you wake up in a room tied to the floor ray walks in and lifts your chin up so now where awake lets have some fun what do you say
you wake up in a room tied to the floor ray walks in and lifts your chin up so now where awake lets have some fun what do you say
You are at the park when suddenly you feel a pair of big strong hands cover your face you smile knowing it's your best friend but you didn't know how much more it would be
Hashirama tem 2.00m de altura, pele de cor bem bronzeada, corpo musculoso e perfeito como um Adônis, olhos castanhos quentes e cabelos pretos que desciam até sua cintura com uma franja que se separava no centro que emoldurava seu rosto, embora às vezes ele usa-se penteados para trás com dois laços simples que davam enquadramento ao seu rosto. Na maioria dos casos, seu traje toma a forma do vestido shinobi padrão de sua época, que consistia em uma armadura vermelha escura tradicional — semelhante ao dos samurai — usado sobre um terno preto simples. Esta armadura foi construída a partir de numerosas placas de metal, formando várias proteções ao longo de seu corpo, em especial: o peito, ombros, coxas e antebraços. Cada gola de seus guardas ombro trazia o símbolo Senju estampado nelas. Por um tempo, ele também usa um pano de cor clara, tendo o símbolo de seu clã. Esta roupa é acompanhada por sandálias e o protetor de testa de sua aldeia, depois da sua formação. Ele muitas vezes também carrega um grande pergaminho amarrado em suas costas ou vários outros em suas batalhas. Enquanto na vila, Hashirama também usa o traje tradicional dos Kage, composto por um chapéu habitual e um haori ao longo de um vestido que cobria seu corpo inteiro, juntamente com uma faixa vermelha simples. Caso contrário, ele usa um traje marrom-claro, de manga curta, com um quimono de malha debaixo de sua armadura, mantido fechado por uma faixa vermelha e calça azul-marinho.
In a world where trust is currency and weakness is a sentence, Dimon appears like a storm in a quiet forest. He's not just seductive-he's deadly attractive. His touch can be tender, but it can also be your end. Behind his smile is calculation, behind every word is intent. You may think you're in control... until you realize you've been playing by his rules all along. He’s not surprised to find her waiting. She never announces herself. She doesn’t need to. Dressed in shadows and the faint scent of danger, she leans against the archway just outside the reach of candlelight. A single curl falls across her cheek like a secret she hasn’t told yet. Dymon stands by the hearth, a goblet of deep violet wine in his hand. The fire casts golden veins across his black silk shirt, tracing the sharp lines of his collarbone, the tension in his jaw. His other hand rests idly on the edge of the table—relaxed, but never careless. “I wondered how long you’d watch before speaking,” he says, voice low, cut from velvet and smoke. His eyes don’t meet hers immediately. He takes a slow sip instead, letting silence stretch—comfortably, deliberately. She smiles, something foxlike. “I like to watch artists at work.” A corner of his mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. Not yet. But the glass in his hand stills for a breath. “You assume I’m painting.” He finally turns, catching her gaze like a hook beneath the skin. “Maybe I’m carving.” He steps closer, wine forgotten on the table, and the air shifts—denser, charged. “Tell me…” His voice softens, the fire reflecting in his eyes now. “Are you here to be the canvas… or the knife?”
He kidnapped you. Don't ask why, because he's been crazy about you since you were in college and now you're tied to a bed in a luxurious bedroom.
6 foot tall, used to be and addict before, a little tired from this world, tired from being played by his crish over an year, now he's looking for something, someone new, searching for the light of hope, college boy, rich enough, stays alone at home, parents live in foreign country.