#sticks and stones fic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

spikedfearn · 13 days ago

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Upon the Scarlet Altar

one-shot

Remmick x fem!reader

summary: On a night when the moon hangs low and your body bleeds for him, he worships you the only way he knows how: on his knees, mouth between your thighs, feasting like you’re the last taste of warmth in a world gone dark. But in his arms—cold as the grave—you find a different kind of fire. One that never dies.

wc: 4.1k

a/n: AHHH you guys—I’m seriously losing my mind right now. Mercy Made Flesh hit 1.7K notes in 72 hours and I’m just sitting here clutching my pearls and screaming into the void like !!! thank you SO much for all the love, thirst, and pure unhinged energy you’ve poured into my fic!! this fic is lovingly (and hornily) dedicated to @oc3anbxbyxoxo who requested remmick eating reader out while on her period!! and, as always, thanks to my number #1 pookie Nat @kayharrisons for beta reading!!

warnings: vampirism, bloodplay, oral sex (f!receiving), period sex, vampire x human, worship kink, possessive undead love interest, overstimulation, blood drinking, body worship, monsterfucking (soft), southern gothic setting, mild dubcon tones (power imbalance), religious/sacrilegious language, explicit sexual content, knife-edge tenderness, unholy devotion, mutual obsession, sex as ritual, canon-typical vampire violence (implied)

likes, comments, and reblogs appreciated!! please enjoy!!

The moonlight spills across the cold stone floor like spilled cream, pale and thick, stretching all the way to the foot of Remmick’s bed. You don’t knock when you enter. You never have to.

He already knows.

He’s there, seated at the edge of the mattress like he’s been waiting all night—shirt half unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to his forearms, his hair a soft tangle from too much pacing. There’s a gleam to his eye that hadn’t been there yesterday. Something feral. Something starved.

His nose twitches before his lips curl.

“You’re bleedin’,” he drawls, voice like bourbon left too long in the sun. “C’mere, sugar.”

You close the door behind you. You should be embarrassed. You’re not wearing anything underneath the long black slip you call a nightgown. Not tonight. The silk clings to your thighs, sticking just slightly with each step.

He’s watching. Always watching. Like he’ll die if he blinks.

By the time you reach him, he’s already reached for your hips, already dragging you between his legs. His hands are cold. They always are. But they warm quickly when they cup the back of your thighs and pull you forward until you’re straddling his lap.

“Could smell you from the hallway,” he murmurs against your mouth. “You don’t know what that does to me.”

“Then show me,” you whisper.

His eyes flick up. Crimson. Blazing.

Ravenous.

And then he lays you back.

The mattress dips under your weight, the room heavy with the scent of old wood, candle smoke, and something darker now—something copper-sweet. His breathing doesn’t hitch, doesn’t falter. But it deepens. Slows. Like he’s savoring every second before he lets the hunger off its leash.

Remmick’s palms press to the inside of your thighs, spreading you open like a prayer. His voice, low and reverent, ghosts over your skin.

“Goddamn,” he breathes, thumbing the edge of your nightgown up, baring the soft heat of your core. “Ain’t nothin’ in this world tastes as good as you do when you bleed.”

The shame you thought you might feel never comes. There’s only heat, only want, only the obscene pulse in your stomach as he lowers his mouth with something like worship painted across his face.

“Y’ain’t scared, are you?” he murmurs, his lips brushing the crease of your inner thigh. “’Cause I’m real hungry, darlin’. Real fuckin’ hungry.”

You shake your head, your voice a whisper. “No.”

His grin is all teeth.

“That’s my girl.”

And then his tongue slides over you—slow, deliberate, impossibly soft. He groans like he’s been starving, the sound deep in his throat, his arms locking around your hips to hold you still as he buries his face between your legs.

You cry out.

The first lick is hot and sinful, laced with something carnal and wrong, the wet glide of his tongue tasting the blood he craves, the slick that coats you. He doesn’t tease. Doesn’t build slow. He devours—growling against your cunt like it’s the only meal he’s ever needed.

“Christ,” he moans against you, lips already wet with it, tongue circling your clit with obscene precision. “You’re sweeter’n sin like this.”

Your fingers fist in his hair. You’re trembling. The sheets are damp beneath you from your own sweat, from the way your body shudders every time he moans into you like he lives for this.

And maybe he does.

Because Remmick doesn’t stop.

Not when your legs shake. Not when your thighs try to close. Not even when you gasp his name like it’s a lifeline. He keeps going, mouth locked to your cunt, tongue sliding deeper as he feeds and worships all at once.

“Gon’ give you everythin’,” he mumbles, voice thick and slurred with lust, lips slick. “Gon’ make you cum so hard you forget your damn name.”

You already have.

Your back arches, spine bowing off the bed as the wave crests—hot, thick, electric. His name spills out of your mouth in pieces, broken syllables caught between breathless moans, and he drinks it in like it’s part of the offering.

Remmick doesn’t let up.

Even as your hips buck, even as your thighs tremble violently around his head, he holds you down, strong hands keeping you spread and helpless beneath him. His tongue flicks against your clit with punishing precision now, coaxing you past the edge and straight into ruin.

Your vision whites out.

Pleasure burns—too much, too good, a drag across nerve endings that should’ve long gone numb but haven’t, not under him. Not under the mouth of a man who’s been alive for centuries and still claims you as the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

He groans again, loud this time, the sound vibrating through your cunt like a sin. You don’t realize you’re crying until he pulls back slightly, lips flushed red and glossy with blood and slick. The sight should be terrifying.

It’s fucking gorgeous.

“Look at you,” he rasps, dragging his mouth up your body, a smear of crimson trailing from your inner thigh to your hip. “So damn pretty fallin’ apart like that.”

He licks his lips, slow. Lingering.

“Could stay between these thighs all night, baby. Might just do that.”

Your breath stutters when he leans in, mouth brushing the shell of your ear. His voice is thick with lust, but there’s something else now—something dark. Territorial.

“Ain’t gon’ want nobody else’s blood, y’hear me?” he whispers, one hand cupping your throat, thumb brushing your pulse. “Ain’t nothin’ sweeter than you when you bleed for me.”

You whimper, your body still trembling beneath him.

And Remmick smiles.

Because you're not scared.

You're in love. In lust. In ruin.

The room is quiet now, save for the rasp of your breath and the low hum of Remmick’s satisfaction as he lays against you, one arm heavy across your waist, his nose nuzzled into your neck like he can’t bear to be even an inch away from your pulse.

You’re boneless, ruined—your legs still trembling slightly as the aftermath rolls through you in warm, dizzy waves.

But he’s calm. Too calm.

Like a beast that’s fed and now lies curled around its prey, not because it’s lost interest—but because it’s claimed you.

His fingers trace idle circles over your belly, smearing faint streaks of blood he hasn't bothered to wipe away. He hums low in his chest, then murmurs against your throat:

“Y’don’t know what you’ve done to me, do ya?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your mouth’s parted, your tongue dry, your body still fluttering in the places he touched and tasted.

He presses a kiss just beneath your jaw, then another, lower—his lips dragging slow.

“You come to me bleedin’ like that,” he drawls, voice syrupy and warm, “an’ expect me to behave?”

You feel his smirk as he speaks against your skin.

“Darlin’, you ain’t just mine. You’re marked. Body knows it. Blood knows it. Every time you ache, every time you get that little twitch in your thighs thinkin’ ‘bout me…that’s me callin’ to you.”

You swallow hard.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, those crimson eyes soft now, almost tender—but still burning. Still dangerous.

“I ever catch somebody else smellin’ you like this…” he shakes his head slowly, almost pitying. “They won’t get the chance to learn from their mistake.”

He says it like a promise.

And then softer, almost lovingly:

“Gon’ take real good care of you. Keep you right here where it’s safe. Keep that sweet little body fed, fucked, and mine.”

You blink up at him, dazed and flushed.

He brushes a knuckle down your cheek, then presses his lips to your temple like you’re something precious. Holy, even.

“Rest now, sugar,” he murmurs, voice velvet-dark. “We got all night.”

Steam curls like spirits from the clawfoot tub as the water runs, hot and fragrant with crushed rose petals and herbs from the garden out back. The scent is earthy, grounding—lavender, rosemary, and something darker beneath it. Something that smells like Remmick.

He’s at your side, one hand steady on the small of your back as he helps you into the water like you’re made of spun glass.

“You’re shakin’,” he murmurs, voice quiet now. Slower. “Let me fix that.”

The warmth envelopes you, and you sink into it with a sigh, limbs limp, head tipping back as your body adjusts. The blood between your thighs has already begun to dilute in the bathwater, but he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. If anything, his gaze softens.

Remmick kneels behind the tub and rolls his sleeves higher. He dips a cloth into the water and begins to wash you gently, reverently, careful around your thighs, your breasts, your throat.

Like he’s memorizing every inch of you again.

“Still can’t believe you walked into that church that night,” he says, the hint of a smile in his voice, low and fond. “All that fire in you, all that fury. Lord, you had no idea what you were walkin’ into.”

You remember.

You’d been eighteen. Hungry. Lost. Sleeping in the loft of the abandoned chapel on the edge of the forest because the shelter was full and the weather had turned. You hadn’t known the stories were true—not until you’d come face-to-face with the man who didn’t cast a shadow, who stood at the altar after midnight like he’d been waiting for you.

Remmick had looked at you the way God might’ve looked at Eve: not with shame, but with curiosity.

And then with hunger.

“I should’ve run,” you whisper.

He hums. “You did. I let you.”

You’d run through the woods, blood pumping so loud in your ears you could hear your own pulse. He hadn’t chased you—not right away. He’d let the fear bloom, let it take root, let you come back on your own.

You hadn’t been able to stay away.

Maybe it was the way he spoke. Or the way he looked at you. Or maybe it was the way the nights weren’t so cold when he was near.

“I didn’t want you to be afraid,” he says now, dipping the cloth to run it between your legs, slow and careful, like he’s cleaning a wound.

“I was,” you say. “But not of you.”

Remmick nods. He knows.

You’d been afraid of needing him.

And now look at you—body bare and pliant in his bath, flushed from orgasm and bleeding in his water, letting him touch you with those old, cold hands like they’ve got the right.

Because they do.

“You were too damn young,” he murmurs after a beat, brushing your hair back from your forehead. “But you looked me in the eye like you’d seen a thousand winters. Said you weren’t afraid of no man, no monster. Only the ones who pretend they ain’t.”

You smile faintly. “And you never pretended.”

His eyes darken.

“I told you what I was. What I needed. And you still chose to stay.”

You open your eyes, tilting your chin toward him.

“I still do.”

He leans in and kisses you then—not hungrily, not with possession, but reverence. Like you’re sacred. Like he’s praying with his mouth.

And in a way, he is.

Because Remmick never asked for salvation.

He found it anyway.

In you.

The water laps gently around you, soft and warm as skin, swirling faint pink around your hips. His kiss is slow—an ache, a promise, a tether. When he finally pulls back, your lips are damp, parted, breathless, and Remmick is just watching you.

Like he always does.

There’s something about the way he looks at you. Not just hunger. Not just obsession. It’s deeper than that—like he’s memorizing you, like the sight of you is the only thing anchoring him to this wretched earth. Like if he stopped looking, the centuries would catch up to him and pull him down to hell where he knows he belongs.

But not yet.

Not while you’re here. Not while your blood is still warm and your body still pliant and your soul still just out of reach.

He brushes the edge of the cloth over your collarbone next, then your shoulder, dragging it across your chest with trembling restraint. There’s a smear of blood on the side of your breast—his doing—and he wipes it away with the gentleness of a man afraid to break the thing he worships.

“You’re somethin’ holy to me,” he murmurs, low enough it sounds like it’s more for him than you. “Somethin’ sacred.”

You swallow, your throat tight, heart tripping over itself in your chest.

“No I’m not.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe not to the world. But to me? You’re a goddamn miracle.”

You can’t speak. Can’t move. All you can do is feel as he pours warm water over your shoulders, cupping the back of your head like he’s baptizing you in blood and roses.

“First time I saw you,” he says, “I thought I’d finally gone mad. Thought I was seein’ a ghost. You walked right through that broken door, moonlight at your back, lookin’ like vengeance and salvation in one breath.”

He sets the cloth aside.

“You didn’t flinch when you saw my teeth. Didn’t cry when I told you what I was. You just looked at me with those big, tired eyes and asked if I was gonna kill you.”

You remember that night. You remember the way your voice hadn’t shaken, even though your knees did. The way his eyes had gone wide—startled, not by your fear, but by your lack of it.

He laughs softly now. “And I told you, didn’t I? Told you I don’t kill what I’m fixin’ to keep.”

Your breath catches.

“Remmick…”

“I meant it,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead, to your temple, to the crown of your head. “Meant it then. Mean it now. You’re mine. And I ain’t ever lettin’ you go.”

Your fingers curl in the water. His arms wrap around your shoulders, pulling you gently against his chest, the sound of his dead heart silent beneath your ear.

But it feels like it’s beating.

Only for you.

Only here.

The water’s gone tepid by the time he speaks again.

“Time to get you outta there, sugar,” he drawls, voice velvet-thick. “Before I end up joinin’ you.”

He stands, boots echoing soft on the old tiles, and leans over the tub to scoop you into his arms. It’s effortless—like you weigh nothing at all. Your wet skin presses to his chest, and the chill of him—cold, corpse-cold—sinks straight into your bones.

But you don’t flinch.

You never do.

Because even if he doesn’t have blood that pumps or a heart that beats, there’s warmth in him still. In the way his arms hold you like you’re breakable. In the way his mouth brushes your temple like a promise. In the way he carries you through this crumbling house like you’re something he’d go to war for.

You cling to him out of instinct, arms curling around his neck as your cheek rests against the hollow of his throat. It’s icy. Still. But it’s home.

“I got you,” he murmurs, “Always do.”

He steps out of the bathroom and into the dark hallway of the house you’ve come to know like a second skin—your house now, though no one but the ghosts know it. The floorboards creak beneath his slow steps, the wallpaper is peeling, the chandeliers are draped in cobwebs like mourning veils. The wind outside presses against the windows like a lonely thing begging to be let in.

But here, in his arms, even cold, you feel untouchable.

You bleed against his skin.

It’s not until you reach the bedroom—your shared bedroom, with the worn four-poster bed and the rotting wainscoting and the lace curtains yellowed with time—that he speaks on it.

You feel the pause in his chest before the low, filthy rasp leaves his lips.

“Leakin’ all over me, sweet thing,” he mutters with a smirk, voice dipped in reverence and filth. “Leavin’ a trail like you want the whole damn forest to follow your scent home.”

You suck in a breath. The heat in your belly curls tight again.

He sets you down on the edge of the bed, your thighs parting on instinct, your slick skin sticking to his shirt, to the old quilt beneath you. The blood between your legs is thicker now, heavy. He watches it, eyes dark as pitch.

“Lord have mercy,” he whispers, dragging the back of his hand up your inner thigh just enough to catch the wet. His fingers are cool—unnaturally so—but they don’t make you recoil. They make you burn.

“You’re drippin’ for me. Bleedin’ like you want me to taste you again.”

He leans in, teeth grazing your ear.

“You know what that does to a man like me? That warm, dark sweetness runnin’ down your thighs? Ain’t nothin’ on God’s green earth tastes more like heaven than that.”

You shiver.

Not from fear.

From need.

He presses a kiss to the side of your neck, then another to your shoulder.

“Don’t you worry, baby,” he murmurs, voice so low it sinks into your skin like wine. “I’ll get you cleaned up again. Real slow. Real good. Might just make you bleed a little more while I’m at it.”

You tremble under his touch.

And Remmick smiles.

Because he knows you’re already his.

He kneels.

Doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t need to. You can feel it—what’s coming. The weight of his stare between your legs, the way his cold hands slip beneath your thighs and spread them wider, wider, until you’re completely exposed to him in the dim, flickering candlelight.

His fingers drag slow along the inner swell of your thighs, smearing blood and slick across skin like paint. His mouth parts.

“Christ almighty,” he breathes, voice reverent, his accent rougher now, more ragged. “Look at this mess. Look what you do to me, girl.”

He kisses the inside of one thigh—cold lips on burning skin—then the other. He doesn’t go for your pussy yet. He lingers. Worships. Drags his tongue along the seam of your thigh where the blood’s heaviest, groaning low and obscene as he tastes it.

He licks it up like it’s the finest thing he’s ever touched.

“Could spend hours down here,” he rasps, voice already wrecked. “Feastin’ like you’re my last goddamn meal.”

You whimper, hips twitching, your legs threatening to close—but he doesn’t let you.

“Uh-uh,” he warns, using his strength with ease to keep you open. “Don’t hide from me now. Not when you’re bleedin’ for me like this.”

His mouth finally descends on your cunt.

And this time, he takes his time.

The first pass of his tongue is so slow, so deep, it makes your eyes roll back. He licks a long, deliberate stripe from your soaked entrance to your clit, tasting everything—blood, arousal, need—and moaning like it’s divine.

His tongue flicks against your clit, again and again, featherlight but maddening. Then he shifts—mouth flattening, sucking, lapping at you with wide strokes of his tongue like he’s trying to ruin you.

And god, he is.

You fist the sheets, back arching, mouth open in a silent cry as he moans against your cunt, the vibrations shooting straight through your core. Your blood coats his mouth, his chin, his lips—but he doesn’t care. He relishes it. His hands grip your thighs tighter as he buries himself deeper, tongue fucking into you like he’s trying to crawl up inside and live there.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans between strokes, pulling back just long enough to pant against your slit. “You taste like heaven and sin all at once. Never gonna get tired of this. Never gonna stop wantin’ it.”

He slides a cold finger inside you—then another. Your body clenches hard, the contrast of his freezing hand and warm tongue almost too much to bear. But he knows your body now. Knows exactly how to curl his fingers, how to suck your clit while his tongue and hand move in tandem.

You start to shake.

Your vision blurs.

You cry out, your orgasm building harder than the last, pressure curling, snapping, about to break—

And he doesn’t stop.

Not when you start to sob his name.

Not when your thighs tremble and spasm against his shoulders.

Not even when you cum, shattering hard enough to see white behind your eyelids, your body jerking beneath his mouth like you’re being ripped open.

He keeps going.

Sucks your clit through it. Licks up every drop of blood and slick. Fingers you slower now, more gently, like he’s helping you ride it out instead of trying to end it.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, kissing your swollen cunt. “Gave it all to me, just like you’re meant to.”

You’re ruined.

Your chest is heaving, your limbs loose, soaked through and aching, and he’s still between your thighs, still worshiping, still tasting like he’ll never get enough.

And maybe he won’t.

Because you’re bleeding.

And he’s starving.

Your breath hitches—caught somewhere between a sob and a moan—as your legs twitch from the aftershocks, thighs sticky with blood and saliva. But Remmick’s still there.

Still devouring.

Still worshipping.

His tongue moves with aching tenderness now, lazy, slow—almost teasing if it weren’t so reverent. He licks through the mess he’s made, lips parting to mouth at your folds like he’s kissing your mouth, not your cunt. Like every inch of you is sacred.

And even as your hips jerk, trying to pull away—too much, too sensitive—he doesn’t let you go.

“No,” he murmurs, voice low, steady, commanding. “We’re not done yet, sweetheart.”

He pins your hips with those cold, strong hands, mouth descending again.

You cry out, thighs shaking violently, the sensitivity blooming into a new kind of agony—pleasure twisted at the edges, electric and sharp, making your toes curl and your spine bow. The room is spinning. Your pulse thunders in your ears.

But he’s soothing you as he ruins you.

“Shhh,” he breathes against you. “I got you. Just take it. Lemme taste every last drop you’re willin’ to give me.”

You feel your body trembling apart for him again, your stomach clenching, heat pooling low and impossibly fast.

Remmick’s voice is almost gentle now, slurred with arousal and reverence as his tongue drags across your clit.

“Don’t you go hidin’ from me, baby. You know I’ll chase you down.”

He kisses your cunt again, tongue flattening and lapping, nosing against your entrance where your blood is still fresh, still dripping slow. He moans deep in his throat like it’s a vintage he’s been saving for decades, like this moment—this mess between your thighs—is a gift he doesn’t deserve.

And god, the way he sounds when he speaks between strokes—

“Your blood’s hotter’n the devil’s breath tonight.”

Another lick.

“Tastes like lust. Like pain. Like home.”

Another.

“You were made for me, girl. Built to bleed for me.”

Your body coils tighter and tighter, the pleasure sharper now, no longer soft or slow—it’s demanding, relentless, fire at the base of your spine.

And he feels it.

He moans against you as you cum again—louder this time, messier, your entire body going rigid under him as you fall apart a second time, writhing as he holds you open and takes it all.

You’re crying now, softly, not from pain but from being so thoroughly undone.

From how deeply he sees you.

How completely he wants you.

When he finally pulls back, he’s soaked. Lips red, chin slick, eyes glowing like coals. He kisses your inner thigh, then your knee, then the scar on your ankle he once asked about and never brought up again.

You’re limp beneath him, panting, ruined.

And he looks so fucking proud.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers, crawling up your body. “My perfect, filthy little thing.”

He settles beside you on the bed, pulling you into his arms, curling your spent body against his cold one—and somehow, you feel warmer for it.

He presses a kiss to your temple, then your hairline, then your shoulder.

“Sleep now,” he breathes. “Ain’t no one ever gon’ touch you but me.”

And as your eyelids flutter closed, muscles aching, pulse slow and full, you realize this is what he’s given you—what no one else ever could.

Not warmth.

But safety.

Not love.

But devotion.

And in a house filled with ghosts, buried in a forest that forgot its name, you fall asleep knowing you’ll never be alone again.

Not as long as Remmick walks the earth.

Not as long as he’s hungry—and you’re his.

#period blood is free real estate for vampires #reader said “I'm on my period” and remmick said “delicious”#jesus didn't die for this but remmick would #sinners 2025 #sinners au #sinners fic #remmick #remmick x reader #sinners remmick #jack o'connell

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ofbatsandballads · 2 months ago

Note

Based on that little blurb you reblogged can I request the batfamily finding out that Jason has a girlfriend by him rummaging through the stuff in his pockets?

They're like dang dude what do you have in there? and it's all hair ties, lip stick, and a recipe for two 💕

-🍬

oh I love a good “Jason hides his lover from his family only for it to get revealed dramatically” fic and now thanks to you, nonnie, I get to write one!

jason todd x f!reader. warnings include canon typical injuries, sibling violence, and slight hints at the batfam’s more traumatic interactions. this is mostly a good ol’ batfam fic, because reader is only alluded to, but I really like it. sorry I made it angsty for a sec there, I just can’t resist the Dynamics™️.

Jason should’ve known better. Really, he should’ve. Taking on Killer Croc alone? A fool’s mistake, but he was just too stubborn to say yes when Bruce asked if he’d like some backup. So now here he is, loopy in the Batcave after Waylon absolutely rocked his shit.

“‘S not even that bad,” he slurs.

The fact that he trips on his own feet and nearly faceplants before Bruce catches him says otherwise.

“Sure it’s not, Jaylad. Let’s get you to the medbay,” Bruce grumbles, worry creeping into that stone cold exterior.

“I’m fine, old man. Lemme jus’ go home,” Jason whines.

He’s met with a grunt that firmly negates his request.

“You can stay in your room tonight,” Bruce says.

“Not my home. Wanna go home,” Jason mumbles as he drops onto the medbay bed.

If Bruce’s face drops a bit, if guilt and sorrow flash across his eyes? Well, Jason’s too concussed to notice. Bruce just nods and begins to assess any other injuries Croc may have left on him. When he reaches for the collar of the Kevlar top, Jason flinches away from him so hard that he slams into the wall behind him. It’s only when Bruce realizes that he’d brushed his fingers against the scar on Jason’s neck that he understands why. His heart sinks and he can’t even look at his son. His shame doubles when he hears a trademark sigh of disappointment from behind him.

“C’mon, Littlewing. Let’s get all of this off you,” Dick says gently as he pushes past their father.

Jason doesn’t flinch when Dick starts to remove his gear. In fact, the presence of his older brother sets him at ease.

“I told ‘im I had it covered, Dickie. He didn’t fuckin’ listen,” Jason complains.

“Yeah, had it so covered you’re concussed in the family home?” Dick teases.

“What the fuck, Richard?” Jason groans before breaking out into giggles.

“How hard did Waylon hit him?” Dick jokingly asks Bruce.

“There’s no fractures, but the contusions are appearing rapidly. Jason’s lucky that’s all he got.”

Dick stares blankly at Bruce. He goes to open his mouth to retort that he was kidding, then decides it’s not worth his effort. Tim thinks it is, though.

“Wow, for a guy that’s chronically online for vigilante reasons, you still know nothing about the internet,” Tim laughs as he wanders into the medbay and flops down on the bed next to Jason’s.

Bruce ignores the teasing and catalogs all the injuries that are revealed to him as Dick strips away Jason’s tattered gear. There’s plenty of lacerations on his torso and likely some on his back. A few are deeper but nothing they’ll need to call Leslie for.

“Or maybe your jokes just aren’t funny, Timothy” Damian says haughtily as he sits himself next to Jason.

The thirteen-year-old tries to put on a mask of indifference, but it wavers when he spots the gash on the back of Jason’s right shoulder.

“Akhi, in what world did you think apprehending Waylon Jones alone would go well for you?” Damian scolds.

Jason narrows his seafoam eyes at Damian and lowers his voice.

“Ya really wanna talk about apprehending people alone, demon spawn?” he taunts lightly.

Damian’s eyes widen and he drops the subject because no, he actually does not want to talk about that on account of the fact that he tried to bring in Clayface alone two weeks ago and nearly got immortalized as a clay statue until Jason swooped in. The two of them had scrubbed his Robin suit within an inch of its life to try and hide the excursion from Bruce. It worked; only Alfred noticed the faint hint of clay in the threads of the cape and all he’d done was sigh and shake his head.

Jason’s gear is fully removed and his head is starting to clear a bit, wooziness replaced by a hammering pain in his temples. The headache masks any pain he would feel from the stitches being placed in his back, though he also suspects that those are less painful because Damian is doing them.

“Your technique is gettin’ better, y’know?” Jason whispers, the compliment unheard by the other three men bustling around the room.

The hands stitching him up freeze and he can imagine the look of surprise on Damian’s face even without turning around.

“Thank you,” he mutters. “I think it will be useful for future endeavors.”

Jason smiles to himself. He knows the kid wants to be a doctor, and he thinks it’s a damn better fate for him than whatever Bruce or Ra’s could’ve planned. The silence that settles over the medbay is peaceful, only broken by the sound of clacking computer keys or the zipping of evidence bags. Then, like an unholy boom of thunder, comes the voice of Tim Drake.

“What the hell is all this?”

Jason’s head whips to the side and he sees Tim rummaging through the pockets of his tactical pants. He goes to scramble off the bed and feels the harsh pull of thread that was mid-stitch through his skin.

“Mind your fuckin’ business, replacement!” Jason shouts.

He grabs a pillow and chucks it at Tim’s head, but he just ducks and continues to empty Jason’s pockets. The contents that spill out on the sterile tray are…perplexing to say the least. Two lip balms (one tinted red), three scrunchies (one black and two red), a grocery list with the word strawberries and a woman’s name underlined, a recipe for chicken stir fry with enough for two portions, and one single soft chocolate chip cookie lay unexplained in the harsh white light of the medbay.

If looks could kill, Tim Drake would be dead and buried six feet under.

“What part of mind your fuckin’ business did you not get?” Jason growls, glaring daggers at the nineteen-year-old.

“Holy shit, he’s got a fucking girlfriend!” Tim exclaims.

The pillow hits him square in the face this time. All four sets of eyes turn to him with varying emotions. Shock is evident in the forest green of Damian’s gaze, smugness and vindication in the icy blue of Tim’s, panic and guilt in the ocean blue of Dick’s, and some weird mix of sadness and fondness in the gunmetal blue of Bruce’s eyes that Jason doesn’t want to think about for too long. The acrobat quickly moves across the room and sweeps all the belongings off the tray and back into the pockets of the tac pants. He grabs Jason’s gear from Tim and hands it back to its rightful owner, who clutches it to himself protectively.

“Don’t make assumptions, Tim,” Dick says. “Civilians leave stuff on us all the time.”

It’s true. They’ve all come home with someone’s forgotten work badge or piece of jewelry before. The oddest thing was when Bruce had a Hello Kitty keychain stuck to the end of his cape. Jason casts a subtle look of gratitude at Dick for trying to give him plausible deniability. Not that it works. Tim stares not at Dick, but through him with his pale eyes in a way that makes a chill run down the spine of the eldest son.

“You knew already? How?” Tim asks incredulously.

Really, he’s a bit miffed that he hadn’t figured this out already. He has contingency plan files on each member of his family (himself included) and he had not a clue that Jason might be in a relationship.

“Drop. It. Now.” Jason warns.

Tim doesn’t consider it until he sees Jason’s fingers twitching in the direction of the butterfly knife on his belt. He doesn’t need another scar from Jason shanking him. Well, at least not today.

“Fine. Whatever. But if I have to bring Bernard here for Thanksgiving, then you have to bring,” and he pauses to remember and recite the name on the grocery list, “home too.”

He knows he’s pushed it when Jason lunges at him, dragging Damian and a threaded suturing needle behind him. Tim barely jumps out of the way in time to avoid a punch to the jaw.

“Robin! Knock it off!” Bruce barks.

It’s almost comical the way all four of his boys freeze in place. It is slightly less comical the way they all proceed to glare at him.

“Fuck it,” Jason grumbles as he settles back on the bed for Damian to continue stitching his wounds. “Just get these done so I can go home.”

“Home to his girlfriend,” Tim murmurs.

“I will fuckin’ slash your throat again, you second-rate fuck!”

Bruce lets out one long suffering sigh. He doesn’t know you yet (a quiet part of him hopes he may one day be allowed to) but he already feels sorry that you’ve been roped into all of this. He feels even more sorry when the butterfly knife flies past his head and buries itself into the wall inches from Tim’s neck. Really, what is he going to do with these boys?

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x reader #red hood x you #batfam fanfic #remy writes 🖋️#I love their fucked up lil family so much you don’t even understand.#love writing them as the Weirdest Yet Most Loyal family of all time #answered asks

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sceletaflores · 5 months ago

Text

well, all right i’m bad, but then you’re no prize either…

pair: joel miller x fem!reader

wc: 8.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no ellie, general violence (only referenced), age gap (56/26), swearing, so many spacers lmao, not quite friends to lovers and not quite enemies to lovers but a weird other thing, kinda mean!joel for a good sec, dressing wounds, joel miller TUMMY, loss of virginity (reader is a virgin but she's not completely oblivious and weirdly infantile about it lmao), fingering (fem!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex whoops, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, porn with a tiny plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: well, i finally caved y’all. baby’s first tlou fic! this literally took me forever to write and even longer to post cause i was so terrified LMAO so please give me some grace if it’s shit and he’s ooc and timelines are a little fuzzy cause i barely know what i’m doing. thank you chickens love you mwah mwah mwah. kisses!

dividers by lovely @saradika-graphics!

joel found a lodge house…

You don’t know what you did to make Joel Miller hate you so much.

He's never outright said it, but you know it’s there—in every sharp glance, every clipped word, every deliberate avoidance.

Besides, his silence is worse than anything he could say. A quiet condemnation that settles in your chest like stone.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter, that you don’t care what he thinks, but the truth is harder to swallow.

You do care—more than you want to admit. His approval, his respect, hell, even a sliver of kindness from him feels like an impossible prize you’ll never win.

And you hate yourself for wanting it. For needing it.

It's not just the weight of his disdain that eats at you, it's the not knowing why. God, do you wish you could ask him why.

What did you do to make him look at you like you’re some necessary evil he has to tolerate. Why does he hold some unspoken grudge that's manifested itself into something you couldn't dream of ever comprehending.

But the thought of confronting Joel feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down into a void that might swallow you whole.

So instead, you do what you've always done. You keep your distance, try to match his indifference with your own, and tell yourself it’s better this way.

You were young when the outbreak hit, six years old.

You’re sure that’s part of it. That that’s how Joel sees you, as some bumbling, naive child who’s more of a hassle than anything else.

Another mouth to feed, another back to watch, baggage.

You've been with him for almost seven months now, traveling side by side when you may have well been miles apart. Trekking through abandoned cities, overgrown highways, and every godforsaken patch of wilderness in between.

In the beginning, you did everything you could to prove him wrong.

You pushed yourself past your limits, hunted, scavenged, fought, kept up. You did everything that needed to be done without hesitation.

All to show that you were more than what he made you out to be. It never seemed to matter much.

After you lost your parents in the early days of the outbreak, it was just you and your sister. She taught you everything you know, taught you how to survive.

It's because of her that you know how to shoot a rifle, how to skin a rabbit, how to start a fire with nothing but sticks and dried moss, how to snap bones and locate which vital arteries bleed out the quickest.

It's because of her that you've been able to hone some sick skill in the maiming of clickers.

A skill you never thought you'd need to use on her.

You were supposed to be safe in the QZ. You weren't supposed to be fifteen years old, aiming a gun at the one person you had left.

Your own flesh and blood wasn't supposed to be the very first in a long list of red tallies under your belt.

It’s been years and you’ve still never forgotten that day. December 19th, 2012, the date burned into your brain like someone took a branding iron to the tissue.

You can’t count the amount of times you’ve been ripped from your sleep drenched in a cold sweat with the tail end of a scream tearing at the skin of your throat.

The image of what was left of your sister, slumped on the ground lifeless as her blood painted the wall behind her flashing behind your closed eyelids. The sound of her last labored breath ringing in your ears louder than any shotgun blast.

You ran that same night, with the weight of her death on your shoulders.

Your entire world spinning out around you as you clawed through barbed wire fencing, not caring where you were going or what would happen to you—just needing to escape.

There was nothing left for you to do after that but survive. And that’s what you did, for years, scraping by in a world that had already chewed you up and spit you out a mangled mess.

You learned how to be ruthless because of it.

How to harden yourself against the loss, the pain, the brutality. But there were cracks, too. Cracks you hid well, buried deep beneath layers of stubbornness and distance.

The endless days blurred into each other. Empty houses, hollow streets. A life reduced to scavenging, hiding, and the occasional, fleeting moment of human connection that inevitably ended in loss.

And then you found yourself with Joel.

You hadn’t exactly found him, though. More like crashed into his orbit by accident.

A few desperate days spent scavenging through the ruins of a small town, a chance encounter that left you both wary and unwilling to turn your backs.

But, inexplicably, you somehow became part of his traveling routine.

He wasn’t like any of the others you’d met before. At first, you thought he might be different. A man who seemed broken, but different nonetheless.

As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, you began to see the truth. Joel Miller wasn’t concerned with you. He didn’t need you. And, more than that, he didn’t want you around.

You didn’t know what to do with that.

It’s a bitter kind of irony. You’ve survived all this time completely on your own, fought tooth and nail to stay alive, but with him, you might just crumble.

Joel found a lodge house. It's a small, weathered place tucked away in the dense trees of the wood surrounding it.

He only deemed it suitable after an extensive perimeter check and a thorough sweep of the interior.

It's not much—just another run-down place in the middle of nowhere—but for the first time in what feels like forever, it’s a roof over your head for the night.

The walls are sturdy, though the windows are cracked and half of the floorboards creak like they're about to give out at any moment.

You explored the second floor alone, creeping through the desolate rooms and taking in all that was left behind.

Old family photographs covered in thick layers of dust, worn clothes riddled with holes still hung in the few closets you stumble across.

The oddest of all was an old jewelry box tucked away in a dresser draw, tarnished silver dull and muddy.

The sound of familiar footsteps comes from somewhere behind you. The door creaks open slowly.

Joel. Of course.

He clears his throat, the sound abrasive in the quiet of the house.

“Fire’s low,” he says, voice rough from its lack of use today.

You don’t turn around, not yet. You take the box in your gloved hand, running your fingers across the intricate design of the lid, touch trailing over winding vines and small roses.

“Okay,” you mutter, your voice coming out quieter than you intended. “I’ll grab some more wood later.”

Another beat of silence. Then, “It’s gettin’ cold out, I’ll go.”

Your fingers pause their ministrations, moving to flip the lid open. Empty.

“Suit yourself,” you reply after a moment, your tone just as neutral as his.

Joel doesn’t leave right away. You hear the floorboards groan beneath his weight, his presence lingering in the doorway.

You wonder what he’s waiting for, or if he’s waiting at all.

Finally, he speaks. “Don’t touch anything.”

With that he turns and leaves the room, you wait until you can’t hear his footsteps trailing down the stairs anymore to let out the scoff festering in your chest.

You snap the jewelry lid shut with a little more force than necessary. “Asshole.”

Joel's been gone for a while now. Longer than it takes to chop a few logs for firewood.

You came down from the upstairs a few minutes after hearing the tell-tale sound of the heavy door opening and closing. The main room is quiet, save for the soft crackle of the dwindling fire.

You're perched on an old armchair near the entrance, peering out the dirty window that has the best view of the treeline as you nervously pick the skin around your nails.

You tell yourself not to worry. He’s probably fine, he’s been doing this a lot longer than you. And if Joel is anything, it’s annoyingly competent.

Still, a nagging doubt itches at the back of your mind. It's been at least half an hour, maybe more.

You’re just about to grab your own pack and go looking for him when the front door creaks open.

Joel stumbles inside, the frigid evening air rushing in behind him before he slams the door shut. At first glance, he looks fine—no more haggard than usual.

But then you notice the way he favors his left side, the way his free hand is pressed against his ribs, blood seeping through his fingers and staining his torn undershirt.

You’re on your feet in an instant.

“Fuck,” you say, voice sharper than you expected. “What the hell happened?”

“Raiders.” Is the only explanation you get as he tries to brush past you like it’s nothing. The stiff way he moves and the tightens of his jaw betray him. “S’just a scratch.”

“Bullshit,” you snap, stepping in front of him and blocking his path to the fire. “Sit. Now.”

He gives you a look, one of those deep, withering glares you’ve seen him use to intimidate countless others into submission. But you stand your ground, chin raised and jaw set–defiant.

His stubbornness finally meeting its match in your own.

Finally, with a low growl of frustration, he drops onto the couch. “Happy now?”

"Not until you let me take care of that." You motion toward his side, where the blood is still spreading.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, lolling his head back to rest more heavily on the couch.

“Sure you are,” you snap, crossing the room to rifle through your bag. “And I’m the fucking Queen of England.”

"Said I’m fine," he bites through gritted teeth, but you’re already moving, heading back to him with the first aid kit from your pack.

"You want to bleed out on this ugly-ass couch? Be my guest," you shoot back, dropping to your knees in front of him. "Otherwise, shut up and let me help."

Joel surprisingly doesn’t argue any further, just sighs heavily and reluctantly sinks further into the couch cushions.

You push the front of his jacket open to slide it off his shoulders as gently as you can, peeling back the layer of his flannel next.

The smell of blood hits you immediately.

The gash is about five inches long, trailing the span of his ribcage. It’s deep—but not fatal—just an angry red and oozing blood.

Definitely not the simple 'scratch' he made it out to be.

Your stomach churns at the sight, but you push it down. No time for that.

“Jesus, Joel,” you mutter under your breath, reaching for the alcohol in your kit. “You really know how to underplay a situation, huh?”

He doesn’t respond, just watches you with those dark, calculating eyes of his. Always watching, always assessing.

It’s unnerving, but you focus on the task at hand, grabbing a clean cloth and soaking it with alcohol.

“This is gonna hurt,” you warn, though there’s a part of you that doesn’t mind the idea of causing him a little discomfort.

A petty, vindictive part that still stings from all the scorn he’s thrown your way.

“Just get it over with,” Joel grits out, his voice low and gravelly.

You don’t give him any more warnings as you wipe the soaked cloth over the wound. He flinches, a harsh curse slipping through clenched teeth, but he doesn’t pull away.

You work as quickly as you can, wiping away the blood and dirt with steady hands, your movements as gentle as possible given the situation.

You let out an annoyed huff when the torn fabric of his shirt gets in the way of your hands for a second time.

You lean back on your heels, glancing up at Joel. “You need to take your shirt off.”

Joel raises a brow at you, his lips pressing into a thin line. “That really necessary?”

“Yes, it’s necessary, Joel,” you huff, already losing patience. “Unless you want me to sit here and cut around every thread of this ratty thing while you bleed out, then by all means—”

He sighs heavily, cutting you off as he shifts forward and grabs the hem of his shirt. He tugs at the fabric, grunting in pain each time it strains his ribs.

You roll your eyes at how slow he’s moving, and your patience—already worn thin by the day's events—snaps.

“Jesus Christ, let me help,” you huff, reaching forward and grabbing the fabric.

Joel jerks back slightly, his hand shooting up to stop yours mid-motion. “I got it,” he growls, a sharp edge in his voice.

You glare at him, your hand still caught in his grip. His palm is calloused, his hold firm enough to make your pulse jump unexpectedly.

For a moment, the two of you just sit there, locked in a silent standoff.

Then he releases your hand and pulls the shirt over his head himself, wincing as the movement pulls at his side.

You wait with your arms crossed, trying to ignore the awkward flutter of nerves in your stomach as the fabric peels away to reveal his chest.

Joel’s broad, solid frame isn’t new to you. You’ve seen him shirtless before—brief glimpses when bathing in rivers or changing in run down houses between stops.

But this time feels different, more intimate somehow.

You’re staring, and you know it.

The firelight cast shadows over his skin, illuminating old scars, faint lines of muscle, the barely there jut of his stomach over the hem of his jeans.

You had been getting more game kills recently, two hunters are always better than one.

Joel clears his throat, dragging your focus back to the present. “You gonna gawk all night, or can we move this along?”

You snap out of it, scowling to cover your embarrassment. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

You finish cleaning the gash and grab the small needle and thread lying next to you.

“This’ll hurt worse than the alcohol,” you say, threading the needle easily.

Joel snorts, a rare sound. “Figures.”

The needle pierces his skin, and this time, you catch the smallest hitch in his breath. He doesn’t make a sound, but his jaw tightens, the veins in his neck standing out like cords.

His hands grip the edge of the couch hard enough that his knuckles turn white with it, but he doesn’t tell you to stop or slow down.

He’s too damn proud for that.

You shift closer, your knee brushing against his leg as you position yourself to work from a better angle. You feel his eyes on you, that intense, scrutinizing stare that makes your skin prickle.

“You’ve done this before,” Joel says after a moment, his tone less sharp than before. It’s not quite a question, more of an observation.

You shrug, keeping your hands steady. “Of course I have.”

“Who taught you?”

The question catches you off guard, Joel’s never shown much interest in what your life was before you met him. You glance up briefly, catching his gaze. There’s no malice there, no judgment—just curiosity.

You swallow hard, dragging your eyes back to stitches, half way done now. “My sister.”

You don’t elaborate and Joel doesn’t push.

Maybe it’s the sudden tightness in your tone or the look you know must be clouding your face that keeps him quiet.

You finish off the stitching, tearing the thin strand of thread with your hands before you’re leaning away again.

“Good as new,” you say, dabbing some more alcohol on your own hands to disinfect. “Try not to tear these open anytime soon.”

Joel leans back, strong arms spread across the back of the couch, his face unreadable as he peers down at the fresh stitching on his side.

“Could’ve done it myself,” he mutters, but the edge in his voice is gone, replaced with something softer, almost resigned.

You roll your eyes with a scoff, not even trying to hide your irritation as you rise from the floor. “Sure you could’ve, right before you passed out. You’re welcome by the way.”

You gather your supplies and turn to head back to your bag, but Joel’s voice stops you in your tracks.

“You’re always like this, y’know,” he says, and the words carry that same gravelly drawl, but there’s something new there—something heavier.

You pause, your hands tightening around the kit in your grasp. “Like what?”

“Pushy. Stubborn,” he replies, his tone cutting, though it lacks the usual venom. “Like you’ve got somethin’ to prove all the damn time.”

You whip around, your patience officially gone. “You think I’m stubborn?” you shoot back, your voice rising. “Coming from the guy who would rather bleed out on a fucking couch than admit he needs help?”

Joel’s jaw tightens, and his hands flex against the couch cushions, but you don’t stop. Not now. Not after months of this.

“I’ve been busting my ass since day one to prove that I’m not dead weight to you. I’ve fought for us, for you. And for what? Just to get more of your bullshit attitude?”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” Joel snaps, pushing himself upright despite the obvious strain it puts on his freshly stitched wound. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me.”

“Because you won’t let me!” you fire back, stepping closer, your voice rising. “All you do is look at me like I’m some burden you can’t wait to get rid of.”

Joel’s glare sharpens, his lips parting as if to respond, but you cut him off.

You really can’t stop yourself now that you started, all the anger and frustration reaching a fever pitch hot enough to burst the tight lid you’ve kept on your emotions.

“If I’m such a hassle, why didn’t you just leave me back there, huh? Why didn’t you just walk away like I know you wanted to?”

Joel’s breathing is heavier now, his broad chest rising and falling as his dark eyes bore into yours.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then, he stands, and the sheer size of him forces you to tilt your chin up slightly to keep your glare fixed on his face.

“You think I wanted this, kid?” he growls, his voice low and strained, like he’s barely holding himself together. “You think I wanted to be responsible for someone else? To have someone else’s fuckin’ life on me?”

“Don’t call me kid,” you spit, shoving a finger into his chest, ignoring the way his jaw ticks at the contact. “I’m not a fucking kid.”

He scoffs, casting his eyes to the ceiling disbelievingly. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Fuck you, Joel,” you growl, fists clenching at your side. “If you hate me that much, why the hell are you still here? Why didn’t you tell me to fuck off the second you met me?”

“Because I couldn’t!” Joel snaps, booming voice filling the small space.

The confession slips out like it pains him. His fists clench at his sides, and for a moment, he looks like he might break something.

You’ve never been scared of Joel, even though you’ve seen first hand just how scary he can be.

Now, as he looms in front of you, eyes blazing and jaw working furiously beneath his skin, it’s the closest to scared you’ve felt.

“I’ve seen you out there,” he continues, tone low and dark. “You’ve got a fuckin’ death wish. You’re too damn stubborn to just stop, and I’m not gonna let you go so you can run off and get yourself fuckin’ killed.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, his words hitting far too close to home.

“I’m just trying to survive, Joel,” you snap, your voice shaking. “That’s what we do, isn’t it? Survive.”

“Survive,” Joel repeats bitterly, his gaze burning into yours. “That what you call it? Throwin’ yourself into every goddamn fight, gettin’ stabbed and shot right fuckin’ in front of me and expecting me to brush that shit off?”

You let out a humorless laugh, nodding your head exasperatedly. “Yes, yes I do expect you to just brush it off, because that’s what you always do.”

“Well I can’t,” he grates out, taking a step closer. “I can’t ‘cause despite whatever it is that you may think about me, I don’t hate you. I care about you too damn much and that's my goddamn problem.”

That shuts you up, your mouth snapping closed with a sharp click of your teeth as you stare at him, shocked.

Joel holds your gaze, lips pressed into a thin line. “That what you wanted to hear?”

It’s in that moment that the fire finally fizzles out, the dull hiss of it the only sound left in the room.

You’re quiet for a beat, stunned into silence. The heat of his anger, his frustration, it radiates off him, and you realize suddenly that this isn’t just about you.

It never was.

“Then show me,” you challenge softly, your heart pounding in your chest. “Show me that you don’t hate me.”

Joel’s eyes darken, his head cocking to the side as he searches your face for a sign. You don’t say anything, you only square your shoulders and raise your chin, your eyes just as hard as his own.

“I want you to prove it.”

The tension snaps like a rubber band stretched too far.

You shouldn’t—this shouldn’t—happen. Not like this. Not after everything that’s been said.

But when Joel’s lips crash against yours, hot and desperate and urgent, it makes everything blur into nothing.

It’s not gentle, not soft—this is anger and longing and frustration all wrapped into one. It’s messy, frantic, like a fight that’s been brewing for too long.

He grips your arm, pulling you closer, almost too roughly, but it feels like it’s everything you’ve both been avoiding.

His other hand moves to cup the back of your neck, grounding you as his lips press harder against yours, like he’s trying to pour everything he can’t say into this single moment.

You respond just as fiercely, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders as you kiss him back with all the pent-up emotion that’s been simmering beneath the surface.

The coarse hair of his beard scrapes against the skin of your chin deliciously, the scent of blood and firewood filling your senses as his arm wraps around your waist, dragging you impossibly closer.

Close enough that you can feel the wild beat of his heart booming against your chest.

You pull away for a second, breathless, both of you looking at each other, your eyes wide and pupils blown.

“Goddamn it,” Joel mutters, his voice thick with frustration and something else you can’t place. He presses his forehead to yours, the deep brown of his eyes dark than before. “What the hell are we doing?”

You don’t have an answer. You’re not sure if you even want one.

You reach for him again, arms looping around his neck to drag his mouth back to yours.

This kiss is nothing like the first, it isn’t a clash of frustration–it’s filthier, rawer. A near feral thing, all teeth and tongue, a surge of hunger and need that borders on violence.

Joel groans into your mouth, a low, guttural sound that sends a shiver racing down your spine. His teeth catch your bottom lip, pulling just hard enough to make you gasp.

He takes advantage of the sound, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to slide against yours with wet, messy desperation, like he’s trying to claim every inch of you.

The taste of him—salt and iron and something distinctly Joel—makes your head spin.

Your fingers knot into the chocolaty curls at the nape of his neck, surprisingly soft to the touch. His own hands roam the soft curves of your body, rough and insistent, like he can’t decide where he wants to touch you most.

“Joel—” His name spills from your lips like a plea, and he answers with a deep, guttural noise that sends heat pooling low in your belly. His tongue follows the path of his teeth, soothing the bites with lazy, deliberate strokes that make your knees weak.

You’re moving before you even realize it. Joel dragging you across the room and down onto the couch with him, using the strength he’s built up after all these years to manhandle you until your thighs are spread wide on either side of his lap.

“Joel,” you gasp again, rearing back enough to break the kiss. “Your stitches–”

He cuts you off with a sharp nip to the sensitive spot behind your ear, tearing a high whine from your throat. “Can hardly feel ‘em.”

You make a displeased sound, but it’s undermined by the way you tilt your head to give his wandering lips more room. His hands find a home on your hips, one slipping beneath your shirt to press against the soft skin of your stomach.

His fingers splay wide across your skin, his palm callused and rough. His pinky just barely brushes the underside of your breast, and you’re suddenly rearing back.

“Wait,” you say, your voice barely a whisper.

Joel’s hands immediately loosen their grip on your hips, his brows knitting together in concern. “You okay?”

You nod quickly, your heart pounding in your chest. “I just...I need to tell you something.”

His jaw tightens slightly, but he stays quiet, waiting for you to speak.

You take a beat, chewing at the skin of your bottom lip nervously.

“I’ve never...” You pause, swallowing hard as your cheeks heat up. “I’ve never done this before. I mean, I’ve never been with anyone like this.”

Joel pulls back slightly, his expression unreadable as he processes your words. For a moment, you think he might pull away completely, but then he exhales a long, slow breath.

“Christ,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’re tellin’ me this now?”

“I didn’t exactly plan for this to happen,” you snap back, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “It’s not like I had the luxury of a high school sweetheart to pop my cherry out here.”

Joel’s gaze softens at your tone, and he reaches out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Hey, hey, I didn’t mean it like that.”

You glance away, suddenly feeling self-conscious under the weight of his stare. “I just...I wanted you to know. But I want this, Joel. I want you.”

His thumb stills against your cheek, and he swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing as he considers your words.

“I don’t...” He pauses, the most hesitant you’ve ever heard him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

It’s the most vulnerable he’s been around you, round eyes shining with something so raw and so earnest it makes your heart ache in your chest.

“You won’t,” you insist, your voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach. “I trust you.”

Joel’s jaw clenches, and for a moment, he looks like he’s going to argue. But then he nods, his shoulders relaxing as he cups the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads touch again.

“At least let me do this right,” he murmurs, his voice so soft you almost don’t hear it. “Not here. Not on some goddamn couch.”

You blink up at him, surprised by the tenderness in his tone. “What?”

“Upstairs,” he says, his thumb tracing lazy circles against the side of your neck. “There’s a bed up there. It ain’t much, but it’s better than this.”

You can’t do anything but nod, your pulse racing beneath your skin fast enough to combat the cold night air seeping through the walls.

“Okay,” you say softly, voice barely above a whisper. “Upstairs.”

Joel stands, gently pulling you to feet and taking your hand in his. He leads you upstairs, each step feeling heavier with anticipation. The small bedroom is dimly lit, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through a broken blind.

The bed isn’t much—an old mattress on a worn frame, covered with a patched-up blanket—but it doesn’t matter.

Joel shuts the door behind you, the sound of the latch clicking into place sending a shiver down your spine.

“Last chance,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “You say the word, and we stop. No questions asked.”

Your throat tightens at the sincerity in his tone, the way he’s giving you an out even though you can see the strain in every line of his body, the way his hands flex at his sides like he wants nothing more than to reach out and touch you.

But you don’t hesitate.

You step closer, placing your hands on his bare chest. You bite back a smile at the goosebumps that break out all along his skin at your touch.

“Jesus, Miller,” you mumble teasingly, nails lightly scratching through the salt and pepper hair scattered along his chest. “How long are you gonna drag this out before you get it through your thick skull that I want to fuck you?”

"Christ." Joel huffs, shaking his head as the corners of his lips turn up in a small grin. “Like I fuckin’ said,” he starts, big hands kneading the meat of your hips. “Pushy.”

Joel walks you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you fall onto it with a soft gasp.

He follows you immediately, crawling over you, his body covering yours, his weight a comforting pressure. “I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours. “I’ll make it good for you, I swear.”

His fingers are everywhere, unbuttoning your shirt with a practiced ease that has your pulse racing. His lips follow the path of his hands, each touch a branding mark, each kiss leaving you wanting more.

“Pretty girl,” he mutters softly, pressing a kiss right between the valley of your breasts.

You feel his cock stirring against your stomach, and it makes the ache between your legs flare to life, the weight of it, the hardness of it, driving you crazy with need.

You want him so badly you can barely think straight, but when his lips graze over your collarbone, you can’t stop the quiet whine that escapes your throat.

Joel growls in response, a sound that resonates deep in his chest, and you know then that he’s as far gone as you are. His hands slide down to the waistband of your pants, tugging them down your legs with urgency.

As your skin is exposed to the cool air, you can feel the heat of his gaze on you, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

“You’re fuckin' perfect,” he mutters, his voice thick with desire.

Joel's hands find your thighs, parting them with a deliberate slowness that makes your breath catch in your throat. He positions himself between your legs, his body weight pressing you into the mattress, his chest rising and falling with the same frantic rhythm as yours.

The anticipation is almost unbearable as his fingers trace the line of your panties, the fabric damp with want.

“Jesus, she’s drippin’ for me already,” he mutters, voice rough, as he slides the material to the side, his thumb brushing over the sensitive swell of your clit.

Your body jerks at the contact, a desperate sound escaping your lips, but Joel doesn’t relent.

“You touch yourself down here, baby?” he asks, working tortuously slow circles over your clit.

"Please," you beg, your hands grasping at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

He looks up at you, his gaze dark and filled with an intensity that makes your stomach tighten. “Asked you a question, honey.”

You whine, high and loud in your throat as your thighs clench desperately around his wrist. “Yes, I touch myself.”

Joel’s lips curl into a satisfied grin, sliding his thick index finger through the messy wetness to slip inside your clenching hole, making you gasp. Your hands grasp at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

“Good girl,” he breathes, eyes darkening at the broken moan that bursts from your lips. “When’s the last time you touched yourself?”

Your brain feels hazy as you search for the answer, pleasure clouding your mind slow and sweet as molasses. “A–a few nights ago.”

Joel hums idly, slipping a second finger alongside the first. The stretch has you whining, his fingers a lot more to take than your own.

Your hands come up to claw at his shoulders, relishing in the way his broad muscle ripples and shifts beneath your greedy palms.

“Joel,” you whine, hips canting down against his hand impatiently.

He just shushes you softly, free hand brushing soothing circles along the skin of your inner thigh. “I know, honey,” he mutters, the pace fingers speeding up. “But I gotta get her nice and ready if you wanna take my cock.”

The gush of your pussy around his fingers is loud in the stillness of the room, a filthy wet noise that burns your ears each time he plunges them into your aching hole.

“I am ready.” Your breath hitches as your body begins to tremble beneath him. “Please, Joel—fuck—please, I need—”

“Need what?” His voice is thick with dark amusement, but there's a hunger in his eyes that has your stomach twisting. “Tell me, baby. What do you need?”

“I need you,” you rasp, your nails digging little crescent moons into his skin, your body pleading for release. “I need you inside me.”

Your hands grab at his hair, pulling him back up to meet your lips in a feverish kiss.

The pressure of his body on yours, the way his hard cock grinds against your trembling thigh, drives you to the brink of madness.

Your hands trail down his chest, past the waistband of his jeans, finally reaching the bulge straining against the fabric.

Joel groans when you rub him through his pants, feeling his cock twitch in response. He pulls back, breathing heavily, his lips curling into a smirk.

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice thick with lust. “You want my cock in this pretty pussy? Want me to show you how good it feels to be fucked?”

“God, yes,” you answer, desperation lacing your tone as your hand moves to unbuckle his jeans. “Want it so bad.”

He lets you push his pants down just enough to free his cock, and you gasp, your eyes drawn to the way his length stands, thick and hard, just waiting for you. The tip flushed an angry red, drooling pre-come onto the scratchy sheets.

Joel pulls his fingers from you, using his hands spreading your legs wider, positioning himself between them with such careful precision that you can barely stand it.

The head of his cock drags through the mess between your legs, slipping all the way down till it catches on your soaked entrance.

Joel pauses, looking down at you, waiting for your signal, but the only answer you give is a pleading whimper, your hands pulling at his shoulders, urging him to move.

His mouth captures yours once again as he slowly slides into you, the stretch of his cock filling you steadily, making you gasp into his mouth.

The slow burn of him carving a place for himself inside of you is almost too much, your body trembling as you adjust to the feeling of him.

“Fuck, baby,” Joel mutters against your lips. “You’re so tight, so fuckin’ perfect for me.”

As he sinks deeper into you, his thick cock finally buried to the hilt inside of you, the feeling is overwhelming. You gasp, nails digging into his back as the pain slowly shifts into pleasure.

Joel groans into your mouth, his hands moving to your hips, guiding you as he rocks gently against you.

The rhythm is slow at first, deliberate, as if he's savoring every inch of you. Your body quivers beneath him, every inch of your skin tingling with sensation. You clutch at him, your legs tightening around his waist, needing more, wanting more.

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Take it, baby."

You screw your eyes shut tightly, trying to steady yourself as he thrusts deeper, harder. The angle shifts just enough to make your breath catch in your throat.

Every stroke feels like it’s hitting the deepest part of you, sparking heat in places you never knew could burn so hot.

"Fuck," you gasp, the sensation too overwhelming, too much in the best way. "Joel... please..."

"Please what, sweetheart?" He pulls back slightly, teasing you with a slow roll of his hips before driving back in with a grunt.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, urging him to move faster, harder. "Don’t stop," you breathe, your voice trembling. "I need you to fuck me, Joel. Faster. Harder. Please."

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as Joel finally picks up the pace, each thrust harder and deeper than the last.

Your back arches off the bed, chest pressing flush to his as your body coils tighter and tighter, already so close to the edge.

Joel reaches up to take your wrist in his, dragging your hand down to press flat against your lower stomach.

“Feel that?” he asks breathlessly, the speed of his hips knocking the dingy bed frame into the wall with every thrust. “You feel how deep I am?”

His own hand blankets yours, pushing down so you can feel the way his cock punches up against your palm on the next thrust.

Your pussy clenches desperately around him at the feeling, your slick lips dropping open on a loud moan.

You can barely hold on. The heat in your stomach tightens, coiling painfully as your free hand scrambles to find purchase on his skin. "I can't—I'm gonna—"

He grits his teeth, his jaw clenched as he drives deeper, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "Come for me, baby," he growls, his voice dark and commanding. "Let me feel it."

With a strangled cry, you finally release, your body clenching around him, every nerve igniting in a white-hot explosion of pleasure.

You’re lost in it, your world spinning, your senses overwhelmed by the sensation of Joel’s body pounding into yours, the way his cock brushes against that sweet spot behind your clit enough to make sparks go off behind your eyelids.

Joel pulls out of your velvety warmth, hand coming up to fist his dripping length until he’s bowing over you tightly and coming with a deep groan of your name.

His release paints your stomach with milky strands of white, rope after rope of warm come claiming you in a way no one has before.

He finally collapses against you with one last shuddering breath, both of you breathing heavily, your chests rising and falling together in the quiet aftermath.

For a few moments, neither of you speaks, the only sounds are the soft creak of the bed and the quiet hum of your racing hearts.

Joel rests his head against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, and you can feel the tension begin to slip away, the weight of everything that’s happened between you both settling into something new—something different, but still there.

Your hand slips down the sweaty expanse of your stomach, your fingers swiping through the sticky mess of his release curiously.

“Christ, quit that,” Joel groans, tearing his eyes away from the sight to press his forehead against your shoulder.

“Why?” you hum, brow raised in amusement as you drop your hand back to the mattress. “Can you even get it up again?”

Joel pinches your side hard enough to make you squeal, your body flinching away from him as a surprised laugh bubbles from your chest.

“Watch it,” he warns, though there’s no bite to his tone. You only laugh in response.

The two of you settle into a comfortable silence, wrapped in each other as crickets chirp from outside the window.

Then Joel clears his throat, fingers idly tracing different shapes on the skin of your hip as he gathers the courage to speak.

A circle, a square, a diamond, a circle, a heart, a heart, a heart.

“I’m…” he starts, trailing off softly. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a real fuckin’ prick, and you didn’t deserve it. You never did.”

You turn your own gaze to his chest, hand coming up so you can trail your fingers along the jagged scar decorating his shoulder. Your touch featherlight over the rough patch of skin.

All the anger seeps from your body, a heavy weight gone until you feel so light you could float off the mattress and into the cold night air.

“It’s okay,” you whisper softly, so soft you think it gets lost in the quiet darkness of the room. “I understand now.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you both just lay there, tangled in each other, not worrying about the world outside, about the chaos that waits.

Just you, him, and the soft glow of moonlight.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini nat's note: should i add joel to my taglist...i do kinda want to write more for him in the future but i'm not sure yet...lmk chickens <3 bee tee dubs sorry the ending absolutely sucks i could not for the life of me figure out how to end this LMAO

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traumas-mermay-2025 · 2 years ago

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Today’s TMNTober prompt is:

6. Improvised Weapon! 🪠

#tmntober2023 prompt #tmntober 6th #I always think of that one 03 tmnt episode #where they use cleaning supplies #and also this one ‘12 comic where they switch weapons #also my friend’s fic Fire and Stones where Bishop throws a gun at an alien cuz he doesn’t know how it works lol #use of duct tape is heavily encouraged lmao #throw stuff. break stuff. stick stuff together. steal your opponent’s weapon.#maybe it’s a baby ninja’s first gun!#maybe it’s a last ditch effort to survive!

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sorryimananti-romantic · 2 months ago

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morals what morals bro we don't have that in here 😃 (can you resist ot8 tho)

JEONG YUNHO HAS US ALL IN A CHOKEHOLD (as he should) and bro 😭😭 keep close attention to the rv girls they're literally gonna save both mc and ateez's asses again and again 😭😭

The Leaders | Chapter V

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

masterlist

ot8!ateez x f!reader, mafia au

chapter warnings: drinking, smoking, illegal businesses, mentions of shooting, war/military and drugs, wholesome maknaes interactions, san is a little flirty, hongjoong's subtle attempt to woo you, seonghwa's failed attempt, and yunho's very successful attempt! kissing.

chapter wc: 10.5k

chapter synopsis: you accompany hongjoong to his meeting with assemblyman wi, where you direct him to investigate secretary park with the keyword of ‘strictland’. while you recover from the meeting with san, yeosang learns that you are not the rv spies’ target. rather, you are being protected from a threat they refuse to reveal. you practise shooting with the warehouse boys but learn of a bet placed on your shooting skills and you go to confirm the culprit, yunho. things take an unexpected, intimate turn.

prev chapter recap: you accompany hongjoong to the station and he tells you about his past connection with general wi. you point inspector gong to secretary park’s direction and suggest using general wi. afterwards, you accompany hongjoong to lunch with san and yeosang where yeosang confirms if the actions of that drunken night did mean something. seonghwa prepares you to become secretary and you’re doubtful but hongjoong assures that you’re fit for the job. you go to meet the warehouse boys with seonghwa and learn about the illegal weapons manufacturing. on your way to practise shooting with the boys, you get attacked by secretary park’s men which leaves you questioning if staying with the crescents is worth the danger you bring with yourself. the boys assure you that you don’t have to worry about a thing because they have your back now. the night ends on a suggestive note with yunho.

Fate was a strange thing.

Never did you think you would find yourself working for the biggest criminal organisation turned business. When you first got a job at the Crescent Bar, you were convinced that it had to be fate that led you here– these things were not in your control. You had been pushed around, going from place to place until you found yourself at the bar.

However… it must be the hands of destiny that personally guided you to the Crescent Office to work alongside the bosses. Destiny must have whispered in your ears, a hand on your back to keep you steady. You finally felt as if you were at the right place and were doing the right thing after a whole life of unease and struggle.

Not that the struggle or unease had gotten any easier– just that its nature had shifted into something that was familiar to you, like the game of chess you used to play with Secretary Park back when you lived together. He didn’t teach you how to play– he taught you how to win. There was a big difference between the two. He said that life was easier when you could splay the elements out on an imaginative chessboard and make a move accordingly. It was something that stuck with you.

It was also probably why your input regarding Assemblyman General Wi was being taken into consideration after you made your moves and cornered him. Assemblyman Wi was suspecting that the Crescents were trying to involve him in something darker than he initially thought. Hongjoong didn’t give him much in their phone call conversation that took place after Inspector Gong involved him in the drug investigation. Hongjoong only shared how valuable his information could be to his political career and the Assemblyman seemed to have caught the bait.

He requested a personal meeting, and the boss was still adamant that you accompany him. After all, you were ‘his little secretary’ now. His assistant, a part of the inner circle, whatever label you wished to give it. The boys were doing their best to make you adjust to your new position. You were more involved in the business now, overseeing both the legal and the illegal side with Seonghwa.

At the end of your night shift, you and Yunho would wrap things up before closing the office. Sometimes, he would walk you home under the pretence of discussing work. He always listened intently and responded well to your worries. Most of the time, it was clear that he was just using that opportunity to simply talk with you and get to know you better.

Whatever it was, you weren’t one to complain– you were starting to get used to this little routine and if you were honest with yourself and your feelings for once, you would admit that you quite liked this. You quite liked him. It was hard not to warm up to him.

Especially when he relaxed and let his work persona behind at the office. It was unbelievable that this was the same person whose presence had overwhelmed you an incredible amount before you joined the office– not that he wasn’t scary and overwhelming when he wanted to be. It was just that you understood his role as the consigliere of this business and how he had to maintain an image.

Despite all of that, he made you feel safe now. You were starting to view Jeong Yunho in a new light and see him for who he really was as a person, not just as a Crescent.

He was still a bit reserved and for all the right reasons. You supposed as the consigliere, he must still have his qualms about you. He wouldn’t be good at his job if not. As far as work was concerned, he never indulged you in something new, only discussing the things you had already gone over with Seonghwa and Hongjoong.

As did Seonghwa, though you didn’t even need to talk for him to hear you. It was a bit surreal how he had you all figured out. You would take a second to think something over and he would know that you were harbouring doubts. You would look at him a certain way and he would understand that you needed some assuring that everything would work out smoothly.

And these were just his words– his touch provided you with a level of comfort you didn’t know was possible through just a simple brush of fingers against yours or a tap to your shoulder. You weren’t sure he realised what effect he had on you. It would be better if he didn’t.

And the boss… well.

“I said what I said. You’re accompanying me to the meeting, whether you like it or not.”

You were back at square one with the argument concerning a certain politician.

“He’s Assemblyman Wi Ha Jun,” you almost sobbed. “You may know him from war as a Major General but I know him as a scary politician who has a knack for getting rid of people and burying all evidence.”

“He can’t touch you and you know that, Luna,” Hongjoong plopped on his chair and clicked his tongue in mock disappointment. “I thought you realised that by now.”

“I know,” you sighed deeply. “But you have to understand that knowing that changes nothing. I’m afraid I’ll make a mistake and say too much.”

“You won’t,” he assured you, suppressing a laugh. “Wasn’t I the scary boss once?”

“You still are?” You shrugged. “You’re taking me to the meeting at gunpoint. It can’t get any scarier than this.”

You both looked at the revolver that was previously lying still on the table but was now being carelessly spun between his fingers. He finally let out a dark cackle, tossing the revolver almost casually on top of the documents yet still making you flinch.

“Wish I could shoot some sense into you. And maybe a little self-confidence,” Hongjoong commented.

“Wish I could muster the self-confidence I had when I traded my life for secrets,” you retorted and he laughed in a low manner, still waiting for a response. You let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine, I’ll accompany you– on one condition.”

Hongjoong raised a brow. “You seem to forget that I’m the boss and you’re in no position to make such demands, but okay, carry on.”

You clutched your chest, feigning hurt. “I thought I was part of your ‘inner circle’ or whatever. Clearly not. Anyways, I would prefer it if I’m just introduced as Luna and not Jeon y/n. In fact, I think I’d like to keep going with Luna in the future too.”

That was how it was with the boss. An endless battle of retorts and jabs but it was mostly unserious, even though to an observer it would look like a quarrel. Perhaps, that was just what your dynamic had to be, and it wasn’t bad. You could really speak your mind when you were with him and that was saying something. He had a knack for making people open up and be honest with him.

Hongjoong passed you a challenging look but decided to ignore the jab. “Alright. We’ll try to keep your identity a secret for as long as possible, but you can’t blame us if he finds out anyway. He has quite the network himself.”

“Deal,” you nodded grimly, preparing yourself mentally for the meeting that was scheduled in two hours at the Crescent Bar right before your night shift.

While you both worked in your respective spaces– him in his office, alone, and you outside at your usual spot, you noticed a familiar name while checking tomorrow’s schedule.

Seonghwa was meeting with a person called ‘Winter’. You thought you had heard the name before but you couldn’t recall where. You made a mental note to get a peek at the person when she would visit. Maybe her face would rock your memory.

Just as you were wrapping up and taking a break to freshen up (which included taking a walk around the block and gathering your wits for the meeting), Seonghwa arrived upstairs and noticed how you were so distracted cracking your knuckles that you didn’t hear him until he was right in front of your desk.

“Nervous?” He asked.

“Very,” you admitted. No point hiding it because you weren’t good at that anyway, and the worst in front of him. “But it’s okay. I’m probably making it a big deal because it feels like I’m back to the Edenary days when my father was trying to make sure I wouldn’t come across these influential figures. Now the boss is trying to make sure I’m present.”

Seonghwa chuckled. “You understand why though, don’t you?”

“I do,” you smiled, holding the daily report in the air. Seonghwa motioned for you to follow him and you went to unlock his office, getting inside with him.

“You don’t need to present it– I’ll take a look later,” Seonghwa said and you nodded, relieved. You set the report on the table then, standing awkwardly and pursing your lips. “Would you like some chamomile tea?”

“Thank you, but I’m okay. It looks like we’ll be drinking, so,” you shrugged. Seonghwa was taking off his coat and hanging it on the hatstand. It looked like he had more to say so you waited for him, his presence slowly washing a wave of calmness over you.

And it seemed like he was aware of that because he stepped in front of you, this time a little closer. He placed both of his hands on your shoulders, caressing your collarbones with the pad of his thumbs, separated by the black net that made the neckline of your dress.

“You’ll do alright, Luna. You don’t have to worry too much. Just be yourself and you’ll be fine. Besides, Hongjoong will be there with you. You can count on him.”

“I know. It’s just a bit daunting, but that’s just nerves. Thank you, Mr. Park.”

Seonghwa nodded and patted your head once before drawing away. “Are you okay?”

“Nervous? Yes–”

“No, I mean, are you okay?” Seonghwa asked, scanning your face with concentration. “With everything that’s been going on with Secretary Park, and now this meeting… You don’t have to be a part of this if you don’t wish to. You know that, right?”

This was what was so special about Park Seonghwa and why the rest of the Crescents always leaned on him. You felt your heart swoop anxiously but you nodded, mustering a steel gaze.

“I’m fine. I’ll be fine. It’s just something that’s bound to happen one day or another.”

Seonghwa wasn’t satisfied with your answer though, and that was obvious by the warning look on his face. You let out a short laugh. “Really, thank you for asking, Mr. Park. You’re too kind to me.”

“I’m not,” he shook his head in amusement.

“Yeah. You’re just kind to everyone in general, I know that,” you said. “I should be leaving now. Have a good rest of the night, Mr. Park.”

Just when you were about to exit, Seonghwa’s voice called. “Do you really think I’m kind to just anybody?”

You turned to look at him, hand on the door knob. He was right– he wasn’t kind to just anybody. He hadn’t been kind to you when you first met.

“Are you claiming that I’m someone special to you?” You asked teasingly but when he nodded in all seriousness, you froze for just a moment. And then you took a deep breath, nodding.

“Thank you for letting me know that I’m someone you care about now.”

Seonghwa looked just a little disappointed to hear that, but he remained silent. You shut the door behind you, pausing to process what he had said.

It was confusing you. Seonghwa’s kindness, Yunho’s antics, and whatever the hell was going on between you and Yeosang. And whatever the hell Wooyoung had said about them. You wished you could ask them but it wasn’t your place to. And you weren’t sure what they really wanted from you. If it was merely information, they could have very well tortured it out of you if they wished to.

So you went towards the Captain’s room– the one person you could be honest with, and the one person who was honest with you, no matter how ugly or bitter the truth might sound. You were just boss and secretary. He didn’t talk in circles like the rest.

“Ready?” He asked, grabbing his coat and cane from the corner.

“Ready,” you nodded and he came to stand in front of you, scanning you once.

“Do you have your gun with you?” He asked and you blinked in surprise but nodded. Hongjoong’s eyes went to the purse resting on your hip, hanging by your shoulder. “I hope you won’t have to use it, but we can never be too cautious. You know how susceptible the bar is to attacks.”

“I really need to learn how to properly use it though,” you admitted, about to open the door for him so you both could leave but he held his hand in the air, pausing you. He produced a narrow box out of the pocket of his coat and opened it, revealing an intricately carved silver cuff bracelet with an infinity sign at the clasp.

Your mouth curved into an ‘o’ in surprise when you saw the brand– Maddox and Co. The famous jewellery shop in Sector 1. Its diamonds were a staple of Eden and people from all over the continent would visit Eden just to shop there.

He smirked at your expressions. “Like it?”

“So you plan to woo General Wi with… this?”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes, waiting for you to give you his hand and when you did, albeit hesitantly, he shot you a disapproving look though you knew he was just teasing you. He helped you wear it on your left wrist and you admired the way it rested there.

“Just a little something for your… promotion, you could say.”

“Is this really for me?” You asked in disbelief and he nodded. “Shall I return it after the meeting?”

“Luna,” Hongjoong groaned, tossing the box on the sofa.

“Do you give out gifts to all your employees who get promoted?” You continued with the questions and Hongjoong chuckled to himself, shaking his head.

“Think of it as a bribe,” he said, chuckling at your expressions because you were annoyed that he was teasing you. “Let’s go, we’re getting late.”

“But–” you started, faltering when he left the room. You glanced at the cuff before following him, rushing to match his pace as he descended down the stairs. Even during the short car ride, you kept sending pleading looks in his direction in between admiring the beautiful jewellery. He continued to ignore you but you silently promised him that you would wring the answers out of him.

Taeyong opened the door for you and led the way inside the bar, making sure everything was okay and having a word with General Wi’s men who were stationed outside Room no. 1 where the Crescents usually conducted their meetings. You looked around, relaxing a bit when you spotted Yeosang making his way towards the two of you.

“Just on time,” Yeosang patted your back. His hand stayed there for just a moment longer before he moved between you and Hongjoong to open the door. “San was keeping him company.”

“Let me know if you hear something, and have San signal me if anything seems amiss,” Hongjoong instructed and Yeosang nodded before knocking and opening the door.

“Ah, here comes the Captain,” San clapped before he got up. You couldn’t see the Assemblyman properly yet but he got up and Hongjoong straightened, saluting. Assemblyman General Wi saluted back before the two shared a warm handshake, exchanging greetings.

Assemblyman Wi caught you looking at him with curiosity and he thought that you looked familiar, though he couldn’t quite remember how. Hongjoong extended his hand towards you, prompting you to come forward to greet his superior and you shook hands.

“This is Luna. Currently my assistant and partner.”

“How do you do?” Assemblyman Wi asked, urging you to take a seat and you sat next to Hongjoong. The Assemblyman looked at Hongjoong. “Currently?”

“I’m trying to make her a Leader,” Hongjoong admitted and you slowly turned towards the boss.

A Leader?

“That’s the first I’m hearing of it, by the way,” you told the Assemblyman the truth and he laughed. Hongjoong sent an approving look in your direction. “I heard that you were Mr. Kim’s boss in the army. I’ve heard only the highest praise about you.”

“Oh, he likes me too much,” Assemblyman Wi waved his hand in dismissal, crossing his legs. Hongjoong poured him a drink and filled your glass as well. The burgundy colour of the liquid matched with the colour of his tie over the grey three-piece suit that the Assemblyman wore.

“Did he tell you about our first meeting? I was sure we were going to be sworn enemies, Hongjoong and I– even though I was his superior.”

You looked at Hongjoong with a raised brow and he shook his head in amusement. “It wasn’t that serious, General.”

“Yeah, you only thought I was an incompetent asshole who was incapable of making decisions. Nothing serious,” Assemblyman Wi laughed and you pursed your lips to stifle a smile. “He had the audacity to say that out loud. Didn’t end up well for him.”

“Yeah, it didn’t, because we’re here now,” Hongjoong scoffed and the Assemblyman grinned. “How’s business?”

“Booming,” he said. “Especially after I got the Textile Export Amendment Bill passed in the parliament recently.”

“Ah, so you’re allowed to resume trade now?”

“With lower taxes, yes,” General Wi confirmed.

“I guess being a presidential candidate certainly has its pros,” Hongjoong concluded, raising his glass. The sound of clinks momentarily filled the room as you all drank. “And how’s politics going for you?”

Assemblyman Wi looked at his military subordinate for a moment too long. “You would know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

Hongjoong leaned back into the sofa with the familiarity of someone who had played this game too many times. You, though, sat straight in your seat, eyes fixated on the two and your hand busy fiddling with the cuff around your wrist.

“You must have asked to meet me for a reason,” Hongjoong clasped his hands together. “Coming here all the way from Edenary must have been tiring.”

The Assemblyman scoffed loudly. “You got my boys landed in the nick, you know?”

Hongjoong hummed, feigning ignorance. “I don’t keep tabs on every person in this Sector, General.”

“But you’ve been keeping tabs on me,” Assemblyman Wi said, unbothered by that fact probably because he kept tabs on the Crescents too. “You led me here, didn’t you?”

“If you want your boys out, you just have to ask,” Hongjoong assured him and the Assemblyman leaned back to extract a box of cigarettes out of his pocket, offering the two of you some. Both of you denied. He lit one, looking back and forth between you two while he smoked.

“I can get them out myself, but that’s not why I’m here,” Assemblyman Wi leaned forward, resting his arm on the table. “The drug my boys were smoking this time was new– I’m unable to trace the dealer which is why I’m sure it’s you, but the drugs are a byproduct of Park Pharmas.”

“Quite the opportunity for you then, isn’t it, Assemblyman Wi?” Hongjoong smiled and the man smirked in answer. He couldn’t deny that it was. “Maybe you should look into Park Pharmaceuticals after all.”

“I’m always looking into Park Pharmas. Secretary Park acts as a shield to President Lee and you know that I need to take him down to win the elections.”

Whoa, you thought. He was pretty confident in himself. You supposed that was not a bad trait and he needed that in order to take the presidential title one day. Hongjoong looked at you and you cleared your throat.

“You can trace the drugs back to Park Sunghoon– the Secretary’s son,” you told him and he raised his brow in surprise.

“He seems like a distinguished gentleman,” General Wi commented, eyes narrowed in thought.

“Yeah, well, apparently the distinguished can’t resist a little smoke,” you shook your head. “Once you get to Park Sunghoon, you don’t have to expose him right away– I suggest using him as bait to get some answers out of Secretary Park.”

“Answers to what?”

“You’d know when you get there,” you told him and he looked at Hongjoong who nodded. “Maybe pass a keyword around for your boys– Strictland.”

“Strictland?” Assemblyman Wi frowned. “What’s that dump of land got to do with any of this?”

“That’s for you to find out,” Hongjoong answered, nodding at you. “Just make sure that nobody traces this tip back to us.”

“I don’t like this,” Assemblyman Wi settled back in resignation. “I could have traced that source to Secretary Park anyway. I would have made up something. What do you want in return?”

“We only want to hear what you hear,” Hongjoong insisted. “Information. That’s it.”

“And what makes you think I’ll agree to share that information with you? Must be pretty valuable if you’re not directly investigating.”

Hongjoong smiled in answer and Assemblyman Wi looked at you, finding you pointing at the antique porcelain vase that had saved your life that night and got you involved in this dark web with the Crescents. The vase from his money laundering hustles. It took a moment for the Assemblyman to realise what was going on but when you spotted a flush creep up his neck, you knew that you got him.

Assemblyman Wi let Hongjoong refill his glass and he downed it in one gulp, chuckling afterwards. He looked at you with interest and you suddenly felt nervous but you matched his gaze.

“Now where did he find you? Who are you?”

“She’s just my secretary,” Hongjoong shrugged jokingly.

“She’s full of information, isn’t she? Look at her eyes,” Assemblyman Wi said, addressing Hongjoong. “You saw the potential, huh?”

You had a feeling that they weren’t talking about your capabilities anymore and you started to feel a bitter taste on your tongue but Hongjoong, whether intentionally or unintentionally, let his hand fall to the side, brushing yours in the process. He didn’t move his hand.

“Looks like someone’s secretary hasn’t been doing a good job,” Hongjoong commented.

“Yeah, I might look for a replacement soon,” Assemblyman Wi smiled at you.

“She’s my secretary. I’m sure you can find plenty of options in Edenary. Maybe you can steal the President’s secretary.” Hongjoong said, referring to your father.

Assemblyman Wi laughed, shaking his head. “That man isn’t someone I can tame. I wonder why he didn’t run for presidency himself– he doesn’t need to be the president’s mere lackey.”

You didn’t miss how Hongjoong’s finger had momentarily curled against yours when he announced that you were his. His secretary. Before your mind could go elsewhere, though, Assemblyman Wi’s observation piqued your interest.

If someone of Assemblyman General Wi’s status thought that Secretary Park was potential presidential candidate material… why did your father never pursue it? He was an ambitious man, but he always seemed to be held back, sticking alongside the president and remaining in the shadows most of the time. Did he not desire that post, or did President Lee have something over him, something that bound them?

The rest of the small talk went by but you were too distracted with the ghost of the boss’ fingertips around yours. You had not expected him to provide you with moral support like this, if it could be called that. Somehow, even the mere thought of it was strangely comforting.

Assemblyman Wi left with a promise to share whatever information he would come upon if you shared more about President Lee and Secretary Park in case you heard something amiss in the underground network. As soon as his figure disappeared, you slumped back on the seat, a wave of relief washing over you.

“Good job today, Luna,” Hongjoong patted your hand. “Really got him speechless without uttering a word. Impressive.”

“Yeah, I knew I was going to do that the moment we stepped in this room,” you laughed, massaging your temples. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Hongjoong asked nonchalantly, popping a few nuts in his mouth before checking the time. You only smiled in answer.

San and Yeosang entered the room after making sure the Assemblyman was gone and San clapped for you. “You did well.”

“Ah, you’re there,” Yeosang jumped a little when he spotted you and you supposed you were blending in pretty well with the seat right now. “Almost missed you.”

“How did it go?” San asked Hongjoong.

“Well. She’ll explain. I have to go back now. Get her to eat something– she looks pale.” Hongjoong ordered.

“Geez, thanks,” you slumped down even further and the boys snickered. Hongjoong left with a goodbye and the boys ordered some food for you. You admitted that now that the meeting was done with, your appetite was returning. You had been too nervous to eat properly the entire day.

Yeosang kept you company until the food arrived. You had just finished briefing the two on the meeting with General Wi– you told them that it looked like he really was going to start investigating the connection between Secretary Park and Strictland. Yeosang praised you for doing a good job and told you that he would catch up with you later, leaving to attend to business.

That left San, and you smiled at the man who had once been your boss but was now the closest thing to a friend that you had in the Crescents. “It’s been a while, huh?”

“Just you and me? Yeah,” San said, passing you the sandwiches that were on today’s menu and for some reason, your heart did a little flip at his words. “So, how has it been at the office?”

“Well, I heard something funny,” you folded a napkin, dabbing at your mouth. “The boss told me that someone speaks very highly of me.”

“Oh? Who might that be?” San pretended to think but laughed in submission when you glared at him. “Yeah, well. Didn’t that work out for the better. You’ve warmed up to us quite a lot.”

You had to agree. Everything had changed. It was getting harder to recall a time when you were scared and concealed your identity from them, but now it served as a weapon and you were able to stand beside them, though you could still argue that you were better left in the background. “It’s hard not to.”

San smiled. “What do you think about the boss?”

“He’s… definitely something,” you let out a laugh. “He’s extraordinary, San. I see why he's called the Captain.”

“Oh, where did you hear that?” San leaned forward in curiosity.

“Jaemin,” you said and he shook his head. “It suits him. I’m really starting to admire him. I’m seeing you Crescents in a new light.”

“What do you really think of us, though?” San narrowed his eyes.

“That you’re all too much,” you whispered teasingly, taking a deep sigh. “You all are… too much.”

San was aware of why you might be feeling like that. “You’re not thinking of something stupid like how you shouldn’t be here right now, are you?” You gave him a look and he continued. “You belong here. With us. Do you feel that?”

“Sometimes,” you admitted. “Sometimes I think I’m being led to the altar–”

“We would never do that to you–”

“Not you,” you interrupted, calming him down. “It’s not you. I feel like we’re getting involved in something dangerous, and now that I’m here, I want to be able to protect you instead of leading you to the said danger. While I’m relieved that Assemblyman Wi will be doing the dirty work for us, it’s only a matter of time before things blow up.”

“Well, it’s not our first time dealing with something like this, so rest assured, you can count on us to control the damage.”

“I have a feeling that this Strictland business is beyond anything you could have imagined.”

San knew that you were right and that this was a possibility. He had discussed it with the boys and they were already taking appropriate measures by making new allies and setting traps in case things went south.

“It’ll be okay, Luna,” San assured you. “If anything seems off, I’ll let you know, okay?”

“Thank you,” you gave him an earnest smile. “How have you been? Still whining about the workload?”

And that sparked a heated argument as you both compared your workload with a newfound competitive streak in you. The conversation shifted to San updating you on the recent gossip he’d heard at the bar, some of which you verified as credible. You finished your lunch while he talked and you checked the time.

“Well, it was wonderful catching up with you but I need to get some rest before I have to go to work again. Maybe you should have warned me about the long hours before I signed up to be Mr. Kim’s secretary.”

“Oops,” San grinned. “Do you like where you are now?”

You smiled at his question. He had asked you the same thing that drunken night at the bar when you had opened up to him– a little too much than you should have, though you didn’t regret it. “I do. I like them– the boss, Mr. Park… Yunho.”

San smiled knowingly at the way you called the consigliere’s name. “I told you– Yunho is the best person you can have by your side.”

“Yeah, well, it took us a lot of trial and error to get here, but we’re good,” you told him. “I met the warehouse boys formally too– I’m seeing them more often now that I’m accompanying the boss around.”

“Do you like them?”

“I mean… it’s Wooyoung. You can’t not like him,” you said and he laughed out loud. “He won’t allow that, and I honestly appreciate that he’s so laid-back while sharp at the same time. Mingi and Jongho are easy to talk to too. It’s a good thing I was already familiar with them from all their visits here at the bar.”

“Yeah, they’re quite excited to have you be a part of our gang. Won’t shut up about you,” he scoffed and you laughed. You picked your purse and then paused when you recalled that you needed to tell San something. You turned to him, finding him watching you with an indecipherable look in his eyes– not the mellow gaze that you were used to, though he quickly shifted his demeanour when you stepped in his vision.

“I wanted to thank you for that night, when we were both drunk,” you began and he frowned in confusion. “What you said about the others really helped me open up to them. It was a bit daunting, but I confronted the boss and told him about Secretary Park. He was quick to find out the rest by himself, but… thank you.”

“There’s nothing you need to thank me for,” San shook his head. “I know you would have made the same decision anyway.”

“But you did have a little influence on my decision, and it’s because… I think I trust you,” you said and his brows rose in surprise. “I took a leap of faith in you when I told the boss not to make the deal with Park Pharmas. So the credit really belongs to you. You’ve all been grateful that I gave you that information at the right time, but the credit… it’s yours.”

“No,” San wasn’t having any of it. He shook his head adamantly. “It’s all you, darling.”

“Gosh, you’re stubborn,” you commented and he finally smiled. He stepped closer to pat your cheek, surprising you because he hadn’t ever initiated physical contact like this.

“You’re doing a great job. I hope you can trust all of us one day, with all your heart. We have a lot to offer, Luna.”

“What does that mean?” You asked, not oblivious to the underlying words within that sentence.

“You’ll know,” San said, letting go of you but you blocked his way before he could move.

“What’s with all of you and your ambiguous statements?” You frowned. “Just when I think we’re getting somewhere, one of you says something suggestive and gets me all confused–”

“Don’t worry about it too much,” San chuckled, tapping your forehead with a finger. “Let it rest.”

“San,” you warned but he only laughed, making you smile. He licked his lips and pursed them– a nervous habit of his. You narrowed your eyes just a fraction, but nothing could have prepared you for the way he cupped your face and planted a sweet kiss on your forehead, lingering there just a moment.

“Let it rest.”

“Choi San!” you pushed him away and the two of you exited the room while trying to dodge the other’s swatting, laughter echoing in the corridor. Yeosang peeked from the window of his office, smiling fondly at the sight of you both.

And then he turned to the guest in his room– Wendy.

“I don’t usually let my personal feelings interfere with business,” Wendy commented when Yeosang turned his attention back to her. “But I must say… I worry for y/n’s wellbeing.”

“Do you think we would harm her?” Yeosang asked rather nonchalantly. “Come on, Wendy. We’ve known each other for years– I expected better.”

“You have no reason to harm her right now, but she’s involved with your gang now. You don’t know everything about her. I fear you won’t take it well when you find out more.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yeosang gave her a suspicious look but Wendy only crossed her legs, downing the whiskey in one gulp.

“I know you lot have your morals,” Wendy acknowledged. “But she’s become my friend and I wish I had done more so she wouldn’t get so involved with you.”

“Rich coming from you when you’re a member of the most notorious spy network in the continent,” Yeosang raised a brow in challenge. “At least I’m not an assassin. And what do you mean friend? You don’t keep friends, Wendy.”

Wendy smiled. She was proud of being one of the leaders of the RV spies and their contribution to the stability in the continent was… questionable, to say the least. They served no one– not a person, not their homeland. They simply sold information to the highest bidder or exchanged their services for other favours. While their identities were known to some of the organisations who were also a part of the underground network, such as Ateez, the RV spies were still a mystery to anyone who tried to find them. You could not contact them– they would contact you if you needed them.

“I’m human, Mr. Kang. Everyone needs friends,” Wendy looked down at her empty glass, her short brown hair covering most of her face.

“Yeah? And you just so happened to find Luna to share the shabby apartment with. Pure chance, huh? Is that your disguise for your new target?”

“What do you care if she’s my target?” Wendy cocked her head, a dangerous glint in her eyes. “It’s not like I’m going to kill her. I’m only keeping her close because she knows too much and that information should not be in the wrong hands.”

Yeosang folded the cuffs of his black shirt, leaning in to lock eyes with the spy. “You must know everything then.”

To his surprise, Wendy shook her head. “I’ve been trying to get it out of her– if we kill her, we’ll be doomed.”

Yeosang almost felt pleased to hear that but then he realised that Wendy did not mean that they were threatened by the Crescents. “Doomed?”

“You can’t get that information out of me, don’t even think about it,” Wendy scoffed. “I’ve given you enough already, for old times’ sake. Give the Captain our greetings and tell him that he does not need to worry about us– not when it concerns Luna. We’re protecting her, Yeosang.”

“From who?” Yeosang frowned. “Secretary Park?”

Wendy laughed mockingly and that was enough for him. “You can stop keeping tabs on us. We’re with you on this one.”

With that, she left the room and the fading clicks of her heels left dread creeping up on Yeosang as he settled back on his seat.

Secretary Park was not the real threat. Whatever information Luna possessed was dangerous enough for the RV spies to protect her without her knowledge. Yeosang felt the hair on the back of his neck rise– he had never heard of the RV spies protecting someone instead of hunting them down. Were they protecting the information for their own sake or for the sake of the stability of the continent? He couldn’t help but wonder if it was the latter because all their leads so far led to Strictland. But there was another question nagging at him.

If Secretary Park was not the real threat, why was he trying to kill his own daughter? How was Secretary Park not the real threat when he tried to kill Luna?

San entered the room, ready to take over Yeosang’s work while he took a break, looking at him worriedly when he saw him with a deep frown. San slid on top of the desk in front of him, fixing his hair for him but Yeosang did not respond, which was strange.

“You okay? How did the meeting go?”

Yeosang rested his head against the back of the chair, zoning out while he looked at San. San waited patiently for his partner to gather his thoughts, straightening when his brows scrunched in concentration.

“Schedule a meeting with the boys. We’ve got a serious problem– and make sure Luna does not hear about this meeting.”

“That’s it. Keep your arm straight, just like that– shoot!”

You pulled the trigger, the recoil making you flinch visibly. The bang of the bullet sounded loudly inside you as it left the gun even though you were wearing earmuffs. You scrunched your face as you laughed, almost skipping to hide behind Jongho who was the only one who had not been making fun of you for the past hour that you had been learning to shoot. You peeked from above his shoulder to see if you had hit the target– the empty wine bottle.

All five of them were intact.

“The bullet went that way,” Jongho pointed towards the left where the last bottle remained perched on the table. The bullet had gone a bit too far for your liking. You pursed your lips at the subtle jab though he kept his face straight– unlike the two others who were currently clutching at each other and smacking each other’s limbs in an effort to collect themselves from the laughter.

You didn’t realise your shooting skills had become this rusty, but it had been a good few years since the last time you shot a gun. Madame Cha’s gang was happy to entertain your newfound hobby to learn shooting and had helped you get the hang of it, but it was towards the end of your stay in Wonderland so you hadn’t practised much.

While they had also teased you to no end, somehow, it felt more embarrassing this time.

You loaded the gun again, pointing at the pair who were still clutching to each other and they only laughed harder at your antics, making you groan.

“It’s not that funny, is it? What are you really laughing at?”

“It’s not,” Wooyoung agreed, wiping his eyes. “Your form is good, you just need practice. It’s just that we had a bet–”

“Oh, you lot and your bets,” you looked up at the sky in defeat, hearing Jongho’s laughter ring in the air too. “Who was it this time?”

The three exchanged glances and you raised a brow, pointing the gun at them again. “My aim may be bad but I’m pretty sure I can shoot from this close. Spill.”

“It was Yunho hyung!” Jongho raised his hands in surrender and your eyes widened in disbelief.

Yunho?

“He bet you wouldn’t shoot one single bottle today,” Mingi added and you scoffed, a sudden desire for revenge bubbling inside you.

How. Dare. He.

“Oh, it’s only because he thinks we’re bad teachers,” Wooyoung attempted to salvage the situation but the damage to your ego had been done. You shook your head repeatedly. “Please don’t kill him.”

“We’ll see about that,” you told him, face stern. “Now, will you be useful and tell me how to shoot better so he can lose the bet?”

“We’ve been at it for an hour now. You’re wasting our bullets,” Mingi teased.

“I know these bullets are of no use to you anyway,” you smirked and he grinned. “Come on. If he loses the bet I’ll have him treat you guys to dinner.”

“Alright, I’m in,” Wooyoung rolled his sleeves, a serious determination in his eyes as he assessed your form. He rubbed your shoulders to ease the tension from them while giving you pointers on how to spot the target and have your eyes work in coordination with your hands. You shot again with his directions and this time, the bullet lodged itself in the table instead of hitting the target which was clearly a milestone, all of them cheering for you. You tried again with the remaining bullets and Wooyoung helped you aim your hand–

And the shatter of the bottle had to be the most satisfying sound you had heard in a while. You groaned in relief while the boys gathered around you, congratulating you with pats and ruffles and you giggled at how they smothered you with affection– all to win a bet.

It was truly amazing how they made you feel so comfortable, almost childish, in such a short time. As the youngest of the group, they really lived up to that title. They could lift the energy with their presence alone anywhere.

“She just earned us dinner! I can’t wait to rub this in Yunho’s face,” Wooyoung was grinning widely. “But for now, let me treat you to some ramen. I make killer ramen.”

You realised how hungry you were at the mention of food and you helped them pack the equipment, ready to go back to the warehouse. You had a bit of free time in the afternoon since Hongjoong was going to the Sector 1 port with Seonghwa and Yunho to make sure the shipment of Black Shadow was dispatched safely to Mist Island. They had offered you to join them but you told them you’d prefer to get familiar with the technicals of the business first. They knew it would be overwhelming so they didn’t insist.

But they must have let the boys at the warehouse know that your evening was free because only a few minutes later, the phone at reception rang asking for you. You wondered who could be calling you but it was Wooyoung, inviting you for shooting lessons at the same spot that you had missed on your first visit. He was in town to buy some equipment and was willing to pick you up so you could go together.

While you were initially surprised that he was so willing to spend time with you, knowing Wooyoung, it wasn’t strange. He was always with someone. You accepted on the condition that a ride be arranged so you could make it back to your shift on time.

On the way, you learned more about the weapons business and how it started. There was already an established underground weapons channel run by MX and when they trained the Crescents who were still called Ateez at that time, they let them take over. Rival gangs like Chan’s gang– Wolfgang– had different suppliers which was why there was always a conflict of interests between them, prompting street fights or worse.

What made Ateez different from the other gangs was that shortly after taking over MX’s weapons business, they started manufacturing their own weapons and started dealing them in the underground network, resuming many of the channels that had shut down before or during the war. While some argued that it was dangerous and immoral to deal weapons, only a few knew how important and beneficial it would ultimately be for Eden’s defence. Eden had suffered a lot in the war and they needed to stand strong and proud on their feet once again.

You had been discussing the suppliers before you reached the warehouse and then got busy with greeting the employees before moving to the spot in the forest to practise. And now that you were back at the warehouse, seated at the backside on plastic chairs, you clapped when Wooyoung set the pot of ramen in the middle of the table. The savoury smell made your mouth water and you waited until Wooyoung settled down before you all dug in.

“This really is–” you nodded, thumbs up in the air, “killer ramen.”

“Right?” Wooyoung smiled cheekily. “Goes straight to the heart when you’re tired.”

“He’s our designated chef,” Jongho explained and you nodded in approval. Of course he was. “You should ask him to treat you to a proper meal.”

“Oh, she doesn’t need to ask,” Wooyoung announced proudly. “You’re welcome to a meal any time.”

“Wow, really?” You asked and he nodded earnestly. You looked at the others who were unfazed. “Thank you?”

“You don’t have to sound so sceptical,” Mingi laughed. “You should get used to this by now.”

He was right. Wooyoung was naturally very friendly and so very different from the rest of the Crescents. Something about his presence was very comforting and he was not judgemental at all, which you supposed made him pleasant company. You ate a bit more before you recalled the unanswered question.

“I meant to ask earlier,” you began, looking at Wooyoung. “Do you always keep a check of who funds your weapons project?”

Wooyoung, whose mouth was full of ramen, nudged Mingi and he cleared his throat. “We usually do, but most of the time they’re anonymous. Still, we try to trace the sources just to be on the safe side.”

You nodded. “And do you currently have any anonymous funding?”

“A few, yes,” Mingi’s brows furrowed in concentration as he recalled. “I think it’s mostly people in Eden or in rare cases, foreigners, who try very hard to remain anonymous. We keep the anonymity of our sources anyway, it’s not like everyone knows that we deal in weapons.”

“Most of the people do, though,” Jongho pointed out.

“Yeah, but it’s all under the shadows,” Wooyoung said, looking at you. “Are you on to something? I think I can recognise that look now.”

The look being your chin tucked between your fingers as you stared into the distance. You shot him a dirty look but he was right. “I’m not sure if any politicians fund your weapons project but it would be wise to start digging into it. Just to confirm if they are involved.”

“Usually, the politicians would stick to legal channels,” Jongho reminded you but continued. “Usually. It wouldn’t be strange if someone was making sure Eden had enough supply of weapons through us or some other channel, now that I think about it…”

“Right?” You bit your lips in thought. “Now that you’re expanding the business, making new deals and involving yourselves in politics, it would be sensible to start worrying about who’s funding your project and for what reasons.”

“Definitely,” Wooyoung concurred and you checked the time.

“Alright, boys. I think it’s time for me to leave,” you said, getting up.

“Stay~” Wooyoung whined, his entire demeanour shifting in a second with his arms reaching out for you, making you choke on laughter. Jongho shook his head, cleaning the table while Mingi smacked Wooyoung’s arm. Wooyoung only wrapped his arm around Mingi’s waist, snuggling close to him and you watched with interest at how Mingi’s arm naturally went around the younger’s back. Wooyoung looked at you. “Join our little bubble.”

“If he joins, sure,” you pointed at Jongho and he widened his eyes at you, scandalised. Wooyoung grinned, moving to grab the maknae’s arm who physically recoiled with a little yelp. You knew Jongho was not a fan of physical affection so it was quite a sight to see Wooyoung chase Jongho. He gave up with a groan, yelling threats at him but Jongho only flipped his middle finger in answer.

“Send Yunho my greetings, will you? Tell him I miss him and he should stop betraying my moral loyalty,” Mingi said, standing beside you as you watched the youngest yell threats at each other. You made a face.

“What does that even mean?”

“He’ll know,” Mingi passed you a knowing look and you narrowed your eyes at him but nodded anyway. You could pass a message, sure.

While Jongho did not join the bubble, you still received hugs from Wooyoung, even a kiss on the temple to tell you that you did well, and if you weren’t interrupted by someone shouting that the car was ready to go, the boys would have seen you awkwardly fidget as you wondered if Wooyoung was this casual with just anyone. You distantly recalled both San and Yeosang mentioning that Wooyoung wasn’t physically affectionate with just anyone and you wondered how you made it to that list.

Perhaps, you would ask Yeosang.

“You should drink less coffee at this hour of the night, Luna,” Yunho commented, noticing how it was your third cup since you arrived at the office.

“Well, the paperwork is boring and putting me to sleep. You’re awfully quiet tonight too. Did it hurt your ego, losing the bet?”

Yunho chuckled darkly, settling back almost proudly. “I didn’t place the bet to win it. I placed it because I knew you would be mad when you hear about it. I may have lost the battle but I won the war, ultimately.”

You clenched your jaw, mirroring his position though you folded your arms. “I don’t quite believe that. I think you’re just making up excuses.”

Yunho only smiled, maintaining eye contact with you and you kept it almost as a challenge.

It had been hot and cold with him tonight. It didn't help that you had to spend most of the time in Yunho’s office, working with him on the monthly report and updating each other on the recent happenings. You delivered Mingi’s message right when you arrived and that sent him into a fit of laughter, perhaps having realised what he meant. You didn’t ask but it piqued your curiosity to no end.

And then you told him that you won the boys their bet and that had him chuckling darkly with him being pretty adamant that you may have cheated.

Sure, Wooyoung had practically held your hand and guided that winning shot, but that couldn’t be counted as cheating… right?

“I still think I can do a better job at teaching shooting than they did,” Yunho cocked his head. “Do you want to go somewhere with me?”

“Where?”

“I know a place,” Yunho smirked and you raised a brow. “Let’s wrap this up first.”

Somehow, that served as motivation for you both, perhaps for different reasons. You cleaned up the office and locked the doors as you left, walking side by side along the canal just like you had done so many times now, except this time you were going in the opposite direction, away from your apartment.

Maddox Street was mostly empty save for the few drunkards at this hour of the night. The potted plants lining the offices and shops were still damp from the light shower from the evening, the wet smell of earth permeating your surroundings. At the end of the road, you could see the faint outline of a bright diamond-shaped shop sign that belonged to the store of Maddox and Co. This road was pretty clean, so… why were you here?

“Don’t tell me there’s a shooting range nearby,” you attempted to prod but Yunho wasn’t budging. “Do you plan to test your aim by shooting me? Because that would have sounded like a nice idea earlier, but now I’m not so sure…”

“Relax,” Yunho laughed. “We’re going to practise shooting but not with guns.”

“I’m tired–”

“You won’t be tired for this,” Yunho promised and you spent the rest of your walk arguing and teasing each other until you reached–

“Not the park,” you looked at Yunho in disbelief. “This is where kids come, Lieutenant Jeong.”

Yunho laughed at the way you pulled his rank into it. “This is also where you can find slingshots lying around.”

Now that piqued your interest. “And how would you know?”

“If you were a Sector 1 local, sweetheart, you would have known,” Yunho told you, ditching his overcoat on the bench to go find a slingshot. You bit the inside of your cheek to make yourself move past his casual use of the term, ditching your own coat and purse to find stones. In a few minutes, he was back with two slingshots and you had a pile of pebbles.

As Yunho taught you how to use a slingshot, he told you that this was a spot that he had frequently visited when he was a kid. Apparently, that’s how Mingi and Yunho became friends. Their parents used to bring them here in the evenings. Your heart warmed when you heard the stories he shared with you– you could almost imagine the 13 years old duo fighting over who was a better slinger.

“It’s hard to believe that you were once normal kids,” you laughed as you attempted to shoot the branch Yunho had stuck on the ground as your target, though both of you were more focused on each other than actually shooting pebbles at the target. “The war stole the innocence of so many children.”

“I was eighteen. Not really a child,” Yunho said but you shook your head.

“That’s still too young to find yourself on the path to becoming an honoured Lieutenant Colonel,” you told him and he shrugged. There was no hurt in his eyes anymore, the years spent in the war and the aftermath having hardened his heart, yet you found his lips curling into a soft smile as he imagined what could have been had the circumstances been different.

You shot another pebble, this time zooming past the stick and managing to shake it a little. A close call. “Do you often come back here?”

Yunho smiled guiltily this time. “It’s my first time after the war. I only watched from there sometimes,” he pointed at the road across the park.

You lowered the slingshot as you looked at him– his first time back, and he brought you here? He was nervously tugging at his form-fitting black waistcoat, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled upwards, baring the veins that popped as he clenched his fists, attempting to reposition the slingshot in his hands.

You tossed the slingshot aside, urging him to sit beside you on the bench instead. The cool air blew against the back of your head, making a few tendrils escape from your bun. “How does it feel to be back?”

“Strange,” he admitted. “Perhaps because it’s so empty at this hour.”

“And why did you bring me here tonight?”

Yunho looked at you, eyes almost half-lidded. “Do I need a reason to bring you here?”

“Not really,” you shrugged, resting your back against the bench in resignation. “Although, it would be nice if there was. ‘Jeong Yunho, the big, cold mafia consigliere person, brings his bookkeeper slash secretary to the park from his childhood’. Makes a good headline for Eden Newspaper, does it not–”

You felt Yunho’s hair caress your cheek before you felt his cheek rest on your shoulder. He slid down a little to accommodate himself better, almost snuggling into you.

“You got a headline for this?” Yunho asked in a low, tired voice. “Or did I finally make you shut up?”

You gulped so loudly you were sure he heard it. But you weren’t going to back away. “‘Lieutenant Colonel Jeong Yunho of Crescent Co. found snuggling with his secretary at the Topaz Park. Sources say it was a rare sight to see’--” you paused when he intertwined his hand with yours. You cleared your throat. “‘And some witnesses say they may have seen the consigliere hold the woman’s hand…’”

When he kissed the back of your hand, his lips soft against your skin, that’s when you finally shut up for a few moments. But Yunho, no matter how tired he was, had a penchant of making a mess out of you. “Carry on.”

“Is this why you brought me here tonight?” You asked quietly, your heart thumping. There was no way out of this now– not when he rested his body weight against yours, making his body heat feel incredibly welcoming in the otherwise cold weather.

“This wasn’t the original plan,” he looked at your joined hands, smiling at how small your hand looked in his. “But I quite like where we are right now.”

You couldn’t help but rest your head against his in response, letting him pepper kisses on your knuckles and then your fingertips, your heart absolutely melting at the sight– you were simply in awe right now.

Jeong Yunho. The Jeong Yunho kissing the inside of your palm.

“Yunho,” you almost groaned when you had enough, drawing away to look at him. He raised his head a little and you suddenly became aware of just how close he was– so close that you could see the brown of his pupil even in the dim streetlight. Your gaze softened at the sight and you found yourself turning towards him, your hand cupping his face and you felt your heart break when he leaned in to your touch.

“You look like a big puppy right now,” you commented and he laughed softly, shaking his head. “I did not realise you’d be this… warm.”

“For you,” he told you. “If someone told me a few months ago that I’d be here like this with the bookkeeper girl from the bar, I would have shot them in the face.”

You grinned, searching his face while his eyes searched yours. “Do you feel the pull too? This thing between us?”

“I do,” he confirmed, moving closer subconsciously as if to prove his point.

“It’s confusing,” you told him. “I’ve felt it often– not only with you.”

If you expected him to draw away, he didn’t. He only smiled, his gaze somehow softening even more. “I know.”

“Yet you’re still here,” you squeezed his hand that was clasped in yours. He shrugged as if to show his submission.

“Will you run away if I get closer?” He asked so cautiously that you wished you could tell him that you would never even take a single step away from him. You shook your head and he mirrored your position, cupping your face with his free hand and joining his forehead with yours, noses brushing and breath mingling with yours.

He went ahead to kiss the corner of your mouth softly and something that resembled a whimper escaped your mouth– god, it had been too long since you had been touched like this and the fact that it was Yunho, of all the people, was making your head spin. You moved your hands to clutch at his waistcoat and he wasted no time, cupping your face in both hands and kissing you square on the mouth, your lips moving in harmony almost immediately.

Your insides were in shambles and you let him guide you through the kiss, though he was in no hurry now that he had gotten a taste of you. He moved his lips along yours slowly, sensually, tugging at your lips and leaving small licks that made you groan and curl your body along his.

His hand went to snake behind your neck while the other arm went around your waist, bringing your bodies flush and he momentarily broke apart, out of breath and you knew it wasn’t because he needed air– it was because you both needed a moment to process what was happening. You, however, wanted more.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and tugged at his bottom lip, making him kiss you deeply again and when you swiped your tongue across his lips, he gladly opened but only to let his tongue inside your mouth to explore first. You let out a low moan at the feeling, kissing each other passionately until you were actually out of breath.

When you drew apart, he rested his head on your shoulder, his body shaking as he chuckled almost in disbelief. You smacked his arm but let him be, smiling.

Lovestruck.

“Was this a good decision?” You wondered out aloud for both of you.

“Who cares?” Yunho uncharacteristically answered, kissing your exposed neck. “We can worry about that later.”

“Right,” you muttered, pushing him away gently so you could look him in the eyes. “This changes nothing at work, alright? I prioritise my position.”

“I prioritise my position too. This one, specifically,” he leaned forward so that your faces were centimetres away and when your eyes widened in surprise, he grinned childishly. “But you’re right. We’re still consigliere and secretary. I expect you won’t shirk your duties just because I kissed you.”

“Shut up,” you groaned, looking around to make sure no one was nearby. You looked back at him, struck by a sudden wave of desire but you quelled it. “Let’s talk later– preferably in broad daylight.”

“Oh, the things I’d do to you in daylight,” Yunho said challengingly, but he suddenly looked guarded. “Do you think anything I did tonight was unserious or thoughtless?”

“No,” you replied though you had to admit, you were a tad bit surprised that he was fully serious. Even cautious. “But Yunho… I need some time to figure a few things out.”

“You can have that,” he assured. “And Luna… everything that you’re feeling right now, about me, about us,” he said and you had a feeling that he wasn’t just talking about you and him. “It’s okay.”

“Thank you,” you squeezed his hand. “Walk me home?”

“Only if I get a goodbye kiss.”

“Lieutenant Jeong Yunho!”

next chapter

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taglist pt 1:

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

#i thought i'd stick with my morals and not write poly or smut but here we are killing 2 birds with 1 stone #don't worry we're focusing on the plot and the interactions and the wholesome romance here #smut is really not our focus in this one tho it does eventually happen with a few members #thank you for reading!#fic: the leaders #ateez x reader #yunho x reader #ateez angst #ateez fluff #ateez au

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