#Beyond Black Tie Attire

[samkkshopping]

Unlock Regal Style: 5 Maharaja-Inspired Color Combos by Samyakk

Introduction:

Maharaja Fashion Inspiration

Maharaja fashion inspiration plays a significant role in contemporary men’s wedding outfits. Drawing from the opulence of royal attire, this style incorporates rich fabrics, intricate embroidery, and bold colors, reflecting a sense of grandeur and sophistication. Men’s festive wear inspired by Maharaja-inspired looks often features jewel tone suits and opulent men’s fashion, ideal for making a striking impression at any event.

Men’s Ethnic Style and Traditional Attire

The essence of men’s ethnic style lies in its ability to blend traditional elements with modern aesthetics. Men’s traditional attire, such as the Jodhpuri suit, offers a regal and refined look perfect for weddings and festive occasions. Men’s traditional fashion trends continue to evolve, embracing both the heritage of royal men’s attire and contemporary design innovations.

Elegant and Regal Men’s Outfits

For those seeking an elegant men’s outfit, the Jodhpuri suit stands out with its detailed craftsmanship and sophisticated appearance. Paired with accessories that complement its royal appeal, such as brooches and pocket squares, the Jodhpuri suit transforms into a centerpiece of a men’s regal wardrobe.

Let’s Dive into more ethnic outfit: Jodhpuri Suit for all your occasion

Jodhpuri suits are a cornerstone of Indian men’s fashion, especially for weddings and formal events. These distinguished outfits combine tradition with a touch of modern flair, making them a popular choice for those seeking a unique and sophisticated look.

Comfort Meets Style

Jodhpuris are crafted from breathable fabrics like cotton, silk, or linen, ensuring comfort even in warm weather. Unlike kurtas paired with jackets, Jodhpuri suits offer a cohesive and tailored look. The jackets, typically made from slightly heavier fabrics, provide a structured silhouette, while the trousers maintain a comfortable drape.

A Touch of Brilliance

Jodhpuri suits often feature embellishments like sequins or gemstones, adding a touch of Indian heritage to the outfit. Traditionally available in vibrant colors for festive occasions, Jodhpuris now come in a wider range, including classic blacks, whites, blues, and grays, making them suitable for various events.

The Rise of the Jodhpuri

These designer suits for men gained popularity for their resemblance to formal business attire. While not strictly traditional Indian clothing, Jodhpuri suits became a prominent symbol during Prime Minister Nehru’s era. His frequent wearing of Jodhpuri suits cemented their place in Indian men’s fashion, and they eventually became a part of Indian men’s wedding outfits.

Versatility for Every Man

Jodhpuri suits cater to diverse styles. Their formal elegance makes them appropriate for weddings and work functions, while their comfortable design allows for all-day wear. Whether you seek a bold statement piece or a timeless classic, a Jodhpuri suit offers a perfect blend of tradition, comfort, and modern style.

Festive and Formal Men’s Fashion

Men’s luxury clothing and festive men’s fashion are characterized by the use of rich fabric men’s clothing and ornate detailing. Whether attending a wedding, festival, or formal event, men can choose from a variety of styles that showcase their personality and taste. Brands like Samyakk offer an extensive range of men’s formal wear, ensuring that every man finds the perfect ensemble for any occasion.

Men Suit: A classic choice of suit everybody likes Men Suits have always been a symbol of elegance and sophistication. Whether it’s a business meeting, a formal event, or a special occasion like a wedding, the right suit for men can make a world of difference. In this blog, we will explore a variety of styles, including blazers for men, wedding suits for men, and the traditional yet trendy Jodhpuri Suit.

Classic Suit: Timeless Elegance

A Classic Suit is a staple in every man’s wardrobe. It exudes a timeless appeal that works for both professional and social settings. The clean lines and tailored fit make it a versatile choice for any occasion. When you think of a classic suit, envision a well-fitted jacket paired with perfectly tailored trousers, often in neutral colors like navy, grey, or black.

Tuxedo Suit: The Ultimate in Formal Wear

For the most formal of occasions, the Tuxedo Suit is unmatched. Known for its satin lapels and often accompanied by a bow tie, the tuxedo is the epitome of elegance. Whether you’re attending a black-tie event or your own wedding, a tuxedo ensures you stand out with its sophisticated design.

Wedding Suits: Making Your Day Special

When it comes to your big day, wedding suits for men play a crucial role. From traditional wedding suits to modern designs, the choices are endless. One popular choice is the black Jodhpuri Suit, which combines the richness of Indian heritage with contemporary style. This outfit is perfect for grooms who want to add a touch of royalty to their wedding attire.

Jodhpuri Suit: Royalty Redefined

The Jodhpuri Suit is a regal option that has gained immense popularity in recent years. Known for its high-neck, bandhgala design, this suit is perfect for weddings and other formal events. The Jodhpuri Suit Men prefer today often features intricate embroidery and rich fabrics, making it a standout choice.

Designer Suits for Men: Contemporary Flair

For those who love to stay ahead of fashion trends, designer suits for men are a must-have. These suits often feature unique cuts, bold colors, and innovative fabrics. Whether you’re looking through a mens suit designs catalogue or seeking the latest mens suit designs for a wedding, designer suits offer a variety of options that cater to different tastes and preferences.

Blazers for Men: Versatile and Stylish

Blazers for men are a versatile addition to any wardrobe. They can be dressed up or down, making them suitable for both casual and formal occasions. Pair a classic blazer with jeans for a smart-casual look or with dress trousers for a more polished appearance.

Wedding Outfit For Men: Beyond the Suit

When considering a wedding outfit for men, think beyond the traditional suit. Options like the Bandhgala offer a unique blend of modern style and traditional elegance. This high-collared jacket can be paired with trousers or dhoti pants, providing a distinctive look that sets you apart on your special day.

Jewel Tones

Jewel tone suits in colors like sapphire blue, ruby red, and emerald green paired with neutral tones like black, white, or beige create a luxurious and sophisticated look. These colors are perfect for men’s wedding outfits and festive men’s fashion.

Major Color Combos to focus: Men Wedding & Party Wear Outfit

When it comes to men’s wedding outfits and party wear, choosing the right color combination can make a significant impact. Here are some standout color combos that can elevate your look for these special occasions.

Classic Black and White

A timeless combination, black and white is perfect for both weddings and formal parties. Whether it’s a tuxedo suit or a classic suit, this duo exudes sophistication and elegance.

Navy Blue and Gold

Navy blue and gold is a luxurious combo that works well for wedding suits for men. The richness of navy paired with the opulence of gold detailing creates a regal look, ideal for evening weddings and receptions.

Burgundy and Black

Burgundy and black is a bold and sophisticated choice for men’s wedding suits. This combination is perfect for fall and winter weddings, offering a deep, rich aesthetic that stands out.

Royal Blue and White

For a fresh and vibrant look, royal blue and white is an excellent choice. This combination is particularly popular for men’s festive wear and men’s ethnic style, including Jodhpuri suits and bandhgala jackets.

Charcoal Grey and Silver

Charcoal grey and silver is a modern and sleek option for both weddings and parties. This combo works well for men’s formal wear, providing a contemporary yet classic look.

Emerald Green and Gold

Emerald green and gold is a striking combination that embodies luxury and elegance. This pairing is ideal for wedding outfits for men looking to make a bold statement.

Maroon and Cream

Maroon and cream is a rich and traditional combination perfect for Indian men’s fashion. This duo is particularly popular in Jodhpuri suits and bandhgala outfits, offering a royal and festive look.

Black and Maroon

Black and maroon create a powerful and striking look for evening events. This combination is particularly suited for opulent men’s fashion and men’s luxury clothing, ensuring you stand out in any gathering.

White and Pastel

White and pastel combinations, such as white with pastel pink, blue, or mint, are perfect for daytime weddings and summer parties. These colors offer a fresh and elegant look, ideal for men’s traditional attire and men’s regal wardrobe.

The Samyakk Experience

Shopping for the perfect suit can be overwhelming, but with brands like Samyakk, the process becomes seamless. Known for their exquisite craftsmanship and attention to detail, Samyakk offers a wide range of suits, from the classic and timeless to the modern and trendy. Whether you’re looking for a wedding suit designer or exploring the suit design man catalogs, Samyakk has something to cater to every need.

Conclusion

The world of men’s suits is vast and varied, offering something for every taste and occasion. From the timeless classic suit to the regal Jodhpuri Suit, and the sophisticated Tuxedo Suit, each style brings its own unique charm. So, whether you’re preparing for a wedding, a formal event, or just looking to upgrade your wardrobe, there’s a perfect men suit out there waiting for you.

[chlorinecake]

﴾ This Is How Much IDGAF — 𝐇.𝐇𝐉 ׅ ㅤ֢ ㅤׄㅤ

▹PAIRING: Possessive Boyfriend Hyunjin x F. Reader

▹ GENRE: ⚠︎ Smut, Model / Idol Au, Angst, Fluff

── 𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈 ܃ While at a prestigious fashion event with your boyfriend, you two made your public debut as a celebrity couple. However, after Hyunjin caught sight of you mingling with a flirtatious stranger, he was determined to remind you who you belonged to before the night was out...

▹ WARNINGS: KINKTOBER SPECIAL, foul language, kissing, jealous!hyunjin lol, degrading kink, face slapping, oral (m. receiving), orgasm denial, spit kink, S&M, some spanking, rough unprotected sex, hair pulling

▹ 𝐖ORD 𝐂OUNT ⨾ 4074 ࿐Day 11

AS HYUNJIN'S GIRLFRIEND, you had always felt comfortable stepping into the limelight that often surrounded him, even when his fame far surpassed yours.

It never bothered you that he was the center of attention at events like these, and in fact, you genuinely preferred blending into the crowd at times...

It’s actually how you first met each other.

You were relatively new in the modeling world, and Hyunjin was an A-lister. You almost couldn’t believe your eyes when he approached you, asking for your name and if you knew where the drink bar was.

Since then, you two are both a happy couple now, and with that, Hyunjin wanted to make tonight special for you; he planned to publicly announce your relationship and the idea of stepping out as a couple made your palms sweat with anticipation.

Hyunjin stood in front of the mirror while adjusting his necktie; it was something he did all the time on his own, but today, the task was proving to be much more difficult than usual.

You were busy retouching your makeup when you caught on to his little sighs of frustration, and immediately, putting your makeup brush down, you replaced his anxious fingers with your own, adjusting the tie flaps for him with meticulous precision.

“Thank you,” Hyunjin said with a soft smile, but you could tell it was a forced one given the tension in his eyebrows.

“You’re welcome, baby,” you returned, giving the tie a few more tugs until it was just right, “I’ve never seen you this nervous before…”

He chuckled at your words as you took a step back to check him out, the sleek black suit he wore hugging his figure perfectly with every line accentuating his modelesque figure.

“Me neither,” he replied, in between applying some final touches of his cologne, “I just don’t know what to expect from tonight…”

“Then don’t expect anything at all,” you whispered, gently squeezing his bicep through his suit, “you’re gonna do great, alright?”

His tender gaze flickered from your face and back to the mirror as he took in the reflection of you two standing beside each other, and you looked absolutely stunning together.

Hyunjin could almost see all the adoring headlines and flashing lights in the back of his mind already, making his heart flutter with pride.

“Alright,” he repeated, and much more confidently this time, snagging off his necktie single-handedly as the extra fabric was only making it harder for him to relax and he looked much hotter without it anyway.

Hooking your hand in his, the two of you exchanged a brief kiss, waltzing out of the dressing room and beyond excited to have attended the fashion event.

Stepping out of the sleek limousine, you and Hyunjin soon arrived at the venue, and the atmosphere was electric.

Famous faces mingled in designer attire, and fashion elitists swarmed around the gleaming runway, champagne glasses glad in hand.

Admittedly, the scene was pretentiously grandiose, from the red carpet outside to the elaborate decor inside the atmosphere was made even more dynamic thanks to the electric dance music playing.

It was a bit overwhelming when people started to approach the two of you because as mentioned previously, you both were accredited to your own standard of fame; you had your past and future fashion representatives tugging at your attention while Hyunjin interacted with fellow models from his circle as well.

You both radiated joy, your smiles bright and infectious, as grace and charm seemed to flow from you like a warm glow. With your arms intertwined, you were resolute in your commitment to remain side by side all evening.

And ironically so, as almost every conversation, including the harsh barking from photographers, led to the same, faithful, question: “Are you two together?”

As brief as it was, the question meant the world to you.

The warmth of adoration that surrounded you two tonight was undeniable, and it melted your heart to see how confident he was.

Scanning the room, it seemed like everyone’s eyes were on you two now, so it was like you had no other choice but to split up to take the attention off yourselves.

“I’ll see you in a bit, baby,” Hyunjin whispered while kissing the temple of your head, “don’t go too far, now…”

“I won’t,” you smiled, letting go of his hand before eventually finding yourself by the drink bar, chatting it up with someacquaintances and familiar faces.

You remember running into Momo, who actually worked at the same company as your boyfriend, and she congratulated you on coming public about your relationship.

“That takes a lot of courage to do in this industry, and I couldn’t be happier for you and Hyunjin,” she hummed before eventually walking away, leaving you to yourself again.

After a while, Hyunjin still hadn’t come to find you yet…

That’s when a certain partygoer made his way over to you, a glint of mischief dangling in his eyes as he winked, making your face heat up as you didn’t know how to respond to such behavior.

He had been noticeably eyeing since you and Hyunjin parted ways, and before you knew it, he was already making small talk with you.

“Nice dress,” he began in a voice smoother than the champagne bubbling over in everyone’s glasses. “And is that a Versace necklace? It looks stunning on your complexion.”

He reached out his hand to examine the chain up close now, and you internally shivered at the feeling of his cold fingers grazing your chest.

“Thank you,” you returned shyly, “my boyfriend’s actually an ambassador for Versace… this is a custom-made piece…”

The man gave you a look, one that told you he wasn’t buying the whole ‘boyfriend name drop’ trick at all, so he continued.

“I suppose that makes you a very lucky girl then,” he smirked before finally letting go of your necklace, “is that ring from him, too?”

His confidence was off-putting, but you brushed the annoyance aside, thinking it was harmless banter, “Yeah, it’s a promise ring…”

“Oh, I know what it is,” he chuckled sarcastically while licking his lips, “Though, I can’t say you’re fortunate anymore if Mr. Versace doesn’t even let you touch him—”

“It’s a symbol of our loyalty,” you corrected him as sternly as you could.

And giving him the benefit of the doubt, you assumed that the champagne had something to do with this man’s inappropriate boldness.

“My apologies, darling,” he said more quietly this time, “I didn’t mean to offend you, that’s just my sense of humor…”

“It’s alright, no offense taken,” you replied, not meeting his face now as his sharp features were only magnified under the venue lighting…

The two of you exchanged a few more words before you felt a sharp grip on your arm, one that was masked by a forced smile of pleasantness.

It was Hyunjin, who unbeknownst to you, had watched the entire exchange… his previously tender expression shifted as he caught sight of the guy leaning in too closely, laughing too loudly, and getting too touchy.

You felt a sudden tension in the air; the warmth of the event seemed to drain away now that Hyunjin was by your side again.

“Hey,” Hyunjin started, and the typically playful tone of his voice was replaced by a steely edge. You could see the anger flaring behind his dark eyes, making your stomach flutter at the way his jaw visibly tightened as he spoke, “I think you should leave.”

And with this, the stranger only smirked, perhaps not taking your boyfriend seriously, but that only fueled Hyunjin's possessiveness even more.

“Look man, we were only talking—”

“Well did she tell you she was spoken for?… Huh?” Hyunjin asked, his protective and jealous grip on you growing tighter.

“I mean, she might’ve mentioned it, but with looks like hers, you can’t blame a guy for not caring, right?”

Hyunjin scoffed, and you felt your heartbeat increase with each passing second.

Before you could even process all that was happening, your boyfriend wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him just to make it undeniably clear who you belonged to.

“Come on, babe,” he said with a forced smile, dragging you away from the unwelcome attention, “there’s someone I’d like you to meet…”

Of course, that was a lie, but he only said it because he didn’t want the creepy guy trying to follow you two…

You kind of wished you knew the strange man’s name now, but it wouldn’t make a difference to Hyunjin anyway; he was already pissed at you… pissed that you just stood there and let that guy disrespect your relationship like that, and pissed that you didn’t walk away and just stood there, soaking up all his bullshit…

The rest of the night played out like a dance that lacked harmony; Hyunjin's smile never wavered from his face, just as his grip never wavered from your hand.

A throng of people already began to disperse out and about the main floor, though Hyunjin didn't even bother waiting for everyone to leave.

Walking past the elevator, he steered you towards the stairs, his eyes ridden with determination as he led you to a secluded area in the building.

The space oddly mimicked a kitchen given the steel accents and tile flooring…

You knew what was coming, and a strange mix of dread and exhilaration filled you as Hyunjin’s playful façade vanished completely.

“What the hell was that ____?” Hyunjin hissed without hesitation, voice low but intense as he took off his jacket and tossed it aside, already feeling too hot with his rage.

“I thought you knew better than to entertain guys like that… God, I… I brought you here to support me, ____…. to celebrate us… not so you could run off and flirt with strangers—”

“You know damn well I wasn’t flirting with him, Hyunjin,” you protested through a shaky voice, finally meeting his eyes, “I would never do something like that to you…”

Hyunjin’s expression softened slightly, but the tension remained as bold as ever.

“That still doesn’t change the fact that you allowed it, ____,” Hyunjin returned, and you felt your spirit break all overagain.

“What do you mean I allowed it—what was I supposed to do, Hyunjin?… Scream like a damsel in distress while you were chatting it up with elite designers?” You raised your voice at him, and your use of sarcasm only provoked him further.

Pressing you against the wall, you felt your heart skip a bit at the anger radiating off of him now, and if he wasn’t so handsome, he’d likely look like a raging bull at this moment.

“I don’t want anyone thinking they have a chance with you, ____… I’m not just yelling at you for fun,” he scorned, only to take his free hand and hold your face in place.

You felt so ashamed at this moment, so confused; it was never your intention to encourage the stranger to behave in such a way, and you’d say Hyunjin was getting way too worked up over a simple interaction—

“Get out of your head slut, I’m still talking to you,” Hyunjin went on, keeping your body fused against the wall, “What were you just thinking about, anyways, huh?…”

You couldn’t bring yourself to answer, and it had everything to do with the tears forming in your eyes now; Hyunjin had never called you such a thing—

“Oh, so you’re the kind of slut that cries instead of talking now?” He continued to degrade you, “because you sure had a lot to say when that guy had his hands on you…”

You shook your head at his words, not even bothering to hide your tears anymore as a few slid down your face anyway.

“Aww… What is it, dolly… hm? Do I have to touch you to get you to talk for me?” He whispered condescendingly, only to tighten his grip on your face and force a weak whimper out of you…

“H-Hyunjin—“ you stuttered while lifting your arm to remove his painful grip from your face, but he instead found your hand in his own, pinning your wrist to the wall.

“You don’t get to touch me right now,” he slithered impossibly close to your face now, and his voice went straight to your core, lingering there long enough for you to feel yourself pulse slightly.

It was embarrassing, honestly… the fact that you were getting turned on by the cruelty in his words…

Hyunjin looked down for a second, letting out an attractive sigh to exhale some of his nerves.

Your emotions were still spiraling inside you, and despite how the look in his eyes should’ve intimidated you, it only turned you on even more, and in all honesty, he was feeling the same way himself.

The only reason he looked back up so suddenly was because he caught sight of the way you subconsciously rubbed your thighs together for leverage, and he felt himself getting harder by the minute.

“Why’d you just stand there, love?… knowing I’d get upset like this…” Hyunjin whispered, voice hoarse as he looked at you with his piercing gaze, “Unless you wanted to make me mad… is that what happened?”

He honestly had rendered you speechless; you had no clue what he wanted to hear right now, and it didn’t help that your brain kept dozing off, failing to focus on anything but the thought of him fucking you—

“Hyunjin!” You gasped, feeling a wad of his spit decorate your face now.

“That’s how dumb sluts are treated,” he said, and it was clear that his patience had reached its limit on tolerating your bullshit. “And since you don’t have anything to say other than my name, I’ll just have to find a new use for your mouth.”

Letting your wrist free and removing his grip from your face, his hands find your shoulders, shoving you down to the ground knees-first before promptly undoing his pants, and he can feel your weak eyes watching his every move now…

His dick is quick to come out, too, eager and erect as one of his hands finds your scalp, angling your head upward to face him.

“Suck it,” he commands, and your lips hesitantly but surely invite his cock into the warmth of your mouth, and he visibly bites back a groan at the feeling.

Needing something to brace on, your hands find his thighs, but he swats them away, staying firm on his rule that you don’t get to touch him.

Your first instinct was to use your hands to help you take his length, too, but you knew better than to give that a try.

Opening your throat the best you could, you bobbed your head against his shaft at a medium pace, making sure you tightened your lips around the base just how he liked it.

But by now, it was getting much harder for him to seem unfazed as tiny groans of pleasure started to slip past his mouth the more and more you sucked, genuinely enjoying the taste of him.

Hyunjin was embarrassingly close to finishing, cursing under his breath while guiding your head to move a little slower, as you had only been sucking for a few minutes.

That’s when suddenly, he shoved your head down as far as your throat could go before you started gagging.

“Such a pathetic cock whore,” he spat, feeling himself twitch at the sight of foggy eyeliner staining your face now.

Pulling out of your mouth, a dense string of precum kept you together until he told you to stand up for him.

You were completely drunk on lust right now, and that was all without having a single swig of alcohol in your system.

Hyunjin’s hands found your waist, and you were promptly laid on the countertop, back-first.

The metal surface was cold against your skin, making your whole body shiver before your boyfriend eventually grabbed your thighs, roughly angling them so he could have perfect access to your cunt.

Leaning down, he was gracious enough to find your lips in a kiss, even though affection from him was one of the last things he felt you deserved right now.

“So wet already,” he murmured against your mouth, reaching down a hand to glide his digits over your folds, and you felt your abdomen tighten every time one of his silver rings grazed your sensitive sex, “Did that guy turn you on, or is it just me?”

“Ahh~” You moaned suddenly, and only because he slapped your cunt the moment you tried putting your hands in his hair for leverage.

He knew how much you loved his hair, and just touching him in general; not allowing you to have such access to him was doing exactly what he intended it to do…

“You know I only get this way for you, Hyun,” you whined beneath him, and he raised his eyebrows, surprised you had anything to say at all given your pathetic silence thus far.

However, his stoic expression soon returned as he brushed off your words, determined to teach you a lesson you wouldn’t forget.

Hyunjin lined himself up with your eager hole, preventing any other thoughts from crossing your mind as he buried himself deep inside you, stretching your walls out inch by inch.

“Here’s something you can think about the next time another guy flirts with you,” he groaned at the tightness, and you swear a part of your heart crumbled at the fiery look on his face.

After the first few snaps of his hips, Hyunjin had your voice echoing off the walls, thighs trembling at the sides of his waist as he pounded into you at a pace you weren’t expecting so soon.

“That’s it, slut… let everyone hear how I make you mine,” he whispered, leaning back down to leave a trail of sloppy, hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, the both of you humming at sensation.

“Fuck~” you cried out with your eyes sealed shut, getting lost in the rhythm of your body rocking up and down against the countertop.

Your tits shook with the movements, and his pelvis never felt so good while grinding against your burning clit.

“You like it rough, don't you, baby?” Your boyfriend grunted, his voice strained with desire and effort.

Your hands went to find his shoulders for balance, but he had them pinned to the countertop in a matter of no time, snickering to himself at the frustration brewing on your features.

“Aww, don’t tell me you thought I’d move on that easily,” he smirked, only to hiss the moment you very intentionally clenched your walls around him.

“Please,” you begged, and you’re not sure what for, but Hyunjin obliged anyway, pounding into you with an increasing force with his balls slapping against your ass with each deep thrust.

The sound of your flesh slapping together filled your ears now, accompanied by shaky pleas and needy moans.

“God,” he panted desperately, releasing your wrists so he grip your thighs again, spreading you wider as he continued to punish your pussy.

Leaning down, Hyunjin’s mouth captured one of your erect nipples through the thin fabric of your dress, sucking and nibbling on it gently to send shocks of pleasure throughout your sweaty body.

“You’re mine, ____… all fucking mine,” he whispered through slurred words, and his voice was so low that you felt it in your knees.

You were getting close to the edge already as your body coiled tighter with each hit of his hips, but from experience, you could Hyunjin was even closer.

His mouth was right below your ear now as you struggled to keep your hands off of him, and with one more faithful attempt, you let your fingers get lost in his scalp, but this time, he didn’t reject your touch.

With gentle eyes, your boyfriend lifted his weight off of you, holding your face in place while finding your lips in yet another passionate kiss.

And was with that alone that your walls shattered around him, clenching and milking his cock as his entire body quivered at the powerful orgasm washing over him.

The metal countertop no longer seemed cold as his warm cum splashed inside you, his muscular body tensing slightly as adorably throaty groans slipped past his swollen lips.

“Hyunjin,” your voice came out quietly and breathy as his hips suddenly stopped moving, and when his dark eyes peered into your weak ones, you knew your misery wasn’t over quite yet.

“Oh, don’t even start,” he began, slipping out of your cunt with a foul wet sound, and your core almost cried at the sudden emptiness, “You’re lucky you even got that much…”

As badly as your inner being wanted to curse him out for chasing his orgasm only to deny you of a release, you decided it was best to simply sulk and accept it.

Sliding off the counter, Hyunjin helped you out by wiping the evidence of arousal and intimacy from between your legs before readjusting your clothes for you…

It was an interesting form of déjà vu as you thought back to a few hours prior when you helped him fasten his tie back.

Giving him a playful look, your fingers found the side of your dress as you gently tugged, alluding to the way he tossed his tie away earlier.

“I can’t believe you’re still trying to be bad after everything I just did to you” he chuckled, playfully swatting your hand away. His laughter, although brief, was contagious, and you couldn't help but giggle yourself now as you leaned against his shoulder given the way your legs started to tingle from falling asleep. 

The warmth of his body was comforting, and you felt a sense of safety in his presence once he secured a protective hand at your waist.

Hyunjin was sure to grab his jacket in his free hand as well, the fabric draping over your shoulders like a shield against the cool evening air as you both made your way back to the main venue.

The photographers were too busy capturing shots of the models strutting down the runway to notice you two slipping in, and thankfully so since neither of you looked as put together as you did half an hour ago with your hair slightly tousled and his shirt wrinkled from the prior fit of sexual tension.

You and Hyunjin managed to snag some seats in the back that were nestled under the soft, ambient lighting, casting a subtle glow around you. 

Slender silhouettes of models glided before your eyes with their outfits appearing as blurs of color and fabric... though,your focus was entirely on the man beside you.

Leaning closer to him, you rested your head on his shoulder, sighing at the comforting scent of his cologne as a shy smirk danced on his lips.

“Are you okay, love?.... I mean... was I maybe too harsh earlier?” A now much calmer Hyunjin inquired through a whisper, voice low and teasing, but there was a hint of genuine concern in his eyes, “You looked like you were on the verge of passing out, honestly...”

Rolling your eyes, you scoffed at his words, nudging him with your elbow; “I did not! I was just… enjoying the moment,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant, but the warmth creeping up your cheeks betrayed you. 

“Enjoying the moment, huh?” He repeated playfully, raising an eyebrow at your demeanor, “Is that what you call it when you can hardly stand up on your own without even finishing?” 

You laughed, the sound light and airy, and it felt good to let go of the tension from before. “Okay, maybe you were a little over the top, I'll admit--”

“Baby, why didn't you tell me?!”

“But,” you went on to continue, dragging out the word to get his attention again, “I still enjoyed every last second of it...”

He fell quiet at your words as yet another shy smile tugged at his lips, revealing his adorable dimples, “Promise?”

“Promise,” you recited, tugging the swell of his bicep even tighter now as both your eyes turned back to the stage, making sure to stay close to each other for the rest of the night.

✎𓂃 Thanks for reading DAY 11's fic entry for my 2024 Kinktober Event !! Once again, I'm a bit late to posting this, but nonetheless, if you're interested, feel free to check out my main enhypen masterlist or my kinktober masterlist here !!

♱ PERM TAGLIST:

@squoxle, @nishiimuranights, @ashgonedash @yourmomscuntis2tighy (miss you), @wonbinisbabygurl @watamotee33, @addictedtohobi, @ot7sevenlvr

♱ KINKTOBER TAGLIST:

@pasteltheghost16 @fawnpeaks @melonvrs @mheretoreadff @skzfelixlove @inishij @yaorzu-blog @andromedawillburyyou @ramyeonzprincess @zaihypen @simjaeyunns @gardenwonnies @hynier @idontknowhowtomakeusernames @enhymeowz @minhosimthings @stormy1408 @crownj1min @jay-0n3s @gacktsa @leeknowinggg @d-dilemma @mrsjohnnysuh

[sukuna-ryo]

Trigger warnings:

NSFW Content, Alcohol Use/Intoxication, Non-Religious Themes (Priest Involved in NSFW Context), Dubious Consent (Implied Drunken States), Religious Guilt, Incest Joke/Mention, Threesome, Sexual Content, Emotional Distress, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Headcanons:

Priest Nanami, who one day officiates the wedding of drunk Gojo and you.

Priest Nanami, who feels like he's doing something he shouldn't, but ultimately follows through with it because you both, in your drunken state, seem to have already registered your marriage prior to making your way to the church—Gojo was waving the marriage certificate in his face.

Priest Nanami, who can see that you're wearing a short wedding dress that seems like something you bought in a hurry from a local Walmart.

Priest Nanami, who also notices that Gojo seems to be wearing a white shirt and tie that look like they were bought from the same Walmart, paired with his wide-leg black jeans.

Priest Nanami, who concludes that you have come here from the club, judging by the way your friends are all in club attire.

Priest Nanami, whose eyes unknowingly keep drifting to the bride, who looks absolutely breathtaking even in her drunken state.

Priest Nanami, who was unaware that, although he didn't, drunk Gojo noticed everything.

Priest Nanami, who finally gets done officiating your wedding against his wishes and better judgment, grumbling throughout the ceremony.

Priest Nanami, who somehow gets pulled into an afterparty/reception by drunk Gojo, you, and your rowdy friends.

Priest Nanami, who has a drink too many forced down his throat by drunk Gojo and your friends.

Priest Nanami, who gets absolutely wasted and ends up being carried to Gojo's place with you.

Priest Nanami, who wakes up in the same bed with you and Gojo—all three of you completely naked.

Priest Nanami, who is horrified by the realization that he had a threesome with the couple whose wedding he officiated just a few hours ago.

Priest Nanami, who is on the verge of tears as rage and guilt consume him over committing such a grave sin (not his fault though—Gojo did this).

Priest Nanami, who is even more horrified when he finds out that Gojo and you aren't even a couple and got married in a drunken frenzy.

Priest Nanami, who almost has a heart attack when Gojo reveals that you and he are actually half-siblings.

Priest Nanami, who forgets that he is a man of God as he almost murders Gojo, before you rush in to break up the fight, saying that Gojo is joking.

Priest Nanami, who hurriedly puts on his clothes to storm out of the house but stops when Gojo asks if he's really going to leave after everything that's happened.

Priest Nanami, who feels like a devil is whispering in his ear when Gojo asks if he's sure he'd be okay with never seeing you again.

Priest Nanami, who musters all his strength, straightens himself, and lies that he'd be damned if he ever saw your or Gojo's face again—but it's no use when Gojo suddenly pulls you in for a kiss.

Priest Nanami, who can't help but feel a little flustered and a lot aroused when he sees Gojo deepen the kiss, and then the two of you fully making out and grinding against each other.

Priest Nanami, who snaps out of it and walks to the bedroom door, twisting the doorknob to leave, but stops in his tracks when he hears you call out to him.

Priest Nanami, who knows that he's damned beyond salvation and definitely going to hell when he turns around and takes in your appearance, realizing that the devil in the room is you and not Gojo.

Priest Nanami, who cannot bring himself to ignore your pleas and desperate expression longing for him.

Priest Nanami, who spends the next few days in Gojo's bed with you.

Priest Nanami, who knows that he cannot confess his sins of the past few days to his fellow priest in the confessional box.

Priest Nanami, who thinks it would be better to die because he won't be using the confessional box ever again with all the sins he'll be committing from now on.

This is my first fanfic that I've ever posted so please go easy on me

[lokisgoodgirl]

Believe Me [Loki x Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Home from a mission in the dead of night, Loki requires absolution (w/c 1.4k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smutty. Avenger!Loki. Established relationship. Mild sub!loki, non-toxic jealously, 'authorised' mild infidelity (missions, innit).

You had dozed, slipping between the fleeting embrace of slumber. Snatches came and went, the cool of your pillow turning hot before you turned it again.

Fat feathers crisped as you lowered your head. The finest Asgardian goose. Loki insisted. With each wave of consciousness, you tried not to think of your lover destructively flirting his way through a honeytrap mission tonight. The poor mark didn’t stand a chance. You checked the clock. 03.23.

But something feels different.

Sitting up, you squinted beyond the darkness.

On the far side of the room, a wing-back chair rose in the gloom. The draped silk of your discarded robe still hung over the armrest, but it shimmered. It was moving. Black became grey as your eyes adjusted, seeing pale fingers weaving silk between them.

You saw him now.

Legs crossed, back straight and chin dipped as he watched you sleep while he bathed in shadow. Curls sat effortlessly back from his face, slices of cheekbone protruding from blackest night.

The shade of his suit was at one with the leather behind, but Loki’s bright eyes smouldered; embers of starlight and dying galaxies deep in the darkness. “I didn’t wish to wake you, love” he murmured, pulling the silk hem through his fingers a final time before letting it fall.

One long leg unfurled over the other, the click of his heel meeting the floor making you clench beneath the bed-covers. You were wet already. So wet. Like your body could sense his presence, if not yet your mind. She always could.

Like a dream, you cast the duvet back and rose; bare feet padding across the boards towards him. Cool air sent gooseflesh rippling up your thighs, your arms; the curves of your body protected only by a flimsy camisole. Only a few more steps. The leather of the chair squeaked as his thighs spread against the sides. “Loki,” you breathed, cupping his face.

No sooner had the name left your lips than a row of candles flickered to life, illuminating him from behind. They floated in the air, rivulets of wax already spilling soft rolls down the sides. “Hel-lo,” he purred teasingly. One eyebrow cocked. And the threat of a smirk pressing against his cheeks.

For the first time, you noticed his unusual attire. A three piece suit, with its crowning glory the drip of starched ruffles cascading down his chest to the high waist of his trousers. He shifted in the chair, the pad of a fingertip brushing a close-lipped smile.

“Steve really went Ken-doll on you tonight, huh?” you teased, mirth ebbing to renewed desire as he drew the fingers to the bow-tie fastened at his neck.

He shrugged, tugging it slowly, letting the silk unfurl. It hung perfectly around his collar. You wondered if he would tie you up with it. You hoped he would.

In a flash, two large hands cupped your ass, pulling you down to his lap. With a gasp you managed to straddle him, slotting your knees on either side of his thick trunk. You kissed him deeply, savouring the softness of his tongue as it welled and licked and loved you. The ceremony was about to begin. His fingers spread against your cheeks, pulling and massaging as he groaned into your throat.

He tasted like jealousy. Traces of expensive perfume lingering on his skin and the faint hang of some rich whisky doing its best to conceal it. A thrill flooded through you, imagining the mark's desire roaring through her blood as she felt his muscle ripple beneath her touch. But Loki would never betray you, not beyond the emotionless tactics his position required.

Your thumb skated up his cheek, catching a patch of forgotten lipstick near his ear. Forgotten? No. You knew better than that. Whenever Loki came home from ensnaring a target with his wiles, he never missed the chance to make sure you knew who he belonged to. It was a mission. It was nothing. But ceremony must be upheld. His lips waxed and waned deeper, firing passion setting you alight. Every swallow was harsher and deeper than the last. Like he might lose you in the darkness. Loki grunted wetly as you scooted closer on his lap, chest flush to your colossus of a lover while his fingers wound in your hair. Your digits slid down his chest, feeling the ropes of muscle bound beneath starched folds. You broke apart just long enough to whisper the question he was waiting for. "You had to kiss this one?" You let the playful mist of a snarl hang on the air. Loki growled in response while you began working down his chin, along the long blade of his jawline. Letting the tip of your tongue run over the angle of his bone structure.

“Yes,” he rasped while you dropped lower, fastening to the slender muscle of his neck. You took a moment to appreciate his Adam’s apple work as he swallowed hard, ragged breaths ripping the air. His head fell back. “Only for a minute,” he panted to the ceiling. “It was perfunctory.”

Honestly from the god of lies, you’d found, was the greatest aphrodisiac of all.

“Where?” you asked, closing your eyes against his skin. “Against the wall,” he choked. His breaths were short. Loki’s fingernails grazed down the exposed skin between your shoulder-blades while you began to gently gyrate in circles. The god’s thick cock snaked down his thigh, ferociously hard against the tight fabric. At the mercy of your movements.

His brow creased as you slid back and forth, wetted lips parting with a needy gasp. “Did she want you?” you goaded, sliding the heel of your palm over one of his cheekbones. It raked through his hair. "Of course," he strummed, thighs beginning to tremble beneath your hips. Loki's hands ran in worship up the curve of your waist. "And did you want her?" you asked coyly. Loki pouted before a gentle tug of the camisole made your breasts spilled into his waiting hands. “Never,” he breathed; eyes flashing dangerously as he lifted them to meet yours. “Never.” You slid a hand down his torso, through the mass of white foliage ruffles which lapped against your palm in flickering candlelight. They were hard, and yet soft. Just like him. And stiff. That too, was a common attribute.

Slowly, you reached the button of his trousers. Loki thrust into the touch, biting his lip with a flinch. His brows knitted together.

One button popped beneath your fingers. Then two.

He leant forward, pushing your cleavage together and burying his face deep. The god’s nose slotted perfectly between the mounds of flesh he sought, drowning himself in the scent of you. The feel of you. His muffled moans of anticipation made you squirm on his lap, rubbing your bare pussy against his sprung manhood.

Pants and wet grunts of desire filled the air before Loki surfaced, kissing manically up the path to your lips. He consumed you again, his palm skating up the nape of your neck in a violent embrace. Waves of stiff ruffles grazed your nipples, sending electric shocks of pleasure to your dripping core. Had you ever needed him more than this? You were certain you had. But you couldn’t remember when.

Loki’s hands massaged your ass, pulling you deeper against his face. His shirt ruffles scratched your inner thighs, the tender caress making you mewl his name to the ceiling.

“Say you believe me,” he gasped in desperation.

It was a dark prayer. And a desperate one, at that. A ring of saliva was smeared across his lower face. The words chanted on repeat as your searching fingers lined him up between your slick thighs.

“Say you believe me,” he pleaded, slurring. His throat clung to the final syllable, rasping it through a torturous exhale.

The tip of his cock jarred against your slit, a sticky mess of pre-cum and arousal webbing with each slow buck. He was trembling with the effort of resistance.

He would not. Not until the ceremony of his forgiveness was complete.

You looked down at him, head resting against the back of the chair. Carefully coiffured hair now hung around his cheekbones, jutting at mussed angles. Half-lidded eyes observed you with reverence, submission. A pilgrim awaiting absolution. You smiled. Leaning in, you traced the taut vein popping in his neck. Felt every bob and tighten as he swallowed on your ascent. The little mewls from his pretty lips. And all the while, his hips rocked; cock licking and caressing your glistening sex.

The swirl of your tongue tasted bitter. Remnants of perfume from her wrists as she wound her arms around his neck, perhaps. But it would be gone soon. It always was. They always were. And you? You remained. You always did.

You reached the soft skin beneath his ear, humming a little before sucking his delicate lobe between your lips. “I believe you, baby” you whispered.

It was no more than a breath. The truth needs no more than a breath, you’d found. And with a broken sob of gratitude, Loki felt you sink deep onto his leaking cock.

Tags

@lokischambermaid @meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @fandxmslxt69 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @thenotoriouserg @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @smolvenger @liminalpebble @joyful-enchantress @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @kellatron55 @mrs-illyrian-baby @icytrickster17 @multifandom-worlds @buttercupcookies-blog @goddessofwonderland

[tleeaves]

Rule(heart)breaker

Tokyo Debunker | Ritsu Shinjo x reader/MC Warnings: none Description: the girls (business partners) are fightingggg, minor angst if you tilt your head to the side, potentially ooc maybe idk Author's note: this is my first TDB fic so, um, try not to judge me too harshly maybe if it's totally crap. This is sort of just a snippet of an idea I've been having around a potentially longer/multi-chapter Ritsu fic? Tbh I don't even like this guy that much but something about his character compels me, so, here we are. - T. Lee 🍃

Ritsu Shinjo prided himself on being perfect; efficient and effective in every way humanly possible until he reached ghoul status and could pursue levels beyond any human alive or dead. So, imagine his surprise when his morning cup of coffee—black, no milk or sugar to ruin the raw taste—went flying out of his hand and spilling over his shirtfront and lap, immediately painting his immaculate uniform shades of brown before he could even utter acimo.

Swiftly, one of six handkerchiefs on his person found itself in his hand and dabbing at the hot mess. If he were anything less than a ghoul and if the cup had not already been cooling for four minutes and twenty seconds, this would probably be hurting a great deal more than it already was.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” a voice squeaked, sounding mortified.

Face as blank as ever, Ritsu glanced up with only the slightest hint of distaste in his tone when he said, “You are late. And I will be charging you for the time wasted and now for my uniform’s dry-cleaning.”

“Are you okay?” the Darkwick inspector asked him, hands hovering awkwardly as he continued pressing the handkerchief against his clothes, attempt to draw out what he could. The handkerchief, he realised dismally, would need cleaning too.

“Wet,” he commented tersely, “And now behind schedule, but fine. Where were you that your time was so occupied at nine AM? The very time, incidentally, I informed you our meeting was to occur here at the Mystery Diner. Twenty minutes ago. You confirmed yesterday during business hours that you would attend this meeting.”

Ritsu watched as your eye twitched. Intriguing… and worrisome. You were his business partner; clumsiness could be forgiven through the correct procedure of reparations, but if you were tired and no longer at your sharpest, that would be a problem for him too. How could he rely on a sleep deprived partner to bring Sinostra enough prestige to win the laurel crown at the Gala?

His gaze never left you as you tentatively sat down across the table from him. An opponent’s position. A business partner would typically sit next to him. He took mental note of that to add in with his voice recordings later when he was transcribing.

As you tugged on your sleeves, Ritsu noticed that your attire was in disarray. Buttons missing, small tears, untucked, upturned collar on one side, and a loose tie that appeared suspiciously like it was cut in half—and not intentionally for style. He started listing these items aloud into his recording, completely missing the flush on your face and the odd glint in your eyes where you usually looked so vacant.

“A mission,” you declared suddenly.

Ritsu paused. Gathered his thoughts and offered the recorder out. “Can you elaborate? You were on a mission?”

“I have been on a mission since the closing of business hours yesterday,” you drawled. Ritsu blinked, a dozen thoughts on workers’ rights, Darkwick policies and rules, and legal procedure running through his mind before anything could leave his mouth. He did not get the chance though, as you continued. “I have been on a mission since yesterday and I just got back from being off campus this morning. I have not slept a goddamn wink, I have not changed, I have not showered, and I have not eaten. Another anomaly was killed instead of being caught for study. So, thank you for waiting patiently for me.”

Ritsu was indignant. “You should not have accepted the mission, you have every right to refuse according to—”

“You don’t get it,” you snapped. He watched as the flush on your face deepened, not with shame but anger. “Nearly four months have passed since I was cursed. I don’t care about being overworked; I care about finding the fucker that’s turning me into its clone. So, I accept every mission Darkwick puts my way and I’ll keep doing it until I find a cure. Yes, that might mean I’m not on time to meetings. But don’t pretend like you aren’t just using me the same way Darkwick and all the other ghouls do.”

Ritsu remained silent, the recording still rolling. You took that as an opportunity to stand from the booth’s table and plant a hand on its surface. His empty coffee cup rattled.

“Or do you deny it? We’re spending more time elevating Sinostra so you can continue your little glory quest than we are investigating anything related to my curse.” Your eyes were steely and a small part of Ritsu wavered under that stare. It seemed ridiculous because he was not one to be intimidated, ever. So, what else was the feeling?

Ritsu took a breath, readjusting his blazer, though he stayed seated. “You have adequately addressed your concerns. I make no such admissions or denials at this time on the matter.” He sighed shortly. “We are business partners. It is natural we should not get along and agree on everything, but there is no matter I cannot resolve with enough time.” He checked his gleaming watch. “We should resume this matter at four—”

“Hell no.” Moving around the table to loom beside him, you said, “Let it go on record that Darkwick’s inspector resigns from the business partnership with Ritsu Shinjo, starting now. We have different priorities.”

Ritsu stood. “Sinostra has missions.”

“Sinostra can barely go a week without any warnings from the academy,” you seethed.

“That is why we are working together to preserve its reputation,” he argued.

You gave him a cool smile. “Exactly. Different priorities.” Striding past a bored-looking Ren Shiranami, you said, “Nice knowing you, Thesaurus.” The door shut heavily behind you.

Ritsu watched your retreating figure out the diner’s windows before you disappeared from view around the corner. He sighed through his nose. This was not good. One way or another, he needed to get his business partner back, or better yet, find a suitable replacement.

[villainintern]

🕱🕱 At UNDERHAND INCORPORATED, the world's leading supervillain corporate conglomerate, networking opportunities are many. Recruit henchmen, make enemies, forge tenuous friendships, and always be sure to collect blackmail. Just in case. ____________________________________________________

YOUR FELLOW INTERNS:

PETER HYDE interns for human resources, although he might not be totally human. Your cubicle neighbor is a geeky slack-off who (unlike you) doesn't really want to work here, but for some reason he's unable to quit. Laid-back, conflict avoidant, and generally easy to manipulate, he’s easy minion material- but his attitude belies a volatile, monstrous secret. Which can be a great asset or a major risk, depending on if you can maintain your control over him.

Appearance: Pale skin, black hair that always escapes his gel, earnest brown eyes rimmed with the harrowed look of someone who stares at screens all day. 6'5" but embarrassed about being tall, so he leans on stuff and slouches in chairs. Usually wearing cheap office attire and a novelty tie.

🫀Likes: Cozy furnished basements. Free flash computer games. Taking on a whole rotisserie chicken solo. 🚫Dislikes: Working overtime. Falling behind on payments. The bottomless, gnawing hunger.

"Tropes": Codependent coworkers, boss-henchman. Genuine friends somehow? More?

REID/RENEY SULLIVAN (gender selectable) is your nemesis, or at least they think so. An interning hero (at the rival hero company) with impressive telekinetic powers, they are nonetheless as much of an amateur as you, and so you find yourself on even footing with one of the most promising superheroes in the business. Earnest and witty, they genuinely just want to help people. Eventually, they become fixated on “figuring you out”, which can lead to them getting sucked into your schemes. That, or their meddling could be your downfall. Worst of all, they might even succeed in reforming you.

Appearance: Black skin and hair, styled into many twists that fall at different lengths around their face. Lithe, stringy runner's build. Expressive brown eyes, a wide, endearingly uneven smile.

🫀Likes: Doing good in the world. Veggie pizza. Playing smash bros with siblings. Maybe you, despite all their better instincts. 🚫Dislikes: You. The level of control their employer exerts over them. Skinny jeans.

"Tropes": Enemies to worse. Reluctant allies, bantering. Intimately charged hand-to-hand combat. Suddenly realizing your sworn nemesis is the most important and constant figure in your life.

T9-670 is a seven-foot tall ex-war machine, now interning with UnderHand's tech support department. Once a military member conscripted to the company's private security decal, its contract didn’t end when it died- the soldier’s brain was transplanted into a humanoid steel frame. T9 is doing some soul searching- it’s not totally sure if it even has one left, but it would like to have a purpose beyond fixing printers and mowing down UnderHand’s enemies with its plasma gun.

Appearance: T9's new mechanical body is imposing but graceful, seven feet of smooth interlocking steel. Its "face" is a rounded plate of dark glass. Small tubes connect to the back of its neck, carrying fluid to the brain through its artificial spine.

🫀Likes: The beautiful, almost organic curves of highway overpasses. 🚫Dislikes: Being unable to eat. It misses carbs.

"Tropes": Big huge strong shiny robot.

ELAINE FOSTER is an up-and-coming mad scientist interning as an assistant in the tech support laboratories. Although a genius prodigy, Foster otherwise has no superhuman abilities, which causes her to be overlooked by your superiors- as a result, she's become fixated on getting that elusive promotion. Exacting, calculating, and a little maniacal, Foster doesn't dole out her respect easily. But if she sees you making smart moves, you'll find her a very competent collaborator.

Appearance: Pale skin and frizzy, near-white blonde hair. Sharp, elegant, shrewd face. Grey eyes behind narrow cherry red cat-eye glasses. She usually wears her lab gear: the signature high collared white coat, black vinyl boots and gloves.

🫀Likes: A strong cup of green tea. A well-tailored pair of dress pants. Mugler, her pet lab rat. 🚫Dislikes: Temperatures above 68 degrees. Willful imbeciles. Being condescended to.

"Tropes": Icy exterior, rivals, lab partners in crime, the chemistry that comes from bonding over your obsessive shared career passions.

BLINK is technically unemployed, a rogue villain or vigilante, depending on who you ask. Completely anonymous, they wear a unique suit of tactical gear that allows them to turn completely invisible, the first of its kind. Quippy, chipper, and sauntering, Blink is an invisible superhuman that loves the spotlight- a walking contradiction. Their motives are as obscure as their identity, but they sure seem to interfere with your missions a lot. Are they sabotaging your goals, or do theirs align? Do they just like following you around? ...are they following you right now? You're pretty sure you're alone. The hallway is dead silent. And yet...

Appearance: There's no way to know. Even when they're visible, Blink is covered head to toe in tactical gear, and they seem very cautious about keeping their face concealed. It's almost like they have something to hide from you, personally.

🫀Likes: Assassinating crooked politicians. Steel-toe boots. Invisibly entering people's houses just to see what it's like in there. 🚫Dislikes: Motion sensing doors.

"Tropes": Secret identity, watching you through their sniper scope and kicking their feet around like a schoolgirl.

[juunobox]

──★ ˙ ̟ helping nikolai put on his corset (nikolai gogol x gn! reader)

summary: he seems to struggle with tying a ribbon for the corset he's wearing and asks your help for it, he may or may not be actually struggling, though... warnings: mildly suggestive i suppose...? note: pretty short. i've been hit with writer's block due to being very busy irl as well i think, so this is just a sort of warm up >.>

Nikolai's frustrated groan echoed from the other side of the room, clearly exaggerated. He had been at it for a while—what exactly was he doing? Trying to properly wear a corset, the tied-up kind. For reasons known only to him, he decided to don a corset one day, injecting a change into his usual attire.

There was no special occasion; he simply had decided to spice up his usual outfit- which is an idea you're never opposed to. Of course, how could you? The idea of something tight accentuating the jester's toned physique was a sight you wouldn't want to miss.

Amid his effort to tie the corset properly, his exaggerated complaints reached a crescendo. "Ugh! This is so hard, [y/n]!" Nikolai complained, louder and needier than ever. His frustration appeared more like a theatrical performance than a genuine struggle. You suspected he could easily manage tying the corset ribbon, even at the back, thanks to the freedom of movement his ability provided.

So, it's beyond clear that he just wanted to playfully poke fun at you.

"Doveeeee!" he whined again, drawing out the syllable. This time, it finally prompted you to stand up from your seat and enter the bedroom where he was "struggling" with the corset.

"What is it, Kolya?" you asked with a small sigh, yet amused.

"I can't tie it right. Help me," he replied, a mischievous grin on his face whilst tugging at the ribbon as if beckoning you to come closer.

"But you're almost done," you remarked, your eyes drawn to his waist now accentuated by the black and white corset. You find it challenging to avert your gaze, lingering a moment longer than you'd care to confess. The corset accentuates his figure perfectly, with its well-fitted monochrome stripes hugging his torso. Your heart flutters with excitement at the way it snugly embraces him. The temptation to feel it beneath your fingertips almost overpowers you. You resist, reminding yourself, "All ribbons are tied... what else do you need?"

He giggled. "Hehehe! Yes, that's why now I need you to help me with this last bit. I can't tie a pretty ribbon," Nikolai voiced, directing your hands to firmly clasp his waist. An eyebrow arched in curiosity as he led your hands to his sides rather than the untied ribbon. When you attempted to withdraw your hands, Nikolai's grip only strengthened, ensuring not a single finger left his vicinity. You raised your chin to meet Nikolai's heterochromatic eyes, a slightly puzzled expression on your face as you encountered his smug grin.

"This..." you began, cheeks warming up as Nikolai leaned closer to your ear. "This is not where the ribbon is, Kolya," you stated, only eliciting an even more pronounced grin from Nikolai. His gloved hands secured your arms firmly, orchestrating their movements up and down his sides, a gentle caress accompanying each guided motion. Now, the earlier desire to feel his accentuated curves on your fingertips had become a reality. You revel in the growing excitement of this exchange, especially with him orchestrating every motion of your hands across his body like a puppet master. It's as if he possesses an innate knowledge of the precise areas on his body that you yearn to caress and explore...

"I'm aware, my prettiest dove. Very much so," he cooed, taking on a slightly deeper, yet still playful tone. "I've just been missing your touch," Nikolai deftly guided your hand to lightly squeeze his side waist, causing your eyes to widen at the unexpected gesture. At your flustered reaction, he only grinned and whispered, "And this is also something you've been wanting to do, right?"

An awkward silence momentarily enveloped both of you. "You beat me to it, Kolya," you admitted, confessing to the desires you'd harbored. Yes, being close to him like this was something you longed for.

He lingered in that close proximity a little longer before a faint giggle rolled off his lips. Finally releasing your hands, he twirled away with a toothy smile. "Well, too bad, you have to earn it! That was just a little taste of what you can get~ Hahaha!" The jester's continued to move afterwards, becoming a challenge for you to try and tie the ribbon securely.

"Come on, Nikolai, let's ensure this ribbon is tied properly!" you said, attempting to maintain composure despite the smile on your lips. Unfazed by your words, Nikolai continued- making you chuckle at his antics, well aware that his aim was to coax you into more physical contact. After a minute or so, the silver-haired clown finally relented, giving you the chance to actually adjust the corset ribbon while Nikolai held himself still, his gaze fixed on you with a wide smile.

"Okay, perfect now!" You finally announced with a hint of triumph as the ribbon was finally tied, acknowledging that his antics had made it a bit challenging for you. He straightened himself up dramatically, offering a mock princely bow. "Thank you. As expected of my dear assistant," he said, causing both of you to burst into giggles. Before you could move away, you suddenly feel his hand gripping your waist.

"Now hold on tight! We're going somewhere for the night. Can't let your effort in helping me put on this pretty corset go to waste!" Meeting his gaze upon hearing the sudden invitation, you asked, "Where are we off to, Kolya?" Nikolai flashed a mischievous grin. "That will be tonight's quiz! Hehehe—where am I taking you? Well, only one way to find out! Hold on tight, promise you it'll be a night to remember~" He holds you close to him, and in the blink of an eye, covered you both with his overcoat.

[redo-rewind-if]

Victoria/Victor Zhang (she/her or he/him | 31) often seems cold and serious, wielding their glare like a weapon. But you know there must be more hidden under the surface.

Victoria keeps her straight black hair in a neat, short pixie cut. Usually gelled back without a strand out of place.

Victor prefers to wear his straight black hair long, held in a tidy ponytail. You'd wager it hit around his waist, if he ever wore it down.

They have honey brown eyes, pale skin, and cheekbones that could cut glass. V stands at a respectable 5'8" with an elegant build. They don't have any visible scars but they do have a small beauty mark just to the left and below their bottom lip.

V is practically always seen wearing formal business attire. A suit, perfectly polished loafers, with a tie neatly in place. Pinstripes. They tend to stick to a monochrome color scheme with the occasional navy blue.

August Astaire (he/him | 27) is an interesting man, always wearing a dagger sharp grin you can't tell is real or fake.

His dark brown wavy hair falls messily down to his shoulders in a way that should look terrible but (unfortunately) doesn't. Complimented by his fair skin and pale green eyes.

August is on the taller side (5'11"), with a slender but muscular build. He has numerous scars, the most notable of which runs up from his jaw onto his right cheek. He also has a couple of tattoos, including a full sleeve on his left arm made up of thorny red roses and black butterflies.

August is most well known for his signature red coat he wears nearly year round. Yes, even in the summer. Beyond that, he is often seen wearing plunging v necks, tight pants, and boots. His entire wardrobe seems to be nothing but black and red with not a single other color in sight.

Amara Ingram (she/her | 25) carries herself with a sunny, carefree disposition. But don't underestimate her, appearances can be deceiving after all.

Her shoulder length black hair falls in tight curls that halo her head, her warm brown eyes shine with an unexpected cunning, all complimented by her dark brown skin.

Amara stand proudly at 5'5" with a fairly average build (not extremely slim nor very muscular). She has a handful of scars on her hands, arms, and legs from a few small engineering accidents. (Nothing to see here! I swear!)

She prefers comfortable, practical clothes above all else. Loose fit jeans, chunky sweaters, sneakers and sandals all rank among her favorites. She leans towards a more neutral color palette with some small pops of bright color here and there as accents.

[snow-at-twilight]

Casual Clothing Refs Boards: Nightcord at 25:00!

With this post, we conclude the casual clothing ref boards series! Kanade's was super fun to put together LOL. Mafuyu actually had a startling lack of art in casual clothes since she's usually in her school uniform, but you know...

And just to reiterate: all of the art in these posts are either from cards or collab/promo art! I created these boards and shared them as a resource for everyone to use! Feel free to reblog/save as reference! I hope they help you in your artistic/writing endeavors!

L/N | MMJ | VBS | WxS | 25-ji

Some notes/personal observations under the cut:

KANADE

What do I even say? LOL

She really does only wear her sweats/tracksuit and shorts.

'Faintly Glowing Elpis' actually has her in a slightly different jacket, but it was from a year ago in PjSk timeline so she's seems to have shifted to a different jacket.

She also has one 'formal' outfit, which she wears in 'Determination Ignited' and 'Opening Ceremony Held in the Classroom' - collared white shirt and grey sweater (oversized?).

She also has a black winter coat she wears when it's snowy/chilly out!

Kanade is peak 'what is comfortable and practical' and doesn't futz around with fashion much.

If you (as a creator/artist/writer) want to put her in something beyond what she usually wears, you can probably chalk it up to Ena or Mizuki taking her clothes shopping.

MAFUYU

again, usually is wearing her school uniform in card art, but from what we get of her casual attire:

Usually is wearing her 2D live outfit.

blue, white, beige, purple colors. Sometimes black top.

Long skirts or pants, plenty of cozy sweaters/cardigans over button-downs/collared shirts.

Something about her attire screams 'nurse' -> Probably the light/muted colors.

Another character who rarely has short sleeves.

ENA

I just want to note she's usually drawing/painting in the long-sleeve print shirt and shorts, but may also wear a hoodie as seen in 'I Want To Capture That Expression'.

Sometimes goes for cardigans.

You can count on her shirts having a collar and some sort of ruffle or soft puff sleeve.

Also has ribbon around her neck or the black choker on her 2D Live.

Skirts enjoyer, you don't really get her in pants.

As for colors, go for white, beige, maybe a black, and also pink!

MIZUKI

They have a lot of different ribbons to tie their hair up in!

Wears their 2D Live outfit a lot, but the outfit you first see in 'A Moment of Jest' with the white shirt and black/pink suspenders + skirt is actually something they seem to wear often as well.

Usually has a ribbon/bow around their collar as well, but it's a lot bigger.

Frilly/ruffled dresses and whatnot, but also wears suspender-style too.

Blue, white, pink, and some black.

I think the only piece of art we actually have of them in some form of pants (aside from their middle school 'What Gave Me Courage' card) is their most recent 'You Gotta Come, Or Else I’ll Be Sad' card.

Reminder that Mizuki will buy and alter clothing if it isn't to their tastes.

You can see their closet in 'A Long-Awaited Notification'. Plaid patterns!!

[huneyrain]

' ' let's keep dancing (to a place beyond our dreams) ' '

.・。.・゜✭・❤・✫・゜・。.

also on ao3 // word count: 6,195 // bachisagi 1/1 fluff fic

TL;DR :: Isagi is a competitive ballroom dancer, stuck to following the rules and denying his true instincts. One competitive night, and a certain monstrous boy, tears it all down to rebuild anew.

.・。.・゜✭・❤・✫・゜・。.

Footsteps clashed against the waxed wooden floors, the music overpowering the creaks of an ancient building as fingers interlaced. Rhythmic movements followed each beat, the song’s slow melody lulling the dancers into security as they spun around each other, bright lights beating down from above. They shone like stars above the Earth, but rather, in front of the crowd, the stage their personal galaxy as they attempted with all their capabilities to dazzle the planets watching. 

Onlookers sat still, nestled in cushioned theater seats as the dancers glided across the stage, black strands of hair blowing across one’s face while they focused on their assigned partner. 

Any viewer would expect a climactic moment— the song’s tune peaking just as the performers pulled off a magnificent stunt, dazzling the audience with an unforgettable show. A couple to step out of the status quo; a couple to give in to their ego. 

The song tapered off, with both performers panting, blue eyes shining beneath dark bangs as they bowed.

This show was not that show. 

“Isagi Yoichi,” they called out, a booming voice overflowing from speakers across the auditorium. “7.9 out of 10. Please bring out the next contestants.”

That was that. Follow your routine, Isagi.

Contained egoism had left him mediocre among the sea of creativity.

════════════════

Isagi fell defeatedly onto his bed, still dressed in black-tie attire from his underwhelming competition. Ankles and feet ached, legs helplessly sore, although he was too exhausted to lift them up entirely onto the bed— rather, he threw a pillow over his face, hair frazzled from the static and sweat clinging to the strands. 

“I can’t believe I lost,” he groaned, the cushiony pillow muffling his words into incoherent nonsense. “We had choreographed it so perfectly.” 

Mundanely, his mind mocked him, nestling himself further into his soft, welcoming grave, his pure intentions to do nothing more than rot for the night in his disappointingly-wasted outfit; at least, he saw it as wasted, without a win. 

He couldn’t avoid the fact, his heart aching, held back in chains as he tended to do. 

“Dance is an art, a strategy, a plan. You can’t go off script— remember that.”

He’d supposed he’d followed instructions— he thought about it more often than he wished he would. 

Puppet strings tugged at his heart, his brain, his limbs, controlling each move on the stage according to a predetermined program, his freedoms drained as he claws for the prize. The prize, the glory, the excitement lies just beyond his reach, and frankly, out of sight; an image of potential greatness muddled beneath the faces of competition and judges alike, all aiming to stand in his way. 

Something inside of him ached for more than that end.

A sigh parted Isagi’s lips, hair strands clinging with static to the pillowcase as he pulled away, sitting up on the edge of his bed. Fingers with finely-painted black nails interlaced with his matching tie, undoing the knot that held the accessory’s composure before slipping the smooth fabric across his hands. He found himself entirely consumed in thought, unaware of his own actions as he lost himself within his mind while continuing his post-competition routine. 

Hot water splashed his hands, a wince escaping him as he pushed up just an inch on the dial in response, perfecting the temperature. Blue eyes blankly stared as the water collected, foaming up beneath the spout with the aggression at which the water flowed into the bath. A sprinkle of epsom salts and a short pour of bath oil splashed in, now-free hands carefully folding up removed clothing before lowering the man’s aching body into the sweet spa he’d created. He hissed as the scalding water brushed against bare skin, adjusting to the heat as it soothed his aching muscles and put his mind to ease. 

As he settled into his newfound comfort, leaning forward just to turn off the faucet, a gentle but firm knock interrupted his peace. 

“Yoichi?”

He groaned, sinking further into a watery escape; he obviously recognized the voice, even through the door.

“What’s up, mom?”

“The mail just came; you got this, uh—” He could hear her fidgeting with paper on the other end, along with the crinkling plastic of a letter window. “—this letter, it looks like it’s from a dance association!” 

Isagi’s eyes lit up, his demeanor shifting instantly as energy overflowed within him. His mom could certainly hear the abrupt splash of water , squeaking footsteps attempting to crawl their way out of a slippery situation.

“Holy sh— I mean, wow, really?” A towel quickly found itself in his hands, wrapped around himself snugly before swinging open the door. Wet footsteps trailed behind him, soaked strands of hair leaving beads of water on his face. He found himself holding the letter before his mother could even formulate a response, dots soaking through the thin paper as he ripped it open. 

Scanning over the page, he blinked wordlessly. 

You are invited to the World’s End Dancehall. 

. . . . . . .

“One night of ballroom dance… in hopes to ignite the Japanese dancing scene.” 

Words hung in the air as he reread over the letter, pacing back and forth in his room, hair still barely dry. His suit from earlier in the night was neatly folded atop his bed, the tie rolling from the pile to the floor as he sat down harshly beside it.

He grumbled as he continued muttering the instructions; “No bringing partners, come alone… How the hell does that make any sense?”

He set the paper frustratedly at his side, crinkling the page in his grip as his free hand pushed back his bangs, thumb rubbing over his temples to ease the tension. 

“They just expect us to… click with someone?” 

The formula wouldn’t like that. His freedom-driven heart would love that. 

He straightened out the now-creased paper, studying the letter with thoughtful intent.

When’s the date? Tomorrow— Sunday night. Attire? Dress to impress. The only rule? Don’t be fucking boring.

“Harsh,” he muttered, hurt. It’s ballroom dancing— can it be anything but boring? His spiteful attitude fed into his body, tensing his grip as he scanned the words to read through the last bit.

A dancer is only as good as their partner— find one that sets your heart ablaze. 

Half-crumpled paper fluttered to the floor as the young man stormed to his wardrobe, an aggressive touch rifling through outfits in sheer determination. His eyes seemed to shine a new emotion, feverish pupils darting across fabric, no piece seemingly good enough. A hand sunk into his hair, pushing it back with a rough grip atop his head. Isagi looked back to the letter he’d let fall to the ground, a newfound surge of energy.

“Fucking ridiculous. I’ll do it.” 

════════════════

The seventeen-year-old found himself wandering, car keys rattling in his hand as the other held up a map— if the mindlessly scribbled directions on the bottom corner of an invitation could even be called that. Tall blades of grass and weeds that grew amongst them brushed against his wrists, the only skin at that height not hidden beneath a smooth, blue-black suit. 

Black hair strands wisped out in front of his face, and he blew them away, the wind inevitably kicking them back moments later. Isagi, admittedly, was not one for fashion; this was not necessarily due to a disdain for it, but rather, a pure incompetence of the subject— how to accessorize properly, match colors, the like. It’s a fact he’d unfortunately accepted, struggling to find anything besides a standard outfit in his closet. 

Still though, with a night of Google searches and an ounce of his own creativity, he’d added his own touch. A blue vest was tight above a white undershirt, while his deep navy jacket rested at the forefront. The ultramarine bowtie he’d fished from his closet tied it together well, the shade mimicking the colors swirling in his eyes. Faint second thoughts crossed through him, nervous hands fidgeting with golden cufflinks. The dusty path beneath his feet soon turned to shimmering concrete. 

The once-distracted teenager glanced up, overgrown scenery flooding his vision, a grand hall in the center of an entirely abandoned area. Mind overcast with his own internal dialogue, he hadn’t even noticed the muttering of others, individuals all drawing closer to the location centered between them. Crowds gathered, pushing through the doors as if knowledgeable of their location— although, from more than just a second of observation, it was clear the masses were just as confused as he was. The moon granted the object of his curiosity a bit of light.

At first glance, the building that stood before him seemed a bit rickety and run-down, vines strewn along the supports as greenery overtook the bricks. It’d been painfully apparent the place was out of commission, at least until an odd party planner decided this to be the optimal hosting scene. He watched a number of attendees struggle over the cracked brick entryway, jagged rocks sticking out with weeds strewn about the concrete’s edges as the leading path broke off into the doorway. When it came his turn to walk through the passage, he made conscious note of the fractured spots beneath him, tip-toeing around them, for “a dancer with ruined shoes is no longer a dancer at all”. 

Perhaps that’d just been the instructions of his mom, ensuring as a young kid he’d kept his wares in good shape. He’d supposed, though, as his feet glided across the slick wood flooring that now met his stride, that a shoe with merely a crack could not allow for such smooth movement. His focus on the niceties distracted him from the intricate interior he stepped foot in. 

Gentle footsteps turned to screeching attempts to save balance as he felt himself meet the back of another, nearly toppling the both of them in the process. When he looked forward to apologize, he caught the cold glance of a black-haired boy nearly half a foot taller than him, and decided uttered words would be worse than simple silence to keep the peace. Though shaken, the incident turned his attention to the room expanding before him. 

Murmurs amongst the crowds bounced off the tall ceiling, a chandelier swinging with vibrations far above their heads. Odd knowledge of regalities told him it was Victorian – although it seemed to shine as if brand new, pulled out of the time from whence it was created to live out a life as an untimely, untouched masterpiece. Grand staircases curved in front of them, creating a cover around the doors standing far down the hall that well-dressed partygoers intermingled within. Royal red patterns detailed every wall, every crevice, every corner, with lengthy curtains draping over railings and empty wallspace longing to hold windows. Nearly every intricate detail of the interior felt medieval, aside from one glaring difference that, quite literally, stared them down—

Cameras. Dome cameras, pointed cameras swiveling on hinges, on a hunt; for each spot you felt secure, a camera could locate you, pinning down your exact footsteps and following closer than your shadow. The most prominent entries of the surveillance system projected their vision on a screen, hanging just behind the chandelier and just low enough to remain uncovered, although still being double Isagi’s own height above the floor. You could see each person projected above as they slowly raised their heads, the sudden shock hitting them as they struggled to decide whether they were the exhibition or the voyeurs. 

Isagi hadn’t noticed how thick the air grew as the crowd doubled, tripled, quadrupled into a horde. Shoulders bumped against each other, with little room but the alluring path that led down to the ballroom’s double-doors. Arms leaned on and hung over the railing’s edge above as they struggled finding space to fit into the decadent crowd. 

“Welcome, you unmolded lumps of coal.” 

. . . . . . .

Sudden silence fell over the crowd, the wind carrying whispers of spiteful remarks. Sharp hissing spat out from the speakers hidden amongst the walls, screens shifting from amorphous blobs of movement into a single view – one man, directing an expressionless glare at the lot below. 

His hair was a blatant mess, bangs brushing across the top of glasses hiding pupils behind their reflections. When he pushed one side of hair back, the cast of a ringlight bounced off of jewelry spotted across his fingers, rings that looked much too big for the thin frame of his hands. His lips could only seem to curl further down as he scowled. 

“Not used to disrespect, I see?” His voice was smooth, yet laced with an antagonizing bite. “Let’s keep in mind, the cameras do come with mics. Perhaps keep the bitterness to a minimum tonight.” 

His instructions quelled the crowd, the previous complainers shutting their mouths as their pride was quickly stripped. A few attendees cleared their throats as they struggled to bite their tongues.

The man projected above leaned back, as if he’d been seated in a rather-flexible computer chair. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? My name is Ego. You’ve all gathered here because you’ve received an invite — from Japan’s Professional Ballroom Dancers Association, no?��

Listeners below nodded along rather slow, and he continued.

“Yes, that’s right. Although, I’d say it was more from me than from them. The professional scouts were merely my pawns in deciding who’d get to play.”

Isagi let his focus wander across the countless heads surrounding him, trapping him in by height with his own suffocating thoughts. Simple frustration told him to cut his losses and leave with what unwasted time he’d still had left – but deep-hidden intrigue compelled him to stay. 

“You all read the letter,” Ego carried on, rolling his wrists as his hands spoke along with him. “We’re looking for a good duo, something that has to come naturally. If I saw you walk in with anyone,” his hands waved, as if shooing the crowd. “You’re disqualified. Get out.” 

The organizer groaned in the back of his throat as he saw a couple miniscule figures shifting through the crowd on the cameras, his disappointment apparent; his eyes read, however, that this was at least less work on his end. 

“Good. Carrying on— I had the Association’s scouts analyze you all individually. You’ve all presented in some sort of competition across the country; whether it was really an enjoyable performance or not is up for debate.”

Ouch. Isagi’s blank expression downturned into a frown. 

The negativity was quickly put out by the continuing monologue. “You roughly one-hundred individuals have all shown some level of promise, but you’re held back by the standards of being proper and prissy. The chains of formality are holding you back, and for most of you, it will continue that way.”

Murmuring ensued. “Struck a nerve?” The host taunted on, and for a moment, the first grin of the night had spread across his face. 

It was rather short-lived as he analyzed the reactions of his underlings. “It should have – unless your egos have all been replaced with a sorry excuse for people-pleasing.”

As he rambled on nonsensically about egoism and our supposedly pathetic talents, a figure stood half-visible beside the screen, just walking into frame and – assumably, based on his sudden shift and silence – mumbling something that held some level of importance. Her red-pink hair contrasted her highbrow appearance, a black suit top and long pencil skirt covered by a stack of carried papers. Ego nodded compliantly as a lanky, ring-adorned finger adjusted his glasses. 

“Right, time constraints; thank you, Anri.” 

Although apparently complaisant, a sigh slipped beneath his words. It’d seemed like he held an odd passion for this unusual competitive torment. 

“You all have one-hundred and eighty minutes — that’s roughly three hours, for those of you ill-educated. Two of you will go on to participate together with the Association— the rest of you are as good as dead. A majority of you here are coal, stuck to their destiny buried in some shitty kid’s stocking; but it takes immense pressure to turn near-coal into diamonds. If you’re not yet entirely molded, if your carbon molecules are still free enough to change, now is your time to shine. Or I suppose, if you’re all beyond saving, at least stoke a fire worth watching.”

Isagi felt the stilling of the crowd around him, following suit with his own mind. He couldn’t quite pinpoint when the words of the bastard behind the screen began to seem so appealing– but the silence only filled with harsh breathing led him to believe they all felt the same. 

“Your time starts now. Burn out, or burn bright.” 

The mesmerizing display fizzled away.

Seconds of confused glances were quickly met with answers, the doors down the hall swinging wide as the ballroom beckoned them in. The teen would say it seemed like magic, had his eye not caught the pass of a red hair wisp. 

A ticking above them caught his ear, and for a second, his focus shifted — a timer. One-hundred and eighty minutes. He’d hardly taken in the sight of it before the crowd’s forward movements swept him in. 

Time to make the most of it.

════════════════

The ballroom had been detailed just as decadent as the entryway, with the addition of marble arches patterned along the walls. The peculiar artistry had seemed to twist the room’s dimensions, the ceiling seeming to reach far into the sky with painted stars peppered across the sleek material. It’s as close as one could get to the outside, without (most) the disturbances of a modern reality. 

Tall windows stretched from top to bottom corners, although whatever reflected moonlight could be let in was blocked by the thick curtains strewn about; they’d been practically tied shut as to graciously remind attendees of their purpose, locking them into the intimidating atmosphere that’d determine their livelihood. 

That’s how Isagi saw it, at least. He didn’t quite consider the potential that others didn’t take it so seriously. The concept of a dancer not fully enveloping themselves within the act was entirely alien to him — he’d sooner engulf himself in the flames of devoted disaster before being remotely inattentive towards his craft. 

A familiar sharp tone pierced his ears, a low hiss in the background as notes enunciated themselves through the audible shroud. Speakers clicked on one by one, following the first, a sickening harmonious whine throwing a number of attendees off their balance. The pace was slow, lagging and intense; a horrendous first dance for new partnerships, Isagi’d thought. 

The dancers seemed to mix glances between each other, eyes all glazed over and empty with thoughtless confusion. Such a melodious tone required passion, but not so much to be uncomfortably forward amongst a sea of unfamiliar faces. Stand out, sure, but not out of form —that was the basis of a well-scripted ballroom masterpiece.

Scripted being the key, here. The word made Isagi drag his head back in discontent. 

His heels scraped against the waxed floors, which would provide perfect traction had they not been obviously recently done. Planted too hard against the ground, his shoes lifted up with a gluey schlick. Avoiding overcompensating his steps, for fear of overapplied pressure, was not something he could easily do in a high-strung state. 

His persistent-yet-failing attempts of flagging down a partner with merely his burning (realistically, dull) gaze had been met unrewarded. For the first time since he could remember, he was frozen, each puzzle piece of formulated strategy struggling to fall into place with the inconsistencies, the requirements for improvisation, the pure incoherency of everything—

The pieces crashed to his mind’s floor as the crowd pushed back suddenly. 

Nearly lost beneath him, his feet shifted to hold balance as his attention shot back, watching intermingled groups spread apart as a gap widened itself between the mass. Footsteps clicked against disagreeable flooring, a combination of the crowd’s stumbling, Isagi’s curious stride, and the sounds amidst the group he was so drawn towards.

“–ahaha! Come on, guys! You’re no fun!” 

Isagi refused to admit that he’d shoved his way through rather rudely, wedging himself between mingling potential-partners as the sound called him in. Each clack of movement from the undesignated source was simultaneously unrhythmic and in-step, as if following a tune entirely separate to the screeching hums surrounding them. Obscene on the ears as it was, it was intriguing, a term Isagi’d long learned to disassociate from dance entirely. To lack direction was to lose yourself, and to lose yourself was to lose focus— “one mustn't lose focus, or you’ll lose the beat!” or so they’d drilled into him. 

So why was this entirely self-gratifying cacophony of steps so satisfying?

He found himself promptly at the forefront of the congestion, which had still been shifting to avoid the centerpiece’s path.

A man– no, he had to be just his age, — pivoted on the ball of his foot, landing harsh on the other end with an outstretched hand. Breathless, his chest rose prominently with each desperate inhale that propelled him another step. Feathered strands of hair blew from his face, the majority of yellow bangs tied up just above his forehead, drops of sweat shimmering on exposed skin. Had the eccentricity of his movements not set him apart, his attire could easily do the job; White ruffles of a shirt hung from his chest, the buttoned center the only attempt at holding together an image amongst the sea of suits and ties. A belt, closer defined as a corset, held the fabric tightly to his waist, cinching off the flowy top to taper off into classic black pants, freshly-shined shoes already scuffed along their yellow trim. 

Something of the boy reminded him of a medieval mystery— perhaps a pirate, even, in attendance solely to pillage their prospect of normalcy. 

“It’s your loss; me and my monster are more than capable!”

He pivoted once more, hand drawn close to his chest before holding them out, grasping invisible hands of a partner nonexistent. Each footstep methodically followed the typical in-tandem moveset, a simple tango seeming so different with just the difference of one participant. That, and perhaps, the flair the demented dancer added along, his own steps in-time with what Isagi’d assumed was an internal rhythm. 

The display of oddity had at least spurred on some movement, other timid attendees coupling up as groups sectioned off. Floorspace grew wider as dancers ventured out of the herd— but perhaps this newfound confidence was only brought on by the collective still observing the questionably-solo performance. 

“Move over! Here comes the–”

Golden eyes burned with newfound passion as sensible, timed movements built up to grand measures. His multi-step movements quickly launched into a rotation, spinning himself before scratching heels against the fresh floor in an abrupt stop. His hand held out, not as if reaching, but as if guided by a partner in spirit, a ghostly hand the only separation between him and a cold, rough tumble to bystanders’ feet. Puzzled exchanges from onlookers seemed to miss a core detail: the way his arm tugged back in preparation.

As immersed as he’d let himself become with his craft, Isagi took notice of the slight change. A particular move he dared not practice alone, not just for safety, but physical inability— you can’t exactly be caught by air, and so there’s no way–

He’d pivoted sharply on his feet, pushing all his weight into a falling-back motion. 

Click.

Click, click, click.

The first footstep matched puzzle pieces convening; the rest met his heartbeat as he shot forward subconsciously. 

Barely-unfinished wax kept him from slipping, locking himself in place and thanking whatever minimum-wage janitor they’d hired for saving him from overshooting. The landing weight threw off his balance, legs shuffling beneath him in ill-preparation as he kept the young man firmly in his grasp. Wisps of hair fell from tied-up bangs, blown away with pursed lips as innocently playful eyes shone up at him. The golden-eyed expression quickly turned devilish as he laid in Isagi’s arms.

“Monster,” he bit down a sharp grin. 

. . . . . . .

Isagi’d not considered himself landing in this situation – sure, he was there to draw attention, that was this haphazardly-created game’s whole purpose; he’d just anticipated stares of awe over the gawks of judgement piercing his skin, a screwball dancer in delirium splayed across his arms. The tied-up tail of yellow bangs fell back atop his head, the few free strands of hair falling back to leave his sinister face in full display, giggling on an emotional high. It sort of made the blue-suited savior smile. 

Dragging his feet on the floor for traction, Isagi could sense the other’s attempt at pushing up, and he lifted him the remainder of the way to his feet. A heavy sigh of relief slipped through just barely parted lips, and the eccentric young man looked down to brush the wrinkles from his shirt — an impossible task for such a flowing garment, but it was the formality of it that mattered. 

“You should be more careful next time,” Isagi’s awkward ahem echoed as if there weren’t masses of dancers to muddle the sounds. His hands were trembling, twitching muscles a result of coursing adrenaline accumulating in his bloodstream without an outlet. The physiological response seemed purely reflexive, every cell in his body screaming out to dive in; he couldn’t quite explain, though, his lack of irritation. He’d expect to feel some sort of frustration from the circumstance he was in, the stupidity of another to dive backwards and risk injury in a competition so unusually selective and fickle. It was entirely reckless – risking the chance of a lifetime on some silly escapade. 

It was different. He loved that.

“I’m—”

“Isagi,” the name seemed to slip from his tongue too naturally. He’d outstretched an arm, pointing directly in the face of Yoichi himself, lips upturned with a gentle laugh. Monstrous eyes held a shine not before present on his own.  “You’re Yoichi Isagi.” 

Air caught in his throat, his own introduction stripped from his tongue. Black bangs blew forward with each shallow breath, an empty-headed glaze over blue eyes. He nodded.

“Do I know you..?” Who the fuck is this guy?

The respondent giggled. “No, I don’t think so!” 

His arm retracted fast, painted nails hiding away as hands curled into balls and pushed against naturally-flushed cheeks.

(Isagi’d assumed it was natural; or perhaps the oddball had been well-versed in makeup.)

“Meguru Bachira,” he beamed, and free yellow-and-brown strands fell past his lips. “I’ve seen you perform!” 

He wasn’t some big performer — that left more questions than answers. Bachira seemed to read well the confusion written across him.  

“I go to all the shows I can,” The oddity further explained himself, each word enunciated with a playful undertone, even as he eased Isagi’s confused concern. “Gotta know my competition, y’know?” 

For as short as he’d known the man, the other couldn’t help but smirk. “And for me, you took conscious note?”

“Oh, well your dance was pretty average.”

Isagi’s smug smile was quickly replaced by defensiveness, posture sealing himself off. A mental brick wall constructed instantaneously as forgotten guards replaced themselves. Right– competition. We’re here to judge and be judged, aren’t we?

One could call it a rash response, but frankly, he owed no niceties to a could-be stalker. His arms crossed in pout. 

He’d expected Bachira to pick up on his tonal shift, to redirect, or perhaps overcompensate and fawn him up. Rather, he seemed aloof, bouncing up on his toes as arms swung behind his neck, extending one into a cat-like stretch that rattled his body. He didn’t seem the most socially apt, but something about this observation eased the sting of his affront. 

“It wasn’t bad,” his words were elongated as his muscles released their tensions, falling back to his sides after with a huff. “Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t mean anything. You just seemed…” 

The shorter (which Isagi grumbled about silently— he always seemed to be the shorter) softened, willing and curious to listen. Bachira’s hand revolved at the joint in circles as he struggled to find the proper words. 

“...Bored. Withdrawn. And that’s just no fun, is it, huh?”   

“Bored?” 

“Yeah,” the barely-taller let his head weigh to the side. “Like ‘ya were following some script or something, I guess.”

Quite rude of him to clock me so easily. Or to act like that isn’t the norm.

“You don’t?” Isagi scoffed.

Bachira’s expression seemed blank, nonplussed, but shifted with intrigue as he spoke. “No. I dance with my monster. It says to dance the way I want to.” 

They’d caught each other off guard, heavy stares into eyes that were slowly understanding each other. A brick loosened from that mental guard wall, crashing to the floor, only the view of each other’s gaze, the window to their souls, left in the open space. Bachira found himself extending an upturned hand without thought. The other needn’t look to know. 

“You could try… dancing with a monster, too?”

There’s that familiar click again.

Perhaps it’d been the pieces snapping into place, or maybe it’d been the sound of their heels against the ground, hand in hand as he dragged Isagi along. The tappings of what’d been set in motion were the only noise audible to their ears, centering themselves amidst the sea of dancers that had finally been majority paired up.The music that played had long shifted from achingly slow, a pace more akin to each loud thump of Yoichi’s heart. Their fingers had interlaced long before they’d thought to ask, and so, they’d indirectly acknowledged, this was okay. This meetcute was unconventional— but Isagi craved unconventional. It was certainly something they shared, reveling in a need for defiance and egoism. It was simply a possibility he’d never been presented before—

Not until Meguru Bachira.

Their heels had dug into the somewhat-sticky wax of the floors, thwacking as they lifted into smoother, softer strides. Their steps danced around each other, never overtaking the other; rather, each movement seemed to fuel the other, catapulting them into new possibilities. A simple counting tango spun around on its head; the golden-eyed teen’s feet in-count with the other’s as he encapsulated him from behind, hands holding his partner’s from behind and arms folded into an “x” before releasing Isagi from the contained space, pivoting on the ball of his foot with each an outstretched arm barely holding on to one another. When Bachira pulled him back in, he’d lift his arms just too high up, forcing Isagi onto his toes so he could more easily glide him across ill-prepared floors. 

“Don’t let me have all the fun,” the tone was low, laced with mischief and underlying laughter; Bachira’d leaned in just beside his ear, black locks brushing against brown-and-yellow wisps of hair as his breath warmed him, bringing sensation back to the surreal. “Take over, monster.”

“I’m no monster,” Isagi scoffed, eyes rolling in diffidence. No, that was a title reserved for Bachira, or whatever voice he had whispering in the winds around him, the one only he could hear. That was a name, based off what he’d witnessed, reserved solely for one who’d step out from the status quo, and Yoichi Isagi was not that one, no matter how much he’d like to be. He couldn’t help but analyze each precarious step he made, desperate to keep in-line with the other. How could movements so spontaneous be so skillful, as if the concepts were premeditated within an instant of a second?

“Sure you are— in there,” A rough arm tug pulled the doubtful dancer in, stumbling over his own feet and landing inches away from Bachira’s index finger, yellow nail polish filling half of his vision as the boy pointed to his eye. Isagi released a tense breath as he caught his balance and felt confident he wasn’t about to get his eye poked out. 

“There’s a fire inside of you. I see it.” 

God, this guy is fucking insane. He didn’t feel knowing that was any more practical for bringing out his “monster”. 

“No, really,” He continued, giggles easing Isagi’s apprehension. “Your eyes sparkle a lil’ different when we dance together. I pay a lot of attention to eyes, y’know.” 

Isagi snickered. “You get off on them?” 

“Mhm.” 

“Gross,” He laughed, but his shameless demeanor read that he wasn’t lying – maybe he shouldn’t lock eyes with the psycho so much.

But he couldn’t deny the way he burned up looking at him. 

Isagi blinked away illicit ideas, ones of which towed the line between dance, and matters more personal. When their hands met back-to-back, knuckles tough against soft skin, invisible needles pricked his skin with warmth as hair stood on end. They paced circles around each other, and, although his mind was just as clouded as before, perhaps it’d helped that his dancing capabilities were no longer alone at the forefront. Maybe it’d been shameful to admit that his focus had progressively shifted since the other had landed in his arms. 

Too enveloped in his own mind, his foot swept out from under him. A kick to his heels, he fell backward, a sneer just above him as the harsh thud of wooden floors never met him. 

What a bastard. “You—”

“Kicked your feet out,” Bachira shone. At least he was honest, and for that fact, quite blunt. Isagi’d started to wonder if he was consciously ill-socialized— but he took a liking to that, matched with the playful attitude. Within-the-box thinking was such a bore.

Gold eyes burned holes in the other’s inhibition, each taunt returned with a touch more confidence in his moves. Bachira’d stopped leading alone some time ago, Isagi’s own fire stoked with each prod from the monster. For as much as he was a rule-follower, it was clear— there was an ego buried beneath that front, simply never allowed to breathe. 

And by God, was Bachira one to fan the flames; even if they’d become explosive. 

Isagi beared intense pressure into his heels, lifting himself up with precarious footfall with pants hidden beneath hardly-parted lips. The challenge presented by such an eccentric dancer only fueled egoistic behavior, determined to match— no, that wasn’t enough; devour — his partner, to chew him up and spit him back out so long as he’d resurrect better again and again. 

Does that even make sense? Did it need to make sense? At least, to anyone but them?

Someone so attuned to their own ego like Bachira could read the scrawl of arrogance in just half a second.

Tight grip tugged at the monster’s hands, lacing fingers in an instant as eyes widened, stupefied. A wicked grin twisted Bachira’s lips, canines dragging against the soft skin of his bottom lip in an anticipation for Isagi’s explosive reaction. Dragged back, he launched into Isagi’s arm, dipped just to the brink of hitting the solid floor before being thrown back into movement and spun on an axis. Heavy pants preceded sincere smiles as the two met, painted nails fidgeting against the hands of their partners as their breath mingled within just an inch of each others’ face. They dared not feed the flicker that led their eyes astray to parted lips, a certain level of intimacy begging to be achieved with the intensity of their movement and the conveining of their thought processes — so focused on the moment, acting of pure reflex, that they’d not paid any attention to their partner’s identical lingering thoughts. 

Their footsteps careened along with the rhythmic thumps of the beat, shifting regularly but never throwing the couple off-pace. Seamless transitions from swift movements to tender, patient steps would have normally caught either of the two off-guard, surprised in their own capability, had it not been for the distraction that was their competition. 

For a moment, he’d thought, competition was an odd word to use — the goal was to create partners, was it not? Partners, a designated duo that could only flourish with the proper preparation, with staying in-line and in-rule of the other’s limitations and following a script designated by them both.

No script followed their moves, but oddly, they met at the crossroads of perfection together. Their formula made zero sense, didn’t line up; was it supposed to? Was everything about dance supposed to be so formulaic, so proper?

No, the monologue spat out Isagi’s perturbed thoughts, the ones he struggled to accept on his own accord. That’s where you failed— there’s no enjoyment this way.

Fuck the rulebook. This is my version of dance. 

His gaze flickered off of the movements he made, up to the face of his partner, flushed with fervor and a passion that hung in the air. His yellow bangs were still mostly tied up, free strands feathering across a sweat-glistened face and across lashes that fluttered shut with bliss. It’s as if he could feel Isagi’s admiration, and when eyes opened up to meet his own, they burned with a fury even stronger than before— moreso, it’d felt like his previous fire held deep in his soul had reached new possibilities, a new chemical in the mix creating a catastrophic, beautiful explosion.

The version I perform with my monster.

A final spin launched Isagi into a slide, grip digging into the ground to catch himself. His arm desperately outstretched to reach his partner, the silence highlighting the way Bachira squeezed onto his hand, as if emotional at the concept of letting go. The gentle yet secure grip left Isagi with a lump in his throat, swallowing down emotions that bubbled up deep within. 

Maybe the whirling footsteps weren’t the only reason his head spun, the fast-paced footfall not the reason his heart raced with freshly-ignited ferocity. His stomach turned upside-down when Bachira pulled him back up, and he stumbled, the shorter’s foot trampling the taller’s as he steadied him in his arms.

Maybe it’d been the thrum of his heart that’d prevented the realization — the fact that the music stopped, speakers silenced as the crowd surrounding them was no longer. The flood of faces previously observing them had thinned all to none, the sharp whine of a shifting screen not enough to draw them apart. Their footsteps had sounded loud on their own, tuned-in to themselves, no, to each other. Bachira giggled, awkward enjoyment hidden beneath hot air, and the vibrations of his partner’s laughter pressed against his chest only made it harder for Isagi to still his heart. They didn’t dare discuss their inability to pry their eyes off of each other as the speakers rattled with a voice painfully familiar.

“Time’s up, you unmolded lumps of coal.” His tone was hoarse, and the two wouldn’t doubt he’d been screaming at them to stop. It couldn’t have been long, or he’d have sent the red-headed girl in– what was her name? “Anri”? 

The blunt-banged planner leaned back, likely still seated in an unpictured computer chair, filtered out by the camera in place of shoddy backdrop graphics. His lanky arms folded behind his head, a deep groan escaping him as if he’d exhausted himself. 

“You’ll notice we’ve removed everyone else from the room,” Ego spoke matter-of-factly, although additional words followed in a low, almost-whispering grumble.

“If you’d’ve bothered to look up, outside of your damn selves.” 

Bachira snickered, sharp canines teasing his tongue as his gaze scanned Isagi not-so-subtly, obviously playing it up. It was hard to tell how serious his out-of-pocket actions were, and the concept of legitimacy sent Isagi into turmoil; he especially didn’t want to admit his racing thoughts were far from anger-fueled.

“We’ve thinned our competitors down to the cream-of-the-crop; sad to say, most others just couldn’t keep up. Snivelish as they are, their ego never seemed to take precedent over egregious rules.” 

Isagi blinked mindlessly. How he’d nearly forgotten the competition they took part in actively was beyond him — he’d found his mind locked onto a different driving force. 

There was something more that led him further now. 

“Congratulations, unmolded lumps of coal—”

His words muffled in the background. Isagi could lip-read, had he bothered to look— had his eyes not remained on his new object of burning desire. 

The rules were no longer what drove him, they were no longer the perfection he strove for.

He watched as eyes crinkled up in excitement, Bachira’s joy beaming off his face as he turned to pull Isagi into a threateningly-tight hug. Something deep in the teen’s mind begged for the subject’s further praise and approval, but the squeeze of his muscles underneath intense strength would have to suffice. He’d have plenty of time to sort out emotions with his new goalpost—

His perfect partner, Bachira. His monster.

Isagi paid no attention to the competition’s close, aside from his success alongside his other, the prospect of a future they were destined to chase together. He’d expected his heart to slow when stakes were gone, but it’d kept intensity even long after. Enveloped in sheets that night, he was near-restless, a constant replay of the day looping in his thoughts. Ironically, he couldn’t seem to remember a single dance move, a single strain of steps he’d taken to achieve his goal— all that remained was reflex and invigoration flowing through veins, newfound fervor he couldn’t explain at the presence of the monster met today. 

His face softened into a smile. This is the version of dance he’d craved.

════════════════

[justapoet]

these roads are changing me (but they all lead back to you)

"Luke," Percy said slowly. "You never talk about him." And that was one of the things she had never thought would come to the surface when she first found those letters, when she stepped on that plane. "Thalia and Grover never told you about him?" she asked. "Thalia may have spat his name once or twice throughout our lives," Percy told her. "But his name definitely means more to you than to any of them." She knew talking to Percy was safe, and it would most likely lift a weight off her shoulders. Still, she hesitated.

read on Ao3

chapter 1: to those who ask

chapter 2: to whose who wait

chapter 3: to those who gaze

chapter 4: to those who left

chapter 5: to those who went so far away

to those who remain

When Percy said ‘fancy’, he was, by no means, exaggerating.

Annabeth stepped into the restaurant wearing a sleek, tailored pantsuit that exuded sophistication and Percy had found somewhere around the places he had wandered around — his walking led him to come back to the hotel with two suits, one for her and one for him, and a reservation. How, on Earth, had both gotten to his hands was beyond her comprehension or guessing, and Annabeth simply decided that blind trust was good for her mind and her soul.

And for her mirror, too, because the hesitance in opening the cape where the clothes were in was something that happened — the restaurant was fancy and rich, apparently, and Percy was someone that wore square-stamped overshirts and often resembled a surfer or a fisherman, oddly like his father. He laughed at her brief panic, and promised he had chosen something she would like to wear and see herself in.

And he couldn't have been more correct, impressively enough. The midnight blue fabric hugged her curves elegantly, the sharp lines of the jacket accentuating her slender frame and making her look slightly taller, which was something she appreciated quite a lot. Paired with a crisp white blouse and a statement necklace that sparkled in the soft light, she radiated effortless glamour with every step — according to Percy himself, which made her cheeks feel warm and her throat go dry.

Beside her, as she walked, there was another reason why her throat was dry and her cheeks were warm — Percy cut a striking figure in a classic black suit, impeccably tailored to perfection. The very similar crisp white shirt beneath the jacket provided a striking contrast, accentuating the sculpted lines of his jaw and the strength of his broad shoulders. A silk tie the same color as her own attire added a touch of refinement to his ensemble, while polished to a fault leather shoes completed the look with understated elegance.

She needed to firm her stance in place not to fall backwards when he stepped out of his bedroom, and she really needed to remember to breathe whenever she stole a glance at him.

"You—" she tried, and her brain failed her mouth. "Holy shit."

"Yeah," he said, his face mirroring hers as he took her in. "Same."

Together, they made quite the pair — Annabeth's modern attire that she, honestly, could swear would work for a ball if she walked with enough confidence, complementing Percy's timeless sophistication was definitely a sight to behold. She knew that the image she saw in the mirror wasn't hard on the eyes, and Percy was simply stunning to look at anyway. As they entered the restaurant arm in arm, she pretended not to notice the glances in their direction, and even less the ones the receptionist was casting at Percy.

It wasn't the place, it wasn't her place, and she was more than happy to just step closer to him.

The restaurant itself was a symphony of luxury, from the gleaming crystal chandeliers that cast a soft, golden glow over the room to the sumptuous velvet drapes that adorned the walls. Soft music floated through the air, mingling with the gentle murmur of conversation as diners savored the anticipation of a gastronomic delight — or so the website said, she learned when Percy was reading it aloud in their way there, nearly tripping in his shoes and using her for support.

They were guided to their table by the impeccably dressed lady that couldn't keep her eyes off of Percy, the two of them took in the breathtaking view of Lake Geneva from their window-side seats. The shimmering waters stretched out before them, bathed in the soft hues of the setting sun, casting a spell of tranquility over the bustling city below.

Annabeth could definitely get more than comfortable with living like a millionaire.

As they settled into their chairs, she couldn't help but marvel at the exquisite table settings, each one a masterpiece of fine china and delicate silverware. A sense of anticipation hung in the air as they perused the menu, each dish a tantalizing work of art she couldn't wait to order, and Percy even less. He was giddy in his seat and his leg wouldn't stop bouncing, forever hungry and always anxious when it came to food.

Their waiter approached with practiced grace, presenting them with a selection of fine wines to complement their meal. None of them knew how the combinations worked, and Percy decided to completely believe in whatever it was that the waiter was recommending. With a nod of approval, they made their choices, the anticipation of the evening's events — and servings —building with each passing moment.

As the first course arrived, Annabeth and Percy found themselves staring at the waiter in a less than polite manner. The man was kind enough to just smile at them, probably sensing their eagerness — and Percy's happiness, splattered all over his face — and cordially put the dishes in front of them.

Percy's face was comic when staring at the plate placed in front of him. Annabeth snorted, pressing her lips together, already knowing what was coming.

"Wise Girl?" he called.

"Yes?"

"Are we paying small fortunes for this?" he tilted his head slightly, his eyes glued to the plate, still, and he looked so desperately adorable that Annabeth felt like screaming. Damn baby seal eyes. Damned Percy Jackson.

"We are," she told him.

He blinked. Then, he looked up at her.

"We're being robbed," he said.

She snorted. Again. Like the lovesick fool she had accepted she was so many years before.

"Try it before you disregard it completely, Seaweed Brain," she told him, biting her tongue and trying not to smile too manically. "It won't bite you."

"Considering the price? I want it to come alive, actually," he murmured, taking his fork and touching the dish — to which Annabeth did not know the name, actually, and she purely trusted the waiter — with much less enthusiasm than he had just a minute before. "Really?"

Annabeth chuckled.

"Percy?" she called.

He hummed, still staring at his plate.

"Try it."

He pouted for just a second, and then dared to split the dish with his fork. He hesitated for a second, and Annabeth's stare challenged him to put it in his mouth. Percy closed his eyes, much like a kid would do, and accepted his fate — they would have to pay for it, anyway, so he might as well try it —, chewing slowly and changing his posture as the flavor caught up to him.

He hummed, then opened his eyes, then widened them as he looked back and forth from the plate to the woman in front of him.

"I can live with being robbed," Percy said, not swallowing his food before speaking, and Annabeth snorted at the sight. His voice was a mix of wonder and indignance — surely because he deemed it worth the price — and it was just a way-too-funny scene to keep a straight face. "Is it too unfancy to order the same thing again?"

"Don't you want to try something different?" she suggested. "We do have your father's card, you know. And a whole menu."

"But this is so good," he said, taking another portion towards his mouth. She pressed her lips together again and could completely understand both Poseidon's and Tristan's reasoning that he had mentioned before. "What if something else isn't this good?"

She smiled at him.

"But what if it's better?" she challenged, and Percy tilted his head, food still in his mouth, and smiled close-mouthed. The sparkle in his eyes meant something she couldn't translate, and Annabeth chose to completely ignore it for now. "You could just order it again, in that case. I know for a fact that it'll take far more than one portion for you to not leave hungry."

Percy swallowed.

"But is it unfancy?" he asked. She shrugged.

"Percy, we both know you won't hold up your fanciness for long unless it is a life-and-death situation. Besides, you're paying," she said. "That's plenty fancy."

"But won't that make you look unfancy?" he asked, and, at that point, it was clear he was only messing with her. She saw no problem with going along.

"Do I look like someone exceptionally fancy to you, Jackson?" she shot.

His eyes sparkled again. She wanted to bottle the sight and keep her in her t-shirt pocket, so it was forever close to her beating heart.

"I do fancy you a lot, Chase," he said, the teasing in his tone making her heart race and jump and leap and rush inside her chest as if it didn't need to keep a certain rhythm not to kill a human being. "And, yes, you're looking exceptionally fancy tonight."

She tried to keep her tone leveled and mirror the teasing in his.

"Exceptionally tonight? Why? Do I not look fancy enough for you to fancy me any other day, Seaweed Brain?"

He blinked, and she could almost swear his cheeks glowed pink. Almost, because the dim light made her denial thrive in silence.

"I'd love to carry this on, but I don't think the word 'fancy' makes any sense to me anymore," he told her. "But then it means that I can order more, and it would still be fancy?"

Annabeth rolled her eyes.

"As if I'd ever keep you from doing anything that makes you happy," she told him.

And Percy ordered it again. Along with at least four other dishes that seemed incredibly good — and of which Annabeth would always steal some to try. Percy was more than happy to pretend to be bothered, and she was more than thrilled to watch the scrunching of his nose and to have him, as the adult Sally swore to her that he was, showing his tongue like he did to Estelle.

The silence that fell was comfortable, Percy lost in the dishes and Annabeth a bit lost in thought and processing the events of the day. Usually, talking to Thalia would leave her carefree and unworried, and the talk earlier that day had left her collected and a bit pierced back together. It was better, she thought, because the awkwardness that would usually ring in her ears and make her rethink each of her sentences and stories wasn't there, that night.

It left her a bit reflexive, to have started to place everything back where it belonged between the two of them — even the places that collected dust because they didn't want to believe those were where the pieces were supposed to go —, and it left her with a thankfulness so light and so warm that she hoped the feeling would linger just a little longer.

"Percy?" she called, and Percy stopped his fork midair from his mouth, lifting his gaze to meet her face when she broke the silence. "Thank you for talking to Thalia."

He slowly placed the fork, still with the food, back down and nodded carefully. He was measuring his words, something he had gotten fairly better at from when they were kids, as if he was a bit scared of what he would learn from that conversation. He wasn't in the room when Thalia called, and he hadn't asked when she smiled, eyes a bit rimmed, as he came back and greeted her gently.

"I'm glad you two worked it out. And I knew she would come around eventually, anyway, but I also know how thick-headed she can be. The whole thing was eating you up inside, and I'm pretty sure it was doing the same thing to her," Percy justified, even if he didn't need to. "So, I'm not sorry for the meddling, but I apologize if I did step on your toes."

Annabeth shook her head.

"If I can't keep thanking you for everything, then you'll have to stop apologizing," she said. "I'm glad you meddled. None of us would have reached out and talked it out like the civilized people we are supposed to be, otherwise. We're both too stubborn for that."

"Glad I could help," he said, bowing his head slightly and smiling. "And how are the two of you, now?"

Annabeth sighed softly and smiled, her expression still a bit tight. Things were better, but they weren't exactly completely fixed. And that would take time, she knew, but it didn't mean she was exactly happy about that.

"It's different," she said. "It changed after she moved away. None of us wanted to admit that things would change, and maybe that's because it turned out to be so hard. We tried to keep things as they were, but the circumstances called for adaptation. One moment we were close as sisters, and the next time I looked, we were close as strangers," Annabeth admitted, and it sent a wave of pain to her heart. "It didn't help that we denied it all so vehemently."

And she wondered, so often, if things would have been different if they had accepted that they would change, had they wanted them to or not. She wondered if the silences would be more comfortable, or if the doubts would be as frequent as they were, had they not believed that they held more power over changes than life itself.

It haunted her nights, her dreams, to think about it. It left another vacant space in her heart, and Annabeth was far too smart to ever believe it wasn't a dangerous thing.

"I'm sure you've noticed we're both way too prideful. A fatal flaw, or something along those lines," she told him. "And we didn't want to believe that things were changing again. Changing too much. And that there would be someone else so out of our reach," she told him, sighing.

"Was it always like that after she moved?" Percy asked.

"It was like a snowball that slowly became an avalanche. I thought I was too smart to let distance win, and she was too strong to understand that feelings could be weakened and still be real. It was like a punch to the gut," she explained. "Especially because, at the time, I didn't have anyone else. Luke had already left, and Thalia was leaving too."

It had been something else to haunt her, when it happened, that she was being left alone, left behind for something bigger than what she thought they had. Luke was still a bleeding wound when Thalia left, and she didn't think the scar would be even something she could hide once she healed — because she needed to heal, and there wasn't a single other option out of it.

Percy hummed, acknowledging her words.

"Luke," Percy said slowly, as if he was scared that the name would make Annabeth recoil, bolt from their conversation and from the restaurant itself. "You never talk about him."

And that was one of the things she had never thought would come to the surface when she first found those letters, when she stepped on that plane.

There were a lot of times, in the years since they've met each other, that Annabeth knew Percy was curious about Luke. It was a name that, overall, meant nothing to him — only what Grover had probably told him, maybe one thing or two Thalia had mentioned off-handedly, definitely nothing that came from Annabeth's mouth or mind or past. It was just someone Percy knew once existed and played a part in his friends' and cousin's lives, just to be gone, permanently, later on and before he could have possibly gotten the chance to meet.

Percy not knowing Luke was something Annabeth was thankful for, to an extent.

Percy not knowing Luke was something Annabeth was pissed about, to another, because it meant that, if they were to talk about him, then the memories and the talking and the perception would always come from her point of view.

It made her stomach twist inside her. And not in the way Percy would make it happen every time he looked or smiled or directed his words at her.

"Thalia and Grover never told you about him?" she asked, and she knew that Percy wouldn't buy her less than subtle change of subject.

"Thalia may have spat his name once or twice throughout our lives," Percy told her. "And Grover was pretty vague about it. He only told me Luke was an old friend of yours," he gestured his hand towards her. "But his name definitely means more to you than to any of them."

Annabeth swallowed; a bit taken aback. Again, the perceptiveness Percy would often pretend not to have would come out when she wished the most it wouldn't. She averted his eyes, and bit her tongue inside her mouth.

Truth be told, she knew talking to Percy was safe, and it would most likely lift a weight off her shoulders. Annabeth was sure that there wasn't an ounce of judgment in his curiosity, and there was only genuine worry that came not only from his love for her, but also for Grover and Thalia, who had probably let on that whoever Luke was had scarred them deeply. She knew that he wanted to know Luke through her eyes to understand more about her past, her scars, the letters; she knew all of that.

And still, she hesitated.

Not because it lacked trust, but because it still hurt to talk about him. About the person she knew and loved and did her best to keep buried deep in her past so he wouldn't haunt her anymore — but he did come back, so very often, more than it should. More than she'd like to remember, more than she'd like to know, more than she'd like to live with; Luke was a permanent fixture in the person she became, and Annabeth couldn't run away from that, too.

And she didn't want to run away from Percy, not because of Luke, not because of the past, not because of anything at all. Because Percy was there, and she could believe that he would stay — after so long and so much they had gone through, there was no other thing she could possibly believe in.

So, she closed her eyes for a second, and took a deep breath. Percy waited patiently, his gaze soft as it caressed her face, and she turned her head back towards him, still never daring to meet the blue of his eyes.

"He was like a brother to me," she told him in a breath. "We met when I ran away from my father's house at seven. It was cold, and I was alone, and all I had was a dull knife and a backpack filled with everything I could shove inside," she said, despite knowing Percy already knew about the night she fled from where she lived. Not home, of course, because it had never felt like that. "He was kind. The first person in so, so long. He looked at me and saw me, and didn't seem to judge my situation, my fear, my choices."

And that's how it had been, that fatidic night she now dreaded to remember. She met a family when she ran from those who were supposed to play that part in her life, and now it ached to not have the certainty that said family was still something she could hold on to. Thalia was so far away; she had left Grover in the dark and Luke was dead to the world — and not only metaphorically.

read the rest on Ao3

[mayhemhq]

𝙄𝙈𝙋𝙊𝙍𝙏𝘼𝙉𝙏 𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙀𝙎.

please note that no engagements, pregnancies, or elopements should be mentioned or carried out without prior approval from us. additionally, do not post about these events on the dash without approval. while we want to support creative freedom, it’s important to maintain order within the group. if you blatantly ignore this rule, you will be removed as we have mentioned this three times thus far. ( * we have one couple who have already reached out to us prior and have approval. )

this event is set up to provide a wealth of writing opportunities with both friends and foes. we encourage you to step beyond your usual circles and connect with new characters. take advantage of this rare chance to reach out, plot, and write with as many people as possible, as it’s not often that all characters are gathered in one place. there are so many possibilities!

drama is welcome and can add to the fun, but let’s keep it balanced and enjoyable for everyone. we’re all adults, and the aim is to have a great time. please be considerate and communicate openly about any drama that could impact a significant number of people. let’s ensure the event ooc remains fun and positive for all involved.

you may now post ooc plotting calls, but please ensure you only do so if you plan to actively engage in the post in a timely manner. posting and then disappearing for days, leaving others hanging, is a common issue we’d like to avoid. we understand life can be busy, but please respect your fellow mun’s time and commitment to this event.

weekends typically see lower activity due to various reasons. we’ll begin posting the event winnings and other updates around 8 pm cst. each round will feature a randomized win, and there will be some fun, silly awards for each event, one per each team. we’ll post the trophy winner and personalized awards as soon as possible, as we only received the lists on friday night. thanks for your patience!

the games are set to start around 4 pm pt on saturday. however, due to time zone differences and the need for admins to gather names, work on graphics, and manage their own characters and real-life commitments, which is why we’re scheduling them a bit later ic.

saturday, feel free to start posting about the games, your team and whatnot. we might try to throw in a meme during this too, to encourage some random interactions, but feel free to post photos, start your writing or whatever you’d like to do during this day!

canon time of games: 4pm pt irl time of games (when your muses can talk and reference the games!): 6pm cst

sunday’s masquerade ball will take place around 9pm pt on the venetian casino floor to celebrate the ending of the event and a good send off for us all. we’ll post around 9pm cst time to start the event. remember it’s a dress coded event. you are encouraged to wear elaborate masks, whether they’re classic venetian styles or more modern interpretations. all guests should dress in formal, black-tie attire. think classic tuxedos, stylish suits or dress shirts, and glamorous gowns, complemented with sophisticated accessories such as elegant gloves, glasses, and statement jewelry.

sunday you are encouraged to post your looks, writings and whatnot, but also, we’ll throw up a dash meme of drunken truth or dare to fit the vibes and encourage some interaction. please do not reblog the old one, we’ll create a new post. however, fill free to post about the party and chaos then too!

canon time of ball: 9pm pt irl time of ball (when your muses can talk and reference the party!): 9pm cst

all posts are to be tagged m.event (mayhem on the strip) to reference the timeline of what is happening. you have until friday the 20th to cut off all posts regarding the game, as it will be wrapped. doesn’t mean it can’t be referenced as past tense, obviously, but this gives more than enough time to post about it.

the overview of teams, games and more will be posted after this one tomorrow morning.

[thegreatwicked]

Gorl you know who it is ;)

Loki Mischief fic- FILL ME TF IN!!!! Watchu cookin?

GASP! Who are you? Are you STALKING me??? Lol, I gotchu stranger. This story has yet to be finished yet and it's been shelved for QUITE some time!

Loki didn’t even need to tell Heimdall why he was there, he was also familiar with Sigyn's wandering spirit.

“Where is she this time?”

Heimdall kept his stoic repose but he rather enjoyed these visits from Loki and it seemed more and more every day that she was turning him into the more responsible one. With a barely detectable grin, he opened the Bifrost, the shimmering bridge of light leading him to her.

“A place called Honey, in New York. She said you should dress for the occasion.” 

“Can you not stop her from taking these excursions?”

“It is not my place, barring the path of a Goddess.”

Loki sighed in frustration and called upon his magic for a more appropriate change of clothes, and he stepped onto the bridge.

New York was a place he was decently familiar with, he had heard the name Honey before, but knew little about it, other than it was a place for the well to do to indulge in desires. His leather coat and princely attire now swapped for a more fitting three piece black suit that fit his lean and long frame perfectly, adjusting the tie slightly he stepped out onto the street, unnoticed by the Midgardians, so lost in the haze of their little mortal lives. He was just suddenly there, outside an older but elegant brick building, a nice place by mortal standards but it paled in comparison to the grandeur of Asgard. Why Sigyn kept him coming here was beyond him. The door man didn’t dare stop him, to see if Loki was allowed entrance, all he had to do was flash a dangerous look at the man with those dark eyes and he shrunk back and allowed Loki in. He was fairly certain that places like these were members only but that meant very little to a god who could summon up illusions within the blink of an eye. 

Although the buildings exterior was sparse but decently kept, the interior surprised him, it was lavish, and lush, extravagant fabrics and curtains adorning private booths, plenty of dark corners to hide in, low lighting to obscure identities, soft seductive music playing just loud enough for the waitresses to gently sway their hips in time with the beat, and of course a well stocked bar. 

As he made his way to the bar, for some of the admittedly delightful Midgardian alcohol, he was surprised to see a waitress in a black slinky dress walk up to him and offer him a drink that he hadn’t ordered. He raised an eyebrow at the drink and only accepted when she elaborated on the drinks contents and origins.

“Compliments of the woman in the private room. She said she was expecting you,”

“And how do you know she was expecting me?”

“She said you would look irritated but be impeccably dressed, and that you had a taste for the 25 year scotch, neat.” He took the drink and sipped its contents, indeed it was scotch that he had sampled before and had developed a liking for. 

When he looked up from the drink to the room she gestured to, he could make out a silhouette in the dim light, most details were obscured. As he made his way closer more detail became apparent, of course, it was Sigyn, but not in any fashion he’d ever seen before. Indeed, once inside the dim room, he was shocked, seeing Sigyn dressed in the finest gowns of Asgard, or in nothing at all was nothing new, in the time they had known one another. They had spent some very intimate time together, yet nothing could have prepared him for how his beloved now sat on a low platform with one long leg elegantly crossed over the other, wearing what he understood to be Midgardian undergarments, dark green in color.

Loki didn’t think of himself as having mundane things like favorite colors but the evidence showed that he was rather fond of the shade. It was a color that he often associated with secrecy, luxury, mystery, and maybe even a little bit of envy. He had to admit he rather loved what he saw, a garment he knew from previous escapades to be called a chemise. It clung to her body and was made of a very intricate lace leaving so little to the imagination that it would have simply been easier to command what he desired instead of fantasizing about it.

So much of her was bare to him but still enough to make him nearly salivate, the garment tormented with a view of the hollow of her chest, clinging to her breasts which appeared to be bare beneath the lace. He could make out the soft peaks and delicate pebbling, the lace ran down the front of her body in a v pattern stopping just below her navel, in fact, it reminded him of the dark green dress she had worn the first time they’d met, it too had a plunging neckline but tastefully so. Narrowing strips of lace ran over her shoulders and wound around her neck. Leaving her back mostly exposed with the exception of her fiery hair acting as a curtain. The chemise itself only barely reached her upper thigh, sinfully short, and to his displeasure, he could make out some inconvenient scrap of fabric obscuring the rest of his view. No jewelry to enhance or draw his eye and a very dark lining to her green and gold eyes that made them easier to become lost in. Her hair was loose and unkempt around her shoulders, it was so often swept up into a braid or some other regal updo that he preferred seeing it down. He had seen her bare skin before but somehow the state of dress being something in between clothed and naked was very tantalizing. And with his long and lengthy assessment complete, the God of Mischief approved.

He swallowed hard upon locking his gaze with her, then remembered he was irritated, but then wondered if he really cared at this point. True finding Sigyn could be annoying, but when he did find her she never disappointed him, and although Loki was a man of refined tastes and considered himself above the things Midgardians did, he had to admit, this particular activity was holding his attention.

“You found me.”

She looked up at him under hooded eyes with a look as casual as though he’d found her in the library in Asgard. He closed the door and flipped the lock.

“You’re never truly hard to find, Sigyn.” He looked around at their setting, “This seems a little extreme, I’ll never understand what your fascination with Midgardian customs and culture is.”

“You don’t like this place? I thought it would rather suit you quite well, and I’m rather fond of how Midgardians pass their time. Do you not approve?” She asked him lazily uncrossing her legs then rising to her feet.

“It has its merits.”

His approval wasn’t hard to get in a situation like this, after all, how did you keep a god interested? Show him things he hasn’t seen before, and although Loki had been with his share of women and even men, he’d never found himself in a setting such as this, and most certainly not with a high-born woman who was to be his wife, she certainly had his attention. He glanced around and gave an interested nod of his head, one that said ‘I’ve seen better’ 

“Not that I don’t enjoy seeing you like this but are you quite ready to return home?” He had more than a few plans in mind in the confines of his chambers.

She shook her head in disappointment.

“Don’t you want to see what new Midgardian custom I’ve learned? I thought it would please you.”

Loki rather enjoyed the idea of Sigyn wanting to please him, although she did that anyway, with her quick wit, beautiful body, and that delightfully naughty sense of adventure hidden by the guise of a lady she had. He stepped closer to her and for a change he looked up at her. Standing on the raised platform, she stood a little taller than him now. Two steely gazes locked onto one another in a silent battle of wills.

“Play the game.”

A whisper called to him and after some tense quiet moments had elapsed, Loki, for one of the few items in his long life, conceded. 

A seductive smile played on Sigyns' lips as her fingers found the two buttons that held his suit jacket closed and she tugged on the tie pulling him closer so that his eyes were now at her chest, which he didn't really mind. As he suspected, she wore nothing beneath the top portion of her chemise. The desire to reach out and take one of her perfect breasts into his grip was strong, and his hands flexed in his pockets briefly but he managed to keep his resolve. She stepped off the platform so that he now looked down at her, now being her proper height which was about half a head shorter than him and she gently led him to the dim corner of the private room and pushed him onto the soft couch. He looked at her and her expression read one of calculation and he was certain he could see the wheels turning in her head, he wondered what she had planned for him, he knew what she liked. Sigyn loved seeing him come undone. The cold and detached demeanor of the dark haired sorcerer prince giving way to the almighty God of Mischief. Seeing him unhinged, full of wanton passion and desire, directing her to do as he sometimes commanded other times commanding her to tell him what she wanted. It was a side of Loki that no one but her knew, and she relished in drawing it out. She was off to a good start.

“How is this game played?”

This piece is over a year and a half old and looking back it's a little rough around the edges! It was meant to be a smutty one-shot series about Loki and Sigyn. Should I finish it???

[kevjrr]

Title: You Came

Pairing: Neymessi (Neymar jr and Lionel Messi )

Summary: An au where Leo is a politician while Neymar is a thief and they’re in love. Spoiler alert: Ney wears a dress!

Tags: fluff, a tiny bit explicit

A/n: credit to everyone who talked about eating the rich on my dash, y’all inspired me to write this!

Third person’s POV

Leo wanders around the gigantic room, his eyes scanning each and every faces. Searching for him, for the only reason he was here in the middle of a party full of millionaires and billionaires alike sipping on their expensive wine and pretending to be saints.

He hates charity galas, the people attending rarely ever did it with pure intentions. He prefers to simply donate to the causes and do regular check ups to see if they need more of anything. Only one person can make him willingly step into this suffocating, loud room and force him to mingle with these snakes.

Leo finally sees him and his breath hitches. The younger man looks up as if sensing his gaze and smiles that cocky smile of his. He is too far to see but he can imagine those brown-green eyes shining in mischief. The man beckons towards the back door before walking towards it himself. Not forgetting to give the people he was previously talking to a charming smile.

Try as he might, the Argentine cannot move from his spot as he stares at Neymar whose long, curly black hair -a wig definitely- bounces against his shoulder blades and his red gown hugs his curves in the most deliciously obscene way possible. To make things worse -better-? It’s backless.

Leo gulps.

Is Ney trying to kill him? He has seen the younger man in all kinds of disguises but this one is a first. He already knew Neymar would look divine in anything he wears but this? This is beyond divine. Leo wishes he could worship the younger man the way he deserves but much to his frustration, they do not have the time right now.

He waves dismissively at the waiter walking in his direction and quickly follows Neymar when the latter turns around to look right at him. The smug Brazilian clearly knowing the effect his current attire is having on Leo.

He successfully weaves his way out of the crowdy room without drawing any unwanted attention. When he opens the door a hand yanks on his tie, pulling him inside and slamming him against the nearest wall.

Leo barely has time to catch his breath when Neymar kisses him and unlike his earlier aggressiveness, the kiss is nothing but sweet. It almost feels like a greeting and for a moment, Leo allows himself to dream of a world where Ney would kiss him just like this in the morning when he wakes up and and every evening when he returns from work.

He dreams that he is in his house with his bag still in his hand and Ney has just awoken from his nap -that he usually takes after his to welcome him home.

He cards his fingers through those silky locks and pulls him even closer, locking away the sound that leaves Neymar’s mouth in his memories.

A part of him adores how the Brazilian looks with long hair -he wishes he could take a picture so that he never forgets the sight- but another part wants it to be his natural curls that Leo is stroking and pulling at. However it does not matter, he thinks, as he lowers one of his hands and places it on the younger man’s slender waist, squeezing it. He loves the way the soft material of the gown feels against his palm. It is so thin that Leo is sure Neymar can feel the warmth of his touch.

They reluctantly pull away for air and the older man’s breath hitches again when he opens his eyes. Neymar is wearing make-up, clearly to sell whatever persona he has chosen this time perfectly. It’s not too heavy; smoky eyes in shades of gunmetal with eyeliner, a little bit of mascara, blush on his cheeks and red lipstick.

Leo stares and stares, not being able to tear his eyes away from the jaw-droppingly beautiful man.

Neymar licks his lips, not hesitating to do his fair share of staring as well. The eldest makes for a breathtaking sight in his back suit with an intricate floral design on his jacket.

“You came.” He says, fiddling with a gold chain that Leo has no doubt he has stolen from one of the ladies he had been talking to earlier.

“You know I will buy you anything you want, don’t you? You only have to ask.”

“But where is the fun in that, Leo?” Neymar grins, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

The older man’s lips involuntarily curl up and he recites the three words that the other never fails to tell him whenever he says anything about his profession. His ‘motto’ as he likes to call it.

“Eat the rich. Yes, I know.”

Neymar’s grin widens and he chuckles, tipping his head forward to rest it against Leo’s shoulder. “You came.” He repeats, his voice as always carrying a surprised undertone as if Leo has ever rejected him. The former aches to punish those who have put this crippling self-doubt in his mind.

“You asked me to, cariño.” He replies, wrapping his arms around Ney's waist, pulling him towards his chest. His thumbs drawing random patterns on the bare skin of his back, enjoying the way Neymar shudders.

He feels more than sees the youngest smile.

“I love you.” Ney whispers, pressing a soft kiss on the older man’s collarbone before hugging him back tightly.

“I love you too.” The Argentine whispers back, wishing he could shout it to him instead so that everyone hears.

Leo is going to make this man his in front of the world one day. He does not care that Neymar is a thief, a con-artist or whatever else the world calls him and that he, himself, is a politician.

He’ll write new laws before he lets him slip through his fingers.

[violetmuses]

No Rules - Maxwell Lord

TITLE: “No Rules” || Maxwell Lord 

FANDOM: “Wonder Woman” Film Universe

CHARACTER: Maxwell “Max Lord” 

PAIRING: Maxwell Lord + Female Reader 

MAIN STORYLINE: Meeting each other could change everything. 

Author’s Note: Hi! Here’s my very first Max project. Happy reading and feedback would be greatly appreciated. - V. <3

Main Masterlist <3

_______________

1984 

Black Gold Cooperative shattered not long ago, leaving him no other choice but to file bankruptcy. Even speaking with Raquel deemed nearly impossible to do. She was kind, still aiding him despite countless setbacks in an otherwise horrible shift. 

One town car pulls up to the main office curb around sunset, giving Max an opportunity to hide once again. Behind that spot, for a while longer, he can’t face late bills. Simon already shouted at him and he’d rather ride home in silence.

Awaiting the end of never-ending traffic, Max turns his head, looking out towards other drivers who beamed this weekend. Shining convertibles. Big-time sport wheels. Even Jeeps look glamorous to him as he yearns for success nowadays. 

Beyond that rear window, Max notes the sound of bright laughter, pitched and wonderful. You, a stranger, are in a car jamming to the radio, tapping fingers onto that steering wheel. The red light hasn’t turned green yet, but you don't even care. 

From his slight angle, Max can see the way professional attire clothed your shoulders from the top. He quietly raves as one sliver Rolex clasps around your wrist. Your head bops to the music, a particular song he doesn’t recognize this time. 

What is your story? Max thinks to himself. 

Before he could roll down the window and ask you anything, the stoplight turns green at last, prompting both cars to move away from one another. You vanish from his sight, only seen to him as a glimpse of joy. 

__________

You’ve driven this company car since the beginning of summer. If not for your skills as concierge, the hotel would’ve crumbled for good last year. 

Now, it’s Friday evening and you’ve settled that ride into the parking garage, clicking your heels towards the apartment elevator. Just as both sliver doors open and you step through, distant but quick steps raced towards the outdoor entrance. 

Meanwhile, you roll both eyes, sure that another suited idiot wanted to loiter near the building again. There was a huge difference between cons and genuinely struggling people. You knew that feeling of the latter far too well. 

At one point of time, you dreamed of staying in this very apartment, working near affluence in so many ways. 

After climbing roles, your complex unit is breathtaking. Spacious living area. High-end entertainment center. Two bedrooms. Perfect kitchen. Picturesque windows reveal emerald trees, almost romanticizing Washington’s downtown zone. 

Pouring this well-deserved glass of wine, you toe off your heels and feel sure that security is dealing with that loitering idiot in the lobby. Even shouting echoed through walls as you sat on the couch, watching a movie. You’re not phased at all. 

Not the first, never the last. You’ve always believed. 

In the middle of your favorite scene, the man’s shouting stopped. This time, curiosity peaked your attention and you somehow pause the film, listening out instead. 

“Please…what is her name?” The man nearly begs, asking for someone else’s attention. 

___________

You find yourself returning downstairs and soon heading towards the lobby. Commotion settled down, but there’s a man standing near that front desk. 

Light brown hair, almost blond, looks dishelved around his sweating and pale features. He’s leaning over, bunching up the fabric of his blue suit and slipping the placement for that sharp tie. 

“Ma’am!” The receptionist calls to you, immediately motioning for you to see this man right now. 

“Yes?” You heels scurry without question and your body straightens up, planning to introduce yourself. 

“I’m so sorry for the noise, but I’m…” The man trails off his own introduction, realizing your own face. 

“Maxwell Lord….” You catch on, folding both arms and slyly  acknowledging the stack of magazines found on one table with chairs in this lobby. His face plastered everywhere at one point in time. 

“Yes.” Maxwell settles back into his brand of charm, completely ignoring how sweat trickled earlier. “And who do I have the pleasure of meeting now?” 

“Y/N.” You reveal your name without shaking his hand. “A phone call during work hours would’ve been enough.” 

“Sincerest apologies.” Max utters once more. “Could I interest you in meeting tonight?” Maxwell continues, gently trying to salvage what happened just moments before. 

You watch him lie regardless. Yelling for assistance on this property should’ve left him booked with police.

“No, thank you, Mr. Lord.” You stay firm, knowing that he interrupted your time off on such a beautiful evening.

No. Maxwell sadly thinks to himself. I’m watching Alistair next week. 

“Very well. Apologizes to everyone for the disruption.” Maxwell steps out, finally leaving this apartment complex. 

____________

You find one unexpected note in your mailbox soon after crossing paths with Mr. Lord.  

Y/N. 

You are my greatest mystery, forever reaching my thoughts as I move through life’s everlasting questions. 

Please forgive my behavior. 

Until next time, 

Maxwell Lord. 

[mianyann]

Absolution | Yoru x Reader

Chapter 4: "Unwinding Tensions"

Chamber, his gaze unwavering, sat comfortably at his desk, each stroke of the brush a deliberate motion as he added a new layer of paint upon his headhunter's golden finish. A momentary pause ensued as his eyes danced among an array of paint sets, a silent debate on whether to maintain the golden appearance or be transformative. A smirk, born of pride and satisfaction, graced his lips, and his fingers lovingly caressed the grip of his meticulously crafted creation, never planning on changing a thing. A contented sigh escaped him as he gripped the desk's edge, rising from his chair.

The journey from desk to the central coffee table unfolded with a sense of unhurried purpose. Chamber's hand found the delicate stem of a champagne glass, the cool effervescence of the liquid a soothing embrace as he took a leisurely sip. Seated upon his couch, his fingers deftly worked at the knot of his tie, unfastening it. His head tilted back, its weight resting against the couch's headrest, a sigh resonating through his weary form. It had been a demanding day, the weight of it settling upon him like a shroud.

Yet, just as the tranquility enveloped him, a soft and persistent knocking reached his ears, disrupting the solitude. His annoyance tinged his voice as he stood up, brushing imaginary dust from his attire and carefully placing the glass down. With a hint of impatience, Chamber called out, "Who is it?"

A clearing of the throat, and then the voice of Sage resonated from beyond the door. The subtle shift of Chamber's demeanor, a softening, bore a certain curiosity. His gaze swept over the dorm's interior before it settled upon Sage, a warm and welcoming smile gracing his lips. "Be my guest," he offered, opening the door to invite her in.

-

In the faintly lit meeting room at Headquarters, Viper and Brimstone found themselves seated across from each other, separated by the long-stretching glass table. The room bore an air of tension, with Viper's furrowed brow as she rubbed her temples in frustration. She took occasional sips of her black coffee, her agitation apparent. Meanwhile, Brimstone pored over a stack of papers, each detailing Kingdom's scandals throughout the years, “Sage was kind enough to give me these.” Brimstone continued to trace his finger over every little word.

As silence continued to engulf the room, Brimstone momentarily glanced up from the papers, his gaze shifting to Viper, who seemed on edge. With a concerned sigh, he set down the documents and removed his glasses. His palms clasped together as he leaned forward, his voice tinged with worry and confusion as he asked, "What's wrong? You've been frantic."

Viper's leg bounced nervously beneath the table as she set down her coffee mug, her anxiety palpable. She cleared her throat, responding with a hint of exasperation, "I've been worried about the protocol. If Kingdom gets wind of our plans and our information, we're finished."

Brimstone shook his head, his face marked with a frown, "It'd be impossible for them to know anything unless we have an informant, a traitor."

Viper straightened in her chair, her frustration simmering. She hesitated, her voice tense as she replied, "We need to keep a close eye on that hostage of yours."

Brimstone chuckled heartily at Viper's determination, "I understand, Viper, but I don't believe a hostage in her condition could be a Kingdom informant. We have bigger concerns."

Viper's headache flared up once more, prompting her to press a hand against her throbbing temple. Annoyance laced her voice as she inquired, "Such as?"

Brimstone let out a weary sigh as he reclined in his chair, his arms casually resting behind his head. The room seemed to absorb the tension that hung heavy in the air as they both grappled with the uncertainty of their situation. With a shift in his posture, Brimstone leaned forward and slid an agent file across the table – a face etched in everyone's memory. Chamber's.

-

As the clocks around the Headquarters marked 6:00, agents began to stream into the common room, a cozy and minimalist space adorned with a collection of chairs, plush couches, and bookshelves lined with classic literature. The faux marble fireplace stood as an elegant centerpiece, exuding warmth into the room. Curtains were drawn to shield them from the outside world, and a hushed tension filled the air. Every agent exchanged nervous glances, saying nothing as they meticulously adjusted their postures. Among them, you and Chamber were absent, though the collective anticipation for the unfolding hostage situation from the previous day permeated the room.

The famous black boots, their signature sound echoing through the hallway, prompted everyone to snap their heads in that direction. The suspenseful silence thickened as the footsteps drew nearer. Emerging from the shadows, Viper, one of their eminent leaders, entered the room with a folder, clipboard, and pen in hand. Furrowing her brows, she glanced at the assembled agents while adjusting her lab coat. Viper settled into the gray swan chair positioned at the head of the couches, and the room immediately straightened in response.

Viper's serious demeanor and posture demanded everyone's unwavering attention. "Sage and Brimstone will be late for our meeting," she began, her voice commanding. "We can get started now. I am certain everyone understands the situation at hand?"

Her scrutinizing gaze swept the room, intensifying the tension. Agents' eyes fixated on Viper's hands as she flipped through the pages, eventually settling on one that contained the image Sage had captured at the facility, a chilling depiction that made even Viper shudder. She secured the image to her clipboard and presented it to the room, capturing the rapt attention of every agent. "This is what was captured that day in the facility," Viper declared, her tone unwavering. "It is grotesque, but it is the harsh reality we face. This can happen to us, and it's our responsibility to prevent it."

-

Sage found herself in Chamber's dormitory. Her gaze wandered nervously around the lavish room, uncertain of his looming presence. Chamber, leaning casually against a marble dresser, exuded a self-assured smirk as he sipped his champagne. He observed Sage's unease and seized control of the situation, taunting her with his authoritarian charm.

"I presume you should be at the meeting, should you not? What brings such a lovely lady like yourself in my presence" Chamber quipped, his words dripping with insolence and a blatant disregard for authority. Sage felt her discomfort intensify but was too preoccupied with her own thoughts to respond immediately.

Grasping a decorative pillow from the couch, she placed it on her lap as her gaze fixed upon Chamber. Finally, she found her voice and confronted him, "We're aware of your association with Kingdom." A flicker of vulnerability crossed Chamber's face before he regained his composure, setting down his champagne glass and walking over to seat himself next to her.

"What on earth could you mean, my dear?" Chamber's affected innocence clashed with Sage's determination. She could sense the falsity in his tone, yet she knew he wasn't directly assisting Kingdom with malicious intent. Chamber understood the flaws in Sage's accusation and recognized that he needed to safeguard the fragile trust they were establishing.

Sage sighed, pushing the pillow aside as she rose to confront Chamber. Leaning over him, her face inches from his, she stared into his dark, calculating eyes. She wrapped her delicate fingers around his tie, pulling him closer and closer. Chamber chuckled softly, relishing the tension between them, and lowered his voice provocatively, "Planning to give me a kiss, cheri?" Undeterred, Sage responded with steely resolve, "We're merely working on building trust, Chamber. It would be wise not to jeopardize it before it's solidified."

Releasing his tie, Sage retreated, leaving Chamber sprawled on the couch with a smug smile. As she straightened herself and left the room, Chamber couldn't resist a parting comment, "I must say, Sage, you pull off the dominatrix look quite well." Sage scoffed at the remark, departing with the room's unresolved tension lingering in her wake.

-

Brimstone made his entrance into the common room with an air of unshakable confidence, flashing everyone a smirk as he casually settled into the lounge chair beside Viper. Midway through Viper's briefing, she winced, interrupting her speech briefly to hand him a copy of the document she had been discussing. Brimstone sighed, his gaze fixed on the page.

"Viper, we don't have to go over all of this," he remarked with a touch of impatience, but Viper turned her body toward him, leaning in close and speaking softly.

"We must ensure everyone is thoroughly prepared," she murmured into his ear, her eyes locked onto his.

Brimstone's expression softened as he cleared his throat and addressed the room. "Each one of you will undergo rigorous training, and we'll be embarking on high-stakes missions that will require unwavering teamwork and strategic brilliance. We're preparing for the worst-case scenario and ensuring we maximize our available resources."

Viper nodded, her hands clasped together on the clipboard in her lap. "You'll be paired up with a partner, and you'll train together every day. It's imperative you remember your duty. We're pleading for your loyalty and dedication to Valorant."

Killjoy raised a trembling hand, her gaze darting between Brimstone and Viper as she managed a nervous smile. Viper, exhaling in mild exasperation, extended her hand toward Killjoy, granting her permission to speak.

"I could enhance my technology to gather more intel," Killjoy began tentatively, but Viper swiftly interjected, her tone resolute, "These missions will have to be carried out with the utmost discretion. You can focus on technology improvements once we've gathered information about the current situation."

She punctuated the end of the meeting with a tap of her pen on the clipboard, signaling dismissal. As Viper and Brimstone stood up, they made their way out of the common room.

In the hallway, Viper stormed forward, with Brimstone hastening to catch up. Concern etched his features as he asked, "Viper, what's been bothering you lately?"

Viper turned sharply, her headache resurfacing as her gaze bore into Brimstone's eyes. "We could lose everything and everyone we care about, and you expect me to be okay with it? I can't burden everyone with this. I'd rather bear this responsibility alone."

Brimstone's reassuring eyes met hers as he placed his hands on his hips. "We're here to watch each other's backs. I'm confident that we can navigate through this crisis and prepare for whatever comes our way."

Before they could delve further into the conversation, Sage burst out of Chamber's dorm, right in front of them. She smoothed out her ruffled attire and adjusted her bangs, her expression stern. "We need to talk."

-

The common room was filled with a sense of collective astonishment, leaving Killjoy undoubtedly disheartened. Raze sat beside her, offering a comforting touch on Killjoy's shoulder, and a reassuring smile accompanied by supportive words, "Awe, Killjoy-Zinho. We all love your little robots, and we'll figure out a way to get them back on the field."

Killjoy found solace in Raze's gesture, her anxiety momentarily soothed by the warmth of her

presence. However, Reyna's gaze held a different sentiment, bearing a natural aversion to Killjoy's technology and the engineer herself, “Who is we?” Raze exchanged a knowing look with Reyna, her brows pleading for some sympathy or intervention to prevent another argument.

Reyna, silently conceding to Raze's request, crossed her arms and reclined on the couch, her chin lifted, and her gaze sharpening as she inquired, "Where's that new girl? I heard she had some stories to tell. I’ve just been dying to meet her."

Phoenix's attention perked up at the mention of the new recruit. He leaned in, nonchalantly opening a bag of chips and munching on them. With a smirk, he remarked, "I don't know. She was supposed to be at the meeting, but I guess she didn't have the nerve to show up." He chuckled at his own quip, taking another handful of chips.

However, Fade swiftly intervened by snatching the chips out of Phoenix's hand, a teasing yet resolute expression on her face. As she held the bag away from him, she suggested, "Maybe if we make her feel more at ease, she'd be more inclined to join."

Phoenix, eager to reclaim his snack, reached out with determination. As he wrestled for the bag of chips, Fade finally relented, tossing it back into his lap. Phoenix resumed eating, his gaze shifting to Yoru, his tone laced with playful flirtation, "You're the man, Yoru. Why don't you be the one to bring her down here?" Yoru's response, a nonchalant eye roll, signaled his reluctance. Yet, before he could leave the room, a reminder of their earlier agreement stopped him in his tracks. As he sighed, he flipped Phoenix off and walked away, leaving the room to its various conversations.

-

Amidst a chaotic scene of scattered papers, books, files, and empty water bottles, you sat worn and weary, your gaze bereft of energy. Exhausted, your head sank onto a pile of paperwork, only to be abruptly startled by loud knocks echoing through your door. Wearily, you raised your head and mumbled, "Hello?" in response. The incessant knocks persisted, further frustrating you, prompting you to push yourself up and swing open the door in annoyance.

Standing before you, Yoru appeared, his demeanor stern and disapproving. His arms were crossed, and he spoke with cold indifference, "Everyone's waiting for you in the common room." His voice bore no warmth. Without uttering a word, he turned away, preparing to walk back.

However, you reached out and grabbed his jacket sleeve, compelling him to pause begrudgingly. He pulled his arm free, clearly uncomfortable with your touch, and in an irritated tone, he inquired, "What?"

You sighed, your back against the doorframe, a frown forming on your face, "Can we talk about what happened?" Yoru, without any intention of relenting, resumed his departure, responding with a curt, "No."

Undeterred, you once again caught his sleeve, causing him to pull away hastily, his irritation growing as he rubbed his jacket sleeve, "It was my job, nothing more." Understanding the reasoning behind his reticence, you nodded, yet an underlying curiosity lingered, "I was mainly going to ask about how you are towards me."

Yoru gently shook his head, his steps carrying him away from you as you watched him walk away. Sighing, you pondered the complex dynamics between you two, craving a deeper understanding but resigned to let it be for the time being.

Eventually, you joined the others in the common room, settling uncomfortably beside Neon. As she offered you various dishes of food, you declined them repeatedly, leading to a visible frown on her face, brimming with concern. It was apparent that everyone had questions, their wide eyes fixed on you as you shared the details of your experiences, revealing some things while withholding others, leading to an air of curiosity and apprehension.

Reyna scrutinized you, her lips curving into a sardonic smile, and she placed her wine glass on the table. Her words seemed patronizing as she commented, "My cariño, such a poor soul. I wonder how you could live with such trauma." Her mockery weighed on you, causing your fingers to clutch at your pants.

Neon's compassion shone through as she reached out, her hand gently resting on your leg. Her voice, barely above a whisper, offered solace, "Don't take it to heart." You responded with a soft nod, appreciating her support, even though Reyna's intentions remained unclear.

Neon, however, refused to let Reyna's behavior slide, snapping at her, "You can't just be a bitch to everyone." Reyna's gaze widened, her grip on her glass tightening, and Gekko made an attempt to intervene, though his effort was met with a swift dismissal from Reyna, who swatted his hand away, saying, "Don't worry about it, cariño."

Gekko, apologetic and nervous, gripped a pillow on his lap, casting an apologetic look your way. Attempting to speak up, you hesitated, stopping short as Reyna abruptly stood, her figure imposing as she confronted Neon, "I hope you didn't forget about those times I saved you from the easiest of deaths."

Neon, undaunted, met Reyna's disapproval with defiance, standing chest to chest with her. Meanwhile, Phoenix continued to munch on his chips, audibly crunching in the otherwise hushed atmosphere. The agents directed annoyed glances his way.

You reached out and gently pulled Neon back to her seat as Reyna resumed her place after Gekko's call to calm down. A thick silence settled in the room, only punctuated by the sound of Phoenix devouring his fifth bag of chips.

Gekko, seeking to shift the atmosphere, asked a question, "Ah, so, what was it like in the facility? No one really knows too much beyond the picture that Sage took." Your recollections sent shivers down your spine, but you hesitated only briefly before answering, "Well, those were victims of failed radianite experiments." Your words were slow, each phrase carefully weighed and measured. "The radianite wasn't pure; it was fabricated."

The revelation left the room's occupants exchanging concerned glances, drawing closer in their curiosity. Phoenix, perhaps in an attempt to break the tension, choked on his chips and remarked, "Well, she's useless." A swift slap to his chest from Fade elicited an apology, "I didn't mean that, mate. Just playing with you."

Reyna, ever the instigator, turned her attention to you, a mocking applause in her voice, "Great, we're making room for the homeless." Laughter filled the room, though Fade and Neon did not partake. Yoru, who had been leaning against the wall observing the situation, grimaced, recalling the times when he felt similarly unwelcome upon joining the protocol.

He moved closer, looming over the back of the sofa you and Neon occupied. Leaning forward, he rested his arms on the cushion, his irritation palpable, "Don't you have something better to talk about, Reyna?" It wasn't that he cared deeply about the situation; he was simply fed up with Reyna's inflated ego.

Reyna's smirk waned as she side-eyed Yoru, quipping, "So the riftwalker joins us, how can I live with myself?" Yoru scoffed and tapped your shoulder as he spoke to Reyna, "Pick on someone with use."

-

Sage, Viper, and Brimstone gathered on the patio, seated under the serene moonlight as they shared drinks. Sage, perhaps fueled by some form of urgency or anxiety, was hastily downing every drink in her reach, only to be gently slowed down by Brimstone, his concern evident in his words, "Take it easy there; we don't want to lose you too early."

Viper, her headache gradually fading, chuckled and began to feel more herself again. Curiosity piqued, she asked, "So, what happened with Chamber? Don't tell me he's screwing his way up the roster." Sage shook her head, a drunken laugh escaping her lips, "I don't think he's the one we should be worried about."

Brimstone, exchanging an intrigued glance with Viper, raised an eyebrow, prompting Sage to share her startling revelation, "You're kidding me." With earnestness, she shook her head, her eyes widened as she took another sip, "I'm being serious; he seems completely out of the know."

Viper, feeling skeptical and unconvinced, took Sage's glass into her own hands. "There is absolutely no way Chamber is not involved with something of this sort," she remarked, certain of her assessment. "It has his name and face written all over it."

Sage sighed as she ran her fingers through her messy hair, seeking clarity amid the haze of her inebriation. "The girl, the hostage," she began, her speech somewhat disjointed, "was telling me that the victims were regular people with fabricated radianite exposure. On what earth would Chamber be able to get his hands on such a substance? It has got to be Kingdom."

Brimstone let out a heavy sigh, taking another swig of his drink. He contemplated the situation, "We'll have to speak with the two of them." The uncertainty loomed like a shadow over the trio in the moonlit night.

-

As the evening wore on and agents began to disperse, you found yourself seated on a plush couch, the absence of Neon, who had left to prepare for her early morning garden duty, leaving you in solitude. A nearby sofa hosted Killjoy and Raze, who had initially listened intently to your retelling of your experiences within the facility. However, they wisely chose to retreat as they sensed the growing unease that accompanied your narrative.

Meanwhile, the remaining trio, consisting of Fade, Phoenix, and Yoru, provided a playful diversion. Phoenix was immersed in a seemingly endless battle with a colossal bag of chips, and the spectacle garnered a mix of amusement and concern from those in the vicinity. Fade tussled with Phoenix, with his bottomless appetite, trying to rip the family-sized bag of chips as Phoenix attempted to eat it.

As Phoenix gave up on trying to retrieve the bag of chips from Fade, he tapped on Yoru's shoulder, signaling towards you. He playfully reminded Yoru of the deal they had made regarding the sake. "I'm getting her number first," he declared with a wink.

With a smirk, Phoenix sauntered over to you, earning him scoffs and laughter from Killjoy and Raze. Taking the seat next to you with a closeness that left you intrigued. Meeting your inquisitive gaze, he stumbled over his words in a rather flustered manner, "Hello?"

The room filled with laughter as Killjoy, Raze, and even Yoru couldn't contain their amusement. Phoenix's embarrassment was palpable as he continued, "You're… wow, I mean, you're pretty amazing, girl. Really cute." Your confusion turned into a warm chuckle, and even Yoru sported a faint, amused smile.

With newfound confidence, Phoenix finally asked, "Can I, um, get your number?" Caught in the moment and still amused by the earlier banter, you playfully choked out, "I'll think about it." Phoenix felt a light smack on his face but continued to smile, flaring his collar. Even as he nodded and made his way back with a tinge of embarrassment. Moving to the table where Yoru was seated, he couldn't resist taking a playful jab, saying, "Wipe the smile off your face, chum. It's not like you can do any better."

Yoru, however, simply shook his head, and the smile began to fade. "Just hand over the sake already," he urged.

But Phoenix leaned back in his chair with a mockingly serious tone. "Can't do that, mate," he quipped, adopting a witty posture. "You've got to be a womanizer to drink the pure gold."

Yoru, now glancing from you to Phoenix and back, realized that pure flirting wasn't working. He swiftly grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, determined to employ a different approach. "I didn't mean to act coldly towards you," he began, a tone of sincerity replacing the earlier jest. "I was wondering if we could chat more about what happened. Can I get your number?"

The atmosphere shifted, and a note of vulnerability crept in. You remembered the way Yoru had treated you when he rescued you, but hearing him now, sounding genuinely kind and considerate, eased your reservations. You replied with a heartfelt, "Yeah, of course."

Yoru extended his hand toward you, deftly inserting your phone number into his phone. As he tried to suppress his smile, he gave you a small nod, acknowledging your response.

Returning to the side of Phoenix, Yoru couldn't help but sport a triumphant smirk as he witnessed Phoenix's jaw drop. "How the hell do you do it, yet you still get absolutely no bitches?" he teased, a challenging glint in his eyes.

A moment of silence fell, with Yoru casting a hard gaze and furrowed eyebrows upon Phoenix. Not missing a beat, Phoenix playfully surrendered, "Please forgive me, Father Yoru."

But Yoru was quick to brush it off, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. "Cut it out, fire boy," he replied, signifying the playful banter was all in good fun. "Where's my sake?"

Phoenix sighed, his sense of humor still intact, as he said, "I'll give it to you when we head back, as long as you promise to share it."

Yoru, with a smirk on his lips, took a sip of his malt and leaned in closer to Phoenix, retorting, "No way."