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raevalyntine · 19 days ago

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how the love and deepspace men comfort you on father's day (you have daddy issues)

p.s.//i found the dividers on google!

Sylus

You were laughing just ten minutes ago. Sylus had made a dry remark about your stance, and you had flicked a mock glare at him before landing a shot right through the red centre of the target. He whistled, impressed. “I see you’ve been practising behind my back, kitten.”

You grinned, smug. He leaned back on the bench behind you, arms crossed, eyes never leaving you. “Remind me not to piss you off so often,” he added with a crooked smile.

You were on break, Sylus had gone to fetch water for both of you. When he returned, bottle caps twisted off and a teasing comment on his lips, the sound caught in his throat.

You were on the phone—body stiff, jaw clenched, voice hushed and sharp. Whoever it was on the other end was pushing every button you had, and it showed. Every second, your tone grew colder, angrier. Your brows pulled in tight. Your grip on the phone was white-knuckled. Sylus was surprised your phone didn’t break just by the sheer force of your anger.

He didn’t interrupt and waited patiently as he sat down and observed you. It was a while before you finally wrapped up your conversation.

You walked to the table Sylus was waiting at and slammed your phone face down on the table, chest rising and falling too fast.

He stepped forward, slow, cautious. “Hey, you—”

But you were already moving. Back to the range, loading rounds with mechanical precision, and the detached rhythm of someone trying not to feel.

The shots came fast, one after another. Too fast. Your arms were trembling just slightly. Breath ragged. Shoulders locked up like iron. Like if you just hit the center enough times, it might make the pain shut up inside your chest. Like if your aim was perfect, the ache in your chest would finally miss its mark.

Sylus watched for a beat longer. Then made a decision.

You were reaching for more bullets when he stepped in front of you. Not harsh. Not overbearing. Just there.

You tried to brush past him. “I’m fine. Just let me—”

But Sylus stepped in gently, never forceful—just there in a way that makes you calm down slowly. He reached out and closed his hands over yours with a carefulness that made you freeze. His palms were warm, his fingers calloused from training, but his grip was soft. Steady. Like he was afraid you'd shatter if he held too tight—but wasn't going to let you fall apart alone either.

“You’re gonna wear your arms out and snap your wrist at this rate,” he murmured, his voice barely above the buzz of the range. Low. Grounding. “And that’s before I start worrying about your heart giving out from how fast you’re breathing.”

You glared at him, jaw clenched. But he didn’t flinch. He didn’t scold or match your anger. He just stood there, eyes calm, as if your pain didn’t scare him. As if he’d been expecting this, and already decided he wasn’t going anywhere.

Without saying more, he gently pried the bullets from your fingers. He moved slow enough that you could’ve stopped him—but you didn’t. You just watched as he unloaded the weapon in silence, like he’d done it a thousand times before. Not just the gun, but you, disarming your defenses like it was second nature.

“Let me,” he said, softly. Just that.

You opened your mouth to argue. But then you saw the way he was looking at you, not with pity, not with concern that asked for explanation. Just that quiet, unwavering steadiness that had always been uniquely his. Like no matter how ugly this got, you weren’t going to face it alone.

Something in you gave out. Not all at once—but enough.

Your breath staggered. The fight drained from your limbs like sand slipping through your fingers. And before you even realised it, you stepped back and sat heavily on the bench, exhaustion catching up to you like a wave you didn’t see coming.

Sylus knelt down in front of you and placed the bullets aside, staying within arm’s reach—ready, patient, waiting for the moment you were ready too. He unscrewed the water bottle and handed it over. You took it with shaky hands.

There was silence before you exhaled and broke it.

“He called.”

Your voice was hoarse. Small.

Sylus didn’t need to ask who.

“Said he didn’t ‘understand why I was so distant lately.’ Like he forgot every time he bailed. Every time he—”

You paused, breathing hard. The tears came not in sobs, but in silent streaks down your cheeks.

“I hate that he still makes me feel this way. I hate that a single phone call can ruin my whole day.”

You looked away. But Sylus didn’t.

“I hate him,” you whispered, “but I feel so bad for getting angry because he’s still my dad.”

Sylus reached up and wiped the corner of your eye with his thumb.

He let the silence breathe for a moment.

Then, resting his forearms on his knees, Sylus turned to look at you—really look at you. There was no teasing in his eyes now. Just a quiet, steady kind of care.

“You can come here and shoot all you want,” he said, voice low. “I’ll even reload every single round if that’s what helps.”

You let out a shaky breath, but didn’t say anything.

“But don’t think you have to hold it all in just to prove you’re strong,” he continued. “You don’t have to act tough all the time, kitten.”

Your eyes dropped to your lap, hands clenched without realizing. Your throat tightened.

“Anger isn’t wrong,” he said gently. “And you’re allowed to feel it. You’re allowed to be furious. To grieve. To hate and miss him all at once. That’s real.”

He leaned a little closer, steady and sure.

“You don’t owe him anything. You’re not selfish for feeling this. You’re human. And blood doesn’t excuse absence. It doesn’t excuse damage.”

You felt something in your chest twist at that—not because it hurt, but because it rang too true.

Sylus reached out, careful and calm. One hand settled over yours. The other on your knee, grounding, warm.

“You don’t have to carry it alone,” he said, softer now. “Not with me here.”

You looked at him then. The steadiness in his gaze didn’t waver.

“I’ve got you, sweetie,” he said again, like a promise. “Even when it gets ugly. Even when you think it’s too much. I’m not going anywhere.”

And somehow, just those words—those few, steady, unwavering words—were enough to make your eyes burn again. Your chest stuttered with a breath that didn’t quite make it out. Then another. And just like that, something in you cracked—not loud or dramatic. Just a quiet, sudden release, like finally letting go of a breath you'd been holding for years.

Sylus was still kneeling in front of you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off his chest. His eyes never left yours. Gently, he reached up and guided you forward—slow, patient, like he had all the time in the world to wait for you to let him in.

Your body leaned without thinking, folding forward into him.

He caught you instantly, without hesitation, easing you in until your forehead rested against his shoulder. He brought you even closer, one arm circling your waist, the other rubbing soft, slow circles behind your back—the kind that weren’t meant to fix, just to say: I’m here. I see you. You don’t have to carry this alone.

Then he pressed a kiss to your temple. Then another, just beneath your cheekbone, where your tears had settled. Gentle. Reverent. As if you weren’t falling apart, but something precious being held together in his arms.

Sylus—your shield, your anchor, your person—sat with you on that worn-out bench in a shooting range full of echoes and dust and grief you never gave a name. And he stayed there. Quiet. Unmoving.

Not as someone trying to fix the cracks.

But as someone who loved you enough to hold every broken piece.

And in that silence, you let yourself fall apart in the safest place you knew—right there in his arms.

Rafayel

The moon hung heavy in the sky when Rafayel stirred. It wasn’t a sound that woke him—but an absence. A quiet shift in the air, the kind of stillness that speaks louder than footsteps. He reached across the bed, hand brushing only the cold echo of where you’d been.

“...Cutie?”

No answer.

He sat up, blinking through the darkness. You weren’t in the kitchen, not in the bathroom, not curled up in your usual reading corner. But your jacket was missing from the hook near the door. His heart thudded once, uneasy. He pulled on his coat and stepped outside.

The night air was crisp, and the wind carried salt and sorrow. The beach stretched out endlessly before him, the waves whispering secrets in a language older than time.

He saw you.

A small silhouette, curled in on itself, outlined in silver by the moonlight. Knees to chest. Still.

Rafayel didn’t call your name. He just walked, the sand giving way beneath his feet, until he was close enough to see the tear tracks glinting on your cheeks.

It hit him then, like the way waves crash not once, but over and over. The ache in your silence. The weight you carried in your stillness.

It broke him a little, seeing you like this. No walls. No fight left in you. Just quiet grief, heavy and quiet under the moonlight. He sat down, letting the silence stretch between you like a thread he was too afraid to pull.

Close enough to let you feel him there. Far enough to give you space to come to him.

And you did.

Slowly, wordlessly, you leaned into him—like your body knew it could fall without breaking. His arm moved instinctively, opening for you, letting your head rest against his shoulder.

He wrapped the other around you, gently rubbing up and down your arm, slow, grounding strokes. Not trying to soothe the pain away—just holding it with you.

The waves rolled on.

Your tears came again, quiet and steady, and he let them. He stayed silent.

Only when your voice broke the stillness did he breathe a little deeper.

“I hate him,” you whispered. The words fractured in the air, and your breath hitched. “I hate that he hurt me. That he left so many things broken. That he made me feel like I was hard to love.”

A pause. The ocean roared softly in the distance.

“...But I miss him. I miss him so much, it makes me sick.”

Rafayel closed his eyes. He let your words sit between you, heavy and real. His hand didn’t stop moving, up and down your arms, a rhythm that matched the waves.

“You can hate him,” he said quietly, “and still miss him.” His voice was low, deeper than usual. Almost reverent. “You can grieve the version of him you wish existed, and still be angry at the one who was real.”

You didn’t speak. Just pressed yourself closer to his side, as his grip tightened around your arms.

“The world tries to make you choose,” he murmured. “Love or hate. Grief or rage. But hearts like yours… they don’t work that way. They feel everything. And that’s not a weakness, my love. That’s beautiful.”

The tears came again, but they felt different now. Like you weren’t carrying them alone.

Rafayel closed the space between you with a gentle touch, anchoring you in his warmth.

“You always act like it’s wrong to feel too much,” Rafayel whispered, brushing his knuckles under your chin.

“But my love, your softness isn’t a stain. It’s the part of you I want to protect most.” He pressed a quiet kiss to your temple. “You don’t have to forgive him. You just have to stop blaming yourself for bleeding.”

His touch was patient, a slow circling warmth against your skin. Above, the stars flickered in their ancient hush. Below, the sea kept time with your breath.

And beside you, Rafayel sat—silent, unwavering.

Not as a lifeguard trying to pull you from the depths, but as a shoreline. The place you could collapse against.

The one who knew love was not about saving you, but it’s about staying. Even through all the times you felt like you didn’t deserve to be loved.

Rafayel stayed beside you for however long you needed.

Just as someone who loved you through the mess. And didn't need you to be okay to hold you gently.

Zayne

Zayne had planned to spend a quiet weekend together with you—no hospital rounds, no emergency calls, no research papers. Just the two of you. He'd heard about a new café nestled on a quieter street of the city, where the windows were draped with ivy and sunlight spilled golden over every surface. He’d insisted you both go, said the cakes were worth lining up for.

You were smiling when you arrived.

It was beautiful. The warm wood interiors, the soft piano music playing in the background, the scent of lavender and espresso curling in the air. There were potted plants in every corner, and a gentle breeze that drifted in through the open windows. Peaceful.

But then—something tugged at you. A glance around the room, and you saw it: fathers with their children. Little hands holding larger ones. Laughter over milkshakes. A teenage girl slipping a hand-drawn card over the table. A middle-aged man cutting a bite of cake for a much older man infront of him. And suddenly, you felt a shift inside. Like your chest had been cracked open a little too wide.

Your phone buzzed. You looked down. A message from your mother.

“It’s Father’s Day today, don't forget to call or visit your father!”

Oh.

You locked your phone quickly. Too quickly.

Zayne returned with a tray of cakes—caramel cheesecake for you, chocolate almond for him. He looked radiant in the sunlight, white coat traded for a soft beige cardigan, sleeves pushed to the elbows. But his eyes—he caught your expression before you had time to put up a front.

You smiled too fast, changed the subject too smoothly. Asked him how long the line was. Told him the place really lived up to the hype.

He didn’t push, didn’t ask.

Not then.

You both ate quietly. The cake was good. It should’ve tasted better.

Later, you walked home through the quiet streets. His fingers were laced through yours, warm and steady. But your mind had drifted somewhere else—far, far away from here.

He stopped.

You blinked.

You hadn’t even realized you'd reached a bench by the park. Zayne gently tugged you to sit with him.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just waited.

The silence was patient, not heavy.

Finally, he spoke—softly, like he knew your heart was something brittle today.

“Was it because of what today is?”

You froze.

He already knew.

Of course he did. Zayne loved you too much not to notice— the slight tremble in your fingers when you held the fork, the way your eyes flickered to the floor when a father walked by with his child, the way your laugh that day had felt just a little too light. A little too practiced.

He knew because he’d been memorizing the shape of your soul since the moment he met you.

And he didn’t push. He just waited—patient, steady—until you were ready.

You didn’t answer right away. The words felt like they were lodged in your throat, raw and unspeakable. You looked down at your hands, resting in your lap. His were still holding yours.

And then—you looked at him. At the way he tilted his head just a little, eyes watching you with a quiet tenderness. At the way he didn’t push, didn’t demand, didn’t try to fix the ache. Just waited for you to be ready.

And suddenly, the dam broke.

You cried. Not a dramatic sob, but something quieter. More painful. Like grief that had learned how to sit still inside your bones.

Zayne reached for you the second your shoulders shook—no hesitation, no pause. Just arms around you, firm and steady, pulling you into his chest like he’d been holding that space for you all along. Like he’d known this was coming before even you did.

His coat wrapped around you both, shielding you from the cooling breeze. And still, you couldn’t stop. The tears came fast, hot, like a dam finally cracked open, spilling years of hurt no one had ever asked about. Not properly. Not gently. Not like this.

Zayne said nothing at first.

He just held you.

One hand cradled the back of your head. The other rubbed soft, slow circles into your spine—like his touch alone could remind you you’re safe now. That no one here was going to shame you for crying. That no one here would tell you to get over it.

He let the silence breathe between you both, letting your sobs taper at their own pace. And when your breath hitched again—sharp and broken—he bent his head close, speaking into your hair.

“You don’t have to talk about him,” he said softly. “Not today. Not ever, if it hurts too much.”

His voice cracked slightly on the last word. Just a little.

“My dearest,” he added, barely above a whisper, like the phrase was a thread holding him together too.

You gripped the front of his coat in your fists, trembling.

And Zayne didn’t loosen his hold. Didn’t flinch. He only tucked you closer, his cheek pressed against the crown of your head like he could shield you from your own memories just by being near.

There was something dizzying about how safe it felt—how in his arms, the grief didn’t feel so sharp. How being held didn’t fix anything, but somehow made the breaking feel a little less alone.

Zayne kissed your temple once. A soft, reverent press. Then again, slower. Not as a promise. Not even as comfort.

Just as proof that he was here. That he wasn’t leaving.

Not because you were strong. Not because you were okay.

But because he loved you even when you weren’t.

He stayed with you like that—quiet and constant—as the sun began its descent, casting golden light over the pavement. Neither of you moved until the worst of the storm passed.

And even then, Zayne didn’t rush you.

He just held you a little tighter.

As if to say: Let the world wait. I’ve got you.

Xavier

You didn’t answer his texts all morning.

At first, Xavier thought you were just sleeping in. It was the weekend after all, and you’d told him last night you were feeling off. Tired. Just wanted to rest.

Still, something sat wrong in his chest.

He stopped by the pharmacy. Got you cold meds, just in case. Ordered that herbal soup you always asked for when your throat was scratchy, the one you swore was your holy grail.

He went to your place, unlocked the door with the spare key you’d given him months ago.

It was quiet inside. The curtains still drawn. Not a sound.

He kicked off his shoes by instinct, carrying the soup tray and medicine in one hand, and quietly padded toward your bedroom.

The door was open.

And there you were.

Curled under the blanket like a child hiding from monsters—except the monsters were your own memories. Your back to the door. Shoulders trembling slightly. You weren’t asleep.

Xavier stepped in slowly, placed the tray on the desk. He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood at the edge of the bed, eyes taking in every quiet detail: the photo clutched in your hands, edges worn from years of being held; your cheeks red and raw from crying; the faraway look in your eyes, like you’d fallen down a hole in time and couldn’t climb back out.

He recognized the man in the photo.

Not because he’d ever met your father, but because he’d seen that picture before. You’d once shown it to him during a sleepy night in, said it was the only one where your father looked like he loved you.

And now, here it was again. In your hands. On this day.

He lowered himself to sit gently on the edge of the bed, careful not to startle you. You didn’t move, didn’t speak.

So he did the only thing he could think of.

He reached over and slowly, carefully, pulled back the blanket cocooning you.

“Move over” he said quietly.

You shifted just enough for him to slide in behind you, his arms wrapping around your curled body, warm and steady. His chin rested near your temple, his breath soft against your hair.

Still, silence.

But Xavier never needed you to talk first. He always just… stayed.

“I brought soup from that place you liked,” he murmured. “ I wanted to cook for you, but we both know how that ends.”

Despite everything, a weak, broken laugh escaped you—cracked at the edges, but real.

He smiled at the sound like it was his favourite song. Then, without a word, he softly ran his fingers through your hair, untangling the strands with patient care. You didn’t stop him. When you finally turned to face him, Xavier was already looking at you—eyes warm, calm, so heartbreakingly kind.

He brushed your hair back from your face with the backs of his fingers, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like this moment belonged to neither pity nor performance, just presence.

“A penny for your thoughts, my beloved angel?” he asked gently.

Your lips twitched, barely, before trembling again.

“I know it’s stupid,” you whispered. “I don’t even like him. He lied. He left. But... that one photo—he looks like someone I wish I had.”

You blinked hard, and the tears returned without mercy.

Xavier didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His arms moved around you slowly, pulling you into his chest—not forceful, not tight. Just enough to say you’re safe now. Just enough to let your body remember what tenderness felt like.

“That’s not stupid,” he said quietly. “That’s grief. And grief doesn’t wait for logic. Or permission.”

You leaned into him, finally, letting your forehead press into his collarbone. Your breath hitched.

“I feel like an idiot,” you murmured. “Crying over someone who made it very clear I wasn’t worth staying for.”

He kissed the top of your head. Once. Twice.

“You’re not crying for him,” he whispered. “You’re crying for you. For the version of your life that you deserved and never got. That kind of pain doesn’t go away just because you understand who he really was.”

You bit your lip, hard. Your chest ached with all the things you had never let yourself say.

“And just so you know,” he added, voice low, a little steadier now, “if I’d known you then... if I’d been there when you were that small, in that photo... I would’ve held you close and never let go. I’d hug you like I’m doing now. Every time you cried. Every time the world felt too loud.”

That was it.

Your grip on the photo loosened, and your arms clung to him instead. You didn’t sob. Not this time. The tears came quieter—those silent, wrecking kind. The kind that only fall when someone sees the part of you that’s been hidden too long and doesn’t flinch.

And Xavier stayed right there. Holding all your hurt like it was something precious.

Eventually, you’d eat. He’d feed you spoon by spoon, teasing gently between sips, saying things like “this one’s got extra love seasoning” just to make you roll your eyes.

But for now, there were no jokes. No masks. Just you and him. Your breathing and his. The quiet, constant hum of someone who refused to leave—even when you had nothing to give.

Caleb

You and Caleb had always shared everything.

The same lumpy mattress when the roof leaked in the back room. The same knockoff toy cars from a church donation box. The same bowl of instant noodles, split in half with military precision. The same ache—that bone-deep kind that sits under the skin of kids who grew up learning how to hold their breath before anyone could teach them how to exhale.

Tonight, that ache came back.

You sat together on the worn couch, some reality show murmuring in the background. Caleb had a bowl of popcorn balanced on his lap. You hadn’t touched yours. Your gaze was unfocused, stuck on a corner of the wall like maybe it held answers.

He noticed.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured, nudging your knee with his. “You okay, pipsqueak?”

You didn’t answer at first.

Then you said, voice barely above a whisper, “I don’t even know if he’s dead.”

Caleb stilled.

Your fingers twisted in your sleeves. “Or alive. Or where. Or what he looks like. If he’d even recognize me. I don’t even know if he left because of me. Or if he ever wanted me at all.”

Caleb didn’t respond right away. He didn’t rush in to fix it. Didn’t pretend to have the words. He just leaned in slightly—his thigh pressing against yours, grounding and warm. After a moment, he reached for your hand. His pinky hooked into yours—small, quiet. Intimate in the way only you two knew how to be.

“I think,” he said finally, “maybe not knowing… is better than knowing he chose to leave.”

That made your chest clench. You let out a breath that shook a little at the end. He squeezed your pinky gently.

“I know it’s not fair,” you murmured. “All these years and I still feel like I’m just… waiting for someone who doesn’t exist.”

“You’re not,” Caleb said. “You’re not waiting. You’re surviving. There’s a difference.”

You looked at him then, really looked. The way his features softened just for you. The faint glow in his eyes whenever he looked at you. And suddenly you were tired of holding it all in. You shifted closer. Your head found his shoulder. He didn’t move. Just let you rest there like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He turned, chin brushing the top of your hair. “You’ve always tried to carry everything alone,” he said softly. “Even the things no kid should’ve had to carry.”

You let out a shaky breath. “You did too.”

He went quiet. Not out of denial, but recognition.

You swallowed. “But somehow you’re always so steady. Always the one holding the pieces. While I’m still here, still hoping for something stupid. Like maybe one day someone’ll show up and explain why he left. Why he didn’t want me.”

Your voice cracked. You hated how small it sounded.

“You’re not weak for wanting answers,” he said gently. “You're not broken for wishing it made sense.”

You shook your head. “But you never talk about it. You never let it eat you up like I do.”

Caleb let out a breath. It wasn’t a sigh, just something raw loosening in his chest.

“Yeah,” he said. “I used to hope too. That maybe he'd show up one day. Maybe there was some reason… some story that would make it all hurt less.”

You looked up, and he was already looking at you. The kind of look that knew every cracked part of you, and never once turned away.

“I wanted someone to come back for me too,” he admitted. “But I had you.”

Your breath caught.

“I had you,” he said again, voice softer this time. “You were my reason. You were the light in all of it, even when you didn’t notice. You kept me going when I didn’t know how to stay whole.”

He lifted his hand, slow and careful, tucking your hair behind your ear the way he always did when you were unraveling. His fingers lingered at your jaw, his thumb brushing lightly just beneath your cheekbone.

“You healed me,” he murmured. “Even while you were breaking. Just by being you.”

You blinked fast, but it was useless. The tears slipped down anyway.

“I don’t feel like I fixed anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” he said. “You just had to stay. And you did.”

His arm wrapped around you, pulling you close, not urgently, but like he was reminding you of something that had always been there.

You pressed your forehead to his shoulder. The ache softened into something fragile, but bearable.

“I’m so tired, Caleb,” you whispered.

“I know, sweetheart,” He kissed the side of your head, grounding and gentle. “So lean on me for awhile.”

You let yourself melt into him, years of weight loosening in the space between your ribs.

And Caleb held you like he always had—without needing to be asked, without expecting you to be okay first. Because the truth was, you had always saved each other. Quietly. Messily. Entirely.

You both sat like that for a long while, your breathing gradually syncing. You didn’t speak again, but the silence was soft, not heavy. Full of all the words you didn’t need to say.

And for once, the ache didn’t feel so sharp. Not with him here. Not when you remembered that maybe—just maybe—you didn’t need the answers anymore.

Not when you had Caleb. And he had you.

And that had always been enough.

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thewickedjazzy · 9 months ago

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Level 1: Easy Revenge [Aphrodisiac] for Kinktober.

ᡣ𐭩Chuuya Nakahara x afab! Reader

ᡣ𐭩Synopsis : rivals to fuckers! you and chuuya are always butting heads, competing for mori’s right-hand spot. done with his games, you take matters into your own hands, slipping aphrodisiac into his favorite wine.

ᡣ𐭩Warnings: mdni 18+ content, smut with plot, aphrodisiac use, rough sex, sweat sex, female anatomy mentioned, degrading, feral chuuya, creampie, missionary, fingering, list goes on and on ppft it's kinktober.

ᡣ𐭩Word count: 3.5k

ᡣ𐭩-check Kink Coin to unlock bonus fics´-

you scrunch your nose, contemplating whether this is truly the right choice. with a sigh, you light another cigarette, but the pull of smoke does little to calm your nerves. frustrated, you shake your head—maybe it's too risky. yet the memory of his smug smirk as he belittled your ability—"useless against mine"—flares in your mind, igniting rage within you...fuck it!

that’s all it takes. the decision is made. with a grin curling your lips, you slip the drug into his glass, watching the liquid swirl as it dissolves. you don’t see him as an enemy, no—rivals, more like. rivals who have been vying for mori’s approval, constantly butting heads, showing off on missions, each of you out to prove who deserves to be the right-hand executive more.

the man in question has known you for nearly four years now. he knows your strengths, your sharp wit, and how you can hold your ground. but does he know how manipulative you can be? oh, not quite.

you press your lips into a thin line, taking a deep breath in an attempt to steady your racing heart before stubbing out your cigarette. adjusting the fabric of your burgundy skirt, you feel the black coat draped over your shoulders, its weight heavier than usual. your fingers brush over the cool crystal of the two wine glasses, and you glance at the bottle sitting prominently on the table.

vosne-romanée aux reignots—a rare indulgence, most of your paycheck sacrificed for this exquisite temptation. But the price doesn’t matter now. the ginger is the target tonight, and the prize will be well worth it.

your heart pounds enthusiastically as you hear the soft sound of footsteps approaching from behind his office's door. the click of polished shoes reverberates through the quiet corridor. perfect timing.

you take the opportunity to move quickly, gracefully settling onto the nearby leather couch, the cool material sighing beneath you as you take off your coat and place it beside you.

tou hold your wine glass between your fingers, the stem balanced delicately, your burgundy nail polish gleaming against the deep crimson of the wine. it’s a picture of elegance, one you’ve carefully curated—every detail intentional, even the way you let the liquid swirl lazily in the glass.

the door swings open, and there he is—the infuriating ginger who keeps you up at night, constantly plotting ways to put an end to his ridiculous games.

his movements heavy laced with exhaustion as he strides in, eyes closed, head hanging forward huffing in frustration, he yanks off his coat, tossing it carelessly onto the couch beside you, the leather creaking under its weight. he’s still oblivious to your presence. it’s almost amusing, really. you take in the sight—his bolo tie loosened, his dress shirt slightly untucked, his usually collected demeanour crumbling at the edges from a long day.

it’s only when you clear your throat, the sound slicing through the silence, that his eyes shoot open, narrowing immediately as he notices you lounging in his space.

“what the fuck are ya doin' here?” he snarls. classic—his sharp gaze flicks to the wine in your hand, then to the second glass on the table.

you don’t budge. instead, you take your time, tsking softly, rolling your eyes with the kind of practised nonchalance that only gets under his skin more. “is that any way to talk to someone who just bought you an expensive-ass vosne-romanée aux reignots?”

you tilt your head, letting the scent of the wine blend with the faint aroma of leather from the couch, easing you for a bit.

“are ya fuckin' serious now?” he scoffs.

clearly, he hadn’t expected you—of all people—to buy him one of his favourite, expensive wines. his gaze flickers again between you and the glass, his mind no doubt racing, trying to piece together the puzzle of your intentions. what are you scheming? he doesn’t trust you. that much is obvious, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he contemplates what game you're playing this time.

you smirk, cutting off his spiralling thoughts as you rise gracefully from the couch. with a casual wave of your hand, your so-called "useless" telekinesis comes into play, and the glass of wine—now laced with the aphrodisiac—glides through the air, hovering just before you as it rests between your fingers.

"here," you purr, stepping toward him, the glass now offered in an outstretched hand. "I’ve been thinking... about putting an end to this never-ending cycle of torture between us."

chuuya’s gaze locks with yours, fatigue etched into his features, yet despite his weariness, there’s an undeniable allure, every ragged breath only amplifies his seductive charm.

"you win, nakahara," you continue, your voice luring him like a siren. "let me make it up to you for always getting on your nerves these past four years, yeah?"

ugh, how much he hates it when someone calls him by his last name... it feels like you’re doing it on purpose.

the ginger's eyes dart from the glass to your face, his lips curling into his usual suspicious smirk. he doesn't reach for the wine right away, keeping his hands stuffed in his pockets as he tilts his head slightly, studying you. “tch, and what��s this sudden change of heart? you don’t fold that easy, especially not to me.”

“you really expect me to believe you just… gave up? that’s bullshit.”

“oh, chuuya... you know me better than that. but even rivals need to call a truce every now and then, right? a little peace offering.” You nudge the glass closer to him, the delicate scent of the wine swirling between you. “come on, take it. i’m just trying to be civil. is that really so hard to believe?”

“civil? from you?” he huffs, shaking his head slightly before finally reaching out to take the glass.

“alright, fine. but don’t think i’m lettin’ my guard down ‘round you.”

"not in the slightest," you reply with ease, watching as he brings the glass to his lips. his expression remains doubtful, but the rich scent of the expensive wine causes his taste buds to tingle and his mouth to water. You know him far too well—well enough to play your cards just right.

as he takes a slow sip, savouring the taste, a surge of triumph rises within you. it’s only a matter of minutes now before you can set the second part of your perfectly crafted revenge plan into motion.

he lets out a low, satisfied hum as the wine glides smoothly down his throat. He tilts the glass slightly, eyeing the dark liquid within, almost as if he’s trying to figure out what your angle is. but he can’t resist—his love for fine wine is too deeply ingrained, and this, of course, is one of his favourites. you can already see his guard starting to slip, just the slightest.

"not bad," he mutters, still watching you over the rim of his glass. "but i know you, and you don’t play nice for no reason. what’s really going on here?"

you flash him a coy smile, stepping a little closer, your fingers lightly brushing against the cool rim of your own glass. "maybe i’m just tired of these endless games, nakahara. maybe I’ve decided it’s time for a change. orrr maybe..." you pause, pressing your lips together, "...I just wanted to see if I could surprise you for once."

he scoffs but takes another sip, the warmth of the wine starting to flush his cheeks. unbeknownst to him, the aphrodisiac is already beginning its work, creeping through his veins, dulling the sharp edges of his suspicion. you can see it—the subtle shift in his body language, the way his shoulders loosen, his gaze softening ever so slightly, his now half-lidded eyes, the slight crease that forms between his brows as his body begins to betray him.

the countdown has begun.

"surprise me?" he says, setting the now-empty glass down on the table, a faint sheen of sweat forms at his temple, barely noticeable beneath the soft glow of the office's light.

"well, you’ve got my attention. now what?"

you take a slow breath, feigning innocence as you glance at him through your lashes. "now... we see just how much you can handle."

he narrows his eyes at you, confused, "what?" he rasps, his voice a little rougher than before. his breathing grows heavier, and you notice the way his chest rises and falls with each intake of air. sure, indeed, the drug is coursing through his veins now, the heat in his body building beyond what he can suppress.

he swallows hard, his throat bobbing, his hands twitching at his sides. you can see how his jaw clenches and relaxes in rapid succession, his mind trying to keep up with the unexpected sensations taking over. He shifts his weight, clearly uncomfortable as he tugs at his collar, loosening it. “what the hell’d ya do?”

without waiting for an answer, he reaches up and starts unbuttoning his vest, tossing it aside with a huff, wiping the thin sheen of sweat from his brow.

you can’t help but giggle. "wow, I thought these things took a little longer to kick in."

"you—ngh—" he starts, but his words catch in his throat as he takes another deep breath, trying to steady himself.

you watch with a growing thrill as the bulge in his pants becomes undeniably visible. a soft, wicked chuckle escapes you as you lift your leg, pressing it against the armrest of the chair, just enough to let him catch a glimpse of your laced black panties peeking out from beneath your burgundy skirt.

"aww, what’s the matter? can’t use that oh-so-useful ability when you’re too fucked out of your mind?" you tease, giggling at the ginger-haired man caught in your little trap.

“fuck… you…” he manages as he glares deadly in your eyes, face flushed, the heat spreading from his cheeks down to his chest, which is now exposed from the hastily loosened buttons of his dress shirt. his breathing is ragged, each intake of air a struggle as the drug's effects entwine with his rage.

you chuckle, tilting your head slightly as you eye him up and down. "pathetic."

before you can say another word, he snarls, and in an instant, his gloved hand shoots out, fingers locking into your hair with a firm grip earning a yelp from you. he yanks you forward, the sudden force pulling you off balance as you fumble right into his lap.

and only then that he smashes his lips against yours into a sloppy kiss, the lingering taste of wine on his tongue melds with the intoxicating heat that surges from your mouth, flooding your veins until it pools deep in your stomach, igniting the desire you’ve fought to suppress for years. spit mingles with the remnants of your pleasure, slicking your lips and trickling down your chin. he gasps into the kiss, pulling you even closer, leaving you no space to escape.

the heat radiating from his body is unbearable, seeping through your clothes as you sit straddled on his lap and you can feel his hard cock against you, pressing against the thin fabric of your panties. his hands are everywhere—roaming, gripping, like he’s trying to claim every inch of you at once.

you try to pull away, desperate for air, but he doesn't let up. he follows your retreat, lips chasing yours with a frantic hunger, completely lost in the desire overtaking him. his lips crash against yours again, “ch-chuuya, wa—mph” you try, but the second you say his name, his grip tightens against your hip, and he swallows your words with another kiss, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth again, tasting every part of you like he can’t get enough.

one of his hands moved from your hips, working up your shirt, and before you even realize what he’s doing, he pulls, buttons snapping and scattering to the floor. You let out a low growl, annoyed that your favourite shirt is now ruined, but it’s clear—he’s far beyond caring about anything right now. “shut up,” he growls between kisses, “y' knew what you were doing when you started this.”

before you can respond, he yanks off his gloves with his teeth, half-lidded dark azure eyes clearly promising you of a night that you shall not forget. his hands grip your waist firmly, and without warning, he lifts you effortlessly and throws you onto the leather couch. the cool material hit the fevered heat of your skin once again, but the reprieve is short-lived as you watch him hastily unbuckle his belt, his pants falling to the floor and his boxers following suit.

the moment his cock springs free, your breath hitches—fuck, he’s thick. Insanely thick. the sight of it sends a jolt of desire straight through your dripping core, making your thighs instinctively press together. you’d thought about this before, but nothing could have prepared you for the real thing.

it’s beautiful, flushed a deep shade of pink with veins running along the sides, pulsing with the need to feel your gummy walls tighten around it. the head glistens with precum, the sight alone making your mouth water. he’s long too, but it’s the sheer girth that has your heart racing and your mind spinning, wondering how the hell you’re supposed to take him.

“you nasty girl,” he taunts, his gaze never leaving yours. “you were just lookin’ for an excuse for me to fuck you?”

you don’t deny it—not even to yourself. the truth stings in your chest. part of this was revenge for what happened earlier today, but the other part? well... you wanted this. hell, you needed this.

you bite your lip, flashes of memory crossing your mind—the number of times you walked by his office late at night, hearing those soft, lewd moans slipping through the cracks of the door. the rhythmic slap of his hand working up and down his cock as he sat behind his desk, thinking no one could hear him. but you did. you heard it all. and you couldn’t stop yourself. your back pressed against his office door, fingers working frantically between your legs as you listened to him come undone, biting down on your lip to stifle your own moans as you cum to the sound of him alone.

you feel your cheeks heat with the realization. of course, he’s right. you’d been waiting for an excuse, and tonight, you finally got one.

“you wanted to see me like this, hmm?” his voice cuts through your thoughts as he strokes himself, his cock hard and heavy in his hand. his smirk widens as he watches the way your body responds to him, the way your thighs clench together, the way your breath quickens with each passing second. “enjoyin’ how desperate you’ve made me? ngh—don’t worry, you’re gonna get exactly what you’ve been begging for.”

he climbs onto the couch, towering above you with a lust glint in his eyes. his hands waste no time yanking your skirt up, the fabric bunching around your waist as he grabs the waistband of your panties and rips them off with a low hiss. the sudden contact makes you gasp, your body betraying you as you arch your back, pressing yourself against him. his breath catches when he sees how soaked you are.

“fuck…” he breathes, a low hum of amusement rumbling in his chest. he’s still breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling, sweat glistening on his skin. his fingers graze your slit, feeling the wetness pooling there, and a wicked grin curls on his lips. “fuck, you’re soaking wet. look at you, maybe you're not as in control as you thought,” he growls chuckling, his ever so pale cheeks were flushing red by now, ginger locks sticking to the sides of his face.

you moan as two of his fingers slip inside you, your back arching against the couch as his slender digits stretch you. they sink deep, curling just enough to make you gasp, your cunt clenching around them as he moves with an agonizingly slow pace. you can feel the heat radiating off his body, every breath he takes coming out ragged, like he’s barely holding himself together.

"what's wrong, doll" he whispers against your lips, "can't handle it? you wanted to play this game, didn't you hmm?"

your mind is spinning. each touch, each thrust of his fingers drives you closer to the edge, and you can't help but curse yourself for underestimating him. you had thought you'd be the one in control, but now...

now, you're the one falling apart beneath him.

he pumps his fingers harder, your walls fluttering around them, and you let out another lewd moan, the wet sound filling the room and making his cock twitch with an urgent need for release “hah—fuck it, I need to feel you.”

the heat was too much for him to bear. driven by an insatiable hunger, he yanks his fingers from you, bringing them to his lips. he sucks them clean with a low, needy hum, eyes half-closed in pleasure. his cock, already glistening with precum.

obviously he isn’t in the mood for teasing tonight, fuck no. he wants to be inside you, to feel you right here and now.

he guides himself between your the soft plush of your thighs, his breath hitching as he aligns with your slick entrance. with a low feral groan, he pushes inside, feeling your tight walls envelop him completely. his body, consumed by the sheer amout of pleasure, drove him to thrust balls deep inside you, arms hooked under your legs as he lets out a high-pitched moan, "aah- FUCK!!"

“you..ahh fuck.. thought you could outsmart me?” he growls, his breath hot against your ear as he leans down, his thrusts never faltering. "you shoulda known better than to pull that kinda shit on me."

his words only make you burn hotter, your body responding to him in ways you didn’t expect. you were supposed to have the upper hand tonight, but instead you're a moaning mess at this point, sweet whimpers spill from your lips, overwhelmed by how deeply he’s stretching you causing a slight sting that quickly gets replaced by a tingling pleasure shooting through your entire body. each powerful thrust has you screaming, your mind overwhelmed by the intense pleasure that floods through you with every forceful slam against your ass.

his breaths are trembling, gasps turning into whimpers as he struggles to keep control. his eyes roll back, revealing only the whites as the heat and ecstasy take over, "nghh— fuck yess-"

hot chills ripple through his body, his veins pulsing with the relentless heat of his desire. oh, he was far too gone. the way you make him feel so good? it's illegal. but how could you complain when he was making you feel so incredibly good, filling every inch of you?

threading your fingers through his ginger locks, you tug sharply, drawing a low growl from him. he brings his lips down against yours, then pulls back just long enough to groan, “fffuck, you feel heavenly.”

he quickens his pace thursting his hips into you at just the right angle hitting all the right spots that have you cursing some nonsense, he snakes his hand down between your soft thighs applying the perfect amount of pressure against your clit fingers working rapidly while driving you wild with each thrust. your moans become a continuous cry as your orgasm finally crashes over you, it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. your vision blurs, your entire body tensing as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you.

"chuu-ya!" you cry out, your back arching off the couch as your walls clench around his cock, milking him for everything he’s worth.

chuuya groans, his rhythm faltering as your orgasm sends him spiralling toward his own release. with one final, deep thrust, he buries himself inside you balls deep. his cock twitches as he spills deep inside you, filling you with his hot white ropes.

the wet slap of his cock that was thrusting hardly into your pussy became slower, sloppier as he pulls out.

for a moment, the world is silent, except for the sound of the heavy breathing. the rivalry, the tension, the mind games—they’re all gone, replaced by the undeniable truth of what just happened.

after both of you come down from the high, you push yourself up, panting softly as you gather your scattered clothes from the floor.

you glance over at chuuya, only to notice he’s already hard again, his body still betraying the intense pleasure of moments before.

“UGH FUCK!!" he curses loudly, throwing his head back with annoyance written all over his face.

you let out a soft, amused giggle at the sight. it looks like he was only getting started. Maybe you accidentally doubled the dose... purely by mistake, of course.

kouyou chuckles as she leans back in her chair, glancing at the camera feed.

"kouyou-sama... it's been an hour since chuuya went in," the technician reports shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

The ginger woman chuckles, covering her lips with the sleeve of her kimono, "well... either one of them is dead, or they’ve discovered that the desk isn’t just for paperwork anymore."

TAGS: @a-smol-bean @violetfruity @amanoava @falloutjuli @embersweapons @warriordemigosworld @cathias @alyszuha @v15aexe @vasarii @pe4rl-diver @sukidenks @dazaifavbandage @chuuminn @fyodorsprettynun @ace-0fspades69 @irasamu @trippyserval @alyszuha @bittysuguro

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reiding-writing · 1 month ago

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I don't know if you're taking requests but imagine cold!reader killing someone like they're working on a case and the unsub reminds her of her professor and everything he did so when she ends up facing the unsub she doesn't hesitate and pulls the trigger, like how would spencer and the team react to this?

ONE BAD DAY. /spencer reid/

all it takes is one bad day for you to regress back to the beginning.

s11!cold!reader angst 3.1k series masterlist. main masterlist.

AN | kinda somewhat merged a few asks together for this one, hope it’s alright 🤞 MENTIONS OF RAPE AND SA

You’re halfway through the briefing when the bile rises.

On the projector, a smiling man in a white coat beams out at you. Dr Elliot Keene. Forty-two. Respected neurologist. Devoted husband, award-winner, keynote speaker. Also, allegedly, a rapist.

Not just any kind—no, his victims couldn’t scream. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t even blink. Coma patients, sedated and voiceless, tucked away in pristine hospital rooms, their bodies trusted to his care. The bastard violated them anyway.

Hotch’s voice is steady as he outlines the case. There are four confirmed victims so far, and at least two more under review. Garcia’s findings link Keene’s security badge to restricted access during odd hours. No alibi. No witnesses. Just enough to take him in, if he’ll come quietly.

You don’t realise your jaw’s clenched until your molars ache.

“Keene’s wife is cooperating,” JJ adds, flipping through her notes. “She says he’s been... different lately. More paranoid. Sleeping in his office.”

“Because he knows he’s going to be caught,” Morgan mutters.

There’s a short pause before Hotch turns to you. “Alright. You and Reid will take the south wing. Keene was last seen on camera heading that way. He’s probably trying to get out through the staff tunnels.”

You nod, maybe a beat too fast. “Copy that.”

You feel Spencer’s eyes on you as you head to gear up. He doesn’t say anything—of course he doesn’t—but he watches. He always watches. And it’s not even that you mind, most days. But today, you can’t take it. The weight of his concern. The gentle, knowing worry that radiates off him like a low hum.

So you avoid his gaze. Pull on your vest. Strap your sidearm with practised ease. Keep moving, keep busy. Keep your stupid hands from shaking.

—

The hospital is colder than it should be. Sterile tiles under your boots, flickering fluorescents overhead. You and Spencer move in tandem, clearing corridors, checking closed doors.

He glances at you after a moment of silence too long. “You okay?”

You don’t look at him. “Fine.”

“You seem—”

“Spencer,” you cut in, sharper than intended. “We’ve got a suspect to find.”

He backs off, but you feel the shift in his posture. He’s not convinced. You don’t blame him.

How could you be fine?

Every step echoes with ghosts.

You don’t think about him on purpose. But this—Keene—it’s too close. Too familiar. Another respected man behind closed doors, taking what he thought was his by right.

Back then, it was his hand on your shoulder during late office hours, his mouth too close to your ear, the way he’d remind you of your grade before inviting you for “extra help.” You were nineteen. Desperate to pass. Desperate to be believed. You tried to cut it off after the pregnancy, and he didn’t listen.

And how could you have told anyone? Your academic career was at risk. A lack of a bachelor’s degree, a student too young to be given a jump up the rungs of the ladder.

Potential, was what Wittchen saw in you. Or maybe you were just an easy mark.

Just like Keene’s patients couldn’t scream, you hadn’t been able to either.

You shake it off. Grip your firearm tighter. Focus.

—

The comms crackle. Hotch’s voice comes through. “Target spotted. East car park. Looks like he’s trying to get into a vehicle.”

You and Spencer pivot, heading through the lower corridor and out onto the side lot. The late afternoon sun hits your eyes hard. You blink once. Twice.

There he is.

Keene.

Sweat clings to his brow. His lab coat’s gone, replaced by a rumpled hoodie and jeans. He’s crouched low behind a row of parked cars, just barely visible.

Hotch’s voice cuts in again. “We’ve got him boxed in. He’s surrounded. Proceed with caution.”

The rest of the team fans out. Morgan and JJ take the west, Rossi to the north. Spencer shifts beside you, waiting on your call.

You don’t hesitate.

“I’ll talk to him,” you say.

Spencer’s brow creases. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

You move slowly, gun raised, your voice loud but level. “Dr Keene! FBI. You’re surrounded. Step out with your hands where I can see them.”

There’s a pause. Then, slowly, he rises.

He looks worse up close. Pale. Shaking. Still trying to keep his arrogance intact, but you see the cracks. His eyes flick from you to the others, calculating.

You keep walking. “Hands up.”

He lifts them, but his left hand dips slightly. Towards his coat pocket.

“Don’t.” you warn.

But he keeps moving.

Just a bit more.

Your finger squeezes the trigger before the thought even finishes forming.

And he drops like a puppet with its strings cut.

The silence is deafening.

—

You don’t move at first.

You hear shouts behind you—Rossi calling in for a medic, Morgan yelling something you can’t quite make out. Spencer’s voice, sharp with alarm. But it all feels distant. Muffled.

The body’s lying still. A slow, blooming pool of blood beneath the torso.

Then Hotch is beside you. Calm, but there’s steel in his voice. “What happened?”

“He reached into his pocket.”

Morgan jogs over, crouches beside the corpse. Gently, he peels back the man’s fingers. A black pistol lies in the dead man’s hand. Safety off.

“Well,” Morgan mutters, “she wasn’t wrong.”

Hotch exhales through his nose. “Lucky.”

His eyes land on you. Not in anger. Not yet. But disappointment? Worry? Yes.

And that’s worse.

“You were supposed to give him a chance to surrender,” he says quietly.

“He didn’t look like he wanted to surrender,” you reply, your voice flat.

“That’s not your call to make in a moment like that—”

“He had a gun.” you snap, louder than you mean to.

Hotch’s jaw tics. “We'll review your body cam. Go wait by the vehicle. Now.”

You don’t argue. You just turn and walk.

—

Spencer catches up with you as you reach the SUV.

“Hey,” he says softly.

You ignore him.

“What happened back there—”

“Don’t.”

He steps in front of you, gently. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Your fists clench.

You don’t want this. You don’t want his concern, his softness, his damned vulnerability.

Not now.

Not when you can still feel the weight of the trigger against your finger. Not when the ghost of your professor is whispering in your head, reminding you how powerless you’d felt then—and how powerful you feel now.

So you turn on him.

“I said don’t.”

Spencer flinches, just slightly. But he doesn’t back off.

“Look, I know this case is—”

“What? You know?” Your voice is cold enough to freeze the marrow in bones. “You think because of what happened last year you know how I feel right now?”

He doesn’t answer.

You step closer. “You don’t. So stop acting like you can fix it.”

Silence stretches between you.

He opens his mouth. Closes it again. Looks, for the first time in a long while, genuinely lost.

You get in the SUV and slam the door behind you.

—

The motel is nondescript and quiet, a leftover from some 80s renovation. The kind of place with vending machines that still take quarters and beds that creak if you breathe too hard.

You toss your gear on the desk and sit at the edge of the bed.

The tremors start once you’re alone.

Your fingers twitch. Your shoulders ache with tension. The adrenaline’s worn off and left nothing but static behind.

You get up, move automatically. Strip off the vest. The boots. Turn the shower on, wait for the water to run hot. Step in. Scrub harder than necessary. Watch the blood wash down the drain—even though it’s not yours. Never was.

Later, you sit in the dark with a half-finished takeaway container and the TV on mute. Some local news broadcast flashes images of the hospital scene. A blurred body. A headline: Respected Doctor Killed During FBI Arrest.

Your name won’t be in the papers. But it’ll be in the report. In the quiet, knowing glances from your team. In Hotch’s tense sigh. In Spencer’s silence.

You can already feel it.

The shift.

The way they’ll look at you tomorrow. Like you’re dangerous. Like you’re broken. Like you’ve gone backwards.

You dig your fingernails into your palm.

Fine.

If that’s what they want, they can have it.

You survived this long by not feeling.

You’ll do it again.

—

Quantico is colder than it should be. Not in temperature. In tone. In presence.

You walk the halls like a ghost—quiet, distant, untouchable. You’ve stripped yourself back to something basic. Efficient. Ice-cold. Just like you used to be.

The change is obvious.

Morgan sees it in how you don’t smile anymore. JJ in the way you no longer linger to ask about her family. Garcia, especially, feels it in your voice—monotone, clipped—when you answer her questions like you’re checking boxes. Even Rossi, who’s known his fair share of emotionally distant agents, watches you with a kind of reluctant déjà vu.

But it’s Spencer who feels it the most. Because he remembers who you were before all this—back when you didn’t let anyone in, when the walls were ten feet high and reinforced with sarcasm and disdain. It took years to dismantle that fortress. And in one day, it’s like you rebuilt it brick by stupidly reinforced brick.

He doesn’t want to push. He knows better than most that pressure makes you retreat deeper. So he tries subtlety. Soft re-entry. An offered coffee. A quiet word. A gentle presence at your side during debriefings.

But today, when he follows you out of the briefing room and quietly offers to walk with you to your car, you cut him down with five words.

“Mind your own fucking business, Reid.”

It lands like a slap.

You don’t even look at him when you say it. Just brush past and disappear down the hall, your coat swinging behind you like a closing curtain.

Spencer stands frozen for a beat. Then turns, slowly, like he’s just walked into a gust of cold wind.

—

He doesn’t try again that night.

He lets you drive home alone, even though every fibre of him wants to be in the car with you, making sure your hands don’t shake on the wheel. Making sure you eat dinner. Making sure you sleep.

But he knows you.

Knows this is fear wearing the face of fury. Defence disguised as cruelty.

So instead of following you immediately, he calculates.

He gives you time. Watches the clock.

Thirty minutes to get home.

Fifteen to change. Ten more to pretend you’re fine. Another twenty to heat food, or pour yourself a drink. Maybe you'll put something on the TV. Maybe not.

When the hour mark hits, he gets in his car.

—

You open the door before he knocks a second time.

The look you give him could sour milk.

“Jesus Christ, Spencer. What the hell are you doing here?”

Your voice is lower than usual. Hoarse. You haven’t cried—he can tell. But you haven’t exactly been relaxed either.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he says quietly.

You don’t move to let him in.

“Not in the mood for a lecture.”

“It’s not a lecture,”

Your eyes narrow. “Looks like one.”

Silence stretches between you.

He swallows. “I’ll stay in the corridor if you want me to,”

You sigh, deep and exhausted. Then step back.

“Five minutes.”

He steps inside.

You close the door, but your back never turns fully toward him. A survival habit. Always keep the exit in view.

Spencer stands awkwardly in the entranceway for a beat, then speaks.

“I know you think you’re dealing with this,”

You roll your eyes and move to the kitchen. “And here comes the lecture.”

“It’s not,” He follows, not too close. “Just… do you know the statistics of trauma patients who process events alone versus those who share with even one trusted person?”

You open the fridge. Pull out something left over. Chicken, maybe. You don’t look at him.

“I’m a Psychologist. Of course I do.”

“Sixty-eight percent show measurable improvement when they talk. Thirty-four percent get worse when they don’t.”

You move to the microwave.

“I’m not one of your subjects, Spencer.”

“I know.”

He’s pacing now. Quiet but relentless. There’s a tremble in his voice, but it’s not fear—it’s urgency. Desperation dressed in facts.

“But you’re you. And I’m me. And I love you. And I’ve watched you do this before—go cold, shut down, shut everyone out. I know why you do it. I even get it. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let it happen without trying,”

You say nothing. Pour sauce over the chicken. Grab a fork.

“I know you’re hurting,” he says softly. “I know the case… I know what it reminded you of.”

You freeze just a second. A breath. Then keep moving.

“I don’t need pity.”

“It’s not pity. It’s love. I love you. And you’re hurting.”

You don’t answer.

So he keeps going.

“I read this paper last year—it was about emotional suppression in law enforcement, and it talked about how the illusion of control is one of the hardest addictions to break. We think if we can control the reaction, we can control the pain. But really, we just displace it. Store it in the body. It shows up later—migraines, insomnia, nightmares, fractured relationships. Do you even realise how much you mean to us? To me?”

You sit at the table. Eat quietly.

He doesn’t stop.

“I can’t lose you to this. I won’t. And I know you think pushing us away keeps you safe, but you’re making things worse. You’re not a problem to be solved. You’re someone I care about—deeply. And I—”

His voice falters.

You keep eating.

He clears his throat. “It hurts. Watching you go back to the version of yourself you’ve worked so hard to grow out of.”

You still don’t respond.

He takes a shaky breath.

“You hurt my feelings today,”

The fork pauses, halfway to your mouth.

Your head turns slowly.

“I hurt your feelings?”

It comes out sharp. Disbelieving. A little too loud for how quiet the room is.

Spencer blinks. Opens his mouth. Closes it again. Like he wants to rewind the words back into his vocal cords.

You stand. Cross the room.

“You haven’t stopped talking since you got here, don’t freeze up on me now.” you say firmly, “Stand up for yourself.”

He looks up at you, startled.

“If there’s anybody you can be honest with, it’s me. So stop acting like I’m some fragile thing you need to walk around. If I was cruel, say it. If I crossed a line, tell me.”

He licks his lips.

“You weren’t cruel,” he says. “Not really. But the way you shut me out—it felt like you didn’t trust me with the worst parts of you. You told me you’d confide in me about these things, but you gave up the second it got hard,”

You look away.

“I know why,” he continues, “I know it’s not about me. But it feels like it is.”

You stay quiet.

He steps closer.

“We talked about this. About communication. About letting someone stay even when it’s uncomfortable. And I know it’s hard. I know everything in you is telling you to keep this locked down, to bury it and move forward like nothing happened. But I want you to want to talk to me. I need that. Not just for me—for you,”

You finally look at him.

“I don’t have to say it out loud for you to know what the problem is.”

“I want you to say it anyway,”

You hesitate.

Then, “I’m not ready,”

His face softens. Just slightly.

“Okay,”

You take a breath.

“I need you to go back to your apartment now,”

He doesn’t move.

“Please, Spencer. I’m asking,”

He nods, slowly.

And you think that’s it—he’ll leave. Walk out, let the silence swallow everything again.

But then you say it.

“I’ll come over in the morning,”

He looks up.

“For breakfast,” you clarify. “Before work,”

A pause.

“Maybe I’ll be ready to talk then,”

You don’t promise.

But you offer. And for someone like you, that means something.

He gives a small, tired smile. The kind that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but tries.

“Okay,” he says again, this time softer.

You walk him to the door. He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t try to hold your hand or kiss your cheek or squeeze your shoulder.

But you both linger for a moment before he steps out.

And just before you close the door, you hear him say, “Thank you,”

#cold!reader ᝰ.ᐟ #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #mgg #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst

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the-travelling-witch · 6 months ago

Text

𝐋𝐘𝐂𝐀𝐎𝐍 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

summary: some lycaon dating headcanons

pairing: von lycaon x gn! reader

warnings: just fluff (and floof :D); not proofread, just a small set of hcs to kick writer’s block to the curb; also my first time writing for lycaon/zzz, so i still have to get a feel for the characters

a/n: writer’s block loophole: pick one of your friends to target and lock in (this one’s for you, @zhongrin dearest ^^)

general masterlist

You had recently noticed that Lycaon sometimes switched sides when you walked through New Eridu together. Still continuing your conversation, he elegantly let you pass by him, only to rejoin you at your other side, the motion so practised it almost looked like a dance.

For some time, you’ve wondered why he did it and why he only did it sometimes, until you overheard some girls in a café discussing an old drama, swooning over how the male lead always walked on the side of the road. And sure enough, Lycaon only ever traded places with you when you were the one walking closest to traffic.

However, despite being enamoured by his thoughtfulness, you also couldn’t help but notice how your lover seemed to hesitate a little on some occasions. At first you thought it was your imagination but you could clearly see an internal struggle going on behind the crimson of his eye before he moved towards the side of the road nonetheless, your window into his thoughts gone as his gaze was shielded from you by his eyepatch.

That was when you connected the dots.

Lycaon didn’t like not being able to easily see you. Sure, he could still turn his head to look at you but just being able to glance at you from the corner of his eye was clearly the favourable option to him. Not only did it facilitate checking up on you, he was also simply charmed by you. Whether it was you savouring a drink or treat on your way through the city or the way your eyes would light up when you saw something in the shop windows that intrigued you, Lycaon didn’t want to miss it. Yet, your safety was still of the utmost importance to him, so in the end he’d always move to the side of traffic for you.

Well, at least you had finally figured out why your boyfriend always occupied the right side of the couch and the bed, leaving you to snuggle up on his left…

Speaking of bed time, after a long day at work, Lycaon gladly left brushing his fur to you. The feeling of the brush in combination with your fingers raking through his coat, untangling all the knots he so carefully tried to avoid and diligently ridding it of whatever was clinging to it after his duties were done, was deeply soothing. Honestly, the first few times you offered to help him, he had almost been embarrassed by how quickly the sensation dissolved all the tension from his shoulders.

But, at this point, he gladly welcomed your gentle touch, even if it weighed down his eyelid and made it increasingly more difficult to stifle a yawn. Especially the attention you paid to smoothing out the areas that had been pressed down by his uniform all day had his eye soften with affection for you. As someone who looked after others day in and day out, it was nice being taken care of like this.

Although, to say this was any less relaxing for you, would be a lie. Lycaon took great care of his fur, so it was always soft to the touch and you never had any real troubles running the comb and brush through it. The only “problem” you sometimes encountered was his tail twitching between your hands as you tried to tend to it, the end tickling you in return for all the attention you were giving it. When you first met Lycaon, never in a million years would you have imagined he’d ever trust you enough to let you see this side of him, but now that he did, you couldn't help but smile fondly to yourself.

It was a rare luxury that you got to wake up in your lover’s arms after a good night’s sleep, reserved for the few precious days where Lycaon wasn’t working. Yet, that only made the mornings on which you could cuddle up to him further to shut out the day for a few more minutes even more cherished. An early riser by habit, there was a big chance the thiren was already awake before you, content to simply hold you for a little longer as you clung to sleep, soothingly running his hands over your back.

When you finally decided it was time to get out of bed, by the time you finished washing up and made your way to the kitchen, the delicious smell of freshly brewed coffee/tea already wafted over to you. Naturally, your lover had very quickly picked up on your preferences and would be damned if he couldn’t put his skills to use at home too. Handing you a warm mug, you soaked in the tranquility of the moment as you leant side by side against the kitchen counter, discussing breakfast options.

Yet, even on the days where he had to leave early for work, Lycaon still made you feel his love for you, even if he couldn’t be there when you got ready for the day. Be it your favourite bread in the basket on the counter or your lunch already prepped in the fridge, he always showed you that you were a priority to him, even after his day had barely started. These small affections were always accompanied by little notes, reminding you to eat, wishing you luck at work or simply telling you that he loved you, spelling out was he already conveyed so clearly.

If it wasn’t clear already, Lycaon would be nothing short of a true gentleman with you, always conscious of your presence and preferences. Be it opening doors for you, pulling out a chair or fixing your clothes, he was always the definition of attentive. And yes, the argument could be made that he was like this at work as well, however the guests of Victoria Housekeeping were never privy to that same affectionate glint in his eyes as he carefully fixed your necklace or even knelt down to fix your shoelace that had come undone. That was reserved for you and you only.

One thing he would not stand for, would be you being demeaned in one form or another. Of course, if you wanted to handle the situation yourself, he always let you, but reminded you he’d support you. If it was an accident, like a waiter bringing you the wrong order, he would very politely point it out. However, if someone deliberately mistreated you without showing any intention to change or apologise, he’d make it very clear that such behaviour wouldn’t be tolerated. He was well aware that you could handle yourself, but not every situation was easy to navigate and Lycaon would do everything in his power to protect you from harm; the last thing he’d want was to see you hurt.

If you were under the impression, however, Lycaon would never use his skills to tease you, you would be sorely mistaken. Really, he couldn’t help himself, your reactions were just too cute, so he’d rather not pass it up when the opportunity presented itself.

Seriously, with how often you’d already told your lover not to keep certain items on the top shelves, you’d think he’d already have remedied the problem. Yet, this particular complaint seemed to keep falling on deaf ears. Instead, when you were stretching to reach something once more, you’d suddenly find yourself trapped between the counter and the thiren that had appeared behind you, effortlessly reaching for whatever it was you needed. All the while, the nails of his hand resting comfortably on your hip dimpled the fabric of your clothes and his palm spread heat all the way up to your ears, especially when Lycaon leant just a bit more of his weight into you.

When he handed the item to you, he’d take one look at you and ask if there was something wrong. Perhaps if you didn’t know him well enough, you’d assume the question was truly innocent, that he just wasn’t aware of what he was doing to you. You, however, could very clearly identify the mischievous glint in his eye and the wolfish grin tugging at his lips.

Lycaon might be the death of you. But would you have it any other way?

if you like my content, reblogs, comments and asks are always much appreciated ♡

➺ send in an ask to be added to or removed from my tag list

TAKE THIS, WRITER'S BLOCK, YOU BITCH

#┊holly’s potions ೃ༄#zenless zone zero #zzzero #x reader #zenless zone zero x reader #zzzero x reader #zzz x reader #lycaon x reader #von lycaon x reader #von lycaon #zzz lycaon #zenless zone zero lycaon #zzz von lycaon

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sorryimananti-romantic · 3 months ago

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The Leaders | Chapter VI

"maybe a place where light and darkness meet, the choice between truth and lies is mine."

masterlist

ot8!ateez x f!reader, mafia au

chapter warnings: drinking, illegal businesses, mentions of violence, war/military and weapons, mention of drug(s), mc is confused as fawk but is vibing with whatever is going on, we finally meet the asshole father, hongjoong shows that he can be an asshole too, cue tears, seonghwa takes that chance to up his game (look idk how else to do warnings) (i may have missed sth)

chapter wc: 13.8k

chapter synopsis: the crescents share updates, deciding to dig deeper into the unknown identity of the anonymous funder. yeosang reveals that the rv spies are protecting you from a threat that is not secretary park and the anxiety of that unknown threat weighs on you heavily. yunho hints at the nature of the crescents’ relationship and you decide to take some time to think about it. The bosses finally tell you about their drug project and hongjoong asks you to accompany them to edenary as their partner, where they will be making a new deal. you confront secretary park there, but the night ends in tears, especially when you conflict with the boss. the underboss is there to make you feel better.

prev chapter recap: you are supposed to meet assemblyman wi with hongjoong. seonghwa tries his best to calm you while hongjoong gifts you an infinity clasp bracelet which only confuses you further. when you meet the assemblyman, hongjoong admits that he’s trying to make you ‘a leader’. you successfully make assemblyman wi agree to investigate secretary park with the keyword of ‘strictland’. while you relax with san, yeosang has a meeting with wendy and learns that the rv spies are protecting you from threats that they refuse to reveal– the real threat is not secretary park. worried, yeosang decides to call a meeting with the boys without your knowledge. you practise shooting with the warehouse boys and you learn that yunho has actually placed bets on how you won’t be able to shoot a single target. agitated, you cheat a little and have the warehouse boys win the bet. you also ask them to look into their anonymous funders as you learn more about the weapons project. finally, you confront yunho who teases you to no end but takes you to a place from his childhood to show you how he learned to aim. the night takes an unexpected, intimate turn.

You once heard about the butterfly effect. It was fascinating to hear how the most infinitesimal flutter of their wings could end up creating a ripple of change through time itself– unimaginable and irreversible change.

Sometimes, you would trace back the events of your life to understand which flutter of a pair of wings, or which pebble thrown in the lake led you to where you were today, at Room no. 1 at the Crescent Bar with all of the boys around you– probably a consequence of a series of small and insignificant decisions coupled with some big decisions.

It was surreal how you went from an observer of the Crescents to being a part of the Crescents yourself.You never thought their little actions would make your heart move so much and never did you imagine that they would create their space in your heart in such a short period of time. Instead of sneaking peeks from the office window, you sat among them and noticed that your presence didn’t change anything.

Your presence didn’t make them wary and you found the nature of their conversations remained the same as without you. They were including you in their discussion and making you feel comfortable with the little things- asking for your opinion as if it mattered (yes, they insisted it did but it was still hard to believe so), pouring wine for you, putting food in your plate, and even–

Even paying attention to the little details– the slight raise of your brow whenever you didn’t fully agree with something, the curling of your fingers as you picked on your skin when all eyes were trained on you, the exchange of glances with San when you both found something funny, the pointed look towards Yeosang when Hongjoong would play boss with you, the pointed look in Hongjoong’s direction when he would point out a discrepancy in your argument.

The way your eyes naturally fixed on Seonghwa whenever you needed assurance, which was kind of funny because this man was mainly the reason you were here right now. The way you would avoid Yunho’s eyes when his fingers would intertwine with yours with a promising squeeze in hopes of providing some sort of comfort or agreement. The masking of your laughter when Jongho shared a cheesy joke and the partnering with Wooyoung whenever you had something funny to add to the argument since your sense of humour matched with his the most. And finally, the way you would look towards Mingi for help whenever you felt like you were being driven into a corner by any one of them.

You were the most relieved to realise that your presence didn’t change their dynamics, yet, there was an inevitable change in their interactions so they could be attentive towards you, and you to them. You fitted right in. It was not a missing piece of the puzzle, rather, the puzzle itself changed to accommodate you. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Luna? Are you alright?”

It was both Yunho’s voice and his comforting squeeze of hand that brought you out of a trance and you blinked, appreciating the call.

“Oh, I’m perfectly alright. Just zoned out for a moment.”

You were alright. Your heart felt full at the sight of the boys chatting and eating, Seonghwa scooping some more rice for you and nudging you with his hand on your shoulder, pointing at the food. “I make sure everyone eats.”

“I finished two bowls, Sir.”

“Well, this one is still full,” he said. “Eat.”

“Yes, Sir,” you mocked, downing a drink, not oblivious to the snickers from the boys who overheard this little interaction. You sent a glare in their direction before giving in and begrudgingly taking a bite. You couldn’t disobey the underboss and expect to get away with it.

“Alright, if we’re all done eating and fooling around,” Hongjoong called after a few moments, grabbing everyone’s attention. “General Wi called to let me know that he thinks we’re right to suspect Secretary Park. He sent his men to tail Park Sunghoon and they got ambushed and barely made it out alive.”

Jongho grunted at the news, brows scrunching in thought. “Could Sunghoon be acting on his own, though?”

Hongjoong looked towards you for an answer and you shook your head. “I’m not sure if anything has changed in the past couple of years, but our father never allowed him to stray too far. He’s always had him on a leash, you could say. Might be part of the reason why Sunghoon rebels so much.”

“Right,” Hongjoong nodded. “General Wi did find something odd. He used his connections to find out if Secretary Park has been out of the country recently, and discovered that he’s been frequenting Halaland for a considerable amount of time now.”

“He could have some other dealing going on in Halaland?” San wondered, always giving anyone the benefit of doubt. “We should look into that.”

“Or if he’s visiting Strictland,” Mingi began. “He can’t simply go to Strictland from Eden. That would be too obvious. You need a permit to visit Strictland from Eden but if I’m recalling correctly, you can visit Strictland without a permit if you’re a Hala local. He could have easily tagged with some locals then.”

“Yeah, he wouldn’t simply go to Strictland from here if he was involved in something illegal,” you agreed with Mingi. “He can go to extreme lengths to hide something he doesn’t want the world to know about.”

The boys had a feeling that you were referring to yourself too and they exchanged glances. Yeosang was the first to speak. “We can check if he’s had any reason to go to Halaland first before we assume that he’s up to something in Strictland. Are we still in contact with Suho’s gang?”

“It’s been radio silence for a while but I’ll make a call or send a message– I can’t promise a positive response,” Jongho said and you wondered if being half-Hala ever earned him some benefits. Was he really friendly with the gang based in Halaland? “We didn’t really end things on a good note.”

“It’s fine, we can look for some other means too,” Seonghwa suggested. “Maybe the RV spies.”

“The RV spies?” You repeated, the name foreign on your lips. “Who are they?”

“A spy network of women,” Seonghwa was smiling and you thought there was a secret concealed within his words. “You remember Winter? She’s one of them. They’re really good at disguise and have dirt on literally every person in Eden– even the common man.”

You let that sink in. Seonghwa had a meeting with Winter the other day and the sight of her rocked a familiar yet distant memory in your head. You were positive you had come across her in Edenary. So she was a spy?

“If they’re that extensive and meticulous, they would know a lot about me, right? Maybe things that even I don’t know about.”

“Yeah, we considered contacting them when we were looking into your background,” Yunho admitted and you made a face, making him laugh a bit. “We never got to that, though. We had other sources.”

“Kihyun?” You asked and he nodded in confirmation.

“And Hongjoong was quick enough to figure it out himself,” Seonghwa added, amused as he recalled that night.

“Yeah, well, it was very obvious. Your father may have done a good job hiding you but you didn’t really do a good job hiding yourself,” he commented.

“Well, I wasn’t really hiding myself,” you lied and he caught that, raising a brow in challenge. “More like… delaying the inevitable.”

The boys laughed at that, Jongho filling everyone’s glasses again and you all cheered before drinking.

“Oh, one last thing,” Mingi began, having just recalled his recent findings. “We officially know the identity of all of our anonymous funders save for one.”

“And you’ve tried everything?” Hongjoong asked and when Mingi nodded, he settled back in thought.

“How old is the source?”

“September 1966,” Mingi said and the room fell silent as everyone tried to recall the events from four years ago.

You remembered that time well. “I came back to Eden from Wonderland on 14th August, 1966.”

“And President Han Hyojoo was assassinated on 17th August,” Wooyoung scratched his chin. “There were a lot of protests and things were bad for a while– even in September. Right?”

“Yes,” Yunho took a deep breath. “I think it was in September when the Siren Rebel Party laid its foundations. They feared martial law would be imposed on Eden, but President Lee won the elections– he was a favourite at that time.”

“Pity votes,” Wooyoung huffed, folding his arms. “I never liked that man. His smile scares me.”

While some of them burst into laughter, teasing Wooyoung’s unwarranted dislike for the President of Eden, Seonghwa noticed how you fell silent. “What are you thinking?”

“Why was President Han assassinated?” You wondered. “I mean, yeah, she obviously had enemies, but wasn’t she from a long line of politicians? She wasn’t the first female president either. Didn’t she contribute a lot to rebuild Eden?”

“She did,” Hongjoong said, “alongside President Son until his term was over, and then she won the elections yet kept a strong partnership with President Son. They were quite a pair.”

“And Lee Jinwook was basically a nobody even while he was a politician until his wife got killed,” Wooyoung said. “Then he started collecting pity votes.”

“I think Wooyoung has got some personal beef with President Lee,” Jongho laughed. “He’s always after him.”

“You would be too if you look closely,” Wooyoung wasn’t having any of it. “We all know that he only won because of his late wife, and now he thinks he’s something.”

“Well, Eden has been stable in his administration so far, and we’re almost nearing the end of his term,” Yeosang tried. “He doesn’t really have enemies.”

“Isn’t that odd?” You narrowed your eyes. “If President Lee claims to be continuing his wife’s legacy, and his wife got killed because someone had a problem with how things ran, wouldn’t they get rid of him too?”

“That… is a good point,” San shifted uncomfortably.

“What is the difference between President Lee’s administration and President Han’s?” You asked, looking around. “He can’t be running things exactly the same way, right?”

“It’s mostly the same, with a few changes,” Seonghwa said. “Attempts to try to improve the relation with Halaland, which shouldn’t be odd because we can’t be at the risk of war all the time. More contributions to the healthcare system and that we can owe that to Secretary Park, and then… a few personnel and administration changes. President Son retired from politics altogether– there was some tension between them.”

You bit your lips in thought. You really needed to refresh your history because something was gnawing at your mind; a connection that was present and felt an arm’s reach away but you couldn’t grab it.

“Do you think it’s got anything to do with our anonymous source?” Hongjoong asked. “I don’t want you wasting time on what-ifs. If you’re sure there’s a connection, then we can investigate.”

You nodded, making a mental note to talk to Seonghwa about this later. You might be shooting an arrow in the dark but you could never be too sure. “I just think the timing is odd. President Lee wouldn’t need to make sure there are enough weapons in Eden illegally. So it’s got to be someone who was sure President Lee would not be doing enough for Eden’s defence.”

Mingi agreed, “They think the President is still not doing enough considering how we receive our paychecks regularly.”

“Alright, let’s assume there is a connection but don’t let it narrow the focus of your investigation,” Hongjoong concluded and he started giving instructions around the table. The meeting was over and you would all be separating ways now.

“Do you have a moment before you leave?” Yeosang asked when you were picking up your belongings, the warehouse boys just having shared farewell hugs with you. There was still a smile on your face from when Wooyoung kissed your cheek and looked pointedly at Yunho– you weren’t sure if Wooyoung was aware that you and Yunho had crossed some boundaries, but it was still amusing to watch Yunho roll his eyes and scoff before leaving. Wooyoung said they would be having dinner at BB Trippin soon and you were also invited.

“Sure. I was only going to go home,” you said and followed him to his office. You dumped your things on his desk as if you still belonged there– perhaps, you did. The office looked more unorganised than usual with empty glasses lining the table, a few bottles in the corner and documents strewn everywhere.

“Have you been drinking?” You asked. Yeosang was a drinker, but he was never untidy.

“Ah, yes,” he scratched the back of his neck. “I can explain the mess– I was looking into a few things recently and uh…”

“And Luna is not here anymore to clean up after you?” You finished for him. “No new bookkeeper?”

“I’m the bookkeeper now,” he said in all seriousness and you passed him a warning look. “Alright, I’m considering Jeonghan for the post.”

“Jeonghan would make you do all the work while he naps or fools around,” you pointed out but you both knew you were joking– he was really clever and you were considering suggesting him to Yeosang anyway. “So, what’s this about?”

Yeosang waited until you settled down and then he took a seat in front of you across the desk. He was watching you in thought and you let him have a moment to sort his thoughts out.

“I worry about your safety, Luna,” he started. “And it’s why I want you to be honest during our conversation. I know you have your own secrets but I really need to confirm a few things so we know what we’re dealing with.”

“Okay,” you nodded, narrowing your eyes in suspicion and confusion.

“The boys do not know that I’m having this conversation with you because we agreed not to tell you, for now,” he told you and you blinked in surprise. They told each other everything. “But after this meeting, I think we should talk. And if you wish so, our conversation can remain between us unless we feel that we should let them know for safety reasons.”

“Alright,” you shifted uncomfortably. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“Are you sure your father is the only one who means to harm you?”

Oh.

“I mean… Sunghoon might?” you suggested. “He’s always been after me for different reasons. Sibling rivalry, if you can call it that.”

“Yeah, but if Secretary Park is after you and Sunghoon is aware of it, then he wouldn’t need to interfere, right?” Yeosang said and you shrugged in agreement. “Can you think of any other person who might be after you? Anyone who might have a grudge against you? Anyone from Eden or Wonderland?”

“Did something happen?” You asked again, your voice laced with worry.

“Nothing, but we got a tip recently. The RV spies didn’t reveal who they meant, but they were sure that Secretary Park is not the real threat that you should be worrying about.”

Cold washed over you as his words registered, a montage of your life flashing through your eyes in an attempt to recall any falling out you’ve had with someone who was not your family, or any time you might have intentionally or unintentionally caused harm to someone or said something unkind.

“I… can’t think of anything, Yeosang,” you looked at him and he immediately moved to hold your hands in his, squeezing them reassuringly to ease the despair in your voice. “Why would someone be after me? My father has a reason, even though it’s not justifiable, but why would someone else be?”

He only shrugged in response. He had no answer either and from what he knew, you had lived a pretty secluded life.

“Could it be Assemblyman General Wi? I might have rubbed off on him the wrong way–”

“I don’t think they meant him. They didn’t say anything explicitly but… you must understand that RV spies are assassins. Usually, they are employed to get rid of a person or an organisation. But for the first time, I’m hearing that they’re protecting someone.”

“Who?”

“Who do you think?” He cocked his head and you exhaled in disbelief. “They think whatever information you have is valuable enough that they have to make sure that it’s not in the wrong hands. I think if they haven’t killed you yet, that means they’re okay with you sharing that information with us.”

“Very helpful, Yeosang,” you muttered and he stifled a smile.

“They’re protecting you,” he chastised, squeezing your hands softly for good measure. “Whoever you are or whatever you’ve heard while you were in Edenary is worth enough that the most notorious spies and assassins are trying to protect you. And they think they’ll be doomed if you get hurt.”

“That can’t be true,” you wrenched your hands away from Yeosang, shaking your head furiously. “I’ve told you everything that I’ve heard.”

“And I believe you,” Yeosang responded cautiously. “I just want you to think again, yeah? You don’t have to worry– you’re safe. You can take your time and think if there was something that was odd and didn’t make sense back then. It might make sense now. Your time in Edenary, in Wonderland and when you came back… I know it’s overwhelming but can you do that for me?”

You nodded absently, getting up and clutching your bag in one hand, about to leave when Yeosang stepped in front of you and gave you a disapproving look.

“Don’t let it get to your head, Luna,” he placed his hands on the dip of your shoulders, locking eyes with you. “You’ll be okay.”

“Why do the rest don’t know about this meeting, Yeosang?” You asked, unable to keep the scepticism from your tone. “Do they still not trust me after all I’ve done for them? After all I’ve given them?”

Yeosang shook his head. “They trust you, and we all mutually agreed to try to get the RV spies to talk or look into it ourselves, because we didn’t want to overwhelm you,” he admitted. “We knew you’d take it to heart. They don’t like to see you anxious.”

“What do they care if I’m anxious or not?”

“I thought you knew by now, Luna, that we care. All of us do.”

“Then why did you tell me now?” You asked, barely a whisper.

“Because I’ve known you longer than they have,” he smiled. “And I know that if you’re aware of this, you might be less cross with us than if you find out later. I owe you one, remember?”

He was making up to you for getting you involved with them– for assigning you bookkeeping without telling you the consequences of that job. You avoided his gaze as you smiled but you felt guilty for snapping at him.

The boys really just wanted to make sure that you were at peace. They would rather inconvenience themselves to find out the answers than have you restless.

Yeosang hooked his finger under your chin, making you look at him and you both dissolved into chuckles as you tried to pull away from him. You quickly gave up and let him bring you in for a hug, his arms wrapping around you securely and his steady voice assuring you that you would be okay, that you had nothing to worry about. That they would keep you safe. You buried your nose in the crook of his neck, taking deep breaths and he kissed the top of your head.

When you drew away, his hands slid down your arms to hold your hands and he noticed the cuff bracelet on your wrist, lips curling into a smile as he recognised it.

“Do you always wear it?”

“Yeah,” you raised your arm to look at the silver bracelet. It looked like he was aware that Hongjoong had given it to you, and now that you knew that Yeosang had feelings for you that were not entirely platonic, it was strange to see not a hint of jealousy or envy on his face. Instead, his eyes gleamed and you poked his chest.

“You’re weird, Yeosang.”

“Nothing I haven’t heard before,” he scoffed, watching the bracelet on your wrist for just a moment longer before he looked at you. “Let me know if you feel like it’s too much, okay?”

“Which part?”

Yeosang had a faint smile on his lips as he tucked your hair back and caressed your cheeks in the process. “Whichever part feels too much?”

“I don’t understand when you all are going to stop trying to talk to me in circles and say something,” you almost cried out. “That part is too much.”

“Is there something you’ve been wanting to hear?” Yeosang cocked his head, amused. “Or… did something happen? Something you’d like to tell me about?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Is there something you’d like me to tell you?”

“Hmm… let’s see,” he trailed his finger down your temple, his thumb subtly swiping at your bottom lip, perhaps an indication that he did know. “I’m just wondering if you found the answer to the question you asked me last time.”

“What question?” You asked softly, feigning innocence as you curled your fingers around his hand that rested on your cheek. “Why don’t you remind me again?”

Yeosang only chuckled, knowing very well that perhaps, you were done playing games with them– or at least him. He drew back, raising his hands in defeat.

“Maybe when you’re ready to answer it.”

“Yeosang,” you warned. “You’re all in this together, aren’t you? At least some of you.”

“Whatever do you mean?” He raised a brow in challenge, opening the door for you. “Have a good evening, Luna.”

The rain continued to pour without a break for the remainder of the week and more. The sun would rarely come out but when it did, it would be heavily concealed by clouds and just offer a sheen of glimmer on the wet pavements and roads of Sector 1. The days remained bleak, a reflection or perhaps a fuel for your gloominess.

Although nothing significant happened after your conversation with Yeosang a few days ago, it still weighed heavily upon your heart. The shift in your mood didn’t go unnoticed by your colleagues Eunha and Jihoon, though they didn’t comment on your lack of contribution to conversations and how your smile didn’t meet your eyes anymore. They had a feeling that if they probed, you wouldn’t offer anything in return.

They didn’t need to either, for there were plenty of people worrying about you. Yunho, for instance, who was quick to realise something was up and confronted you the other night when you were in his office finishing up a report.

You tried to avoid the question by dismissing the change in your energy as exhaustion but he wasn’t having any of it. You figured you were obvious, especially in front of him. It was hard to look at him without wanting to open up your heart to him, especially when his presence was so welcoming.

“Won’t you talk to me about it?” He pleaded in a mellow voice and an even softer gaze, his eyes rounding and brows scrunching.

There. Your weakness.

“Yunho. You can’t look at me like that,” you tossed the pen on the table between you and slumped back, folding your arms as you softly admonished. “This won’t work on me anymore.”

“What?”

“Those eyes of yours,” you said and he choked on his laughter. He proceeded to loosen his tie, the top button of his shirt conveniently unbuttoned already. Strands of hair messily fell over his forehead and you had to physically restrain the urge to run your hands through his soft hair.

“I’d say it’s working,” he smiled almost victoriously, leaning forward. “Can you really not talk about it?”

You pressed your lips tightly in consideration before you finally gave in. You were only human, after all. “Yeosang told me about how the RV spies are protecting me from some threat that is not my father.”

Yunho whistled in realisation. Of course that was bothering you. “I knew he was going to tell you.”

“I expected you would tell me.”

“Well, I was the one who insisted that we don’t tell you yet for exactly this reason,” he looked at you pointedly and you hid your face behind your hands, guilty. “You’re all worried now. Anyways, I wouldn’t believe anything they say right away without verification, though they’re a pretty reliable source.”

You uncovered your face. “Don’t tell the rest that I know, okay?”

Yunho laughed softly but agreed. “So? Any thoughts about who might be interested in you?”

“I wouldn’t be in this state if I had it figured out,” you almost cried out. “I have been very low-profile until I started working here in the office. I can’t think of anyone who would want to get rid of me– for what? For the information I possess? What information exactly, because what I have right now only threatens Secretary Park… unless…”

“Unless Secretary Park’s secret is someone else’s secret too?” Yunho finished for you and you nodded. “Do you recall who exactly was the person your father was discussing the Strictland matter with?”

“I only caught a glimpse and I didn’t recognise him– I must have seen him for the first time,” you said.

“Do you think you could recognise him if you see him again?”

“Maybe?” You wrapped your arms around yourself. “If they’re trying so hard to hide it, and if the person who’s after me must be someone my father has partnered with on the Strictland matter, It must mean whatever is happening in Strictland is actually taking place… right?”

Yunho didn’t need to answer that– he was sure that if you were not hiding anything else from them, this might be it.

“We’re taking care of it, okay? You really don’t have to worry about it– or if you have to worry, don’t think about it too much. You don’t have any answers yet, and that’s okay.”

You offered him a weak smile and got up to place the compiled folder on his desk. When you were about to go back to sit across from him, he patted the space next to him instead.

“Come here.”

You felt butterflies in your stomach at the way his voice sounded like a command. You could resist, but his gaze was incredibly pulling so you settled next to him, keeping a respectful distance between your bodies.

“Is that all you’ve been worrying about?”

“Well… obviously not,” you shot him a look but when his fingers curled around your hand, you didn’t snatch it away. “I don’t know what you want from me, Yunho.”

“What I want doesn’t matter,” he started but you shook your head.

“You’ve talked to Yeosang, haven’t you?” You asked and he didn’t respond, searching your eyes. “And he’s talked to you. You all talk to each other. You’re all far too close with each other. I’m noticing that recently.”

“Really?” He said in an almost mocking tone. “And what other observations has our little secretary made?”

“Yunho,” you called in a warning tone. “I’m not trying to judge you or probe into whatever it is that is going on between you guys. But I am beginning to understand that you’re all a team and everyone knows everything about each other.”

“And?”

“And…” you sighed, looking at your joined hands and sliding your thumb across his skin. “I don’t know.”

“What do you want from us?” Yunho asked softly.

There it was. Us. It was never a ‘me’. It was always an ‘us’.

“What do you mean by ‘us’?” You raised a brow.

“Are you sure you’re ready to hear that answer?”

Oh, fuck him. He was literally steering the conversation in the same direction that Yeosang had.

“Well, you can stop confusing me for once and talk,” you snatched your hand away this time.

“How can I talk when I don’t know what you want from me, or from Yeosang?” Yunho raised a brow,a teasing smile plastered on his face. “We kissed. You like Yeosang.”

“I like you too,” you added and immediately regretted it when you saw his grin grow wider. “Does it not bother you? That I like him and you both?”

Yunho only smiled and looked down, trying to form a response but failing to because this was a confession–

And this meant that Seonghwa really was right about you. He was one meticulous bastard.

“Does it bother you?” Yunho asked, and you finally realised that this was the question you should be asking yourself.

Does it bother you that you like Yeosang and Yunho? Does it bother you that you were attracted to San and that one soft look from Seonghwa made you feel like you could soar into the skies? Does it bother you that the Captain– Hongjoong– meant so much to you that the bracelet he gave you was becoming an anchor for you to remind you that you were safe, protected, and perhaps, wanted?

Could any of it be the beginning of something beautiful and unknown, or had you finally lost your mind?

“Don’t get lost in there,” Yunho scooted closer, planting a kiss on your temple and remaining close. “Just do me a favour and figure out your feelings about us first, will you? I can’t explain anything until you’re sure that… that you want us like we want you.”

“What does that mean?” You asked, stomach twisting into knots though your heart raced in anticipation.

Yunho wasn’t going to answer that, but he could help ease your confusion a little. “It’s okay if you choose one of us, or none of us. We will respect your decisions. But… you can also choose more of us. We don’t mind.”

Suddenly, everything started to make a little more sense– the subtle glances the boys would exchange among themselves when you were in the room. The way Seonghwa always looked like he knew something about you that even you didn’t. The way Yunho must have known Yeosang liked you before he kissed you and still told him– and the way Yeosang knew Yunho had kissed you and wanted to hear it from your mouth. The way he looked at your bracelet knowingly– was it a marker that you were theirs now?

Oh, and how San was almost flirting with you as of recently. The thing Wooyoung had said about you not just being their secretary, but a part of their inner circle– just what did being a part of their inner circle entailed? And the way Mingi and Jongho were so welcoming and friendly towards you– while they had not done anything to make you feel like they had crossed some platonic boundary, you were suddenly reading too much into everything.

“Does it overwhelm you?”

“Of course it does,” you admitted but when you didn’t flinch away from him, he took that as a positive sign. “I need time.”

“Of course. You have all the time in the world. There really is no rush,” he brushed the pad of his thumb along your cheek in soft, slow caresses.

“And I want you to stop swaying my feelings.”

Yunho’s head dipped down in silent surrender to guilt, though the smirk creeping on his face threatened to give him away. “I’m sorry but I can’t resist that. Not until you give me a solid rejection.”

“Ah, let’s end it then–”

“Hey!” He placed his hand over your mouth to keep you from finishing the sentence and you burst into giggles, even more so when you tried pushing him away, but before you knew it, he was almost on top of you with a finger on his mouth shushing you, his hand on your mouth dampening your laugh until you stopped, realising the tangled position that you were in and feeling warmth course through your entire body– warmth that made you shiver as if you were cold instead.

“Quiet, okay?” Yunho whispered and you nodded, eyes wide. “And don’t reject me right now.”

He pulled his hand away, rubbing the smear of the lipstick at the corner of your mouth when he discovered it, his lips parting in concentration and when he was done, he looked into your eyes to find them laden with–

Desire. It had to be desire. If your eyes weren’t indication enough, the way your breath quickened was.

Yunho licked his lips instinctively, his breath getting heavier with want and you wondered if he really wanted you as badly as you wanted him. Ignoring that you both had agreed to give you some space, you pushed yourself upwards just a bit, crowding his personal space and his breath hitched when he found you inches away.

It was electrifying to know that someone wanted you back for once and when you looked at him pleadingly, he crashed his lips on yours, making you fall right back on the couch. You looped your arms around his neck and kissed him back with equal enthusiasm, arching into him and he caught your body in an embrace with one arm around your back and the other cradling the back of your neck.

While your kiss at the park had been passionate, this one was putting it to shame– he poked his tongue inside your mouth at the first opportunity, deepening the kiss and then angled his face to kiss you better. His hand travelled down to your waist and a suggestive squeeze elicited a moan from your mouth which he was quick to swallow with a kiss. When you finally drew back for breath, he rested his forehead against yours for just a moment before proceeding to trail kisses down your cheek, along your jaw and then downwards, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Yunho,” you softly whispered, relishing the feeling of his warm breath against your skin, running your fingers through his hair lovingly. He hummed against your neck, resting his lips on the juncture of your neck, realising that perhaps… he should have waited. You both should have waited.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t end this on a good note. He looked up at you with an understanding smile, washing away all your worries. And then he peppered kisses all over your face, eliciting a shy smile. With a final few pecks to your lips, he nodded in satisfaction.

“Yeah, I’ll give you your space.”

You laughed darkly, shaking your head. Patting his chest twice, you got out of his embrace which was a struggle in every sense.

“Maybe we should start including Seonghwa in our meetings too so we don’t end up making out each time we’re alone.”

“Oh, he would enjoy that,” Yunho commented and you raised a brow but he only shook his head, ending the conversation.

It was electrifying to know that someone wanted you back. And not just someone…

But someone else too, and perhaps more.

Despite your recent interactions with the boys, the looming threat over your head came to be the reason that your mood turned as bleak as the evenings of Eden. Yunho asked you if it was something he did but you assured him that you were more worried about figuring out who was after you and how it was tied to Strictland.

Seonghwa, of course, also noticed the shift in your mood. He was aware of everything that had gone down the past few days and he wondered if now was a good time to tell you about the recent deal they were preparing to offer to a certain business figure– the deal that would originally have been Secretary Park’s. Hongjoong insisted that now was the only time and since the new contender was from Wonderland, your opinion might prove to be valuable again.

“Luna?” He called, having been watching you for a few moments. You had been staring out through the window for the past few minutes and his voice almost made you jump. “Is everything okay?”

“Yep. Just… admiring the weather,” you pointed outside, the clouds rumbling with comical timing.

“Brilliant weather, innit?” Seonghwa chuckled. “Can you join us for our meeting?”

“Of course,” you answered, beginning to wrap up the files on the table. “I’ll join you in a few moments.”

When you entered the boss’ room, Hongjoong and Seonghwa were already in the middle of a discussion seated across from each other on the sofas. You took a seat next to Seonghwa.

“We have a business contender regarding our drug approval,” Seonghwa began. “The one that we almost signed with Secretary Park.”

“Oh, that’s… great news?” You looked between them, unsure if it was good news since you had little to no knowledge about the drug they intended to get approved. It was still a secret known only amongst the bosses and a selected few employees.. “Who is it?”

“Madame Tiffany Hwang– she is a respectable business figure in Wonderland. Have you heard about her?” Hongjoong asked.

“She’s the owner of quite a few businesses,” you recalled, having seen the face in the newspaper of Wonderland quite a lot during your time there. “I don’t really remember which ones but her most notable endeavour has to be SNSD, the tech company. She’s the CEO, I believe?”

“That’s right,” Hongjoong passed you a file which contained information on Madame Tiffany’s business and a little background check. She was a Wonderland citizen who was going to be visiting Eden to expand her business and possibly do a collaboration with a tech company here. “She visited Edenary a few months ago. We acquainted ourselves and she showed interest in investing in other businesses. I think she’ll take up our offer.”

“Why?” You wondered out loud. “From what I know, she’s a very well-established figure in the business world. What would she be gaining from investing in your pharmaceutical business?”

“The upper hand,” Hongjoong smirked and you looked at Seonghwa who nodded. “The drug we aim to launch is one already known amongst the elite class of the continent– we’re talking Halaland, Wonderland and Utopia among other countries. I suppose she’ll be gaining power, at the very least.”

“Can you tell me more about this drug?” You asked.

Hongjoong looked at Seonghwa and the underboss nodded, leaning forwards and speaking in a low volume. “That drug… It's called silver light. We discovered its existence during the war when one of our soldiers came across a batch accidentally. We started using it as a numbing drug during medical emergencies– it seemed to work better than the painkillers we had in reserve so we kept it for the extreme cases.”

“After the war ended,” Hongjoong added, “I did a little digging in. I found out that the batch we used up was meant for the highest ranking military. They rarely fought at the scene so I wondered why they would need such a drug, but then I realised it wasn’t a medicine– not yet. It was just a drug that was consumed for pleasure.”

“So while people laid their lives for this land,” Seonghwa sighed deeply in conclusion, “the elites kept such a medically beneficial drug for entertainment purposes.”

“Oh my god,” you were thoroughly surprised at their revelation. “That’s… ridiculous. I served as a medical assistant for about two years in the war but I never heard of such a drug.”

“No one in Eden is aware of its existence save for the elites who consume this drug for pleasure,” Hongjoong told you. “It’s an opioid based drug so it is banned not only in Eden but the entire continent. The only way we get our hands on this drug is through underground channels. You bet that once we make it public that we’re trying to launch it into the market for medical purposes, the elites will do anything to stop us.”

“Does anyone else know about this yet? Secretary Park?” You asked.

“No, but he must suspect something considering that he’s from Edenary and is himself a pharmaceutical company owner,” Seonghwa answered. “It would be strange if he’s aware of its existence and hasn’t tried to launch it or, well, use it in one way or another.”

You nodded slowly. “Are you sure Madame Tiffany will be the right person for the deal?”

“That’s why you’re here,” Hongjoong resigned back, crossing his legs, a faint smirk on his lips. “We’ll be the judge of that, and if you have any connections in Wonderland who could do you a favour and conduct another background check on her… that would be much appreciated.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” you confirmed. You were familiar with your aunt’s gang and could probably ring them for this.

“We’re short on time though. Madame Tiffany is arriving in Edenary in a week. Her schedule is going to be packed so we can’t say if she’ll visit Sector 1. We should be prepared to make a visit to Edenary, and if it looks like she’s the right investor, we will prepare to make arrangements and receive her here.”

You made an impressed face at Seonghwa. “Looks like you’re getting busier soon.”

“We are getting busy,” Seonghwa smiled deviously. “What do you think about joining us on our visit to Edenary?”

“Me? Edenary?” You gaped at him. The air in the room suddenly felt too cold despite the nervous sweats now oozing out of your body. “But…”

“I think it’s about time you stopped hiding in the shadows,” Hongjoong said, clasping his hands together. “Secretary Park will be there, as well as a lot of politicians and business people. You might recognise most of them, and from what I know, a lot of people might recognise you too.”

“Secretary Park,” you muttered. “Are you sure about this?”

“I think it’s a good opportunity to let him know that you’re no longer afraid of him,” Seonghwa mused.

“And an even better opportunity to find out who really wants to get me,” you said, referring to the information you learned from Yeosang and the men exchanged glances. “I’m aware. It has to be someone from Edenary since they only took action after I got involved with your company. If it was a local, they had plenty of opportunities to get rid of me.”

“Right…” Hongjoong shrugged in acceptance. “So? Are you willing to accompany us as our secretary? Are you willing to announce to the world that you are a part of our inner circle? Because your visit to Edenary will be changing a lot of things, Luna.”

You straightened, feeling a surge of confidence boost through you. If the bosses of the Crescents were willing to trust you, you were not going to let them down. “It’s a good opportunity to tie up loose ends,” you said. “I need to have a talk with my father. It’s long overdue.”

“Perfect,” Hongjoong clapped. “We leave in two days. Wipe that grim look off your face, Luna. Show them what you’re made of.”

It felt surreal to enter the capital of Eden through the Sector 1 gate, the diamond-shaped carvings on the gates bisecting as the metal frame opened with a loud creak, true to its old age. The eight gates around Edenary that opened to the eight sectors– or rather, enclosed the capital of Eden within its confines– were as old as Eden itself. Each gate was colossal and identical in its built but with a unique carving on it that was representative of its sector.

Since Sector 1 was known for Maddox and Co., the famous luxury jewellery shop that was established by the royals of Eden who were big fans of diamonds, the gate had diamond shaped carvings on it to honour the memory of the shop’s origin. It truly was a magnificent sight and it was your first time seeing the gate so you couldn’t help but peek through the window as you crossed the invisible line that indicated your entry into the capital.

It was just as fascinating to enter Edenary as an outsider from Sector 1, of all the sectors. Any person belonging to the upper class usually resided in Sector 2 if not in Edenary. Sector 2, situated in the western region of Eden, was home to the monarchy once and had the Royal Palace in its heart. The Royal Palace was now a government office, sort of an unofficial parliament house after the monarchy was abolished. Sector 2 could have been your home if your life had taken a different course of events.

If the other passengers in the car noticed your enthusiasm, they didn’t comment on it. Seonghwa, however, could not hold back the light chuckle when you turned in your seat to watch the gates close from the rear window. The leather seats of Hongjoong’s Bentley car suddenly felt too hot– or perhaps, it was the embarrassment seeping into the seats through your body.

“What?” You retorted, your lips curling into a pout in embarrassment as you tried to match the gaze of the underboss who was seated on your left, clad in a classic tweed suit. “It’s my first time seeing the Sector 1 gate.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Seonghwa raised his hands in surrender, an amused smile plastered on his face. Hongjoong, who was seated in the front, spared you both a glance from his half-nap and let out his signature scoff.

“Seonghwa had a worse reaction when we first saw the gate. He’s probably reminiscing, let him be,” the boss said and Taeyong, the boss’ bodyguard and designated driver of sorts, laughed in agreement.

“He wanted to take a moment to admire, which meant the moment could last half an hour, so I had to physically restrain him,” Taeyong recalled. “He was salty with me for two whole days.”

“I wasn’t,” Seonghwa muttered and you were once again surprised by the almost childish banter that ensued. It really was a rare sight to have the boss and the underboss of the Crescent Company quibbling, and even better that their crew members like Taeyong were on almost casual terms with the Crescents. You were suddenly reminded of Jaemin, the young informant who everyone at the office adored.

The Crescents truly were different and so human, and you wished they did more to mend their reputation.

You resorted to watching out of the window while the men chatted. The bare deciduous trees that bordered the highway started to thin as you drew closer to the heart of the capital, revealing more familiar sights of civilization– farmhouses, shops, and warehouses. Before you knew it, you were in the middle of the town where most of the offices and government buildings were located and where the elites of Eden resided.

You quietly let the dreary, almost lifeless colours of Edenary imprint on your eyes, making silent notes of what changed since the past few years that you stepped in Edenary, which was not much. Just less nature and more artificial spaces. The people sauntering in the streets still looked as pompous as ever, dressed to the max, too absorbed in the newspaper in their hand or occupied with the pet they were walking.

“The Eden Dome,” Hongjoong’s caught your attention, prompting you to tilt your head to look at the building through the front– the magnificent presidential office with a washed out cerulean blue dome in the middle. The dome along with the accents of gold on the building seemed to be the only colour in Edenary.

Or at least, that’s what it felt like to you. The Eden Dome was President Lee’s office. Your father’s workplace.

The road curved around the domed building and opened to Eden Square, a large fountain in the middle marking the heart of the capital. You steered towards the left to the residential area where you would be staying in an apartment owned by Hongjoong. One of his crew members, Jaehyun, was a resident there along with a young guard who went by the name ‘Ten’. They were supposedly in charge of handling the Crescents’ Edenary affairs (and spying).

As the car came to a halt in front of one of the many apartment buildings, you could almost see yourself as Park y/n, the daughter of a businessman running an errand for her father, scrambling through the streets with documents in her hands, the hat on her head threatening to fall off with the wind. You were almost back to being the twenty-one year old who did anything and everything to earn at least one phrase of acknowledgment from her father.

Oh, how you wished your father would look past your birth status and see that you, too, were capable of great things. Things that even his son wasn’t capable of. He could have given you one chance, and everything would have been different–

“Luna?”

It was your boss’ voice that reminded you that you were no longer related to Secretary Park. That you were almost his rival now. Seven years wasn’t a short amount of time and things would never go back to what they were before.

You shivered involuntarily and nodded to let the boss know that you were okay before grabbing your things and following the men inside the building.

Somehow, your heart raced with anticipation– not to meet perhaps the most famous businesswoman in the continent, or to finally be a part of the Edenary crowd, but to see the unfiltered rage behind your father’s eyes when he would see you standing with the leaders of the most extensive underground organisation of Eden.

You missed Yunho.

Or rather, his warning about the Edenary crowd echoed in your head. You once mentioned to him that you kind of missed the feeling of being an Edenary citizen and how you always wanted to attend one of the business parties that your father was always talking about. He had initially found it amusing and you wondered why, but his words were starting to make sense now. He was right to believe that the Edenary crowd was overwhelming and that they watched every move you made as if they were vultures, waiting for a chance to grab a bite.

It was suffocating, and you almost wished you were back at the office or having late night snacks with your roommate Wendy.

It was ultimately Seonghwa’s presence in the room, constant and reassuring, that calmed you. He would catch your eye and exchange a subtle nod, or smile in a way that was only meant for your eyes. Whenever he would pass by you, he would pat your cheek or squeeze your shoulder, silently praising you for your performance here. After all, everyone in the building tonight was a performer, masking their schemes and presenting a carefully crafted facade.

While Seonghwa’s presence in your peripheral vision calmed you, it was Hongjoong who kept you grounded and focused. You were Hongjoong’s partner tonight. Before your arrival here when you were getting ready for the event, Hongjoong had knocked on your door and entered with a satisfied smile when he found you standing straight and proud in front of the mirror, practising your posture.

“I was half-sure you’d be moping in a corner but Seonghwa was right. You look lovely.”

You consciously tugged at the silk fabric of your black dress, thanking him and looking back at your reflection. You decided that you did not have to be from Edenary to look like you belonged here– Hongjoong was proof of that. Dressed in a fancy black suit with a sequined jacket, he looked nothing short of elegant. As he stood behind you, looking at your form in the mirror, you wondered if your outfits were matching on purpose– not just you and Hongjoong, but Seonghwa as well, in his own black sequined suit. Your elbow-length gloves matched them perfectly. Even though it might be a calculative move, it felt intimate.

“I have another something for you,” Hongjoong started and you turned to him, giving him a warning look which he ignored.

“I can afford my own dresses and jewellery, Sir,” you told him, already having argued about how the ‘company’ paid for your dress tonight, but he only continued to wave the small package in his hand and you reluctantly took it, opening the box inside to find a pearl necklace.

“Kim Hongjoong,” you called his full name for the first time out loud, making him chuckle deeply. “Tell me you rented this.”

“I got it for you,” he corrected.

“But… it’s Maddox and Co.,” you almost cried, knowing how valuable it must have been. “You can’t keep giving me things like this.”

“And who says I can’t?” He raised a brow. “I always get something for the boys. I can get things for you too.”

When you only responded with another glare, he let out a dismissive huff and proceeded to pick the necklace from the box, beckoning you to turn. Hesitantly, you did and swept your curls up so he could put the necklace on for you. When he was done fastening it, he placed his hands on your shoulders, admiring how the pearl sat between your collarbones.

You could not complain– it was absolutely magnificent.

“It matches your ring,” he said with a wicked grin and you scoffed in disbelief. He got you that necklace not only to match with your ring, but to let Secretary Park know that the ring wasn’t the only valuable thing in your possession anymore. Somehow, that did nothing to ease your nerves, though when Hongjoong squeezed your bare shoulders, you smiled in acceptance. You could wear this tonight.

“Remember to stand tall just like this,” Hongjoong said before letting go. “And stay by my side. You’re not a bookkeeper or a secretary tonight– or even anymore. You’re just Luna of The Crescent Company, got it? You’ll make a name for yourself tonight.”

“I don’t understand why you’re allowing me to,” you told him. It was the simple truth, a question that nagged you time and time again.

“Because darling,” Hongjoong stepped closer, almost whispering in your ear now, maintaining eye contact through the mirror. “You’re my weapon now. I’ll proudly wield you. Just like I am your shield and you’ll use me when you need protection.”

A weapon and a shield. What a pair you made. And oh, he acted like your shield alright. While introducing you to the guests at the party, he didn’t let anyone question your position in the company or your status. You were just Luna of The Crescent Company– someone important enough to have made it here. They could wonder all they want.

“Here he comes,” Hongjoong leaned forward to whisper in your ear while you were sipping on your drink, distracted by the familiar faces in the crowd, though hardly anyone recognised you.

You were at Mr. Jang’s residence, the co-owner of Eden News. He was a pretty influential person in Eden and it was always an advantage to be in his good graces. Hongjoong’s announcement made you think that he meant the host himself was here.

Except when you turned and followed the direction of his gaze, you frowned in confusion as you tried to locate the host but instead, found someone else entirely.

Secretary Park Byung Eun. Your father.

He seemed to be just as startled to see you, his gaze briefly sliding past before his attention snapped back. HIs face fell pale when he realised that your partner tonight was none other than Kim Hongjoong of The Crescent Company.

He, of course, pretended to be unfazed as he approached you, pretending as if he intended to greet Hongjoong. He could not act as if he hadn’t seen the pair of you now. Hongjoong rested his hand on your back, lightly caressing it in both reassurance and warning and you took a deep breath, the pearls around your neck suddenly feeling heavier than the fur scarf that was draped on your shoulders.

“Colonel Kim,” Secretary Park’s voice almost echoed inside your head. “Been a while.”

It had been a long time since you heard the man’s voice. You physically restrained yourself from reacting, though your resolve was starting to crumble.

“It has,” Hongjoong’s grin was giving him away. “I see you’ve met Seonghwa?”

“Always a gentleman,” your father nodded, not meeting your eyes. Even though you were right in front of him, he was pretending he could not see you.

It had always been like this. He still looked the same– clean shaven face, droopy lids and wavy hair. Perhaps, he looked a little older than the last time you saw him which was about three years ago, but he was still the same man and it irked you so much–

“Meet Luna,” Hongjoong said and your father finally met your eyes. “My partner.”

You looked at Hongjoong in surprise– partner? Perhaps, your father was just as shocked, the frown deepening on his face as he tried to grasp what Hongjoong meant by the term ‘partner’.

Hongjoong only smiled casually, his hand moving to rest on the side of your waist and your father made an impressed face.

“Partner… I see,” he looked at you, scanning your face. “Didn’t realise you were interested in business… Luna.”

A warning. Hongjoong must have sensed that, because he answered for you. “Sometimes, we don’t see what’s right in front of our eyes, isn’t that right, Mr. Park?”

When Secretary Park raised a brow, Hongjoong looked down with a laugh. “I mean… she was right in front of me for a while. It just took me a long time to figure out how valuable a partner she makes.”

“Right,” Secretary Park sighed in resignation. “But sometimes, we think too highly of someone. Sometimes, we even think too highly of ourselves, eh?”

It was the same phrase you’d heard so many times. Yet… hearing it now felt like as much of a stab as it did when you were younger.

“You must think very highly of me then,” you scoffed, unable to hold back the distaste in your tone. “I trust you got a message, recently?”

The message was the warning that Yunho had sent through his men to Secretary Park. He was not to mess with you or any of them again. Truly, your father must think highly of you if he wanted to eliminate you, right?

“Received,” he said with a fake smile before shifting his attention to the boss. “So, Colonel Kim. Who do you plan to use as bait tonight? A certain major general turned assemblyman has been sniffing in places he shouldn’t be. I trust you’ve got nothing to do with it?”

Hongjoong raised his hands in mock surrender. “I wouldn’t know anything. I tend to keep away from politics as much as I can,” he smoothly lied– he was both behind it and a bit too interested in politics recently. “I can look into it for you? If that’s what you’d like?”

“No need,” he raised his glass in toast. “Thank you very much.”

“Ah,” you huffed. “Must be something you want to keep under the covers.”

“Wouldn't you know all about that,” he narrowed his eyes. You only tightened your smile in response.

“We’re only here to get acquainted with Madame Tiffany, just like everyone else,” Hongjoong interrupted, breaking the war of glares.

“Oh, so that’s who your new business partner is going to be?” Secretary Park asked.

“If we’re lucky to make a deal, sure,” Hongjoong shrugged. “As a businessman yourself, you must know that it’s a trial and error process of meeting potential partners. It’s a shame our deal fell through.”

“Truly,” Secretary Park scoffed. “Madame Tiffany, huh? I really hope you shake hands with her then.”

While the smirk he passed you went unnoticed by Hongjoong, you recognised that expression very well. This certain curl of his lips indicated that he knew more than he let on– that he was winning and you were going to meet defeat in the worst way. You felt the hair on the back of your neck rise in warning, especially when he himself offered to introduce you both to Madame Tiffany.

You reluctantly followed the boss, Seonghwa joining you on your way to the main hall and asking if you were alright. You shrugged it off because now was not the time, though you wish you could warn the bosses that something was amiss.

You spotted Madame Tiffany, in all her glory, in the middle of the room with all eyes on her even though she was deep in a conversation with someone. Everyone seemed to be waiting to catch her attention, and truly, she looked every bit like the rumours you had heard– beautiful in her pale pink dress, elegant and strong in the way she carried herself with her confident smile and straight shoulder, naturally exuding a subtle air of power.

But you could not get the look in your father’s eyes out of your head. You had requested a background check on Madame Tiffany through Madame Cha, your aunt. As a Wonderland local, she must know if Madame Tiffany was all that she appeared to be. If there really wasn’t anything more to her and she was just a businesswoman looking to expand her empire, that would be ideal.

Secretary Park offered to introduce Hongjoong to Madame Tiffany, which was an unusual move from him. You may not have been to any of the business parties in Edenary when you lived here but you knew that your father was the type of person who would never help another person if they benefited from something. Everything that he did was meaningful and ultimately resulted in the downfall of whoever crossed his path. You often wondered why President Lee kept such a man as his secretary– perhaps, because he needed someone like him as his shield?

And then you were reminded of Hongjoong’s words. You were his weapon, and he was your shield, but you supposed that sometimes, a weapon was used to protect oneself too, just like a shield was used to strike at times.

“Mr. Kim,” Madame Tiffany shook hands with your boss. “I’m glad to have finally met you. I’ve heard so much about your business.”

Hongjoong seemed pleased. “All good things, I hope.”

“Wonderful things,” she smiled. “Especially about your contribution to Eden after the war. It’s truly remarkable.”

“Well, I look forward to our scheduled meeting tomorrow then,” Hongjoong placed a hand on his chest and bowed. “Perhaps, we’ll be able to contribute more to Eden’s wellbeing.”

“It would be an honour,” Madam Tiffany mimicked his greeting and Hongjoong spotted an acquaintance, saying he would be back in a few minutes. As soon as he was out of earshot, you turned to Seonghwa who was watching you carefully.

“What do you think about Madame Tiffany?”

“Seems like you’ve got something on your mind,” Seonghwa said in a low voice, shaking his head. “Not here, though. We’ll talk when we get back.”

You nodded, noticing your father at the end of the hall, beckoning you to join him in an empty room that seemed to be a study. You looked at Seonghwa. “Can I go talk to my father?”

“Of course, love. Are you sure?” He asked, tucking a curl behind your ear. “If you want me to come with you, I can. Or if you don’t want to talk to him, I can let him know–”

“No, I… I should talk. It’s been a while, and there’s a lot I haven’t said to him,” you let out a short, sad laugh. “Not the best time for confrontation but I think he’s up to something. I should do this.”

“You don’t have to,” Seonghwa insisted, holding your hand. “But if you wish to, I won’t stop you.”

You squeezed his hand to let him know that you would be okay. Taking a deep breath, you moved towards the room and went inside, keeping the door ajar just in case.

“Luna, is it now?” Secretary Park asked almost nonchalantly as he circled around the desk in the room before taking a seat.

“Yeah, but you would know all about that, wouldn’t you? Considering how you’ve been keeping tabs on me.”

“Come on,” he scoffed, sparing you a glance. “Can’t a father check on his daughter every now and then?”

“Sure,” you folded your arms and narrowed your eyes. “If by check, you mean almost killing me and the people around me, sure.”

“Well, I did order you to keep a low profile,” he reminded you. His tone was no longer playful. “But look at you. Couldn’t stay away from the spotlight in Edenary, could you?”

“You ordered me to keep a low profile and then disowned me, in case you forgot. Cut my name off from the family register and all, right? What makes you think you have any control over my life anymore?”

“You’ve always been feisty like that, y/n,” he clicked his tongue. “It could cost you a lot– but it looks like I won’t have to pull any strings now. You will bring the downfall of the company and the gangsters you love so much now.”

“If they’re gangsters, what does that make you?” You narrowed your eyes. “You can’t tell me your hands are any less dirtier than theirs.”

“Y/n,” he called in warning but you shook your head.

“Don’t ever come after me or mine again,” your voice shook as you warned him, the years of anger starting to make their way up to your throat from your gut. “Unless you want to start a war that you can never win.”

Secretary Park scoffed loudly but it soon turned into a fit of mocking laughter and you watched him clutch his stomach as he bent over, wiping his eyes.

“My dear, I wish I could tell you just what you have gotten yourself into,” he sighed, shaking his head in amusement. “But figures. You’ll be finding out soon anyway. You should have never stepped foot where you do not belong.”

Infuriated, you left the room and went straight to the table to down a drink which did nothing to calm the rage coursing through your veins. There was too much going on and you felt the urge to let it all out in the form of a scream or something worse–

“Luna,” Seonghwa’s voice sounded behind you but you didn’t turn, clutching at your glass dangerously hard. He placed a hand on your arm almost cautiously, caressing the bare skin. “Are you okay?”

“Just give me a moment,” you sniffed, looking up and willing the tears to go back inside. “I’ll be fine.”

“We’re leaving soon,” he squeezed your arm but you gently pushed his hand away before you turned to look at him. You saw a hint of hurt in his eyes and you wished you could tell him that you were only pushing him away because you were afraid you would break if he looked at you or touched you with such care.

“I’ll go sit in the car– Taeyong’s outside, right?” You asked and Seonghwa nodded, escorting you outside and waiting until he spotted Taeyong. You shut yourself inside the car and took deep breaths, hoping that by the time you would be back and having a meeting to discuss how to move forward, you would be okay.

But you were very obviously far from okay. The car ride was awfully silent and Hongjoong seemed to have an inkling of your meeting with your father which was why he did not initiate a conversation. When you were back at the empty apartment, the three of you settled in the living room and Hongjoong lit his pipe.

“Any luck with the assemblymen, Seonghwa?”

“Since the elections are near, they’re being cautious,” Seonghwa loosened his tie as he spoke. “But I did get an idea of the political tide. It’s still in President Lee’s favour and there's a high chance he would be re-elected unless a scandal breaks out. But then… his image is too clean. I met General Wi as well. He said something about how he’s losing votes because of the Siren Rebel Party. He’s almost sure one of the rival politicians might be funding them so he can be out of the game– he is the second in lead right now.”

“Yeah, General Wi is desperate now. I’d honestly like to see some change too– President Lee should retire before someone digs up something about him and tarnish his image,” Hongjoong said, taking a long smoke and looking at you. “What do you think, Luna?”

“About?”

“Everything,” he put his pipe away. “What do you have to say about tonight? Do you think Madame Tiffany will make a good business partner?”

“I’m not sure, just like you,” you began and he nodded. “But… it was strange how Secretary Park reacted. He’s never the type of person to be a middleman in a potential deal, yet he was so willing to introduce the two of you. Madame Tiffany and him seem to be acquainted already– which, okay, they’re both business owners. But when I was talking to him in person,” you looked at Seonghwa who urged you to continue. “He said something about how I’ll soon be finding out what I have gotten myself into, and that… I would bring the downfall of the Crescents? I’m not quite sure if he was just saying this to rile me up or if he meant it.”

“Hmm… sounds like empty threats to me.”

“They’re not,” you shook your head. “He always means what he says. And I would like to warn you that when we meet Madame Tiffany tomorrow, keep in mind that they may be acquainted in more ways than they let on. If Madame Tiffany is in cahoots with Secretary Park… that could be the downfall he was talking about.”

“I have a feeling he said all of that just so you could try and stop me from making the deal with Tiffany,” Hongjoong said. Seonghwa hummed in agreement. He could not deny that Hongjoong’s logic made sense too. “We have to entertain this possibility too. We’ve done our background check and everything seems okay, which is why we’re here in the first place.”

“Well, I still haven’t heard from Madame Cha, which means she’s looking into it,” you said determinedly. “She’s got connections with the underground channels in Wonderland and will be able to confirm if Madame Tiffany is good news or not.”

“We might not hear back from your aunt though,” Hongjoong shrugged.

“We will,” you insisted. “And if you rush, you might be doing exactly what Secretary Park wants you to do.”

“Well, you know what I think?” Hongjoong scoffed, leaning forward. “I think you’re letting your emotions regarding your father influence your judgement.”

“We must consider every possibility,” you said through gritted teeth, the emotions you had tried so hard to suppress making their way right back. “And Madame Tiffany is here for a few weeks. We can wait it out before we shake hands with her.”

“And miss a golden opportunity?” Hongjoong tsk-ed.

“Remember that you missed your ‘golden opportunity’ when I warned you about Secretary Park,” you said and Seonghwa cleared his throat, wanting to calm the tension in the room but you and Hongjoong ignored it. “It could have cost you everything.”

“Luna, I’m sorry to burst your bubble but we are an old criminal organisation and we do not need to rely on your imposing opinions to save ourselves. We have other means,” Hongjoong reminded you and you settled back in resignation. “I will consider your words, but the decision is ultimately mine.”

Seonghwa grunted in warning but the damage had been done.

“Right,” you bit your lips, your vision getting blurry. “For a second, you sounded exactly like the person I’ve been running away from. All that talk about being your partner but that’s what my opinions are to you? Imposing?”

Hongjoong realised that he had said too much that he didn’t really mean, or that he should have worded it differently. The vulnerability in your eyes made his stomach curl with regret. He glanced at Seonghwa who looked like he wanted to get up and comfort you but before he could do anything, you muttered that you were retiring for the night and went to your room.

Seonghwa sighed, looking at his partner. “Well done. Impressive way to handle the situation, Joong.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Hongjoong angrily sucked the pipe. “I meant it.”

“But you regret it,” Seonghwa was smiling. Hongjoong spared him a glance. “Bad timing. She wasn’t alright after the meeting with her father, I told you.”

“Both sides of the coin, Hwa,” Hongjoong said. “Mine and hers. It’s going to be your decision– I can’t deal with her right now.”

“Yeah, you’re smitten,” Seonghwa laughed. “And you don’t know what to do about it for once. You always make a fool out of yourself when you’re like this.”

Hongjoong looked at Seonghwa angrily but when Seonghwa walked to him and caressed his hand, he calmed down. Hongjoong sighed deeply.

“Has my heart hardened far too much for my own good?”

Seonghwa only shook his head. “I know why this deal means so much to you. But she’s right– we have to be cautious and consider every factor. With this Strictland business, we’re realising that even we do not fully know what’s happening in the underworld, right?”

“She’s a part of the Crescents now,” Hongjoong said. “I’m trying to hone her critical thinking skills. She needs that in order to survive– especially where it concerns Secretary Park.”

“He’s still her only family,” Seonghwa reminded him. “Let’s cut her some slack. I’ll go talk to her, okay?”

When you heard the familiar soft knocks on your door, you wished you had locked the room– you were in no state to be seen, crouching in a corner with tears running down your eyes and your gloves and scarf sprawled on the floor near you. You did not respond to the knocks.

“Luna? Can you please open the door for me?”

You sniffed and took a deep breath. “I’m fine. It’s okay.”

“Please?” He said. “I won’t leave until you do.”

“Lord, give me strength,” you muttered under your breath. “Come in.”

Seonghwa hesitantly opened the door, looking around and finding you in the corner next to the vanity, wiping your eyes. “Good heavens, Luna.”

“I told you I was fine,” you said, laughing at your own comment and he chuckled as he settled down on his knees in front of you. You hid your face in your hands, a fresh stream of tears running down your face. “I’m not crying because of the boss.”

“You can curse at him if you want. It can be our little secret,” Seonghwa said and you shook your head. “Also, you can call him Hongjoong. You don’t always have to address him so formally.”

“Okay, Mr. Park.”

“Seonghwa for you,” he tsk-ed. “Look at me. Come on, talk to me. What happened earlier?”

“I don’t know,” you wiped your eyes, looking at your hands and sighing– your mascara must be smudged everywhere on your face. “I didn’t expect it to be so… anticlimactic, the meeting with my father. All he had to offer was threats and warnings. I don’t understand how he can be so cruel towards me.”

“Was there something else you were expecting from him?” Seonghwa asked softly, caressing your hand.

“Not really, but… at least a ‘good to see you’re well’? But then, he wants me dead so maybe I’ve been stupid to expect that.”

“Oh, dear,” Seonghwa pulled you closer, prompting you to settle on your knees instead of keeping them upright as a barrier between you two. “Tell me you said something he deserved to hear.”

“I did,” you sniffed. “I told him not to come after me or mine ever again unless he wants to start a war he can never win.”

A smirk creeped up the underboss’ lips, sending a stirring of nerves in your stomach. “Me or mine, huh?”

“I had to say something–”

“You did well,” Seonghwa said, cupping your face and wiping your eyes, nodding in acknowledgement. “You did so well, love. And I’m glad you stayed strong. You don’t ever have to break in front of your father anymore. You can break in front of me, in front of any of us but– never him.”

You looked at Seonghwa, truly looked at him. His eyes glinted with a million unsaid things, but even in the dim light of the lamp, you could tell that they held admiration and something like pride. Something you always wished to see in someone’s eyes when they looked at you.

“Why do you cry, love?” He asked, wiping the tears that threatened to roll down your cheeks. You didn’t even realise that you were crying silently now.

“I don’t know,” you told him. “Seonghwa– can I really break in front of you?”

Something unreadable flickered across Seonghwa’s face. “You can. With me, or Hongjoong, or any of us, you can be yourself. We’re here– I’m here for you. You never have to feel alone again.”

You tightened your lips, stifling a sob. Seonghwa only smiled, scooting closer to plant a kiss on your forehead. You let out a shaky breath and then went still as he kissed your cheek.

“Won’t you look at me?”

The deep timbre of his voice sounded inside your skull. You kept your eyes shut and he wiped the remnants of the tears away from your lashes before kissing both your eyelids, his soft lips like feathers of an angel's wing shielding you from everything that hurt you. Your hands tangled in his shirt as he continued to pepper light kisses all over your face, the sound of his breath making your heart flutter uncontrollably. However, he stopped right when he kissed near your mouth, his hands almost shaking as he cradled your jaw and pulled back to gauge your reaction.

“Look at me.”

“I’m scared,” you opened your eyes and your gaze stuck on his plump lips. “I don’t understand why you all want me. I don’t understand why we’re here, like this.”

He only smiled in answer. “Is it too much?”

“That’s the thing,” you scoffed in disbelief. “I don’t think it is.”

Seonghwa sucked in a breath, his grip on your neck tightening just a fraction though you spotted hesitation in his eyes. Before you knew it, you were leaning forwards– or perhaps, he was the one who closed the distance between your lips, instantly leaning into you with a force that had you resigning back against the wall. You tangled your fingers in his soft hair– god, he was a good kisser and he wasn’t letting you breathe for one second.

He broke apart for breath, only to tilt his face and kiss you at a different angle and you moaned into the kiss, unintentionally tugging at the length of his hair that made him bite your lower lip. You couldn’t help but think of the way Yunho had kissed you the last time in the office just as desperately, if not more. Yet with Seonghwa, it felt so different, especially the way he held your face and sucked at your lower lip.

With a peck to his lips, you drew away, almost sobbing again at the way he looked like he needed to kiss you again– he met your eyes, conveying that and you let him kiss you softly.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered and he shook his head.

“What for?”

“I don’t know,” you sighed and pursed your lips. “I need to figure out my feelings, Seonghwa. I can’t go around kissing any one of you.”

Seonghwa chuckled. “But you can–”

You shook your head adamantly though his permission made your head spin. “Give me some time.”

Seonghwa exhaled, nodding. “Alright. I can do that.”

A moment passed where the two of you simply stared at each other’s eyes, trying to navigate through the storm of emotions clouding them. You were so close that you could hear his soft breaths and the warmth emanating from his body felt welcoming, almost compelling you to come closer.

“Do you want me?” You asked in a soft whisper and he almost choked on his own breath.

“You can’t just ask that all of a sudden,” he gave you a pained smile. “Are you ready to hear the answer?”

Oh, they were messing with you for sure. There was no way Yeosang and Yunho also had the same thing to say. “There’s no bet going around, is there?”

“We would never do that,” his assertive tone was an answer enough. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Luna, but we… we’re a really tightly-knit group. We value relationships. And you’re a part of our group now, yeah? We don’t want to do anything to jeopardise our relationship with you.”

“And this…” you looked at the small distance between you two. “This won’t jeopardise it?”

“It’s not that complicated, if you’re willing to hear us out,” Seonghwa settled back, playing with the hem of your dress. “We’re just… one. We’re a single unit, if you will. We’ve been through a lot together, and we continue to walk together. You can be a part of that, or you can just continue being our little secretary,” he chuckled and you laughed lightly. “It’s up to you.”

“I’ll… I’m thinking about it, I really am, but most of all, I’m just preparing myself to hear it from one of you,” you admitted and he suddenly looked hopeful. “But you– the boys, all of you. You’re close in more ways than you show it. Am I right?”

He smiled in answer. “Is it obvious?”

“It really isn’t,” you frowned through your smile, wondering if he was admitting it. “Seonghwa… this won’t change us, will it? This won’t doom us, right?”

“It won’t,” he assured you. “And we won’t let it. It can be your salvation if you want it to be, or your doom if you let it be.”

“Geez, thanks for that,” you said.

Your teasing and laughter grew louder, filling the space in the living room where Hongjoong was still present. He gulped down the last of his drink and set the glass on the table with a smile he would never let anyone see.

next chapter

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taglist pt 1:

@lorensonebraincell @sungbeam @waywardstaytiny @lluvia1415 @woohwababes @jjaemasung @fruithoughts @fancypeacepersona @propinquitypsithurism @kyomiingi @ateezswonderland @janetsarttrove @thenopekid @justconniez @daniela-f-uwu @hwasbestlover @vcutparis @missbangtangirl @zaynsfl4m3s @beabatiny @slowitdownmakeitb0uncy @alliethequeen @lavishloving @haowonbins @franbowesax @klllerwaifu @katerade23 @selfishw4ltz @paramedicnerd004 @atzlordz @curse-of-art @meowmeeps @intowxnderland @faeriehwa @staytiny-yaps @ishz @dumplingsyum @bunnychui @kandy108 @chanst1ddies @softsanglix @yongility @sang-09 @sweetinsaniiity @a-teez-4-exo @omgsuperstarg @saintriots @bihwabi @pshwifey @emotionallyanaemic

#if you want to reblog pls reblog the original post where i fixed the warnings dkfhgfjd #ateez x reader #poly ateez x reader #poly ateez #ateez ot8 x reader #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong angst #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa angst #yunho x reader #yunho angst #yunho fluff #yeosang x reader #yeosang angst #ateez ot8 #ateez series #ateez mafia au

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queer-scots-geordie-dyke · 3 months ago

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"Today, the similarity between the worldview of modern leftists and Soviet falsification of the period is breathtaking. It is no exaggeration to say that almost all of the Israelophobic tropes in current circulation – that Israel is a racist state, that Zionism is colonialism, that genocidal Israelis are no better than the Nazis, that Israel practises apartheid, that the Holocaust was exaggerated, that diaspora Jews are a fifth column serving Israeli interests and so on – were disseminated by Soviet spin doctors, based on works of classic antisemitism like the Protocols of the Elders of Zion and Hitler’s Mein Kampf.

Largely because of Russian efforts, many otherwise well-meaning progressives don’t see what’s wrong with accusing Israel of subjecting the Palestinians to a Holocaust, despite, say, the lack of gas chambers, execution pits or Nazi-style racial discrimination laws in the Jewish state, not to mention the growing Palestinian population. They don’t see what’s wrong with using the slur ‘apartheid’, even though in recent years, an Arab Muslim judge imprisoned a Jewish former prime minister for corruption. (If you visit the West Bank, you will come across large, red signs outside Arab areas warning Israelis not to enter for their own safety. It is hard to sustain the argument that Israel – rather than its neighbours – is the apartheid state.) They happily compare Zionism to imperialist colonialism, ignoring the fact that the Jewish pioneers were not an invading army but a ragtag collection of refugees, dreaming of self-rule in their ancestral home after millennia of life at the mercy of the mob. (As Herzl put it, they simply wanted a place ‘where it is all right for us to have hooked noses, black or red beards, and bandy legs without being despised for these things alone. Where at last we can live as free people on our own.’93 Hardly the sentiments of white supremacist imperialists.)

They take for granted that ‘Zionism is racism’, unaware that this phrase was cooked up in Cold War Moscow and does not survive contact with reality. Even the fact that ‘Zionist’ has become a dirty word in certain quarters today points to the skill of the Soviet propaganda apparatus and the KGB. In the minds of millions around the world, Soviet agitprop succeeded in redefining Zionism from an answer to millennia of persecution to a bourgeois, imperialist project. In this way, it wiped antisemitism clean, allowing progressives to indulge an old hatred by convincing themselves that they were merely taking a principled stand against Israel. Across the decades, the Cold War communists and contemporary Israelophobes both say: we’re not antisemitic, just anti-Zionist. But theirs is a deep and ancient bigotry, resting on disinformation and paranoia. Nearly six decades on, Soviet Israelophobia continues to grip the modern left. It finds an easy target in those lacking knowledge about Israel, Zionism and Jews, and possessing impulses inherited unchallenged from previous centuries."

- Israelophobia: The Newest Version of the Oldest Hatred by Jake Wallis Simons.

#reading this right now #it's an eye opener for sure

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wrinkledtulip · 8 months ago

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SMUT!! Caitlyn Kiramman x Fem!Reader

Caitlyn Kiramman x Fem! Reader

18+ Smut!! Fingering, praise, AFAB reader

It's my first time writing smut, or publishing on tumblr for that matter so pls be nice lol <3 Also this is unedited.

Life as an enforcer was always gonna keep you on your toes.

Whether it be chasing drunkards on the streets of Piltover, patrolling the overly large council grounds, or the occasional graveyard shift if the sheriff was cruel enough.

But what you found most challenging of course, was learning to handle weaponry, at least the ones that weren’t your first choice.

For a strange yet defended reason, all enforcers were required in training to use a rifle, a standard gun. And so, had led to countless hours in the training facilities aiming for wooden targets.

Technically, you could handle one. Yet your aim was not incredibly precise.

Ever since that Kiramman girl joined, the handling of guns seemed to reach for higher standards. Apparently her family was renowned for their handling of the weaponry.

You hit the target every time but the sheriff expected bullseyes in a row.

Huffling in frustration you reloaded the barrel, shouldering your rifle as you aimed once more.

But as you peered through the iron scope, a posh voice rang out behind you.

“You’re not hitting the bullseye because you have a poor trigger pull”

Kiramman.

“Haven’t you got a cocktail party to be at Kiramman?” you huffed, lowering your weapon as you looked back at her.

The two of you shared a brief moment of a solid yet intimidating stare, her blue eyes bearing down on you.

You both laughed.

“You know me better than that” she chuckled, knowing your words were nothing but playful banter. Despite her status and the other enforcer’s distaste of her, you had grown to like the girl. Though she had a tough exterior she was sweet and playful.

“Come to show me up then I presume?” You said, rolling your eyes as she stepped closer to which her words caused her eyes to roll.

“You know how pathetic it is watching you stand here for hours aiming over and over, we’ll lose bullet stock because of you” she spoke, shaking her head.

“Well I have to practise, Marcus has been up our asses since he’s seen your shooting skills… he’ll do anything to keep you from winning if it means dragging the rest of us along” You huffed, shouldering your rifle again as you turned back to the range.

“Oh” she sighed “I didn’t realise I had placed a burden like that onto you.”

There it was again, that softness that sought for nothing but do good for people.

“I enjoy the challenge” you answered, hoping your truth would console her as you aimed and fired again. Your body shook slightly with the recoil as the bullet was about half an inch off bullseye.

Caitlyn chuckled, shuffling through her pockets as she stepped behind you, balancing a coin atop of your rifle.

“Don’t you remember what I said before? Try again” she said.

“I don’t want your money.”

“That’s not what it’s for. I said, "Try again.”

She stepped back as you sighed, keeping your rifle still as the coin balanced on its smooth top.

You aimed again and as you fired, the echoing sound of a coin clattering to the ground could be heard.

“Now what was-”

“You have a poor trigger pull.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

You sighed, agitated by her unexplained actions.

“You should be able to fire without the coin falling, it means you move the gun as you pull the trigger and you can’t properly withstand its recoil” she explained, stepping back towards you as her hands reached out to your form.

“Your stance isn’t firm either. Open up your chest a little more and stand with your legs wider” she stated, her hands moving in correspondence with her words as she adjusted your shoulders and hips, her fingertips grazing your form.

“Try again.”

So you did, focusing as you aimed once more and fired. This time it was closer to the centre of the target, your body the stiller as the impact of the recoil began to subside.

“Better. You just move the gun when you pull the trigger, learn to isolate your finger, you need more finger strength, I suggest working on that before you create a bullet shortage” she said with a small smirk, raising her eyebrows as she looked out to the target.

“And how would I do that?” you huffed, lowering your weapon.

“Just exercise it” she shrugged.

“And how would I do that?” you sighed, turning to her. In genuine curiosity you had no clue how to exercise it apart from just shooting, but that would waste bullets.

“I have my own ways of doing it.”

So that’s how you ended up in Kiramman’s bed, a withering mess as she showed you her own ‘special’ ways of literal fingering exercises.

She had you bent over her lap, her legs crossed to raise your hips as her spare hand roaming over your backside as you moaned into her silk covers. The subtle echo of her fingers squelching in your hole could be heard.

"Not so tough are you now pretty girl?" she cooed, smirking down at you. By now you were bound to be leaking across her thigh as her fingers slipped in and out of your hole. Every time you inched closer to a release, she would just roam her fingers across your folds instead.

"Kiramman please.."

"My name is Caitlyn" she said, that dominant tone in her voice. The same tone she used to get you to lift up your own dress and pull your own panties down for her. God, it sent shivers down your spine.

"Caitlyn please-"

"You finish when I say you can finish" she commanded, her finger slipping back inside you, eliciting a long whine as you gripped at her bedsheets. Her fingers curled to hit that sweet spot inside you, sending electricity through your body as she only smirked at your needy whines. It was clear you were desperate for release; her fingers were soaked as a small stain began to appear on the fabric of her thigh as you leaked in need of proper release.

"I thought this was a finger exercise-" you whined out.

"It is, for me at least, you just get to enjoy the benefits of it" she said in that sweet little smartass voice of hers as her fingers curled up inside you again, causing another loud moan to slip from your throat.

"fuck, just let me cum" you whined, your thighs trembling in anticipation as your body begged for that high, evident in the pleasurable sounds that escaped your lips.

"Ask me properly and I just might" She said, continuing to slip her fingers in and out of you.

"Caitlyn please... please let me cum" you begged quietly, gripping at the bedsheets as you could barely keep it together anymore. She leaned in, whispering in your ear as she smirked, her fingers speeding up.

"That's a good girl" she cooed. You moaned needily.

Her fingers moved quickly inside you, sliding in to continuously press up against that sweet spot. Your thighs began to clench around her hand yet she persisted as you whined and moaned. You felt that knot in your stomach begin to build as your increased volume made it evidence, however Caitlyn showed no intention of stopping or slowing down anytime soon. Just what you wanted. Every moment felt like ecstasy as she pulled you to your high, shuddering and moaning as she felt you come undone upon her fingertips. She rode out your high, continuing to milk you of your essence until you settled to a whimpering pant, feeling her fingers slowly slip out of you.

You glanced back to see her tongue swirl around her own fingertips, your sticky consequences being lapped up by her tongue as a dirty smirk rested upon her face.

"Those aren't even your trigger fingers-"

"So? Is there a problem darling?"

"No."

"Good girl."

#caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn x reader #arcane fanfic #caitlyn smut #caitlyn kiramman smut #arcane smut

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softlymellow · 2 months ago

Text

The Order Forgot Me First - Chapter 5

☆⁠ PAIRING : Anakin Skywalker x Reader

☆⁠ word count: 3.8k

☆⁠ story themes: lovers to enemies to eventually lovers

☆⁠ warnings: spoilers to swtcw

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

"Being a Jedi means allowing things - even things we love - to pass out of our lives."

It had been four months since you were gone. You and Dev completed bounties over bounties, you made a name for yourself and Ani was heard throughout the galaxy.

That didn’t mean you weren’t a target for others, hell, you had people sent out to kill both you and Dev. But you managed. You had a very specific skill set, you didn’t use your saber’s, instead you used vibroblades which you found to be pretty similar to your lightsaber. Your blaster pistol was attached to your gun belt as a backup option which was handed to you by Dev.

If you were being honest, this life was completely different to how you spent your time back in the Jedi Order, but that didn’t mean you didn’t miss it. It was new and you weren’t bound by the Jedi Code. Part of you still followed the commandments as it’s been drilled in your head.

You pulled out your lightsaber from the same gun belt as your pistol and drew it out, the lapis blue light emitting from the saber. Squinting your eyes from the wind blowing sand, you clutched your saber tightly.

You began to do a senseless spin, the blade travelling in a circular motion in the front of your body, using the same momentum you brought behind your back, rotating your wrist to do rotations as you repeatedly brought it to your front and back.

Using the force, you lifted up an empty and discarded can of food into the air, your palm concentrating the energy to the can before completely letting it go. You striked the can with your saber as it was falling down, the can splitting in half and falling on the sand.

“Wow.” Dev said behind you, clapping his hands as he approached your figure.

“That was nothing,” you sighed, shaking your head as you deactivated your lightsaber.

“Not like I can do it,” Dev gave you a sheepish smile.

You placed your hands on your hips, “I’m getting rusty. It’s been a while since I’ve used my saber.”

“So, that’s what you’ve been doing in your free time?” He shot you a pitiful look but was almost immediately masked.

“You never know when it might come in handy,” You bit your lip, sort of embarrassed that he had caught you practising.

“You’re holding onto your past, Ani. Maybe it’s time you forget about it…” Dev suggested, his arm brushing yours.

His arm felt like fire against yours and you didn’t like it one bit. Crossing both of your arms together with your saber still in your hand, you looked down at the floor.

“Don’t say that. The Order was my life,” You reminded him.

“But they left you-”

“You don’t know that!” You interrupted him, narrowing your eyes at his muscular face.

“The Republic is corrupt. The Jedi blindly follow their orders and serve a system that doesn’t support their values.” He said with his chest out and unblinking.

“You don’t know anything, Dev.” You pointed accusingly at his chest, it hurt that he was saying the truth, afterall, that was the reason you had left. The Jedi’s morals have been twisted and mended by those in power that everything they did had caused a contradiction.

“I know more than you’d think.”

“You were here-” You pointed to the ground, “-While the rest of us had to fight, win and lose. You were killing people and capturing outlaws while I lost my friends in battle. So don’t,” You sighed, rubbing your forehead and looking out, “dont, tell me to forget something that’s such a big part of me.”

…

Dev fell silent as he watched you sit on the sandy floor, your legs spread out and your face pointed towards the sun, allowing the rays to warm you up.

“I’m sorry,” He apologised, sitting beside you.

You shook your head, “No… I just overreacted.” Avoiding eye contact, your fingers began to play with the grainy sand. “You’re right. I should be moving on.”

As much as it hurt to say it, you knew Dev was right. The problem was you were just too attached, even after the trauma they had put you through, even after knowing how truthful his words were. You had given everything to the Order only for it to be completely shut down, your loyalty proving to be one sided. Sighing, you rested your head on Dev’s shoulder who immediately stiffened.

“No, sweets. It was my fault for bringing up your past again,” His blonde hair tickled the back of your neck.

You fell in comfortable silence as you both stared at nothing in particular. This is how it is now. Dev had become your closest friend, he had his moments but other than that, he’d help you in a heartbeat.

He’s a nice guy, really, but he doesn’t compare.

Not to Anakin.

These four months had been the worst months of Anakin’s life. His padawan, Ahsoka, had left him and he now lost you. It wouldn’t be late before he lost himself too.

Ahsoka left on her own terms, insisting that the Jedi Order wasn’t for her anymore and that her ideals would never truly be appreciated by the Order. Part of the reason why she had left was because Ahsoka knew that the Order was slowly falling apart, the Jedi were guided by the corrupt government and it wasn’t right. She didn’t want to be part of an already sinking ship.

Anakin didn’t know that though. “What about me?” He asked her, believing that even Ahsoka, his own padawan, was out to get him.

He felt like he had failed her. But you helped him. You took care of him, caressing his hair and rubbing his shoulders. Whispering words of comfort and reassurance. That her leaving wasn’t because of him. That he didn’t fail his one and only padawan.

“Anakin.” Obi-wan’s voice brought him back to reality.

“Hmm?” Anakin looked over at his former Master in confusion.

“Were you even listening to me?” Obi-wan asked in an offended tone, crossing his arms as he observed Anakin. His furrowed brows and the bags under his eyes proved that he was not doing as well as Obi-wan wanted him to.

Anakin stayed silent, diverting his gaze to the other Jedi who chatted outside of the Temple, some had bright smiles on their faces while others looked like they were discussing important matters. But his gaze fell on one person.

Anakin could feel his heart drop.

A girl with her back turned towards the pair, talking happily to another Jedi as if she had just reunited with them. She had your hair. She was the same height. Anakin’s mouth fell agape and instinctively took a step forward, wanting to touch you, yell at you, hug you, kiss you.

He was locked in a trance, staring at you as millions and billions of emotions and thoughts ran through him.

Obi-wan followed his gaze and felt his heart drop too, but not for the same reason. Reaching out to Anakin, he placed a hand on his shoulder.

“That’s not her.”

Anakin broke his gaze immediately, looking down at his feet in almost a shameful way. He could feel the disappointment running through his veins.

Shifting his body to look over at Obi-wan, he felt embarrassment seethe into him as Obi-wan shared a pitiful look towards Anakin.

“What?” Anakin asked, feeling more lightheaded than ever.

“She’s not on Coruscant.” Obi-wan had to break it to him as if Anakin didn’t know it himself.

Anakin sighed and ran his fingers through his auburn hair, “I-I thought…” He couldn’t even say the words out loud because he promised himself this.

That he would move on just like you did.

But it was like you were everywhere he was. In the shadows while he carried out missions. In his bed when he tried to sleep. And here again, while he spoke to Obi-wan. He hated this. He hated how attached he was. But he would give up everything for you in a heartbeat.

“Do you still try to talk to her through the comlink?”

Anakin whipped his head up, surprised that Obi-wan had even remembered, afterall he was the one who suggested he try it.

Anakin inhaled deeply, “No. Not anymore.”

Obi-wan knew he could ask him questions like that as Anakin trusted him with his forbidden relationship, but even he felt uneasy. “When was the last time you tried to contact her?” He rubbed his beard, assessing the situation.

Anakin audibly exhaled. His heart and his chest were heavy and he didn’t feel like explaining himself.

It was a month ago.

He didn’t stop altogether though, it was gradual.

His messages gradually declined in length, hopelessness was the only thing that reached the other end. You had noticed it. Sinking further in your bed every single time the message shortened, guilt eating away at you as he had no idea you were listening to them.

Then suddenly, like a flip switched in him. Like whatever he was about to say he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

“She left me. So I’ll forget about her.” He announced with a sudden determination to his voice.

Obi-wan raised an eyebrow at this, “What in the heavens are you talking about, Anakin?”

“She’s gone. And I blame both the council and her.”

“Anakin, Y/n wouldn’t want you talking like this.” Obi-wan tried to reassure him. It was unusual for him to talk ill of you, this was definitely something alarming in Obi-wan’s eyes.

Anakin shot Obi-wan a look, “I don’t care what she thinks. She walked away from me. From us. She didn’t give a damn about me or you.” Anakin pointed towards the ground.

“She left to protect herself, Anakin.” Obi-wan reminded him. Obi-wan knew that Anakin’s words weren’t true and that he didn’t truly feel this way about you, instead it was just pent up frustration.

"So she leaves just like Ahsoka did? She knew how much that hurt me and still chose to do it." His snapped, his eyes blazing. Anakin said the things he would never say out loud, it was the things he would let fester in his chest. It was darker.

“I feel like my absence doesn’t bother her and that kills me, Obi-wan.” Anakin confessed, looking away as he reminded himself that you didn’t make an effort to at least reach out to him. It felt like the past years of your love and friendship were all for nothing.

Obi-wan understood why you never returned to The Order. He knew that it was for the same reasons Ahsoka left and he would have loved to tell Anakin that but he’d be treading on dangerous territory.

“Y/n wouldn’t work to deliberately hurt you. The force works in mysterious ways and maybe she felt it was right not to stay in the Order." Obi-wan said very carefully, afraid the wrong words would set him off.

"Being a Jedi means allowing things - even things we love - to pass out of our lives.” His words reaching Anakin’s core.

He knew what Obi-wan said made sense, he knew it but he couldn’t help but have a distaste for the force.

Why would it be telling you to stay away from him? Why does being a Jedi have to force her to not love him? Why are his feelings forbidden? Taboo?

He found himself being more confused with every second passing by. Every answer he received brought up double the amount of questions he originally had.

Anakin opened his mouth to answer before quickly shutting it when he heard Obi-wan’s wrist comlink make a chrr chrrrr sound. Lifting his wrist up to his mouth, Obi-wan glanced over at Anakin's interested face before answering it.

“Master Kenobi,” Mace Windu’s voice sounded through the device.

“Yes, Master Windu?”

“You’re needed at a council meeting. It’s regarding…Sifo-Dyas.”

Obi-wan furrowed his eyebrows, it was unclear why he would be brought up again as he had died years before. Obi-wan could sense Anakin’s confusion through the force as he observed him.

“I’ll be there shortly.” Obi-wan said calmly. Mace Windu wished him a goodbye before disconnecting the call. Anakin could feel his shoulders slouching, knowing that he wasn’t part of the council and he couldn’t attend the meeting.

“You’re going?” Anakin asked, his lips pursed together and his gaze set to the floor.

“Yes, Anakin.” Obi-wan knew that Anakin was hurting. He hasn’t told anybody else how he feels except for him and constantly putting his emotions off wasn’t helping him.

Anakin nodded and they both parted ways.

The bar you and Dev resided in smelled of drunken bodies and despair. A sullen restaurant that you didn’t want to enter but you were pulled in with Dev’s grip on your arm as he shot you a careless smile.

Drinking in a secluded bar on Corellia wasn’t your first choice as you wanted to prepare for the upcoming bounty but Dev insisted that it might be your last drink for a while. It’d actually be your first drink since leaving The Order but even then you wouldn’t drink as much as the Council always discouraged Jedi’s being intoxicated.

You exhaled as both you and Dev dropped onto the chair that was seated across the counter. Dev’s booted feet began to excitedly tap against the wooden flooring as he waited for the Iktotchi bartender to look over at him which he immediately did as Dev’s anticipation was so loud it could almost be heard throughout the whole bar.

“What can I get for you two?” The horned man who had a nice peachy colour to his skin asked, one of his eyebrows raised as he eyed us both down. Corellia was a luxurious place but even then the most well-known occupations for Corellian's were piracy and smuggling, giving you and Dev an advantage as you fit right in.

“The best drink you can offer!” Dev exclaimed, slapping onto the counter multiple credits.

The Iktotchi nodded as he began to work. You looked around the bar, it was neatly decorated with dim lighting. The tabled were packed as Corellians drank their alcoholic beverages while others played a game of Dejarik. Something inside of you stirred as you saw two people with their brows furrowed playing while a third excitedly watched the players.

“You excited?” Dev brought you back from your trance. Looking over at him, you noticed the way his soulful azure eyes danced over your face. His golden locks had grown past his ears and he tied it in a manbun with the occasional strands resting past his red goggles. He was in a white crew neck shirt, his sleeves hugged his biceps tightly.

You gave him a teasing smile, “What is ever more exciting than bounty hunting?”

Dev threw his head back as his masculine chest shook with laughter, his smile lines drawing on to his face. “I’m glad you’ve gotten used to my lifestyle because you know-” He leaned over to you, his mouth nearing your ear, “-I didn’t think the Jedi one was cutting it out for you.” His voice was gruff but he had a playful tone to it, had it been in a different setting though, you would be sure there were other motives.

He pulled back from you and watched you look away hiding the red hue that crawled up your cheeks from his close proximity and embarrassment.

You puffed out your cheeks and rolled your eyes, “You wouldn’t know.” You looked over at Dev and watched the way his smile faltered for a second but before you could even process it, it was gone that same second.

You opened your mouth to say something but was interrupted as the Iktotchi bartender reappeared with two tall glasses filled up with liquor.

“What’s the occasion?” The bartender’s thick voice made you look up to him as you took a glass from his hand. You didn’t really know what the occasion was. All you knew was that Dev really wanted to get drunk before his bounty and that was it. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Our one year anniversary together as partners!” Dev toasted, holding his glass high and towards you.

One year? Already? It had been one year since you crashed on Jakku and became a Bounty Hunter. Wow.

The bartender nodded and walked away, you held your glass high but not nearly as high as Dev and you shot him an uneasy smile.

Dev brought the glass to his lips and let out a small groan as the sweet liquor travelled down his throat, a satisfied expression on his face.

Has it actually been an entire year since you left the Jedi? Since Anakin and Obi-wan? Since you had been accused. A knot began to form in your stomach as you thought about how they probably didn’t think of you anymore. That you were simply a Jedi who lost her path and abandoned her future. You practised their beliefs but that was it, their beliefs. You weren’t strict on it, it was more like morals. Like a religion.

“Ani?” You shot your head up to look at Dev, almost completely forgetting his presence. Dev watched you carefully as you stirred the drink in your hand as if you were deep in thought - which you were - and the way you nibbled on the inside of your lip, your eyes lost in liquid. You didn’t notice it. But Dev did.

“Sorry!” You squeaked, trying to hide the fact that you were thinking about what he had said and let it affect you. You brought the glass to your lip and tilted it as the pure liquor ran through your throat. It was warm and had a sweet taste to it. It was Brandy.

Brandy was often associated with snobbery as it was a luxury liquor and knowing that Dev had just paid for it with an absent mind made every droplet taste like guilt.

“Dev. It’s Brandy. It’s too much for us.” You and Dev had always been conscious of where your rewards go, money wasn’t a luxury for either of you. Dev had been in the game longer so it felt out of the norm for him to use his credits on drinks instead of supplies.

“Today is a special day. Besides, luxury can still be afforded in war.” Dev said as a matter of factly.

“That could definitely be debated.”

You nearly choked on your drink as you head shot up to the HoloTv above the bar counter. The mention of their names couldn’t be missed just like it was hard to ignore the passersby who would talk about them. You pursed your lips together as you watched the figure of two men displayed on the HoloTv, one with wavy dark hair that resided just behind his ears, and the other with neatly combed chestnut hair and a beard that hid away his face.

The Hero With No Fear and The Negotiator.

Anakin and Obi-wan.

Your stomach did flips as you watched the pair displayed proudly on the HoloTv, a man's voice commentating and discussing their recent battle. Several video clips and images of the pair were shown but none of them were actual ‘interviews’. They had become some sort of prodigy with every article on the HoloNet discussing the two, though even when you were with them, Obi-wan tried to stay out of it while Anakin indulged in the paparazzi.

An image of Anakin appeared, a genuine smile on his face. You could tell it was recent too, noticing the difference in his appearance over a years time. He looked…happier. Happier than he was with you. Maybe it was the Brandy talking but you had completely forgotten what it was like to see Anakin that happy. The last time you saw him was during one of the worst days of your life.

He moved on, hadn’t he?

Your name hadn’t crossed his mind while his ran racetracks around yours.

“God…” you quietly breathed out, sinking further into your seat, the Brandy now having a sour taste on your tongue.

He moved on.

Anakin moved on and he was happier without you.

He didn’t want you anymore.

He stopped talking to his comlink.

And he stopped talking to you.

Even if he didn’t know it, his words -his voice- gave greater comfort to you than anyone could ever realise it in the galaxy. It meant that he still thinks of you. That he was still in love with you. And that he still fought for you. But it made sense. You moved on too, hadn’t you?

You had a new job and you’ve met new people. You wanted to convince yourself that. But as you continued to watch, every little movement he’d make sent adrenaline through your bloodstream and you wanted to cry.

“Did you know him?” Dev asked beside you, his eyes moving back and forth between your upset face and the HoloTv.

You gulped, avoiding eye contact with him.

“No.” You firmly said, pushing your chair back with your fists on the counter, a screeching noise was produced and all eyes were suddenly on you. Hastily walking out of the bar with your fists clenched and your head down, you pushed the door.

“Hey, wait up!” Dev trailed behind your figure, his silhouette illuminated by the neon glow the cantina had.

Clenching your jaw, you whipped your head to face him, a mix of emotions swirling inside you that Dev could easily see.

“What do you want?”

He raised an eyebrow at your sudden attitude change, “Well you did just leave our one year anniversary, Ani.”

“Stop calling it our one year anniversary!” You exclaimed, wanting to grab your hair and pull it out from frustration. “We are not partners. Just work-” You poked his chest, “work partners.”

“Who said anything about it being more?” He raised his hands up innocently, “Just because you’re piss angry at your past doesn’t mean you have to push it on to me.” His eyebrows furrowed and his body began to slowly tower over you.

“I-I” You turned your back onto him, your arms wrapping around you as you were at a loss for words. “I am over my past, Dev.”

“Yeah, it sure looks like it.” He huffed, cold air escaping his mouth.

“Listen, Ani. I’m not here to fight with you.” He pulled out his datapad, his fingers dancing across the surface. “We have a lead on a bounty a couple cities down. We might be able to secure a big payday. I thought you might want to know.”

Rubbing your head, your eyes met with your dirty boots before turning to look back at him. “Okay…Okay. I’m sorry, Dev.”

Dev softly smiled at you before inputting the coordinates onto his datapad. His figure moved past you and towards the cruiser in a way that felt unusual to him. You couldn’t blame him. He wanted to do something special for the both of you and you had to end it on a sour mood. Sighing to yourself, you quietly followed behind him.

A/n: HOPE U GUYSSS LIKED IT NEXT CHP ITS REUNION DONT FRET I JUST DONT WANT TO SPOIL IT LOOL i love reading all u guys comments hehe also after the whole reunion thing itll be expanding like adding additional characters such as padme, the clones etc

Taglist: @endairachristensen26 @hayden-christensen-verse @ducks118 @seventeen-x @movingalongthekiwi @ssnapsaurus @caramelfondu @dayrin085 @devilslittlehelper

if u want to be added or removed lmk!

Also Dev inspo pic pretty sure his pic is a character from elsewhere but not correlated at all to the story

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