"Thank You For Loving Someone Like Me Who Is Good For Nothing."

SOMETHING ABOUT YOU

── ♡ KAFKA OGURO

if there was anything that annoyed kafka more than you, it was nosy scandalmongers. unfortunately, he has to deal with both of you, all at once. you, on the other hand, enjoy having fun when the opportunity lands on your lap. unfortunately, you underestimate kafka's ability to worm his way into people's hearts.

The disbelief laugh that leaves you is wobbly and hoarse, and it’s only upon Kafka Oguro’s unimpressed stare that you dutifully shut your mouth.

“You can’t be serious,” You stammer, dropping your flimsy plastic fork into the box of cheesy fries (paid by Kafka, which you now realise was a means to butter you up). The sigh that escapes his lips is heavy and exhausted, and he drops his chin into the palm of his hand.

“Unfortunately not,” He slides his phone across the table, and you look over at the dimly lit screen, choking at the headlines that read.

“Ward 0 mayor rumoured to be in a relationship.”

“CEO of HAMA Tours spotted leaving with mystery lover.”

“Oguro Kafka in committed romance.”

You suck in your teeth sharply, muttering a “yikes” as he draws back his device. Despite your mild pity, your curiosity takes centre stage and you waste no time in interjecting your thoughts within the lull of awkward silence.

“That sucks but… I’m not sure why you invited me here just to tell me this?” You raised a valid question. While the local fast food joint was no fine dining, you and Kafka weren’t exactly friendly enough for him to unload his concerns onto you in a casual setting. He was your quasi-boss! You’d go as far as to believe he didn’t even like you much, considering his austere disposition whenever you entered a room. You probably would have already been packing up your office if it wasn’t for the fact that it was the Chief who had hired you.

Your suspicions about Kafka’s intent began to arise, and you realised too late what was going on when his observant eyes met yours.

“This nonsense began when the Chief and I had gone out for dinner together. Because of my lack of spatial awareness, I wasn’t aware that the lead editor of the famous gossip magazine ‘Paramour Monthly’ had been close by our table…” He fishes for something in his messenger bag, pulling out a rolled-up paper. Vibrant hues of purple and pink flood the parchment, the iconic colour scheme of the magazine, and a blurry photo of two figures is printed on the front page. However, with Momiji’s standard grey jacket and Kafka’s distinct violet hair, it was unmistakable to you that it was them sitting in a booth together.

While usually this type of idle chatter could have gone easily ignored, a magazine as famous as Paramour Monthly could cause enough stir that HAMA Tours’ operations could be disturbed as scandal-mongering fans will hunt for the mystery babe. No doubt this news would be disturbing Momiji as well…

“I don’t have any intent of making the Chief have to deal with this ridiculousness. If I could, I’d take the burden on myself entirely. However, that’s not possible,” He clears his throat, and when he looks you straight in the eye, you realise you have stuck your foot into a quagmire the minute you accepted his invitation.

“I’d like to ask if you can take on the role of being my… secret significant other.”

You drop your milkshake onto the plush vinyl of the sofa.

After having to repeatedly apologise to the flustered and tired staff of the food court, Kafka takes the awkward walk back to the office as an opportunity to elaborate on his new grand plan.

The gist is that for a long-term bonus in your salary, you will be his mystery lover until the excitement dies down, in which you both will fake an amicable separation and continue business as usual. In his own words, you were also his last option, seeing as you were the only one he knew who had no reputation at stake here. Upon the promise of the bribe, you had cheered up significantly to this ordeal. Kafka, on the other hand, was the one who looked the most reproachful.

“Should I call you something trendy like ‘babe’, or would something more traditional like ‘sweetheart’ work better?” You ask, and the look he sends you is scathing.

“None of them,” He answers curtly, and you sigh, disparaged.

“You don’t get how this whole fake dating thing works, do you?” When he meets your inquisitive gaze with a blank stare, that’s all the answer you need. You feel a tickle in your stomach as you puff out your chest exaggeratedly.

“Allow me to give you a crash course on the inner workings of this timeless troupe called—” Your lurch backwards when Kafka closes the entrance door behind him, barely missing your nose by a breath’s hair. All you see is his disappearing back as you yell behind him about how that was no way for him to treat his pseudo-significant other.

(i)

“They’re right,” Momiji says piteously, and Kafka’s shoulders droop in disappointment. “Nobody would believe it if you guys act like that in public.”

The Chief, upon being filled with both gratitude and shame, had offered to lend a helping hand to see this farce to success. Today was the day to discuss the boundaries and codes of conduct necessary to allow the public to believe you two were a professional but loving couple.

(Kafka’s stomach churns at the notion, despite it being his novelty idea.)

“We’re going to have to hold hands and be corny, so you’re going to have to get used to it, Kafka,” You state squarely, and his childhood friend nods in agreement, much to his growing displeasure.

“We’ll eventually have to use pet names.”

“Yup, that’s right!”

“And we might have to kiss and stuff.”

“Exa–Wait, isn’t that a little too far!?” Momiji gapes at you while you, shameless, sit firmly as if you are manning a fort. Kafka sighs.

“Do you see why I’m reluctant?” He points out and this time her tired gaze sweeps over to him.

“Kafka, you’re the one who asked them.”

Perhaps her growing exhaustion at dealing with the both of you got to her because Momiji made a half-hearted excuse of having to check up on EV3NS before swiftly departing the solemn conference room. This leaves you and Kafka at your lonesome, staring each other down with shared annoyance.

“I don’t get it. I’m trying to make this work,” For my salary.

“We don’t need to go overboard in selling the act. I’ll look ridiculous,” In front of Momiji.

After an intense moment of staring each other down, you’re the first to give in.

“Fine. We’ll keep it as down-low as possible, but you have to start being more of a gentleman to me,” You warn, closing the lid of your laptop and grabbing your warming carbonated drink. You are visibly disquieted, much to his confusion, even as you lift your backpack over your shoulders and make your way to the door.

“I don’t understand why you’re disappointed,” Kafka questions behind you, and you pause with your hand situated around the door handle, rooted in place. If Kafka had been any less observant, he would have missed your lips' slight tremble.

“Because you’d be my first boyfriend, even if a fake one,” You quickly shut the door before he could get a word in, the only sound in the room being the quiet whirring of the air conditioner. For the first time, you’re the one who leaves the purple-haired man flustered.

(ii)

Much to your surprise, Kafka lived up to his end of the agreement.

For the past two months, you’ve grown familiar with the feeling of Kafka’s hand around yours, and the scent of peppermint from his minty cologne. While at first, any type of touching had been reserved solely for passing publicists and fans, eventually, you barely realised that you were in the habit of grabbing onto him whenever you were excited or happy. Likewise, it skips your attention how he doesn’t shove you away, or that his eyes soften at the corners whenever you aren’t looking.

He had even begun doing unnecessary things, like texting you ‘good morning’ and ‘goodnight’ despite his packed itinerary, and bringing you thoughtful gifts and souvenirs whenever he left the comfort of HAMA. He had even booked a lavish dinner at a famous restaurant on your birthday, paired with a large bouquet delivered to your room.

There were no cameras, no nosy editors, and no extra eyes to bear witness to his vocal affection. It came with the unsettling realisation and a pounding heart that you liked Kafka, and it brought along a wave of dread and a permanent lump stuck in your throat.

When you start pulling away, you miss the fact that you’re not the only one who has been gutted by new realisations and uncomfortable feelings.

Kafka Oguro, despite his stinging attitude, never truly disliked you. You had annoyed him, sure, and he knows you were purposeful in the way you push buttons. He’s met people like you before, who are terrified of being veracious, that they’d happily play the role of a fool if it meant people laughed with them rather than at them. Thus, he harmonised with you by being your straight man, armed with biting retorts and lacklustre reactions.

Now that he thinks about it, perhaps he’s given you enough reason to believe he held animosity against you. He regrets it enough when you confessed he’d be your first relationship, even if it were only a guise. He had tried his best to make it up to you by masquerading as the ideal boyfriend, letting you hold onto his arm whenever you walked together, and letting you call him by whatever cheesy name that crossed your mind.

Until he realised that he had long since stopped acting. Kafka can’t pinpoint the exact moment when he had begun carefully picking out gifts for you, excited for your reaction, or when his heart began skipping a few beats whenever he spies you in a crowded room. You had a personalised ringtone on his phone. Momiji started pointing out that he doesn’t sit still until you respond to his texts. He had started requesting Sakujiro to reserve the breakfast muffins you like because, by the time you usually arrive at the cafeteria, they are gone. Thoughts of you completely rule his mind, and he’s not stupid enough not to know what this means for him.

In the safety of your respective covers, you and Kafka lay in bed, equally dreading the expiry date of this relationship.

(iii)

You blink, and it is New Year’s Eve.

HAMA Tours’ office is decorated with festive lights, colourful streamers and the wafting smell of delicious food. The ward mayors and employees alike are in higher spirits, exchanging excitable conversation and rambunctious antics. For once, it is you who stands silently amongst the sea of bodies, smiling wildly whenever anyone’s eyes land on you, but there is an unmistakable tremble in your hands that nurse a cup of juice.

Of course, it’s he who notices first, and you barely realise the tug on your arm until your drink is stolen from your hands and you meet the electric stare of Kafka.

“Can I steal you for a moment?” He asks with a small smile, and you smartly nod as you let yourself be drawn along by Kafka’s hand around your wrist. You don’t realise his destination until you are standing beside him as he unlocks the door to the building’s rooftop.

The chilly breeze hits your face, but you count yourself lucky for wearing extra layers. This doesn’t stop Kafka from unwrapping the scarf around his next, gently fixing it over you despite your frequent protests.

“You’ll get sick!” You counter and he doesn’t respond, plopping himself onto a bench decorating the deserted space. He pats the empty spot next to him and you have no choice but to comply with his demands. He tilts his head back and you apprehensively copy him, eyeing the inky sky glowing with starlight. He doesn’t speak, the silence only occasionally interrupted by the muffled noises inside the building and the usual ambience of nighttime city life. When you glance at him from the corner of your eyes, you hate how you can’t decipher the look on his face, regardless of how utterly beautiful you find him under the moonlight.

“Are you going to tell me something cheesy that the moon looks beautiful tonight?” You attempt to tease but lack the usual vibrance in your voice. You know this when Kafka finally turns to look at you, and he doesn’t look pleased.

“Why are you upset?” You reel back at his question, and unconsciously your hands begin to fiddle with the loose threads of your winter coat.

“Why would you think that?” You divert, shifting to create more distance between you and him. This does little to deter him because he leans closer to you with narrowed eyes. It’s how he gets when he realises he’s caught someone hook, line and sinker.

“You’ve been distant. I know you enough to pick up on that,” He hesitates before his fingertips graze yours. It takes all the strength you can muster to ignore his hurt expression when you yank back your hand.

“How much longer are you going to drag this along? It’s been long enough that nobody cares anymore. So why do you—” You descent into stammers, your chest seizing up as you keep your eyes on anywhere but him. “Why do you keep doing romantic things for me? Buying me stuff, always trying to talk to me, always asking how I’m doing… are you really that cruel that you don’t realise what it’s doing to me?”

You drop your face into your hands, feeling tears well up at the corner of your eyes. You couldn’t bear to see the look on Kafka’s face right now. He’s likely disgusted, or angered by you ruining his carefully thought-out efforts in maintaining this guise. Is he going to walk back inside, or tell you it’s over?

You feel warm hands circle your wrist, and you weakly let him tug your hands away from your face. He looks up at you from where he sits crouched on the tiled floor, and you feel your heart lurch in your throat because has Kafka ever looked at you with so much adoration before?

“I don’t want it to end,” He confesses quietly, enough that his voice could be drowned out by the passing wind. He lifts the back of your hand to his lips, pressing a sweet kiss to your knuckles. He smiles up at you, the affection mixed with a hint of mischief when he catches sight of your bewildered visage. “If you’d want me, I’d like to be your boyfriend. Genuinely, this time.”

He’s given no time to react before you throw your arms around him, leaning into him as he falls back on his tailbone. The position is awkward and uncomfortable, but the both of you could care less as his arms envelop your waist and you litter kisses to his face. Fireworks erupt in the sky, colouring the sky with luminescence as he finally seals the deal with his lips pressed against yours.

i would like a full breakdown of why nearly every single outfit in obey me is ugly. its not even moderately ugly, If i were to be in public with them, i would be embarrassed. i look at their sprites and am immediately filled with rage.

Argenti has really been on the brain as of late…I miss my wife….how do we feel about vampire agrenti//getsranover

love bites! — argenti

summary. argenti would do anything for you, even if that anything went against his own moral code.

notes. i think ANON YOU COOKED. YOUUUU COOKED. YOUUUUUUUU COOKED.

warnings. ehhhh… i’ll give it a 16+, suggestive content, as per usual you’re a freak, but argenti is also a freak so it’s okay, as the ask suggests argenti is a vampire, blood, biting, ummm, yk. vampire stuff. but it’s romantic i think.

You feel the couch dip next to you with added weight, and Argenti rests his head in the crook of your neck.

He has barely just gotten comfortable on the couch when you decide to be a thorn in his side. You grin wryly down at him. “Wanna try it?”

Argenti flutters his lashes in confusion.

You huff. “There’s a reason I wore a low cut shirt, dude.” You gesture towards your neckline.

“Oh!” Suddenly, he looks guilty. “As much as I appreciate your offer, I’m afraid I must decline.” He shakes his head and offers you a kind smile of his own. “I have staved off blood for years. I cannot start now. It would be… very unbecoming of me.”

“But, I want you to,” you try lightly. “And it’s your birthday.”

Birthday. As if his birthdays meant anything anymore. Argenti has had hundreds by now. Still, you always manage to make him feel like the most important man in the universe.

He laughs. “My birthday is two months away.”

“Early present,” you conclude firmly.

Then, you lean forward and wrap your arms around his shoulders. His skin has been bloodless since the day you met him, but there’s something so beautiful about it’s near translucency. It’s iridescently white and brilliant, and it’s like pearl silk when his hair spills over his shoulders.

Speaking of which, his hair smells of cherry and coconut.

Hmm, hmm. He’s used your shampoo—not that you mind. Not at all. He uses it because it is something to remember you by when he leaves for extended voyages. And it’s cute.

“C’mon.” It comes out as a childish droning low whine as you hit his shoulders gently. “I see the way you look at me when I get hurt. It'll be good for you.”

Argenti appears sheepish, though he indulges in your hand that cards over his scalp. His fangs poke from behind his bottom lip.

He glances away for a moment. His eyes have traced down to your neck, and he almost abandons his willpower to taste your skin.

“Just a teensy weensy bit.” You pinch your fingers together for good measure.

“It will not be ‘teensy weensy,’” Argenti explains softly. Although his voice falters for a moment, his hands do not tremble. “I will not be able to stop myself. You have always been tempting.”

“Aww.” You bop him on the shoulder. “You’re worried about me?”

“Well, of course. I do love you.”

Your heart falters. You’re sure he can hear how your blood stutters in your veins. He’s said it those words again—how many times? Almost everyday—and it still manages to fluster you.

How you managed to score this dude was beyond you. Maybe the ‘tempting’ part of you was the friends we made along the way.

You giggle like he’s smacked you over the head with his giant spear and caused a concussion. That’s what it feels like, at least. He makes you feel dizzy, but in a good way, like you’re being spun around and around by a lover when you return home after a long day.

Your fingers are still pinched together. “Just a little bit.”

You see him swallow.

He fidgets with his fingers for a moment.

He’s staring at your jugular, and though he appears apprehensive, there’s something clouding over his gaze.

He can’t say no to you. It goes against all of his moral principles.

“If it will make you happy.” Just a taste. He’s set in his ways, now. He’ll prick your neck, allow your blood to wash over his tongue, and then he’ll pull away.

And he really does love to make you happy.

“Hell yeah, it will.” You press your chest to his. “All yours.”

Oh, goodness. He swallows harder, and his hands that are usually confident with how they move, are suddenly hesitant now that they rest on the sides of your face. His hands are free of his gloves, and though his skin isn’t warm, you enjoy the callouses and marks that rub against your flesh.

Dutifully, you push his hair behind his ears.

You’re jealous of how lovely he is.

“Are you certain this is–”

“Yep.”

His brows knit together. “But this–”

“Argenti.”

He smiles apologetically. “I just want to make sure this is something you want, and not something you are doing for my sake.”

You sigh.

Then, you press your lips to his. You don’t let the taste of him distract you, however—and you know that’s secretly what he’s plotting by how his eyes flutter shut.

Argenti appears disappointed when you pull away.

“I want you to do this.”

Uh oh. You’re in for it now. You know that look.

He wants to. He does. He’s wanted to for a while now. But it is selfish of him to drink the blood from your wounds, so he instead ignores the desire.

Now, he can’t ignore it any longer.

His lips press to your cheek first. Then he moves to your jawline, painstakingly slow, but still considerate with how he dotes upon you. Maybe he’s trying to coax you from making the worst decision of your life. Wouldn’t be the first time.

You hum, pleased.

His nose is cold when he buries his face into the side of your neck where the throbbing arteries lie beneath thin supple skin.

And you smell delicious. He smells every throb of your veins as your heart pumps in your chest; that metallic earthy smell, like soil after the rain, and dew on rose petals.

Suddenly, you grow nervous.

He notices.

He tries to reel back, but you lock a hand behind his head.

Still, he tries, “you’re uncomfortable. I won’t–”

You’re excited. Your legs are jittery. The adrenaline rush is exhilarating, and sugar flows through your veins like hot ash.

Your skin feels set alight. You’re burning to the touch.

The scent of you is too much. He pinches his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to control himself.

“Bite me.” You feel his lips bump against your neck. “C’mon.” He lets out a stuttered gasp against your skin. “Do it.”

His will is not strong enough.

He wets his lips and they then part to allow sharpened canines to dot along the skin above your veins. He knows each and every path beneath your flesh. He knows where danger lies. He understands your fragility, for he was once the same.

He steers clear of the artery, as enticing as it is. It’s wrong; and he could very well hurt you beyond repair.

Your heart stutters when his fangs slice through your skin.

And it hurts. Of course it hurts, and Argenti knows as such. His other hand that is not trying to hold you still rubs along the other side of your throat soothingly. The pinpricks of his teeth are slow and deliberate. Perhaps it would hurt less if he was quick, but the sharpness stirs hot on your flesh anyway.

You try not to voice your anguish. Instead, your fingers curl firmly into his hair.

He lingers with his teeth lodged into your vein.

It’s uncomfortable, especially when you feel something hot and wet trickle from the puncture wounds and slip over his cold teeth, but you’ve never felt so alive.

His teeth pull away with a wet pop and you shiver.

You’re bleeding, rightfully so. It’s not a major wound—he’d never. You knew he’d never—but with how sticky the holes were growing, you would be convinced otherwise.

Gingerly, you felt a warm tongue swipe over the wound.

That hurt, too. You hiss then, and you feel Argenti wince against your skin.

The damage is done.

“I’m fine.” And you are. You’re practically jumping out of your skin. “Keep going.”

After a pause, his tongue cards once again over the fresh blood spilling from the wound. It doesn’t help the fire in your veins when he slots his lips over the punctured skin and begins to suck. The noises are alarming at best, and you can hear him swallowing.

It hurts.

But it’s good.

You stiffen in his hold.

Argenti stops for a moment to pepper sticky kisses over your wound. You’re sure it’s stained in the shape of his lips. Stupidly, you giggle at the idea.

He continues to indulge and he’s slow. Maybe he’s hesitant, or maybe he’s savouring you. You’re not sure.

When you’re sure he’s finished, Argenti’s bloodied teeth scrape lower along your neck until his fangs sink into the junction of your throat and your shoulder. Somehow, it hurts more.

More bloodied kisses that make your skin stiffen. His tongue draws over your flesh again.

Both the wounds are still bleeding when he decides to add another to your body.

This one hurts even more. You can tell because his teeth don’t sink in cleanly. The other side of your throat has that arterial vein you know he wants to get to. You also know he wouldn’t ever. He’s inching dangerously close to it, though.

He’s sucking and sucking and you smell copper in the air and you’re stomach is churning and your neck is covered in blood.

Your hands slacken from around his head.

The fourth puncture wound comes over your shoulder.

Your eyes flutter for a moment.

He’s not stopping.

In fact, he hasn’t even opened his eyes to check on you. He’s way too absorbed in your taste to notice your slackening grip on his shoulders.

His tongue grazes your shoulder.

“Argenti.”

He doesn’t even hear you. You move your hands to push him away, but your arms tremble. You’re growing weaker with every second.

Oh, God. This was a bad idea. You’re good at making those.

You hit his shoulders weakly.

“Argenti.” It comes out strangled and weak.

His teeth pop out of a new wound. He hums.

You’re already dizzy. Weakly, your arms wrap around him and grip loosely onto his clothes.

As sexy as this is, and because you feel like the main character in some cheesy vampire story, the stupid primal urges in your brain to survive shut down the idea of laying there, taking it, and letting him ruin your neck until you fall unconscious.

Argenti finally understands just how strong you smell and is horrified at what he’s done when his eyes finally refocus on you.

He lays you down properly on the couch and rushes to get a first aid kit.

When he comes back, he’s mumbling strings of apologies. He looks forlorn, because he’s betrayed himself, and you.

You don’t think it’s appropriate to comment on how the blood around his mouth is almost enough to make you jump on him. Only issue is you’re not sure your bones can support your weight at the moment.

The alcohol stings as he tends to the punctures, but not as much as his teeth did.

You sigh, but it’s happy.

Argenti looks at you. Guilt is smeared over his face like a thick paste.

“You look just as beautiful as the day I met you,” you murmur to him. Because that day had been a wild day. Not only did a giant man with flaming red hair stop to offer his sincerest compliments on how radiant you were—dressed in flip flops and pyjama pants because you were simply hosing your front lawn—with two squirrels at his feet and five birds resting on his shoulders.

If Argenti could blush, you figure he’d be bright red by now.

Instead, he lets out a shaky laugh. “You flatter me so. I know nothing more enchanting than you.”

The wounds have stopped bleeding now, and he makes sure to clean each one thoroughly. He expresses no concerns about a stitch job. You’re relieved at that one.

Weakly, an arm raises to push his hair behind his ears again.

That alone takes all of the strength out of you.

“You okay?” you ask him.

He looks confused at your question. “Fret not, I have had my fill. It is you who I’m worried about.”

“I feel alive.” It’s partly true. As woozy as you feel, it’s like warm sugar still lingers in your veins. “That was great. I bet you enjoyed it.”

Argenti’s grin turns crooked. “Very much so. Perhaps too much. I’ve hurt you.” His fingers rub over the tender skin surrounding the puncture wounds. “But, you are as sweet as I thought you’d be.”

“I’m so in love with you, dude.” Very appropriate thing to say. Maybe it’s the blood loss. Amazing pet name, too.

Still, Argenti flusters. He clears his throat for a moment and his fingers still around your neck. “Words cannot convey how often I think of you, or better yet how often I long to hold you.”

He behaves as if this is his first confession of many to come.

Oh. Your heart is racing in your chest.

Arms much too tired to move, you instead pucker your lips obnoxiously.

Argenti eagerly leans down to kiss you again. His lips are still bloody, and the scent and taste of metal makes your stomach twist for a moment, but it’s him. It’s him and how gentle he always is—and how can you still be so gentle when you’re enraptured in cutting holes into your partner’s neck? Beats you.

“Still so sweet,” he whispers against your lips. “Is all of you this sweet?”

You kiss his cheek. “Wanna find out?” You’re happy to play pillow princess for an hour.

Argenti smiles at that, but it’s cheeky. His eyes crinkle with mischief as he moves to your lips again.

We finally reached you

Happy 5th Anniversary Twisted Wonderland!! Thank you for an incredible 5 years!

Heartslabyul chiikawa series!!! Might do other dorms too ‼‼

sanji doodle pile

𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐇𝐒𝐑 𝐌𝐄𝐍 .ᐟ

first meetings are always the spark to a flame.

ᯓ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 .ᐟ argenti, sunday, boothill, blade, aventurine + jing yuan x fem!reader (separate), feat. march, dan heng, himeko, kafka, madam yukong.

ᯓ 𝐜𝐰 .ᐟ alcohol consumption, mentions of blood/violence, SFW, boy did i have some fun with sunday's one, blade's one is ass but moving on, this took me way too long to write, 6.3k words 💀, idk if this has been done before (probably), rbs are appreciated!! <3

ᯓ ARGENTI .ᐟ

𝐎𝐇 𝐁𝐎𝐘. Never in your life had you been so flustered over a mere compliment—but, really, no one could blame you. Having such a man of unparalleled beauty himself flatter you with flowery words and praises? Not only that, but with the most sincere, earnest expression on his face while he said such things? Falling in love had never been so easy.

“This rose, one possessing such quiet, enrapturing beauty itself, falls pathetically short in comparison to you, my lady,” the knight had remarked silkily, all while presenting said ‘pathetic’ rose to you confidently. He was stooped into a gentlemanly bow, one of his gauntleted hands placed over his armoured chest, those sparkling green eyes of his intense and filled with true candour. “It is like starlight follows your every step, so dazzling and captivating—a sight no person in their right mind would be able to banish from their thoughts.”

“I…” You hadn’t the slightest clue what to say. To be bombarded with such ornate compliments (on a normal day, you’d consider them painfully cheesy) and gazed at with two earnest jade eyes—well. It left you utterly speechless. With only a trembling hand responding to him and reaching out to accept the flower, you flicked a frantic glance in Himeko's direction. But she looked on in great amusement, hiding her giggles behind an elegant hand. This knight should be showering her with compliments here! Himeko’s the gorgeous one! Awkward, baffled silence from your fellow Express members suffocated the atmosphere. Your cheeks were burning. “My goodness, I…I’ve never received such high praise from someone as handsome as yourself before.” Or anyone, for that matter. 

“You have not?” Once you had taken the rose, the knight of beauty, named Argenti, straightened and peered down at you with such a genuinely astonished stare, as if the concept of no one ever having complimented you was completely foreign and bizarre to him. “I do believe that is the most outlandish thing I’ve heard for a very long time. Such a lovely young woman such as yourself, one who I quake at even having the honour of being in the presence of, has never received her due praise? What has this universe come to?”

“I, uh, have no idea.” You twirled the rose gently in your fingers, noting its thornless stem. It smelled very nice, and it was evident the man before you took great care of his (seemingly endless) supply of flowers. “But, thank you very much, Sir Argenti. you have made my day.”

In fact, you wanted to cry from embarrassment and joy at the knight’s abrupt onslaught of lauds for you. You didn’t think yourself worthy. 

And then he did something most unexpected. He took your hand in his large, gauntleted one ever so gently, as if it were a soft, fragile petal of a rose, and placed a gentlemanly kiss to the top of it. You could hear March gasp in shock, and the sound of a phone camera going off. Oh, they’re going to tease me about this for a long, long time. Argenti parted his lips from the top of your hand, but he did not straighten, remaining hovered over it while gazing up at you with two intense green eyes. “Truly, I tell you, it makes my heart soar to know I have, but—will you grant me the honour of keeping me company during my stay?”

“I—I’m sorry?”

Argenti finally stood straight again, but he brought your hand up higher so he could place another peck to the top of it, if need be. “I shall, regrettably, remain aboard this extraordinary train only temporarily. However, if you were to allow me the privilege to befriend you throughout my brief visit here, I would be utterly overjoyed.”

Tongue-tied, you sneaked a glance in March’s direction, and she caught your eye, immediately flailing around and frantically gesturing for you to say yes. Dan Heng stood at her side, his usually aloof, blank expression now showing a rare expression of bewilderment at Argenti’s antics and flowery words toward you, and he nodded along with March. 

Pressing your lips together anxiously, you finally managed a nod. “Sir Argenti, I believe it would, in fact, be my honour to keep you company amid your stop here.”

Happiness brightened the Knight of Beauty’s previously tentative expression, and he pressed another soft kiss to the top of your hand, closing his eyes. “Words could never efficiently suffice to convey the bliss I feel at your affirmation. My lady, how eternally honoured I am to have met you throughout the vast, endless cosmos, where such a beautiful soul as yourself is so hard to come by.”

ᯓ SUNDAY .ᐟ

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐑 of a man was one you either got off on the right foot with, or you didn’t. There was simply no in between. In contrast, his angel of a sister was much easier to befriend, considering her naturally sweet temperament, but her brother…well, to say the least, you could not stand the man upon your first introduction to him.

It was at a rather illustrious event, one you could only attend because of your own family’s status. The invitations were sent to your father three months ago, all the way from penacony and into your own homeworld, one lightyears from the planet of festivities. Your father thought this a great opportunity to speak personally about business with the renowned Mr. Sunday—a man with the slyness of a fox and the stillness of a snake.

Yes, his handsome features and suave manner were truly appealing, but that didn’t take away your simmering urge to splash your glass of SoulGlad all over that exorbitant off-white three-piece lapel suit of his. And, oh, yes, he was so polite and charming and refined, but the way he looked at you made your cheeks heat and blood boil.

Golden eyes with the softness of a rock. Utterly unreadable, unpredictable. But you tolerated him, because relations between the head of the Oak Family and your father took priority well over your own inimical sentiments for the man. Also, his sister Robin, the famed and beautiful singer all across the cosmos, had become a quick friend of yours. The vast difference in personality between the sibling duo was baffling.

“Delighted to make your acquaintance,” Sunday had pleasantly greeted, smoothly taking your gloved hand and placing a gentlemanly, polite, and brief kiss to the top of it. “Miss [Name].”

“No, the honour is all mine.” At first, you thought him nice enough, rather taken with the way he so facilely, amiably kissed your hand. You’d always liked the more traditional men, and Mr. Sunday was the embodiment of one—with his tall frame and courteous demeanour. That impression, however, did not last long.

The more the man talked, the more you disliked him. His voice was soothing and silky and full of the right amount of polite detachment fitting for a businessman of his calibre. His lips seemed to be permanently turned up at the corners, into some kind of semblance of a smile you couldn’t quite place. Almost a smirk, not quite. Something about it put you off, and drew you in. Perhaps that was the point.

“…This is not a realm for the infirm,” he was saying to your father, his champagne glass held loosely in long, attractive fingers. Ones sure to not have a single callus on them—for, you sardonically, softly scoffed into your own glass, this man was the very type to spill blood by proxy, never dirtying his own, smooth hands.

Maybe you were jumping to conclusions and making unfair judgements about this man—but, well, you just couldn’t shake the feeling that there was much more to the Head of the Oak Family than what first met the eye. Something off-putting.

“How do you mean?” Your father replied, taking a sip of his SoulGlad.

“I mean, natural selection is one to take precedence and make the choices for us, no?” You acted uninterested in the conversation as you looked away and pretended to watch the performing orchestra with rapt interest. “The law of the jungle puts each person to the test, and that all depends on your own determination, potential and, most of all, aptitude. Life is an obstacle course. It all boils down to one’s capabilities.”

“Survival of the fittest, you mean?” your father clarified, squinting at the Head of the Family, before he nodded in agreement. “Yes, yes, I quite agree. Adaptation, such a morbidly wonderful concept. It is how individuals like you and I clawed our ways to the top, if it meant our loved ones lived the lives they deserve.” And then he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, giving you a fatherly squeeze, smiling down at you. “I’ve no qualms about getting some dirt under my fingernails if it means my beloved daughter is comfortable for the rest of her life.”

“Father, you’re making it sound like you’re secretly an underground crime boss.” You jokingly arched a brow, masking your deep discomfort with the present topic of the conversation. You could feel Mr. Sunday’s golden hues boring into the side of your face intently. “You shouldn’t say such things. I think you’re both talking nonsense.”

“Ah, so you have been listening,” quipped Mr. Sunday, inclining his head toward you, gazing at you through his greyish-blue bangs and long lashes. “You do not agree with the survival of the fittest?”

“Oh, now, I do not consider myself to be a holy person, Mr. Sunday,” you elucidated, straightening your posture. “I hold no lofty ideals. But I do believe in fairness.” Ironic, as all I’ve been doing this evening is judging you. But, somehow, you felt that your judgments were not inaccurate. “I believe that for society to flourish as it should peacefully, this ‘survival of the fittest’ archetype should be discarded. Instead of using the weak as leverage for ‘getting to the top’, the ‘fittest’ should do their best to extend a hand to those clinging to the precipice for dear life, instead of letting them fall—or, even worse—kicking them to their metaphorical death. Do you understand my meaning?” 

“Your words hold merit,” the Oak Family head acknowledged, staring at you from over the rim of his champagne flute. “You seem to cling tightly to your morality.”

“You do not?” You were beginning to enjoy twisting his words and testing him. Let’s see how long it’ll take until he trips up. “The holy and righteous Head of the Family cares not for principles?”

“That is not what I said at all.” Sunday seemed equally amused. “I pride myself in my integrity. That is something…you and I appear to have in common.”

“Hm.” You gazed back, unintimidated. You really did not like this man. Yes, you were attracted to him—but what man or woman wasn’t? His allure was merely one of the many tricks up his sleeve he effortlessly, unhesitatingly utilised to his advantage. 

It was unfortunate that your father jumped to use the chemistry between you both as a great business tactic. “Well, then, I shall leave you both to this conversation. Such a riveting one, yes, but I fear my informant is seeking my attention. Enjoy yourselves!”

And just like that, your own shelter from the beloved Mr. Sunday was gone. Silence befell you both momentarily, before the Family head extended a hand to you, flashing a bewitching smile, so full of knives. “Now, Miss [Name]…shall we dance?”

ᯓ BOOTHILL .ᐟ

“𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 these shady parts are ideal for such a lovely young lady as yerself, darlin’.”

You didn’t look up from your whiskey glass. “Because I’m not safe from vagabonds like you?"

A raspy chuckle followed. “Hoho, a sharp tongue you have. Yeah, I’d say you ain’t far off the mark there, treasure.” The scrape of a stool being drawn out filled the silence, and the man you still hadn’t looked at took a seat next to you. “But, ya haven’t got anything to worry about around me, sugar. I ain’t one of them shirtbags.”

Shirtbags? “That’s what those…shirtbags all say.” Should I just leave? You’d almost finished your drink, anyway. “Can’t a girl have a drink in a rundown bar late at night in peace?”

“Sure she can,” was the answer. “You still ain’t safe, though. Look out for yerself.”

“What’s it to you?” You finally glanced over at the man, and his appearance immediately took you aback. Cowboy hat tipped down low over his eyes, only the slope of a nose and a shapely, smirking mouth visible. Long, grey hair split into two flowing over back with black undersides. And…metal arms. A metal-plated torso. A holster with untold ammo and a gun secured on his right hip. He had cool, dark skin-tight trousers on with spurred roper boots on his feet. You couldn’t see his eyes, but it was easy to tell he was awfully attractive. 

The unknown man tilted his head slightly, revealing his only visible eye to you. His right one was fully covered by his hair. It was curious—that eye had a red pupil, with four white lines rimming it, making it appear like a target lock symbol. You blinked at him, and he grinned. This guy’s full of surprises. His teeth were sharp, jagged, like a shark’s. “Oh, sweetheart, it ain’t nothin’ to me, you’re right. But what’s wrong with extending some friendly concern for a sad-looking young woman on her third glass of whiskey?” “How did you—” You narrowed your eyes at him. “Have you been watching me this entire time? And sad-looking? You wanna start a fight?” You brushed your coat to the side, revealing your own gun. He glanced down at it in immense amusement. “If you’re just here to cause trouble, then you can piss o—”

He held up both hands in surrender, still grinning. “Not here to cause trouble, sugar. Just here to chat. Nothin’ else, I swear. On my honour.”

You snorted. “Didn’t know you had any.”

“Hey.” His tone turned whiny, half-offended. “I’m basically actin’ as your bodyguard right now, honey. Keepin’ all these creeps in here miles away from ya because of my menacin’ energy.”

“Menacing?” You laughed derisively. “Ha! You’re a funny one, cowboy. Anyway, what’re the likes of you doing in these parts? This is a bar, not a saloon. Can’t play poker here, you know—at least, I don’t think so.” “Har har.” The man paused and ordered some…malt juice? You looked at him weirdly. He ignored it. “Hilarious, darlin’. I ain’t your stereotypical cowboy. I go around beatin’ them IPC fudgeheads up, not smackin’ cow rumps on a ranch.”

“An outlaw, are you? Ooh, scary.” You chuckled into your shot glass. “How big’s your bounty?”

“Why? Gonna turn me in?” He leaned his cheek on one metal hand, gazing at you with an intense eye. It felt a bit weird—strangely, that target lock symbol in his eye made you feel like he’d set you in his sights. “Good luck with that one, sweetheart. People’ve been tryin’ for years.”

“Who said I was gonna turn you in?” You arched a brow at him. “I don’t care about you and your so-called bounty. You sound pretty full of yourself, cowboy.”

“When you’re a pro at evading the IPC for years on end, who wouldn’t get a little bit of a big head?”

“Pride always comes before the fall.” You took a sip of whiskey. “Biggest mistake you could possibly make is underestimating your enemy.”

“Heck, sounds like yer givin’ me some advice on how to continue runnin’ away from them IPC hooligans!” he guffawed. “Sounds like you’re already well on your merry way to becomin’ a scummy crim like me, eh, darlin’? Oho, now that’s funny.”

“What’s wrong with extending some friendly concern for a scruffy-looking cyborg?” you echoed his previous words sardonically.

“Alright, you got me there,” he conceded amusedly. There was a moment of silence, and then he held out a hand for you to shake. “Name’s Boothill. What’s yours, sugar?”

You looked at his hand, and then at him. Then you took his hand and shook it firmly. “[Name]. Nice to meet a fellow outlaw.”

ᯓ BLADE .ᐟ

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 sharp edge of a sword was hovering just over your jugular vein, more than ready to slice it open at any given opportunity. It was barely touching your skin, a ghost of a scrape, and you remained completely, absolutely still. 

The blade was of a deep, dark crimson, with golden spider cracks adorning it, giving the sword a serrated, broken appearance. It was visibly well-wielded, and mended many times over.

Just like the man who was holding it to your throat.

Bandages covered his left hand, and one was wrapped around his upper right forearm, on his coat’s sleeve. Strange. Another was wound around his upper right thigh, also on clothing, not on his skin. His hair was shaggy, unkempt, brushing over his eyes so thickly, his left one was barely visible. But his one visible eye…it held an intensity you hadn’t come across before—one so piercing, so penetrating, it became a physical and mental battle to hold it.

The man was handsome, very handsome, and his face was full of youth. But the way his brow was knotted so harshly, lips drawn out into a severe line, and how his uncovered eye speared through you gave you the unshakable sense that this man had seen, done, and lived many things, and many lifetimes.

“I know who you are,” were his first words to you. A deep, gruff, cold voice, so menacing. The man’s whole ambiance screamed menace. He would kill you without a second thought, resolutely, and you’d just become yet another victim he never stopped to understand, to care about.

“You do?” You were nervous; that sword of his was held so steadily, there was not a detectable tremor in his grip at all. The man’s entire form was utterly motionless, like a predator lying in patient, still wait. And the killing blow could come at any time, and you would never have possibly anticipated it. “…I don’t recall meeting you before.” “Then why are you here?” There was the crackle of leather squeezing together, and you watched as his only gloved hand curled around the blade’s hilt just that bit more. That red eye narrowed. It was flecked with searing gold, you noticed. “You do not belong here. I should kill you.”

You slowly lifted a hand, not making any sudden movements, but his eyes did not move from yours for even a fraction of a second. Tapping the back of it against the sword’s edge, you ever so slowly eased it away from your neck. You were amazed he let you. “Sir, I have no idea who you are, but did you think I was going to let a stranger bleed out in some empty alleyway at one in the morning?”

“You should mind your own business,” he spat, but he deemed you harmless enough to stay his sword fully. It dissipated into stardust, and your eyes bugged out at the sight. The man tried to take two steps back, but he stumbled, slumping against the brick wall behind him. You rushed to catch him, but a large, firm hand grabbed your shoulder and held you away from him. “Don’t.”

“Mister, you are bleeding. Severely.” From your observations of his (very obvious) mannerisms and appearance, you could only surmise that this man was some kind of soldier or thug, either or. He knew how to wield a sword masterfully, and this kind of incident evidently wasn’t new to him.

“And I will be fine.” A flash of red in the dark was all that told you he’d flicked a glare in your direction as he slid down the wall, sitting on the cold stone ground. “Leave this place.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You would just be making it more difficult for me. Leave. Before I have to make you leave myself.”

You knelt down in front of him. He was panting heavily, a hand on his middle. Rivulets of blood oozed between his fingers, streaming out and down through the gaps of his knuckles. “What’s your name?” “That is…none of your concern,” he puffed, that permanent frown on his face deepening. Sweat glistened on his brow. “There’s no need for me to tell yo—” “I’m asking so I can call a friend of yours, genius. Or an associate, if you’re involved with underground stuff like that.” You began to reach for his hip, feeling around for a phone. “Because you, clearly, don’t have the energy to—”

His free hand snatched yours away, grip tight and almost bruising. “Leave. Just leave.”

You stared at him, lips pursed. “I need to calm down. Whatever secret it is you’re desperately trying to keep from me is none of my concern. I’m not interested in that. What I am interested in is getting you help. Let me contact whoever your partner in all this is.”

His wide chest heaved, his breathing laboured, before he finally broke gazes with you and released your wrist. “Fine. Make it quick. And then you go, understood?” “Perfectly.” You waited for him to extract his phone from his pocket and unlock it, handing it to you. Then his hand slumped down. Damn, even doing just that took everything in him. You were growing increasingly concerned. This man is dying. I need to hurry.

The first name to pop up in his contacts was someone called ‘Kafka’. Hitting the call button, you put it on speaker and held it out to him. He waved it away, rasping, “you do the talking.”

Four rings went by before the other end clicked and a crooning, sultry female voice filtered through the phone. “Ooh, what a pleasant surprise, Bladie. You never call first~”

You glanced up at the so-called ‘Bladie’, who fixed you with a glare that screamed, I dare you to ask. I dare you. Biting back your laughter, you cleared your throat and carefully began, “Uh, good evening, ma’am. I’m here with your friend…Bladie.”

There was silence on the other end for a beat before the woman broke into chuckles. “Haha! You called him Bladie! Oh, you don’t have much longer to live, missy. If he’s incapacitated right now, you’re very lucky.”

You sneaked a glance at the man before you and saw that she wasn’t exaggerating. His glower was murderous, even more so than before. Your stomach dropped at the sight. “…Haha. Sorry about that. And yes, he is incapacitated right now. Very injured, in fact. He’s losing a lot of blood, ma’am.”

“Oh, don’t be so formal!” This ‘Kafka’ talked as if the present incident was just another Tuesday for her. What do these two get up to? You weren’t sure if you even wanted to know. “Just call me Kafka, sweetie. I’m on my way right now, Bladie. What’s your name, honey?”

You gave her your name. Kafka hummed. “Mm, yes, well, darling, I would advise you to leave, please. You’ve been a great help, and I hate to scare you off, but Bladie here has a few problems only I can attend to. Your leaving is only for your own good.”

“Why?” Curiosity killed the cat.

“Don’t ask questions. Just leave,” the man growled, and he seemed to be getting nastier and nastier by the second. “Do as she says. Go.”

“I’m almost there, Blade,” Kafka said through the phone, and that’s when you knew she’d used his actual name. Blade. It suited him. Very well. The faint sound of heels clicking in the background on the line told you the woman was hurrying over to you and Blade. “Hang in there, alright? Just a little longer.”

“Miss Kafka, I think I should stay here—”

“Honey, Blade here is mara-struck,” she interrupted you, her voice still so lilting and flirtatious, but it held a firmer note. “If he goes wild, you’ll be the first to go.”

“What do I keep telling you?” Blade panted, and that’s when you understood the golden gleam in his eyes. “Go. How long until it gets through your thick skull? When you’re dead? Just lea—”

“Bladie, don’t be so harsh.” Kafka had her previous playful tone again, one this man obviously hated. “She’s probably terribly shocked right now—aren’t you, honey?” “…Yeah…” You were. Utterly shellshocked. I need to get out of here. This man was much more dangerous than you initially anticipated. “I’ll…I’ll go.”

“Good idea,” Kafka purred, and then two sets of heels began to echo behind you. “Here we are.”

The call ended, and the woman emerged from the shadows. Voluptuous, graceful and just exuding danger, the tall lady approached you both with quick, but casual, calculated steps, and Blade looked visibly relieved at her appearance. Kafka smiled down at you, but it wasn’t a real smile. Just an automatic reaction, you guessed. You immediately handed her Blade’s phone. Her smile widened. “Thank you, sweetie. Run along now.”

“Of—of course.” You hurried to your feet. Glancing worriedly down at Blade, he kept his head slumped as Kafka knelt beside him in the place you just were. Her perfume hit you like a truck, and you suddenly thought this woman was very cool. Really cool. But lethal. “I…yeah. Take care.”

“Oh, we will.” Kafka didn’t look up again, and was feeling Blade’s pulse. “Have a lovely rest of your night, honey. You got lucky.”

You’d already guessed as much. “Haha. Goodbye.”

Turning to hurry out of the alleyway, you were stopped by the woman calling out for you one last time. She had a long, elegant finger pressed to her lips, and she winked at you. “Just a little reminder, sweetie, to not say a word of this to anyone, alright?” “…Alright.”

Kafka’s intense gaze wasn’t half as friendly as her smile. “Good girl. Keep quiet, and we’ll be back with a reward for you in no time.” Intimidated, you backed up. “Oh—there’s…really no need, ma’am.”

She clicked her tongue, turning back to the now-unconscious man before her and continuing with whatever she was doing on him, chuckling rather darkly. “Oh, but there is. See you soon, sweetie.”

ᯓ AVENTURINE .ᐟ

“𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐀 few tricks up your sleeve, have you?”

You threw the dice down on the roulette wheel, leaning back in your chair and watching it spin about freely. Taking a sip of your cocktail, you smiled at the golden-haired man to your left over the rim of it. “You’re asking me that question? You’ve got untold ones hidden up in all nooks and crannies of that expensive peacock coat of yours.”

Aventurine leaned his cheek against his fist, elbow propped on his chair’s armrest. A pair of the most striking, beautiful eyes you’d ever seen gazed at you through rose-tinted shades. “Why, aren’t you observant. This little gambling session really has been such a ball. I haven’t come across someone as skilled as yourself in a long time.”

“Thank you kindly,” you sarcastically said, setting your beverage down with a soft clink. You glanced at the mountain of chips gathered neatly right in front of the man. Equal to yours. Now, you were both locked in a one-on-one gambling session where you fought for each other’s chips. Maybe a bit unorthodox—usually there’d be many more players. But the less there were, the more intense it was. “I dare say, this is one intense first meeting, don’t you agree?”

“Most certainly.” He took a sip of his whiskey. “Now, shall we make a small, personal bet of our own?”

“A personal bet?” you repeated, tilting your head at him. “I would never have guessed you made such things.”

“Only when necessary.”

“Oh, I see—you’re doing this because you’re losing. Pitifully.” You twirled a chip around between your fingers. “Alright. What’s this bet you’d like to make?”

“I bet that if you lose the next five chips, you answer a question of mine. If I lose the next five chips, I’ll score you a little rendezvous with the lovely Miss Jade.”

“Only five chips?” you queried warily, lifting a brow. “And how did you know I wish to speak with Jade? Oh, what am I saying. You IPC thugs always have tabs on something.”

“You wound me. Let’s hop to it, shall we?” Aventurine threw in his dice. “I bet on a twenty-three. Five gold chips.”

“Five-thousand credits, hm?” He was going for the kill. You smiled to yourself. “Alright. I bet on twelve. Five black chips.”

“You play cheap,” he mused, intently watching the dice spin around. “Not much of an investor, are you?”

“Knowing you and your tactics, I would be more likely to take a greater loss than you,” you explained, no qualms about handing it to his innate gambling skills and apt intuition. You couldn’t fathom how he did it and where he got his accuracy from. “Five hundred credits isn’t too much of a loss for me.”

“Two selected numbers out of thirty-eight in total.” Aventurine relaxed into his chair. The dice began to slow. “What are the chances?"

“It all depends.” You watched as the dice spun away from the ‘twelve’ notch over and over. You were getting a bit jittery. You had a feeling that this question of his was worth far more to you than the five hundred measly credits you put on the table. “For all we know, it could land in neither of our betted numbers.”

“Oh, so true.” This man was so sly, so conniving. It set off alarms in your head. The corners of his shapely lips turned up, and he grinned devilishly at you. “Let’s see where it lands.”

The dice spun and spun and spun, getting slower and slower—before, finally, it rolled to a gradual stop, tumbling into a notch. 

Your fingers twitched. You wanted to wring the handsome, cunning man’s neck. The dice had landed so excruciatingly calmly into the twenty-third notch.

As expected, I suppose. This man never took any losses. You weren’t too worried about pushing the five black chips his way. You were more worried about what question you would have to answer.

“Five-hundred credits. So worthwhile.” Aventurine gladly accepted them. “Now, let’s see…here is my question. Don’t look so perturbed. It’s nothing, really.” “Is that so?” You crossed your arms over your chest, swinging a leg over your other, lightly kicking your heeled foot in an attempt to remain calm. “Pray tell, what do you ask?”

“I ask that you make a little deal with me.” 

You arched a brow. Another one? “Another bet? I think I’ve had quite enough of those for one day.”

“Oh, no, it’s not a bet, honey. The deal is this: pose as my girlfriend for a while, and I’ll compensate you thoroughly.”

“That’s nice. What’s in it for me?”

“Status. Renown. Wealth. Reputation.” He held up four fingers, then a gold chip suddenly appeared out from between them and he flipped it in the air casually. “And, of course, safety. Maybe a little nice dinner with the elegant Senior Manager of the IPC Strategic Investment Department. You can’t go wrong with this.”

“Truly?” You weren’t buying it. “It will be contractual?”

“Absolutely.” Aventurine’s crooning voice was grating on your nerves. But he was tempting. So tempting. “And it’ll be our little secret. I’ll swear not to pull anything unsavoury.”

You considered it. You needed the money. Reputation and status was also an enticing offer. But you needed time to think.

“Shall we meet up and discuss this elsewhere some other time?” You pulled out your phone, extending it toward him. “Put in your contact details. I’ll text you when I’ve thought it through.” “Wise of you.” Aventurine accepted the gadget and tapped away at it accordingly. “Take your time. I look forward to working with you.”

He got up and left, only the strong scent of his expensive cologne left in his wake. You noticed he never took your five-hundred credits, and left his five-thousand behind.

ᯓ JING YUAN .ᐟ

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐈𝐃𝐍'𝐓 expect the Arbiter General to be the one to rescue you from three mara-struck soldiers.

It’s not like you were helpless. You could fight; you had the Combat Type of Wind and Path of Erudition at hand. You were no weakling—you, ranked a Sergeant Major in the Sky-Faring Commission, had had your fair share of battles in the past.

But you’d never crossed paths with The Divine Foresight. Seeing his tall, powerful frame and flowing hair in passing as he strolled around the Sky-Faring Commission’s headquarters was as much as you knew of him personally. And that was nothing at all.

“Are you alright, miss?” He held a hand out to you to help you up, and you hesitantly accepted it. This is so embarrassing. Me, a Sergeant Major, needing help from the General himself? Can one get any more incompetent? You decided then it would be a good idea to keep your identity and rank private. You didn’t need the Arbiter-General walking away from this thinking you were incapable of even defending yourself from the most common of opponents.

“I’m fine, sir.” You brushed yourself off once you were on your feet again. You covertly tugged your badge signifying your rank out of sight. “Thank you for helping me.”

“Not at all.” General Jing Yuan smiled at you indolently. For someone who just wiped out three mara-crazed former Cloud Knights, he looked pretty sleepy. “Allow me to accompany you back to the Sky-Faring Commission.” “I—I’m sorry?” Surely he hadn’t worked you out that quick. Neither could he have recognised you from the Commission either. You weren’t remarkable like that, and neither of you had ever interacted. “I don’t—I mean, I, uh…”

“Is something wrong?” He tilted his head at you. “Are you not Sergeant Major [Name]? Madame Yukong speaks highly of you.”

“I was not aware you knew of me, General.” That whole hiding of your badge was useless, then. You fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve. “I am ashamed. To think you, of all people, would have had to be the one to save a well-trained soldier as I from three mere mara-struck knights.”

“Ashamed? No, don’t be. You were ambushed, no? Then, it is not your fault.” “Thank you.” You bowed your head respectfully. “But, there is no need for you to escort me back to the Commission. I do believe I will be quite alright on my own.” “Oh, I was heading to the Commission anyway.” General Jing Yuan inclined his head toward you. He’s very tall. His hair was longer than you thought, too. “So, why not keep each other company on our trip to the same place? I’ve been meaning to speak with you for a while now, also.” “You have?” You met his hooded golden gaze in surprise. “About what, may I ask?” “Your skill with the mechanics of a Starskiff is commendable.” He began walking, and you fell into step beside him. The Arbiter-General’s voice was low, silky, and deep. No wonder women went crazy over this man. “It reminds me of an old friend I once had, long ago. I could use your expertise—of course, only if you are willing to agree, that is.”

“What is it you need assistance with?” Never in your wildest dreams could you have imagined the famed, formidable General Jing Yuan ever complimenting you for skills most in the Sky-Faring Commission had. 

“Fifteen Starskiffs were crashed in a heated battle northwest of Scalegorge Waterscape,” he explained. “It will keep you awfully busy for a little while, but the compensation for your hard work will be great.”

Pursing your lips, you debated your answer. “…General Jing Yuan, sir, I must remind you that I am a Sergeant Major, not a repairwoman. I am the one who sends out the Starskiffs to be crashed, not the one who fixes them.” “Ah, I see. Of course. It seems I overlooked that one small factor.” It didn’t take both of you long until you arrived at the Sky-Faring Commission’s headquarters. “I am sorry, but I will have to assign this task either way. It’s really quite urgent. And Madam Yukong recommended you.”

“I really don’t—”

“Would a promotion from Sergeant Major to Colonel do?”

It was like he slapped you with the way you reeled back in shock, rendered utterly speechless. “Pro-promotion, sir?” you sputtered, inarticulate. “I—that’s—I don’t think…”

The Arbiter-General tilted his head coyly as if he were just discussing the weather, not your (huge) promotion from Major to Colonel. “But, I do. I think that would suffice. Are you convinced?” “I…” Getting there, that’s for sure. Our first meeting ever, and he’s promoting me? You weren’t quite sure of your impression of the man. Wonder? Astonishment? You were torn between both.

Before you could answer, Jing Yuan pushed open the Commission’s doors and entered. Madam Yukong caught sight of you both and rushed over. “General! Oh, [Name], you’re here too. Jing Yuan, did you tell—” “I certainly did.” His full mouth curled up into a playful smile. He glanced down at you, and you quickly looked away. “However, it is all up to Sergeant Major [Name] here. Yet, I do think the offer I made her is too good to refuse.”

“Too good to be true,” you softly corrected. “General, I fail to see why my fixing of fifteen crashed Starskiffs warrants a promotion of such a degree. It would hardly be anything noteworthy…” “Quite the opposite.” The General outstretched a hand and patted your shoulder. He smiled indolently again, so casual. “Think it over, Sergeant. I look forward to working with you.”

With that, the Arbiter-General turned and headed away, over to attend to something else regarding Qingying, one of Madam Yukong’s colleagues.

You turned to her in bewilderment. “Is he serious?”

The older woman smiled in a way that made you think she was in on some joke you hadn’t a clue about. It was a knowing smile, and she shot a look in the General’s direction. Then she looked at you again, eyes twinkling. “Very serious.”

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just normal guy behaviour 👍

thank you for the tag !

looks // personality // style // humour // mindset // vibes

serval // atsushi nakajima // nana komatsu “hachi” // cater diamond // chloe collins // shirahoshi

- tagging whoever else wants to do this !

[ 💌 ]- tag game! how your friends describe you using fictional characters, or how you would describe yourself! <3

🍓include: looks, personality, style, humour, mindset + vibes // link to the template if you need it for reference

my best friend always says that I'm literally just yaomomo, i don't see it but i love her so i'll gladly take it :D (I also used to get compared to March a lot, idk)

tagging: @eroxotckv, @seafumes, @twilightclouds, @luvuomi, @princess-peachys, @agaygothicmushroom, @chuusheartattck, @kunimix, @state-of-grac3 + anyone else who wants to join!

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