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Ok I'm ready. Let's talk about Priya's story before total drama. Priya was born to be on total drama in a literal sense, her parents only had her so she could be in a hypothetical new season of total drama when she's a teen. Now, I shouldn't have to explain how messed up this. Priya's parents didn't have Priya because they wanted a child, they had her so she could compete in a season of total drama when she is a teen, which may or may not exist, and not only that but making her train for her whole life. It is disgusting and the sad part is this is the only life she has ever known.
Then after that she goes on the show. She makes friends with Millie and Millie recognises how cruel her parents are. While Millie writing that in the notebook was wrong, I don't think she was incorrect about her judgement of Priya's parent's. Then, after Priya and Millie have a falling out, they make up.
Then Priya wins the competition. I'm not opposed to her winning but the fact she was only doing it for her parent makes me not feel great! I feel like there should have been some sort of revelation about her parents or something but there wasn't. And the fact that her parents then went on to put HER money away till she is forty... Like huh????
And again, in the second season there was no revelation. I feel you could have had a plot line with Millie trying to slowly edge her into understanding that what her parents did to her was wrong but there was none. I hope they do it if they make another season, I need Priya to actually be allowed to be mad at her parents.
There other things but the parents thing is what makes me most upset with Priya. She deserves more.
- ☄️
- 🧡
#total feminism takes#total drama#mod emma#td priya#td millie#comet anon#comet anon you are so fucking ture#I’m fucking pissed on what they did with priya#we don’t need no love story we need a parents where bad and wrong story#priya and Millie should have been more focused on in season two instead of making priya as love interest for a plot many consider bad#and Millie was used as an early boot all of her development was throw out the window to justify on why she got the boot#comet anon as you can see I’m pissed off with season two#they ruined Axel Nichelle doesn’t even have any character#if you ask me to describe Nichelle all I can is Hollywood teen actress who is a flop turned physical powerhouse#do not get me started on Emma#they fucking killed her#I’m sorry for this whole rambling#I’m not a ripaxel hater it’s just that it feels like Axel#was only there for RIPPER’S development instead of developing each other#the fact she got the Bridgette treatment pisses me the fuck off#come anon I’m sorry for rambling about stupid shit
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Atlanta Open Ideas for a sizable family room remodel with beige walls and a TV stand that is transitional in style.
#two story arched windows#window treatments#karen's fabrics#white and blue window treatments#fine fabrics
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Formal Living Room Large Mediterranean formal living room idea with marble floor, beige walls, and no television
#marble columns#traditional living room#arched windows#grand chandelier#two story drapery treatment#two story living room#waterfront view
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Family Room - Traditional Family Room
Example of a large classic open concept medium tone wood floor and red floor family room design with beige walls
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Transitional Living Room in Philadelphia Living room - large transitional open concept and formal medium tone wood floor and brown floor living room idea with gray walls, a standard fireplace, a stone fireplace and a tv stand
#sectionals#round coffee tables#window treatments#sectional sofas#stone fireplace#two story family room#printed chair
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Roofing in Dallas
#Inspiration for a mid-sized contemporary multicolored two-story mixed siding house exterior remodel with a shingle roof lanscape#window treatments#brown#texas#black trim windows#roofing#windows and doors
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Family Room - Transitional Family Room
#Mid-sized transitional open concept family room design example with dark wood floors and brown walls#a stone fireplace#a standard fireplace#and a wall-mounted television. white window treatments in two story family room#two story family room#transitional elegance#white bookshelf with blue grasscloth#modern swivel chairs
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Defied (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)
-> in which Celebrimbor manages, with his dying words, to unearth some truths which you and your husband are desperate to deny
Warnings: evil!reader, that Celebrimbor scene in 2x08, so torture and death (the description isn’t too graphic and reader doesn’t torture him directly but she plays good cop to Sauron’s bad cop) angst + comfort, biting, some manhandling, mention of reader killing people
Note: one more fic in the evil!reader collection. Works on its own too but reader’s backstory is more detailed than here in Old Wounds. I think I broke myself writing this.
Celebrimbor awakens to a damp cloth gently brushing the blood and sweat off his feverish brow. A touch kinder than he had imagined he would ever feel again. He groans weakly, awash with relief as he opens his eyes.
Any trace of comfort vanishes when he sees it is the wife of Sauron who is administering the merciful treatment.
“Shh,” you murmur as he tries to lift his head. The soft pillow on which it’s resting are your thighs, your legs folded beneath you as you sit sideways on the floor. It takes only the lightest push for you to hold him down by the shoulder, but it still sends pain shooting through his tormented body.
“We do not have long,” you whisper, throwing a slightly nervous glance towards the door. “He will return soon.��
Frowning and too weak to do anything but lie there, Celebrimbor searches the room with his eyes, finding that the two of you are, indeed, alone. He also finds that you have removed the arrows from his body while he had been unconscious, his wounds still painful but at least more bearable than before. To his surprise, they don’t seem to be bleeding as profusely as one would expect.
“I’ve done what I could,” you say regretfully, gently pressing the cloth to his temple. “I can do more.”
Your voice leads him to raise his gaze to yours. There’s a shaft of light pouring through the window at just the right angle so that it bathes your face in an ethereal glow. Looking at him from above, all beauty and light in the midst of his forge’s ruins, you seem like a gift from the Valar themselves. You could be his salvation, his way back to freedom, if only he would—
“If only I would give you the Nine.”
His voice is so weak and hoarse, he barely hears it himself. Your brow furrows, as sympathetic as the small smile you grace him with.
“There is no other way,” you whisper.
Despite it all, the weakest of chuckles escapes his parched throat.
“After he is done inflicting his torment,” he says, somehow finding enough strength within himself to pour into his voice, “you come to me with a kind word and soothing touch. Seeking to melt my will, rather than break it.” He shakes his head once, meeting your gaze unwaveringly, even from below. “I see through the illusions now. His... and yours.”
You breathe in. Slowly, deeply. As you exhale, the divine light dims and vanishes, leaving your expression as it truly is—cold and utterly frustrated as you give a sharp sigh.
“And how is that to your benefit?” you deadpan. You cast the bloodied cloth aside and remove your legs from under him. He groans in pain as you maneuver him so that he’s sitting up against a column, standing to your full height beside him. There’s nothing soothing whatsoever about the sight of you looking down at him now.
“Seriously, Celebrimbor,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. “You’re only delaying the inevitable. You’ve already sacrificed those poor guards of yours to do it. I mean,” you shake your head, chuckling with pity, “trying to have my husband arrested, like some common Elf? What did you imagine that would accomplish?”
“Does it not pain you,” he ignores your taunts, voice trembling as it grows in despair, “to see me tormented as the one you claim to love once was, at the hands of Morgoth? You said you were there. You said Morgoth had you mend him with your gifts, only so he could begin his tortures anew. Did you not weep as you told that story? Does it not pain you, then,” he cries out, “that your beloved husband would force you to relive that past by having you do the very same to another?!”
“It’s not him that is forcing me!” you scream out in return.
He had said that word—husband—which you use so often, and with such delight, as if it were the greatest poison known to Middle-Earth. That cracked something within you, tears of anger burning in your eyes as you begin to pace like an animal in a cage.
“Do you think this is what I would have chosen? Do you think this is what I’ve always wanted?”
Before you know what you are doing, you grab a piece of rubble and flung it against the pillar, above Celebrimbor. He gasps and flinches as pieces of shattered stone rain down dangerously close to him, though he’s lucky enough to only become covered in dust.
“There was a time,” you say, practically trembling with anger as you rush to Celebrimbor’s side, “after Morgoth was defeated, when he and I were perfectly content to simply... exist! That was enough. More than enough. We were finally free from Morgoth, finally free to be together.” You shake your head and close your eyes, breathing to regain your composure. After that, you are no longer shaking, and your voice is grim. “But we both had been free before. And we knew how easily that can be taken away. The only being who truly has freedom... is that who controls all else. And so that had to be us.”
“Perfectly sound logic.”
His words drip sarcasm. Your jaw clenches.
“Mock me all you want,” you say, crouching to his level and forcing him to look straight your merciless gaze with a firm knuckle beneath his chin. “Which one of us has their freedom now?”
Celebrimbor meets your ire with a sympathetic smile.
“Neither, my false friend,” he murmurs. “Neither.”
A mirthless chuckle escapes you. You have truly underestimated his willpower. But he has done the same with your ruthlessness.
“We’ll see,” you hiss. “Love,” you call out, the word fierce but ragged on your tongue as you release Celebrimbor’s face and stand up. He hasn’t noticed your husband walk into the room, or come to stand no longer than an arm’s length away from you. Most likely he had been lingering in the shadows, waiting for a sign from you to reveal himself. Even as you turn to him, you’re still glaring daggers meant for Celebrimbor.
“I think he likes you better,” you say.
Sauron looks at you, impassive. “Perhaps you’ve lost your touch.”
What might have otherwise been simply another tease cuts into your chest. He is a particular kind of distant now, has been since you have lost the Nine. The setback angered you as well, but your husband seems wholly consumed with the need to have them in his grasp again. Perhaps because he had poured part of himself into the making of those Rings. Not like that is any consolation. There’s a strain between you now, and nothing playful about it—only a sense of dread sinking its claws into your heart.
At an uncharacteristic loss for a snide reply, you clench your mouth shut and step aside to let him do the work.
But Celebrimbor does not relent. No matter how many arrows your husband plants in him, how much pain he endures, his lips remain sealed and the location of the Nine firmly withheld. Your husband speaks of the Orcs ravaging his city, and Celebrimbor speaks of the birds that used to fly to the river who are now silenced. Your husband pleads with him to let him share the wonders of the Rings with the world, and Celebrimbor speaks of the peace he is soon to find in death.
“There are ways to keep you alive,” is Sauron’s grim reply. “My wife’s skill being the most efficient of them.”
“Is it?” you question quietly. “I thought I’d... ‘lost my touch’.”
You don’t bother to look at him as you speak the bitter words. For a while now, you’ve been leaning against the wall near the window, staring out at the darkened horizon. You don’t need to see your husband to picture the piercing gaze he turns towards you, or the tick in his jaw as he grouses, “Now is not the time—”
“It’s never the time.” Your head whips to look at him, and you flinch when you find him closer already than you had expected, staring you down. But you’re long past being intimidated by such gestures. You only meet your husband’s gaze defiantly. “I no longer wish to do this.”
There is the smallest furrow of his brow, equal parts surprised and disturbed. You hardly ever refuse each other. Especially in moments as critical as this. Glancing at Celebrimbor, you see his bloody brow is knitted in confusion, as if he hadn’t truly expected you to give heed to his words. And it is not for him that you are doing this—but your husband follows your line of sight, and his gaze has gone from displeased to wrathful as it returns to yours.
“I’ve never known you to shy away from a little blood,” he says, voice low and menacing as he steps closer, crowding you into the wall. “Or perhaps it is not the torment, but the Elf on whom it is being inflicted that stays your hand?” He takes hold of your wrist as he speaks, lifting it between your chests as he closes his fingers over yours with misleading delicacy. “Is that it, my love? Has our dear Celebrimbor grown on you at last?”
“Don’t be absurd,” you huff out, making to walk past him—but he slams your hand into the wall and presses the full length of his body against yours, trapping you as you gasp and glare. Your free hand pushes against his chest to no avail, while his cups your cheek to make you look him in the eye.
“Is this why you tell him of our past so freely?” he growls, his breath hot and heavy on your lips. “Why you justify yourself, hoping to find forgiveness, perhaps? Compassion?” He trembles with rage as he presses his thumb to your bottom lip. “...desire?”
Rage blinds you, raw and animalistic—and like an animal, you bite onto his finger, shoving him in the chest at the same time. He stumbles back, glaring down at his hand. Your teeth have drawn black blood, and you furiously wipe it off your lips with the back of your hand.
“How dare you?” You charge for him and hit his chest again, putting enough of your powers behind it that he almost doesn’t catch himself and tumbles to the ground. “How dare you accuse me of such treachery?” you scream. Tears of rage gather in your eyes, while his are a mix of disbelief and anger. “After all I have done for you. All the ways I have proven my devotion, the oaths we swore, the centuries we have lived for nothing but each other—”
“You speak as though I were a stranger to your jealous anger,” he retorts. “As if you did not pierce me with your rageful glare each time as I so much as looked Mirdania’s way—”
“I did not mean it as you do!” you cry out. “It was a game, it’s what we do! You know that.”
For a moment, only your heavy breathing fills the room. Yours and your husband’s as you stare each other down, neither willing to yield. But there is also the faint sound of Celebrimbor’s, who lies nearly forgotten in the rubble. It reminds you what it was that had been gnawing at you in the first place. You shut your eyes briefly, willing your voice to be calm and composed as you speak.
“I’ve done my fair share of dark deeds, most in the name of our love,” you say, this time heading towards your husband in a peaceful manner. “I shall do more, if needed. Worse. But this—what is happening here...” You nod your head, infuriatingly helpless as you admit, “He’s right. It means something to me. To us. This is exactly what Morgoth put us through. You are asking me to do what he made me to do you.” Your voice begins to tremble with long-suppressed grief. “And you, in your greed for those Rings, could not care less what it does to me to think of that time, let alone reenact it.”
Your husband stares as though you’ve said something incomprehensible.
“All depends upon the Rings,” he all but whispers, willing you to understand. This time when he takes one of your hands in his, the gesture is somehow both tender and desperate, as if you’ll slip away. “All of this... is for us,” he vows.
That sliver of doubt in your chest is enough to break you.
“Is it?” you breathe out shakily, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Because it is your blood you have poured into the Nine. Not ours.”
You pull away from him—to his devastation, written plainly on his face. Your hand shakes as you wipe away your tears. A deep, aching desire burns in you to be away from this place, to start anew. You feel it is the only way to fix what has been broken, even if you can’t even tell where the divide between you lies or where it has begun.
“We shall soon have an army,” you try to reason. “Power beyond imagining, even without the Nine. No doubt, with time the Rings will find their way to you—”
“And you would have me wait for them even one moment more?” he says in disbelief. You give him a sorrowful smile.
“I have awaited your return for an eternity,” you say. “Perhaps it is your turn to wait for my sake.”
His voice is so faint you barely hear as he asks, “Or what?”
A terrible pause follows. There’s a threat in your eyes, which you don’t dare to speak out loud. You are not even sure you would be capable of doing such a thing—if, even just as another game between you, as an attempt to rile him up, even just for a brief time, you might truly find the strength or the will to turn and walk away—
It’s as if he senses the shape of those words in your mind, and they clip his breath. In an instant, he takes your face in his hands, his hold on you desperate and his eyes feral.
“If you betray me... if you forsake me...” he breathes out the word like it’s poison, planting daggers in his throat as he speaks it, “I shall forget all thoughts of healing, and raze Middle-Earth to the ground so that I am all that is left in the world for you to return to.”
“Even the Rings?” you ask, gripping his wrists to keep him close, every inch of you weak at the tortured yearning in his declaration. “Would you vanquish them as well, if it meant I would return to you?”
For a moment, his eyes widen as though you have stabbed him. Then they darken with determination.
“I shall have you... and the Rings,” he swears. “Nothing less.” His lips meet yours roughly, briefly, like he wants to prove they are still his to kiss. “Nothing...” He does it again. “...less.”
And this time, you believe him. You are desperate to, and mad with longing, ready to lose yourself to your husband’s touch and let it purge this new fear that has crept inside your heart, whispering insidiously that peril for the love you share lies on the path ahead of you. But your embrace is cut short by Celebrimbor’s voice.
“Shadow of Morgoth!” he calls out. You and your husband break away and turn to him, and the sheer defiance in his gaze chills you to the bone. “You shall have neither,” he says fiercely. “The Rings of Power shall destroy you. This twisted... mockery of love shall be snuffed out like a candle in the wind. And in the end,” his voice grows to a guttural cry, “I foresee it is the very fruit of it that shall be your utter ruin!”
You gasp in horror. It’s as though the dread within you has spoken from his mouth. Your husband is equally affected, though he is moved to rage rather than fear. In an instant, he has picked up a spear, reached Celebrimbor and impaled him in the stomach, lifting him up against the pillar.
“You’re wrong!” he growls up at the Elf moaning in pain. “We shall rule together,” he declares, almost in a craze, “and be masters of our own creations.”
Even now, even like this, Celebrimbor smiles defiantly. “No,” he says. “You shall be slaves to them. And to each other. Sauron... the Abhorred... and his Accursed Bride. Lord and Lady of the Rings.”
And so, Celebrimbor gives his last breath.
You’ve seen beings die before. You’ve been responsible for it. You can’t remember the last time it’s left you as hollow as it does now, Celebrimbor’s final words still lingering in the air around you.
“It’s only words,” you murmur in the silence, to convince the both of you. “They mean nothing.”
Your husband drives the end of the spear into the ground, leaving the body propped up against the pillar.
“I wanted to do worse,” he says blankly, staring at the ground. “But you wished for this to be over. So I did as you asked.” He lifts his gaze to yours. “How could his words be true... when there is nothing I would not do to keep you?”
His words steal your breath—but what truly claws at your heart, leaving it raw and trembling within your chest, is the fact that a lone tear has swelled in his eye, and slipped down his cheek.
“You are weeping,” you whisper, awe-stricken. “I have not seen your tears since...”
Your throat closes around the words.
“Do you doubt me, my love?” he murmurs. “Do you doubt us?”
His voice, weak and pained, undoes you.
“No,” you breathe out. “No, no, no!”
You all but run to him and throw your arms around his neck, whimpering as he wraps you in a desperate embrace. He releases a ragged breath, his heartbeat rampant against your chest, and he presses a kiss to your shoulder that makes you shiver. “We will have all that we have been striving for,” you promise against his neck, then pull back to look into his eyes. “Soon. Together.”
“My love,” is all he whispers in return. You cup his face with the most gentle touch, fingers brushing his fair hair before you press your lips to his cheek, cherishing each drop of his tears that you are kissing away.
“My love,” you repeat as if in prayer. You rest your hand on the back of his head, fingers gently nudging at the bow made of his hair as you simply stand there, holding him with his cheek to yours.
Celebrimbor was wrong. You were wrong to fear. No feeling so soul-consuming in its might could ever be shattered. Not by powers of flesh, not by those over flesh. You are sure of it now.
It’s like this that the Orcs find you as they barge into the forge room with bloody weapons in their hands. One gestures for the others to halt while you and your husband face them, eyeing you suspiciously.
“Are you him?” he asks, some semblance of hope in his gruff voice. “Are you Sauron?”
“I have many names,” your husband says, as always. “But her...” he wraps his arm around your waist as you hold your chin high, “you shall call ‘my Queen’.”
Previous fic with same reader -> Kill and make up
Next fic with same reader -> The Two
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I Remember Everything - Rafe Cameron (Chapter 3)
Summary: You left the island two years ago, leaving the love of your life a shattered man in your wake. Now, when you return, you find the sweet boy you once loved has transformed into a monster of a man. How can you detangle the real Rafe from the terrible things he's done?
Timeline: begins toward the end of obx season 3 and is mostly canon.
Content: this story contains sexual content, alcohol and drug abuse, and brief mentions of violence. All chapters are 18+, minors do not interact!
⯎series masterlist⯎
“I like the lilac, but I just wonder if the lavender would’ve gone better with your complexion,” your mom said as she eyed you critically. You were standing on a pedestal in the middle of Sally’s Dress Shop, trying on the bridesmaids dress your mom had picked out for you to wear to her wedding. The dress was far too frilly and pastel for your taste, but if wearing it would please your mom and make this week move faster, it was worth it.
“I think this is fine, mom,” you were trying your hardest to keep your tone polite, determined to keep this outing from turning into a fight. After all, it was your mom’s wedding week, and despite all of the history between you, you really did want her to be happy.
By the time you had returned to the table last night, your mom had already paid the bill. The three of you drove home in silence, your mom giving you her patented silent treatment. This morning when you came downstairs dressed and ready for your fitting, she simply started talking about the flower arrangements for the reception, like the night before had never happened.
“I think you chose well,” you said before your mom could change her mind on the dress again. You’re lying through your teeth, you think this dress might be one of the worst choices she's ever made, but the satisfied smile on her face makes your discomfort worth it.
“Do a spin for me,” she asks for the tenth time today. When you roll your eyes she pouts and says, “please?”
You smile and twirl for her again, giggling when you nearly lose your footing and fall off the pedestal, grabbing your mom’s shoulder for support. Your mom laughed too, and you realized you couldn’t remember the last time the two of you laughed together. It was nice.
Rafe has been avoiding going downtown as much as possible these days, keeping his outings to the Island Club and having his friends come to him if they want to party. Even though his dad had officially taken the fall for everything, he knew people still whispered about him as he walked by. I heard he was there. I heard he did it. They say his fingerprints were on the bullets.
Today, however, he had a meeting with a potential buyer of some of the melted gold, a jeweler on main street. He slid on his sunglasses and locked his car, trying desperately to act like today was just business as usual, like he hadn’t just put a hit on his own father.
He walked quickly from his truck toward the jeweler’s store front, but stopped in his tracks as he passed Sally’s. There you were, behind the glass, spinning in a puffy purple dress, before nearly falling on your ass. He cursed himself for the way he flinched, as if he could reach out and catch you through the window. Why was it still his instinct to catch you?
Two Years Earlier…
“Rafe!” You squealed as he pulled you through the side door of the ballroom into the dimly lit alley. “They were playing my song!”
“That’s why I had to get you outta there,” he leans over you, backing you slowly up against the wall. “You looked way too fucking good dancing to that song.”
Rafe started rifling through the layers of your prom dress impatiently, trying to get his hands on you.
“What are you doing?” You playfully swatted his arm, thinking he must be teasing you.
“I need you,” he growled.
“Right here? In the middle of this gross alley?” You started to think he might not be kidding.
He finally gets his hands under the heavy fabric of your gown and begins kneading the flesh of your ass, making you gasp. His open mouth found yours, and you can immediately taste the alcohol on his tongue. You pull back from him and reach up to grab both sides of his face, hoping your touch would ground him a bit. He looked at you frenzied, his pupils shrinking to pinpoints.
“Baby, are you drunk already?” You said as gently as possible.
“Just on you, baby,” he slurred, attempting to dive back in for a kiss.
“Wait,” you turned your head, causing his mouth to miss yours and land sloppily on your ear.
“What the hell?” He backed away from you in frustration. His chest was rising and falling quickly, nostrils flaring, and you wondered if he was also high. He’d only done coke once before, as far as you knew, but you remembered how panicked he was after, his heart pounding violently as you tried to calm him down.
“It’s okay,” you assured him. “We just need to slow down a bit.”
You approached him with your hand outstretched, like he was a stray dog you were trying not to scare off. He didn’t look at you, but allowed you to slip your fingers into his, squeezing gently.
“I just wanna dance with you,” you whispered softly. Je just glared back at you, so you pouted your lips, knowing he found it irresistibly cute when you did that. He couldn’t hide the crooked smirk growing on his lips, and his breath steadied.
“We can party hard later,” you promised. “But I wanna remember this part, with you.”
He looked down at your hand in his and ran his thumb over the promise ring he had given you just a few weeks ago. You lifted his hand to your lips and kissed it softly.
As you swayed softly to the next slow song, he bent down and laid a kiss on your bare shoulder. For a moment, you thought you were successful in bringing him back down to Earth. You were full of pride, truly believing that you, and only you, would always be able to fix him when he was broken.
Now…
Rafe stood frozen at the dress shop window, just watching you. When you tucked your hair behind your ears, it was like he could still smell your pretty coconut shampoo. When you smoothed down your dress, it was like he could still feel your soft hands on his bare skin. When you said something to your mom, it was like he could still hear your voice whispering in his ear I will love you forever, Rafe Cameron.
But you hadn’t meant it, had you? You couldn’t have, or you would’ve stayed. And if you had stayed, maybe he wouldn’t be where he was now. Maybe he would’ve married you, taken you away from this island like the two of you used to dream about. Maybe he wouldn’t be a thief, a liar, a killer.
It was too late now, too late to undo it. Too late to get back to who he was before you left. But there was something about the sight of you, the presence of you, even through the tinted window glass, that made him want to try.
Decisively, he turned back toward his car, feverishly dialing Barry’s number. Praying to whatever God was good enough to create the girl in the window that it wasn’t too late.
Looking back at yourself in the mirror, you stopped short when you saw the reflection of a figure in the window. By the time you turned around, it was gone, and you were the one left wondering if you were imagining things.
Two Years Ago…
“Ma’am can you tell us what happened here tonight?” The cop questioned you.
Rafe looked up at you with pleading eyes. White button up stained with blood, eyes glassy and red. His suit jacket, the one you had picked out together to match your dress, had been ripped to shreds.
“I don’t know,” you said to the cop, not removing your disappointed eyes from Rafe, his bloodied face illuminated in the blue-red light of the sirens.
“We’re going to need you to give a statement, ma’am,” the officer clarified, “for the record.”
“For the record…” you shook your head at the boy on the curb, arms held behind him in handcuffs. Arms that used to hold you every night, arms you didn’t know if you could trust anymore, “...I don’t know him.”
With that, you walked away, the shattered glass from your car window crunching under your heels with each step. Rafe had no choice but to sit there and watch you go, aching with something completely unrelated to the accident.
“Y/N!” He yelled after you, unable to suppress the pain in his voice.
You just kept walking.
Now…
You woke up with a start, clutching your bedsheets. Sighing, you tapped your phone screen and it lit up in the darkness. 5:53am.
You weren’t surprised, you hadn’t gotten a full night’s sleep in two years. You knew how this would go, once your brain was awake there would be no turning it back off. You sighed and threw the covers off, your old childhood bed creaking loudly as you stood up. You winced at the noise, your mother was a light sleeper, a lesson you’d learned the hard way too many times.
You pulled on an old pair of leggings and a hoodie, and slowly crept down the stairs. Once out the door, you found your old bike in the shed in the backyard and rode off into the soft morning light. No clear destination in mind, you rode around the neighborhood, down to the beach. You watched the waves crash as you passed them. It had been two years since you’d seen the ocean, and you had nearly succeeded in convincing yourself you were okay with that. But now, the sun rising over the sea, salty air consuming your senses, all the hard work you did to delude yourself unraveled.
Without really meaning to, you ended up at the cemetery. You parked your bike and let your memory lead you right to your dad’s plot.
His grave clearly hadn’t seen visitors in a while. You made a weak effort to brush the dirt off of his headstone, before smiling and choosing to leave it as is. “God made dirt, dirt don’t hurt” your dad would’ve said.
For a while you just sat there, fingers combing through the grass as you listened to the birds chirp loudly in the trees above.
“That ever get annoying?” You asked your dad in jest. You smile to yourself, knowing your dad wouldn’t have minded. He was too easy going, the calm current that kept you and your mom afloat. Suddenly hit with a pang of longing to see your father again, you wished that you had something to leave here for him. You noticed a grave a few plots over, completely covered in fresh blooming flowers.
“Somebody was popular,” you say to your dad’s headstone. “I’m sure they won’t miss one flower right?”
You stand and approach the grave, wondering who it was that inspired such an outpouring of love.
“Sheriff Susan Peterkin” 1977-2020
You frowned. She must’ve died recently, then. Strange that your mom hadn’t said anything, surely Chip had known her, being on the force. You remembered Peterkin, she came to your school every year when you were growing up. Back then, she was just a beat cop who pulled the short straw and had to give the anti-bullying presentation, but you remember her being very nice.
You plucked a tulip from one of her many bouquets and felt like you should say something.
“Um, hi. I don’t know if you knew my dad, but I think you would’ve liked him. I’m sorry for whatever happened, but thanks for always being so cool.”
As you walked away from her grave, you noticed another newly dug plot a few yards away. The plot was small, if something was buried here, it wasn’t a body. Still, there was a small plaque over the fresh dirt. You approached, having to get pretty close before you could make out the name…
“Ward Cameron.”
Your knees buckled beneath you, the tulip you were holding slipping from your grasp. This grave couldn’t have been here for more than what, a few weeks? The grass had barely begun to grow. Maybe your mom could have just forgotten to tell you about Sheriff Peterkin, but surely the very recent death of Ward Cameron hadn’t just slipped her mind. Clearly, something bigger was going on.
And Rafe…Rafe.
You regained your footing and started running, past Sheriff Peterkin’s grave, past your father’s, blowing him a quick kiss.
You found your bike and started pedaling as fast as you could. Not even pausing to think through what you’d say when you got there, just knowing you needed to see him, to be with him. Suddenly, it made more sense. He was grieving. Their relationship was complicated, but even when he was pissed at him, Rafe still worshiped his father.
You pulled up to Tannyhill, but the gate was closed. You tried some of the gate codes you remembered the Camerons used to rotate through, but none of them worked. After your fifth attempt, the system locked you out. You rang the bell, not sure if he would even let you in when he realized it was you, but you had to try. No answer, he must not have been home.
You sat by the wall for a few hours, waiting for him to get home. Eventually, your stomach ached with hunger, and you really had to pee. You decided to go home, collect yourself, and come back later.
By the time you arrived home on your bike, it was almost noon. Chip was just walking in the front door, home from work. He had been pulling double overnight shifts to pay for the wedding and he looked exhausted. Luckily for both of you, the wedding was just a few days away now, and all of this would be behind you soon.
When you walked in the living room, he was mid-conversation with your mother, who quickly shushed him at the sight of you. He looked at her in confusion, clearly not reading the silent message she was trying to send with her eyes.
“What’s going on?” You asked, feeling just as lost as Chip.
“Just telling your mom how we brought in that Cameron boy again last night-” your mother cut him off with a harsh, “Chip!” and he threw his hands up in surrender.
You and your mother looked at each other for a long moment, saying nothing, and at the same time, everything.
“Don’t,” she pleaded quietly.
You turned fast and ran toward the door, grabbing her car keys and your purse off the dining room table as you passed.
“Y/N, do not do this,” your mom was up from the couch, running after you as you headed for the front door. “Tonight is my bachelorette party and tomorrow we have the rehearsal!”
“I’ll be back in time, I just have to-”
“No you don’t! You don’t have to!” She yelled, trying to grab the handle of the door before you could get to it, but you beat her to it and threw open the door.
“I’m sorry,” you called behind you as you ran to her car in the driveway. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Don’t bother,” she yelled from the front steps.
You stopped in your tracks, hands pausing on the handle of her car door as you whipped your head towards her in surprise.
“If you leave right now,” she said, eerily composed, “If you go to him, I don’t want you at my wedding. If you do this, y/n…I don’t ever want to see you again”
Your mother had said many harsh words to you in moments of frustration that she tried to take back later, but the way she was talking to you now, her tone so even and her words so carefully selected, you wondered if she’d practiced this speech. Then it dawned on you, she knew you would do this. She knew if you found out about Ward, that you’d run to Rafe’s side. And she was fully prepared to cut you out.
You opened the car door and got in, not looking back at your mom as you peeled out of the driveway.
Twelve Years Earlier…
“No, Rafe,” you scolded, hands on your hips. “You’re the cop, and I’m the robber!”
“Well too bad. I wanna be a robber, too,” he said, taking off the plastic sherriff's badge you had given him and throwing it in the playground dirt.
“We can’t both be robbers, that doesn’t make any sense,��� you told him.
The rules of make-believe were very clear, and you’d always been a rule follower. That is, until you started spending your recesses playing with Rafe Cameron. He was always in trouble.
“Sure we can, we’ll be like Bonnie and Clyde!” He encouraged, handing you his plastic toy gun.
“Bonnie and Clyde,” you agreed with a smile, taking the gun.
Suddenly, you didn’t care so much about breaking the rules. Not if it meant you got to keep playing with him.
(chapter 4)
a/n: y'all are blowing me away with all your kindness about this story!! I hope you keep loving it!!! Lots more to come (including some smut if you're patient🤫) 🫶
If you asked to be on the taglist and I forgot you, I'm sorry and please let me know!!
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The Long Road (Stanford Pines x Reader)
Chapter 3
WOOP WOOP CHAPTER 3 IS HERE AND BOY IS IT JUICY🫣 On a serious note though, we are finally getting into some of the exciting bits of the story!! I’m hoping by the next chapter we will finally be back in the present. No more sad flashbacks!! Also y’all writing Lizzy is genuinely my favorite. If this fic wasn’t about Ford I’d be wifing her up instead😔 Anyways- here’s chapter 3 you lovely souls!
Themes: Consumption of alcohol (reader lowkey gets wasted), major hangover, bill himself is a warning, suggestiveness kind of?? idk, heartache, lizzy is overall an amazing friend, alllll the angst and feelings, injuries, etc okay enjoy!
The drive to Lizzy’s place is quiet, the steady hum of the car engine and the sound of raindrops against the windshield the only background noise. You sit in the passenger seat, watching the trees pass by through the window as you fiddle with the wedding band around your finger. Lizzy glances at you occasionally, a small frown on her face as she senses your mood. She remains silent for most of the ride, giving you space to process your emotions if need be.
It's not long before the car rolls to a stop in front of her apartment building. You reach around to gather your belongings from the backseat and step out into the rainy afternoon. Lizzy follows suit, bright pink umbrella in hand as she leads you towards the entrance.
Once inside the building, she unlocks the door to her apartment building and the two of you usher inside. The soft yellow light of the living room envelopes you, creating a cozy atmosphere in stark contrast to the gloominess outside.
Lizzy begins to kick off her shoes, hanging her keys as she silently studies your face. She can see the turmoil in your eyes, and the uncertainty you’re trying to hide.
“So,” she says gently, breaking the silence. “You okay?”
Your eyes snap out of the daze they were in as you look over at Lizzy, giving her a weak smile.
“Oh, yeah I guess. Things went a lot better than I thought they would.”
Her expression relaxes at your response, a hint of relief showing on her face.
“That’s good,” she says as she walks over to the couch and plops down on it, gesturing for you to do the same. “I was half-expecting a tearful scene or something, honestly.”
You manage a light chuckle at her remark, plopping down on the couch next to her. You pull your knees to your chest as you grab a blanket draped across the back of it, wrapping it around you.
“Yeah,” you say softly. “Ford took it pretty well, actually. Better than I expected.”
Lizzy raises a brow as she leans against the back cushions, her arms crossing. “Girl, he better take it well after what he said to you. If it had been me, I would’ve dropped his ass on the spot.”
You can’t help but let out a small snort of laughter at her words, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of your lips for the first time in a while. It’s a relief to have Lizzy’s no-nonsense attitude around, her bluntness serving as a much-needed dose of honesty.
“Yeah, yeah Liz, I know.” you admit, the smile still lingering on your face. “I was a little tempted.”
Lizzy grins, satisfied with your response as she reaches over and pats your knee supportively.
“As you should,” she says with a nod. “You don’t deserve treatment like that of any kind, no matter how important his research is to him.”
You frown slightly at her words, opting to pick at the blanket below as a distraction.
“Yeah..”
Lizzy watches your expression carefully, sensing your discomfort. She tilts her head slightly, her gaze searching your face.
“But you don’t quite agree, do you?” she probes gently.
You let out a sigh, unsure how to articulate your feelings as you continue to fiddle with the fabric of the blanket.
“It’s just… complicated Liz,” you say, your voice tinged with guilt and frustration. “Yes, I’m hurt and angry with him, but I also understand where he’s coming from. We’ve been together almost our whole lives, and this is all he has ever worked towards. His research is important to him, and he’s under a lot of pressure.”
Lizzy nods slowly as she listens to your words, her expression a mix of understanding and concern. She reaches over and places a hand on top of yours, stopping your nervous fidgeting.
“I get that Y/N, I do,” she says quietly. “And I’m not saying he’s completely in the wrong. But you shouldn’t have to feel like an afterthought in his life either. That’s not fair to you.”
Your eyes brim with tears at her response, your hand twisting and taking hers tightly.
“I know,” you say, your voice threatening to break. “I just wish we could fix things..”
Lizzy squeezes your hand as your tear-filled eyes meet hers.
“And you will, Y/N. It’ll just take some time.”
A small, wobbly smile forms on your lips at her reassurance, a few tears slipping down your cheeks. The hope that you might be able to fix things with Ford, to find a way to bridge the gap that’s widened between you both, is a small but significant comfort.
“Thank you, Liz,” you murmur, your voice still shaky. “I really hope you’re right.”
Lizzy stands with a smile, her hand pulling away from yours and resting on your shoulder.
“I know I’m right chick, because you two love each other. I’ve seen it.”
Your heart warms at her confidence, a soft smile forming on your lips as you nod.
“Now, how about some pizza?”
The few weeks you spend with Lizzy fly by, days passing in a blur of movies, late-night conversations, and plenty of chocolate induced comfort eating. As the final night of your stay approaches, Lizzy turns to you with a sly grin on her face.
“Y/N, I know you’ve been pretty reclusive the past couple of weeks, but it’s your last night here and I refuse to let you spend it watching crappy movies in my living room.”
She places her hands on her hips and gives you a stern look.
“We’re going out for drinks and that’s final.”
You mope as you walk into her view from the bathroom, your voice annoyed and pleading as you speak.
“Liz, I don’t think this is a good idea. I’m a married woman, and this dress feels less than... modest.”
Lizzy rolls her eyes, her expression clearly unconvinced.
“Girl, you’re not here to pick up someone, you’re here to have fun. And as for the dress I picked out for you, it looks fantastic. Stop overthinking it.”
She gives you a onceover, inspecting your outfit.
“Besides, I’d like to see anyone who tries hitting on you tonight.”
You pout as you watch her, pulling down your dress so it covers your knees.
“I don’t know how Ford would feel about this..”
Lizzy scoffs, shaking her head.
“Ford’s not here, and we both know he should be the last person you’re trying to impress right now. You’re still young, and attractive Y/N, you deserve to enjoy yourself for one night without him on your mind. Not to mention you’ve got to live your life without kids while you can. I know the two of you have talked about it. ”
She grabs the hem of your dress and tugs it back up, flashing you a defiant look.
“And if he has a problem with you having fun, he can talk to me.”
You sigh as you give in, knowing Lizzy wouldn’t be changing her mind about your all’s plans for the night.
“Fine, fine. But we’re not staying out too late, okay?”
Lizzy grins, victorious.
“That’s more like it! And don’t worry, I promise we won’t be out until dawn,” she assures you. “Just a few drinks, maybe a little dancing, and then we’ll come back here. You trust me, right?”
“More than anything Liz.”
And that’s how you find yourself at the bar now, one too many drinks in and slumped against Lizzy’s shoulder.
She laughs at your state, her own cheeks flushed from drinking. She slings an arm around your shoulders, keeping you upright and steady in the booth the two of you occupied.
“Goodness chick, are you already trashed? We’ve barely been here an hour!” she teases, her voice lighthearted and amused.
You grumble something in response, your head spinning from the alcohol in your system. You take another sip from your glass, your tongue loose and inhibitions lowered.
“I blame you,” you slur, pointing an accusatory finger at Lizzy. “You’re a bad influence.”
Lizzy laughs loudly at your accusation, her eyes sparkling. “No one forced you to down those shots, Y/N,” she says, sliding out of the booth with ease. “I’m going to get you some water, alright? You stay right here in your seat.”
You nod lazily at her words, the idea of staying where you are very appealing. You watch groggily as she strides away, her bell bottoms and flare top in tow. She weaves through the crowd to make her way to the counter, your eyes becoming heavy.
Just as you’re starting to doze off from the alcohol, a presence suddenly sits down in the booth across from you. You blink in surprise, your vision clearing slightly as you focus on the newcomer.
Your eyes widen as you recognize your husband’s face, his features strangely serious and intense as he stares back at you. But there’s something off about him… Something otherworldly in his gaze that sends a chill down your spine.
“Well, well,” he says, his voice cool and calculated. “If it isn’t dear Y/N. You look a little worse for wear.”
Your vision blurs as you grip the side of the table, your words slurred as you speak.
“F.. Ford?”
Ford smiles widely, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. The expression is slightly unfamiliar, different from the familiar warmth you’re used to. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table.
“In the flesh, honey,” he drawls, his voice smooth and flirtatious.
“But I see you’ve had quite a few drinks already. Feeling a little dazed? I wonder how Sixer would feel about me seeing you in this state and not him. Hilarious!”
Your arm trembles weakly as you hold yourself up, vision blurring in and out as you sway slightly in your seat.
“Wha.. What? Why are you.. here..?”
His lips curl into a smug smirk as he eyes your disheveled form, eyes lingering on your exposed skin, clearly enjoying your confusion and intoxication.
“Oh, I had a little chat with Fordsy earlier. He agreed to let me take the reins for a few hours…”
He gives a careless shrug. “You know how he is. All work and no play. Figured I’d take advantage of the situation, hell, I even got him a new tattoo!”
You sit there, dumbfounded and wavering in and out of consciousness as your mind tried to process what Ford was talking about.
Ford’s – or rather, Bill’s – eyes rake over you again, giving an exaggerated sigh before his lips turned into a sly grin.
“You really are a sight for sore eyes, I can see why Sixer married you.”
Your thoughts are still spinning from the alcohol, making it hard to focus on the conversation. You struggle to keep yourself upright, your body feeling heavy and numb.
Bill notices your dazed state, chuckling as he gives a mockingly sympathetic tone.
“You look a little out of it, darling. You really shouldn’t have had so much to drink. Especially considering how easy it’d be to trick you into a deal right now.”
Your mind races with confusion as you stand up weakly, your gut telling you something wasn’t right as you sway back and forth, (Or maybe it was the alcohol) your vision blurring as you scan the place in search of Lizzy.
“Going somewhere? Those human legs of yours don’t look very stable!”
You wobble forward, ignoring his protests as you keep moving.
“You really should listen to me if you want to avoid that nasty bruise tomorrow!”
He calls out, and before you know it you trip, and everything goes black.
Hours later… aka early morning.
You slowly open your eyes, your head pounding and your memories fuzzy. You realize you’re lying on a couch in Lizzy’s apartment, a cool cloth pressed over what you assume to be a large tender bruise on your forehead.
Lizzy is sitting perched on the edge of the coffee table in front of you, her expression a mix of worry and frustration. She notices your eyes flutter open and lets out a relieved sigh.
“Oh thank god,” she mutters. “You had me worried for a second there. I stayed up with you all night waiting for you to wake up.”
“Liz?” you mumble, head pounding. “What the hell happened? My head is killing me..”
Her expression softens at your groggy murmur, her hand reaching out instinctively to brush the hair away from your face.
“Hey, take it easy,” she says, voice low and soothing. “You took a pretty nasty fall back at the bar. Hit your head on a table on the way down.”
Your eyes widen as your memory jogs itself.
“What..? Wait, Ford.. Ford was there?”
Lizzy freezes, her expression guarded at the mention of Ford. She averts her gaze, focusing her attention on the cloth that she’s holding against your forehead.
“Uh, yeah,” she says, her voice hesitant. “He showed up towards the end of the night when I went to grab you a water… You don’t remember?”
You think to yourself for a moment, your memory patchy and vague.
“I mean, I kind of do. But it was weird? Did something happen?”
Lizzy is silent, her gaze still firmly averted from yours. She adjusts the cloth, pressing it against your head with a little more pressure than necessary.
“Nothing happened,” she finally says, her voice tight. “You just had a little too much to drink and tripped, that’s all.”
Her words are curt and dismissive, clearly trying to downplay the situation. But there’s something in her expression, a flicker of unease that betrays her true emotions.
She glances at you briefly, her eyes meeting yours for a split second before moving back to your injury.
“Lizzy..?” you say, silently pleading with her to tell you the full truth.
She exhales slowly, her shoulders slumping in resignation. She knows you’re not going to let this go, and she owes you the truth.
“Alright, fine,” she mutters avoiding your gaze. “When I got back to the booth, it was exactly when you had fell..”
You listen closely, sitting yourself up slightly.
“I had noticed Ford when I got there, sure, but when I went to go help you..”
Lizzy pauses, a frown forming on her face as she continues.
“Ford laughed,” she says as her eyes meet yours, full of concern and.. fear? “And not in a lighthearted way, in a cruel mocking way Y/N..”
Lizzy lowers the cloth from your head, placing it in her lap as you sit there, dumbfounded.
“He was just… enjoying the view, I guess,” She mutters bitterly. “Like you were some kind of joke, I don’t know Y/N. It was fucking weird, really fucking weird. I didn’t like it. He laughed as if he was the one who had done it.”
Lizzy trails off, brows furrowed as she clenches her fists. While you, on the other hand, are utterly speechless.
Your mind reels with this new information, struggling to reconcile the image of Ford – laughing coldly and mockingly at your predicament - with the caring, affectionate husband you’ve known him to be your whole life.
“I… I don’t understand,” you stutter, your voice small and confused.
“He wouldn’t… he wouldn’t do that. Not Ford.”
But as you say those words, you can’t help but recall the other strange things that had happened earlier that night. Ford’s detached demeanor, his unfamiliar choice of words, the way he seemed so cold and calculating. Your heart clenches in your chest at the thought, leaving a sour taste in your mouth. Had something happened over the few weeks you’ve been gone? Did Ford get too deep in his research? Something wasn’t right.
As you try to make sense of the situation, Lizzy watches you with a mix of compassion and concern. She knows this is incredibly tough for you to hear, but she also seems to have her own worries about the situation.
“I don’t know Y/N,” she says quietly, her hands twisting in her lap. “It was just… so not him. I don’t know what the hell happened. But I’ve never seen him act like that before. It’s like he was a different person.”
Her voice trails off, leaving the two of you in silence as you’re both lost in thought.
Eventually, Lizzy breaks the silence, her voice sympathetic as she places a hand on top of yours.
“How about this, you rest up today, and when you’re ready, I’ll take you to the cabin to get some answers from Ford? Only if you feel comfortable, of course.”
You take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions inside of you.
“Alright,” you murmur. “I’m still feeling pretty rough, but I’d like to see him… tonight, if possible.”
Despite your confusion and worry, you know that facing your husband and talking with him is the only way to get answers. The answers that you crave so desperately in hopes that it’ll mend your breaking heart - and marriage.
Lizzy gives you a reassuring nod.
“Of course,” she says gently. “You rest up, and I’ll come get you when it’s time to go.”
She stands up, gently readjusting the cloth on your head.
“Try to get some sleep, okay?”
You nod, laying yourself back down.
You’re going to need it to cross the bridge that awaits you tonight.
READER AND BILL INTERACTION WOOP WOOP!! Also I’m not gonna lie, I feel like I messed up the timeline a little bit but I’m just gonna go for it. Thank you for reading! :)
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The Forgotten Daughter
Chaper 4
“I don't think Alfred likes what you're doing,” a girl a few years older than him appeared out of nowhere, taking the boy by surprise.
“And who are you?” the boy asked you with an angry tone, still hiding in an expensive vase that adorned one of the tables.
“I'm ___ and believe me, I also tried to steal it and sell it, but Alfred discovered me and punished me by making me clean the mansion with him” you still had that smile from ear to ear since you started talking to him.
“Well that won't happen if he doesn't find out” he defended himself, hiding the vase in a bag “unless you tell him” he pointed out angrily, you were his loose end in this crime.
“I promise I won't say anything if you tell me your name.”
Jason thought of all the great things you could have asked of him, but instead you just asked for his name, how stupid you were, well he doesn't really complain, he benefited from your treatment.
“It's Jason,” he said before walking away and leaving the girl behind.
When he saw her again, he saw her again with her smile and waving at him with her hands.
Thousands of books surrounded him, a smell of wood could be felt in the air, the smell of books also lingered.
Large shelves were everywhere, they created a large labyrinth in the library.
He was bored, he didn't bring anything to this place to entertain himself, even so, he preferred to stay here bored than pay the consequences of his actions.
Sometimes he wondered how it was that Alfred was the one who put him in order instead of the man who became his mentor.
“Hello, little thief mouse,” he was scared for a moment, until he saw the same girl from before.
He just frowned at her.
“I knew Alfred caught you” I noticed a bit of mockery in his words.
“You told him so” she reacted angrily, so she actually joked with him, typical rich girl behavior.
“Not how could I… we made a deal, didn't we?”
“…” Jason actually doubted that girl's words, she was very suspicious in his opinion.
“You know, Alfred is like a bloodhound, he knows what is happening under his nose, even if you don't believe it.”
“What are you doing in this place?” He questioned the girl who sat a considerable distance away from him, near a window.
“The same thing you are doing,” he replied.
“You are hiding so as not to be punished for stealing” he raised an eyebrow doubting her words, he couldn't imagine the elegantly dressed girl in front of him doing such a thing, surely she is being sarcastic.
“Well, not so much like that, I deleted Dad's work schedule” you smiled innocently “maybe then he could talk to me once, even if it was to punish me” your voice sounded sad when you said that phrase “but Alfred noticed it before, so I had to "I had to run for my life before he punished me... without cookies and helping him clean" your attitude became cheerful again, your hands also moved animatedly when you narrated your story.
Your way of putting yourself together amazed him, your joy was also contagious, that bubbly smile you had made him want to laugh with you.
He saw you searching on one side of the bookshelf, your fingers running through the covers of different books.
Until you stopped at one and carefully removed it from its place.
“have you ever read this book” you moved it in his face.
I didn't know why you were asking him.
Maybe this time you were going to make fun of him.
“It was my mother's favorite book, she always read it to me”
“Read it while you hide, I'm sure you'll love it” you offered it to him, he took it hesitantly, you didn't expect him to actually read it.
He saw you take out another book, from a different place.
You read it in a peaceful way, not caring about what was around you.
The boy carelessly glanced at the title, it didn't matter if it was that or dying of boredom.
Thus began a small friendship between the two, when he didn't have to play his role as Robin, spend time with Bruce or just wanted to take a break, he would go to that side of the library where he always found you, where they read books, sometimes he would tell you.
He talked about how hooked he was on the book you gave him and the author's other stories.
You asked him many times to read it and he observed that after a few chapters you would fall asleep on his shoulder while he continued reading.
The silly things that were told always made him happy.
He still hasn't forgotten the birthday gift you gave him, you took him to a movie theater where they showed movies that had already been released a long time ago, but they had something that made him feel very lucky to have you, it made him the happiest teenager in the world, which You took them to see the movies of their favorite author's books.
I didn't forget the times they sneaked into a room where musical instruments were kept, when you turned on a record player or the radio, you looked for the most moving rock songs or some bands with new concepts, as long as I made them move around the room at the same time. rhythm of the instruments and lyrics.
His heart hurt, the times he saw you cry, he couldn't bear to do it, because he would feel the same.
When you expressed your pain for not fitting in with the family, for being forgotten and left aside.
The guilt you felt for being jealous of him, for having Bruce's attention.
Oh what a good soul you were, to blame yourself for feeling a very common feeling, and yet continue to love him as your brother.
Maybe your father didn't really love you, but that gave him the advantage of loving you more, his beloved sister who always did her best to understand him, you let him be the same, you never imposed the idea on him to change, he was better than everyone.
He would forget you so he could have you all to himself. He was very selfish but he didn't feel guilty about it….
Suddenly he remembered everything, how could he forget about you, his older sister, his playmate in the mansion, you made his life in this silent and huge mansion more manageable.
How is it that their memories of all the adventures they lived disappeared, every time they escaped from the mansion to different places where they could be happy children, eating junk food like pizza, ice cream or donuts, they loved the fast food place they always went to , or the arcade they visited and stayed until the place closed.
All those good moments remained as a vague recurring scenario in his memory, a girl dressed elegantly and smiling at him, or reading a book unfazed by her surroundings.
Oh no, she was no longer in the mansion... like she would be if he broke his promise.
The little light of the day was disappearing, orange rays illuminated the library window with great intensity.
“You know sometimes I think it's time to leave this place” he heard the girl confess, she was lying on the floor watching him read his favorite book.
His face was distorted by the girl's words, hearing that made his world collapse, he was going to leave and abandon him.
He put his reading aside and slowly approached his older sister.
“But I won't do it, not while you're still by my side” he saw his sister's look of hope.
“I will never leave, I promise.” Jason knelt down next to the girl who was lying down and made that promise, he laid down next to the girl…
Their gazes ended up lost in the sky, the bright orange colors faded and brought with them a dark night.
It was there where he saw how his sister took out a round lamp, when she hung it up it illuminated the entire dark room, thousands of lights in the shape of stars.
It was a beautiful day, a promise from two young brothers, who were trying to find their way in such a strange and empty world, it was a shame that a few months later the promise was broken.
And the worst thing is that I never looked for her when she came back from the dead, she left you as a vague memory.
Oh he felt so guilty, he hated himself for that, his heart ached just thinking about how much you must have suffered knowing he died.
The worst thing is that he never came back into your life.
He needed to look for her, even if he had to do it for years, searching even the least inhabited places in the world, he would find you and make up for the time he left you, even if it cost him his life.
He stood up from the large dining room table, leaving the entire family present surprised.
He looked at Dick one last time, who was holding his phone, showing a drawing of you.
Now I knew what Damian was doing, it seems that he also fell for your charms, he doesn't blame him, you were a great older sister and he was happy to give you such a title.
What didn't make him happy was that you were in danger outside the mansion, even though he didn't like to admit it, or without one of them constantly protecting you.
He left the room, with all eyes on him, he turned a deaf ear to the questions that were thrown at him.
“Look, I have two cards,” Jon mocked when he saw that he was winning.
“Don't be confident, in the end I will win” Damian warned the boy who was celebrating his close victory, the fool thought, he had some cards that would help him have the game in his favor.
“A little streak of luck isn't enough for them to win,” you mocked the children, before pulling out a card.
When the two children saw her, they complained about their new disadvantaged situation.
It was fun to see them like that.
“You cheated” Damián pointed his finger at you, something didn't add up, you had very good tricks up your sleeve, he admitted it, not even his other brothers were capable of that.
“Noo, that's impossible, you just don't want to admit that I'm better at this game than you.” His gaze remained on you, scrutinizing every small action you made, looking for any mistake on your part that would reveal your trap.
“Wait, our judge never said anything” you pointed to your baby who was sitting in a baby seat, she was next to you in front of the two children.
“He's a baby, she'll never notice the obvious traps.” Seeing how his little niece looked at him in bewilderment and then her childish smile made him relax a little.
“How dare you say such a thing about Alice” you pretended to be offended.
“Yes, Damian, don't blame Alice because you're losing fairly.” Jon approached the baby and handed her one of his fallen toys after cleaning it up, which the girl gladly accepted.
“You see three against one, accept that there are no cheats”
The world worked in strange ways, you've known that since you were little, when your mother left and you met your father.
When you moved and found people who understood you and were part of your life.
When you were lost after graduating, in a repetitive job, and you found the news that you were having a baby.
When you saw her for the first time, your baby, in her little body, weak and fragile, crying non-stop, it made you wrap her in your arms and cry too, now you would have a blood family, someone for whom you would give your entire life, who you would be showered with love and attention.
Meeting your younger blood brother... and living with him was strange at first, but you made it a recurring thing in your life.
Finally, what brought the world to your door today, the person for whom you cried for a long time when you were a teenager, the person who left you another big void in your life...
The person who, at this moment, brought tears to your eyes, even with a stoic face and teeth clashing together, you could not hold back the rain of salty tears, you had to let go of your facial muscles, the trembling of your lips was stronger than expected. That you could bear.
“Oh little thief mouse” you said in a whisper, he just looked at you with his smile from ear to ear, the one he always gave you when they were doing some prank, when they were having fun playing in the rooms of the mansion.
You hesitantly brought your hand up to his face, gently touching his cheek, was he even real? You felt his skin, you ran over parts of his face, he had grown a lot.
The man also let himself be carried away by your touch, he had missed him so much, it made him remember the times when he would lie on your shoulders and you would caress his hair or run over his face playing with your fingers.
But when you removed your hand, he felt the cold take over the parts of his face that you caressed.
At one point you raised your hand again and… hit his cheek.
Although it was an emotional moment to see him again, a feeling of resentment remained in your heart, in your defense he deserved it for making you cry a lot and for leaving, even when he promised not to.
You smiled even with your eyes overflowing with tears, you jumped and hugged him, he was taller than you, he became a big rock.
It was difficult just thinking about talking to him, you needed to know how he was alive, maybe get angry for his recent appearance and for making you cry so much.
But when Damian appeared and behind him Jon carrying your baby's chair with her crying, you knew it wouldn't be easy.
Even more so when you see your little brother point a dagger at Jason.
Wait... how does he have that, he promised that he would no longer bring weapons to your house.
It was a very eventful day, on the part of your brothers who spent their time fighting like little children, and your baby who started throwing a tantrum that was difficult to calm down.
You must be very grateful to Jon who was a great help not only in calming your brothers but also who was by your side trying to calm your little daughter.
“enough” you shouted, stressed by the mess.
Everyone froze when they saw you upset.
You approached your brothers, pulled them by their ears until they sat on a different side of the room.
You walked over to your baby and Jon, carefully picking up Alice and rocking her.
You sat in a small chair rocking your daughter, trying to calm her down, observing all your visitors from time to time.
“wait is she your daughter?” Jason connected the dots and realized a sad truth, he missed the birth of his niece.
“Yes Jason is his daughter” Damián didn't let you answer “and I'm his favorite uncle” he showed an arrogant smile.
“You really think that,” Jason scoffed.
“Hey, I thought I was.” Jon reacted in shock.
“You're not even family” the two looked at him angrily.
“I don't care if I consider you part of mine” you smiled at the depressed boy.
He gave you a brighter smile. Well you could say that now your house became noisier.
Elsewhere at that same moment, a team of heroes caught one of the suspects of committing a terrible crime.
While Wonder Woman made sure to keep him in an interrogation room.
Batman and Superman were reviewing some data they had obtained when capturing the criminal.
His other companions with some of the oldest trainees of the supers were waiting in front of the big screen.
It was a very important case for everyone, so many were attentive to what was happening.
Martian Detective was the one who came in to question the man, but no one expected what he would say to be something shocking.
“I washed the minds of many villains, taking them out of the crime game, that's what they wanted to hear,” the scientist confessed after so much interrogation.
A manic smile adorned his features.
“You didn't wash their mind, but you also ruined it, but now they are incapable of being normal people, many of them have acquired a childish mentality or much worse” spoke a new voice.
A hero, dressed in black, entered the room, his voice was thick, it was obvious that he felt bitterness for what he did.
“Ahh and now I'm a psychopath for wanting the greater good.”
“You are destroying people's lives,” debated the man in the bat suit.
"It's nothing more than karma, they destroyed other lives, that they pay the consequences is not strange," the scientist commented without remorse, checking his nails with disinterest.
“Oh at least that's what she said, I just wanted to torture their minds until they died.”
“Are you talking about your accomplice?” they interrogated him.
"nono... I don't use that term with her, rather she is the moral compass of the group and the mastermind behind the brainwashing, I didn't want to see them pay the price for their actions... always an angel" it was funny say such a word, after all it was a nickname that suited him.
“so they caught red” you said with a bit of annoyance.
"Yes, Blanco hasn't returned from his vacation yet... I think we should postpone the next objective." His voice had a little worry.
Even if he tried to maintain a calm appearance, seeing his reaction on the monitors showed the truth.
“no... we will continue with the plan” you were firm with your response.
“gather the others we need to be prepared” With a few more words exchanged, they ended their conversation and one of the many screens lost signal.
You went to the crib on the side of the room and picked up your daughter.
You carried her sweetly in your arms, rocking her carefully, humming a song, when you sat down in a chair in the office.
You caressed the little girl carefully, her features were very delicate, she always brought a small smile to your face when you looked at her.
You smiled at your daughter.
“Don't worry, Alice, soon we won't worry about someone hurting you.” With one hand you caressed her head carefully.
She took your hand and started playing with your fingers.
“The Alice project is still going,” you whispered.
Your gaze returned again to the monitors, some showed images of different people doing some activities, others showed some data, some two contained news and the rest had no signal, only distorting colors were shown.
Tag list: @kore-of-the-underworld @vanessa-boo @jsprien213 @delias-stuff @vanilliona @bat1212 @yanrandom @Quiarst @palabra de niño salvaje @el termino @leo227 @sirenethblog @ masa para galletas @blueberry19000 @con seguridad
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rommate thoughts
getting up early in the morning to go to the bathroom and the world slows down down down to a viscous quality when you pass your roommate's door... are they still asleep? or will you bear witness to early morning noises? and what story will tell you? the sharp clicking and clacking of hurried dressing and rushed getting ready? lazy yawns and rustling sheets as they turn around for ten more minutes? maybe soft singing to shoo some lingering nightmares away? or other... soft things?
you know? <3
foreword: oh, Somna. I needed this softness today. this one goes out to those who might need it, too <3
cw: mentions of prescription drugs and weed
wc: 1.2k
___
When the last of the summer sun slips behind the edge of the city, you and Eddie open all the windows in the apartment.
Moving with practiced fluidity, you slide the little window above the sink into place, the larger one by the breakfast nook gets the same treatment; Eddie’s tall enough to reach the hand crank for the pane overlooking the shower, then ducks into both of your rooms to undo the last two latches.
You talk the whole time, exchanging laughter and comments even on opposite ends of the apartment. Cool night air floods the whole space, lush and floral from the hydrangea bush on the ground floor. This is the only ritual that makes sleeping in the summer months bearable.
Some nights, Eddie rolls up and you choose the record, legs slung over each other laps, talking over the hazy smoke and crooning speakers. Others, you get takeout and watch whatever’s good on TV, Eddie’s legs making the perfect lean-to for your back.
Some nights, you fall asleep on the couch- when this happens, come morning, there’s always a blanket tucked carefully around your form. Others, Eddie’s the first to drop- cheek smushed to your thigh, snoring lightly. You’re always gentle with him, rubbing his shoulder to get him up and in the comfort of his own bed, singing his arm around your shoulders as you walk him down the hall.
Last night, both of you turned in early. Eddie’s got a bad case of allergies, and you were tired from work, so you took your respective medicine and leave, evening ritual shortened and performed apart with just the bedroom windows.
In the morning, the air of your room is still cool. Birds twitter with the rise of the sun. Soon, it will be time to close everything up, to keep the temperature down and the summer heat out. For now, you yawn, stretch, kick your way out of the comforter, and pad down the hall.
Eddie’s door is slightly ajar. His room is dark, but you can just make out the tangle of his curls on his pillow, sheets tucked under his chin covering the length of his body. You move on carpeted footsteps, approaching bedside with quiet intention.
Without his eyes on you, it’s easier to indulge, taking your time to drink in his sleeping face. You sink to your knees beside the head of the bed for a better look- in the muted morning light peeking through his blackout curtains, Eddie looks peaceful.
His normal is theatrics, raised brows, sweeping expressions that draw you in and ebb like tides. In dreamland, he looks years younger, smoothed brow and lips parted slightly, breathing steady and sure.
“Hey.” It’s barely a whisper. You pair it with a soft touch just under his bangs, skimming your fingertip across his forehead. “Eddie. Gonna wake up?”
He must have taken Benadryl last night- he’s usually first to wake, tapping on your door with breakfast options and being a hurricane of noise until you’re forced to join the party.
You have the simple joy of watching Eddie’s face as he returns to you, to the waking world- a twitch of his lip, a couple of long, slow blinks. Consciousness crawls to the surface, leaves him rosy-cheeked and frowning, chasing your hand with his temple like a puppy.
You lay your fingers flat to his skull, thumb at the indent of his nose, and Eddie sighs, content. His eyes flutter shut again when you speak again. “Did you sleep well?”
“Mmm.” The sheets shift as he lifts a heavy arm to stretch over his head, revealing a bare torso littered with
ink. “Z’you?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. ‘M gonna… get up ‘n make breakfast…” His words are clunky, slurred and stuck to each other, lids heavy with sleep still.
From the floor, you sink a bit lower, scratching softly at the back of his head, grinning with amusement. “I don’t think you’re allowed to operate a stove while under the influence.”
His frown deepens, but he won’t make it stick, not for any length of time around you. Faux-upset ebbs, recedes, floods into a tired smile that takes up half his face. “Uh-huh. Might burn my eyebrows off. Would you still love me?”
Pretending to give it some serious thought, your hand slides down, a familiar weight at the side of his neck. “Hmm. Maybe we should stick to cereal today.”
“Asshole,” Eddie replies, fond and trying to draw out the jokes, sliding his own hand to your wrist to keep it in place. “What the hell. Can’t a guy lose his brows in peace?”
“We’ve got Cheerios, Golden Crisp, Cocoa Puffs-” Your valiant attempt to keep on track is overturned when Eddie tugs at your wrist with a whine.
“Christ. My brain is soup, maybe you can eat that ‘nd it’ll tide you over until I can move.” More insistent now, Eddie pulls at your elbow, then your upper arm, your other hand snapping out to brace on his mattress before you tip. “Jus’... lay with me for a bit.”
Closer now, your breath fanning over his ear as he pulls and you give your last bit of resistance- “You’re wearing boxers, right?”
“Jesus. You really think I’d subject you to the Morning Wood Show?”
“Okay.” You don’t sound half as exasperated as you’d like, moving with the help of his gravity; you sidle close to the wall, lying on your side and over the covers, propping your head up with one arm. “This bed really wasn’t made for two people.”
“Sure it is.” Eddie reaches for you again, and you go easy, let him pull you to his chest. Under your ear, his heart thumps, whooshing like a seashell that’s captured the sounds of the ocean. “See? Now will you kindly shut up. I’ve got meds to sleep off.”
“Coffee would help.” It’s a baiting tease. You don’t actually want to get up- far too comfy with the curve of his bicep across the blades of your shoulders. With your nose pressed to the hollow of his throat, you can smell everything that his skin has kept overnight- faded cologne, bar soap, sweat and earthy sleep.
“Shhhhutthefuckup before I eat your brains.” He already sounds like a faded version of himself, rasp lowering into that pre-dream tone. For comedic effect, Eddie opens his jaw to press the outline of his teeth to the crown of your scalp.
It makes you tremble with giggles, burrowing further into his body to get away. He soothes a palm down your back, and you settle again.
Under your ear, his heart beats slower, then slower still, until you can feel the rumble of a snore build. Your lashes brush against his bare skin, lulled by the stillness of the room, the shared warmth of your bodies even through the layers of fabric.
When late morning arrives, you’ll make the coffee, and Eddie will do the dishes. For now, the air stays cool and ushers in the sort of slumber that only comes from sharing space with someone precious.
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Senses
Pairing: Haechan x Reader
Words: 4,146
Genre: Smut (18+), angst if you squint
Includes: Fem!Reader, established relationship. Haechan is jealous and somewhat possesive bc of a silly little hug drunk Renjun gave you. Arguing, silent treatment, make up sex. Smut warnings under the cut !
Author's note: Possesive Haechan lives in my mind rent free. This story might not be for everyone because it includes very specific kinks that not everyone is into, but I had a lot of fun with this. If you like it, please leave a comment/ask. I also now have a ko-fi account, the link it's in my pinned post, in case anyone is interested in leaving a tip ! That's totally up to you tho, my stories are free for everyone. It's just another way to support (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) I'm reposting this bc I posted it yesterday but it wasn't showing up in the tags so hopefully they work now!
Smut warnings: I feel like this is the time to reveal I have an impregnation kink so bear with it. Dirty talk, teasing, you're somewhat turned on by Haechan's possesiveness in all honesty. Oral sex (f. receiving), mentions and fantasies of impregnation, impregnation kink, unprotected sex (stay safe ! ), creampie.
If looks could kill, Renjun would've had a fatal ending.
Way more fatal than the fate you are transiting right now, sitting in the passenger seat while Haechan's gaze shoots darts into the road as if it’s a target, surrounded by an overwhelming silence that not even the street sounds and the city’s bustling can ease.
If looks could kill, Renjun would’ve collapsed next to you the second he decided to wrap one of his arms around you in a warm, brotherly hug. One that, seemingly so innocent, was misinterpreted by your boyfriend from afar.
“Haechan,” you sigh, but it’s useless yet again. No matter how many times you’ve said his name on the way back home, it seems as though you're speaking to a wall. A stubborn wall that doesn't listen, in which your words bounce back and are interiorized with shame and embarrassment when you realize that all you’re left with is the palpable tension inside his car.
You can see said tension in the prominent veins of his arms, his clenched jaw and the way he is just staring at the horizon, not daring to look at you. You can feel it every time you call out his name and his body stiffens a little. You can hear it in his heavy heartbeats and rapid breathing. You can smell it on your clothes, impregnated with alcohol and cigarette smoke.
But you can’t taste it. You can’t taste the tension when your mouth is dry, and your throat is aching with words gathered at the lump in your throat, threatening to spill out at any moment in an attempt to know what's going on in his mind.
“Look he didn’t mean it that way,” you murmur, trying to ignore the stinging tears pricking in the corners of your eyes. “He just- he just put his arm around me. It wasn’t- it didn’t mean anything”.
“Of course it didn’t,” it’s the only response you get, right when his car takes the street of the complex you two live in.
Whether it's because of the sound of his voice, or the fact that you're really close to knowing your true fate tonight, you feel somewhat relieved.
“He was tipsy,” you continue, resting your head against the cold, glass window.
“You weren’t,” Haechan cuts you short right when he enters the underground parking lot. The car becomes illuminated by a dim, warm light, just enough to catch a better glimpse of your boyfriend, but he still doesn’t look at you. “And you still let him put his hands on you”.
“Come on, Haechan!” you groan, frustrated.
His jealousy always gets the best out of you, but somehow it also manages for the worst of you to show through. It's a complicated situation you always find yourself in, when something like such happens. You don't really like that side of him, the jealous and possessive one, the one that feels entitled to you as a person. But at the same time, you really can't begin to hate it either.
It’s enticing.
“Get out,” he says while unbuckling his seat belt. He does so with a swift movement, only to turn around the car just to open the door for you.
He is upset, and pissed, and really angry, but he can’t get himself to stop being a gentleman to you. What happened tonight it's not your fault, anyways, but he secretly wishes you'd pushed Renjun away.
In a way, Haechan thinks it’s your fault. Even when it isn’t.
But you still follow his orders to a t, getting out of the vehicle while he holds the door for you, closing it right behind you with a loud sound that makes you feel startled for a bit.
You know Haechan would never hurt you, but this side of him it's such a scary contrast to his usual personality. It’s somewhat unsettling, to say the least, but it is never frightening.
“You’re going to give me the silent treatment?”
After a minute or two, the lack of response gives you a one. You follow him defeated through the elevator doors that take you to the lobby complex, and lose all hope in getting him to talk.
Plus, it’s getting late, and you’re tired, so if Haechan doesn’t want to talk now, you’re not going to push him further anymore —it’s probably best to deal with all this tomorrow morning, after a good night of sleep.
You stop trying to get his attention when the doors of the lobby's elevator close, and just opt to stand right beside him in silence —you've said so much already, from the minute he dragged you out of the bar you and your friends were attending to celebrate Jaemin's birthday, to the final moments in his car; if he didn’t say anything then, he is probably not going to say anything now.
So you accept the silent treatment, walking alongside with him to your apartment door. He pulls out his keys, opens it for you and gets inside without even sending a look your way. You close the door behind you and watch as he throws his jacket to the living room couch, standing awkwardly while he figures out exactly what to say.
“Why did you-”.
“I’m tired,” you cut him short, passing by him through the living room and into your bedroom. “I’m going to bed”.
Like him, you pass by without sparing him a glance. Without even acknowledging his presence there, like you’re just announcing another part of your routine to no one in particular.
“You’re not,” it’s when you feel his hand wrapping around your wrist, and stopping you from leaving the scene, that you turn around to face him —you can still see the tension, in his knitted eyebrows and that gaze of regret he holds. “Let’s talk”.
“I wanted to talk,” you murmur, getting yourself out of his grip. “I spent all the ride back home trying to talk, but you weren’t even looking at me”.
“I was just trying to find the right ti-”.
“What even is the right time?” there’s annoyance in your voice, and a part of you wishes your emotions hadn't escalated too quickly. But if there's one thing that pisses you off, is how things are always done the way he wants them, when he wants them. “When you feel like talking?”
“Listen to me-”.
“No, Haechan, you listen to me,” you sigh, leaving your purse on the couch, right next to his jacket. “Renjun just put his arm around me, he wasn’t- it wasn’t even an actual hug. And yeah- he was tipsy, but he just- he wasn’t hitting on me or anything, God!”
The more you speak, the more stressed you become. Now that the words are falling from your lips, and you’re revisiting the facts, you realize how unprovoked Haechan’s anger truly is.
“You say he's one of your best friends, but you can't even trust him,” your hands travel all the way to your hair, pushing it back and away from your face. The despair is making your body feel warm, and you can even feel a thin layer of sweat gathering on your forehead and nape. “You say you love me, but you can’t even trust me”.
“I trust him,” Haechan murmurs, “and I trust you”.
“Then what is your problem?”
“I am the fucking problem,” the black-haired groans, imitating your previous actions by pushing his hair away from his face. It’s not usual for him to raise his voice, let alone sound this frustrated —the unexpected loud tone makes you swallow thickly. “I know it’s not your fault but I can’t help it”.
“It is not my fault,” you repeat in a whisper, trying to give some echo to his own words. “If it’s not my fault, then why are you acting like it is?”
Haechan goes quiet. Not because he wants to give you the silent treatment again, but because he doesn't know what to say.
Is there anything to say, anyway? You're right, and he feels like an asshole.
“Because,” he begins, all worked up because he believes the answer is rather obvious. Isn’t it? He’s acting like this because you’re his. Because no other man has the right to touch you, or even look your way. You’re his, and he doesn’t like to share. “Because you’re only mine”.
The sudden response makes your heart skip a beat or two. Is it wrong to feel something just by seeing him this angry? Is it wrong to feel proud of hearing him say something so possessive like that?
You feel conflicted —you’re enjoying this when you’re not supposed to.
“Yours?” you ask, with an eyebrow slightly cocked.
“Yes, mine,” you're not quite sure when it happened, but your bodies are now facing each other. You can smell the tension in his cologne, along with the remains of cigarette smoke and the alcoholic beverage Renjun threw Haechan’s way at the club.
“You’re so entitled,” you let out a soft scoff, one that does nothing to ease Haechan's sharp gestures. “Yes, you’re my boyfriend, but that doesn’t mean I belong to you”.
It's, perhaps, the frustration talking. You know what he means, but it's your anger the one to make the first move.
However, you're not expecting him to laugh.
You expected him to counter attack, to get even angrier.
You expected him to raise his voice, or be silent at all.
But you weren't expecting to see the corners of his lips rising in a half smile, one as mischievous at the comment you just made.
“What?”
“Do I need to remind you how mouthy you get when I'm fucking you?”
You stare at him for what feels like ages, not daring to blink or break eye contact. He is also staring at you, but far from looking angry or frustrated, he looks amused. It's like the roles have been reversed, and it's you now who doesn't know what to say.
“What- does that have to do with this?”
“You say you don’t belong to me,” Haechan sighs, the tip of his tongue poking just slightly through his cheek. “But you never seemed reluctant about me owning you when we're in our bed”.
You can feel your cheeks getting warmer, and a weird tension in your lower abdomen you’ve grown to be familiar with over the past years. It’s probably not the greatest time to get aroused, but you can’t control yourself when it comes to him.
Just like he can’t control himself when it’s about you.
“That’s- it’s different,” you weakly attack.
“Is it?”
Haechan can tell you're getting nervous. By the way your shoulders are moving at a faster rate, and you seem to be struggling to look at him, he knows he has hit a nail. Perhaps this is a way to make a point —the one he has been wanting to make all night long.
“How so?”
The words get caught up in your throat again, and the fact that you don't have an actual response makes you feel uneasy.
“If it's any different, then that means you're a liar,” he says, guiding one of his hands to your chin whilst lifting it up. You can hear the tension in the nuances of his voice, those who seem mocking and provocative. Those looking to make you lose a game you didn't even know you were playing, “so when are you lying?”.
His hand strokes the sides of your face, and then places a strand of hair behind your ear. The touch is enough to make you gulp, but it’s a nice contrast to his harsh and filthy words.
“Are you lying to me when you say you belong to me, and that you’re mine?” Haechan asks, rubbing his thumb against your cheek. “Or are you lying to me right now, just to rile me up and get what you want?”.
That wasn't precisely a conscious plan, but now that he says so it seems that all your efforts to get him all worked up were to end up just like this.
“I just- Haechan”.
“What?” he asks you. The hand that was caressing your cheek is now placed at your waist, pulling him closer to his body.
You can feel the tension when his bulge brushes against your abdomen, hard and throbbing, pressing against you. It’s too tempting to stop, too inviting to know what he has to say without using no words.
So you allow him to touch you, to press his body against yours to make you feel how much he needs you. There is really no point in resisting, because you’ve wanted this all night long.
“Pervert,” you whisper, panting when you feel his rough grip on your ass. “I bet you were thinking about this on the way back home”.
“And you weren’t?” Haechan scoffs, quietly. “I could see your thighs squeezing together every time you looked at me”.
Embarrassingly enough, he is not that far from the truth.
“I can’t help it,” you wrap your arms around his neck in an attempt to be closer to him. “I’m sorry”.
“Save your apologies for later,” his lips are dangerously close to yours, and you squirm between his arms when you feel his breath caressing your chin and jaw. “You’re going to need them for being such a liar”.
And, finally, you can taste the tension —it tastes like alcohol, cherries, and rage. Like mint and something else.
“Fuck,” you whisper in between kisses when you feel his teeth sinking on your lower lip, “Haechan”.
It doesn’t take him long to guide you to the bedroom, managing to walk the small, dark hallway with his hands all over your body and his eyes closed.
“Haechan,” you voice once again when he lays you down in the mattress, his skillful hands looking for the hems of your jeans and underwear to pull them off in one go. Truth be told, you’ve never seen him this desperate; his lips are all over your thighs and legs, kissing them sloppy while he caresses the sides of them. He’s sucking and nibbling at the sensitive flesh, marking you every now and then in places he knows he’s the only one entitled to see.
Everything is happening too fast, but you don’t want him to slow down —you’re just as desperate as he is.
“You’re fucking dripping,” Haechan groans when he catches a glimpse of your sticky folds, all glistening with your arousal, “shit”.
He doesn’t hesitate before hooking both of his arms under and around your thighs, keeping you still in place while his lips approach your throbbing cunt.
“You think Renjun could get you this wet?” Haechan hums against your thigh, his intimidating gaze looking up at you while you struggle to support your upper body weight with your arms. For an unknown reason, you feel your body melting and going numb at such comments.
“N-no,” you shake your head.
“Do you think your body would react to him like it does with me?” The soft and teasing kisses are killing you; his lips are licking and sucking everywhere but where you want them.
“No, Haechan!” The cries in your voice makes him grind his hips against the mattress, hoping to get even the slightest friction.
He wishes he could keep on teasing you, drive you insane just like you did to him back there at the club. But, truth be told, he can't spend another minute without feeling you, in all the sense of the word.
“Apologize, then,” Haechan says, brushing the tip of his nose against your throbbing clit. That single touch is enough to earn a whimper from you, and it is also enough to make you lose all logic and rationality within you —not that you have any whenever you're underneath him in your bed to begin with.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, clenching around thin air every time the word falls from your lips. “Fuck, I’m sorry Haechan. I’m sorry”.
“Sorry for what?” the dark-haired asks again, acting oblivious to the situation. “What are you apologizing for?”
Whether it's mercy or pure neediness, his tongue unexpectedly laps at your wetness. He licks your slit and toys with your clit, just enough to provide you with some pleasure but without distracting you from your task.
“For- shit, for letting him touch me,” you sigh, kicking your head back. You’re not quite sure what exactly you’re sorry for, but you’re willing to say anything just to feel him. “For letting him- put his arm around me, fuck”.
Haechan smiles against your pussy. A genuine smile, one that can only indicate he’s feeling proud.
“See how easy it is?” he coos, continuing his ministrations on your clit, “you tell me what I want to hear, and I give you anything you want”.
Despite Haechan’s early accusations of you being a liar, you mean everything you say when you’re in bed. In fact, you're only brutally honest when he's deep inside you. When you've lost all your senses and sanity, and when all you are left with is pure bliss.
“I’m sorry,” you keep on chanting, latching your fingers against his dark locks in an attempt to bring him closer to you.
You know you're seconds away from coming, and he knows this too, so he allows you to manhandle him against you as much as you want. He hisses when you grip his hair particularly harsher, but he doesn’t stop; instead, he licks you ardently, looking forward to your orgasm.
“Show me how sorry you are, then,” he murmurs against you, his nose and chin shining with your own wetness. “Come”.
It’s the sight of him between your legs, along with his crude words and pretty eyes that pushes you to the edge. Your hands clasp the bed sheets beneath you, and your thighs threaten to close around him but he is quick to keep them apart with his hands.
“You’re getting shy now?” he teases you while you overcome your high, writhing underneath his hold. “Keep them open for me pretty, I want to lick you clean”.
Much against your body’s will, Haechan manages to keep you in place while he helps you through your orgasm, causing waves of overstimulation to wreak havoc inside you from your head to the tip of your toes.
“Haechan!,” you gasp when you feel him pulling away from your body, the sudden loss of contact making you feel somewhat relieved after the pinches of pain caused by the overstimulation.
His lips are bright peachy and swollen, all covered in your own orgasm.
“Too much?” Haechan asks, unbuckling his belt while getting rid of his clothes. You imitate him and do the same, discarding your blouse and bra somewhere along the room.
“No,” you shake your head, inviting him between your legs.
He positions himself in the middle, and the sight makes you clench around thin air yet again. His cock is hard and reddened, throbbing almost visibly in front of your eyes.
“You still think you can take me?” he asks yet again, trying to make sure you’re not sore from how aggressive his early ministrations were.
“I’ve been wanting you all night long, Haechan,” you murmur, wrapping your legs around his hips and your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. “Don’t care about anything, I just want you to fuck me”.
He kisses your forehead, and then your chin. The tip of his cock is pressing against your clit and, at times, against your entrance, but he is still nowhere near being inside you.
“See,” Haechan whispers with his lips against your jaw. “I know you’ve apologized, but I still need to make sure everyone knows you’re mine”.
His words make you let out a quiet scoff.
“How come, exactly?”
“What if I came inside you?” Even the idea makes you gasp —half a gasp, that ends up sounding more like a moan, “hm?”
For this, he needs to feel you. So he loses no time pushing himself inside you until he bottoms out. You dig your fingernails into his biceps when you feel the tip of his cock brushing against a sensitive spot inside you, and it’s only then when he continues to tell you, perhaps, his filthiest fantasy.
“What if I got you pregnant?” It’s crazy, the rational part of you acknowledges. But the aroused one, the one that lacks logic, only gets even more turned on at his words. “That way, everyone will know what we do when we’re alone”.
“Shit,” you cry, clenching around his cock.
He smiles when he feels it.
“You’d like that, don’t you?” After a couple of slow, delicate thrusts, he begins to acquire a faster pace when you get used to having him inside you. “You're squeezing my cock so hard”.
“You want to- get me pregnant?”
Even the words falling from your lips make you clench around him yet again, and it takes him a lot of effort not to come just by those gestures alone.
“That way everyone would know you’re mine,” Haechan sighs, pistoning deeper inside you. “Everyone would know that I’m the one who fucks you good, the one you allow to come inside that pretty pussy of yours”.
You whimper at his words, nibbling on your lower lip while trying to contain every lewd sound that threatens to escape your lips.
“I bet you’d- look so pretty like that,” the more aroused he gets, the less he cares about what he says —it seems as though he’s not having any inhibitions, and you love it. “Fuck”.
It's a wild fantasy, but you two seem to share it. You’d be lying if you say that the mere thought of carrying his child is not appealing to you, because it is.
“Yeah?” you ask, feeling him losing all pace and rhythm of his hips. “Why don’t you get me pregnant, then?”
The dirty talk does wonders to him, because the minute you start voicing his thoughts it’s the minute his movements become sloppier, rushed, and faster. He wants to come, he desperately needs it.
But he wants you to come first.
“I will,” he groans through gritted teeth. “If that’s what you want, then I will”.
Your heart feels fuzzy, and the tension on your lower abdomen starts increasing with each thrust. It’s not going to be long before you come around him, for the second time in a row, and as much as you’d like to savor this moment, you’re too desperate to take your time.
“Fuck,” Haechan curses under his breath, feeling his arms going numb —the pleasure is too overwhelming for him to maintain a steady pace, but he makes an effort. “Make me come, baby. Squeeze my cock until I come inside you”.
The dirty talk, combined with his gaze and the future promise of offering you that something only he can give it to you, makes you reach your orgasm again.
“Coming,” you cry quietly, wrapping your legs even tighter around his hips. You arch your back against him, and he hugs you tightly in place while he continues fucking your pussy, just as much as your grip allows him too.
“That’s it,” he praises, leaving wet kisses on your forehead and cheeks while you overcome your high. “Are you going to let me come inside you tonight? Fill you up with my cum?”
“Yes!” it’s all you manage to say in the midst of such a devastating arousal. “Yes, yes, Haechan”.
He buries his face on the crook of your neck, and keeps on fucking your swollen pussy until he achieves his orgasm too.
A hot, sticky feeling is quick to flood your tummy, as well as your inner thighs. He continues fucking you slowly and gently, even after coming, to prevent his arousal to leak out of you.
“Shit,” you cry, wrapping your arms around his neck so that he plops down on top of your body, “I can feel you”.
He hugs you into his embrace, while still inside you, and attempts to stabilize himself before leaving the bed to provide you with some wet towels and water. Truth be told, he wishes to stay like this forever, with your naked body underneath him, and his leaking cock inside you.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, leaving a quick kiss on your lips. “I know it’s-”
“Hey,” you cut him short, cooing softly. “We can talk about it tomorrow morning”.
He gets the sense that you're comfortable right now, despite the early fight, so he follows your plea compliantly.
“I’m an asshole,” Haechan jokes.
“Sometimes,” you scoff softly, finding his hazy gaze in the midst of the dim lights. “I’m glad you can acknowledge it”.
“And I’m glad you still keep up with it”.
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Whalien52 (m) | pjm
you’ve been working for the New World Order as an assassin for years, guarding secrets without batting an eye or asking questions. But when a striking pink haired man shows up at the headquarters stealing information, he makes you question everything. With all of humanity at stake, what will you do?
→ Pairing: Jimin (kitty gang!jimin) x reader (female) → Genres/AUs: apocalyptic, survival, dystopian + angst, fluff and smut. → Tropes: strangers to lovers → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 10.6k → Warnings + triggers: changing povs (between reader and Jimin), action, weapons, guns and swords, blood (it’s not in extreme detail or anything, but blood is mentioned a few times), death (people are dying, but no important character dies!!!), wounds, shooting, self defense, m*rder in self defense, sickness (cancer due to radiation), mention of a cure and treatment for said cancer. Explicit smut in the form of unprotected sexy, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, degrading names, multiple orgasms, creampie, kissing. → Author’s note(1): okay, so I’ve been struggling a lot with this one too, lol. I miss writing sappy romance I think. This isn’t sappy, and I’ll hardly call it romance, well, it’s in there, but there’s honestly so much action in this one, compared to the Yoongi one. It’s also more fast paced, and shorter. I hope it’s alright! It was fun to write, even though I know nothing about writing action, I hope I did it well! And to everyone who’s scared or reluctant to read it because there’s angst and it’s kinda heavy/dark themed— IT HAS A HAPPY ENDING. There, I spoiled the ending for you 😇 + This story is a gift for my friend @remmykinsff! Thank you so much for sharing your Kitty gang Jimin folder with me, and letting me use you for motivation and inspiration to get out of my writer’s block 💜 → Read on AO3? [link]
[navi]*: end of the world // end of the world: a flickering hope // shower drabble // whalien52 // end of the world: epilogue *this story is technically a stand alone one-shot (and can be read just as is), but it is also a spin-off from another one-shot (that got a sequel, so a two-shot?). The characters and the story are the same, but the first two stories takes place before this one, and it’s with Yoongi x reader (not the same reader though).
It’s raining again. Lately, it’s always raining. The rain is everlasting, it seems, drenching the city in a ceaseless, oppressive downpour. The Capital is perpetually shrouded in darkness and gloom, a place where the sun is a distant memory. You’ve grown accustomed to it, ever since you were recruited by The New World Order to guard their secrets. You’ve been trapped in this godforsaken city ever since. Do you like it? Not really, but it’s a job that pays well. They give you a roof over your head and enough to survive—luxuries in this ravaged world.
You came from nothing, clawing your way up since the war began, fighting for every scrap of existence until The New World Order caught you. They gave you a choice: die or work for them. You chose to live, naively hoping that working for them wouldn’t be so bad. But it turns out, it can be quite bad. You’ve done unspeakable things to keep their secrets safe. You’ve killed for them, just as you had killed for yourself before they found you. Now, you don’t even flinch when you have to eliminate someone who gets too close to the truth. Part of you wonders what these secrets are, but you’re not interested. It’s just a job, nothing more.
Tonight is another shift. You head to the New World Order building, ready to patrol the city under the cover of darkness. First, you gear up: leather pants, a basic white shirt, and a black leather biker jacket. A belt around your waist for support, with a strap around your thigh that holsters your gun. A small knife is sheathed at your back, just in case.
You glance out the window. The world outside is as bleak as ever; night has fallen, and the rain taps a morose melody against the glass. You sigh, watching the neon signs flicker, casting a purple and blue glow that dances across your room. Grabbing your keys, you lock the door behind you and sprint down the stairs. This apartment is nothing special, but it’s a step up from the streets where you once lived before the war. It’s a small comfort in a world gone mad.
The rain soaks your skin, but you don’t bother with an umbrella. It’s just rain. You run down the dimly lit main street, the few wandering souls avoiding eye contact as they scurry to obey The New World Order’s curfew. Your boots splash through rain puddles on the unpaved, muddy road. It doesn’t take long to reach the towering New World Order building—its looming presence still sends a shiver down your spine, but you step inside anyway. Scanning your security card, you brace yourself for another night of duty.
You start your shift monitoring security cameras and patrolling the eerie hallways for any sign of suspicious activity. As you return to the front desk, you catch sight of a man attempting to bypass the card reader.
“What are you doing here?” you growl, your hand instinctively hovering near your gun.
The man fumbles with the machine, clearly lacking a security card. Desperation edges his voice as he yells, “I want the data that The New World Order is keeping from us!”
“You’re not getting that,” you reply coldly, assessing the intruder. He seems harmless, more frustrated than dangerous, so you relax, slightly.
“Do you even know what it is that you’re protecting?” he spits, abandoning his futile attempt to climb the machines as the alarm blares. The piercing sound echoes through the corridor, and you quickly pull out the phone issued by the New World Order to silence it.
“I don’t care what I’m protecting. You’ve got no business here. Now leave,” you say through gritted teeth.
“You shouldn’t be so blind to the secrets you’re safekeeping for them,” he hisses, making another hopeless attempt to scale the security machines.
His efforts are laughable, a pathetic display of defiance. A dark chuckle escapes your lips. “Leave, or I’ll shoot you.” This is his final warning. If he doesn't heed it, he’ll meet the cold, indifferent justice of your gun. So be it.
He freezes, uncertainty flickering in his eyes as he gauges your resolve. Your unwavering stare breaks his spirit, and he quivers in fear before backing off. Without a word, he turns and bolts, likely retracing his steps. Fool, you think, watching him flee.
The encounter leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. He’s not the first to suggest you should question your work and the secrets you guard. Maybe you should. But you know the moment you do, you’re dead. You’ll lose everything you’ve achieved and everything you hold dear. That fear keeps you in place, and you reckon that’s the point of it all—the New World Order instills fear in everyone, ensuring their control remains absolute.
“Are you sure you’re okay to go in there alone?” Bora asks, her voice tinged with unease. It’s understandable—years of meticulous planning and reconnaissance are culminating in this moment. Whalien52 is about to attempt the impossible: stealing the cure for cancer that The New World Order keeps hidden away.
Jimin isn’t scared. He’s accustomed to these kinds of missions, though this will be his most significant one yet. A good kind of nervousness tingles through him, a mix of excitement and determination. “Yeah, Hobi’s done plenty of research. I know exactly which room to hit,” he says, flashing Bora a reassuring smile.
He gets why she’s scared. Bora and Yoongi have been through hell, and with both of them sick, finding the cure is personal. Yoongi’s condition has worsened over the years, a stark reminder of the injustice that The New World Order perpetuates by hoarding the cure while people die from radiation-induced cancers. The thought makes Jimin’s blood boil.
It’s this anger that led him to join Whalien52 after meeting Jungkook in the wasteland, a desolate remnant of what the bombings and wars left behind. The new government organization threatens to transform the remnants of humanity into a dystopian nightmare—if it hasn’t already.
Jimin thrives as an assassin, driven by a relentless quest for truth. The thrill, the chase, the stealth—it’s all part of the adrenaline rush he lives for. But beneath the excitement lies a deep-seated hatred for the rich elites who hid in their bomb-proof bunkers, safeguarding their technology, only to reemerge and rebuild a civilization for themselves amidst the ruins. Their swift reconstruction of the Capital stands as a bitter reminder of their enduring power.
The injustice has turned him bitter. It’s why he’s vowed to do everything in his power to change the world, to help Whalien52 make knowledge free and accessible to everyone, not just the rich. The gap between rich and poor has become a chasm, with only the vetted elite allowed to live in the Capital. The rest of humanity is left to fend for themselves, struggling for survival in a world that hopes they’ll destroy each other.
Jimin won’t stand for it. This mission isn’t just about stealing a cure, or getting data on possible treatment—it’s about justice, about leveling the playing field, about giving hope to those left in the dark. And he’ll see it through, no matter the cost.
Yoongi comes up to him, interrupting his thoughts. “I’m serious. You don’t have to do this for me,” he coughs, his voice so raspy it sounds like he’s been smoking forever.
Jimin places a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder, his gaze shifting briefly to Bora before settling back on Yoongi. “We are doing this for you. But I’m also doing this for everyone else,” he begins, his voice thick with emotion and a glimmer of hope. “You’re not the only one suffering from cancer because of the radiation. We want to help everyone; we can’t just let people die.”
Yoongi flashes a soft smile and sits down to rest, the effort of standing too exhausting for him now. Jimin will do this for him, for Bora, and for the rest of humanity. He doesn’t mind risking his own life in the search for a cure—he might need one later himself.
“I’ll go get ready,” he says, turning away from Bora and Yoongi. He walks past Jungkook and Taehyung in the dimly lit hideout and heads into his room. He pulls on his leather pants, a white shirt, and then his favorite leather bomber jacket, adorned with pink, silver and purple sparkles. The jacket complements his pink fluffy hair perfectly. He retrieves his gun, tucking it into his back pocket—risky, he knows. Then he picks up his katana, swinging it over his back into its sheath. The sword, his preferred weapon, feels reassuringly familiar.
Now he’s ready. Ready to infiltrate the fortress of secrets and retrieve the cure. Ready to fight for a future where knowledge and healing aren’t hoarded by the few. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for the mission ahead, a mission that could change everything in this dystopian nightmare they call life.
He says goodbye to everyone, hugging each of them tightly, aware that any moment could be his last. This mission is perilous, and while he has infiltrated The New World Order before without getting caught, this time is different. He will be venturing deeper into their stronghold than ever before.
After bidding farewell to his friends, Jimin strides outside to his motorcycle. The powerful machine, stolen from the Capital, gleams with a sleek, futuristic design. Its pale metal body has an industrial look, and its size dwarfs Jimin as he mounts it. Neon lights flicker to life as he revs the engine, the bike purring beneath him. With a flick of his wrist, he speeds towards the Capital, sand flying from the back wheel.
He knows he must be cautious once he enters the city. Stealth is crucial to avoid detection and successfully infiltrate The New World Order’s building. Failure means everything will have been for nothing.
The rain is endless, a perpetual downpour that defines the Capital. He doesn’t know why it always rains here, only that it does. The empty streets are illuminated by the neon signs adorning the various buildings, casting a colorful glow in the darkness.
He parks his motorcycle near the New World Order building, at the secluded back entrance where security is minimal. This is his best chance.
Taking a deep breath, he opens the door.
It’s all or nothing.
It’s getting late, and the monotony of patrolling the building is wearing you down. The nights are usually quiet, save for the occasional curious stranger trying to access the information you guard. You sigh and head back to the surveillance room, your eyes scanning the screens for anything unusual. Suddenly, you spot a figure moving on one of the monitors. A shot of adrenaline surges through you, breaking the dullness of the night.
The absence of triggered alarms tells you the intruder is a professional. No amateur could bypass the sophisticated security systems. The thought excites you, your heart rate spiking as you dash through the corridors, your hand hovering near your gun. You search each room hastily, growing more anxious with every empty space, until you reach the final room—the one that holds the most guarded secrets.
You pause outside the door, peeking in cautiously.
Inside, a well-defined man with pink, fluffy hair, leather pants, and a sparkly bomber jacket stands with his back to you, working at one of the computers. This is the information hub, where all vital data is stored. This is bad, but you have the element of surprise. Steadying your breath, you draw your gun and step into the doorway, your voice commanding, “Freeze!”
The man doesn’t freeze. Instead, you watch as he swiftly pulls a USB drive from the computer, moving with a grace that is almost dance-like. Before you can react, he glides across the floor and stands before you, a sword at your throat. A thrill of excitement runs through your body.
You stand still, a smile twisting on your lips, locked in a standoff with the pink-haired intruder. He’s chosen the wrong weapon to threaten you with. “You brought a sword to a gunfight?” you laugh, despite the blade pressing against your throat, your gun aimed at his chest. Who really has the upper hand here?
“Oh, I have a gun too,” he smirks, his voice sweet but laced with danger.
“What are you doing here?” you seethe, standing your ground.
“Getting information,” he replies matter-of-factly, not even breaking a sweat.
“You’re stealing. I can’t allow you to leave,” you spit, but he doesn’t flinch.
“Do you even know what kind of information you’re guarding?” he challenges, his words striking a chord. He’s not the first to ask you this today, and it makes you pause. “I know nothing, and I don’t care,” you respond after a moment’s thought.
“You really should,” he says, stepping closer until your gun is pressed against him. He doesn’t seem afraid, almost as if he’s an adrenaline junkie like you. But no, he’s not scared. He’s reckless. Your finger hovers near the trigger, but something makes you hesitate. You don’t know what it is, and you don’t like it.
His eyes, dark pools of obsidian, glint with amusement. He chuckles, and before you can react, his boot slams into your stomach, sending you sprawling to the cold, hard floor. Your gun slips from your grip, clattering away.
The man towers over you, his boot pressing down on your pussy, the katana poised at your throat, its cold blade grazing your skin. You raise your arms in a defensive pose, trapped and weaponless. He smirks, waving your gun tauntingly.
“You’re guarding information that can save humanity. What you’re doing is sick,” he spits, pressing his boot harder into you. Why does that feel hot? Why do tingles shoot through your body? Damn it.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you growl back, genuinely confused. Your mind feels hazy with adrenaline and something else.
“The cure for cancer,” he snarls, his anger palpable.
Your eyes widen. The cure for cancer? You’ve heard whispers, but you didn’t know that’s what you were guarding. You know there’s treatment, but the New World Order has been hoarding those as well, making treatment inaccessible for the common people.
He presses his boot into you even more, a mix of pain and pleasure surging through your body.
“Oh my god. Are you getting turned on right now?” His voice drips with dark amusement, mocking you.
“Fuck no!” you yell, even as your body betrays you, responding to the pressure of his boot. You know you’re aroused, but you refuse to let him have the satisfaction of knowing that.
“I can smell you from here. There’s no point in lying,” he chuckles, lifting his boot from your crotch, though his sword remains at your throat.
You hate how observant he is, and you need to change the subject, to find a way out. You growl, “I’m not. And you’re not getting away. I don’t care if it’s the cure for cancer or whatever you’ve stolen.”
“I have my katana at your throat. I’m sure I’ll make it out just fine,” he replies, his dark chuckle sending shivers down your spine. “I’ve got what I came for,” he says, smirking down at you. “I’m flattered you’re turned on. Maybe if we met under different circumstances,” he adds, his eyes glinting with dark lust. “You should look into the secrets you’re guarding,” he says, withdrawing his katana and retreating, tossing your gun far out of reach.
You scramble to your feet as soon as he’s gone, snatching up your gun and bolting after him through the corridors. He’s silent, almost ghost-like, but you chase him nonetheless. He can’t leave with the vital information. The New World Order will have your head if they find out. You hear the click of a door—it’s the backdoor. You rush outside, the heavy rain stinging your face as the neon lights flicker on the deserted street. You catch sight of his motorcycle’s tail light disappearing into the rain.
Fuck.
As soon as he crosses the threshold between the Capital and the dystopian suburb, the rain ceases abruptly. He twists the throttle of his motorcycle, speeding through the desolate landscape back to the hideout. His heart pounds, but he doesn’t look back. He doubts he’s being followed.
The journey back is swift. As the hideout comes into view, he decelerates, parking his bike with a sense of triumph. He’s relieved not to return empty-handed and, more importantly, to have survived the mission. Reflecting on the encounter, a smirk forms on his face. You were easier to deceive than he anticipated. A part of him hopes to see you again, intrigued by your reaction to seeing him.
He wonders if he could sway you, make you see the truth about the secrets you’re guarding for The New World Order. Could he enlist you in his cause? The thought intrigues him, though he doubts it. You seemed too ignorant, too indifferent to the atrocities made by the regime.
The night is still young as he dismounts his bike and strides toward the door. It opens easily—unlocked, as usual. They really should lock it; you never know who might come by.
He’s greeted by a flurry of curious eyes as his friends jump up, their eagerness palpable. “Relax,” he gestures, “sit down.” Reaching into the pocket of his leather pants, he pulls out the USB drive. The tiny piece of tech holds the key to saving the world— the cure for cancer. Something they had all doubted, but had uncovered through relentless investigation, exposing the dark secrets of The New World Order.
He strides over to Namjoon, whose eyes glitter with excitement, his fingers itching to grasp the device and run an analysis. Jimin hands him the USB drive with a proud smile. “Here,” he says, “I hope everything’s on there. I was interrupted while pulling the data.”
“Thank you,” Namjoon responds, already heading into a back room, eager to delve into the contents.
Jimin collapses onto the spot Namjoon vacated, feeling the weight of their stares.
Bora clears her throat. “You said you were interrupted?”
“Ah, yeah,” he chuckles, revealing his crooked teeth. “A security guard. But she was easy to handle.”
“You make it sound so easy,” Yoongi grunts, his voice strained and raspy.
“It was,” Jimin shrugs, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other. In truth, it had been almost too easy. He can’t shake the thought: had he overlooked something, or was fate simply on his side this time?
Jungkook’s questioning stare pierces through Jimin, but he doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t want to share how you made his blood boil with adrenaline and lust. He doesn’t even know your name, but you ignited something within him, a cocktail of emotions in mere moments. He’s both intrigued and captivated by you.
Time blurs as Jimin waits, lost in his thoughts until Namjoon reenters the living room. The look on Namjoon’s face is enough: it’s not the cure.
“This data isn’t complete,” Namjoon groans, frustration etched across his features as he waves the USB drive. He paces anxiously, “It has some information on cancer treatment, but the data on the cure is fragmented. Jin, can you take a look at it? All I see are molecules. I don’t know what to make of it,” he adds, his voice tinged with nervous laughter and defeat.
Jimin’s stomach sinks, a heavy weight of disappointment and anger settling in. He had hoped to secure all the needed information, but now they’re still unable to help Bora, Yoongi, and countless others suffering from the cancer that The New World Order likely caused. The thought sickens him. It wouldn’t surprise him if they were behind everything—the war, the slaughter of mankind. Sometimes it feels like The New World Order is playing a sick game of battle royale with the world’s population. People fight desperately, both for information and survival, in a world where information and treatment are hoarded like treasures.
Jimin’s mind races, thoughts swirling with the grim reality: when people are dying and sick, they become desperate, willing to do anything to stay alive. He feels a bitter mix of anger and sadness, questioning if he was delusional to think it would be easy to obtain the cure or even secure vital treatment information. The hope that things could change for the better feels like a distant dream.
Jin takes the USB drive, slipping it into his pocket, and gives Jimin a reassuring pat on the shoulder before heading to his patient and study room. Jimin feels a gnawing sense of inadequacy, berating himself for getting caught and distracted by you. He wonders if he should attempt to sneak back into the New World Order building, determined to obtain the missing data they desperately need.
“I’ll go back and see if I can get the remaining data in a few days,” he declares, his voice tinged with deflation but underpinned by a strong current of willpower. He can’t afford to fail again. The mission is too important, the stakes too high.
It’s been a few days since the pink-haired guy infiltrated the New World Order building undetected, slipping through your fingers like sand. The incident has left you feeling weird and anxious. You expected The New World Order to contact you, reprimand you, or worse, eliminate you. But there’s been nothing—no messages, no ominous visits. Maybe they don’t know about your slip-up yet? Or perhaps they’re biding their time.
Your phone, a sleek piece of tech courtesy of The New World Order, vibrates in your hand. You unlock it, and a text message glares back at you.
New World Order: Come to the headquarters in 15 minutes.
That’s all it says, nothing more, nothing less. You gulp, feeling your palms grow sweaty. This is it. This is how you die. Thrown off the tall building. You’ve heard stories, and they’re not nice. The tales of disappearances and silent executions run through your mind, making you shiver with nerves.
You lace up your boots with trembling hands, each loop a countdown to your potential demise. Trudging down the stairs of your dark apartment, you step into the rainy street. The city around you is a dismal sprawl of neon lights and shadows, a perfect reflection of your inner turmoil. You try to calm your racing heart, but it’s a futile effort. Every step feels heavier, every breath more labored as you make your way to the New World Order headquarters, fearing that this is the end.
You reach the New World Order headquarters, a monolith of cold steel and glass looming above the city. For a moment, you let the rain caress your face, cleansing you of your sins. Maybe they won’t mention anything? Clenching your fists, you walk into your workplace, passing through the security scanners, the impassive front desk, the sterile halls, and finally to the elevators. You step into one, the doors closing with a cold finality. The elevator ascends, a silent reminder of the 30 floors that separate you from potential death should you be pushed out. You close your eyes, banishing the thought.
The elevator dings and the doors slide open, revealing an amble-lit hallway adorned in red and gold. The color scheme feels both luxurious and ominous, a blend of future opulence and ancient dread. The red rug underfoot seems out of place, a relic amidst the high-tech surroundings. It suddenly hits you—it might be there to hide a certain color of liquid. No, you shouldn’t think about it. Nothing’s going to happen to you.
Each step down the hallway feels like walking through a graveyard at midnight, the silence thick and oppressive. Your breath quickens, your hand hovering over the handle of the door at the end. This is it. Just get it over with.
With sweaty hands, you push open the door and step inside. A tall man in a black suit stands with his back to you, staring out of the tall windows. The view overlooks the bleak, rainy city, a desolate wasteland stretching to the horizon. The room is deathly silent, save for the patter of rain against the glass. You feel a shiver run down your spine.
He doesn’t turn to acknowledge you, his presence as cold and unyielding as the cityscape beyond. You gulp, your heart pounding in your chest, waiting for him to speak, waiting for your fate to be decided.
You clear your throat, the sound echoing in the tension-filled room. The man’s attention snaps to you, and he turns on his heels with a sinister smile. “Y/N!”
The way he says your name sends shivers down your spine, raising the hairs on your body. An urge to flee or jump out of the window floods your senses, but you force yourself to steady your resolve.
You recognize him as the head of the organization, though his name remains a mystery, like everyone else’s in this godforsaken place. Faces are familiar, but names are a dangerous luxury.
“Glad you could make it. Take a seat,” he gestures to the chair in front of his imposing wooden desk, an artifact of richness you could never dream of affording.
You gulp, a slight ringing in your ears accompanying your erratic heartbeat. Your palms are slick with sweat as you move to sit down.
“Nervous?” he asks, his voice calm and commanding as he paces the room.
“Yes,” you manage to say, gulping again as you track his movements.
“Good,” he replies, looking down at you with a predatory glint in his eye.
“I saw the surveillance footage from the break-in a few days ago,” he begins, his eyes boring into you with an unsettling intensity. Fear knots in your stomach, paralyzing your muscles as you brace yourself for whatever comes next. You remain silent, too scared to speak, knowing that he already knows everything that happened.
“You’ve gone soft. If this happens again, shoot the intruder, or you’ll be the one staring down the barrel of a gun,” he says, his voice sharp and precise, each word like a blade against your throat. A chill runs through you, and you wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole. You’ve messed up, but somehow he’s letting you off with a warning—something you didn’t expect. A small part of you dares to breathe a little easier.
“Now leave before I change my mind,” he hisses. You flinch, your body reacting instinctively as you rush to the door. Bowing quickly, you slip out without a word. Outside, you realize you’ve been holding your breath and you gasp for air, your hands trembling.
You know you have to do your job better if you want to survive. The threat lingers in your mind, and you can’t help but wonder about the secrets you’re guarding. What could be so important? Maybe it’s time to investigate—time to find out if this job is truly worth risking your life for.
Your boss won’t find out, right? You gulp, pushing the thought away. You need to know. You’ve done your job blindly for so long, but the time has come to uncover the truth. You know the higher-ups won’t give you any information, even if you asked, which is why you find yourself downstairs in the control room.
You locate the computer you usually use, turn it on, and log into the company drive. Your fingers tremble as you navigate through multiple folders, delving deeper into the rabbit hole. You uncover information you never imagined existed. Details about how and why the war started shock you—who knew a failed peace treaty could lead to such global devastation? The realization hits you hard: the war was actually orchestrated by a few countries aiming to seize power when the peace treaty collapsed. Those people now form The New World Order. A chill runs down your spine.
You stumble upon a folder detailing the side effects of radiation, studies on various cancer treatments, and ultimately, a cure for cancer. Disbelief floods your mind as you stare at the words on the screen. You blink, hoping the text will change, but it remains. The next document reveals their sinister plan: to keep this life-saving information hidden, ensuring only the rich survive while letting the rest of humanity rot and die.
This is what the pink-haired man wanted you to know. Regret and anger churn in your gut—you should have listened, should have questioned everything from the start. You feel sick, overwhelmed by the weight of the truth. You close the computer, resolve hardening within you.
As you leave the control room and head home, your mind swirls with thoughts. You need to figure out what to do with this explosive information before your shift tonight. The rain continues to fall, each drop a reminder of the world’s decay. You realize now that your role in The New World Order’s scheme is far more sinister than you ever imagined.
Jimin has to obtain the missing piece of data his group needs for the cure for cancer, or at least information to develop new treatments. Ever since the war started, all research and treatment for cancer have been inaccessible. Late at night, at their hideout far from the Capital, Jimin prepares for his mission. He looks at Bora and Yoongi—Yoongi, in particular, has deteriorated, and Jimin fears he doesn’t have much time left. The urgency gnaws at him; failure is not an option.
He doesn’t know whether he hopes to meet you at the New World Order headquarters or not. The thought of you makes his heart race, but he knows that if you get in his way, his mission might fail. He sighs, waving goodbye to the group, then steps outside. The night is oppressive, the air thick with the scent of decay and rain. He puts on his helmet, the world narrowing to the visor’s view, and straddles his bike. The engine roars to life, vibrating through him, merging with the adrenaline surging in his veins.
It’s now or never.
He twists the accelerator, the bike surging forward into the darkness, toward the lifeless, desolate Capital. The neon lights flicker ominously as he speeds into enemy territory, a lone figure against the backdrop of a crumbling dystopia.
The room is dark—just the way you prefer it. Your eyes, adept at seeing through the gloom, catch every detail, including the pink-haired intruder hunched over a computer terminal, stealing vital information from your employer. Silently, you watch him, observing his methodical movements as he navigates the screen. The monitor casts a ghostly blue light, making his hair shimmer with a surreal purple hue. You can’t deny he looks striking.
Tonight, you decide not to intervene. After your own clandestine investigation into your employer, you understand why he’s after the data—why so many risk everything to steal it. The New World Order’s secrets are dark and twisted, and the pink-haired man’s quest suddenly seems justified.
Minutes tick by in silence, the intruder’s focus unbroken. His sparkly bomber jacket gleams faintly in the dim light. Finally, he seems satisfied, pulling a USB drive from the terminal. The moment he turns around, you flick on the lights.
Yellow fluorescent tubes flicker to life, bathing the room in a harsh, sickly glow. He freezes, one hand instinctively hovering over the katana strapped to his back, the other gripping the USB drive.
“Fancy meeting you here,” you smirk, leaning casually against the wall by the exit, blocking his escape.
He hisses, scanning you up and down before his features relax into a smirk. “Where’s your gun? Aren’t you gonna try to stop me again, pretty?”
Your eyes sparkle at the compliment, much like his jacket, and you chuckle softly. “Nah,” you shrug, but straighten your posture, exuding confidence.
He quirks an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “Why?”
You take in his appearance—black leather pants hugging his thick thighs, lace-up military boots, and that unmistakable sparkly bomber jacket. With a soft, yet sultry smile, you reply, “I finally opened my eyes to what’s really going on. What’s truly been happening, and I don’t like it one bit.”
His shoulders relax further, and his hands withdraw from the katana and the gun stashed behind his back. He eyes you with a mixture of caution and intrigue, seemingly pleased by your revelation.
“So, you’re just gonna let me go?” he asks, ensuring he hasn’t misheard.
“Yeah. But actually…” you begin, drawing out your words to capture his attention as you step closer, batting your eyes at him. “I have more information back at my apartment that you might want to see. I can take you there. Show you.”
You can’t help the way your body responds to him—you want him, and you want him bad. It’s true, you do have valuable information at your place, but your ulterior motives are undeniable. The risk is immense. The moment you make this move, you’ll become a wanted criminal, hunted by the New World Order. But the thought of remaining complicit in their schemes sickens you. You crave freedom, and he might just be the key to it.
For a flicker of a second, you catch him stuttering, but he quickly collects himself, smirking back at you. His pink tongue darts out to wet his lips in a teasing move, and you feel a tingle between your legs.
“Let’s go then,” he says, brushing past you and out the door. You follow closely, aware of the cameras tracking your every move, but you don't care. Time is short; the New World Order will come after you soon, so you need to be quick.
The pink-haired man leads the way through the dim, familiar halls to the back door. The green emergency light flickers ominously overhead. He pushes the door open, and the bleak night greets you with flickering neon lights. His sleek silver bike stands nearby. As you approach, he hands you his helmet and lets you straddle his bike, taking the place behind you. His body presses close against your back, and a surge of arousal courses through you.
You turn the bike on, and it roars to life. With a swift movement, you speed through the empty, rain-soaked streets back to your apartment. His arms wrap securely around your torso, and it feels nice. His head rests against your shoulder, and you catch a whiff of his scent—like fresh cotton on a summer's breeze, something you haven’t smelled in a long time. You long for it.
It doesn’t take long to reach your apartment. You turn off the bike, parking it out of sight from prying eyes. He gets off first, then you remove the helmet and jump down. Neither of you speaks as you walk up the stairs to your first-floor apartment. You quickly unlock the door and push into your dark space. The lights are off, and the place is messy with clothes strewn about, but you don't care. The apartment is a tiny one-bedroom, an open space where the kitchen, living room, and bedroom blend together. It’s small, but it’s home.
“Welcome,” you whisper, closing the door behind you, sealing both of you in a cocoon of secrecy and danger.
The tension between you feels thick as you make your way inside, heading straight to your desk and rummaging for the flash drive you’ve hidden. The man’s eyes follow your every move as you open a drawer and pull out the drive, smirking as you wave it in the air. “This has more information on it that I think you’ll need.”
He stalks closer, his smirk widening. In the minimal light, he seems even more predatory than before. The look in his eyes suggests he wants to devour you right then and there.
“What’s in it for you?” he asks, standing mere millimeters from you, your noses almost touching. His warm breath fans your ear and neck, sending shivers down your spine.
“Take me with you,” you say, your voice barely a whisper. His eyes roam your body, lingering on your eyes, cheeks, nose, lips, and collarbone.
“Hmm,” he hums, his hands landing on your hips. You feel the warmth of his fingers through your leather pants.
Your breath quickens, and you feel like you’re crumbling beneath his stare, utterly aroused for this man whose name you still don’t know. The mixture of arousal and adrenaline makes you feel almost high.
You close the gap between you and kiss him. It’s quick and needy, and he responds immediately, pressing his body hungrily into yours, his fingers digging into the bare skin of your waist above your pants. His lips are soft, but his moves are hard and hungry.
He moves his lips to your ear, kissing and licking it, then trailing down to your neck. He marks it with his teeth, eliciting a needy moan from you. The world outside your darkened apartment fades away, leaving only the desperate, electric connection between you.
“You’re really something,” he pants into your ear, his breath sending tingles down your spine and all the way to your core. “I want to taste you, and I don’t even know your name.”
You chuckle, the sound strained and laden with lust. “It’s Y/N,” you manage between pants. “What’s yours?”
“I’m Jimin,” he murmurs, his tongue tracing your neck before biting gently.
Fuck.
“I want you, Jimin,” you groan as he pulls back slightly, his pupils blown wide with desire.
“But we don’t have much time,” you say breathlessly, the urgency of your situation seeping into your voice. “The New World Order will be looking for me soon.” You fumble with your pants, dragging them and your panties down to expose yourself to the cool air of the apartment.
In one fluid motion, Jimin drops to his knees, looking up at you with a teasing lick of his lips. “No worries, I can be quick.” Without another word, he dives in, his mouth sealing around your wet heat.
You gasp his name, your legs turning to jelly as your hands find purchase in his pink locks. His tongue is relentless, strong and skilled as it laps over your clit and teases your entrance. The obscene noises he makes against you only heighten your arousal, your breathing growing shallow as you lose yourself in the sensation.
Your back meets the wall, and you do your best to hold yourself up as he devours you from the floor. His mouth works you expertly, sucking and licking, driving you closer to the edge. The coil in your stomach tightens, your body trembling with the impending climax.
Jimin grunts into your cunt, his teeth grazing your clit, and the world shatters around you. He sucks hard, creating a perfect seal around your sensitive nub, and the coil in your stomach snaps. You come undone on his tongue, panting furiously as waves of pleasure wash over you.
Even as you orgasm, he doesn’t stop, his tongue continuing its assault, his nose pressing against your clit. You grab his hair, trying to pull him away as your sensitivity peaks, but he holds you there, pushing you to the brink of overstimulation and back into the abyss of pleasure.
His face glistens with your slick, and you think he looks beautiful, so you grab his sharp jaw and pull him up for a kiss. You don’t care that you taste yourself on his plush lips.
You break away and say, “I really want to return the favor,” your hands toying with his pants as you brush against his already erect dick.
He pushes your hand away gently. “It’s okay. You said to be quick, so you can do that another time.” He kisses you again, trailing down to the other side of your neck, then up to the shell of your ear. “I really just want to fuck you now.”
You’re drenched, dripping with arousal. His words render you speechless; you bite your bottom lip and nod, anticipation coursing through you.
The sound of his zipper sends a thrill down your spine as he opens his pants. He drags his boxers down, and his cock springs free. It’s thick and of an average length, and the sight makes you salivate. You wish you had time to take him into your mouth, but that’s a pleasure for another time, like he promised.
The head of his cock is red, with a bead of precum at the tip. It looks beautiful, and your pussy clenches around the emptiness, eager to be filled. You can’t wait to have him stretch you, it’s been so long since you’ve had sex. It’s honestly been years, and as you realize this, you think he should have prepared you more. But you don’t get to mull over it for long; you feel the tip of his cock against your folds, and in one fluid motion, he pushes inside you.
You moan his name as he grabs both of your legs and wraps them around his waist, driving himself deeper into you. You feel so fucking full, it’s delicious.
“Fuck. I forgot about a condom,” he pants, slamming you hard against the wall. He stays inside for a moment before beginning a relentless rhythm of thrusts.
“It’s okay,” you reassure him, “I’m clean, and I can’t get pregnant.”
He just grunts in your ear, then starts nibbling on it. The pace he sets is quick, hard, and dirty—unforgiving. But you don’t mind; you're pressed for time anyway. The pleasure is intense, and the way he growls into your ear makes the knot form in your stomach again.
“You’re a dirty little thing, aren’t you?” he growls, thrusting hard and deep. “You wanted this right from the start, didn’t you?” His voice is low, dangerously so, making you even wetter because he’s so right.
“Such a fucking slut for cock,” he pants, his tongue trailing along your neck. “No one in this godforsaken city to satisfy your needy pussy.”
You clench around him, your hands gripping his shoulders, fingers digging into the back of his sparkly jacket.
“Fuck. You’re so tight,” he groans, his hips working overtime to pleasure you, and your eyes roll back in ecstasy.
“Are you gonna come?” he asks, a wicked glint in his eyes.
You moan in response, releasing a wave of liquid around his cock, making the glide even smoother.
“Fuck. You’re gorgeous,” he says, licking your neck again. “I’m gonna come too.”
With a rapid burst of thrusts, he spills his warm seed inside your still-pulsating pussy. For a moment, you rest your foreheads together, panting for air. Your legs remain wrapped around his waist as he hungrily kisses your lips.
You feel a mixture of your essences trailing out of you, pooling on the floor or your panties—you don’t really care.
As you struggle to steady your breathing and rapid heartbeat, a pounding on your door shatters the moment. It's not gentle—it’s hard and oppressive, sending a terrible shiver down your spine. The New World Order. Your mind turns razor-sharp, senses heightened. Jimin quickly softens inside you, then pulls out, your legs falling to the floor, dripping semen as he pulls up his pants and grabs his gun and the hard drive.
You do the same, hastily pulling up your pants as the banging continues. The door handle rattles, but it doesn't open. Thank fuck you locked it.
“We have to leave,” you pant, your heart in your throat. You fumble for your phone, then throw it into your room—you don’t need it; they can track you with that.
“No shit,” he grunts, running a hand through his disheveled pink hair.
“We gotta jump out the window,” you say, fear in your eyes. You know it’s only a matter of time before they break down the door.
You grab Jimin’s hand and pull him to the window beside your bed. Thankful that you live on the first floor, you make the jump first, landing on the dirty ground. Jimin follows, landing more gracefully. You hear the brute force of the door breaking, and you startle, fear coursing through you. But Jimin is quick, pulling you to his bike, shoving his helmet onto your head. He straddles the bike, and without much thought, you climb on behind him.
You lean against him, feeling the rapid beating of your heart. He turns on the bike, and you hear shouting and gunshots from your apartment as Jimin speeds down the rain-soaked streets. You lay your head against his back, closing your eyes against the chaos behind you.
Jimin parks his bike in front of the Whalien 52 headquarters, and you dismount first, removing the helmet and handing it to him. He follows suit, and you both stride into the building. It’s well past midnight now, and as you walk into the headquarters with Jimin, all eyes turn toward you. The tension in the room is palpable; they’ve likely been anxiously awaiting his safe return.
“Hi,” he says casually, plopping onto the couch with a soft thud.
“Who’s this?” Taehyung strides up, pointing at you with a raised brow.
“Oh, that’s Y/N. The woman who got in my way last time,” Jimin shrugs as if this is information everyone should already know.
“So you decided to take her home?” Taehyung asks in disbelief.
“I helped him gain extra information. And I want out of the New World Order,” you say, crossing your arms, not flinching under their scrutinizing stares.
“You’re the enemy though,” Yoongi joins the conversation, his voice strained with a cough.
“She really isn’t. Do you even know how much she’s risked just by coming here?” Jimin retorts, defending you without fully understanding why. He knows you can defend yourself just fine.
“I have a target on my back now. So I want to help you guys. Make things right in the world. That’s what you want to do, right?” you ask, scanning the open living room space.
The room falls silent, the weight of your words sinking in. The dim, flickering lights cast long shadows, amplifying the room’s tension. Each member of the group seems to wrestle with their thoughts, eyes flicking between you and Jimin. Finally, Seokjin steps forward, his gaze steady and thoughtful.
Seokjin approaches Jimin with an intense gaze. “Did you get all the data?”
Jimin nods silently and hands over both the USB drive and the flash drive you gave him in your apartment. Seokjin’s eyes light up with a rare glimmer of hope as he takes the hardware and retreats to his makeshift lab.
You slump down beside Jimin, exhaustion finally catching up with you. Jungkook steps forward, extending a hand. “Welcome to Whalien52, Y/N.”
You shake his hand, offering a tired smile, then lean back against Jimin. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, you both allow yourselves a moment of rest. But Jimin’s mind races with concern. How quickly will the New World Order track you down? Did they follow you here?
Time becomes a blur in the dimly lit room. You drift off to sleep on Jimin’s shoulder, and his eyelids grow heavy as well. Just as he’s about to succumb to slumber, Seokjin bursts into the room, a triumphant smile lighting up his face.
“I’ve sequenced a cure from the data,” he announces, his voice brimming with joy. “And treatments for various cancers too.”
The room erupts in cheers and laughter, a collective sigh of relief and celebration filling the air.
“I’m preparing the cure for Yoongi and Bora now,” Seokjin adds, his pride evident.
Jimin feels a surge of relief and accomplishment. They’ve finally done it. You’ve secured the cure for cancer. Now Yoongi and Bora can be saved. And perhaps, just perhaps, they can save the rest of civilization. But first, they have to deal with the looming threat of the New World Order.
The battle is far from over.
It’s been a few days, and the absence of the New World Order’s presence is unnerving. You expected them to chase you and Jimin out of the city, but they haven’t. This silence feels ominous, a dark cloud hanging over your newfound sanctuary.
You’ve settled into the daily routines of Whalien52, where hope and caution dance a tense waltz. Seokjin tirelessly crafts cures and treatments. Yoongi and Bora, the first recipients, show promising signs of recovery, their improvements a beacon of hope amidst the uncertainty. The group celebrates these small victories, buzzing with a cautious optimism that almost feels too good to be true.
In these days of uneasy peace, you’ve found roles within the group. Namjoon introduced you to his intricate tech—ingenious weapons and machines designed for survival. Taehyung showed you around the small town that Whalien52 calls home. On the horizon, the Capital looms like a dark sentinel, a constant reminder of the lurking threat.
Despite the calm surface, the air is thick with anxiety. The lack of action from the New World Order feels wrong. Yoongi polishes weapons with a grim focus, and you’ve all had tense conversations about the impending attack you’re sure is coming. Jungkook echoes your concerns, insisting on readiness.
Hoseok monitors the New World Order’s communications, but all he gets is an unsettling silence. This lack of intel twists your stomach into knots. Each passing day, the tension ratchets up. The quiet eats at you, turning every creak and rustle into a potential threat.
Weeks pass, and the tension in the headquarters is palpable. You’re all on edge, constantly looking over your shoulders. Every sound is magnified, each one making you jump, hearts racing with the fear that the New World Order has finally come for you.
Everyone is exhausted, sleep deprived and on edge, each day a relentless battle against the looming threat of the New World Order. You long for an end to this tense limbo, for the chance to truly rest.
Yoongi’s condition has worsened, and Seokjin’s latest research scatters your fragile hopes. “This isn’t a cure,” he admits, deflated. “It’s just a temporary fix, a treatment.”
Yoongi coughs weakly but manages a smile, hugging his girlfriend Bora tightly. “But it helps,” he says softly. “A cure was always a dream. There’s never been a real cure for cancer, and maybe there never will be.”
Bora kisses his forehead, her eyes glistening with determination. “The treatment is helping,” she insists, caressing his cheeks. “Maybe Seokjin can alter it, make it better, stronger?” She turns to Seokjin, who nods, already lost in thought, considering how to enhance the treatment. You all want to help, driven by a fierce collective will to save Yoongi.
You walk over to Jimin, giving him a soft kiss, seeking a moment of solace. Suddenly, the sharp crack of a gunshot shatters the room. Bora screams in pain, and chaos erupts. You all drop to the floor, hearts pounding in sheer panic. For a moment, there’s an eerie silence, broken only by Bora’s agonized cries. You can’t see her or Yoongi, shielded by the couch.
Frantically, you search for Jimin, and his hand finds yours, squeezing tightly. The connection is a lifeline, a brief reassurance amidst the terror.
More gunshots pierce the air, and you hold your breath, praying Bora is alright. Your heart races, the reality sinking in: the New World Order is here, ready to kill you all.
With steely resolve, you clench your free hand, feeling the cold metal of your holstered gun against your thigh.
It’s time.
Time to make a stand.
Time to fight back.
You look at Jimin, your eyes wide with panic as your heart pounds in your ears. He army crawls to your weapon stash, grabbing an arsenal: a rifle he slides over to Yoongi, a gun for himself, and his sword, which he straps on while still lying on the floor. Jungkook, with his tattooed hand, clutches a rifle down his length of his body. You scan the room for Seokjin, Taehyung, and Hoseok, but they’re nowhere to be seen.
Bora’s screams have diminished to grunts of pain. Yoongi drags her towards Seokjin’s room, leaving a trail of blood. An eerie silence falls as you watch them. You hear Yoongi's voice from Seokjin’s room, explaining that Bora’s wound is a flesh wound, pleading for Seokjin to take care of her. Yoongi crawls back into the living room.
“Is Bora okay?” you ask, sweat beading on your hairline, your breathing quick and shallow.
“Yeah. Seokjin’s got her. Namjoon, Tae, and Hobi are in there too,” Yoongi grits his teeth, his face pale with anger.
Jungkook crawls over to join you, “I guess it’s the New World Order knocking down our doors.”
“We have to fight back. Or die trying,” Yoongi spits, his anger palpable. “I’m sick and tired of them. We need to overthrow them,” he says, his eyes bloodshot from sleepless nights. You’re all on high alert, fighting for your lives.
The door bursts open, a harsh light from outside flooding in as heavy boots stomp on the floor. You count six people by the rhythm of their steps and then a seventh, moving slowly and deliberately. Ominous, and just by the sound of the boots, you know who it is—the leader.
A cold shiver runs down your spine as your fingers curl around the trigger of your gun. The footsteps grow louder, the moment drawing closer. You roll onto your back, raising your gun for the inevitable confrontation.
Suddenly, you’re yanked by your legs, sliding across the floor with a yell, losing your grip on Jimin’s hand. The leader looms over you, a shadow of dread, as you prepare to fight for your life.
“Well, well. What have we here? Y/N. Nice to see you,” the man sneers, his voice dripping with mockery. You don’t know his name, but you remember him all too well—the leader of the New World Order, the man who had last spoken to you in his office after Jimin’s initial attempt to steal information from your former employer.
You gulp, pointing your gun at him.
He tuts dismissively, “You know that’s useless,” and with a swift kick, he sends your gun skidding across the floor.
“You’ve been a bad, bad girl,” he hisses, his hands casually resting in his pockets while his men, guns trained on you, stand menacingly behind him.
“What you’re doing is sick,” you fume, anger bubbling within you.
Suddenly, Jimin rises, his gun aimed directly at the man before you.
Recognition flickers in the leader’s eyes, “Ah,” he chuckles darkly, “so this is the man you left me for.”
Jimin grunts, “Hands off her.”
“Protective, huh?” he laughs, a cold, mechanical sound that sends chills down your spine.
Your eyes dart between Jimin and the leader, anxiety tightening your chest. You don’t know who will be quicker on the trigger. You hold your breath, terrified for Jimin’s safety. Your heart pounds so loudly it nearly deafens you.
A gunshot echoes through the room, followed by a heavy thud. Your heart sinks as you see the leader still standing. Fear grips you, paralyzing you from turning around to check on Jimin. You feel a scream or a sob rising in your throat, maybe both.
Then, you hear the sound of someone standing up and Yoongi’s voice cuts through the tension, “You are one sick bastard. Keeping vital information to yourself, letting people die of cancer and radiation.” His voice is thick with anger and disdain.
The leader turns his attention to Yoongi and chuckles again, a sound you’ve come to loathe. “Only the elite deserve to live. I don’t mind letting people die to create the perfect world.”
You scoff, the revelation of his twisted ideology making you nauseous. The horror of being part of such a sick scheme churns in your stomach.
As you try to glance over your shoulder to see Jimin, one of the leader’s men grabs you, yanking you into a sitting position. Panic surges through you, but determination hardens your resolve. It’s time to fight back, no matter the cost.
Finally, you spot Jimin lying on the floor. There’s no blood, thankfully, and his hand is giving you a thumbs up. Relief floods your body, momentarily pushing back the fear.
“You are so sick,” Yoongi spits, his voice a raw edge. “You killed so many people, for what? Utopia?”
Your old boss nods, chuckling darkly. “Too much freedom breeds murder and chaos. I needed a clean slate,” he shrugs, strolling past you towards Yoongi, who keeps his rifle trained on him. “People need order. Someone to follow. When the weak and poor have died off, I’ll guide the rest into a New World Order.”
Yoongi spits on the floor, “Over my fucking dead body.” His index finger twitches towards the trigger, his stance solid and ready.
You stop breathing.
Yoongi fires, but your old boss is faster, landing a shot in Yoongi’s shoulder. Yoongi hisses, dropping the rifle to the floor.
“I told you it’s useless,” your old boss sneers, chuckling. “Next time I’ll aim for the head.”
Time stretches and warps as he paces the room, taking stock of you all. You’re at a standstill, trapped in the crosshairs of his malevolent gaze. Jimin remains prone, waiting for an opportunity. Yoongi grunts in pain, clutching his wounded shoulder. Jungkook lies still, eyes flicking between you and the leader.
It feels like game over.
You’re all going to die.
Your old boss paces slowly, chuckling, reveling in your predicament. “I wonder who I should kill first…” he muses, dragging out the words as he turns towards you. “Your boyfriend, maybe? How do you feel about watching him die?”
Your heart pounds wildly.
You struggle against the grip of the man holding you by your hair, pain searing through your scalp, but the thought of Jimin’s death is unbearable.
The leader strides towards Jimin, raising his gun. Your breath catches in your throat, terror gripping you as you watch. You scream with all the force in your lungs, a primal sound tearing through the air as you close your eyes, bracing for the worst.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The sound of three gunshots fills your ears, and you scream even louder, tears streaming down your cheeks as you call out your lover’s name. More gunshots follow, and the man holding your hair lets go, dropping you to the wooden floor with a heavy thud. Tears blur your vision as you struggle to blink them away, desperate to find Jimin.
But you don’t see him.
Panic surges through you. Where is he?
Your gaze shifts, and you see your old boss, his head snapped back from a point-blank shot, blood pooling beneath him. You gasp, turning your head just in time to see familiar lace-up boots moving purposefully across the room. Chaos reigns. Bora stands in the hallway, a rifle trained on the lifeless body of your boss. She was the one who shot him?
Jimin moves through the room like a lethal dancer, his katana slicing through enemies with precision. Jungkook is on his feet too, methodically picking off the men from the New World Order. Amid the chaos, you see Bora approach Yoongi, who is clutching his shoulder.
“Are you okay, babe?” she asks, her voice strained but determined as she examines his injury.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he pants, noting the bandage on her thigh, stained with blood. “You should lie down.”
“I could say the same to you,” she chuckles, raising her rifle to take aim at another man.
How many are down now? You scan the room, counting seven bodies sprawled on the floor.
“Is it over?” Seokjin calls out, peeking from his room down the hall.
“I think so,” Jungkook replies, clapping his hands together, trying to shake off the tension.
The room falls into a tense silence, the aftermath of the battle settling over you like a shroud. You push yourself up, your body aching and adrenaline still coursing through your veins. Jimin meets your gaze, and you feel a flicker of hope amidst the wreckage.
For now, you’ve survived.
You rush over to Jimin, pulling him into a tight embrace, relief flooding through you. “I’m okay, babe,” he murmurs, kissing you softly. Thank God.
“We need to take the fight to their headquarters. They’ll be coming for us anyway. Better to surprise them,” Yoongi declares, his voice grim.
“Don’t you think they’d anticipate that?” Jungkook counters, eyeing Yoongi critically. “And you’re in no condition to fight, hyung.”
“The fuck I’m not. It’s just my shoulder. I’m fine,” Yoongi pants, picking up his rifle.
“Let’s go,” Bora interjects from behind Yoongi, her voice determined.
Yoongi spins around, his mouth agape. “You’re staying, babe. Your leg—”
“This is as much my fight as it is yours, and Seokjin patched me up,” she retorts, her stern look brooking no argument. Yoongi deflates, conceding to her resolve.
You all huddle together, gathering weapons for the imminent battle. Taehyung, Namjoon, and Seokjin stay back, while the rest of you head outside to your vehicles.
You and Jimin mount his bike, while Jungkook, Yoongi, and Bora take the car. Jimin hands you a helmet, then puts on his own before revving the engine. The bike purrs to life, and with a roar, he accelerates toward the Capital, Jungkook and the others following in the car.
The journey is a blur, the rain pouring down in relentless sheets as you navigate the desolate streets. The Capital looms ahead, a monolithic reminder of the oppressive regime you’re up against. You skid to a stop in front of the New World Order headquarters, jumping off the bike with Jimin close behind. Jungkook, Yoongi, and Bora emerge from the car, weapons in hand, steely determination etched on their faces.
The rain-soaked mud reflects the harsh glow of neon lights, casting eerie shadows as you steel yourselves for the fight. The headquarters stands ominously before you, a fortress of tyranny that has caused so much suffering. You take a deep breath, fingers tightening around your gun.
It’s time to end this.
“Follow me. The building is massive,” you say, leading the way into your old workplace. Navigating the familiar lower floors is swift; they’re almost deserted. Jimin dances with his katana, each swing mesmerizing, cutting down any opposition with ease.
Clearing the lower levels quickly, you ascend the stairs, banging open doors and moving through the less familiar upper halls. The men from the New World Order fall easily; many surrender, unwilling to defend a crumbling regime.
Finally, you reach the top floor, the office of your now-dead boss. Stepping inside, you look out through the tall windows overlooking the city.
“What do we do now?” you ask, your voice echoing in the silence.
The horizon flickers with a strange yellow glow.
Jimin, his katana sheathed on his back, joins you. “Is that the sun?” he asks, his eyes following yours.
“I think it is,” Bora says, intertwining her fingers with Yoongi’s.
“Now that the New World Order is gone,” Yoongi muses, “won’t another group try to take its place?”
“Maybe,” you respond, lost in thought.
Jungkook chuckles beside you. “We’ll make sure no one does. All information will be free and accessible.”
“Aren’t we just like the New World Order then?” Yoongi raises an eyebrow.
“No,” Jungkook replies firmly. “We’ll let people live freely, with no ‘order’ imposed.”
You all hum in agreement, turning your gaze to the horizon. For the first time in a long while, the oppressive clouds of the Capital part, slowly revealing the sun. The relentless rain stops, and you feel the air shift—this is a new beginning.
→ Taglist: @jeonsbabygirlsworld @11thenightwemet11 @haru-jiminn → Disclaimer: the photo of kitty gang Jimin is a concert photo by a fansite, and I’ve been trying to reverse google search the image to find the fansite/photographer, but without luck. I can see on the original that the fansite name is something along the lines of ‘CelestialYM9999’ but that show on results on google either. If you know the fansite, please let me know so I can credit properly (my photography brain really wants to give proper credit). → Author’s note(2): what do you think? Please let me know! A big shoutout and thank you to @manipulatedstars for having the idea to make Jungkook run a survivalist camp 🥳💜 Now, I can’t wait to write something that isn’t action— back to my sappy romance writing! I think one of the mermaid fics is next on my list ✨
#jimin x reader#jimin fanfic#jimin fanfiction#bts jimin fanfic#jimin fic#jimin smut#park jimin x reader#bts jimin x reader#jimin x you#jimin x y/n#jimin x oc#pjm smut#pjm x you#pjm x reader#park jimin#park jimin fanfic#park jimin imagines#park jimin smut#bts smut#bangtan smut#bts fanfiction#bts fanfic#bangtan fanfic#bangtan x reader#bangtan fic
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Jjk love languages
~Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Maki, Megumi, Choso
pt 2(toji & sukuna)
a/n: sorry if this sucks, I wrote in in two hours(i just realized i left out toji but lmk if you want me to write one for him too). also, please reblog if you can, I'd really appreciate it!!!
Gojo~
Annoying the absolute fuck out of you(obviously)
You could be lying down reading a book or watching a show/movie and this man will sneak up behind you and try to jump scare you or use his infinity to prank you. When he’s laying on you and you haven't said anything for a while he’ll look up at you and start poking your cheeks or biting you.
On days where his behavior doesn’t resemble a child fueled by 6 bottles of coke, 3 monsters, 8 red bulls, and 10 tons of sugar, he’s extremely gentle and soft with you. Satoru will cling to you and kiss your cheeks, neck, forehead, or hands or caress your face while staring deeply into your eyes telling you that he couldn’t imagine a life without you.
Maki~
Encouragement
Sparring with Maki was never easy and 100% of the time you end up getting knocked on your ass which is a little sad considering she always takes it easy on you. She has a habit of letting everyone know how much they suck and rarely ever encourages those that train with her but with you she’ll help you up and tell her that you almost had her and to not give up with a half soft half cocky smirk.
Because of where and how she grew up, she’s not the best with emotions but if you’re sad/stressed she’ll rub your back and tell you everything's gonna be okay or let you fall asleep in her arms if you’re at home.
Geto~
Princess treatment
If you need something but you're sitting with your legs over Suguru’s lap or laying on him and don’t feel like getting up he’ll sigh and immediately get up and get it for you.
When you’re out shopping with him, Suguru always pays for everything even when you try to fight him over it. He’ll always buy you food or offer to share his with you even though he ends up fighting the reflex to swat your hand away when he sees you reaching for some out of his peripheral due to Gojo trying to steal some all the time.
When you’re too tired to get ready or you’re sick he’ll bathe and clothe you then brush your hair while telling you how beautiful you are and that he’ll always take care of you.
Megumi~
Honestly all i can say is “idk i just work here🤷♀️”
In the beginning of your relationship Megumi was awkward. He was a mix between vibing in silence with you and trying to figure out what to say and do. You knew he was never good with his emotions and that was completely fine because he had other ways of showing what he was feeling or thinking. When he missed you he’d text or call to “check on you” but really it was to hear your voice. When he randomly felt like saying ‘I love you’ he would rest his head on your shoulder or lap or play with your hair.
When you’re sick or stressed but have stuff to do he’ll get sassy with you and demand that you stay in bed and that he’ll take care of both everything you need done and you.
Nanami~
Acts of service and princess treatment
Kento’s acts of love and affection range from small forehead kisses every time he walks by you or leaves the house to you coming home to find a trail of rose petals leading to the bathroom while he’s leaning over the tub, pouring in bath salts and essential oils. He’s always doing something for you like cooking dinner in a pink heart shaped apron and massaging your feet even when he’s the one that had a long day.
You getting sick is a whole different story. Kento goes from calm mama Nanami mode to uncharacteristically panicked mama Nanami mode. He makes you soup, runs bathes for you, checks your temperature on the hour, and forces you to stay in bed but the second he hears you having a coughing fit his composure goes out the window and he’s by your side in a millisecond rubbing your back and asking if you need to go to the hospital in a panicked tone.
Choso~
Another “idk I just work here🤷♀️” moment
Choso is not only new to society and normal people but also to relationships. He has absolutely no idea what to say and when to say it, but he notices that when he acts on his urges that you seem to like it. Sometimes he wants to blurt out how much he loves you, but he feels like it’d be weird so he’ll either hold your hand and stare at you or pick you up, take you to bed, and cuddle.
Choso noticed that you love playing with his hair so when he feels as though you’re not giving him enough attention, he’ll ask you to brush his hair or wash it for him.
When you get sick he breaks down and panics. He’ll call Itadori balling saying that he needs help, you’re dying, and he doesn’t know how to make you better. It happens every time you get sick; panic and call Itadori to come help while he cradles you in his arms, begging you not to die, with his tears dropping on your face while you try to calm him down.
#megumi x reader#megumi fushiguro#maki zenin x reader#maki zenin#nanami kento#jjk nanami#nanami x reader#jujutsu nanami#choso kamo#jjk choso#choso x reader#jujutsu kaisen choso#fluff#gojo x reader#gojo satoru#jujutsu gojo#jjk gojo#gojo fluff#nanami fluff#choso fluff#megumi fluff#jujutsu fluff#maki fluff#geto suguru#jjk geto#geto x reader#jujutsu geto#getou suguru#geto fluff#jjj love language
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Oh my god... Werecat sevika rubbing against reader then unconsciously turning into human again and shes just on top of reader while her head is rubbing against readers chest WHILE PURRING?????🤭 I live for soft sevika.
CUTEEEEE
men and minors dni
most of the time, sevika only transforms for practical reasons.
when she needs to descend the steep walls of the undercity quickly, when she's jumping across rooftops and needs better balance, when she's freezing and would prefer having a body covered in fur...
but... when it comes to you, sevika's found that she's been transforming more and more.
there were the months of lazily snoozing on your fire escape and happily watching you through your window-- a few hours each week just... being a cat.
but once you figured her out and saved her life and the two of you became a couple (the word still gives her butterflies)... sevika's been transforming a lot more often.
she just loves your pets. she can't even help it half the time; you guys can be cuddling on the couch mid conversation, and you'll reach over to start scratching her scalp, and in the middle of her story about work she's transforming into a cat.
"so then silco went downstairs to-- purrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr... meow."
you laugh and continue petting her, letting her crawl onto your chest and cuddle up into a loaf, making a mental note to ask her about her story later on in the evening when she's back to her human form.
sometimes, you can use your power for evil.
if sevika's being stubborn-- refusing to come to bed so she can get work done, or pouting because you made her take out the garbage-- you can just start scratching her scalp, and sooner or later she'll transform. then, all you have to do is grab her by the scruff on the back of her neck and drag her to bed with you.
she's figured this out, though, so she's always trying to run away from your outstretched hands. it often ends in a game of chase around the house, sevika cursing your magical fingers while you try to pin her to a wall or the floor for long enough to get her to relax.
and, funniest of all to you-- sevika gets jealous.
the fat tuxedo cat that comes to visit you once or twice a week has become sevika's biggest enemy.
she comes home to find you cuddling the chubby cat, and she's so unreasonably jealous that she gives you the silent treatment for the rest of the night. (she also instinctively transforms and starts hissing at the poor cat until he clambers back out of your window and sprints home.)
you find it fucking hilarious.
"sev, baby, it's a cat, it's not like i was fucking someone else!"
"you fucking might as well have been! those pets are mine!"
"baby, there's so much about me that's already yours. my heart. my tits. my pussy-- no pun intended. you can't seriously be jealous that i was petting a cat. honey-- it's a cat! you're a human!"
"whatever. you're sleeping on the couch tonight."
"sevika!" you laugh.
she doesn't make you sleep on the couch, though. she can't sleep without you underneath her anyways.
but sweetest of all is when sevika's being a sweet cat-- curled up in your lap and snoozing while you read, or purring as you scratch her head while you both watch a movie-- and she'll unconsciously shift back.
it's a little jarring the first time you've suddenly got a lapful of sleeping grown woman instead of sleeping kitty, but mostly, it's cute.
because sevika's still sleeping. and... as you push her hair behind her ears, she stretches just a bit, like a cat, and she starts to snore.
it's not her usual snore, it's a little more rumbly...
you have to smack a hand over your mouth to keep from bursting into laughter as your girlfriend purrs on top of you.
taglist!
@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner
@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther
@ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai
@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette
@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp
@iamastar @sevikitty @claude999 @nhaaauyen
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