#so underground compound?

[transgods]

jorjorwel

[soliusss]

oc doodles since I've been Pondering them as I redo their entire stories

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

5 Times There Was Only One Bed (and the one time there were two beds) | Bucky x Reader | One Shot - 4.7k

Whether it's on a mission, a work event or a holiday, your sleeping arrangements never seem to work out as planned. It doesn't really bother you until...it does. Confronted with a night sleeping apart, you and Bucky finally talk.

Warnings: 18+ for language, suggestive situations and sexism (but not from our Bucky he would never). Also rated F for fluffy and S for snuggling.

Written for the @bucks-and-noble Valentrope event - "there was only on bed" the reigning champion of tropes!

Divider by @firefly-graphics & @reveriesources

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Fics

Your first mission with Bucky Barnes went really well, until it didn’t. 

After successfully destroying an underground Hydra base you’d returned to your transport in a less than desirable state. 

“Fuck, four flats.” You huffed, poking the tyre with the toe of your tactical boot. 

“Fuel line’s been cut.” Bucky muttered from the front, “lucky they didn’t torch it.” 

Bucky quietly rubbed a gloved hand over his face, before looking up at the admittedly stunning night sky, he seemed to study it for a moment before making a quarter turn to his left and climbing up a ridge of sandy rock. As if dazed you followed him. You could see for miles thanks to the glow of a full moon, the stars dense and glittering above you both. It was almost romantic, if you didn’t have blood on your cheek and an empty gun on your hip. 

Bucky still looked like he could sweep you off your feet though, with his structured tactical vest making his broad shoulders look even wider, his wind swept hair giving him the look of a romantic hero on the front of a paperback, especially with one foot perched on the outcrop of rock above you. 

“Let’s go.” He pointed towards a glow rising from beyond the horizon and you’d started walking, doing your best to keep up with his long strides. You could see the motel, how far could it really be.

As soon as you climbed down the motel vanished and the reality of your trek set in. 

Around hour two Bucky slowed his pace to allow you to catch up. He didn’t speak much, just what was necessary, and sometimes a hello when he saw you around the compound. But he struck you as shy, rather than cruel or rude. He had checked on you after the mission brief two days ago to make sure you were happy with the plans and, when you were left at the drop off zone, had given you a few of his spare rounds. 

You were starting to flag, your steps faltering in the dust and your fingers frozen. Without the sun the desert was so cold the tips of your ears felt like they’d fallen off. Bucky slowed too, cracking a heat pack and handing it over, swapping it for your pack. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, teeth chattering. 

He didn’t say anything, just gave you a tight smile and turned back towards the motel, growing closer with each step. 

Three hours after you’d discovered the flat tyre, you fell through the door of the dingy motel room, exhausted, cold and starving, only to be met with the sight of one queen size bed and a single chair by the window. 

“I’m gonna sleep,” you slurred, unable to manage more than zipping off your tactical vest. You fell onto your back and tried to toe off your boots but they were too tight. Your eyes slid shut and you felt the sensation of Bucky sitting on the other side of the thin mattress, making you roll towards him slightly. His weight shifted and settled, the warmth of his body behind yours comforting after everything you’d seen that evening. 

He smelt nice too, despite the blood and sweat and gunpowder, he smelt like sandalwood and the desert air. It was all you could think of as you drifted into a deep sleep, how much you wanted to press your face into his back and breathe him in. 

The  next morning you woke to find Bucky already showered and dressed, pushing his damp hair back from his face and brushing his teeth while he called Torres for new exit plans. 

Your boots and socks were off, arranged neatly by the door, a coffee steaming on the bedside table.

Despite all the changes a new team had brought, Bucky liked working with you. You were quiet too and didn’t mind when he was silent for almost a whole mission. You were efficient and skilled, but empathetic, always stopping during the fall out to ensure the team were together and protecting civilians whenever you could. 

So it was no surprise to him when you offered to share the bed at the hotel. Sam and Joaquín had long since retired to their room, but you’d both stayed at the hotel bar, silently emptying a bottle of red wine while Bucky continued his 100 Books to Read Before You Die list and you scrolled through your phone, catching up on everything you’d missed during the five day - “phone’s off, and yes, I mean you Agent” - mission. 

As soon as you retired to the room you knew there’d been a mistake. 

“Ah, shit.” You’d dropped your bag to the floor by the door and Bucky had almost walked into your back, peering over your shoulder at the very neatly made double bed. The only bed. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll take the couch.” Bucky had sighed, resigned to a night of lumpy, uncomfortable sleep. 

“There isn’t one.” You pushed your bag further into the room with your foot and Bucky brushed past to survey the space.

“The floor then.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” 

“I’m not.” 

“You’re not sleeping on the floor, the bed’s big enough for two, we can share.” 

You’d said it with such easy grace that he’d felt almost insulted that his chivalrous offer was so easily deflected. Then you’d returned from the bathroom smelling like mint and almond oil, your loose pyjamas hanging off one shoulder and just like that, he gave in. 

By the time he’d change and brushed his teeth you were already asleep, holding a pillow close to your chest with your leg well over onto his side of the bed. Carefully he moved you back to your side and slid under the cool sheet next to you. 

He woke first the next morning to find you still attempting to occupy the majority of the bed, your face relaxed and mouth slightly open. Bucky indulged in a moment of quiet comfort before getting up. You wouldn’t want him staring at you, you’d be embarrassed that you were trying to cuddle him and it’d ruin the fragile bond you were forming with each mission. 

By 9am you were both making fun of Joaquín’s terrible hotel bookings over pancakes and coffee. 

“Why can’t we just ask for directions?” 

“Are you seriously asking me that?” 

“Yes?” 

“Because we just crossed a border illegally, we have no papers, no passports, we’re lying low.” 

“They’re hardly going to ask to see our passports, Bucky.” You sighed, hitching your bag higher on your back. 

You’d been walking since 5am that morning, crossing through a forest trail to avoid borders and rendezvous with Torres in a village that should have been a few miles away so that you could evac together. 

5am seemed a long time ago now that the sun was setting. You’d stopped briefly to heat up a can of beans, a “late lunch, early dinner” Bucky had called it, smiling at you over the steaming mess tin you were sharing.

The scalding heat had dissipated now though and you were tired. The memory of his hand touching yours as you ate still lingering. 

“We’re not going to find him tonight, we should stop.” Bucky suggested, “I’ll find a good place to camp.” 

Suddenly you were grateful that Mr Overprepared had packed a tent. 

“Good idea.” You agreed, rubbing your hands together. 

“Well, I will be, you didn’t bring a tent, did you?” He said, walking deeper into the woods, running his foot over the ground, looking for somewhere flat. 

Your heart sank, he was right, you’d laughed at him when he’d attached it to his already full pack and he’d said you’d regret it, a teasing look in his eye. Well. You were regretting it. It had started raining a few minutes before, gentle rain drops that got heavy in each gap between the canopy. You had no doubt it’d be heavier soon though, and with the sun setting you didn’t relish the idea of being wet and cold out in the dark. 

Bucky stopped and turned, lowering his pack to the floor between two large trunked trees and those twinkling eyes made butterflies take flight in the pit of your stomach. A boyish grin crossed his face as he got to work. 

Ten minutes later and the tent was up, strung between the trees and extra protected with some fallen foliage. 

Bucky unlaced his boots and placed them between the inner and outer tent before climbing in, when you didn’t follow he poked his head back around the flap of the tent, patting the unrolled sleeping bag next to him. 

“C’mon, you really think I’d make you sleep out there?” He was almost laughing, and the sound was so welcome, so stupidly content despite your situation, you could barely stand it. 

You squeezed in, using the inner fleece layer from your coat as a blanket. Bucky lifted the side of his sleeping bag. 

“C’mon,” he mumbled, eyes already closed, when you hesitated he tugged you closer until you were tucked against his chest. He rearranged your coats on top of you both until you could feel your fingers again. “Warmer?” 

“Yeah, thanks, Bucky.”

He didn’t respond, his breathing heavy and even, beneath his sweater you could hear the steady thump of his heart as it lulled you to sleep in his arms. 

Bucky hated these stupid events, he’d only been persuaded to come because you’d done those big round puppy dog eyes and said it’d be no fun without him. Joaquín had asked too and, although Sam had joked that it’d be more fun without ‘Mr Grumpy’, Bucky knew he’d only been teasing. 

But it was you that had convinced him. It was those eyes, the way your voice had gone up a little and you’d pouted in that silly way you did when Joaquín took the last doughnut at mission briefings. He couldn’t resist. And he had no idea what to do about it. 

Behind him he could hear another team talking about you, how they didn't understand why you were always working with ‘that asshole Barnes’ so much. 

In the anonymous dark they joked about you, about him, as if you were a reward for a guard dog. A babysitter for his more violent tendencies. Worse, disgusting, accusations about how you'd come by your place in the team. He suddenly missed his mother, she'd have washed their mouths out with soap.

He felt sick. 

Bucky took a long swig from his beer and chased it with a shot of whisky, anything to stop his teeth from grinding. 

They were wrong on so many counts. You were skilled and fearless, soft and fierce at all the right moments. But you didn't care about him, or Sam or Joaquín for that matter. Not in the vile, disrespectful way those men imagined. You didn’t men like them - him - messy, unpredictable, unstable. You didn’t really need anyone. 

But Bucky - he took another swig, trying to stop the swirling feeling in his chest - he cared for you. He couldn't stop thinking about you. And as angry as he was at what he heard, he was equally ashamed for wishing that you did want him. 

He’d been watching you dance with Joaquín and one of your other agent friends for more than an hour now. Your body swaying and rippling in time to the music, your dress ghosting over your hips in a way that made his mouth dry. It was one thing to work with you in army fatigues or go to meetings with you in your casual jeans - the stealth suit had been really pushing his patience recently so he didn't want to think about it - but he could at least keep himself under control while your skin was covered. Then you arrived wearing this dress. The neckline alone made him want to sink to his knees in front of you. 

Joaquín danced away with your friend, you winked at the lieutenant and smacked his ass as he passed - you were definitely drunk. 

Alone you swayed to the music, still in your own world.

“She’s so fucking drunk -” 

“Absolute embarrassment -” 

“Can’t believe they let her in -” 

Bucky slammed his drink down on the bar top and grabbed his leather jacket, stalking across the dancefloor like a shadow, the lights skimming over him. 

You were facing away from him and he couldn’t resist, his hands finding your waist so naturally, his body melting into yours, matching the slow roll of your hips so he could lean into your ear. 

“I think it’s time to go,” he whisper-shouted above the pounding music. 

“Bucky!” You exclaimed, completely ignoring his suggestion, “dance with me!” 

You span in his hands, leaning up and into him, your hands around his neck, twisting into his hair. The little tug you gave sent pleasure shooting down his spine. God he was weak, his body moved without his say so, slipping a leg between yours and - fuck - you were grinding against him. He was lost. 

The song ended, fading into the next as the lights flickered and he regained enough of his faculties to remember you were drunk, very drunk. 

“C’mon, doll, let’s go, I’ll get you some water-” 

“You still here, sweetheart? Don’t you think you’ve embarrassed yourself enough.” 

Was he still here? Fucking asshole. 

Bucky rounded on him, keeping you close with a hand around your waist. 

“You boys having a good night?” You grinned, unable to hear their cruel words over the music. 

You were just so - good, so kind, even when these pricks were trying to tear you down, your first instinct was to be friendly - he couldn’t stand it. 

“I said -” the agent grinned, dipping down, placing his hands on his knees and levelling his face with yours, that patronising glint in his eyes, “are you still fucking here you stupid bitch?” 

Bucky saw red, tucking you under his left arm, pushing you behind his back as he had so many times during missions, and smashing his right straight into the agent’s nose. 

“Didn’t your Ma teach you to speak to ladies with respect?” 

Blood dripped onto the dark dance floor, a circle forming as the other party goers backed away. 

Bucky gave the man one last disapproving look and then his attention was solely focussed on you, leading you out past the crowd until you were outside in the freezing air. He draped his jacket around your shoulders and watched as you snuggled inside. Was he dreaming or did you inhale deeply when he did it? 

“M’sorry, Buck.” You hiccupped, leaning into him, eyes half shut. 

He took your weight gladly, “s’okay, you didn’t do anything wrong, it was those idiots in there.” With staggering steps you made it to the next street over and Bucky said nothing as he unlocked the door. 

“Where are we?” You slurred, your ankles twisting in your heels with each step. 

“My place, I thought you could sober up here while I call you a cab to get you back to your hotel.” 

He settled you on the couch and tried to walk away, but there was a hand hooked in his belt loop. 

“F’got you live in Neewww York,” you closed your eyes, resting your head against his hip as you continued to mumble about ‘the big apple’, he willed himself to breath deeply, he was struggling to keep his body under control. 

“Yeah - what’s your hotel called?” 

“You called me ‘doll’,” you giggled, your fingers closing around his belt.

“I did, sorry, it just slipped out. Your hotel?” 

“Dun worry, I liked it - can I stay here? I sleep here.” You let go, only to curl up on the sofa, your dress sliding up your thighs. 

“Sure.” He sighed. 

Bucky scooped you up again and nudged the door to his bedroom open with his hip, the duvet was still rumpled from the night before. Another night of no sleep, at least it was because of you and not another nightmare. And now you were here, nose pressed into his chest, ready to sleep in his bed. 

“Okay, I’ll be out here if you need me, g’night.”

“Stay.” 

“I’ll be right outside if you need-” 

“Stay.” 

And it was those puppy dog eyes again, the pout, the voice, the hand on his belt. 

Even though he knew you’d sleep like a log, hogging his duvet and encroaching on his space, even though he knew you’d be embarrassed in the morning, probably hungover as hell. Even though, come the morning, he was right. He still had the best nights sleep he’d ever had since he bought the place. 

You hadn’t been this relaxed in a long time, you were sure if you stood up you’d simply melt into a puddle. Sun warm skin, the buzz of a few too many afternoon beers in your system and the sound of laughter as Sam, Joaquín and Bucky continued to try and catch a single fish had lulled you into a half sleep, dozing on the deck of the Paul & Darlene 

“Hey, you want another beer, doll?” 

Bucky’s voice drifted over to you and you cracked one eye open. He’d unbuttoned his shirt half way down his chest, the white cotton sticking to his sweaty, sunkissed skin. He hadn’t been able to drop the nickname since he'd had to rescue you at the gala. Although you'd done your best to keep yourself away. The way his eyes burned into you when he turned your way, the memory of his body imprinted into yours, his leg pressing against you, the shadow of a hardness that made your mouth water. 

He'd been the perfect gentleman, of course. Had made sure you were safe and comfortable, even escorted you back to your hotel in the morning after a huge home cooked breakfast. 

He was a gent. And you were an embarrassment. It ate away at you until you couldn't even look at him. 

“Hmm?” 

“Beer?” He asked again, holding out the bottle, the cap already popped off. 

“Uh, yeah, thanks.” 

He flopped down beside you on the deck, the last of the day fading beyond the horizon and leaving you bobbing in the inky abyss where the sky met the water. 

“You feeling okay?” He took a swig and you watched the condensation on the bottle trickle over his fingers. 

“Oh, yeah, fine.”

“You look dazed, that's all, don't want you getting sunstroke on us.” 

Bucky looked genuinely concerned and you figured, from the sudden sick feeling inside, that maybe your heart had skipped a few beats or flipped over or something. 

“Uh -” Fuck, did he have to leave his shirt open like that? He asked a question, what was it? 

“Are you okay?” He used the back of his right hand and placed it against your forehead, “you feel really hot. Maybe you do have sun stroke.” 

“I’m fine, honestly.” You shrugged him off, but went looking for a bottle of water anyway. 

As the boat made its way back to the dock you watched the lights of Sarah’s house flicker on in the distance. Sam had invited the three of you to stay, taking up all of Sarah’s space and the room on the boat, while her and the boys went into the city for the night. It was a generous offer, one that you couldn’t say no to after months of hard work without a break. 

In the pitch dark you all stumbled back up the driveway, only to find Sarah on the porch. 

“Sarah -” Sam jogged to reach her first, concern written on his brow. 

“I’m alright, Sam, don’t fuss. It’s just Cass, ate too many beignets and threw up so I thought we should come home. He’s upstairs with AJ. Sorry we messed up your plans.”

Bucky took the suitcase from her hands, “it’s your home Sarah, you haven’t messed up anything.” 

She threw an arm around his shoulders and hugged him sideways, a familiar gesture you’d seen her make before, but for some reason your tummy twisted, jealousy stirring. 

“Means we’ll need some rooms back though, I know I said you could all stay but-” 

A chorus of voices filled the air, refusing to let Sarah apologise, before you started to get organised. 

“Well Cass needs his own bed, that’s a given.” You said, worried that the young boy might be ill as well as over excited about his food. 

“Of course,” Joaquín agreed. “Sarah, you’re obviously taking your room too. We wouldn’t ask you to give that up. I’ll go on the couch in the sitting room.” He smiled. 

You looked between your other two colleagues, but Bucky spoke first. 

“Well if Torres’ taking the couch I’m not going to argue, I’d rather be in a bed even if it is on a boat.” He ruffled Joaquín’s hair affectionately and the younger man shoved at him. 

Sam looked at you, “you can take my bed, if you want, I can change the sheets -” 

“I’ll sleep on other sofa -” 

“You’ll share with me, right doll?” 

The three of you spoke at once, and Sarah raised her eyebrows then her hands before opening the front door, “I’ll be in bed, you kids figure this out yourself.” 

“Bucky -” Sam started. 

“Sam - we’ve shared before,” there was a glimmer of hope that glowed inside of you when Bucky stepped closer, his shirt fluttering open again in the breeze, revealing his toned chest and that dusting of dark hair, creeping under the buckle of his jeans. “Besides, wouldn’t be the first time you’ve made us share, would it?” Bucky joked, nudging Sam as they went to collect more blankets and bedding, “what about that hotel-” 

His voice faded until all you could hear were the crickets in the distance, you’d forgotten about Joaquín until he walked past, turning backwards at the last moment so he could see you again, “if you don’t want to share with Barnes…” he let the offer hang in the air and you were torn.

Really, you should protest and ask for your own space. But then you’d missed the sound of his steady breathing beside you, the weight and warmth of him when he turned over into your space. In fact you’d missed him completely, even if you’d been avoiding him on purpose. 

Secretly you hoped the bedroom on the boat would be cooler now the sun had gone down, perhaps he’d hold you like he did while you were camping. 

Sam let you back onto the boat, making sure you had enough blankets for two distinct sleeping arrangements if you wanted. 

Bucky slid into the cool cotton sheets in only his boxers and, shyly, you followed. Expecting to sleep alone you’d packed shorts and a vest, revealing more than you really wanted to considering he clearly didn’t return your interest. 

Bucky kept politely to his side of the bed, his arms awkwardly stiff at his side when he turned away from you. Unable to stop yourself you turned too, watching the strong line of his back relax as his breathing evened out.

The boat bobbed gently, lulling you to sleep. You were vaguely aware of a strong arm tugging you closer, the smell of Bucky’s shampoo and sun cream and the weight of a bed rising to meet you. 

Everything went perfectly, again, until it didn’t. 

Intelligence? Secured. Exit? Executed to perfection. Adrenaline fueled burger stop where Bucky wiped a drop of sauce from your lips exactly as you planned? Complete. Motel booking? Perfect?

You and Bucky stared at the two motel beds. 

In the entire time you’d been working together you’d never really managed it. There were either no rooms, the room was wrong or there was no room at all, just whatever you could find. And now there were two beds and you felt sick and your head hurt and after everything you’d seen and done today the last thing you wanted to do was sleep alone. 

“Doll?” Bucky placed a hand on the small of your back and reality came screeching to a halt around you. 

“Sorry, Buck, I must be really tired, I’m going to shower and get in bed. Do you mind if I go first?” You were already half to the bathroom, the zip down on your tac suit, were you imagining Bucky’s eyes dropping down to where your skin was revealed? 

“Of course, whatever you need, I’ll just be…here,”

After a perfunctory shower consisting of a dribble of hot water that quickly turned into a freezing cold torrent, you returned to the shared room. 

Bucky hurried past, his body brushing against yours in the doorway, firm and muscular, yet you knew that being held by him was soft and warm. You tried not to feel too sad that there’d be no excuse for getting close to him again for the rest of your trip. 

By the time he was finished you were tucked into bed, trying to read the paperback you’d found in the draw because the television signal was terrible. 

He stood in the window, a shadow against the light filtering in through the thin material of the curtains, ruffling his wet hair with a towel, his sweatpants so at odds with the man who’d been by your side just a few hours before. This was a rare sight, one you were privileged to see. 

Bucky tossed the towel onto the chair by the door and then sat on the end of the other bed, watching you read from the corner of his eye. You knew because the last three paragraphs had become a blur of words, your focus solely on Bucky. 

“Maybe we should go to sleep, we’ve got a long drive tomorrow.” 

“You’re right.” 

You both slid down into bed, separately, and you’d never felt so alone. 

In the darkness you could see the shape of him, facing the door with his hand tucked under his pillow, and somehow the darkness made you braver. 

“Would it be weird if I said I missed you?” You whispered. 

Bucky rolled over, but put his hand back under his pillow, no doubt he had something hidden under there, he usually did. 

“I miss you too.” 

You shuffled back, letting the sheets fall further down the bed, “I know you have your own space over there and you probably don’t want to be all cramped up with me, but if you wanted to share still -” 

Bucky was out of his bed before you could finish, slipping under the sheets. He’d taken off his sweatpants before getting into bed, his legs bed warm against your own and you bit your lip, trying to focus on his face and not on his almost naked body just inches away. 

“Hi.”

“Hi, doll.”

“You don’t have to keep calling me that.” 

“What if I want to?” 

He was so close, his breath minty when it ghosted over your lips, his nose touching yours, his long eyelashes making his crystal eyes look brighter. 

“What if I missed you being in my bed? What if I always want to share with you?” He reached his hand out, cupping your cheek. 

“You do?” 

And then his lips were on yours, so soft, his tongue slipping past yours as you gasped. One cool metal hand and one callused, drawing you closer, a leg between your thighs, your bodies rolling together and - “oh, Bucky.” You sighed into his mouth, letting him tug you into him. 

“I - I want that too -” you squeezed out between kisses, “I wanna always - always - be in your bed - I - I always hoped we had too.” 

“You did?” He pulled back, stroking a thumb down your cheek and over your kiss bitten lips. 

“Uh huh, I did,” 

“You been sabotaging us this whole time, baby?” He laughed, his eyes sparkling. 

“No,” you laughed too, turning your head to kiss the pad of his thumb, “maybe I should’ve though.” 

“Maybe,” his hand left your face to cup the back of your neck, drawing you down for another languid kiss. 

“How long?” 

“How long, what?” 

“How long have you wanted -” his question trailed off into another series of featherlight kisses. 

“Since, ugh - Utah?” You offered shyly, embarrassed to admit that you’d been head over heels from the start. 

With a groan he rolled you over, slipping his body between your open legs, his hips settling just right against your own. “Fuck,” he dropped his forehead to yours, “we could’ve been doing this the whole time.” He admitted, lifting his head to smile down at you. 

“Well then I guess we have some making up to do,” you linked your hands behind his head, tangling your fingers in his hair. 

“I guess we do, doll.” 

[leiandroid]

yakuza au

ok fam this au is now separated from my previous inohina yakuza/bratva au. had to fly the girls back to japan and they got a whole new backstory ! big wall of text incoming ↓↓↓

-- uchiha clan

a clan that was once powerful but was slowly eating itself from the inside. rife with internal conflict and distrust, key figures sought to strengthen the clan and each had an idea of how to bring about that change, though no two could come to an agreement on a single method. tensions amongst the ranks began to fracture the uchiha.

taking advantage of the power struggle, madara, with the hopes of seizing total control, ignites a spark that quickly turns into a bloodbath. many low level thugs employed by the uchiha flee the compound as each key figure and their loyal followers battle it out until so few are left standing it could barely be called a clan anymore.

the power vacuum left behind by the dissolution of the uchiha has created an extremely volatile environment in the crime world as different yakuza families seek to claim the uchiha’s previously held operations and territory.

-- hebi

sick of the endless politics and weakening bonds amongst the clan, sasuke left to forge his own path. as punishment for leaving the clan itachi takes his eye.

he had never expected that the power struggles within the uchiha would lead to a massacre. so when he heard about the bloodbath occurring inside the uchiha compound, he rushed home to save his parents from a grim fate. but was too late when he witnessed itachi kill them by his own blade.

sasuke quickly enacted revenge by killing itachi and when the dust settled and madara emerged as victor, sasuke turned his blade on him too and snuffed out the flame of the uchiha forever.

karin is an ex-cop that was the uchiha's informant within the police. she brokers deals and negotiations on behalf of sasuke. she is his mouthpiece, so to speak.

sasuke is also seeking two who were once allies/friends. suigetsu who had always dreamed to join the seven swordsmen's guild, and juugo a talented and brutal fighter who dominates the underground fighting scene.

together he hopes to form a small mercenary group for hire.

-- inoshikacho alliance / inoshikacho rengo

one of the first yakuza family alliances ever made going back generations. inoshin yamanaka, chosuke akimichi and shikanazai nara where the first of each clan to join the families into an alliance that has since become one of the strongest and long-lasting alliances in yakuza history.

at the age of 25 each member of the alliance is to have at least two children to ensure the next generation of the inoshikacho alliance grow up together and are trained to take on the mantle for the sake of the alliance's future. this also ensures that at least 3 generations are alive at any one time (if they don't meet an early grave that is).

the yamanaka run brothels, which act as a communication and information network. every girl is hand picked by ino or by trusted subordinates and trained in the art of seduction and information gathering. the yamanaka have large underground garden operations that cultivate plants for poisons with all kinds of effects and traceability, from the quick and painless to the slow and destructive.

akimichi control entertainment districts, money laundering operations and run the largest underground fighting scene. money flowing in and out of casinos and other avenues are fully controlled by the akimichi.

the nara are drug traffickers that control market price and distribution.

-- hyuuga clan / hyuuga kai

the strongest and most notorious yakuza in all of japan. their efficiency in all that they do make them a fierce clan. when the clanhead was found dead, many other groups thought this was finally the crack in the hyuuga shield and made moves to try and see if they could challenge their authority. but the second daughter stepped into place and ordered everyone in within a certain radius of the hyuuga estate dead.

if they thought hyuuga hiashi was a ruthless leader, hanabi, in one day alone, managed to put herself up as one of the deadliest and horrifying yakuza leaders in recent history.

their efficiency in the business and economics sector, as well as having ties within governmental and political bodies, makes them a very powerful clan with many branching factions reaching far and wide across the country.

someone, somewhere, always answers to a hyuuga.

-- neji hyuuga (tian)

after hizashi failed to protect the hyuuga leader's eldest daughter, he had to pay with his life in front of his only son.

watching his father commit seppuku and then swiftly beheaded by hiashi in front of the elders and close family, stuck with neji his whole life. he made a silent vow to exact revenge on hiashi. the bitterness in his heart made living amongst the hyuuga a slow acting poison. his hate for hiashi became stronger than his love for his father and he could never look upon a picture of hizashi anymore because his face was the face of his enemy.

neji bided his time for years and years until one fateful night he murdered hiashi in cold blood and fled the hyuuga estate. he made his way towards mainland china with some aid from a contact in the chinese triads. he disappeared for many years living amongst a guild of killers and started going by the name tian.

his next order of business was to find the abducted daughter that caused the death of his father and kill her himself.

-- hinata hyuuga (makoto)

the abducted hyuuga heir, taken from the hyuuga clan at a very young age. makoto lives her life as a simple woman, adopted by an elderly couple in the countryside, unaware of who she is or where she comes from.

when a 'chinese' man that bears an uncanny resemblance to her shows up at her cottage one day, calling her a name that does not belong to her, her life is flipped on its head and she finds herself plunged into the underbelly of society.

-- chinese triads / pirates

tenten is a weapons smuggler. though she is affiliated with the chinese triads, she smuggles and trades weapons for anyone that buys them, as her true loyalty is to money.

tenten's operations are done by sea and she has control over a small fleet of boats that answer to her. other than a port owned by the triads, she has claimed a small remote island as her home and base of operations.

she was also neji's contact that helped him sail the seas to mainland china after he murdered hiashi.

-- korean mafia

kiba is an animal trafficker. he acquires exotic animals for their ivory/fur/leather as well as selling them alive to the wealthy for their collections and keeps.

he has sold exotic birds to the yamanaka for their gardens. gathered all manner of cervidae antlers from around the world for the nara's collection. has captured the most venomous snakes known to mankind for several organisations, including certain individuals of the uchiha family. has also sold a number of species of animals for tenten for her island.

he is generally in good graces with all kinds of people/groups due to his connections and ability to acquire the even the most endangered and rare species in the world.

-- suna siblings

kankuro and temari own a small medical clinic. kankuro is a general family doctor. people come to him for check-ups and simple treatments and minor operations. temari handles all the logistics, and appears as the clinic's secretary. they have 3 nurses: matsuri, yukata, mikoshi.

kankuro is also a certified surgeon and operates on all sorts of gang members in the hidden basement operation room. matsuri has been trusted to help kankuro with these operations when needed. their practice offers complete discretion and the clinic has become off-bounds for any gang violence, even if rivalling groups happen to meet each other on the premises. they enter a truce for as long as they are within a certain radius of the clinic.

the brother and sister duo are a respected, unaffiliated group, and they also use their operations to get clues on their brother's whereabouts.

gaara was kidnapped at a young age and was tortured to the point that psychosis was induced. he is held in the same place as juugo and both are used in fights that many come to pay dearly to watch and bet on.

-- police

with his parents killed and taken from his home, naruto was raised by a gang who kidnaps boys to beat and torture, and train them into savage fighters. he dreamed for a life where he could see the sun and the sea, to eat a hot bowl of ramen once again.

when a police investigation finally bore fruit, naruto was rescued from the place. he was taken in by iruka, one of the cops, and eventually followed in his footsteps. he made a promise that he would find and save the redhead that had once clung to him down in those dark cells.

tsunade is chief of police. sai is a detective. lee is a chinese detective commissioned by the chinese police to go to japan to work alongside the tokyo metropolitan police dept to follow the chinese triads operations in japan. (or is it the hosting country that commissions?? anyway) a number of jonin from naruto are also police including: kakashi, yamato, genma, anko, etc etc.

-- sakura

sakura is the head of a large hospital that was once tied up with the uchiha who used her as an in for smuggling medical supplies. she was called upon as their emergency doctor to treat key figures when needed.

upon hearing about their massacre she felt total relief that the family threatening her life were finally gone. she thought she was free from them when a certain uchiha and 2 others showed up at her door demanding treatment.

she can't say she was happy to be back in such a predicament but it seemed that this uchiha didn't have a penchant for threatening her life as his family did. and for selfish reasons, she was okay with this arrangement.

-- the aburame

a family of assassins. their efficiency and untraceable methods make them a highly coveted group of hitmen whose services are sold to the highest bidder. the aburame have close ties with the yamanaka of the inashikacho alliance as they outsource some of their poisons from the yamanaka gardens.

even though the yamanaka, akimichi, and nara families formed an alliance generations ago, this agreement between the yamanaka and aburame remains a secret from the rest of the alliance.

the aburame are a completely neutral party and the yamanaka understands this. to pay for their secrecy and treachery towards their sworn brothers, the yamanaka accept that if a hit were ordered against their own, it wouldn't affect their business with the aburame.

if u read all this many hugs and kisses mwah

[i-wanna-write]

Stupid Plan - Billy Butcher x Reader

Prompt: You hate Billy Butcher and you hate his stupid plans.

Wanting: 18+ ONLY. SMUT. Rough Smut. Choking. Mention of strangulation. It’s The Boys guys. Swearing. Lots of use of the word fuck. Some use of cunt. Mentions of blood and gore - again, it’s the Boys

Word Count: 3130

Disclaimer: I find all pics off google! This is the first ever Smut I’ve written. I’m so sorry if it’s trash!

————————————————————————

You hated Billy Butcher with every fiber of your being starting with the first moment met him. When you first met him all those years ago it was like mixing oil with water. Your boss at the CIA partnered the two of you together and you wanted to kill yourself then and there. Years of working with the foul-mouthed borderline rogue agent only further fueled your mutual hatred for one another.

You hated how he always called the shots and barely listened to your input when it came to planning. You hated how he was a shoot first ask questions later type of partner. You hated how his vulgar language never stopped even when talking to his superiors. Most of all, you hated how attracted to him you were.

Chocolate brown eyes, jet black hair, jaw scribbled with facial hair. His broad shoulders meant for gripping onto and an ass meant for grabbing.

You really hated him.

When he reached out to you years after leaving the CIA, you laughed in his face when he asked you to join him in taking down Supes. But his serious face didn’t falter and your laughing quickly stopped, now cursing yourself for hearing him out.

Not only did he rope you into this rag tag team, but he got Frenchie and M.M to join too. As well as baby face Hughie who just had an unlucky hand dealt to him.

That’s how you find yourself now, fuming in a silent car sandwiched between Frenchie and Hughie on your way to your underground hideout. Butcher is driving, M.M in the passenger's seat. The Frenchman has the window cracked with a cigarette hanging between his teeth while Hughie bounces his knee up and down in anxiety.

You can only imagine the tight grip Butcher has on the steering wheel. The thoughts of anger going through his head. His plan was a stupid one and you called him on that the minute he proposed the idea. But one dark look from him had you shutting up and rolling your eyes, going along with the stupid plan with the other boys.

Emphasis on stupid plan.

Your goal was to attend a Supes charity event to follow the lead on a Supe dealing Compound V. Rumor was that he was going to make a big appearance and donate a shit ton of money to the charity, allowing him to gain more favors with the public as he wanted to join the Seven.

That’s when the stupid plan started. Butcher had you and Frenchie pretend to be married, which was the first stupid idea he pitched. The Frenchman is your best friend but the two of you work together on missions as well as a cat and a dog. He gets too easily excited at the smallest bit of action while you always go into things level headed.

You two were dressed to impress, Frenchie in an expensive suit and yourself in a revealing cocktail dress. While the two of you were to mingle and pick up comments of where the guest of honor would be, the other three boys were to be scouting the hotel rooms looking for him based on the information you gathered.

So, with the first stupid idea being you pretending to be married to Frenchie, the second was the revealing dress. Because the guest of honor wasn’t out preparing in his hotel room. No, he was mingling with the crowd when his eyes landed on you.

You told Butcher that you being on the floor was not a good idea. That you were the exact type of woman this man was accused of fraternizing with. But did he listen? No. You felt like you were reliving your CIA days - half cocked plans, shoot first, questions later, deal with whatever mess you caused later.

You had to use the restroom and informed Frenchie you’d be back in a moment. The Frenchman merely nodded, turning his attention back to those around him. Another reason why you two should never be partners in this sort of thing. Because any other partner would have gone with you but Frenchie just gets too excited in these sorts of things.

That’s how you found yourself, alone and cornered in the women’s bathroom, the guest of honor not letting you escape. You whispered into your com to tell the boys, Butcher telling you to stall, that they’ll be there soon. You learned not to rely on Butcher early on

So when the boys entered the women’s room to find you covered in blood, the back of a toilet seat in hand, to say Butcher was pissed was an understatement. The Supe made one to many advances, not catching the hint. He backed you into a stall and the two of you began to fight, him eventually encircling his hands around your neck. Reaching for the only thing you could grab, you found the back of the toilet seat and bashed his head in, repeatedly

“I told you it was a stupid plan.” You said to Butcher, dropping the seat cover and stepping over the body to leave the restroom and head to the car

You’re shaken out of your thoughts by the sound of a car door being slammed and look up to see that you’re back to the hideout, Butcher already having exited. You sigh and get out on the same side as Frenchie, closing the door behind you.

“Dumbing fucking cunt.” Butcher mumbles as you five enter the hideout.

You roll your eyes and push pass everyone to enter the bathroom, needing to get the Supes’ blood off of you. You close the door behind you and stand in front of the mirror, looking at yourself.

Your face is speckled with blood and your eye is starting to bruise, purple peeking out through your naturally tan skin. Your hair that was once in a neat pulled back high pony is frizzy, strands falling out to frame your face. You notice light purple marks already beginning to form on your neck, showing signs of the strangulation you endured only an hour ago.

Clenching your fists, you turn on the water, steam rising to the mirror. You place your hands under it and scrub, wanting your blood and the Supes gone.

“Fucking Butcher.” You mumble to yourself. “Fucking stupid fucking plan.”

“Well maybe you should fucking listen for a change, aye?” A British voice says from your right.

You jump and turn towards the voice, seeing the large frame of one Billy Butcher in the bathroom, door shut behind him. You shut off the water and then turn towards him. His face his angry, his arms at his sides as you watch him clench and unclench his fists.

You let you a chuckle. “Me listen for a change?” You ask incredulously as you throw you hands up in the air. “That’s rich coming from you.”

“Is it?” He asks, cocking his head to his side and bearing his teeth. “How’s that now?”

“Your fucking plan was fucking stupid to begin with and I. Told. You. That.” You take a step forward and point a finger into his chest to emphasize the last point.

“What’s stupid is you going of on your fucking own and being dumb enough to get fucking cornered by the fucking Supe.” Butcher yells back, smacking your hand away from his body.

“It was your genius idea to have Frenchie and I go in together - which I advised against!” You yell back just as loud.

Yelling feels good. The past months of putting up with Billy Butcher and his always right complex has finally taken its toll on you. You could put up with him in the CIA, really you could. There your goal was mutual and laid out in front of you. But now, now Butcher only seems to have his own agenda and never shares it with anyone.

“It was your brilliant idea to have me go in! When I fucking told you it was a bad. Fucking. Idea!” You scream.

“Well it was your brilliant idea to fucking bash the cunts head in, losing our lead on Compound V!”

Butcher's face is in yours, so close you can feel his breath against your lips. So badly do you want to punch the asshole. In fact, you want to take the back of this toilet off and bash his head in. Maybe than his plans won’t be as stupid as this one.

“You know what?” You ask, raising your hands in surrender. “I’m done.”

You move past Butcher, wanting to leave the bathroom, leave the hideout, leave this rag tag team. Your hand is on the door and opens it about 2 inches before it’s slammed shut. You feel Butcher’s body behind yours, his hand on the right side by your face.

“No.” He says gruffly, turning you around so you’re now facing him, back pressed against the door. “You’re done, when I say you’re done.”

You have had it. He’s been walking over the four of you for months and you’re done. It’s always his idea, his plans, his reasoning. Not anymore. Fuck this. Fuck the team. Fuck the Supes. And most importantly, fuck Billy Butcher.

“You know what? Fuck yo-“

You’re cut off by Butcher’s lips slamming into yours, his body pressing against you to pin you between him and the door. His lips move roughly, tasting of whiskey he probably took a swig of before following you in here.

You immediately respond, kissing back just as hard. Your lips move sloppily together, both of you so angry at the other you want the kiss to hurt. His hands are placed on your hips, gripping tightly you’re sure they’ll leave bruises. You bring your hands up to his hair and yank hard, wanting to do the same damage back.

He tongue pries open your mouth and immediately finds yours, tracing over it. You give back the same intensity he is, using your mouth to fight him since your arms physically can’t. An idea forms in your head and you pull away slightly, grabbing his bottom lip between your teeth and biting down. Hard.

Butcher immediately pulls away and you use the opportunity to catch your breath. Your chest heaves up and down and your body is warm, you’re positive your flushed. Butcher looks the same, his breath coming out in pants, cheeks red, hair going in all different directions.

“Did you just fucking bite me,” he asks, his hand going up to his mouth to check for blood.

“Maybe if you weren’t such a fucking cunt I would’ve been gentler.” You goad him.

You watch as his eyes darken and he’s immediately on you again, lips on yours. This time his hands are on your ass and he pushes up, signally what he wants you to do. Your arms grip his shoulders as you jump, wrapping your legs around his waist.

Butcher immediately pins you back against the door and you pull away to gasp as you feel his hard cock against between your legs. Heat immediately rushes to your core and you shift slightly so it hits the right spot, brushing against your clit.

“Fuck Butcher.” You moan, hands moving down his body to reach the bottom of his shirt, wanting it off.

His hips press against you harder, causing you to throw your head back against the door. You watch through heavy eyelids as he removes his shirt in one go before finding your lips again. You didn’t even get the chance to admire his shirtless body, his hands tightly squeezing your ass as your own grip onto his shoulders.

You feel yourself begin to move and pull away to watch as he carries you a short distance to the sink, placing you atop it. He shoots you a quick grin before pulling at your dress, sliding it down your shoulders before his lips attach to your neck, trailing down.

“Ahhh.” Escapes you as he begins to suck on your pulse point, your hips bucking to once again feel his hard cock beneath his jeans against you.

He sucks harshly before biting down, his tongue then swirling along the mark that will be there tomorrow. While starting a new mark, his hands further pull down your dress, freeing your boobs from their constraints. Both hands grab them, fitting perfectly in his hands as he squeezes roughly.

“Fuck sweetheart, your breasts are magnificent.” Butcher mumbles against your neck before traveling lower.

His lips find one of your nipples, sucking and biting causing you to scrape your nails up his back and latch onto his shoulders. A sensation shoots down your body to your core and you buck your hips again, wishing his jeans were gone and he was already inside of you. One hand finds your free breast and squeezes the nipple tightly, another moan escaping you.

Sweat beads on your skin as his mouth switches its attention to your other nipple, his hand venturing further south before it meets your thigh. He bunches your dress up so it’s now only wrapped around your waist and presses a hand against your mound.

“Oh my God.” You groan as he pinches your clit, another sensation moving through your body.

“No underwear aye sweetheart?” Butcher starts, pulling away to look in your eyes. “If I knew you wanted me that bad all you had to do was ask.”

You roll your eyes. “Fuck yo-“

But Butcher cuts you off again, this time because of his finger entering you. His thick digit moves in and out slowly, your core so wet it can easily slide. You slide one of your hands down to the front of his jeans, blindly searching for his button and zipper.

You feel his other hand touch yours, helping you get his cock free. You pull his jeans down just enough for it to escape and immediately grab it, noting how your whole hand can’t fit all the way around.

“Ah Fuck.” Butcher groans, his hips rocking to allow his cock to slide through your enclosed hand.

He adds a second finger and you throw your head back, eyes closed. He starts to set a pace and you try to follow it with your hand on his cock, your hips slightly rocking to the motion. His fingers curl up, finding the spot you desperately needed him to find.

“Fuck Butcher.” You gasp, your hips starting to increase their pace.

Only he immediately pulls his fingers out of you.

You open your eyes and begin to lift your head but stop as a hand wraps around your neck. Your body tenses, your gaze meets Butchers. His eyes are dark, face flushed and sweat coating his skin.

“You say my name when I’m inside of you.” He states, his grip tightening slightly to emphasize the demand before loosening.

You can only nod and that’s enough for him as he guides his cock into you. You gasp at the intrusion, his two fingers not even coming close to the size of his cock. You feel it stretching your walls and try to take in air as it touches every crevice inside of you.

Billy doesn’t give you time to adjust to his size as he immediately pulls out before ramming back into you. You feel slight pain at the repeated intrusion but it quickly turns into only pleasure as he sets a fast and rough pace. His hand doesn’t leave your neck, his other tightly gripping your hip to hold you in place. Both of your hands grab onto his shoulders, squeezing tightly, nails digging into them again.

“Fuck Billy. Fuck.” You say as his cock reaches a deep place inside of you.

“How’s tha’ sweetheart?” He asks, his lips attacking your neck in kisses and bites. “This why you’re always such a bitch? Huh? Needed me to fuck that attitude out of you?”

You don’t respond. Instead, you move your hands to his head, guiding his lips to yours. You move just as roughly as before, teeth clashing and tongues dancing as you both try to fuck the fight out of each other.

Billy’s hand on your neck slides down to reach your clit, rubbing your juices over it. You pull your mouth away, tilting your head back and closing your eyes.

“Fuck that. Look at me.” Billy starts, his hand leaving your clit to grab your chin roughly. “Look at this.” He guides your head down, your eyes watching as his cock exits and enters you, coated with your juices. “Look at how wet you are for me. How good my cock makes you feel. You like tha’ sweetheart?”

You nod, looking back up to meet his gaze, his brown eyes so dark they appear black. His hand returns to rub your clit and you stare into each other's eyes as the sound of skin slapping against skin and both of your panting breaths fill the room.

“Billy. I’m- I’m close.” You tell him, feeling that familiar sensation creep deep into your stomach.

Billy’s response isn’t verbal but you know he’s heard you as his pace picks up and he rubs your clit harder. You moan a little louder causing Billy to kiss you again.

“Don’t want the boys to have dinner and a show aye.” He grins as he pulls away.

His hips continue to snap, his cock sliding out of you only to hammer back in, hitting the deep part of you repeatedly. Your core begins to tighten and you squeeze your eyes shut as the familiar feeling starts to take over.

“Fuck, Billy. Shit. Billy.” You chant, the feeling now taking over.

Your eyes remain closed as your body tenses and you feel yourself come undone. Your channel squeezes his cock as it continues to move in and out of you, Billy not stopping as you ride your high. You hands latch onto his neck and you pull him back to a kiss as the feeling slowly begins to die down.

Billy feels you unclench and pulls out, his mouth still connected to yours as his hands pump himself once, twice, before he releases a groan against your lip as he cums onto your dress and stomach.

“Fuck sweetheart.” Billy says as he pulls away from your lips.

He leans forward to rest his forehead against yours, both of you panting as you come down from your highs.

“It was still a stupid plan.” You whisper to him, a small smile on your lips.

Billy just gives a disbelieved laugh before leaning down to kiss you once more.

If all his stupid plans of the past ended like this, maybe you wouldn’t hate him as much as you do.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Now, Fallout!AU for Raider!Konig and fem!Reader...

Konig as a raider. Your typical one - wall of meat, muscles, mean motherfucker who doesn't really care who to kill and who to fuck after. It might be from one of the less drug-addicted gangs, most of the shit never works on him anyway. Might be radiation, might be mild mutation - no one cares. He isn't a leader of the gang, never good at working with people and commanding them - but he is good at shooting people and taking their stuff. He is good at spotting and sniping, despite people around laughing at his huge form scrambling behind a stolen sniper riffle. This is how he spots you, actually. A vault dweller - this much is obvious. You can lead him to your stash, a can deep in the ground. Filled with people, vault-dwelling rats - the ones that are too fucking good for this place. Konig thinks he hates them - but honestly, half of the wasteland does. You do look good in that tight suit of yours. Bright blue on the dry yellow of the ground below. he wondered who designed the suits - if people knew that every dumb underground rat would be spotted from at least 3 kilometres away in that bright blue thing. Works for him, though. He flips off the guy who didn't want to spot for his position. His rank in the gang is high enough to just get a guy by his neck and force him on guard duty - all while he is getting ready to catch the little rat. It was a while since he saw someone so pretty - honestly, only Vault dwellers can be considered pretty at this point. Clean skin, moderately clean hair. He knows that if he gets to smell you, you'd have this awesome stench of cleanliness. Would be lovely to push his nose into your hair as he fucks you on his bunk. Might even clean his room a bit so the underworld princess won't be too disgusted at the perspective of being chained to his bunk. A prized property. Pretty helpless thing.

Konig drags you to the compound with ease. You're too startled at the sight of a giant hooded man approaching you with a very mean gun on his hip - not even in his hands, since he is confident he can snap your neck with just two fingers. You whine like a brain calf being split in two at some posh casino far in New Vegas - he brushes his hand over your ass, gripping it. Patting it. You do have a weapon - he disposes of it now, just getting it to his pocket. You freeze when he takes your pip-boy off, snapping it off your wrist with ease. You mouth a little plead with your lips. Konig laughs. You have a Vault location in here - it's funny how such a silly thing is going to be the doom of your people. The gang leader would probably be sad they didn't get to torture you for information, but Konig is making sure the whole gang will be satisfied hearing your moans and cries the whole night. Everyone knows that Konig is a beast - and that if they try to get the leftovers of a pretty Vault girl, they will be used as a target practice next. You do smell good. Konig takes note of breaking into some abandoned building and trying to fetch water and cleaning supplies so you could continue to smell nice. Wants to doll up his pretty Vault snatch - even finds some old, pre-war dresses. Plays house as long as gang allows it. Some of the younger members give you a pitied look, hearing your little sobs every time Konig forces you to move. Some of the older members know that the moans you're letting out aren't the ones of pain. Konig isn't the one to share and to talk, so he never even brags about his girl. Just has her attached to his hip, clinging to his armor since he is the only one who you know here. At least you know him, somehow. At least you know he likes his pretty Vault rat too much to let you get hurt. By anyone but him, that is.

[ataraxiaspainting]

Yandere Sylus - Headcanons.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, kidnapping, manipulation, small descriptions of violence (not against the reader), and abuse of power.

Word Count: 400.

*~*~*~*

Sylus already has some of the quirks necessary to make a terrifying yandere – he’s manipulative when he wants to be, and has enough connections to make anyone who crosses him the wrong way disappear for good.

However, he can also be merciful sometimes, especially to you when you behave nicely. A deal soon is thought out, one that keeps you in check and makes sure you never leave him. In exchange for goods worth more than anything you’d make in your entire lifetime, you’ll be seeing Sylus at various scheduled times per month, the routine gradually getting much more crowded as Sylus turns himself to greed. 

But if you reject him more than once, he has no problem putting you somewhere high up or deep underground until you see the world through his eyes; he is the best choice for you and your survival. You’ll still be given nice things, but your metaphorical leash is now tighter. 

You can’t leave the compound without Sylus’ arm snaking around your waist or shoulders. He’s kinder to you than he is to most people… if you play your cards correctly.

“I recommend taking it cold. Sigh. Summer nights seem hotter these days… Oh? Hm… Don’t burn up, then. I’m sure you’d hate it if I nursed you back to health from a heatstroke, right?”

Sooner or later, your room and his will become one. Well, it is more so yours because Sylus still has to travel plenty during the night, but little cameras in general sitting spots will be subtle reminders that you are never alone. You aren’t granted a phone until long into your “move-in”, be it him snatching you up or you living with him due to some strings he pulled with your landlord.

“Poor thing.” The car edges closer as you peer into the open window. “Nowhere to go, I take it?”

You don’t know how to respond, but you don’t have to – within minutes all your belongings are packed into the trunk with ease.

An eye for an eye is what Sylus calls this relationship. If you scratch his back with compliments, he’ll scratch yours with small privileges or gifts. If you try to hurt him by escaping, he’ll definitely hurt you with a few phone calls and money snuck into the pockets of people who will do anything for just a bit of cash. You’ll be back, one way or another. Sylus will be waiting for you with open arms.

[polakina]

tell me your secrets

pairing: valeria garza x reader

rating: explicit

outline: valeria wants information. you want to be out of her compound. she likes your attitude and decides to take this interrogation as a one on one

warnings: smut, fingering, oral (fem recieving), kidnapping, interrogation, spanking, flirting, enemies to...fuck buddies??, thigh riding

requests are open! hope you enjoy, petals <3

a/n: i love this woman. she's got such a hold on me i had to write for her

masterlist

II

The restraints were cutting deep into your wrists as you struggled to free yourself from them. It was such a stupid move. Arguing with El Sin Nombre’s men during a rally was not your best move. But you were a freedom fighter. You couldn’t stand the way they swaggered around with their smug faces, pointing their guns at innocent bystanders, looking for any information on where their resources were taken to.

You had them. Well, your team had them. You’d caught wind of a shipment for El Sin Nombre on the west side of Las Almas. So before the resources could be picked up by the team, you’d slipped in and taken everything, keeping it in a safehouse far from Las Almas.

One of El Sin Nombre’s men had recognised you from your previous encounters with them, and his emotion overtook him and he’d held you captive. The truck ride felt like hours, being bounced around in the back of the vehicle with a bag over your head. You had no idea what you were getting yourself into. Or if you were ever coming back.

-

You heard voices, muffled by the bag over your head which was starting to itch your scalp. It was driving you insane. A few hours you had been sat in this chair, men coming in to question you and leaving enraged when you didn’t speak a word. Not a word had come out of your mouth since you’d gotten out of that truck and been hauled to this room. Or corridor. Or whatever the fuck these boys had put you in. 

Trying to untie the knots roped around your wrist, your fingers started to cramp and you cursed out into the darkness, the ties too tight for you to wriggle out of them.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” you heard to your right. A woman’s voice echoed through the room. “You’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep doing that.” Footsteps made their way over to you and light seared into your retinas as the bag was harshly pulled off your face. You shook your head, moving the fair out of your eyes, slowly adjusting to the room you were captive in. “I’ve heard about you, you know?” The woman came round to stand in front of you, crouching so she was at your eye level.

You maintained eye contact, showing no emotion, giving nothing away. You couldn’t afford to. If she saw one crack in your facade, she had you in her grasp. “So what’s your name, then, hmm? I know what the freedom fighters call you on the street, but what should I call you?”

Silence. Utter silence filled the room. But it didn’t faze her like the other men. She didn’t get angry, or slap you, or storm out of the room. She just smirked. It seemed more unnerving than anything else.

“Not a big talker? Fine. Let me start this conversation,” she walked around the chair, standing directly behind you. You had no idea what she was doing until you felt her fingers curl into the hair at the scalp, pulling your head back towards the ceiling forcefully. You winced slightly, but said nothing. “You stole our resources, taking them from right under our noses in the middle of the night. Now we have no guns, no ammo, nothing to fight off the terrorists that plague our land. Now we can’t find your men. They’ve gone underground. And nobody’s talking. Not even civilians. You got them wrapped around your finger, don’t you, princesa?” Her face was so close to yours. 

You’d seen a lot of El Sin Nombre’s men around in your time, but always under her command. She led them, they were on her orders. The times you’d come into contact with her were never pleasant. She loved toying with you whenever you had stood up to her. Not many people liked to challenge her authority, but you took pride in it. She admired it. She wouldn’t admit it turned her on a little to have someone rile her up, someone she could put in their place. Especially you.

“So now we have you in custody, your men hiding most likely at one of your safehouses which we can’t track down. You’re a smart woman. Maybe we should have hired you instead of the assholes we’ve got wearing our colours.”

You smiled. They hadn’t found your men. They had nothing. They were clutching at straws they barely had a grasp on to begin with. “Tell me where I can find my resources, and I’ll let you go.”

You considered it. For the smallest inch of a second, you seriously considered it. But you didn’t want a war to break out in your town. Nobody could survive that kind of hit.

She released your hair from her grasp, running her fingers through it gently before stepping away, coming back into your field of view. “Either you talk to me, or I let those boys back in on orders to slice you up until you talk. I don’t think you’ll survive for very long after that, honey.” The woman went and stood by the door, her hand on the metal handle. “The choice is yours. But I can promise you right now, I’m much better company.”

Hearing the creak in the handle as she pushed down on it, unlocking it, you stopped her.

“We don’t want a war breaking out. Las Almas is crumbling enough on it’s own. We don’t need to bring fucking genocide into play as well.”

She turned to face you once again. 

“Is that what you think we’re doing? Starting a war.” The woman leaned against the door, arms crossed. “We never wanted one either. That’s why we need our shipment. To protect Las Almas and its people.”

“Didn’t feel like you were protecting its people when those assholes out there tore the south side of the city to shreds. Do you even know how many bodies we found? Innocent bodies. All gunned down by El Sin Nombre’s men for no reason.”

She looked down at her feet, rolling her shoulders back. “Those men were dealt with,” she said softly. “El Sin Nombre never gave out that south side order. Those men acted on their own backs. You’re talking to the person who personally executed those men for what they did that day. We don’t want a war, princesa. We want to protect our own. Our people. This city.”

“So patriotic,” you smirked, rolling your eyes. “I almost believe you.”

She walked over to you, leaning down until her face was inches from yours. “You should believe me. I’m the one person here who can get you out alive.”

You leaned closer, a certain fire in your eyes that she liked. “I want my men alive. If I give you the location of my shipment, then that’s all you take. If I hear whispers that you’ve taken out any of my men, I’ll come back here and rain hellfire down on you, I can fucking promise you that.”

She chuckled slightly, surprising you. “Even held captive, you show no fear. I like you. I give you my word that none of your men will be injured.”

“Your word means nothing to me,” you said, cocking your head to the side. “I want your boss’ word.”

“My boss?”

“El Sin Nombre. I want his word.”

She smiled, nodding once. “What makes you think he’s a man?” She asked quietly, and it sent sparks flying in your brain. You’d been told that the boss was a man. Dangerous and vicious. But a woman? That felt even scarier to you. “My word is just as good as El Sin Nombre’s, I promise.”

You contemplated for a moment. “What’s your name?”

“Why would you want to know that?”

“Just in case your word isn’t as good as you say. I want to know the name of the woman who I’ll be coming back for to hold responsible.”

The woman stood up straight, but her hand drifted to your jaw, holding it tightly and tilting your face up to look at her. “Valeria. You call me Valeria.”

With her other hand she reached into her back pocket, a shimmer catching the light and you saw it was a knife in her hand. Valeria leaned over you, the knife drifting along your arm until it snagged suddenly, loosening the rope around your wrists, allowing blood to flow. “Follow me.” Valeria turned and opened the door to the small room, motioning for you to head through.

-

The map stretched across the entire expanse of the table, the whole of Las Almas territory and its neighbouring cities plastered on the paper. You leaned over it, eyes casting a glance over where your base camp was, where your safehouses were. From their notes, they were nowhere near your men. It made you smile. 

“So?” Valeria sat in a chair, leaning back on two wooden legs as her feet were kicked up onto the table. “The shipment. Where can we find it.” You glanced at her before looking back to the map. Taking a pen from the table, you circled an area on the map, out in the middle of the desert. From a glance, you wouldn’t think anything was even out there.

“You can find your shipment here. I have men on patrol in this area twenty-four-seven. So I expect to be able to contact them ahead of time so you don’t break out into a fucking bloodbath for no reason,” you asserted, tossing the pen back onto the table. Valeria smirked, standing up from where she was sat, marching over to you.

“Princesa, you’re not in a position to be making demands, okay?”

“I’m not your princesa.”

“Well, you won’t give me a name so you can deal with the name I give you. Besides,” her hand brushes away stray hairs on your cheek. “I like seeing the red in your cheeks when I call you it.”

You avoided eye contact, looking at the table, but she grabbed your face, her fingers digging into your cheeks as she forced you to look back at her. “Don’t be going all shy on me now.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said through gritted teeth. You had felt heat on your cheeks every time she called you princesa. But you didn’t think she could actually see anything.

“You know, if you weren’t so hostile, we’d actually make a pretty good team. I like having something pretty to look at when I’m working,” she raised her eyebrows as your eyes met hers. “You don’t have to act so big and mighty around me. I’m not that scary.”

You laughed, your hand pulling her wrist away from your face, keeping a firm grip on it. “You act as though I’m scared of you. I can assure you, you don’t scare me.”

She hummed, turning the tables and grabbing your wrists in her hands instead, pushing you against the table. “I know. I like it. You got a fire in you, honey. I’m starting to like your company more and more every passing second.” She smiled, leaning in until her lips grazed your ear, her body pressed against yours. “Perhaps you should stay a little longer in ym compound.”

Your body was telling you to react in a different way to what your brain was screaming at you. You honestly didn’t know what to do. This interrogation had certainly gone down a different path than what you expected. “And why would I do that, Valeria?” From the past few months where you had challenged her men, challenged her, gotten up in her face about how she was ruining Las Almas and causing more problems than solving them, you’d never actually been this close. Nor had you ever felt so vulnerable in her presence.

“We’ve been dancing around each other for months. We’ve been at each other’s throats, fought on opposite sides. But there’s one thing you can’t deny,” she smiled against your ear as your breathing halted in your throat.

“And what’s that?” you asked, only able to muster it up in a whisper.

“That you like it. You like the confrontation between us. I’ve seen the way you look when I put you in your place.” She had you. The second she heard your breathing labour she knew she fucking had you.

You turned your face towards hers slightly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her teeth nipped your earlobe, trailing towards your neck.

“Hmm. You sure?” She coaxed, feeling your pulse quicken against her lips. “Because your body is telling me something else entirely.” her face came up to meet yours. She stood a little taller than you were, and the ends other hair tickled your cheeks. “Tell me I’m wrong. But don’t lie to my face in my own office.”

You couldn’t say anything. Saying no would be a lie in itself. Your lips parted slightly but no words came out. She smiled, her face inching closer to yours. “That’s what I thought.” Her lips found yours. Softly, but firmly slotting against yours in a kiss. Her body pressed against you felt her tongue part your lips further, exploring your mouth deftly. Valeria’s grip loosened around your wrists and moved to your waist, her fingers ghosting over your bare skin as your shirt lifted. You could have pulled away. You could have stopped this. But you didn’t want to. This already felt too good.

Valeria felt your hands come up to cup her cheeks, and she smiled into the kiss, pulling your bottom lip between her teeth. Your fingers drifted to her neck, pulling her impossibly closer to you. Her lips found your neck, sucking at the soft skin over your pulse. You couldn’t hide the small gasp that escaped your throat, making her chuckle softly. Not in a demeaning way. She liked that she made you feel good.

But her touch disappeared just as quickly as it came. She walked backwards, back to the couch opposite the desk, her fingers making quick work of the belt around her waist, letting it drop to the floor as she unbuckled it, pulling it through the loops. She kicked her boots off, nudging them to the side as she walked. “Still regretting staying?” She asked coyly, sitting in the chair, leaning back and spreading her legs.

“Not yet,” you replied, still leaning against the table.

“Then come here, princesa. I’m not finished with you yet.”

Slowly, you made your way over to the couch. She smiled up at you, one eyebrow cocked. You took the opportunity to lower yourself to your knees, knowing exactly what she wanted. You wanted it too. Your hands ghosted up her thighs as you leaned up to her. Your fingers unzipped her pants, pulling them down her legs as you found her lips with yours once more. Her skin was warm, like fire against your fingertips. Your mouth made its way south and you started at her knee, kissing softly at her skin until you made your way to her inner thigh. 

Valeria watched you, looking down at you as your head inched closer to exactly where she wanted you. She lifted one leg over the arm of the sofa and let her head fall back as you pulled her underwear aside, gently ghosting your lips over her cunt.

You wasted no time, diving into her pussy, licking a stripe through her folds. She moaned softly, her hand finding your hair, pushing you closer to her cunt as you fucked her with your tongue. Valeria felt your finger glide up her cunt, dipping gently into her. You were teasing. She was having none of it. 

“Keep fucking around and you will not like the punishment I give you, honey,” she said, her words like ice on her tongue. You pushed your finger deep inside, your tongue finding her clit, giving her the stimulation she needed. Lips closing around her clit, you sucked harshly at the sensitive little bud, your teeth grazing gently over it.

Her grip was so tight in your hair as she kept your head between your thighs, you wouldn’t be surprised if it bruised your scalp by morning. But you didn’t care. Your free hand wrapped around her thigh where her leg rested beside you, and you pulled it over your shoulder, caging yourself between her grip. She felt your fingers dig painfully into the supple flesh of her thigh, it made her gasp out into the otherwise empty room.

You added a second finger to the crevice of her cunt, and then a third. Valeria tensed around you as she felt your fingers curl against something devastating inside her. “Shit, princesa. You’re better than I-” her sudden moan cut off her sentence as your fingers quickened, thrusting deep and harshly inside her. You felt her thigh close around your head, her hand keeping a firm grip on your head as her quick breaths signalled her high coming to a peak. “Come on, honey. Make me cum. I know you can.”

Withone final thrust of your fingers, and the undying attention you gave to her clit, she felt her orgasm wash over her, her mouth hanging open and her eyes rolling back as she came on your fingers. 

Her fingers released her grip on your hair as she came down from her high. You stayed between her thighs, keeping her legs pushed widely apart as you cleaned the mess between her thighs.

Valeria’s breathing slowed and became steadier as her muscles relaxed. Once you were satisfied, you looked up at her with glazed eyes. Her expression matched yours. Her cheeks were flushed and her pupils blown. “Atta girl,” she smiled, patting her bare thigh. You pushed yourself off her knees and stepped between her legs, but her foot pressed against your thigh as she cocked her head at you. “Take them off,” she gestured to your pants.

You rolled your eyes, smirking, but entirely compliant to her orders. Your shoes were kicked to the side, your pants on the floor within seconds, and you moved back towards her. But her foot came up against your thigh once more. “Take. Them. Off.” There was no room in negotiation in her voice, her tone was stern and cold. It sent a tingle down your spine.

Underwear hit the floor and you felt bare in front of her. Your shirt was just long enough to cover your ass, but not long enough to be able to leave it to the imagination. Her finger coaxed you closer to her and you moved to stand between her legs once again. 

Valeria’s hands drifted up your thighs, gently pulling you onto her lap and her lips melted against yours, her kisses deep, rough, needy. She shifted your body so you were seated on her thigh, your cunt resting on the muscle beneath her skin. “Your turn now,” she whispered, her accent thick and heavy in her words.

Her hands cupped your ass, dragging your hips along her thigh. Your clit rubbed against her skin in such a perfect way with each roll of your hips. Soft gasps accumulated in your throat as she guided you where you sat, straddling her. “Such pretty noises, princesa,” she smiled up at you, her hands drifting upwards as your body moved on its own, wanting to reach its own high. Valeria pushed the shirt up over your head, tossing it over your head where it landed clumsily on the table. Her lips found your breasts, kissing and sucking at the sensitive flesh, your nipples gently grazed with her teeth.

The stimulation was turning you on even more, every part of your body receiving the attention it needed to draw your orgasm even closer. But it never felt enough. Just constantly on the cusp, never teetering over the edge. Valeria could see it in your eyes.

“Need a little more, honey?” Her tone sounded mocking, but you were so close that you didn’t even care. You just went along with it. You liked this side of her. “Aw pretty girl. I got you.” Her hands grabbed your ass again, slapping your ass cheek harshly as she hoisted you up onto your knees. One hand stayed on your ass, the other reaching in front of her to play between your thighs. She was less gentle than you were with her earlier, her fingers thrusting deep into your cunt without warning. But it was what you needed. You moaned and tilted your head back, your fingers digging into her shoulders, nails carving lines into her skin. 

She moved at such a speed, the noises coming from your soaked pussy filling the room with its obscene sounds. Her thumb pressed firmly against your clit, rubbing tight circles against it until you felt your core clench and your thighs tense around her own.

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop,” you cried out. Valeria looked up at you, seeing the way your eyes crinkled shut, how you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth. 

“Say please,” she whispered, her ministrations slowing and your coming high fading. “Beg me for it.”

You had no shame as you made eye contact with her, begging and pleading to reach your orgasm. She just smiled, knowing the control she had over you right in this moment. Your orgasm hit you hard, and you buried your face in her neck, her skin between your teeth as you came. She hissed at the pain, but it didn’t hurt nearly as much as she’d expected. She rather enjoyed it.

Breathing some air into your lungs, your body finally started to relax, and your walls unclenched around her fingers, but she didn’t take them out. Not yet, anyway. Your juices soaked her fingers, dripping out to coat her hand, but Valeria didn’t mind.

A few minutes passed before either of you spoke. You leaned back, your face close to hers and she leaned up and kissed you softly. 

“Perhaps you should call your team, let them know what’s going on,” Valeria smiled, the whole reason you were in this compound now coming back to her. You returned her smile, chuckling softly, pecking her lips once more.

“Yeah probably. Did you okay it with your boss, I assume?” You questioned, cocking your head. You realised she hadn’t left your side since the interrogation, she hadn’t had the time to discuss it with the boss.

But Valeria just laughed, her whole body shaking as she chuckled. “Oh, honey. There is no boss to go talk to.” Your expression screamed confusion, and it just made her smile and shake her head. She patted your ass as she leaned back against the couch. “You just fucked El Sin Nombre and got on your knees for her, which was so hot, by the way. I call the shots around here.”

Stunned. Shocked. It was the only way to explain how you felt right now. You were bare ass naked in the lap of a notorious cartel leader. “You’re serious?” 

Valeria nodded in response, a smile playing at her lips.

“So call your boys and let them know. I’ll send my men to retrieve my resources. And who knows,” she tilted her head up, lips ghosting over yours. “This could be the start of a beautiful business partnership.”

[flawlessflesh]

cecil is the thistle expy i made for a roleplay group i joined! he's started taking on a life of his own though...

in this rp, the mundane world and the supernatural secretly co-exist. cecil lives with his family in an underground bunker deep within washington state's hoh rainforest. the family is locked away and cecil believes he's protecting them from harm. he spends his days digging a frighteningly complex system of tunnels throughout the forest, convinced that if he can reach the black river deep inside the earth that's haunting his dreams, he'll be able to find his brother del's missing soul.

^ cecil being hounded by a good samaritan (samson's dorothy <3)

i'll share the public bio i wrote for cecil under the cut hehe

Cecil of the Talayi family began appearing in New Portsmouth grocery stores and libraries a few months ago. He isn't occupied by any work or schooling and he disappears for long stretches of time into the Hoh Rainforest.

A receipt Cecil discarded shows the following purchases: a wheelbarrow, five 50-pound bags of concrete mix, gloves, a large pack of 2x4 lumber, steel pipes, an industrial saw, and a bag of sour gummy worms (berry blast flavor).

When he was a young child, Cecil was given a home by the Talayi family. There is no official adoption on record and it is unknown exactly when Cecil was brought in. The family's head at the time, Farhang (فرهنگ), was an Iranian immigrant who made his fortune in Silicon Valley - Cecil believes he owes everything to him. Cecil was homeschooled alongside his younger brother, Del (عادل), who he helped raise. These days he is his brother's primary caretaker.

Farhang Talayi was assassinated by poisoning in 1991 by suspected corporate rivals. The murder trial was long, arduous, and inconclusive. Contemporary newspaper articles and tv footage of the investigation are archived online.

Ten years after the trial, the Talayi family moved from the bustle of Silicon Valley to New Portsmouth. Del bought property deep in the forest and built a private compound ringed by high walls. The Talayis made a few half-hearted excursions into the town's social scene, but they kept to themselves for the most part, homeschooled their children, and now have not been seen in public for many months.

Those initiated in the Secret World will look at Cecil and know he is a Protoplast - a name given to an insular race of humans whose proximity to Flesh diverged them from Homo sapiens thousands of years ago. Not much is known about Protoplasts beyond their natural skill with the Flesh font and their unusual physical characteristics: androgyny, elongated goat-like ears, hair and eyes lacking melanin, and rumors of extended lifespans. They are viewed with awe and wariness - anyone so close to Flesh should be handled carefully, of course. Most Protoplasts seen outside their clans are in the employ of the rich and powerful, a living status symbol. Cecil is no different.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Epilogue: It’s Not Over ‘Til You’re Underground]

A/N: We've finally reached the end of the Oregon Trail, besties!!! Enjoy this one last treat to celebrate the conclusion of Martyrs 🥰

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes.

Both the series title and epilogue title are lyrics from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Word count: 4.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Autumn is the harvest, ripping up roots, preparing for the starving time of winter, and so you step through the threshold of your new life as the world is ending again.

“I knew the chances,” Sophie says when you tell her what happened; but she can’t look at you, because of course she wishes it was Rio who made it to Odessa instead, and you don’t blame her. She breaks down and leaves the house, and you sit there—silent, sorry, self-loathing—for a long time with Rio’s weeping parents and Aegon’s arm draped across the back of your chair. But then Sophie comes back inside, and through tears she says it’s nice to meet you in person at last, and then she asks if you’d like to hold Rio’s son.

Here it is commonplace to see M16s and AR-15s, marijuana growing in gardens, a myriad of flags flying from homes—Don’t Tread On Me, Trump 2024, American flags, rainbow flags, porcupines of the Libertarian Party—and order is maintained by an elected council of longtime Odessa residents. For anyone to be allowed into the community, somebody already here must take responsibility for them, and so the seven of you—eight, counting Ice—spend the first few months sleeping on Rio’s parents’ living room floor and eating meals out of their cellar, enough self-stable food to last for years. You join the construction crew and help build houses, Cregan cuts down trees and fishes and hunts, Helaena shows Aegon how to garden and Sophie teaches Luke to bake bread. There are no doctors here, but there are several unlicensed midwives and a veterinarian named Ian Whitted. Rhaena studies under him—attending every appointment and taking copious notes in the spider notebook Helaena gifts her, sharing what she learned from Aemond—and before long her sutures are quicker and cleaner than Ian’s. Daeron, considered too young and inexperienced for the most dangerous work, is posted with his compound bow inside the village to serve as a guard. He resents this until he realizes there are far more women to flirt with here than out in the forest where wolves and bears prowl and the dead rove with incurable hunger.

You work from dawn to sunset; you work so you have no time to think. The baby doesn’t feel real, and neither does Aemond being gone, and the future is so unimaginable you’d rather not try to imagine it at all. Because you’re a good shot, they want you for patrols and raids of nearby towns to search for supplies, and you take every shift you’re offered until Rhaena says you have to stop. She tells you that each time you leave, Aegon watches the door until you walk through it again, that it’s not good for him, that it’s not good for you either. She says you can’t keep running from what’s happened.

“I’m not trying to run away,” you tell her where she’s cornered you by one of the wells, lilac twilight sky and glimmers of stars, hoots of owls and children laughing as they roast marshmallows over crackling fires. “I’m trying to find my way through.”

“Fine,” Rhaena replies firmly, no room for argument. “But you’re going to do that in here where it’s safe.”

The new houses have wooden walls and kitchen fireplaces made of stones, beds with feather mattresses, plots for gardens and pens for ducks, chickens, pigs, sheep, goats, turkeys, cattle. Helaena and Cregan move into one cabin, Rhaena and Luke share another, and you have the last to yourself, the first time you’ve ever lived alone. Aegon and Daeron float around between the houses, more often than not ending up in yours as the sun is dipping below the tree line into the west, Daeron carving wooden cutlery with a hunting knife, Aegon cuddling with Ice on the deerskin rug, luring you into disastrous baking attempts and games of Uno and telling stories about Washington D.C., Djibouti, Key West, Corpus Christi, Chinhae, Diego Garcia, Saratoga Springs before the dead began to walk.

Thanksgiving dinner is at Rio’s parents’ house, Sophie’s baby sound asleep in his blue sling, candles flickering and Ice lying beneath the table to gulp down scraps that fall to the floor: roasted turkey, hazelnut stuffing, buttered carrots, mashed potatoes, pickled beets, salad with homemade ranch dressing, pumpkin pie for dessert.

“God, I miss chilidogs,” Aegon mutters beside you, and you laugh—a real laugh, loud and helpless, a lightness flooding into your arteries and the marrow of your bones—for the first time since Aemond died.

“You have to try this,” Sophie says, pouring you a small glass of moonshine distilled with apples and cherries and cinnamon. Everybody else has already had a taste except Aegon. He doesn’t drink anymore, doesn’t smoke the weed people grow here, only keeps a few tobacco plants in your garden to enjoy on rare occasions.

“I can’t,” you tell Sophie, staring at the amber-colored moonshine. You are over three months along and will be showing soon. It materializes all at once, shifts from a hazy apparition to something in full focus: next Thanksgiving you will have a fatherless infant of your own.

Sophie is puzzled. The glass of moonshine waits untouched on the table. “Why not?”

“Because I’m pregnant,” you say.

Aegon chokes on his pumpkin pie. “You’re what?!”

And everyone except Helaena drops their forks and leaps up to engulf you: How long have you known? How far along are you? Why didn’t you tell us? How can we help?

You stop lifting heavy things and stay off of ladders. Helaena brings you kale and mushrooms, Sophie knits you baby clothes, Rio’s mom makes you candles infused with essential oils, lavender, chamomile, ginger, and you lie and say they make a difference. Aegon helps you build a crib; you don’t need his help, but still, he insists. Smiling to himself, he etches two words into the headboard: Mini Chips. Wheat is planted in the fields to the north of the village. Scrap metal is scavenged for the blacksmiths to melt down to make nails and bullets. You learn to sweeten desserts with honey instead of sugar and to hold your hand flat when you feed the baby goats so they won’t nibble your fingers. You wait for winter to thaw and summer to come back around again.

It is what people would call a bad birth: hemorrhaging and lots of stitches, Rhaena squinting in the glow of the flashlights trying to piece you back together, rain outside and no lidocaine. You can’t stop crying. You feel like you’re going to die, and you’re shaking too badly to hold your own child, and you want Aemond. He would know what to do, he would know how to make the world go quiet. And the truth that he will never meet his daughter hits you over and over again like cold lethal waves, like bullets that pierce the heart.

Aegon is here instead, and you want to cling to him but you can’t; if all the others could die, so can he. But even when you look away from him to stare at the wall he stays, his hand clutching yours and never complaining even when you squeeze it hard enough to leave bruises that paint him maroon and indigo, tilting glasses filled with fresh pomegranate juice against your lips, asking Rhaena and Ian what you will need from him as you recover. Slowly the house empties and everyone goes home, but Aegon stays through the night and never leaves again.

Harmony cries a lot, as if she already knows she’s lost someone. She has trouble nursing and only sleeps for a few hours at a time. People are always coming in and out of the house: Sophie with handknit clothes and blankets for the baby, Helaena with flowers and fruit and vegetables, Rhaena with loaves of Luke’s fresh-baked bread, Cregan with firewood. At first Aegon is better with Harmony than you are. You love her, of course, and you mourn for the life you cannot give her; but you can’t shake the feeling that someone left her on your doorstep, this fragile bewildering creature you are so unequipped to soothe. Yet Aegon picks her up and she stops crying. He carries her around the house and murmurs nonsense—rules of golf, sailing knots—and she gazes up at him mesmerized; and in the peace that grows from him like weeds, wild and inevitable, you can heal.

Aegon helps you walk for the first week after the birth. He brings you meals, overflowing plates you can never finish. He respectfully averts his eyes when you nurse the baby and when he passes the bedroom as you’re changing clothes, slowly and inelegantly, every muscle feeling shredded. He falls exhausted into bed beside you with his arms crossed over his chest so he won’t reach for you in his sleep. You keep waiting for him to start craving marijuana and moonshine, to meet someone who makes him wayward again while you are left here alone, morose and unglamorous and bleeding. You care about Aegon—entirely, violently—but you are convinced you’ll never love a man again. Perhaps love is something that is always doomed to be broken, ruinous, poisoned.

When Harmony is about four months old, you begin to see Aegon differently. You can’t stop staring at the way his hair shags over his eyes when he’s bent low in the garden, you hide behind walls and listen each time you catch him singing to himself, you feel a dark desperate sense of loss when other women flirt with him, though Aegon is never more than polite in return. You find excuses to touch him, and he always acquiesces: Let me bandage the cuts on your hands, let me dab honey on your sunburn.

One night you wake to find Aegon with Harmony in the kitchen, humming and rocking her in his arms as he paces back and forth across the wood floor in his bare feet, the full moon radiant through the window, the fireplace crackling. He glances over when he notices you standing in the doorway and says: “I think this is the only thing I’ve ever been good at.”

“Aegon?”

“Yeah, Chips.”

“I’m in love with you.”

At first he is startled, and then he smiles in the firelight, a slow mischievous curve of the lips that puts stars in his eyes and shows his teeth. “Took you long enough.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Nearly ten years ago, you were learning how to be a builder at Class A Technical School in Gulfport, Mississippi, salt and sun and sweet tea and humidity that lies heavy like a second skin you can’t shed. Today you are hammering nails into boards that will be a wall of the new meeting house, twice the square footage of the old one. The community here keeps growing.

“Watch out for your fingers, Zack Attack.”

 Zack looks over at you. He’s a kid, nineteen, and he’s only been here a week. He left Beaumont, Texas with a group of thirty people, one of them the cousin of a council member here. Twelve were left when they arrived. “Huh?”

“You’re holding the nail too close to the bottom,” you say. “If you swing the hammer and miss—and you will miss, everyone does sometimes, even me—you’ll crush your fingers against the wood. But if you hold the nail up near the top, the hammer will kind of knock them out of the way as it comes down, and you won’t have to worry about Rhaena or Ian popping your bones back into place.”

“Oh, cool! Thanks!” Zack readjusts his hands. “Where’d you learn to do all this?”

“The Navy.”

“Right. That makes sense.” He gives you a crooked, conspiratorial grin. “I heard you’re a good shot.”

“I am, I guess.” You don’t do patrols anymore, but you’re on the list of people to call when there’s a security breach, and you go because you have to. If Odessa is ever overrun, that will be the end of the life you’ve made here. The last scare was two months ago, a hoard that wandered up from the south, probably out of Klamath Falls. Someone knocked and you answered, leaving Aegon standing in the doorway with troubled eyes, Noah in his arms asking: Where Mama go? And Aegon had told him She’ll be back soon, buddy, but of course no one had known if that was true.

Now Zack says admiringly: “A real killer.”

You smile and give him a slap on the shoulder as you start climbing down the ladder. “I’d rather be a builder.”

“You heading out?”

“Yeah, my kids probably miss me.”

“See ya tomorrow. Bring more of Aegon’s raspberry crumb muffins.”

You laugh. “If there are any left.”

Down on the ground, bumblebees orbit tufts of wildflowers and cats prowl for mice. Sitting cross-legged on the grass are kids rubbing nails against bars of goat milk soap; it makes them go into the wood easier. They play the same way you did as a child: in the dirt, in the wild, tracking animals and building dams in the creek. They wave as you pass by. Everyone knows each other here. Everyone knows what you can do with the Beretta M9 in your holster.

Beside one of the wells, Daeron is helping a flock of tittering, blushing women pull up their buckets and plucking stray blades of grass and pine needles out of their hair. He is easily the most eligible bachelor in Odessa, and in no hurry to take himself off the market. By the schoolhouse, two teenagers are petting Ice as they listen to Aegon’s pink Sony Walkman and rap along to Gold Digger: “You will see him on tv, any given Sunday, win the Super Bowl and drive off in a Hyundai…”

But at Sophie’s house, the song you hear is Darius Rucker’s Wagon Wheel, drifting from a battery-powered boombox containing one of Rio’s dad’s cassette tapes. Aegon is already here and dusted with earth, your children clamoring around his legs as he chats with Sophie at the edge of the garden: zucchini, snap peas, tomatoes, strawberries, spinach, potatoes, cucumbers, carrots, kale. When Aegon sees you, he lights up and says to the kids: “Look! Look who’s here!” And you crouch down and open your arms so you can catch all three of them as they barrel into you on small, wobbly legs.

The second birth was much easier, the third only lasted an afternoon. Opal, three years old, is named after a gemstone that Sophie told you symbolizes hope and clarity; Noah, two and with unruly blonde hair like Aegon’s, shares a name with the man who started over when the world flooded and all the generations before were lost. You pick him up before he can trip over his own feet.

“Mama, come see!” Harmony shouts, grabbing your free hand and dragging you to a hutch full of fluffy, multicolored rabbits. Aegon is walking over to join you, his hands in his pockets and a soft smile on his lips, long blonde hair and stubbled cheeks.

“Are these the new meat rabbits?” you say without thinking, and Aegon widens his eyes at you.

Harmony peers up with a worried frown. She’s getting too smart to be shielded from such harsh realities. “Why did you call them meat rabbits?”

Aegon swoops Harmony off the ground to distract her. “Because they’re so excited to meet you!” he says as she giggles and kicks through open air.

“What are their names?” you ask to change the subject.

“Arrax,” Opal says in her toddler lisp, pointing to a grey one. And then, indicating a rabbit with long, reddish-tan fur: “Morning.”

“Those are such nice names!” you gush, a bit perplexed. Children have a certain mystery to them, one foot still in the Great Beyond, wherever souls wait to be born and reunited.

“And this one is Sunfyre,” Harmony announces proudly, reaching through the wire to scratch its straw-colored coat.

“Sunfyre?!” Aegon says. “Well now you’re just making shit up.” A pause. “Stuff. You’re making stuff up.”

“And Sunfyre is married to Dreamfyre.”

“Cute,” Aegon says. “Incestuous, but cute.”

“The post-apocalypse dating pool is limited,” you remind him.

“Have you met the Texas people yet?” Sophie asks you as she wanders over to the hutch in a handknit yellow dress, wearing elephant earrings that Rio once mailed home to her from Djibouti.

“Yeah, some of them are working on the meeting house. They seem really nice. And apparently they know how to barbeque, so that’s exciting. New recipes!”

Sophie smirks. “When they dropped by to introduce themselves, I had to have the whole conversation again.”

“Well…you did name your kid Otter.”

“Wait, wait, hold on,” Sophie says, chuckling, showing her palms. “I did not name him Otter.”

“You named him Bryan Otter Osorio. And you call him Otter.”

“Because he’s a little kid and it’s a perfectly fine nickname for now! And then when he’s older…you know…he can decide who he wants to be.”

You smile. “Sure.”

“I think it’s great, personally,” Aegon says. “I’m hoping I’ll get to name my next one Softshell Turtle.”

“Absolutely,” you deadpan. “And what if it’s a girl?”

“Softshell Turtle is obviously unisex.”

Sophie is laughing and shaking her head. “I hate you guys.”

Helaena and Cregan arrive to pick up their children, two sets of twins, all named after species of butterflies: Skipper, Adonis, Tiger, Sara. Rio’s parents bring them outside to the garden to be collected. They and Sophie like to keep the house full of children, especially now that Otter is getting older. And when they need meat or firewood or their roof patched, they know who to ask.

“I’m so sorry,” Sophie tells Helaena and Cregan as they wrangle their brood. “I’m mortified. Adonis ate Harmony’s oatmeal raisin cookie and made her cry, so Otter smacked him in the head with his golf club.” Aegon has carved miniature, lightweight clubs out of pine wood for each of the children; they zip around putting acorns and walnuts. “Adonis was freaked out but I think he’s fine now. I couldn’t find a bruise or anything. Again, I’m so, so, so sorry.”

“You okay, buckaroo?” Cregan asks, and his oldest son—brunette man bun, already pestering his dad to take him hunting—nods adamantly.

“Duh. It didn’t even hurt.”

Cregan guffaws and turns back to Sophie. “See? No harm done.”

Otter trots out of the house, rubbing his eyes like he just woke up from a nap. Harmony immediately runs over to hug him. He’s already six inches taller than her and is always giving her gifts that end up on the fireplace mantle at your house: flecks of quartz, pinecones, bracelets woven from buttercups.

Sophie asks Otter: “Did you think about what you did earlier?”

“Yeah,” he replies cavalierly.

“Would you do it again?”

“Probably.”

“Oh dear,” Sophie exhales, exasperated.

You beam down at Otter. “He’s exactly like Rio.”

“Yeah,” Sophie says wistfully, combing her fingers through his dark curly hair. “He really is.”

Rhaena and Luke happen to be strolling by and stop to say hello. Luke teaches English classes at the schoolhouse, founded the Cultural Preservation Committee, and writes and directs a new play each month. When he is in the lull between original ideas, he draws from pre-zombie pop culture. The June production is Free Britney.

“Hi!” Rhaena says, waving. “Are we still on for dinner tonight?” All the adults offer greetings and confirm they’ll swing by her and Luke’s cabin in a few hours. Then Rhaena shields her eyes from the sun as she sighs incredulously. “Do you realize there are ten women due in the next two weeks? I spend all day rushing around because they’re panicking about Braxton Hicks contractions. If I get one full night’s sleep between now and mid-July, it’ll be a miracle. Am I the only human alive who knows how to use the rhythm method? I explain it! I give lessons!”

You laugh and say: “I think people just really want babies, Rhaena.”

“They’re so sweet,” Helaena coos as she snuggles Sara against her chest.

“Gotta repopulate the planet,” Cregan adds.

Rhaena is disturbed. “I don’t feel ready for that.”

“Totally cool,” you assure her. “Helaena and I are keeping the average up.”

That night, logs pop and hiss in the fireplace and wind howls outside through the forest. On the walls are photographs of Aemond and Helaena and Daeron, drawings that the children have scribbled of you and Aegon. Propped in one corner of the living room is Aegon’s acoustic guitar; Harmony’s current favorite song for him to play is Big Girls Don’t Cry, though a slightly censored version of Fergalicious is a close second. Tomorrow is Aegon’s birthday. You have a cake hidden in one of the kitchen cabinets—cinnamon, honey, buttercream frosting—that you baked this morning before leaving for the construction site, along with 35 small homemade candles dyed green with chamomile. Every year he assumes you’ve forgotten, but you never do. You’re so thankful he was born. You are eternally finding new ways to convince him of this.

All five of you cuddle up in the big bed for story time. You begin as you always do, struggling to capture the kids’ attention as they crawl around giggling and rolling on top of each other: “Hey, hey, everyone look at me. You remember what we say.” Harmony knows this part my heart, Opal has the words mostly right, Noah gives it a solid effort as he mauls on a teddy bear Sophie knitted for him. “You’re beautiful. I love you. You’re doing the right thing.”

“What story should Mama tell tonight, huh?” Aegon asks as you open the book of fairytales borrowed from the makeshift community library, another one of Luke’s projects. “The Little Mermaid, Goldilocks and the Three Bears, Beauty and the Beast…oh wait, I think I might be in that one…”

Harmony says to you: “Tell the story about how Aemond saved us from the tower.”

Children understand death here. People get infections, people succumb to cancer or heart attacks or strokes or diabetes, people go out on raids or patrols and never come back, one man contracted rabies from a bat bite and was—at his request—euthanized via gunshot. Harmony is aware she had a father before Aegon, but that he had to go to heaven early, and so Aegon is her father now and loves her completely. She knows Aemond’s face from the photographs Helaena took from the beach house on the Pacific Ocean. She knows the kind of person he was from the stories she’s been told. Harmony envisions a fantastical castle keep instead of a stark metal transmission tower draped in dead wires, and she’s a bit unclear on the chronology of when she entered the picture, but she has heard about the journey to Odessa. Aegon’s map, annotated with glittery green gel pen ink, hangs on the kitchen wall.

You close the book, looking at Harmony: your hair, Aemond’s eyes. “Okay. I can tell that one.”

“Mama…” Her little forehead crinkles, questions she is at last getting old enough to start asking. “Why do some people have to go to heaven before they’re old?”

You hesitate, trying to decide how to explain; and now embers are glowing hot and scarring in your throat. It’s a fire that cools and rekindles but never burns out. Aegon speaks instead. “Because they’re heroes, Mini Chips,” he says gently. “They go to heaven so other people get to stay here longer. Aemond went to heaven so you and your mom could live here in Odessa with me.”

“So Otter’s daddy was a hero too?”

Aegon leans down to kiss the top of her head, his eyes shining. “Yeah. Exactly.”

Not just a hero, you think. A martyr. Someone who dies for a cause.

Harmony is patting your arm with her tiny outstretched hand. “The tower, Mama. Tell us about the tower.”

Now you are there again with Rio: sixty feet off the ground and clinging to metal beams hot enough to put blisters on your palms, cascading June sunlight and wild emerald fields, blood and madness behind you, the mirage of Oregon ahead, believing without reason that someone out there will save you.

And they will; they will.

[ephemerensis]

Cologne // Tim Drake x GN! Reader

hay guys! where Tim Drake and Red Robin (ur bodyguard for the time being) smell suspiciously the same— it’s like you can’t even tell the difference! no angst, this took me so long oh my goodness i’m gonna stick to writing what i know. stay tuned for hurt/angst i have a lot of grievances to spit out! not proofread.

Part 2

—

Gotham was the last place you’d expected to be sent off to, but it’s where you found yourself now. Despite being disgustingly crime ridden, it was the center of trade, commerce, business, and more importantly— information. Which is precisely what you’d been sent to offer.

Your family’s company recently made a ground breaking discovery in pharmaceuticals, creating a drug that could limit the spread of cancer cells without traditional side effects; YB-V they called it. However, the by-product of production was much more severe, resulting in a chemical compound capable of mutating all the cells in a person completely to become something other as if they belonged to a different entity. Given the right motivations and means, the cells could be manipulated by a third party, turning them into fully conscious puppets of some sort.

With data leaks and security concerns, and the serious nature of the consequences if your drug had fallen into the wrong hands, you were sent to deliver the research and development to the production team personally; placed in charge of overseeing production until launch.

Which all sounded good in theory, but as you found yourself twiddling your thumbs in a blacked out office space, getting briefed on the gravity of the situation by a police task force with some vigilante character hanging around behind you, you began to question what it was all worth.

“So let me get this straight, an email between Wayne Corp and ourselves was leaked and now a couple big shot villains want to steal it? What kind of bad guy reads emails?”

A burly officer with a thick white mustache and a pair of square set glasses cleared his throat awkwardly, “That’s correct.”

“Some tech team,” you scoffed. “I’m the only one that can access any of the files, it’s all biometrically locked. While this certainly puts a damper on my day, we should be able to proceed normally.”

“They have your identity too,” the figure in the back voiced. Red Robin, you’d been informed, one of Gotham’s crime fighters in spandex (allegedly.) Up until now he hadn’t spoken a word, loitering while the police explained everything to you.

“Which is why we brought you here,” the commissioner pipped, reaching for his coffee mug as he spoke. “Red Robin has agreed to watch over your activities for the duration of your time in Gotham. For your safety, and ours.”

Have this guy tail you? As if. You were occupied enough without having a stranger watch your every move. A vigilante at that, it’s not like you could look at his resume and review his history.

“While that is a gracious offer, I have my own bodyguards. They’re well trained and—“

“Not for Gotham, you don’t.” Red Robin stepped out from the corner he’d situated himself in, arms crossed and a frown plastered on his face. “And unless you want to stay in a bunker for three months, I’m your best bet.”

Silence fell as you stared at the masked man, contemplating your options. The underground bunker was out of the question. On top of running production, you had a company to run and a reputation to upkeep; meetings, galas, charity events to attend. And as much as you hated to admit it, they had to be right. Gotham knows Gotham, and with the crises you’d witnessed on screen it was clear their criminals were on a polarly different level.

Pressing your hands to the table, you stood up and turned around, “I see. And you being around won’t make me more of a target?”

“Not even you would know I’m there.”

Closing the distance between the two of you in a few paces, you stuck your hand out to him, “In that case, I look forward to working with you Red Robin.”

Standing near him, the faint smell of lavender was imminent and something deeper lingered under it, an amber of some sort. It was pleasant; Red Robin had good taste in cologne. And that is all you needed to trust him.

It took a second for him to shake your outstretched hand. In your palm, his grip was firm, rough gloves pressing into your satin skin. Secure, you’d decided, secure and reliable.

And just as he’d promised, you hardly noticed him. On the contrary, you were also never attacked; not in the days following the abrupt meeting, nor the week after that, nor the month after that. There was the occasional mention of trouble, or something that went bump in the night— but whether it concerned you or not it didn’t matter. Nothing ever happened.

When he was tucked away it felt like he was really gone, not even the eerie feeling that followed being watched lingered. The only thing that drew you back into the reality was when you’d catch the scent of lavender lingering or in the few cases where he’d appear before you. In his absence you felt almost lonely, despite your work occupying it all. So you soon found yourself leaving notes.

“Bought coffee for the office.”

And he began to write back.

“Just black next time, thanks.”

…

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Cornflower blue.”

“That’s a dumb name. Your costume is red, I think you got out branded by Nightwing.”

“In my defense, I didn’t design it.”

…

He didn’t say much in them, nothing that you could glean in depth anyway. But you found yourself oddly pleased with his nothing. It’s not like you cared so desperately for his identity, that was his to keep of course. You did care for his presence. Something about it was magnetizing, and because he hardly appeared before you, these were the tidbits you found yourself drawn to.

Not that you’d kept them, he would see. Despite knowing the situation you were in, it still felt like a strange game— where he knew every detail about you, and you knew nothing of him. Your feelings, at the least, these you could keep on your own.

“Do you need lab access? I know you follow me in, but if there’s an emergency or something…” Production and distribution for YB-V was run by Wayne Corp and like all things related to your project it was kept secure in an underground bunker while you worked to transfer the information your company developed.

While the scientists and developers were mainly in charge of carrying out the project, none of it could move forward without you. The security system had been meticulously set up so that you, and only you, could access the files with the research and instructions. And beyond even your capabilities, every stage written into the plan had to be completed before the next could be unlocked. So you had to be there, supervise and guide them during the entirety of the process.

Archaic, you’d decided. But necessary according to the rest of the world.

Red Robin accompanied you on these trips. Being underground and all, it was one of the few moments he went with you rather than watching from afar.

“No, I’ll find a way in if I need a way in.”

You looked back at him questioningly. You didn’t doubt his capabilities of course, but he said it with such ease, “Is it that easy to break into? I should increase security.”

He scoffed, crossing his arms. “It’s secure. I’m the issue.”

You turned back around shaking your head with a snort. He was growing on you, sass and all. Stopping by a display of notes and charts, you looked them over to ensure they aligned with protocol.

“I have to attend a gala next week, by the way.”

He hummed in response, a couple steps behind you like he usually was when you visited the lab.

“It’s at Wayne Manor… and I can get you an invite. Security is stricter than it is here, I’ve been told. It’d be troublesome to sneak around.” Ruffling through the papers, you extracted the one you needed, holding it up to your face.

“And I don’t have a date,” you added.

“…are you asking me out?” You could hear a hint of a smile in his voice, making your face burn red at the accusation.

You set the paper down, abruptly whipping around with the most serious expression you could muster, “Strictly for my safety! I don’t know how credible everyone attending is and—“

The smile on his face shut you up. Embarrassed and slightly dejected you looked around the room for something else to lock eyes on, clearing your throat.

“I would’ve loved to, but I won’t be there. Something came up that I need to take care of. But like you said, security is strict, you’ll be safe,” he interjected before you could say anymore. Honestly you couldn’t even be mad, he let you down so sincerely you had to believe it. The small smile plastered on his face and the gentle tone he used in opposition to his usual curt one melted you down far more than you would’ve liked it to.

“Right.” It took you a second to cough anything out, like you were thirteen and starstruck again by any character that tossed you a bone, “so much for you or the bunker, I could’ve hired the Waynes’ security.”

But you were disappointed, and his answer did surprise you. Busy? He hadn’t left your side your entire stay as far as you were aware, granted you couldn’t see him 95% of the time, but in principle.

He must’ve picked up on your downtrodden state because he leaned in teasingly, that familiar lavender scent washing over you, “You have your own bodyguards though, right? They’re well trained.”

You wondered what color his eyes were behind the mask, a warm brown or a melancholy blue. Either way you’d decided you were done for, his were the type of eyes you could drown in; “Not for Gotham, I don’t.”

The night of the gala you didn’t expect much. You were supposed to represent your company of course, as their Gotham socialite, and you were to meet with your business partner. Up until now everything had been transactional, taken care of on invisible ends. Which was fine, but to maintain business relations you had to show up to these things.

And so it was about as dry as you’d thought it to be. Most of everyone was twice your age, many were so stuck in their desire for affluence it radiated off of them like maggots in a burn pile. Supposedly it was a charity gala, in reality it was an egoistic echo chamber and you were in no position to defy it.

Flitting around you sipped your champagne and made conversation and promises that didn’t matter until a hand graced your shoulder with the lightest touch, it felt almost invisible. Turning around you saw a boy with raven hair and the tamest of blue eyes. And he looked to be around your age, a moment of respite at last.

“Hi,” he breathed the word into a smile that was dazzlingly honest and strikingly warm in juxtaposition with the mood of the room.

“Hi,” you shook the hand he offered to you. His hands were rougher than you’d imagine an aristocrat’s to be, littered with callouses you attributed with a dedication to some sport, “I’m Y/N, I don’t think we’ve met before?”

“Sort of, I’m Tim.” In your correspondence with Wayne Corp, Tim had been your main contact; at least for big ticket decisions. In other words, he was your collaborator and your business’ partner. In your head you recalled all the times you poked fun at the archaic way he wrote his emails, like he was 52 and balding— in reality he was just the opposite.

“Oh! It’s nice to finally meet you! Thank you for working with us, we couldn’t have progressed this far without Wayne Corp.”

“On the contrary, thank you for trusting us. This project’s been a huge safety concern for you I’ve heard.”

You laughed, shaking your head, “Not at all! I have one of the best vigilantes in the city.” But this, he should’ve already known. Red Robin had to be cleared for access to certain things, and you’d corresponded as much through your emails. “I must say though, I was disappointed it wasn’t Nightwing at first, he used to be my favorite.”

Tim blinked at you for a spell and you couldn’t read his expression. Pleasant and cordial with some twinge of underlying distaste was the best way to describe it, something in the way his eyes glinted with a malice behind his smile. “Has that changed?”

He must love Red Robin.

“I suppose,” growing on you was an understatement. It was a strange ordeal because he wasn’t real. No name or title you could address, but everything you learned about Red Robin made you want to know more about Red Robin. He was magnetizing. “Have you met them? Is it a normal Gotham thing?”

“No,”his response came swiftly, “they’re usually in other parts of the city and I’m never out at night. Married to the office.”

“I see.” That would explain the emails.

“Do you… want to dance?” He extended his hand to you graciously, but with a gentle hesitance that made him seem softer than he was. In a way you felt like you were betraying your vigilante delusionship, but he hadn’t agreed to go with you and Tim was charming enough. Besides, business relations.

“Of course.” Placing your flute of champagne on a nearby table, you took his arm as he led you to the floor. He smiled in a demure sort of way that made your heart flutter like the excitement you’d felt interacting with Red Robin. Maybe you just liked the attention that much, that must be the correlation between the two.

“Do you know how to waltz?” Typically galas didn’t have much dancing at all, let alone organized ballroom dancing, but leave it to the Waynes to find a way to stun the crowd with their class and extravagance.

“Sort of, I’ve taken rudimentary classes.” Like when you were five.

“Perfect,” he grinned. He placed his hand faintly on the small of your waist while the other found purchase in your opposing palm, “I’ll lead. Just follow along, you’ll be fine.”

Miraculously you were fine. You started out with your eyes glued to the floor, following after him and avoiding his toes. But once you’d gotten into a rhythm, it all felt like floating.

“You haven’t stepped on my toes once,” he joked. Up close and under the mesmerizing ballroom light he looked angelic, the way the light caught in his lashes and the reflected off the blue of his eyes—like little golden flecks glimmering under supple flowing rivers.

“I’ve been trying not to!” you laughed.

“You look beautiful,” as if his eyes could get any more mesmerizing, they softened somehow with his words, “outfit and all.”

“Thank you,” at this you averted your gaze, and prayed the lighting didn’t highlight the flush of your cheeks. Out of being flustered or embarrassment, you didn’t know. On the one hand, a rich, beautiful, respectful man was complimenting you. On the other, you were wearing cornflower blue because it was someone else’s favorite color. Like you were twelve again and going to some middle school dance where you wanted to impress your hallway crush.

“Your Getty pictures don’t do you justice,” he continued. “Don’t get me wrong, I haven’t seen one bad photo, but you always look so serious and intimidating.”

It never occurred to you he’d Googled you before, it made sense now how he was able to single you out in the crowd. Maybe the thought was so foreign because you’d never paid him any mind, but now you were thinking you should’ve. At the very least because it’s polite and helpful to know the bare minimum, but if you were honest with yourself it’s because he struck a curiosity in you that needed to be sated—too breathtaking to be real and all you’d known was his face and arresting demeanor.

“Because I am serious and intimidating, I’m very good at my job you know. You’re not the only one married to an office,” you boasted. In reality you hated work, but worse still was posing for pictures. Especially at crowded social functions your parents ushered you to where you didn’t know a soul, you simply didn’t know what to do with yourself in front of a camera—that was your excuse anyway.

“That explains the dancing,” he quipped with a sideward smile.

Your eyes widened slightly in shock as your mouth fell open to scoff. “Hey! I thought I was doing pretty good!”

He burst into a contagious laughter that hypnotically made you follow suit. But you wouldn’t settle for that after all your efforts to keep up. With a look to the wayside, you pretended to lose touch of the tandem between your steps and lurch forward, consequently stepping on his polished brown loafers. And then it was his turn to be shocked.

“Woah! So much for trying,”Tim teased. Not that he lost his footing, he was as stable as ever. In his eyes you swore there was a glint of mockery, as if he knew and anticipated it.

“Oh did I hurt you,” you feigned concern before slipping into the most innocent smile you could muster. “I’m a terrible dancer, I can’t help it.”

“Aren’t you petty?”

“You have no idea.”

“Petty and pretty, how dangerous.”

Before you could fire some witty retort you noticed your steps slowing to a halt with the swoon of the music. He’d brought his hand above you to spin you once, slowly. The other on your waist moved to your lower back to support you as he pulled you into a dip and all you could do was follow. Something about the atmosphere had your heart palpitating. Or maybe it was the way he was looking at you, like you were an art piece on display, overhead light illuminating behind him as he stared down at you like an angel emerging from the heavens.

Sundering you to the earth, you couldn’t fixate your eyes on anything else, and though it was only for a moment it felt like eternity. You were close enough now for the scent of his cologne to waft over you faintly amongst the throng of strongly powdered people in the room. Lavender. A familiar lavender with all the base notes that’d been lingering around you for the past few weeks. Your look of awe faded to confusion.

Red Robin’s.

“Is that—“

But he wasn’t looking at you. Instead you followed his gaze down to your chest, eyes widening as you saw the little red laser mark hovering over your heart. Before you could react, you felt the air get knocked out of your lungs as Tim shoved you away. The sound of the gun firing pierced cleanly through the noise of the glitz and glamour, and something burned across the skin of the side of your arm.

You couldn’t tell if it was broken glass that cut you or something else, you couldn’t feel much of anything with the adrenaline flooding your body. Scared and discombobulated, you scrambled backwards as panic set into the crowd.

In the midst of the onset of gunshots and people scattering towards exits, Tim had rushed over to you. Kneeling beside you, he gave you a quick look over and gently pulled you up by your uninjured arm. As soon as you were up he rushedly dragged you away from it all, winding through the hallways of the manor wordlessly. Though it was probably for the better, because you didn’t have an ounce of air left in your lungs trying to keep up with his pace or a thought in your head after what you’d just witnessed.

The further you trudged along, the heavier your limbs felt and the harder it was to pry your eyes open after blinking. Which was strange, you hadn’t lost so much blood, but it must’ve been the confusion of it all or something you ate. A couple halls and turns later you arrived at a room. He ushered you inside, seating you on the bed before rummaging through the drawers.

“Are you alright? Does it hurt badly?” from the drawer he procured a bandage. He sat himself next to you, promptly wrapping the cloth tightly around your arm.

“No, it’s not bad,” truthfully it felt numb, which you couldn’t decide was a good or bad thing. You couldn’t think much of anything, focused on keeping your eyes from fluttering shut.

“I should’ve known they’d do something,” he’d muttered. As he finished, pushing himself off the bed, your head suddenly felt too heavy to hold up and your eyes too tired to function.

“Hey… are you okay? You don’t look so good.” He pressed the back of his hand to your forehead, feeling nothing abnormal and deepening his concern. But you couldn’t process what he was saying. With a lilt, you fell to your side, feeling the injunctive relief of not having to hold yourself upright.

He undid your bandages to look at the wound again before scowling as it dawned on him, “Tranquilizers.”

After rewrapping your arm, he hurriedly stalked towards the door, “You’ll be safe here, I’ll send someone.”

With whatever consciousness you had left you managed to slur a sentence, “Where are you going?”

“To find my brother.”

If he said anything after you didn’t hear it, because the moment your eyes fluttered shut, they stayed shut.

You didn’t know how long you were out. Not terribly so. When you’d awoken, it was still dark out. Tim must’ve flicked the light off when he’d left too, the only light that flooded in was from the streetlamp out the window. The drugs hadn’t cleared your system yet if the pounding in your head and brain fog you were experiencing was any indicator. And they didn’t even hit you directly, who knows where you’d be if they did.

In the streets you could hear the panic of people and the wail of police sirens, which would’ve settled your stomach if not for the fact that it clearly wasn’t over and the police weren’t entering.

You jerked your head towards the door as a loud thud sounded just outside of it. Looking around the room for a place to hide, there was none. And if there was one, you couldn’t see it with the lights out. Some commotion followed before what sounded like a body hit the floor.

Not knowing what else to do, you wrapped yourself in the bedding, pulling it to the floor behind the bed and huddling there. At the very least, no one knew you were in there but Tim, and surely he’d locked the door.

Nope.

The sound of the knob turning made your blood run cold. You drew the blankets tightly around yourself, hoping you’d amalgamate into the cloths if you’d clutched them tightly enough.

With the bed obscuring your view, you couldn’t see the perpetrator and you didn’t want to. You screwed your eyes shut as footsteps creaked on the wood pacing towards you. Against your will, you hands couldn’t cease trembling and you wondered if the other person in the room could hear your heart beating out of your chest.

This was it. If someone wanted to swoop in, now would be great.

The footsteps halted on the opposite side of the bed. You considered jumping out at them, throwing the blanket and bolting for it, but your limbs felt like they were filled with lead. And in any case, if they were armed you were done for anyway. So you held your breath and willed them away instead.

To your horror they’d started again in your direction. Silence. And then a hand touched the blanket and you couldn’t help it, you shrieked and covered your head with your arms.

But instead of force or a bludgeoning, they’d knelt in front of you, gently grabbing your arms as you thrashed. A familiar voice called your name out a couple times before you recognized it and opened your eyes.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s me! You’re okay,” in the dark you couldn’t really see his face but it was Tim’s voice that called to you. Delirious and reeling, the relief flooded your body so intensely, the tears didn’t even have time to well before they were streaming down your cheeks.

Throwing your arms around him, you sobbed for all you were worth, “I was so scared, why’d you just leave me!”

You felt him stiffen beneath you at the sudden intrusion before softening and patting the back of your head with a gloved hand. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

And it felt so safe there, in his arms, secure but soft all at once. The familiar lavender mixed with the champagney smell from the gala soothed you in a way you’d never thought you’d needed.

“I thought they were gonna get me,” you choked out between sobs. This was in no way attractive, “and then I’d get kidnapped, and everyone would turn into puppets!”

“I’m sorry,” he said again. Not mocking or laughing at you like your more awake self would’ve expected, he was mellow about the whole thing. Sorry and really sorry for it—and it wasn’t even his fault.

When you calmed down enough to sound coherent, he pulled back to wipe the tears from your cheeks.

“Let me see that,” he nodded towards your bandaged arm. You stretched it out for him and he undid the gauze, “This doesn’t look too bad. Shouldn’t scar.”

Procuring new dressings, he took his time with it this time, applying a salve before wrapping it around you again.

“Tim?” you said his name just to say his name, because you liked the way it felt to say and you wanted to hear him speak. Instead he paused before resuming his work, “I’m Red Robin.”

“Oh.” That’s embarrassing. You were so certain of it too, but he did say he would send someone and he was probably with his family or waiting outside for things to settle. So instead you got the infinitely intangible Red Robin, “I thought you were busy.”

“Plans changed.” He was never this curt with you, not after knowing you anyway. He had to maintain secrecy, you knew this, but he’d find ways to say more anyway.

You flinched as he constricted your arm with the bandage, “You’re pulling it a little tight.”

This made him pause again, letting go of the wrap altogether this time as the circulation breathed back into your marrow.

Exhaling, he ran a hand through his raven hair, “I’m sorry.”

You blinked at him, still fighting to keep your eyelids open but worried nonetheless. This was unlike him, “Red?”

“Sorry, I’m just on edge. I should’ve known, I could’ve prevented this,” shaking his head, it was if he made up his mind, “Everything is transferred now, the project can wrap up without you. We’ll get you on the next flight back tomorrow.”

Somewhere in you an inkling of anger stirred, as if you were an object that could be sent as needed. But the strain in his voice was evident, how could hold a grudge against that? “I don’t want to leave yet.”

“You’re going.”

You huffed, “I’m not. And you don’t have to watch me anymore if it’s too much, I never expected that from you! You’re here now, you didn’t have to be, but you are— that’s more than my useless bodyguards or Wayne security have done and they’re paid for it. You put up with me and nothing has happened to me. I’m sorry for being so vulnerable, that’s my fault. Don’t you dare berate yourself, you haven’t done one wrong thing!”

He said nothing, just stared at you with something like curiosity. Under the pale moonlight and with his face obstructed you could only speculate.

You stuck out your injured arm to him again, urging him to take it, “Hurry and finish, I’m still sleepy.”

Wordlessly he finished binding your arm. As soon as he was done you fell on his shoulder, closing your eyes.

“Tim—“

“I’m not Tim,” he reiterated. There was something in his tone that you couldn’t quite place; annoyance?

“Oh,” you mumbled, feeling sleep creep up on you again, “you smell the same... I think I like him.” Surely it’s fine to confess this much, or that’s what you told yourself as you started to drift off, words slurring and thoughts blurring, “you should meet him, he’s a big fan.”

—

i have a final in 5 hours please with me luck (it’s 2am)

[dunmeshistash]

Hi and thank you for all the service you do for us!

If it's not too much of a bother, could you please compile everything that is known about the structure of the dungeon? The maps, the floors, and what's there, if there are notes about what monster lives where, it would be amazing! I've found a few useful panels, but I'm not sure if I'm missing anything. Thanks!

So you mean information about "The Island" in specific? That's apparently the name of the dungeon they're in during the story. I can try

You can check the dungeons tag for more general information about dungeons.

Here's what the adventurer's bible says about the Island:

1 THE ISLAND

A new dungeon that was discovered just six years ago. It's rumored that the Golden Country that existed a thousand years ago still lies in its depths, imprisoned there by the Lunatic Magician

And here's what I said about it on that Dungeons post

"The island", which is the name given to the Dungeon Linked to Melini Village's Graveyard, is a "Compound-Style Dungeon" while other dungeons seem to have specific styles linked to other ancient civilizations (Dwarf-Style, Gnome-Style, Elf-Style) 'The Island' in specific seem to be a Compound Style between dwarfish and elvish styles. As Thistle says, continuing in ch 68, it was an ancient Dwarf construction that was then used by Elves. Maybe that's the reason the dwarfish inscriptions are only in the innermost levels of the dungeon. The Style then seems to indicate which ancient civilizations created the manmade Dungeon.

Idk much about the maps, there's some behind the characters in some covers but idk if they're accurate at all or what they represent but here they are:

About the floors we have a cross section that shows floors from floor 1 to floor 5 and a bit of 6

I'll just copy whats on the wiki cause I think it works and add images from the manga.

Floor 1

The uppermost floor of the dungeon. Once the graveyard of the nearby Merini Village, the discovery of the dungeon resulted in it filling with merchants and adventurers. There are sellers of manuscripts and incense, as well as an abundance of food stalls. There is also a demi-human slave market

Floor 2

The floor is filled with tall trees and towers, linked by wooden bridges. It is theorized by scholars that the area is the top of the Golden Castle sealed away by the Lunatic Magician.

Floor 3

The entrance to the Golden Castle, now moldy and covered in dust. Footsteps can be heard, but it is unclear if they are those of fellow adventurers or the undead. Most monsters on this floor are undead, rotting or skeletal. There are water fountains in the shape of lion's heads throughout the level. There are also toilets in the busier areas, which have been maintained by Senshi for many years.

Senshi's base camp is located here. There are also merchants on this level, but their clientele tend to be fairly shady.

Floor 4

The floor is a cave made up of the castle and an underground lake. The water has absorbed magical energy and glows faintly. At the bottom of the lake is the castle town.

Floor 5

The exit of the Golden Castle and the entrance to the castle town, which contain evidence of their former splendor. The streets often magically rearrange themselves, making navigation difficult. The orcs' former home is located here. There is an overgrown graveyard attached to the town that is populated by Dryads.

Floor 6

A network of underground waterways built using the mining tunnels of dwarves. It is stated that most monsters on this floor use mental attacks. This floor was once hot and humid, but is now cold and snowy.

Floor 7 (wiki calls it "Deepest part of the dungeon" but the monster guide says the monsters are on F7)

An old dwarven defensive site, filled with pipes, machinery and mechanical contraptions located past a large door with no visible lock. The floor is fairly warm. Further onward is an ancient dwarven city, hewn from the side of a cliff face, with giant fungi sprouting in some areas

--

Besides these floors there's also the Golden Kingdom and Thistle's home, the golden kingdom appears to not actually be conected to the rest of the dungeon directly? Since they need the ghosts to take them to and from there, Thistle's home seems to be past the 7th floor but might just be on the 7th I'm not sure.

About the monsters you can check on that wiki page which monsters show up on each floor (based on what shows up on the manga I think) but here's what the adventurer's bible says about which floor each ones lives:

All over the Dungeon

Walking Mushroom

Big Walking Mushroom

Dungeon Cleaner

Undine

The eyes of the Magician (Wyvern)

1F and bellow

Huge Scorpion

Green Slime (Mostly 1F)

2F and bellow

Mandrake

Man-Eating Plant

Big Bat

Basilisk (only 2F)

3F and bellow

Treasure Insects

Mimic

Living Armor (3F-5F)

Ghost

Golem

Living Painting

4F and bellow

Mermaid

Kelpie

Fish-Man

Giant Frog

Sea Serpent

Ivy Tentacles

Tentacles

Giant Kraken (only 4F)

5F and bellow

Dryad

Minotaur

Warg

Harpy

Cockatrice

Wyvern

6F and bellow

Barometz

Changeling

Shapeshifter

Hippogriff

Griffin

Nightmare

Red Dragon

Green Dragon

7F and bellow

Dungeon Rabbit

Bicorn

Unicorn

Succubus

Dullahan

Gargoyle

- (No habitat in the dungeon, were summoned by the Dungeon Lord)

Phoenix

Familiars

Hag

White Dragon

Easter Dragon

Wurm

Chimera

Flying Pig

Jackalope

Werewolf

Huge Spider

Quetzalcoatl

Hope all of this helps somehow!! Putting a readmore fucked up the formatting so I hope yall don't mind the huge post 😅

[wareagleofthemountain]

Wild Flower

Pairing: Thranduil x Wife!reader

The hour was early, well before sunrise, and the sky was still dotted with the bright constellations of the night. You pulled on your flowing cloak, knee high riding boots, and a satchel full of fruits you’d snagged from the kitchens as you ran through the halls of the Woodland Realm’s underground palace. Your steps were light, almost soundless, and you were careful not to draw any unnecessary attention to yourself as you slipped through the shadows.

“Your Majesty…” Feren bowed to you as you reached the main door that he had been standing guard of all night. “Where might you be off to at this hour?”

“Just making my rounds.” You gave him a playful smile and attempted to walk past him, only for the young guard to lay a hand on your shoulder and halt your movements.

“Does King Thranduil know? Milady, surely I must assemble you an escort team…” His eyes held a slight twinge of unease as he fidgeted with the hem of his tunic. All elves in the Greenwood were aware of their King’s ill temper, and what would surely befall his guards should something happen to his beloved wife while under their watch.

“Thank you Feren, but that will not be necessary. I won’t be long. Besides, my husband has had a tiring few days at council.” With that, you pushed the doors open and stepped out into the outer compound. With Summer just on the horizon, you relished the crisp morning breeze that hit your face and cut through the humidity. Your lashes brushed against your cheeks as you half closed your eyes and took a deep breath. Sweet honeysuckle and the poetry of songbirds flooded your senses like a love letter from the woods to your ears. These were truly the moments that grounded you, for out here in the stillness of dawn you were not beholden to your role. You could shed the heavy crown of queendom and simply exist as you were.

A soft smile spread across your features as Thranduil’s preferred pet name for you seeped into your mind. My wild flower.

Your heart swelled thinking of all the times those words have poured from his lips, his deep voice smooth and rich like honey. Where other rulers might have been cross when you’d show up to a meeting with a light dusting of dirt on your dress and one or two stray leaves in your hair from losing track of time planting trees in the garden, Thranduil merely smiled knowingly and motioned you to take your seat right next to him. “My wild flower.” He’d whisper, reaching up and gently removing the small twig from your hair. His clear blue eyes would sparkle at you no matter who was talking during the proceedings and he’d be keen on hearing about your escapades in the garden as soon as his council took leave of him. Not to say you were a lackadaisical ruler, not at all. In fact, it is quite the opposite. You were just never a fan of formality. Thranduil saw you for who you were as if you were made of glass, and adored you beyond words for it.

The mighty elk you and Thranduil had raised from a calf looked up at you from where he was laying in a straw bed that lined the floor of his stall in the stables. The back gate of the stall was always open, leaving him the freedom to come and go as he pleased, but he often came in for shelter during the night. And, of course, so he can be the first to get breakfast when the stable keepers come in in the morning. The majestic creature rubbed his antlers against the wall as he stretched, getting to his feet.

“Morning my friend.” You cooed, opening the front gate and holding out a sliced apple in offering. You fed each piece to him, the elk crunching loudly with every bite he took. You slowly walked towards him, leaning in and pressing your forehead to his. “Want to go for a ride?” You whispered, and he nuzzled his big nose into the crook of your neck in response.

No sooner did you turn around to collect his brush from the tack shelf behind you that your steed was attempting to munch on the satchel around your waist. He knew there was still some fruit in there.

“You’re too smart for your own good.” You chuckle and swat him away lightly. “There’s more where that came from if you behave.”

You hum a soft Silven melody of old, a tale of forbidden love between two elves of warring families that ends with them running away together and marrying, as you brush out the elk’s shiny coat. Satisfied with your work, you returned the brush in favor of a simple brown leather bridle with reins attached. Thranduil always used a saddle when he rode, even when it was outside the context of the battlefield, but you preferred to ride bareback so you could connect more deeply to the animal as you traveled. You effortlessly mounted the tall elk and squeezed his sides with your thighs to get him moving at a trot out of the stables.

He tossed his head impatiently as you’d made it to the fork in the road that led to the more scenic forest trails. He was eager to run and you knew it, pausing to tighten your braid before you gave him the go ahead. The ground trembled in his wake, strong hooves pounding the dirt when he took off in a full on sprint. You laughed, throwing your head back as he jumped over fallen trees, weaved through switch backs in the trail, and conquered expansive fields with ease. You felt as if you were flying. As if you were as wild as the terrain before you.

You stopped halfway through your journey through the forest to give your elk a rest, the rest of your fruit, and a drink from the river. You stripped down to your shift and climbed to the top of a nearby waterfall and drank from its current, letting down your hair and enjoying the feeling of the tiny mist drops kissing your skin. From your vantage point, you could see nothing but a sea of green being illuminated in golden beams as the sun rose before your very eyes. This was the land you ruled over, and you were proud. You leapt from the waterfall, going for a brief swim to cool you down in preparation for the ride back home in the heat, and splashed the elk a few times for good measure.

By the time you returned to the palace, the halls were bustling with activity and you managed to intercept your maid who was standing outside your chamber door prepared to take in your and the king’s breakfast. “Thank you, but I can take it from here.” You said kindly, smiling as the elleth bowed and took her leave.

You quietly opened the double oaken doors to your chambers, kicking off your boots before slipping in. The space was dark, only being lit by a few torches scattered about the walls, but it was comforting all the same. This was home because he was here waiting. Even after all your centuries of marriage, you still felt giddy as you approached the large canopy bed with leaves carved into the posts that you knew he was sleeping on. Placing the breakfast tray on the nightstand for later, you shed your cloak and climbed in beside Thranduil. Hovering over him, you smiled as you noticed how innocent his sharp blue eyes seemed, half lidded from sleep as they were. Suddenly, a strong hand shot up and hooked around your waist, pulling you to the mattress only so he could roll on top of you a moment later. The action happened so fast that you did not have time to yelp in surprise.

“Your nose is cold meleth…” Thranduil mumbled, nuzzling his cheek against yours before pressing a soft kiss to your nose. “I’ll warm you.”

You hugged him close, rubbing circles into his back and lovingly working the morning tangles out of his hair.

“Did you have a good ride, my wild flower?” He brushed over your cheekbones with his thumbs, lips slotting against yours.

“Yes, but I’m glad to be home with you.” You sank into his touch.

“I’m afraid I’ve been distant from you lately. The court has demanded it even though I am counting down the seconds.” His eyes are apologetic. “Allow me to correct my mistake. We are taking the day off to spend together.”

At that you beam. “I’d love that.”

[ldysmfrst]

Incomplete (3) - Something is Wrong...

Paring: Ateez OT8 x Plus-sized FemReader

Status: Ongoing series

Chapter number: 3 of unknown

Word count for Chapter: 8,272

Word count for Story: 18,866

Genre: Idol Soulmate AU

Warnings: NOT BETA READ!! This story will contain a bit of angst, fluff, smut, f/m, m/m, and m/f/m. This chapter contains panic attacks, unintentional causing of said panic attack.

Story Summary: Ateez are soulmates who earned their way to Fame once they found each other. What happens when a new pull comes during their Towards The Light World Tour? Does 8 really make 1?

INCOMPLETE MASTER LIST / LDYSMFRST MASTER LIST

“This way! It’s underground,” yells San, leading the way to the ladymate. The sea shanty sounded from San loud enough that there was no way his ladymate couldn’t hear it. He wasn't about to lose connection with you this time.

Seonghwa is right on San’s heels. He has felt the loss of the missing soulmate the longest. The feeling, compounded with the loss of his grandfather, propelled him forward. It was almost as if he had to slow down just so that he could follow San. Unlike Yeosang and San, his ability lets him know when a soulmate is nearby and what they are feeling, but he couldn’t use it to search for them. 

Taking the escalator like they were stairs, San and Hwa were closely followed by Yeosang. Seeing the desperation in his oldest soulmate's eyes, he wasn’t about to let go of the silken rope binding him to the ladymate they were closing in on.

Keeping up with his hyungs, Jongho used what he could of his ability to keep his mates focused and not fearful or anxiety-ridden. It wasn’t until San came running back to the museum that Jongho finally believed that this was actually happening—his anticipation building towards having another bonded soulmate soon.

Some sasaengs in the past had figured out Captain's ability and tried to confuse him with it. A few times, they got close enough to him that it caused strange rifts in the group, but after consulting with a specialist, we were informed that if we had a new soulmate, they would have a connection to everyone. There would be no single soulmate connection. 

Hwa, on the other hand, seemed to find someone to keep from somewhere, but they always became good friends. Look at how close his soulmates got with Stray Kids. Hwa would have kept the little blonde Aussie if Chan-hyung had let him– soulmate bond or not. 

Reaching the correct parking garage floor, the group stopped, looked around, and trying to see anyone who could have been affected by what was happening. A few groups were laughing, talking, and having a good time, but none looked aware of people walking by, much less feeling a soulmate bond pull. 

“There, the lady with our tour shirt on and the clear purple bag,” says Yeosang. The other three looked in the direction he was pointing. 

Taking tentative steps forward, Yeosang pulls hard on the invisible rope connecting him to his new soulmate. He smiles when he sees your feet stop moving momentarily before stumbling forward as if resisting him. 

San crescendos the song he made for you, moving closer to you without hesitating once he hears a sweet hum following his tune. San has only seen the back of his new lady soulmate, and he can already tell you are beautiful. 

You have a lush backside with full hips, broad shoulders, shapely legs, and arms with the smoothest-looking skin. Don’t even get him started on your plum rump. 

He and his soulmates joked about all of them being strong but slender until he started going to the gym and Jongho filled out. Now, more than ever, he was happy that he bulked up because this meant he could be your personal mountain.

As they have learned from past mistakes, San must be the first to connect with the new soulmate to initiate the metaphysical bond. Back when San found Hongjoong, Yunho, and Mingi, they introduced themselves as ‘bandmates.’ None of them realized they were soulmates until San hugged them. After that, each mate gained their ability, and everything fell into place rather quickly, with San taking the lead.

San jogs around to stand before you, the woman holding the last piece of their soul. He didn’t expect you to run into him, but you did and quickly snapped out of your trance. You step back, touching his chest with your fingertips brushing the skin of his collarbone. The energy from the bond hits his body like a cannon blast through each fingertip.

When he sees your attempt to walk away, Seonghwa steps up behind you. His natural reaction is to hold his soulmate, placing his warm hands on your chilled skin. Closing his eyes, he lets the chill of the bond form from your skin crash over his body like a tidal wave.

The four fully bonded soulmates can see your confusion, your body seemingly frozen. 

Hwa finally opens his eyes to see everyone is there but hasn’t heard anything from anyone. You aren’t acting like a huge fan. Maybe you aren’t a fan and only have the shirt because you went with some friends who knew them. Surprisingly, this thought makes Hwa sad because, well, they are idols, and a non-fan won’t understand the lifestyle, which could cause problems. 

You go to take a step forward out of Seonghwa’s hold, but he grips just a little tighter. He whispers, “Wait, please.” Looking at San, Hwa nods, prompting him to say anything.

Barley, loud enough to hear, you finally speak, “This isn’t real.”

Your voice sounds like the most beautiful notes in their world. 

Ah, it’s denial, denial we can work with, thinks Jongho as he watches the three soulmates all fawn at you with heart eyes already. 

With a warm, soft, and gentle smile, San steps towards you, the new baby mate, in the hands of his oldest mate and says, “Hello, Miss, I am Choi San. I think the nine of us need to sit down and talk.”

There was a moment of silence before a stuttered, “I… ah… have a plane to catch,” came from your lips. Which slightly confused everyone. Seonghwa, in particular, was confused because either fate had superb timing or something was amiss. 

Jongho, at least has the smarts and tends to be the most level-headed one, asks, “You’re going on vacation now? Or going home?”

She looks at the man who spoke and whispers, “Choi Jongho.”

A smile graces the youngest soulmate; you know his name. This means that you are at least a fan of K-pop, if not a stan of Ateez. 

“Yes, sorry. I am Choi Jongho. It’s nice to meet you,” he introduces himself.

You stare at the three before you, and a giggle sneaks out, but you still haven’t said anything more. This is when the remaining bonded mates join the circle around their new ladymate. 

Unfortunately, this has started to attract the attention of people who pass by. They all understand that their time is limited once they get recognized. While they love Atiny, there is a better time for them to circle and vie for attention because it will become something akin to a shark frenzy. 

“Oh, good! You found her, Sannie,” smiles Wooyoung. While they might not be an ability-match couple, they undoubtedly favored each other, which shows. Woo’s scent blankets the group around the circle, lowering the tensions. 

 “Christmas,” you murmur just above a whisper. 

Joyfully bouncing, Wooyoung smirks, “So you did catch my scent, pretty.” Pretty is the first word that came to his head when you looked at him. You have the prettiest eyes he has ever seen.

“If she caught yours, then she must have felt my anchors,” Yunho comments while holding up Mingi. All the mates notice this and glance down at your ankle, worried that it is still hurting you since Mingi is still limping.  

However, at this point, you had already leaned into Seonghwa, much to his delight. Now, however, you shifted to actually look at him. He watches with a soft, shy smile as your eyes dart across his face. 

At first, he thought you were just accepting of him and the bond. Then he felt the panic building in your body, which was getting unhealthy in his eyes. Then again, any of his soulmates with any amount of panic is considered unhealthy. He concentrated on that feeling and tried to pull it into himself as he did with the others.

Nothing happens. 

Hwa can still feel your emotions' instability. It isn’t working. He keeps trying to use his ability while attempting to remain calm and not add to your current state of disarray. Jongho pushes his ability to try to help keep Hwa from spiraling along with you.

Nothing.

“She hasn’t recognized us yet. We can’t help her. Hongjoong, I can’t,” Seonghwa says with a hint of desperation. His hands gripping your arms as thumbs rub in circles across your bare skin to comfort you.  

He has also pulled you close to his body, not wanting to impose himself on you but offering another form of support. Seonghwa feels it’s the only support you are willing to accept right now.

San and Yeosang move, allowing Hongjoong to join you in the center. His eyes roam your form. Taking a deep breath, he relishes the addition of your Italian Stone pine blend to the rest of the soul mates. It has become the perfect balance with you in the center of it all. 

“Do you know who I am?” questions Hongjoong with concern etched on his features. He knows you recognized the maknae, but it's not surprising, with millions of clips showing him singing like an angel while breaking apples with his bare hands. 

“Captain,” you answer him with a shaky tone. 

Pleased that you seem to be an Atiny, his eyes narrow as a smirk shows, “That is one of the many names Atiny uses, and it is my title. However, my soulmates don’t use that name unless we are in front of a camera. I am Kim Hongjoong, the second oldest of the Ateez soulmate bond.”

They watch you as you rapidly look at the rest of the members. They each agree with nods or hums. It's not common knowledge that Ateez is a bonded soulmate group. They have tried to keep it private. 

Seonghwa gets ripples of happiness and relief from everyone.

“Soulmate bond? A whole group bond?” you question.

Nodding, Hongjoong answers, “The group of us, yes but I wouldn’t say we are whole yet. Boys…”

It’s then all attention is back on you. Everyone with a usable ability focuses on you, trying to get you to recognize the bond. 

San starts your song back up.

Wooyoung scents the air heavily with his Mugo pine. 

Yeosang pulls on the plaited silk rope and attempts to double its thickness. 

Seonghwa and Jongho work together to help you escape your panicked state. They try to clear your mind of emotions so that you may think clearly and understand who they are to you.

“No. No, nonononoo,” you say, pulling away from Seonghwa and dropping to your knees as you continue to mumble, “Something is wrong, or I must be dreaming.” 

“Y/n!” says a woman from just outside the circle.

San, ever the protector, with Jongho at his side, blocks the woman from getting near you. Their eyes glance at the guards, who start to make their way over. Hongjoong made a mental note to find out who let this woman get this close. 

“Y/n! Excuse me, not to be rude, but let me get to my friend before she passes out,” another woman, closer to your age, demands.

The first woman steps up almost chest to chest with San, shaking off the guard who attempted to grab her wrist and says, “Back off or I will make you. I don’t care how famous you are.”

Hongjoong considers the seriousness of the two women who demand to get closer to you. He noticed they also wear concert merchandise and seemed to know your name. 

With a nod, Jongho and San move enough to allow them to rush to your side. The two soulmates turn back to the center and close the gap. The privacy of what is happening is imperative, and it gets more challenging as the gathering crowd grows. 

Joining you, kneeling on the parking garage floor, the bonded males watch as the women murmur to you calmly. They sound like they are coaching your breathing.

After some time, the feisty one stands to look at the members of Ateez and the gathering crowd. Turning to Hongjoong, she says, “I don’t know what your attention is with Y/n, but remaining here will just make her worse.”

“I would agree. We need to talk to her, but I am afraid that she won’t hear what we are saying,” laments Hongjoong, his eyes never leaving your kneeled form, blanketed by the younger of the two friends. 

One of the bodyguards steps away from the human barricade that has formed around the eleven of you and says, “Sir, we have access to the conference room at the hotel if you wish to move there.”

“Thank you.” Hongjoong breaks his gaze on your form to meet that of the more forceful, older, leader-like friend: “We are staying at the hotel right around the corner. Maybe we can all talk there; I am sure she will need someone familiar with her right now.”

“What about our flight?” questions the younger and current human-esque blanket friend.

“That’s right. She mentioned she had a flight to catch. Do you three not live here?” San questioned.

They are all holding their breath because this time is very delicate for the nine soulmates. Breaking the bond that started with San and Seonghwa would permanently disable them. For the others who haven’t, they will have a permanent, hollow feeling in their chest. 

The leader-like friend answered, “Kat and I don’t live here anymore. We live in Oregon. Y/n lives here. We have a flight in about 4 hours to return home.”

“Excuse me, Miss.” Seonghwa politely gains the attention of the leader-like friend. “We really must speak with your friend. Our manager will help you change your flight, and I will personally cover any fees or additional costs if you would come with us. Please?”

The two friends share an unspoken conversation. Finally, the older one turns to address Seonghwa, “Fine. BUT! We are not doing this because of who you are. You are requesting this meeting. You are causing whatever is happening to Y/n to happen. You will fix it. Understood?”

Nodding with a smile, Seonghwa agrees, “Of course, Miss. We take full responsibility for anything that happens with Y/n moving forward.”

“How many cars did you come in, Miss?” asks Jongho.

Both friends point to the rental car just a few feet away. “We were already getting in the car when you surrounded our friend. My name is Cindy, by the way. That is Kat, my only child. Y/n has been a family friend and a second child to me for almost 15 years.”

“Thank you, Cindy and Kat. I promise we will explain everything in the conference room,” Seonghwa says with another toothy smile. “Can I ride with you to the hotel? I can show you where to park, or you can follow the vans.”

“Hwa…” Jongho says softly, knowing that his match will keep trying to pull you to a calming center and wear himself down doing so. 

The eldest soulmate sends Jongho a pleading look. It’s a broken look filled with hope and desperation, almost palpable, to do something to strengthen the connection between himself and you. The youngest nods in understanding. Hwa has to do this, or it will break him apart. 

Looking at the trio in the middle, Jongho continues, “Hwa is the best choice right now to accompany Y/n. It wouldn’t be wise to leave her unattended.”

Cindy’s eyes narrow at Jongho before she reluctantly says, “Fine. You can go with us,” she relents suspiciously, looking at Seonghwa. “It’s a small car. You will have to sit in the front.”

“It’s settled. Hwa will go with you. The rest of us will go in the van,” Hongjoong says, pointing to the blacked-out, large passenger van that has pulled up with two additional cars. “The guards will be in the cars. When you pull out, Miss Cindy, it would be a good idea to follow between our van and the last guard car.”

“You got it, Captain,” says Cindy.

The drive literally around the block feels like it takes way too fast, but at the same time, it takes forever. The distance between the van and the car is almost too much for San, but since he is surrounded by 6 of his bonded mates, he can handle it. 

Seonghwa, on the other hand, tries his best to sit in the front seat while angling himself to at least see you the whole trip. He politely answers simple questions from Cindy without giving away too much information while you are still seemingly not present.

Once the boys make it to the hotel, all but San quickly move to the conference room. 

Hongjoong speaks with security to ensure they have started to figure out options for when it's time to go to the venue. He needs to know that you will be safe when not in the sight of one of the soulmates.

Wooyoung and Yunho started gathering water and sweets for you because they remembered all the warnings they got when Mingi went on his hiatus. The sugar will keep you from dropping worse, and staying hydrated during this time is vital. 

Mingi was forced into a chair despite his protests to help by Yeosang and Jongho. His limping from your injury has gotten worse, and they need both of you to stop hurting. Not only did watching the two of you in pain hurt their hearts, but it would affect their performance tonight.

San stayed in the garage, waiting for Cindy to park the car. Once he heard the engine cut, he ran to your side of the car and helped you out. You either didn’t seem to know it was him, or the feel of the bond was lending to your acceptance of his help. 

Seonghwa quickly exited and joined San, walking you into the building and the conference room. Glancing back to make sure the two friends were following. At the door, they were greeted by Hongjoong, their manager, and the head of their bodyguards.

Turning to San, Cindy, and Kat, Hongjoong instructs, “Please make your way inside. The boys have set up some refreshments. Hwa and Cindy, I believe the two of you need to speak with manager-nim to figure out the flight situation, and then you can join us.”

Kat and San nod, then guide you into the conference room with Hongjoong in tow.

“Miss Cindy, this is our main manager,” Seonghwa introduces the man standing in a simple suit and then gestures to the man dressed as a classic bouncer. “and here is our head of security.”

“Hello, I am Cindy. The other person with the short hair is Kat, and we are close friends with y/n. I guess we need to discuss the flight with you,” Cindy points to the manager. “Is there something else?” she questions, looking at the bodyguard.

The guard says, “Firstly, meeting such a protective friend is a pleasure. There are so many fake friends in the world today. Y/n is lucky to have the two of you, and it will be our job to keep the three of you safe.”

“We are in danger?!?” Cindy’s eyes widen at the new information.

Shaking his hands in protest, Seonghwa explains, “It isn’t that you are in danger. The crowd in the parking garage followed us. Your pictures will be online and in the tabloids. KQ will do its best to keep them out. However, in the meantime, we would be remiss not to ensure you are not disturbed between now and when you reach home.”

“Oh,” Cindy says with a bit of unease. “Um… Thank you for the concern, but won’t bodyguards just draw more attention to us?”

“That is where Mathew comes in,” the head of security says, gesturing to someone. A few seconds later, there is a guy dressed in emo-looking clothes. He looks Asian but not simultaneously; his eyes are crystal blue, and he has an undercut hairstyle. 

“Mathew is one of the few of our team that tracks with stealth and blending in. He will join your group of friends and pose as either a boyfriend, friend, or brother to Kat, as they are close in age,” informs the guard.

“Wow, um. Okay. Well, that would be for Kat to decide. If Kat is comfortable with it, so am I,” Cindy says with determination. Mathew nods and heads into the conference room to speak with Kat. 

“Miss Cindy, thank you again for your adaptability during this time,” smiles Seonghwa genuinely, almost short-circuiting Cindy’s brain for a second. 

“You gotta stop doing that for now,” warns Cindy, confusing Hwa and causing his manager to laugh. “I am the first Atiny of the group. I knew of your group before your debut and have been trying to see you in concert since then. You are not my bias, but still, it's overwhelming when you smile like that.”

Hwa’s eyes widen briefly with an ‘o’ of his lips before he smiles again, “Sorry, I will try not to smile too much. If I am not your bias, may I know who is?”

Cindy narrows her eyes at him, so he clarifies, “I can warn them to take it easy on you during the meeting for now, though I can’t promise once you are back home if any of us will. It seems to be a game for the younger ones to try and steal fans.”

“I see. Well, you don’t have to warn anyone right now. I know who I should avoid, and warning them will give me more ammo,” Cindy giggles. 

“Seonghwa-ssi, Hongjoong-ssi said something about covering expenses?” interrupts the manager.

“Yes, Cindy and Kat will miss their flight home. I agreed to cover their change-of-flight expenses. I will also cover their meals, transportation to LAX, and their stay in the hotel tonight,” says Seonghwa with a voice that tells everyone there is no other option.

“Very well,” the manager says. Reaching into his inner coat pocket, he pulls out a credit card and hands it to Cindy, “This is Seonghwa-ssi’s KQ expenses card. When you reach home, please return it to Mathew. If you two require anything between now and then, please purchase it with this card.”

“Seonghwa, you don’t have to. It’s fine. We can stay with relatives and take care of ourselves. Just helping with the tickets is sufficient,” Cindy says, taken back by the offer. 

“It’s not that you can, Miss Cindy. It’s because I want to care for those who care for Y/n. It’s the least I can do in thanks to you being here,” pleads Seonghwa with almost puppy eyes.

“Did anyone ever tell you that you are hard to say no to?” questions Cindy with a smirk. Seonghwa laughs. “Fine. Thank you for the expense card. I will also save any receipts. Let me get you the flight information.”

Seeing that Cindy has finally agreed to everything, Seonghwa nods to both of them and enters the conference room. He sees that his bonded mates have sat to the far side of the room, allowing you to have unblocked access to the doors. 

Kat is sitting at your side, having accepted cookies and water. Reaching out with his ability, Hwa can feel that you are calmer. Your skin has taken on a healthier hue. Your form also seems more relaxed as you converse quietly with your friend. 

Hwa decides to walk over to the refreshment table to get water for himself and stand leaning against the wall. He wants to sit next to you. In all honesty, he wants you to sit in his lap but doesn’t want to crowd you like that. 

It isn’t long before Cindy and the manager walk in and sit around the table. What shocks Hwa is Cindy’s choice to sit next to Kat and not on your other side. Cindy raises her eyebrow at Seonghwa and tilts her head towards the chair with a soft smile, which makes Hwa blush slightly. 

Taking the hint, Seonghwa sits in the chair beside you, and the room becomes quiet. You look around the room, seemingly taking in everyone here– Ateez, the staff, and your friends, but you still say nothing. 

“I guess I will start,” Hongjoong said, leaning forward in his seat at the head of the conference room. All eyes turned to him. “Miss Y/n, Miss Cindy, and Miss Kat, I am sure you know by now that we are Ateez, but many don’t know that we are a bonded soulmate group.”

“We each have abilities but haven’t gained our completion mark. About two years ago, we had all discussed that we most likely would never find all of our soulmates and become a complete bond. However, we know now that that isn’t the case,” informs Hongjoong as his eyes never stray from you. 

You look at the captain like he should have more to say for a few moments before they watch you glance around the room again. Your emotions start to rise in trepidation. Seonghwa quickly looks between you and Jongho. 

Jongho sees his companion’s movements and sends out a sense of calmness. To the rest of the soulmates, this feels like a blanket covering them in cool comfort. 

“You…Okay… How…” you seem to be at a loss of words. 

Kat shakes her head. Taking your hand, she speaks for you, asking, “Are you suggesting that Y/n is your missing soulmate?”

“Yes,” declares Hongjoong. 

“Ladies,” Seonghwa starts. “We think you, y/n, are our missing soulmate for several reasons. It’s my fault that we didn’t connect with you sooner.”

Turning to face him, you interrupt, asking, “What do you mean sooner? What reasons? Why me? I am no one.”

“That won’t do,” speaks up Mingi with a growl. “You are not nor will you ever be a ‘no one,’ Y/n. Please do not speak of yourself so negatively. Let Hwa explain further; maybe you will understand what is happening.”

As you look down at your lap, everyone can see your cheeks have been painted rosy pink. Cindy and Kat find humor in your reaction to Mingi and snicker. If Hwa weren’t sitting next to you, he would have missed you smack Kat on the leg in protest. 

Over the next almost hour, Seonghwa explains everything from the forming of Ateez to the events during their filming while in California for Coachella and ending with the concert. Another bonded mate would jump in to clarify or add information a few times. 

“So once San could pin you at the museum, we couldn’t miss you again. It would have broken us more than we could ever explain,” finishes Hwa. 

The boys sit and wait, watching as you take in the information. It worries them because you never reacted to anything they said during the whole spiel. They would look to Jongho a few times, who just shook his head, indicating that he wasn’t the one dampening your reaction. 

Cindy shifts in her seat before she says, “I want to make things clear for you and Y/n.” Taking a deep breath, Cindy looks to y/n, who slightly nods, then focuses back on her lap, still quite like a mouse.

Excited to learn something about you, the soulmates lean into their bond. One thing is for sure– they weren’t prepared for what Cindy had to tell them.

He did, didn’t he? 

He said he was Choi San.

Choi San wants to talk to you. Wait, no. He said the nine of us wanted to talk.

“I... ah… have a plane to catch,” you stumble out. Your mind is still considerate of your friends, who were like family to you. You watch as confusion graces the mountain of a man in front of you.

A voice to your right asks, “You’re going on vacation now? Or going home?”

Following the voice, you look to see who it is, and with a whisper, you say, “Choi Jongho.”

When you recognize the youngest member of Ateez, a smile graces his face as he introduces himself: “Yes, sorry. I am Choi Jongho. It’s nice to meet you.”

You nod with wide eyes as your hands start to shake.

This isn’t real.

There is no way.

Looking to the left, you see none other than Kang Yeosang. You cannot believe how cute he is up close. You giggle to yourself, thinking of all the Tic Toks of Yeosang saying, ‘I’m not cute,’ flutter through your brain because nothing right now is making sense.

Words are not coming. 

You think you are going crazy as the delulu is finally manifesting in hallucinations now.

Breathing is happening because it is autonomic. 

“Oh good! You found her Sannie,” another voice joins as you look past Yeosang to see the twerk prince himself, Jung Wooyoung.

When he gets closer, you are enveloped with the scent you smelled in the Grammy Museum. “Christmas,” you murmur just above a whisper. 

The playful member smiles broadly and bounces in place, “So you did catch my scent, pretty.”

“If she caught yours, then she must have felt my anchors,” the tallest man you have seen in a long time speaks up while holding his “twin.” 

At this point, your breathing has turned shallow. Unconsciously, your body starts leaning into the body behind you. You are not trying to run, but your mind and body are unsure of what is happening, what to do, and what to say.

All you know is that you would be on the floor without the man at your back. Speaking of the man at your back, you shift slightly to get a better look at him, and it’s like the world stops. 

That is Park Seonghwa… like THE Park Seonghwa. Mars. Hwaseong. Angry Bird.  Mama Hwa. 

Your bias. 

The one where you have an unhealthy amount of concert photos focused on the handsome beauty from the concert less than 24 hours before. 

“She hasn’t recognized us yet. I can’t help her. Hongjoong, I can’t,” Seonghwa says with a hint of desperation. His hands grip your arms, thumbs rubbing in circles across your bare skin, pulling you close.

It’s like the sea parts when San and Yeosang break the inner circle that has formed around you to allow Kim Hongjoong to join you in the center. His eyes are roaming your form. It’s like he is not looking at you but into you, at the who of who you are. 

It’s an uncanny feeling that you start getting dizzy from. 

“Do you know who I am?” questions the leader.

“Captain,” you answer with a shaky tone. 

His eyes narrow as a smirk shows, “That is one of the many names Atiny uses, and it is my title. However, my soulmates don’t use that name unless we are in front of a camera. I am Kim Hongjoong, the second oldest of the Ateez soulmate bond.”

You swallow and rapidly look at the rest of the members. They each agree with nods or hums. This is new information for you. You, after all, are a new stan of Ateez, a baby Atiny, and figured there was so much that you didn’t know.

“Soulmate bond? A whole group bond?” you question, feeling your skin vibrate. To begin with, soulmate bonds were challenging to find, but having a group bond to this extent was rare. 

Nodding, Hongjoong answers, “The group of us, yes, but I wouldn’t say we are whole yet. Boys…” It’s then that everyone is looking back on you. 

You hear the song start back up in your head from before it takes over all other mental tabs you had open.

The scent of Christmas trees becomes a whole forest, almost too much.

The thick rope around your chest is back and tighter, pulling you to the left, but you struggle against it.

The panic ebbs and wanes within you like a riptide.

“No. No, nonononoo,” you say, pulling away from Seonghwa, causing the boys to step back out of reflex. Everything stops. Silence rings in your ears, all scent has vanished, and nothing is holding you to yourself, much less to Earth anymore. 

Dropping to your knees, you mumble, “Something is wrong… must be dreaming.” 

“Y/n!” a familiar female voice comes from somewhere. Your ears pop as your brain kicks back online, and the natural environment around you floods in. It’s too much all at once but not enough of what you need. 

What is it that you need, though? Something is missing again. You paw at the ground, almost like you are looking for something or ensuring Earth is still below you. Your breathing rapidly increases as your vision starts to fade in and out. 

You are having a panic attack.

Again.

The first panic attack you ever had was why you missed going to Coachella. You ate lunch at this little hole-in-the-wall diner you loved, but it made you sick. Then, the rest of that week, any time you went near it, it was like your body remembered being sick and would kick you into a panic attack like you had PTSD or something. So you avoided it altogether, which wasn’t hard because the area was shut off for filming.

During the first Coachella weekend, you still had a headache from everything. Your doctors also suggested avoiding large crowds or anything non-routine for a bit. You still were getting symptoms like hyperventilating, getting dizzy, and having chest pains. You swore it was like your insides were hollowing out. You ended up in the ER, and they said it was just a panic attack.

You had to deny helping with Coachella the second weekend, even with the bonus pay, because you were scared you would be more in the way than helpful, especially with this new panic attack issue. The medications they gave you weren’t helping much either. 

“Y/n! Excuse me, not to be rude, but let me get to my friend before she passes out,” you hear another voice, but everything sounds like you are underwater. 

The first voice sounds closer, saying, “Back off, or I will make you. I don’t care how famous you are.”

Joining you, kneeling on the parking garage floor, Cindy and Kat take their time speaking to you calmly. They coach you into breathing exercises, bringing you slowly out of the dark pit you had started to spiral into. Both knew about the panic attacks, and Kat had them as well. Kat was a fantastic source of advice when you first got the diagnosis.

Seeing that you were improving, Cindy stood and looked at the members of Ateez plus the gathering crowd. Turning to Hongjoong, she says, “I don’t know what your intention is with Y/n, but remaining here will just make her worse.”

“I would agree. We need to talk to her, but I am afraid that she won’t hear what we are saying in her current state of mind,” says Hongjoong, his eyes never leaving you.

One of the men dressed in all-black suits steps away from the human barricade that has formed around the eleven of you and says, “Sir, we have access to the conference room at the hotel if you wish to move there.”

“Thank you.” Hongjoong breaks his gaze on you to talk to Cindy, offering, “We are staying at the hotel right around the corner. Maybe we can all talk there; I am sure she will need someone familiar with her right now.”

“What about our flight?” questions Kat, still grounding you in their arms.

“That’s right. She mentioned she had a flight to catch. Do you three not live here?” San questioned.

The feisty friend answered, “Kat and I don’t live here anymore. We live in Oregon. Y/n lives here. We have a flight in about 4 hours to return home.”

“Excuse me, Miss.” Seonghwa politely gains Cindy’s attention. “We really must speak with your friend. Our manager will help you change your flight, and I will personally cover any fees or additional costs if you would come with us. Please?”

Cindy and Kat share an unspoken conversation. Finally, Cindy turns to Seonghwa, “Fine. BUT! We are not doing this because of who you are. You are requesting this meeting. You are causing whatever is happening to Y/n to happen. You will fix it. Understood?”

Nodding and smiling, Seonghwa agrees, “Of course, Miss. We take full responsibility for anything that happens with Y/n moving forward.”

“How many cars did you come in, Miss?” asks Jongho.

They point out the rental car just a few feet away. “We were already getting in the car when you surrounded our friend. My name is Cindy, by the way. That is Kat, my only child. Y/n has been a family friend and a second child to me for almost 15 years.”

“Thank you, Miss Cindy and Miss Kat. I promise we will explain everything in the conference room,” Seonghwa says with another toothy smile. “Can I ride with you to the hotel? I can show you where to park, or you can follow the vans.”

“Hwa…” Jongho says softly but seems to stop at the pleading look he gets from Seonghwa. “Hwa is the best choice right now to accompany Y/n. It wouldn’t be wise to leave her unattended.”

Cindy’s eyes narrow at the choice of wording. Her mind is trying to piece together what is going on. “Fine. You can go with us,” she relents suspiciously, looking at Seonghwa. “It’s a small car. You will have to sit in the front.”

“It’s settled. Hwa will go with you. The rest of us will go in the van,” Hongjoong says, pointing to the blacked-out vehicles. “The guards will be in the cars. When you pull out, Miss Cindy, it would be a good idea to follow between our van and the last guard car.”

“You got it, Captain,” says Cindy.

With a hovering Seonghwa, Kat helps you stand and takes you to the car. She tries to get you to laugh by telling you that MamaHwa is looking at her with puppy eyes. You can only concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other right now.

Once in the car, you still feel a softer pull on your chest. It is nowhere near what it was before or while Ateez surrounded you, but it was still there. 

Kat sits as a quiet reminder that this is real. You keep your eyes downcast because you can feel Seonghwa’s eyes on you, and you are nervous about looking at him.

On the other hand, Cindy can’t stand the tension in the car. “So Seonghwa, you have connected to her, haven’t you?”

Not looking away from you, he answers, “You could say that, but I would prefer to discuss that with everyone together.”

“You still have a concert tonight. This meeting is going to have to be a quick one. I am not sure she will be able to process everything as quickly as you want her to,” comments Cindy. “She keeps herself guarded. I guess it is good that there are eight of you then.”

“We will all be there for her. As I said before, she is our responsibility from now on,” says the man sitting in the front seat, as if the world had just given him a significant gift wrapped in the most complex box he had ever seen. 

Soon, you feel the car stop moving, automatically prompting you to unbuckle your seatbelt. Your door opens before you can get it, and a hand appears. You glance up to see that it is San. You feel your body want to move to him, almost as if he was a magnet. 

You hear your mom in your head say, “Following your instincts, Y/n. It is your greatest gift.” With this in mind, you place your hand in his. The second you connect with him, the song in your head becomes clearer but softens, granting your mind a chance to relax. 

Once out of the car, you look around, noting that everyone else has also gotten out, and Seonghwa is now standing next to you. The two men walk you into the building and guide the small group to the conference room. 

At the door, they were greeted by Hongjoong, their manager, and the head of their bodyguards. Seeing the leader again sends shivers down your spine, but nothing happens. 

Hongjoong instructs, “Please make your way inside. The boys have set up some refreshments. Hwa and Cindy, I believe the two of you need to speak with manager-nim to figure out the flight situation, and then you can join us.”

When you enter the small conference room with Kat, San, and Hongjoong, the feeling in your chest almost completely disappears. You can’t help but smile a little at the looks of anticipation and worry that grace the faces of one of the most popular K-pop groups you have ever known. 

“You can go ahead and sit here,” offers Yunho as he pulls out the chair in front of you. “We figured it may be the most comfortable spot for you. Your friends can sit next to you as well.”

You nod and smile at their consideration of not trapping you in the room. They don’t know that you aren’t one to run when you freak out, but their actions bring their own sense of security and trust. 

A water bottle appears next to you as someone opens it and sets it down. Looking up, you see Wooyoung smiling, “Please drink some water. We also have cookies, candies, and brownies for you to eat, or we can order anything you like.”

“Thank you,” you say softly. “I could go for a cookie. Anything without oats or cocoa, please.”

Hongjoong is the closest to the platter of cookies and plates up two peanut butter, two white chocolate chip macadamia nuts, and two Snickerdoodle cookies. He brings them over with napkins and places them between you and Kat. 

“I put two of everything on the plate for you and Kat. These are all the non-cocoa-based cookies over there. I hope there is something you like in the bunch,” he says. 

You glance at Kat, who is smiling from ear to ear because their bias just served them cookies. You shake your head, grab a white chocolate chip macadamia nut cookie, and start eating it as someone else walks in and takes up a corner to lean against. 

Kat giggles and tells the man of their K-pop dreams: “For someone who knows nothing about Y/n, you sure know how to find her favorites.” 

Kat then took one of the peanut butter ones to eat, and Hongjoong smirked with confidence and sat at the head of the table.

Leaning towards Kat, you ask, “Where is Cindy and Seonghwa?”

“They are outside dealing with the flight situation,” informs Kat, leaning closer to you. “How are you doing?”

“I feel like I entered a Twilight Zone episode,” you breathe out, taking another bite of the cookie and glancing at the men in the room. Some of them catch your eyes while they are talking amongst themselves. “This is real, right?”

“Umhumm, you have the dream of almost every Atiny in the world. You have caught the attention of Ateez,” smirks Kat. 

“I don’t want Ateez's attention,” you whisper. “I will bring them nothing good.”

Kat stares at you, “Y/n. Be real yourself right now. Just wait to see what they have to say.”

You go to respond but hear the door of the conference room open, and Seonghwa enters, walking to the table with the snacks. What surprises you is the fact that he stays there. You look at Kat with furrowed brows and then back at Seonghwa.

“Why is he over there?” you question in hushed tones. It was really meant just to be for yourself, but loud enough, Kat hears and chokes a little on their water. 

“Is someone getting attached to their bias?” says Kat teasingly. 

“Oh, hush you,” you try not to blush at the comment. “He wouldn’t stop looking at me in the car and, well, you were there! Why the distance now?”

“Don’ know, maybe he is giving the others a chance to get close,” suggests Kat.

It isn’t long before Cindy and the manager walk in and sit around the table. Cindy sits next to Kat, and the manager sits next to Hongjoong. Once the room starts to settle, Seonghwa sits in the chair beside you, and the room becomes quiet. 

You look around the room, seemingly taking in everyone here– Ateez, the staff, and your friends, but you still say nothing. 

“I guess I will start.” Hongjoong leans forward as all eyes turn to him. “Miss Y/n, Miss Cindy, and Miss Kat, I am sure you know by now that we are Ateez, but many don’t know that we are a bonded soulmate group.”

“We each have abilities but haven’t gained our completion mark. About two years ago, we had all discussed that we most likely would never find all of our soulmates and become a complete bond. However, we know now that that isn’t the case,” informs Hongjoong as his eyes are locked on yours.

You look at the captain like he should have more to say for a few moments before you glance around the room again, waiting for someone else to chime in. Your mind is reeling with several possibilities and a barrage of negative conclusions. 

You are on the verge of spiraling again when it feels like a blanket of comfort covers you. It’s a coolness to your skin but a stillness of your mind that you can’t help leaning into. 

“You…Okay… How…” you attempt to say, but you are at a loss. You have questions to ask and things to say that all want to come out at once, but you can’t seem to organize them in a way that makes sense.

Taking your hand, Kat shakes her head, asking, “Are you suggesting that Y/n is your missing soulmate?”

“Yes,” declares Hongjoong. 

Your heart shudders at the declaration. There has to be something else. There has to be another thing it could be. You glance at Kat as they give you that look again, the one that says to wait and see what they have to say. 

“Ladies,” Seonghwa starts. “We think you, y/n, are our missing soulmate for several reasons. It’s my fault that we didn’t connect with you sooner.”

You turn to face him. Your thoughts finally in an order you interrupt, asking, “What do you mean sooner? What reasons? Why me? I am no one.”

“That won’t do,” Mingi's deep voice says. “You are not nor will you ever be a ‘no one,’ Y/n. Please do not speak of yourself so negatively. Let Hwa explain further; maybe you will understand what is happening.”

Feeling like you just got scolded by one of the hottest rappers in the world, you look down at your lap, attempting to hide the blush from the room. It isn’t the first time you have been told that you do not hold yourself in a good light, but hearing it from him brings on a new form of embarrassment. 

Cindy and Kat start snickering at your reaction to Mingi, and you smack Kat on the leg in protest. They know of your newfound attraction to the second-tallest member and are seemingly more at ease with this situation than you are. 

Over the next almost hour, Seonghwa explains everything from the forming of Ateez to the events during their filming while in California for Coachella and ending with the concert. Another bonded mate would jump in to clarify or add information a few times. 

“So once San could pin you at the museum, we couldn’t miss you again. It would have broken us more than we could ever explain,” finishes Hwa. 

You force yourself not to react to anything they say or interrupt during the whole spiel. About halfway through the information dump, the blanket pulls away, but you can maintain yourself just fine. 

You have put together that your panic attacks started because you almost met Seonghwa at the hole-in-the-wall diner. Then you had the chance to meet them all at Coachella twice. You also could have met them walking around town while they were filming. So many missed chances to meet them. 

Cindy shifts in her seat before she says, “I want to make things clear for you and Y/n.” Taking a deep breath, Cindy looks at you. You know what she wants to say, and she isn’t wrong to tell them because if they don’t hear it now, then they won’t understand.  

You hesitantly nod, then focus back on your lap, remaining quiet as you prepare your mind for rejection, yelling, coarse words, and any other harsh reaction they had every right to have. You didn’t see the looks of anticipation on their faces.  

Kat takes your hands in theirs and nods to Cindy, knowing the next part of the meeting won’t be easy.

With a serious look, Cindy meets each of their eyes before she stops at Seonghwa and says, “Y/n…Y/n’s soulmate was murdered June 15, 2016– on her 18th birthday.”

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[saintlucretia]

Devil Wears A Suit

part Ⅰ

Pairings: Outpost!Michael Langdon x Female!Reader

Warnings: Mention of murder. Hot devil's son. Sexual harassment? Michael Langdon.

Summary: Y/N is a purple at Outpost 3 and gets interviewed by Mr. Langdon.

A/N: I will go to hell for this and I am not opposing if he will be there too.

After 18 months at the underground Outpost life was as dreadful as being killed by a bomb explosion. Or worse. A bunch of snobs and shallow cowards. It was clear as day, that it was just a matter of time before everyone was at each other's throats. 

It wasn’t the Outpost itself or the fact that we are the last human beings on this planet that made everything so depressing. It was boredom. A hole in my head. The only bearable person here was Mr. Gallant. Without his company at the dining table, I could have stuck a fork into my neck.

That evening Ms. Venable announced to us about a visitor. The agent of the Cooperative. Even though she remained calm as usual I sensed a note of fear in her voice. So it means this new man has great authority. I was grateful for any kind of entertainment, even if it meant a bloody revolution. After 18 months with the same people, fresh meat is always dainty.

Ms. Venable ended her speech when a tall man with long blond hair entered the room. He had a dark aura. The aura of power.

“My name is Langdon and I represent The Cooperative,” he said, circling our table. “Humanity is on the brink of failure.”

I glanced at the other residents of the Outpost. They all looked tense and nervous, especially Ms. Venable. She seemed almost afraid of him. Only Mr. Gallant seemed as amused as me. We glanced at each other and I immediately understood what was on his mind. After all, he had a good taste in men.

“My arrival here was crucial to the survival of civilized life on Earth.” His speech was persuasive, words sharp and his blue eyes pierced into all of us. Such an ability to capture everyone's attention was making me delighted.

He stopped at the head of the table and continued. “The three other compounds have been overrun and destroyed.”

“What happened to the people inside?” asked Timothy worried. 

“Massacred,” answered Langdon and I think I caught the shadow of a grin on his face.

I bit my lip to stop myself from chuckling. I had to admit, this Langdon was a very attractive man. And Mr. Gallant was obviously admiring his appearance too. But there was something about The Cooperative representative that made me feel uneasy. It was as if he was hiding something. Something very bad. 

“In the knowledge that this very moment might occur, we built a failsafe… The Sanctuary,” he said, placing his hands behind his back. “I have been sent to determine if any of you are worthy and fit to join us. The Cooperative has developed a particular and rigorous questioning technique we like to call ‘Cooperating’. Simply, I will determine if you belong.”

I remained silent, analyzing the situation. Everyone seemed wary and looked at others with distrust. Only Coco didn’t have enough brains to remain silent and tried to openly express her dissatisfaction. Fortunately, her tirade was abruptly suppressed.

“I volunteer to go first.” Mr. Gallant raised his hand. 

“And so you shall,” Langdon said threateningly, looking us over. He had a cold, calculating look in his eyes. I had a feeling that he already knew who he was going to select.

“The process should only take me a couple of days, so you won’t be kept in suspense forever. I look forward to meeting each and every one of you.” I felt his gaze on me and barely restrained myself from looking away. 

Langdon left the room and everyone immediately started to argue. A bunch of morons, all of them. I rolled my eyes and leaned back in my chair, observing the conversation. Everyone began to share their suspicions and guesses, but of course, they were all too wrapped up in their own fear to notice the whole thing. The Cooperative looked at us as laboratory rats and no one seemed to see that. Pathetic. 

I let out a sigh of annoyance and left the room.

                                                      ✦✦✦

I ran into Malcolm in the hallway an hour later and looked at him questioningly. 

“Oh, darling, I almost had a heart attack." He came closer and started whispering "I'm a bit scared of him. He is definitely hot as hell, but twice as evil."

I chuckled. "Well, that's quite a review. Did he tell you anything new?"  

Mr. Gallant leaned even closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. "He asked me a lot of personal questions...I mean really personal."  

I raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

“Like my sexuality for example. And my nana. And other… things. Pretty intimate. I felt so uncomfortable, but I tried to keep it cool.” 

My eyebrows furrowed in interest. So these "Cooperating" sessions were, indeed, quite unique. It seemed like Langdon wanted to know every minuscule detail about each person. I began to wonder what kind of "personal" questions he would ask me. I also began to wonder why I was so looking forward to the moment. 

“I felt like he was trying to rip out my soul.” Added Malcolm in a whisper.

I smirked. "Well, that's quite a dramatic way to describe it." Malcolm chuckled nervously but I had a feeling that he wasn't exaggerating. Langdon was certainly not the type of man that you could fool easily. He could see right through people.

But something was intriguing. I felt a strange thrill at the idea of uncovering the depth of Langdon's scrutiny. 

 "I guess I'll have to brace myself for my turn then," I said nonchalantly.

“Good luck sweetheart.” We kissed each other on the cheek and went in different directions.

I slowly walked to my quarters, lost in thought. I was feeling an inexplicable mixture of excitement and curiosity. The thought of being examined by Langdon, being exposed under the watchful gaze of his sharp eyes, was somehow appealing. God, I have to stop.

I shook my head firmly, trying to dismiss these thoughts. "This is ridiculous," I mumbled to myself softly.

Suddenly I heard something. Something like a scream perhaps. I stopped and looked around. There was no one except me in this dimly lit hall. And then this sound again. More like a whisper now. Millions of whispers. My head began to spin slightly. I closed my eyes and tried to focus. Silence. Everything went quiet. I turned around and flinched as I saw Langdon behind me.

“Mrs. Y/S, I’d like to talk with you next.” 

I looked up at Langdon with a surprised expression, silently cursing myself for being so lost in my thoughts to the point of not noticing him coming closer. His presence was so powerful that it still made my heart flutter even now.

"Lead the way," I replied, trying to maintain my composure. 

Langdon didn't bother answering, simply gesturing for me to follow him. I walked behind him through the maze of halls and rooms. 

We finally reached the entrance to what appeared to be his cabinet. Langdon stepped aside, allowing me to enter first. Entering the room, I noticed how dark and ominous it felt. The walls were lined with bookshelves, filled with old leather-bound volumes. The main source of light was a fireplace.

Langdon gestured for me to sit down on the armchair across from him. I lowered myself gently, straightening my purple dress. 

He studied me, wanted me to be nervous, wanted me to crack. I knew this game. I have played this game with many different powerful men, who think they are Gods because they have dicks. I never lose in a game like this.

His eyes searched my face, trying to find any sign of weakness. But I held his gaze firmly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me intimidated.

I leaned back in my seat, a small smirk on my lips. "I see you're expecting me to be quivering in my boots," I said with a hint of sarcasm.

Langdon chuckled darkly. "Is that so?" he asked, leaning slightly forward. 

A silence fell between us, and I held his gaze without flinching. Something about his demeanor made my heart beat a little faster, but I was determined not to show it.

“I prefer conversations to be effective, Mr. Langdon.”

Langdon raised an eyebrow at my remark, a smirk forming his lips. He leaned back in his seat, folding his arms across his chest. "Straight to the point, are we?" 

He studied me for a moment, his eyes still locked onto mine.

"Well, I can appreciate a straightforward woman," he said, his voice surprisingly smooth. "It makes the process much more efficient."

He paused for a moment, his gaze never faltering. "Ms. Y/S," he began, my name rolling off his tongue like a sinful whisper. "Allow me to ask you a personal question."

“Ask,” I replied.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. His eyes were laser-focused on me, and I could practically feel his gaze trying to pierce through my soul. 

"What do you fear the most?" he asked, his tone almost gentle.

I was caught off guard by the question and made a mistake. Langdon noticed the slight flicker of surprise in my eyes. He chuckled softly. "That's what I thought," he said, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "You may have mastered the art of bravado, but everyone has a weakness," he continued. "And I'm here to find yours." 

I watched him back and after crossing my legs answered "I fear being surrounded by idiots for the rest of my life." I needled.

Langdon raised an eyebrow, visibly amused. "Well, you certainly have a way with words, don't you?", he said, his lips curling into a smirk.

He leaned back in his seat, studying me closely. "Being trapped in a group of lesser minds for eternity may be torturous, especially for a woman of your... intelligence."

“For a man of your power, it’s a pity that you use flattery as a term of manipulation,” I said, tilting my head in a mocking manner. 

Langdon chuckled, clearly enjoying the challenge. "Ah, so observant," he said, still maintaining his smirk. 

He leaned slightly forward, his gaze never leaving mine. "I'm not just using flattery, Ms. Y/S. I do recognize your intellect. But don't mistake my compliments for manipulation. I simply use the tools at my disposal."

“Huh.”

Langdon chuckled again, clearly appreciating my dry response. "You have a sharp tongue," he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “It may be your unique feature or a pathetic attempt to hide your fear.”

I could feel a flicker of irritation at his words, but I forced myself to remain impassive. Langdon was trying to get a reaction out of me, and I was determined not to give him the satisfaction.

"Perhaps it's a little bit of both," I replied, my voice cool and steady. "Or perhaps you're simply not used to people who don't cower easily in front of someone higher in rank."

He stood up from his seat and started circling me slowly, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the room. “Be careful, Ms. Y/S. Your bold attitude is admirable, but at some point, this can play a cruel joke on you.”  His gaze burned into me as he studied me from every possible angle.

“I appreciate the warning,” I said coldly. “I don't fear intimidation tactics.”

“You are a brave woman.” Langdon's voice was suddenly close behind me, his breath lingering on the nape of my neck. A small shiver ran down my spine, and I had to suppress the urge to turn around and look at him.

“A little too brave, some would say.” he continued, his words almost a whisper. “Tell me, Ms. Y/S, is it hard to be the smartest in the room? To be forced to communicate with idiots?”

There was a hint of mockery in his tone that made me nauseous. But I still refused to let him see any sign of weakness. I sat up straighter in my chair, lifting my chin.

“It can be... annoying at times,” I admitted.

“It is irritating how arrogant the upper class is, isn’t it? Especially toward women.” I felt the touch of his fingers on my arm and I barely restrained myself from snatching my hand away. “The world before the bombs wasn’t that much brighter than this one, was it? They all mistreated you, and never took you seriously… Does the idea of them having everything infuriate you?”

His words hit a nerve, the subtle truth in them cutting through my defenses. Yes, the world before the bombings was far from perfect, and I had my fair share of disappointments.

But I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing that he had managed to hit a weak spot. I turned my head slightly, meeting his gaze. “And what makes you think you're any different from them?”

He chuckled darkly, his fingers trailing along my skin, tracing patterns against the fabric of my dress. His nonchalant arrogance was both infuriating and strangely enthralling. 

“Oh, I never claimed to be any different," he responded, his voice low and husky. “But I will say this - I appreciate intelligence, especially in women. I can see your potential.”

“Potential,” I repeated, struggling to keep my tone even. “For what, exactly?”

Langdon ignored my question. His hands, now both on my arms, crawled up to my shoulders. “Have you ever thought about punishing them? About finally showing what you are capable of, so they would never think you are only ‘pretty face’ again?” His breath tickled my ear. “Have you ever thought about making them scared of you?”

His hands on my shoulders were deceptively gentle, yet they seemed to burn against my skin through the fabric of my dress. His breath was warm against my ear as he whispered his words, making my breath hitch in my throat. 

I felt a strange mixture of anger and... excitement at his words. The thought had crossed my mind more than once if I was being honest with myself. To show them ALL how strong and brilliant I truly was. To shuffle a knife into someone’s throat. I remained silent. 

“I sense this force in you, Y/N.”

His voice seemed to fill the space between us, wrapping around me like a dark, intimate spell. He leaned closer, his chest almost pressed against my back. His hands remained on my shoulders, his fingers gently massaging my tense muscles. 

There was something about his voice, the way he said my name, that sent a shiver down my spine. It was as if he could see right through me, past the cool exterior I had been trying to maintain. He knew about the anger, the desire, the fire burning within me.

“I can tell you have a dark side,” he murmured, his voice deep and low. 

“I-I don’t know what you are talking about.” 

“Yes, you do.” His hands continue to stroke my shoulders gently. He was amused by my denial.

“You don't have to play coy with me, Ms. Y/N," he said, his voice velvety smooth. “I can feel it radiating off of you. That simmering anger, that burning desire."

Langdon leaned in closer, his lips almost brushing against my ear. “You want... power. And I can promise you that.”

His words were a seductive murmur, weaving their way into my mind and planting thoughts of power and revenge. It was as if he knew exactly what buttons to push, what desires to awaken within me. 

"Power," I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper. My mind was swimming, both alarmed and intrigued by his proposal. I felt like I was hypnotized. "Why… What’s the point?"

Langdon chuckled softly, noticing the effect his words were having on me. He stepped away from me, his hands finally leaving my shoulders. He walked around the chair, standing in front of me again.

"Because, my dear," he began, "I've observed your potential. Your intelligence, your resourcefulness, your strength. You're not like the other people in this house. You have ambition. And ambition can lead to power."

He tilted up my chin gently, so I could meet his gaze. "And I can help you achieve it." His thumb traced my jawline, sending a shiver down my spine.

When his finger brushed against my bottom lip I grabbed his hand, stopping him. He smirked and leaned closer, his face only a few inches away from mine.

“Something wrong, Ms. Y/S?” he asked, his tone laced with mockery. “Did my touch... unsettle you?”

With a swift, almost graceful movement, Langdon sank to his knees in front of me. His hand found its way to my knee, the warmth of his palm seeping through the fabric of my dress.

“I think the interview is over,” I said, trying to stand up, but he pressed on my knee, not letting me get up.

“I will decide if it’s over or not, Ms. Y/S,” Langdon smirked at my silence, slowly running his hand higher up my thigh. He could clearly see the effect he was having on me, the slight tremble in my body.

“What?” he drawled, his voice dripping with mockery. “No witty comeback? No clever quip? Seems like you're losing your grip.”

"Losing my grip?" I repeated, trying to keep my voice steady. "Hardly. I am just amused by your behavior." Even a blind person would see my bluff and feign confidence.

“Oh? Really?” He stood up a bit, leaning closer to my face, almost whispering in my mouth. His proximity was intoxicating, his breath hot against my lips. I could feel my heart pounding against my ribcage, the desire coursing through my veins like a current. He slowly brushed his lips against mine and I felt a touch of his tongue on my bottom lip. 

It felt like drugs. It felt better than drugs. His tongue teasingly tracing along my bottom lip sent a shiver down my spine, making my legs tremble beneath me. It was overwhelming. I have never felt like this before. In that very second I could do anything for this man.

Suddenly he stopped and looked me right into my eyes, smirking satisfiedly almost like he read a thought that just got in my mind.

He stood up, turning away from me and I bit my tongue not to moan in disappointment. 

“We’re done for today, Ms. Y/S. It was a pleasure talking to you,” He said, opening the door for me. Smirk remained on his face, but Langdon seemed very calm. As if he didn’t just kneel and almost kiss me two minutes ago. 

I needed a few seconds to understand what had happened, so I blinked and then quickly stood up walking toward the door.

“Hope you have a good night, Ms. Y/S,” he said watching me and I can swear, as he was saying that, his hand slid to cover his groin and he definitely wanted me to notice that. 

“Good night, Mr. Langdon,” I mumbled and left the room. 

What the fuck has just happened?

part two