma about what they should or shouldn't do, but she usually remains polite and calm, focusing on finding a solution that benefits both of them rather than worrying about negative consequences. After a debate, she often apologises to Tarma and follows up with a hug.

She eventually enters into a polyamorous queerplatonic relationship with Marco and Tarma, which she deeply cherishes and further satisfies her craving for emotional intimacy. She's displeased when Nadia takes advantage of her kindness to avoid responsibilities. However, she appreciates Nadia's help with dessert-making, although Fio often has to bribe her by offering something equally sweet or letting her have the largest share of a batch to persuade her to lend a hand. She feels grateful to Nadia whenever she's on the verge of a panic attack as Nadia either steps in to address whatever is causing her anxiety to skyrocket or offers her comfort. She's frustrated by Eri's overprotectiveness, especially when it comes to Tarma, as it reminds her of her father's behaviour and makes her feel like she's being treated like a child. She finds Red Eye to be an incredibly intimidating person, despite their relatively friendly relationship, which occasionally involves sharing a cup of tea together.

When she's reached her limit, feels threatened or needs to express her authentic feelings about something that gets under her skin, she's capable of standing up for herself and making her voice heard. She rarely swears, but when someone's pushed her too far, she'll unleash a stern reprimand, peppered with profanities in Italian. She's unconcerned by the opinions of Marco and other more serious-minded individuals who think that carrying Peppino is childish and unprofessional because the teddy bear provides her with personal comfort and solace, especially when she feels anxious or sad. Ever since meeting Ralf, who encouraged her to try new things, she has mustered the courage to pursue thrilling experiences and enjoy them to the fullest, even if they carry some risk.

She's not fond of drinking alcohol due to its bitter taste and intoxicating effects, which make her feel nauseous and slightly nervous. However, on rare occasions, she’ll let loose and indulge in alcohol with her friends, especially after a challenging mission. When intoxicated, she starts to act playful, flirtatious and sexually teasing towards Tarma, obnoxiously loud, agitated, and bluntly honest.

She harbours private reservations about the Regular Army's methods, particularly when it comes to neutralising perceived threats, including journalists and enemy-affiliated personnel. She acknowledges that not everyone in these groups is malicious, but rather, many are innocent individuals caught in complex circumstances. Moreover, she struggles with the nagging feeling that those closest to her have been conditioned to uncritically accept the Regular Army's moral stance, never questioning its motivations or ethics. However, she's deeply afraid to express these thoughts aloud, fearing deadly repercussions and unwilling to risk stirring up trouble or jeopardising the relationships she values. She often pushes these thoughts aside by focusing on becoming a better fighter and drawing inspiration from high-ranking individuals like Marco and Clark, whom she greatly admires.

She has a tendency to fall asleep extremely quickly at bedtime or naptime, and her loud snoring can be disruptive to others who are trying to rest or focus on important tasks in the same room. She would be heartbroken if Peppino were lost, destroyed or stolen forever, as the teddy bear has been her constant companion since birth. However, she would be overjoyed to be reunited with the original Peppino or receive a new teddy bear that's an exact replica. During warmer weather, she has a habit of lifting up her T-shirt to cool herself off, but tries to be discreet about it.

She believes that war serves no purpose other than destruction, resulting from conflicts that escalate beyond the control of free will. In her view, war profoundly alters the moral fabric of society, accelerating the advancement of weaponry and technology used in conflict. As a firm believer in virtue ethics, she thinks morality is about becoming the kind of person we truly want to be. To become a better person, people must cultivate values like honesty, bravery, justice, and generosity, leading to a morally righteous life and self-improvement. By practicing fundamental moral values, people develop the ability to make tough choices when faced with ethical dilemmas, learning to trust their instincts, listen to their conscience, and stand firm in their convictions. She holds that life is more powerful than death, continually finding innovative ways to adapt and flourish.

Backstory: Fiolina Hortensia Germi was born on October 2, 2007 in Genoa, Italy. The Germi family is renowned for their vast wealth, military service, and philanthropic endeavours, supporting the sick, homeless children, war veterans, and victims of crime and abuse. Originally merchants and nobles, they amassed their fortune in the Mediterranean region during the Age of Exploration and have since maintained their wealth, now managing various corporations and philanthropic organisations. True to their militaristic heritage, the Germis have participated in numerous conflicts, including the Napoleonic Wars of the 1800s, the Italian Unification Wars of the 19th century, and modern-day wars against terrorism worldwide. Sadly, many Germi warriors lost their lives, leading to an important family custom where the chosen heir of the Germi family must serve in the military.

Alessandro Germi, Fio's father, was a fearsome soldier in the Regular Army during his earlier years, serving alongside Fabriclus Roving. However, he was forced to leave military service after being severely injured in a shootout, which left him crippled and suffering from debilitating post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). His body bore the scars of countless battles, a testament to the wounds he had endured and the bloodshed he had witnessed on the front lines. After returning to civilian life and receiving the necessary support, Alessandro successfully revitalised his family's struggling international trading and philanthropy business, becoming the saviour of the Germis. He also started a family with his newlywed wife, Giulietta, a talented seamstress and manager of a luxurious art museum. He met her while visiting an art exhibition that she hosted and organised, finding her beauty absolutely stunning and her lighthearted humour and strong sense of duty to be delightful. He fell even more in love with her after trying the affogato she meticulously made for his birthday.

Alessandro's wish was to have a healthy son as he feared that sending a daughter onto the battlefield would be a perilous ordeal. To his surprise and dismay, Giulietta gave birth to a daughter, and due to health complications, she couldn't bear any more children. Fio's mother also experienced postpartum depression after childbirth and passed down a hereditary disease: cystic fibrosis. Alessandro's deep-seated fears for his daughter's safety often led him to become overly protective, causing tension with Giulietta, who found his helicopter parenting suffocating. Fio's birth marked the first time in Germi history that the family had a female heir.

Despite her parents' mental health struggles, they went above and beyond to care for her, providing unwavering love and support. During the first five years of her elementary education, she was homeschooled, and her parents taught her a diverse range of subjects, including mathematics. They encouraged Fio’s appreciation for friendships, the outdoors, and the finer things in life. They even fostered her love of astronomy, gifting her a scientific telescope on her 10th birthday, which she still has to this day. She picked up ballroom dancing at the birthday party of one of Alessandro's retired comrades and good friends, held at his fancy mansion. Wanting to give dancing a try, she asked her father to teach her. He gladly complied and taught her the basics of dancing.

Giulietta often took her on enriching outings to nature reserves and art museums, where she learned about biology and art history. Her mother also taught her the importance of domestic duties, showing her how to do her chores and clean the house. On special occasions, her mother would dress her up in pretty dresses and give her adorable animal plushies, which she still keeps. Once Fio expressed her desire to attend school, Giulietta convinced Alessandro to allow it, believing she had a promising future. After some persuasion, Alessandro reluctantly agreed, understanding that Fio had hopes and dreams she wanted to explore and fulfill someday.

When she was sent to a non-religious elementary school that many middle-class kids attended. She was bullied and exploited by the other children because of her wealthy status and overt politeness, but her father and teachers consistently intervened. As she grew, she discovered her own voice, learning to assert herself with courage and conviction. Standing up to her bullies with firm yet gentle confidence, she effectively silenced their taunts and earned respect. Once she completed elementary and secondary school, Alessandro sent her to a private school that many wealthy and upper middle-class kids attended. Like Marco, Fio excelled in all her classes, demonstrating exceptional academic prowess and a deep appreciation for effort and lifelong learning.

She remembered a time during her early teen years when she had to wear orthodontic braces, which greatly embarrassed her and made her feel unattractive. During that period, she would avoid eating lunch in the cafeteria and instead eat outside during recess. She participated in a science fair and won 2nd place for her asteroid impact on Earth simulation. She also took part in two dance competitions, winning 4th place in the solo event and 3rd place in the duet she did with a former school best friend.

However, her life took a devastating turn near the end of her secondary school days. A sudden and tragic terrorist airstrike, attributed to the Ptolemaic Army, struck Genoa, Italy, claiming Giulietta among its many victims. Her father was the most affected by this loss, turning to a life of alcoholism and self-isolation. Although Alessandro still cared about Fio and tried his best to support her, his alcoholism and newfound self-isolating behaviour made it challenging for him to do so. As a result, the butler and maids who worked in the mansion frequently took care of her.

It took time for Fio and Alessandro to heal from this loss, but they remained resilient. To cope with the loss of her mother, she turned to sewing, baking, and reading books on ancient and modern medical practices. Eventually, Alessandro sought help and went to rehab and therapy to address his issues with Fio's support and encouragement. After graduation, Fio was awarded multiple awards and scholarships, which enabled her to attend university. There, she pursued an interdisciplinary course of study, exploring chiropractics, dentistry, and acupuncture. In private, she studied physics and astronomy in her free time as she initially wanted to apply for those two university programs. However, she ultimately chose to pursue a career in medicine due to her desire to help others.

Fio eventually expressed her interest in joining the military after encountering a persuasive recruitment poster for the Regular Army during a trip back to her family mansion, where she had enjoyed a peaceful stroll in the park and visited the local bakery to buy pastries for herself, her father, and the servants. This revelation horrified Alessandro as he didn't want to send his only child off to the battlefield, risking her life. He wanted to disregard the Germi's military traditions and even kept it a secret from her, believing that war is repugnant and perpetuates a never-ending cycle of hate and violence. Alessandro tried to deter Fio from joining, but she persisted, driven by her desire to join the fight against terrorism and protect the lives of innocent people. He reluctantly agreed and sent her off to the military at the age of 19, but he tried to minimise her risk by leveraging his connections and friends from his own military days to secure her various desk jobs. He hoped to keep her out of harm's way and away from the front lines while also trying to give Germi family traditions a sliver of respect. During her brief and uninteresting time in these desk jobs, she learned some basic computer skills.

However, everything changed when a paperwork mistake caused by militant bureaucracy resulted in Fio's transfer to the S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S., a special operations branch of the Regular Army's Intelligence Agency known for carrying out high-risk missions. Surprisingly, Fio was ecstatic to hear the news as she had been eager to be deployed on the battlefield and make a real difference. In contrast, her father was furious and stormed into military headquarters, threatening officers in an attempt to prevent his daughter from being shipped to the front lines. The people around him and his friends began to stop his efforts to preserve the Germi family's historical service in the military, thereby safeguarding the Fio's entire family lineage.

He often tried to extract Fio from the battlefield via a private jet, but she consistently resisted. Eventually, she grew tired of his overprotectiveness and bravely told him that this was what she wanted—to fight on the battlefield and provide medical aid. She assured him that she was capable of handling herself. Alessandro finally understood and allowed her to pursue her life as a military woman. In return, she promised to keep in touch with him after each mission, providing him with reassurance and comfort. Since then, she managed to survive the battles she fought in by keeping her head down and rapidly climbing through the ranks.

Like Eri, she played a crucial role in the Great Morden War by providing Marco's team with useful intel on Rebel Army positions. She even went so far as to provide them with sustenance, mainly in the form of homemade sandwiches. She also dedicated herself to providing medical support for Marco's team, which led to her being recognized as the lead medical technician of the Regular Army’s special forces.

During the Extraterrestrial Alliance Clash in Hong Kong, she was seized by a ruthless group of fanatic land troops and bikers who intended to exploit her for their twisted desires. They held her captive in a convenience store, tightly binding her with ropes and gagging her with an apple and her T-shirt. One of the deranged fanatic land troops subjected her to unwanted physical contact, leaving her severely traumatised and more prone to anxiety. This horrific experience intensified her resentment towards the Rebel Army and those who seek to spread chaos and harm. Fortunately, Tarma intervened just in time, eliminating the Rebel Infantrymen with the SV-001. Eri quickly freed her from the gag in her mouth and the ropes that bound her arms and ankles.

Her countless battles against global criminality, terrorism, and corruption enabled her to rise to the rank of Master Sergeant in the S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S. special forces unit. However, her time in the military has taught her a harsh reality: even the good guys can't always protect the innocent or save their friends and comrades. She has witnessed many deaths and severe injuries that left people crippled and traumatised in each battle. Nevertheless, with the emotional support of friends like Eri and Tarma, she has persevered and continues fighting to this day.

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hometoursandotherstuff · 1 year ago

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Yikes! Look at the new design of this home in the Netherlands. It's been on the market for 3mos., so I wonder why no one bought it, yet. Listed as a condo, the 3bd, 7 floor home, remodeled between 2001-2010, is listed for €980K - $1.070M. Let's look around inside.

There seems to be a foyer ahead, leading to the ground floor, and immediately to the right, stairs to the upper levels.

This is great for entertaining right on the first level- there's a kitchenette and table in the living room. It's convenient b/c the kitchen is on the top level.

Here we can see the entrance foyer from the sunken living room.

This is unusual- it looks like remnants of the old building were worked into the new design.

Original walls were painted white, but it still retains a cave-like appearance.

A home office. I'm impressed that it still has the original architectural features.

Small bedroom with wood paneling and built-in shelving.

The spiral stairs are a bit small.

View of the street.

Larger bedroom with shelving and a porthole window.

They've done a small sink and stainless steel shower in this bath.

This bedroom has a skylight over the bed.

Nice enclosed terrace.

Very compact kitchen, but it's got a table that can fit 4. Wish there was a small elevator or dumbwaiter for bringing groceries all the way up here.

Plus there's a roof-top deck with a table and chairs.

The layout is narrow with 1 or 2 rooms on each of the 7 levels.

I'm going to guess it's a hard sell b/c the rooms are so small, there are so many stairs, and the kitchen is tiny and all the way on the top floor.

#condo the netherlands #remodeled historic home #unusual homes #unique homes #houses #house tours #home tour

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faline-cat444 · 1 year ago

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The plushies are going to include Satoru who has his hair color being treated as a shade of brown in this case.Honestly the boy has that same weird shade Smithers has if I haven't stated that already.Is it a beige?Is it a gray?Greige?Nobody knows.

But you know what wouldn't be a baaad idea?

OFFICIAL MEY MEY PLUSHIE

Really hoping we get one of those during the series runtime.He's just the perfect material and design for such a treatment.I just saw the current collection of bath fizzes and besides the Dog Duo you have a chance of finding the compact or suitcase.I can't help but compare that to how the freaking Flintstones car got to be a vitamin before Betty did.

#Pretty Cure #PreCure #Wonderful PreCure #Satoru Toyama #Daifuku Toyama

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missfrieden · 1 year ago

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Tech as a father Chapter 52

Honestly to all who writers, how do you manage to make a one shot? I just managed to make one for Hardcase. I tend to make multi chapter ones... some tips?

Masterlist

Chapter 52: Little foodie

Tech, with practiced efficiency, proceeded through the post-mission ritual, orchestrating a seamless transition from battle-ready to parental care. The ship's interior, a blend of metal and soft lighting, provided a backdrop to this intimate moment shared between father and son. Orion, snugly encased in his miniature armour, was the first to undergo the transformation. Tech carefully removed the scaled-down pieces, each gesture deliberate yet gentle. The ritual, a ballet of precise movements, unfolded as the discussion of his brothers fade into the background.

Having successfully disarmed his tiny trooper, Tech moved to the refresher. Calculated efficiency dictated his actions; water temperature adjusted, he cradled Orion in his arms, ensuring the transition from battle to bath or rather shower was seamless. As warm water cascaded in the refresher's confined space, Orion's coos and gurgles added a touch of innocence to the otherwise utilitarian setting. The sound of water became a gentle lullaby, underscoring the tender moments between father and son.

Tech's hands, skilled in both combat and caregiving, navigated the nuances of bath time. Tiny splashes and the subtle scent of baby soap intermingled, creating a paradoxical symphony of war and peace. In the always cramped confiens of the ship hurtling through hyperspace, Tech's commitment to parental duties stood as a testament to his ability to seamlessly balance the contrasting facets of his life, soldier and father. The refresher, a temporary sanctuary, echoed with the whispers of bonding and the soft words when Orion gets fussy as the post-mission routine unfolded with practiced grace.

With the precision of a well-honed routine, Tech seamlessly continued his post-mission rituals. Setting Orion into the sink, Tech quickly getting dressed in old worn out but comfortable sweatpants and a shirt, skilfully maneuverer, adeptly choosing clothes that would envelop his son in warmth and comfort. Once Orion was comfortably dressed, Tech pivoted to the next task. Setting his son on a soft towel sprawled across the floor, Tech expertly began the process of shaving. The mirror catching glimpses of a devoted father and an energetic infant in tandem.

As Tech carefully navigated the razor across his face, Orion, propped up on the towel, observed the proceedings with wide-eyed curiosity. But in an instant, Orion tries to pull his ‘socks’ off to try and gnaw on his feet. Not aware that the onesie he wears goes over his feet completely. And yet he still tries to pull the non-existent socks off. The scene painted a normal picture of the delicate balance Tech maintained between the precision of his soldier duties and the tenderness of fatherhood. The ship's interior, though compact, became a canvas for these moments of what is a normal family, a father teaching his son by example, even in the most mundane tasks. And one day Tech will teach Orion how to shave. Maybe even here.

Tech's movements were a dance of efficiency and care, a testament to the seamless integration of military discipline and paternal love. The ship's interior, bathed in artificial light, witnessed these moments of connection as the routine unfolded with a rhythm only a seasoned soldier-father could master. Tech's efficient movements continued as he scooped Orion into his arms, effortlessly discarding the used clothes into the designated laundry basket. The ship's environment remained a harmonious blend of functionality and familial warmth.

Carrying Orion towards the makeshift dining area in the small cargo hold, Tech settled into a routine that bridged the necessities of caregiving with the desire to introduce new experiences to his son. As they approached the table, after setting Orion in a self-made high chair, Tech reached for a small jar of fruit puree, intending to make this mealtime another exploration for Orion. With precision, Tech began the process of feeding his son, each spoonful a gentle introduction to different flavours. The ship's hum, louder in the small cargo hold, provided a familiar backfround sound, accompanying the subtle sounds of feeding and Orion's occasional happy coos.

The dining area, though compact, transformed into a stage where the bond between father and son deepened with each shared moment. Tech's attention was unwavering as he gauged Orion's reactions, ensuring that the introduction to solid foods continued to be a positive experience. Having a bottle of lukewarm formula always in reach. The artificial lighting illuminated this scene of connection, where the soldier's expertise in efficiency seamlessly melded with the tenderness of nurturing. As Tech navigated the challenges of parenthood, the ship became a sanctuary, a space where father and son could navigate the complexities of their evolving relationship. Something that always goes through his head, how the space they use has transformed in something more since Orion is with them.

Tech, with a hint of curiosity and perhaps a touch of bemusement, retrieved a jar of vegetable puree from the stash he had acquired and something for himself. The storage space in the kitchen, though compact, held a surprising variety of baby food options, evidence of Tech's meticulous approach to preparation. Returning to the table, Tech resumed the feeding routine, now introducing the vegetable puree to Orion's taste buds. The infant's reaction remained unpredictable yet endearing, his tiny expressions and attempts to grasp the spoon contributing to the evolving narrative of this father-son culinary adventure.

As Tech, while taking a bite here and there from his ration bar, continued to navigate the array of flavours. Orion's babbling and Tech's occasional soft words formed a gentle symphony within the familiar confines of their shared space. The exchange between them transcended the functional aspect of mealtime, embodying the essence of shared experiences. Orion's journey into the world of solid foods became a collaborative exploration, guided by his father's careful consideration and a genuine sense of paternal warmth. With Tech, most likely unaware of it, opens his mouth when the spoon is close to Orion’s mouth, and the little one mimicking his father. In this ordinary yet profoundly significant moment, the ship like countless of times, and times to come, witnessed the unfolding narrative of a soldier turned father, embracing the delicate balance of duty and paternal joy.

Tech, attentive to the nuances of Orion's developing palate, observed his son's reaction to the Brekka beet puree. Noting the disapproval in Orion's expression, Tech remained undeterred in his efforts to introduce variety into the infant's diet. With a subtle yet determined focus, Tech retrieved his datapad and a pen. Carefully, he jotted down a note on the jar, marking the date and tapping down Orion's initial response to the Brekka beet puree in his datapad. This meticulous approach, characteristic of Tech's analytical nature, served as a testament to his commitment to understanding and adapting to Orion's preferences.

Undeterred by the initial rejection, Tech contemplated alternative options, mentally assessing the available selections. The small kitchen, a realm where culinary experimentation met paternal care, became a testing ground for new flavours and textures that would gradually shape Orion's taste preferences. As Tech reached for another jar, contemplating a more familiar choice, Orion's curious eyes followed his father's movements. The gentle exchange between them spoke of an evolving dance of discovery, a shared journey unfolding in the humble surroundings of the ship's cargo hold.

Tech, engrossed in his meticulous record-keeping, looked up as Echo, now stopping next to them, raised an eyebrow in mild amusement. Watching the domestic scene, where fatherhood and technological precision intersected. With a calm and measured response, Tech acknowledged Echo's presence, "I'm merely conducting a controlled experiment to determine Orion's preferences regarding various purees." He gestured towards the jars neatly arranged on the countertop, each annotated with dates and a symbol indicating Orion’s likes and dislikes. Echo, known for his dry wit, couldn't help but offer a subtle smirk. "Seems like Orion has his own flavour profile now." Tech nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Indeed. It ensures a systematic approach to introducing new elements into his diet."

As Echo continued on his way not even shocked or surprised to see Tech making spreadsheet on his datapad and making a small experiment out of it. Tech returned to the task at hand, expertly manoeuvring the spoon toward Orion's awaiting mouth. The culinary experimentation, Tech’s approach for the intricate dance of nurturing a growing child.

Tech, undeterred by Orion's discerning taste buds, continued his culinary experiments in the makeshift kitchen. With an air of scientific curiosity, he mixed a new combination of purees, determined to find a blend that would satisfy Orion's developing palate. Orion, seated in his high chair, observed his father's concoction with keen interest. As Tech approached with the spoonful of the experimental mixture, Orion's expressive eyes scrutinized the offering. However, as the first taste touched his tiny tongue, Orion's face contorted into a comical expression of distaste.

Tech sighed, watching as Orion promptly expelled the unwanted mixture, creating a vibrant abstract art on his bib(?) and high chair. Undeterred, Tech still smiled, appreciating the messy but endearing display of his son's discerning taste. Reaching up to snap a picture of the scene. "Well, I suppose we've ruled out this particular combination," Tech mused, his datapad already open to log the unsuccessful experiment. Orion, seemingly pleased with the outcome of his culinary protest, gleefully smacked his hands into the colourful blend on his high chair, creating a delightful mess. Tech, ever the patient father, took it in stride, realizing that the journey of introducing solid foods to his son was as much about discovery and shared moments as it was about nutrition. And Orion still is a baby, and babies make messes.

Tech, the consummate problem solver, meticulously measured and mixed a small portion of the infamous Brekka beet puree with a dash of Jogan fruit puree, Orion's favored delight. As he blended the two flavours, he maintained a hopeful expression, eager to see if this concoction would meet Orion's discerning taste. With a small bowl of yet another hybrid puree in hand, Tech approached Orion, who eyed the offering with a mixture of curiosity and scepticism. Before venturing another taste, Tech ensured that Orion took a sip from his formula bottle, aiming to cleanse his palate and create a more palatable experience. And aware to not overfeed Orion. As the spoon approached Orion's mouth, there was a moment of suspense. Orion's taste buds, still developing and unpredictable, would be the ultimate judge of Tech's culinary experiment. The spoon met his lips, and Orion, surprisingly, seemed less resistant this time.

Tech observed with a mix of anticipation and relief as Orion didn't immediately reject the bite. Instead, a thoughtful expression settled on the infant's face as he processed the combination of flavours. A small smile tugged at Tech's lips, encouraged by the possibility that this culinary compromise might just work. "Perhaps we've found a middle ground for the Bekka beet," Tech remarked, his datapad poised to record the successful fusion of purees. Orion, seemingly content with the altered taste, cooed and babbled in response, perhaps signalling his approval of the makeshift recipe. Tech, ever the doting father, savoured the small victory in navigating the intricacies of parenthood and introducing his son to the diverse world of solid foods. Which will be met with more resistance in the years to come.

Crosshair's keen eyes quickly scanned the scene as he went down the few steps to the cargo hold, taking in the aftermath of Orion's experimental culinary adventure. The colourful high chair, once pristine, now bore the marks of a tiny hands-on exploration, smears of mixed purees creating an abstract pattern that clashed with its original design of the wood from a tree, the squad got gifted long ago once on Kashyyk by Wookies.

A distinct frown etched itself onto Crosshair's face as he surveyed the mess. He crossed his arms, a clear sign of disapproval, and shot Tech a pointed look that spoke volumes. The usually stoic sharpshooter was not one to tolerate disorder, especially when it encroached upon shared living spaces. Tech, ever composed in the face of challenges, acknowledged Crosshair's disapproving gaze with a nod. "It seems we've had a bit of an artistic endeavour here," he remarked, a touch of amusement in his tone. Crosshair's response was a sceptical raise of his eyebrow, as if questioning the validity of considering this a mere artistic endeavour and not just Orion playing with his food. He moved closer to inspect the high chair, taking note of the mismatched purees and the remnants of Orion's exploration.

Tech, sensing the need to defuse any tension, swiftly reached for a cloth and began the task of cleaning up the vibrant mess. "It's a learning process for both of us," he added, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, pointing at his datapad with the chart. Crosshair, while still disapproving, couldn't entirely suppress a subtle smirk at Tech's response, Tech does go above and beyond for Orion. He grabbed his soda from the nearby cooling unit, casting a parting glance at Tech who starts the process of cleaning up.

"Just make sure your 'learning process' doesn't involve redecorating the entire ship," Crosshair deadpanned before exiting the area, leaving Tech to restore order to the culinary battlefield.

Chapter 53

Reblogs are very welcome and I am open for feedback, as english is not my first language, so maybe my sentences may be weird sometimes, or I write a word wrong even with google, or I use a wrong word for an item.

Tag: @spectacular-skywalker @aalizazareth @neyswxrld @clonethirstingisreal @sleepycreativewriter @moonwreckd @sskim-milkk

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blossombriefs · 1 year ago

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Legendary | Chapter Eight

Guiding us through the beautiful fields, The Grand Elder had two towering Namekian guards lead us to where we'd stay for the next while. Despite being quite close to The Grand Elder's home, we were secluded from the villages. With their direction, we were led to a white, domed, capsule-shaped house with a small garden outside. It was decorated with blue-leaved trees and various rock decorations dotted around in different shapes and sizes. The path in the garden led the way to an arched doorframe that welcomed the pair of us. I smiled to myself, the building looked quaint. After we took in the outside of the house, the guards gave us a password to use in Namekian that would allow the door to open for us and let us in and out. The guards bowed, their given instructions completed.

"The Grand Elder will expect you both at his home for a meal in a few hours. Please take this time to settle in and make yourselves at home."

We headed inside together, Broly gasping as he took in the inside. I was struck by its simple yet elegant decor and design. We decided to take a small tour of the house, noticing how strikingly spotless it was - almost as if it had never been lived in before. Walls were light grey, carpets were cream, and earthy-toned furnishings accented the room. The interior was bathed in a soft, ambient light that warmed the entire space. The bathroom was compact yet luxurious, the fixtures gleamed and the shelves were full of soft, fluffy towels. The spacious shower promised relaxation after our long journey and would prove to be perfect after any training we'd both endure on Namek.

The bedroom was equally as gorgeous, proving to be a tranquil retreat. In the corner of the room was a large, comfortable bed adorned with fresh white linen and plump pillows. The small balcony had breathtaking views over the green and blue surroundings. Taking a step onto it, I inhaled the fresh air as I admired the gardens below.

Finally, the main living room had a cosy seating arrangement. Plush cushions arranged around a low coffee table for dining and a small couch was in the corner, decorated with lovely woven blankets featuring traditional Namekian designs. I settled back on one of the spaces on the couch, swinging my feet up before letting out a relaxed sigh. Having been hosted by The Grand Elder and his people, I felt so grateful. I felt an undeniable peace within these walls, despite the looming danger we anticipated.

Broly paced in the living space in front of me, his brows furrowed with his finger on his lip as he was clearly deep in thought, "Do you think the Grand Elder knows why we're here? Do you think he saw who's going to attack Namek?"

I shrugged, I had only considered the possibility briefly. "It's hard to say in all honesty. If he sent that distress signal, I'd assume he must have an idea of what's coming."

Broly nodded, his expression serious, "We need to be prepared for anything. I know you probably wouldn't mind but I'd love it if you could help train me. You're strong and smart. I'd love to learn how to be more of a soldier."

I observed his determination, I was admittedly impressed as his request elected his sincere desire to grow stronger and keep his strength more under control. His openness to learn from me felt like a testament to his trust. It was touching. With a simple nod, I acknowledged his request. I understood how important it is to hone your skills, especially when we are facing potential danger together.

"I'd be honoured to help you train, Broly," I replied, meeting his gaze with a reassuring smile. "We'll start with the basics and work our way up. Your rage is a huge factor. It terrifies even me. You're so soft and gentle with me but when you're angry you go crazy. I can try and help with that. Remember, strength isn't just physical. It's about strategy. adaptability and resilience too. I'll focus on all aspects to ensure you're prepared."

Broly's expression softened into a grateful smile, a sense of relief clear in his eyes. "Thank you, Flora. I know I have lots to learn, but with your guidance, I believe I can become a better protector and a better warrior."

We started off discussing training schedules and techniques, and the closeness between us was more and more evident. Despite how uncertain the future head, we found solace in a shared determination. We have to protect Namek and it's people. Our discussions went on for hours. We planned to train in Namek's fields for an outdoor training space. They stretched for miles are weren't close to the villages so it was safe just in case Broly went a little out of control again.

As one of Namek's suns began to dip under the horizon, a warm orange glow was briefly cast over the landscape. We both knew it was time to head to The Grand Elder's home for dinner. Once we had showered we both got ready, changing into the garments the Namekians had provided us. Broly dressed in a black dress shirt and pants and I was given a white dress with a black corseted waist. I had never worn a dress before. Looking at myself in the mirror, I smiled gently. I felt pretty. I helped Broly button up his shirt, looking up at him as I made sure he looked presentable. It was hard for him to leave Ba's ear behind, it was going to be cleaned while we were out. I stepped outside, looking up to Broly to catch a relaxed level of anticipation behind his eyes.

"I've never been to something like this before," he trailed as he shuffled his feet in the fluffy grass below.

"Neither have I," I replied, approaching him slowly.

Together, we walked along a short path and up the hill that led to The Grand Elder's home. The air was filled with a gentle hum from the Namekian wildlife and the soft rustle of leaves in the evening breeze. The towering trees cast long shadows over the path as we quickly approached the tall standing stone building. We were greeted by the two warriors who had shown us to the home, ushering us inside. I looked around in amazement as the entrance was decorated with soft lighting and intricate carvings, Namek's rich history was all documented through these impressive designs immortalised in the stone. As we followed them both up some stairs we were led inside the grand dining room. Broly stayed close by my side as we were greeted by the head of the long, polished, wooden dining table that was set before us, The Grand Elder. The table was decorated beautifully with small statues and candles, each seat had it's own fine china and cutlery arrangement. As always, I felt calm,

"Welcome, my wonderful guests," The Grand Elder said, his deep voice echoing in the sheer size of the dining room. "Please, take your seats at each side of me. Dinner will be served shortly."

As we settled into our chairs, the table would gradually fill up with more guests from the Namekian council who were invited along with us. The chatter was loud as gradually the table was laid out with plenty of freshly cooked dishes. Plates were piled high with native fruits and vegetables, steaming bowls of fragrant soups and platters of seasoned dishes added more colour to the room. Wine sourced from local vineyards was poured into everyone's glasses, everyone clinking glasses as the festivities continued. Broly took a sip, pursing his lips and flaring his nostrils upon his first taste.

Throughout the meal I found that the conversation between The Grand Elder and I. Broly listened along, nodding as he filled his mouth with food and continued sipping from his glass. The Grand Elder was incredibly interested in the stories of how Broly and I crossed paths, our fight with Frieza's men and our brief journey through the stars before receiving his signal. When given the chance, Broly touched on his story too. He shared about his banishment to Vampa with his father, and the years he spent in solitude clearly reflected on him.

"May I ask my young boy, do you know what happened to your father?" The Grand Elder questioned. Sighing, Broly clenched his fork tightly as he looked down at his plate.

"I don't know," he responded. "One minute he was there, the next he wasn't."

The Grand Elder nodded, resting a hand on Broly's firm shoulder. I looked on, contemplating the mystery. I hoped it was something we would find out the answer to along our journey, for his sake more than anyone else's. He cleared his throat before issuing a response, "Just know your father would be proud of the strong man you are today."

He looked to me next, the discussion moving on. He placed a firm hand on my shoulder too. "My army is built of the finest kinds of warriors. Some of them exhibit unfathomable strength to protect our people."

His head turned to Broly, "But where would we be if we didn't also have guardians to overlook the planet's wellbeing?"

"My Namekian army is formed of warriors and guardians. The two roles cannot work in harmony without trust and understanding. I don't think I need to educate you both on that."

I looked across the table to see Broly smiling back over to me, I couldn't help but return it. I felt like an idiot for how wide my lips held my grin. His cheeks were warmed with a slight blush as he took another swig from his wine glass. The Grand Elder leaned towards me next, his lips near enough to touch my ear as he made a simple request.

"When the meal is over, would you mind staying behind? We have much to discuss."

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#dragon ball #dragon ball z #anime #fanfic #dbz #broly #broly x reader #dragon ball au #anime fanfic

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