#I kept this short but i know how we are and that this is going to get longer INEVITABLY

[keu-i]

ENHYPEN HYUNG LINE + MAKE-UP SEX !

pair: hyung line x f!reader warnings: pwp, smut, angst/arguing, hurt/comfort, bratty reader, they ’re a little mean sorryyy, punishments, dom/sub dynamics, mentions of crying, daddy kink, praising/degrading, thigh riding, fingering, size kink, piv, unprotected sex, oral (m. rec), breeding kink, cum swallowing words: 3.4k **NOT PROOFREAD**

I’M NEW HEREEE!! LMK WHAT YOU THINK OF THIS AND IF I SHOULD WRITE MORE STUFF LIKE THIS, THANKS <3

HEESEUNG —

“can we go to ‘phora after you finish?”

“no, sit down.” heeseung referred to you tugging on his shirt from behind. “why’re you moving around so much today?”

you provided a hum, quickly ending the conversation you just started. you��ve been sitting here all day, on this leathery brown sofa. you’d been needing to go to the beauty store to buy a new concealer since last week, and it’s been annoying you that you can’t go today as it seemed your boyfriend was practically almost done with this track he’s working on.

you sat on the far end of the couch, farthest from him. there’d been nobody in the studio as of now, he took a short break earlier but was barely spending any time with you. that in itself made you sorta upset, you craved his attention more than anything.

you were feeling like a burden to him by even being here, and he made it no better by not giving in to your demands. you knew he was doing something, but you hated when work inclined with your time with him— and you know it sounds extremely selfish, but it’s okay to be a little selfish sometimes…

“well can you hurry up??” “i kinda wanna go home.” you spoke up, the agitation overwhelming your tone.

“you can wait, but if you’re gonna have a fit, step out.” heeseung, was known for not putting up with any of your shit, no matter how much of a sweetheart he was. when it comes to his work he doesn’t really play around.

“i wasn’t gonna!” you poked your lip out, pouting.

“i can hear it in your voice, babe. don’t start, i'm busy; we’ll leave in a bit..” he put an end to the commotion you were about to start, he didn’t have the time do deal with your mellow drama. that was being only if he doesn’t have to fix it himself. and he knew just how to do that. all he has to do, is wait.

“ugh, okay. but hurry..”

. . .

you were still upset with heeseung about not going, and you had sparely spoken a word to him since the incident from earlier. but the guilt of it all was only eating him away inside, seeing your sulking state made him feel even worse and he couldn’t hold himself back anymore.

“babe.. c’mere,” heeseung’s voice filled the quiet room, his tone much softer, a striking contrast from the way he acted hours ago.

you didn’t wanna give in so easily with him, not after he told you no when all you wanted was some new concealer.. you wanted to put up a little bit of a fight; but the minute he flashed that apologetic, doe- eyed look at you it was enough make you want to melt in a puddle. curse him for being so damn cute..

“m’sorry baby.. let me make it up to you,” he attempts to atone for his actions, caging his arms around your waist to pull you closer to him, “we can go tomorrow if you want.. i’ll buy whatever you want pretty.” your body trembles the minute his lips find the soft spot of your neck, playing with the hem of your short skirt.

“mmh.. hee,” a tiny moan slips from your lips when his hands get closer to your core, a surge of heat rushing through. “oh gosh,”

his fingers swirl around your entrance, collecting your wetness, bringing it up to decorate your clit before dipping them back into your entrance. he looks up at you, a chuckle on his face, so cocky and arrogant. he swipes his middle harshly on your clit, you were feeling ecstatic, already on the verge of coming as he kept up his ministrations. you begin to gush on his fingers as you writhe your hips.

“fuck..” he groans. “you only get this wet for me, right baby?”

your eyes slightly rolled to the back of your head as you felt the slight pressure on your clit, your chest heaving, trying your hardest in collecting yourself. his palm slaps your pussy when you don’t answer him, and you whimper out a “y-yes..” quickly. he’s been doing this for what felt like hours and you swore you were going to pass out just from this alone.

he chuckles again, sounding like a curt scoff. pulling his lip between his teeth, you notice the look in his eyes, and you gulp. he pulls your thighs further apart, stretching.

you squeak at the stretch, your thighs are burning.

“stay still,” heeseung grunts out. “i don’t wanna make you cry right now, baby you know i hate that.”

heeseung takes both fingers into your pussy, scissoring them in and out of you. you watch as glob of his spit falls onto your clit as he smiles at the squelching sound of everything. your eyes rolled all the way back to your skull when you start to hear how messy it all is.

“baby.. you’re squirting,”

JAY —

“why do you keep pushing me away?” “can you not?” jay’s voice surpassed the boundary between calm and annoyed. he didn’t seem to understand you at all today. and it’s more of a problem that you refused to talk with him about any of it. all you continue to say is ‘nothing.’

“i’m not.. it’s just, really hot in here..” you exhaled, shifting your gaze to avoid direct eye contact with him.

“could’ve just said something, i’ll go turn the ac on.”

“no !” you pulled his arm almost dragging him back onto the couch. “i don’t want to turn it on.”

“what? aren’t you hot?” he blinked in confusion.

you nod.

“then why not..?”

“cause i don’ wanna!” you roll your eyes in discontent, by this point you were being unreasonably stubborn for no reason and jay was quite literally over your attitude you’ve been giving him all day.

“babe, i’ll either touch and hold you while it’s cold so you’re comfortable, or make you sweat like a bitch and not care.” “but you’re infront of me, i’m gonna touch you. i don’t care. so choose.” he eyed you, face calmed but holding so much emotion. confusion, anger, love. but it’s all just mixing up like a bowl of açaí and he can’t pick out which one he’s feeling right now.

“neither!” you retaliate, but to your demise, you got his cuddly wrath anyway.

“jay! get— hey!” you pushed and nudged but no hope. he wasn’t gonna let you go, felt like you needed comfort, but he couldn’t depict if it was just his instincts or not.

“ow!” you felt the weight of his body rise leaving you feeling like a light weight blob of mass. “y/n, did you just.. hit me?” his face, was all misshapen. a furrowed and betrayed look caping his features in like they were a precious jewel sworn to never see light of day.

“baby— i.. i didn’t mean it!” “it just happened..” you broke a huge no-no in your book. sworn to never put your hands on eachother in a vile way, that is unless consented. meaning, the two of you should never hit one another. look at you now, your stubborn little ass is in a huge mess.

“mhm, yeah” you watched as he left the couch the both of you once sat on together. now you’re sad, cold and alone, in the once hot area.

“jay, i’m serious, ’m sorry!”

“corner.”

“huh?..”

his hand cupped the back of your head, leading you to the nearest corner in the room, only for him to finish you off; shoving your face into the corner. “sit. and don’t move a damn inch. got it? mrs. y/n?”

“yes..” you sulked, look what you did, being a spoiled fucking brat. should’ve got over your little drama party when you had the chance. but look at you now.

“yes what?”

“yes daddy..?” your voice wobbled. the mere thought or feel of being in trouble is terrible. yet you saw through your punishment and done your vile actions.

“oh? good girl, finally using that mouth for what it’s worth. finally listening. over that pity party? huh?” he joked, a cackle bubbling from his throat as he walked away from your smaller being.

half an hour had passed and he’d left you there to reflect on your actions, but he knew he couldn’t keep you there alone for too long. instead, he’d much rather release each other’s frustrations by fucking it out— that always works in the end to resolve your differences, doesn’t it ..?

. . .

“jay, p-please slow down!” you stuttered, begging for mercy. eyes fluttering as you ride on top of his big cock. being on top with jay felt like nothing of the sort.

he still had all the control, his thickness sliding in and out, your juices leaking everywhere with each and every thrust; your entrance giving that tickling feeling that you knew all too well.

sometimes your boyfriend could be super soft and gentle with you, while other times he’d fuck you rough and mercilessly, leaving you completely dumb as you’re full of nothing but his cock. jay likes putting you on top just to fuck you like you were laying down.

he slows down just a liiittle bit... but not without leaving a light slap on your cheek. noticing the way you’re bringing your bottom lip into your mouth, tears streaming down your face. he coos at you, rubbing your thigh.

“sorry baby,” he pouts, gently rubbing your clit. “come closer.” you watch in confusion as he pants but you obey.

he pinches your cheeks with his right hand, squishing your face. you could smell your pussy wafting from his fingers. “you did soo well taking my cock,” jake hums at you proudly, “yeah? so tight.”

“do i get a reward for being good, daddy?” you mutter.

your boyfriend hums again, before tapping your cheek. you try opening your mouth knowing exactly what he wants. gazing into his eyes, you greedily stick your tongue out. he suddenly slams his cock back into you, making you gasp from the sudden fill.

“uh uh,” he says sternly. “keep your mouth open.”

you watch as he let’s a string of his spit fall right on your tongue.

this was going to be a long afternoon.

JAKE —

“does it really take that long to unlock a door?” your hands met your hips, knee at a bent degree, tips of your shoe tapping the ground. “i’m getting tired of standing here, c’mon!”

“does it take a lot for you to shut your pretty fuckin’ mouth?” “shit baby, what’s your problem today, you've been acting bratty the past few hours.” his key forcefully twisted into place, giving jake a satisfying click.

“nothing..” you quickly mutter.

“really? nothing?” “so, you’re being disrespectful for no reason?, don’t you know where that gets you?” his figure caged you between the passenger side door, eyes locked on yours. you knew you had no reason to be upset, and even knowing that, you were terrible angry.

“i’m speaking to you.”

“yes jake.. i know.”

“then get in the car and act fucking right.” he pulled you towards him, reaching out to open the door for you. “hear me?”

“good.” he closed after hearing a complying hum from you before reaching over your lap, buckling your seatbelt.

you honestly couldn’t stay mad at him, look at how he treats you even after he scolds you. a man everybody wants, but only you have. and you felt ungrateful, like you didn’t deserve him.

the real reason you were so upset in the first place was only because jake had wanted you to come to these dinner reservations he made with his friends and although you really did enjoy his friend’s company sometimes, you didn’t want to go anywhere.

all you wanted was to stay in and be with your boyfriend all day but instead you took your anger and frustration out on him— which only made you harbor more guilt inside.

the car ride went completely silent for the first ten minutes, then an idea sprang into your mind. why not show how sorry you were for your attitude by giving him some road head ? you’ve never tried it before, but there’s a first time for everything you suppose. plus, you genuinely felt remorseful, and there wasn’t a more perfect way of apologizing than doing that in your opinion.

. . .

“hpmh,—” your lips kiss his pinkish-red tip, when you unzipped his pants to expose his hard on, a small bead of pre-cum leaked out. dipping your tongue out to lick it up, his cock flinching at any slight stimulation. “babe— yes! fuck..”

opening your mouth wider to take his full length, your eyes began watering when the end of his shaft hits the back of your throat. “look at you, already taking it all.. look so fucking hot like that with your mouth full of my cock.” his hand gripping hard onto the steering wheel, the other grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling hard as he forces more of himself down your throat.

you gag and choke a bit from his hips rutting into you, but that doesn’t stop you from sucking his cock like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do on earth. giving all your efforts to please him, looking up with bright big eyes while you deepthroat. your pussy was uncomfortably wet, you could feel your slick leaking on your thighs. moaning as you continue bobbing your head up and down, feeling him throbbing in your warm mouth from the sensations.

“yeah baby… just like that keep going.. fuck…” jake wanted to swing his head back from the pleasure so badly, but he had to focus on the road.. pulling your hair tighter as he feels himself getting close.

you could sense he was close too by his erratic movements, and you know exactly how to get him to cum. collecting more saliva as much as you could to make it even sloppier, some of it almost dripping from the corners of your mouth as you keep going. he felt like the end was nearing for him, he grunts loudly, bucking his hips up in a frenzy.

“shit- ’m gonna come… you better swallow of all of it like a good fucking girl.” you nod, feeling him pulsate even more in your mouth, humming around the base of his length as you send him to a higher state of pleasure. the back of your throat gets hit with shots of hot cum, milking every last bit of him until you know for sure he’s done. “you really have no idea what you do to me y/n, do you?” he pants while trying to catch his breath, wanting to look down at the beautiful mess he’s created.

“i swallowed it all daddy, look.” you open your mouth wide, sticking your tongue to show him it was all empty.

“that’s my good girl,” jake praises you, quickly glancing down to see you looking all lazy and defeated. he wanted to say to hell with it and skip the plans, turn back around just so he could fuck you. there’s no way he’d able to last more than an hour without having his cock buried inside of you..

SUNGHOON —

an hour, a whole god damn hour, you were being completely ignored, concealing all your tiny sobs. you were sorry for your actions, hell, even sorry for yourself, but also sorry for your boyfriend, the man who had to put up with all of your brattiness.

today you just decided to chose violence and pick a fight with your boyfriend for absolutely no reason other than you just felt like it. but now you were paying the consequences of those actions by his silent treatment he gave you. when he’d finally noticed you’ve been crying, he couldn’t hold anymore of this little grudge against you, he couldn’t see you like that no matter what.

your thought process was cut off once you felt a warm compress on your back. making you bawl your eyes out even more.

“babe, what are you crying for?”

“i don’t know.. i’m—”

“you’re sorry?” his hands caressed your sides, his mouth kissing along your shoulder. “i know baby. it’s okay.”

“did i leave you alone for too long?” he pulled you further into his build by your waist, cupping you in his hold. his tough demeanor shrinking to bits once he saw your puffy, red eyes.

“no..” you quickly turned to wrap your arms around his neck, snuggling yourself into his embrace. you can’t believe how sunghoon deprived you were for just an hour. the hold this man had on you..

“you wanna tell me what happened today?” “or no?” he added, hearing nothing in reply.

“maybe later..?” “i miss you.”

“i miss you too babe, i just don’t like when you act that that. i feel neglected, like you can’t open up to me.”

“i know.. i’m sorry, i just didn’t feel good today..” you retracted your nuzzle from the crook of his neck.

“just one of those days?” “you know i won’t ever know what’s wrong unless you tell me, right?”

you hummed. “yes, but.. i don’t know i was just being selfish and i took it all out on you..”

“you’re a really good girl, baby, i love you okay? you don’t have to ever close yourself off with me. ‘kay?”

“mkay..” you reached for a kiss in which he gratefully returned.

“baby.. well, maybe.., did you check yourself?” he cautiously approached the upcoming topic. he could feel parts of his sweats sticking to his skin like rice cake on a hot day. and he had a feeling that your attitude wasn’t just an attitude.

“what do you mean..?” your brows furrowed at the random question displayed before you.

“you know, like.. are you on?”

“my period?” he hummed in response to answer.

“noo..? i checked earlier.. plus i didn’t feel any paining.. or any symptoms like usual..”

he nods at your reassurance, knowing how cranky you can get when it’s close to that time of the month. that’s when everything shifted, you were suddenly pulled onto his lap and kissing him roughly on the couch, his hands exploring each and every inch of your body. you knew exactly how this was gonna end— you being completely ruined by the end of this night.

. . .

“babe, you’re fucking squeezin’ me.” sunghoon groaned, gripping the sides of your hips in a tight manner. “pussy still begging for more, huh?”

“please hoonie..” you whined at the friction of his cock colliding with yours perfectly, feeling every ridge and vein. like his cock was made just for you. “want it so bad..”

he wasted no time in burying himself deeper inside you, in all honesty he wanted you no more than you wanted him. he needed you the most right now. the fact that he’d spent so long ignoring you today because of his stubborn, selfish actions left him feeling more than guilty, and he was going to show you just how much he wants you.

sunghoon’s hand pressed on your stomach with every stroke he landed in you. every curve his length went through to touch your G. “fuck..” he landed a sharp slap onto your tits.

you couldn’t help but grind your hips back up against him. a tense burning sensation sprawling throughout your whole body. it make you urge for more, like nothing was enough, even though you were in pure bliss. you were nothing but a mewling, shrieking mess.

“hoon! ugh, please ruin me..hmm please..” your arms reached up, grasping around his neck.

“you’re driving me fucking crazy, y’know?” he airly chuckled throwing he head back. the feel of your slick creating sticky vines across his skin whenever he’d pull out. the sound of it, the look of it. all of it turning him on even more.

your back arched at the thought of maxing out around his thick shaft. the praise you’ll get since you’ve done so well for him.

“i love you..” you mumbled bittersweet nothings one after another.

“shit, loosen the fuck up.” his hands entangled your sweaty hair gripping it in a careful but aggressive manner. “fuck, i’m gonna come.” he began to thrust into your messy cunt relentlessly, pounding you into oblivion.

“hoon— mm’nside please..!” you slurred, drool heaping out the corner of your mouth.

“inside? huh? you want my babies, princess?” “you do, don’t you? want me to fill your fucking pussy with my seed.” sunghoon chuckled at your pleading. he was tired as hell, but soo turned on by you, by the thought of you bearing his children.

“’es yes, yes hoon!”

“whatever you want, baby.” his length pumped into you filling you up, not an empty fucking crevice in your soppy cunt.

“thank you.. daddy.. ”

[dignitywhatdignity]

I'm a stay at home mom, and by necessary extension, a housewife.

I look like a fool in a flowy white sundress. I live in jeans and graphic t-shirts.

We don't have a backyard, much less a field of native wildflowers (I do try to grow native wildflowers in my shoebox-sized front garden).

I'm lucky, and also unlucky. My husband makes good enough money to support me not working; if I worked full time, I'd barely be covering daycare. I'm well aware how vulnerable that makes me.

I struggled, as a kid. I couldn't be a tomboy, because tomboy liked (and were good at) sports. I was a benchwarmer in softball. I lost every tennis match. I kept aging out of recreational and instructional leagues, and my parents and I agreed it was a waste of time and money for me to join competitive leagues, since I'd just be sitting there doing nothing. Even dance class, when it was obvious I was never going to compete, I was largely blown off by the instructors, who had future champions more worthy of the attention.

I wore a skirt every day -- school uniforms -- but i couldn't keep my knee socks up. I couldn't keep myself neat (typical adhd girl, I excelled in school as long as I could bite my nails or twirl my hair. So my nails and hair looked like shit).

I was among the top three in the class, with two boys. The boys hated me because I outperformed them. The girls... I think just didn't know what to do with me. I was probably annoying. I wasn't feminine enough. No doubt I was a bit of a know it all (but if you read books, you'd know it too! Why doesn't anyone else like books?!) .

It was a joke, an insult, to be romantically linked to me. "You like [dwd]!!!" What's wrong with you. "[Dwd] likes you!!!!" You poor asshole, stuck with her attention. One or two guys may have liked me and showed it in that toxic, abusive way boys were encouraged to in the 1990s. Or maybe they were just hateful, bullying shits. The two aren't mutually exclusive. In any event, I was clearly too ugly, too annoying, too smart for anyone to like.

And I wasn't about to change myself to get them to like me. I wouldn't have known how even if i wanted to.

So if someone said I looked good, they were clearly making fun of me. (Usually they were. Maybe sometimes they weren't. I still have a hard time telling the difference. Sometimes Husband calls me his "beauty queen of 18" and I'm like, "yes, I'm old and ugly, you don't need to tease me.")

In high school, I'd be in groups where I was the only girl among boys. If they didn't like you, they'd hit you or ignore you.

I'd be in groups where there were no guys, or only one guy. If they didn't like you, they'd swear you were their best friend and then, when your back was turned, declare you a bitch and a slut.

Never dated a guy from my own school. Anyone I did date was easily more awkward than i was. And I didn't have a serious boyfriend until shortly before graduation.

So in college I was definitely "not like other girls". The sororities didn't want me. I didn't wear uggs and booty shorts to class; neither did I join the rugby team and show up wearing sweatpants and bruises. My circle of friends was mostly guys; even after I wised up, my wedding party was, too.

I don't want a fucking homestead. I'm barely treading water keeping my house clean as it is. Bread from scratch and homemade jam? I cook three days a week; enjoy your leftovers and sandwiches.

I still don't have as many friends as I'd like, and none of us relate to each other. B is a divorced mom with a high-powered job who is a devoted mom when she has custody and wild when her kid is with dad. A is a single mom by choice with a high-powered job, generational wealth, and a ton of family support. K1 and her husband moved to another city; their jobs are there to subsidized their hobbies: hiking, gourmet cooking, crafts. K2 and her husband...might be homesteading; they bought a big piece of land for babies and dogs to run free on. D and her husband are definitely homesteading, but she's the breadwinner and he's the homemaker; if you dared him, I am *sure* he'd run around in their field of wildflowers wearing a white sundress.

All this to say:

I'm a housewife.

I'm a cis woman.

I have never in my life done femininity "right" and I am too old and too tired to start now.

the tradwife movement is the same as it has always been - back in the kitchen, back to breeding - it just has better branding.

when i was younger, i hated pink. i was not like other girls. this is now something i'm embarrassed of - this was not me being a "girl's girl."

but it was expressing something many of us felt at the time: i literally wasn't what girlhood was supposed to be. this is a hard thing to explain, but you know when you're not performing girlhood correctly. it isn't as easy as "i liked x when girls liked y" - because there were other girls that liked x, too - but i never figured out exactly the correct way to like x, or to be interested in y.

now there is the divine feminine. this is the same rhetoric it has always been: women are biologically driven to like pink and ribbons and submitting to our husbands.

the problem is that the patriarchy found a better PR team. because yes, actually, i want every woman to have the choice to be a homemaker. i also want her taken seriously for her legitimate home-making labor. i want her to be recognized as also having a job, just unpaid. i want men to have this opportunity, too.

but it is no longer "i made this choice and I love it." instead it is a sixteen-paragraph rant about how selfish it is that my generation isn't having kids. instead it's long videos about how if you feed your children processed foods, you're going to kill them. instead it is "this is what womanhood is supposed to be. i feel bad for any other choices you're making."

the shame spiral is just prettier. it is large houses devoid of personality. it is the implication: if you don't have this, you aren't happy. the solid, everlasting assurance: women are actually supposed to be submitting. this is the default. this is the natural state of things. all other attempts inflict suffering.

but you can no longer say i'm not like other girls. you can no longer reject this image completely. you cannot find it revolting, even if you know that the underbelly is toxic and festering. sure, it is the same repackaged patriarchy. but the internet does not have shades of grey. you should support and reward other women! your disgust is actually internalized misogyny. not because you are seeing a vision of yourself the way they're trying to train you to be. not because you feel her ghost pass within an inch of your earlobe. not because your father will eventually ask you - why can't you be like her?

because they figured out how to make it beautiful: women will sell other women on this idea, and we will find the singular loophole in feminism. sure, she's shaming you in most of her videos. sure, she implies that a different life is obscene. but she just wants you to be happy! you'd be happier if you were listening!

and the whole time you're sitting there thinking: i'd actually just be happier if i had that kind of money.

[anisespice]

“ accidents happen ” || tokyo rev. pt.2

one synopsis: in which they discover you had their child and kept it from them all these years later.

pairing: bonten x fem!reader [ kaku, rin, koko ]

warnings: mature content ahead. MDI. mature language, crude humor, angst (if you squint really hard), deadbeat!bonten (unintentionally), not proof-read so there may be errors lol and i think that’s it :))

notes: koko’s is short but FOR A GOOD REASON I SWEAR lol i'm just happy it finally got written after MONTHS of keeping yall waiting. thank you once more for your patience and eagerness to read, hope you enjoy! :)))))

tagged: @fantasycantasy , @spacegirl05, @neverlandlostchild , @darks-pet-shadow , @captaincyberqueen

Stumbling through the entry of his home with the help of the Haitani brothers, a drunk KAKUCHO groaned after they roughly tossed him onto his couch without an ounce of care, the youngest dusting off his hands and his counterpart adjusting his suit with a click of his tongue. “Can’t believe your light-weight ass let that idiot talk you into downing a whole bottle of bourbon.” 

Rindou scoffed. “I can’t believe we got stuck with taking him home.” 

Ran shrugged, heading for the kitchen. “Eh. Rather him than the walking pepto-bismol still passed out at the bar.” 

Kakucho gave another groan, lopsided with his face buried in the cushions. While his brother prepared a glass of water and pain pills, Rindou occupied himself by watching the wallowing man through a pitied lens. Shaking his head, he sighed, “Never seen him drink that much…Think something’s going on?” 

“In our line of work, I can only imagine what isn’t stressing him out.” 

“Yeah but…look at ‘em,” he gestured. “It’s pathetic.” 

“I can hear you...” Kakucho eventually spoke, although muffled in the cushions. 

“I’m aware.” Rindou replied. 

Ran snorted, setting the glass on the coffee table and the bottle of meds right next to it. He then leaned down to turn the dead-weighted drunk over with a grunt, placing him on his side. “There. Don’t need you choking on your vomit,” he pointed at the table, “take those and drink that whole glass. Call Koko tomorrow if you aren’t dead.” 

Kakucho groaned once more, sluggishly reaching for the glass and nearly knocking it over. Rindou hissed as he quickly grabbed it before it tipped over. With an irritated huff he grabbed the front of the younger male’s button up, and hauled him up to face him forward. It was difficult to keep him still, and Ran wasn’t looking to help anytime soon as he smirked at the display. Rindou cursed him and everything under the moon until he finally managed to sit Kakucho upright long enough to put the glass in his hands, guiding it to his mouth. 

He grunted, annoyed, “Drink.” 

The dark-haired gangster stared longingly into the rippling water, cheeks flushed, lips pouted. His mind began to wander, his one good eye glazed over as he gently swayed to silence. Rindou impatiently tapped his foot, “The hell’s wrong with you, drink it already.” 

“Patience, otouto. He probably doesn’t remember how.” Ran mocked, earning a side-eye before Kakucho proved him wrong by gulping down the entire glass. Once finished, he let it slip from his hands, landing on the ground with a sharp clatter. Ran clicked his tongue again, “You were supposed to take a pill with that.” 

“Fuck the pill..” Kakucho muttered, slowly falling back down to his side and curling up as best as his long legs would allow. “Leave me alone..” 

Rindou turned on his heel. “Don’t have to tell me twice-” 

“Actually, now I wanna know. Someone like you doesn’t indulge our activities, let alone participate. So, what gives?” 

Abruptly stopping in his tracks, Rindou turned back to shoot his brother an incredulous look, shocked he would reopen the door that was closing. He was ignored as Ran leaned against the back of the couch wearing a sly grin, feeling particularly nosy all of the sudden. Having never witnessed this side of his superior, it piqued his curiosity. Kakucho didn’t respond, didn’t even move. Ran would’ve guessed he passed out if not for the occasional hiccup he heard.

Rindou sighed heavily, since they didn’t appear to be leaving any time soon, coming back to sit in a chair with crossed arms. Ran continued to push until he found the correct button. 

“Was it something that happened on the job? Mikey scold you for not restocking his snack cabinet? The dry cleaners not press your suits correctly–Let me know when I’m getting warmer.” 

“I said leave..me alone…” Kakucho slurred, “I wanna [hic] be alone…” 

Ran hummed, unphased. “Yeah, yeah, you’ve mentioned. C’mon, we got you home safely, I feel like we’ve earned an explanation on what made the pristine number three fly off the handle like this.”

No amount of teasing was going to break Kakucho. At least, not when he’s sober. The aforementioned lightweight always regulated how much he drank because of how decomposed he became, how sensitive he got. Despite his best efforts to remain under control, he was slowly losing his grasp of it the longer those two knuckleheads were in his home. He didn’t want to share what got him so worked up, it was nobody’s business but his own. Sadly, his resolve was fragile from the start, and all it took was a small gust of wind to have it come crumbling down…and Rindou’s input came barging in like a raging storm. 

“Bet it’s about [_____], isn’t it?” 

Kakucho’s eyes nearly burst from his skull, body moving before his brain could catch up as he practically shot up from the couch like a rocket and borderline tackled the lavender-haired man, knocking both him and the chair backward, landing with a harsh thud. The sudden movement caught the brothers off guard, Rin more than Ran for obvious reasons. Kakucho grabbed the younger Haitani by his collar and began shaking him roughly, a furious look upon his flushed face as he practically snarled in Rindou’s. “Don’t you ever say her name, you hear me?! I will slit your fucking throat, you sonofabitch–”

“Whoa, hey, take it easy,” Ran swiftly disengaged Kakucho, catching him in a headlock and stepping backward to separate them. But, if he thought it was going to be that easy, he had another thing coming. 

Kakucho elbowed Ran in his side. It did little damage, only making the older male clench his teeth and eat it, still trying to hold him back and calm him down. They shuffled around for a moment until Kakucho made move to bite into Ran’s forearm with all his might. Though the pain was dulled thanks to his jacket sleeve, it still shocked him enough to loosen his grip, leaving just enough wiggle room to escape his grasp and reel his arm back to throw a mean swing. However, due to him still being very much intoxicated, he missed him by a longshot when Ran just took a small side-step out of the way, sending Kaku to stumble and crash into a side table. Luckily the lamp was there to cushion some of the impact.

Rindou clutched his stretched-out collar, brows furrowed as watched the scene unfold from his position on the floor. “..the fuck was that?”  

The ravenette moaned on the floor, but not in pain from the fall. No doubt he’d feel in the morning, but all of his agony came from within at the mere utterance of your name. He laid there in the heaps of broken shards and began to weep, so deeply from his soul that it stunned both brothers to an awkward silence. His body trembled with each cry, mumbles of your name smothered in with the wails as they echoed through the empty house. They watched him for a moment before exchanging looks. Ran made a silent gesture to leave, but Rindou merely shook his head with another sigh. There was no way they could leave now, thanks to him…

Scrambling up to stand, Rindou gestured for his brother to handle one side while he came to the other. Together they were able to heave their superior off the floor, careful not to cut him or get cut from the scattered lamp pieces. He weakly fought against them, still blubbering like a newborn until he eventually gave up, most likely from exhaustion. They hauled him back to the couch again, only this time setting him down gentler than they did the first time. Kakucho’s face fell into his hands as he continued to sob, shoulders shaking as he poured hours' worth of pent-up emotion right onto the palms. Ran scratched the back of his neck, mildly perturbed. Rindou stood with his arms crossed, frown heavy. “See? Pathetic.” 

“Careful. He might attack you again.” Ran warned sarcastically, Kakucho rapidly shook his head in protest. 

“I-I won’t.. Forgive me, I don’t..I don’t know what came over me..” he said, meekly, ashamed. “I just..when you said her name, I remembered she…s-she..” 

Ran’s eyes widened a fraction, “What, she died?”

Kakucho shot him a tearful glare, sniffling as he firmly said, “No. Don’t say such a thing so casually.” 

He threw his hands up. “Hey, don’t blame me, ‘m not the one who suplexed a lamp because my ex’s name was dropped. Nearly ripped my poor, little Rin’s head off, too.” 

“Shuddup, man.” 

“I’m just saying that-”

“She had a baby.” Kakucho voiced, extinguishing the argument and stunning them yet into another silence. Rindou’s arms dropped to his sides whilst Ran’s brows raised to his hairline. “And...I’m almost certain it’s mine. No..I am certain.” 

His words hung heavily in the air. So much so, both brothers had to take a seat. Rindou stared at Kakucho while Ran stared at the wall, speechless. Until he eventually found the words. “Damn. Don’t know whether to say congrats or condolences. How’d you find that out?” 

Kakucho sighed, drying his face on his sleeve. “I had business in Kyoto to attend to earlier today. When I finished, I stopped by the cherry blossoms, where we...used to go together. That's when I saw her...further down the trail. She wasn’t alone.” 

The visual flooded his foggy mind like high beams, the sight of you wearing a beautiful dress he’d never seen before, glowing heavenly beneath the sun and fallen cherry blossoms. He felt as if he was standing in memory, as if he was in a reality where he was still yours. Kakucho remembered how his feet had a mind of their own, forcing him forward to get closer to you, to speak to you after all this time apart. But, his bubble bursts the second you crouched down with open arms, ready to embrace the child running back to you after attempting to catch falling petals. He froze. You scooped up the child with ease, showering the small boy in kisses to the point his squeals flowed happily in the soft breeze. Kakucho felt his chest tighten then twist, knees buckling the second he saw those bright, crimson eyes staring back at you…it was like seeing an image of his youth. He should've approach you right then and there, to demand answers, to demand explanation, anything to soothe this ache. 

But, he didn’t. 

He was afraid. Afraid of what you’d think, of what you’d say. You kept this from him for a reason, didn’t you? All these years, and he found out completely by happenstance. Had he not gone out there, would he have ever known? Would you have told him? Maybe you didn’t think he was fit to be a father, maybe you did this to keep the child safe. Maybe you no longer believed that he could keep either of you safe… 

It tore at him, from the inside out. No matter how he tried to ignore it, the ache grew into a throb, and the throb into a chasm that only the bottom of a bottle could satiate. And even then, all he could think was how much he failed.   

The brothers exchanged another look, having no idea the kind of demon their superior was dealing with. Despite not caring too much about it, they still felt bad. What man wouldn’t be devastated, especially given his background and how he grew up. Ran gave a low whistle. “That’s…rough.”

“Yeah. Wish you said that instead of trying to kill me.” 

Kakucho rubbed his face, embarrassed. “I apologize...truly.” 

“Tsk. Apologize to the lamp.” He shrugged it off, not holding a grudge over it. “You know, you can just reach out to her. Even if it’s to hear her say she wants nothing to do with you, that’s closure at least. Because this, what you’re doing now, is pathe-” 

“Pathetic, I know, I heard you the first damn time.” Kakucho pinched the bridge of his nose, already feeling the effects of the alcohol start to simmer out, and a headache closing in. “I suppose.. you’re right. If she doesn’t want me in her life or his then…at least she’ll know I’ll always be here if she needs me.” 

Ran offered an approving nod, opening his mouth to say his two cents only for his phone to interrupt him. The specific ringtone made him close his eyes in immediate annoyance: Sanzu. Sighing heavily through his nose, he reached into his pocket and answered, “What-” 

“YOU BASTARDS JUST LEFT ME HERE?!”

RINDOU was used to the stares he’d get at the gym, but this was new for him. 

After completing another hundred reps on the bench press, during his cooldown he noticed his small audience gaping at him in awe from a nearby machine. The little boy gasped at being caught, ducking behind a weight twice his size before peeking over it, only to completely disappear when he saw Rin still looking his way. 

He huffed through his nose, amused. But, he elected to ignore it. No harm in letting the little guy get some inspiration for future gym goals. After a quick break, Rindou prepared for his next set, setting his water down and adjusting his headphones. Laying down on the bench, about to lift the bar off the rest, he noticed the little boy in his peripheral, peeking over the weight once more, large eyes wide with curiosity. He couldn’t help the small grin tugging on his lips, prideful to have such innocent admiration compared to the usual thirst from onlookers he was accustomed to. 

However, it made him wonder…whose kid was this? 

There wasn’t a children’s area in this particular gym, let alone many that were brought, so someone had to be looking for him, right?…and there’s no telling how long the little boy’s been following him. The parent must be worried.

But it wasn’t his problem. 

He was there to workout and leave, not worry about someone else’s ankle-bitter, no matter how adorable. 

Unfortunately, Rindou made the mistake of peeking back at the boy, seeing him trying to imitate his form with his little arms, face scrunched in concentration and tongue sticking out. He nearly dropped the weight on himself at the sight, losing his own concentration. Kissing his teeth, he set the bar back on the rest, snapping the little boy from his focus. Although Rindou’s brow was furrowed, he wasn’t too annoyed at the interruption, sitting up to finally address his new fan. 

“Oi. It’s impolite to stare.” 

The boy flinched slightly, then looked down at his shoes in embarrassment. “'m s-sorry, mister…” 

Rindou felt a pang in his chest. With an exhale, he stood from the bench and removed his headphones as he walked over to the kid. Crouching down to his level, he took note of how the boy struggled to meet his gaze, fidgeting with the bottom half of his shirt. “Hmph. Guess you can’t learn the correct form without watching someone else. You trynna build muscle, too, little man?” 

Like flipping a switch, the boy’s eyes lit up as he nodded his head excitedly, tiny fists pumped. “Yeah! Wanna have huge muscles! Get big and strong like the heroes on TV!” 

He raised a brow. “Yeah?” 

“Uh huh! But-But you’re bigger, mister! Like,” he extended his arms as wide as he could, “SUPER big.” 

He grinned, smug. He liked this kid. “Damn right. But, you know, in order for me to stay this big and strong, I have to focus on my workout. And I can't really do that with you watching me like a hawk."

The little boy's mouth formed an 'o' before he covered it with his hands, sheepish as he looked at him with guilt, "Uh oh.."

Rindou shrugged, "t's fine, I ain't mad," creeped out, but he doesn't mention that. He looked around for a second, trying to see if there were any indication of someone appearing frantic or distraught. When he came up with nothing, he sighed, "How about this: Lemme finish my last set, and then you and I find your dad or something. Deal?"

The boy lit up once more, "C-Can I help?"

Rindou raised a brow, "Help, huh?" The boy nodded, eyes big and bright, and hopeful, and dammit. How can he say no to that face? He kissed his teeth, scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah, sure. You can...help keep count, I guess. How high can you count?"

"To a million!"

With a snort, Rindou merely shook his head, standing back to his full height to walk back to the bench with the ankle biter hot on his tail. How he ended up on babysitting duty was beyond him. But could be worse.

One set and a struggle to count past the number 30 later, Rindou held the boy's hand, who he eventually discovered was named Rintaro, as they scoped out the gym high and low to find his father. No matter how many men he pointed to, Rintaro claimed none of them.

Rindou was starting to grow frustrated.

There were still some workouts he hadn't gotten to yet, and this was eating up time. The younger Haitani had half a mind to just drop the kid off at the help desk, but every time it crosses his mind, he makes the mistake again of making eye contact with the boy and his big ole eyes. He looked happy to just be holding his hand, as if Rindou held up the moon and stars. It was...a little off-putting he won’t lie, but adorable, nonetheless. He couldn't just abandon him, even if he wanted to.

He sighed, “Seriously, kid, did your old man drop you here and leave? We should’ve found him by now…”

The boy blinked up at him, confused. “What old man?”

“No, not an old man, I mean your dad—Look, where was the last place you saw him before you wandered off?”

“Oh. I don’t have a dad.”

Rindou stopped. Then, with a swiftness he scooped up Rintaro by his underarms and held him at eye level, glaring at him with a twitching brow. “What.”

The boy sheepishly grinned. “I'm here with my mommy...”

“You mean to tell me we’ve been walking in circles for almost ten minutes, and you were just not gonna share that? Why didn’t you say something??”

“Because…” he fiddled with his fingers, looking down. “I like being with you…it’s fun…”

Well, shit.

Just like that, the anger evaporated. Rindou kissed his teeth, setting the boy back on the ground, crouching down to his level. Then, ruffling his hair, he said, “Alright, little man, no more games. Your ma’s probably worried to death about you. You said you're wanting to get strong to protect her, right?”

Rintaro nodded. Rindou continued, “Well you can’t protect her if you keep leaving her by herself, especially with all these meatheads around. You gotta stick by her, watch her back. And promise you won’t do this again. Okay?”

He nodded again, “Okay…”

“Okay, and?”

“And I promise…”

Rintaro sniffled, wiping his eyes with his fists. Rindou felt another pang in his chest, his intent not to make the kid cry. It’s not like it was his job to discipline him…

He ruffled the boy’s hair again, leaning downward so he could see his face. “Oi. No waterworks. Besides, you gotta be good so she'll bring ya back. You can't count for shit, but.. wouldn't mind having a spotter. What d'you say? You up for it?”

Like flipping a switch, Rintaro’s head perked up at the indication of not only getting to see him again but being a part of his routine. He nodded so hard, Rindou feared he’d give himself whiplash. Though, there was no hiding his grin. Yeah, he liked this kid. Reminded him of himself when he was that age…come to think of it…he looks sorta similar, too—

“Rinta!” Came a voice from afar, stressed and full of emotion.

“Mommy!” He answered, smile widening upon seeing you approach, arms extended out as he ran over to you. When Rindou stood to face the direction where the boy ran to, it felt like his world turned to slow motion, eyes narrowing in on the aforementioned mother—His ex.

He froze like a deer in headlights, shoulders tensed to where he could feel a cramp setting in. There was no way he was seeing this…no absolute shot in hell that you were here before him, hugging and kissing the kid he spent half an hour with, who allegedly didn’t have a dad, who just called you—“Mommy?”

At the sound of Rintaro’s confusion, it was then Rindou snapped from his daze and realized you had noticed him standing there, the two of you locking eyes; you looked equally horrified. And you were probably thinking the same thing he was.

Out of all the people…why’d it have to be you?

“I’m sorry, but this store is for grown ups with real money. I’m afraid I cannot accept this, and I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” 

The little girl pouted angrily up at the woman, arms crossed in displeasure. How dare she say such a thing about her piggy bank, she didn’t even bother to count how much was inside. That was a months' worth of good behavior at school, a couple tooth fairy visits, and some Monopoly money, and she worked hard to get it.

“Look you hag. ’m not leavin’ til you hand over the necklace with the shinies and sparklies on it for my mama’s birfday. So, cough it up!”

The woman appeared revolted by such lack of decorum, hand over heart as she gaped down at the little girl, face reddening with anger. She waggled a finger, lip upturned as she scolded the child, threatening to have her escorted out by security, only for it to be shut down by the sound of the little girl blowing raspberries up at her. The woman gave a dramatic gasp, horrified at such bratty behavior. However, before she could even reach for the phone to dial the number for the security office, an unexpected guest decided to step in.

"Belinda, are you being bested by a child?"

The woman nearly jumped out of her skin, full body turning towards the source to come face to face with one of the store's top investors, KOKONOI Hajime. Her skin grew pale in an instant, loss for words as she struggled to explain the embarrassing display he just walked in on. The little girl paused her taunting to gape up at the beautiful, shiny man before her, thinking a prince just popped right off a cover of a fairytale book. Draped in a stylish red kimono, with various jewels hanging off him like ornaments that twinkle beneath the warm lighting of the store, it's a wonder how he even made a place like this feel cheap. But what really caught her attention was his snow-white hair. It looked so silky, just begging to be braided and decorated with various bobs and barrettes. Maybe even some stickers–

"K-Kokonoi-san!" The woman exclaimed, startling the girl out of her daydream. Bowing deeply, forehead nearly touching her own knees, she disappeared behind the counter. Blinking widely at the perceived magic trick, the little girl craned her neck to see where she went, only to be disappointed that she didn’t actually disappear. "I-I wasn't informed you would be dropping in, s-sir. Please, excuse my rudeness."

"I was in the area," his gaze locked on the fetus at his shins. He points down at her. "Who is this?"

"I'm..not sure, sir. She's been causing a disturbance. Making a scene, demanding I let her purchase one of our display items with...board game currency."

The girl stomped around the corner to point at the still bowing woman. "I gave you money, now gimme the shiny! Those are the rules!"

Belinda peered up a little to squint at her, sneering as she spoke, "For the last time, you little miscreant, that money isn't real."

"It is, too! It's green! Money is green, you dumb hag!"

"You-!"

Kokonoi grinned, amused, "She has a point. Money is green, Belinda."

Said clerk shot up and eyed the white-haired man, flabbergasted. "S-Sir! You can't really be encouraging this obscenity, I mean, honestly! My job is to make sure nonsense like this is handled, and this little girl is disrupting the peace of this store."

"Mm. You getting worked up over some kid won’t resolve anything."

Belinda flushed a bright red of embarrassment once more. "Y-Yes. Yes, of course. My apologies." She bowed again.

Koko merely rolled his eyes, gesturing to the phone. “Just get security on the line. Someone’s gotta be looking for her by now.”

"No! 'm not leaving until you gimme mommy's birfday present!"

Kokonoi hummed, tilting his head in a teasing manner. "Too bad. That necklace isn't for sale. And it won’t be for a long time. Why don’t you start smaller, huh? Draw your mommy a picture or something."

She angrily pouted, pointing at her piggy bank on the counter. “I held Hammy all the way here, and his tummy’s full! Mommy says when his tummy’s full, I can buy whatever I want. And I. Want. That. Necklace.”

Koko’s brow twitched, leaning down to look her right in the eye as he grumbled. “Look, you little brat. I already told ya, it ain’t for sale. Now, be a good girl, and wait quietly until security comes to get you.”

The girl met his stare with a challenging one. This means war.

© 2024-2025 anisespice ッ all rights reserved. likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

[amb3r-saurus]

hii,Can you make a one shot of bf!rafe x reader where she is very good friends with sarah and tells her that she is her favorite Cameron and rafe gets jealousplease,and thank you! ୨♡୧

FAVORITE CAMERON

pairing; rafe x gf!reader, sarah x bsf!reader

warnings: none

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 : I’m so sorry for the late upload 😭. Currently going through hell week at school and I’m on the brink of death. Anw I hope you enjoy this!!!

You were sitting on the deck at Tannyhill, the golden glow of the afternoon sun casting long shadows over the well-kept garden. Sarah had convinced you to come over for an impromptu catch-up, and the two of you were sipping iced tea while chatting about everything and nothing at once.

“Honestly, Y/N, I don’t know how you put up with Rafe sometimes,” Sarah said, playfully rolling her eyes. You laughed, swishing your straw around your glass. “He has his moments,” you teased, the corner of your lips curling.

The backdoor swung open with a creak, and speak of the devil: Rafe Cameron strolled out, hands in the pockets of his shorts, clearly fresh from whatever he’d been doing. His sharp blue eyes landed on you instantly, a small grin appearing at the sight.

“There you are,” he said, voice dripping with lazy amusement. “I wondered why it was so quiet inside.” Sarah groaned. “We were having a girls’ moment, Rafe. Take a hint!”

Ignoring her, Rafe crossed over to where you were sitting. He placed both hands on the back of your chair, leaning in closer than he needed to. His cologne mixed with the salty sea breeze made your head spin.

“What are you two talking about?” Rafe asked, his lips grazing your ear just enough to send goosebumps down your arms. “Nothing involving you, Cameron,” Sarah quipped, flicking her brother a disapproving look.

“Relax,” you joked, glancing at Sarah before looking back at Rafe. “She’s still my favorite Cameron.”

Your words hung in the air for a split second before Sarah laughed, making a dramatic fist pump. “Finally, some recognition!”

But Rafe? His reaction was priceless. His jaw visibly tensed, his brows furrowing slightly as he stepped around the chair to plop down beside you. “Excuse me?” he demanded, though there was a playful edge to his tone.

“Oh, don’t be so offended,” you teased, taking a sip from your drink, deliberately keeping your eyes forward. “Sarah is amazing.”

“And I’m not?” Rafe leaned closer, his nose nearly brushing yours. “You have your moments,” you admitted with a sly grin.

“Moments?” His voice was low and faux-wounded, though his smirk was starting to break through. “Okay, fine,” you relented, finally meeting his gaze. “You’re… second best.”

“Second best,” he repeated flatly, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, feigning deep betrayal. “Aw, poor baby,” you cooed, reaching over to lightly pinch his cheek. “You’ll live.”

Sarah cackled, clearly enjoying the rare opportunity to see her brother knocked down a peg. “She’s got you wrapped around her finger, Rafe. Just admit it.” Rafe shot his sister a glare but quickly turned his attention back to you. He leaned in, his hand resting lightly on your thigh, and whispered just loud enough for you to hear:

“You know I’m your favorite,” he said, his voice dripping with confidence that had your heart skipping.

Your cheeks warmed, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of an immediate answer. “We’ll see,” you replied airily, taking another sip of your drink while trying to hide your flustered expression. But judging by Rafe’s satisfied grin, he already knew the truth.

[sxdisteez]

☸ Dorm Series: Part-One | 김홍중

| series masterlist | next |

✦ summary: you decide to spend the night with your boyfriend, hongjoong, after a long day at the studio. hongjoong can't resist the temptation to have you the moment he sees you wearing nothing but his t-shirt. ✦pairings: idol boyfriend hongjoong x fem! reader ✦genre: smut!, idol boyfriend au (little plot) ✦word count: 1.1k ✦warning: smut!, hongjoong coaxes reader to have sex (all consensual), teasing, vaginal! fingering, unprotected sex (do not follow use protection!), nipple play (slight), creampie ( pls be safe), pussy! whipped hongjoong, pet names (baby, joongie, sweetheart), rough sex! (slightly), dirty talk, mention of blood (indirect), hongjoong keeps going despite the interruption, scratching, quick! sex

this is a work of fiction and is not meant to be a realistic representation of any of the real people mentioned.

nsfw content below. 18+ - mdni

Walking hand in hand you and Hongjoong make your way toward his dorms after a long day at the studio. It was your day off from work so you decided to spend the day with your boyfriend and be a supportive girlfriend, plus you hadn’t seen him in a while. Hongjoong had a bad habit of neglecting himself whenever he worked, forgetting to take breaks and even eat sometimes so you being there kept him in check. You both enjoyed the night walk since being together in public was impossible,  with it being late the streets were vacant making it perfect to finally have some normalcy.

Making it into the dark dorm, only the entrance light shining brightly above as you remove your shoes, shuffling towards Hongjoong’s room. Longing to sink into his warm bed you quickly take a shower allowing the hot water to wash away the tension from the day. 

“Joongie, I need something to wear.” you say walking into his room, a towel wrapped tightly around your figure. You’d forgotten to bring replacement clothes to leave at his house for days you did spend the night. Rummaging through his wardrobe Hongjoong tosses you one of his tour shirts to put on.

“God you look so good in my shirt y/n.” Hongjoong whispers, eyeing you up and down across the room. Letting out a giggle you twirl, hitting your best poses for him. “Thank you baby.” You wink going over to lay down for the night. As you think you’re about to finally become one with the soft mattress, Hongjoong jumps in bed hovering over you.

Lust filled eyes stared down at you, darting from your lips to your eyes. “Let’s have a little fun before we sleep.” He runs his fingers lightly down your neck to your breast, ghosting over your sensitive bud. A shiver coarse down your spine as you whine, “Joongie I just layed down. I’m tired.” Peppering kisses on your face, Hongjoong makes his way across your face reaching your ear. “I’ll do all the work sweetheart.” He whispers, nipping at it, a short gasp escaping your parted lips.

Hooking his hand under your knees, he spreads your legs wide, finding his place between them. Grinding down on your core you release a soft whimper prompting a smirk to form on Hongjoong lips. “I know your body so well.” Hongjoong leans down, pressing a soft but eager kiss to your lips, his tongue swiftly darting past your lips. You tightly grip his shirt feeling aroused by how his tongue strategically moves in your mouth, biting and pulling on your lip every so often. “Please fuck me Joongie.” You whine breathlessly pulling away from the kiss.

Not needing to hear anymore Hongjoong’s hand find its way to your core, rubbing over your slick folds. ”Mm look how wet you are for me sweetheart.” He circles your clit earning a soft moan in response. With each stroke of his fingers you wriggle around beneath him longing for more. He reaches your yearning hole teasingly; prodding at it observing the way your eyebrows furrow with anticipation. Pushing one digit in slowly followed by another,  Hongjoong twirls and curls his fingers around hitting all of your favorite places. “Yes right there!” You moan when he curls his finger in the right angle, touching your g-spot, sending electric shocks through your body. The sounds of your wet pussy encompass the room leaving no room for imagination of what’s going on.

“I need to be inside of you.” Hongjoong growls briskly pulling his briefs down. Giving his already leaking cock a few strokes, he rubs his swollen head against your core collecting its juices before pushing in. “Ahh” you both moan in unison finally becoming one with each other. Hongjoong raises his shirt on your body to expose your breast, taking them into his hands as he slowly begins to move inside of you. Trying to stifle a loud moan you bite down harshly on your lip feeling a slight metallic taste touch your tongue. The mixed sensation of being full of Hongjoong’s cock, his long deep strokes, and his light squeezes to your nipples was enough to have you begging to cum already.

You pull Hongjoong close, connecting his forehead with yours as you whimper and mutter how good he made you feel. His stroke turned faster, the sound of skin slapping filling your ears. “Joongie the mem-“ you’re cut off mid sentence when the door opens and you hear a familiar voice.

 “Hey-“ Hongjoong’s head snaps up. 

“Yah! Mingi-ah!” He yells movement never faltering; he continued to fuck you despite the intrusion. Eyes wide you cover your face and mouth glad the only thing visible in the dim room was Hongjoong’s figure, but you knew it was obvious what was happening. The door slams quickly, Hongjoong mutters curse words to himself, promising to make Mingi pay.

“I’m so sorry sweetheart.” He coos when he sees the embarrassed look on your face. "I can't believe that just happened." You mumble to yourself still in shock. You hide your face in his neck feeling shy about what just happened. Kissing you on the head Hongjoong slows down hugging you closely to him whispering reassuring words to you. After the embarrassment passes you give Hongjoong the okay to continue, feeling more cautious of your actions.

 Cupping your ass he raises your hips slightly, his cock going even deeper inside of you. You try to stifle your moan in his neck, earning a slight slap on your ass. “I want to hear you baby. Don’t mind what happened.” He reassured you more that everything is fine, wanting to ease your mind a bit. You moan lightly in his ear earning a groan from him. “There you go sweetheart.” He continues fucking you into the mattress not even caring to be quiet anymore. “I want you to cum for me.” He pants out snapping his hips at an angle repeatedly brushing your sweet spot. With each stroke the familiar coil forms in your stomach nails dragging down Hongjoong’s back in an attempt to bring him closer.

“Joongie.” You whine out your core clutching tightly around Hongjoong’s cock your orgasm nearly at its peak. “Cum with me.” He coaxes his strokes turning sloppy. Feeling the familiar twitch, your orgasm comes crashing down forcefully. You bite down harshly on to Hongjoong’s neck in an attempt to muffle your scream. Hongjoong stills inside of you his thick sperm coating your walls filling you with his warmth. Pulling out of you Hongjoong plops down beside you catching his breath.

“Wait here” he says after a while, getting up, putting on his briefs, and leaving the room. Coming back in the room with a towel and water he cleans you up thoroughly before handing you the water and a snack from his side dresser. Finishing the snack ready to knock out you both begin to finally wind down for the night. Snuggled closely into Hongjoong’s chest, the sound of his heart beat lulls to sleep.

—taglist: @spicxbnny @dawn-iscozy @levisforgottentea @nopension

be on the look out for part-two with seonghwa coming soon!

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed it like, reblog, comment, and follow!

[not-neverland06]

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝙻𝚊𝚗𝚍’𝚜 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜

Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

A/N: Oh. My. God. I am so sorry this got delayed so many times. This is such an important chapter to me, it plays such a pivotal role in "Y/N's" development that I kept scrapping it and starting over. I didn't want to give this to you guys until it was perfect, and I think I've gotten about as close as I can. I'm predicting one more story chapter and then possibly one short epilogue.

Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series

Summary: Arthur's gone and you're own once more. The familiar ache of grief lingers as it always does. But the clouds must always part for light. Through death and grief, you still manage to find yourself.

It always seems to be cold at night, now that Arthur’s no longer there to keep you warm. You curl into yourself, knees tucked to your chest as you smother your face in the thin pillow on your cot. You press the fabric tightly to your mouth, trying to keep the sounds of your crying out of the other’s dreams. 

There should be no surprise that you’re on your own again. Beating a dead horse doesn’t make it move, but somehow, you keep finding yourself tangled in the reins, dragged along by the memory of men who’ve long since let go. You wonder, sometimes, if your life is one bet of many between god and the devil, seeing which one of them can get you to break first.  What you could have done to draw their ire, you don’t know, but you’re not sure how much more pain and loss you can handle. Your lifetime is filled with the empty graves of those you’ll never see again. Now, Arthur’s is just another headstone to add to your endless cemetery.

You worry that you’re too loud on the harder nights. But no one’s ever complained that they hear you crying and you figure they’re all probably too busy mourning in their own way to notice the way you do. 

Abigail is practically an empty shell of herself without John. As much as they fought she doesn’t seem to know what to do with herself. Especially knowing he’s in jail, destined for the noose, and there is nothing she can do about it. 

Karen’s not doing much better. With Sean in jail alongside John, she’s fallen to the drink. She’s adopted a fatalist view that, without Dutch, you are all doomed to die at the hands of the Pinkertons. Sometimes, looking at the depressing faces of those around you, you think she might be right.

Stuck out in the middle of nowhere, with only two rotting cabins between what was left of the gang, you are a far cry from the fearsome outlaws you once were. This is no longer the Van der Linde gang. Now, you’re barely any better than a group of desperate wanderers. 

You know sleep won’t come to you tonight, you’ve been tossing and turning for hours. Any longer and you’ll wake everyone else up. Wiping roughly at your eyes, you slip a blanket around your shoulders and head toward the creaking door of the cabin. You try to keep in mind that one wrong step and the groaning wood below you will alert everyone. 

Barefoot, you walk along the muddied planks of the porch and head towards what’s left of tonight’s fire. It’s not ever-burning as it once was. The gang takes care to ensure if anyone were to come looking for you all, you wouldn’t be such easy targets. 

You sink onto the log before the dying fire, with embers glowing faintly in the darkness. Sparks flicker and leap from the blackened wood, a futile effort to reignite the flame. Their struggle is in vain, though, there is no life left to kindle, no warmth to revive. The fire is gone. 

Light footsteps make their way towards you, but you keep your gaze steady on the flickering struggle before you. “I’m gettin’ real tired of this,” Sadie’s disappointed sigh is a familiar one as she comes to stand behind you. 

“Were you in town again?” You ask, ignoring the glare you feel boring into your back. She stares at you for a while longer before letting out a rough sigh and throwing herself down beside you. The log shifts slightly under her weight and you dip towards her. 

“I was,” she grumbles, something white balled up tightly in her fist. You turn towards her finally, eyes narrowed on the paper in her grasp. Her face is drawn tight, jaw set angrily as something vengeful burns within her gaze. 

“What is that?” You ask, tone inquisitive but not truly interested. Her eyes dart towards you before she shakes her head and tosses the paper to the dying fire. What’s left of it, licks eagerly at the paper, trying its damndest to burn brighter.

“Nothin’, don’t worry about it. Why can’t you sleep?” Her switch in conversation is quick and far from subtle. Your head tilts slightly in curiosity, gaze switching between her and the paper that’s slowly curling up at the edges. She’s hiding something, it’s easy enough to tell from the way she refuses to meet your eyes. Besides, she’s snuck into town plenty of times, you’ve never seen her come back this riled up before. 

You jump to your feet and she startles at the quick move. “Don’t,” she snaps, snatching at your wrist as you rush by her and swipe the paper from the fire pit. Sadie gets to her feet, hand held out with an expectant look as she waits for you to give her back to paper. When you don’t comply immediately, she says your name, voice low and tense, a warning. 

Lips curling up slightly in challenge, you leap back as she lunges for you, holding the paper away from her. “What is it?” You tease, curiosity curling over the lingering ache from earlier. 

She snaps your name again and you flinch back in surprise, “I mean it, don’t look at the goddamn paper.” You’d only been joking with her, trying to focus on anything other than Arthur. Now, there’s a familiar churning feeling of dread as you look at your friend. She’s not angry at you, she’s angry at the thin sheet you’re holding. There’s something on here she doesn’t want you to see, not for her own sake, but for yours. 

Your breath quickens, heart dancing dangerously fast against your ribs as you finally look at what’s in your hand. She hisses your name but you stubbornly ignore her, frowning when you realize it’s a torn-out piece of a newspaper. It’s a smaller article from the local St. Denis paper stand, talking about a ferry being lost at sea. 

“Oh, god,” you whisper, hand coming up to cover your mouth as bile rushes up your throat. You bite down on your tongue until the taste of iron fills your mouth, holding back the nausea. “This is him, isn’t it?”

Sadie lets out a rough sigh, shoulders slumping in defeat. “I didn’t want you to know.”

“You were just gonna hide this from me?” You nearly shout, taking one angry step towards her. Her brows turn down in guilt, mouth settling into a thin line as she shakes her head. “No? You weren’t?” You demand, tone rough with grief. “You were just going to wait until I put the pieces together myself?”

“Dammit, woman, you’re barely holding it together,” she barks out, snatching the paper from you once more. She turns her back on you, shredding it into pieces so small you’ll never be able to finish reading it. “I was going to wait until I didn’t think you were on the brink of completely fallin’ apart. Besides, it doesn’t say anything about the people on the ship, we don’t know what happened.”

“We never will!” The words tear out of you, a sharp, bitter exhale. A panicked smile twists your lips as you struggle to keep yourself upright. “Sadie, your husband is dead, you know that. You have your answer. I never will. I will never know what happened to him. And it doesn’t even matter because he left me!” Your voice cracks, a sob slipping free despite your best efforts to swallow it down. “I shouldn’t care about that goddamn bastard, but I do.” You turn away from her, shoulders caving in as you wipe roughly at the tears streaming down your cheeks. 

There’s a beat of silence behind you. You miss the way her face falls, her hardened exterior falling away just for a moment. She looks at you with something like understanding, pity more likely. She steps forward, her arms winding around your shoulders, trying to hold you steady through the pain. You struggle against her hold for a moment but she keeps her grip firm, forcing you to succumb to the small comfort. 

You sink into her embrace, breath hitching as the grief claws its way up your chest, relentless and unyielding. You can’t keep doing this. You aren’t made to endlessly love and lose, to watch pieces of yourself crumble with every goodbye. It feels as though there should be nothing left of you- no bleeding heart, no raw edges. And yet, every time you think you’ve reached your limit, life finds a way to push you further. 

But life, pain, and the ugly company of grief never stops or goes away, despite how much you wish they would. 

A few weeks later

Physical pains and ailments heal. There may be scars left behind, but for the most part, you can be wholly healed. Anguish of the mind and heart is a different beast to conquer altogether. That sort of pain ebbs and flows. It doesn’t slip away neatly. It comes and goes, sneaking upon you when you least wish for it. 

Distractions can dull the edge. The looming danger of death and the law from any of your multitude of enemies helps. But more often than not, the weight remains a leaden burden on your shoulders and a gnawing ache deep in your chest.

For now, the pain has numbed into something dull that makes you clench your teeth and hiss. But if you force yourself, you can find steady ground to stand on. You can keep yourself calm and sated, if you focus yourself on the anger rather than the grief. 

Anger comes easier than healing. It lashes out at the world and balms over the constant pain, if only for a little while. You find yourself getting into more and more fights around camp. The forgiveness of shared grief has its limits and you’ve been testing them for a while. You’re curious how far you can push before you’re forced out by the rest of them. 

Sadie’s efforts of finding a new place for you all to hide don’t go unappreciated. But this cabin feels like a cage, no matter how far you’ve come from the mud and chaos of the old abandoned camp.  The tight space presses against you, the silence weighs heavy against your chest and constricts around you tightly. You hear the faint rustle of the trees in the wind, but it’s a vacuous cavern inside. 

The memories of Shady Belle plague you like a ghost. The brief moments when you could almost forget everything pressing down, but now, that place, too, is just another reminder of what’s been lost. Memories of nights spent with Arthur or sitting outside and listening to Javier play his guitar are tainted with loss and rage. 

Sadie and Charles provide you brief comfort, but it will never be enough to make this place feel like home. You try to shake thoughts of Arthur, what the gang once was, and everything that came before. You’ve been running for so long, from your past and who you once were, but it feels like you’re being dragged right back. 

Unable to handle the suffocating silence any longer, you take Arthur’s bow out from the chest under your cot. You grab a handful of arrows and jump to your feet. Throwing the door of the cabin open, you stride past everyone lingering outside. A few people give you odd looks, but they don’t stop you from leaving. You’ve become a dark cloud around camp, your presence heavy and actions unpredictable. It’s almost a relief for them when you’re gone. 

Lady’s just as restless as you are, except the dumb beast doesn’t understand that neither of them are coming back. Charles doesn’t know what happened to Diablo or the other horses when he fled St. Denis and you’re not interested in looking for them. She’ll just have to live with the pain, same as you. 

“Let’s go,” you mutter, swinging onto her saddle and leading her out of camp. It’s as if a weight slips from your shoulder the further you get from camp. The tight grip constricting around your chest loosens and for the first time in days, you can draw a full breath as the world opens before you. 

The thick groves of trees thin and give way to sprawling plains of grass and wildflowers that stretch endlessly. Steering Lady off the trail, you ride her hard and fast, determined to put as much distance between yourself and those suffocating cabins. Dirt kicks up under her hooves, flying up behind you as she pushes herself to the limit. 

The world around you blurs into streaks of green and gold as memories and grief slip away from you. You lean forward over Lady’s neck, urging her to go faster even as she huffs beneath you. You’re racing the wind, chasing after a dream that’s been lost to you. The air lashes at your face, the sting sharp and cold. Your eyes burn and you tell yourself it’s the wind, even as wet streaks drip down your cheeks.

Bright beams of sunlight streak across the ground, illuminating the path forward. Morning dew glistening under the light, transforms the earth into a field of stars beneath your boots. You draw in a deep breath, letting the crisp air fill your lungs, and tighten your legs around Lady’s sides, signaling her to slow. Her chest heaves beneath you, each breath a puff of steam in the cold air. You can feel her desire to keep running, that shared, desperate need to escape clawing at both of you. 

But she’s exhausted, and no matter how much you’d like to keep going, you can’t push her until she collapses. You’re tethered, whether you like it or not, you’re always going to be pulled back to camp. It’s a cage and a haven. Though you hate the confinement, deep down you know survival outside of it might be beyond you. You don’t trust yourself not to wither in the wilderness alone. 

The sound of water rushing draws your attention and you turn towards a green hill rousing in the distance. Guiding Lady toward it, you crest the incline and slip off her saddle, letting her graze.

Below, a river carves through the land. Its rushing currents are strong enough to carry something away with no hope of return. You step closer to the edge, peering down as the sunlight dances on the water’s surface. It runs like liquid gold, unnaturally beautiful, almost hypnotic, like the siren call of a sailor’s doom. 

A herd of deer drift alongside the river, their presence serene and almost make the idea of simply drifting away, peaceful. Your foot inches closer to the edge, slipping on the wet grass, and for a split second, the earth feels like it’s tilting forward.  

“You don’t usually ride out this far.” 

The voice snaps you back, and you gasp, spinning around. Charles stands behind you, one hand on Taima’s saddle, watching you with a calm but expectant expression. 

“I can’t stand being there,” you say, moving toward Lady. Your hands fumble with her saddlebag, needing something to occupy them. His eyes flick briefly to the river, then back to you, his gaze sharp and knowing. 

“You’re not the only one.” He strolls to the edge and whistles softly.  “Far drop.” 

You keep your hands busy, pretending to rummage through your belongings. “I’m a good swimmer,” you tell him, voice flat. 

“Not that good.” His tone is clipped, a warning wove into his words.  

You let out a sharp breath and finally turn to face him. “What do you want, Charles?”

He shrugs, resting one hand on his belt as his dark eyes assess you. “Thought you might want some company.” He pauses, his voice lowering. “Or, at least someone to keep you from doing something stupid.”

You wince, knowing how it must have looked. You’re hurt and desperate, but you’re no fool. The river might be pretty, but you’re not looking to drown yourself in it. “It wasn’t anything like that,” you insist, and Charles gives you a sharp, assessing look. “Charles,” you snap, exhaling in frustration.  “Honestly. I just,” you take in a slow breath, shaking your head, eyes downcast. “I need a break.”

“Alright,” he says simply. “We’ll take one together.” He walks back to the cliff’s edge, dropping down to sit with his legs dangling over the side. He glances over his shoulder and motions you to join him. 

Your fists clench at your sides as you take slow, reluctant steps toward him. The dew on the grass seeps into your pants as you sit beside him, hands folded in your lap. Out of the corner of his eyes, you catch his profile, calm, steady, and scarred. 

The aftermath of St. Denis lingers on his face. A fresh scar cuts along his jawline, a reminder of how close he came to joining the others who didn’t make it. Yet, with some of them gone, he seems more at ease. Charles never agreed with Dutch’s grandiose visions, and though he and Arthur had a bond, it’s clear the gang’s collapse has freed him from some invisible yoke. He wears his hair in a braid lately, speaking with nearby tribes and helping them when he’s not in camp. 

If it wasn’t for some odd honor-bound obligation he’s got to you and a few others in camp, you don’t doubt that he’d be riding free by now. Still, he stays with you, and selfishly, you’re glad for it. 

A gunshot cracks through the quiet, echoing among the hills. Birds take flight from the treetops as a hunting group crashes through the grove below. They circle around the herd of deer and let their bullets fly wild. Their hounds snap at the flanks of the animals, jaws clamping around the soft throats of the doe. 

Charles scoffs, shaking his head in disgust. “You don’t kill the does,” he mutters angrily. “Just the bucks. These men... they have no respect for the laws of nature.”

You let out a sardonic huff of laughter, gesturing toward the chaos below.  “Welcome to the future of our country,” Your gaze drifts toward the horizon, where smoke from St. Denis factories smudges the sky. Even this far out, civilization stretches its claws, unstoppable. “The west is dying, Charles. The time of outlaws, of freedom, is being shackled and destroyed.”

You turn to face him, meeting the same burning anger in his eyes that’s been smoldering in your own for weeks. It’s the first time you’ve seen that fire in him so clearly- the shared, silent rage, you’ve both been trying to suppress. “Our time is over,” you tell him, voice low with finality. 

His eyes narrow, jaw tight with defiance. For a moment, he says nothing, but then he rises to his feet, his movements purposeful. “Maybe,” he says, his voice steady, “but not today.”

Without another word, he strides toward Taima, tightening the saddle and checking the reins with precision. “What’re you doin?” You call after him, brows knitting together in confusion. 

He gestures toward the hunters below, his tone sharp. “You want to do something stupid. Fine. But take it out on someone who deserves it, not yourself.” 

His words hit like a slap, and before you know it, he’s leading Taima down the hill. 

You linger in the sharp sting of what he said only for a moment. Jumping to your feet, you rush to Lady, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you mount her. With a kick of your heels, you follow Charles down the path toward the hunters, your rage finally finding a target. 

For the first time in a long while, the weight around your chest lightens. You might not be able to fix the world, but you can make sure someone pays for tearing it apart. And as you ride beside Charles, you remember why he’s still here. He’s not just keeping you alive, he’s giving you something to live for.

Sitting inside the cabin, the smell of venison drifts toward you. After the incident with the hunting party, you and Charles salvaged what you could of the herd. Neither of you liked the idea of anything going to waste. Some materials were given to the local tribe, and the rest have been feeding the camp for days now. 

Last night, you’d scoured the woods for herbs and other ingredients and discreetly left them on Pearson’s cooking table. You were growing desperate for a flavor other than plain meat. Judging by the faint smell of mint wafting through the air, it seems he finally took the hint. 

Propped against your flimsy pillow, you run your fingers along the worn leather of the journal in your lap. For weeks, you’ve toyed with the idea of opening it, of seeing the world through Arthur’s eyes. 

Here, in the rare serenity of a quiet camp, you finally give in. The journal is as you would expect, sketches, details of some of the more pivotal moments for the gang. Every once in a while you’ll find a sketch of someone and a brutally honest recollection of how Arthur thought of them. Some of them are less flattering than you would have thought, you’re almost worried for how he might have seen you. 

You make it through his entries about Blackwater, the sun setting lower in the horizon as the light from the window gets dimmer. Outside, voices grow louder as people gather around the fire for dinner. You force your eyes to stay on the page, blocking out their drifting voices. 

His entries after the mountains are almost amusing. He’s clearly frustrated about something, though, he skirts around directly addressing what it is. Only a few times are you directly mentioned, for the most part, he avoids writing about you. But you catch glimpses of yourself hiding in the pages. A half-finished sketch of your hand holding his, the beginnings of your face abandoned before he can finish. 

There’s an entry a few weeks after you acquired Lady. A sketch of her and Diablo grazing together, their noses nearly touching as they crane their necks towards the grass. Surrounding the drawings are small notes about herbs and foliage he’d collected on his hunting trips. Among those sketches, there’s a small blurb about the horses.  

Diablo seems to be taking a liking to Lady, odd pair, I think. 

An odd pair, you suppose there’s not a better way to put it. Something that never should have worked, a devil and a lady, yet it still clawed and fought to find its way. In the end, though, one of them was always going to be left behind. You can’t help but wish it hadn’t been you.

A rough sigh escapes you, and you flip past the next few pages. Then, you stop. A familiar pair of eyes stare back at you. 

You’ve changed so much since this journey began. Your skin is weathered, your once-pristine hair is now more often than not dirtied and knotted from the wind. Your body has grown leaner, stronger, shaped by the relentless movement and harsh diet. The woman in the red dress from St Denis was already a stranger, someone you couldn’t recognize. 

Even from Arthur’s view, you still don’t know her. The general shape of your face remains. You have the same slope to your nose, your jaw still tilts the same way. But your eyes are so different. He drew them with fire, with life, with a fight you had once thought yourself incapable of. 

You feel invulnerable as you stare down at her, as though her fire can be passed so easily to you. The feeling flickers and fades, replaced with the same familiar ache you’ve grown used to. 

You can’t make sense of it, how he could have seen you so kindly, and yet still walked away. 

“Got that look in your eye again,” Sadie’s voice cuts through the stillness, startling you. She leans against the doorway, one hand lingering on the revolver strapped to her hip. 

“What look?” You mutter, glaring down at the journal. It feels too raw, too personal to keep reading. Torturing yourself with thoughts of him isn’t getting you anywhere. He’s gone. You’ve faced death all your life- mourn, move on. That’s how it’s meant to go.  

“Angry,” Sadie tells you, voice soft and knowing. “Like how I looked after I lost Jake. You ain’t look like that when you lost your husband.”

You shrug, fingers tracing the lines of your face through Arthur’s eyes. “Arthur was nothing like my husband. He leaves something to be mourned,” you tell her simply. She watches you a moment longer, but when you get to your feet, her expression sharpens. 

“Going somewhere?”

“Out,” you reply curly, the cabin walls closing in around you. You’re growing tired of the suffocating way Charles and Sadie hover as if they’re both waiting for you to break again. That moment on the cliff, your grief by the fire, it was all a lapse of judgment, nothing more. You’ve fought too damn hard for your freedom just to throw it away because the men you love always leave you behind. 

“Need some compan-”

“No,” you snap, cutting her off. Your tone leaves no room for argument. 

You step outside, the balmy evening air clinging to your skin as you head toward Lady. You don’t know where you’re going, but that’s fine. You just know you need to figure out how to live for yourself. And you can start by riding. 

The moon hangs heavy in the sky, its light threading through the plains like silver threads. Clouds roll overhead, slowly swallowing the stars. You smell rain in the air, a promise of a storm tomorrow. You’re sure you’ll be holed up in the cabins tomorrow while it pours. 

For now, you have the trail and the night for yourself. You let Lady take the lead, her slow gait a soothing rhythm as you settle into the ride. Normally, you don’t risk staying away from camp overnight. There are too many lawmen and bounty hunters looking to make a name for themselves. Tonight, though, you make an exception. 

A loud whoop cuts through the stillness, yanking you from your thoughts. You pull Lady to a halt, eyes roaming the dark horizon. A lone rider crests the hill, silhouetted against the moonlight, his path set toward something hidden around the bend.

“Must be my lucky day!” He hollers, voice manic. There’s a flash, the sharp crack of a gunshot splitting the quiet, and a scream follows. 

You curse under your breath, driving your heels into Lady’s sides. The two of you round the bend in time to see the rider poking his head into a finely adorned carriage. The driver slumps lifelessly over the reins, blood pooling beneath him.

Grimacing, you draw back into the shadows of the hill. “Alright, ladies first,” the bandit taunts. He reaches into the carriage, his groping hand causing a shrill shriek before he’s grabbing a woman and tossing her into the dirt. You grit your teeth, tucking yourself further out of sight, hoping to go unnoticed.

The glint of his revolver catches the moonlight as he climbs into the carriage. From inside, the muffled sounds of arguing give way to fists striking flesh. The woman lies with her face obscured by her hands. She flinches and sobs with each punch landed and the noises make Lady shift uneasily. Her hooves snap against the dried brambles of a dying bush. 

“Damn horse,” you mutter, eyes clenched shut as the noises momentarily pause. 

“Who’s there?” He calls out. It’s barely a moment before his patience snaps and he fires a warning shot into the air. “You don’t want me to come find you,” he warns, voice low and tight. 

Knocking the brim of your hat down, you let out a resigned sigh and turn the corner, forcing yourself into the open. “Howdy,” you call out, trying to mimic the casual confidence Arthur used to have in moments like these. Bandits, outlaws- they all recognize each other through the ease with which they face situations like this. You only hope you’re a good enough liar. “Just passin’ through, friend, no need for problems.” 

For a moment, his gun dips to his side. Then, his face is twisting into a wide, erratic grin. “Nice trail isn’t it? Perfect for catching big fish,” he says, swinging the revolver toward the woman’s husband. She whimpers loudly and grasps at the slumped-over man. You can hear his shallow, wet breaths from where you sit. 

“There ain’t no need to shoot ‘em,” you tell him, voice steady despite the tension coiling around you. “There’s a fence not far from here, you’ll get more money selling that carriage than you will killin’ them.”

He crackles and it makes your skin crawl. “Where’s the fun in that?” He sneers, cocking the hammer back as he points the gun at the woman. 

This man laughs, taking far more pleasure in tormenting others than in the act of robbery itself. He’s malicious, sadistic—the very picture of a perfect outlaw. For a fleeting moment, he sees something in you, thinks you might be cut from the same ruthless cloth. But he’s wrong, and there’s something exhilarating about stepping beyond the mold your family and husband once shaped for you, discovering who you can be on your own terms.

Your hand drifts to the revolver on your side, slowly easing it out of your holster. His head snaps toward the sound of you pulling the hammer back, but it’s too late. From your spot atop Lady, all you see is blood splatter as his body drops to the floor. The woman screaming lets you know you hit your mark near perfect. 

Opposed to the man now bleeding out in the dirt beneath you, there’s no thrill in the kill, no satisfaction. Just the cold thrum of your nerves, the slight tremor in your hands as you slide off Lady and stride toward the couple. 

With the bandit dead, the woman’s husband seems to make a miraculous recovery. He springs up, blood still streaming along his chin. “Thank God for you, sir-”

He stops short when you tip your hat back. Perhaps his ears were still ringing from one too many blows, dulling his senses, or maybe he was simply too pigheaded to grasp the fact that he’d just been rescued by a woman. You level him with an unimpressed glare. “Not a problem,” you say flatly

“Oh, good heavens,” the woman gasps, whispering your name with a startling familiarity. You freeze, eyes wide, as your blood runs cold. 

Elsbeth Morton. 

You’d know the voice anywhere. Of all the people you could have run into, she’s the last you’d ever want to see. Your tormenter through finishing school. She used to cut your hair in your sleep, stain your dress, and make your life a misery for sport. 

Her sneer hasn’t changed, though the lines around her mouth suggest her spite has only deepened. “Well,” she drawls, voice laced with faux pity, “I see nothing much has changed for you. Still scrounging out an existence in the dirt, are we?”

Your jaw tightens. “Elsbeth,” you grit out. “You’re welcome.”

She laughs, short and derisive in a way that makes you bristle. “For what? Subjecting me to this humiliating spectacle? Honestly, I think I preferred the company of the bandit. At least he had the decency to get on with it instead of pretending to play the hero.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to stay calm, but she doesn’t stop. “It’s almost tragic,” she continues, brushing the dirt from her skirts as if trying to erase the sight of you. “You’re still so desperate for approval, aren’t you? Trying to prove you’re something you’re not. What’s next? A big speech about how strong and independent you are?” She snickers, tugging her husband to his feet. “We both know better.”

Your voice comes out low and steady. “You’ve always been good at pretending you’re better than everyone else, Elsbeth.” God hates you, you’re sure of it. If he doesn't, why is she here? Dragging you back to everything you loathed about your former self—the vapid, dependent, hollow shell of a woman who had once believed her worth was defined by the man standing beside her.

“Pretending?” she snaps, narrowing her eyes. “Darling, I don’t need to pretend. You can wear all the trousers you want, but we both know you’re still the same timid little girl, hiding behind a man and hoping no one notices she doesn’t belong.”

Her words cut, but they don’t sting the way they once would have. Instead, they ignite something, a fire born not of anger, but clarity. 

You’re not the man bleeding out in the dirt, killing for the joy of it. But you aren’t the polished girl she remembers, desperate for a man’s approval. You’re something else entirely. Unbound by society, free to choose your own path, you’re a beast of your own creation. And if there is one thing you’ve learned about yourself- you love putting your past in the grave. 

You let out a slow breath, your hand drifting toward your revolver. “Elsbeth,” you call, voice sharp enough to cut through her self-satisfied grin.

She stops, turning back with an arched brow. “What now?” she huffs. “Come to beg for my acceptance? Or just another pathetic attempt to-”

“That husband of mine,” you interrupt, voice cool as steel, “was good for one thing.” You draw your revolver, the barrel leveling with her chest. “Teaching me to shoot.”

Her eyes widen, her sneer faltering as her hand instinctively flies to her necklace.

Your lips curl into a wicked smile. “Now, how about you hand over those pretty jewels?”

She scoffs, but you see the way her grin falters, the slight fear in her eyes. You shoot her a wink and take a step closer, reveling in how she stumbles back. 

“And while we’re at it,” you continue, voice tightening into a sharp, mocking edge, “why don’t you hand over those earrings too?” You laugh, waving your gun recklessly as you shrug with a faux playfulness. “Actually, what the hell, I think I’ll take that dress—seeing as you’ve gone and gotten it all muddy anyway.” You take a step forward, your gaze narrowing on her trembling hands. “Hell, even that hair ribbon. You always did like rubbing your finery in everyone’s face, Elsbeth. Let’s see how you like losing it.”

She stares at you, disbelief flickering in her wide eyes, her hands frozen in hesitation. “You can’t be serious,” she whispers.

“Oh, I’m dead,” you pull back the hammer of your gun with a slow, menacing click. The sound hangs in the air like a threat. Your eyes narrow, and a dangerous smile tugs at your lips. “Serious.”

She moves hesitantly, every motion weighted with reluctance, disbelief etched across her face. You, the woman she used to torment and cow with a simple look, now dismantling her composure piece by piece. The power shift is palpable, and for the first time in your life, you watch Elsbeth Morton falter.

“Go’n now,” you say, your voice cutting through her trembling silence. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Her husband flinches as she begins to remove her jewelry, her fingers trembling as she unfastens each piece. You hold out your hand, and she hesitates, her face flushed with humiliation as she steps forward to place them carefully in your palm, one by one, like a chastened child.

He glances at you, then at her, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and disgust as if the sight of her submitting is too much for him to stomach.

Your eyes narrow on him, your hand tightening slightly around the revolver. The smug smile creeping onto your lips says it all—you’ll deal with him next.

You understand, finally, that you’re no longer the woman shaped by the men in your life. The husband who failed you, the outlaw who abandoned you, the society that tried to break you. People will learn that you aren’t afraid to take what’s yours anymore, because for the first time, you’re carving your own path, and God help anyone who tries to stand in your way.

end. — I do not own the characters or the game Red Dead Redemption 1/2, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2025. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

Hell Hath No Fury Taglist: @buckysblondie @littlebirdgot @heloixe @summerdazed @committingcrimes-2047

@m1stea @pokiona @fleouris @soupvender00 @warmsideofthepillow03

@whimsiwitchy

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

(Shrek AU)

A long time ago there was a beautiful garden called Eden. In the garden, Adam and Lilith the first man and first woman were created. He was so beautiful that the angels came from Heaven to marvel at the beauty of the first humans. Adam fell in love with the most beautiful of all of God’s angels, Lucifer. But Lucifer was swayed by the words of Lilith and ran away with her. Lilith convinced Lucifer to convince Adam to eat the Forbidden Fruit. Because of this Adam was cursed when he died. By day he was a beautiful angel, by night he was a fallen and demonic angel. Only the kiss of true love could break that curse and then he would take on the form of his lover. Adam was put in a tower in Purgatory guarded by a brave angel named Vaggie.

Charlie: I got all the papers dad, I hope that Michael will listen to us.

Lucifer: I doubt it, he may be your uncle, but he never cared for me.

Charlie had a plan to open a hotel to redeem Sinners, but she needed the backing of Heaven to make this dream come true. She had the hotel set up, she just needed the blessing.

Alastor: Don’t worry dear, I will protect the hotel while you are gone.

Lucifer gave Alastor a death glare while he gripped his staff. It had been seven years since Lilith left them and Lucifer was doing everything in his power to prove he was a good father. But it felt like Alastor was trying to steal Charlie from him as the manager of the hotel. The only guest of the hotel Angel hugged Charlie and wished her luck as they made their way to the Embassy of Heaven. They were greeted by Michael who looked exactly like Lucifer except for one thing. He only went up to Lucifer’s shoulders.

Charlie: I didn’t know that that the great warrior angel was shorter than you.

Lucifer couldn’t help, but laugh, Lucifer knew he was short, but Michael made him look tall. It was a sore subject for the warrior angel.

Michael: I should deny your request for that.

Lucifer: I guess that is why I have always been the bigger man.

He should have kept his mouth shut, but he was angry for how his brother was acting towards Charlie.

Michael: But I am merciful today, I am to be married and I need you to get my blushing bride from Purgatory.

Lucifer: Who is the poor soul that is going to be bound to you for an eternity?

Michael: Adam, the first man who is now an angel.

Lucifer gulped, he thought of Adam and how he wished that he could have chosen him over Lilith. He thought of the beautiful man in the garden who begged to be held by Lucifer as he flew up in the sky. It might be for the best that he make it up to Adam by bringing him to Heaven and be married to Michael.

Lucifer: So if I bring you Adam to marry you, you will get Heaven’s blessing for the hotel.

Michael: Yes.

Lucifer: Then we have a deal.

Michael went back to heaven leaving the two alone.

Charlie: Where is purgatory dad?

Lucifer: It's like an in-between land, it's neither holy or hellish. There is only one entry and exit. It's filled with all of God's rejected creations that weren't pure enough for heaven and too dangerous for Hell.

Charlie: So, Adam is a reject?

Lucifer winced: I wouldn't say that. He was God's favorite creation, I have no idea why he's there in the first place.

They went to the edge of Hell where it met with the path to Heaven, there was a grey archway with a portal in the middle of it.

Walking through, the whole world of Purgatory was shades of grey, all the plants looked narly and twisted.

Charlie: Oh my.....

They had no idea how long it would take to find Adam, but they didn't have all day.

-

Adam looked out his tower window sadly, another day stuck in his own personal Hell. He was so sick of the color grey.

Even the lava around the castle was a bright shade of grey.

When Vaggie would make her rounds to ensure that no monsters showed up and that Adam was safe, that was the only time he got to talk to someone.

He wished he could leave this place.

[geeks-universe]

Daryl Dixon x Reader

“Just talk to me. Please.”

Daryl’s voice was scratchy from disuse as he spoke, anxiously chewing on his thumbnail.

Beth was asleep in the room over, still reeling from the sudden upheaval as well as her father’s death. Losing Hershel had…

Well, he’d been the voice of wisdom for so long, someone who could be strong yet still have far more compassion than this world deserved. When you joined the group, way back before they ever left the quarry, you’d been rough around the edges. Ignoring your issues and approaching a problem head on was how you managed to stay alive before the world went to shit, and it was the most reliable method of keeping your head attached to your shoulders after it. It’d been Hershel who had coaxed you away from that, who had taught you the importance of feeling.

And now he was…

“I’m upset,” you admitted, wrapping your arms around your knees and pulling them to your chest. The handle of your knife pressed uncomfortably into your thigh, but you’d never risk disarming yourself. Especially not now.

Daryl dropped his hand, leaning forward. It was almost comical, the way he approached you like a rabid animal. The group liked your brutal nature, preferring the cold, calculated killer as opposed to the tired, emotional woman.

Not Daryl though.

He appreciated that you could take care of yourself. He didn’t trust anyone more than you when it came to fighting. However, the person beneath the hard exterior was soft, sweet. It was someone he had slowly learned about, who he’d tried his damndest to protect.

“And not just about-“ you stopped short, your eyes closing for a second.

Hershel.

He understood though. Of course he did. The many days spent alone together had formed a bond between the two of you. Of all the survivors, you’d only ever really opened yourself up to Daryl and Hershel.

The rest, you were trying to, but with them it came far more naturally.

Just Daryl now, you supposed.

“We could’ve saved more.” Your eyes opened, staring directly at Daryl, not bothering to hide anything in your expression. “I could’ve saved more.”

Devastation spread from the downturn of your lips to the furrow of your brow. Your chest heaved, the rise and fall jagged as the full force of guilt planted itself in your heart.

“Don’t-“

“I should’ve gone back.”

“We-“

“You shouldn’t have stopped me.”

“You-“

“I should’ve taken the shot.”

And there it was.

Whoever you were before all of this, Daryl didn’t know. Hell, he wasn’t even entirely sure you knew. What he did know, however, was that the combat skills you displayed, the mastery of weapons, was damn near unmatched. You had one hell of an aim, especially with snipers, and your sights had been lined up on the Governor.

You’d been all but ready to take the shot, and all it’d taken was one shake of Rick’s head to give you pause. Pause long enough for the Governor to kill Hershel.

And then you’d been unleashed- a demon of vengeance on unsuspecting amateurs. Even with all of their firepower, they didn’t stand a chance against you.

Until they did.

Until the gates had fallen and they’d watched as all of their work, all of their hope, had been destroyed with a single swipe of a sword.

Even as it all fell apart, as bodies were torn asunder and bullets rained from the sky, you’d refused to turn away. You tried to stay, to fight, to hold onto the last refuge any of you had- but it was futile.

So, Daryl pulled you away.

He’d grabbed your arm and started dragging, ignoring the pounding of your fists as you begged, pleaded, cried, screamed. You’d only calmed down after finding Beth, after vowing to protect her.

It was only the promise of searching for the others that kept you going.

“‘M not sorry.”

You startled, your wide, glistening eyes searching his for an answer. He shrugged, wiping a hand on his pants.

“You woulda been killed.”

You were on your feet in a flash, an accusatory finger pointed at Daryl, at where he now stood leaned against the wall of the broken down shack you’d sought refuge in.

“Maybe I wanted that. But that was my choice, not yours.”

Something akin to anger burned in his gaze, and he took a harsh step forward.

“To give up? To say to hell with us? To how we feel?”

Anger coiled low, tangling with grief and guilt like a dance you knew all too well. He wasn’t wrong. You wish he was, but he wasn’t.

“It was my choice,” you bit out, not giving an inch.

You didn’t need to, as he stepped even closer.

“Then choose us.”

Choose me.

He didn’t say it, didn’t need to. You could read it in the tension of his muscles, the frown on his lips. The rage sputtered out, replaced with a different warmth- one softer, gentler.

Slowly, ever slowly- like you were worried he might bolt if it were too sudden- you raised your hand to his cheek, to press your palm against his skin. The strain of his body relaxed, and with so much caution you were sure you imagined it, he leaned into your touch.

“You don’t get to quit.”

His words were firm, yet whispered. The air grew thick between you, and you found yourself leaning forward unbidden.

“Neither do you,” you replied, the ghost of his arm hovering above your waist, hesitant to pull you in.

And God, he was right, wasn’t he? You wouldn’t quit- not on Beth, not on your friends, not on the people you lost, and certainly not on him.

[atangledfate]

Dawn focused on the more heavily injured patients, those requiring stitches, or who might have internal bleeding. She was confident in letting the old lemur deal with less injured patients. Setting bones, or minor cuts and bruises. She was quick with her hands, and could easily stitch someone up in a quick motion. Using a numbing agent when she had to but she was hyper aware that it was running low. That she might have to resort to injections soon enough. But between the two of them they had the room nearly ready to be moved in a short amount of time.

" If they can be moved then we'll be moving them. But i get to make that call, most of these folk will be easy transfers. But there are a few at least that we won't risk moving. Doc's Orders "

She eyed the Phone and nodded and tugged out her little data pad, and grabbed the number from Twists phone. She could more easily transfer need to know info to the incoming medic once he arrived. Though she was hoping for a small team rather then any single person. Still she wouldn't snub her nose at any help at this point.

" Right, sent the data packet to them, hopefully that speeds things along... #1 will meet them at the entry way, so let's just keep working unless you need to meet them or something like that "

===============================================

Jewel felt like she was going to lose her lunch all over the Tenrec. Funny as it was she was kind of use to moving at high speeds. Between her own flight being rather zippy in movement and, Tangle's tossing her around as a kid. You'd think you'd be use to it! but this was way worse then anything tangle did to her and yet--- perhaps it was this reason that she was able to keep herself from making a mess on the floor! It was a close one but thankfully she kept her lunch where it belonged!

She gave the Tenrec a side eye and honestly she seemed like she grew up since last they spoke. She nodded to the Tenrec aware that she took a bump. Thankfully she was kind of armored by her chitin so the injury wasn't as serious as if she'd been a mammal.

" Yea... that's probably not a bad idea. I did get hit in the head by a building i guess..."

She laughed nervously though it was a joke to make light of how she could have died if not for Charmy and the two trouble makers.

" Thanks... and ... i know you and Kitsunami have always had a bit of a rocky reputation here at Restoration. But i've always believed in you both... i think this crisis only proves my faith was well founded. "

" No matter what happens today--- you'll always have a home here in restoration..."

Jewel stepped into the main room buzzing her wings as she gave a nod to Sonic and Kitsunami as she passed. Though paused near Belle and Miles as she didn't see Lanolin or any other commander near by it must have been more dire then she realized.

" I need a full Briefing... bring me up to speed. "

"Relax, I'm not say to just uproot everyone, though just to move as many as we possibly can without endangering anyone. I'm sure there are a couple who can still be moved, just not comfortably." Twist wasn't used to all this middle ground work as he was the sort of guy to just follow the orders he was given and execute them. The lemur still understood the importance of keeping the peace in times like this.

Twist didn't move quickly, deciding to take a moment to access all the injured and what he could do with his limit knowledge. The last thing he wanted to do was make any injures worse and make Dawn's job harder. The lemur settled on doing simple tasks. Popping in a dislocated joint, helping bandage some people up, and making a few quick splints. Simple tasks, though he was getting to a good amount of people so the nurse could focus on those with heavier injuries.

Twist would stop for a moment and pull out his phone to see a notification. The lemur finding one of the copies that wasn't too busy. "Here, the doctor is in the base, though figured you giving them all the details as they make their way here might help." Best to have someone who knew how things work inform the doctor of the situation.

===========================================================

"Well, I tried to go slower than normal, though there's also a time crunch here." Surge wasn't used to having to drag someone around as Drippy can normally keep up with her for the most part, though it seemed even her best attempt not to move too fast didn't work as well as she thought. The tenrec was sure Jewel would have an upset stomach, though wanted to avoid causing dizziness. "Might be best you wait where people can see you. That dome of yours ain't looking too good and I don't think it could take bumping into anything." Hard not to notice that the beetle took a bit of a hit to the head, even if it doesn't look too bad.

"And I'm don't want to hear you argue," Surge said as she opened the door and waited for Jewel to enter the room first. The tenrec didn't want the beetle to get hurt as she knows first hand it can be a bit tricky walking around after you shake off from being dizzy. Best they're in eye view of everyone so if she makes a misstep by mistake someone can catch her or prevent her from hurting herself.

[losers-clvb]

written // sam winchester

pairing: sam winchester x girlfriend!reader

summary: becky invites the boys and you to the very first supernatural convention, where you find out you are a very prominent character in the books.

content: implied smut, small description of said smut, swearing, established relationship with sam, use of Y/N (it was unavoidable, sorry), becky being becky, chuck being chuck

word count: 2.4k

masterlist

----

“You're here!” The shrill voice of Becky Rosen rang out. You cringed at the sound. This was the first time you were having the pleasure of meeting the woman. You had heard the stories, how she was in love with Sam, the way she dawned over his every move. Sam, your boyfriend, had been embarrassed by every single word Dean had told you. The Winchesters first encounter with Becky had occurred just after you had left to go visit your family for a week, leaving you unable to put a face to the name. But here she was, arms spread wide while looking to the boys with a huge grin.

Becky had sent invitations -- only two, one for Sam and one for Dean -- to some sort of event. None of you knew what it could be for but assumed it was a call for help with something of the supernatural kind. Now, you were skeptical of this. She looked far too enthused for this to be the case. Chuck was standing next to her with a nervous expression. You were walking behind the brothers, keeping you out of view from Becky and Chuck.

“Becky.” Sam said flatly, offering her a courteous smile. The woman was practically jumping for joy at her name.

“Sam! Dean!” Becky called in anticipation, but her face dropped when you stepped into view. “You!” She shouted. It was obvious she was unhappy to see you. Why, you had no clue about. You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you stood close to Sam.

“Do we know each other?” You asked. You were sure you had never crossed paths with her, but maybe you went to high school together. Or attended the same summer camp in middle school. What you didn't expect was to hear your full name come from her mouth.

“You took Sam from me.” Becky pouted out. You're confusion deepened. First, you knew you took Sam from no one, but that was beside the point. How did she know you and Sam were dating?

“How do you know me?” You asked and caught Chuck's grimace at your words. You narrowed your eyes at the author, wondering what he was hiding.

“You're in the books!” Becky answered in an accusing tone, as if you had written the Supernatural series yourself. Sam's hand, which had been resting on your shoulder, tightened protectively at the mention of the books. Your mouth fell open in shock. You knew about the books. Sam and Dean had mentioned them while talking of their interactions with Chuck. You had looked them up, interested to see how in depth they had gone. You hadn't searched too much, finding it weirdly off putting that your boyfriend and his brother's lives were put into words for a check. Apparently you should have done more digging.

“I am?” You were directing your question to Chuck now, your jaw set in irritation. Sam and Dean wore similar expressions. They were growing tired of their life being used as fuel for a book series, and go have included you in it was going a bit too far.

“Yes, well… I needed to add a love interest in there.” Chuck stuttered out, shrinking under your glare. He knew your personality, knew your short fuse. He also knew of the knife you always kept strapped to your side. He had written you, of course. His eyes flickered with fear when he noticed Sam's stormy expression.

“It doesn't matter! You guys need to see this!” Becky was bouncing in excitement. Chuck sighed out, both in relief at the subject change and in exasperation from Becky. The group of you followed Becky into the doors of the hotel where she had said to meet.

“I'm sorry. For everything.” Chuck apologized. You were unsure of what the apology was for until the group of people were revealed to you. Mostly male, save for the occasional female running around in the group. The strange thing was the way everyone was dressed. Flannel and leather jackets overtook the room. You swallowed when a girl your age strolled past, wearing an identical outfit to yours.

“Hey, Dean! Lookin’ good!” A guy wearing a nearly exact match of Dean's outfit moved past you, Sam, and Dean. You frowned at his words.

“What is this?” Sam asked, eyes following a group of men dressed like him. Becky bounced on her toes to stand in front of him. A wide smile was spread across her face.

“It's awesome!” She replied. When the expression on his face didn't change, she continued. “The first Supernatural convention!”

You felt Sam tense up and turned your head to look at Dean. He wasn't thrilled, to say the least. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, suddenly anxious to learn what exactly Chuck had written about you specifically. It wasn't as if you had anything to hide, no, but what if your parents got their hands on the books? Would they put the puzzle pieces together and find out you weren't actually a traveling insurance saleswoman, but instead had joined your boyfriend and his brother to hunt down monsters? What about your little sister, who begged you not to leave when your new “job” had you away for months on end?

You needed to get your hands on those books.

----

“-but right now, right now I would like to introduce the man himself. The creator and the writer of the Supernatural books, the one, the only… Carver Edlund!” The room erupted into cheers as Chuck took the stage. You, Sam, and Dean stood at the back of the room. Not much had been said after Becky had revealed the true reason why she had called the Winchesters to meet her, but now there was a Q&A with the author of the books himself. Lucky you!

“Okay, good, this isn't nearly as awkward as I…” Chuck winced at the feedback from the mic and cleared his throat. “It's a little dry mouth.” He chuckled nervously, trying to break the tension in the room while he grabbed a bottle of water. He drank from it for just a moment too long, practically draining all of the liquid. When he finished, he cleared his throat again.

“Okay, so, uh… I guess… questions?” Chuck offered. In response, a flurry of hands shot into the air, none of which were from you or the brothers. Chuck looked around before pointing out a fan that was dressed as Sam.

“Uh, hey, Mr. Edlund. Big fan. I was just wondering -- where'd you come up with Sam and Dean in the first place?” The fan asked. Chuck's eyes flitted to your trio.

“It just… came to me.” Chuck answered. Dean pursed his lips sarcastically at the answer. You listened as the questions continued. None had mentioned you, but you tensed up when Ruby was mentioned. You didn't like her, but tolerated her after Sam had begged you to. You flicked your eyes up to look at Sam. He glanced down at you and swallowed his embarrassment down. The fan, who was dressed as some sort of hook hand warlock, continued with his complaints on the books.

Becky stomped past you with clenched fists. You raised your eyebrows. She didn't seem like the type of person you would be afraid of, but it was entertaining to see her attempt it.

“Hey! If you don't like the books, don't read ‘em, Fritz!” Becky fumed. Chuck held his hands up in defense of the hook man.

“Uh, okay. It's okay.” Chuck attempted to calm Becky, who now had her hands on her hips. You stifled a chuckle at the scene, causing Dean to elbow you playfully. Chuck cleared his throat again.

“Next question.”

----

After the announcement that Chuck would be publishing more of the Supernatural series, the boys were fuming. Dean was questioning the man while you and Sam stood idly by.

“Who gave you the rights to our life story?” Dean leaned down to get in Chuck's face. You agreed with this questioning. If you wanted your life put into words you would've written it yourself.

“An archangel. And I didn't want it.” Chuck argued back. You understood, you really did, but it didn't change the fact that the whole situation was just a little too intrusive.

“Our lives are not for public consumption.” Sam added. You nodded in agreement and slammed a hand on the table.

“What the hell did you write about me, Chuck?” You seethed out. You were sick of the unknown. Chuck shrank down further in his seat.

“Nothing much.” Chuck mumbled out, but Becky had other ideas.

“Did you and Sam really have sex in the Impala?” Becky questioned, hoping it wasn't true. She still felt she held a claim on Sam. The question threw you off. How did she know that? Dean didn't even know that. You felt the elder Winchester's eyes boring into the side of your head.

“You did what in my baby?” Dean bit out, his stare switching to Sam. Sam was staring down Chuck. It seemed the two of you had some reading to do.

“Give me the books.” You demanded, making Chuck scramble up out of his seat to retrieve the copies.

----

Here you were now, sitting with Sam in a fairly empty room and flipping through the books. What you had read so far was innocent enough. You meeting Sam and Dean while they hunted down the wendigo that was terrorizing your town. You and Sam silently pining after each other for months until the dam of emotions finally broke, leading to a confession of love from the both of you. Kissing and cuddling were the most scandalous this that had taken place. Well, up until the seventh book where, after a close call with death from Sam, the two of you found the backseat of the Impala the best place to… connect.

Sam and Y/N were connected at the lips, holding each other close. Grinding down on Sam's lap, Y/N felt the hard, aching--

Okay. That was enough. You couldn't read this anymore. You looked away from the pages to stare at the floorboards. Sam read on, his face contorting into disgust at a particularly descriptive paragraph about the situation.

“I'm gonna kill him.” You muttered out. It was one thing to make you a character in his plot. It was another to write very private scenes in very descriptive detail. You were thinking over what way you could act out your revenge on the author when you overheard your name in conversation.

“Come on, she's the worst character. You expect me to believe that Sam would choose some girl over Ruby, the bad ass demon chick who's hot as hell?” It was a pair of fans, one male, one female. They appeared to be arguing over your character development. The man, it seemed, wasn't on your side.

“Yes! I do expect you to believe it because it happened! Y/N is the best character the series has. She's strong and smart and fought a vamp off with no weapons!” The woman argued back, her blonde hair streaked with fake blood. She wore an outfit that you could only assume was supposed to be yours. You smiled approvingly at her side. There was one upside to all of this. You had your own little fan club.

“Yeah, well…” The other man thought of a comeback for the argument. “She's a whore.” He looked proud of himself, even though it was possibly the weakest thing he could have said. You stood and quickly walked to the pair, who looked at you with wide eyes. It seemed they were both weary of the girl intruding on their conversation.

“I'm not--,” you stopped yourself, “--she's not a whore, you prick.” You needed to defend yourself, even if it was a stupid argument. You felt Sam watching you, but you paid no mind to him while staring daggers at the lanky man in front of you. He was obviously supposed to be Dean, though the real Dean would have knocked him upside the head if he heard how he was talking about you. Dean didn't react well to people insulting his family.

“Okay, geez, it's just a book.” The man tried to calm you, eyes flicking nervously over your body for any other signs of aggression. You scoffed and narrowed your eyes at him. You suppose he decided he didn't want to deal with you anymore because he stumbled away, turning his head around every few steps to ensure you weren't following him. The girl looked impressed, nodding her head in approval.

“Nice cosplay.” She commented before exiting the room herself. You didn't know what her words meant, but they must have been good with the way she had looked at you. You held your head high and sauntered back to Sam. He watched you with amusement in his eyes. You collapsed down onto the couch next to him.

“What?” You asked, face flushing when you realized how ridiculous you probably looked. Sam shook his head with a laugh.

“Nothing. Just my girl being herself.” Sam replied and kissed your forehead before continuing his reading.

----

After some very thorough reading, you and Sam came to the conclusion that the readers of the Supernatural series had the ability to guess Sam's favorite sex position correctly. You dropped the stack in front of Chuck and Becky. They sat at the same table they were at earlier, talking about the publisher that had taken on the continuing the series. You were still angry, but reading about the things that Sam and done to you, all the things, had awoken something else inside you.

“Very enlightening scenarios, Chuck, but if you ever describe my ass like that again, I'll cut your dick off.” You threatened. Chuck nodded quickly in response.

“Yes, of course, never again.” He promised. He knew you meant those threats, and from the looks of Sam's expression, you would have some help. You eyed him one more time before turning and walking away. You had been holding Sam's hand before leaving the table and it slipped from your grasp while you made for the door to the hallway.

Sam was bidding Becky goodbye, more a formality because he was a gentleman. He was on your heels before you could reach the doorway, wrapping his arms around you to halt your movements. You smirked as he tilted his head down to whisper in your ear.

“Wanna roleplay some Supernatural?”

[blitzwhore]

Hello! I'd like to ask if you've seen the post with the screenshots that says Stolas inflicts his own torment by going with Stella's whims despite having more power and prestige than her. There is a rebuttal, of course, but someone else also added that the reason people think as the screenshot says is because the writers didn't put enough emphasis and reason on the hold Stella has over Stolas and his fear of her, as well as the fact that her apparent uninvolvement with Octavia makes his reason to stick with her seems very weak. They do put an intriguing essay on how the fear of Stella for Stolas could have stand out more.

Personally I think that he's probably desensitised and numb to her after with Paimon as well and the image of a nuclear family is a must for both society and daughter. Perhaps we'll have more answers in s3. What do you think?

Drink water regularly, may a good week come to you.

Hi! I haven't seen that post, no.

When I see posts arguing about the quality of the show's writing I almost always ignore them, because I'm not interested in discourse and I want my blog to be a place that's fun for me and others to scroll through. I don't want fandom wank and 'criticism of the show' on my blog because I go into fandom spaces to have fun, not to get angry. So if I'd seen that post, I probably would've just sighed really hard and kept scrolling.

That being said, because this ask touches on a subject matter that is extremely personal to me, I'll bite and share my personal opinion, which is that the writing is perfectly executed exactly as it is. Helluva Boss is a show for a mature audience—it says so at the beginning of every episode. That doesn't just mean "hey, there's sex and drugs in these episodes". It also means, "hey, some heavy themes are going to be handled in this show, and we're not going to hold your hand and walk you through them. It's up to you to use your media literacy and critical thinking skills to pick up on the things we're going to show you".

And maybe it's because I'm an abuse survivor myself and I know exactly what it feels like to go through decades of abuse, and maybe other viewers' interpretation of Stolas' character is completely different, but... I personally had zero trouble picking up on Stolas' motivations, fears, and emotions, or on why he made each decision at each turn throughout the show.

I'll put the rest of my answer under a cut, because it's personal and rambly. But in short: yeah, I do agree with what you said at the end of your ask.

1. "He's more powerful and has a higher status than Stella, so he's inflicting his pain on himself by not standing up to her"

So there's this thing called learned helplessness, and, fun fact, it is heavily linked with PTSD and depression.

"(...) Learned helplessness occurs when someone repeatedly faces uncontrollable, stressful situations and does not exercise control when it becomes available. They have “learned” that they are helpless in that situation and no longer try to change it, even when change is possible." (source)

It's not about the power and capability to control the situation Stolas actually has. It's about the power and control he feels he has—which is none. Zero. He says this to us constantly. "Owl in a cage", "you have no choice", "my entire life's been written in stone, he taught me that I could choose".

He was told since he was a kid that his duties, his marriage, his life trajectory were non-negotiable. He never knew a life outside of his palace—his gilded jail. He doesn't know what we as the audience know—that there's a whole world out there where he can build a better life for himself with people who actually love him—because he's been raised to be a pawn in a game much bigger than himself, and he knows it. I don't need (and don't want) the show to spoonfeed me this fact. It's spelled all over his character if you know how to see it.

2. "Stella's hold of Stolas and his fear of her aren't emphasised enough in the show"

Stella literally tries to hit him at the end of The Circus and looks shocked and taken aback when he grabs her wrist to stop her. I don't need them to show me Stella hitting Stolas 15 times in order to know she's been doing it.

He hugs himself and makes himself small, walking away to remove himself from the situation as quickly and quietly as possible, when Blitz starts yelling at him in The Full Moon. I don't need them to show me Stella yelling at Stolas 20 times to know she's been yelling at him for years. We've seen her yelling at him in Loo Loo Land, in The Circus and in Seeing Stars. We know it happens. We know it always has.

I also don't need them to tell me that repeated physical and verbal abuse causes a victim to become extremely afraid of their abuser and causes them to be triggered by anything and anyone that makes them feel unsafe, because I've lived it in my skin. And I know plenty of people who watch the show who are not abuse survivors, and they're also able to see that Stolas is behaving like any abuse victim exactly with zero support would act.

In the moment, he freezes and flees. He makes himself smaller. He gets away from the situation in any way he can. He "keeps the peace" to keep the abuse to a minimum, doing anything and everything to please the people around him because that's the only way he can feel some semblance of control. ("Yes, if that's what Blitzy wants" / "Do you like it when I talk to you dirty?" / just him sheltering Octavia from his suffering to be the perfect parent for her, and give her everything she could ever want and need, going as far as making promises he couldn't keep).

In the long run, he becomes hopeless and drowns in guilt. He assumes he probably deserves what's happening to him, and thinks it's his own fault that he's so affected by the abuse for being too weak to stand up for himself. He blames himself for not being good enough for the people around him ("I'll believe him, and not the voice that says I'm not enough"), and mentally berates himself for being a coward and a failure, and for not knowing how to put an end to his suffering. He turns to passive (sometimes active) suicidality because that's genuinely the only way he can see of getting back control over his own body and life. ("When I'm gone you'll be okay" / "I'll give my life to clean your slate" / "I don't care what they fucking do, I'm seeing Octavia" / "do it, pussy").

3. Stella's uninvolvement with Octavia makes Stolas' reason to stay with Stella seem very weak

I... Look. I can't be the only one who grew up in a broken family, and surrounded by plenty other broken families. Kids, especially small kids, can't rationalise that family relationships don't always work out and sometimes divorce is the best option for everyone involved. Especially not in this society we live in, where divorce/separation are seen as a failure, and children are (at least passively) taught that divorce is their fault.

Stolas knows all this. He doesn't want Via to feel like she's growing up in a broken house, which is what separating from Stella would accomplish. We also don't know if Stolas would've kept custody of Octavia had he divorced Stella when Via was little. But it's very likely he didn't want to risk leaving Via alone with Stella, even just half the time. Especially not when Octavia has been having nightmares and crying over the mere thought of being abandoned by Stolas. Divorcing Stella would very likely result in Octavia feeling abandoned by him.

I don't know, man. I feel like I don't even have the right words to reply to this point. I still remember being 8 and sensing that something was very wrong with my parents and feeling like it was my responsibility to fix it, or else my world would end. Stolas tried his best to protect Octavia from feeling this way, from feeling responsible for anything that happened between her parents. He just wanted her to be happy. The only way he could do that was by playing 'happy family' in front of her so she could grow up carefree. He tried his best to give her enough love that she wouldn't feel the absence of her mother's love. I really don't know what else to say to this.

If you want media to spoon-feed you its themes and hold your hand as it shows you what each character is going through, then... I don't know, man. Stick to media that does that. There's media out there that genuinely does this really well. Heartstopper, for example. The Hunger Games, in a way. But maybe think twice before diving into adult media meant for mature audiences and criticising it for wanting you to be a mature viewer. Maybe it's just not for you.

Anyway. I'm gonna drink water now, please drink some water too if you're reading this (included, but not limited to, the asker). Hope you all have a nice day ❤️

[randomfoggytiger]

Mulder's Alien Baby Baby Trauma In-Depth (Part XVII): Two Steps Forward, and Going Down Swinging

In the wake of feeling professionally replaced (and betrayed), Mulder continues to commandeer the Galpex-Orpheus oil rig... that is, until Doggett begins to assert his own dominance, too.

In other words: how does their dynamic change, now that Agent Doggett is head of the files?

SHIFTING HIERARCHIES

We left off with Agent Mulder making Agent Doggett jump through hoops to prove himself-- antics which have, by degrees, whittled away the patience Doggett kept doling out for his partner's wayward partner.

Now, however: enough is enough.

"Agent Mulder! Don't walk away when I'm talking to you!” Doggett demands, roaring up behind the aforementioned man (who is studiously ignoring every word he’s saying.) Patience thoroughly thinned, his voice-- while controlled-- projects across the oil rig: the days of biting his tongue are over. “Like it or not I've been assigned this case-- one call to the Deputy Director and you’re canned for insubordination.”

Instead of addressing his claims, Mulder deflects, “How are you going to call when the radio’s broken?”

“Hey, don’t push me, Agent Mulder.”

Mulder pulls up short, turns, and faces Doggett coolly. “You won’t do it.”

“You think?”

“We're both in the same boat, Agent Doggett. We're just paddling in different directions.” Which is an admission, albeit late and smugly given, of Mulder’s feelings and reservations: Doggett’s not a bad man, nor a simple cog in the machine. He is, however, allowing himself to be used as such-- Mulder believes-- which is a danger in and of itself. But instead of communicating this directly, he characteristically dodges a straight answer-- a behavior Mulder is forced to overcome (forced to grow up from, in a way) halfway through Vienen.

Fed up with uncooperative grabs for leadership, Doggett lays down the law. “No, we’re not going in different directions here-- we’re going in one direction. My direction.” 

Snapping his head in a faint nod, Mulder’s mouth drops open slightly as he considers how to challenge this new angle. Despite feeling affronted, a tinge more respect floats to the surface: he can't help respecting someone who confronts him honestly, in spite (or because of) all his difficult, sanctimonious, cryptid approaches and critiques-- trust through transparency, essentially (which is also how he can easily be manipulated, be it from Phoebe Green or Alex Krycek or Diana Fowley or Karin Berquist or etc.) 

Following Doggett’s authoritative footsteps, Mulder raises his voice across the sparse, accumulated distance. Nasally and matter-of-fact, he argues, “I don't think Kersh expects you to come back empty-handed on this one. Since you have already told me about what you think about this case in so many words, I don't see you coming back with anything that's gonna protect anybody's business interests.” 

Thoroughly riled, Doggett stops and slowly turns, slightly grimacing with contempt. “Wow, you really got me pegged. Anything that doesn't fit in my narrow field of vision might as well not exist, is that right Agent Mulder?” 

Mulder stares, then slightly nods and gulps-- pegged, and a little impressed at Doggett's combined insight and complete self-control. An accusation of this nature would have made him or Scully blaze up, but not his replacement. Agent Doggett, then, isn’t as soft-bellied as he'd supposed... which shouldn't be too surprising, given the man's penchant for taking undeserved punches and still saving lives days later (post here.)

Although Mulder doesn’t deny the accusation, he doesn’t need to: his faulty perception has been revealed. The past has already justified his replacement: Doggett, for all his practical, probable skepticism, still encouraged Scully to take leaps of faith in their cases-- he’d studied Mulder’s methods, notated its success, and trusted to that process, to the work, in Mulder's absence. The exiled x-file agent doesn’t know this, of course-- his former partner hasn’t told him about her new partner’s recruitment, or about Doggett’s journey towards a form of belief, or about Doggett’s steadfastness and loyalty. And why hasn't Scully told him about everything? Because Mulder didn’t want to hear it; and, resurrections and PTSD and abruptions aside, perhaps she wasn’t ready to get into a larger conversation over issues that would resolve themselves in a few weeks (via her maternity leave), especially in light of their recent reconnection. This is, of course, speculation built off of Mulder's hinted one-liner (previous post here), but it fits quite well with what we’re given in Alone. 

Besides, Mulder previously glimpsed Doggett's floundering struggle with, but not complete rejection of, the unknown (post here)-- a truth he'd set aside in wounded pride (post here.)

“So why is this man Taylor lying?” Doggett asks, seeing that he’s nailed Mulder’s motives and proven himself again in some small measure. “You do know he's lying, don’t you?”

Bobbing his head and licking his lips in agreement, Mulder drops the cynicism and gives John Doggett an honest, upfront answer: “I think he knows the truth about what happened. And he may not be the only one.”

The other agent, however, is not charmed by this admission-- too little, too late; too many bits and pieces that add up to a mercurial, paranoid loon. 

“I never would have believed it, these stories about you”-- gives away Agent Doggett’s position, as well. Up to this point, he’d borne Mulder’s antics with the graceful assumption that there was ‘more than meets the eye’. Agent Mulder was the crazy man burrowed away in the basement, yes; but the extent of his conspiracy theories for something as simple as turf wars over an oil rig-- Doggett assumes-- frustrates, baffles, and disappoints. 

Eyebrows pumping-- guard shooting right back up-- Mulder prods, “Really-- what stories are those?”

“That you can find a conspiracy at a church picnic.”

Again, nodding; again, reasserting dominance; again, changing his opinion, Mulder concludes, “What church?” before he walks ahead, leaving Doggett’s consternation in the dust.  

GOING DOWN SWINGING

Here we reach the first marker for Mulder’s resignation decision, and the boldest on-screen nudge, thus far, of his impending fatherhood-- which we all know at this point is criminal, particularly so because David Duchovny would have loved to flesh out the more personal aspects of his character’s challenges and changes. But I digress.  

Scully calls the oil rig with salient and pressing information; and before she’s either disconnected or connected through to Doggett, Mulder intercepts the comms. 

“Well I’m sorry, Agent Doggett’s gone fishing. Can I take a message please?” He slides into the chair, lips gleefully glued to the microphone-- tickled to talk to Scully.

“Mulder?” she questions-- not tickled to find him there. Big consequences-- huge-- if this gets out. 

“I was just in the neighborhood.” 

“Mulder, you can’t just flout orders like this. It’s not like old times-- Kersh isn’t going to tolerate this.” 

“Kersh doesn’t need to know.”

“Mulder….” 

It’s like old times: Mulder sneaking off to the sea somewhere, unable to let the evidence get away yet unwilling to take Scully down with him (ex. Tooms, Triangle, etc.) And like old times, he knows he can completely trust her: “You need me out here, Scully, you know that better than anyone.”

But a neat little twist happens (the second for Mulder in a span of hours): Scully agrees with him, openly-- “I hate to say, as of this morning, I’d have to agree”-- so openly that he immediately realizes she’s been sneaking around, too.

“Who’s flouting orders-- you found something, didn’t you, in that victim’s body? The virus?” 

It’s a delightful little punch of character work, a reminder to the audience that Scully has grown since Mulder’s abduction-- that she is willing to take leaps separate from her partner (old and new) in order to follow her own instincts. In this case, conducting Simon de la Cruz’s autopsy instead of shipping the body back wholesale to Mexico, weaseling around top-down commands in order to do so. Mulder takes this in stride, without comment: it's just enough like "old times"-- as he mentioned in the previous post-- that he can lose track of the differences in his post-abduction reality.

“Yes, I did; and it’s dead, Mulder.” 

“Dead? What killed it?” Puzzled, sucked into another mystery, he swipes at his nose, churning through variables. 

“Possibly radiation.”

“But that’s not possible--”

“I know,” Scully cuts in, not wanting to waste a precious second. “And this could be an isolated event, but that he’s infected at all means that everybody out there could be at risk. And that means you and Agent Doggett.” 

She stresses 'you', here, but the original purpose of her call was to back up Doggett-- an excellent carry-over from Medusa, and a neat little foreshadowing of the guilt complex she will battle in Alone. Even so, she, again, stresses 'you' because Mulder's unaccounted for presence has thrown a wrench in her subterfuge.

“We got to quarantine this rig,” Mulder decides. 

“No, Mulder-- you need to get off the rig.”

His face shifts, tongue lapping his lips as Scully offers up a faulty alternative.

“Have Agent Doggett give the order. We can quarantine you and the crew when we get back there.” 

“Scully, if these men are infected, the last place we want them is onshore where they can infect other people. You’re sitting on the answer right there, Scully. The body: you can find the virus, you can find what knocks it out, you can find what kills it.” 

Uncomfortably, she shifts, eyes clouding over, voice strained. “And what if I can’t?”-- the old undertow that steals her confidence from time to time, the one she battled in his absence (i.e. Patience, Badlaa, etc.), rears its ugly head.

And this, this is the moment Mulder realizes the costs of his position: tilting his head, he contemplates the possibility of his death, troubled--

--then freezes, looking up at the sky as he remembers his child. 

“When he, uh,” Mulder begins, closing his eyes and wincing over his words, “when he gets old enough, tell the kid I went down swinging.” His tone is no longer evocative, insistent, or charged… in fact, his voice has dropped a few decibels and sounds someplace close to defeated. 

In the fervor of saving the world, chasing the truth, hounding after the "Them" that continually puppet and destroy the lives of others, he forgot about the one person who can’t take care of itself, who utterly and wholly relies on him (and Scully.) In Three Words, Mulder knew the baby was his (posts here and here) but was too consumed with staying afloat to fully embrace the child, let alone the responsibility of having someone else rely on him. He was afraid, moreover, to drag Scully and the baby down with him. In Empedocles, he and his partner had a talk off-screen (post here) that prepared him for the next step: a present at the apartment, a hand on her belly, a commitment to the child in the form of a Mulder family heirloom. And now he’s here, commitment is staring him in the face. As Mulder feared in Three Words, he is letting Scully and the baby down. The only recourse left (is to solve the case, save the day, and get home in one piece. 

But what about next time? Who can he rely on to save the world in his stead? It’s a question Mulder has to confront and come to terms with-- and one he does (or attempts to do) in Vienen’s final scene.

Scully immediately heaves a sigh at his words-- refusing, absolutely refusing to engage with this hypothetical-- and orders him, “Let me talk to Agent Doggett.” Whenever Mulder gives up, it’s usual for Scully to step up to the plate and drag him to reason… however, it’s new that she asks for someone else in his stead. Is she replacing him, considering his opinion less than or his tactics faulty? No: she is simply doing everything she can to make sure the father of her child makes it off that rig. 

Her partner, meanwhile, resents that Doggett’s advice would be worth her attention. “Agent Doggett’s not here right now.”

“Yes, I am,” barks Doggett, a frowning, sturdy figure in the doorway. When he demands, “Who’s on the radio?” Mulder brushes him off-- plopping the headphones down, flailing his arms, and stalking out of the room-- without disconnecting the channel.

It’s likely, perhaps, that Doggett could have talked to Agent Scully if he hadn’t followed Mulder out, incensed again. So, did one agent storm and shrug off the other, on purpose, to draw the bull away with a flag?

BATTLE PLANS

“Who you talkin’ to?” Doggett insists, escalating to a sharp, “Hey!” when he isn’t answered. 

“That was Agent Scully.”

“What’d she say?”

Mulder keeps walking, facing away as they head into a sheet of steam. “She said it was lucky that I’m out here.”  

“No, you’re lucky I’m lettin’ you stay.” Stressed, wired, and at his limit, Doggett reroutes his voice from its taut, wounded note to a hushed, firm one. “You got information important to this investigation, then I better well know about it. I’m in charge out here, Agent Mulder.” 

Again, Mulder responds to that transparently commanding appeal, turning around and looking his compatriot directly in the eye. 

“Alright, then go ahead and take charge. Only you might not like what it means in this case. What you’re going to have to do with that information you’re so anxious to have.”

And, while the dialogue and marked lack of a response isn’t… the best writing, the challenge is clear: here’s your shot, prove me wrong. 

Agent Doggett, sensing that challenge, is ill at ease; but he takes up the gauntlet, regardless, and leads the lock-down debriefing on the rig. Mulder hangs back, respecting his position-- approving, silently; and when Doggett walks over later, he invites him along without second thought to locate one of the missing crewmen. 

It’s the barest whiff of camaraderie, but both men seem to have struck a bargain for another test drive. 

Fresh off of quarantine orders, replacement agent wants answers: “So, what are you hoping to find, Agent Mulder? Honestly?” 

As they talk shop, Mulder finally begins to share theories-- or shadows of theories, opening up the more Doggett takes his answers in stride. It’s the same method Agent Doggett used on newly un-parterned Scully, one that seems to work well on both Spookys.

Still, all they’re working off of is hunches; and Doggett isn’t too keen on building an investigation solely around guesswork-- particularly when it's Mulder's guesswork; and even more particularly when it shuts down an oil rig involved in a dicey American and Mexican territory dispute. 

“You know? I quarantine a whole oil rig without any evidence to support what you’re saying-- not one thing-- but you still have yet to give me a straight answer as to what you think is going on out here. If these men are hiding something, if they’re protecting something, what is it?” 

“I don’t know yet,” Mulder confesses.

“And when you do, let me know-- 'cause I’ve got to get on the radio to justify this action.” Mirroring their walkabout before, Doggett switches up positions by taking the lead.

And like before, Mulder takes up pursuit-- but this time, he hangs back a second, struggling internally. This time, he has to confront an uncomfortable truth: if he's going to work with Doggett, he's going to have to trust him a bit more-- a precursor to that leap of faith. This time, Mulder must acknowledge that two are still better than one, even if the other half of the team is not someone he cares to confide in-- even if he, himself, is technically no longer part of the team.

What would mucking up the potential of the case through reticence prove? And truthfully, that wasn't (and isn't) his goal, regardless-- but he still needs to communicate this; and to communicate this, Mulder has to stop clinging to a bruised ego and admit to his own shortcomings, baring the fragility of his theories to the new X-Files head for assessment and judgment. In short, he must be vulnerable.

“Agent Doggett,” he calls out, “I didn’t come out here just to bust you. I’m telling you, I’ve seen this substance. I’ve seen how it can take over a man’s body. This crew could be infected and not even know it. They may have no idea they’re being controlled.” 

Giving him a processing, though still skeptical look, Doggett leans over, swipes some oil on his finger, and purses his lips as he prods, “This? This is what you’re saying is going to take over my body?”

Mulder jostles his head, annoyed and uncomfortable. 

“Well,” Doggett continues, “when’s it going to kick in?” 

Mouth clenched, the oil expert shakes his head stiffly. “That’s not how it works,” he insists softly. “It body jumps from man-to-man; and I’m not sure that it’s in all oil.” 

Turning sarcastic at Mulder’s uncertainty, Agent Doggett adds, “Well, that’s a relief, because only ninety percent of the planet is dependent on the stuff.” 

This statement snaps the disparate pieces together; and Mulder's face hardens in realization: the representative of Galpex oil lied. 

“What, he’s infected, too?” Doggett snips; but his asides and warnings-- “You’re reaching, Agent Mulder”-- are lost in the other's madcap rambling. Finally, he turns to leave, only stopping with restraint as Mulder calls after him.

“Agent Doggett! What, wh-what, what if that’s why this man is hiding-- Diego Garza-- because he knows what they’re up to; and he knows what they’re up to because he’s the only one who’s not infected with this alien virus?” 

“Alright, he knows,” Doggett concedes, willing to play along. “Why doesn’t he just come down and tell us?” 

And suddenly, without warning, an alarm blares out across the rig. Doggett takes off, but it’s Mulder who passes him up and arrives at their destination first. 

The radio room is on fire.

CONCLUSION

And there we have it-- progress has been made.

Now: into the inferno.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[winchestersisterimaginessss]

Hey, I wanted to ask if you could write a story where Y/N has really bad period pains and the boys take care of their sister and get her things like chocolate, a hot water bottle etc.. In fact, they grant her every wish and do everything she wants, just to make her feel a little better. 🌻

A/N: Hope this is what you were looking for! requests are always open :)))

Sam and Dean Winchester x Sister!Reader

I was curled up in a tight ball on the couch, clutching my stomach as waves of pain crashed through me. The cramps felt like a vise around my lower abdomen, squeezing harder with every passing minute. My body felt heavy, my muscles sore, and I could barely breathe without the sharp pangs of discomfort hitting me, radiating through my back and down my legs. I couldn’t find a position that didn’t make it worse.

It was impossible to escape the feeling of being completely trapped inside my own body, helpless against it. Tears had long since blurred my vision, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak. Even talking made the cramps worse, and the more I moved, the sharper the pain got. I just wanted to curl up tighter and disappear into the silence of my own misery.

I could hear the door creak open. Dean’s voice filtered through the haze of pain, loud and concerned. “Y/N? You okay?”

I didn’t answer. It was too much.

Dean stepped closer, his footsteps heavy, but it was Sam who crouched down beside me first. His hand gently pressed against my back, and his voice was calm, knowing, as he tried to read me. “Y/N?” he said softly. “Can you hear me?”

I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t do anything but try to breathe through the cramps, each one hitting harder than the last. But I could hear Sam’s steady voice beside me, and the warmth of his presence calmed my racing thoughts just a little.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Sam murmured, his hand still rubbing my back in slow, soothing circles. “I know it hurts, I know sweetheart”

The pain was so overwhelming that I couldn’t even manage a response. My entire body felt locked in this tight, painful knot that wouldn’t loosen no matter how hard I tried. I just squeezed my eyes shut tighter and let the tears fall freely. The cramps kept hitting, relentlessly, waves of sharp, nauseating pain that didn’t let up.

Sam’s hand stayed steady on my back, and Dean moved around, clearly trying to figure out how to help. “We’re gonna fix this, okay? What do you need, Y/N? What can we get for you?” Dean’s voice was louder, less sure now, but still carrying that protective edge he always had when something was wrong with me.

I managed to lift my hand just slightly, trying to say something, anything, to let them know I wasn’t completely lost.

“Chocolate,” I whispered, my voice shaking from the pain. It wasn’t much, but it was the only thing that made sense to me right now. My stomach felt like it was going to tear apart, and chocolate—sweet, comforting chocolate—was about all I could manage to ask for.

Dean was already up and moving, his boots clunking against the floor as he hurried to the kitchen. “Chocolate. Got it. Anything else?”

I winced, another cramp tightening deep inside me, and I nearly curled into an even smaller ball, trying to ride it out. The pressure was almost unbearable, and I could feel my whole body tensing with the effort to deal with it. My breath came in short, quick bursts as I tried to push past it.

“Medicine, heating pad” I finally managed, barely more than a whisper.

“Medicine, heating pad, chocolate,” Sam repeated, his tone soothing, as if he was cataloging everything I needed. “Dean’s on it, Y/N.”

I nodded slightly, still clutching my stomach, tears streaming down my cheeks as the cramps ebbed and flowed. Every wave felt like it might tear me apart, but I did my best to focus on Sam’s words.

“That’s it, breathe,” Sam encouraged, his hand gently moving across my back, pushing away the tension. “In through your nose, nice and slow. The pain will be gone soon, bug.”

It felt impossible, but I tried to follow his lead. Slowly, I began to draw in a breath, the sharp pain easing just a little with each deep, steady inhale.

Dean came back moments later, holding a mug of hot chocolate in one hand and a bottle of painkillers in the other. “Here, kid,” he said, kneeling beside me and offering me the mug first. “We didn’t have any chocolate, but I figured some hot chocolate could hold you over for now. You drink this, I’ll get the heating pad on you next and then I’ll head to the store to get your chocolate and anything else you want. ”

Sam helped me sit up a little, holding the mug for me as I carefully sipped, the warmth spreading through me as the chocolate soothed me in ways the pain couldn’t. My body trembled as the cramps continued, but it was almost like I could feel the edges of the pain starting to soften.

“Thanks De,” you whispered.

“Anything for you, kid,” Dean said softly, his voice full of that same protective care that always made me feel safe. “Now here let’s get this heating pad on you.”

Sam helped me adjust so that the heat could settle on my lower back. The relief was immediate, but not enough to completely ease the sharp pains still lancing through my abdomen. Still, it was something. Dean left to run to the store, and as soon as the door closed behind him, you could feel your body slowly start to relax. The waves of pain that had been so intense began to dull, the heat from the pad soothing your aching muscles. Sam’s hand remained steady on your shoulder, grounding you as you breathed through what was left of the cramps.

“That’s better, right?” Sam asked, his voice soft and reassuring.

You nodded, your eyes still closed as you sniffled a little, your cheeks damp from the tears that had come earlier. “Better,” you whispered, your voice hoarse.

“Good,” Sam said, his tone calm. “We’ll get you feeling back to normal in no time, okay? Just focus on relaxing for now.”

You nodded again, feeling the weight of exhaustion settling in. You closed your eyes, letting yourself drift into a light nap, the warmth of the heating pad and Sam’s presence lulling you into a rare moment of peace. The pain was still there, but it wasn’t as sharp. You slipped further into nothingness, only waking up when you heard the sound of the door creaking open.

“Hey, kiddo,” Dean’s voice was gentle, but familiar, pulling you out of your sleep.

You groggily sat up, rubbing your eyes and stretching a little. “Hey,” you mumbled, still trying to shake off the sleepiness.

Dean grinned, carrying a couple of bags into the room. “I got you a bunch of chocolates, some ice cream, candy, and—” He stopped and made a show of pulling something out of the bag, “your favorite Cheez-Its… buffalo wing flavor.”

Your face lit up at the sight of your favorite snacks, your smile widening as you tried to sit up straighter. “Thank you, De!” you squealed, the joy in your voice enough to make him chuckle.

“You’re welcome, kid,” Dean said, his grin softening as he took in the sight of you. He looked you up and down, eyes lingering for a moment before he added, “How you holding up?”

You paused, taking stock of your body, and noticed the slight ache that lingered in your stomach, much better than the sharp cramps you had earlier. It was a relief, but still uncomfortable.

“I feel better,” you said, flashing him a quick, grateful smile. “Like I can actually sit up now.”

“Yeah, you were out for about forty minutes, bug,” Sam said from beside you, his voice gentle and steady. “The rest was good for you. Your body needed it.”

Dean flopped down on the other side of me, grabbing the remote off the coffee table and flipping through channels. “You want to watch something? Something funny? You just say the word, kid. We’ve got all the snacks in the world now too. Whatever you need.”

I was still exhausted, still sore, but I felt like I could finally relax. Dean made sure to give me some space, but I could still feel his presence right next to me, like a shield.

“I want to watch Mean Girls,” I exclaimed.

Dean smiled, his grin wide and genuine as he slid the remote into my hand. “Mean Girls it is. You got it, kid.”

A few moments later, we were all sitting together on the couch—Dean with his usual bowl of chips, Sam next to me with a bowl of ice cream, and me with cheez its and a chocolate bar. The cramps had subsided enough that I could focus on the movie, and the laughter and lightheartedness of Mean Girls began to fill the room, the comfort of my brothers surrounding me like a blanket.

It wasn’t perfect. The pain hadn’t disappeared completely, but with Sam and Dean looking after me, making sure I was comfortable, the world didn’t feel quite as heavy. The cramps would ease up more soon, and until then, I was exactly where I needed to be—safe, loved, and cared for.

Dean paused the movie halfway through, turning to me with a mischievous smile. “Two scoops of ice cream, huh? You know, I think we’re gonna need more for the next round.”

Sam chuckled softly, a teasing glint in his eyes. “If that’s what it takes to keep her happy, then bring on the ice cream.”

I smiled, my heart lighter now, feeling the warmth of their love surround me. For once, the pain was something I could handle, as long as they were by my side.

[nownahc]

31/32 with Seungmin from skz. I’m thinking he does something embarrassing in front of reader, maybe trying to impress them? I imagine him being so shy when trying to flirt for some reason!

idiot | kim seungmin

seungmin x reader

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prompts list send in an ask to request

▶• ılıılıılılıılıılı. mr. angel by tommy newport

notes. i saw a post about someone booking a hotel room in another country and couldn't think of something else

warnings. none

prompts. “You weren’t supposed to laugh!”/“This is, by far, the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”

“This is by far, the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”

A few hours prior.

Seungmin was a wreck, opening closing the same application on his phone every few seconds, he sat on your couch waiting for you to come out of your room. After weeks of tucking his tail between his legs, and pushing the date of asking you out, this was finally it… or so he thought. The thing was, you didn’t know it was a date, in his defense, he had really thought that his demand of going out with you, just you two, was clear enough. Apparently, in between his blabbering and messy line delivery, you had mistaken this as a simple friendly hangout. Friendly. That word sent chills down his spine. How had you not realize that none of his feelings for you were just friendly? Sure, he was aloof most of the times, hell some might even think he despises your guts but, it was Seungmin and, anyone who was close to him, knew how his brain worked. He teases what he likes, bothers what he loves, and apparently, he’s also a huge mess when it comes to asking people out.

At least, where the first steps of this new adventure were far from perfect, he knew he had dealt with the entire organisation side of the final product flawlessly. He had managed, calls after a calls, to book you two a table at a nice restaurant that kept popping up online, with only praises and good reviews, nothing too expensive but the food was apparently excellent. Afterwards, he had planned two tickets for this new film you had been talking his ears off about. Really, everything was perfect, so perfect, he hoped you might realize that one doesn’t usually put this much effort in a simple friendly hangout.

Finally, you come out of your room, dressed casually, but by all hell, you could sport a patchwork of ugly cloths and he’d still be in awe of you. He tries to play it cool, nonchalant even as he guides you out of your place, leading you through the streets. Whereas you were relaxed and behaving as usual with him, his eyes kept glancing at his phone to make sure he took the right route to the restaurant… something was up though. It has now been 20 minutes that you’ve been walking, and you swore you passed by the same store twice already. You tried to ask him if it was the right way, but, poor Seungmin all nerves and anxiety kept affirming that he knew what he was doing when quite frankly, he didn’t know shit about why they hadn’t reached the restaurant yet.

At some point though, reason come back to him and he sits on a bench with you, desperately fidgeting with his phone to understand what the deal was. He doesn’t notice when you pull out your own phone out to type in the name of the restaurant. He does notice though when you bark out a short laugh.

“This is by far, the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”

He blinks twice as he looks at your side profile and he wishes that there wasn’t another stupid thing he had done, but it was useless now as you show him the screen of your phone, pointing to the address. Japan. He had booked a table for a restaurant, in Japan. Was the world against him this much or was he just plain stupid?

“What?” You can’t help but stiffle your laughter as Seungmin’s reaction adds in to the nonsense of the situation. “You weren’t supposed to laugh!” Seungmin is almost offended by your reaction as he furiously refresh the restaurant page, as if by magic the country would change. “And we were supposed to be in a restaurant right now, we don’t always get what we want.” This was perhaps, far more entertaining then if you had actually been in that restaurant. To see Seungmin like this, helpless and dumbfounded was funny in a way. “I swear, I checked a thousand times…” “Maybe you should have checked a thousand time and one more then.” He glares at you then, knowing you were just taking the situation lightly, as you should, it wasn’t even that big of deal but, he really hated himself for messing up everything from beginning to end.

Leaning back on the bench, he checks the tickets for the cinema too, if he had made a mistake for the restaurant reservation, he hopes he hadn’t made one for the movie theatre. What he sees on his screen is something he’ll never tell you. He had booked the film alright, simply, it was for the day before. Luckily his embarrassed tinted cheeks go unnoticed by you in the night as you turn to him, that damn smile still on your face. “So… What had you planned next then?” “Nothing… I planned nothing.” Seems like this dream date of his, have to be postponned.

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[buckysouvenir]

between the lines (chapter 3)

pairing: bucky barnes x reader.

warnings: none.

word count: 933 words.

author’s note: hey guys! officially started the tags so if anyone else wants to get tagged so they can be notified when there’s a new chapter, just ask me! also the chapter are almost 1k words and i keep feeling like they are so short 😔 i love long chapters so tell me if you like the way it’s going or want longer chapters!

reblogs, likes and comments are always encouraged and highly appreciated! thank you ♡

bucky barnes masterlist⠀ |⠀ series masterlist⠀ |⠀ last chapter⠀ |⠀ next chapter

It was another quiet evening at S.H.I.E.L.D., and Y/N was ready to kick back and relax. Her friends were already preparing for Movie Night in the lounge, something they did every week to unwind from the chaos of work. They’d pick a cheesy action flick or an old classic, and for a couple of hours, the world outside didn’t matter.

She grabbed a bag of snacks from the desk in her room, checked the time, and headed toward the lounge, trying not to be too distracted. But it was hard not to think about Bucky. It wasn’t intentional, it just happened. Every time she crossed paths with him, something in her chest fluttered. And it wasn’t just the awkwardness of their accidental collisions that left her rattled. No, it was the way his smile lingered longer than she expected, the way his eyes didn’t look away so quickly. It was the quiet moments between them that made her feel like there was more than just a casual acquaintance.

But tonight, she had to focus on movie night. It would be easy to forget about Bucky in a room full of her friends. Or at least, that was the plan.

She rounded a corner, lost in her thoughts about how her friends would make fun of her movie choice. But as always, life had other plans.

Y/N looked up to find Bucky Barnes standing right in front of her. 

“You sure you’re not following me?” she teased.

Bucky smirked, clearly amused. “You caught me!”

She playfully swatted him with the bag of snacks. He raised his hands in mock defense, laughing.

“So, what’s the deal? Out for a stroll, or are you just trying to bump into me again on purpose?” she asked with a teasing grin, her gaze lingering on him a second longer than she intended.

Bucky looked at her for a moment, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. “Maybe I am trying to bump into you. What’s it to you?” he countered, his voice soft but laced with something playful.

Y/N felt a twinge of heat rise in her cheeks, but she kept her composure. “Well, if that’s the case, I should warn you—I’m heading to movie night with my friends. You know, the loud bunch who can’t sit still for five minutes.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Movie night, huh?”

Y/N grinned. “It’s just a way to unwind after a long week. We pick something mindless, order too much pizza, and complain about bad plot twists.”

Bucky chuckled, his smile growing. “Sounds like a good time.”

Without even thinking, Y/N found herself saying, “You should join us. We’re in the lounge. I’m sure they’d love to meet you.” She instantly regretted the invitation. It was too much, too soon, wasn’t it? He wasn’t part of the team, not really.

But Bucky didn’t look put off in the slightest. Instead, he took a step closer, his voice a little quieter. “You sure? You might regret it. I’m terrible at keeping up with the movie talk.”

Y/N bit her lip, trying to keep her cool. “I’m sure you’ll fit right in.”

“Alright, alright,” Bucky said, nodding, clearly amused. “I’ll come. Can’t say no to an invitation like that.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat as he agreed. It wasn’t like he had to say yes. He could have politely declined, but he didn’t. There was something about the way he’d responded that made her feel like maybe he was just as interested in spending time with her as she was with him.

As they walked toward the lounge together, Y/N couldn’t help but steal glances at Bucky. There was something about the way he carried himself—confident, yet guarded. He was still adjusting to this new life, but there was a certain ease to him now. It wasn’t the same Bucky she’d seen when he first arrived months ago, tense and unsure. He was becoming a part of the team, piece by piece.

They entered the lounge, where her friends were already lounging around. Daisy, Leo, Jemma, Grant, and Antoine waved them over.

“Who’s this?” Daisy asked with a mischievous smile, clearly already in a teasing mood.

“This is Bucky,” Y/N said, giving Bucky a playful nudge as she introduced him.

Bucky grinned. “Hey.”

“You’re a bit weird. You’ll fit right in,” Leo said, handing him a bowl of popcorn as if it were a regular Friday night for him. 

Jemma and Antoine exchanged a knowing look as they started the movie, and soon, Bucky was settling in beside Y/N on the couch.

For the next couple of hours, they slipped into the rhythm of the group—sharing laughs over cheesy lines, throwing out ridiculous theories about the plot, and shoving popcorn into their mouths. Y/N noticed how comfortable Bucky seemed to get, more relaxed as the movie progressed. Every now and then, he’d throw out a sarcastic remark or laugh at something someone said, and Y/N found herself smiling at how effortlessly he was blending in.

As the movie wrapped up and everyone started to pick up their stuff, Y/N turned to him, her voice teasing again. “So, you survived movie night. What do you think?”

Bucky leaned back on the couch, stretching his arms behind his head. “It wasn’t the worst thing I’ve ever done,” he said with a wink.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh. “Guess you’ll be coming again next week, huh?”

“You know it,” Bucky replied, his grin wide and genuine.

#tags: @cjand10

[neverenoughmarauders]

Just going to frame this because it’s so true, so important and well articulated:

abuse itself is a complex system of relationships. It’s not just pure sadism, it’s often about a twisted understanding of love where pressure is put on the child — “I’m doing this to you because I love you and want what’s best for you”

And here’s the thing. Stakes don’t matter if your protagonist does not care about them. Something as small as being able to eat a chocolate bar can feel immensely important if the protagonist has just spent chapters telling you how much they want to eat chocolate and how much hard work goes into procuring that chocolate (yes, I am thinking of you Charlie). Yet, I feel nothing when the bridges around New York once more get destroyed in some action movie, why should I?

I quite like a little scene I wrote between Orion and Sirius, and I’ve pasted an extract below. Why? Because SIrius can’t bring himself to speak up against his father because he cares about his father’s option. Later (sadly off page) Sirius goes against his father, which is a much bigger deal because we know there is a cost to it. Not just surviving another curse, but ruining something, perhaps permanently - their relationship:

'You play well, Sirius,' Orion said approvingly some time into the game. 'Am I to understand it that you've found time to play a fair bit, in-between all your school work and mischief?'

Orion raised his eyebrows as he finished the question.

'I play with James Potter,' Sirius said, hating himself for feeling a surge of pride when Orion had complemented his play.

'And he's a good opponent?'

'He is.'

'Better than you?'

'I win more frequently.'

Sirius kept his replies short, unsure whether he wanted to prove to his father how worthy James was as a friend - or how unworthy he was.

'I wouldn't have expected any different from you. Still, that is impressive from the Potter boy.'

As it was not a question, Sirius had nothing to add. Technically speaking, James was likely better than Sirius at Wizard Chess, he just got distracted too easily. But his father didn't need to know that.

'It shouldn't come as a surprise,' Orion continued. 'His mother and father are exceptionally talented - in their own way, and blood matters immensely.'

Blood mattered for shit in Sirius' view, but he couldn't quite muster the courage to say so, not when he was playing against his father. Not when he was spending time with the only intelligent soul in this godforsaken place.

Dear Snuffles, Hope you’re okay, the first week back here’s been terrible, I’m really glad it’s the weekend. We’ve got a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Umbridge. She’s nearly as nice as your mum. I’m writing because that thing I wrote to you about last summer happened again last night when I was doing a detention with Umbridge. (OoTP)

fandom: obviously walburga didn't torture sirius or physically abuse him at all! she grieved him so much when he ran away!! he was her favorite!!!!

canon: *explicitly compares walburga to umbridge right after umbridge tortured harry for 7 hours*