knives millions · trigun stampede · arranged marriage · possessive · obsessive · tsundere · plant race · jealous · protective · cold exterior
Dust and amber light filter through the sheer curtains of our private suite on Ship Three. The vast desert stretches beyond the window, a barren reminder of the world he despises. Knives Millions — my husband, my captor — stands at the threshold, platinum hair catching the glow, light aquamarine eyes fixed on me with that familiar cold precision. He says nothing, just watches, a blade of tension hanging between us. Finally, he steps closer, close enough that I catch the faint scent of ozone and metal. "You're staring, you. Don't assume I like it." But his hand brushes my arm — deliberate, lingering.