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good-chimes · 11 months ago

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THE DIVORCE OF THE CENTURY

TRANSCRIPT OF DIVORCE PROCEEDINGS BETWEEN GRIAN AND GOODTIMESWITHSCAR, DAY 1:

His Hon. Judge BdoubleO100: Silence in the court!

[Court is not silent]

His Hon. Judge Bdubs: Silence in the COURT! I can have you all HANGED!

[The court falls as silent as is possible with a dozen Hermits present]

Judge Bdubs: Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today—

Cleo: Ahem.

Judge Bdubs: WHAT?

Cleo: That’s for weddings, Bdubs. We’re not doing a wedding. In fact, if you think about it, this is about as far away from a wedding as you can get.

Judge Bdubs: Fine fine FINE. Dearly beloathed, we have all been dragged here today because SOME PEOPLE can’t get ALONG. Grian, step forward!

Grian: Do I— is this the podium for witnesses? Who built this and why did they make it out of nothing but trapdoors? So. Okay. I’m filing for divorce.

Scar: Wait, I thought I was filing for divorce.

Judge Bdubs: LET THE DEFENDANT SPEAK.

Ren: Bdubs, my man, that’s the petitioner. The court hasn’t accused Grian of any crimes.

Cleo: [darkly] Yet.

Grian: I haven’t done any crimes! I’m filing for divorce from Scar, obviously. As my lawyer will tell you—

Judge Bdubs: Do you have a lawyer?

Grian: Yes, your Honor. This is my defense lawyer Mumbo Jumbo Esq. [Waggles a hand behind his back and hisses] Mumbo!

Judge Bdubs: Mumbo’s your defense lawyer? Aren’t you supposed to have a divorce lawyer?

Mumbo: [steps forward and bows nervously] Well, I’ve never divorced anyone, but I have got a lot of experience in defending, er, mainly myself, come to think of it, and also my valuables. From Grian, as a matter of fact. So I think I’ll stick with ‘defense lawyer’ if that’s alright with the court, thank you.

Judge Bdubs: [leans aside to confer with Cleo] Is that alright with the court? Ask Joe.

[Court Scribe JoeHills confirms this is probably alright with the court]

Judge Bdubs: Good, good, next! Scar, do you have a lawyer?

Scar: Oh, absolutely. My lawyer is this cat I found outside.

Judge Bdubs: Not Jellie?

Scar: Jellie doesn’t believe we’re really divorcing and wouldn’t come.

Judge Bdubs: Is this cat a qualified divorce lawyer?

Scar: She’s a—let me look at those markings—she’s clearly a personal injury attorney.

Cleo: Have you been personally injured, Scar?

Scar: Why, thank you for asking, I have. My feelings have been very hurt!

Ren: Uh, Bdubs, maybe the court should establish some facts. Why they’re divorcing, what the court can do for them, that sort of thing.

Judge Bdubs: YES. Let’s start with the facts. Now, we all know why you and Scar got married in the first place. Don’t stand there and make that innocent face at me, Grian, I know all the secrets. You got married because Etho and I had the WEDDING OF THE CENTURY last month and you were JEALOUS—no, don’t talk, THE JUDGE IS TALKING—you were jealous of us. [aside] Bdubs and Etho had the wedding of the century, Joe, are you writing this down?

Court Scribe JoeHills: Yep, your Honor, I’ve written that down.

Grian: It wasn’t that good.

Judge Bdubs: YOU TAKE THAT BACK.

Grian: Etho had his bouquet wrapped in a Kleenex box.

Scar: [sentimentally] Don’t you listen to him, Bdubs, I thought the flower arch was lovely.

Judge Bdubs: Thank you, Scar! I—

Cleo: You can’t find in favor of Scar because he said something nice about your own wedding decorations.

Judge Bdubs: [with dignity] —was NOT going to do that. Ahem. So, you and Scar got married because you were jealous—

Grian: We didn’t! It wasn’t like that!

Judge Bdubs: —and now you want to get divorced. Why?

[At this point Petitioner Grian and Petitioner Scar, who have been studiously avoiding each other’s gazes, appear to lock eyes by accident. They both jerk away like they’ve touched a blaze rod. Grian immediately swivels to face the bench, and this scribe has to note that at normal times Grian’s stare is disconcertingly like two soulless voids looking back at you, so it’s even worse when he’s attempting a poker face. Scar becomes very interested in his cat defense lawyer and doesn’t look at Grian at all.]

Grian: The thing is, you see, this marriage was a scam from the start.

EVIDENCE #1

[Dramatization by Court Scribe from participant testimony]

One month previously, a note landed in Scar’s bedroom attached to a firework rocket with a red bow and rose. This was very romantic, or at least it would have been romantic if the rocket hadn’t lodged in the rafters and set itself and a chunk of the surrounding wall on fire, but in any case it was clearly Grian making an effort, so Scar deciphered the coordinates scribbled on the charred note and set off to find out what was going on.

They pointed to a spot in the middle of nowhere. In Scar’s long experience of Grian, this meant an equal chance that they were going to make out or he was going to get inventively murdered, but this was always a gamble worth the odds.

But when he arrived, on a green hill in a quiet spot of the server, it was neither. The top of the hill had been leveled off and covered with birch wood, on which Grian was industriously spelling out something with white wool, though Scar couldn’t make out the words from his low angle of approach. Grian stopped when he spotted Scar and launched up to meet him. His wings beat so fast they were nearly vibrating.

“Scar,” Grian said, “Scar.” His grin was one of a cat who had stolen not only the cream, but the milk, the cow, and everyone else’s cows for good measure. “Scar, I’ve had an idea.”

This was clearly a planning-a-prank type of meeting, which probably meant no making out, but Grian’s pranks were not to be missed. “I’m in,” Scar said. “Do we get fancy costumes? I want a fancy costume.”

“No, Scar, that’s not the point—wait, yes, actually.” Grian angled his wings to carve tight spirals around Scar’s coasting flight, always a sign of excitement, and nudged the angle of their joint descent to land on top of the white wool scrawls. “Yes, fancy costumes are a big part of it, but that’s not—listen, this is my big gesture. Just look down.”

Scar looked down. The wool said, WILL YOU MARR.

“I ran out of wool,” Grian said. He flapped a hand. “Just because it’s a big gesture doesn’t mean it has to be finished.”

“What was it supposed to say?” Scar said innocently.

“Scar!” Grian shifted from foot to foot when he got agitated, which was always funny. “Fine! Okay! Stand there.”

The hidden trapdoor beneath their feet gave way as Grian pressed a switch. Scar yelped for form’s sake, but nothing exploded, and the only thing at the bottom of their tumbled slide was an underground bunker.

It had a table, and two chairs, and a huge corkboard on the otherwise blank walls. Grian had always had a thing for bunkers.

“This,” Grian said, with a flourish, “is the Wedding War Room.”

Scar looked around the bunker and asked the important question. “Are you going to decorate it?”

“Am I going to—no, listen, that’s not the point either. You can decorate it, if you want. The point is, you know how Bdubs and Etho got married?”

“It was beautiful,” Scar agreed immediately. “That wedding chapel? Incredible, honestly, Bdubs is a true artist. Oh! Remember the part where Etho put a river of lava through the chapel roof and glitched it into a heart?”

“Okay, but, you know what Bdubs and Etho got?

“Eternal happiness?”

“Scar.”

“No, what?”

“Bdubs and Etho got royal diamonds,” Grian said impressively. “From the vault.”

“Are they still royal diamonds if Ren’s not king anymore?” Scar said. “I thought we blew up the vault, anyway. You blew it up. I was there.”

“Do you pay any attention to anything that’s not Scarland?” Grian said. “Mumbo didn’t know what to do with the diamonds so he and Iskall built a new vault. I think Mumbo and Iskall and Impulse are the only ones who really know how to get into it. Anyway, everyone got so warm and fuzzy about Bdubs and Etho’s wedding that they all decided to open the vault up and just gave them diamonds.”

“Free diamonds?” Scar said thoughtfully.

“Free diamonds!” Grian’s eyes glittered. “Think of that vault. Stacks on stacks on stacks of diamonds. Thousands of diamonds! We could have some of those, for nothing, just by saying some words. And that’s not even mentioning the wedding presents! We’re out here spending days and days grinding resources and stocking our shops when we could be swimming in it! That could be us, Scar.” Scar had entirely forgotten the lack of interior decorations; he always did, when Grian got on a roll as mesmerizing as this.“And so,” Grian took a deep breath and held out his hand, “Scar, will you marry me?”

Scar took his hand with an enormous wave of affection. “Grian,” he said sincerely, “I have never, in my whole life, wanted to marry anyone more.”

EVIDENCE #2

Mumbo took the news more earnestly than Grian had expected.

“Oh,” said Mumbo. “Oh, haha, wow—seriously? Scar said something and I thought it was just a joke, but you guys actually… Wow!” He cleared his throat. “Grian, mate, it’s been a long time coming. I’m so happy for you.”

“Don’t get sappy,” Grian said. “It’s just a wedding. I mean,” he clarified, “it’s a very important wedding, obviously, because it’s my wedding, but I don’t need you to get sappy about it. I don’t even need you to talk about it. I just need you to bring diamonds.”

“I didn’t even know you were going to ask him,” Mumbo said, ignoring the very clear instructions Grian had just given him. “Or did he ask you, or—mate, that’s just brilliant. This is brilliant. Is it because Bdubs and Etho had that wedding? That was really beautiful, I don’t mind saying, I got a little bit teary.”

“This has nothing to do with any weddings anyone else had,” Grian said with dignity. “Our wedding will be better, but that’s unrelated. I didn’t come here to talk about that. I came here to ask you something.” He took hold of Mumbo’s hand in the most meaningful grip he could muster. “Mumbo, we’ve been friends for years, right?”

“Of course,” Mumbo said nervously.

Grian gave it a second’s pause for the sake of drama. “Mumbo Jumbo, will you be my best man?”

“Ah,” Mumbo said, which was not what Grian had expected. “Ah. Er. Might be a problem there.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Well, you see, five minutes ago, Scar…”

EVIDENCE #3

<Grian> scar

<GoodTimeWithScar> yES?

<Grian> my base.

<Grian> now.

<GoodTimeWithScar> On my way

GoodTimeWithScar hit the ground too hard

<GoodTimeWithScar> oNE MINUTE

<Grian> come in the back door

GoodTimeWithScar hit the ground too hard

<GoodTimeWithScar> Was that a trap??

<Grian> mumbo is mine

<GoodTimeWithScar> No he isn’t, Mister!

GoodTimeWithScar was slain by Ravager

Grian was shot by GoodTimeWithScar using [HoTgUy]

<Grian> MUMBO IS MINE

GoodTimeWithScar was slain by Vindicator

GoodTimeWithScar was slain by Ravager

Grian was shot by GoodTimeWithScar using [HoTgUy]

<Renthedog>: :o

GoodTimeWithScar burned to death

<Renthedog> Everything okay there, gentlemen?

<Grian> best man debate

GoodTimeWithScar was poked to death by a sweet berry bush

<Grian> all settled now

<Renthedog> wait

<EthosLab> Wait

<BdoubleO100> WAIT

<TangoTek> are you two…?

<Grian> invitations dropping tomorrow. wedding gift mandatory.

<GoodTimeWithScar> Come one, Come all!

<Grian> only diamonds will be considered real presents

<PearlescentMoon> huh

<impulseSV> omg finally! So happy for you guys!

<PearlescentMoon> be honest Grian, is this because Bdubs and Etho got married and you had to one-up them?

<Grian> NO IT IS NOT

EVIDENCE #4

The bachelor party negotiations were even more hard-fought than the best man.

They held the impromptu negotiations in the Wedding War Room, which was now covered with loving maps and hundreds of bits of paper that neither of them had read since putting them up there. They looked good, though, so Scar kept adding more.

There was a pile of paper strips on the table in front of them. Scar and Grian sat facing off like two negotiators at a ceasefire.

“Mumbo’s my best man,” Grian said, picking the first name off the pile without breaking eye contact and moving it to his side of the table, “so he comes to my party.” Scar gave in with a modicum of grace. The possibility of having bachelor parties at different times had been wordlessly considered and then summarily dismissed by both combatants.

Scar escalated it to a blood sport as he picked up the next bit of paper. “Pearl’s coming to my party.”

Grian yelped and grabbed Scar’s wrist. “She is not. I knew her first!”

“I know her better,” Scar countered. “Or at least,” he added, “I know her building style better.”

“You can’t just steal my friend because you like her building! That’s not how that works!”

“I think she’d enjoy it,” Scar said meditatively. “I’m going to have champagne. Glitter. Razzmatazz.”

“I will have more champagne,” Grian said mutinously. He hadn’t taken his hand off Scar’s wrist. “And more razzmatazz. You can’t have Pearl.”

“Oh, all right then,” Scar said, since Pearl was one of Grian’s oldest friends and he’d never had a chance of getting her anyway. Grian plucked the piece of paper out of his hand and put it on top of Mumbo’s paper. “I get Bdubs, though.”

That was a given. Grian didn’t seriously dispute it, though he opened his mouth to try. “I—yes, fine. You can have Bdubs.” Scar swept the piece of paper to his own side of the table.

“And that means,” Scar proceeded, with the grand momentum of a train starting to roll, “that I get Etho, as well.” He shuffled through the bits of paper and displayed Etho’s name like a magic trick.

He watched Grian calculate his chances of getting Etho if Bdubs was going to Scar’s party. “…okay, yeah, you get Etho.”

“Also that means I get Cleo,” Scar said. “She’ll come if Bdubs does. We don’t want to split up friends.” He drew Cleo’s name towards him, sliding another couple of slips underneath it at the same time. “Oh, and Joe as well, if Cleo’s coming.”

“What’s that other one?” Grian said suspiciously. He trapped Scar’s hand and pried out the third name. “What—no, you can’t have Ren.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Scar said in his most reasonable voice. “Hear me out. I have Cub, right?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Well, I have Cub, and Bdubs, and Cleo, and Joe, so, by royal decree…”

“You can’t have Ren just because the five of you were in a royal murder cult with him!”

“Excuse me, mister, that wasn’t a cult. That was the royal court!”

“It was too a cult,” said Grian, a man who had once persuaded Ren into living in camper vans in the woods with him for weeks in order to break into a military base and steal a magic box.

Ren’s name was already safely on Scar’s side of the table. “And if I have Ren, then I have to have Doc—”

“Look, Scar, if you get all of Bdubs’ current and former exes—”

“—what’s a ‘current ex’—”

“—Etho and don’t interrupt me, if you get everyone Bdubs has ever had a relationship plus their plus ones you get ninety percent of our friends.”

“Is it my fault I throw good parties?” Scar protested. “Look, you can have—”

“I’m having Impulse,” Grian interrupted, pulling his name out. “I need more redstoners.”

“What for?”

Grian waved a hand. “You just need them around.” Scar nodded, unable to find a flaw in the logic. “Also I get Joel. And Martyn. And Timmy.”

“I built Jimmy a train,” Scar objected. He put his fingertips on the other end of Jimmy’s name while Grian attempted to steal it.

“All right, this is the ‘disputed’ pile,” Grian said, pushing it to the side. “Who else?”

Now they had a disputed pile, it started filling up. “If I have Cleo,” Scar said, “then technically I should have Scott—”

“You can’t keep using that trick!”

“Then how are we going to fix it, Grian?” Scar’s tone was eminently reasonable. “I think we should just let people be friends.”

“They are friends,” Grian said. “They’re friends with me.”

“They could be friends with me.”

“Tell you what,” Grian said, a warlike gleam coming into his eyes. “We’ll ask them.”

TRANSCRIPT OF DIVORCE PROCEEDINGS, DAY 1 (CONTINUED):

Judge Bdubs: So that’s how the split started?

Cleo: You weren’t even married at that point.

Grian: Right! Exactly! We weren’t even married and Scar used underhand methods to steal my friends!

Scar: Excuse me. You went around the server threatening everyone who you didn’t think was coming to your party. Talk about underhand methods! I just offered them a good time.

Grian: Your bribed them! You bribed them to come to your bachelor party! [stabs a finger at Judge Bdubs] You even bribed him, so I don’t know why we put him in charge of this divorce.

Judge Bdubs: Nobody is allowed to question the integrity of the judge! I am as PURE AS THE DRIVEN SNOW.

Scar: That’s a good point. I gave you netherite, Bdubs, you should be ruling in my favor.

Judge Bdubs: You gave me ONE netherite ingot, I’m not giving you a ruling for that.

Scar: Grian, I think this judge is biased.

Judge Bdubs: HOW DARE YOU.

Grian: Scar is right, this judge is corrupt! I can’t believe we were forced into this farce of a trial and the judge is corrupt! Joe, I demand a new judge.

[Court Scribe JoeHills indicates that he is pretty sure this whole divorce trial was Grian’s idea in the first place, and also that judges cannot usually be replaced just like that, and the Court Scribe personally does not have a reserve list]

Judge Bdubs: I refuse to SIT HERE and be SLANDERED! You’re both guilty! [slams gavel] TAKE THEM TO THE DUNGEONS.

[Court Scribe JoeHills confirms that the petitioners have not actually been accused of anything—despite obviously having committed many crimes, Cleo would like to me to record—so cannot be found guilty, and in any case we don’t have any dungeons]

Judge Bdubs: Fine! I give up! CLEO, YOU’RE THE JUDGE NOW.

Judge Cleo: Wait, am I?

[Judge Bdubs forcibly transfers the judicial wig to Cleo, upon which the snakes in her hair make a spirited attempt to eat it.]

Scar: Can we get on with it?

Judge Cleo: Yes, you can shut up. You can all shut up! Thank you. That’s better. Are you sure you two can’t just settle it out of court so we can all go home?

Grian: No, we can’t. Me and Scar have [checks his notes] undergone an irreparable breakdown.

Scar: Sure, we might have had an eruptable breakdown, but you can’t say it was my fault. I tried to make it work. I built us a honeymoon island! It had palm trees and deckchairs and everything. I’m coming here in good faith and I deserve to be the innocent party.

Grian: I want all the diamonds Scar has.

Judge Cleo: Joe, is he allowed to ask for that?

[Court Scribe diligently references the law summary he found on the internet, suggests that at this stage the judge can grant temporary financial orders on petitioner request]

Grian: Fine, I want half of Scar’s diamonds.

Scar: I need all my diamonds for Scarland materials!

Grian: They’re not your diamonds! They’re my diamonds!

Scar: Then I get half of all your dark prismarine, thank you very much, that will be amazingly useful.

Grian: You’re not touching my dark prismarine! I’ll sell it all if you try!

Judge Cleo: Nobody is touching anyone else’s anything! Ren, stop laughing, this is a serious courtroom. Grian, you’re not allowed to sell your dark prismarine. Scar, you’re not allowed to hide any of your diamonds. Everyone is going to keep things exactly as they are until this trial is done.

Grian: Do you trust him? Look at him, look at his face, would you trust that man? Of course you wouldn’t! All the diamonds should stay in my base while we’re having the trial.

Scar: This is outrageous! This is an outrageous demand! You can’t just question a man’s honor like that!

Judge Cleo: Well, put them somewhere safe. Joe can keep them.

Grian: [grudgingly] I suppose we could put them in the Royal Vault.

Judge Cleo: You want to put your valuables in escrow?

Scar: I don’t see what birds have to do with it.

[Short pause while the concept of ‘escrow’ is explained to both petitioners]

Scar: Well, I’ll do it, but I think Grian should put all his resources in nestcrow. Seeing as it’s all his fault.

Grian: I did everything right! I was the perfect groom!

Judge Cleo: You know, Grian, somehow I have my doubts. Go back to your marriage testimony. What happened next?

EVIDENCE #5

“Ahem,” said Mumbo. “Ahem.”

Grian rolled his eyes, jumped up on a table, decided that wasn’t good enough, flew up and perched on the light fitting, and yelled, “Everyone! It’s happening! The best man is speaking!”

Silence fell.

“I was actually going to announce you,” Mumbo said. He cleared his throat. “All right! So! This… is a bachelor party!”

The bachelor party–all three of them–looked at each other.

“Woohoo!” said Iskall.

“Party time!” tried Pearl gamely.

“I was promised champagne,” said Scott, who had been lured through the portal with one bribe only.

“There will be champagne,” said Mumbo. “As best man, it is my job to plan the bachelor party, and to plan a party that is… appropriate, and thoughtful, and informed by my long friendship with Grian, so,” he coughed, “if everyone could check the boxes under their chairs for supplies, we do have an event. Sort of thing. Kind of a party game.”

“Er,” said Pearl, checking under her chair. “This is… quite a lot of...”

Iskall started to giggle.

“Seriously, I was promised champagne,” said Scott.

“Yes, yes, we’ll get to that,” Mumbo said. “First, we’re going to sneak into the other party and blow them all up.”

“...so many ender crystals…” whispered Pearl.

“Look how they sparkle!” said Iskall.

“What about the—”

“And! When they’re all dead,” said Mumbo, “we can take their champagne.”

Grian flew down from the light fitting and landed in front of Mumbo. His eyes were shining. He took Mumbo’s hands in his. “Mumbo,” he breathed. “I’ve changed my mind. Can I marry you instead?”

“Er,” said Mumbo. “No?”

“Did you even order any refreshments?” said Scott.

“Listen,” Mumbo said, “it’s Grian’s party, we were going to end up doing this anyway, and it’ll be fun.”

“Dibs on blowing up Scar!” said Grian.

“We understand, Grian,” said Pearl.

“I suppose that’s sort of romantic?” said Scott in an undertone. “You’d think he’d have more trauma about it, after all the–”

“This is going to be so funny,” Grian said, scooping up handfuls of ender crystals. “Best–best man–ever.”

EVIDENCE #6

The actual wedding was a subdued affair.

The wedding venue had just about survived, by virtue of being several hundred blocks away from either bachelor party, though the smoking craters were visible in the background. From the front, the building was a charming mansion with flowers in every window. From every other angle it might be a gray shell, but Grian was a very busy person who was getting married and he couldn’t be expected to get to everything.

On the morning of the wedding, when Grian finally pieced himself together and dragged himself back from respawn he was met by the two Best Man candidates: Mumbo, who was sitting on the step of the venue dismally trying to piece his scorched suit back together, and Cub, who was completely unruffled and appeared to be doing a crossword.

“Oh, Grian, you made it.” Mumbo abandoned his scorched hems in relief. “Some people haven’t even respawned yet. We really do need Scar, though—”

“I’m here! I’m here!” Scar, impeccably dressed in a blue morning suit, swooped in from above, trailing flowers and losing his top hat in the process. “Gosh. Nobody else made it, huh?”

“I don’t believe this,” Grian said. “None of them?”

“Weren’t you supposed to open the portal again for the Empires people?”

“I forgot,” Grian said. “But we can’t focus on that. We have to focus on the fact that at least twenty Hermits promised to come, and now they aren’t here.”

“I, um,” Mumbo said. “I take full responsibility for the original idea, but I think the seventh time you blew up Bdubs and Ren and Doc and Zedaph you did blow up all their stuff as well. And I think some people got hit so hard they won’t respawn for a week.”

“That was their fault,” Grian said. “For being in the way of my ender crystals.”

“Seven times?” Cub said.

“Oh, as if you’ve never blown up someone and all their stuff seven times and pushed their respawn into next week.”

“So, what?” Scar said. “Do we just…not have a wedding?”

Mumbo coughed. “I think you should still get married.”

“What?”

“I just think,” Mumbo gestured vaguely. “You know, your whole thing. And Jevin made you the suits and everything. It would be a shame. You could have an intimate wedding without any guests, you know. I’m just saying.”

Grian attempted to trade a skeptical look with Scar. This didn’t work, as Scar had gone faintly red and wasn’t looking at him. “An intimate wedding, you mean, right here?” Scar said. “Now? Oh, yes, of course, but you know, now I come to think about it, I don’t know I can get married.”

This smelled like weakness. “What’s wrong with marrying me?” Grian demanded. “Are you backing out?”

“No, I—I need my top hat! I can't get married without my top hat!”

“Are you scared, Scar?”

“Of course I'm not scared!” Scar said indignantly. “We’ll do it right now! Who’s marrying us? Oh—Joe’s still respawning, isn’t he? Cub, you can do it, can’t you? Cub’s an ordained priest, you know.”

“That’s right,” Cub said agreeably.

“Is he?” Grian said suspiciously. “Which religion?”

Cub’s faint smile didn’t change at all. “Don’t worry about that.”

“You don’t want to think too hard about it,” Scar said breezily. “But he’s very official! Very well-respected in the community.”

In all their planning, Grian had given no thought at all to the actual wedding. He was nearly certain that the chanting from the officiant was supposed to be pleasant and inoffensive, about, well, love and stuff, and he was also fairly sure the officiant’s eyes were not supposed to turn black as a flaming rift appeared behind him spewing an unknowable sense of dread, but at that point Scar kissed Grian thoroughly, and that lasted so long that Mumbo had to break it up after a few minutes with a polite cough, and by that time Cub had finished chanting and gone back to his crossword.

“That was very touching,” Mumbo said, apparently relieved they weren’t still kissing right in front of him. “Shame about the guests, but you can’t have everything.”

“Shocking,” Scar agreed. “Do they still have to give us presents? Maybe if we waited a week and did it again? I have to say, I could use a little more time to get the trees right on Honeymoon Island.”

“We’re not having a honeymoon, Scar, I told you,” Grian said. “This wedding is just business, and we don’t have any business without the presents.”

Mumbo was wearing the expression that Grian had always vaguely compared to an accountant breaking the bad news about something unspeakable going on in the stockmarket. “To be honest with you,” Mumbo said, “I don’t think many of them were in a present-giving mood. I think, um, you might have to write off the presents.”

“Are you telling me,” Grian said, “that this whole scheme has been a complete failure?”

TRANSCRIPT OF DIVORCE PROCEEDINGS, DAY 1 (CONTINUED):

Judge Cleo: So, let me get this straight, the plan was to scam all of us—

Scar: Scam is a strong word. More like a trade, if you think about it! A trade where we get presents and you get a warm sense of fuzziness and wellbeing.

Judge Cleo: —exactly, to scam us, and it all went wrong, and you realized the marriage was a mistake? That was weeks ago, though. What happened between that and the divorce?

EVIDENCE #7

LIST OF POST-WEDDING WRONGDOING COMMITTED BY GRIAN AND SCAR, VARIOUS (condensed from two hours of court arguments)

i. “Well, then I took some deepslate from Grian because I needed it for Scarland, which is just borrowing, if you think about it.”

ii. “Scar really owed me diamonds because it was his fault the scam didn’t work.”

iii. Lengthy descriptions of the damage from ensuing weeks-long prank war.

iv. “He should honestly have expected me to put chickens in his storage system.”

v. Evidence received from Xisuma that this lagged out the entire server.

vi. Evidence received from Grian that Scarland lags out the entire server anyway and this is probably a crime so why can’t the court do something about that.

vii. Strong representations from both sides that the other one snores and hogs the covers and this probably ought to be a crime.

TRANSCRIPT OF DIVORCE PROCEEDINGS, DAY 1 (CONTINUED):

Judge Cleo: [face down on judicial bench] Have they stopped talking yet?

Court Scribe JoeHills: No, they’re still going.

EVIDENCE #8

FURTHER LIST OF WRONGDOINGS COMMITTED BY GRIAN AND SCAR

viii. “Yes I did blow him up after that, but it’s not illegal if it’s funny.”

ix. Complicated debate about whether ensuing sabotage was funny enough not to be illegal.

x. Representations from Grian that everything is Scar’s fault with absolutely no legal backing at all.

xi. Representations from Scar, ditto, with the addition of fake law he says his cat defense attorney told him.

xii. At this point, Court Scribe JoeHills has given up attempting to make sense of the petitioners’ ongoing argument.

TRANSCRIPT OF DIVORCE PROCEEDINGS, DAY 1 (CONTINUED):

Judge Cleo: Enough! ENOUGH! No! Shut up! If I have to listen to one more attempt at utterly specious reasoning from either of you I am going to pick up this gavel and I am going to drive its handle through my own skull. This is definitely both your fault, you are terrible people, and I hope you get divorced harder than anyone has ever got divorced in history.

[Mildly stunned silence in the court]

Judge Cleo: Right. Good. I am about to quit. But before I quit, because Joe asked me nicely to come here today, I am going to order one of you to serve the other with divorce papers before tomorrow. That’s the next thing on the list: one of you has to formally divorce the other. No, I am not going to hear any more arguments, I’m done with this whole thing, you can find a new judge. Yes, Scar?

Scar: [lowers his tentatively raised hand] How do we know which one divorces the other one?

Judge Cleo: [looks blank] Well… I suppose it’s who serves their papers first?

COMPLAINT TO COURT:

Submitter of complaint: SCAR

Body of complaint: Grian wont accept divorce papers and keeps avoiding me.

COMPLAINT TO COURT:

Submitter of complaint: GRIAN

Body of complaint: scar didn’t take a single copy of the papers despite the fact i filled his bedroom with them

COMPLAINT TO COURT:

Submitter of complaint: SCAR

Body of complaint: Grian paid impulse to make a divorce paper printing redstone machine. It feels like this, should be Illegal!

COMPLAINT TO COURT:

Submitter of complaint: GRIAN

Body of complaint: scar employed my best man to make him a rival printing machine. this is sabotage.

COMPLAINT TO COURT:

Submitter of complaint: ZEDAPH

Body of complaint: Er, I know you’re doing a whole trial thingummy, but I would really like to be able to move around my base without swimming through mountains of divorce papers. Does it look like this is going to be possible any time in the near future?

COMPLAINT TO COURT:

Submitter of complaint: DOCM77

Body of complaint: WHY HAVE SEVENTY THOUSAND BADLY-PRINTED COPIES OF DIVORCE PAPERS BEEN SHOVELED INTO THE PERIMETER! I AM HOLDING ALL OF YOU PERSONALLY RESPONSIBLE! I WILL RAIN DOWN FIRE AND BLOOD!

TRANSCRIPT OF DIVORCE PROCEEDINGS, DAY 2:

Judge Mumbo: Right, so, apparently I’m supposed to be ruling on who served who with papers.

Scar: Excuse me! Objection! This new judge is clearly biased.

Grian: No, he’s not. This is all completely fine. Mumbo can be the judge now, and he can just wear a different hat when he’s being my lawyer.

Judge Mumbo: I am a bit biased, I have to admit.

Grian: No you’re not, Mumbo.

Scar: Admit it, there can’t be a fair trial for Grian under these circumstances!

Judge Mumbo: Uh—

Scar: Because I know Mumbo, and he can’t resist these…HoTgUy abs!

[Minor chaos as the court attempts to enforce a dress code]

Judge Mumbo: [removes his wig] Sorry, Grian, he’s right. Scar’s papers are accepted.

Grian: TRAITOR.

Mumbo: Scar, can I have another calendar?

TRANSCRIPT OF DIVORCE PROCEEDINGS, DAY 3:

Judge Ren: Court is called to order! Where’s—oh, there you are. Scar, you’re late.

Scar: Sorry! I was working on our honeymoon island.

Grian: What do you mean, our honeymoon island? Scar, we’re divorcing.

Scar: That doesn't mean you can just abandon a build, Grian. Some of us don't leave our backsides unfinished.

Cleo: Someone please get Ren a glass of water, I think he’s going to choke.

Judge Ren: Ahem. Now, gentlemen, I understand Scar is filing for divorce from Grian on the grounds of [checks his notes] desertion, abandonment, and unreasonable behavior.

Grian: Excuse me, what! If I’ve been unreasonable, what about him?

Scar: I have been a model of rationality and recti— rectic— ridiclitude.

Judge Ren: Indeed. I have heard Scar always finishes his backsides.

Grian: I’ll give you unreasonable behavior! This whole thing is your fault! If your bachelor party hadn’t been so badly defended I wouldn’t have been able to blow you all up.

Scar: Well, mister, if you hadn’t overthrown Ren in the first place he might have shown up to our wedding in spite of it!

Grian: If you’d been better at your job I wouldn’t have been ABLE to overthrow him!

Scar: You—you—oooh, I oughta—

Grian: [tauntingly] Ought to what?

Judge Ren: Scar, no, not in court…!

Scar: HOTGUY! [Retrieves bow from improbably small pocket and summarily murders his co-petitioner on the witness. Chaos ensues. Trial name hastily changed.]

TRANSCRIPT OF TRIAL PROCEEDINGS FOR THIRD-DEGREE MURDER, DAY 1:

Judge Ren: Listen, Scar, did you, or did you not, kill another petitioner right in front of me?

Scar: What? Oh, yeah, I just shot Grian.

Judge Ren: You can’t just—My dude, this might have been a crime of passion, but you understand this is a court and that was murder, right?

Cleo: Objection.

Judge Ren: Yes?

Cleo: We can’t start prosecuting for murder now.

[Pause as the court considers the comprehensive history of all Hermits present.]

TRANSCRIPT OF TRIAL PROCEEDINGS FOR THIRD-DEGREE MURDER, DAY 1

TRANSCRIPT OF DIVORCE PROCEEDINGS, DAY 3:

Judge Ren: [once Grian has returned from spawn] You’re going to have to come to some sort of agreement, gentlemen. It’s been days.

Grian: I think we should fight.

Judge Ren: This court does not do trial by combat. I refuse to be witness to such barbarity.

Cleo: I mean��if you think about it, it would stop them arguing.

Judge Ren: …

Judge Ren: I think I could stand to watch someone else compromise their morals. From a distance. Who wants this wig?

Judge Pearl: [settling in at the bench] Right! I think you two should fight. To the death.

Grian: LET’S FIGHT.

Judge Pearl: Riding ravagers.

Scar: What?

Judge Pearl: It would be funny.

Scar: Ravagers, though—

Grian: Don’t listen to Scar, he just murdered me. He doesn’t have a leg to stand on.

Scar: Alright! Alright, we can fight, but I’m only doing it if it’s somewhere dramatic.

Grian: …What do you mean, dramatic?

TRANSCRIPT OF DIVORCE PROCEEDINGS, DAY 3 (CONTINUED):

[The court has moved proceedings from its custom-built courthouse to a location considered ‘acceptably dramatic’ by Petitioner Scar. We are now in the dim, cavernous monolith of the Royal Vault, where the walls are sheer deepslate lit only by flickering lanterns, and mountains of diamonds and chests gleam softly in the shadowed gloom. The court is gathered here to watch the petitioners fight symbolically over their own escrowed valuables, which are piled in the middle of a stone platform built by Grian and Pearl, and see a final conclusion to this bitterly-fought split. At either end of the platform are pens with two enraged ravagers donated by Tango, salivating at the buffet of violence and blood about to—]

Judge Pearl: [leans over the edge of her observation chair] Joe! What are you doing down there scribbling?

Court Scribe JoeHills: Oh, I’m just adding narrative color.

Judge Pearl: Well, stop doing that and pay attention to the fight! We’re about to start!

Bdubs: FIGHT!

Cub: Let’s go!

Mumbo: Grian, mate, you’ve got this.

Bdubs: RUN HIM THROUGH, SCAR. TEACH HIM TO MAKE FUN OF MY WEDDING DECORATIONS.

Doc: What happens if they both die? I would like them both to die.

Judge Pearl: Contestants! Mount your steeds!

Grian: [has succeeded in landing on his ravager’s back, something Scar has not yet managed] I want you to know, Scar, that whatever happens—

Judge Pearl: Scar! You can’t just stand there, you have to TRY to ride it.

Grian: —I think we can count this as a—

Bdubs: FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!

Scar: [his head comes up to look at Grian] —a double victory?

[As if this is a code word, Grian and Scar’s gazes meet. The Court Scribe feels obliged to note that when Grian and Scar smile at the same time, history suggests something terrible is about to happen.]

Scar: Well, hello there, Mister Ravager! Would you like to get out of that pen?

Bdubs: Wait, what’s he—Scar, you ain’t supposed to break the wall that lets them at us! SABOTAGE!

Judge Pearl: GRIAN!

Grian: [shrieking as his ravager swerves into the crowd of spectators] Scar! The switch!

[Your trusty Court Scribe hurriedly dives out of the way as Scar flings himself into the pile of his and Grian’s valuables, where the tell-tale glint of redstone has been hidden under the piles of chests.]

Ren: Why do both of them have all those empty shulkers?

Cleo: Wait, wait, did we just give Grian and Scar unfettered access to all the diamonds in the vault?

Judge Pearl: WATCH OUT, THEY’VE HIDDEN TNT UNDER THE—

[Scar slams a switch. The world explodes. The Judge and most spectators are instantly blown up. The only survivors are your Court Scribe, who managed to get behind an obsidian pillar, and Cub, rising above the chaos on pre-equipped elytra wings with the philosophical serenity of someone who saw this coming.]

POSTSCRIPT

It’s a beautiful day, the sky is a clear and serene blue, and Grian and Scar have gotten away with everything.

Grian coasts joyfully ahead of Scar on outstretched wings, loaded down with boxes and boxes of ill-gotten diamonds, looping head-over-heels only when he can’t contain the energy bubbling through him. “We are the greatest, Scar. We are geniuses. We are the greatest geniuses who ever lived.”

“Oh, we are,” Scar agrees instantly. A lesser person might have pointed out their first plan failed spectacularly and their hasty second one only succeeded by luck, but this is why Grian married Scar specifically. Only he’s not married to Scar any more, is he? For one shining moment Grian had forgotten that.

The crater of the Royal Vault is far below and receding, the debris scattered like little jeweled toys. Grian is recalled to the present gleeful moment in which they are geniuses who have pulled the whole thing off and are richer than every other hermit put together. “Where are we going?”

“I was following you,” Scar says.

“I didn’t think this far ahead! I only planned up to the part where we stole everyone’s diamonds!”

“Oh, well, that’s easy,” Scar says confidently. “Change course to Honeymoon Island!”

Grian doesn’t have a good argument against that, and anyway, he’s too happy and diamond-dazzled to argue. Scar strikes out to the azure ocean and Grian dips into his wake and soars behind.

Scar has outdone himself, as usual. Honeymoon Island is just one long crescent-shaped beach with crystal seas, golden sands, palm trees, deck chairs, and—somehow—little iced coconut drinks that keep reappearing and each have a little paper umbrella. Naturally, Scar hasn’t thought of including a safe room for all their new valuables, so Grian has to dig out a makeshift bunker for all their ill-gotten gains, but when all that excitement is done, Grian throws himself onto a deckchair with a coconut drink and closes his eyes.

“So?” Scar says, in the expectant tone of someone who has spent three weeks fiddling with the palm trees that are currently casting an exquisitely-latticed shade over Grian’s eyelids, despite the fact they were technically divorcing all that time. “What do you think?”

“It is very pretty,” Grian admits grudgingly. “We can’t use it for a honeymoon, though. We’re divorced.”

“Are we divorced?” Scar is thoughtfully making origami out of his paper umbrella. “We did ditch them all before the trial officially finished.”

“Oh, we’re absolutely divorced. Super divorced.”

“I suppose you’re right. No honeymoon for us, then?”

An idyllic silence falls over the palm-fringed beach. The sea laps at the shining sands, creating a soft music from the shells and pebbles. The leaves rustle. This coconut drink in Grian’s hand is surprisingly good.

“Scar—”

“Hey, Grian—”

There is a pause.

“Go on,” Grian says impatiently.

“No, no, I think you should ask.”

“I asked last time!” This is ridiculous. It’s a shame Grian has been enchanted by the ridiculous for years now. “We’re probably not even talking about the same—”

Scar interrupts, which is rude, but unfortunately he’s picked his most golden and unfair voice, like the sea caressing the sand, and Grian is momentarily helpless. “Will you, Grian,” Scar says, “do me the great honor of marrying me? Again?”

Grian throws a paper umbrella at him. “Scar,” he says, “I thought you’d never ask.”

#fic #long post #grian #goodtimeswithscar #scarian #hermitshipping #bdoubleo100 #zombiecleo #joehills

4K notes · View notes

kooyabooya · 5 months ago

Text

SUITS, (STOCKINGS), & TIES

m reader x minju // 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.)

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