#but no one really bats an eye if said character is a man

[sodaequalsbubbles]

Religion didn't take a backseat in DATV, because it wasn't even in the car to begin with lmao.

It was absolutely wild to me that in Veilguard they discovered the truth about the Golden City or the Black City as it is known now, and no one seems to really care. The apparent seat of the Maker that was corrupted by man's arrogance which caused not only the Blight, but the Maker to turn his back on the world once again. Was actually created by the elves in the times where their empire was powerful, and the game along with the companions hardly bat an eye about this revelation.

There was basically a single convo talking about this, where the main reaction amounted to "wow that's crazy, anyways." Even Harding who is a devout follower of Andrastianism, had a pretty mild reaction to this. And Rook (whether you decide if they believe in the Maker or not) just tells Harding to believe whatever they want, with mildly different dialogue "options" :/

This revelation should have been treated as something HUGE. Even for more neutral standing or straight up atheist characters. The Chant of Light is the dominate religion in Thedas, which makes the Chantry a very powerful and influential force. Thedas society as a whole has been affected by the beliefs and teachings of the Chantry to some capacity because of this.

For example, Dorian is treated with mistrust and outright hatred by some of the companions and random npcs multiple times in Dragon Age Inquisition. All because one, he is a mage, and two, he is from Tevinter.

Tevinter is already hated enough because of it's legalization of slavery and the fact that mages hold all the power there, along their apparent frequent use of blood magic. But also because they executed Andraste, the figure head for the Chant of Light, who was said to be the prophet and bride of the Maker. And majorly, they are held responsible for bringing the Blight upon the world.

Because according to the Chantry, it was seven Tevinter magisters that physically entered the Golden City and blackened it with their own sins, causing the First Blight and the Maker to abandon them all. Which compared to Tevinter's own Imperial Chantry teachings-oh right we didn’t get to see any of that in Veilguard lol sorry.

The intro cutscene of Dragon age Origins literally starts with a Chant of Light verse explaining the source of the Blight, and the Golden City:

"The Chantry teaches us that it is the hubris of men which brought the darkspawn into our world."

So the true origins (hehe) of the Golden City undermines a very important aspect of the Chantry's teachings, or perhaps all of it. The Golden City was not the seat of the Maker, but instead an elven city built in the fade. This would have, or should have had people questioning the Chant of Light and if the Maker even exists. But no, instead we got the most lukewarm reaction possible to news that would be life altering to many in Thedas. And could possibly uproot the Chantry, or at the very least lessen its hold and power.

And don’t get me started on how the Dalish elves got their own ancient lore and religion shafted. When it concerned their thoughts and reactions to the fact that their gods literally came back to the physical world. You know, the event that the Dalish have been prophesying for centuries and waiting to happen . But the Dalish barely react to this, and are totally okay with all the revelations about their gods in Veilguard because they got told off screen I guess?

So whatever it's no big deal. No don't question it shhh. We'll have a few tiny conversations with Bellara about the elves feelings on this and nothing else. Now stop asking questions.

Yeah this sucks, thanks bioware🥲

is this anything.

[glitter-stained]

A bit from the BtFC fic. Jason at the start of his spiralling.

...................................

“Bat’s been gone, they’re saying.”

“He ain’t really gone man. That thing can’t die.”

“Oh yeah? The birds die, don’t they? Why not the big bad bat?”

“’Cause a bird isn’t a bat, that’s why, you-“

“What did ya just call me-“

“They’re gonna rush in, I’m tellin’ you, all the loonies and whatever the hell those things are-“

He tries to lose himself in the chatter. Drown himself in it. He came here for that. The drink he ordered an hour ago still sits untouched. That won’t be enough to drown in. It is the voices that he needs. The arguments, the shouts, the simple, unfiltered, ugly noise of one of the worst dives of the city.

The voices are rough, angry, feeding into whatever fire is clawing at his skin. But they are still better than the other voice, the one that won’t go away. Why can’t he shut up? He ought to be quiet. The dead ought to be quiet.

 “…secret…” “…needs repair…” “…a good doctor…”

“Secret” Jason echoes the word once again, his voice a ragged whisper. “Secret. It was our secret.”

 And then Bruce put that into words. The secret they were meant to bury in silence. He promised. Bruce promised. You should keep your promises. She never did. They never do.

He shouldn’t have spoken. Bruce shouldn’t have put it into words. To name them gives them power. Bruce didn’t name it…but he spoke out loud.

 And what more did he say, in the other messages? The messages meant for his true sons? His heir?

He didn’t keep his promise. He never keeps his promises. Dammit, you should know that by now. Promises are made to be broken.

 Jason feels eyes on him and glances up. Whatever the spectator sees in his face has the old fool hurriedly getting to his feet and making for the door. He feels moisture on his face and realizes at some point he started crying.

Okay, "character is entering a mental illness episode, their facial expression (which they aren't aware of) frightens someone and they realize they're crying" is now officially one of my favourite trope (is it a trope? Can I call it a trope? Can we make it a trope? The confrontation between the external rejection and intimate suffering is brutal I love it)

(Also not linked to psychology itself but "the dead ought to be quiet" followed by Jason whispering, and the contrast between Jason whispering and the loud voices in and out of his head at the start of the spiral is pretty great. Ghostboy McHauntingThemes in the flesh.)

The cultural myth about Batman feeding into Jason's turmoil, putting Batman as some kind of creature incapable of dying, talk about a pedestal...

Jason's fixating on the trauma but incapable of naming it even to himself, furious at Bruce for doing so. The "it was our secret" part that really gives the ick because that kind of "keep it in the family" sentiment is so common in toxic/abusive systems

The breach of trust from "he wasn't supposed to mention it out loud" to "what if he said something else to the others" + "promises are never kept" -> anxiety spiral + hints of black and white thinking. He should have kept a secret (Bruce)/She never did (Catherine)/They never do (Sheila? Willis?) The emphasis on the repeated broken promises and abandonment, like he's identifying a clear pattern of broken, betrayed trust and he's the common denominator: "you should know that by now."

Also Jason drinking alone and someone running from him and the subtle mention of his estrangement (qualifying the others as the real sons) all emphasizing how truly alone he is.

I'm eating this up, anon. This is the good stuff, for real

[nathilustra]

going through the msq right now and i'm sorry, but I need to vent real quick cuz I'm pretty angry

am I back in A Realm Reborn to have to sit through this type of plot point?

[steveseddie]

boy wonder

steddie | rating: t | wc: 999 | cw: none | tags: pre-relationship, steve and eddie recovering at the hospital together, eddie just had surgery, he’s a little high, fluff

for @steddie-spooktober day fourteen, prompt “bats”

read on ao3

“Do you think I’ll turn into Batman?”

Steve looks up from the magazine he’s been skimming through to find Eddie peering at him from his hospital bed. 

The sight of him covered in bandages and hooked to IVs and monitors still sends a shiver down Steve’s spine. But as the days go by and Eddie keeps getting better— looking better, less and less like he’s on the brink of death— it gets easier for Steve to handle it.

He’s surprised that Eddie woke up so soon after his surgery. The doctor said it’d be a while before the drugs wore off so Steve prepared himself to sit here for hours waiting for Eddie to wake up, just like he did after his first and then his second surgery. 

But it’s been less than two hours since they rolled him back into his room and Eddie is already up, eyes half-lidded and words slightly slurred and nonsensical, but awake and alert— and waiting for Steve to reply.

“Um, come again?”

“Do you think I’ll turn into Batman?” Eddie repeats, head lolling to the side to blink at Steve. “You know, ’cause I got bit by bats.”

Normally, Steve wouldn’t argue about superheroes with a nerd like Eddie, but he’s read a few Batman comics in his life and even he knows that’s not right. 

“I’m pretty sure Batman didn’t get bit by bats, Eddie,” he says with an amused chuckle. 

“No, but Spiderman got bit by a spider,” Eddie says, wagging his finger— the one with the pulse oximeter— at Steve like what he’s saying makes perfect sense. 

To him— pumped full of some pretty hardcore drugs— it probably does.  

“Okay,” Steve says, deciding to humor him. He shifts on the chair, leaning forward so that his back isn’t pressed against anything. They cleaned his wounds and changed his bandages before he came to Eddie’s room and by now the numbing cream has started to wear off and it stings. “Well, I also got bit by bats. Does that mean I’ll become Batman too?”

Eddie’s eyebrows knit together in a cute little frown. “There can only be one Batman.”

“And why does it have to be you?”

Eddie thinks it over for a second before propping himself up in his elbows, eyes wide. “I dress in black! And I have bat tattoos!” 

“Well, I have rich parents,” Steve counters with. It’s the one thing he knows he shares with the character. 

“Well, my parents are dead!” Eddie says. It’s probably the drugs’ fault that he sounds so enthusiastic about it. “I win!”

“Fine,” Steve says, rolling his eyes half-heartedly, “I guess you can be Batman.”

Eddie grins, satisfied, flopping back against the bed, his hair fanning out against the pillow. “You can be Robin,” he tells Steve, giving him a lopsided smile. 

“Sure, Eds.”

Eddie perks up and props himself on his elbows again. “Hey, we should dress up as them for Halloween!”

Steve can’t help but make a face. “No way, man.”

“Oh, right,” Eddie says, his smile falling, “we won’t be friends anymore by then.”

Wait— what?

“What are you talking about?” Steve asks, frowning. That makes even less sense than his drug-induced Batman musings. 

“Well, you only hang out with me ’cause we’re both stuck in this hospital,” Eddie says matter-of-factly, “but once we’re out of here, you’ll have no reason to put up with me.”

Steve starts shaking his head even before he’s done talking. He knows Eddie is only saying this out loud because of the drugs but it’s something he must’ve thought about it before. It makes Steve sad to think he’s been feeling this way for the last couple of weeks and Steve didn’t know. 

“Eddie, I don’t ‘put up with you’, okay? We’re friends, I like your company. You’re like, cool and really funny,” Steve says as earnestly as he can. “And we saved the world together! That means you’re stuck with me, man.”

Eddie’s eyes grow wider as Steve talks. He blinks slowly at him as he processes the words before his lips stretch into a big grin. 

“Does that mean we can dress up together?”

Steve’s lips scrunch to the side. “Yeah, no, I’m not wearing a nerdy costume, especially one where I have to wear tights,” he says in a bitchy tone. 

“But you’d look so good in them,” Eddie insists and then leers at Steve, licking his lips before he adds in a low voice— “big boy.”

Steve’s eyes go wide, and just like the first time Eddie called him that, he blushes and forgets how to speak from how flustered he feels.

He’s lucky he’s not the one hooked to a heart monitor right now or the damn thing would’ve started beeping like crazy in time with his stuttering heartbeat. 

He’s saved from having to say anything in response to that by a doctor coming into the room at that moment to check on Eddie, distracting him and breaking the weird tension. It’s a good thing she doesn’t pay any attention to Steve or she might ask why his face is bright red. 

“Hey, Doc,” Eddie says as she checks his vitals. The doctor hums in acknowledgment. “I’m Batman.” 

“Sure you are, Mr. Munson,” she says in a bored tone but Eddie doesn’t seem to care that she acts so dismissively. 

His head lolls to the side and he gives Steve a dimpled grin. “And that’s my Boy Wonder,” he says, eyes warm and molten as they stare at him.

Steve doesn’t know why that makes his heart skip a beat or why it makes his lungs feel like they can’t draw any air in.

Or why he wants Eddie to look at him like that again so desperately that he’s genuinely considering wearing those tights on Halloween after all.

Maybe he should ask the doctor for a check-up after she’s done with Eddie, just to be safe. He thinks he might be coming down with something.

[regardtheinnocent]

Ororon x male reader who is delighted with his little ears and wings?? This emo boy is too cute, and what if reader abuses his cute features during sex.I am sure that he will blush a lot from such attention! I love him too much. 😔

Contains: Dom!GN!Reader, Sub!Ororon, Lots of position changing 😅, Teasing (character receiving), Penetration (character receiving), reader has a cock/strap on, Ororon being a cutie pie, safeword exists but isn't referenced *note: I love him too, I fear that I'm a sucker for emo & bat characters haha.

Your hands drift to fondle Ororon's soft ears as they often do. You gently press your thumb, pointer and middle fingers together and begin rubbing them, finding it amusing that the poor farmer instantly quieted down.

"These ears of your's are sooo soft, love. I could pet them all day." You hum to him, choosing to ignore the current predicament that you were both in.

What was said predicament?

Well, you were buried deep in the poor thing, much too deep— he might add. You had him all sprawled out on your bed, his marked up and shaking thighs thrown over your shoulders.

Ororon swore his eyes rolled back slightly when you leaned forward to get a better angle to touch his ears. The sudden shift in movement made you press so much deeper, your tip felt like it was bullying his prostate at this point.

A weak squeal left the man's lips he tried his very best to shy away from your touch.

Not that you let him, of course.

No, you just had to move one of your hands down to his waist and hold him still. Fuck, Ororon was seeing stars.

"Mm.. God, pl—please [Name], you don't need to touch— Ah! them.." The farmer slurred back as he tried to keep his eyes open as best he could.

"Too deep— hngh ugh.." Ororon whined as you moved yet again. It was cute that the little bat was acting so shy all of a sudden.

Though, Ororon's wings flapped uselessly at his sides, prompting you to move your hand from his waist to hold onto one of them.

Gently, naturally. You didn't want to hurt him, after all.

"Its so hard not to though, sweetheart. And these wings that are fluttering around are just too tempting.." You reply as a slight smirk adorns your lips.

Ororon just shakes his head as he attempts at keeping his embarrassingly needy moans at bay. Which he fails at.

Then, you begin to move your hips again. You pull out halfway before pushing back in, watching as your baby goes cross eyed in an instant.

"You've been too chatty, angel. I must not be doing my job good enough, hmm?" You tease as Ororon manages to weakly kick at your back with his heels.

It was involuntary, really. He was just too stimulated and didn't know what to do.

When you left his ears alone for a moment, the farmer breathed a sigh of relief— only for said breath to turn into a squeal when you take his legs in your hands and fold him in half.

Though, once you've got him bent nicely, you only bother to use a single hand to hold both of his calves together.

You were doing an amazing job at bullying the poor thing with your body, watching him fall apart as you grabbed one of his wings.

"Nooo— Hnghh- ah! S'too muchh..." Ororon slurs out in a whiny voice as his mind melted more and more.

You gave his bat wing a gentle tug in response. You, of course, make sure not to be too rough when doing so.

Though, it was rough enough for the farmer to arch his back as cum shot out of his cock without warning. He let out his loudest squeal yet, which was really quite embarrassing in pitch.

Oh... his face is so pretty when he comes. It always is.

You paused for a moment, before a nice smile spread across your face. You weren't done with Ororon yet, not when you'd just made him finish from a wing tug. Oh no no no.

Instead, you flip him on his tummy for easier access to his pretty wings.

"Whu— [Name]-! I just caAAH—" You interrupt your darling mid sentence by promptly gripping both of his wings by the base and using them for leverage to fuck back into his hole.

All poor Ororon can do is claw and grab at the pillows and sheets in a desperate but vain attempt to ground himself.

You snap your hips forward over and over again as you feel your lover tighten around you. Its like he wants to keep you inside, how adorable.

Ororon can feel the burn of overstimulation settling in quite quickly, after all you're fucking him like an animal.

Though, he can only sob into the pillows as he feels the coil in his tummy tighten again, getting ready to snap again.

"Ple— Please!" Ororon all but begs as his cock rubs against the sheets, giving him more feelings that he can't handle.

"You can cum again, can't you, baby? Yeah.. you can do it." You coo back in a jarringly soothing voice, one that made the poor thing want to relax despite everything.

So he simply nods into the pillows as you continue plowing him from behind, and eventually, he shoots another load right against the previously soiled sheets.

"Goodd boy..." You groan as you tug on his wings, getting him to let out a few more spirts of cum before finally letting him rest.

You pull out slowly and your hands switch to tenderly rubbing over the bases of the farmer's wings, easing the soreness that would likely form in the coming hours.

"You did so good for me." You murmur and Ororon responds with a weak purr.

[reallyromealone]

Sebastian michaelis x demon/vampire butler reader? Omegaverse perhaps?

Title: a bit bitey

Fandom:black butler

Characters: Ciel, Sebastian

Fic type: fluff, omegaverse, suggestive content

Pairings:

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, omegaverse, fluff, suggestive themes, vampire reader

Notes: IM BAAAAAACK >:)

Summary: Reader is a vampire who drinks the blood of alphas who fall for his charms and gets mistaken for Jack the Ripper and gets chased by Sebastian and offered a position be can't refuse

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

It was said that when a demon bedded a witch that it would create something truly unholy that would walk the earth craving human flesh, unable to touch the sun.

It's why (name) found his home in London, a lovely home with his centuries accumulated wealth and all his trinkets over the years scattered around, like a museum of his immortality.

"I was so hungry..." (Name) Sighed, the Omega watching as the man dropped to the ground, body drained of all blood and (name) licked his lips, a bit of blood on his top lip. A sense of euphoria washed over the Omega who let out a sigh before stepping over the dead alpha, seeing a wanted poster for Jack the Ripper, whoever that guy was sure made feedings easy...

It was the dead of night, no one really in the streets and the oil lamps lighting his path home, a pep in his step and soft humming could be heard.

He was always so happy after a good feeding.

"There he is! Sebastian, get him!" A child's voice could be heard and (name) turned to lock eyes with a deep red pair... A demon.

(Name) Immediately bolted, the young blue eyed boy going into his carriage to wait while his demon stalked down the street.

Running through alleyways and corners, (name) was thankful for his speed and lack of footsteps, slipping into his bedroom door and closing it with a sigh.

Safe.

"Fu--" (name) was pinned to the ground by the black haired alpha, arms pinned to his side "you know, people would typically take one on a romantic stroll or maybe a dinner before doing something like this" (name) snarled at the alpha who wasn't even remotely phased "you have been causing problems..." Sebastian said casually, eyeing the Omega who huffed "I'm simply having dinner" (name) didn't particularly care for the humans, really seeing them as food "you killed five prostitutes"

Huh?

"My apologies but I don't pursue other omegas" (name) said simply "I pursue alphas, they're easier" Sebastian stared him down, looking for any trade if a lie but when he found nothing he let go of his wrists but stayed on the vampires hips "is there anything else I can assist you with Sbeastian?" Remembering the name the boy called the demon "are you looking for employment?" Sebastian asked curiously, (name) raising an eyebrow at the question.

"What are you on about?"

"I can offer you something, an exchange"

"What could you possibly offer me?"

"Demon blood in exchange for employment" (name) didn't need money, he didn't need items or anything material as he lived for centuries and had an Elizabethan era outfit in a chest in the attic of his home. "You are willing to give me your blood?" (Name)s eyes were blown out while moving to touch the others cold neck, right around his jugular "no more attacking humans, work under me and you get demonic blood" demonic blood was like a fine wine to a vampire, addictive and delicious.

Sebastian could smell the omegas pharamones even when masked, biting his lips "do you know what you're asking of me, alpha?"

"I am well aware of what in asking, Omega" Sebastian whispered, getting closer to the other "I'm half human, do you think you can handle my mortal emotions? I am very high maintenance" (name) didn't flinch, the twos lips barely touching and eyes locking "I think I can manage, humans are needy creatures"

"Half human"

"Ah yes, like a mutt"

(Name) Glared "my my what a charmer, can you please kindly get your flat bottom off me alpha?" (Name) Batted his eyes "don't you have your child to tend to?"

"Do you accept my offer?"

"I suppose I will become your mate..." (Name) Huffed, looking at the alpha who was now his mate "my heat is in two weeks, I will be having it here and I will be keeping my residence for such matters or if you annoy me too much"

Sebastian silently chuckled at the Omega he chose, a snarky vampire who didn't care for silly human traditions on being an Omega.

This was going to be fun.

[carothehotmess]

The Marvels did something so amazing in the way they presented Carol’s marriage.

Like she revealed that she married this man (an objectively beautiful man) and the only takeaway was that she was now technically a princess.

Carol says something along the lines of, “we’re friends, and he needed help with this” and there was no indication or question of romance whatsoever.

And thats really rare. Because usually, you have two people of different genders that are put in a marriage of convenience, you’d see at least one other character comment on the romantic implications, if not see the actual romance play out. But there was no question about the relationship between the characters in this.

Carol said they were friends, then she changed into a pretty dress and danced with him, and… that was it! No one swooned or sighed in the audience while they danced, Kamala and Monica didn’t bat an eye when Carol said they were friends, there were no lingering shots of them looking at each other.

Nia DaCosta managed to introduce a fairly common romance trope as the most platonic partnership I’ve ever seen on screen.

Meanwhile, there were clearly lingering shots and deep conversations and genuine chemistry when Valkyrie shows up.

[artificial-transmutations]

Immersive Mode™

Finally, Friday was here. It had been ages since they had a whole weekend dedicated to nothing but video games. "They" in that context were Kevin and Nick, best friends since pre-school and video game enthusiasts. Of course, having adult lives, with jobs and chores and - at least in the case of Kevin - a girlfriend left preciously little time for gaming, which was a shame, really. Their interests in games were diverse and they played pretty much everything - from mindless loot-shooters to farming sims, so they never felt like they had enough time.

This weekend, however, was different. Kevin's girlfriend was on a work trip, and the boys had planned for a whole weekend of gaming, which Kevin was really looking forward to.

He stood in front of Nick's door, his backpack with everything he needed for the days over his shoulder, and was just about to ring the bell, when Nick opened the door and almost bumped into his friend.

"Oh, hey bro, good to see you!"

They hugged - shortly - and Nick continued, as he passed Kevin:

"Listen, I'm gonna buy some energy really quick. Make yourself at home, I'll be back in ten minutes tops."

Of course, Kevin knew this wouldn't hold true. Nick was notoriously bad with times, so he didn't expect him to be back in the next half hour. But Kevin was in a very good mood, so he didn't mind waiting. He had finished putting down his stuff quickly and looked around Nick's apartment.

Unlike Kevin, Nick didn't have a girlfriend - no, a partner, Kevin corrected himself. Even though Nick had never explicitly *said* so, Kevin was reasonably sure he batted for the other team. It didn't matter to Kevin at all, really. If anything, he used to think that this left more girls for the rest of them, although that hardly mattered anymore to Kevin, at least not since he had a girlfriend.

He sighed. Yeah, his girlfriend. After this weekend of gaming, he was going to propose to her, and he wanted to ask Nick to be his best man, at a good opportunity. However, the truth was that he wasn't really all too happy with it. He knew that it was *expected* of him to propose, but... he just wasn't sure about his now-girlfriend-and-future-wife. He didn't really... connect. Nick and he were lifelong friends, understood each other without words and Kevin trusted Nick with all his life. The same couldn't be said about his future wife. If he had the choice, he'd much rather date Nick, but since Kevin wasn't gay, that was a mood point to think about.

He looked around Nick's untidy bachelor apartment until his eyes found the gaming rig of his best friend. It was running - of course - and showed the main menu of a game Kevin recognized as a new life sim that was pretty hyped in social media. It was a lot like the sams, but without the greedy multi-billion-dollar company behind it.

Intrigued, Kevin sat down in front of the screen. He was sure Nick wouldn't mind if he took a look.

The "continue" button was grayed out, which was a clear sign that Nick had started the game just for the first time, so, Kevin clicked "New Game". As he expected, an empty character creator loaded with a big prominent "+" button, probably to add a new person to the virtual household. Kevin clicked it, but instead of the character customization, a message box appeared.

"Do you want to try the new immersive mode™?"

That sounded fun. He knew that Nick had a surround system, so he guessed it was probably some kind of ambient sound design thing.

When he clicked "Yes", another message box appeared.

"How long do you want the immersive mode™ to last?"

Well, he was here all weekend so... Kevin set the timer to 48 hours.

"Bonus! For enabling immersive mode™ for 48 hours, you may select one trait to keep after."

Cool, thought Kevin. So, the game had a kind of progression system, nice touch.

He clicked "Ok" again, and was just about to start creating a character, when suddenly, the screen became exceedingly bright. Kevin had to close his eyes and felt really weird all of a sudden, a kind of pulling sensation all over his body. A few seconds later, Kevin was not there anymore, and the chair was empty.

Twenty minutes later, Nick came back from his shopping trip and entered his apartment.

"Yo, Kev! I brought enough energy for the whole weekend!"

He dropped his groceries on the kitchen table, and put the cans in the fridge, before he went to the living room.

"Hey, man, where are you?"

But there was no one. Weird. Well, he probably forgot something at home and would come back in a bit. Nick shrugged mentally and sat down in his gaming chair, cracking open a can of energy drink before looking at the screen. Had he already started the character creator? Apparently.

On the screen, standing in a featureless gray environment was an avatar. It did look kind of familiar, if he was being honest. Although it was clearly a comic-style 3D-model, it reminded him a lot of his friend Kevin. Of course, usually a shirt obscured the view of Kevin's slight belly, but the character on the screen was completely nude, safe for a pair of underwear.

The fact the avatar kind of looked like his friend didn't seem as out of the ordinary as one could think. After all, Nick had a tiny crush on his best friend - nothing too serious, but he still found him somewhat attractive - and often modelled his in-game avatars after Kevin. He just hoped that Kevin - the real Kevin - wasn't offended by him leaving the character creator open like that.

Well, since he was waiting for his friend to return anyway, he might as well finish the character creation. Nick indulged himself in the various sliders and started to change the avatars appearance. Even though a Kevin-lookalike was a good start, there were several improvements to make. He could be taller, for example. Nick found the slider and watched as the avatar morphed and grew taller.

On the other side of the screen, Kevin was unable to do anything. He was fully aware and stared at Nick's face through the screen as if it was a window, but he couldn't move. His body - his cartoony, but otherwise pretty accurate body - just stood there in his underwear and breathed. From time to time, there was a stretching idle animation, but that was about it. However, as Nick dragged the height slider, his body immediately reacted. Kevin felt a sensation of vertigo, as he grew taller in a matter of seconds. Next, Nick edited his body type. All of a sudden, his belly disappeared into a hard and flat stomach, with abdominal muscles becoming visible. Over all, his musculature expanded and became more defined, until he was fitter than Kevin ever thought he'd be. The next changes were in his face, and Kevin could only feel his facial features shifting as Nick resculpted the head to be a bit more chiseled and masculine. He was still recognizable as Kevin - but an idealized and handsome version of him.

"Wow, that's what you'd look like if you went to the gym, Kev. Damn." Nick said to himself as he clicked next. After the physical character creation, he was able to select character traits for the avatar. They were already prefilled with what looked to be pretty much Kevin's profile, which was weird. Nick was reasonably sure he hadn't been to this screen yet, and yet, the interests and settings looked a lot like they belonged to Kevin.

Well, there was no reason to change anything there, right? No, actually, one thing he should change. He looked through the traits until he found the slider he was looking for, which read 85% heterosexual right now. Yeah, no. This was his fantasy game, right? He quickly slid the slider over to 100% homosexual. There, that was more like it.

Kevin couldn't see what Nick was adjusting and felt strange for a moment. He knew something was different - but he didn't know what. Internally, he was panicking a bit. He still couldn't move and felt trapped - both inside the screen as well as within his own body. As strange as it sounded, he had somehow been sucked into the video game, and he didn't know how he could tell Nick, or how to escape this.

Nick, on the other side, decided he didn't need any more changes. He briefly considered making a second character but decided against it. Perhaps he could play a nice little dating story with the character that he simply named "Kev".

Finally, Kevi - no, Kev, was able to move again. His avatar body had been dropped into a simple flat, with cartoony looking furniture. He turned his head left and right and bobbed a bit on the spot before deciding to check out the fridge. He walked over to the cheap looking device and opened the door. Inside, there was only a flat texture of what looked like food, but he still mechanically reached inside and pulled out... a bowl of cereal, that he began to eat standing. When he was finished, he put the bowl to the ground in front of him and walked over to the PC, starting up a game.

It was clear to Kev now that he wasn't really in control. At first, it had felt like he was the one in charge, but actually, his body still acted on its own, likely controlled by some kind of algorithm. He wondered what would happen if Nick...

There it was. All of a sudden, Kev stopped playing and stood up, driven by a mighty force that controlled all of his movements. He walked over to the small bathroom and mechanically disrobed. He could basically feel the eyes of Nick on him, who had just ordered him to take a shower, watching every movement until he was completely nude.

Unlike the sams, this game sure was anatomically correct. Nick had not bothered to adjust his privates, so they looked pretty normal to him, but he was acutely aware that Nick was watching every movement he did and every swing of his cock. Still, he couldn't do anything about it as he entered the shower and felt simulated water on his skin.

He was still in the middle of his shower, when suddenly the doorbell rang. Immediately, he felt compelled to exit the shower and dress quickly, before running to the door. In front of him stood a delivery man, handing him a newspaper that Kev took automatically and put on the floor right where he was standing. The delivery guy was already back on his way to his car, but Kev ran after him. He didn't have much of a choice.

He chatted a bit with the guy and felt really connected to him after only a few minutes of talk. He laughed at his jokes and complimented his work. What was even more surprising was that he started to really find that guy... cute. He was smaller than him, now, and had a sort of twink-ish flair. Kev could feel his virtual cock stirring, which confused the hell out of him. He was straight, wasn't he?

No, of course. Nick must have changed that in the character creator. And now, he was... trying to flirt with the delivery guy.

Against his will, he started making slippery comments in the conversation and watched as the other man was flustered and blushed. Kev couldn't help but smile seductively before he leaned into a kiss.

It sure felt weird being controlled like that, but the kiss was nice, nevertheless. However, much to the dismay of his visible virtual erection, after they broke the kiss, the delivery man suddenly turned around and left. At least he had magically obtained his phone number, Kev thought as he re-entered his house.

Outside the screen, Nick couldn't help but be a bit aroused. This was clearly an adult game, and when he saw that the Kev-avatar on-screen had a boner, he felt himself chub up a bit as well. Kevin was still not there, so he could try to bring this a bit further along. He steered the avatar to the wardrobe and selected "Edit Kev" in the popup menu, after which the now familiar character creator opened. Nick was eager to see how far he could get and started adjusting sliders again. First, the muscle. In front of Nick's hungry eyes, Kev inflated from a very fit man to a true bodybuilder. His arms were stacked with muscle, and his shoulders appeared so wide they would probably clip through the environment when he was going through a door. Next was the face. Nick changed the brown color to a darker shade, fitting to handsome dark eyes. He adjusted the facial structure until the Kev on the screen had a square jaw, like an action hero, and a fitting dominant smirk. Perfect.

He zoomed out again and noticed a slider for body hair. He didn't quite put it to maximum, but far enough so that Kev's chest was covered with a layer of manly fuzz. Nick always liked hairy men, so this was just perfect. He was just about to save the appearance when he realized there was one more important setting. Yep, junk size. He quickly dragged the slider to maximum and watched as an obscene bulge grew in the avatars underwear. Nick couldn't wait to send the dude showering again so he could ogle the hefty tool.

Yeah, that was it. Nick was fondling his own bulge by now, as he clicked save. However, as he was just about to unbutton his jeans, he stopped himself. Kevin could be back any minute and he didn't want to catch him rubbing one out. Heavy hearted, he saved the game and clicked exit, but was surprised by a popup that opened.

"User 'Kev' is still in immersive mode™ for 47 hours and 22 minutes. Do you want to reproject?"

What did that mean? Reproject? Confused, Nick clicked "Yes" and almost jumped out of his chair when suddenly, the screen grew really bright and a large and manly figure materialized right in front of him, just as hot as he had just designed him, but not cartoony anymore at all. It was Kev. And, as it dawned on Nick, it was Kevin. Somehow, Kevin must have been sucked into the game and he... changed him and played with him.

Realization hit Nick hard. Kevin, in his muscular Kev form just stood there, in front of the PC and breathed heavily, but did not move, as if he was waiting for something.

"Woah, this is crazy. Fuck. Me." Nick exclaimed in confusion, and realized what he just said, when a dominant grin grew on Kev's face and he began walking towards Nick, the overly large cock already throbbing inside the underwear. Nick gulped but didn't object, although he knew that he wouldn't be able to walk properly for days to come.

It was Sunday evening when the timer hit zero. The weekend had not been filled with a single video game, but neither Kev nor Nick didn't get much sleep, either. Kev's body was a machine, in more ways than one, and the whole flat stank from the stench of sex and sweat. Finally, the screen grew bright, and a large dialog box awaited Kev.

"Congratulations, you have completed 48 hours of immersive mode™. Please select a trait to keep."

Finally, Kev was able to control his own body again. After the initial horror of something else controlling him, he had quickly found a liking to the feeling, and had the most erotic weekend of his life, as he had to watch his body fuck Nick senseless on every piece of furniture in the apartment. He wasn't even mad. It had showed him what was missing from his life, and that was, aside from the body of a Greek god with an untypically large cock, Nick. So, it wasn't a hard choice to make. Kev walked over and scrolled down until he found what he was looking for and clicked on "Orientation".

As he morphed back into his old body, he smiled at Nick, who was watching with uncertainty and fear how his friend would react to his direction of his body. Then, with a husky voice, he said:

"We should do that again next weekend, babe. I still have a lot of traits I want to keep, and I have the feeling, I'll have a lot more timing for fucking your cute little ass in the future."

I hope you enjoyed this little video game tf as much as I did! I know I certainly wouldn't mind stumbling upon a game with immersive mode™. There are some additional images of Kev in my Tip Jar.

[redflagshipwriter]

Check Yes Chapter 7 part 1

in which the bats start to suspect that something is going on with Jason

Masterpost

“No, I'm at Jason's place,” Dick read out loud. “Have fun without me.” He put his hands on his hips. “I think I'm offended. Are you offended?” 

Damian shrugged, cheeks hollowed around a juice box straw. He had under eye wrinkles from a long day of being a small child. Dick felt vaguely tempted to squish his cheeks, but the bites were still healing from last time and he needed dexterity to grapple.

“I'm deeply offended and think you should remind Jason who is the alpha older brother.” Tim didn't stop his keyboard mashing, splayed upside down on the back of the sofa. His neck was squashed at an uncomfortable looking angle. “Go get Duke and give him fundamental childhood memories. Now is your time to shine. Teach him how to ride a bicycle or Jason will do it for you.” 

Dick hummed skeptically. He paced a little. “Duke probably knows how to ride a bike. But still.” He took a couple of steps while he wrestled with himself. “I know that you’re trying to encourage the worst in me.” He tapped his fingers against his hipbone rapidly. 

It wasn’t going to work. He didn’t need to be competitive about this. Duke wasn’t really picking Jason over him, he was just- choosing to be with Jason instead of Dick. No big deal.

“Are you really going to take Jason take a W over you?” Tim didn’t even look over at him. 

“He’s not winning anything.” Dick frowned at the distance, out the window. It was just that usually these few hours in between Duke’s patrol and bedtime lined up well with his free time after work, before patrol. He liked having the family together. He liked that they hung out in the TV room and fought for control of the TV. It built character, and he wasn’t saying that just because he usually won.

“He’s winning,” Tim said darkly. “You’re letting Duke get away from you.” 

Dick ripped away Tim’s DS player and scowled down at him. “Stop trying to rile me up,” he demanded.

Tim gave him a shitty smile. “You’re right. It’s probably better if Duke hangs out with Jason. What’s one more bird who avoids the Manor? We can be a family from a distance. You don’t really need to see Duke grow up.”

“You suck.” Dick let go of the DS and stalked out of the TV room. He ignored the instant scramble behind him as Damian and Tim fought for control of the TV. Tim was probably doomed to two hours of Animal Planet, but Dick felt no mercy as he grabbed his riding jacket and jogged to the upstairs parking garage. He passed Bruce and they exchanged a silent nod. 

Jason’s place was annoyingly far away from the Manor. Dick steamed inside his motorcycle helmet for the first ten minutes and then decided to be a better, more cheerful person, and also to do some recon. He called up Roy on his headset. “He-ey,” he sang with the line picked up.

“Dickie McDickface,” Roy said evenly. “Fancy hearing from you.”

“Oh please, McDickface is my father.” Dick swerved around a car that was merging without a turn signal and then gunned the engine so that he could get even with the driver and show them his middle finger. “You can just call me Baby.”

“Will do, sweet cheeks.” Something snapped in the background and then a humming started up. Microwave? “What’s up? You calling just to flirt or do you need to see my face?”

“Just thought of you,” Dick lied breezily. “Since I’m on my way to see my little wing and he’s tried so hard to subsume my place in your heart.” He tightened his grip on his motorcycle handles.

“You really don’t need to compete with him.” Roy said blandly. “You’re different people. I can have friendships with multiple people without one of them being the alpha friend.”

Dick made an unconvinced hum and took a sharp left turn onto the freeway. “If you say so. I’m not arguing with a man with beautiful brown eyes.” 

Roy sniggered. “You’re terrible.”

Dick grinned. Gottem.

“I don’t think Jason wants my heart,” he said wryly. “You can relax.”

Dick got much tenser. “Oh?” he prompted. Say what you know! Reveal Jason’s secrets!

“I think he’s got someone else in the picture, he deep-cleaned his place again and last week he sent me pictures of him in three identical black leather jackets asking which gave off more of an air of careless sophistication.” A pan clattered.

“I’m sure they weren’t identical,” Dick said, a little distracted by how hopeless Roy always was about these things. “What were the lapels like?” 

A few cars ahead sirens blared and then there was a momentous crash. Glass sparkled high in the air and someone skidded across the pavement while Roy chattered on.

“Anyway, I’m actually making dinner right now. Right, sweetheart? Wanna say hello to Uncle Dickie?” Roy cooed, voice going slightly unfocused as he moved away from the speaker. 

A multi-car pileup crashed into place ahead of him.

“Oh, Lian is there!” Dick hit the brakes hard and safely settled to the side of the mess. “Hi, princess!”  He puttered through the scene at a low speed, checking everyone out. “How was your day? Did you kick ass on the bar at preschool?” Fender bender, fender bender, angry woman obviously calling the police- seemed fine. Dick hit the throttle and passed the wreck on the side.

A faint childish voice spoke in the background, utterly incomprehensible. Roy translated after a second, deadpan. “Boy Wonder, she says that she conquered like a roman general. She was as powerful and beloved as the second- no, sorry, she said the first emperor of the Chin dynasty. Lian, I corrected- I said the first!”

Dick winced. “Yeah, the first emperor was better,” he said. Massive understatement.  “So proud of you, Li-Li!”

“I better let you go. Take care, Dickie. Hope Gotham doesn’t treat you too mean.” 

“Gotham is a sweetheart,” Dick said cheerfully. “Enjoy dinner!” He cut the call and grinned to himself, thinking over the new information.

His first thought was that Roy was off-base and Jason had cleaned his apartment because Duke was coming over. But Roy was right about the jacket– Jason wouldn’t be worried about his clothes to impress a sibling.

‘What does this have to do with Duke?’ 

He turned that part of the puzzle over in his mind as he approached Park Row. It could be a coincidence, sure, but he could smell something more interesting here. It made more sense for there to be a connection than for there to be two changes to routine in a short time frame.

The only thing to do about it was to let himself into Jason’s apartment building, hoist open the staircase window on the floor below Jason’s apartment, and free climb up the wall to let himself onto Jason’s balcony. Jason’s door was only accessible by code, and he was aiming for stealth this time. Dick hunkered down to listen closely.

Duke was definitely in there. He could hear the faint music of a boss battle coming from inside.

‘...That’s definitely weird,’ Dick noted, getting excited about it. ‘Jason doesn’t own games. What’s Duke got on him? Is it blackmail? What do I have to do to force Duke to tell me?’

[clockwayswrites]

City Pigeons Bleed Green - Part 13

Cass looked up as Jason came out of Danny’s room. He looked better.

After Danny had been stabilized, Cass had taken Jason away from the safe house and to Jason’s place with the gym in the basement. She knew what it was like to have that need to act— to hurt to ruin to end— burning under her skin. She gave Jason the fight that he needed, letting him punch and kick until they were both covered in bruises and he was shaking apart in her arms.

Today he looked better.

“N is going to stay with Danny,” Jason said with a little nod backwards.

Dick, Jason, Tim, and herself had all been taking turns staying with their new brother. He was sleeping a lot right then; he was waking with nightmares a lot too. Waking up with one of them touching him seemed to help him calm the quickest so they took turns staying close.

“Red?” Cass asked with a little tilt of her head.

Jason glanced at the clock on the oven as he opened the fridge. He wasn’t really hungry, but eating out of habit. “He’ll be over here in two hours, I he doesn’t get distracted.”

“Be nice. Red cares. He’ll be here,” she said.

Jason seemed to settle on something and popped the top off before throwing it in the microwave. “Yeah… yeah. Danny’s pretty much wormed his way into all of our hearts, hasn’t he?”

“Yes. Will for rest too.”

Jason snorted. “As if he already hasn’t with B. They didn’t need to meet for that. You know how the old man is, a real bleeding heart of stone.”

Cass rolled her eyes and ordered again, “Be nice.”

Jason frowned at her but she just smiled serenely back until he rolled his eyes. It was a win enough for her.

The heated food was set on a trivet between them and Jason stuck two forks in it.

“I’m thinking we get O in here in a few days,” he said around his own large bite of lasagna. “Danny is healing better this time, but we don’t know what sort of set back this will cause mentally and all. Having another set of hands would be good.”

“O will like him.”

“Course she will,” Jason said with almost a scoff.

“No O and Red,” Cass added thoughtfully after she had chewed her own bite. This was definitely Jason lasagna and not Alfred lasagna.

“Yeah… I don’t think I’m going to trust those three in a room together for a long time,” Jason said with a dawning sort of horror. “Danny took apart the remote here and now it has buttons for services I didn’t even know existed. I swear it will change shows on its own too if no one is paying attention to it. It’s useful, I guess, but a little creepy.”

“Ghost brother,” Cass said with a little shrug.

Jason’s eyes narrowed before he let out an exhausted sounding sigh. “I hate that you might be right. Our controller could be haunted now.”

“Alas poor Yorick?”

“Wrong character,” Jason said, pointing with his fork, “but that is a play with a ghost in it so good job.”

Cass smiled happily at the praise. “Once Red is here, you and me errands?”

“You just want to buy Danny another present,” Jason said, jabbing his fork in her direction.

“Yes,” she said with zero shame.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Fine, but we have to do groceries too.”

-

Babs had been warned that Danny was still very skittish, but he hadn’t actually expected him to freeze like a scared rabbit when she came into the apartment. She stopped rolling forward and moved her hands to where he could see them both clearly.

“Hi Danny,” she said with her kindest librarian voice that she had. “I’m Oracle. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Danny shook his head, the motion ran through him like a shudder and whatever had frozen him shook off him like water off a dog. His smile was still shaky though, so Babs didn’t think that whatever the reaction had been was completely done.

“Hi, Oracle.” His voice was soft, rough, a little broken.

She’d heard from a number of the bats about the latest development and the trauma that went with it, but it as still something to see someone that looked like a young Bruce covered in bandages and looking more than worse for the wear.

“Are you alright if I come in? If you aren’t, that’s alright. I’ll just talk with Nightwing in the hall for a little.”

“No, you can come in,” Danny said, sitting up a little straighter. His eyes flicked over her again. “It’s just… your hair reminded me of someone is all. No one… no one bad.”

Babs offered him a smile and came the rest of the way into the apartment. “If that changes, just let me know.”

“It’s fine, really,” Danny said, though the words were still a little bit of a whisper.

“Well then,” Dick said, interrupting the end of the oddly tense moment, “Babs, do you want any hot chocolate?”

“Thank you, but without the mountain of whip cream I know you liked to put on it,” she said, giving Dick a playful glare.

He shrugged unrepentantly. “Danny?”

“Yes please,” he said. He was fussing with the blanket he had been sitting under, folding it up just so.

Babs moved towards the kitchen to give him a little bit of space and the illusion of some privacy.

‘What was that about?’ Babs asked Dick silently through raised eye brows, a slightly twisted frown, and a subtle nod towards the living room.

‘Not a damn clue,’ is what Dick’s shrug said back.

It almost made Babs sigh.

Danny was still a complete mystery to her. While they were being good and had avoided taking blood or fingerprints from Danny, Barbara had at least been trying to find Danny’s path through the city. She’d been saying for days now that the boy was like a ghost.

She just didn’t expect that to be as literal as it was.

The nickname had lost any of its fun.

“Danny, whipped cream for you?” Dick asked.

Danny’s eyes darted from Dick to Babs.

“Oh, feel free to have it like N,” Babs said with a smile. “I just don’t have the sweet tooth that he does.”

“She never has, it’s tragic,” Dick said with a sigh as he started to warm a pot of milk. “So, whipped cream.”

“Um, yes,” Danny said.

“I will take sprinkles though,” Babs said. “Do you have the little—”

“Bats?” Dick scoffed. “Of course I have the little bats. You can’t have proper hot chocolate without the little bat sprinkles.”

“Of course not,” words serious but unable to help the little smile that she sported.

“You all really like the theme, don’t you?” Danny asked, though he was smiling too now.

“The boy in the hoddie with the Bat logo on it does not get to talk,” Dick said and tossed a large marshmallow at Danny with pin point accuracy.

Danny caught it effortlessly and started to pull it apart with a little shrug. “Hood got if for me as a present.”

“Of course he did,” Tim said as he finally emerged from wherever he had been tucked away. He handed the tablet he was carrying over to Danny before he sat down in the neighboring armchair. “He’s just trying to claim you first, as if him and I didn’t find you together.”

“Hot chocolate, Red?” Dick asked while Danny was busy looking bewildered at that.

“Sure, but add some coffee to it?” Tim asked.

“No,” Dick replied far too cheerfully. “But seriously Dandelion, a Bat logo from a Bat means something.”

Danny’s face scrunched up at that and he looked down at himself. “I don’t think… he was trying to claim me?”

Babs snorted. “Oh, trust us, he was absolutely claiming you. He probably felt that he had to do something material to even start to compete with B.B., as if he wasn’t cooking for you all the time.”

Danny stared back at her with wide blue eyes. The open surprise and desperate want was odd to see on someone that looked so much like Bruce. Damian certainly never let himself appear that way.

“And Red is already souping up your tablet, I’m assuming— though if you really want an improvement let me see it,” she continued, talking over Tim’s little snort, “and N is making you the special hot chocolate. Even Signal is thinking what he can get you and Spoiler is whining that she hasn’t met you yet.”

“She is getting so annoying,” Tim whined while Danny stuffed the shredded marshmallow in his mouth, likely to get out of saying anything. He looked more than a little teary eyed. Tim gave him the out by continuing, “We’ll have her over one morning when she’ll be tired and easily distracted by waffles. You’re not up for the full Spoiler experience yet.”

“Trust Red on that,” Dick interjected as he stirred the coco, “he dated her.”

“I don’t know what either of us were thinking,” Tim said with a sigh. “We are both way too high maintenance in different ways for it to have worked.”

“You were still waiting for you bi awakening, baby bird, you were missing out on half the options,” Dick said. He dropped one of the oversized marshmallows in each of the four mugs before pouring the scalding hot chocolate over it.

Babs left him to his sorcery and wheeled over to the couch before working her way onto it. Danny helpfully moved the blanket out of the way and then offered it back after. She draped it carefully over her legs.

“So what did Red do to your tablet?”

“I actually didn’t do anything,” Tim said, and then had to pause. “Well, not after I gave it to Danny at least. I was just making sure everything was still good. Danny’s been tinkering with it.”

Danny gave a little shrug and picked at the edge of his hoodie.

“Do you like engineering then? Or inventing?” Babs asked, trying to encourage Danny to open up a little.

“Yeah, my— I—, I mean…” Danny stumbled over his words. He lost some of his color with each false start until he was worryingly grey. He swallowed thickly. “Yeah, I used to at least.”

“Danny, hot chocolate,” Dick said with impeccable timing as always.

Danny whispered a thanks and took the almost overflowing mug. He could basically hide behind the mound of whipped cream and he definitely tried to. Babs took the offered mug with a much more modest dollop but an absurd amount of bat sprinkles. Her lips twitched up in a smile as she took a sip.

Tim’s portion was somewhere in between Bab’s and Danny and of course Dick’s was practically laughable. It’s a wonder he didn’t make an absolute mess of himself drinking it as they argued over a movie to watch. It was clever of the Bats, really, they had started to narrow down how long Danny had been a test subject by what movies he had seen or not.

It was somewhere between seventeen and twenty-three months.

Nearly two years.

They were all lucky that Danny had made it out at all. They all knew the statistics of something like that.

Hot chocolate turned into dinner turned into Danny cuddling Dick on the couch and eventually resting against Bab’s legs. A good sign about her acceptance, according to the birds.

“Oracle?”

Babs had thought that Danny was asleep. She reached out to run the tips of her fingers through his hair. The lights from the movie that was still playing glinted off her pink nails. “Yes, Danny?”

“If I asked… would you be able to find someone for me?”

She tilted her head. “The person that I remind you of?”

“Yes. Just… just so that I know she’s okay.”

“Is she in danger?”

“No, she’s not like me. She’s…” Danny cut himself off, swallowing back the words.

“But you’d still like to know.”

“Yes.”

Babs hummed. It was technically an abuse of her powers, but they were something she abused all the time. “Yes, if you ask me to, I can find out if she’s okay.”

“Okay. I’ll… maybe I’ll ask. Thank you.”

“Of course, Danny.”

---

AN: I struggled with this chapter at first, but it was because I was jumping right to Barbara meeting Danny and not giving the others some more time to deal with the change in Danny. They still haven't really dealt with it, right now they're focused on healing and getting more help through Babs being around.

All our poor Bat's. So attached already and so traumatized.

But not as traumatized as Danny...

Stay delightful, darlings!

[creepy-friday]

Can I make a request? Headcanons or a little Oneshot idk of Alastor x Wife!reader? Both being couple goals like Morticia and Gómez. Being evil together, like a good old classical couple 👉👈🥺

Alastor x Wife!Reader

I can see the reader symbolic animal being a crow/bat,and being able to manipulate/manifest them in both physical and shadow form

they would get along with Alastor's manifestations,sometimes he would pet them,have them around whenever you're not since he craves presence

both of you play spooky little tricks on the other demons such as making things levitate,opening the doors,flicking the lights,it's truly amusing seeing the undead fear the ..well..undead

you would give "soft nightmares" to someone then said someone would think they're prophetic and Alastor would further convince them they are just so that they make a deal with him to keep them safe from absolutely nothing

both of you give each other the side eye everytime something happens that both of you don't agree on

he has a shadow attached to you and inevitably the said shadow would try to woo you every chance he has

the "microphone" he has also has to be a little bit oblivious at times.

Both of you sit in complete silence,just enjoying each others presence while doing your own thing then suddenly his mic opens his little eye "what a lovely couple both of you are,what were the odds for both of you to be silent in bed!" Alastor chuckles and you let out an annoyed giggle "did you hear that,dear?" you ask him,putting your chore aside.

"Of course,just don't mind him,but for real now,what were the odds?" he continues to joke about it."No.That was the sound of a fucking divorce." you joke in return making him even more flustered and talkative,getting him all touchy feely with you

for real now,the word "divorce" makes him a top comedian,cook,lover and everything in between,even if it's in the context of a joke,he wouldn't want to lose you

if your personality tends to be more introverted/melancholic he would 100% take it as a challange and would do everything in his power to get you to do something completely out of your character

he never calls you by your name(except for serious occasions/spicy ones,if you know what I mean) but rather uses pet names such as "Honey";"Dear";"Darling"; "Cara mia"

uses every opportunity to dance with you whenever a good song is playing

you don't have to be shy with him,his mischievous personality will totally use it to his benefit and tease the living hell out of you

I have this lil' headcanon that if the both of you are listening in to a conversation and if you can't hear,he would manifest some old headphones to hear better "here you go,darling"

"Husk is adorable" you sing,trying to pet the man in question "Well,I say he looks completely utterly miserable!Of course you find him adorable!" Alastor laughs,bringing his one sided friend closer to your reach

asks your opinion on every important decision he has to make even if he is already sure about what to do.If you have a different view on it he will definitely reconsider

Angel Dust would be all sighs,puffs and "get a room" just because the two of you do simple romantic gestures such as Alastor's gentlemanly behaviour of kissing your hand and such

Vaggie's tolerance of Alastor drops to 0,but she adores enjoys your presence.She wishes both of you would have more time together but your husband always needs to barge in and annoy the living hell out of her.Alastor doesn't really likes her so he wouldn't want you around her that much

dark humour that leaves everyone poker face except the two of you

he doesn't except much from you tbh,just the same old love to be reciprocated

[pearlzier]

hiii! i hope you’re having a good day/night ^_^ i was wondering if you could wirte either sam or dean winchester with a bimbo reader!! smut or fluff i dunno ahhh TY!!

☆ ┆.ᐟ ᰍ ︵ this took me so long m'so sorry ml !! ۫ .

☆ warning ; tad bit suggestive i mean. it's dean ,,

“pass me the fuckin’ uh..” dean ran his hand through his hair, crouched beside baby. it was a one in a million day where dean had no shit to do, so he found himself doing checks on baby even if she was in perfect shape. doesn't mean he can't check in on his girl, whilst his girl is sat on the precariously stored chair. yeah, he'd told you if you fell he'd absolutely laugh at you however he knew full well that he'd literally perform an act of magic on you to keep you safe.

“uh, screw driver?” you bat your lashes at him, legs rocking as you typed on your phone, snorting out a laugh at the emoticon that charlie had sent you. of course, you liked to help dean out. but the weather was so good, and the sun was good for your skin, or so that forum that you read at the library when you went with sam said. also, you and charlie had a lot of gossip to catch up on, so.. you weren't on your game as much as you usually were.

a soft laugh slips past dean's lips as he shakes his head, looking back at the toolbox in your lap. you watch as he gets up, his hands a little stained with car oil, which in fact, does not suit the white colour of your babydoll top, clinging to the curve of your chest. which dean took much pleasure in, but besides—so you squirm back a little when he comes closer, “dean, you cannot touch me with your hands like that, i love you, but no—”

“relax, sweetheart, just tryna get a wrench,” dean teases, “can't a guy get a wrench? jeez,” he raises his hands teasingly before he carefully grabs a wrench from the tool box. not before swiping his thumb over your nose which causes you to squeal, and he quickly makes his way back to baby before you can retaliate.

“dean!” you gasp, rummaging for your pocket mirror in the pockets of your baby pink hoodie, finding it and soon looking at yourself in the mirror. a little smudge of darkness glistens on your nose and the pout you give dean makes him cackle a little.

“c'mon, it adds character, don't you think?” he does a little tinkering under the car, to which you have absolutely no clue what he's doing. did you want to know? no, not really. you wanted to know why you had oil on your nose! you knew why, but why dean did it was a mystery, and you huffed.

“you'll know what character is when i'm done with you,” you mumble back sassily, giggling when you see the surprise fill dean's gaze. so, he rises from where he is, and saunters his way back over, having used a rag to wipe down his hands so you wouldn't throw a little hissy fit.

“is that right, hm?” his green eyes lift to yours, and leaning against the chair, he bites his bottom lip. hell, he likes when you get fiesty with him. “gonna show me character?” his low, gravelly voice cooed softly as his hands brushed over your sides.

this knocked you down a few pegs, because to be fair, if your bombshell of a boyfriend is speaking like that and holding you like this, well, who isn't gonna get a little flustered. “uh—yeah, character.” you do notice how his eyes flit down to your cleavage for a vague moment, and you speak up, a little uncharacteristically but in a way dean adores—“eyes are up here, deano.”

a groan slips past his pink lips, and you soon find his green, piercing eyes hooded and looking up at you. “tease,” he mutters under his breath, and a flush dusts his skin that he never expected to happen. “think i know where your eyes are, doll, just enjoying..” he traced a finger over the lace containing the spill of your tits, “the view. know you're enjoyin’ mine.”

you thought he wouldn't notice! you'd been staring at him for a while now, considering the fact he'd blessed you with the sight of not only his arms in a tank but sweats? your man was a slut, you couldn't even deny it. “dean, stoppp,” you mumble, getting a little heated as he brushes his fingers over you. “shut up.”

he pouts playfully, pressing his forehead gently against yours. lifting his thumb to your glossy lips, he pulls it gently before letting it go, a giggle slipping past his lips. “now you're being mean, pretty baby,” his hands slide down from your chest to your thighs, squeezing them gently. “mean to your ol’ dean?”

you push at his chest playfully, tapping your acrylics against his chest with a little laugh. this causes dean to dig his fingers into the meat of your thigh a little and pull you against him. “you were bein’ mean to me first, dean!” his brows raise, “you know exactly how. oil? nose? coulda’ gotten it on my top!”

he rolled his eyes at your behaviour, it's not like that top was expensive anyway. you two got it when dean had literally stolen 20 dollars from a wallet he found on the floor this one time. but that's besides the point. “can always get you a new one,” he shrugs his shoulders, flashing the signature winchester smirk. “kinda always been itchin’ to rip this one anyway. doesn't do that body justice.”

“dean,” you two were literally outside the motel, you couldn't do anything like dean was absolutely suggesting. and judging from the way his hand was sliding up under your skirt to cup your ass, well, he was suggesting a lot. he gives a gentle squeeze, growling softly before he lifted you up off of the chair, causing you to squeal. “dean!”

he swung you over so you'd sit on the hood of the impala, watching as your little skirt hiked up. a grin played on his lips and he sighed softly. “how'd i get so lucky, huh?” dean lifted ring clad fingers to brush the side of your face. “grumpy hunter like me.”

“fine ass hunter like yourself,” your retort was instant.

“i didn't say it, you did, so it ain't braggin’,” dean wiggled his eyebrows instantly, drawing you impossibly closer as his hands groped at your thighs gently. he was clearly a big fan of your body.

“dean, there are people walking past,” you nudge him, not before placing a glossy kiss to his cheek. he shrugs, glancing over at a passing woman and her boyfriend on the street. in usual dean fashion, he gives your ass a pat and winks at the couple, not that you realise.

“well, maybe, they wanna piece of this fine ass,” he squeezed, looking up at you through his lashes. “they'd have to go through me, first though,” literally before you can even realise it, you've been hiked up over his shoulder with your ass practically out.

“dean, my skirt!” dean acts oblivious, but slides a hand over you to keep the view at bay, a laugh slipping past his lips. “relax, sweetheart, i got you,” does this calm your nerves? no, not really, but, you relax into his grasp.

“you're the worst,” as you shake your head, your earrings shimmer under the dim lights of the motel as you make your way in. dean's practically a deer in headlights looking at you before he focuses again, and taps the doorframe of where sam's in.

“keep an eye on baby, alright? got some uh, things to be doin’, sammy,” it's like sam didn't even have to ask as he saw dean give you a playful swat on the ass, herding you to the bedroom. 

“yeah, sure, whatever,” sam was ninety-five percent sure he might have to go do his research in the impala because knowing you two? you were loud.

tags ┆.ᐟ ᰍ ︵ @onlynextdoor ۫ .

☆ 𝜗𝜚 ( your honor, i loveeee himmmmmmmmm.... lmk if u wanna be tagged in spn works lolz

[kingofbodyrolls]

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 ✨

[princessofmarvel]

saving goes both ways

summary | thomas had seen the girl around. she worked at the garrison, showed up one random day, no one knew where she was from. most people didn’t bat an eye, most people aren’t thomas shelby.

pairing | thomas shelby x fem!reader

word count | 1.2k 

genre | fluff! with just a tad of angst! 

warnings! | mentions of an abusive family and ex! (it’s just mentioned, nothing is really described), not completely proofread! author’s note! | i’m back! my requests are open for these characters! please send in your requests for blurbs, headcanons, or imagines! And as always, I do I have really bad OCD that causes me to write in some random capitalization, and punctuation, But I think that we don't have to worry about that in this fic lol. And let me know if there are any mistakes, but please be kind!

Thomas had seen the girl around. She worked at the garrison, showed up one random day, no one knew where she was from. Most people didn’t bat an eye, most people aren’t Thomas Shelby.

“We’re closed” she said as he walked through the door. He ignored her for the most part and set down. 

“Get me a drink.” he practically mumbled, to anyone else that would mean to just do as he says, and not ask questions. Not her though. 

  “Is everything alright, Mr. Shelby?” She asked in the kind of voice one would use to come off as caring. 

“Just need to not think for a moment.” He said as she finished pouring his drink. “Where did you come from?” 

“What do you mean?” She asked him with a slight head tilt as she handed his drink to him. 

“You showed up out of nowhere one day, no one knows anything about you.”

“Are you asking about me, Mr. Shelby?”

“Yes, I am, I need to know the people in this town, who my threats may be.” He said while taking a sip of the drink she poured for him, and keeping eye contact, something he did to be intimidating. 

“Do I look like a threat to you?” She asked with a small laugh. She looked like the most terrifying threat that Thomas could think of. She looked like an angel, one that was sent just for him, Thomas could swear that when she smiled she glowed. 

“I have learned that the most non threatening looking people can become the most deadly.” He said while not phasing one bit. “Now, where are you from?”

The girl sighed, Thomas could tell that wherever it was that she came from that she didn’t really want to relive it. “I’m from london”

A few weeks went by, and that seemed to be all the information that he could get out of her. That she was from London. He didn’t want to push her, everytime he asked her, she got a look in her eyes that he hated to see, as if it tore his heart into a thousand little pieces. He knew that no matter what it was, someone, or something had hurt her, and how anyone could hurt such a person was beyond Thomas. 

One afternoon while everyone other than Thomas was out of the Shelby home, there was a sudden banging on the door.

  “Who is- (Y/n)?” Thomas asked while pulling the girl into the home. Once he had her inside with the door shut he took in her appearance. Her eyes were red and puffy, as if she had been crying for days. She looked almost sick, as if she hadn’t eaten in days. Her hair was messy, and she was shaking from head to toe. “What’s wrong?” 

  “I- Oh Mr. Shelby, if you were about to head out, I can leave. I shouldn't have barged in.” She said as she noticed him taking his jacket back off. She went to leave, but Thomas grabbed her wrist. 

  “I’m not letting you leave until you tell me what happened.” He said while looking at her sternly. He led her to sit on the couch while he stood over her, waiting to hear what happened. 

“I haven’t told you much about my family, but I come from a wealthy family in London, and they wanted me to marry this cruel, cruel man, so the night before the wedding I ran, and that's how I ended up here, but I think they’ve found me.” She said while handing him a flier with a drawing of her face, and a man's contact information on it, and a reward of $5,000 on it for anyone that had any information. 

“This is the name of the cruel man that you were talking about?” Thomas asked her while he pointed to the name on the flier as she nodded. “Where are you staying?” 

“A small inn not too far from here.” She said while trying to wipe her eyes but failing at it since she was still crying. 

“Get your things, you’re staying here, and I’ll take care of it.” He said, while putting his jacket back on. 

“Mr. Shelby, I can‘t do that, I have no money to pay you for this, or the rent.” She said while standing up , but Thomas cut her off.

  “You don’t have to pay me for any of it, just come on, and we’ll go get your things.” He said while guiding her out of the house, and walking with her to her inn. 

A week went by and the girl was now living with the Shelbys, and it was safe to say that they loved having her around. Ada loved having a girl other than Polly to talk to. John and Arthur had a great time teaching her how to play cards the correct way (and showing her how to shoot a gun, but Thomas didn’t need to know about that). Polly loved how she helped keep the boys in their places when they got too rowdy. And, Thomas loved, well everything. 

She was in the kitchen, kicking Arthur and Johns’ asses at cards, when Thomas walked in. 

“Tommy, she's cheating!” John yelled while pointing at her. 

“I am not!” She yells back at John in a tone that makes her sound offended. 

“She isn’t, you’re just awful at cards.” Thomas said to John, while he looked at the girls cards. “Lucky for you though, I need to steal her for a moment.” 

Thomas takes the girl into the betting room since no one was currently there. “I just wanted to tell you that it’s been taken care of.” He says while leaning back on the table. 

“Really?! Oh Mr. Shelby, thank you so much!” The girl said while practically bouncing up and down, making Thomas crack a small smile, but it quickly disappeared as she made her next comment. 

“I will just get my things, and be out of your hair, thank you so much for letting me stay here, Mr. Shelby.” She said while looking at him, with a small smile. 

“You don’t have to move out.”

  “Oh, but I can’t do that to your family.”

“(Y/n)” Thomas said, making her stop. He made his way across the room to her. “The whole family loves having you here, besides, it’s not like the entire city doesn’t already see you as a Shelby.”

“The city sees me as a Shelby?” The girl questioned with a slight smile on her face. 

“They might as well, I mean it’s not like one of us Shelby brothers are not going to officially make you one at some point.” He said to her, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Just depends on which one of us is your preference.” 

“Well, I think I have a preference.” She said to him, while leaning slightly closer to him,

“Which one?” he said, looking straight at her.

“The one standing in front of me. The man that saved me” She said to him, looking up at him with a smile. 

Thomas stared at her for just a moment, before taking her face in his hands and catching his lips with hers. She kissed him back, with her hands on the back of his neck. 

“I think you’re saving us too, I’ve never seen the family so happy.” He mumbled into her lips as he pulled away

“Well, I guess it can go both ways.” She said to him while smiling at him, and for the first time, she felt completely safe. 

[froggibus]

Hey can I request headcanons for overwatch characters and if their gf was drunk and asked them "would you still love me if I was a worm" with the overwatch men please (you don't have to do all of them but PLEASE include McCree and Reaper)

“Would You Still Love Me If I Was A Worm?” - Overwatch Boys

Includes: Cassidy, Reaper, Genji, Zenyatta, Ramattra, Hanzo, Lucio + Baptiste (w gn! reader)

Genre: fluff/kinda crack?

CW: general crack, kinda dumb tbh, suggestive in Genji and Baps, Ram is Ram (lmk if I missed anything)

been in a little bit of a writing slump but this was too good to pass up lol. I want to get a bit more writing done this week so who knows how that will go. anyway, enjoy <3 hope you like it anon!

————

Cassidy:

“what kinda question is that??”

looks at you in flabbergastation 

you pout and bat your eyes at him and of course, he breaks 

“you’re really not gonna let this go, huh? alright—of course I’d still love you, darlin’. I’d keep you in a lil jar and you could accompany me on my missions”

a jar????

now you’re the flabbergasted one 

jars don’t have air—he’s gonna let you suffocate?? 

what are you?? rainbow dash (sorry)??

somehow leads to him going out into the yard despite it being the middle of the night to try and find a worm

somehow finds one?? 

keeps it in a jar as a pet just to prove he would love you as a worm

even names it after you and pets it’s head and calls it “my wriggly little y/n”

weirdly wholesome experience would try again

Reaper

“of all the stupid shit you could have asked me…”

he says that but he’s already considering it after the question leaves your mouth 

would he love you as a worm? 

“what kind of worm”

what do you mean what kind of worm?? does it matter?? 

obviously the pink wriggly kind 

he has to ponder this 

sits in his chair stroking his chin trying to think of how you would be as a worm

“would you still be able to talk and think or would you be an actual worm”

????

“it would be me if I was a worm, Gabe”

more pondering 

“I’d love you platonically but you would probably have a short life span. I’d throw you a worm funeral.”

better than any response you could have expected but would not try again

Genji

“would we still have sex”

please hit this man

he’s joking of course—he’s not that weird 

“why would you be a worm tho”

just answer the question, Genji

green cyborg ninja dude has no idea what to answer 

will you be mad if he loves your worm self more than your current self?? would you be weird if he said he would love a wormy version of you??

“I would get myself turned into a worm too and then we could have a wormy life together and a wormy wedding and little wormy kids”

“you just want to have wormy sex” >~>

“that too”

at least he’s honest?

exactly as you expected, would not try again

Zenyatta

“a worm? like the insect?”

“yes? what other worms are there”

considers this

“is everything okay?”

poor omnic boy is so confused. are you planning on turning into a worm??? 

please reassure him it’s just a hypothetical and you’re not turning into a worm

goes on a ten minute tangent about how we are all the same in the Iris, and that he will love you no matter what form you take

honestly so wholesome + cute 

“i will care for you in this life, and the next, and all of the ones after that. even the ones where you are a worm.”

good enough would try again

Ramattra 

“No”

way to sugarcoat it, babe

it’s only when you get upset that he sighs and pulls you into his lap

“why would you ever become a worm? is someone trying to harm you? you know I would never let anyone bring harm to you.”

you try to explain that it’s just a hypothetical but he’s already going on a tangent on what he would do if you got turned into a worm

talks for five minutes alone on how he would defeat your enemies and defend your honour 

says he would “put you out of your misery”????

“you would KILL ME?!”

“as an act of honour”

babe….

0/10 would not try again

Hanzo

“why”

idk bro just answer the question 

lots of sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose

“would I also be a worm or am i still human” 

only gets more confused when you say he’d be a human and you’d be a worm

probably looks up worm life expectancy and if worms are capable of love 

“would you even know who I am if you were a worm”

has to ask a million questions before he can give his final verdict 

lets out a long sigh before looking you dead in the eyes 

“…yes”

cute in the end but would not try again 

Lucio:

“would you still love me if I turned into a frog?”

that’s not the question 

somehow it turns into a discussion on if he would eat your worm self if he was his frog self? 

he insists he wouldn’t and would let you ride on his back but you insist his frog instincts would be too strong 

“babe I’ve once seen you almost eat your own finger while eating chips”

“ok and??”

says you guys could live in a swamp together and he would protect you from evil

“I could be like your own frog superhero. I could even sing you little froggy songs”

makes up this entire life of you guys living together as a frog and a worm and him serenading you by croaking songs at night 

honestly it’s the best reaction you could have gotten, would try again

Baptiste:

“i would find you a cure and turn you back into a human”

honestly he’s very amused by this whole situation 

“but what if I want to be a worm”

“if I cure you and you want to turn back into a worm, that’s on you”

fair enough

insists he needs to ‘examine’ you so he knows you’re not turning into a worm 

makes a lot of jokes at your expense too

finally sighs and admits he would keep you in a little terrarium with all the food and nutrients you need 

“ha, so you would love me if I was a worm”

“love is a strong word”

good enough, would not try again

[deanbrainrotwritings]

— and their name was treason

SUMMARY : with the help of charlie, sam and Dean have become prolific con artists. but after losing his work, dean’s left wondering how do you con a con artist?

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : sam winchester, charlie bradbury (mentioned), bela talbot

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), lazy writing, dirty talk, implied sub!dean my beloved, implications of sex

WORD COUNT : 2k

A/N : title from a day to remember. this one fills the con artist au square on my @jacklesversebingo card. the reader is inspired by the beautiful river song, lmao. i had big daydreams about this fic, they were as big as the inside of the tardis and now it’s only like the outside of the tardis 😔 xx

“Dean,” Sam whispered over Dean’s shoulder, getting his attention off the flirty bartender for a few seconds. Dean's laugh slowly faded as he turned to look at his little brother instead of the woman who was making them their drinks. “Did you get the signatures?” 

Dean rolled his eyes.

“Sam, you’ve asked me that six times already,” he responded quietly and with irritation. He shook the metal case containing the signed forms. “Yes, I got the fucking signatures.” 

“I'm just making sure,” Sam lifted his hands with a playful smile, “I don’t wanna waste Charlie’s time when we give her the papers we got signed.” 

Dean squinted his eyes at him before he turned to smirk at the brown-haired woman when she placed his drink in front of him. Sam cleared his throat when she bit her lip and Dean blindly took his drink while licking his own.

Dean turned hesitantly to glare at his brother. 

Sam’s eyes went big and innocent. Dean sighed and hung his head low, caving in to the puppy-dog eyes he was prone to seeing more often than he liked when Sam wanted to get his way. 

“Okay, okay,” Dean gave a final, longing glance at the woman who was preparing drinks. She batted her lashes flirtatiously at him before turning around and swayed her hips sensually as she handed a drink she prepared to an old man across the bartop. Dean groaned internally at what could have been and memorised the curves of her body in her blue cocktail dress. “I’ll finish this drink and we’re outta here.”

Behind Dean, Sam walked away and murmured an “excuse me.” 

Dean turned with his drink in hand, about to tease his brother with an insult about him being lame, but instead he hit a much smaller, softer body with his own so his drink spilled over a beautifully red dress and soft skin. 

“Son of bitch!” Dean exclaimed under his breath, embarrassed and surprised. He fumbled with the glass and somehow caught the woman by her waist to balance her as she gasped. 

“I'm so sorry,” they said in unison and even laughed together sheepishly. 

Dean stared at her dumbly, captivated by her appearance. His eyes quickly moved from the top of her pretty head and down to the sexy black heels that told him she was a boss-lady. Dean’s stomach fluttered excitedly, only partially anxious. 

Sam snickered next to Dean.

Dean’s cheeks turned pink with a heat that spread to his ears. 

“I really should’a been more careful,” Dean apologised to her. She laughed again, dismissed his apology with a reassuring smile, and shook her head. Dean blindly shoved his glass into Sam’s chest and pulled out a handkerchief from inside his jacket for her to clean herself up. 

Dean ignored the quieted groan of annoyance from Sam, entirely focused on the flustered woman standing before him. 

He sent a charming smile her way and she bit her lip before she took the white cloth with a shy bow of her head in gratitude. Her painted nails brushed delicately across his calloused palm, but she looked away before she could see him become tense at her mere touch.

“I should’ve been more careful, too.” 

She wiped at her chest and her dress to soak up as much of the liquid as she could. Dean's eyes traced the movement of the cloth sliding across her cleavage. He cleared his throat to undo the sudden knot in his throat and blinked away the mesmerised expression on his face. 

“Dean, we should get going.” Sam’s words snapped Dean out of his daydream. Except Dean’s pathetic reaction to a beautiful woman cleaning herself was a reminder to him that he hadn’t blown off steam in months. 

Their workload has been a constant wave that was drowning him. 

One job where he has fun won’t do any harm to his, or Charlie’s, or Sam’s profit.

“Wait,” Dean pulled his keys out of his pocket and took a moment to think before handing the keys to Sam. Sam’s mouth dropped slightly. He scoffed, looked at Dean, then at the woman who was busy blinking at both of them—confused. “Why don’t you go, uh…?” Dean clicked his tongue, then smirked at Sam.

Sam snatched the keys from Dean and shook his head, instantly understanding the unsaid words of his big brother. He smiled after considering Dean for a few moments and sent a much more polite smile to the woman. 

“Whatever, dude,” Sam turned around to exit the bar. 

Dean’s stiff fingers loosened around the handle of the case he’d been carrying for most of the night. He’d completely forgotten about it and was pretty sure Sam left it up to him on purpose. He gripped it tightly before relaxing and facing the woman. 

She readily handed him his handkerchief, but he closed her small, cold hands around it with his own. She smiled at him, her brows rose, and she glanced down at his large hand around hers. Her lush lips opened to speak, but Dean interrupted her with a flirty smirk before she could say something first.

“I’m Dean.”

From her quietness at the bar, Dean assumed she’d be shy to some extent.

When they entered the cab, she’d pointed out the metal case he was carrying out and questioned him about it—small talk. He answered honestly at first, it was for work, and then lied by saying he was a real estate agent.

She didn’t seem too interested in small talk because as soon as he answered, she pressed her soft lips against his. Her cool hand slid up his scruffy jaw and her fingers slipped into his short hair. 

His hands found her elbow and her waist. He could feel her other hand travelling down his chest, her nails gently raking against his green tie and his suit jacket. 

He tilted his head slightly, broke the kiss to breathe, and returned to her sweet mouth. His hands wandered upwards, one stopped at her jaw and the other clung to her soft dress in the back. His fingers carefully weaved through her hair, the soft strands rubbed against his fingertips. 

He could feel her tongue against his lips, arousingly tracing the shape of them. He moaned involuntarily at the wetness and warmth of her tongue and the way her small hand cupped his hardening cock through the flimsy cloth of his pants. 

He pulled away, flushed and feeling hotter than he was before. His heart was thudding loudly in his ears, banging against the bone door of his chest to escape into her hands—well, at least into her free hand which was caressing his cheekbone.

She was looking at him curiously through her curled lashes. 

He shamelessly laid his hand over hers and pressed down. She smirked and looked down to watch the way his hips rolled up into her hand. He watched her thighs press together tightly and imagined—instantly—all the things he wanted to do to her. 

She leaned forward and Dean’s lips parted slightly, ready for her kiss. His eyes pleaded for her to inch even closer, but she kissed his cheek instead. Fucking tease. 

“Are you going to touch me at all?” She whispered near his ear. The warmth of her breath made his skin prickle, followed almost simultaneously by a shiver through his body. 

Dean’s eyes flickered to the man driving the can. The man was clearly trying not to look too interested, and if he had a problem, he would’ve kicked them out. But something was just not sitting right with Dean, he didn’t look uncomfortable—and most people would be when facing a similar situation. 

“I just-I’m…” Part of Dean was flustered by the apparent audience and the other part of him was aroused by the way she rubbed and squeezed along his cock. The way he’d restlessly shifted allowed his length to move so she could feel all of him.

“Trying to be polite?” She completed his question, smiling knowingly. 

“Well, yeah,” he murmured and shrugged half-heartedly.

“That’s cute,” she hummed. Her mouth was back on his, taking his breath away and making him dizzy before he could get flustered under her intense gaze. She pulled away and he chased the high of her kiss. She dodged him and returned to his ear, where her breath tickled his sensitive skin. “But I don’t want you to be polite. I want to feel your fingers in my pussy and your lips on my tits.” 

Dean choked on needy whine and she kissed him hard for it. Her fingers were focused on the sensitive head of his cock over his dress pants and boxers. He managed to wrap his fingers around her hand to stop her from making him cum in his pants.

“I prefer to fuck you hard in bed and make you cum on my cock,” he mumbled against her lips. She pulled away to smirk at him, her wicked finger traced his lip, then her hand fell to his lap where she playfully brushed her fingers against his dick.

“Can’t say I hate that idea.”

“Dean, Dean!” 

Dean woke with a jolt, his hand around the gun pointed into the darkness the instant he gained consciousness. His finger rested on the trigger, but he stopped himself upon recognising Sam’s dishevelled hair and unkempt clothes.

“Heh, you got laid, too?” Dean teased as he cuddled his pillow, feeling light and elated, naked beneath cool sheets. 

“Shut up,” Sam snapped. “Where is the case, Dean? Don’t tell me you left it over there at the bar!” Sam scolded, practically ripping around his shaggy hair when he buried his fingers into it anxiously. 

Dean's stomach fell. He froze, then relaxed and closed his eyes. “Left it by the table,” he mumbled.

“Dean,” Sam said through gritted teeth, “it’s not fucking there. I’ve looked everywhere. Who else was in here besides you and that girl from the bar?” Dean sobered up quickly, he knew Sam wasn’t going to miss a gigantic metal case in a tiny hotel room. 

He sat up and looked at the table where he’d left it, hoping Sam was still punishing him for choosing fun over work. Dean hastily picked up his pants from the floor and put them on as discreetly as he could.

The case wasn’t there. It wasn’t anywhere. 

He helped Sam tear the whole place apart and reassured his little brother that no one else besides the woman he slept with had been inside the room.

“Okay, well, unless she took it from you, we need to figure out who else came into your room. When did she leave?” 

Dean became flustered. 

“Dude, I don’t know. Okay?! I just… passed out. The sex was-” Dean suddenly smiled with a dreamy look in his eyes. “It was awesome. She did this thing where she-”

“I really don’t wanna hear it.” Sam grimaced and Dean snickered, but a blush still heated his face at the memory of her. Dean recomposed himself when Sam continued to look bitchy.

“Whatever. Look, we can always check the cameras.”

“Bela,” you looked out the cab window, your phone pressed against your ear. 

“You’ve got something else for me?” Her voice was surprised— impressed, even.

“Met those Winchester boys,” you smiled to yourself. Your body still felt warm and sensitive in the places Dean had been. 

“And?” You had a feeling she rolled her eyes. 

“They conned drunk people at a bar,” you began, “I was watching them. They’re good. I don’t know why you hate them so much, they could make you loads of money.” Bela scoffed. “Anyway, I stole their work,” you added casually, tapping the cold metal case that rested against your thighs. “I bet these real estate papers are worth a lot.”

She was silent. You smirked. “How… how did you do that?”

You thought back to watching Dean stare longingly at the attractive brunette bartending once he’d finished scamming all those drunk, trust-funded idiots. Sam visibly killed the mood and forced Dean to leave the bar empty-handed— with nothing and no one to celebrate a job-well-done with.

You purposely bumped into him to find a way in and steal the “hard work” from him and his brother. His drink would spill on your dress, you had a feeling he’d get all dopey—and you were right. 

The plan was simple at first. But instead of knocking him out once you were both alone outside in order to steal the case, you went with him to his hotel room in a cab. You had sex with him because you thought he was pretty and you really needed some release—as much as or more than Dean, you imagined (from the way he made you cum four times). Then, you stole the case when he was dead asleep, did the walk of shame out of his room, and out of the hotel. 

Currently, you were in a cab that had suspicious stains, torn leather seats, and a crusty floor. 

“Disgracefully.”

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