#And how people believe blindly in those

[pasiphile]

Psst... based on the research you did, is there anything reliable you can tell us about personality and how it works?

Gladly!

The current commonly accepted personality model is generally referred to as the Big Five, and it's relatively rare in that it's as close as a consensus as you can reach in psychology. There have been tonnes of research that keep turning up the same general results. Research across cultures, with babies, with animals, self reported questionnaires versus descriptions, open ended versus multiple choice questions, relationships with biomarkers... Obviously they're not all exactly identical, because psychology is not an Exact science, but the results are always similar enough that as far as models go, it's about as solid as you can get.

So, what is this model? It very simply says that there are five big, independent character traits that people can vary in, easily remembered by the handy acronym OCEAN :

- openness to experience : how curious you are, how interested you are in culture and how much imagination you have versus how much you prefer to concentrate on practical things and how conservative you are (in the non-political meaning of the word)

- conscientiousness: how much do you care about efficiency, accuracy and being on time, versus how sloppy or disorganised you are.

- extraversion: you know this one. How much do you like/need interaction with other people.

- agreability: how nice you are. Are you generally well-disposed towards people or are you more distrustful?

- neuroticism: are you a big worrier or are you more laidback?

Now, all of these are phrased like it's a choice between two options, but what the Big Five model also keeps turning up is that these five are a spectrum, with a large majority of people being sort of in the middle. Most people dislike being alone all day but also get tired from being in big groups for a long time. Most people worry about bigger, important things but less about smaller things. Most people want to be accurate and careful in general but don't mind being a bit more sloppy when it matters less to them. In statistical terms, they all follow a gauss curve, which looks like this (with the vertical axis being the amount of people and the horizontal one the score out of ten you would get on a questionnaire) :

Which means that if you take a group of random 100 people, only a handful will be on the extremes of the spectrum (the party animal versus the recluse) while 60 to 70 people will have no real, strong preferences either way.

And that's why personality models that want to divide people up into distinct groups are, objectively, wrong. The differences between someone who scores 49 and someone who scores 51 on an extraversion scale are minimal, but those personality type theories will have you believe those two are radically different people. One of the major issues with the MBTI is, in fact, that a lot of people keep getting different results if they retake the test a few weeks or months later, exactly because of this reason : if you're an average scorer (and again, most people are), choosing between two extremes makes no sense and you're basically assigned a type at random.

The Big Five is by no means a perfect model. There's doubt whether it can really be applied that easily to non-western cultures. The interaction with mental health and neurodivergence is still unclear (are people with anxiety just extremely high on the neuroticism scale, or is anxiety a separate thing that influences the results?). But it's been replicated enough that the core of it is, at this point beyond doubt. Meanwhile the MBTI, Insights Discovery, Kolb's learning styles and all those other "you're either type A or type B" models that are rife in the business world are scientifically bullshit.

Personality doesn't come in types. Personality is a spectrum, with a few people in the extremes but the majority somewhere in the middle.  And ignoring that in favour of putting people in neat but inaccurate boxes is very dangerous.

[teyrnacousland]

When we find out that the elves were spirits there's a whole debate about whether or not we should tell people. Why don't we do that when we find out that some of the core beliefs of Andrastianism are a lie?

[suncattle]

I don't trust no fuckin body that doesn't question or criticize their own government

[autumnrory]

i've been going into the liam tag from time to time the last year where both his fans and people who hated him were Weird about him well before there were any allegations so i would get curious, i don't even remember what started it (maybe it was merely looking for photos that update accounts wouldn't post), but i normally try to avoid going into anything but edit tags for people i enjoy bc there are so many nonsense takes

and of course happening to go through today before the news broke bc i wanted to see what was being said about the abuse as i've only gotten bits on twitter and of course there were many posts rightfully calling it out and all but there's that weird mentality which i was getting a lot more of from twitter but some on here where they're like??? celebrating it and girlboss-ing and i'm just like. okay it's great that you're believing a victim but you're making light of it by talking about it like it's just another stan thing, i have seen that time and time again when this kind of stuff comes out and if people already thought that person was annoying or whatever they're just like "oh yes! i knew it! their career is ruined haha!" and it's like. you clearly don't actually care about the horrible things this person has done and just want to brag that you somehow ~knew~ a stranger's vibes were off and it's so beyond gross like you could use that energy to support a person's victims and instead you'll just try to prove you stan the right people and never the wrong ones or whatever

[notanotherblorbo]

The worst thing about what happened to shubble for me personally is how as soon as I bring it up irl people's first instinct is to defend Wilbur. Even if they don't know anything about the situation, their first response is always, "So like, he just ignored a safeword?" Or "This stuff isn't even real. You should stop letting internet drama affect you so much." Or "Was she actually serious, or was she just doing it for attention?" Or "Oh, is this gonna ruin the band for you?" Followed by "isn't it a little ridiculous to drop them entirely for some stupid drama?" it's fucking awful.

[ratislatis]

hello! i was looking at the notes for the siblings poll thingy and i saw your tags and your intense hatred for a character named jace. no idea who he is nor what a shadow hunter’s career consists of but from what your beautiful and vitriolic words told me i’ve understood that he is a cunt and a half so i too wish he dies. have a nice day!

okay firstly. I am so embarassed

secondly. this is the funniest fucking thing I have ever received in my entire life. you just made my night, anon

[iamthescalesofjustice]

it will never stop delighting me that ive somehow and without intent or action on my part gone from my high school days of carrying both a real permit and fake license not for the usual fake id purposes (was not driving, going to clubs, buying alcohol, going to R movies, etc) but for the purpose of provoking questions about and contemplation of the nature of identity, the role and impact of government and official documentation on the concept of identity, and for the lolz (wouldnt it be funny if i died and they harvested my organs bc the fake id said i was an organ doner but the real one doesnt? yeah it doesnt really work that way but the very concept amused my friend group), to having a singular fake/not fake license which was officially issued to me from the actual dmv by mistake and contains a legal name, sex marker, and picture which bear no resemblance to anything ive been known by in over a decade (and even then were not accurate hence the interrogation of identity as a concept), which i did not pass or even attempt any driving test (practical or otherwise) to obtain. is this a fake id? does this count as real? real in what sense? is this more real or more fake than either my permit or my high school fake id?

[luna-azzurra]

Good Traits Gone Bad

Empathy turning into manipulation

Imagine a character who is deeply empathetic, someone who genuinely feels and understands the emotions of others. At first, this makes them incredibly compassionate and kind, always there to lend an ear or offer comfort. But over time, this empathy begins to shift. Instead of just understanding how others feel, they start to use that understanding to manipulate those around them. They know exactly what to say to get people to do what they want, twisting their caring nature into a tool for control. What once was a beautiful gift becomes a weapon, used to bend others to their will without them even realizing it.

Confidence becoming arrogance

Think of someone who exudes confidence—someone who knows their worth and isn’t afraid to go after what they want. This kind of self-assuredness is magnetic and inspiring, drawing people in. But sometimes, this confidence can grow into something darker. The character starts to believe they’re always right, that their way is the best and only way. They dismiss others’ ideas and opinions, thinking they know better than everyone else. What was once a healthy self-esteem turns into arrogance, pushing people away as they start to feel belittled and unappreciated.

Ambition turning into obsession

Picture a character who is ambitious and driven, always striving for the next big achievement. Their dedication is admirable, pushing them to work hard and aim high. But ambition can have a dark side, too. Slowly, their drive becomes an obsession. They start to focus solely on their goals, willing to sacrifice anything or anyone who stands in their way. Friends, family, and even their own health fall by the wayside as they chase success at any cost. What was once an admirable quality turns destructive, consuming them completely.

Loyalty becoming blind devotion

Loyalty is such a beautiful trait. A loyal character is dependable, someone who stands by the people they care about no matter what. But loyalty can also become dangerous if it goes too far. This character might start to overlook red flags or harmful behaviors, sticking by someone or something even when it’s clearly detrimental. They become so blindly devoted that they lose sight of their own well-being and moral compass. What starts as a positive trait turns into a kind of self-destructive stubbornness, harming them more than helping.

Courage turning into recklessness

Imagine someone who’s incredibly brave, always ready to face challenges head-on and stand up for what they believe in. At first, this courage is inspiring, giving them the strength to overcome obstacles and help others. But sometimes, courage can cross a line. It turns into recklessness, making them take unnecessary risks without considering the consequences. They start to believe they’re invincible, putting themselves and others in danger because they’re too focused on proving their bravery. What was once a powerful strength becomes a dangerous flaw.

Determination becoming stubbornness

There’s something admirable about a character who never gives up, no matter how tough things get. Their determination helps them push through difficulties and keep going when others might quit. But when that determination turns into stubbornness, it’s a different story. They refuse to change their minds, even when all the signs point to a different path. They ignore advice, dismiss alternative viewpoints, and stick to their course out of sheer willpower, even when it’s clearly not working. Their once-praiseworthy persistence becomes a source of frustration for those around them.

Optimism becoming naivety

Someone who always looks on the bright side, no matter what. Their optimism is contagious, lifting the spirits of those around them and helping them see the silver lining in every situation. But if they aren’t careful, this optimism can morph into naivety. They might start ignoring real dangers or fail to recognize when they’re being taken advantage of. Their rosy outlook makes them blind to harsh realities, and they become easily deceived or led astray, all because they’re so focused on seeing the good in everything and everyone.

Protectiveness turning into possessiveness

A character who is naturally protective of their loved ones, always looking out for them and ensuring they’re safe and happy. This protectiveness is heartwarming and makes those around them feel cherished. But when protectiveness goes too far, it can become possessiveness. The character starts to feel like they own the people they care about, becoming overly controlling and jealous. They start dictating others' actions, justifying it as care, but it’s really about their need to keep everything under their control. What started as a caring instinct turns into something suffocating and unhealthy.

Altruism becoming self-neglect

Think about a character who is incredibly selfless, always putting others' needs before their own. They’re the kind of person who would give you the shirt off their back, always ready to help, always there for everyone. But this selflessness can go too far. It turns into self-neglect, where they completely disregard their own needs and well-being. They keep giving and giving until they have nothing left, leading to burnout and exhaustion. Their altruism, while beautiful, ends up harming them because they don’t know how to set boundaries or take care of themselves.

Honesty becoming brutal bluntness

There’s a lot to be said for a character who is straightforward and honest, someone who tells it like it is and doesn’t sugarcoat the truth. People appreciate their transparency and trustworthiness. But when honesty turns into brutal bluntness, it’s no longer a positive trait. This character starts to disregard others' feelings, using their honesty as an excuse to be harsh and tactless. Their words cut deep, hurting those around them, all in the name of being truthful. What was once refreshing candor becomes a source of pain, as they lose sight of the importance of kindness in communication.

[sargeant-bxrnes]

you’re how i pray.

summary: reluctantly, you found yourself reaching out to the church for guidance, to better your “wrongs.” only to meet father charlie and realize there was a whole world of sins you’ve yet to indulge in. [REQUESTED.]

pairings: charlie mayhew x fem!reader

warnings: conversations about religion and moral, blasphemy (?), charlie is a manipulative freak!. SMUT: this is DIRTYYYY, fingering (fem), oral (fem), unprotected sex, manhandling, dirty talk.

WC: 3.6K (sorry, i got into it)

my masterlist!                     requests are OPEN!

Your steps echoed against the cold stone floors of the church. The towering figure of your aunt walked ahead, moving with self-righteous purpose. You rolled your eyes, biting the inside of your cheek to stifle the irritation that boiled beneath your skin.

Of course, therapy had been a good start. You had actually been making progress, learning to manage your anger, to quiet the voice inside you that urged you to rebel against every rule, every boundary. But your family… they believed therapy wasn’t enough. They had another solution.

Father Charlie. You had heard of him. A young priest, charismatic and well-liked by the community.

Your aunt wasted no time, walking straight up to the office where Father Charlie stood. His presence was larger than life, draped in his priestly robes, and yet his eyes—those piercing brown eyes—held a spark that didn’t quite match the image of a humble servant of God.

“Father Charlie, thank you for meeting with us,” your aunt began, already launching into a tirade about you. Words like rebellious, problematic, and sinful spilled out as though they had been rehearsed. You stood there, arms crossed, glaring at the rows of candles flickering on the altar.

Father Charlie nodded sympathetically but his gaze never left you. He didn’t interrupt your aunt’s sermon, though, and once the woman was satisfied that she had delivered enough holy condemnation, she patted you on the shoulder.

“Father Charlie will talk to you, sweetie. He’ll help you.”

With that, your aunt left, leaving behind a cloud of forced piety. The silence settled in as Father Charlie waited until the doors shut behind her.

“Guessing by your expression, I’m sure this wasn’t your first option, coming to me.” he said, his voice unexpectedly soft.

You shrugged, leaning back against one of the wooden furnitures of his office. “Yeah. My family has unfortunately convinced themselves that I’m a lost cause, and that only God can save me. Or so.”

Father Charlie smiled, and something about it made you feel more cautious than comforted. “Why do you think people see you that way?”

The question took you by surprise. Not the usual condescending lecture, not yet, anyway. “Because I don’t see the point in all these rules they’re obsessed with. I do whatever I want, and that annoys people. We’re born into this world, and instead of living the lives we want, we’re told what to do from the moment we can speak. Doesn’t that sound a little… cruel to you?”

“Rules are there to keep the community together. Without them, society would fall apart.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Maybe. But what’s the point if those rules only help some people? The rich keep getting richer, while the rest of us… we’re always at the bottom. And that’s okay as long as we obey, right?”

“So, you think life is about doing whatever you want? No restrictions at all?”

“Not exactly,” you said. “I just think people should be free to make their own choices. To live without constant guilt and fear hanging over them. This whole idea that we’re supposed to follow blindly or be damned… it doesn’t sit right with me.”

The priest studied you for a moment, and you could feel the intensity of his gaze. “Do you believe in God?”

Your lips pressed together in a thin line. “I don’t know. Maybe there’s something out there, something bigger than us. But the people in this community? The hypocrisy. The way they use their faith to control others. It’s toxic.”

Father Charlie nodded slowly. “You’re not the first to feel that way. But you’re not as alone as you think, either.”

“What do you mean?”

His smile was back, but this time, it held something else. Something darker. “Let’s just say… not everyone in this church follows the rules as strictly as you might think.”

A shiver crept down your spine, but you couldn’t tell if it was fear or something else. His words, his tone—they didn’t match the image of the holy man you had been expecting. You sat down on the couch, to keep some distance.

“Let’s talk more,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “I’m curious about your thoughts on freedom. On life… on sin.”

Your pulse quickened as he took a seat next to you, far too close for comfort, but you didn’t move. There was something magnetic about him. Dangerous, but magnetic.

“You know,” Charlie began, his fingers lightly tracing the soft edge of the couch beneath both, “a lot of people in your position feel trapped by expectations. You said it yourself: you don’t like the way rules seem to be designed to keep some people down.”

You nodded slowly, unsure where this was leading, but already feeling a shift in the atmosphere.

He tilted his head, his gaze holding yours, and there was a glimmer of amusement—something almost wicked—in his eyes. “You’re not wrong to want freedom. To want more. But what you have to understand is that most people… they’re too afraid to admit it.”

“Too afraid?”

“Yes. They bury their desires under obedience, hoping it will make them feel whole. But deep down, they crave… more. They want to push against those boundaries.” He leaned in closer, his tone growing silkier. “Don’t you?”

“I don’t know,” you said, though you did know. It just didn’t feel safe to admit it—not to yourself, and definitely not to him. “I mean, I get frustrated, but… it’s not like I’m going to rebel against everything.”

“What if you did? What if, just for a moment, you allowed yourself to explore that side of you? The one that questions. The one that craves freedom… and maybe, other things?” Charlie’s eyes sparkled with something that felt far more dangerous than faith.

Other things. The way he said it, as if it were an invitation, hung heavily between both. You could feel the tension building, the heat.

“I think…” you started, your voice shaky, “I think people would lose their minds if I did something like that.”

His lips curled into a slow, knowing grin. “Maybe that’s exactly what they need.”

He let the words sink in before continuing, his voice dipping into something darker, more seductive. “You don’t need to live your life based on what others expect of you. There’s power in choosing for yourself.“

This conversation wasn’t going the way you’d imagined. You had expected judgment, correction—but instead, he was… encouraging you.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper now.

You looked away, feeling a flush creep up your neck. “I don’t know.”

“You’re lying,” Charlie said softly, his voice dipping even lower. “I think you know exactly what you want. You just haven’t allowed yourself to feel it fully.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs, and you couldn’t ignore the way his words wrapped around you like a dark temptation. There was a part of you that did want something—something wild, something free, something dangerous. But this? Here? With him?

“It’s okay to admit it,” Charlie said, leaning closer, his lips dangerously close to your ear now. “Sometimes… surrendering to what you really desire is more powerful than fighting it.”

Your breath caught, and for a second, you leaned into him, drawn by the magnetism of his words. It was intoxicating—the way he seemed to know exactly what to say. But you pulled back, confusion warring with the strange attraction that was blooming inside you.

“You’re a priest,” you said, as though reminding him—and yourself—would somehow break the spell.

Charlie chuckled, the sound low and smooth. “I am. But that doesn’t mean I don’t understand temptation. Sin is… fascinating, isn’t it? Especially the kind that makes you question everything you thought you knew about yourself.”

There was something so wrong about this conversation, and yet, you couldn’t deny the pull. The way he was making you feel—seen, understood, even desired—was something you hadn’t expected to find in this place.

He held your gaze, his confidence palpable. “You crave connection. An escape from the chains of expectation. You want to live life on your terms, even if that means stepping outside the lines drawn by those who think they know better. I admire that.”

“You really don’t know what you’re getting into,” you said, trying to regain some control.

“Perhaps,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that infuriatingly charming way. “But what if I’m willing to take that risk? To explore those uncharted waters with you?”

“Is that what you do with all the girls who come in here, Father?” you shot back, trying to mask the way your pulse quickened at the thought.

“Most don’t provoke me the way you do,” he said, his voice low and velvety. “They’re afraid to stray too far from the righteous path. But you… you have a light about you that beckons me closer. It’s intoxicating.”

Your cheeks warmed under his intense scrutiny, but you quickly shook your head, refusing to be swayed. “You shouldn’t say things like that. You’re a priest.”

“Ah, but that’s the thing, isn’t it?” he replied smoothly, his gaze unflinching. “What does that really mean? I wear the collar, sure, but I’m also a man—one who understands the darker desires that lie beneath the surface. You’re drawn to them, aren’t you?”

“Maybe I’m just curious,” you replied, attempting to sound nonchalant.

“Curiosity is a dangerous game,” he said, his voice a seductive whisper. “Especially when it leads you to someone like me. You could explore all the answers to your questions, and perhaps even find the absolution you didn’t know you were seeking—if you dare to take that step.”

“And what’s the price for that?” you challenged, not ready to give in but undeniably intrigued.

“Just your trust,” he said, his gaze piercing through your defenses. “Let me guide you. Allow me to show you that the rules can bend, that the lines can blur. And in return, you’ll discover a side of yourself you never knew existed. It’s a fair exchange, don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” you finally replied, your voice barely above a whisper, “but I’m not so easily led.”

He leaned in closer, their faces mere inches apart. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He ran his thumb delicately along your lower lip. “Lose yourself in me. Let me be your forbidden pleasure, your dark indulgence. Together, we can create a sin so divine, it will set your soul free.”

You feel his thumb diving inside your mouth. He pressed his thumb deeper, exploring the warm, wet cavern of your mouth as if mapping your innermost terrain.

“Mmmm, so eager to please," he purred, his other hand sliding down your side to grip your hip, holding you steady. "Your mouth was made for sin." With a subtle twist, he coaxed your tongue to swirl around the intrusion, a sinful game of give-and-take that left you breathless and wanting more. "Such a willing little temptress,"

And before you can process, he’s kissing you. And things gets heated, fast. It doesn’t seem to matter that you both were sitting on the couch from his office, inside the church. He claimed your mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue plunging in to dance with yours in a primal, urgent rhythm. The scent of your arousal mingled with the musky undertones of his cologne, fogging the air with a heady, addictive haze. His hands roamed your body, possessive and demanding, as he pulled you closer, his own arousal throbbing against the confines of his trousers.

“So sweet," he growled against your lips, breaking the kiss only to nip and suck his way down your neck, leaving a trail of heated, open-mouthed kisses. "Such a delicious little sin."

His fingers deftly unfastened the buttons of your blouse, revealing the lacy bra beneath and the creamy swells of your breasts. You gasped, feeling his lips on your skin. Desperate and wanton, hungry.

He kissed and licked a path downward, pausing to toy with the lacy edge of your bra before tugging the delicate fabric aside with his teeth. His hot mouth closed over the swell of your breast, his tongue swirling to coax forth a responsive moan. His lips slid lower, fixating on your nipple. He suckled, the rhythmic pull of his lips and the scrape of his teeth sending jolts of pleasure-pain shooting through your sensitive flesh.

“Mmmm, you taste so divine," he purred, his free hand sliding up your thigh to brush against the damp fabric of your panties. "Every inch of you is made for sin."

You could foresee his intentions even before he started to move. His lips went lower down your chest, over your stomach, to the waistband of your skirt. With practiced ease, he slid his hands down your curves, peeling away the last of your garments with a hunger that bordered on reverence.

Your skirt and panties joined the discarded heap of your blouse and bra on the floor, leaving you bare and vulnerable beneath his intense scrutiny. His eyes raked over you, drinking in every inch of exposed flesh as if committing it to memory. The sight of you, spread out before him, was a feast for his sinful appetites.

“Exquisite," he breathed, his voice thick with desire. "You're a vision of decadence. I'm going to indulge in every moment of our encounter, savoring every morsel of pleasure you offer me."

With that, he sank to his knees before you, his fingers brushing against your inner thighs as he gazed up at you with a wicked promise in his eyes. He leaned in, his breath a hot whisper against your most intimate flesh.

And he went at it, eager to devour. He started off with a long, languid lick with the flat of his tongue, licking from the edge of your slit all the way to the clit. It was utterly sinful, erotic.

He lapped at you, his long, dexterous tongue swirling and delving with a sinful expertise that made you gasp and squirm. The flat of his tongue glided along your slit, gathering your sweet essence before he darted the tip to tease the sensitive bump of your clit. He licked and suckled, alternating between long, languid strokes and fast, frantic jabs of his tongue, each one designed to drive you a little crazier with need.

“You taste so good,," he purred, his words muffled against your pulsing flesh. "I could eat this sweet cunt all day and never tire of it."

Two fingers slipped inside you, stretching and filling you as his tongue continued its relentless assault. He pumped them in and out, matching the rhythm of his tongue's movements as he brought you closer to the edge. His fingers curled, seeking that special spot that would send you plummeting into ecstasy. With each pass, his touch grew firmer, more insistent, as if trying to coax the very essence of your being from your depths. His lips and tongue never ceased their worship of your clit, suckling and flicking against the throbbing nub in a maddening dance of pleasure and desperation.

He could feel you teetering on the brink, your sweet cum flooding his fingers as your hips bucked and writhed in mindless need. His tongue worked frantically against your clit, a dizzying whirl of licks and suckles that left you breathless and begging for more. One last, long lick, and you were sent hurtling over the edge, your orgasm ripping through like a thunderclap.

“Yes," he hummed, his voice a reverent whisper. "Let it happen. Let me feel you cum for me." And as the waves of your climax crashed over you, he remained, drinking in every last drop of your release like a man dying of thirst.

And you thought that would be it, but no. He rearranged you, laying you down as he stripped off his cassock in a hurried tug. The garment joined the pile of your clothes, and he wasted no time unfastening his belt and shucking off his trousers. His massive cock sprang free, the thick, pulsing length already flushed and throbbing with need.

He loomed over you, his thick, throbbing cock jutting out before him like a red-hot brand, burning with the need for release. With a knee, he pushed your legs apart, spreading you in blatant invitation, before positioning himself between your thighs. One hand tipped your chin up, forcing you to meet his burning gaze as he lined himself up with your most intimate entrance.

“Last chance to turn back," he growled, the tip of his cock notched against your aching flesh. "Once I sink into you, there's no going back. You'll be mine, body and soul." He paused, his expression almost wistful. "But I know you won't refuse me. You want this, as much as I do."

With that, he surged forward, burying himself in your warmth with a groan of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

He filled you slowly, deliberately, each inch a decadent slide into heaven as he stretched you impossibly wide around his girth. The sensation was overwhelming, the burn of his intrusion mixing with the sweet, tingling pleasure that only he could evoke. When he finally bottomed out, he paused, savoring the feeling of being completely sheathed within you. He was huge, and you could feel every throbbing inch of him as he pulsed and twitched inside you.

“So perfect," he breathed, his voice low and husky with satisfaction. He took a deep breath, his forehead coming to rest against yours as he fought to regain his composure. "You were made for me. Every curve, every hollow, every inch of your sweet cunt is tailor-made to take my cock."

He began to move, slow and deep at first, withdrawing until only the thick head remained before plunging back in, his strokes growing firmer, more insistent as he lost himself in the mindless pleasure of the joining. — He took you like a man possessed, his pace growing faster, more erratic as he chased his release. The couch creaked in protest beneath both, the sound mingling with the ragged breathing and the obscene squelch of his cock sliding in and out of your soaked pussy. Your back arched, pushing your pert breasts toward his devouring mouth as he feasted on one while still pounding into you. He growled against your skin, the vibrations adding another layer of sensation to the maelstrom of pleasure wracking your body.

Your eyes rolled back, feeling him pounding deep into your cunt as he suckled your tit. Wary, you used a hand to cover your mouth, trying to muffle the sound.

His mouth left your breast with a wet pop, and he sealed his lips over yours in a fierce, dominating kiss. His tongue invaded, claiming yours in a sensual dance that left both breathless. All the while, he continued his relentless pace, his cock pistoning in and out of you with brutal efficiency. He could feel your walls fluttering around him, your sweet cream coating his shaft as you teetered on the brink of another orgasm. With a groan, he broke the kiss, his eyes blazing with a primal intensity as he prepared to unleash his own release.

“Cum for me," he commanded, his voice a raw, desperate snarl. "Take my cock, just like that. Fuck- come for me. Come on my cock.”

The mix of the sensations and the sheer desperation on his voice, how needy it suddenly sounded did it for you. As your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your inner walls clamped down around him like a vice, cum gushing out to coat his cock and balls. The sensation was enough to tip him over the edge, and with a hoarse bellow, he buried himself to the hilt and came, his thick seed pulsing deep inside you as his body shuddered and spasmed.

“Fuck!" he gasped, his hands gripping your hips like an anchor as he rode out the waves of his climax. "Yes... oh, god... yes..." He collapsed on top of you, his weight pressing you into the couch as he struggled to catch his breath.

As you recovered, you started to process. Thinking to yourself. Did you- did you just fuck a priest? Maybe you ARE as troublesome as people claim.

He slowly pulled out of you, his softening cock slipping free with a wet plop. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a tender, lingering kiss, his eyes never leaving yours. "Don't overthink it, my sweet," he murmured against your mouth. "Just enjoy the afterglow."

He leaned on his elbow, his free hand gently brushing the hair from your face as he took in your flushed, sated features.

"We've both crossed lines. Lines we can't simply erase. But perhaps that's for the best. Perhaps this is the key to setting you free." A sly smile played on his lips as he stood, his naked form glistening with sweat in the dim light. "Now, how about we continue this little sin of ours in the bed, hmm?"

And as that idea enticed you… you realized that perhaps you ARE a lost cause.

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 9

in which we find out how the morning after went for fem!reader. you finally share with spencer after unanticipated anxieties come up. you're continually shocked by his affection for you.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ (angst, fluff) warnings/tags: (preface none of the bad stuff is done by spencer) sexual harassment, slut shaming, non consensual voyeurism of sorts, blood + pain from losing virginity, talk of rape (nothing like that actually happens), implied nonspecific age gap (someone says he looks slightly older than you) non sexual nudity, showering together, intimacy, ewww being in love is embarrassing a/n: I honestly was not gonna post this today but I decided to bc it's just Tumblr its not that deep also you can probably tell I am just creating problems bc I don't wanna let go of them...... ik this is supposed to be a smutty series btw and trust good things come to those who wait!!!but anyways idk what I'm doing and I kinda hate this!! lolol!!!

Friday morning

The air is thick when you wake up—the angle of the sun through the window is lower than usual, and the binding weight of your limbs as you struggle to stretch in place all suggest that you’ve slept in. 

But you don’t check the time quite yet—for a moment, you simply lie there, studying the pattern on your ceiling, downloading the events of the previous night. 

Flashes of skin on skin, lips, breaths, whispers, promises. Phantom sensations. 

Was it even real?

Your apartment is deafeningly silent, you realize. And you have that sinking sense, which you can’t quite explain but know to be true—that you are alone. Spencer is gone. You can’t feel him like you’d be able to if he were simply on the couch or in the kitchen. He’s definitely not in bed with you, and the sheets have long gone cold. 

The truth of it renders about as slowly as your sluggish consciousness does, and you frown, not quite sure what to do with that information. Should you be angry? Should you cry?

Mostly you’re confused. 

As soon as you sit up, sore thighs and abs and a strange ache between your legs confirm that last night was not a dream nor a figment of your imagination. You’ll figure out what to do about your twinging body in a moment—for now you rub your eyes and blindly reach for the bedside table, knocking several things to the ground in your quest for your phone. 

It’s not there, you realize, once you actually try to use your eyes. It’s not in bed with you either as you pat the sheets, and it doesn’t materialize as you sit on your knees and shake out the comforter. 

From this venture, however, you learn two things. First, Spencer must’ve taken it upon himself to get you dressed last night, which you have no recollection of, but you doubt you sleepwalked your way into underwear and a big t-shirt; and second—you bled. 

It wasn’t something you were thinking about in the moment, but now, faced with all the evidence and none of the pleasure of last night’s activities, it’s jarring. A stark, unforgiving archipelago of red on a pristine sea of white. 

People say, at its best, sex brings couples closer. Spencer once told you it could facilitate feelings of deeper connection. But here you are, no longer a virgin, and what do you have to show for it? A stronger bond with your boyfriend? He’s not even here. 

All you have is this glaring red stain marring perfectly good sheets. It mocks you, like something you’ve dropped and can’t pick back up. You can’t think looking at it, and you need to think, and so in a fit of frustration you’re pulling the comforter onto the floor, leaning over your mattress and yanking the fitted sheet free. You ball it up in your hands, breathing heavily—and realize you bled through to the mattress. 

Wonderful. 

Spencer’s just at work, you tell yourself, grabbing the first pair of shorts you see and pulling them on before gathering the ruined sheet once more and stomping on aching legs through your apartment to the hallway, not even bothering with shoes. He can’t just play hooky because his clingy girlfriend lost her virginity and needs to be comforted like some previously celibate high school cheerleader.

But you miss him so much it’s making you angry, so much your eyes are stinging and welling with tears of frustration as you shove your bed linens down the trash chute at the end of your floor’s hallway. You’re supposed to be independent. That’s how you’ve always been. Since when does it bother you to wake up alone? It’s just sex. It’s not as big a deal for him as it is for you. Or for anyone. You’re the one overreacting, you’re the one who expects too much. He works for the FBI, for god’s sake. There are people dying, and here you are—

“What’chya got there?”

The gruff voice makes you jump, and you turn around just as the bundle is disappearing down into the hole in the wall. It’s your neighbor, Jerry—the one in the unit right next to you. You’re not happy to see him, especially like this. He’s got a blue 5 o’clock shadow despite the hour, and is clad in ill-fitting gray sweats and a pair of ratty slippers. His distended belly strains at the confines of an oil-stained white shirt, tied with a dingy checkered robe. You barely meet his drooping eyes before looking longingly back at your cracked door down the hall. 

“Just… garbage.” You shift your weight, hiding a wince as you try to find a comfortable position to stand in. Jerry notices this, and you wish his eyes wouldn’t linger on your bare legs like that. 

“Huh. Looks like someone had a late night.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s just noon and you’re still in your PJ’s.”

Disgusting. And who the fuck is he to judge? At least your pajamas are clean. 

You shrug. “Yeah.”

He scratches his bald head. 

“So that boy tired you out pretty good, huh?”

Your stomach drops. Your brain freezes. 

When you don’t reply, he takes the liberty of continuing on. 

“Saw him sneaking out of your apartment in the middle of the night. He looked a little older ’n you. You like ’em older?” His laugh is a cruel bark. “Yeah… He’s a lucky man. You know, it’s natural for a man to like a younger girl. Fresh meat, ’n all.” You try to speak and can only swallow a gag. Jerry adjusts his stance, hands in pockets like he’s telling you a local news story. “Heard some of it. Sounded like you were putting on quite the show. And sure, a young pretty thing like you? Hell, I would if I could. But I’ll tell you right now, you don’t wanna end up like my daughter. She wasn’t as pretty as you, but still—three kids with three men by the time she was 24. She should'a kept her damn legs closed. You know, she loved to cry rape, but you gotta ask yourself, if your legs are open all the damn time, what do you expect? Back in the day we all knew girls like that—” he bats the air dismissively. “Guess you can’t call ’em sluts anymore—they get what they’re asking for one way or another. See, I think everyone still knows it and they’re just too afraid to say it. So my advice: don’t let yourself get used up, you hear me? Not by men who are gonna ride you hard and put you away wet. So to speak. Men can smell a girl like that from a mile away, and they’ll take it as an open invitation. It’s just human nature.”

When he finally stops talking, the hallway fills with a vacuous silence. It makes your ears ring. Several moments pass, but you’re frozen. Your whole body feels intolerably hot but your blood is freezing. How are you supposed to react? 

“Hello?” He says, voice loud enough to hurt your ears as it echoes. 

Get out of here, your more rational self says to the rest of you, and you mumble something, you don’t even know what, excusing yourself to hurry on stiff legs back down the hall to your door. 

Once inside, you do up every lock on your door, and face your apartment, shoulders tensed practically to your ears and fists clenched so tight your arms are trembling. On autopilot you look around for something to do, but there’s nothing. More importantly, nobody.

I’ll call Spencer. He’ll know what to do. 

No, you won’t, your higher self reminds you. You lost your phone. And besides, it’s clearly not like he wanted to stick around last night. Maybe he doesn’t even like you anymore. 

So you’re stuck here. Stranded. Sharks can smell blood. 

Processing that information, you walk back to your bedroom and close the door behind you—before promptly sinking to the ground and burying your face in the duvet with a deep, silent sob.  

That goes on for a few minutes until you realize you’re too achy and you can’t breathe and you’re forced onto your side, curling up in your blanket on the floor like it’s a nest and not a burial plot. 

You shouldn’t get ahead of yourself. A relationship can’t implode twice in 24 hours.  You don’t have your phone. Maybe he’s texted you. 

But is that really all you’re worth? A text sent after the fact? He couldn’t sacrifice a few hours to sleep by your side? Couldn’t even wake you up to say goodbye? You think about the sweet things he’d said afterward—the way he held you, fingers dancing down your spine. Promises he made when you were half asleep in his arms, so sure he’d be there when you woke up. 

Even fucking Jerry the neighbor—who you think might have just sexually harassed you in the hallway—said Spencer should’ve stuck around. 

Fuck. 

No, don’t think about that. It doesn’t even matter. They were just words. 

Heard some of it. Sounded like you put on quite the show. 

Your skin crawls and your stomach turns as you hold yourself tighter. Something that was supposed to be private and special—and some random man not only had a front row seat to your deflowering but felt comfortable talking about it with you. It feels like a violation. Like he crashed a really important party. If you had known you had an audience last night, you never would’ve done it. 

The way he looked at you, tracing your legs with his eyes like he was touching you—

You scramble up from the floor and walk heavily on your knees to the dresser, digging up a pair of pajama pants and a hoodie. You should be showering, but you don’t want to deal with your body right now. You just want to hide. 

Friday evening—present

After your conversation, Spencer seems eager to make sure the car ride to his apartment is not reminiscent of the car ride to yours last night—he holds your hand, resting in your lap, bringing your knuckles to his lips at a red light. Every few moments he glances over at you, maybe to appreciate the view (though you doubt it’s especially scenic at the moment) or perhaps to gauge your mood. The further away you get from your apartment building the better you feel, and you try to focus on that. Sure—maybe you had a shit day, but Spencer’s here now, and he didn’t leave you after all. In fact, since finding your phone, you’ve seen the series of very sweet and highly concerned messages he sent over the course of a few hours. They almost make your stomach hurt. It would’ve been really nice to have those earlier. 

He doesn’t ask you any more of the hard questions, but you sense an inquisition in the works and getting closer with every curious glance he gives you. It’s like he’s unwrapping you, layer by layer, using his impressive cognitive faculties to drill through your skull into your brain and deeper still into your soul. 

Back in his apartment you sit awkwardly on the bed. Last time you’d been here, things hadn’t gone so well for you. 

The shower starts in the adjoined bathroom, and Spencer comes out a moment later, warm light seeping into the darkened bedroom. Purple and dark blue mixing with yellow, like a bruise. 

“Hey. Water’s warm.”

You hum, smoothing the material of his neatly made bed with your palm and watching the way it flattens. That had been your doing. You may have thought he was on the verge of breaking up with you last time you slept here, but you didn’t want to leave his home a mess. Didn’t want to leave any evidence of your having been here. 

A moment passes. You thumb at a thread and don’t look up. 

Spencer crosses the space without a word and crouches in front of you, hands coming up to cup the back of your legs, running knee to ankle and up again. 

“Can you tell me what’s going on? Please?” He asks softly. His voice wrings your heart out. Now that you’re in a completely different space, and you’re not so alone anymore, you’re struggling to sort out your feelings. It should be fine. You’re with Spencer. Presumably he still loves you. 

And you still feel terrible. 

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” you whisper. 

“I know,” he says, just as quietly. 

Spencer doesn’t say anything else. I know you don’t want to—and yet. Your lips twist to the side. He’s persistent. Even in his kindness. It’s not the kind of care that falters or buckles when you try turning it away. 

“My neighbor said he c—” 

You’re forced to stop, frowning by how overcome you are. It shouldn’t be such a big deal. Worse things have happened to you. 

“He said he could hear us. Last night.”

Spencer’s hands stop on your legs. You can’t meet his eyes. You’re afraid whatever you find there won’t be the right thing. 

“He’s in the unit next to you?”

You nod. “We share a wall.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation and your stomach sinks. He doesn’t understand. 

“What did he say?”

“Just… dumb shit,” you scoff, fiercely wiping away a stray tear. “He said he listened and it sounded like I was putting on quite the show. And then he—and then he told me not to let you… use me up, whatever that means. He called me fresh meat, and said I shouldn’t let you ride me hard and put me away wet, and bad things happen to sluts who can’t keep their legs closed.”

You finish with a sharp inhale, briefly leaning down and covering your face with your hands when you realize how upset you really are. You want to hide it. 

A fraught moment passes. Spencer reaches for your hands, no doubt to try and pull them away from your face. You spare him the trouble, sitting up with a cavalier sniff before he can touch you and brushing your hair behind your ears.  

His voice is uncomfortably quiet. You can’t look at him. “Baby…”

“Don’t. It’s fine. I only told you because you asked.”

It’s not his fault, but you’re mad at him anyway, and so you avoid eye-contact like it’s the plague. Maybe it’s just safe to be mad at him. Maybe he knows that. 

Regardless, you’re not in the mood for coddling. It’s borderline repulsive—like trying to mix oil and water. Anything good slides right off of you because maybe you’re not designed to be able to absorb good things.

Nothing changes for a minute—and then he’s standing, offering you a moment alone as he goes to crank the shower off. 

As soon as he’s gone all the air is vacuumed from your lungs and you crumple, heaving it back in silently as your head spins and your heart races. It’s like your mind is split in two—half is primal, overwhelming panic, and the other a cold observatory eye, full of disdain and scorn for what it deems a severe overreaction to a few nasty comments made hours ago. You’re so tangled up as you curl in on yourself on your side that you can’t even cry. You’re just trying to remember how to breathe, ignoring the crawling feeling up your spine and the tingling heat at the back of your neck. The shower stops on the downbeat of your staggered breath, and then it’s silent. He’ll come back at any minute and see what a mess you’ve become. 

You’ve ruined everything. If only you could’ve kept it to yourself. 

When Spencer reappears in the doorway, and sees you collapsed and curling like paper burnt at the edges, he’s quick to return to you. 

“I’m sorry,” you manage, trying and failing to brush away hair from your cheek, which is wet—so you were crying—and Spencer shushes you, pushing it away for you as he kneels. 

“Why are you apologizing?”

“I’m being dramatic, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Of course, at the end of that declaration, a sob wrenches its way from the depths of you, so bright and cleaving you half expect the smell of ozone to follow. You follow it with a blisteringly self-deprecating laugh.

“Don’t—don’t do that. Don’t minimize it.”

His hand is warm where it rests over your cheek, affectionate, but he sounds frustrated. You frown and sniffle. 

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Tell me his name.” 

It’s a quiet request, made as gently as his hand cards through the hair at your temple like it’s woven with fragile threads of gold.

“No, Spencer,” you beg, anxiety pooling in your gut and rising in your throat, “please, I don’t want to make it a thing, I don’t want you to talk to him. You’ll just make it worse, it’s fine.”

You look at him imploringly, eyes wide and still welling, hoping to god the gravity of your plead will sink in. His are a bed of coals—somewhere between furious and sympathetic, and you try to appeal to the sympathy. 

“It is not fine. Saying sluts get what’s coming to them is not fine, that is a threat, and I’m not going to talk to him. I’m going to have him fucking arrested.”

You scoff. 

“For talking to me? Yeah, good luck with that. Cops are really known for being helpful when it comes to sexual harassment.”

“Baby. Men who are comfortable violating your boundaries like that are exponentially more likely to commit an actual violent crime. That is not a safe person for you to be around.”

“He’s not gonna rape me, Spencer! He’s just a gross old man! This is why I didn’t want to tell you, because I knew you’d make it a bigger deal than it is! You did it last night and you’re doing it now—you think everyone is out to get me!”

To his credit, he doesn’t so much as raise his voice. 

“Of course it’s a big deal. You’re upset.”

“Yeah, well, it’s my own fault.”

Maybe it’s the wrong thing to say. Spencer goes silent for a moment. 

“It’s your fault?”

“Yes. It’s my fault because… because now everyone knows that I’m…”

His voice goes impossibly soft again. “Knows that you’re what?”

“I mean, what did I expect?” You sniffle. “It’s an apartment. If I didn’t want to deal with the consequences, I shouldn’t’ve done it.”

He says your name like it’s a ring he twists around his finger as he tries to think—to gather the right words. 

“The consequences for having sex do not involve punishment or sexual harassment.”

“It’s the result of my actions, so—”

“No, it’s the result of your neighbor being disgusting. I don’t care what he heard, he doesn’t get to talk to you like that.”

“He—”

“If you heard something you weren’t supposed to hear would you bring it up to the person the next day?”

“Stop interrupting me,” you plead. Spencer looks like he has something to say to that, too, but he swallows it. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. “I… understand that he shouldn’t have said those things to me. But that doesn’t change the fact that he did, and it was really, really uncomfortable and I don’t wanna—I don’t wanna go back now. Maybe that’s dramatic, but…”

You trail off, studying the ceiling as a fresh wash of tears dampen your cheeks. Spencer’s hand slides down your waist as you wipe your face. “I don’t regret the fact that we slept together. I just regret everything that’s happened since, and if I didn’t do it last night, none of this would’ve happened. I feel like he ruined everything.”

The words end on another cry and you put your hand over your eyes like you could stop it all from coming out. You sniffle. Spencer is quiet for a moment. 

“I’m sorry,” he eventually whispers, his own voice threaded with emotion. “I…”

He sighs. You push your hair back and look at him. 

“What?”

He studies you, chewing on his lip like a nervous tick you’ve never seen before. You sit up again, feet balanced on the edge of the bed frame. Spencer’s eyes remain stuck on you. Again, you ask, “What?”

“I didn’t think about it until you brought it up earlier, but—I did see someone. Him, I think, when I went out to my car to get my bag. He was smoking when I came out, and when I got back into the lobby he was waiting for the elevator. We took it up together, he—he said something to me, so I know he saw me going back to you. I don’t know why he made it sound like I left.”

You frown. “What did he say?”

Spencer hesitates. 

“He asked if I had a long night. He was obviously commenting on the fact that I was basically half-dressed and getting an overnight bag from my car at one in the morning, so he could probably gather from context what was going on, but… my point is, he knew I came back and it seems like he was almost trying to make you think I didn’t. So for whatever reason, maybe he was lying about being able to hear you, too. Maybe he just wanted to make you uncomfortable.”

“That’s a long shot, Spencer.”

“I know, but… it’s not that long. He obviously gets off on it—and besides, he said you were putting on a show, but you weren’t… you weren’t loud, last night.”

Heats blossoms in your cheeks and you look down at your lap. “Thin walls.”

“Have you ever heard your neighbors before?”

You have to seriously think about it. 

“I’ve heard them yelling…”

“Nothing else?”

Again, you consider it. The answer comes as a surprise. 

“No.”

“Okay, so… does that maybe help a little bit? I really, really don’t want you to feel like last night was a mistake in any way, or let anyone ruin it for you.”

You breathe deeply. “I know. It… it kinda helps, yeah.”

His hands come to the top of your legs. There’s so much genuine care and concern in his eyes. “Yeah?”

Only when you nod does he relax some. His hands skim your thighs, and you set yours on top of his own. For a few breaths, it’s quiet. And then you laugh. 

“What?” Spencer asks, a tentative smile curling his own lips like he doesn’t know if he should be concerned or participate in your mirth. 

“I—I don’t know how to say it without being cheesy,” you admit, sniffling the last of your tears away and smiling softly down at him. 

“I think you should say it.”

You link your fingers with his on your lap, watching the way they twine like it’s what they were meant to do. 

“I was just thinking about how I had, like, the worst day ever. And how much worse it would’ve gotten if you didn’t show up when you did—I would’ve completely spiraled. But you did show up. And how easy it is to kind of compartmentalize, because I have you, and when I’m with you… nothing feels as hard. You make the bad things feel smaller, I guess.”

By the end, it got a lot more real than you’d intended, and your face feels warm, and your stomach is sort of floaty—but you don’t look away from Spencer. You hold his gaze, though it makes you a little nervous, because you want him to know you mean it. 

He inhales, like he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t—only looks at you, like you’re beautiful and impossible and a defiance of everything he thought he knew, which was almost everything. To him, you’re expansive. A gorgeous anomaly.

And then he stands, holding his hands out for you. Without question you take them, and he pulls you to your feet, absorbing the momentum that threatens to topple you, and he wraps his arms around you tightly. So tight you have to laugh. 

“I love you,” he says against your shoulder, one hand coming to cradle the back of your head. 

Your humor softens, but doesn’t become inflexible—still tinges your words with the perfect amount of euphoria and relief. “I love you.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles, and your laughter flares again. 

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“But I’m grateful. I… I feel lucky.”

Always so earnest, so vulnerable, when you’re least expecting it—which should be always, you’re learning. You pull back to look up at him. You don’t want that concession to go unrewarded. 

“Me too,” you say softly. He’s doing that fond thing with his eyes, where they’re all soft and it’s like he’s trying to take in every millimeter of your face. This time when he goes to touch your hair, you have the wherewithal to dodge it. 

“You’re really brave for trying to touch my hair right now.”

“Why?” He asks, utterly bewildered, and the softness of the moment falls away easily, but not without leaving everything smudged and fuzzy around the edges. Everything is still okay. It’s still good. 

“Because it’s dirty,” you laugh, dodging him again and eventually ducking from the circle of his arms entirely. 

“Oh, your hair is dirty? Should we breakup?”

“Hm. I don’t really like when you take on that tone with me.” You’re still half-laughing, dipping and weaving past him toward the bathroom as he tries to get you in his arms again. And then you stop, toes just short of the tile. 

“What is it?” He asks after another moment. You blink, looking at the shower head as it drips. 

“Um—would it be okay if I had a five minute headstart in the shower?”

“Sure. Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine. I just… I need a minute.”

His hand skims your waist as he passes by you through the open door. “Okay. Why don’t you grab your stuff and I’ll get the water going again?”

Soon enough, you’re remembering how much better his water pressure is than yours as you stand under the torrent, eyes closed as if in prayer. You definitely could’ve stood to shower earlier in the day. But you had other concerns, earlier, and besides—you were afraid of what you might find. 

And you were right to be. The sex was nice. The aftermath isn’t quite as pretty. 

When Spencer taps on the bathroom door, you’re nervous. 

“You can come in,” you call. 

“You sure? If you want it all to yourself, that’s okay too.”

“No, no. It’s fine.”

The door creaks open, and gently clicks into place again, and fabric rustles as he undresses, and soon the shower curtain is sliding aside and he’s stepping in. Unsurprisingly, the space feels smaller with him in it—but not small in a bad way. It feels warmer. Again you’re awash in that safe feeling, which you didn’t realize you’d been missing so much today. 

“Hi,” he smiles, a teasing sliver of what you know to be the most brilliant light in the world, and stunning like the rest of him as you watch the water begin to darken his hair. 

“Hello.”

His smile flickers briefly wider like you’re his favorite thing and he just can’t contain his joy, and then it’s easing again, giving you a moment to catch your breath. 

“Is it okay if I touch you?”

In this alien context the idea has your heart pounding—you don’t really understand the concept of casual nudity yet, but you know he’ll respect your earlier wishes to keep it chaste and so you nod. 

Spencer doesn’t take you immediately in his arms like you’d expected—instead his hands find a rest at your collarbones and carefully push your wet hair back over your shoulders—but his eyes aren’t cast quite low enough to be indecent. They connect dots over your chest and neck, and he thumbs at one just over your pulse point. 

“Oh, man,” he laughs, and you think you detect a hint of self-deprecation. “That’s… wow, I didn’t realize I… sorry. They don’t hurt, do they?”

It’s your turn to smile as he’s suddenly over-concerned. 

“No, they don’t hurt.”

“Good.” He looks relieved, but it doesn’t last as his eyes trace lower—though you don’t sense any hunger in it. He’s just taking you in. “How about everywhere else?”

“Um… it’s not bad. Kind of, like… I don’t know. Sore. But it’s not bad.”

“Still?” He frowns, clearly unfazed by your evident embarrassment on the subject. You shrug and avert your eyes. 

“It’s fine. it was worse earlier, so.”

That does not have the calming effect you’d intended. 

“Worse? 1-10, how—”

“Spencer, it’s fine, I promise. It’s only when I—when I move certain ways, I notice. Honestly the… blood… was way more disconcerting to me.”

“Yeah, I saw your bed… sorry for ruining your sheets. I’ll buy you new ones.”

You shrug, watching the water run in rivulets down your arm and branch off into tributaries and waterfalls from your fingers. “You don’t have to do that. It was a collaborative effort.”

Normally this conversation would have you melting into an embarrassed puddle, but something about the tile cocoon of the shower, the humid fog, the proximity, feels safe. The white noise of water on porcelain, the warmth. You go to him at the same time as he comes to you—his arms around your waist, yours slung over his shoulders. Your eyes flutter shut. Falling asleep standing up has never seemed so plausible until now. 

He presses a kiss to your head. You sigh. 

“Ugh. I don’t want to deal with washing my hair.”

“I can do it,” Spencer immediately offers. You frown. 

“I was—you don’t have to. I didn’t mean to make it sound like I was asking.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“It’s a process.”

“I understand.”

“You would have to do it exactly how I say.”

“I am willing to learn. I like taking care of you.”

You’re glad for the hot water, then, and as he washes your hair. You’re not sure if you’re crying at the tenderness of his touch, or the way he loves you like you’re easy to love. You’re too tired to explain it. 

He doesn’t push you, because he never pushes you. 

He just washes your hair. 

-

part ten

[sincerity--extreme]

I try to be as respectful as possible with everyone, people are different and they believe in different things and that's no reason to not respect someone obviously but, whenever I see those EXTREMELY religious people turning to someone and saying "oh, but God/Jesus didn't help you because you didn't pray hard enough/cause you didn't believe hard enough" it disgust me SOOOOOO much, the person is already suffering and your choice is to go judge them, shame then for not practicing YOUR religion like you believe it's right, or you can't take them questioning things you believe in, even if they aren't actually talking to you about it, so you tell them it's their fault that they're sick or that a loved one died or that they're going through an extremely hard time and are suffering and, I'm sorry, but that's one of the most fucked up things I've ever seen and that... I just can't deal respectfully with those people as they also don't respect me

[riririnnnn]

More random things in Blue Lock I find endearing:

-> Brothers

LOOK AT THE HAND PLACEMENT OF SAE. JUST LOOK AT IT. LOOK. AT. IT. OHMYGOD I'M GONNA CRY.

Oh god.

It's tough to explain, but to see him supporting Rin's arm instead of the trophy makes me want to punch a wall. It feels like, "Yes, we won this together, Rin." OHMYGOD! AAAAAAAA!!!

-> Hushed wisher

I really don't think we have ever seen Noa coaching any player other than Isagi, so him silently rooting for Kaiser caught me off guard real hard. Of course, it doesn't seem like much of a big deal, but to see that Noa hadn't completely taken his eyes off of Kaiser and that he hadn't completely pulled away his trust from Kaiser hits a certain type of emotion in my heart.

Considering that Kaiser wants to win over Noa too—a fact Noa, probably, knows—makes everything feel a bit.. bittersweet.

-> CHEERS!!

The above panel happened after Shidou scored a goal against Barcha and honestly—

CUTE!!!

I mean, BM was next in line to face PxG—it's probably the reason why they were watching the match live—and they were going to face Shidou which makes them rivals, and yet, when he does something cool, they all go, "WOOHOO! THAT'S COOL!!" instead of worrying or being jealous.

It's called sportsmanship, I guess?

It's sweet.

-> BM's Dad

There's another translation, but I find the above one way better because it's so... soft.

I mean, Noa has always been shown as this cold, emotionless person who inhales and exhales logic, so it was sweet when he tried to reassure Kiyora—when he showed some kind of compassion. It was like, "Hey, Kiddo! It's okay, don't worry, you'll play the next time! Cheer up!"

It also makes it sound like even if Kiyora were not to have the required stats for the next match, then Noa was prepared to against his own ideals and let Kiyora play regardless.

Sweet!

-> Protective

When Nagi got pissed off because Barou's violent behaviour nearly hurt Reo. Like, just look at that stance, he was ready to beat the crap out of Barou if Reo wouldn't have stopped him.

No matter what label you give Nagi and Reo—lovers or friends—you can't deny that they are probably the best thing that happened to eachother.

I really want what they have.

-> "It's their love language"

They barely knew eachother and yet when these two started to brawl, they all intervened immediately—Nanase and Isagi are literally hanging onto them with their dear life. It's tough to explain, but I found the gesture really sweet, like, they didn't know them! They could bash open their skulls—it wouldn't affect them at all and yet, they are trying to stop them!

Adorbs!!

Also, Chigiri was on the other side of the field, I guess. He came running!!! So sweet!

-> First friend

The way Bachira blindly believed in Isagi. Like, he had full trust that Isagi will come and play with him. He never doubted him at all! The healthiest duo of Blue Lock!

Also, look at his duck lips. Cutie.

-> "Welcome to the academy!"

Anybody who has shifted to a completely new place full of completely new people knows how good and relieving it feels when others make an effort to help you feel welcomed.

No idea if those three extra characters got selected in the tryouts or not, but they were nice. If Kaiser would've met them earlier, then they all would've surely been good buddies.

-> Beloved Ace

The way everyone instantly got mad at Shidou when he hurt Sendou—sweet! Also, the fact that they all refused to play if Sendou didn't play makes me giggle.

I adore bonds like these so much.

.

.

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Pt: 1, 2, 3.

Probably the last of this series.

[azrielbrainrot]

I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You - Part 2

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Description: You're back home right when Azriel was starting to lose all hope, but is the person standing in front of him the same who disappeared all those years ago?

Warnings: Angst, mentions of blood, injury

Word Count: 6670

Notes: The original plan wasn't to write more of this story but I had a few ideas of where to take this and decided to turn it into a mini series, don't think it will be longer than 3-4 chapters. Also I don't know if the HoW has cells in the books but it does here and they're normal, not dungeon-y like, and the story is set after acosf but Amren never got turned into fae because I like her better like this. A lot of people liked the first part so I really hope this one doesn't disappoint. I hope you enjoy!

Part 1 ○ Part 3

Azriel was at the townhouse before he even fully realized what was happening. Didn't even give anyone an explanation, simply letting his shadows take him, barely hearing the questioning cries of his name. He didn't need to hear anything else aside from your name to know that's where he should be, his body moved before he even had time to formulate the thought.

Your sweet scent invaded his brain before he even arrived at the house. He'd be able to recognize it anywhere, he'd longed for it for so long after all. Every day when he opened his eyes, he hoped he would wake up to your scent floating around this house as it once did, as it did right now. He's not one to go into anything blindly, to run head first and only think about the consequences later, but this felt like his last chance. The loneliness that had settled deep in his soul had been replaced with hope with one word.

His shadows move to different corners of the room as soon as he's dropped off, leaving him uncharacteristically naked, unguarded. Even the shadows that would form naturally from the faint glow of the moon seemed to move off his face. They wanted him to enjoy this moment in full, this was his and only his.

In truth he barely noticed them leave, too preoccupied with the figure in front of him. He wouldn't have believed it if he wasn't witnessing it with his own eyes. How many times had he been haunted by this exact vision in his dreams? There you were standing in the sitting room, shining like a goddess under the moonlight filtering through the windows. You hadn't changed since the last time he saw you, only had gotten even more mesmerizing if anything.

Your hair was a bit shorter than you usually wore it, the tight pants a contrast to the usual short skirts you preferred. Then there was a scar running across your neck, even with the distance and darkness in the room he could tell it ran from ear to ear. It was a painful reminder of what you've been through, of the night he couldn't protect you. But it meant this was real. You were actually standing in front of him. This was something he had dreamed of many times, almost every night since you've been gone.

He calls your name and it feels amazing. Just the sound of your name leaving his lips, not in mourning or wistfulness but as a greeting, is enough to bring a face splitting grin to his face. Gods, he missed saying your name without almost feeling suffocated by the weight that formed in his chest.

You startle at the sound, seemingly not expecting company at the house. He has no time to study the strange expression on your face though, he needs to touch you first, to feel your skin against his, your warmth against his body, your heart beating behind your ribcage. He needs to make sure this is real and not some cruel dream or hallucination his mind thought up to torment him. He needs you to be really back.

As soon as your eyes meet his form, he clears the distance between you in two hurried steps, but, before he can hug you, he feels your hand reach out to him. He doesn't even have time to realize you're reaching towards his thigh, to Truth Teller. He doesn't know if it was confusion holding him back, the strangeness of the whole act or if he's simply willing to take anything as long as it comes from you, but he makes no movement to stop you from grabbing his knife, allowing you to pierce it through his stomach, never so much as looking away from your beautiful face or even flinching at the blade.

He can feel every inch of the dagger inside him, can feel the blood quickly seeping through his shirt. Still, the pain in his gut can't hold a candle to the relief and joy running through his veins. You're real. The knife went through, so you have to be real. He can clearly hear your heartbeat now as well, it sounds strong aside from how fast it's going.

Azriel reaches a hand out to you again, slower as not to startle you. He can't help the fluttering of his own heart as you finally let him make contact with the softness of your skin. You haven't moved your hands from the knife, your wide eyes staring at your now blood covered hands. He caresses your cheek lovingly and tilts your face up so he can meet your eyes at last.

He can tell something is wrong, as if it hadn't been glaringly obvious by his favorite knife currently stuck in his stomach. Your eyes seem unfocused, a bit panicked, maybe even angry. But he can't bring himself to care in this moment.

He doesn't know if this is your revenge for letting you die, for not finding you, or even if this is what you had wanted out of him from the start, maybe your whole relationship had been a lie. It doesn't matter. He'll gladly die at your hands if that's the fate you chose for him. At least he'd spend his last moments with you, a privilege he didn't think he would have the pleasure of experiencing.

His heart threatens to stop altogether when your eyes meet, it feels like time stopped around him. “You're home, my love,” he breathes out, letting out a soft disbelieving chuckle, “You're finally home.” He raises his other hand to your face, caressing both your cheeks with his scarred thumbs, he almost forgot how soft your skin felt against his rough hands. He's been clutching at faint memories for decades.

His smile falters when his thumb moves down, stroking down your jaw to the column of your throat, where a scar runs across your neck. He watches his thumb following the clean line, his scars had always been awful reminders of what was done to him, it ate at him even five centuries later, but seeing yours hurt even more. You should have never known this kind of pain.

“What?” Your voice was barely a whisper, confusion and fear holding it hostage. He looks back up into your eyes, seeing the same emotions swim in your gaze even more heightened. He didn't like that, you would never have any reason to be scared of him. He goes to tell you as much when he feels power surging into the room.

“Azriel?” Cassian's voice cuts through the moment and he has to close his eyes to keep himself calm. He wanted more time with you, wanted to talk to you before they got here, before they saw the blood but had gotten too distracted. His mind wasn't working properly, his thoughts were all over the place, he wanted nothing more than to hug you but was too aware of how strangely you were acting. He couldn't keep you and his family in check, not with every instinct inside him screaming to just pick you up and winnow you to the other side of the world.

He calls his shadows to him, a desperate attempt at hiding his injury. He knows it's in vain when he feels Rhys let go of the damper on his power, letting the suffocating night fill up the room. You look positively terrified now, he can even smell it mixing in your sweet scent. Letting go of your face, an act that takes more effort than he could imagine, he turns around slowly, trying to be mindful of keeping you covered, protected from his family.

Your hands don't stop holding onto the dagger, as he moves away from you, the force of it is enough to pull it out of his stomach and let the blood run free with no resistance. The pain was getting worse, it didn't look like you hit any vital organs but his healing wasn't fast enough to keep it at bay on its own.

Feyre is the first to move towards him when she sees the blood, but he simply holds up a hand, effectively stopping her in her tracks. Trying to keep a leveled head was proving to be a near impossible task as he saw the anger in everyone's faces, it was directed at you. He holds onto his abdomen, the pain was making itself known.

Seeing Azriel stop his mate from approaching, Rhys walks closer to the shadowsinger himself. His face was a mix of regret and fury as he spoke up. “What happened here, Azriel?” If his mind was in the right place he would have noticed the restraint his brother was showing at seeing him bleeding out in his house, restraint only present because of his own feelings towards you. Unfortunately, Azriel's instincts were winning against logic.

He hears you finally drop Truth Teller behind him, your body must have started listening to you when Rhysand got too close, recognizing him as a threat. He makes the mistake of looking back at the knife, not hearing the snarl that curls his brother's lips in time. Rhys winnows behind him in that moment and you had gotten too close to the window for him to reach you.

“Don't touch her,” he warns Rhys viciously. He doesn't want to think what he was capable of if anyone hurt you again, even if it was his own brother.

He sees you fall to the floor before he registers what happened. His heart almost leaps out of his throat, letting out an anguished cry of your name as he runs to you, pushing his brother out of the way and holding you up from the ground. Searching for a pulse frantically, he finds you were only unconscious. A breath of relief escapes him as he pushes your hair out of your face, it almost brings tears to his eyes. You will be fine. Rhys had only entered your mind to keep you asleep and stop you from escaping. You will wake up. You will not leave him again.

He hugs you closer to him, too focused on making sure you were alright and keeping his breathing leveled to hear what they were saying behind him. He felt as helpless as when he was still a child being subjected to his father's cruelty. It takes him a while before he finally calms himself down enough to hear the argument behind him.

“Let's talk to him first,” Cassian says, the emotion clear in his voice.

“He put up a shield around them,” Rhys was sounding less like a High Lord by the word, “He's not in his right mind.” A shield? He checks the air around them to find that his brother was right, there was a shield around them both, even his shadows had moved to cover them, separating them from the world.

“Neither are any of you,” Nesta's voice cuts through everyone, finally silencing them.

“We already called for Madja,” Feyre uses the silence that settled to speak, “We can get him treated and hold her somewhere until she wakes up.”

“No,” he drops you gently on the ground, letting his shadows cover you, protect you, before turning to face his family.

Feyre hesitates before continuing, seeing something on his face that makes her choose a different approach. He never mentioned being married to her but your name had been brought up before, he knew Rhys had filled her in on what happened, still she couldn't understand what he was feeling. Even he couldn't.

“The cells under the House of Wind are safe. It's just for-”

“You will not put my wife in a cell,” the words came out clipped, slipping through clenched teeth, the shadowsinger was barely holding on to a sense of restraint against his High Lady.

“She stabbed you,” Rhys yells, looking down at the wound in his brother's torso, thankfully already starting to heal, “it doesn't matter that she used to be your wife.” The growl Azriel lets out at his brother is nothing short of vicious, a feral and lethal thing rising straight from the center of his being.

“She is still my wife,” Azriel says behind a snarl, “And you will not hurt her.” Even if it was in the clean cells of the House of Wind, he could never bear to see you caged. He was ready to go to any lengths necessary to make sure of that. If helping you escape the Night Court was what it took he knew of a few ways not to get caught.

He could see Rhys' shoulders tense up, his own face morphing to match Azriel's fury. He didn't know if his mental shields were down or if his intentions were just uncharacteristically clear on his face but he was sure that his brother knew what Azriel - his spymaster - was thinking.

“She can stay in one of the rooms up in the House,” Cassian offers quickly, trying to settle the rising tension between his brothers, “She can't winnow out because of the wards and we can watch her until she wakes up.” Deep down he knows they don't want to hurt you either, that they're only worried but it's difficult to pay attention to the voice of reason within him during this whole situation. His greatest wish had just been answered. So why does everything seem to be falling apart with it?

Mor winnows in with Madja before he can give them a response which is a good thing because anything he could come up with would probably only put you and him in a more precarious situation. There were too many emotions warring inside him, the same going around almost everyone in the room if only more intense. The healer's presence seems to dissipate most of the tension automatically as Rhys even turns to look out the window and allows his mate to hold onto his hand, probably telling him soothing words in his mind.

Madja moves to Azriel with no hesitation, only stopping briefly when she senses the shield. She merely gives him a look before he drops it so she can reach him. He knows she wouldn't hurt you, knows he needs the wound in his stomach taken care of so he can focus on you, think about what to do when you wake up.

“You need to sit down so I can treat you,” she tells him while inspecting the wound.

“I will not leave her.”

“You can trust her with us, Az,” Mor tries to reassure him, but with the way the last minutes have played out he wasn't trusting you with them, or anyone else for that matter. He'd just gotten you back, no way is he letting you out of his sight for a second, he could bleed out for all he cares.

Suddenly, he sees Nesta walk to the table and grab a chair through his peripheral. She appears to be mumbling something to herself but he can't quite hear her to understand. She walks to him and drops the chair in her hands on his right, before giving him a narrow eyed look and returning to her mate's side.

He's not sure how much she knows of the situation. The three sisters probably all know by now that he used to be married but none of them has mentioned you to him, warned by whoever told them of the consequences of doing it.

He sits on the chair and lets Madja work on him. The wound wasn't too bad, even if he didn't have access to a healer it would close in a short time. You stabbed it cleanly through, just like he'd taught you. If he hadn't been the practice dummy he might praise you for it. By the Mother, he thinks he still might. He wonders if you'll grace him with a bright smile and flushed cheeks for it like you used to.

Azriel looks over to your sleeping form under the moonlight. He's calming down enough that he's starting to feel the uncertainty bubbling inside him. Truth Teller still laid on the floor beside you, covered in his blood just as your hands were.

“Is she…” What did he want to ask? Is it really her? How did she survive? There was so much blood on the ground that night. He didn't need to be a healer to know it was too much for someone to survive with no immediate help and an absurd amount of luck. “Is it really her?” He whispered the question, not bearing to look away from you as he does.

“You know that better than me,” the healer answers calmly. He can sense some emotion in her voice. You had asked her to make tonics to help him sleep and relax many times, to teach you basic healing and how to put on bandages to help him when he was too stubborn and not gravely injured enough to go see the healer. She probably missed you as well. “She's healthy.”

He feels a rush of relief at the words. You're healthy. The confirmation allows him to relax further. Finally looking away from you to see part of his family still watching the scene before them. He knows they too were thinking about the blood, the sleepless nights they spent searching for any sign of you. His eyes meet Rhys' briefly, knowing they'll need to talk about what happened.

He closes his eyes and leans his head back, letting out a soft sigh. You're back. He never thought he'd see you again but you're right here next to him. You're not a dream or a hallucination. You're healthy. The thought almost brings a smile to his lips despite the situation. Anything else can be dealt with now that you're by his side again.

“Are you sure you don't need to rest, Az?” He looks up from the familiar ring, still twisting it around his finger. It felt right putting it back on, he was almost giddy at the sight of the silver in his finger, but it also left him with immense guilt eating at him for taking it off in the first place. He studies Nesta's face for a second, giving up on trying to decipher what she was thinking in favor of looking back at you.

When everyone calmed down enough and Azriel was treated, it had been decided that you couldn't be left alone even in the room, they needed someone to keep an eye on you. It had also been quickly added that Azriel wasn't enough, his brother had seen right through him, he knew Azriel wouldn't try to stop you from killing him or trying to escape if you put your mind to it.

Cassian and Mor refused to stand watch unless it was truly necessary. He knows they wouldn't want to be put in a position where they had to stop you, knew they would not only feel guilty for hurting you but also wouldn't forgive themselves for hurting Azriel.

Even Rhysand, used to the weight and impartiality of the High Lord's title, looked hesitant in keeping him company, he had already forcefully invaded your mind to take your consciousness away, something he had vowed never to do to his friend. He could definitely stop you both from any of the worse case scenarios but at a cost he couldn't bear to pay.

That had left him with the two trained Archeron sisters and Amren. They set shifts to make sure Azriel was never left alone with you, he thinks they might not even trust him not to take you away from the room himself and help you escape. He can't really be sure himself if he wouldn't do exactly that if you asked. He'd follow you to the end of the world and beyond just to hear you call his name one more time.

“The wound is healed,” he whispers, keenly aware of your sleeping form, a habit that came to him naturally after seeing you. You always liked to sleep in and waking you up before your time was close to a death sentence.

“That's not what I meant.” Nesta walks closer to the chair beside your bed, the one he hasn't gotten up from since tucking you into the bed carefully. She placed a hand on his shoulder and studied you for a moment, something she's been doing since her shift started. “She stabbed you,” she says in an usually hesitant tone coming from her, “Are you sure it's her?”

“I would sooner forget my own name than mistake my wife for someone else,” the words came out clipped even with him trying to hold back his anger. It wasn't her fault for being suspicious, Nesta never got the chance to meet you, barely even heard about Azriel's marriage. She just wants to protect him, protect her friend.

“Why would she hurt you then?”

“Maybe it's my punishment,” the words leave him before he can think them through. It doesn't matter anyway, they all saw the state he was in at the townhouse. No point hiding now.

“Punishment?” She took a step back from the chair to be able to face him, her perplexed face coming into view. “You didn't do anything wrong.” The notion was almost laughable. Azriel had done plenty wrong in his life.

“I didn't find her,” he whispers, facing away from his friend in favor of watching you, “She's been out there for almost a century, on her own,” he clenched his fists at the thought, “and I didn't find her.”

“I know you looked for her as best as you could. I know you all did.” And what good did his best do?

“You don't understand, Nesta,” he says as he looks down at the ring once again, closing his eyes briefly at the burn he felt in his head. He didn't want to talk about this anymore, didn't want to explain his feelings to any of them.

“I do,” she starts, “If something happened-”

“If,” he cringes at how he raised his voice, immediately looking over to your sleeping form to make sure he didn't disturb you, and then added more quietly, with the same conviction in his tone, “If something happened to Cassian you would understand. But it hasn't and so you don't.”

Nesta lets out a defeated sigh, moving back to her original seat by the window, patting his shoulder comfortingly on her way. His eyes are focused on you once more and he has no intention of letting them stray until you wake up, and long after you do.

⋆｡°✩°｡⋆

You wake up slowly, your mind aware of your near consciousness before your body can follow. It feels like you've never been this deeply asleep, even the dreams that usually haunt you were quiet. Perhaps that's why it takes you so long to remember your current situation, it could also be the strangeness of it. You keep your eyes closed as your body and mind slowly come to.

You didn't expect to be lying on a bed, an unbelievably soft bed at that, after being caught stealing from the High Lord's home and then stabbing someone from his so-called Inner Circle. You're not sure when you lost consciousness but, in the split second the High Lord stood in front of you, you were more than certain you wouldn't be able to escape death again.

The sun is high in the sky, meaning you failed your mission, not only because you had been caught but also for not getting to the meeting point on time. Whether at the hands of your captors or your employers you were already as good as dead. The thought has heat burning behind your eyelids and your throat threatening to close up.

You don't even know what happened. This whole mission had seemed above your expertise from the start. You had never been sent on a mission to Prythian and the fact that you were sent to steal from a High Lord's home, the strongest in history at that, had sowed doubts inside you from the moment you heard about your mission from your handler. That and the sinking feeling in your gut as you listened to their descriptions of the city and people working for the High Lord. Every cell on your body was trying to reject this idea.

Deciding to trust your gut, you even brought up your doubts to your superiors, going as far as asking why you were being sent to retrieve some book when there are other fae more experienced in working there. There wasn't even any time to study the place or come up with escape routes. You had never been sent into any mission like this. Your worries had been quickly dismissed. They seemed completely convinced you wouldn't be caught, that you were the only member capable of this job.

Sneaking into the city had been simple enough, there seemed to be some celebration happening since so many fae were drinking and dancing around bars and even on the street. Your uneasiness only got worse as you walked through the streets. Something was wrong, every single one of your instincts was screaming at you, but you couldn't figure out why.

You walked to an alley close to the High Lord's house and surveyed the perimeter, making sure your intel was correct and the house was truly empty. After postponing the inevitable long enough, you took a deep breath and winnowed straight into the house, and, just like your handler told you, there were no wards or shields stopping you from entering. You thought this was peculiar for a High Lord but many powerful fae think themselves invincible to the point of arrogance and at the sacrifice of their own safety.

As you walked quietly through the hallway, your feet seemed to have a mind of their own, carrying you into a big room with sofas and a fireplace instead of the office you were supposed to be already searching through. You had the same feeling of deja vu as when you were walking through the illuminated streets before, something about the portraits on the walls and the peculiar chairs had your heart sputtering in your chest. It was an intricate design but you could swear you'd never seen anything like them before.

You moved closer to the window, far enough that no one could see you through it, and looked down at the city once more. Taking in the lights, the colorful houses and the fae cheerfully walking around the streets despite the late hour. There is no place like this in Montesere, not even close, so you don't understand how you could be confusing it, you really feel like you've been here before. Everything down to the names of the stores and smells wafting through the air look strangely familiar.

As you got lost in your thoughts, you had completely forgot about your mission. Letting your guard down, enough so that you didn't hear or feel anyone's presence in the same room until you heard them call out someone's name. The sound had goosebumps traveling through your entire body, your breath getting stuck in your throat. What scared you the most wasn't even the fact that you had just been caught but that voice, that name, almost brought tears to your eyes.

You stood frozen for a moment before turning around slowly and your entire body went still at what you saw. The male in front of you was the same one that haunted your dreams ever since you could remember, you would recognize that figure, those wings, those eyes anywhere.

You almost doubted you were awake at all but when he moved closer to you, standing in front of you before you could even blink, your body moved to protect yourself on instinct, to do as you had been taught at the guild. Your movements were a lot slower than usual, almost like something inside you was trying to stop you from hurting him but you had still managed to grab the long knife strapped to his thigh and stab it through his stomach in one clean movement.

The knife went in smoothly and he simply took it without trying to stop you or even letting out a sound. You've taken countless times before, killing was part of your life, of your job, but watching his blood run and coat your hands had made you feel incredibly guilty. You couldn't move, couldn't even let go of the knife.

When his hand reached to touch your face - a movement you didn't even register until his rough skin came in contact with your cheek - your wild eyes had met his and, suddenly, it felt like the world was spinning. The bright hazel was so familiar you could cry. He'd been starring in your dreams for so long but you'd never seen him quite this close. As you slowly let your mind catch up to you, you noticed he was smiling.

“You're home, my love,” he whispered softly. Your heart had felt like it was going to beat out of your chest at that point. You were missing something, a piece of information that felt like it was swimming right on the edge of your brain, but you couldn't quite reach it. His hands had both moved to cup your face by the time you found your voice.

“What?” What is going on? Who are you? Why do I feel like I know you? Why is your touch so familiar? My love? Your brain was filled with questions but you couldn't even find it in you to ask them. Couldn't look away from his eyes, the former joy seen in them giving way to something else.

“Azriel?” Both of you had tensed at the voice behind him. It seems he didn't hear anyone else arrive either, too caught up in each other and whatever mysterious tension was tying you together.

Your hands had tightened around the dagger on instinct, you could feel the power rippling through the room. You should have ran away while it was only him, he had let you stab him so maybe he would let you run away as well. But, as night incarnate filled the room, you knew every chance you had at an escape was lost.

The rest of the events were a blur, one moment you were watching more and more people winnow into the room, sending your heart further into disarray, and the next the High Lord himself stood in front of you with fury and what looked like disappointment etching his features, and then everything went dark.

As your memories from the night before fade, you become more aware of your surroundings. You could hear two separate breaths close to you, could smell two distinct scents, you suppose it was lucky enough that they had let you sleep on a bed, it's only natural they'd have someone keeping watch.

If they'd been watching you this whole time they would have to know you were awake by now, so you open your eyes slowly, blinking a few times to adjust to the brightness in the room. You study the intricate gold designs on the dark navy ceiling. Why did even the ceiling seem familiar? It feels like you are losing your mind.

Your head turns to the nightstand, where a cup of water sat over a flower shaped lace coaster. You almost gulped at the sight of it, your throat was so dry you weren't sure you could speak, but you were in a stranger's house, one you had tried to rob the night before, there had to be a catch somewhere and you didn't want to end at the cruel hands of poison.

Two pairs of eyes burned into you, and since you're not going to drink anyway, you decide that there's no delaying this confrontation any more. You turn to look at them, not surprised at finding the winged male sitting close to your bed, but he was accompanied by someone else, something else.

You sit up in bed slowly, not wanting to appear as a threat and startle them into thinking you had intentions of escaping or attacking you. You really didn't know why they hadn't just dumped you in a dark dungeon - you heard about their less than kind reputation before coming here - but you wanted to keep in their good graces if you could help it. They're probably keeping you to know more about who sent you, shame you can't tell them anything, maybe they'd even let you go if you could.

When you sit up against the headboard, your eyes meet the male's immediately, as if you were called to do it. Some of the same emotions you had seen last night were still shining in his eyes, but today there was so much more, so much so that you couldn't even begin to pick them apart even with the difference of a calm mind.

Your captors don't move so you take the moment to study the male before you. He always showed up covered in shadows in your dreams, you had barely caught glimpses of his face in the almost century of seeing him. Which was a real shame if you dared to admit it. He has an exceptionally beautiful face, the sun filtering through the window was giving his tan skin an ethereal glow, his eyes shine brightly, allowing you to make up the different tones of green and brown within them. His hair was stark black, curling slightly at the ends.

You had noticed the large wings that stood at his back the first time you'd seen him. You've never met any species of fae with wings but his were definitely peculiar. You always thought they were black but, with the brightness in the room and his shadows away, you can see they lean more to a crimson and gray-ish color. Trailing down to his torso, you notice that there doesn't seem to be any blood or sign of injury. He had already gotten healed then. For some reason, your heart calms at that and you try telling yourself it's because it might lessen the trouble you got in.

A shadow moves across him to reach up into his ear, almost like it was whispering something to him. You knew the Night Court's Spymaster was a shadowsinger, the only of its kind, but you didn't know what his shadows could do, what they could see and tell him. The hair on the back of your neck raises as his eyes watch you intently while listening to his shadow's words. They had to be talking about you. Could they read through your thoughts?

“Leave us alone, Amren.” Your eyes finally stray from the male when you hear her name, finally taking in the short creature behind him, and you almost regret it when her bright silver eyes meet yours. She was nothing short of terrifying, you think even the older assassins in the guild would feel unnerved under her gaze. You weren't even sure what she actually was but it had to be something other, something ancient and powerful. She seems displeased at the look you give her, though you doubt she's unacquainted with seeing fear on people's faces, or bothered by it.

Amren narrows her eyes slightly before looking at the male. She studies him with an intensity that could make most fae run for their lives, makes you consider it, but the male doesn't seem to care, his eyes never leaving yours. “I hope you know what you're doing, boy.” She walks out of the room with no hesitation, leaving you alone with the male that walks your dreams once again.

You stare into each other's eyes for what feels like an eternity. Neither of you seem to find the right words. You know why you're having trouble finding them. Between getting caught stealing in his house and the turmoil going on inside you, you're surprised you've been managing to keep your composure at all. But you can't understand why he'd be in the same position as you. Could he also be haunted by dreams of you the same way you were of him?

Leaning forward in his chair, he says the same name you heard last night, the one who made your heart tighten painfully in your chest. You had been too confused and scared last night to even consider it but now you can clearly see he's using it to call you. He seems to think that's your name.

“That's not my name,” you manage through your dry throat, the words coming out so rough and low that you're sure he wouldn't have heard you if it weren't for the quiet in the room. Your answer seems to hurt him, his face drops, the sunlight that was shining through his skin seems to vanish, and you see his wings tighten behind him. Your own body seems to respond to it. You want to make him feel better but you don't know how or why.

He nods almost imperceptibly, as if accepting a fact he was unwilling to, and rises up from the chair, tensing slightly when you press yourself further into the headboard. He seems to try to ignore it as he moves to the nightstand, picking up the glass and handing it to you.

You eye the glass sitting in his brutally scarred hands, momentarily wondering what could have done such a thing if he healed up from a stab wound in mere hours. He senses your hesitation but simply holds it closer to you. You look up to meet his eyes again.

“It's not poisoned,” he offers, “I promise.” You're not entirely sure why but you trust him, or maybe you were just in desperate need of water, reaching up to take the glass from him and almost drinking it in one go. He seems at least pleased enough with this, moving back to sit in his chair. As you observe his movements, you almost miss the way the glass refills on its own. You blink at it, deciding it's not worth considering, and take another slow sip.

Since he doesn't start asking you questions, apparently content enough with watching you drink, and you start to get unusually shy under his intense gaze, you start asking them yourself, seeing this as your chance to know the male of your dreams.

“What's your name?” You play with the glass as you ask, trying to appear nonchalant despite your perilous situation and the tension between you.

“Azriel,” his deep voice cuts through the silence. You repeat it, goosebumps spreading over your body at the act. Nothing is making sense anymore but his name feels right on your tongue.

You say it one more time, letting it linger in your mind. There is something inside you trying to claw its way out at the sound. You can feel it now, can feel how wrong it feels, how wrong you feel. There was a growing pressure inside your head. You let go of the glass and watch it vanish into thin air before it has the chance to make contact with the covers.

The sensation that you've forgotten something really important is back. You look up at the male one more time, seeing he has moved closer to you and noting the worry in his gaze. He wasn't supposed to be worried about you, he's a stranger and you had just stabbed him a few hours ago. So why does it feel right for him to care? Tears line your eyelids, your hands shaking slightly at the strange feelings building inside you.

“I don't know you,” you whisper, more to yourself than him, “I feel like I should.”

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[sorryimananti-romantic]

The Leaders | Chapter III

"this is the underworld that no one escapes from."

masterlist

ot8!ateez x f!reader, mafia au

chapter warnings: drinking, illegal businesses, mentions of violence, war/military and weapons, the designated assholes be warming up now, yunho is trying his utmost best to confuse tf out of you.

chapter wc: 11.8k

chapter synopsis: yunho verifies with kihyun that secretary park is not the man for their new deal and hongjoong makes the connection, finding out who your father is. no longer having to hide your identity, you candidly discuss what you know about the strictland nuclear base and who might be involved other than secretary park. you save yunho from an attack which shifts your relationship with him. overwhelmed, you find yeosang at the crescent bar who hears you out and comforts you.

prev chapter recap: you learn more about the crescent’s past– as ateez, the gang, and their accomplishments in the war that earned them respect. while you get familiar with your job at the main office, you meet the young informant jaemin who refers to the boss as ‘the captain’. seonghwa continues to question your background but you only warn him to be careful making deals with secretary park. you finally meet the boss hongjoong who barely acknowledges you, and you complain about the recent events to san at the bar who assures you that your new bosses are just human if you look past their big, scary titles. convinced, you make a decision and warn the bosses directly to not make the deal with secretary park and reveal his connection with strictland. however, they have trouble taking your word for it and hongjoong reminds you that you are just a bookkeeper, though he instructs yunho and seonghwa to look into your connection with secretary park.

You had never dreaded a shift as much as you were dreading the night shift the day after Kim Hongjoong showed you your place by reminding you that you were just a bookkeeper. His words still rang in your head over and over, asserting that you were no one of importance. 

“You have a lot of audacity to come in here and make claims about a business you are not a part of, and people you don’t know enough about. Possessing such audacity is what almost cost you your life that night, and what is tempting me to retract the deal my partners made behind my back.”

Hongjoong had made it clear that he wanted you to stop interfering in their deals and it was honestly a surprise that the man didn’t shoot you in the head last night. He wasn’t known to be merciful, so you had probably used up a good bit of your luck considering how you weren’t fired from your job. If he was going to keep you still, he would definitely be digging into your past and you were preparing yourself to deal with the consequences of your actions. If they found out that you were Secretary Park’s daughter and told him about what you said… you would be in huge, huge trouble.

You should not have blindly trusted the Crescents. If they were just a mere business organisation, maybe they would have believed you but they were Ateez too– a gang who clawed their way up, fighting tooth and nail for a place in this world which they eventually and rightfully earned. Yeosang and San may have told you that the Crescents were good people at heart but Kihyun was also right– they were children of war, and they could fight their own battles. They did not need a mere bookkeeper with a shady past to help them out and save them from deals that could go wrong in the future.

In the midst of this hopelessness, the feelings of guilt over keeping state secrets to yourself were eating you up. You wished you could share those secrets with someone who actually cared for their land rather than wielding that secret like a threat to satisfy their selfish desires. What you carried with yourself was a burden too heavy for your shoulders and you didn’t know how long you could last before you would get crushed under it. Perhaps, what drove you mad was the fact that no one could be trusted. You had no idea who was involved in that sick scheme– it could be anyone. 

No one would take your word for it. You had been at the wrong place, at the wrong time, hearing something that should have never passed anywhere near your ears. You saw your father engage in discussion with a man that you did not recognise, but what you heard was enough to make you lose your footing and trip on the ground with a loud thud, unable to function properly because of the gravity of those words.

Your father discovered you eavesdropping on him and that was when things took an ugly turn for you. If Kihyun hadn’t been present in another room, waiting for your father at that time, there would have been no one to stop the man from trying to wring the truth out of his own daughter in the most despicable, threatening manner. You would have met a fate much worse than him wiping your name off the family registers and sending you to Wonderland. 

You shivered involuntarily at the thought, glad you were alone in the office and no one had noticed you staring into the distance and picking on the skin near your nails. The words you had heard years ago replayed in your head, the memory as clear as day even after all this time, refusing to be forgotten.

“Halaland knew we had joined hands with Strictland’s nuclear operation officials so they did what they had to protect themselves.”

Strictland was a piece of land that had always been a part of Halaland, but had also always fought for independence. For a good few decades now, it had earned itself the status of an occupied nation under Halaland’s military control. It was always a sensitive matter, for Strictland was home to a nuclear base that had once been functional but long since shut down on the basis of the amended international peace laws that made sure that no country on this continent created or owned nuclear weapons. So why was there talk about Strictland’s nuclear operation officials going on if the base was supposed to be shut for a good thirty years now? And most importantly–

What exactly did Halaland do to protect itself? Was it the long, bloody war that lasted four years during President Son’s second presidential term, beginning from 1958? The war was triggered by bombing in Halaland near Strictland, and Halaland had accused Eden and sent forces soon after. The war came to a sudden end after President Son proposed the Treaty of the Eight Hills, ensuring peace. Post-treaty, things with Halaland were strained, sure, but nothing has been amiss so far. 

Strictland’s nuclear base could not be active and not cause a stir in the continent, so why did it seem like something was happening under wraps? Could the base be functional and be the reason why Halaland refused to grant Strictland the status of an independent nation? 

And just who was aware of this information? Your father was a secretary to Mr. Lee Jinwook who was just an assemblyman at that time. Today, he was the current president of Eden with your father still as his secretary. Was there a chance that President Lee knew what your father was up to? 

“Luna?”

You looked up to find Yunho, of all the people, standing not too far, leaning against the wall. His watchful gaze travelled from your zoned-out eyes to the marred skin on your thumb, taking notice of all the picking that you had been doing while thinking.

“Are you… alright?”

“Sorry, I’m alright, I was just… thinking,” you said, straightening and arranging your desk. “How can I help you, Mr. Jeong?”

Yunho frowned at your very formal tone, waiting for you to say something but you kept a straight face. “I just… saw you zoning out and called to make sure that you were alright.”

Oh. You licked your lips, looking at your thumb– yikes. “Thank you, Mr. Jeong. I was just taking a little breather. I will get back to work now.”

“That’s not why I–” Yunho began but paused when you picked up a page and started scribbling on it. You were ignoring him on purpose. You were being professional, he thought, probably a bit hurt by how Hongjoong had dealt with you last night. He had heard about it, but he wished he could tell you that they did take your words into consideration.

However, you would probably learn from Hongjoong and Seonghwa themselves after they would be back from their meeting with Secretary Park– which would be in about an hour. Yunho sighed deeply and went back to his room, shutting the door with a bit of an unintentional slam. He sagged into the chair, rubbing his face.

Maybe he should have told you that he called your name twice before you answered. He would have been on his way unnoticed by you but he caught you staring intently into the distance and thought something was wrong. 

He had just come back to the office after meeting with Hongjoong and Seonghwa and telling them about his meeting with Kihyun earlier in the morning, where he finally briefed him about the potential deal with Secretary Park as someone who would fund their project and approve the launch of their new drug in the pharmaworld. 

“That man is not a good choice, Yunho.” Kihyun said with an adamant shake after Yunho finished telling him the details.

“Why?” Yunho asked. “He is going to become the next Minister of Health. I can’t think of a better choice.”

“People are not all that they seem to be, as you must know by now,” Kihyun spun the pen between his fingers as he said. “Secretary Park… he treads a dangerous path. If you involve yourself with him now, he will take what you have to offer, wring you dry and abolish any remains of your business. As someone who has been acquainted with him in the past, can’t you take my word for it?”

Yunho believed Kihyun– he was one of his closest friends and his gang had helped Ateez become who they were today. So, he decided to ask something a bit personal instead.

“Jeon y/n… she warned us about Secretary Park. She said he is conspiring with Strictland officials to do something illegal and immoral. She offered better options like ex-president Mr. Son or Assemblyman Kim Jooheon.”

“You know,” Kihyun chuckled at that. “She has a knack for these things, she does. And what she has to offer to you is credible, if you can believe it. It’s only a shame that we’re close to retiring and aren’t as ambitious as you, otherwise we would have kept her all to ourselves.”

Somehow, Yunho felt both pride and jealousy to hear that. Pride that you were a part of the Crescents, and jealousy because Kihyun knew you better than he did.

“Who is she really, Kihyun? And why is she helping us?”

“Didn’t she tell you already?” Kihyun smiled in answer. “She only wants you to help her and when it’s time, she’ll use the power you have to take her revenge.”

Unfinished business. Yunho recalled what you had said that night when you made a deal with them for your life. 

“I’ll only ask this of you, Yunho,” Kihyun’s smile fell and he leaned forward. “A favour, if you want to call it that, but… don’t hurt her. Protect her. Use her if you have to– she has a lot to offer, and she is well-educated and sharp. She possesses information that could shake not only Eden but the entire continent. She can help you navigate through the dark waters of the underworld. You’ll only have to trust her a little and allow her to trust you back.”

Those words stuck with Yunho for the next hour until the boss and the underboss arrived back from the meeting with Secretary Park. The room filled with silence and palpable tension as Hongjoong and Seonghwa settled down on the sofas, each absently staring at the ceiling or the plant that was in dire need of watering.

“Well?” Yunho decided one minute was enough for them to sort their thoughts out. “Did you end up shaking hands with Secretary Park?”

“Of course not,” Hongjoong took a deep breath. “Not after what Kihyun had to say about our little bookkeeper.”

“Her name’s Luna,” Yunho scoffed at the term Hongjoong kept using to address you and Hongjoong grinned at Yunho’s immediate correction. “It’s just funny that you refuse to say her name when you literally address everyone by their surnames. You don’t even call her Jeon.”

“She’s not even a Jeon,” Seonghwa sighed. “I contacted the RV spies today– Wendy. She refuses to talk about her and told me to save my time and not look for her family. Do you know what that means?”

“That that is exactly what we need to find out?” Hongjoong quipped.

“That her family must be someone influential in Eden. Considering what she knows… she sounds like an insider. A citizen of Edenary, if I have to make a wild guess because no one from the eight sectors could have possessed so much information only to hide in the shadows.”

“Or that,” Hongjoong scoffed, agreeing with Seonghwa. “If she really is from Edenary, she would have either worked there long enough to know these things or… she has family there.”

“I can’t find any information on her– no one in Sector 1 knows her from before 1966, when she came back from Wonderland,” Seonghwa said. “And Secretary Park reacted strangely when we mentioned that we’re reluctant to make a deal with him because of his connection with foreigners.”

“How so?” Yunho asked.

“He wasn’t fazed at all. It was as if he saw it coming, which can only mean one thing…”

The heavy implications of what Seonghwa said filled the room as the three struggled to make sense of it. 

“Is there a chance Secretary Park didn’t react because he didn’t know what you were talking about?” Yunho asked cautiously, willing to entertain every possibility right now.

“No,” Hongjoong said, sure about this. “The look in his eyes wasn’t of surprise, it was more of an acceptance. That can only mean that he knew that there was a chance we would be aware of his dealing with Strictland. He can’t have gone and told every other person that he was involved with Strictland, right?”

“Which means he somehow knows that Luna is aware of this knowledge, or he personally knows her– isn’t Kihyun acquainted with Secretary Park? And he refuses to talk about her too?” Seonghwa asked.

Yunho nodded. “And you’re saying the RV spies refused to reveal her identity?”

“Then we have no choice but to ask her,” Hongjoong clapped his hands in conclusion. “Call her.”

“Are you sure?” Seonghwa straightened. “You made it pretty clear last night that she should just stick to her desk.”

“You know that was necessary,” Hongjoong folded his arms. “Things have changed now.”

Yunho got up slowly, footsteps heavy with thought. “I’ll call her inside, but can you both let me do the talking this time?”

While Hongjoong looked surprised, Seonghwa merely smiled knowingly. “Don’t tell me you’ve already taken a liking to her, Yunho.”

Yunho rolled his eyes in amusement before walking outside. Hongjoong looked at Seonghwa in disbelief. “He didn’t deny it. What have you all been doing with her behind my back?”

“Nothing,” Seonghwa chuckled. “But the boys seemed to have taken a liking for our bookkeeper.”

“And you?” Hongjoong cocked his head in curiosity but Seonghwa’s smile revealed nothing to him. Even after all these years, Hongjoong wondered how Seonghwa could hide his feelings from him when he wanted to. Even when he was the one who knew Seonghwa the best.

“Let’s talk about it later,” Seonghwa promised in a whisper.

You entered the room behind Yunho, preparing yourself for whatever was about to happen– for once, you have no idea what. Yunho had been pretty calm when he told you that the boss would like to see you, even waiting for you to follow him which you thought was a bit odd. You greeted the men with a ‘good evening’ and the boss motioned for you to sit next to Seonghwa. It was oddly relieving to have him by your side.

Hongjoong was about to say something but Yunho rested a hand on his thigh, making him pause and relax back instead. You noted the little exchange– it was strange to see the boss submit under someone who was third-in-command. Yunho looked at you, offering a small smile before starting.

“We did not sign the deal with Secretary Park. We only mentioned that we intended to keep our business out of the spotlight for now and it would not be beneficial for us to involve ourselves with someone who was dealing with foreigners.”

You exhaled deeply after hearing that– a bit in relief and a bit in grim acceptance. “Thank you for letting me know.”

“We also noted that he didn’t react when we told him our reasons. Secretary Park… you know him personally, don’t you?”

This time, you chose not to run your mouth, opting for silence. Yunho played with the silver button of his black form-fitting waistcoat, and you fixated your gaze over the silver ring that he wore on his index finger with infinity signs, a ring that all of Ateez wore. They seemed to have a lot of staple jewellery and accessories, like the gold pocket watch the boss had on him at all times, even tonight in his dark brown three-piece. 

“I met with Kihyun today, Luna,” Yunho continued and your eyes widened a little– whatever did Kihyun say? “He’s one of our mentors and I take his words seriously. He confirmed Secretary Park was not the man to make such a deal with, and he also said that you had a lot to offer.”

You stifled a smile at that. “What is this really about, Mr. Jeong?”

“Secretary Park… you’re acquainted or even related to him in some way, aren’t you?”

Your smile visibly fell which didn’t go unnoticed. This time, Seonghwa shifted closer, keeping a respectable distance from you as he said, “We’re willing to trust you and involve you in future business dealings if you’re willing to share some information that we should be aware of, before we make this deal with you.”

“I appreciate your kind offer, but I really am only a bookkeeper,” you said, an intentional jab towards the boss himself. 

Hongjoong poked his tongue inside his cheek, clearly amused at your challenge. Did you want him to beg? To say please?

“You are also a part of Crescent now, and that means you’re not just a bookkeeper, like Hongjoong might have said last night,” Yunho insisted. “We could find out what your relationship with Secretary Park is through other means but we decided to ask you instead.”

“Then use your other means,” you said with immense effort, tired of this little game. “I belong to the shadows and I will remain there.”

You got up to leave, straightening your maroon skirt. You only took a few steps when you heard the boss’ voice. 

“You don’t happen to be the illegitimate daughter of Secretary Park, eh? The one he liked to pretend was his niece instead?”

You didn’t simply stop in your tracks but every muscle in your body tensed. With dread creeping through your nerves, you turned to look at the boss, finding the others equally as surprised at his deduction. Hongjoong’s smirk widened and his eyes gleamed dangerously at the fear in your eyes. 

He got up, approaching you slowly. “I’ve been to his house only once, towards the end of the war. Year 1962. He was looking for workers and I was only a colonel at that time, yet to be honoured. I saw his family portrait– he has a son that looks just like him. And then I saw a glimpse of a girl who was looking for her father. Upon asking a servant if the man had other children, they let me know that she was his illegitimate daughter and he pretended that she was his niece.”

Hongjoong noted the way that you gulped and your eyes darted among the three men as if gauging their reactions and trying to find a way out. He continued. 

“They said it was understandable because other than the fact that illegitimate kids aren’t treated with respect around here, he was a striving politician and she would only hinder his career. I didn’t realise the little bird left its cage, though…”

“I– I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” you tried but he shook his head.

“We’re going to find one way or another. It’s better if we just hear it from you so we can move on and address the more important matters… Luna.”

You looked at the boss– while he didn’t tower over you like Yunho did, he certainly was more intimidating. His gaze was sharper, his stance more confident and almost bordering on arrogance and his presence was consuming, almost luring.

You could not win.

“Alright, fine,” you gave in, walking back to your seat next to Seonghwa who looked thoroughly amused even though he tried not to appear so. “Yes. I am his daughter– illegitimate daughter. Don’t ask me who the mother is– I don’t know.”

Yunho sucked in his breath in disbelief. “Is that who you’re so scared of?”

“Not just him,” you shook your head. “There are other forces at play. He was just a pharmaceutical business owner at that time– he could not have dealt with Strictland on his own.”

Seonghwa agreed. “Is there anyone you suspect?”

“I don’t know. President Lee seems like the likelier suspect but he’s far too clean for that, which is a bit suspicious. It could be anyone from Eden Hall– another assemblyman or some existing minister or cabinet members. All I know is that what they’re doing is very dangerous. I know more, but I really need to confirm a few things before I can confide in you.”

“Well,” Hongjoong shifted his weight on one leg, thinking. “This certainly changes things. I still need to check a few things about you,” he looked pointedly at you, “but you can continue your bookkeeping duties for now. I’ll see what I’ll do with you later.” 

“If you feel like you should share a warning with us at any time, since you know exactly what deals we make on a daily business,” Seonghwa said, his tone unexpectedly warm, “you can let us know. If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t have asked for Kihyun’s opinion and proceeded with the deal and suffered damage. We owe you one.”

“That’s alright,” you said but he shook his head, insistent. “Can you just keep this a secret? As you must realise now, Secretary Park has gone to great lengths to hide my identity from the world. The fact that he even let me come back to Eden… he might be regretting it now. I can only warn you that he might try to attack me in the future which means someone else could get hurt too.”

“That’s unfortunate. Thank you for letting us know,” Hongjoong gave you a nod and you felt almost reassured. You looked at Yunho who was simply watching you with eyes full of curiosity.

“I’ll go back to the desk now and finish compiling today’s reports,” you said. 

“Great, you can leave them with Yunho later,” Seonghwa said. “I have somewhere to be with Hongjoong. Let’s go.”

You had half an hour to complete that report and you came back to that room, knocking before entering. Yunho was still where he sat before and you discussed the report with him before getting up to put it in the cupboard and preparing to go home.

You were putting on your coat and gathering your belongings when Yunho joined you at your desk, his own overcoat in hand. “Care for a stroll?”

You looked at him in surprise but nodded, following him downstairs– he must have a lot of questions. He locked the office behind him and greeted the guard, nudging you towards the main street. Since it was past midnight and this was a business street, it was pretty empty. The offices were shut with only the guards stationed outside trying to keep awake in the lonely hours, or keeping each other company over a little fire in the tub. 

You walked in silence for a few moments with only the sound of the cackling of fire and your footsteps accompanying you before he finally asked if you had ever felt targeted while working for the Crescents. 

“Up until now, no,” you told him. “But after my father wiped my name off the registers of Eden and gave me a new identity… sometimes it feels like I’m being watched. He wasn’t surprised to hear that you knew about his deal with Strictland, was he?”

“We never explicitly mentioned Strictland but yes, he wasn’t surprised in the least,” Yunho said. “He must have known that you are working here.”

“He probably knew about my job at the bar, at least,” you said. “He has always made sure that I never interacted with someone of power. It’s only a shame that Kihyun took me in and he could do nothing about it.”

“Do you have any suspicions about what he might be doing in Strictland?”

“I only ever heard a bit of it, and I’m not sure exactly what he was referring to, but this might be my chance to confirm if what I heard holds any value,” you said, pausing in the middle of the crossroads in front of the canal, looking around for any passersby but finding none. “Do you know about the nuclear base in Strictland?”

“Everyone knows about it,” Yunho said, putting his hands in the pockets of his coat. “It is suspected that Halaland wants to take over Strictland because they want to resume the operations at the nuclear base and become a nuclear power. That would violate the international arms law which is why they are resorting to playing dirty instead.”

“And the base has been inactive for a while, right?”

“For about thirty years now, yes,” Yunho confirmed.

“I have no idea how much truth this information holds, but I once heard my father talk about something regarding the nuclear base,” you whispered. “He said something about how Halaland knows that Eden has joined hands with Strictland’s nuclear operation officials. I don’t know who in Eden, but he also claimed whatever Halaland was doing– or would be doing– will be in order to protect itself.”

Yunho’s mouth parted in disbelief, his eyes boring into you. “That… that can’t be true.”

“Right?” you wrapped your arms around yourself, looking sideways to the canal. Its murky waters seemed to be reflecting your mood. “That should not be true, but… Mr. Kim said my father– Secretary Park did not react when you mentioned his dealings with foreigners. What other dealings might he have?”

“I hope something else, because if there’s even a slight chance that what you said is true,” Yunho grunted in discomfort. “I can’t imagine the consequences. Does he know that you are aware of this knowledge? Your father?”

“He knows I heard something,” you confirmed. “That’s when things started going downhill for me. He had always made it clear that once I was independent, he was going to change my surname and cut ties with me. But after that day, he just sped up the process, changed my surname to Jeon and sent me to Wonderland to an acquaintance of his.”

Just like that, you wanted to add, recalling how easy it was for the man that claimed to be your father.

“I don’t know if he did that so I would not speak about this or if he had some ounce of guilt for me,” you continued with a scoff, shaking your head. “But he kept tabs on me. He made sure I got a good education and once I was done, he allowed me to come back. I had to beg a little, but he let me come back on the condition that I stay low.”

“Too late for that, isn’t it?” Yunho commented and you looked at him, a smirk creeping on your lips.

“Well, I always planned about how to get back at him. Just because he made a mistake doesn’t mean I get to suffer for it for the rest of my life.”

“That’s right,” Yunho stepped closer to you, facing the canal just like you. For a moment, you shared a comfortable silence, thinking about the implications of your admittance. Yunho cleared his throat as he looked at you. “You must be from Edenary then. Was it tough to adjust in Sector 1?”

Edenary was not just the capital of Eden– it was like a safe haven for the elite class of Eden where they did not have to encounter a common man. Everyone who lived in Edenary was someone who possessed at least one of the three things– wealth, power, or connections. Before the monarchy was abolished in Eden, the royalty resided in Edenary. Now it was home to government officials, politicians, business owners and influencers. 

Your heart twisted as you recalled your time in Edenary. Though you had lived in the shadows in Edenary too, there was a point in your life when your father had taken you around with him, introducing you as his niece but still letting you know the ins-and-outs of business in Eden. It was his dream that his child carry on in his footsteps, but his son and your half-brother, Park Sunghoon, had always been incompetent. You suspected he might let you take over his business instead but the fear of his tarnishing his reputation must have outweighed the fear of passing his legacy to someone who was useless. Sunghoon had always been far too short-tempered and reckless. Your father was not proud of him.

“Do you also dream of living in Edenary one day?” You asked, fiddling with your pearl ring.

“We dream of opening an office there, maybe a branch of the Crescent Bar if we’re lucky,” Yunho admitted. “But our home will always be in Sector 1.”

You smiled at that– his admission was unexpected. You outstretched your hand. “This ring is the only symbol of Edenary that I possess. A reminder that I may have found a place somewhere else but my roots remain in Edenary. I don’t miss the life I had, though. It wasn’t much.”

“It must have been better than this?” Yunho asked. You shook your head. 

“I’ve only ever felt at home here, in my little apartment that I share with a person who cares about me a lot,” you said. “At the Crescent Bar where I got more respect than I ever got in Edenary.”

“And at the office?” Yunho said and you looked at him, finding an amused look on his face.

“Not yet, and you know that,” you said. 

“That could change,” he suggested.

“Definitely,” you nodded. “But for that… you would have to make a little effort.”

“Well, I’m here now, with you, aren’t I?” Yunho said, cocking his head challengingly and you realised that this was his effort. “Tell me how to verify the information you just gave me tonight.”

You took a deep breath. “I’ve thought about it long and hard. I don’t think anyone who is not involved would know, so if you’re a fan of taking someone hostage and interrogating them…”

“We’re really trying to do things the right way, Luna,” he chuckled. “We’ve left that life behind.”

“Yunho, you shot ten men in two minutes just a few months ago, without hesitation,” you reminded him and his brows rose a little in surprise. You thought he was shocked to hear that you finally confronted him about it, but then you realised–

You had called him Yunho.

You were an absolute fool–

“I can do anything to protect the people I care about,” Yunho decided not to point out your informal use of his name, though he couldn’t complain– he had to admit that it was nice to hear his name from your lips. “But any other ideas?”

“Well… you can give someone else a tip and let them do the dirty work for you?” You suggested. “Now might be a nice opportunity to use Assemblyman General Wi. He has been trying to get dirt on President Lee because his term is almost over and he is pretty sure President Lee will be running for presidency again. If you give him a tip, he can verify all of this for you. Plus, if word gets out, Secretary Park will be in big trouble. It could confirm if President Lee is a part of this Strictland business or not, though it’s hard to believe that such a saint of a man could be.”

You often considered confronting President Lee about your father– if he really wasn’t aware of your father’s dealing with Strictland, he was probably the only person who could make things right once and for all. Lee Jinwook had always been in the political scene but he only stepped up as a presidential candidate after his wife, President Han Hyojoo, was assassinated three years into her term. She had ruled Eden right after the Treaty of the Eight Hills when President Son’s term ended, and the way she strengthened Eden’s defence and helped rebuild the land was an admirable feat but also earned her enemies. 

President Lee always had a clean and morally upright image and though his succession was quick and easy, he continued his wife’s legacy and boosted Eden’s morale. He was a good president and Eden was flourishing in his reign just as it had in his wife’s reign. Days after his wife was assassinated, he laid the foundations of a hospital in his late wife’s memory. You recalled reading an article about it– that was in 1963, right after you came back from Wonderland. In his interview, he said that his wife had always dreamed about making a hospital in Eden that would focus on maternity services and advancements ever since they lost their child a couple of months after birth, and that it was a shame she couldn’t live long enough to see the hospital functioning. 

It was thoughtful how he was fulfilling his late wife’s dreams even after her death. Such a man couldn’t be capable of such sinister actions, could he?

“If President Lee is a part of this, he could end up having your father killed to protect himself,” Yunho said and you sucked in a breath. “That’s how these people operate. Are you sure you want that? And even before that, Secretary Park would try to get at you for leaking that information. Your life could be in danger too.”

“It already is,” you shrugged. “An anonymous tip to General Wi– he’s a military man and Strictland is under military control. It would make sense that General Wi stumbled upon this information himself.”

Yunho hummed in agreement. “Shall I walk you home?”

Your heart did a little flip at his offer and that had you wondering… just how much should you involve yourself with the Crescents? 

“Thank you for the offer… Mr. Jeong,” you said and Yunho noted the formality in your tone, “but I would rather walk myself home. Goodnight, and… thank you for tonight.”

Yunho considered insisting but he knew it would be too much for you, for now. Though he liked spending time in your company and wished to find out more about you or simply talk with you, this was not the time, and you had made your stance clear– he was only Mr. Jeong of Crescent to you, as he should be, but…

Did he wish to be more?

“Goodnight, and… I’m only carrying out my duty,” he said, confirming the distance between the two of you. “If you ever feel like you’re under threat or need some assistance, you can let us know. You are a part of our company and it is our obligation to protect you.”

Well. What a way to put it, you thought. With another thanks, you separated your paths for the remainder of the night.

Over the next few days, things at work became just a bit less overwhelming and you found yourself almost adapting to the new routine. Eunha and Jihoon noticed that you were competent and efficient and even Jihoon complimented you over handling a task that he was having a tough time with. 

Every day after the midday slot, Eunha and you would go for lunch in one of the nearby cafes. Eunha told you that she used to have lunch with Jihoon almost everyday but with the shift in schedules, they couldn’t eat lunch together anymore and she admitted that surprisingly, she missed that. You asked what exactly did she miss about having lunch with Jihoon and got your answer later that day when he finally joined the two of you– a first for you. You were having sandwiches for lunch and while you both chattered about trivial stuff, he complained about the weather, the cucumbers in his sandwich, his milkshake being too bland and you knew then.

It was his way of contributing to the conversation, and the fact that he had joined you for lunch was enough. You told him that you hoped he would join you both often from now on and he just shrugged awkwardly though you caught him smiling to himself afterwards. He also made a point to scold you both for wasting too much time deciding on a spot and you both just retorted with a crude gesture (Eunha) and assigning him with the responsibility of picking lunch spots moving forwards (you).

It was just another day in the month of May with the shift of seasons bringing about rain and prompting you to dress up warmly. The weather in this part of the continent didn’t change much throughout the year, remaining a sticky cold in the summers with the rain and freezing towards the end of the year. You started to keep an umbrella on you and switched to boots and warm gloves, though you kept your net gloves in your purse in case you needed to wear them to a formal meeting. Just like the change in the colour saturation of Eden and its hues, your ensembles shifted to darker, moodier tones. The only constant would always be the pearl ring from home, often the only glimmer on you. 

You reached ten minutes before 6pm and Eunha, just like every other day, sighed happily at the sight of you. Really, the sigh came out of sheer relief that she could go home now. With a kiss blown in your direction, she hurried off, her light pink hair very much like cotton candy as they fluffed up with every happy skip she made down the stairs.

You shook your head in amusement at her fading figure and straightened your back before assessing the reports and the latest updates. When the boss had called off the deal with Secretary Park just a few days ago, rumours of it went around town and some called it ‘a rejection to the president himself’ since it was known that a secretary basically did all of the president’s work. Others admired the fact that the Crescents didn’t bend to the secretary’s will like everyone else did, without knowing the context. 

While it infuriated you how people were so quick to make something out of nothing– nothing that they knew about– you also noticed how the Crescents started getting more offers for collaboration by different businessmen and government officials. Yunho provided you with a list of people that they were considering for their new project. No one was aware of what exactly was the Crescent’s new project and you were almost still in the dark too– nothing confirmed and nothing denied. You told yourself that you did not need to ask just what this project was about and you could let them know your opinion anyway, but your achilles heel had always been your curiosity and your adventurous spark, a deadly combination. You would do just about anything to silence the buzzing in your brain.

About two hours passed when you heard light footsteps and the familiar scrawny figure of the young informant entered your vision. You set your pen down, a satisfied exhale leaving your mouth at the way your joints cracked when you stretched.

“Is the Captain inside?”

“Good evening to you too, kid,” you shook your head. “Yes, he’s inside.”

Jaemin smirked and you made a face at him. “Nice hair today.”

“Really?” You blinked in surprise. “I wear it like this every day though?”

The question was directed more to yourself. Jaemin went towards the boss’ room and knocked, entering a moment later. You dug the compact mirror out of your purse and checked your hair–

And sure enough, a tuft of hair was sticking out near your temple on the right side. You groaned loudly, fixing it and groaned even louder when you realised why Hongjoong had looked at you for a moment longer than usual when he greeted you today, and why he had a little smile on his face when he went to his room.

Damn it.

You waited for Jaemin to come out and you called him over. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, madame,” he bowed dramatically.

“Why do you call Mr. Kim the Captain?”

“Well… he is the boss, the leader, so captain is just another word to address him, right?” he grinned. “I like the sound of it.”

“Fair enough,” you said. “How did you become an informant?”

“Your question of the day has been used up. Adios!” Jaemin saluted mockingly and ran away before you could call his name or chuck something at him– you just sat there watching with your hand awkwardly stretched in the air as if you could have grabbed him from across the desk.

Menace.

You went back to focusing on the monthly budget report that you had been studying, trying to spot any discrepancies. This time, you were in charge of presenting the monthly report to the boss and you wanted to make sure everything looked okay, especially with their new deal. Whoever was in charge of handling the tracking of their money was doing a pretty damn good job. On the surface, the Crescents were exchanging Black Shadow with the latest machine parts– the produce from Pledis Manufacturers which was a cover for the actual export that was the weapons– with Utopia. 

Black Shadow was a very strong red wine, a staple of Utopia, the land known for its wineries and extensive collection of all sorts of wines. While the Crescents were still a gang, they became acquainted with some of the winemakers, got mentored and secured a deal so that their business began with the Crescent Bar. Now the Crescent Bar was the only spot in all of Eden where this fine wine was available. You thought that was an admirable feat– it must not have been easy to convince the Utopians to export their wine. You supposed Utopia must really be in dire need of weapons as well to share their best wine with Eden.

On the sidelines, though, Black Shadow and other liquor was being smuggled to Mist Island in exchange for raw metal that was required in the production of those machine parts and weapons by Pledis. Simply sending wine in exchange for metal did not cover the discrepancy in costs, so you made a mental note to bring this to light in the meeting later this week. It had gone unnoticed the past few months but from your experience from the time in Wonderland when you had a part time job at a bank, you knew that someone was bound to raise suspicions of where the Crescents were spending all that money. 

You did not realise how much time passed when you heard Yunho’s office door open and you looked at him, finding him wearing his overcoat. There was still an hour until your shift would be over so Yunho must have some engagement. He approached you and asked if you were done compiling the report.

“Yeah, I was just wrapping up. Do you want me to put it in your office later?”

Yunho pursed his lips in thought. “Actually, you know what? If you’re done for tonight, you can leave as well. No point staying until midnight. Seonghwa won’t be here tonight either.”

“Oh, well, sure,” you tried not to show how happy you were to leave early. “Let me put this away before you lock your room then.”

Yunho nodded and waited for you and when you came back, you found him with your coat in his hands and he offered to help you wear it. You stood still.

“Mr. Jeong. I can wear my coat on my own.”

“I know,” he shrugged, not letting go of it. “Are you going to keep me waiting though?”

You looked at him pointedly before giving in,  going to grab your purse before he would try to do that for you too. “How very gentlemanly of you.”

Yunho scoffed, outstretching his arm. “After you.”

In the past few days, Yunho’s behaviour towards you had been nothing short of odd. Sometimes, he was the Mr. Jeong that you had always known– unapproachable, reserved and a man of few but meaningful words.

And the other times, well… you weren’t sure if this was just how he had always been, but it was strange to experience it firsthand. He was considerate, just like tonight. He would make sure you’d had dinner. He would ask if you were faring well when you would go to discuss the reports with him. He would make a casual remark or even a joke if he felt like it. Overall, you were sure that he knew the difference between being professional and casual very well–

And boy, was he tiptoeing right at the borderline. 

He held the door for you and you told him the guard would have done it anyway but he only smiled. And then he mockingly saluted because you had made it a point of calling him ‘lieutenant’ whenever you needed to get a point across. That made you laugh a little and you said goodnight, going in opposite directions.

You were only a few steps down your road when you thought you could just walk with him and discuss the details about the Mist Island finances that had been nagging you all this time. You turned, speed-walking towards him in the dark street and were about to call his name when you stopped in your tracks.

There was a man who had slipped right behind him from an alley and you were half sure Yunho hadn’t noticed his presence. The man was walking quite awkwardly, tense and fidgeting, almost–

Almost as if he was about to attack Yunho.

And sure enough, you saw his hand resting right above his hip where he would be hiding a gun under his jacket. 

With all your senses heightening, you willed yourself to remain calm and think– if you screamed, it would probably end badly. You could go back and alert the guard or find someone, anyone, but it might be too late–

And then you remembered that you had a gun in your purse.

You switched to the street on your right, rushing through the alleys as silently as you could, gun in hand and a scream lodged in your throat that threatened to escape at any second. You spotted Yunho whenever the alley opened into the street and every time, relief and urgency clashed. With pure adrenaline fueling you, you waited for Yunho to turn right at the crossroads– if he turned left, you would have to step in and you hoped that would not be the case. 

As soon as Yunho turned right, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the alley, a surprised exhale exiting his mouth. You rushed to hide, finding a spot to squeeze into which was covered by abandoned boards that would hopefully help conceal your figures. You aimed the gun at the street, hoping to get a visual of the man, the sounds of your breaths and Yunho’s gun being loaded feeling too loud. He tried lowering your gun, intending to take care of the situation but you shook your head, gently pushing him aside despite the lack of space, as if you could cover him.

“I need to see if it is someone I recognise,” you whispered. “And you really don’t need to kill tonight.”

“I rarely ever kill, y/n,” he said, “Only immobilise.”

You didn’t respond, and if you hadn’t been worrying about your lives, maybe you would have noticed that he called you by your name instead of Luna. Your gaze remained focused on the street, aiming to identify the man.

“Is that someone you recognise?”

“Never seen him before,” Yunho bent down a little into the light to get a clearer vision. “Might just be a thug.”

You remained in your position with your gun aimed at the confused man who looked around warily before tracing his steps back. However, you kept the gun trained where you last spotted him and it wasn’t until Yunho put a hand over yours and gently lowered it that you let out the breath that you had been holding.

You made the mistake of looking at him, the realisation that you both were okay crashing on you like a fierce, cold wave. You took a shaky breath, resting your back against the wall and gripping the edge of a box nearby to hold yourself steady. Yunho looked quite alright, casually resting his back against the wall in front of you. You realised how narrow the alley was because his knees brushed against your legs.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just… catching my breath,” you whispered. “Does this happen often?”

“Not that often– not like this, at least,” Yunho looked for any signs of the man in the street. “Usually it’s a gang targeting us, not an individual.”

You nodded, thinking about the attack that night at the bar. This was different. Had this man intended to shoot Yunho or just take him hostage?

“I’ll go do a quick scan of the area and see if there are more men–”

You grabbed his arm as he tried to exit the alley and pulled him back to his original spot. Yunho shook his head. “I need to check if there are more men, and if anyone else was hurt–”

“No,” you insisted, tightening the grip on his arm. “It’s dangerous.”

“You’re telling that to me?” Yunho asked, reminding you that he was an honoured lieutenant colonel and knew how to deal with situations like these, but you weren’t having any of it. You shook your head adamantly. 

“We will leave together, after a few minutes.”

And then, with a crashing realisation, Yunho understood that you were not just scared for yourself. You were scared for him too. 

He didn’t know why but your words, spoken and unspoken, wrapped around his heart like an embrace. With a shaky sigh of his own, he resigned to his previous position, though this time he stood just a little closer to you. He noticed how you were still holding the gun while your hand trembled– you had obviously never actually used it. 

“You’re a fool,” Yunho said in a low voice. “You should not have come after me. I could have dealt with that on my own. I would have gotten answers out of him–”

“He meant to shoot you, Yunho,” you said, and this time you called his name on purpose. “I did what I had to.”

“You could have gotten hurt, Luna,” Yunho leaned forward to be at your eye level. “You shouldn’t have put yourself in danger.”

“I have a gun–”

“A gun you’ve clearly never used before, at least not on a real person,” Yunho reproached, grabbing your shaky hand to prove his point. “Would you have used it tonight? If things went wrong?”

You didn’t answer that, too focused on the way his hand intertwined with yours and even with the weapon preventing full contact, you felt the comfort of his touch seep through your skin and slowly, but surely, calm your nerves. 

“Shall I teach you how to use a gun some day?” Yunho’s low voice almost reverberated in your skull and you looked at him in shock, finding him a bit too close– you could see the excited glimmer in his pupils. 

“I can protect myself without using a gun too,” you managed to say, wincing inside at the weak retort. You clearly couldn’t. 

“But you can protect me too if you know how to use a gun,” Yunho said teasingly, a smirk creeping on his lips. You rolled your eyes briefly but he wasn’t backing away and neither did you want him to. His fingers caressing the skin on your hand was something you didn’t want to stop anytime soon.

“I’m pretty sure you can take good care of yourself, Lieutenant,” you challenged. “You definitely had it under control tonight.”

Yunho laughed then, a bit embarrassed because he clearly had not noticed anything amiss and if it weren’t for you, it might have gone very wrong. You laughed along because wow. You made Jeong Yunho laugh for the first time. The sound of his sweet, shy chuckle went straight to your brain, making you dizzy for a hot second. You broke out of your trance, pushing him away with immense effort. He took it as teasing, thankfully, not knowing that you wanted to do anything but put distance between you two at that moment. 

God, you thought. You needed a drink.

Yunho squeezed your hand once before letting it go, perhaps realising how casual he just had been. This time, you let him survey the area you were already sure was clear. He came back and signalled for you to come outside, walking with you back to the path you should have been on in the first place.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” You asked. “You left early tonight.”

“Just home,” Yunho said. “The maknaes were going to drop by.”

You hummed– he must mean the warehouse boys– Mingi, Wooyoung and Jongho. You often caught them at the Crescent Bar when you worked there, and it was always very lively when they dropped by. Wooyoung, in particular, always added life to the bar.

“You can be on your way then. I’ll walk home–”

“No chance,” he shook his head. “I’m walking you home tonight, whether you like it or not.”

You knew you had no choice and surrendered. It wasn’t a long walk so you decided to tell him about how you had spotted some discrepancies in their finances and wanted to discuss them with the boss. He told you to run over them with Seonghwa first before Hongjoong and you agreed.

“This is me,” you told him when you reached Regulus Street, pointing at your apartment. “I would invite you in for a drink or something, but I have a roommate and I’m not sure if she would like it...”

“Thanks for the offer. I’ll accept the gesture,” Yunho placed his hand over his heart, taking a few steps backward while maintaining eye contact. You watched him with a smile creeping on your lips– he was unexpectedly goofy at times.

“Goodnight then?” You laughed, unsure what he was doing.

“Thank you, Luna,” he finally said and you scoffed. “I owe you one.”

“You owe me two,” you told him. “You owe me one for stopping the deal with Secretary Park too.”

“Ah, is that so?” He raised a brow. “How would you like me to pay you back?”

Maybe he hadn’t meant it like that, but the implications of those words sent a wave of warmth coursing throughout your body. It didn’t help that he was smirking, probably understanding why you were rendered speechless.

“Well…” you managed to say, clearing your throat. “We’ll burn that bridge when we have to cross it.”

“Fair enough. Goodnight, Luna.”

Something had changed indefinitely between you and Yunho.

Perhaps, you wondered, it would still have come to this even if you hadn’t shared those moments a few nights ago. You would like to believe that. You were not complaining about the change– it wasn’t much. He was just more friendlier and casual towards you now, but…

It was as if he wanted to see you break. 

You appreciated the change in his manners, yes. He wasn’t cold towards you anymore, even when he maintained a professional stance. It kind of reminded you of Seonghwa– he had always been kind and gentle towards you and something about him had always been comforting, even when he had put death on the table between you two. It was a dangerous trait, you supposed. It was Seonghwa’s weapon, but–

Gentleness seemed to be Yunho’s gift. If someone cared to look past his rough edges and mannerism, they would be rewarded with a nature so gentle that it would make them wonder how such contrasting traits could coexist within the same person. 

And it wasn’t the gentleness that was killing you, no. Such was a trait that every man should possess. 

It was the way he wielded it to rile you up– there was no other explanation. You kept placing walls between the two of you even with the change and he kept scaling them effortlessly with just a casual brush of his fingers against yours, an assuring or encouraging touch on your shoulder, or even–

God, even the way he tucked your hair behind your ears the other day when you had come back from the storage with a big pile of files in your arms, the front strands of your hair having escaped the hold of the pins. And the first thing Yunho thought to do was not to take some obvious weight off your shoulders but to tuck your hair behind your ears with his brows furrowed in concentration, those damned big brown eyes almost unrecognisable in that moment. 

Perhaps, he didn’t even realise he had done that. 

And you wished you could ask him if that was true. 

“Luna?” Seonghwa’s voice called and you found him peeking out of Yunho’s room. “You can come in to brief me now.”

“Alright,” you said, the report already in your hands as you got up. You straightened your clothes before you entered the room, taking a seat in front of him and opening the files to show him the numbers. You briefed him about what you had done so far before getting to the point. 

“The net cash exchange between the wine and the metal is 74.27 percent, which includes all the expenses including necessary licences and fragile care. 25.73 percent of the amount is completely unaccounted for– we’re paying Mist Island but on papers and bank statements, it’s not exactly clear what this amount of money is being used for. For personal purposes, maybe, but one day they’re going to notice it and make a big deal out of it. It’s better if we have a cover for this too. No matter how small the amount is.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Seonghwa took a deep breath, resigning back on the sofa. “Any suggestions?”

“Well,” you thought about it. “We’ll have to manipulate a few documents if we want to adjust this amount in pre-existing channels. That, or have something to prove the money has been put to use– like donations or artwork.”

“Hmm, sounds like a good idea. I’ll discuss it with Hongjoong and get back on that, yeah?”

The door opened and Yunho entered, having come back from one of his meetings. You nodded at Seonghwa, saying you would wait for a heads-up before drafting the monthly report. 

And at that moment, Yunho, who had been standing behind your sofa and looking at the documents on the table, decided to not disturb your conversation with Seonghwa and take the matters into his own hands, resting a hand on your upper back for support as he leaned forward to take the file from the table. 

Your breath hitched and you were glad you had just finished a sentence– he was too close, and you were reminded once again that you were only reacting to such casual actions because this was Jeong Yunho. 

And you wanted to kill him a little when he stayed there and asked if this was the report you had mentioned to him. You nodded and only then did he back away to go sit at his desk. You looked at Seonghwa whose expressions betrayed nothing. 

“Well then, I’ll be on my way,” you told him and he nodded, praising you with the usual ‘good job’ and watching you fumble with the folders before you left the room. Seonghwa chuckled to himself and turned his gaze to the consigliere.

“Lieutenant Colonel Jeong Yunho,” he called, making Yunho drop the file on the table to look at him.

“Why are you suddenly calling my rank?”

“What do you think you’re doing?” He asked, thoroughly amused. 

“What do you mean?”

“Luna,” Seonghwa said, running a hand through his long hair. “I’m not blind, Yunho.”

“Yeah, but you’re an idiot,” Yunho went back to looking at his file.

“You haven’t shown interest like that in quite a while. Is it wrong to be curious?” Seonghwa asked.

“Well,” Yunho looked at his hyung. “She’s… interesting.”

“Interesting,” Seonghwa repeated but in a different context. “I’ll be damned.”

“Don’t you like her, just a little bit, too?” Yunho asked, smirking. “You’ve never taken someone this seriously, like, ever.”

“I have to take her seriously when she talks like she already belongs here,” Seonghwa said. “And you know what? I think she could be more than just our little bookkeeper.”

Yunho noted the term Seonghwa had used though he decided not to comment on it yet. “What do you plan to do? Are you really going to involve her in the full business?”

Seonghwa smiled knowingly, already having planned out details that none of the others might have considered.

That night, you found yourself outside the Crescent Bar again. You stood thinking for a few moments before you entered, making your way towards the office that had once been your little safe haven– an escape from the boisterous outside world. You knocked at the door but no one answered. You pushed the door just a fraction, finding it unlocked which meant Yeosang must be around. You decided to just make yourself at home, damned be the consequences, and went inside to sit on the couch and curl in on yourself.

There was too much going on. There was too much you were feeling, and you had no one to share these thoughts with. You weren’t even sure if you should be sharing these thoughts. You were an anomaly, you always had been–

The door opened and you were met with a deadly silence instead of a greeting. You looked up to see Yeosang clutching his chest.

“Shit, I thought I was seeing things. You scared me, Luna,” he said, shutting the door and sitting on his chair. “What’s up with you?”

“I missed you too,” you laughed. “How have you been?”

“As good as ever, I suppose. Better now that you’re not nagging me on a daily basis. Thriving, as some might say–”

You chucked a cushion at him which he caught and rested on his lap. “What are you really doing here?”

“Am I not welcome here?”

“Of course you are, this will always be your office,” Yeosang said, making you smile. “But I’d rather know what’s up so I can order an appropriate drink.”

“Bring me your strongest.”

“On it,” he grinned, going out to get the drink himself, returning with two glasses. Amused, you watched him pop the cork dramatically and fill the glasses a little more than average, swirling the wine just enough before he handed you one. 

“It’s an honour,” you said, truly meaning it. “You’ve never served me like this. You’ve only ever served the boys.”

“I’ve heard rumours that you act too much like a Crescent yourself,” he said, sipping his drink and sitting on the desk. “You’ve got guns and big reports up your sleeves now.”

“Yikes,” you downed the drink and Yeosang filled your glass again. “Am I not supposed to? Not that I’m trying to be one of you.”

“Sounds insulting for some reason,” he commented. “But good words only, Luna. I’ve only heard good things about you. Makes me wonder what kind of a boss I was to not realise your potential.”

“You did. I became your bookkeeper. I was also your best employee for two months straight, wasn’t I?” 

“And then you told me I was clumsy and I put you on my blacklist,” Yeosang huffed. 

“You broke your most expensive tray. I wanted to kill you,” you almost cried as you recalled that chaotic night at the bar a few months ago. “That tray was the prettiest one we had.”

“And you’re already drunk,” Yeosang chuckled at the way you ran your mouth so freely– perhaps, it was also because you were no longer boss and employee. “Now tell me… why did you come here?”

“Why do you all want me to say everything out loud?” You groaned in frustration. “I wanted to be here, obviously. You know this office was like my safe haven. I always come here when I am overwhelmed.”

“And what’s got you so overwhelmed, love?” Yeosang asked gently and your heart fluttered at the change in his tone.

“You,” you muttered, surprising him. “And Mr. Jeong. And Mr. Park. And your boss but I tend to avoid him so I won’t complain yet. And San!”

“San?” Yeosang laughed. “What did he do?”

“Nothing, I’m just dragging him into this,” you rested your head on your knees, hugging them to your chest. “It’s just… you’re all confusing me and I don’t like it. I don’t like being in unexpected situations.”

Yeosang hummed in thought. He knew what was up with you and Seonghwa, and you and Yunho. The boys– none of them hid anything from anyone. They had always been bare with each other, so he knew that Yunho was a little into you even though he never said it. Yeosang wasn’t oblivious to the way Yunho’s eyes lit up or the way his attention shifted any time someone mentioned you. 

Yeosang also wasn’t oblivious to how much you occupied Seonghwa’s headspace even though he pretended to be unfazed. He could tell that Seonghwa was bordering on the lines between admiration and adoration for you. 

And while Hongjoong himself hadn’t expressed any personal feelings about you, he knew that once you would properly interact with him, you would find yourself charmed by him too– Hongjoong was like that. And San… he had seen you that night opening up to San and watched fondly from the distance.

But it kind of blew him a little that he was the source of your confusion too. Perhaps, it was because you had worked with him so long. You were friends, that was for sure. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be here right now. But why were you overwhelmed because of him? It wasn’t the proximity– you two had shared a lot of time in this office in the past. A lack of proximity then? Did you actually, truly miss him? Did the distance really make you fonder of each other?

With caution, he settled down in front of you and took your glass from your hands. “That is enough drinking.”

“It’s not,” you whispered, not looking at him. 

“Just say what’s on your mind, Luna,” Yeosang said, turning his full attention to you. “You know I’ve never judged you and never will.”

You smiled at that. Even with the lack of explanations you gave for your actions or your behaviour, Yeosang always tried to understand you, and that was what you liked about him. Sometimes, you couldn’t quite believe that he had ever been anything else other than a bar manager. How could this man have gone to the war at such a young age and intercepted multiple messages, saving countless lives? How could he be a part of the gang that had a repute like none other?

“It’s hard to put it into words,” you sighed deeply. “And I don’t even know what I would say anyway. Nothing makes sense, yet everything does. Now that I don’t have to hide who I am from you… it’s like I’m living a new life all over again.”

“Yet you’re still the same old Luna that we all adore.”

“So you adore me then?”

“Did hearing that make you feel better?” Yeosang shook his head and you grinned. “I’ve always adored you, Luna, in my own ways. Does that help?”

“I thought you hated– okay, not hated, but… only tolerated me. Maximum liked me a little. But you’re saying you adore me.”

“I do,” he pinched your nose. “Especially when you’re tipsy.”

“Gee, thanks,” you said, uncurling and sitting properly, still facing him. “Can I ask you something… strange? You can blame it on me being tipsy later.”

“Go ahead,” Yeosang grabbed the glasses and filled them again, handing you yours. “Let’s blame tonight on being drunk.”

“Hmm, I knew coming here tonight was a good idea,” you downed the drink in one go, setting the glass aside and looking at your former boss. “Have you ever liked someone? Like really, really like someone?”

“I have,” Yeosang said and your brows rose momentarily in surprise.

“How do you know you don’t like them like you would just another person?” You asked. “Is there something I’m supposed to feel?”

“Let’s test that out,” Yeosang said in such a low voice that you almost missed it. He leaned forward a bit more than he should have, twirling a few strands of your hair between his fingers. You got a good look at that heartbreakingly gorgeous face– it was a crime to be this beautiful and stay inside the bar almost all the time, you often thought. Your breath hitched when Yeosang’s finger traced the vein along your neck and then he locked eyes with you.

“Who is it that you like so much, y/n?”

“That’s the thing,” you whispered, kneeling into his touch when his hand went to cup your face. “I don’t know.”

Yeosang smiled knowingly though, his eyes travelling all over your face, stopping at your parted lips a few times– he was too obvious. Your heart was beating frantically and for once, you did not know what to do. You may have come here because of another man (or two) but now you were almost in the arms of someone else entirely. His other hand was holding yours– when did that happen? And bringing you closer. 

Your eyes fluttered shut and you felt his warm breath on your cheek before he kissed it lightly. You drew back, a bit surprised but wanting more. 

“You can sort your thoughts out when you’re sober,” Yeosang said. “You should rest, for now. It must have been a long day.”

Before he could draw his hand away, you scooted closer and he chuckled when you rested your head against his shoulder. “It’s because I’m tired.”

“Whatever you say, Luna,” he patted your arm. “It’s certainly not because you miss me.”

“Certainly not,” you confirmed, the both of you laughing at the obvious lie. “And definitely not because I may like you a little too much.”

“Oh,” Yeosang pulled you closer in the half embrace. “Definitely not.”

next chapter

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[autumnrory]

so much of the time i hear something about a celeb and it's like okay i'm not gonna hold that against them bc without doing a deep dive i can't know if there's any truth to it and idc enough to do digging but it does stick in my brain whenever i see/hear about them like damn was that true

[lenaellsi]

after my latest rewatch I am even more convinced that crowley really doesn't have the intense self-loathing issues he's commonly depicted with. like he has some regrets and bad memories and insecurities like everyone does, and he's under an insane amount of stress basically always, but he's very confident in who he is. he's not particularly happy about being a demon, but that isn't the same thing as hating himself for it. he hates hell, not himself.

like. he’s not upset about being called one of “the bad guys” because he agrees, he’s upset because he knows aziraphale is wrong, and because this is evidence that aziraphale still believes in a philosophy that has divided them since even before his fall. he has never once considered himself less than aziraphale or any other angel. I think it's clear that he's pretty offended by that implication, actually!

“crawly” as a name is too squirming-at-your-feet-ish for him because he knows who he is, and he sees value in that person. his depression and his worrying relationship with his own life and safety come from his feelings on god and predestination, not from self-loathing. crowley does not believe in the system. he doesn’t believe in the idea that people are purely good or evil, and he’s sure enough of himself to know that he's not either. that's why he's able to make the choices he does. he's able to act in the gray spaces between heaven and hell (see: job, the flood, the "virtues of poverty," armageddon, etc etc) because he is confident enough to make those decisions without worrying about what the powers that be say about what's "right" and "wrong."

that doesn’t mean that he’s not self-conscious. he’s very concerned with what humans think of him, what aziraphale thinks of him, and (out of self-preservation) what hell thinks of him. he hides his eyes and puts on a cool, flashy persona to hide the more vulnerable parts of himself. I think everyone does that, to a degree, but it's especially obvious in crowley because of how it manifests in his glasses. he's been burned (literally) before, and he knows better than to show weakness when he could be hurt like that again.

and re: the "I never meant to fall" thing--he's upset about being a demon, yeah, because the fall sounds like it sucked, and his job tortures him when he's Good or just Bad in the wrong way, and he's deeply lonely, and the love of his life has a complex about their relationship, and he's trapped in a system where he has to blindly follow one of two nearly-identical sets of bullshit morality rules or be executed. but again, he's mad at god, heaven, and hell for all of that. I'm sure he's angry at himself for all sorts of reasons often enough, because crowley is generally a pretty angry person, but he doesn't hate himself in any sort of existential "I am an unlovable monster" way.

maybe sometimes he regrets falling. maybe sometimes he thinks it would be easier if he never did. maybe sometimes he hates his fucking line manager and wishes he could do any other job for a while. but no part of crowley thinks that he is any worse of a person after the fall, or any less worthy of aziraphale's company. he just thinks aziraphale thinks that, because of the amount of times aziraphale has told him so.