#City to Sea Walkway | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kooyabooya · 11 months ago

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SUITS, (STOCKINGS), & TIES

minju x m reader

9k words

For the record, there aren’t any fingerprints seen underwater. Nothing to tie one to a crime. The trial itself is already a rapid current, pulling you and everyone around the bullpen into the endless sea of papers, payment record documents, video recording transcripts, then more fucking papers, and you absolutely hate it.

Files boxed in dating back to even before taking the damn job, the amount of trips to and from the copying machine, getting the materials right. Avoiding any fuck ups; that too, was always the end goal - staring at the blue folder sitting on your desk until–

Your fucking intercom’s ringing again.

It’s always a trip, that’s how it usually flows around here: a turn to the left, round the front desk of the floor, hook right down the insanely long walkway, glass windows giving you this nice view of the city skyline. Pretty, at around one in the morning of another late night of work stacked upon your desk.

Easy enough to also: take a moment to admire the view, since it’s the kind of view that you’d never get over no matter how many times you look at it. You sigh at the playback in your head, something that Chaeyeon talked to you about while hiding away from the pressures of work in her own office, bumping coffee mugs and wishing that the building had sliding windows to let the high breeze through.

They would never allow that. You tell her, keeping the vibe lighthearted with a laugh. I mean seriously, even if we did, it’s all fun and games until someone in one of the conference rooms below us sees a body hurling down towards the ground at a hundred miles per hour. Chaeyeon complains that the air conditioning doesn’t even reach her office sometimes, and tells you that she’s jealous, wanting to switch places with you since the sun hits her back during the work hours.

Sweeping past her office, since she’s gone for the day, the carpet gets pressed down by your loafers, tilting your head to see that the office at the very end of the walkway has the lights on, and you do notice the gap where the door should be; meaning that it’s open or someone stepped inside.

This was the end point of this overbearing yet brief journey. The office that was considered to be base camp, the command center, the brains, one would say. One of the firm’s most well known figures with how she leans back into her chair with a leg across the other, showing that she means business, and knows how to look good while doing it.

Prior, you loop around the pane entering the room-

“You’re saying that I should sit back and do nothing?” Minju asks, finger tapping the peak of her nose, clearly pressed.

“I’m not telling you to,” the woman standing across her with a left hand fastened to the hip with a lean to her right side, “We’re backed into a corner and all I’m saying is that we have to draw back and take this at a new angle.”

“But you said that last time! And look where it’s got us.” Minju shoots back, both feet on the floor now, drawing herself closer to make a point. You’re trying to not make your presence known, seeing where this exchange is headed, fighting the urge to not butt in and make a fool of yourself. “Cutting a deal with the very same person that is trying to come back and rip everything from us was all part of your plan?”

“Minju, I know you’re angry but–”

Minju slaps her hand down on the desk, “We’ve got them right where we wanted, pulled all the stops, and now you want to just back off?”

“I’m not backing off, I’ve managed to buy us more time.” the woman says, pressing on the rim of her glasses, sighing when Minju doesn’t even bother to look back at her in the eye, flipping through a packet with a pen in her hand to check and see if there was anything that was usable to help the situation. You’ve seen the packet on her desk earlier that way, ran that by Hyewon, her secretary, and now she’s finally looking at it.

“Two days. That’s all I got until we fall back with the judge.” she says to Minju, “Unless you have something for me on my desk later today, I’m officially and unofficially grounding you.”

“Dahyun-”

“Zip it.” Dahyun says, mimicking a pulling motion with her right hand to her lip, “You’re already stretched thin as it is, this case is already taking a toll on all of us and this would be the last thing I need on my mind.”

A tap to the glass on the entryway, “Is this a bad time?”

The two women look at you in suspicion, both of them not even realizing that the door was open the entire time, listening to the conversation, “How long have you been standing there?” Dahyun asks, pointing at you while you’re leaned against the glass, foot pointed to the floor all relaxed and everything.

“I’ve been here long enough, but a little over five minutes.” you answer, blue folder in hand. “Didn’t want to interrupt the usual bickering on a casual Thursday evening.” you also add, stepping inside Minju’s office where it opens up.

The great Kim Minju, one of the firm’s best lawyers, and Dahyun’s right hand woman, one of the key people sitting at the high table; also your handler of these different cases and adventures that she usually sends you to do or help her with. Her office was classy, a row shelves off to the right side filled with an assortment of vinyls and picture frames of the people that she holds most dear to her heart. A record player was next to this trolley that had a kettle and a bowl of candies (though she doesn’t like to admit that she’s got a sweet tooth); there’s also her violet couch in velvet that you’ve also passed out on multiple times, drunk on the sweet scent that you still have to figure out which one she uses for that.

“This is the last file for the case I managed to scrounge and put together.” you tell Minju, sliding it over across while her inky eyes dart at you, prompting a questioning eyebrow out of both of you while Dahyun’s gaze falls on top. “Everything in terms of deals within the last year from our target man should be all in there. Though, we had a minor hiccup earlier this week with–”

“Don’t remind me,” Minju vexes, “That was my screwup with the family and now I’m paying for it.”

“After I told you not to jump the gun.” Dahyun jumps in, hand on the corner of the granite. She sounds annoyed; after all, she was technically the ‘fall guy’ in all of this with her hiccup also in mishandling the exchanged information, not her fuck up though, since she was set up from the beginning after a hidden clause she signed a long time ago. She also swoops in to grab the file, opening it to skim through the papers, slightly nodding at what she could read for a few seconds. “Impressive,” Dahyun nods, “this is good leverage.”

“Thank you,” you say, smirking while Dahyun hands you back the file for Minju to look at, pulling it out of your fingers to flip through. “Had some help from Hyewon, but didn’t want to take all of the credit.”

“Well I appreciate you both.” Dahyun adds, “I had my doubts when I got the call to come back and see what all the fuss was about. Now, I can breathe a little more easily knowing that we have this in the bag, I hope.”

“I’m still here, you know.” Minju huffs, rolling her eyes.

“Hush,” Dahyun scrunches funnily, taps your shoulder, causing you to shrug nonchalantly, “Thank you for hanging back to help me take care of this while I’ve been dealing with my moving situation. God, it's been a back breaker for me.”

“How’d that go?”

“We finally settled in, I had a small housewarming party about a few weeks ago or so, but I’ve been keeping in touch with–”

“You said that your friend Sana was living in the area too, right? From college?” Minju suddenly asks, pen flat on the paper and fully invested in the life update. Dahyun nods to this while you’re pursing your lips at the news. You’re not one to lend an ear to these things, but you just can’t help yourself when they’re being talked about in the open. Talk about separating privacy and professionalism.

“Yeah, it’s been good to see her, if it wasn’t for this fucking cas–”

“Dahyun, it’s fine. We got it.” you tell her, slowly nodding to ease the stress, “You’re already doing so much by coming back from leave to deal this along with us. It shows that you do care about this firm and the reputation that it has.”

“Look at you being a kiss ass.” Minju deadpans. You pay no attention to that.

“And not taking this ordeal would've put the firm into crisis mode having the last thing I’d want to happen.” Dahyun scoffs, “Besides, the value is way more than that once all of this is over.” She starts to make her way out of Minju’s office, turning around to face both of you with eye contact, “I assume that you two will close up shop when you’re done?”

“Don’t even need to remind us.” you tell her, Minju looks up with a soft smile across her face, lightly waving at Dahyun before she gives you two a quick goodbye, leaving shortly after. “She seemed a little more dismissive than usual, like she wanted to give us alone time don’t you think?”

“I can’t stand her nosy ass sometimes, trying to veer the way how I want to do things.”

“Ouch.”

“I’m serious,” Minju shoots back, flipping through the packet, not giving an ounce of care through all of the blacked lines or different clauses in the suggested proposal that would settle this whole case. “I love Dahyun - I mean - she has the spare set of keys to my damn apartment since she moved away, that’s how much she means to me.”

“Didn’t think you’d be sappy over your boss, especially after the shit show that we’d–”

“One more word out of your smart mouth and I’ll stop looking through your documents to stall time.”

“You already signed it, though.” you say, pouting with a frown, “Which also means that this should all officially end by tomorrow.”

Minju sweeps through the row of open and unopened files spread across her desk, eyes canvassing between the texts and dried ink of signatures, vying for some sort of leverage that would go against Dahyun’s wishes. It’s natural for her to be extremely nitpicky - highlighted with a small curtain of hair falling in front of her forehead, pulling the side of her index finger back while her pretty eyelashes flutter about. She’s refined and very sophisticated, the kind that makes you stop in your tracks one day when she waltzes in the office on her own time, and not that she’s thirty minutes late in the morning.

Throw the law degree away bucko, maybe that avenue of studying art and architecture would’ve been the better option considering how much you’ve been staring for the past five minutes.

To fill in, here’s the brief rundown of the position.

A lot of people would’ve killed to be Minju’s associate. I mean, the woman seeps in ‘getting what she wants’. You could consider yourself lucky, but Minju already had eyes on you from the first second you stepped into her office for the interview. The interview itself wasn’t all that glamorous: renting one of your best friend’s designer suits that would’ve been more usable for a fucking award show spritzed with a cologne that was way out of your league in terms of scent let alone price, a typo on the fucking resume that she looks with an eyebrow for an explanation, and a lasting impression that whatever happens would deem only to be the best going forward.

Minju wanted someone who excelled both in book and street smarts, be able to get a grasp on the situation faster within the first few seconds of receiving the case or news, and most importantly, to steer Minju’s level of thinking where even the most irrational decisions would be reasonable.

You hit all the marks, and qualified to be associate. End of story.

“Everything that we all have here is solid substantial evidence,” Minju cuts in with a paper flipped back to the top of the page, pen flat on her fingers as if she’s fed up with playing reviewing proctor, “Nothing would change with what we already have on the case.”

“But the conclusion would be different,” you reply, sitting opposite to her, respectfully doing nothing but twiddling a pen between your fingers, considering that you were pretty much done with your bout in the file room earlier today, finding the last bits of documents from the archives that would help into comprising the settlement. “After all, it’ll be you and Dahyun in that conference room tomorrow closing the deal. I’m just passing papers.”

“I suppose that you’re afraid of taking credit where it counts. Because why put in much effort for this case especially when someone else could’ve handled it when I asked?”

“Dahyun insisted on coming back to oversee this. Had it been anyone else, the firm would’ve been up in flames if it wasn’t for her quick thinking pulling up the memos and signing payments from all those years ago.”

Minju closes your blue folder, sliding it off to the side, flipping open her laptop without a flinch before typing away. “You know,” she starts, giving you this quick gaze that has you nicking your head a few millimeters, catching the pen in between your fingers to highlight that she has your attention, “I could’ve done this myself with Hyewon’s help, give you at least some days off after working you down the bone.”

“Now why would you do that?” you ask, four fingertips on the back of Minju’s laptop, closing it slowly while you’re rounding the fine corner of her obsidian desk, thumb wrapping underneath when her chair meets square with your hips. “That’s not very work-efficient for you to do that to me now, is it?”

“You want to lecture me on how I should make you operate?”

“She knows about us…by the way.” you tell Minju straightforward, smirking when you see that high arch of her brow, grimacing at the faulty accusation that she already knows by way of presentation. Doesn’t take long also for the different neurons firing in her brain that’s filled to the brim by the way of the law - only for that to be completely flattened out in one of those lobes replaced with various details of what you’re talking about.

“What are you talking about?” Minju asks, tilting her head upward that makes the sight of the high ground utterly so familiar.

“Dahyun can easily tell that we have something going on,” you remind her, “She can easily read the both of us like a children’s book and–”

“Bullshit,” her face crinkling with a tone more deaf the the simple drone of a dead phone line, “You know damn well that there’s nothing happening between us, so stop with the conviction.”

“I’m not saying that you’re being convicted of my point,” you start, pushing her chair away to leave you space when you’re leaning over, seeing her back hit the cushion of the chair where she wiggles more comfortably with both hands on the armrests, “if anything, you’re just simply denying that there was ever really a thing between you and I.”

“And that should be the end of that, no?” Minju coos, tipping her head a little bit higher, “Can you concur that there is nothing happening between us, especially in the workplace?”

Minju is a professional, on par with the same archetypes like Dahyun. She’s witty, calculated, knows a lot more things from her experience compared to you, and blowhards herself way too much for anyone’s own liking. Every argument with her always starts with her leading the charge, to make you feel smaller right off the bat so that you’d have no way to counter unless your point seems fit to her points of focus.

Okay, it may not be every verbal exchange with her on a day to day basis, considering that it’s also filled with witty banter and small inside jokes that could totally fall within the implications of the term ‘flirting’, but nothing ever really escalated from that.

You also stuck your ears in between conversations during various corporate events and coworker mixers. Hell, even the pool of associates away from the main quarters of partners and senior partners all gave you the necessary praise for the chemistry that you’ve developed with Minju. Some days she wants to have your head on a platter, other days the talks were good, and you two managed to get things done around the office.

Except for one day, and the details are still a bit murky for you to put up in recording: another workday in the office, maybe a little slow for Wednesday transition from morning to an afternoon - but a free flowing circulation of phone calls, fax reports, conference appointments with clients, and a running order of Hyewon’s go-to latte from the coffee shop on the first floor.

Bouncing back and forth between Dahyun’s office and Yuri’s, you make a quick detour towards Minju’s office who happened to slot herself on the left side of you while matching your walking pace. Expecting a quick quip from her like any other morning, you were waiting for it, but she hits you with the ‘file room, now.’ order that has you in-tow right behind her on the way there.

Though your mind was already in overtime mode with the workload that was dropped to your desk roughly about two hours since arriving, it had already been nonstop and maybe Minju’s time could be quick if it was related to saving the firm from being purged by pulling some old papers in the filing room. Somewhere along those lines, your mind gets blanked out from the cramped space of the metal shelves, those dusty boxes, compounded by dim lighting in the room already.

What you do remember:

The small little gasps and hums when you’re sucking along the line of Minju’s neck, gripping the fistfuls of her dress and sliding your hand along her thighs.

(So much for keeping it professional with the woman who’s also technically your primary boss.)

“How do you want to go about this?” you ask, “Do you want me to persuade you into telling Dahyun that we need a little more time?”

Minju hums, pensively, as the question itself is rather a tempting decision that’s also actionable at best. You could see the small lump from the inside of her cheek before she shifts it across her upper lip to the other side, twisting her chair forward to place both elbows on the desk with fingers intertwined like she’s praying for the Lord’s insight from above. “We’ve been on the nose with this thing for too long now, I think it’s about time to cut our losses before things get ugly.”

You don’t say anything, leaning yourself onto the obsidian while your arms bridge themselves together, flexing the wool in the threads when she makes eye contact with you, flicking her eyes back onto the paper where there’s a few blank lines that still need to be written in ink.

With a simple lift of her signature ballpoint pen by you, she takes it, twirling it around like you were doing a few minutes ago to imply that your point finally got through to her, fingers grazing along the fine paper to fill in the gaps.

But the vantage point where your ass is pressed against the edge is proving to be some sense of uncomfortability, so you change course, from left to right, vacant chair adjacent to the desk in your hands in a fraction of a second, scooching closely while Minju scoffs at the prying during the task, “Didn’t think it’d be that easy for you to be cooperative with the demands.”

“Stop,” and Minju sings this with the better facade of her naivete, “Unlike you, I’m willing to actually listen to what's being asked from the first try, and not have it repeated to me through different remarks.”

You get too close, too soon, when the ends of her hair brushes against the front corner of your lips and cheek, she could hear the air close at the bottom of your throat when the tip of your nose barely grazes her cheekbone. A moment like this occurred before, you could say it’s in the sense of deja vu: Minju invites you out for some quality time between partner and associate, a few drinks were on the table, and Minju challenges you to a simple game of pool.

Sounds pretty mangable and straightforward, right?

Wrong.

You get shafted by Minju the first game, pull yourself back the next round. There’s this back and forth like usual banter between colleagues, dishing out trash talk for some good ol’ competition. The count of drinks gets lost along with the perception of time, and this happens on impulse when you’re backed into a corner with the eight ball being the last one for Minju while you’re behind on three solids. She rambled about you being always two steps behind and you can’t blame or deny the fact that she’s also way out of your league, so what do you do? Take the pleasantries of hums to your advantage, molding your hips along with hers, calloused hands lightly clinging onto the denim while your chin nestles into her collarbone, saying carelessly with intent of taunting, don’t you think you should call the last shot if you do make it?

Minju nips her lip triumphantly, turning her head, catching on with what you’re incessantly doing, whispering her call: left corner pocket. The attention to the black ball slips out of your mind when she presses your lips onto your cheek, a fatal blow while the space opens up between you again, tipping her head back also lets you know that you lost the best of three series, which also meant that the loser has to pay the bill.

(You pay your dues, but also add the pay up by making your own call: pocketing yourself into Minju’s cunt on her bed later that would only serve all the wiser.)

A flashback in your mind that took minutes, only to be reeled into the real world by merely seconds, “You missed one more claus–”

That gap could be filled after, because this deal on the agenda was more important to deal with.

Minju grabs you by the tie, leveling your head with hers. Your hands are quick to smooth out her skirt from behind, letting the various files and dossiers rest across the desk or on the floor, depending where her hands land for a proper hold. Some lights stay on long after hours, to serve as a subtle ambience that no matter what time it may be, someone’s still hard at work on a case, or waiting for their personal driver on the ground floor. Though, some other cases include a well-spoken conversation, or even just chatting between colleagues - this chat about work with Minju however, was anything but that.

Right off the bat, you’re reminded of how Minju is so easy to break down, despite her having a front that has every possible contingency of shutting herself away from others because she’s not that kind of character to be soft and open, until where your fingers are dancing alongside the slope of her bottoms at the hips, thumb rounding the hard end with a slow pull of her chair to reel closer until you’re at the edge of your seat.

The move itself is so subtle, setting her on the desk in a similar position that you were in while she was signing through the documents with her ass pressed against the desk, scooching back while dancing with her tongue, lips parted with her head tilted. You’ve also managed to get your hands underneath Minju’s perfect thighs, lifting her up to the tabletop, spreading her long limbs much like to that excerpt of Moses parting the Red Sea, dipping your hand underneath to get a feel of her lace.

Minju’s breaths become slightly erratic, nearly short-circuiting the more your fingertips dance along the line of her skirt; inner thighs pressing along the side of your hips while you cater your mouth and fingers in her hair, her neck, the growing heat rising in the skin when she whimpers through your teeth given how cold it was in the room. How your fingertips graze along the slightly damp fabric with one- maybe two tips, you chuckle softly at how she’s very responsive to the touch, the small clutch around your neck and back from her arms to serve as a safeguard.

This is something that you’ll probably take to the District Attorney, let alone have Dahyun in the loop, in the specific case where you find yourself with no other option, a last resort to drown her into the ground:

“Let me ask you this again,” you prompt with another received kiss to the growing swell of your bottom lip, “Are you sure that there’s nothing happening between us? Especially in the workplace?”

Minju gasps out before you shut her up with your lips, channeling the moan when you increase the intensity of swirling around her clit, putting her hips out forward to sate that ache for at least something, anything.

“You’re certain that you can say with full confidence that you have no kind of interest in me, whatsoever, admit to me right now that I’m correct.”

You could tell from the look on her face and the moan she lets out, vocal cords open and freely flowing with the heavy tone while crumbling at the touch, all hot and wet and losing most of the plot at this point before even getting to the real business. It’s really wicked, how this woman as your boss flaunts around the floor, knowing that she won’t let anything get in her way for getting the case done, doing whatever it takes to see it through to the end and even if the methods aren’t within the boundaries.

Like you could handle the boundaries yourself, playing nice isn’t always the way to go.

While your hand hikes up the smooth skin of her thigh, feeling an unfamiliar ridge, a weave, something that hugs her leg that probably deserves to be there, to help with the appearance and everything- maybe not or maybe so, you’ll assess when the moment gets there. She grips around what she could touch in terms of your blazer, hips pushing forward at the flex of muscle when you’re scratching the surface of her clothed cunt, the ripple effect shown in her body as she arches first, then sighs into your collarbone the next.

“Mmn, pretty–” Minju groans out, letting a small hiss through the porcelain cracks of her teeth, “so well, so, so amazing.”

You’ll seek out the wants, the needs, the odds to break even, testing out the very little restraints in patience left while this cold-hearted woman is melting into your touch, giving you the benefit of having free reign over her body, when she’s murmuring these little hums and broken phrases that switches back to yours with more perversion.

“I need an answer from you.” Playing prosecutor against the defense wasn’t always ideal unless it’s a mock trial, but you’re always one to challenge Minju, getting her to see your points on a day to day basis, proving her wrong when you know it’s impossible to. She can see right through you, always letting you take the loss, never accepting a victory that you rightfully deserved. You’ll be good, go to her when you’re in a rut, she expects it to happen, that’s how loyalty works. Though, there’s nothing wrong with being defiant. “Don’t make me ask again.”

It’s all a tease, the way you let the lace dip underneath the slit with the extra press of fingers, toying with the soaking walls and fighting the urge to tug the strings the more you repeat the same fucking routine–

“Baby,” she croons, it’s pathetic. You’re about to get worked up too if you play the waiting game, dragging your thumb across her clit so delicately that she’s quivering, squirming, feeling the tense in her shoulders through the button up, hanging onto your forearm when the hold gets a little too tight. Those breathy gasps get your mind ahead to what’s coming, the natural instinct of what you’ll do to her in her office, on top of her desk, and maybe even on that stupid velvet couch if need be.

You can hear the huffs more clearly down your ear, the rise and fall of her upper body when you coax her for a few seconds; she’s spiraling out of control, a whine gets suppressed with a press of lips to her throat, and she stumbles back on her arm, spreading wider in mirth.

She’s shaking her head, eyes screwed shut, like wincing, the whine too - holy hell - it’s reminding you after that night at the bar with her, a moment coming full circle.

A hand sweeps through her hair, fingers carding, you kiss that sweet spot just underneath her earlobe, a lick from the tip of your tongue to get her more fitful, bring the desperation and sluttiness out of her lips.

“Do you have- “ she’s sputtering out the letters and consonants, intertwined with hitches and moans, “any idea of what you do?” Minju can’t stay composed while the nips at her jaw and neck close the distance between her mouth–

“Haven’t had the slightest.” you whisper, hiking up the last bit of her skirt to see the new piece to untangle, “God, Minju- lacy stockings? Really?”

The laugh she lets out should set you off in annoyance, almost like a border that’s meant to be there and never to be touched - let alone cross, fingers clasped around the nape of your neck to keep you trapped while she smiles to the small victory, “You sound surprised. I always come to work with these pairs from time to time, but you don’t leer when I want you to.”

Her eyes flutter shut once again when you tend to her pulse point, mouth gaping open when you’re doing two things at once: soothing the warmth on her neck while your fingers work teasing her clit and walls, a punishment of sorts when she’s reeling back onto the desk with a slipping hand, her other limp gripping your forearm to not stop - but keep going.

“How long–” Minju asks while she’s practically sliding off of the polished bark, “have you waited to do this…to me?” Strands of hair falling forward ever-so slightly in front of her forehead, hand tangled to the back of your head while your ear is pressing against the hard line of her collarbone. You don’t pay any attention to her subjective inquiry, replacing it with another strand of moans leaving her lips when you skate her ass across the table again, the bottoms of her thighs meeting yours, melting a bit more when her core rubs against the emerging bulge from between your legs.

She knows what she’s doing, it’s a trade off of pushing buttons. Trying to get you to lose all the sensible urges just to give her what she exactly wants.

You let your hands map out the case: her hips, the flat plane of her waist, where the peak of her hips meet at the hint of her obliques, only for your digits to spread out behind on the curve of her ass, feeling the lacy panties that might go against dress code policy because of how too fucking thin they were. Minju grins against your mouth, the exchange of hot air serving to be this addicting oxygen that you can’t get enough of. “Who knows how long I’ve wanted to have a crack at you. I just put myself off to the side because I knew that I’d never stand a chance.”

She laughs, and you hate to admit how much you like it. The image of her being disheveled in front of you, just inches away from the fingertips; legs spread out wide on her own desk, waiting to be ruined.

“What’s going through your head right now?” Minju asks, tossing her arm on the lower section of your waist, seizing you while failing to meet her glazed eyes. “Have you…fantasized about me? Tell me all about it. I’m intrigued. Want to know what gets you off after work.”

And there it goes again: the banter. She’s always quick for a couple liners, sayings and slang that you’ve shared with her day in day out. Minju isn’t the kind of person to greet you with a ‘good morning’ or ‘want to get a quick drink or bite from the cafe downstairs?’ - but rather: right down to the dirty business of what she needs you to do in the long, extensive hours of the workday, dealing with clients, putting up with her and Hyewon’s bullshit, getting the necessary paperworks, and having some random beef with Yena in the break room. Minju is always quick to give you insight on what needs to happen, you also supply your own opinions and takes where Minju does accept some of them (most of the time).

Except for this, when her cropped blazer is barely hanging off the shoulders, skirt hiked up past the peak of her thighs, displaying that wet spot in between her unbelievable legs, pulling you by the tie because she doesn’t have time for you to fucking daydream saying: “C’mon, pretty boy. You’re basically drooling in front of me and we haven’t even got to the fun parts yet–”

She stops short when you lay the rough palm of your hand against her pussy, hushing through the cuff of her ear, grip tightening and muscles tensing in her body as if something snapped within you - which it did for a slight second - before you draw yourself back, finally looking her in the brown ambers of her eyes.

“I had a dream once,” you finally built up the courage to start, “about being here, in your office.” landing a kiss to the corner of her lip to keep yourself focused. On a night just like this, where you’re sitting nicely on top of your desk. Your legs were spread apart like so. Minju coos when she sees you lightly licking your lips. It would’ve been better if you were already out of your clothes, naked for me. Her head dips forward when she feels the languid circles rubbed across her clit, I fucked you right here, on this desk. And then, I ruined that pretty little couch that you love so much apparently.

“God, you’re insane.” She’s acting innocently like she too hasn’t been teasing you out and around the workplace before this.

Insane? It becomes a little bit more deranged where Minju’s jaw drops to the floor when she hears the sinful sound of her lacy panties being ripped away from her hips.

“Oh, I could do a lot more for you right now, and believe me, I will.” You assess the drainage when your finger plunges into her cunt; the sharp inhale she takes in while saying ‘shit’ is only brief when you’re thrown off by her walls tightening around you, her hands working the buckle of your belt and slithering past the pants.

“And how do you suppose you’ll keep your word?” she asks, fingers coiling your cock, the reaction easily readable judging from the loss of breath through your windpipe.

“Consider this as wet work.”

“Wet work?”

This attractive woman who’s posture could rival classy models, with those perfect lips in both sets, the image now being unraveled like an item being auctioned off to the highest bidder: how her legs open enough for you to fill the space, the way her bra sits across her chest once the blazer is finally discarded onto the floor. (She’s pretty now, she’ll be even prettier when you have your way over her, helplessly letting these soft sounds out, coming undone over or underneath, it won’t matter either way, because that’s always the endgame.)

“You’ve got your skirt on still,” you observe, pulling her closer to the edge of the slab, “I don’t know if-”

“Ignoring the double entendre you made?” she gasps, struggling to keep composure when the ends of your fingers, tightening her grip around your cock while the other arm is thrown around your shoulder, “just-please-like that-fuck-oh fuck-”

Minju sort of hides away from the immense pressure in her cunt and her clit, seeing the usual features on her face show a little more crease to them, slacking with her words, lost, feeling every bit of you, huffs of poor syllables and consonants, octaves going up in keys. You’re loving how needy she’s getting.

What’s the matter? You whisper against her chin. You don’t seem too well. Body burning up? Too hot for you to handle? She’s gone too far off to answer, only by huffs and light nods of her head, the flex in her knees, hands across your broad back, working herself around your fingers, groaning when it gets all too much.

The idea of staying at the firm for the night doesn’t seem that bad of an idea to do.

“Fingers, babe,” she whines, rasping in moans at the ends of them, “fingers are too fucking good, want it- so bad-give me a–fuck-”

Her eyes are screwed shut, clinging onto your body desperately while she starts to work the buttons off your shirt; starting in the middle rather than the top or bottom because she can’t think straight. But she diverts her hands instead to the loops on your sides, wiggling you out of your pants more - keeping herself moving while trying to ignore the throbbing that’s happening between her legs.

“Tell me what you need, boss,” you say, a little tinge of sincerity behind the professional title. “Maybe put some solidity to this little affair?”

Minju gives you this glare, scattered ends of her hair covering the little blush that’s all too apparent across her cheeks, failing fantastically the way she lets out this wail when your two fingers fill up her cunt completely, pulling her over the edge of the desk one last time as you mesh your hips right in the underside of her thighs, body leaning back with the arch bending a whole lot deeper, head back while you lean yourself forward that tips over a few trinkets across the desk; some picture frames fall face flat, that one pendulum set you’d always mess around with in the morning briefings nicks around in disarray, and her nameplate kinda just gets hit in the crossfire by Minju’s stray hand and onto the floor.

“Call this,” she sputters, gasping, heaving most likely, “a hot and steamy affair.”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” you retort, “don’t get smart with me now.”

She just looks at you with that same sly smirk she’s been wearing whenever she teases you about anything. You find it annoying at times because of how effortless she does it, this time her breaking smile doesn’t match up with her eyes and how they are dead, sincere with a desire waiting to be fulfilled, a craving that’s been long overdue simply because you know that Minju is not an easy person to break down, though that’s been proven to be the complete opposite now.

There’s this priming for a second, your own hand wrapped around your cock, getting close, until you nudge yourself from the first few inches inside her cunt, feeling the small press to push more, replaced with the easy glide inside the compact, yet addicting heat. It’s also kinda cute how you and Minju share this quick inhale - a hiss would be better to describe it - then you see her blown out irises, that sly smile getting more lazier, lost completely when you drag the half of your length out, slowly, steadily.

“Wait, fuck-” she mumbles out, laying flat across the top. Her chest rises and falls a little more erratically, eyelids fluttering shut when you sink back right in, deeper this time, delicately, a little tease with the pullout before feeling her out completely. You learn for the first time ever since stepping inside that one room that day for the interview: that small thought of how it would be so easy to slot yourself right into Minju would be nothing but a pipe dream, becomes too real to relish in the feeling now.

Then she mumbles again: “holy fucking shit.”

You give one good snap of the hips for good measure, and the ripple effect of Minju’s body sliding across the desk, the wiggle in her perfect tits, her hands hold fast to yours around her thighs as if she’ll do the fucking all by herself while you just stand there in awe.

But you’re good as fucked if you weren’t already, so you snap your hips back into her again, harder. Then again, filling up her perfect cunt each and every time you bottom out. You’ll take this image to your grave, let this be the last piece of evidence submitted to the judge who’ll sentence you do a much safer place in hell: MInju’s pretty body, with stockings around her perfect legs, tits sliding across her chest in every stroke, cock disappearing inside her cunt as her pretty lips fit around them with ease.

“Minju, I - God,”, you try to tell her, the promise buried in your throat, buried underneath the air that flows right above the words, as your hips meet hers, the audible smack of her thighs filling up the office, how amazing she’s massaging your length well deep inside her, all slicked up and smooth for you to keep going. “I’ve been waiting for this- dreaming how to get you all stretched with this tight pussy. Your cunt, baby. Minju–”

“You’ve shown me why - why I chose you, out of everyone else - show me again how good you can-” she breathes. When her mouth trails off again, because of the strokes, the clench in her pussy, hands clinging onto your wrists as you cast your own hands onto her waist.

Eventually, nothing sounds better than the noises she makes against your collarbone, angling deeper where - you find out on the fly, and maybe something to keep in mind for later. It’s all coaxed out when you’re working her to the wall, holding her carefully while she can just keep herself stretched out, working all of the bundle of nerves across the spots inside her cunt.

“More, honey,” and the pet names just seem to escalate as they come, do they? She sets herself up on a wobbly elbow, seeing the flex of muscle across your arms and stomach each time you rip into her, fucking her with a steady pace, but teetering on the subtle rawness, that hidden potential that sets yourself apart from the other talents you have working as one of the top employees. “Love it when you- fuck me to pieces.”

"Anything else you want to say to me?"

“What’s also nice is that,” she continues to ramble (another thing that you’ve heard make rounds through the wings), dizziness shown in her eyes, the continuous clapping of her pulsing cunt, tightening around you, molding her into the perfect shape of - “how you continue to surprise everyone here, including me-”

A string of curses spill out your mouth, Minju can’t help with the mix of laughs and moans at how good you feel inside her, the sight of your cock vanishing between her legs, putting one past the degree where her knee nearly touches her clothed tit, and that gets her wincing for a quick second. You’ll probably put this in a mental file, how you’ll get her to molten cunt more creaming until she cums, cums, cums and cums-

“-you’re like me, but only as a handsome guy who continues to impress-”

Anything else that comes out of her mouth in lieu of praise will only feed that ego in your mind to get one over her, to say that you’ll always be two steps behind her while she’s five ahead. She doesn’t let you off easily, so why would you do the opposite for her? Rocking your hips towards hers makes the legs of the desk mirror the motion of your tempo, thumbs pressed up against the mold of her ribs just underneath her breasts, deep into the skin where you could also bend the bones beneath them while they rebound off of the smacks.

You’ve got your hand over her mouth, to shut her up, eyes squinted tight to where her brows could meet in the middle, grasping onto your wrist while the muffles of your name reach higher in octaves, sobbing in her moans while she’s suffocating against the roughness of your palm.

She can’t keep focus for any moment longer, eliciting shorter gasps when you tease by slapping your cock head on the nub of her clit, gritting her teeth at the shameless tease you’re giving.

“Can-” it’s a little sweltering to notice that she’s reduced to helpless one word blurbs, slipping inside of her once again to make her chest freeze off of the flares in her waist. “harder- i need you to-”

The shiver that erupts through your fibers sends you in limbo, feeling Minju’s ankle anchor behind your back, serving as the reins when you stutter in pace, ass hanging off of the desk to completely bottom her out, and your cock is constantly getting soaked with a new layer of her slick each time you pull back.

That low groan she lets out meshed with the word ‘fuck’ undermines her whole persona. Once known for being straightforward with her words, now lurching you in to keep pounding into her, slaps bouncing off the windows when she tries to perch her head upwards to see the damage, but slowly losing tension in her neck, deprived of focus when she lolls her head back to the original spot, sucking in air, sobbing even more loudly.

“Please, like that, keep doing that, I’ll let you anything to me, just–” You could see her lip wobble a bit slightly, cunt shaped to every minute detail of your cock, “i’m so- so fucking close, you fuck me so good- so well–”

“So tight,” you say, deep of that desired well. Minju is past the point of where the obscene words and demands can’t even be verbally said anymore. She’s whimpering, lazy wrist over her mouth again, the little strands in her hair bouncing along as one of the ripple effects caused by your length. “Gonna have you aching for me long after-”

It’s all royally fucked.

The way that she, oh-

How she clamps well around you, the new coat of her arousal soaking your crotch. When you’ve edged her out past the bar and how her whole body spasms in strain and ease, she’s clutching for something within arms reach - your hands and fingers, or anything that she can grasp - while these sinful sounds unravel her from her vocal cords. Her eyes look like they can’t open at all; with the small stream of stray tears falling from her cheek. You’re also crinkling your own features, jaw hung low with the bellowing moan leaving your mouth along with hers.

You could easily get lost in the reveling of Minju cumming over your cock, but you’re not seeing this through to the end not just yet.

In one swift motion, you flip her over, hook her waist, pull this one party trick of stripping her bra away from her chest, pushing her back down to which she giggles slightly. “Here.” you tell her, mouth well above the lobe of her ear, hanging her ass off the desk again. “I’m just getting started.”

Minju puts this lazy smile on her face, eyelids still closed, using whatever energy left that you haven’t dicked out of her to catch her breath, sliding her palms across the desk downwards to set herself in place. “God,” she says this as a revelation, “you are so fucking good.”

A low chuckle is all she hears while you pull her back up against your stomach, twisting her head up to your lips, pressing them to her cheek, while she traps her bottom lip between her teeth.

You say this as a serving rebuttal: “I’m better than good.”

Minju can be selfish at times, always willing to put her own personal interests over yours or anyone else’s (most of the time). But when you’ve broken her down to this: knees apart, your back flush with hers on her favorite couch, pushing well past the limit, driving your cockhead down the deepest depth to where you could get it, cupping the crease where her leg and hip meet, clasping with the pads of your fingers, dragging and impaling her what could be a punishment for her - or a reward to the limitless amounts of things that she wants and receives on almost every occasion. She’s the kind of woman to play the long game, hard to get, make someone like you grind your way in order to rail her in the most intense-rough fuck that she loves (but won’t admit), or the excruciating delay of feeling every nerve binded inside her walls, where the veins of your length just graze slightly enough to feel the tense in her muscles, her hands; going limp while lazily whining at the slide of your dick inside her cunt, playing with her while she’s whimpering at you to finish the job.

“God fucking dammit,” she manages, laying herself flat while you’re hovering right on top of her, taking your cock while she can only grip the seat covers. It’s all there, bare back and ass, the set of stockings still on her majestic thighs. You’re hitting her hips hard and heavy, the stable and slow strokes while she fills your ears with these strings of babbles that aren’t really conceivable to decipher or understand. She got a little to excited, bouncing her ass back against your cock while you just drop your arms and admired the show, before pushing deep with your balls nicking the clit at the end of every thrust, and that earns you these thick gasps, only taking you whole with every slam of your weight against her nimble body. “God, I- fuck- need you all the time, please.”

“Whatever you want,” you hush against the crook of her neck. That is something that you’ll take to heart under oath. She croons at how you're spilling all of these filthy things in her ear, a guarantee of sorts to the promises that have already bent the both of your minds into obliviion. "If it helps to stop you from fucking those other scumbags you call 'your clients' on a weekend basis, then I'll give it to you, sweetheart."

The self-control went off the rails a while ago, this was just free real estate with the endless cantations of moans coming out of her. "Need me to cum inside this sopping cunt so badly?" you ask, pulling a handful of hair that lifts her by the neck, "love using this pussy to get myself off."

She's giggling at the action because it's necessary. You could imagine the grin on her face for the entire world to see. "Words baby, or I'll cum-"

“Fuck- just, do anything- I want you.” Minju gasps with a whine tinged behind the words. It’ll be in the records, spoken into existence. She could care more less than a fuck of what others think after all of this is over. Pace slowing down, feeling that throb tremor against her walls when you’ve held out for this long, an overdue reward in itself.

It just took one more good hit to bury your cock into that perfect pussy, spilling everything, sending it deeper in the trenches of her cunt, fucking yourself in while she’s putting some effort to say your name, only for it to be overpowered by the gluttal moans you’re letting out while the shackles of tension finally come loose. Her head is pressed enough to leave a visible print on the cushions, crying before the shudder translates to her noises when you drive all the way in for one final time, letting the pulse die out; every heartbeat, every drop.

Your nose is pressed into the side of her head, taking in that sweet scent from her hair, showered in bliss, tangling and untangling until she takes rest in your arms, straddling your lap, chin forming alongside the small dip in your collarbone.

Minju offers this lazy smile, matching your rise and fall of breaths in your chest, blowing this hint of cool air to your neck that makes you twitch slightly from the sudden sensation, lips against the line of your throat:

“A hot and steamy affair, huh? I think I can let that pass by.”

“You really want to call it that?” you inquire, hands sliding down to the plush of her ass.

Minju simply laughs while you shake your head at the rhetorical question. “All honesty though, I thought that you and-”

“We are not going there.” you tell her, leaning back when she sets herself straight in your arms, hands along broad shoulders with the curtain of her hair falling towards one side. Definitely something that you’ve had in a wet dream before - talk about having deja vu. “Absolutely not.”

It’s when she trails her fingertip across the chiseled form of muscle across your chest, elevating her hand higher to cup your face. She gives you this look in her eyes, the kind that would make anyone keel over because as you’re reminded: Minju is someone who always gets what she wants. And when she rubs her thumb across your cheek, your cock jumps a few millimeters underneath her hips to which she notices, and seizes the opportunity presented to her.

Leaning forward with a purring whisper in the act, and you’re suspended in time while she moves. “I think I should repay you for treating me right just now.”

Minju has never owed anything to you. For the most part in your career, it was her that has given you these chances to make a name for yourself, to prove that you could go toe to toe with the best in the court, to prove to her why she chose you out of countless others to be her associate. If anything, you owe pretty much everything to her.

But maybe-

Maybe just this once-

“My little pretty boy needs to have his cock all cared for, right?” she asks when she sinks down to the edge of the disgraced couch, spreads your knees apart, eyes trained on you, lowering her head to swipe her tongue across your balls and the base of your shaft, feeling that same twitch in your cock when she gets a dainty hand across the length, well trained with the languid strokes that she’s giving you; it’s not hard to give in to that searing heat of her mouth while you’re trying to find the right words to respond.

(The options here are very limited: considering the fact that you have your hips forward with your friend / partner / new love interest slobbering all over your length, rubbing the head of your cock across her pretty face until she drains you out completely, painting her cheek white and bathing in the taste of your cum while you’re struggling to stay awake.

After all, you could just spend the night here at the firm bearing in mind how late it is.

Or better yet, have Minju stay at your place to not give Dahyun another headache to deal with the next morning.)

#male reader #male reader smut #izone smut #minju smut #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kim minju #izone minju smut

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better-setterv2 · 7 days ago

Text

𝒜𝒸𝒸𝒾𝒹𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈 - 𝒫𝓉.7

Authors Note: Hi lovelies! Here's the next chapter, enjoy. I'm thinking of wrapping up this series in another few chapters to possibly start some other ideas. Lots of love xx

Summary: Reader and Lewis have a day out together and soon return to the group after their private day, met with playful teasing and warmth, deepening their bond as they settle into the found family atmosphere around the table.

Warnings: mild swearing

Taglist: @urmomsgirlfriend1 @mits-vi @mimisweetz @nebulastarr @jdasiilva

MASTERLIST

Pt1,Pt2,Pt3,Pt4,Pt5,Pt6,Pt7, Pt8,Pt9

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The morning sun slipped through the sheer curtains of your hotel room, brushing everything in gold.

You hadn’t slept much, not for lack of trying but because your mind kept replaying the night before. The group. The laughter. And Lewis.

His message had come just after midnight.

Hammertime: I meant what I said earlier. I’m glad you came. You free tomorrow? I’d like to show you the best places in Monaco.

You hadn’t hesitated before responding.

User (You): I’d like that.

Now, standing outside the entrance of your hotel you felt that same flutter in your chest as you spotted him.

Lewis leaned against a sleek car, sunglasses on, hands tucked into the pockets of a lightweight jacket. He looked calm, like the city belonged to him. Maybe it did.

“Hey,” you greeted as you approached.

His smile was small but sincere. “Hey. Ready for a different side of Monaco?”

You nodded, and he opened the passenger door for you. “I thought we’d skip the obvious. No yachts. No flashing cameras. Just something quieter.”

The drive was peaceful. Lewis didn’t rush letting the car glide through winding streets that curled around the hills.

The view from higher up was breathtaking with red rooftops spilling into the sea and sunlight dancing off the water like it was trying to impress someone.

Eventually, he parked near a tucked away garden overlooking the coast. Bougainvillaea spilled over the stone walls and benches lined the walkway. It wasn’t touristy. It wasn’t crowded. It was calm.

You walked in step for a while, the silence between you soft rather than awkward.

“You come here often?” you asked, brushing your fingers along a cluster of flowers.

He nodded. “When I need to remember why I love this place. Before the noise starts up again.”

You sat on a low bench beneath a tree, the breeze brushing against your skin. “It’s beautiful,” you murmured. “Feels like the city’s secret.”

Lewis watched you carefully, his sunglasses now tucked into his shirt collar. “You looked nervous yesterday.”

“I was.”

“And now?”

You exhaled. “Still a little. Though it’s fading.”

Something passed between you in that moment. Not quite defined. Not loud. Just understood.

He leaned back, eyes on the sea. “You surprised me, you know. When we bumped into each other at the airport I didn’t know it was you.”

“I didn’t either,” you admitted. “But I remember the smell of your cologne.”

He laughed softly. “Well, that’s flattering.”

The conversation drifted into lighter things after that.

He told you about his favourite hobbies and you confessed you still didn’t understand half the racing terminology. You talked about animals that you love. He told you about his music playlists.

It felt like unraveling slowly, gently, with no pressure to be anything other than yourselves.

Soon he changed the subject grinning. “Come, let’s continue wandering.”

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

As the two of you strolled through the streets of Monaco it had a different rhythm when it was both of you.

Gone were the crowded tables and booming laughter of the café, replaced by a quieter, more intimate pace.

The sunlight fell in lazy gold ribbons across cobblestone paths, bouncing off polished car hoods and shuttered windows. Lewis walked beside you unrushed, relaxed and softer than you’d ever seen him.

Lewis tucked his hands into his pockets, glancing sideways at you as the two of you strolled toward the Port. “You know,” he said, voice low and thoughtful, “I wasn’t sure you were going to show up today.”

You smiled, looking ahead at the bobbing yachts in the distance. “I wasn’t sure I was either.”

“What changed?”

You hesitated, then glanced at him. “Your message.”

He looked at you, genuinely curious.

“You said you were looking forward to meeting me. And I don’t know it felt honest. Like you weren’t just saying it for the sake of it.”

Lewis nodded slowly, gaze returning to the view. “It was honest.”

The breeze off the water picked up slightly, sweeping a strand of hair across your cheek. Without thinking, he reached over gently tucking it back behind your ear. The brush of his fingers lingered, just for a second longer than necessary and it sent a quiet ripple through your chest.

“I don’t really do this,” you said softly.

“Walk around Monaco with a stranger?”

You huffed a laugh. “Let people in so easily.”

He slowed his steps, coming to a stop near the edge of the Port. The water shimmered below like a moving canvas. “You don’t seem closed off.”

“I’ve had to learn how to seem a lot of things.”

That made him look at you, really look. “Same.”

The admission sat between you like a thread waiting to be pulled. Instead, Lewis gestured toward the edge.

You followed him to a quieter part of the marina, where the path rose up into a small overlook that gave way to a stunning panorama.

Monaco unfurling in every direction, the palace high on the hill, the sea stretching endlessly beyond.

“I’ve always adored just starring into nature and forgetting everything else exists” he said, settling on the low stone wall and motioning for you to join him.

You sat beside him, knees brushing and let the hush of the moment sink in.

“Feels like you don’t get much silence to enjoy it ,” you said.

“Not really. But that’s what made the group chat special. No expectations just guys like us having fun for once in the shadows. It’s more like a place for us to breathe and be normal.”

You glanced at him. “You think we’ll keep this? The group, I mean. After the novelty wears off?”

He smiled faintly. “I think we’ll fight for it.”

You sat in that quiet for a while, listening to the occasional gull overhead, the lap of water below, the distant hum of cars curling around cliffs. And then softly and tentatively Lewis turned to you.

“Would it be alright if we made this a tradition?” he asked.

You tilted your head. “What, Monaco strolls and half revealed secrets?”

A small chuckle escaped him, but his eyes stayed on yours. “Just time. With you.”

That warmth you’d been feeling since the café spread deeper now, anchoring in your chest.

“Yeah,” you said. “I think I’d like that.”

You stood eventually, walking again this time toward the old town where he bought you an espresso and insisted on splitting a croissant that was “life changing, I swear.” You watched him smile through flaky crumbs, his eyes crinkling at the corners and thought maybe he was right.

By the time the sky began to blush with twilight, you’d made your way back toward the coast. He drove one handed the other inches away from your thigh. Neither of you had checked your phones. Time moved differently when it was just you and him.

The car arrived at your hotel entrance, the quiet settled again.

Lewis glanced up at the building, then back at you. “So I guess this is goodnight?”

You nodded, but didn’t move.

He hesitated, thumb grazing the back of your hand. “I’ll message you later?”

You smiled. “I’ll be waiting.” Your replies hand stilling tingling from his touch.

He didn’t kiss you - not yet. But the way his eyes lingered said it was only a matter of time.

And when you stepped out of the car heading inside the building, your heart was still outside walking those Monaco streets beside him.

Before you went to bed that night he sent you a text…

Hammetime: You never have to pretend with me

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

You woke slowly, the kind of morning where the sun filtered in through half drawn curtains, warming the duvet and painting gold across the floor.

Monaco outside your window was already stirring with seagulls calling from the harbour, mopeds humming down narrow streets and the gentle hush of the sea against the docks.

But it wasn’t the city that made your stomach flutter.

It was the message still sitting on your phone.

You never have to pretend with me.

You’d read it too many times last night, your heart doing somersaults in the dark. The thought of Lewis not just the name, but the man behind it staring at his phone somewhere else in Monaco, waiting for your reply, had felt surreal.

But real.

You sat up slowly, stretching, hair tousled and skin still warm from dreams. Your fingers reached for the phone instinctively.

[Private Message - Hammertime💬]

Hammertime: Morning. I’m heading out for a run, but I’ll grab us coffee if you’re free later?

You smiled without thinking.

User (You): Yes to the coffee. Only if you let me buy the pastries this time.

Hammertime: Only if you promise to let me pick the view.

You stood and padded over to the small balcony. Monaco sprawled below you, sun drenched and shimmering. Somewhere in that maze of beauty, Lewis was out there running, living and maybe thinking about you too.

Your phone vibrated again.

Hammertime: Meet me at the top of Jardin Exotique in an hour?

You bit your lip, smile tugging wider.

User(You): Deal. Don’t forget the coffee.

You managed to pick up some pastries on the way and headed to the location. The climb up to the garden was slow and not just because of the incline. You paused to take everything in -

And then you saw him.

Waiting on a low stone wall, hair tied back, hoodie damp with sweat, a takeaway tray balanced beside him with two coffees. He looked up at the sound of your steps and his whole face changed.

Like he lit from within.

“Hey,” he said softly, standing.

“Hi,” you said, breathless from more than just the hill.

He handed you a cup without breaking eye contact. “Still hot.”

“I hope it’s not too sweet.”

He grinned. “I remember. One sugar, splash of oat milk.”

You blinked. “You remembered from the café?”

Lewis just smiled and nudged his chin toward a nearby bench. “Come sit. I brought the good view.”

You placed the small pastry bag between the two of you.

The both of you lt the world exist around you. Monaco lay below like a secret and for the first time since arriving, you didn’t feel like an outsider looking in.

“You always go for a run around here?” you asked, taking a sip.

“When I want to feel grounded,” he said before taking a bite of his pastry. “And small. In a good way.”

You nodded. “I think I get that.”

He glanced at you, more serious now. “Yesterday being with you it felt like I was truly happy for the first time in years.”

You turned your coffee slowly in your hands. “Yeah, it did for me as well.”

“I’ve got a million people around me most days,” he admitted. “But yesterday? I didn’t feel watched. I just felt seen.”

You looked over at him. “That’s all anyone really wants, right?”

His smile turned quiet. “You see a lot, don’t you?”

“Only the things that matter.”

Lewis reached out then gently - his fingers brushing over yours on the bench.

“Stay a little longer?” he asked.

You didn’t answer with words.

You just laced your fingers with his, soft and certain, and let the city fall away.

The warmth of Lewis’s hand around yours was steady. Not overwhelming, not rushed just present. It grounded you more than the view, more than the breeze, more than the way the morning light made everything glow with possibility.

“Do you ever think about what your life might’ve looked like if you weren’t this?” you asked after a while, not quite meeting his eyes.

He was quiet for a moment. “All the time.”

You looked over. His gaze was somewhere distant, out over the sea.

“Sometimes I wonder if I’d still be me without the noise. Without the cameras. But then again, racing gave me everything. It’s just - ” He paused, turning toward you. “It’s hard to know what’s real when everything’s always on display.”

You nodded. “That’s why you like the quiet?”

“I like the quiet,” he said softly, “when you’re in it.”

Your heart stumbled, unprepared. He wasn’t saying it to charm you. It wasn’t rehearsed or dressed up. It was just true.

You let the silence stretch again, but this time it was fully comfortable. His thumb brushed slowly across your knuckles, back and forth, like he didn’t even realise he was doing it. Like his body already knew the rhythm of being near you.

Eventually, you rested your head on his shoulder, tentative at first until he leaned into you, solid and warm.

“You know,” you murmured, “I was sure this trip would be a disaster.”

Lewis huffed a quiet laugh. “And now?”

“Now I’m not so sure I want to leave.”

You felt him smile into your hair. “Good. Because I was just thinking the same thing.”

You didn’t need anything more than that. Not right now.

Just the garden. The quiet. And the beginning of something that felt realer than anything you could’ve prepared for.

Your phone buzzed where it sat on the bench between you and Lewis, forgotten for the better part of an hour. You sighed and reached for it, still curled against his side.

GridGremlins

 MadMax: Oi. Has anyone done a welfare check on you two?

 Hulk: Monaco is only so big. Blink twice if Lewis kidnapped you.

 Pastry: We made a bet. If Lewis isn't back to the hotel all of us are sharing by lunch, Charles owes me pastries.

 SmoothOperator: I, for one support the getaway. But send a pic or we’ll assume you’ve joined a cult.

 HoneyBadger: Or eloped.

 RussellSprouts: Seconded. Elopement energy.

You couldn’t help but laugh -quiet but not surprised.

Lewis peeked at the screen and grinned. “Should we mess with them?”

You raised an eyebrow. “What, send a photo from a jewelry store?”

He smirked. “Or outside city hall.”

You opened the camera, angled it over your shoulder with Lewis tucked in beside you, still half reclined on the bench. He threw a peace sign. You snapped it -light, effortless, unfiltered.

Then sent it.

(User) You: Alive. No cult. Just carbs and sun.

Hammertime: And maybe the best morning in a long time.

There was a beat of silence in the group chat.

Then -

HoneyBadger: Ugh okay I ship it.

 SmootherOperator : …you’re glowing. Both of you. It’s disgusting.

 Pierrefect : Cute. I’ll allow it.

 Baguetteboi : Fine. You win. I’ll buy Oscar the pastries.

 Norrified : I KNEW IT.

You tucked the phone away again, cheeks warm.

Lewis looked down at you. “You okay?”

You nodded. “Better than okay.”

And this time, it was you who took his hand.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The sun had dipped behind the Monaco skyline, casting the city in the kind of golden haze that made everything look softer - slower, like the day was asking not to end.

You and Lewis parted ways earlier to get dressed for dinner with the group.

He soon picked you up once again from the front of your hotel to walk you to the restaurant. Side by side through the winding streets, the hush of early evening broken only by the sound of your footsteps and the distant hum of passing scooters.

Neither of you said much, but it wasn’t the heavy kind of silence. It was warm. Comfortable. Every so often his shoulder brushed yours and each time, it sent a electric zap through you.

As you approached the little restaurant tucked between stone walls and climbing vines, Lewis slowed. You could already hear them inside - the boys. Loud, unfiltered, absolutely themselves. The sound made your chest flutter with a strange mix of fondness and nerves.

Lewis looked over at you, mouth twitching. “They’re gonna say something.”

“Oh, definitely.”

“Want to run?”

You smiled, tugging gently at his hand. “Too late.”

He let out a breath of a laugh and pushed open the door.

The noise swelled instantly.

“There they are!” Pierre's voice rang out, rising above the din like a stage actor who’d spotted a long lost lover. He stood with arms outstretched like he was about to burst into song.

“Look at them!” Lando added, eyes wide with faux amazement. “Nearly a whole day without supervision. A miracle.”

“Was it love?” Max asked, propping his chin on his hand in mock earnestness. “Did you ride scooters down the coast and stare into each other’s souls?”

“Did you get lost in the lavender fields of France?” Charles deadpanned. “That’s only like twenty minutes away.”

George leaned over the table. “Tell us everything. No - tell us nothing. We’ll fill in the blanks.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your grin. “You’re all terrible.”

“And nosy,” Carlos chimed in. “Don’t forget nosy.”

“Come on,” Oscar said, patting the empty seat beside him. “Join us, mysterious duo.”

You and Lewis slid into the booth - him on one end and you beside him, close enough that his knee brushed yours beneath the table. No one said anything about that part, but you could feel them noticing.

The table buzzed with life. Bread baskets passed back and forth, plates clinked, drinks were poured generously.

At some point, Nico started recounting a chaotic travel story, complete with dramatic hand gestures and Carlos nearly spit out his drink laughing.

But through it all, there was a rhythm. A beat beneath the banter. Every so often, you caught one of them sneaking a glance your way. Every so often, Lewis shifted like he was attuned to your every breath, your every word.

“So?” Daniel asked between bites of tiramisu. “What’s the verdict? Back for good, or was today just a one time miracle?”

You met his eyes, your answer slow but steady. “I think I needed this more than I realised.”

Lando raised a glass. “To weird group chats, then.”

Oscar raised his. “To making a new friend out of dumb usernames.”

Carlos added, “To whatever this is. Honestly, I’m not sure anymore.”

Charles smirked. “To Lewis, for finally talking.”

That earned a chorus of laughter.

Lewis groaned, shaking his head. “I talk.”

“You brooded for a full week before you said hi in the group chat,” Max shot back.

“And you practically fled the café earlier,” George added, pointing at him with his fork.

“I didn’t flee.”

“You ghosted us like a bad Tinder date,” Daniel said, grinning. “But look at you now.”

Everyone raised their glasses again. You clinked yours gently against Lewis’s, catching his eye as you did. He gave you a look that said, They’re never going to let this down and you gave him one right back that said. Nope, never.

The teasing settled, replaced by stories. Real ones this time.

Charles talked about how being home in Monaco felt like a breath between storms.

Lando described late night drives with no destination.

Max admitted that sometimes, when the pressure built too high he reread old group messages just to laugh again.

Daniel told you that keeping the chat alive was his way of holding onto the good stuff.

You listened. You learned. You saw them for who they really were - boys who had become brothers, bound not just by racing, but by trust.

And through it all, Lewis stayed close.

Quiet, yes, but present. Sometimes his hand found yours beneath the table. Sometimes you leaned just enough to feel his shoulder against yours. Sometimes you said nothing at all and it still felt like everything.

At the end of the night, as the group began to stretch and stand and groan about full stomachs, Max slung his jacket over his shoulder and grinned. “We’re doing this again.”

“Definitely,” Nico agreed.

“Tomorrow?” George offered.

Daniel wiggled his brows. “Or are our lovers here otherwise engaged?”

“Oh my god,” you muttered, hiding your face.

Lewis just laughed.

You said your goodbyes, hugs passed around, cheek kisses from Charles, a forehead bump from Lando. It wasn’t goodbye, it was see you later.

And as you and Lewis stepped out into the warm Monaco night again, the city lights blinked around you like stars fallen to earth.

You were in orbit now, as he took your hand in his walking to your hotel.

#lewis hamilton #lh44 #f1 x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton x reader #x reader #f1 imagine #lh44 x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lh44 imagine #f1 drivers #f1 text au #f1 fic

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sweetbunpura · 6 months ago

Note

As they step out of Aqualette.

Jade: Azul are you alright

Floyd: Yeah Azul

Azul: I’m alright. Rielle just wanted to give his apologies from when we were younger.

Jade and Floyd: Really

Round 5!

Start - Daydreamers (pt.2) - Jungleheart (Ch.3) - Aqualetta (Ch.4)

Potential

Rollo paused and turned to look at the trio of fishmen. "Who's Rielle?"

"The prince of Coral Sea." Jade responded. "And one of Azul's childhood bullies."

He blinks and looks at Azul as he adjusts his glasses. "Bullies? You were bullied?"

"Yeah~" Floyd chirped. "Back when Azul was a little Octo-mmph!"

Azul had shoved his hand over his mouth. "Enough."

"If you are done with your conversation." They turned to see Jamil with his arms crossed. "I'm going to assume she wasn't there by the fact that she isn't with you."

"Ah, Jamil-san... you're right." Azul sighed. "Rielle said she might be in Potential."

Jamil's frown deepen as Kalim perked up next to him.

"Oh! We get to Jahzi!" Kalim pulled Jamil's arm in direction of an archway with an emblem of a genie's lamp on it. "Rollo, you too!"

"Kalim-" Jamil tried to say as he and Rollo were forced through the portal.

The heat blasted Rollo in the face as they emerged on the other side. Before them stood a massive marketplace with what looked like a palace in the background. Potential dorm members were walking around the makeshift city and conversing with one another as they seemed to be buying the crafts created by the other dorm members. Jamil was quick to pull up his hood and hide his face as Kalim looks around with glee.

"Let's see." He opened his mouth to yell. "Jah-Mmph!"

Jamil covered his ward's mouth and hissed out. "Kalim, we're not supposed to be drawing attention to ourselves."

"Oh, right. My bad!" He smiled and took off further into the dorm. "Let's look around!"

"Kalim!" Jamil followed after him, leaving Rollo sighing and running a hand down his face.

"I'm going to confide myself to Ramshackle after this little adventure." He grumbled to himself and, regrettable, followed the pair.

They got to the walkway above the market before someone greeted them.

"Kalim."

The trio were faced with a teenager with long brown hair and red eyes staring at them. Beside him was a taller and stockier tiger beastman, his ears twitched on top of his orange and black hair.

"Jahzi!" Kalim rushed to hug his cousin. "Hi, Amur!"

Jahzi staggered back as he took the full force of his cousin's hug as Amur steadied him.

"Hello, Al-Asim."

"Sevens, Kalim, as happy as I am to see you, why are you in RSA?" Jahzi's eyes moved up as he glared at Jamil. "With Viper of all people."

"Jahzi." Jamil crossed his arms and glared back. "We're here because your classmate kidnapped an NRC student."

"Was it the girl who was here earlier?" Amur asked with a flick of his tail.

"So she was here....at a point?" Rollo sighed. "This is a cat and mouse chase..."

"Am I right in assuming she's your betrothed?" Amur tilts his head. "Although, how a woman of her skill wound up in NRC is a mystery."

"Indeed..." He tried ignoring that tiger basically said they were engaged.

"So we know she's not here." Jamil pulled Kalim back by his cardigan. "We should be going."

Jahzi tighten his grip on Kalim. "Why not have him stay here? You can pick him up later, Viper."

"We're leaving now."

"What's the rush?"

"Jahzi-"

"Now, now, no fighting in the dorm." They paused to see a short brown haired and tan skinned student walking towards them. "Jahzi, c'mon."

Jahzi sighed and let Kalim go as the white haired Al-Asim laughed. "Riley, you're back."

"Yeah." He gave Jahzi a kiss on the cheek. "Saw a bunch of people in the lobby and got curious as to what was going on. Manged to piece together that they're here for Yuu, no doubt." He moved away from the teen and stuck his hand out to Rollo. "You're Rollo, right? I'm Riley Nights, Dorm leader of Potential. Jahzi is my vice and Amur is his retainer."

Rollo blinked and shook his hand. "Yes, how did you know?"

"Yuu informed me that her boyfriend and the other NRC students were on their way over. I'm sorry for what Neige and Chen'ya did." Riley sighed. "And now Phara's been thrown into the mix...."

Rollo looked at Riley and paused as he felt not a drop of magic coming from him. "I see..."

"She's over in Nevemela, sorry again for all the trouble."

"Thank you, Riley." Jamil pulled Kalim towards the entrance.

"You're welcome, Viper." Riley pulled his own Al-Asim away. "May we meet again on better terms."

#Hey I love Riley #twisted wonderland #rescue from RSA #twst oc #twst RSA #RSA oc #jamil viper #kalim al asim #rollo flamme #thorn answers #twst fic

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todayontumblr · 2 years ago

Text

Thursday, July 6.

Rhonda Perkins would like to fight you.

I mean, you've got five hours to kill...

...and say, speaking of killing, it seems you've got a decision to make. You could sit squashed in your seat and spend the time reading a book. You could flick through the inflight catalog of overpriced, well, just about everything. You could stare out of the window at the majesty of the cities shrinking into the palm of your hand; becoming lost and adrift in the mists of clouds; looking out over endless tides of white and endless blue expanse above you; at the changing vistas of sea, landscapes, and cities. You could listen to music. You could even have a little sleep. You sit and graze on snacks, with your eyes staring empty and happy into space, and your jaw chomping down rhythmically like an airborne llama. You decide to browse your phone, albeit within the limits of airplane mode. It is then, as your eyes gaze vacantly at the screen in your palm, you receive a most unexpected notification.

Because here, on this flight from Los Angeles International Airport to Newark Liberty International Airport, New Jersey (thank you @bastardofthebog), it seems you managed to get yourself a rather good seat. A window view, ample leg room, and the only seat on the plane in which you can actually lean back, kick back, and relax. It's near the toilet, and there is no one sitting next to you. The crying baby is at the back of the aircraft; it's basically in another postcode. Your seat is also near the front, next to the trolley for overpriced drinks and snacks (you don't actually buy anything, of course, it's 2023 after all, and times are tough. But it's great to feel like a VIP.) It's conveniently next to the emergency exits in case of... well. You know. In case.

This prime seat of yours has not gone unnoticed; this much is evident from the notification on your phone. Rhonda Perkins is on this same flight. Rhonda Perkins has noticed your seat, and she likes what she sees. What you have to understand is when Rhonda Perkins likes what she sees, she gets what she sees. She weighs 108 lbs and she is 5ft 2 inches. She surveys the top of your head leaning back into the chair. Her fierce gaze, direct and cast downwards, rests upon the horizon of seats like a menacing sunrise. The inexplicable notification on your phone informs you that Rhonda Perkins would like to fight you for this prized place on your journey toward New Jersey. The passengers don't know, but they will. The walkway is clear. You feelin' lucky, kid?

She is waiting x

#today on tumblr #rhonda perkins #seat #fight #duel #dueling #nice seat you got there #LAX #newark #choice #decision #decisions #duel request

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ms0milk · 1 year ago

Text

𝟏𝟔 | 𝐇𝐞𝐦 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬

ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader

"This is so much worse than fury, and you rip your hand away from his to take a step back. You didn’t mean to. Bakugou stares like a dragonslayer, heartbroken."

cw blatantly suggestive, an accidental kiss and the panic that follows. bkg doesn't know why he's been looking for you. you couldn't be angry about it if you tried. laughter, bite marks, magic, a warm hiding spot. 8.1k

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A slap across the face and the spatter of blood that follows in an arc across fine rugs. Bakugou bleeds when he tries not to think of you. You are too easy to be with and too difficult to find.

Your prince and fragments of rehearsal fineries that you would beam at if you appeared in this frigid foyer– which he knows only because you’ve done nothing but smile at him for seven cursed days– storm towards warmer hallways. There’s nothing for it but to track you down. He wakes up and you are not outside his door. He eats and meets and eats again and you do not materialize behind him or emerge from shadowed corners to brandish a weapon when unpleasant lords are unpleasant. Are you still following orders or are you finally sick of him?

Bakugou pretends he is not walking quickly. A maid has pointed him in your direction. The waitstaff here has no particular affinity for either of you, so they’ve tried their hardest to answer his questions this week and be rid of Alderans for the day. After all, once he finds you he doesn’t bother anyone else until dawn.

Find is a strong word, the maid thinks as she chews a dry lip. You don’t seem to be hiding from him.

It's the busiest morning, second only to tomorrow’s actual ball, and Bakugou has spent the whole of it in dress fittings and board meetings and appetizer tastings. He was meant to rehearse the first waltz with Fuyumi but for four days in a row she’s had her hands full with final adjustments to royal rosters and seating arrangements. The king is home afterall. And he does not dote on his daughter.

Bakugou turns up a second staircase once he arrives in the center castle and barks at a guard, stationed and startled, in the doorway where he emerges. Shinsou clutches his chest and stares at the imposing prince, heavy but silent.

“Boo. You seen my captain?” Bakugou only half-waits for a response from the apprentice before following his intuition to the left. You like to hide in odd places.

“Yeah,” Shinsou breathes and finds his position again, “carrying her lunch to the catwalks.”

Bakugou grins and hopes you can feel him wherever you are, rolling his eyes.

She was in common clothes– I think, headed towards the throne room.

Haven’t seen her, sir.

Your Alderan? It’s freezing, she should request a jacket from the supply corps.

Five days ago he found you rehousing spiders in the rafters of the greenhouse much to the chagrin of delicate flowers. Two days ago he finally spotted you among a dozen soldiers all helping the blacksmith resilver the inlay of the soldier quarter’s door. Yes, he’d told you to leave his babysitting to Kirishima but he didn’t expect you to listen.

Yesterday, Bakugou caught you wandering through the ninth-story walkways, the walkways sculpted onto the side of the castle like wasp nests where the archers hide. Your fingers, red with cold, gripped the hem of your padded tunic and your back pressed flat to the white castle marble even as you craned to gaze the city and sea over the edge of the balustrade.

Your prince almost screamed when he glanced out one of ten thousand pale windows in his search when instead of the depressing gray sky, it was your braids whipping in the wind outside, several stories higher in the air than he would have liked you.

“Eyes!” He jerked the window open and stuck out his head.

“The marble is too smooth Highness, please stay inside.”

White pointelle curtains rattled on their rods with the ferocity of the afternoon wind. “Come now,” he’d barked. He swallowed a roar to keep from startling you off the wall. You turned from the view towards his outstretched hand and half a golden body out the little window, and smiled.

You smiled from the cobwebs when he asked you what the fuck you were doing in blue begonias. You smiled at him among the crowd when he mimed flexing from the gallery to mock the blacksmith. You smiled when he caught you practicing sword forms for bored children and again when he and Kirishima joined in. You smiled without thought and he warmed at the sight of it. He laughed.

He laughed when the florist shrieked over a clutch of spider eggs and he laughed when you hammered Aizawa’s door crooked in your distraction. He laughed when Kaminari tried to teach you to juggle apples in potion storage, and very softly he laughed when he found you asleep beside the proofing ovens.

The castle’s vanity seeps into every orifice, it bleeds from the seamless walls and into seed-sized crannies. Family portraits, royal crests, kingdom’s colors, wards against death written in old Takoban like they think this is the only kingdom on the continent where people might live forever. Superstition and agitation nick the Alderan like thorns through cold blue hallways. He itches for forests. On the third floor of the East Wing there is a great open gallery. It hangs over the grand staircase of the castle’s entrance so that an invaders couldn’t so much as piss over the threshold before the legion of soldiers that fit upstairs fired off their arrows.

It was only a matter of time before you found yourself a roost here, warmaster.

He knows where you are. He can hear the king shouting from an open door downstairs and crosses the entrance gallery, bathed in warm sunlight from its volley of windows. It takes him exactly as long to cross as it takes the heat through stained glass to pink his shoulders, and with a perfect golden hue he dips under a doorway to find you perched at the lip of a ledge. You’re always about to fucking fall off something.

You sit cross-legged behind a black railing, picking at the cup of fruit beside you. Your hair is getting longer, wilder, and your braids tumble with white ribbons as you follow the scene below.

The ballroom is awash in afternoon light. Dozens of floral arrangements circle a group with the king dead in the middle, roaring at the gathered artisans. Prince Natsuo is slightly behind him and his neck is an agitated red. You pop a berry in your mouth. You were always going to love the catwalks– the thin system above important rooms that servants use to gauge crowds and light the tall candles. All of tomorrow it’ll be crawling with footmen but today you sit comfortably alone in its shadows and watch.

Tension melts from his veins when he finds you and nothing replaces it, so Bakugou isn’t quite sure what he’s thinking when he slips inside to be closer. Jeanist taught him too, he can be quiet. You wipe juice from your lip with your thumb and polish it clean with a lick. You run your fingers through your hair to push your braids behind your shoulders and focus again on the agitated king and his crying arachnophobic florists.

“You stare like the best of ‘em,” Bakugou whispers as he drops behind you and cups a hand over your mouth in case you make a startled sound, although, you react before he actually finishes the thought or announces himself and jerk forward to catch his gentle hand with your teeth.

King, prince, artisan, maids, seagulls, and dustbunnies pause their meeting to interrogate the ceiling, before continuing their jury over the fate of the party decorations. A whiff of caramel is the only thing that keeps you from breaking the hand with your bite and just as quickly as you attempt to reveal the intruder through pain, you swing your arm around to cover the prince’s mouth before he gives away your position with a yelp or fireblast. The momentum flattens you both.

Maybe one day Bakugou will remember that you are filled with the same fire that he is before trying to bother you. When did the urge to bother you even occur to him? Both of you, square on your backs to hide properly in shadows, hold a hand like a muzzle over the other's mouth. He smiles first this time. You smell like blackberries.

Your prince wires his jaw shut when he laughs in the shadows to keep from kissing your palm. In the seconds that the king and his entourage fall silent, Bakugou can only just barely contain huffs from his nostrils and the wet at the corners of his eyes. You stare like always and he must have melted fast enough because horror and apologies haven’t tumbled out of you yet. His dragon’s nails have gotten longer. Loose and wild hairs frame the face he only ever knew as perfectly kempt and unreadable. He cannot stop finding new things to notice here on the itchy rug beside you and he’s grateful you have only covered his mouth because his firebrand eyes gleam when you succumb to your own smile. Immediately your lips to stay quiet the pair of you swallow stupid mirth in the dark.

Where did his anger go? “Ow,” the prince rasps when he’s collected himself and pulls your hand into his.

“Excuse me, Highness,” you whisper back. Your smile still rattles him like a blow to the side of the head. Bakugou rolls onto his back. If you were sick of him you probably wouldn’t lay so close.

He tilts his gaze back to you, “What are you doing up here?”

Watching, you mouth, hoping he'll lower his voice. You pull your hand away from his and look over your shoulder towards the ledge where roars and curses roll up from the king like crashing waves.

“Why?”

It’s as close as Bakugou has ever seen you come to rolling your eyes. You blink at him and press forward. Something horribly soft started to grow the night you helped him carry drunk friends to bed. Something like rot. It eats away at the strongest parts of him, the parts of him that are poised and beautiful and ready for war. It’s eating you too. The strongest parts of you that are silent and obedient and deadly.

You drag your body across the floor to be closer to him– so much closer– so close that your thigh practically drapes over his and you cup your hand to his ear so you can whisper an answer that he can’t even focus long enough to hear. Maybe the rot started earlier. Maybe he should never have picked a fight with you.

A sudden scream flies up from the ballroom and Bakugou reacts before you do, less to offer protection and more because he knows you’ll launch right off the walkway if he doesn’t hold you down, but still his hold is protective when the scream is followed by a pillar of white orange fire that flies high and soots crystals in the chandelier. It’s brief and scalding like a geyser and you are not strong enough to protest your prince tucking all of you under his chest in the interim. You smell like home, like forests like moss. The scent of the sea is finally falling out of your hair.

“In what world is this my responsibility?” the king seethes. His drop in volume is menacing and it echoes violently in the empty room, “pick your own fucking flowers, I have work to do.”

The ballroom doors are not meant to be closed or opened with such force and they scream louder than he can when he burns his way through, leaving the prince and his artisans in the cold and terrible hall. A ball in Takoba– an oxymoron. It's a malicious idea. Bakugou leans back on his arm to release you and sits up to watch Natsuo console his workers. The eldest Takoban prince wears patience well. Whose idea was this party? The same person who sent for Enji? Belligerent. Bakugou hasn’t seen the queen in weeks.

He grumbles before he turns to look at you, “Missed what you said.” But when he does finally look, you are so much Alderan that the cold of Takoba falls off his shoulders like frost. Maybe that’s why he’s been searching for you. The fire that only a life in his castle could stoke, ravages the blacks of your eyes. Even though you are silent, he knows what you’re thinking. “Down girl,” he grins and kicks his legs out from under him to settle more comfortably.

Flowers below are picked in whispered consensus and the room empties under your glare. The sun has started to set. The far wall of the ballroom is, in classic Takoban fashion, one long series of windows taller than most houses and the sea shines behind it in a trick of rolling warm shapes like smoke from a fireplace. You both linger at the edge of the shadows up on high. Bakugou watches you shamelessly.

“I will not attack the king.”

“Who’re you trying to convince?”

You think for a few seconds and turn to him with an awkwardly soft air that crumbles into a smile too easily for you to be the same girl who grew up learning how to kill in his castle. Everything you do but fight is bizarre. Like blue fire, he cannot make himself look away from you.

“What’ll you do at the ball?”

“What do you mean?” The ballroom is empty so there’s no need to whisper but neither of you know how to talk to the other.

Bakugou cocks his head and doesn’t need to hope you know when he rolls his eyes anymore because he can finally do it in front of you. He crosses his arms, “Do you dance? I can’t think of anything else to keep you distracted enough to avoid assassination.”

But you are already distracted by something and he can see the moment you stop listening to him talk. All the better, he thinks. He might have just asked you to dance with him.

“Your hand Highness, I– mers–” and you reach forward to take up his bitten fist like touching him is suddenly the easiest thing in the world. Your fingertips are ice-cold. The rot spreads. “You startled me, I’m so sorry.”

Now Bakugou isn’t listening. You rub at the divots your teeth left in the side of his palm and press them like imperfections in pie dough. Your hands are so much more slender than his. So much rougher. Do you feel it too? The death of fury? How the ocean slowly laps at the bonfire until wood can no longer fight back? Do you remember the library like he does? He wants more than anything to sit in a nook and read for a thousand years in recovery from this trip. Is it a safe place for you, or has he ruined it? Do you miss home like he does? Or has he ruined that too?

“No. I’m sorry,” he admits before thinking. He startled you after all, but immediately he is silent with realization. His breath hods fast in his lungs. Fuck, that’s not– you asked him so clearly not to do that. You watch his fingers twitch for a moment like you can feel his heartbeat there and then look up at him and stare. He’s not sorry for sneaking up on you at all. That’s not what he meant.

Eyes was an apt nickname, if not a little mean. Bakugou has never envied telepaths before. How ignorant he was, to think of you as the bloody little girl in a velvet carriage. You hold his hand now with just as much strength as you did all those years ago; obviously it was strength and not desperation. You did not hang laundry to thank him. You did not catch fruit to thank him. You didn’t learn to fight the rain or windows or soldiers or the sea for your prince. It was only him, making magic for you.

“A sheep apologizing to its collie?”

He startles a little, just a slight widening of his eyes, because you hold his hand up to see the ring of teeth clearly and cover your chuckle with the tips of your fingers.

“Callin me a sheep?”

“You are biteable like one.”

Do you know what you’re doing? Bakugou wonders as his own smile escapes the confines of horror. He snatches his hand back and leans against the black iron railing to face you. Quick wit, quicker draw, why do you hide such pleasant things under such a ferocious– the Alderan blinks and his face falls for half a second again in realization.

You blink back because you cannot read his mind, "Are you okay sir?"

The same fire. If he stopped and thought for a single fucking second you wouldn’t have been the enigma protecting his home. You would have been a girl that he wanted, very much, to talk to in his ceaseless boredom. He relaxes into a smile again and this time his teeth glint, “Don’t call me that.”

Autumn truly is crueler at the edge of the world; the sun sets faster with each second and soon the ballroom below is a great orange pool. He was meant to rehearse the opening waltz today and the thought of you watching him, concealed, makes his ears hot. Florals drift up and up from their vases where they’re warmed in dying afternoon light.

You cross your legs and turn too, “Are you looking forward to it?”

“To what?”

“The ball, Highness. Are they fun?”

“You’ve attended balls,” he grunts and scans his memory for the last party thrown in Aldera, although you don’t appear in the pictures his brain conjures up. “They’re fine. Loud.”

You nod. There are ten-thousand things he could think to ask you and a hundred more questions he knows that the answers will spur but sitting beside you in the dark without a threat to either of your lives is new and overwhelming. Your wild hair makes wild shapes.

“Fuyumi wants to dress you up.”

You don’t find that as funny as he does and you’re frowning when you turn from the view of the ballroom to look at him. He thinks you aren’t afraid of him– he hopes– but he knows you still won’t say what you long to for fear of sounding unprofessional. He’ll have to work on that.

“She gave up on Ochako years ago.”

“Is it a gown?”

“Takoban,” he rests his head on the metal too, enjoying all the scandalized expressions your lips make, “frilly lace, the works.”

You consider this for a moment and make the shape of his name before swallowing it. One more time, “I see.” And you turn back away to think some more, about how to phrase something unprofessional.

He’s teasing, he hasn’t seen the damn thing but for a moment your prince can picture you so clearly, sewn tight into a dress made of sealace. You try to speak again, fail, and lean closer. Your breath is sweet from fruit and your bowl is empty behind you.

“I can’t wear blue for another second, Highness. I’ll hurl the tailor into the sea.”

Bakugou spits over the railing in amusement and huffs when he crosses his arms again.

“Highness please,” you chuckle, “I’ll get violent,” and you smile under the frown, which just serves to make you look even more like a dragon– like you’ll make good on your word– and less like an obedient footsoldier. How do you do it? Bakugou can only stare with a rough affection because if he tried to speak right now something might come out.

You run a hand back through your braids to settle them where you like them to lay. It’s draconic, regal, every way you sit perch and glare from the clearest part of any room. His mother calls it King’s Corner, or the Seat of the Queen, that perfect spot where you can see everything important without showing your back to a soul. That’s always where he finds you. That’s your secret. He pinches an ear between his knuckles to try and cool it down.

“Takoba’s lucky you aren’t a mage,” he manages. He has to look away to say it but he does manage, “should thank you for it.”

“I did try,” you don’t need to manage back. Proximity to him isn’t eating you alive. “And I don’t work for thank yous.”

When Bakugou was ten years old he celebrated his birthday in a parlor with boughs of cherry blossoms and sweets for which he never really had an appetite. He was doted on and he worked hard to deserve it so that anything he wanted to do that day, and any birthday thereafter, was his. You were not celebrated with cake. He wouldn’t know until years later that his mother brought you gifts and good food on your birthday because he could find you every day of the year at work somewhere in his castle. You did not fall ill, you did not fail, and on his birthday you, nine years old, practiced forms in the paths between spring orchards just downwind from the parlor. Jeanist was seated inside with him among the family’s guests. No appetite for cake. Bakugou only celebrated ten birthdays and you have never stopped breaking his heart.

“Tried what?”

You ruffle your own hair so you don’t have to look at him either because at least one thing embarrasses you. “Magic.”

“Magic.”

“It’s not funny,” you chirp at his flat tone and round on him with your legs crossed. He leans back when your voice comes out a bit louder than expected and his bitten fist aches when it clenches. “I would copy you.” The rot makes him weak and useless and susceptible to your stare, but the rot makes you fearless. “I used to watch you studying– when we were really little– when we were both supposed to be eating with everyone in the Hall. You used to,” you look briefly to your side like someone important might be watching you acting so casually and it dims that fire he needs.

“Used to what?” he smiles. He knows you watched him, you must know that too. Finish, please finish your story, he wants to hear your voice tell you more about home.

“Used to watch you flail your chubby arms until sparks came out.”

When Bakugou laughs this time he tries not to hold anything back, if only just to douse you in oil and keep the fire alight. Fucking please, just talk.

“I used to try every night too!–” you laugh, slightly louder, “– wind up my arms tight and spin around my room after curfew– disturb the horses– pretend to be a dragon.”

“Your runty prince looked like a dragon?”

You grin, “My runty prince taught himself magic, didn’t he? What’s wrong with wanting to breathe a little fire?”

“I don’t breathe fire, dumbass.”

“You still make miracles. Ever seen a dragon?”

“Of course I have.”

“Have you ever sheltered from a spray of ethereal flames?”

He frowns and smirks, confused, as if to ask, why have you? And the flint tinder in the bright part of your eyes sparks white hot.

“Melting, crushing, it’s completely inescapable without a barrier mage,” you pull your knee up with a bit of theatrics and lean because with everything inside of you except for actual realization, you want him to listen too. “Pink and red, blue, green golden and white hot. Highness, has no one ever told you how beautiful your magic is? You make magic like a dragon, who wouldn’t want a blessing like that?”

No one would want this cursed fucking magic that prickles his palms with sweat in the dark for no other reason than because you are looking at him, when all he wanted was– he just wanted to see you– watch you, he didn’t need you to watch him back and now the fire of Aldera he keeps trying to warm beside will blast him all the way to the wick. This is the flattery he hears so much about from his blushing mother.

“‘s not special. My magic maims people.”

“So do I.”

He frowns deeper, “Not the same.”

“I worked hard to maim people, it’s not the same because what I do isn’t beautiful.”

“That’s not–” he doesn’t think that. Don’t think that he thinks that, “–work isn’t beautiful. War isn’t beautiful.”

“You’ve never seen war. Highness you make–”

“Fuck off."

“I won’t.”

“Eyes–”

“– it’s beautiful.”

“I make bombs.”

“You make starfall.”

Bakugou stares. Rough affection, yeah right, he’s melting.

You fall back on your hips when you realize you’ve broken clear through the confines of professionalism and the embarrassment sets in quickly. Eyes dart sideways, chest and knees turn. Your embarrassment is a subtle grip on fraying rugs. What do you do to your heart to make it pull so strong in every direction? Is it a spell? One that makes him quiet and happy to wait for his silent guard to speak again. This must be how the queen feels. You turn fully back to the rising orange light of the ballroom below and your lips part before any words are actually ready to come out.

The first time you try to speak, he doesn’t hear you. Bakugou traces the path between your shiny scars with his gaze. One below your ear to the one at your eyebrow and down again, past an old cut in your cheek. You couldn’t douse the forest fire behind those lashes if you tried. Not under orders or oath. Not from embarrassment.

“What does it feel like?” You whisper, looking a great distance down past abandoned flowers.

Both of you have fallen closer to each other in the waves of your nothing conversation, so much so that your shoulders would press together if the rot just ate away a little bit more. Bakugou’s heart sinks into the ballroom. It plummets like a drowned man.

“Gimme your hand.”

This is a fucking mistake, but all your prince can see is the last time pure joy ever sailed across your face in an evening spent around your wonderful campfire. He caused and extinguished it with one spark thrown into your cupped palms, the last time you ever tried to make magic.

“I won’t hurt you,” he rumbles even though it kills him to look at you now.

Your side of the catwalk begins to glow at the lips because the sun has set far enough to climb walls towards the ceiling. You glow with it. Pink in a thousand places, ears and throat, lips, because you’re thinking too hard about what it is to be a proper guard and how much it is probably not raising your voice to delight in magic that does not belong to you. The corners of your mouth tremble. Who was it that told you you talk too much?

“Is that an order?”

“No.” Of course not.

You study the details of the itchy rug for too long, in the new light at its edge. Bakugou used to hate hiding up here in the cold but it was the only place the idiot children his mother sent him here to entertain couldn’t find him. He couldn’t be happier now, now that no one but you can see just how hard he flounders without fury.

Your hips swivel back towards him in precise decision then you fold your knees neatly underneath them to get closer. A few white ribbons in your hair seem to catch fire as the sunlight climbs higher and the sun dips lower out an infinite distance. Every mile it is far, is a mile Bakugou can feel in measures of chill. If Aldera is at the center of the world, Takoba is the outer edge and you remind him just how blessed he is when his hand melts at your Alderan touch. You reach and pull both his fists into the space between your bodies from where they lingered in the air.

“Yes sir.”

“Don’t,” he breathes, watching all the shapes your fingers can make together. He’s a prince, this is ridiculous. He sits up tall and stretches his arms out so you don’t need to reach so far, and makes a safe place for your strong fingers, those calluses and scars, to rest atop his open palms. “Don’t call me sir.”

You are looking at him and considering something about his face, or his words, who knows– one of your eyebrows twitches in decision. It’s remarkable how steady your heads are. You are sure of everything you do even when it’s destructive and disruptive and punishable by death.

Laid out plainly like this and stiller than either of you have ever been together, your fingers and wrists, your palms, even your fingernails are so much more delicate than his. Like if he closed his golden fists, you’d disappear. Compared to the princess you have the hands of a farmer, but not a single thought– past how each other part of your body might look beside his– is allowed to rattle through his head when you watch him, straight ahead, and smile.

“Okay.”

He clears his throat. He’s a mage and magic is easy. He’s not going to set off the sweat on the back of his neck. “Don’t be nervous,” Bakugou grumbles to the dark.

You grin and ghost a thumb over damp of his open palm, “Who are you trying to convince?”

“It’s this stupid fucking magic,” he bites. A bead of sweat drips through his knuckles onto the floor and if he’s not careful he might take out half the castle. Prince and apprentice assassinate world’s most fucked up royal family– he can already see the dossier sitting pretty on his mother’s desk.

You’re suddenly in a wonderful mood and you sit up slightly at the beginnings of warmth under your fingertips. He can hear your knees squeak and count your heartbeats in the veins of your wrist that his own fingertips reach. Those eyes again– always your eyes. They’re colored like any normal pair anyone might ever see but he’s one of few people who watch the dragons. You must have watched them too, too long, for your gaze to become so similar.

It feels like any other second of Bakugou’s life. Setting fire to own hands and measuring the strength of his magic in reds and whites. It’s an ordinary moment for many whole seconds until your prince follows the beginnings of light up from his palms, to your starving and unabashed awe. The sparks bubble up as hungry fish would in a pond, and then jump, spit, between your fingers like cooking oil. Your touch is so gentle at first. You train and measure your own skill every day so that Jeanist’s recruits don’t lose varied limbs, but as your excitement wells up you spill a bit from your seams. You rise slightly higher and give him more weight to hold and your prince dissolves into a smile.

Four hands rest inside one another and fire from the dragons illuminates your hiding place.

“Highness,” you whisper and startle a thousand times at every new color Bakugou ignites between your fingers. You’re fully up on your knees now having risen higher and higher to watch his magic as best you can and Bakugou sits on the floor beneath you, rotting.

“Highness what,” he whispers back.

You abandon the thought and jump when a green sparkler squeals through the air between you, and when your prince thinks to pull away your fingers are already wrapped tight around every part of him you can manage. He could have done this for you a thousand times; your joy was always this simple, raw, and unjealous. Purple and gold soar across the highs of your cheeks and hug your jaw. It’s all he can bear, to love this smile and to know that his sweat is plastered across your hands and soaked through the cuff of your sleeves, and so he freezes with the realization and embarrassment and with your last words.

“Highness, thank you.”

He doesn’t have the wherewithal to speak yet. The smile he loves. The magic dies with his concentration and as the sun finally crests your walkway for its fleeting moments of warmth, Bakugou tries to muster something like confidence because you’re looking at him with a softness he didn’t realize you had. Is it overwhelming because he knows you could kill him? Maybe it’s because he’s never wanted to kiss anyone before.

Bakugou’s pomegranate eyes dart up to you, saying goodbye to the last of the light and something like sugar scalds his throat. That new thought is fleeting because your golden prince drains the life from it like a butchered animal– gods, can’t he leave you with anything?

“Told you I don’t bite,” he grins and swallows the last selfish thought to death, “that’s your job right?”

You beam before bursting into deep and hungry laughter in the sun-soaked air above him. Whatever. Bakugou supports you as you cling to his arms and struggle to stay upright in your laughter. You’re overflowing. He smiles and huffs, he can’t help that. He can’t help goosebumps either but you don’t need to know about those and he’ll never utter a word. He still needs to meet the dressmaker for alterations and finalize the appetizers, and make sure the kitchens send dinner to your door.

“Highness,” you breathe like a bird and try to collect yourself enough to stop laughing. You plop back onto your hips, “Highness–”

“Highness Highness,” he taunts. The sound of it will make his ears bleed. Bakugou palms for a handkerchief with one hand and lets you hold his other. You cling to the bite you left there. Your legs overlap. “This is ridiculous,” he chuckles when your joy almost folds you in half, “A real joke might kill you.”

“Let it,” you breathe, canines twinkling, and dip slightly closer, laughing, to press your lips to his.

It’s so easy, you don’t mean to. You are lightheaded in the warmth of the sunset, magic trembles across your sensitive skin and you only want to be closer. Just close enough to bury yourself in that place that is so safe and that fills you with such a horrible comfortable joy–

As Bakugou reaches inside his tunic for something you lean too close. Your chest falls over his lap before either of you remembers that it shouldn’t be like this, that there are a thousand other places your prince belongs and ten thousand rules you have engraved on the meat of your skull to keep comfort at bay. It’s so warm with your eyes closed and his smile tastes like cinnamon. He doesn’t pull away.

You only realize what’s happened after that smile falls dead against your lips. He’s soft against your touch. He’s soft like he’s never fought a day in his life. Your hands hold his beautiful golden head right where you need it and in the quiet, your eyes open to blinding and beautiful sunlight.

A touch is all you wanted, gods know why– they’ll never tell you– and you draw your chin back an inch to breathe. Bakugou is staring violently and his eyes are more like targets now than cherry pits. Eyebrows wider, higher, than the sky, he stares like his heart has stopped. What happened? He doesn’t look like anyone but himself anymore. You freeze.

Prince Bakugou is staring at you until he’s not, on the itchy rug in the sunset of the great black catwalks, until his eyes close and he kisses you back. Soft, closed lips brush so hot they’ll leave a mark, they’ll brand you and everyone will know what you did. The doom spreads quickly.

You have never been so graceless in your life as you are now, falling backwards out of his warmth and stumbling onto your feet. He’s still on the ground and you only know he is holding you because sweat drips from the fingers of yours that he clutches.

“Wait,” he gasps. This is so much worse than fury, and you rip your hand away from his to take a step back. You didn’t mean to. Bakugou stares like a dragonslayer, heartbroken.

You run. Before you can breathe or be reasoned with, before you hear him call your name, you turn and dash through the back doorway alone. If this were Aldera, where would you hide? The frozen air of the seashell castle whispers straight through your flesh as you, sprinting, stumble your way past the castle’s vanity. There is a nook in the wall of the principal staircase where only Jeanist can find you. There is a seat on a high window in the Great Hall that you can reach with a library ladder. There are two tiny battlements in the east corner of your queen’s castle without a real way to get inside and on any day but a lightning storm, you can wedge a hunting knife in loose mortar and climb the masonry over its edge to lay and nap and stargaze at the tallest point of the most beautiful kingdom. An ant couldn’t hide in Takoba. There’s not one dark seam for the bugs.

A guard barely moves in time to avoid being crushed under your boots because fuck this horrible waterlogged place. The ocean drips out of your ears like tears from a seashell, drop by drop because you picked a fight with the goddess and thought yourself lucky to live before you realized she had made a home for herself inside your heart. Now you laugh with your prince and you touch him happily and you spar with him and hold nothing back and you tell him how much his magic helped you to live.

Resisting the urge to kill him, fighting to win Mitsuki’s favor, the threat of blue fire and a mage you doused in the sea, it was all so much easier than this. It could have been that easy forever, what were you thinking?

“Y/n!”

You weren’t, that’s what being too content gets you.

When Bakugou calls your name again his voice cracks because you are so much faster than he is in slipping through corridors. There is nowhere to hide in this awful country. Why are you running? If you were just slightly calmer you might have known where you were but white windows will always look like white windows and Bakugou is not so slow that you can ever really outrun him.

You duck under a low door and its hanging tapestry and emerge on the other side at the edge of a stretch of empty hall. Setting sunlight pours past ten silver vases and someone left the windows open so lace curtains flow around each pedestal and their silvery prizes.

“Y/n, please.”

Agony. This isn’t what you want. When Bakugou calls to you one last time you have no choice but to face him because he has never begged for anything before, and when you do, tears drip off the highest parts of your cheeks.

He lets the tapestry fall over his shoulder and stops at the front of the long, long hallway. Neither of you speak for an eternity besides the sound of breath being caught again, him at the edge and you in the center being swayed by cold air. His shaggy hair has been pushed back in his rush to follow you and his eyes glow unobstructed. Bakugou’s broad shoulders fit too perfectly into his baubled tunic. It’s easier to watch him than to think.

When he leans forward, you step back, and he pauses like you might start sprinting again. He doesn’t realize there’s something rotten stuck in the depths of your throat that keeps you from straying too far.

“I–”

“Don’t be sorry,” he begs, reading your mind. He’s never looked like this once in his whole life. He fell a step closer in his panic and when you do not run, his fists unclench from where they draw blood at his sides. “Don’t cry.”

You shake your head and he cautions another step. How can you ever go home now? How much longer can you survive here? The thought is suddenly and immediately overwhelming and Bakugou freezes again when you drop your head into your hands. It’s too much, you can’t believe how badly you want to hate him again and how much easier it would be than this.

“Y/n,” he whispers. His voice is candled ash. You know exactly how close he is even with your eyes closed because Alderan fire is unmistakable and you know too that he’s giving you a moment to escape.

“I didn’t mean to.”

Prince Bakugou’s magic-worn hands reach up from where he wires them and you snatch them both, and all their kiln-fired warmth, out of the air before he can touch you like you might break the first finger that moves. You don’t mean to bare your teeth either, you hope you aren’t, if you are he doesn’t care. Your prince stands above you, brows knit and eyes stupid with worry.

“Forget,” you plead in whispers.

He pulls your grip higher so that he can rest his palms under your ears. He moves easily because you do not stop him and he brushes his thumbs over stray hairs and their wild shapes. Silence is worse than his rage, but he’s trembling. He does not look away. He’s studying, contemplating something that continues to break his heart.

“Highness, please.”

Bakugou cups your jaw like it might bruise and tilts your head up just enough to kiss you. He could not care less about broken fingers.

His lips quiver and press just once to yours before pulling back, reconsidering, and dipping into you again. Your hold on his hands and his hands at your throat are melting, shaking, sweating. His chest swells above yours. You melt with him because you have lost your mind and push against the body you know can hold you. It can pull you from a current and throw you over its shoulder. Bakugou can lift you in strong arms, he can make you laugh until not even an order could compose you at your station.

You part your lips to be closer. He tangles his fingers in your braids so that you might take whatever you want. Your prince tastes like his favorite pastries, and Alderan peaches, and gold, he tastes like he’s fireproof.

Wet drips from your bottom lip in the mess of it all, before Bakugou tilts your chin in strong hands to catch what he’s missed. The slick of your tongues, a clicking of teeth, you want to eat him whole. He’s going to devour you.

He holds your face now to move you as he’d like– four feet tripping over each other to find a wall– and you grip at the patterns on his tunic between stolen breaths and steps stumbled backwards. Magic crackles where he touches you. His voice comes out with his gasps in growls because there is too much and nothing to say. You have forgotten apologies.

“Your hands” he breathes between nips for the softest warm parts of you, “cold.”

“The window–” but he kisses you again before you can finish. His hands are shaking, he is a starving dog and still he holds you like you’re going to break. You terrify him.

How long have you wanted this? There’s not enough focus left for your brain to turn its wheel and if there was you wouldn’t have pulled him so close. You suckle at his lower lip because his heartbeat tastes like home and he lets you dip inside again when you’ve had your fill. He fills you with himself in return. Wet, soft against you. It’s clumsier than sparring, and so much warmer.

At the end of cold hallways, where servants bustle and where there is still work to be done, the guard who barely survived your warpath ducks out from under the tapestry. He only wanted to check you were okay, but in the almost empty hallway Shinsou’s hand falls slack and his baton slips from it. It rings out against white marble and your heart stops beating at the same time as your prince. Your wheel groans in its new turning. The guard stares and you bristle.

You do not hear what Bakugou says in your panic but he does not let you go so easily this time. You freeze. You’ll find somewhere to hide in this prison because that is your job and no one has ever done it better than you, and there you will figure out what to do. The last breath you take before attempting to run is shared in the sunlight with your prince and just as you tip in a hint of escape, Bakugou cups your cheeks one last time to keep you still.

Your claws jump immediately back around his. He stares. His eyes are a study over every scar and warm flush, the violence of your sudden caught fear, even the parts squished and wrinkled in his hold. His magic vibrates unlit through your skin for one more second just one more second he takes to look and then he whispers,

“Okay.”

You take off the moment he releases you to deal with the apprentice and slip as best you can around a blue-tiled corner. Seedsized carvings raise their axes and little white waves fall. Sparks fight the chill on your jaw.

You forgo the seaside for fear of worrying your prince again. Manure pools around your pretty white boots because in the stables, horses don’t care if you cry. The ocean swallows the last of the sun and you are suddenly a child again rinsing the blood from her face and into the hay and finding a dark place to hide. Every step is labor. Agitated white stallions complain to you in a line about their dinner and restlessness, and about chickens roosting inside uninvited, and about the woman who has sat here for hours and done nothing to help them.

The port city of Takoba shimmers at twilight under the hill that the stable looks out on. Its waters are silver and beg you to join them on all sides from their great distance. They have the advantage as you turn your back to the view.

When you amble towards the last empty stall, a figure drowning in blue is perched on a bed of straw. She is sickly beautiful and she stares like she hates everything her gaze falls upon.

“Majesty,” you startle and forget to take a knee.

Where you tread carefully in borrowed clothes, the Takoban Queen is happy to ruin her gown sitting up to her hips in straw beside a very plain horse. She runs a brush over the sheen of its black mane.

“Yes?” She sighs, defeated, until she turns to you and cocks her head like she might have expected someone else. Hundreds of translucent layers fall over themselves in her skirt like a flower and catch imaginary light for every inch that she moves. There is an ache so deep in your bones, chilled first then charred like dipping cold hands in hot water, you struggle to compose yourself. You cannot muster the question of why a queen might be hiding in the belly of her stables but you could guess.

“You were crying.”

“Please don’t tell Mitsuki.”

When will you be allowed to go home? The queen looks between her horse and the space you haunt above her, and pulls a second curry comb from the depths of her soft straw seat. “They’ll find you if you stand in the open like that.”

The day drags on like a dream you have made from picturebooks of Aldera and the man that you will never be free of, but queens don’t much mind if you cry either. You crumple into the spot she digs out for you in the straw and until it is too cold, the two of you sit quietly in shit together.

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#a hymn to black water #bakugou x reader #i make good on my promises #this one really took it out of me- editing was an afterthought there might be more mistakes than usual #thank you for loving these weirdos #bakugo x reader #bnha fantasy au #mha fantasy au #fantasy bakugou x reader #fantasy bakugo x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader

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centrally-unplanned · 1 month ago

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Hopefully coming back to posting after being away for a bit - had a trip with Partner M to Seattle! It was very fun - Seattle is a true "water city" like I have not been to in quite a while. DC, NYC, Tokyo, etc, are all on the water in various forms, but their connection to it has withered into the purely recreational. Seattle meanwhile is built so heavily around the Puget Sound and the lakes and rivers that it feeds, defining city districts & the local "downtowns", such that you are always aware of the flows around you. We took a ferry out to Bainbridge Island - which was a huge ferry carrying hundreds of cars every half hour because that is the most efficient way to cross the Sound to the towns on the other side - and there is nothing like dozens of marinas and fleets of sailboats out on the water to make a bay feel alive:

Some of this is, of course, something of a larp - the heart of downtown Seattle (the Central Waterfront) has a million fish shacks and crab huts on the docks, with parks and walkways, because, of course you have fish restaurants on sea, right? It is where you catch the fish? But it isn't, you aren't fishing at scale right next to skyscrapers anymore - those fish are imported from distant aquaculture farms just like any meat would be, these restaurants are only here for the style points. They aren't even legacy - the central docks in Seattle began closing down in the 1960's as industrial-scale container dockyards were set up in the south with truckyards for interior shipping, and much of this area was only revitalized starting in the 2000's via a city project to build a recreational zone. The tale of every American city in the post-industrial era, right?

But not all of it is nostalgia - Seattle also boasts the Ballard Locks, the US's busiest by ship traffic, which connects the Puget Sound to the Salmon Bay & Lake Washington. Very coolly, the whole thing is an accessible park - and crossing it is a typical way a pedestrian would get from the neighborhoods of Ballard to Magnolia. We were lucky enough to arrive when a boat was passing under the paired bridge and through the locks; so we got to watch humanity's oldest technology of civilization at work, raising a boat through the magic of tight gates and buoyancy forces:

These locks also have the Salmon Ladder, so migrating salmon can swim upriver in the fall and breed without being stuck in the gates. It wasn't the season for it so no fishies for me, but it was still extremely cute.

The locks, like the rest of the city, also have a fleet of enchanted crows who watch the boats for signs of trouble - a smart use of mana by the local mage's council:

Anyway, water-nature was only half of our trip: our other focus was being Huge Nerds around the college neighborhood of the University of Washington. And I gotta say, this fucked, I was not expecting this area of town to be as cool as it was - it might be in the top 5 coolest areas in the US for this kind of vibe. An endless stretch of coffee shops, chinese noodle houses, record stores, vintage & thrift, and - critical for me - the highest density of weeb shit this side of LA's Little Tokyo. The standout was ofc Scarecrow video, though I will also highlight Neptune Records:

Partner M discussed Scarecrow in her own post, so I won't belabor it here - though look out for a later post on one of the videos we rented - but I wanted to give Neptune a shout out for being the Scarecrow Video of Music. It was floor-to-ceiling records, CDs, and cassettes stuffed into every nook and cranny that could take them; every shot shelf was so dense. As is tradition for me, whenever I visit a record store I ask after my quixotic dream of owning a Plumtree record, and typically the person goes "who is that" and opens their computer to check their inventory. At Neptune though:

"Do you have, miraculously, any Plumtree in stoc-"

"Nope"

"Oh, you know them?"

"Nope. But I know I don't got 'em"

This man has memorized his entire collection of surely >10,000 items and knew instantly Plumtree wasn't one of them. He didn't even make eye contact during this. Now that's autism, baby <3.

On the weeb side my stand-out store was Hifi Lofi, an eclectic buy-sell-trade store right by campus. Honestly when it comes to anime stores in the US, they have a huge "sameness" problem - all stocking the same Ghibli notebooks and Shounen Jump shows minifigs and the like. Hifi Lofi didn't truck in any of that, instead splicing a grunge-DJ vibe and intentional buys by the owner with whatever-the-fuck the community dumped on them. They had Pinky St figurines! I have never seen those in the US outside of cons. They had an entire collection of Neon City Records synthwave vinyl, which tells me exactly how terminally online they were in the late 2010's, mad respect (never did get one of their jackets, alas). I spoke to the owner, and they partnered with a local graphic designer to spec out their place and otherwise actually were making good money on the buy-sell margins while doing thrice yearly trips to Japan for specific merch hauls:

Here I think Seattle is reflecting its own economic demography - large Asian American population, lots of technology companies attracting a wealthy, nerdy consumer base, and most importantly a large, public university located right near the city center so the student population and the city population can intermingle. You would be surprised how uncommon that last part is! Not unique of course, but many "flagship" big universities are in their own college towns or positioned right at the edge of the city. When the University of Washington was founded in the mid 19th century, it was at said "edge" - Seattle was a tiny port town at the time, and grew far faster than anyone could have anticipated. All these demos mixing together makes for a great hub for artsy commerce. Given my fantasy dream of opening a manga cafe/anime theatre, and how difficult that would be in DC, seeing a place where it actually seemed maybe-viable was nice.

City is so nerd-friendly we saw a string of protest stickers by some strident fujoshi over the racebending casting of Severus Snape in the HBO remake:

Tumblr is truly amoung us wherever you go.

Speaking of, I was actually planning on posting to see if any mutuals in the Seattle area wanted to get coffee - but alas I had a throat issue this trip which made talking a slight struggle :/ I got through it fine but it meant I had to save my talking points for partner. Next time though!

Okay, that is my self-indulgent record-of-my-trip post done lol - may future posts be more general interest.

#Ash America Adventures

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marlynnofmany · 1 year ago

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Walkway Aesthetics

The door opened from the spaceport to the city proper, and I couldn’t help saying, “Oh wow.” I’d expected a regular walkway, maybe with a moving sidewalk or hovercarts, probably with ads and decorations. The last few big cities we’d visited had all been pretty bland in terms of entrance-way style.

This one was an aquarium. The long tunnel curved away under a domed ceiling with vast sea creatures undulating by overhead, and others darting about in flashes of scales. Subtle blue-and-purple lighting lit up both the benches alongside and the water above. Specks of phosphorescence danced everywhere like fairies under a starry sky. The effect was breathtaking.

I ventured out into the purple-blue wonderland. “Wow, this is amazing.”

Three of my coworkers followed, and were less impressed.

“Eh, it’s not very original,” Kavlae said with a flip of her frills. Under the lighting, her sky-blue skin was a shifting purple. “Water scenes are pretty tiresome, honestly.”

“You said it,” agreed Mur down from floor level. He tentacle-walked along like the opinionated squid alien he was, blending with the bluish shadows. “Once you’ve seen things swimming past, you’ve seen them all.”

I asked, “Are you serious? This is beautiful.”

Paint huddled close beside me, her orange scales turned an indistinct brown. “I think it’s scary.”

“What? Why?” I asked.

She clasped her hands, shaking her head. “That’s a lot of water, and a lot of creatures. What if the barrier broke?”

“Well yeah, that would be bad,” I admitted. “But it’s not going to.”

Paint walked faster. “Still scary. Look at that one! It’s so big!”

The alien whale or whatever that coasted past had bioluminescent swirls along its underside, and a cloud of the glowing water-pixies flitting along after it. Beautiful, and awe-inspiringly close.

“Ah, that’s so cool!” I said, turning in place as I walked to keep it in sight.

Paint just squeaked and scampered ahead, followed by Kavlae and Mur.

“C’mon, we’re leaving you behind,” Mur told me.

“I’m coming,” I said. There were glowing eels or something up ahead, and I jogged to get a look. The other three continued turning up their various noses the whole way down.

When we finally reached the other end, a family of humans were just entering the tunnel. Their awestruck expressions were vindicating.

“Ohhh, wow!”

“This is lovely!”

“Look at the size of that one! I can almost touch it!”

“Don’t smudge the glass, honey.”

“But it’s so cool!”

I joined my coworkers at the exit with no small amount of smugness. “See? They get it.”

Mur waved a tentacle. “That just shows that your entire species has poor taste in decor.”

Paint shuddered, stepping into the brighter light of the station. “I would feel much safer with solid ground on all sides instead of all that water.”

I laughed. “See, that would make me worry that it was about to fall down on me.”

“A proper burrow would never!”

Kavlae walked past us both. “You planet-born folk have the silliest ideas about these things. I’ll stick with my windows into space.”

The rest of us immediately jumped in to agree that the risk of a hatch blowout was scarier than any cave-in. But the view of stars and galaxies could be pretty dang beautiful, so it was worth it.

~~~

Inspired by this art by @ellohcee.

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!

#short one today so I skipped the readmore #just a bit of interaction about something beautiful #to human eyes at least #humans are weird #haso #hfy #eiad #humans are space orcs #my writing #The Token Human

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ryin-silverfish · 10 months ago

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JTTW Discord Summer Contest Entry: South Seas Sojourn

AO3 Mirror

-In collaboration with the amazing @ejaysstuff, who did the art!

-I'd say "This is mostly me nerding out about folklore", except that sums up all my recent one-shots.

-An LMK fanfic about Wukong going on a vacation, set between S3 and S4.

---

"I'm going on a vacation!"

Before anyone in the noodle shop could let out a groan or a cry of "Again?!", Sun Wukong immediately added, "And you are coming too, MK. I ain't leaving my disciple out of the fun, not after, well, everything."

"But it's okay to leave me out of the fun?" Mei sulked, as she tried to make the tea inside her cup rise up, yet only created a little ripple.

"Hey, I'm not the one who signed you up for that internship at your uncle's place." Sun Wukong said. "But maybe we can drop by once we are done! Take a break from the heat in the cool air of the North Sea."

"Yeah, the nice, cool, sub-zero-degree air of the arctic zone..." Mei sighed. "Don't wanna beat on that dead horse, but I'm so, so sick of icy stuff."

"Aw, bummers. Guess you won't be a fan of my new tea recipe, then." Sandy poked his head out from inside the kitchen. MK could hear ice cubes clinking inside a glass, and so did Mei, since she perked up within seconds and looked like she was on the verge of backflipping over the counter.

"Sandy, Sandy my man, I'll never not be a fan of your tea recipe!"

"Uh, where are we even going?" MK asked, in between the sound of icy lemon tea being slurped through a twisty straw. "Don't get me wrong, I'm super duper up to it! But Mr. Tang had been complaining non-stop on MeChat about Pigsy's decision to drag him to Chang'e's virtual concert during summer break, where every major tourist spot is packed with kids. I hope we are going somewhere...quieter, that's all."

"Oh, no worries. It won't be deserted, but it ain't gonna be nearly as crowded." Sun Wukong paused, striking a pose. "We are going to the South Seas, bud!"

"...Where?" MK and Mei asked in unison, drowning out Sandy's faint "Wait, like, Guanyin's place?".

"Out south. In the oceans. Duh."

"That explains nothi——"

"And no, my big blue friend, I won't be knocking on her doors at Potaloka unless someone needs saving! She's gonna be real busy in the next few weeks anyways." Sun Wukong continued. "For you less geographically gifted kids: it's where Lion City and Betel City are. Ring any bells?"

Mei made an "Oooo" noise. "You mean the place with the mermaid lion? Man, I was so disappointed when I found out it wasn't a real critter working for the South Sea Dragons."

"I still have no idea what you are talking about!"

"Ah well, MK, you'll be finding out soon enough." Sun Wukong said. "So go give your Dadsy a holler, and start packing up! We'll be leaving next week or the week after that, depending on when Nezha gets off work." A pause. "Yeah, he's coming too."

...

"We aren't really going on a vacation, are we?" MK asked, as he dragged his luggage up the creaky wooden walkway near the Megapolis harbor beach.

Dangit, who knew that mosquito repellent and sunscreen could weigh so much? (Tang and Pigsy were very adamant about the importance of taking enough of these, once they heard the news over MeChat.)

"What makes you think that?" Sun Wukong replied, swishing his tail at the daring seagulls who kept trying to peck it.

"Well, last time you said you were going on a vacation, you weren't really telling the truth." MK let out a nervous chuckle. "And Nezha's coming too. I don't know him all that well, but he doesn't sound like the kind of guy who'll, uh, join in on the fun just because?"

"Yeah. Sorry again, MK," he sighed. "But you are half-right. It's not a complete vacation, and more of a vacation-slash-summer school, slash-free exposure therapy..."

"What was that last part?"

"Nothing!" Sun Wukong exclaimed cheerfully. "Basically, you are gonna learn how to be a god, MK."

"I——WHAT?!"

"Relax, bud! It's not as serious as you think." A pause. "How do I put it...hmm, it's like being a hero, but more down-to-earth. Where, instead of people asking you to save them from big bad demons, they are asking you to solve their personal problems."

"Like?"

"Win lottery tickets. And discipline their kids for them."

"Speak for yourself."

A familiar voice echoed through the evening air. The next second, in a blaze of pink fire, the Third Lotus Prince was standing tall on his wheels, his sash flowing in the wind.

"Oooh, what did I just hear? Good ol' Brother Nezha, Electro-Techno Third Prince, The Other God You Go To For Lottery Tickets, acting all uppity and serious!" Sun Wukong stuck his tongue out at the new arrival. "Nice entrance, by the way. Very flashy."

"You know very well I don't answer every desperate addict who doesn't know when to quit, nor do I play games of chance for fun! I play them to win!" Nezha retorted. "Also, thanks for the compliment, Great Sage."

"You are welcome, Laodi."

"Are we really going on a vacation to...help people gamble?" MK nervously raised a hand. "Isn't that, like, against the law?"

"Goodness, what have you been telling your disciple before my arrival? No, what have you left out?" Nezha groaned. "Well, since your mentor clearly hasn't explained our goals properly, I suppose I'll have to substitute for him. Again."

"Hey! Professor Sun is getting to it, Teaching Assistant Nezha——"

"In the next week, we shall be visiting and staying in multiple cities of the South Seas. Now that my true body isn't guarding the Samadhi Fire, I can finally start answering the more tricky prayers," Nezha sighed, "Which will only continue to pile up, since the Seventh Month is imminent."

"Seventh Month?" MK asked, reaching into his pocket with one hand. "But it's August the third already! Lemme check the calendar again..."

"Lunar Seventh Month. Also known as the Ghost Month." Nezha shot a look at Sun Wukong, his expression a mix between annoyance and slight concern. "Someone has picked a great time and place to take his student on a trip."

"What could I say? It sure is less depressing than Qingming nowadays. And they won't fine you for burning paper effigies in the South Seas, or so I've heard!"

"I…no matter." Nezha's look softened a bit, but not by much. "Back to what I was saying. Once the gates of the Underworld open, all the spirits will come out, go visit their families, enjoy the offerings as much as they can under the watch of Dashi Ye, Lady Guanyin's ghostly manifestation."

"We'll be assisting him, much like my brother and all the local gods. Keeping order, giving directions, and all that. In between these shifts, I’ll finally get to perform my duties in my actual physical body instead of the youthful manifestations mortals expect to see, and your mentor is free to monkey around with you and his worshippers at his own temples. All clear?"

"So we are gonna be, like, tour guides and security, but for dead people?" MK asked. "That doesn't…sound too bad, actually! Also, you have a brother, Nezha?"

"No, I pop out of a rock, just like your master." Nezha said flatly, then added, "Goodness, I wish. Muzha can be a bit much, but he's a lot more bearable while on the job, so no worries."

"Someone's getting jealous again, I see," Sun Wukong reached over to pat him on the head, and received an annoyed glare. "Oh, and don't let Nezha's sour attitude fool you, MK. We are still on a vacation, it ain't gonna be all work and no play! And the work won't start until several days later, so we'll have plenty of time."

…

This didn't seem like a great start for our vacation, MK thought.

Okay, it did, for about three minutes, after they got off the somersault cloud.

The palm trees were swaying in the wind, the two-story buildings with red-tiled roofs were glowing under the tropical sun, and Nezha reluctantly glamoured a lotus-patterned T-shirt and some baggy pants over his armor after rejecting Sun Wukong's more outlandish suggestions ("You should totally change your wheels into flaming flip-flops!"). Not a single dangerous, vacation-ruining, world-destroying threat in sight.

Then a giant rain cloud appeared out of nowhere, driving most of the crowd indoors and leaving the unfortunate ones seeking shelter under the nearest rooftops and bus stations.

Not that it helped much——MK felt like he was standing behind the waterfall at Flower Fruit Mountain again, as raindrops slammed into the ground with a fury and created splashes of watery mists.

"Okay, Nezha, Did you anger the local dragons again?" Sun Wukong asked, holding the monkey-hair-turned-umbrella over MK's head.

"Nonsense! Not even the East Sea ones hold a grudge for this long, and I've never seen a South Sea dragon other than their king," Nezha said, then added, "and my brother's co-worker. Are you sure you have a temple nearby?"

"Eh, maybe. I saw a bunch of faith beacons up there, all clustered together." Sun Wukong shrugged. "Some of these have to be mine."

"Have to be yours? Oh, that's rich, coming from someone who hasn't visited the South Seas in person since the 19th century——"

"And they still love me, bud. Deal with it."

"Um, what's a faith beacon?" MK wiped the water droplets off his phone screen with one thumb, trying and failing to steer his luggage away from the puddles. "I'm not seeing any on CloudMap."

"Well, you won't, unless you are a patron god of IT workers or some other technology-related stuff!" Sun Wukong said. "How do I put it, hmmm…after people have prayed to you for a while, offered enough incense, you can just sense the places they are doing it at. Usually, it looks like a beam or a glowy aura, but some gods can smell or hear it too."

"Wow, that's so cool! It's like a mystical VR goggle. Is it something you can learn, though?"

"Look, I'm glad that you are doing your job as a mentor, but can we please get some actual directions?" Nezha sighed. "Temples here aren't always their own separate buildings. I've been summoned inside too many HDB flats to count, and you won't know that by looking at the beacons alone."

"We are heading in that direction right now. It'll get clearer once I get closer to the place. So be patient, will ya'?"

"Well, isn't that just the most reassuring answer I've ever heard. 'We'll get there when we get there'." Nezha muttered, as the group took a turn into a narrow side street, ducking below the swaying lanterns and multilingual shop signs. "Just so you know, if the rain doesn't stop and we don't get there in two hours, I'm dragging both of you onto a bus and to my temple instead."

"Why, you three sound like you are lost! Need a tour guide?"

Abruptly, a high-pitched, child-like voice resounded through the torrential rain, coming out of the alleyway to their left. MK turned to look at the speaker—

—and stared straight into the lifeless glowing eyes of a chalk-faced monstrosity, its red tongue hanging out of its mouth.

With a scream, his staff was out, and in a split second, connected with the thing's head and sent it flying into the nearest wall. It slid off the yellowed concrete, landed with a splash, then went completely still.

A spiderweb crack was spreading across its porcelain mask——Oh goodness, it's a puppet, which was somehow even worse.

"Ah. The answer is 'No', it seems."

He nearly extended the staff and hit the puppet again when it spoke, had Sun Wukong not dashed forth and, in one swift motion, dragged a pale specter out of it by the robe collar.

"Glad to see you again, Xiao Xie!" He grinned in a rather dangerous way, like what Mr. Tang said non-intelligent monkeys really meant when they bore their teeth. "Is there any particular reason why you are jumpscaring my student in broad daylight, or do you just have nothing better to do?"

"Yes, because this one knows it will happen!" The specter, still in Sun Wukong's grip, said in a cheerfully oblivious voice. “The vision caught this one by surprise too. It's not every day that you see the Great Sage's golden staff approaching your face at lethal speed, especially when you have done nothing to offend him. Good thing this one did not come in his contractor's body!"

Behind them, Nezha let out a groan. "Oh joy, it's these two clowns again."

"W-W-What the heck just happened?! And what's THAT?" MK pointed at the specter. Outside of that creepy puppet, it just looked like a lanky, unnaturally pale youth in an oversized mandarin jacket and a tall hat.

Before Nezha could answer, another sullen voice cut him off.

"You knew you'd get smacked in the face if you came, so naturally, you possessed the creepiest vessel you could find and headed straight in this direction." The air suddenly got a lot colder. "I don't need precognition to know you deserve to be smacked at this point."

The water in a nearby puddle rippled. Okay, technically, it never stopped rippling because of the rain, but this one was a lot bigger, as if something was about to crawl out.

MK took a step back. Seconds later, the murky water turned inky black, rising up into the air and coalescing into the form of a short, stern-faced kid, wearing the same clothings as the pale specter, except they were all black-colored.

"Darn right, Lao—" Sun Wukong paused, as he turned and took a closer look at the newcomer. "Xiao Fan? Huh, didn't expect to see this you here. Not that I'm complaining."

"I'm absolutely complaining." The kid replied. "Our main souls have been attending one meeting after another at Fengdu since the Ivory Lady Incident, which is why I'm currently on," He shot a pointed look at his ghostly companion, "babysitting duty. You gonna smack him or not? Cause I won't mind if you do, Great Sage."

"Aww, really, Xiao Fan? You, of all people, should know that everything this one sees will happen, even if he doesn't know how or why. Since trying to avoid a future is the best way to unknowingly make it come true, this one can only try to soften the impacts and minimize the risks."

"By making sure you would, one-hundred-percent, get hit in the face by someone?" Fan snorted. "Way to go, brother."

"By making sure that staff wasn't slamming into this one's soul, or a flesh-and-blood vessel!" Xie replied. "And the mission is a success! Only a single puppet is harmed."

Nezha threw his hands up in the air. "How did you manage to be even more annoying and nonsensical than your main soul?"

"Welcome to my fucking un-life." Fan mumbled.

"Um, hello?" MK waved awkwardly. "Have you guys suddenly started speaking in some sort of secret code mid-conversation, cause I don't understand a single word you just said."

"Gosh! Sorry, bud," Sun Wukong finally let go of Xie's collars (now that MK thought about it, how did you even grab a ghost's collars? Mystic Monkey Magic at play again?) "Get a bit carried away there."

He pointed at the two specters. "Meet the Heibai Wuchang. The ghost cops, or rather, parts of them. Remember your hair clones? Xiao Xie and Xiao Fan here are kinda like that, but with their souls."

"T-The ghost cops?" MK squirmed. The downpour had become a light drizzle, but he still felt chilly, and it wasn't because his T-shirt sleeves and socks were now soaked. "Like…the ones you see when you are about to die?"

"Don't worry, bud! They aren't here to take any of us away. I think." Sun Wukong narrowed his eyes slightly, "and even if they were, I'd like to see them try."

"Nah. Not a chance. This one still values his un-life—"

"Yeah? Then apologizing to my student and stop wandering around in that thing will be a good start!"

"—so yes, he is very sorry for the distress he caused, young one. The 'wandering around in possessed objects' part, though, is perfectly legal, and this one still has to take the puppet back to his temple, so sorry, no can do."

"You have a temple now?" Sun Wukong let out a chuckle of disbelief. "You two?"

"You really haven't been around here in a while, have you, Great Sage?" Nezha said. "Yes, unfortunately. It's a new South Seas trend, and I hope it stays where it is."

"Our main altar here is still inside the City God's temple. But there are more temples dedicated to us alone, across the strait." Fan said. "And I'm obligated to inform you that all deities who visit the South Seas in their true bodies instead of using clones or astral projections must notify the local City God's temple beforehand, or submit the relevant paperwork immediately after arrival."

"Hmm, and if I don't?" Sun Wukong raised an eyebrow. "What are you gonna do?"

"Other than following you around and staring at you judgmentally? Nothing substantial." Fan said, before sighing deeply. "But if you can at least pretend to respect us and not treat Underworld officials like the complete pushovers we are, we'd really appreciate it."

Sun Wukong hollered at that. "Y'know what? I think I'll do just that, since this you are a lot cuter and not a raging jerk!"

"You know my main soul can hear you, right?"

"Exactly." Sun Wukong grinned. Unlike a few minutes ago, it was a lot less tense. "So lead the way, Xiao Fan!"

…

When MK heard the whole…ghost temple thing, he was expecting skeletons, eerie lighting, spooky stuff.

Okay, some of the statues and puppets were still creepy. Same for the possessions.

Sure, the ghost cops had explained that they had human "contractors" who'd let them possess their bodies willingly, after signing a lengthy form where all the risks and duties are spelled out clearly.

But when he thought of possessions, the only images that came to mind was LBD's host, shaking like she was in the middle of winter again despite sitting inside the safe, cozy confines of Pigsy's Noodles. And Sun Wukong's golden eyes glowing frost blue, devoid of all warmth and emotions.

Well, better get used to it now. Gonna see a lot more ghosts once the…summer school part of the vacation-slash-summer school starts.

MK took a deep breath and began to make his way back through the corridors, a small incense burner in hand. The exterior of the temple was dated and slightly out of place, sitting beneath towering skyscrapers and surrounded by neatly trimmed park lawn.

Past the main hall and the altar room behind it, however, the place could be mistaken for any modern office building. Or the background of a Monkey Cop episode, except the cops were all ghosts and the monkey was filling in the divine equivalent of a customs form.

"There, done." Sun Wukong said, putting the pen down, "Right in the nick of time! For real, though, couldn't you ghosts just burn the paperwork together with the rest of the effigies?"

"And get them stuck beneath a mountain of sports cars, or whatever insane vehicles people decide to send to their ancestors nowadays? No thanks."

As he handed the incense burner over to Sun Wukong, who crumpled the form into a ball and tossed it inside, MK caught a glimpse of a dark blue aura, enveloping the handle of the back door before it opened on its own. Two more uniformed ghosts hovered in, telekinetically carrying multiple pitched paper objects.

"Speak of the devil…" Fan turned towards his partner, who was leaning leisurely against a wall. "This year's bunch are already coming in, and if you bothered working with a contractor today, you better put that physical body to good use and start helping!"

"Alright, alright, This one hears you." Xie yawned, then walked over and grabbed the floating effigies. "Hmmm, no helicopters or private jets this year? That's a bit disappointing."

"Well, Mr. Chow sent a pretty big table, boss. We don't think it's gonna fit through the backdoor, so we left it in the park pavilion."

"Excuse me?" MK perked up. At last, a chance to do something instead of just standing there and watching awkwardly. "Do you need something resized? Cause I have just the power for that!"

…

"Y'know, I was wondering what's so special about a table," Sun Wukong poked his head out from behind the door frame, trying very hard to suppress the giggles, "or why they'd make a live-sized one in the first place. Now I get it."

"Kudos for dedication, I guess?" MK shrugged. "I'm sure their loved ones would, uh, appreciate the gift down there."

With a snap of his fingers, the paper Mahjong table returned to its original size, drastically reducing the remaining space inside the storage room.

Yeah, the "craft" part of "Arts & Crafts" wasn't really his strong suit, but a piece this detailed and lovingly crafted? It probably took weeks to make. And cost more than an actual Mahjong table.

"Are you two done admiring the beauty of that absurd object? Can we please leave and go somewhere else now?" Nezha's muffled complaint came from the corridors. “It's raining outside again, and if we don't hurry——"

"Even if you do hurry, this one doubts you will be able to get any further than the bus stop, in the two minutes it shall take for the drizzle to become a downpour once more." Xie said, then tossed the last stack of golden joss paper into the storage room.

"Great! Wonderful! Yeah, I'm just looking forward to spending more time with you and your clowns-in-training." Nezha snarked. "How will we ever get anywhere in life without your nifty short-term prophecies?"

"Hey hey, Nezha, chill out. A dash of salt is good n' all, but you are getting spicy over there." Sun Wukong said. "But, speaking of ways to pass the time during a rainy day…"

There was a mischievous glint in his eyes, as he turned to look at Xie. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Judging by what this one just saw? Yes."

"Great! Come here, bud, I have something that will make our stay a lot less boring."

Sun Wukong beckoned MK over, back into the big guest room, then pulled out a tuft of hair. Seconds later, an actual Mahjong table landed squarely on the floor with a thud, complete with chairs and Mahjong sets, followed by an "Ohoho, lovely!" and two simultaneous shouts.

"Seriously? Don't set a bad example for your student!"

"Don't you dare corrupt our guests, Xiao Xie!"

"Please, this one is just joining in on the fun. Our guests have no problem 'corrupting' themselves, so to speak!"

"Oh, c'mon, it's not gambling if you aren't betting actual money!” Sun Wukong exclaimed. "It's like poker, but…for old people. Right, MK?"

"Um, one problem: I don't know how to play Mahjong! Or poker!" MK said, scratching his head. "The only card game I know is Uno."

"Great! You can just learn it on the fly, then, under the watchful eyes of Professor Sun and Teaching Assistant Nezha!"

"No way, Great Sage. I'm not helping you lure your student astray into a potential lifetime of wasted hours and petty vices."

"Really?" Sun Wukong flashed a taunting smile. "I bet you only said that 'cause you don't wanna lose too badly to me. Again."

"Oh, you take that back right now, monkey!" Nezha jabbed a finger at him. "If we were back in the old days and in a gambling house, you'd be going home in nothing but your undershirt and breeches by the end of the day!"

MK did not miss the implication that, at some point in the past, these two had indeed been to an actual gambling house.

"A bold challenge if I've ever heard one!" Sun Wukong's grin widened. "Or is your bark worse than your bite? Brag all you like, but the only way to prove it is to get on the table yourself."

"I——Screw this, I'm in," Nezha took a deep breath, “But only because it will be quite satisfying, kicking the collective behinds of the two most annoying gods I've ever met." A glare at Sun Wukong, then, at Xie. "So. Get. Ready."

"That's the Third Prince I know!" Sun Wukong gave him a thumbs-up. "Bring it on, lad!"

MK gulped. "Yeah, sorry, I think I'm just gonna watch you guys play first. Get a feel of the game before jumping in. Is that alright?"

"No prob. Though this did put us in the most classic bind in the entire history of Mahjong…" Sun Wukong paused dramatically. "The 'Short of a Fourth' problem."

"That won't be me." Fan immediately said, before walking through the nearest wall. "Still have a job to do." He turned, poking his head out of the wall once more. "But by all means, teach Xiao Xie a lesson for me."

"Ah well." Sun Wukong shrugged, reaching towards his head. "Guess this calls for my clone——"

"No!" Nezha smacked his hand away. "That's just blatant cheating!"

"But literal future vision isn't?"

"Hey, it's not like this one can turn it off." Xie protested. He looked like he wanted to say something else, before Sun Wukong stood up, dashing out of the door and towards the altar room.

"Guys! We are one person short of a Mahjong game here!" A pause. "Niang Niang? Ah Pek? Datuk? Hello? Anyone up to it?"

"...What's he doing?"

"The divine equivalent of spamming telephone calls." Nezha rolled his eyes. "Yelling into the ears of every deity's idol he can find, and hoping for a response."

"For your knowledge, we have a three-people variant of the game here," Xie added, unhelpfully.

…

Way after Sun Wukong had returned, sulking a little but soon jumped right into arguing with Nezha, MK heard a chime.

Like someone had just dropped a bunch of coins onto a marble floor, but…louder. Okay, he wasn't too sure about that last part, because if the others heard it too, they did not react to the noise at all.

"It's still not gambling! Just a way to keep the score, yanno?" Sun Wukong continued, tossing a tangerine back and forth between his hands——one he probably pinched from a random altar table on his way back. "Also, the game will be pretty boring if you aren't winning something."

"That's the very definition of gambling." Nezha said, with a deadpan expression. "Wagering money or other stakes in a game of chance."

"It's only a stake if it's something of value, and outside of sentimental ones, these offerings have none." Sun Wukong turned to Xie. "Otherwise you won't give them away to folks for free before they spoil, right?"

"Indeed, for we've already eaten them."

MK squinted at the fruit; not a single bite mark or patch of peeled skin was found on its exterior.

"Ewww." Sun Wukong grimaced. "Anyways, that just makes them even less valuable and further proves my point."

"Is that supposed to be convincing? Because I'm not taking home a bunch of ghost-eaten fruits even if you give them to me for free——"

"Greetings," someone cleared their throat, then said in a deep, magnetic voice, "Is it you who invited this Zhao to your humble temple for a game, friends?"

The door curtain jingled; in walked a dark-faced man with an impressively bushy beard, clad in gilded black armor and red-gold robes. The only thing that didn't make him as intimidating as he should was the black tiger cub, clinging onto his shoulder pauldron like an oversized housecat.

"Yep, Lao Zhao!" Sun Wukong cheered, "Didn't think you'd have the time, but here you are!" He winked at MK, "Now, ya' ever seen a God of Wealth statue in your Dadsy's store? If you did: this is your guy in the flesh, Zhao Gongming himself."

"Oh yeah! The statue," MK tried his best to recall something that looked like the man, yet the only thing that came to mind was the adorable and totally dissimilar one on the counter. "You mean he's..the cat?"

"Ha! I like your little disciple, Great Sage." Zhao Gongming laughed. "Sadly, no. The only feline here is my steed, Biandan Hua." He pointed to the tiger cub. "In her baby form, so I don't get animal control called on me again. Mortals these days are so easily startled, I swear."

"Aww, that's the cutest name I ever heard." Sun Wukong cooed, earning an unimpressed look from the tiger. "Anyways, since we have our fourth guy here, without further ado, let's begin——"

"A second. I'm here for business too. Serious business," he held up a hand. "Have any of you seen a golden scissor? It's about this size, but becomes a lot bigger when transformed," a gesture, "about the size of a city block. Ah, and it can turn into two flood dragons."

"Nope!"

"Hmm. This one doesn't think so."

"The Golden Dragon Shears?" Nezha’s eyes widened. "How did you lose *that*, Marshal Zhao?!"

"I didn't! It's probably my youngest sister again. Bixiao is still rummaging through our study, so I may as well check in the Lower Realms while she's at it." He said. "Make sure no one has 'borrowed' it without their permission."

"Why are y'all looking at me?"

Awkward silence ensued, broken immediately by Sun Wukong's indignant huff.

"Okay, first, I'm insulted by your insinuations! You eat a few peaches, and suddenly you are THE suspect whenever something goes missing up there." He shook his head. "Second, you have sisters, Lao Zhao? Huh, never know that."

"Well, unless you are planning to have kids in the immediate future, Great Sage, your paths are unlikely to cross!" Zhao Gongming laughed, before resuming his frown. "Our scissors are far from the only missing treasure, though. Other palaces have also reported similar cases over the last hour. I'll just have to go shake down Spirit Official Ma again——wouldn't be the first time that little candlewick bugger tried to pin his thefts on someone else."

At the mention of Spirit Official Ma, Nezha mouthed something that sounded suspiciously like a swear word. Sun Wukong made a face.

"Yeah, show that Huaguang brat who's boss! But before that, surely you still have time for a Mahjong game? It'll only be a minute up there."

"Hmm, I suppose it won't hurt." Zhao Gongming replied, twirling his beard. "But with one condition: no one uses their godly powers."

"Define 'godly powers'?"

"Anything that requires intent to activate." Zhao Gongming said. "Your golden vision, active divination instead of passive, uncontrollable foresights, my power over fortune..."

A sigh. "I've played enough games where that is allowed. With my disciples it always turns into a teaching session, and playing against my fellow gods of wealth feels more like a power-measuring contest than a true match of skills, especially when Bi Gan was involved." He shook his head. "For a scholarly god of wealth, the old man can be more competitive than us martial ones."

"I feel ya', Lao Zhao. It's always the old geezers who play dirty."

"Hello? Excuse me?" Nezha asked. "Am I the only one who's more concerned about the missing treasure of mass destruction than the silly Mahjong game?!"

"Yes, yes you are." Sun Wukong smirked. "It's just a tiny scissor! What mass destruction can it cause, other than to Art & Crafts materials?"

"Says the blissfully ignorant monkey who has never seen it in action," Nezha retorted, then lowered his head with a defeated look. "Whatever. I don't care anymore. Just don't mention me when the Celestial Host starts pointing fingers and your sisters come knocking, Marshal Zhao."

"You have my words, Third Prince." Zhao Gongming made a fist-and-palm salute, almost jokingly. "For I'm not one to tattle, even if it means enduring Yunxiao's scolding alone. Now, what are the stakes for this game?"

…

After a brief discussion, the four had settled on using some unopened and unoffered snacks as their stakes. Which still didn't beat the gambling allegations, according to Nezha.

Well, it was better than betting all your belongings on a rigged game and losing them all, at least. And after watching a few rounds of their play, MK's only thought was Dang, if that goldfish demon chose this game back then, he wouldn't even need to cheat to wipe the floor with me.

"You know, if someone tells me I'll be watching the Great Sage, two celestial gods, and a ghost play Mahjong like old people at a community center during the first day of our vacation..." MK mumbled to himself, "I'll probably believe it, actually."

Despite having only the vaguest idea of the rules——whoever completed a set of certain tiles first won the game——and not getting any closer to understanding them, he was determined to keep watching.

If only because Sun Wukong winked at him right before tossing the dice and starting the round, and he was pretty sure it meant "Watch and learn, bud!" in a way that suggested the message went beyond a simple Mahjong game.

"What you are seeing now is not a typical day for most of us, if that makes you feel less disillusioned." Fan said, without looking up from the documents he was flipping through.

A while ago, the ghost had returned with a stack of them, and the papers were now floating around him in a ring, suspended by the dark blue glow of telekinesis. If that wasn't the most stylish way of doing paperworks, MK didn’t know what was.

"Uh, but I'm not?" MK said. "It's just…a lot less serious than I thought, this whole 'gods' business, and honestly, I'm not complaining! The Great Sage looks like he’s having a good time too."

Back on the table, Sun Wukong and Nezha yelled "Pong!" at the same time, then immediately glared at each other.

"Hey, I said that first!"

"That doesn’t matter, because you are cheating!" Nezha huffed. "It is impossible for two players to Pong at the same time unless someone has sneaked an extra tile in there while shuffling them, and we all know who that is."

"Well yeah, but I'm just evening the odds in a rigged game, Laodi." Sun Wukong said, eyeing Xie sharply. "For the sake of fairness, I'll allow you to cheat back too. How 'bout that?"

"Good grief, and I thought Master Taiyi was the most unabashed cheater I ever met on the table." Nezha took a deep breath and announced, "New battle objective: show the two cheaters who's boss, without lowering myself to their level."

"Well, this one can't blame the Great Sage for it. Two more turns, and he’ll claim the first win."

"Keep your visions to yourself, ghost!"

"Thanks a lot, Xiao Xie." Sun Wukong grinned. "That gives me even more reason to do it."

A few more turns, a few more clacks, and the monkey was left staring wordlessly at the table.

"Hey, what the heck! Your vision isn't right."

"This one's vision is always right. That, however, isn't one." Xie gave them an innocent look. "It's just the time-honored tactic of 'lying', friend."

"Serve you right for trusting him and cheating." Nezha snorted, before reaching out to claim the discarded tile.

"Why, ya' little——!"

"Credit where credit's due, that sure is a more entertaining use of precognition than the average Dipper Mansion chess game." Zhao Gongming commented, amidst the chaos. "I look forward to what you will bring to the table next, budding little wealth god."

"More bullshit, that's what he'll bring." Fan crossed his arms. "And he wonders why I don't play chess with him anymore."

"Well, I guess it could be worse." MK said. "They could be playing Monopoly."

"What's a Mono-poly?"

"A game that ruins friendships and turns family members against each other. Mei tried introducing her cousins to that during a New Year gathering." MK shuddered. "Some of them still won't talk to her."

"Sounds like it needs to be exorcized." Fan said, without a single hint that he was joking.

"Please don't."

MK kind of got the impression that he was the "by-the-book" cop of their buddy cop pair, who sounded serious whether he meant it or not, but maybe the kiddy soul would take things just that literally.

Sadly, his clarification ended up killing the conversation. For the next few moments, they just sat side-by-side, listening to the clacking of Mahjong tiles.

And the clacking had intensified, as the game picked up speed. Sun Wukong in particular was speeding up into a blur, fidgeting in his chair, using only one hand to move the tiles while juggling the same poor tangerine with the other.

Now, he was always in motion, gesturing as he talked, grabbing something or the other wherever they went. But the fidgeting had intensified to a point well beyond what MK was used to, which was making him fidgety too.

After a loud "Would you please stop that?" from Nezha, MK finally mustered enough courage to half-prod at Fan——and immediately drew his hand back! Wow, ghosts are freezing to the touch.

(Okay, he wasn't really touching anything solid, but it felt like reaching into a pocket of sub-zero-degree air, made even more jarring by the heat of summer.)

"Sorry sir, one question." MK asked. "I don't really have a good grip on the rules yet, but is the Great Sage in trouble now? Like, is he losing?"

"No idea. I'm not bored enough to watch and guess their sets." Fan said. "But if you are talking about his hyperactivity, that's not a result of panic."

"Then what’s he doing?"

"He's teaching you how to fight someone with precognition."

"By…acting like a wind-up toy?"

"On the surface level, yes." He answered. "How much do you know about divination?"

To pain.

No, not that one. MK shook his head wildly. "Next to nothing, I guess."

"Good. You aren't losing out on much." Fan said, before frowning. "I'd rather know less about it, but Xiao Xie just has to be an insufferable prick, so here we are. Essentially, think of Fate like a game of cards, or Mahjong, or whatever game of chance of your liking."

MK chuckled. The idea of Fate being a Uno game was quite a funny one, not gonna lie, if only because he'd get to figuratively shout "Reverse!" at someone.

"The Way is the ruleset, what is allowed and not allowed to happen. The winning and losing conditions. The cards and tiles are the individual events and outcomes, happening to a being as they draw them, one by one."

"To the Dipper Mansion celestials in charge of Fate, divination is like having your master's golden eyes and fiery vision. They can see through the cards and tiles, know what's on them instinctively, and are thus banned from playing, only able to shuffle and deal them out on the Celestial Host's orders."

Zhao Gongming's tiger, having jumped off its master's shoulder long ago, pawed at Sun Wukong's twitching tail. This only egged the monkey on, as they promptly began a game of 'catch my tail if you can' off the table.

"For some," he looked at Nezha, his face a mask of intense concentration, "it isn't so much divination as making snap-second, highly accurate guesses, aided by superb memorization skills. To the more unfortunate mortals, however, it's like seeing recordings of multiple games playing side-by-side, with no way of knowing which one is theirs."

"Lucky for my sworn brother and almost no one else, he can see snippets of a single recording, which just happens to be ours." Fan said. "It's also random, very short-reaching, and makes the part of his soul that bears the brunt of it into a kooky brat with no self-preservation instincts. But I've complained enough. Now that you know how his precognition works, what will you do to counter it?"

"Does not playing the game count?"

"A wise choice. But suppose you don't get to choose."

"I, uh." Think, smartie kid, think! What is the relationship between ultra-hyperactive monkey behavior and beating a ghost with future vision on the Mahjong table? (Oh geez, it's like that one question about ravens and writing desks in that foreign children's book again…)

"I guess I'll make myself, well, unpredictable and even more random?" He finally said, hesitantly.

"Not very specific, but you get the gist of it." Fan nodded. "Going back to my analogy, your master knows his opponent is making a random draw too, except each card he draws allows him to see others claiming or discarding a certain tile."

"So he decides to add more useless cards into the pool. False maneuvers, feints," Fan pointed to the tiger, still pawing at Sun Wukong’s tail, "Artificially creating another game on the side to divert the visions. Nothing can be a hundred percent predictable, not even literal future vision, and if only my partner realized that, he'd be a lot less annoying and not on the way to getting absolutely destroyed in this game."

"Wow. That's very clever and all, but should you really be telling me this?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I don't know much about the Underworld, outside of how Monkey King wrecked the place and scribbled him and his monkeys' name off the Book of Life and Death——" MK waved nervously, "No hard feelings 'bout that, ey? But if the Great Sage is teaching me how to counter you guys, does that mean you'll be going after us at some point in the future?"

"Technically, we'll be going after everyone who isn't an immortal or formally ranked celestial, sooner or later." Fan said. "Your master is firmly in the first category, and for you, that won't be in a long, long time, if it eases your worries."

"Yeah, no. Not at all. Thanks."

"You don't like ghosts very much, do you." He said, then, before MK could reply, added, "Which is fine. We don't like ourselves either."

"Uhhhh, don't be?" Oh gosh, was there really a way to word this without offending ghosts more? "It's not like I dislike you guys! Like, you and the other ghost cops seem pretty chill. It's just, y'know, a bit freaky, seeing the walking reminder of my inevitable mortality and all, ahahaha…"

"It is. And I won't tell you what to feel about that." Fan held up a finger, and the documents he had been reading were instantly sorted into neat little stacks in midair. "But if there is one thing you remember from our conversation, let it be this: no game lasts forever."

"One has to end in order for another to begin, and a game where no one wins or loses is gonna be a very boring one. We, officials of the Ten Courts, are but the keepers of scores, and you don't have to win in order to have fun while it lasts."

"Hu le." Zhao Gongming's calm voice cut through the chit-chat, followed by a light thud of him pushing the tiles over. "Four Kongs."

All eyes were immediately on him.

"By Buddha, Lao Zhao! No wonder you've been so quiet."

"Ugh!" Nezha facepalmed. "I was so close!" He shot a half-hearted glare at Sun Wukong. "This is all your fault, by the way. Without the extra tiles you snuck in there, he'd have never gotten such a rare combination."

"C'mon, maybe he's just that lucky?"

"Very enlightening." Xie hummed, handing over the bag of peach-flavored chips to Zhao. "This one knows he won't be winning the first round, but its certainly a great start!"

"And this is why you don't gamble with a literal, formally ranked, celestial god of wealth." Fan said, after a long, stunned silence. "Even when he isn't actively using his influence, for fairness's sake."

"He's not?"

"If he did, he'd just win every round, and there wouldn't be a game to speak of."

…

They stopped playing when the rain stopped, at which point the sun had already disappeared below the horizon. Zhao Gongming left halfway after getting an astral call from his sisters, shaking his head, giving MK the chance to finally join in.

Sun Wukong had stopped cheating after that——at least not as blatantly, if Nezha's words were to be believed. To MK, he just settled back into his old laid back attitude, which, in turn, made his own palms less sweaty as he faced off against the other two.

He still lost, badly, only barely managing a win at the very end. Not that it mattered, since Nezha had soundly kicked everyone's butts like he wanted, coming out at the top by a wide margin of three bags of chips and a single Tau Sar Piah.

"Let this be your lesson, Monkie Kid," he said, with a hint of childish glee, "That hard work, knowledge of statistics, and memorization skills will always triumph over luck and a bunch of cheating clowns."

"Ah well. I'll let you have your moment, Laodi, since it's pretty much the only fight you can win against me." Sun Wukong responded with a cheeky smile, then tore open his bag of chips and started munching loudly on them.

"Yes, keep telling yourself that. Maybe you'll actually start believing in it." Nezha smirked, before standing up from his chair. "I'll just be over here, basking in the glow of victory and trying to not run into my brother on the way back——"

As if on cue, a shout came from outside.

"GREETINGS! This Hui An pays his respect to the City God and his attendants!"

"Annnnnd there goes my good mood." Nezha muttered. A formation started glowing under his feet. "Goodbye. If anyone asks, I've never been here."

Almost immediately after he disappeared in a blaze of pink fire, the speaker outside with the loud, booming, megaphone-against-your-ears voice marched through the doorway.

"Oh. Hi there, Muzha."

"HI THERE, as the younger generation says these days!" The tall man replied cheerfully. The dangling green ties on his hair bun were swaying back and forth, as he made a bow.

"Heard you yelling into Lady Guanyin's statue a while ago, Great Sage, so I decided to pay a visit. Is my brother here too? Longnü said she saw you two flying together, while weaving the storm clouds with her kins."

"Well, in Nezha's exact words, 'If anyone asks, I've never been here'." Sun Wukong shrugged. "So no, he is not here."

"Ah. Embarrassed, I see!" He exclaimed, making his way to the Mahjong table and staring down at the tiles. "He really shouldn't be, though. By my religious vows, I'm supposed to refrain from such worldly pass-times, but that doesn't mean I'm going to be preachy about it!"

Now MK was starting to have an idea of what "Too much" meant. Namely, his complete lack of volume control.

"Well, looks like I've dropped by at a rather inopportune time, so I won't keep you fellows any longer, Great Sage. Thanks for keeping my little brother company, though——"

His sight met MK's, and only then did Muzha seem to notice his presence. "And DEAR ME! Is that your new disciple I've heard so much about? A pleasure to meet you too, young one!"

He reached out for a handshake. MK made the mistake of taking it, and immediately winced.

"Oww, owww——Nice to meet you too?!"

"Please stop crashing my disciple's hand, Muzha."

"Sorry, sorry!" He laughed, releasing his iron grip at last. "It's just so wonderful to see the juniors coming into their own, I get a bit carried away. Still, this acolyte looks forward to working with you in the days to come!"

"Man, we are busy here today, aren't we?" Xie commented, just as the overly cheerful and loud immortal made a turn and headed for the backdoor. "So many visitors. Not that this one is complaining."

"...Yeah." MK agreed, after awkwardly waving Muzha goodbye.

Well, one thing was certain: godhood internship or not, he'd sure have one hell of a story to tell once he got back home.

#lego monkie kid #lmk fanfic #lmk fanfiction #lmk sun wukong #lmk mk #lmk nezha #original characters #lmk ocs #contest entry #the author has never played mahjong before #jttw discord summer contest #muzha

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jontycrane · 2 years ago

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City to Sea Walkway

The most varied of Wellington’s six walkways, the City to Sea Walkway is a wonderful day walk between Wellington CBD and the south coast through 14 parks and reserves, cemeteries, botanic gardens, and golf courses, with plenty of history and some stunning views. It it well marked with yellow poles, and overlaps with a couple of walkways in places. It starts at Bolton St Cemetery, demarcated in…

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#Berhampore Golf Course #Bolton St Cemetery #Central Park #City to Sea Walkway #day hike #day walk #Hike #Island Bay #Mount St Cemetery #Nairn St Cottage #photography #Shortland Park #Tawatawa Reserve #Te Rauparaha and Te Rangihaeata #travel #Victoria University #Walk #Wellington #wellington walk

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destiny-aesthetics · 6 months ago

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LORE: THE GARDEN-WAY

2. Fields (2/6)

This being the recollection of Irrha of the House of Slayers, apprentice to the Baron Kiiraskes.

Kiiraskes stank strongly of sea-grass and sunsoak root [1]. I took care to sit toward the front of the watercraft, but the odor wrestled powerfully against the wind. I did my best to focus on the task I had been given, which was to mix the contents of three flasks into a fourth. I prided myself on the steadiness of my hands, and the work was not so difficult that I couldn't steal glimpses of our route. We followed the river as it skirted the sprawling residential districts, then turned and cut toward the listing sun. I watched the crowds thin as canal-side markets gave way to orderly arrays of residential towers and aerial traffic, then to radiating lines of transport arterials, waterways, and roads, connecting each of Riis's great cities to one another in a shimmering network. We passed lines of pilgrims making their way to the site where the Great Machine first came to Riis, the hill at the heart of Riis-Ath- Lodrii. I saw high priests of the House of Dancers, devoted clerics who gorge themselves past satiation on Ether until they tower above their peers, then amputate their lower arms in ritual supplication to the Great Machine. It was strange to see those shambling giants. But there was something awe-inspiring in it. The shuffling march of hundreds, unified in purpose. Kiiraskes followed my gaze, then spat audibly into the water. "Fanaticism is what landed us in the wars. Fanaticism, pride, and Ether-thirst." I looked at her. "You were in the Edge Wars?" Kiiraskes hissed. "I have no war stories for you, hatchling." She gestured toward the flasks. "If this is serious, you should be prepared." "And if it truly is only an animal?" "You should still learn how to mix a tonic on the go. Don't drop that." The farms of the House of Rain were among the most splendid on all of Riis, and the quadrant assigned to Baron Haaksis was no exception. There were great swathes of forest, carefully hemmed and controlled, arranged neatly around crop fields. It could not have been done without the machines. Baron Haaksis had a fleet of them: small, autonomous drones that moved about planting, harvesting, and measuring Ether uptake. The sound of their toil was that of wind across grassland. A thousand small tasks undertaken without rest or complaint. For all this, the farm was strangely absent of workers. There should have been at least a few machine-tenders, monitoring the proceedings and providing maintenance and direction. Nor did any guards come to meet us as I lashed the watercraft to the dock. We stepped out onto sun-fed walkways braced by beautiful, leafy plants. Kiiraskes pointed to the bags of supplies, and in my eagerness to prove my strength, I gathered all of them. They were very heavy, and by the time I managed to follow Kiiraskes to Haaksis' doorstep, I felt as if I were pinned to the earth.

Considering the lush abundance that surrounded it, the round building where Haaksis kept his office was sparse and joyless. The sole decoration was two twin sets of blades he kept on one wall: a memento of the Edge Wars. I had seen dozens like them throughout my upbringing, only some of them genuine. More interesting was the drone on his desk, which Haaksis seemed to be in the process of repairing. It was a hybrid reconnaissance- defense drone called a "Shank," the kind that became popular during the war. Not many Eliksni still possessed them in peacetime. But such an interest suited a noble like Haaksis. Haaksis was dressed in the rich hues of Rain. He was of a height with Kiiraskes, if slighter in build, and stiff in his bearing. I bowed low and formally, feeling the weight of my House-less status. Kiiraskes reached out and lifted me bodily upright by the carapace with no more difficulty than she might have plucked a flowering plant. "I sent for Slayers," Haaksis said. He looked at me, and I felt my shell itch. Kiiraskes spread her hands, untroubled. "So we've come. The House of Judgment mentioned an animal." "No. I told them... I told them many times. This is not an animal," Haaksis said. At his sides, his claws clenched into fists, one after the other. "It is an old evil." I looked up at Kiiraskes but found no sign of her thoughts. Her mandibles clicked quietly. "You've seen it?" Haaksis sagged then, as if already weary of conversation. "It attacked my people. I tried to recover the bodies, but... And then the House of Judgment took its time-" "Do you know where it is now?" "No. Nothing can hide on this farm without the sensors tracking it. The forest tracts are just as well-tended. But there is a Garden- Way [2], between... we were letting that grow, re-wild for a few cycles..." "We'll track it down," Kiiraskes said. "Tell me where the bodies are." I felt relieved to hear her speak of us as "we." But the feeling didn't last long. Even as he brought up the displays and maps to guide Kiiraskes, Haaksis kept staring in my direction, and I realized he did not expect me to survive. _____________________ [1. Sea-grass seems straightforward enough, but I found few other references to "sunsoak root." Does it absorb Light?] [2. A space around farmland where the local flora and fauna are left to grow naturally. These were carefully maintained, so you couldn't really call them wild.]

#destiny 2 #bungie #lore

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stockcarbaby24 · 3 months ago

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Loscar 1, 9, 31, 37, 53 for the writing game! They can be separate prompts or you can combine some which ever you want! 😊

Anon I'm so sorry this took so long, and it's literally just one prompt answered so far. I went on my vacation and proceeded to catch the plague (a horrendous sinus infection), so I've been flattened for like a week straight. Finally coming back to finish this thing I started for you before I was ravaged by mucus and under so much dayquil and antibiotics I couldn't think straight.

Stay healthy kids.

Writing Game

53. Wings/supernatural body features

“Come on, come on,” Oscar urged, feet sliding across the rocks below with grace.

“Just- wait, slow down, mate. I can’t see anything.” Logan’s disembodied voice floated from somewhere behind Oscar, but he wasn’t looking to stop any time soon, barreling ahead as only someone familiar with the path could.

The stars twinkled above their heads, always a sight to behold this far out of the city, and the constant pull of the ocean filled their ears with a steady, comforting repetition. Oscar hopped from one rock to the next, the walkway a memory burned into his brain from all his trips as a child. His phone illuminated the path behind him for Logan, while he scurried ahead, making sure everything was exactly as it had been last summer when he had been out this way.

Logan made a noise, foot almost slipping out from under him, but as Oscar was flipping around to make sure he was alright- blinding him with the flashlight in the process- Logan was already steadying himself on the bluff’s edge. “Fine, fine- I'm good.”

Oscar still held out a hand for him to hop over the craggy little crop of pebbles, the blond wordlessly taking it. If their fingers stay entwined longer than was strictly necessary, well, who would see but the moonlight above.

“My mum found this place when she was surfing once.” Oscar said, still just effortlessly guiding them along. “She started bringing me and my sisters around cause it was closed off from tourists. Seems like the best place to just sort of… you know.”

Oscar let himself trail off. On the one hand he was confident about the space he'd found them, but still not confident in everything about to happen. This was Logan's world, Logan showing parts to Oscar he never had before.

No pressure.

Their feet hit the sand, solid and harder than the soft, curated sand by the main area of the beach. Oscar led them a little closer to the creeping tide, a big collection of rocks still near this part of the beach, giving them a place they could sit.

“So, yeah,” Oscar said for lack of anything else. His fingers released Logan’s and he taped his phone’s light off to bathe them in the light of the moon instead. Putting it in his back pocket he nervously looked up at the other. Logan looked much calmer than Oscar felt, his eyes looking darker under the stars than under lights of a track. It felt new and exciting to be out here with him like this.

Oscar licked at his lips feeling uncharacteristically nervous. “You uhh… well,” he gestured dramatically towards the sea. “There’s your ocean then for you, mate.”

The clear nervousness made Logan laugh at least, which in turn helped Oscar relax just a touch.

Right, this was just Logan, for god's sake. Logan wasn’t gonna freak out… and neither should he.

“Can you turn around?” Logan cleared his throat. “I need to, um, you know, get undressed.”

“Oh! Yeah,” Oscar whipped around, hiding the way the apples of his cheeks turned dark. “Of course I wasn’t- Yeah just tell me when I can look or when you’re-” The rustling behind him, made his brain fuzz over. They hadn’t quite yet gotten to that level in their relationship yet so the thought of Logan behind him just… Oscar squeezed his eyes shut as if that didn’t somehow make the images his brain was painting even more vivid.

The sound of Logan’s belt clinging, metal against metal, made his eyes fly open again and Oscar held his breath for a fraction of a second. What if they did something else here instead of…

But just as quickly there was a very loud splash that followed that stray thought, and Oscar let himself turn to see he was alone in the darkness.

Taking a few nervous steps forward, Oscar accidently kicked at Logan’s discarded clothing realizing he was well and truly alone on the sand now. He looked to the waves, swallowing the worries and questions back; Logan knew what he was doing.

After what felt like an hour crawled past- it was maybe a minute really- Oscar let himself move closer to the moonlit water. He climbed up over a few of the smaller rocks, sitting on one of the bigger, flatter ones that had been worn down over time. “Logan?” he called, albeit quietly.

Nothing.

“Logan, are you still here?” Oscar asked louder this time to hopefully be heard over the rolling of the tides, but nothing came back to him. He looked away, wondering if Logan had gone further out… when suddenly a hand grabbed his bare calf.

Oscar tried not to scream, instead just making an embarrassing noise and looking down in shock to find two bright green, inhuman eyes glowing up at him. Oscar sucked a breath back in, not able to help the way his mouth hung open in awe as he took in Logan below him.

His blond hair, dark from the water, was slicked back, showing off the way his ears came to sharp points beside his head and connected to his jaw with a smattering of shining emerald scales. His arms were dotted with the same patches of rough skin, er, Oscar supposed not skin as it was… But none of that mattered as he came face to face with the tip of a long tail poking out of the surface behind Logan.

“Fuck…” he managed, staring in wonder.

“That weird?” Logan asked, sounding perfectly normal, unchanged. Even though he was very much changed from the boy Oscar had been racing with for years.

“No,” Oscar finally made himself say. “Just… I knew, I mean you told me, but… seeing it is different, yeah?”

Logan’s face could still blush- the other cutely looking down to the water before him. “Yeah I get it.” His hand was still holding Oscar’s leg, wet fingers tracing soft patterns into his flesh. “Just… wanted to show you all of me.”

When Logan had first told Oscar he was a merperson, Oscar hadn’t believed him for about three seconds until he registered the genuine fear and terror in Logan’s eyes. And Oscar never questioned it after.

Logan was a merman. Okay. Sure, why not?

Seeing him like this though… so beautiful and so naturally wading in the dark waves…

Yeah. Now Oscar got it.

“Is it deep enough for you?” he asked, stupefied. When Logan cocked his head a little- made extra cute by those new little ears, oh, Oscar was doomed- he forced out something that made more sense. “The water isn’t too shallow here is it?”

“It’s fine. It’s not too deep but-”

But Logan was cut off as Oscar slithered his way down off the rock, leaving only his phone behind as his head plummeted under the surface. Strong hands immediately helped force Oscar back upright to resurface in the right direction. He only spit a little salt water in his partner's face as a result.

“What are you doing?” Logan asked and this close Oscar could see the way his canines had gotten just the slightest bit more defined. His skin was tinged with more emerald and aqua this close as well. Now Oscar was the one cocking his head just slightly, taking in all that was this new side of Logan.

“Oscar?”

“You’re gorgeous, you know that right?” he blurted back.

Maybe part of it was just how much Logan had changed over the last year and a half. Separated from Oscar now that they weren’t together in F3, but still always finding ways to creep into each other's lives when they could. Every time Oscar turned back to him Logan was getting more and more handsome, while Oscar still felt like a lumpy teenager by comparison. Seeing him like this now was just downright unfair.

Logan’s cheeks reddened again. He was always susceptible to praise, a feature Oscar had noticed way back when they first met, but now he was happy to abuse whenever he could. “Shut up, mate…”

“Have you seen yourself like this?” Oscar’s hand tentatively reached out, hesitated, and then he finally let himself brush against the thin, translucent ears. They were softer than Oscar could have dreamed, even as they tapered into the scales along Logan’s cheek. “Jesus, Logan, you’re beautiful.”

Suddenly the bottom part of Logan’s new form brushed against Oscar’s leg’s. He gasped at the rough feel- how strong and steady it swished through the water around them both. For a moment he thought Logan was going to bring it around Oscar, but he just kept a steady rhythm of moving it back and forth, back and forth.

Logan tucked his chin down. “Thanks… I’m glad you- I mean I’m happy you’re okay with this.”

“Of course mate. I mean, can’t say I wasn’t surprised and all but… I lo-like all of you, Logan.” Oscar swallowed, hoping his near confession got carried out to sea. Logan might have been brave enough to lay himself completely bare to Oscar tonight, but selfishly Oscar wasn’t quite ready yet. Even as his hand clutched at Logan’s bare, seakissed shoulder, and his legs brushed against his true self below the waters… Oscar wanted them a little closer before he handed over his own heart.

If Logan did notice, he buried it behind his smile. “I like all of you too Oscar,” he murmured, hands framing Oscar’s wet hips, and fingers dancing just slightly below the hem of his shirt. Logan pushed enough to get Oscar’s back lined with the rock he’d been on, and bent forward until their lips brushed. They pressed together, Oscar returning the smile as he wrapped his arms around Logan’s neck to draw him in. The salt on their lips tasted just like the ocean, and Oscar wondered if he’d ever be able to think of anything else when he kissed Logan now.

#loscar #writing tag #ask game #logan sargeant #oscar piastri #thank you for the ask!#i fear i love this dearly even if it's just a bunch of fluff weeeh

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gumnut-logic · 7 months ago

Text

John Tracy hated taking public transport.

He hated the cramped seats, the invasion of his personal space, the fact the bus stopped every few minutes to pick up more passengers and the noise.

It was stressful, annoying and far too full of people.

But the astrolabs were too far from the dorm to hike it or bike it, so bus it was.

He mapped out the most direct route, left early to avoid the crowds and handled it the best he could. Earphones helped and he never travelled without his tablet and a network connection.

He made do.

He made do for over a year. Every morning and every night.

The work was fascinating and he thoroughly enjoyed it. He considered getting a car, but it wasn’t practical and parking was non-existent, so he stuck with the bus.

Despite the fact he hated it.

Every trip he buried himself in his own world whether it be his work, research, a good book or even a movie. He shut the world out and more importantly anyone who sat next to him.

Sometimes this was not possible.

Because sometimes they spoke to him.

John had been brought up polite. His grandmother would have slapped his wrist if she found out he was ignoring people. So, he always replied. Often concisely, but always watching his manners.

That often opened the floodgates. Because if there was anything common between big cities it was the people who were lost in them, desperately alone in a sea of faces.

John liked being alone to a certain extent, but he was blessed with a close and large family.

Some people had no one.

So, ever so reluctantly, he found himself answering their call for help.

The first was Mrs Bucklin. She was a tiny woman, well dressed, but slightly scented with mothballs as if her clothes hadn’t been out of the closet in a long time.

She sat right beside him and immediately enquired as to what he was doing.

At the time he was coding a new game and her sharp voice startled him enough for his fingers to slip and enter a chain of commands he had not intended. He would have sworn if he was alone, but the program righted itself and the new commands, instead of corrupting and crashing the function, actually appeared to improve it. He frowned and hastily input some bridging structures so the code wouldn’t fragment, idly wondering if the error would improve the game, ruin it, have him need to rewrite the whole section or be the spark that would initiate sentience.

Great, his tablet would rise up and eat him while he was distracted by a random bus passenger.

She did apologise and he did reassure her that it was all okay in the hope she would let him be.

She didn’t.

He learnt she had three cats, a niece in another country (he didn’t gather which because the woman’s pronunciation defied translation), that she had lost her son in the Global Conflict, she liked his hair (that was a first) and that he looked like an intelligent young man.

He acknowledged her quietly and politely as he eyed his code and the results of an initial compile test. How did it do that?

Her cats were named Scottie, Gordy and Allie.

He did blink at that, but didn’t comment.

Eventually, she said goodbye and got off the bus at her stop.

He would have forgotten about her, except she sat next to him the next day and the day after that.

Apparently, this was her route to work, and he was such a polite young man.

Three weeks later she admitted he made her feel safe just by being there. She had been mugged three times in her life and public transport was as much a bane for her as it was for him.

He actively kept an eye out for her after that.

Gus was a different matter.

Gus didn’t have a home and he often rode the bus just for the air conditioning and comfort.

He sat on the other side of the walkway to John. He didn’t say much and would likely have never said anything if it hadn’t been for the gang of boys who decided to throw verbal potshots at him one day.

John had had an all-nighter with exams coming up, so he was cranky. His latest project had stalled – the same game he had been tackling when Mrs Bucklin had startled him. The core of the program had become a little unpredictable and he couldn’t work out why.

So, when a group of teenagers crawled to the back of the bus and started needling a fellow passenger, it was not only a situation where the innocent man appeared to need a bit of a rescue, but it also pissed John off.

There were four of them. Teenagers flocked in groups apparently. He’d never been one for that formation himself, but he knew of them, had encountered them and Virgil had kicked a few of their asses for him.

John was in college now.

He could kick his own fair share of ass quite happily.

“Leave the man alone, or I will call the police.” He raised his voice, but not his head, transmitting all the body language of how beneath his notice they were and how he might respond if they didn’t comply.

“Mind your own business, kook!”

There was always a brave one amongst the group, usually the ringleader, the head dickhead.

At least they were only teenagers.

This time he did look up and put all that communication theory into the coldest stare possible. “Excuse me?”

All four of them froze. Hell, they couldn’t be older than fifteen, somewhere between Gordy and Alan. If either of his brothers acted like this, there were three older brothers who would quite firmly re-educate them on proper conduct.

Not that he thought either of his younger brothers would do such a thing.

In any case, all four of them stared at him wide-eyed. The eldest swore and climbed out of his seat just as the bus pulled up at the next stop. He snarled at John as he stalked past, spitting profanities. His cohorts followed and they climbed off the bus.

It was lovely and quiet after that and John went back to tackling his misbehaving program.

“Thank you, sir.”

John blinked up at the unkempt man who had been the centre of the teenagers’ torment.

A small smile. “You’re welcome.”

Was this variable being changed by the program itself? How the hell could it do that?

He didn’t fail to notice after that incident that Gus, as he introduced himself the next time they met, always sat near John on his rides, morning or evening.

John met other people. Mrs Magarey and her three young children always needed a hand with her pram. John sometimes took advantage of this and stuck the pram in the footwell of the seat next to him so no-one could sit there.

That made Mrs Bucklin sit behind him and whisper her stories in his ear.

He wasn’t sure if he was comfortable with that either.

Two other students from his faculty took the same bus as well. Ridley was in the year behind him and always had a friend on the phone. She chattered a lot and he learnt to tune her out.

Well, until the day he boarded the bus and found her crying into her tablet.

She had lost her entire thesis in a computer crash. He was polite. He enquired and she answered, staring up at him as if she had never seen him before. Which was entirely possible. John didn’t like to draw attention to himself.

He accompanied her off the bus that day and delved into her damaged computer. He dug up her thesis and she gushed all over him, even crying into his sweater.

He hugged her awkwardly and wished her all the best.

After that, she always said hello and had a smile for him.

John smiled back, but his program was still not behaving. It acted as if it had a mind of its own and it was very distracting.

Mrs Bucklin said it sounded like cat number two, Gordy. Never behaving, but always loveable.

John stared at her when she said that, and wondered if she knew more than she was letting on.

The day Virgil landed in the seat beside him on the way to the labs startled him enough to drop his tablet.

“Hey, Johnny.”

He fumbled between the seats for the device. “Don’t call me Johnny.”

“Sorry.” But he could tell Virgil was anything but.

His fingers touched the cool metal of his tablet and he scrabbled for it. “What are you doing here?”

“Can’t a brother drop in on his brother to see how he is doing?”

John eyed him. If it was Scott sitting next to him or Gordon, he might have been suspicious of any double meaning his brother might be communicating. But this was Virgil and although the engineer had a sense of humour that could cut when necessary, this wasn’t his style.

“I guess he can. But why the bus?”

Virgil shrugged. “Didn’t catch you early enough. Barely caught the bus behind you. I thought your classes didn’t start until later.”

“They don’t.”

“Then why are you up so early?”

It was John’s turn to shrug. “Just avoiding the crowds, I guess.”

Virgil eyed him with a slightly worried frown.

“And who is this lovely young man who has taken my seat?”

Oh god.

Virgil stared up at Mrs Bucklin as she bustled in to sit behind them.

An internal sigh. “Mrs Bucklin, this is my brother Virgil.”

“Your brother?” She eyed Virgil as if inspecting him for sale. “Doesn’t look like you at all. Where’s the red hair?”

Virgil arched a dark eyebrow.

“Nevertheless, Mrs Bucklin, Virgil is my older brother.”

“Then how come we haven’t met before? You’ve been travelling this route for a year now and we haven’t seen hide or hair of him.” She continued to glare at Virgil as if he was a threat.

Virgil was shifting in his seat, his expression decidedly wary.

“Virgil has been assisting my father on a project. He’s an engineer. I’m unsure what he is doing here right now.”

“Hmph, well, in my opinion, he should have been here earlier.” She addressed Virgil directly. “Did you know your sweet little brother has been a bastion of this bus route, defending and assisting all?”

What?

John’s head shot up. “Mrs Bucklin-“

“Don’t you go all humble pie on me, young man. I saw what you did to those teenagers and how you help young Mollie every week. That girl is going to work herself into an early grave. And poor Gus, you’ve given him a new reason to try. Did you know he has enrolled himself in a course? Got himself a grant from the government and everything. Got help from that employment assistance group. Not to mention that doe-eyed young student who stares at you with love hearts floating about her head. I don’t know what you did for her, but I have no doubt she would do anything for you if you asked.” She turned back to Virgil, accusation in her eyes. “Why haven’t you been looking after your brother?”

Virgil’s wide eyes darted between John and the older woman.

John had no idea what to say.

“Well?” Mrs Bucklin’s glare was determined.

“Ah-“

“Is this man harassing you?”

John looked up to see Gus looming over Virgil.

You know, the Virgil who lifted weights that weighed more than his brothers on a daily basis.

John frowned. Gus had a new coat on and was looking much healthier than the last time he paid attention. “No, Gus. This is my older brother Virgil.”

And Virgil was subjected to another staring glare. “Doesn’t look like your brother.”

What?!

“I can assure you that he is indeed my caring older brother and he is not neglecting me in any way.”

Gus grunted, still glaring at Virgil. He nodded in John’s direction. “Make sure he eats more. He’s too skinny.”

That started Mrs Bucklin off again. “My goodness, yes. John you do not eat enough. Have you tried any of those recipes I recommended?”

Gus was still eyeing Virgil.

Virgil appeared to be regretting several recent life choices.

“I’m fine, Mrs Bucklin.” He raised his hands. “And both of you, Virgil is not responsible for my wellbeing.”

His tablet beeped. A glance and he found a text message from Ridley. You okay over there?

He looked up and found her at the other end of the bus staring back at him worriedly.

A sigh.

A flick of his fingers. I’m fine.

He turned back to Virgil who was literally cornered, only for his tablet to chime again.

You free tonight?

Oh, for the love of-

“Guys, Virgil is my big brother. He looks after me. He cares. I’m fine. He’s here for a visit. I don’t know why yet. Stop glaring at him.”

Gus grunted again and wandered off to his seat. He didn’t stop eyeing John’s brother for a second.

Mrs Bucklin let off a slightly miffed sound before leaning back in her seat. “He better. Or I have a mind to bring Scottie with me next time. Or maybe Gordy. To teach him a lesson.”

What the hell?

“No need, Mrs Bucklin. I assure you.”

Virgil was staring at John as if he wasn’t sure what planet he was on.

John sighed.

Yeah, he hated public transport.

It was stressful, annoying and far too full of people.

His tablet pinged again. This time it was the program he was working on. It was claiming it was dawn despite the fact the sun had risen an hour ago. He let out an exasperated hiss.

Virgil was still staring at him.

Damn public transport.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #john tracy #nuttyfic reblog #because I quite like this one #and because it is Johnny's birthday today #I should write a sequel #I vaguely remember thinking about one in the past #goes looking through writing book #Happy birthday Johnny

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kingofthe-egirls · 2 years ago

Text

SUN GOD AU: LUFFY x Y/N (part 2)

part 1

originally requested by @braini-wiz

(cw: food mention/eating, holding hands, reader is a sun priestess that can't see sun god luffy, sorta spoilers post wano, slight gear 5 silliness, smut is still yet to come)

(a/n: sorry it's all plot)

words: 1.4k

Sun god Nika holds your hand all the way to the city’s shopping district. He stamps along next to you, his sandaled feet (you assume) leaving imprints in the sandy roads.

“Still can’t see me?” He asks curiously, squeezing at your hand. His palm is warm and strong around yours. His hand is so much bigger.

You squint your eyes, trying to make out the shape of his form next to you. “Still can’t see ya,” you confirm. “Is that strange?”

He shifts; you can hear the rustling of his clothes as he moves. He whines, as if he’s thinking of something he can’t quite place. Like a word he’s forgetting but can almost taste. “Sorta? Usually priestesses can see me right away.”

You stare down as dust kicks up around your feet. “Sorry,” you say.

Your voice is quiet, shy.

Ashamed.

Luffy tugs on your arm.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, slowing his pace. The sunshine filters blue through the shadow of olive trees, as you trudge downhill towards the city. The sun temple sits atop a rocky incline, facing over the sea.

Grassy tufts of shrubbery line the walkway, with an olive grove foresting the western side.

You stare at the shoreline, sapphirine and gold as it sparkles beneath the setting sun. The olives are still unripe: small and caterpillar green.

This city has always hated you.

You shake your head.

“Sorry I can’t be a better priestess,” you say, adrift. Your feet scuff the ground as you walk. It’s something you’ve always known: that you don’t have any spiritual gifts. Or any gifts at all, really.

Luffy stops, tugging at your hand.

You stumble, but gasp as you feel his strong hand steady you by the stomach. His palm presses flat against your abdomen; his fist curls in the soft fabric of your chiton.

Your blood runs hot beneath his touch. And maybe that’s not just because he’s the sun god, but you push that thought away for later.

“Stop that,” he says, voice suddenly low and serious. His breath is steamy, hot on your face as you suppose he leans closer. You squeeze your eyes shut, fighting against stinging tears.

“S-stop what, master?”

He scoffs. “First off,” his index finger pokes your forehead. Your eyes spring open, staring at the space in front of you with a frown. “Stop calling me master. And second,” he squeezes your shoulder, his hand leaving your stomach. It feels cold without him. But then he’s leaning in even closer, the weight and press and heat of this man who's also a god standing in front of you, smiling at you (for you hear it in his voice) is all just so much.

“Stop saying you’re no good.”

You blink.

That’s not what you thought he was going to say.

“Excuse me?”

He starts walking again, the soft pat-pats of his sandals scuffing down the hilly sand. He stretches out, his limb's elastic space roping between you, before suddenly you’re shooting through the air and crash landing into his invisible embrace.

“What the fuck—?!”

He snickers, straight into your face, before smooching your cheek once again. But this time, you don’t feel fear. You feel brave.

You stop breathing for a second, holding air in your lungs as you lift your fingers to where you think his face might be. You feel squishy skin (cheeks?) and then the slope of his smile. Your fingers brush against his teeth, and you grin. “You smile wide,” you say, staring at nothing but feeling his smile.

“Shishishi!”

He snickers in answer, and starts trotting back down the hill towards the city. His steps turn to leaps, turn to bounds, and then you’re screaming in delight as you fly through the air. He sets you down once you reach the city gates.

****

Sighing, you set down the woven basket of goods you’d shopped for at the marketplace. You’d bargained with butchers for the best prices, the freshest goods, and the most succulent cuts of meat. Sun god Luffy seems to be pleased.

He hovers over your shoulder, somehow suspended in midair.

“Shishishi,” he snickers, poking at the paper-wrapped packages. “Let’s eat!”

You swat his hands away as the paper folds beneath his divine touch. Except you don’t know where his hands are, so it turns into you just swatting the air above the basket with two hands and a scowl on your face. You stamp your foot.

“Stop that! We have to cook it, first.”

He sighs, all dramatic, while a slide whistle sounds as he presumably sinks to the floor. You snort. “You’re silly,” you decide, stepping around the sounds of his pouts and whines. You heft the basket onto your hip, and start heading down the stone hallway to your kitchen.

It’s a simple space, all whitewashed and clean as you place the basket atop the wooden counter space. You drizzle the counter in olive oil, and start unwrapping the meat.

****

It’s a little while, before the food is ready to eat.

Sun god Nika has been busying himself by poking all around your living space. He’s knocked over seven candles, three sconces, and at least one marble statue (of himself).

The cracked-off head now sits on the altar, haphazard and ridiculous atop the golden offering dish.

You sigh, wiping your hands on a dish rag. The meat is sizzling, spiced and greasy as it pops in the skillet you’ve set over the hearth’s flames.

“S’ready yeeeet?” Luffy whines out, sinking to his knees again as he tugs on your dress. The pink chiffon crinkles under sightless fists.

“Stop acting like a baby,” you complain, swatting your hands through the air again to try and disconnect his hold from your skirt. “But yes, it’s ready.”

Luffy yelps in delight, the floorboards squeaking under his feet as he speeds to the stove. He grabs a steak—it lifts by itself—and devours it in one gulp. You watch it disappear.

“So good!!!”

He cheers, before starting to devour the next piece of meat. You smile, despite yourself, and reach for a piece yourself.

****

Later, when you’re both full and happy, you sit outside the temple’s back entrance, watching white stars pinprick through the violet sky.

“S’beautiful,” he sighs, reclining on the grassy hill next to you.

You tear a handful of soft emerald blades between your hands.

“So…stupid.”

You admit without thinking.

Luffy stops, the sound of his breathing paused as the air stills. “What makes ya say that?” He asks.

You sprinkle the torn up grass back onto the ground. You stare at the stains it leaves behind on your fingers. “It’s so restrictive,” you confess, “I wanted to become a sailor, but women aren’t supposed to do that,” you scrunch your face in disgust. Luffy stays quiet as he listens to you vent. He’s the only one who’s listened to you speak in a long, long while.

Priestess life is lonely.

“So I started training as a priestess instead,” you prop your chin in both hands, curling forward over your crossed legs. Your leather sandals are scuffed, at the soles. “Since no one wanted to marry me,” you sigh, “This was my only other option. Unless, of course,” you smile wryly, “I wanted to be a prostitute. At least that way I could own land.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep.”

“Stupid.”

“That's what I said!” You say, exasperated as you lift your hands just to drop them back onto your lap. Silence stretches between you, until another spark of courage shoots through your belly. Slowly, you reach an arm over to where Luffy’s voice has been coming from. You can see the dip in the grass where he sits. Your hand alights upon his knee. “Sun god temple isn’t so bad, though.”

“What’s…not so bad about it?” He asks hopefully, a slight rasp in his heavenly voice. You shrug, snaking your fingers through his own.

“I get to spend most of my time alone,” you say, “So I can sort of do whatever I want. Except leave.”

Luffy stays silent for a moment.

“Wanna come with me?”

Stillness.

“I’m sorry, what?”

He squeezes your hand, his divinity warm and safe beside you.

“I said, d’ya wanna come with me?”

You stare at the space where your hand rests a foot above the grass. “Come with you…where?”

He squeezes, once.

“Heaven!”

****

#dumpster dive #my writing #one piece fanfic #luffy fanfic #luffy x reader #luffy x y/n #luffy comfort #luffy fluff #sun god au #gear 5 spoilers #op spoilers

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beanibon · 2 years ago

Text

Play Me

Context: reader is a performer, often singing in bars with hired bands.

TW: Mentions of stalking, reader getting harassed be sleazy patrons, Virgin!Knives (man does not know how to fuck to save his life), oral (both receiving), breeding kink, creampie, overstimulation, knife play, rough sex, marking

JuLai was as lively as ever once night fell, the streets were packed with food vendors, the occasional stall still open for browsing, and streets filled to the brim of people. It was like any other night really, except for the additional drunks that roamed a little longer.

You wouldn't have it any other way, this was the JuLai you had become accustomed to. As you walked to your gig, heels clacking against the walkway, you smiled brightly. You thrived as performer in such a busy city, drinking in the fame and fortune it brought every night.

As you rounded a familiar corner, greeting the bouncer at the 'Staff Only' entrance, you slipped inside giving friendly 'hellos' to the band. Another perk of the job was the constant chance to communicate with people, whether it be employers, patrons, or personal clients, you adored the opportunity to make new friends and employers that would hire you again.

You lingered a little longer around the pianist, engaging in an extended greeting with him as you admired the instrument. A giddy excitement bubbled inside your heart, the beautiful instrument was by far a favourite, the music carrying each performance. This bar had an especially beautiful piano, the silver laced keys glistened in the stage lights, it was a favourite among the bars who had more simple designs.

When it came to your scheduled performance, you smiled brightly as it began, looking out into the sea of bar patrons. Some you recognised, others new, yet there was one that caught your attention more than the rest.

The hooded man seemed to prefer the quieter corners of the bar, he'd never order anything, no drinks, food or anything. He'd simply sit alone, watching you from his secluded corner.

Each time you attempted to approach the man after your performances, he'd disappear. It was as if he never existed, just a shadow in a pitch black room.

Tonight you swore, that you'd finally catch him before he left, you were determined.

At the end of your last song, you draped your body over the piano, the dress you were revealing a significant portion of your legs. It seemed to have gained the attention of your mysterious admirer, who tensed at the sight, averting his gaze soon after. It was reaction you wanted, a sly smirk crawling it's way onto you face.

However what you didn't expect was the abrupt way he left, sliding the chair back, leaving without a single word to anyone. You couldn't show your disappointment, curtseying to your admiring onslaught of applause, staring at the empty space that held your mysterious man.

Exhaustion pulled at every muscle, mostly your face at this point. The constant smiling, laughing and singing made your cheeks burn, hands rubbing gently at them to relieve some of the strain.

Red heels swung from your manicured fingers, finding walking without them eased the ache in your feet. Plus it didn't mean limping all the way home, wishing you could afford some kind of massage to relieve their aches.

"Lady Y/N, what a fine specimen, say maybe you could use that mouth of yours for something other than singing." You ignored the men, use to sexual harassment at this point, normally they didn't act on anything other than the odd innuendo.

Except for tonight it appeared.

A rough hand grabbed your arm, yanking you back against a wall, your head slamming into the concrete. Heels clattered to the ground, eyes filled with uneven black dots from the impact of the collision.

"Pretensious whore, you can't get a man hard without fixing the problem. I'm gonna make you sing my name, all while I fu-"

The taste of iron filled your panting mouth, mind not computing the headless man before you as he collapsed to the ground. Screams of panic sounded all around you, but you couldn't focus on any of it, legs giving out.

Two arms captured you, hoisting you effortlessly into his arms as he carried you off, leaving behind those he slaughtered.

Pain was what woke you, groaning as your head was swarmed with an agonising headache. You slowly rose to sit up, yelping as two hands pulled you back. . . Except those hands weren't hands, they were blades.

Fear seized your heart, shaking as you remembered the men from before, legs instinctively crossed. But the blades retreated instantly upon your reaction, noticing how they whipped back like tentacles. You followed where they disappeared, noticing a hooded figure a few feet away, back turned to you as he flipped through the pages of an old book.

"You shouldn't move, something as weak as your species would only make it worse." His words stung almost, but it mostly confused you. Wasn't he human too?

Reluctantly you uncrossed your legs, wincing as you turned over. Again those blades lashed out, causing you to faceplant on the thin pillow as they pushed you down.

You mumbled something against its surface, the blades retreating again.

"What?"

"I said, you don't have to force me down so roughly, it hurts." You repeated, small droplets of blood slipped down your shoulders.

Silence.

"I apologise."

Silence returned, your fingers tapped against the bed, watching the strangers muscles flex. You didn't recognise him, but you would be lying if you didn't find him attractive.

Yet despite that, he held a familiar aura to him.

You sat up, sliding from the thin sheets as you stood, shakily as your legs protested against the action. You approached the stranger, craning your neck to get a look at his face, only for thousands of tendrils to appear. The blades clattered against each other, moving like serpents attracted to the sound of a flute, it shocked you.

"You should think twice before startling me, you may end up a pile of bleeding limbs." You swallowed nervously, yet you outstretched a hand, running it along blade filled vine.

The stranger shuddered, retracting it away from your touch, except you turned to another once you noticed the reaction. Teasing a hand along them until it run along the muscles of his back, tracing them with a feathery touch as your confidence returned.

"Who may I thank for rescuing me, surely you have a name?" You quipped, standing on your tippytoes to drape your arms around his neck.

The stranger panted, teeth grinding at your antics. He feigned irritation, yet you could recognise his flight instincts.

"May you perhaps be my mystery man? The one who watches my performances with such reserved admiration?" A grunt sounded, the book tumbling to the floor. "How can I ever repay you for your service, what is it that you wish?"

Suddenly a hand wrapped itself around your throat, squeezing as your body was hoisted in the air.

"Shut up witch! Tell me what you're doing to me? Why do you make me burn with desire!?" He yelled, throwing you roughly onto the mattress. His ears were red, eyes clouded with what you knew as lust. It was kind of adorable.

Rubbing your throat, a sweet smile graced your red stained lips, hands coming up to caress your mystery man's face. "Do you find me beautiful?"

He scoffed, averting his gaze. "Why would I find a human beautiful? You're all pathetic, disgusting creatures."

A gentle laugh.

"Then why are you hard?"

Teeth ground, as his brows knotted together in a frown. "Fix it."

"Pardon?" You teased, giggling at his pout.

"He-. . . Help me fix it," Silence. "Please."

A teasing laugh made him tense, growling as you brought him closer, sitting him besides you. Hands trailed his muscles, tracing the abs shown from the tight embrace of his suit.

"If you want me to help you, you need to do two things for me."

"What is that?"

Fingers pinched his inner thighs, earning a drawled out groan. "Firstly I need you strip, secondly I need a name to sing."

Reluctantly, the stranger peeled the suit from his body, revealing an inhuman member. Four petals opened to reveal a pointed, girthy cock with ridges underneath the tip, along with four glowing tendrils sparking around it's base.

Your eyes felt mesmerised by the sight, kneeling between his legs, tracing the alien cock as the tendrils wrapped around your finger.

"Knives."

"I'm sorry, may you please repeat that?" You asked politely, looking at him.

"Knives, don't make me repeat myself another time." He scoffed.

"Knives, such a handsome name." The name on your tongue sent a shiver up his spine, cock twitching.

Before Knives could say anything, you placed a kiss against his cock, leaving a red stain from your lipstick. The sight of it had Knives biting his lips, containing the disgusting sounds threatening to spill from them. But you were relentless, leaving red lipstick all along his pulsating cock.

Eventually you kissed the tip, mixing the red pigment with his leaking precum. Then you took his cock, tongue circling his tip.

Knives grunted, whimpering pathetically against his hand. You felt so perfect, the way your throat opened around his cock, bobbing your head as you sucked him off. It was heavenly, especially seeing your lipstick smear against the base of his dick.

What was embarrassing was how quickly he came, filling your cheeks with what tasted like nectar, you couldn't resist swallowing. And that's what drove Knives to the breaking point, pulling you up to smash his lips against yours.

"Someone's needy," You smiled against his lips, feeling the scowl form on his once gentle features. "Do I get the pleasure of knowing what my handsome Knives is?"

"No, you will eventually but I dont care for explaining right now." Knives teeth grazed your shoulder, peeling the red spaghetti strip from your shoulder.

"Eventually? Does that imply you want to keep me around?" You heard a groan, teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your neck, causing you to yelp.

Knives wanted to engage in intercourse, to impregnate you with his seed. But there one problem, that being he's never had sex before.

Why would he when his primary goal was to free his brethen? That was until your sirens song dragged him from his goal, capturing his heart as you lured him to you.

Now he could fuck you, to pump you full with his seed until you were ready to burst. The very thought had Knives clawing your dress from your body, breasts bouncing slightly at the freedom of their restraints.

"What's the matter? Never seen a woman before?" Knives growled, slamming your body against the bed.

"Don't tease me woman, I don't have the patience." Knives hovered over you, knees spreading your legs open as he stared at your clothed cunt. It was evident he didn't know what to do, shifting his weight from side to side. "What do I do?"

A patient smile was all you gave him, pulling the panties off, revealing your dripping cunt to cold atmosphere. The sight had Knives licking his lips, head tilted as he awaited your instructions.

"Like I did with you, you can use your mouth to prepare me," You pointed to your pussy, slightly spreading it open before pointing at the clit. "This is important, you want to stimulate it while you eat me out, think you can manage?"

The platinum blonde nodded stiffly, leaning down to drag his tongue over your dripping flaps, suckling at your clit. The action had you bucking, fingers buried in his soft locks as he was desperately tugged deeper. Without anytime to comprehend, Knives stuffed two fingers in you, sinking them down to the knuckle as he gently nibbled your clit, smirking as your thighs quivered. His fingers felt so soft inside you, despite how they curled so roughly, plowing into your pussy with force and inexperience.

Knives was grunting against your swollen clit, moaning lowly into you. The sound was pure bliss, and you couldn't help but shower him in sweet praises. From calling him a 'good boy', to 'my angel', you could tell Knives was getting desperate by the way his nails dug into your thighs. Fingers thrusted faster, needing you to hurry up and cum so he could fuck you into the sheets, mold his body with yours to imprint you to him.

You cried out his name, spasming around his digits as you orgasmed, cum dripping off his chin. His tongue savoured the taste of you, chuckling to himself.

"You make quite a mess, don't you?" The teasing in his tone caused you to huff, squeezing his head between your thighs. Knives gave you a fanged grin, sinking his teeth into your thighs, a bladed hand running along its soft flesh.

The hairs raised along your neck, goosebumps forming on your arms. The cool touch of the blade had your body going into fight or flight, yet there was something oddly arousing about having those soft hands trail such a deadly weapon over your supple skin. Or the way those tendrils wrapped around your body, their blades pressing against you, not hard enough to pierce through but enough to know they could. It had you reeling, loving how such a dangerous man could be so gentle despite his threatening aura.

Concealed inside those deadly blades, Knives loomed over you, trapping you within his arms. Hovering his cock over your entrance, he quirked a brow your way, silently asking if this was what he was suppose to do.

It still humoured you the way he was so unsure, giggling at the way his lip jutted out in pout, or how his brows furrowed in such concentration. None of this was natural for Knives, and it showed in every small detail.

"Relax, sex isn't suppose to be a chore," You brought his eyes to you, Knives leaning into your touch. "Take it slow, savour every moment."

Knives frowned, that's the last thing he wanted, taking it agonisingly slow that is. Of course he'd savour the moment, but he wanted you fucked until you couldn't form a coherent sentence, dribbling out malformed versions of his name. Being soft was something his humanity loving brother would do, Knives hated the thought, he needed you to be claimed, mated to him.

Hesitation no longer present, Knives surged forward earning a startled gasp from your lips, the lipstick smudged beautifully across them. He didn't even allow your body to adjust to the foreign cock, ruthlessly pounding into.

The Independent didn't care who heard you, in fact he wanted his subordinates to hear you, to know you were his. It drove him to move faster, bodies pressed together as your legs were brought above your head.

"Kn-Knives! Please, slow down!" You cried out, blades prickling your skin dangerously as they wrapped tighter around you.

The only response you got was a dark chuckle and a wicked grin from the man above you, those gorgeous blue eyes filled with crazed lust. Then Knives started marking you, teeth sinking into every inch of bare skin, sucking until it turned a subtle purple.

Months of watching you, stalking you, heeding your calls and after months he finally was rewarded with the fruits of his labour. Your beautiful form beneath him, fashioning his marks like they were made for you, lips whimpering his name just like the songs you sung. If only he could fuck you in his piano room, making a song he was sure he'd never forget.

You had lost count of how many times Knives made you orgasm, arms hanging loosely around his neck, showing no signs of stopping. He may be inexperienced, sloppy even, but by the gods he had stamina and his inhuman cock only made it all the more heavenly.

By the time Knives began to falter, tiring himself, the sun had already crept above the horizon. You were a crying, drooling, blabbering mess, cum leaking from your cunt as you were stuffed over and over again. It inhuman for certain, being able to fuck you for hours without any evidence of tiring, Knives probably could've gone for longer.

Cumming one last time, Knives collapsed on you, panting heavily against your sweating skin. You looked absolutely perfect, just how he wanted you.

A shaky hand found its way into his dishevelled hair, massaging it gently. A sound akin to a purr rumbled from his throat, relaxing into your touch.

"You're perfect."

You smiled, exhaustion eating away the remainder of your strength. But you managed a few simple words, pulling your sweet admirer closing until he was nuzzled into your neck.

"And so are you, my beautiful angel."

Knives sighed at the name, it was sufficient enough, he'd allow it if you were to only called him it. Which he already knew you would.

With the last bit of his own strength, two blades protruded from his knuckles, pressed into your skin. With quick precision and a pained yelp from you, he made a mark that was sure to never disappear.

"Now you are mine forever, my darling Songbird."

A/N: sorry for the delay in finishing this! I was in-between a few things such as work, visiting my boyfriend and my grandparents and writing some new chapters for my book.

But it now complete and I'm in love with it, need some more Knives content, especially the possessive kind. Hope you all enjoy! 💜

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