╔══ஓ⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔♱᧓ ꒱⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔ஓ══╗
♱) ̊⋆+ᛝ⨍ꫀׁׅܻ ꩇׁׅ݊ɑׁׅ֮ᥣׁׅ֪ꫀׁׅܻ ℘ᨵׁׅ᥎꫶ׁׅᛝ+⋆ ̊)♱

♱)⋆ᛝ ᥣׁׅ֪ꪱׁׅꪀׁׅƙׁׅ֑꯱ׁׅ֒ ᛝ⋆)♱

. ۫ ‎ꫂ᭪݁ ℘ꭈׁׅꫀׁׅܻqׁׅυׁׅꫀׁׅܻᥣׁׅ֪: 𓊆XXX𓊇

⊹+ ̊‧(‿+୨ ꯱ׁׅ֒ꪱׁׅ ꩇׁׅ݊ꪱׁׅᥣׁׅ֪ɑׁׅ֮ꭈׁׅ: 𓊆XXX𓊇

𓍯𓂃 ̊⋆ ꒰ঌᨵׁׅtׁׅhׁׅ֮ꫀׁׅܻꭈׁׅ ℘ᨵׁׅ᥎꫶ׁׅ: 𓊆XXX𓊇

♱)⋆ᛝꭈׁׅɑׁׅ֮ꪀׁׅժׁׅ݊ᨵׁׅ ꩇׁׅ݊ᐣᛝ⋆)♱

Shiu Kong ♱

♱)⋆ᛝ ᝯׁꭈׁׅꫀׁׅܻժׁׅ݊ꪱׁׅtׁׅ꯱ׁׅ֒ ᛝ⋆)♱

✦ by @PrettyLittleVampire

ᛝ))♱))♱))♱))♱))ᛝ

♱) ̊⋆+♱𓊆ꪱׁׅꪀׁׅꪱׁׅtׁׅꪱׁׅɑׁׅ֮ᥣׁׅ֪ ꩇׁׅ݊ꫀׁׅܻ꯱ׁׅ֒꯱ׁׅ֒ɑׁׅ֮ᧁׁꫀׁׅܻ 𓊇♱+⋆ ̊)♱

ᛝ))♱))♱))♱))♱))ᛝ

The night unfurls like a bruise across Tokyo’s older districts violet, blue, and cigarette grey its alleys humming with the distant rattle of motorbikes and the low whisper of vending machines that never sleep. Rust colored streetlights flicker, trembling like they’re afraid to illuminate what walks beneath them. And there, beneath the halo of one such quivering light, stands Shiu Kong, dressed in his immaculate black suit, his tie loosened just enough to betray fatigue rather than rebellion.

He’s leaning against the cold brick wall of a shuttered pawnshop, shoulders exhaling a long, slow breath. A cigarette glints between his fingers white paper, orange ember, thin trail of smoke slipping upward like a secret escaping from the lips of a man who carries too many.

He’s waiting for you.

Not because he said he would, Not because you asked, But because this is how he exists, between jobs, between deals, between sins, and somehow, you’ve become the interlude he never learned to refuse.

You step into the alley, boots scuffing damp concrete, and the moment he hears you soft, unmistakable his dark eyes shift your way. Unstartled. Unhurried. He always notices before you reach him.

“Long day?” you murmur.

Shiu gives a small exhale that could pass for amusement.

“Long enough,” he answers, voice low and even, threaded with the formality he never sheds. “My client seems to believe I can be in three places at once. I had to remind him I’m merely human.”

He lifts the cigarette toward his mouth.

You catch his wrist.

His brows lift a millimeter, the closest he gets to surprise.

“Don’t,” you whisper, leaning in, your breath warm against the back of his knuckles. “I’m tired of kissing the taste of smoke off you.”

The grungy city hum fades to static. Shiu’s hand stills in yours, the ember flickering like it’s suddenly shy.

“And what,” he says softly, “do you propose I replace it with?”

You rise onto your toes a slow, deliberate ascent and your lips brush his.

It’s gentle at first, like testing the temperature of a flame. Shiu, ever composed, doesn’t move for a heartbeat, Then another.

But the third heartbeat is his undoing.

His fingers slide to the back of your neck, guiding you closer, deeper, letting your kiss devour the place smoke used to occupy. The cigarette droops between his fingers, forgotten, ash bending toward the pavement.

Your mouth tastes of warmth instead of poison. Of something he shouldn’t want, and yet wants entirely.

When you pull back, the city breathes again.

Shiu’s voice is steady, though his eyes are darker than before.

“You are a dangerous alternative,” he murmurs.

“Far more addictive.”

You take the cigarette from his hand, hold it between your fingers, and drop it to the ground. The ember hisses out in a tiny spark, drowned in a shallow puddle.

“Good,” you whisper. “Then you won’t forget.”

A faint smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth a rare expression, fragile in the streetlight’s tremble.

“Hard to forget when the replacement is this persuasive.”

He steps closer, shadows clinging to the seams of his suit like loyal dogs. There’s something grungy and holy about the way he studies you like you’re both a bad idea and the only thing keeping him breathing.

“I wasn’t planning to entertain anyone tonight,” he says, brushing a stray lock of hair from your cheek. “But I suppose exceptions can be made.”

Your lips ghost over his again, not quite a kiss, He inhales sharply instinct, not cigarette.

“Shiu,” you murmur, fingers winding into the lapel of his suit, “if you want something to do with your mouth, you know where to find me.”

You feel the quiet rumble of a laugh against your skin.

“Very well,” he murmurs, tilting your chin up with a touch so precise it could belong to a surgeon. “Allow me to test this new... habit.”

His kiss this time is firmer, hungrier, but still refined a man who measures everything yet measures you like you’re the only exception to every rule.

The cigarette habit dies in that alley, crushed beneath wet concrete. Your kiss becomes the smoke he breathes instead grungier, sweeter, more dangerous.

By the time he pulls back, his glasses are slightly fogged, his hair mussed, the air between you trembling with the aftershocks of want.

“You’ve replaced my vice,” Shiu says quietly, thumb brushing your lower lip.

“I hope you understand what comes with that.”

“What does come with it?”

His voice drops smooth, low, professional, intimate all at once.

“Dependency.”

He leans in one last time, mouth grazing yours like a promise sealed in the dark.

“And I’m not known for taking my dependencies lightly.”

╚══ஓ⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔ஓ══╝