#I can’t believe that’s his actual name

[synvil]

Recording.. // Pornstar! Rafe Cameron x Pornstar! Fem! Reader

a/n: welp, this will be interesting. there’s so many ways this can go but let’s see which one i came up with.

synopsis : getting to work with the famous, most current top rated star in the porn industry was a dream. Let’s see how it turns out for you. pornstar! au!

warnings : explicit content! penetration, choking, cunnilingus, afab!, multiple orgasms, roughness, squirt, etc.

“[Name], thank you for coming. Did you get the email regarding today’s content?”

Shaking hands with the producer, you share a smile and nod, pulling away. “Yes, I read through it. I’m alright with it all.”

“Great, and I take it you’ve already showered and cleaned up before coming? Any questions?”

You nod again to the first part before thinking for a moment and parting your lips to speak. “Actually, I just wasn’t sure who I would be working with today. That wasn’t clear in the email.”

The producer exhales in understanding and hears the door opening, “Actually, we needed confirmation that he was willing to come in today,” and a tall, muscular and toned male steps out, a towel around his neck and in nothing but boxers and some gym shorts. “And there he is. Cameron!”

“Cameron..?”

The male who steps out looks up as he ruffles one end of the towel against his head of hair. “Yeah?” Almost immediately, he locks eyes with you.

Holy shit.

THE Rafe Cameron. The highest rated star in the industry, where every man and woman alike would kill to meet the handsome stud, much more, to work with him.

Must be a fever dream.

When you first auditioned to be part of this industry, Rafe was only beginning to take off.

And now that you were one of the top stars alongside him, Rafe was the highest rated one, and every woman who ever had the chance to work with him, could never be the same.

Thing is, you had no idea what he was like. Was he rude? The pompous kind of asshole? Or was he charismatic and sweet? But if he was, was it just for show?

Many thoughts begin to flood your head until you realize the producer and Rafe have been talking, and now he’s coming over to you, hand extended out.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Y-Yeah, same.” You mentally curse yourself out for your anxiety and shake his hand but even more for the fact that you have yet to make eye contact, still glazing over his dripping wet bare body.

Rafe follows your gaze and gives a small chuckle, a charming smirk following it as he pulls away. “Sorry, thought I’d get a quick shower in before we start our filming.” He explains but you just manage a small nod. “R-right.”

The producer comes over and pats both of your shoulders. “Alright, now that we’ve done introductions, we’ll go over the scene once more with both of you and we’ll get started. Rafe, why don’t you go get dressed and I’ll get [Name] prepped?”

Rafe nods and gives you one more glance, his smirk still shining at you. With a wink, he turns away and takes his leave.

That smirk.. it sends a certain thrilling feel of desire in your stomach and you swallow thickly before attempting to focus your gaze on the producer, who begins to instruct the scenes.

Here you are..

“I can’t believe you!”

You shout as you slam the front door behind you, just for it to open a second later and Rafe coming in. “God, you’re insufferable!”

The current scene was you and Rafe coming home from the bar, celebrating a night of a special occasion, you had gotten a promotion at work.

And now you were rushing inside, having caught your on and off boyfriend of two years, openly flirting with another woman right next to you, once again.

At least that what it looked like to you, but your boyfriend has cheated before, and you weren’t going through it again.

“Would you just listen to me for one second?!”

Rafe’s voice follows after you while you take off your heels and throw it his way. “Don’t fucking talk to me!”

He narrowly dodges the heels thrown at his face before the expensive bag in your hand is also aimed for his head.

“What are you doing?” He asks, catching the bag with a scoff as you retreat to the kitchen.

“Take it back. I don’t want it anymore, we’re done.”

“Done? So you’re just giving all the things i bought you, back?” Rafe looks at you in disbelief as you begin to take off the jewelry on your person and drop it on the counter with a clink.

“I’m done with second chances, you asshole. You can’t just do one nice thing for me, one night.” I curse, slamming my hands down on the countertop as I turn to face him.

Rafe calmly sets the bag down as he stands opposite of you of the counter and sighs softly. “Baby, you’re not thinking straight, just let me explain before you-“

“Before I what? Break up with you for the final time?” You pull off the bracelets until you’re finally free of any jewelry and slide it towards him. “Take it all back.”

This time, Rafe can’t help but curl his lips into an amused smile, as he watches you return everything on you that he had bought for you.

“All of it?”

You tsk and point to the doorway. “The heels are back there.” You remind him though he was obviously aware.

“Alright, everything.. then the dress is included, right?”

. . .

“W-What?-“ Clearly taken back, Rafe’s lips forms a smirk at your clear surprise.

“Last I checked, I bought that stunning black gown you’re wearing tonight.. to celebrate.. remember?”

His words cause you to purse your lips and you’re aware of his slow advances towards you as he rounds the island counter in the kitchen. Rafe doesn’t break eye contact, keeping his eyes trained on you as he does this.

Tensions are high and you know he’s right, but you also know what will happen if you take off the dress.

However, behind the facade, behind the cameras rolling, your inner self is ready to burst. Your cheeks are beginning to flush and you can feel the intensity of his gaze on your body, trailing up and down your figure. Whether or not he was in character was unclear but it still made you wet with arousal at the sight.

Reluctantly, you bring your hands up to the straps, pulling it to the side of your shoulders and down slowly.

Rafe’s eyes hungrily takes in your fully naked form, you weren’t even wearing panties.

Your lack of undergarments weren't part of the script, which you can tell catches Rafe by real surprise momentarily, but it quickly dissipates into a smirk instead.

“No underwear?.. How naughty of you..” he murmurs as he finally makes it to your side and you fight the blush that’s threatening to spread and darken further.

“Shut up-“

Rafe just chuckles at your reaction as his hands sneaks around your bare waist. He looks down from his height with a certain glint in his eyes. “Hey, i’m not complaining..” He says as his head moves to your neck, kissing your collarbone softly. “it's kinda sexy..”

What the hell, I can’t respond.

He’s so hot.. i need to talk.. but im speechless..

My heart is pounding so hard— Relax, [Name], this is all just acting- Rafe Cameron is just acting.

You’re overthinking, stay professional!

But the next thing you knew, Rafe Cameron’s lips were smashing against yours in an intense, heated kiss.

And the faint whimper that escaped your lips wasn’t fake.

Needy hands roam your body everywhere, his lips planted on your neck and kissing every inch of your skin. He raises his head up to your ear and whispers, his breath hot. “You good?” It was quiet and subtle, not loud enough to pick up on the microphone hanging near us.

You nod faintly, and he grins, not waste another second ravishing you.

All the prior anxiety and worries you had faded and you found yourself melting into the kiss, Rafe’s muscular arms lifting you up by the waist and placing you on the counter, the cold touch making you gasp.

That gasp was enough time for him to allow his tongue to slip in, the muscle exploring inside your mouth, making you moan lightly.

Every movement was full of passion, Rafe fondling your breasts, giving each mound a full squeeze. His fingertips pinch your buds, a gentle twist causing you to send a breathy sigh. Your hands find their way to his hair and tangle your fingers in the locks of his dirty blonde locks.

Rafe's low chuckles reaches your ears again as he travels up to nip at your earlobes. His right hand goes down to dip between your thighs, his index finger planting itself right at your clit. He rubs it a few times before whispering, "So wet.. I can't wait to taste your pretty pussy.."

It's almost a growl when he says it, sending rushes of adrenaline through your body and the boost of arousal grows further in you.

The Rafe Cameron gives you one last kiss on the lips before he slowly slides down to his knees, muscular hands grabbing a hold of your thighs tight and firm, and being face to face with your already glistening pussy.

He licks his lips and doesn't hesitate to dive face first, tongue taking a long lick to your folds before going down on you. "O-oh, fuck-" Your eyes flutter shut at the wet sensation, a sharp inhale slipping out.

Holy shit, it felt incredible.

Rafe's tongue moves in circles around your clit a few times before continuously slurping up your juices that leaked from your folds, devouring your pussy like he was starved.

Your hands prop up your body by placing it firmly on the surface under you, but you can't help the hand that goes to tug on his hair and push his face deeper in, which causes him to chuckle deeply, the action creating vibrations through you.

"Oh god, Rafe." You breathily pant, his grip forcing your thighs to remain spread while his tongue prods at your entrance, pushing in and out. "Shit.. you taste incredible.." He mutters as his nose buries itself against your clit. The feeling is enough to send you into overdrive, your head tossing back and a tightening in your stomach makes you cry out.

"R-Rafe, I'm so close-"

Grinding your hips against his face, you illicit a loud mewl of pleasure, your body sending shocks throughout as you tremble from a hard orgasm.

Despite your fluids gushing down his chin, he continues to delve deeper in, overstimulating you, causing your thighs to shake as you cry out again, making him laugh.

“Aw, was it too much for you, sweetheart?” He grins mischievously and you flush, ignoring the way your heart flutters at the nickname as you attempt to catch your breath, watching as he licks his lips and stands up straight, ripping off his button up.

You can feel your mouth going dry at the sight of his toned, chiseled abs, the sweat glistening on his skin but what widened your eyes was the sight of his hardened bulge through his trousers, and you reach for the hem of his pants and pull him close, wrapping your legs around his torso.

Remembering you’re still on camera, you speak, “This doesn’t mean I forgive you.” You mutter, staring into his eyes while your hands palm him softly, working to unzip his zipper. But your words only cause him to flash a smirk as he helps you undo his trousers. “Oh don’t worry, sweetheart, by the time i’m done with you, you’ll forget about tonight.”

Crashing his lips with yours, you grunt but let him pull you even more towards the edge before pulling you down to the ground, his hands pulling the waistband of his pants and boxers down.

He strokes himself a few times, your eyes unable to help itself to the sight and you swallow thickly.

“Something wrong, baby?” He hums in amusement and you turn away a bit bashfully. “Not at all.”

Turning you around so you faced away from him, he breaks into a smirk as he wraps his arm around to give you a hand necklace, your throat firm in his grasp. Lining himself up at your entrance, he leans in close and speaks lowly. “Good, because I don’t intend to stop.”

Without warning, he inserts his length inside and you cry out a noise of pleasure. Your back at arches and he tightens his grip on your throat, but not enough to hurt you. “Heh, shit, you’re so fucking tight..” It almost seemed like it was actually Rafe saying this to you, instead of his character, but you didn’t have much time to think about it after as he begins to thrust into you from behind.

“F-Fuck-!”

One hand goes up to grab ahold of his arm that was holding your neck, and the other holds onto the counter for support. Every hard thrust causes your breasts to bounce as you two move in sync, Rafe doing deep but slow thrusts. His other hand is firming holding your waist but it travels up to grope your right breast, squeezing it hard.

Strings of moans are filling the room, and you momentarily forget the audience and cameras on you as all you can focus on is Rafe’s cock penetrating you hard.

He’s so deep.. i-i can’t think straight- it’s too much..

i’m so close- no wonder he’s so popular..

Rafe pulls away from your neck to use both hands to hold your hips firmly, his own picking up the pace as he begins to fuck you fast, the wet juices squelching each time your skin makes contact.

His hand goes down and his finger flicks your clit and it’s starting to send you over the edge. “Rafe..” Whimpers escape you as you dip your head down, clenching your fists on the countertop tightly.

“R-Rafe, fuck, you’re so deep.. i-i’m gonna cum-“

Rafe just smirks as he rubs your clit further, continuously thrusting you harder and faster until he feels a gush over your release and he pulls out, watching as your pretty glistening pussy squirts all over the floor.

“Fuck.” He bites his lip at the sight as he feels his own building up, and he spins you around while you’re panting. “Get on your knees,”

You fall to your knees to his command, and watch as he strokes himself fast and seconds later, his cum spurts its white salty liquid over your face, painting it like a canvas.

He pants heavily, catching his breath while you do the same, eyes fluttered shut at the warm liquid drips down.

“And cut! That was great, now get cleaned up you two!”

“You alright, [Name]?”

Still on the ground, you barely register a voice is talking to you while you appear dazed and confused.

Rafe has some skin-sensitive wipes in his hands, gently rubbing your face to wipe off any of his fluids before carefully helping you to your feet. “Did I go too rough on you?”

“I’m alright, thanks..” You whisper, feeling the exhaustion take over you. You lean onto Rafe, who holds you securely against his chest. “If it’s any consolation, today was fuckin’ amazing..” He chuckles lightly as he presses a tender kiss to your temple before guiding you to the couch where you can rest for a bit.

“Yeah?.. I think i understand why so many women gush over you after working with you.” You giggle weakly, sending an appreciative look when he sets you down gently, placing a blanket over you. He also chuckles lightly. “Yeah, but I think i’d like to work with you again, sometime soon. Maybe we can talk about our next filming together over dinner?”

Your stomach feels as though butterflies are doing flips inside you at the assumption of his words. “Are you asking me out, Rafe Cameron?”

Rafe merely shares a wink before pecking your forehead and getting up. “I’ll let you figure that out. Meanwhile, I’ll head to your room and draw you a bath to clean up.”

He takes your hand to press a soft kiss to the back of it before smiling your way and then turning to leave. Maybe he wasn’t acting the whole time.

“.. Rafe Cameron just asked me out..”

Best filming job ever.

a/n: hello all, hope you enjoyed! :) merry christmas. i shall have the first post of my camgirl series out soon!! <3

i’m sorry if this seems like such a rushed abrupt ending but i wanted to finish this in time for christmas :)

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ me & my husband ]❜

ft. the salesman (gong ji-cheol) x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ you don’t need your husband to be perfect, you just want him to be honest┊3.3k words

contains: written before s2 came out!! probably ooc or inaccurate, angst with spots of fluff & a bittersweet ending? reader’s pov mostly, suspicions of cheating, lack of communication, mentioned age gap, random inaccurate lore for the salesman

➤ author's note: yeah, i saw the sudden uptick in notes on that gong yoo post i made and realized season 2 came out which i completely forgot about. i intend to watch it soon as possible and write fics for it as well as (probably) add new characters to my writing list, but for now, please be content with this!!

₊˚ʚ 💌₊˚✧ this fic was heavily inspired by “emotionally intoxicated” by aurasaurora!

gong ji-cheol is the poster image for the ideal husband. he’s always been like that from the moment you met him, and you can’t help but feel like you’re the luckiest woman in the world when he calls himself yours. he’s tall and handsome, someone who catches everyone’s eye despite his only being focused on you. he’s wealthy and hard-working, able to call a luxurious mansion your home, and willing to buy you anything your heart desires as long as you ask for it. he spoils you rotten with that money, gifting you expensive things even if you didn’t ask if it reminded him of you. he’s doting, always sure to smother you in affection with kisses and cuddles whenever together to make it known how much he adores you. the sex is great too, he makes you feel wanted and desirable without ever leaving you unsatisfied. 

most importantly though, you love him, and he loves you. the last two years of marriage have been so blissful, and there isn’t a single thing you would change.

at least that’s what you believe most of the time.

you like to think you know a lot about him, and in a way, you do. you know his favorite color, how he likes his coffee, what he usually orders at restaurants, the type of wine he prefers over beer, the exaggerated shocked fasces he likes to make, how his favorite chore is folding the laundry, how his least favorite is doing the dishes because he doesn’t like getting his hands dirty, the name of his childhood pet, what positions he likes to cuddle or fuck in, the names he’s thinking of giving to your child when they are finally born— there are so many little details you know about him, yet at times you feel like you don't know anything at all.

you don’t really know much about his childhood aside from a few random stories, he claims there’s nothing really notable and that it was as standard as can be. you don’t know who his parents were or what they were like because he said they died when he was young, but surely that’s an important loss which must have impacted him and made youth difficult in some way? you don’t know about his past partners if he even had any, but you doubt you were his first as he was yours with a face like his. you don’t know any of his secrets, like an embarrassing moment or something sinful he might have committed in the past. 

he knew all of these things about you and the little details of your life, so why don’t you know any of the most basic things regarding your own husband?

these periods of uncertainty are few and far, but once the icy tendrils of doubt creep in, it’s difficult to shake them off when you realize you only know these things through observations and not him actually telling you. it’s a miracle your stupidity allowed you to make it this far in falling head over heels for him, getting married, and carrying his child (not that you completely regret it, you still love him, but you wish you had given it more time).

they say there are no such things as stupid questions, yet the main question you have is exactly that as it’s something every wife should know even before the marriage. it would be impressive how long you’ve been clueless about this matter if it weren’t for how often and how skilled he is in managing to evade your curiosity and steer the conversation elsewhere. you didn’t want to press on it since he seems to shut it down every time the topic is brought up and you don’t want to fight over something you technically didn’t need to know, but it weighs on you and presses into your chest with the knowledge you were being kept in the dark. 

what did your husband do for a living, exactly?

his schedule is always unpredictably changing with little rhyme or reason and it confuses you. sometimes you’ll go an entire few days without seeing him, sensing him wake up in the morning before the sun is even up, feeling him kiss you on the cheek before getting ready, and not coming back until long after you fall asleep with no communication aside from a note on the table telling you he’ll be gone for the day along with a wad of cash for you to treat yourself while he’s gone. other times he’ll be chilling at home for an entire week, waking you up with aggressive cuddles (or morning sex), making you breakfast with the morning news on in the background, and taking you out to wherever you want to go on his card in his rare casual clothing and messy wavy hair rather than the typical fancy suits and hair styled with gel. 

as far as you’re concerned, he’s a businessman of sorts, although you don’t know what company he works for or what position he has in terms of hierarchy or how an occupation of that type allows such flexibility in hours or anything at all. 

“what if he’s having an affair?”

you paused for a second before continuing the motion of slicing the cheesecake with a fork and savoring the taste in your mouth. “that’s ridiculous,” you stated simply after swallowing. “he loves me very much, and it doesn’t explain his weird schedule either.”

today was spent with some friends you met back in high school, but honestly, you were only attending out of politeness and tradition since you honestly feel like you’ve disconnected from these girls long before the current. still, you treasure the memories shared in your more formative years and wouldn’t ever say no to them if they wanted to hang out like old times. ji-cheol doesn’t bother to hide his distaste for them, calling them a miserable lot who try to drag you down at every opportunity out of jealousy for your happiness. you laugh it off, but you know deep down he’s right and yet you’re still sitting here at the cafe with them with bright smiles like their words don’t cut deep. 

“maybe he’s dating the boss— a sexy office siren type— she gives him plenty of days off and he stays with her at her beach house at jeju island or something to keep her company, and then she gives him lots of money in exchange.”

“oh my god, could you imagine?”

“can you be realistic? it sounds like you’re just writing a plot for a new drama,” you giggled, not allowing the feeling of a twisting blade in your abdomen to show on your face or the venom to drip from your words at the mere thought of the man you loved being stolen away a faceless woman who was everything you wished you were more of: more beautiful, more wealthy, more experienced, more intelligent—

“you don’t know because he’s your first love or whatever— and you’re so lucky to have been able to marry him— but men are dogs, and i don’t see why he would be the exception.”

“but he treats me so well—”

“maybe he only treats you well because you’re pregnant— he probably just feels guilty. i mean, when i was pregnant and had my first, my husband wasn’t attracted to me anymore and demanded a divorce unless i lost the baby weight.” she shrugged like it was so simple, so common, like the notion of marriage wasn’t something so deeply important and could be thrown away so easily.

“we aren’t suggesting you get a divorce, but we’re just saying you should keep an eye on him— you know? a handsome guy like him was always bound to get a lot of attention…” her laugh was shrill and high-pitched, making goosebumps erupt on your skin.

“right… thanks guys…”

that night, you couldn’t stop twisting and turning on the large sectional couch with thoughts rushing through your head of your husband with some other woman. the jealousy from these fictional scenarios without evidence of existence plagued you. it made you want to vomit up the negative feelings and go back to the person you were a few hours ago without the images of him cheating planted in your mind, which didn’t go unnoticed by him and caused him to ask what was bothering you as it wouldn't be good for the baby.

you hesitated for a moment, “could you tell me about your exes?”

“why are you suddenly curious about that?” he chuckled, knowing damn well that it was because of those stupid snakes masquerading as people (it truly takes one to know one) running their mouths again, but still feigning obliviousness for your sake. 

“just wondering,” you muttered. “i mean, you’re the first person i’ve fallen in love with, but you’re a bit older than me so…”

“and i hope to be the only one too,” he smirked confidently, making you laugh as he plopped down on the ground and rested his head on the cushion next to yours. 

it was such a casual setting in such a vast space, bringing you back to the days in your little apartment inviting him over for chicken and beer before you knew about your immense wealth and got embarrassed over your cheap dates when he was so used to expensive restaurants. he found it very endearing though, knowing you liked him for him and not his money.

“well, if you’re so curious…” he trailed off, but you weren’t quite sure if it was because of hesitation or because he simply didn’t know where to start. you can’t remember the last time a conversation like this was held to learn more about him since it was usually about you, maybe back when you first started dating and briefly discussed his late parents.

he started with his crush when he was in middle school since that was his earliest recollection of feeling love, who didn’t really count as a girlfriend or love because nothing was established and because of their age, but she was his first kiss that he ran away from right after because of how nervous he was, and it was never addressed again. apparently it was his second girlfriend who taught him everything he knew before he met you, saying she basically “trained him like a dog” to create a gentleman out of an inexperienced boy who still wasn’t quite sure how to treat a woman like a queen. she was a bit mean though, and he didn’t realize he dodged a bullet until later after realizing she was unnecessarily cruel to him for no reason multiple times if he didn’t do things exactly her way.

you suppose you always knew your husband wasn’t always the suave charmer you know him to be, but the image of younger him being clueless on matters of romance made you burst out laughing because of how you could hardly picture it.

he reached over to pinch your cheek affectionately, “are you of all people really making fun of me when you were too scared to hold my hand for me to escort you out of my car?”

“oh my god, that was on our first date, i can’t be blamed! i was shaking like crazy on that day— you had to tell me that you didn’t bite.”

“i was actually thinking about calling off our date last minute because of an emergency at work,” he confessed, “but i’m glad i didn’t and met the love of my life instead.”

“aw, you flirt.” the memory made you smile and feel all giggly inside, all the fears you had about him possibly having an affair falling away, yet there were still some lingering at the back of your mind with the mention of his job. “what happened at work?”

“nothing that important,” he said instantly like clockwork. “just some boring business things.”

you didn’t push it, not wanting to ruin the mood, but once again, your curiosity was just itching to ask more questions about his work life even if it was truly as boring as he says. you wanted to know every mundane detail whether it was what his office looked like or what the annoying co-worker did on a daily basis, anything to satiate your need to know more about this mysterious man you had made life-long vows with.

it all came to a head one night while you were cooking dinner, you heard the doorbell ring a dozen times in quick succession and answered it to find an older man with fiery red hair that seemed to match his temper. when he addressed your husband by name and verified your relationship with him, he began spewing all kinds of insults about the blood he had on his hands by luring innocent people to their deaths and you felt your heart drop. you tried to reason with him that there must have been some sort of mistake, barely able to get your words out in a fit of confusion and surprise at the absurd accusation, but he wouldn’t hear you out and pointed a finger in your face, asking if you had any idea what gong ji-cheol was doing behind your back. 

at that very moment, he was suddenly seized by two anonymous men in all black, causing him to yell out in panic as they dragged him away and stuffed him in the back of a car before quickly driving off into the night without a trace. it all happened so fast, you just stood there with your mouth open in shock, wondering if you should call the police on what looked like an abduction. 

then your husband comes running up the steps with his locked briefcase in hand, shouting out your name, asking you if you’re okay, pulling you back inside the comfort of your shared home, and checking you all over to make sure you aren’t harmed in any way. when you ask about who that man was and what he was talking about, he simply told you he was some crazy customer who was dissatisfied with the company, was looking for someone to blame, and promised to tell you the details later. 

you didn’t tell him that you didn’t believe him, just pursed your lips and furrowed your brow for a second then let go of the topic like you always do, taking his coat off his shoulders with a peck on the lips asking how his day was. he reciprocated the kiss, said it was fine without anything special, and that he would shower before having dinner, something he didn’t really need to say since you already knew but stated anyway as per evening routine. 

as he headed up the stairs and disappeared from sight, you stared at the locked briefcase resting crookedly on the little entryway table and paused for a moment. if you did this, it would be a breach of privacy and a sign of growing distrust in your husband, but it could also answer all of the questions that never cease. 

your hands wouldn’t stop shaking involuntarily as you felt the cold black metal underneath your fingertips, marveling at the smooth material clean of any scratches or dents. fidgeting with the built-in combination lock, six number sequences started rushing through your mind as you started to hastily run through your options with a focus on dates. you were determined to only do this three times since you had no idea if an alarm would be set off or if it would close off permanently.

his birthday?

an electronic beep went off indicating you were incorrect, making you nervous.

your birthday?

wrong again, you only had one attempt left. you swallowed, shaking the accumulating sweat off your hands.

the date of your wedding?

you gasped as the locks suddenly flipped open and lightly knocked against the briefcase. it was undone, you could open it at any moment now and see it all.

and yet you still hesitated during this golden opportunity. was it the fact that the passcode to his most secret possession was the day you got married? was it guilt for going behind your husband’s back for answers instead of directly asking him? was it because you were afraid of what you would find if you discovered the red-haired man was telling the truth?

whatever it was, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and locked it again, leaving it looking untouched and went back to playing dinner.

there was a heavy tension present at the dinner table that night, the only conversation present being him interrogating you about what the red-haired man talked about word-for-word. not really interrogating since his tone of voice was still calm and gentle as he asked questions, but you could see him fidgeting with his fork and not leaving much room for any other topic until he was sure you told him everything. he then sighed and claimed the man was insane, a gambling addict who was too deep in debt to afford treatment and was trying to drag him into his misery after meeting at the subway station. 

“ji-cheol?”

he froze for a second, not used to hearing you use his real name rather than a pet name. “yes?”

“what do you do for a living, exactly?”

a pause, you watched him fidget with his chopsticks and shift the grains of rice around. “you know, business stuff— nothing you need to concern yourself about—“

“but i don’t know! that’s the thing!” you felt tears starting to well up behind your eyes, letting two years of frustration trickle through. “i know it doesn’t seem that important for me to know, but is it really so important that you leave me in the dark about it for the three years we’ve been lovers? and now some guy comes to our doorstep and tells me about how your job is playing games with people at the subway station to make them participate in death games?!” you took a deep breath, calming yourself down, “please, be honest with me, that’s all i want…”

“i-i…” that was the first time you’ve ever heard him stutter, and if the situation wasn’t so tense, you would be proud you finally got one-up on him. “i can’t say… it’s for your own safety and mine.”

“so he was right?”

he remained silent, trying to think of some way to counter what seong gi-hun had told you, but if you didn’t believe the elaborate lie he already told you and wanted to learn more, then he knew this was the end of the road. 

“i-i need some time to think…” you looked defeated and it broke his heart. “i’m going to my mom’s house tonight, i’ll be back tomorrow—“ you got up, not bothering to pack anything aside from your phone and your wallet.

he had prepared for you to start screaming and crying (not that he would blame you, i mean, who would willingly stay with a man who was complicit in mass murder), demanding a divorce and packing your things to shut the door for him never to be seen again with your unborn child. the strangely calm reaction was both a relief and extremely unsettling to him.

“i won’t be mad if you decide not to come back” he stated plainly, defeated in a state you’ve never seen him in before. “whatever choice you make, i’ll support you, just know i love you— more than anything else in this world.”

you stared at him blankly through the open doorway. perhaps your husband isn’t the perfect man you believed him to be, but he was as honest as he possibly could have been with you regarding the matter, and that’s enough. 

“i love you too, i’ll be back in the morning.” that’s how you feel at the moment, but you don’t know if you’ll feel the same way tomorrow morning when it sinks in.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Wrong Start

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader (with a twin)

Summary: You're arrested for a crime you didn't commit. After you point Officers Bradford and Chen in the right direction, Tim decides you got off on the wrong start and wants to make it up to you.

Warnings: fluff, brief angst, discussion of mass murder, estranged family

Word Count: 1.1k+ words

A knock on your door at midnight wakes you long before you hoped to, making you reach for your phone. Los Angeles is dangerous enough with a mass murderer still on the loose. Your neighbor has watched the story closely, and though you’re not overly interested in the reporters’ version of the crime, you know it pays to be vigilant. When you see two police officers standing at your front door, you grip the phone tighter and pull the door open.

“Good evening, officers,” you greet.

The male officer says your name, and you nod. You spare a glance at the woman beside him, and she grimaces nearly imperceptibly. It’s fast, but something in her eyes tells you this night will worsen.

“That’s me,” you tell him. “Is something wrong?”

“You’re under arrest,” he states. “Please step forward and turn to face the door. Slowly.”

Your brows furrow even as you step forward and begin to turn. “For what?”

“Murder,” the woman supplies. “Fourteen counts of felony murder, assault with a deadly weapon, and domestic terrorism.”

“Whoa, what?!” you exclaim, pulling away from the half-secured handcuffs.

“Don’t,” the man warns lowly, gripping your wrist and pulling you toward him. “Trust me, you don’t want to make this any worse than it already is.”

“But I didn’t kill anybody!” you argue. “You have the wrong person!”

“That’s not up to us to decide. You’ll get your day in court, but the warrant says you are the person we need to arrest, so stop resisting.”

You fall silent as the man reads you your Miranda rights, and for a brief moment, you’re struck with an unwelcome sense of attraction. The officer is undoubtedly handsome, but this is not the time to develop a crush. You haven’t killed anyone, and there is absolutely no reason they should be looking for anyone even remotely like you!

At that thought, you stop on the sidewalk less than three feet from the police car. The handsome officer nudges you forward, but you feel like your shoes have been filled with cement.

“You are under arrest; do you understand that?” he asks.

“Why me?” you question.

“What do you mean?” the other officer – whose name tag you now see says Chen – inquires.

“Did you find fingerprints at the scene?” Neither of them answers, so you say, “DNA then.”

“It’s on the warrant, might as well tell her,” Officer Handsome but Grumpy rumbles.

“Yes, we found DNA at the scene of the murder,” she explains. “Yours.”

You exhale slowly. “I… I have a twin. Estranged, but we have the same DNA. How did you even connect it to me?”

“Short answer, trash is public property once it’s on the curb,” Officer Bradford explains.

“Okay, okay,” you mumble. Speaking up, you say, “I’ll go with you. But please look for my twin, I-I know I didn’t do it, so if you found my DNA…”

“Blaming a twin,” Bradford muses. “That’s a new one.”

“Tim,” Officer Chen whispers, cutting her eyes toward yours.

He hesitates, watching your eyes as you fight tears and stare at a crack in the sidewalk. Then he places you in the back of his cruiser and drives you to booking.

“She claims she has an estranged twin who had to have done it,” Tim tells Angela. “I don’t buy it.”

“That kind of devastation is hard to fake,” Lucy argues. “She seemed genuinely distressed that her sibling could have done this.”

“Or she was distressed that you didn’t seem to believe her,” Nyla offers. “I’ll look into her family, see what I can find. If she actually has a twin…”

“Let us know,” Lucy requests.

“Timothy Bradford,” Angela greets as he and Lucy return to the station. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“Pass,” Tim says.

“You can’t pass.”

“Pass.”

“Uh, Tim?” Lucy interrupts. “Who is that?”

“Looks like your murder suspect,” he tells Angela. “What changed?”

Lucy flinches as the handcuffed woman jerks back before attempting to kick a passing officer as she less-than-politely asks for his handcuff key.

“That,” Angela begins slowly, “is the twin.”

“I told you.”

Tim turns quickly, and his shoulders drop when he sees you standing behind him. You send him a small smile and wave with the folder in your hand.

“You did,” he concedes. “Sorry.”

You smile as Angela pulls Lucy away from Tim. “No hard feelings, you were just doing your job.”

Your twin begins yelling your name, and you pull your lower lip between your teeth as you look down. Tim lays his hand on your arm and directs you away from the bullpen. Out of your twin's sight, you laugh wetly and thank him.

“I guess this is better than being wrongly convicted, but it’s…” you begin before shrugging.

“It doesn’t make this part any easier,” Tim adds. “Finding out someone you love is responsible for something like this isn't easy. I’m sorry you had to get pulled into it.”

“You’re much nicer when you feel guilty,” you muse with a smile.

“You’re just as annoying,” he counters with a matching smile that lets you know he’s joking. Mostly.

“And to think, I was going to tell the jury that you were nice to me!”

“You don’t have to testify,” Tim reminds you. “You were estranged, you didn’t know.”

“No, but I’ve seen enough to believe it. It sucks, but it’s the least I can do. Family or not, justice needs to be served. Dozens of families have been changed forever because of one decision.”

“Well…” Tim looks around before he decides, “Never mind.”

“Well, what?” you press. “You already arrested me for fourteen murders, this isn’t the time to get nervous to talk to me.”

Tim’s eyes widen in surprise, and he says, “You don’t have to say yes.”

“I don’t know what I’m answering, though.”

“Will you go out with me?” he asks quickly.

You hesitate to answer, and Tim immediately begins backpedaling. You place your hand on his arm and shut him up immediately.

“I wasn’t going to say no, I just wasn’t expecting you to ask that. I thought I’d have to do it, and then get rejected,” you explain. “Are you serious?”

“As serious as I was when I arrested you.”

“That is not funny!” you exclaim with a laugh.

“Look, we got off to a really bad start-“

“The worst.”

“Sure, the worst start, but… you’re kind of great.”

“Kind of? I am amazing, and yes, I would love to go out with you.”

Tim nods, smiling as he offers his phone to give him your number.

“Promise not to arrest me again?” you request.

“Or?”

“I’m not going to threaten you, a few hours in a smelly cell was more than enough.”

“I’ll try to make it up to you.”

You smile and take several backward steps, then call, “First I’m arrested, then I’m annoying, and you’re expecting to make that up with one singular date night?”

“It’s a start.”

[beuxwhoyouare]

Escaping Holiday Responsibilities

You know Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and all the boys. And who can forget about singing Hanerot Halalu after lighting the menorah. There’s symbols and entities representing all of the holidays. But outside of the season we enjoy our peace and quiet. Sometimes though a season is so rough you can’t really blame an entity for wanting to get away.

I may or may not be Santa Claus. I’d say the best perk about the gig is that when the time comes you’re almost guided to your successor who then dons the classic look. So it’s a give and take. I mean having the power to fulfill lists of gifts you desire is great, but acquiring the look of a tubby bearded old man isn’t all that. The coolest thing though is you may not know it, but just because you don’t write a list doesn’t mean you don’t have holiday desires. I can still deliver gifts based on the list you make in your hearts. Cute as hell right? I’m basically a mind reader!

Before all this Claus business, I was unemployed and recently divorced when I received the call to step into the good ol boots. So a gig is a gig. I took it and ran, but that was like 30 years ago. So now once I retire I’m actually gonna look old and ragged.

So there I was last night delivering gifts at this random place in Chicago. Doing my best to stay quiet, delivering gifts as low key as possible when CRAAAAAACK! I stepped on a large glass ornament I somehow missed. I thought I was in the clear after no one came to check what happened and as I headed on my way out a baseball bat swung at my head.

I took the hit like a champ but when I turned around to see I saw a man standing there in black sweatpants and a sleeveless shirt with the bat ready to swing again.

“Ho ho hey hey wait. I’m literally Santa.” I whisper yelled while showing snowy crystals come out of my glove.

Right as he began to swing again I pulled more tricks out of my hat.

“I know your name is Russell O’Connor. You got a gunmetal tricycle as a 4 year old because you thought the red ones the store had were tacky and wanted to look tough!”

That’s when he stopped mid-swing.

“How-how did you know that pervert? Have you been watching me for years?”

I began to hear his inner list….a young man now in his mid-20s regretting his life decisions to get a girl knocked up as a teen? Interesting. He desires to get away from the so-called mess he made.

“I can offer you a way out of the mess you made. If that’s what your true hearts wish is this Christmas?!” I pleaded to not be beaten once again.

“How do you know what I want freak?”

“Bro I’m Santa, I know when you’ve been like bad or good and whatever. Listen do you want to get away from the mess you made or what?”

“Yes okay but like how are you going to do it? You’re not going to kill me or anything?”

“Honestly no one’s really ever wished for this so I gotta be able to do it somehow. That’s the Santa magic!”

“Okay let’s go for it. Do it! Get me out of here!”

I closed my eyes and rubbed my gloved hands together and then pulled them apart. As I pulled them apart a spark started forming but I wasn’t sure what to do with it. I tried to hold it steady but before I knew it, the spark grew too wild to control. The energy then turned white and exploded.

There was a ringing and we both yelled but then black.

When I woke up I found myself pushing up from a bed? That’s weird I don’t remember finishing all my deliveries. I reached up to scratch my beard but instead of my long luscious white beard a more close shaved beard grazed my hand. Wait where are my gloves? And my beard?

I looked down at the bed I didn’t recognize before looking back up to walk over to a nearby restroom with the night light on. The dim glow painted a picture I couldn’t believe. Surely I’m dreaming?

I fumbled around the foreign room before locating the light switch, only to have the bright lights confirm what I was seeing. I raised both arms and posed….

“No fucking way!?” The cursing surprised me, being a Claus the job prevents your mouth from ever even forming a curse word.

I’m Russell? But the Santa step down process just returns you to your normal self not swaps you with someone? How did this? Could my desires have matched with his conflicting my magics intent?

I lifted the shirt barely hiding anything of my new body I now resided in. Woah…I wasn’t much of a gym person in my former life but maybe there’s reason to be. I mean look at this beef? I reached my muscular hand up to my new proud chest and squeezed. Ahhh grazing my new nipple I revealed a new found sensitivity I never previously had. Looks like that’s going to be fun, I nearly salivated.

I can do adult things again and live a life again! No more having to spend months working to achieve someone else’s dreams. Or maybe I’ll fulfill other dirtiest dreams. I mean this body should go to work somehow.

I’m sure OnlyFans would love to see how thick I am everywhere. It’s time to be a family man settle down the right way and make a good living by selling the best gift I’ve ever given myself.

My new tool hardening nearly pulling down my sweatpants waistband itself. I grabbed it before taking a peak at my new equipment. Ohhhhh looks like I’ll still be delivering gifts to quite a few people in different ways with this beer can.

[wrathofrats]

Caged and always provoked (By prey left unattended)

4k, explicit, Dewdrop/Rain/Aether

Merry Christmas freak @divine-misfortune ily and I hope that all the insanity I’ve been talking about for weeks now makes sense

Read under the cut or on ao3

Warnings and tags: medical examination, medfet, trans rain and tits cunt clit and all the other stuff used for his anatomy, gill fingering, virgin rain for religious reasons, a lot of religious fuckery, groping, breast exams, dew and aether are awful medical practitioners ok, pretty dubious consent but rains cool with everything and says that, it’s fuckery ok it’s 4k of fuckery and I’ve warned you

“We have to, we can’t just let you-“ Dew rambled. He set his clipboard down with a frustrated sigh before Rain interrupted him.

“I don’t have sex.”

Aether peeked his head up from his own sheet about reviewing Dew to look down over his glasses at Rain. Sure, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, and certainly not abnormal, but considering Rain was a ghoul Aether wasn’t sure if he fully believed him.

“You’re saying that you’re a virgin?” Aether asked, before looking back over at Dew.

Or rains summoned as a virgin for his papa and his doctors want to see how far they can push him

“He seems easy enough. Could’ve sicked that new multi on you, looked like a handful” Aether slid the chart over to Dew who was pulling at his scrub top. The name Rain was scrawled at the top along with his summoning date and element. The rest of the spots were blank, meant to be filled in at his first appointment.

“Didn’t think I could handle it?” Dew clicked the pen a couple of times, scribbling in the corner of the paper to test the ink.

“Actually now that you mention it, I probably should’ve let you take him since you were such a menace for us when you were summoned. It took 3-“

“2” Dew interrupted with a scoff

“2 nurses to hold you down. You’re lucky I picked the quiet one for you.” Aether flipped open his own packet of paper meant for his notes on how Dew was doing. He wanted to train to be a nurse, a better and more meaningful job for him as he learned to use his new fire element. This would occupy him for the time being, and keep him useful considering they were down some staff as the siblings were taken for other clergy needs.

Dew rolled his eyes, plopping the clipboard onto the small table haphazardly. He didn’t know what time this ghoul was supposed to show up, barely even caught a glimpse of him during the summoning. Usually the new ghouls were thrown into the arms of those who were more trustworthy, such as Aether and omega, before being whisked away to check in on their new bodies and elements top side. The rest of the pack usually didn’t get to meet them until there was an all clear from the medical staff.

Which, now included Dew. He loved messing with new summons when he got the chance. Mountain was easy to lure right into his bed, teasing the poor guy until he just couldn’t stand it. And now being placed at the front lines? Even with Aether keeping a close eye on him, he had to admit the idea of thoroughly checking up and down this new summons body was tantalizing.

“You know what to do right?” Aether snapped Dew out of his thoughts with the throw of a tongue depressor that hit him in the shoulder.

“Got the check list, besides you’ll be here to remind me. Even if you gave me a very detailed lesson the other ni-“ Dew snickered before another tongue depressor whizzed past his head.

“You’ll treat him with respect Dew” Aether closed the glass jar and pushed it away from him. He crossed his leg in front of him, staring at his watch to check the time.

“Whatever, I’m a professional, remember?”

“Yeah a professional idiot maybe”

Dew barely got through his eye roll as the door knob turned. A sibling opened the door, gesturing for the ghoul in front of her to walk in the room. He was shy, keeping his head down as he sat down in one of the chairs by the exam bed.

“This is Rain, already got him checked in” the sibling handed Aether a couple papers before closing the door with a soft click. Aether was right, the new thing was quiet. Easy, if he really wanted to go that far already. The water ghoul barely lifted his head up to look at them as Aether started to quickly glance over the papers he was given. Simple things like height and weight, just to rule out any more obscure problems.

He was pretty, Dew had to admit. Blue skin and silky gills along his neck, the lingering thought of Rain even knew how they felt to be touched yet, and if he could send him home with the desire to do so. Delicate fins along his ears with a mop of dark hair. The poor thing was already blushing, looking properly scared even though they hadn’t done anything to him yet. Maybe it was Aethers size, or the perpetual resting bitch face Dew seemed to carry. The cherry on top was what was in his fist, a long string of black knots and beads, ending in a wooden inverted cross.

Aether raised his eyebrow at Dew who was properly staring Rain down, motioning down to his paper that was already all sectioned out for him.

“Oh- uh, I’m going to ask you some questions Rain, just routine in case there’s anything we need to know, is that alright?”

“Yeah, that’s ok” Rain shoved the rosary into his pocket, folding his hands in his lap and watching Dew nervously. He fiddled with his fingers, eyes darting between the two.

“How was your sleep the past couple nights?”

“Slept well, it’s new but my room is comfortable. Maybe 7 hours?” Aether gave him a smile while Dew scribbled down his answer.

“What has your diet been?”

“Small fish, been craving shrimp I think,”

“Ok, sounds good uh-“ Dew squinted at his paper, reading down to make sure he had recorded what he said properly and if there was anything else to take note of before he moved on. “Is there any chance you could be pregnant?”

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s apart of the protocol, is there any chance at all?” Rains face flushed deeper as Dew looked between him and Aether expectantly. He hesitated, biting his lip while he tried to think of what to tell them.

“No. None”

“Good, that’s fine, uh.. any chance of an STD?” The only sound in the room for a moment was the scribbling of Dews pen on the paper. Rain once again hesitated with his answer.

“No.” It came out more tense this time. Something a little more impatient about the answer.

“Perfect, what kind of protection are you using?”

“I’m not.”

Dew looked up at him with his brow furrowed. What did he mean he wasn’t? Maybe it was one of those things, where the siblings would come in and be adamant about not practicing safe sex even after Aether begged them and wonder why their tests all came back positive. If there was another rampant case of chlamydia papa would have their asses. Maybe he was just naive, nothing an awkward pamphlet couldn’t help.

“Well- if you’re not using protection then we do need to test you”

“It’s fine, trust me”

“We have to, we can’t just let you-“ Dew rambled. He set his clipboard down with a frustrated sigh before Rain interrupted him.

“I don’t have sex.”

Aether peeked his head up from his own sheet about reviewing Dew to look down over his glasses at Rain. Sure, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, and certainly not abnormal, but considering Rain was a ghoul Aether wasn’t sure if he fully believed him.

“You’re saying that you’re a virgin?” Aether asked, before looking back over at Dew.

“Yes.”

“Any reason or“

“Dew” there was a scolding tone to Aethers voice. The question was inappropriate, even if it was burning in both of their minds.

The room went silent for a second once again. Dew looked at Rain expectantly, waiting for some kind of answer. It didn’t truly matter but the curiosity was eating at him. The pretty little thing had never been touched before? What was he saving himself for?

“The Church.” Rain continued to pick at his fingernails, “was told to, they said it would make me a better servant for the clergy. For papa.”

Summonings were a fickle thing. Some of the ghouls were plucked from down below at random when needed in an emergency like Mist or the anomaly that was Cowbell, but others were chosen for it. Brought up to serve the church, practically handpicked for the band.

“Would there be any other reason for us to give you an….” Aether looked over at Dew, grabbing his papers to take his own notes, “exam of that sort?”

“No”

“Fingers? Toys? Maybe even a pillo-“ Dews leg was promptly kicked from under the table. Aether threw him a shocked look, mentally noting needing to go over how to talk to patients at a later time.

“I’m not allowed to. It would only distract me to give into those ….. desires”

Dew finally shut his mouth. The idea of asking “what kind of desires” edging their way into his brain. He couldn’t, at least not here. Aether was still staring at him, the frustrated shock of his words melting into something more curious about the ghoul who was sitting in front of them. The idea of being completely untouched was more than tempting for Dew to explore.

“Ok, that’s perfectly normal. It’s still part of protocol to give you a full physical, but in this case we won’t do any tests, just a look to be sure” Aether grabbed a pair of gloves before sliding the box to Dew, “do you mind fully undressing and putting on the gown on the table while we step out?”

It was Dews turn to look shocked. Aether was blatantly lying through his teeth, not only was a vaginal exam not necessary anyways, it especially wouldn’t be in this case. He’s not complaining, no, but the idea of Aether having his own plans about this made his heart beat even faster.

Rain nodded while Aether opened the door and motioned for Dew to step out. He still looked shocked, brows furrowed and eyes wide as he stared at Aether.

“A virgin?” Dew exclaimed once Aether finally had the door shut. “I didn’t know they did that in the pits. Keeping himself pure to please papa?”

“It’s not unheard of. River stayed untouched until he retired. In Omegas chart he mentioned having to be extra careful with him during any full body check ups” Aether watched the clock on the wall tick away, giving Rain ample time to undress and hopefully calm down a bit from being so nervous. It was cute, the bashfulness in his explanation, if Aether had half a mind he would’ve let Dew continue questioning him.

“Must be a water ghoul thing. Do you think he knows about his gills yet Aeth?”

“You’re a professional, remember Dew?”

Aether raised his eyebrow at him before giving a quick knock to the door, opening it slowly once Rain gave a meek ok. He sat up on the exam table. Ankles crossed and gown bunched awkwardly behind him in an attempt to cover himself. His clothes were folded in a neat pile on his chair, rosary sitting right next to his shoes on top.

Dew hastily snapped a couple gloves on his hands before walking up to stand between Rains legs, a little too close to be entirely clinical.

“Do you mind if I perform a bodily exam on you? we are just looking for any abnormalities we should be concerned about after your summoning” His tone was a bit quieter, something less harsh than his usual bravado.

“Please, go right ahead”

Rain reached up to undo the tie behind his neck, keeping the gown right under his breasts in order to not expose more than he needed to. His chest was small, a cute tiny pair of breasts with dusky little nipples that Dew was trying hard not to completely gawk at. He was a pretty thing, lithe body with a couple curves.

Dew pulled down the gown completely, letting the front section sit in his lap with his arms tight to his body. His cheeks were flushed a deep purple, eyes darting around to anywhere besides Dew.

“Going to have to ask you to lift your arms over your head for me, I need to see the gills on your abdomen” Dew reached beneath the bed to pump a small amount of lubricant on his fingers, rubbing them together to spread it evenly. The gesture looked, felt, dirty. Even if Rain was still in the assumption that it was completely innocent he couldn’t help how his mind wandered as he watched the blue latex shine.

There was a second of hesitation before Rain reached his arms over his head. Dews warm hand pressed down against his stomach, moving inch by inch to his side. Gloved fingers glided delicately over the soft fragile skin of Rains gills. Practically petting over them before dipping just the finger tip in as Rain gave a quiet gasp. He twitched Into the touch before quickly pulling away again.

“Are you alright Rain?” Aether looked from Dew to Rain, noting how he almost looked flustered. Lip between his teeth and the flush creeping down his chest. Dew turned and gave him a knowing look, pushing just a millimeter further in to watch him struggle.

“I’m fine, his hands are just … a bit cold” Rains lips turned into a tight line. He hoped neither of them would push back against such a bad lie, hell Dews hands were probably just on the uncomfortable side of too warm if Rain was being honest. Something sparked in his abdomen as Dew slid his fingers from side to side beneath the thin skin, eyes focusing intently as if he were looking for something.

“No pain? They seem fine otherwise. Nice color, not too loose, some amount of lubrication.” Dew mumbled in Aethers direction for him to write down, “I’ve heard of other water ghouls gills getting dried out from summoning, yours are slick though which is good”

Aether scribbled a couple notes down on his paper while Dew shot him a cocky look and pulled his fingers out of Rains gills, wiping his fingers off on a paper towel. Rain could see whatever came off of his hands shine in the white light of the room, embarrassment creeping up his cheeks. Sure there was the thought of what would happen if he pushed his fingers into his gills himself but the thoughts always came with a night of prayer and maybe a cold shower afterwards.

He didn’t need to be thinking like that. He was healthy and he should be happy, not letting Dews words make him feel light headed. What would papa think?

Rain brought his arms back down to rest his hands in his lap. The air was cold even if Rains body felt impossibly hot. Goosebumps prickled at his skin while Dew put on a fresh pair of gloves. His instinct was to cover himself again, no one had ever seen him this vulnerable, especially not two people at once.

“Still with us? You’re quieter than most of the other ghouls we have in here” Aether spoke up after a second of watching Rain stare intently at Dews hands while he put on his gloves. Rain jumped a little, looking back at Aether with wide eyes.

“Just don’t talk much, I’ve always been told I’m quiet”

“But you’ll speak up if you’re uncomfortable right?”

Rain gave him a solid nod. Aether pushed his glasses back up his face and crossed his legs in front of him to rest his clipboard on. Even beyond Rains racing thoughts he looked devastatingly clinical, Dew as well who was dressed in blue scrubs. Something to keep him grounded, remind him why he was there.

Dew stepped in front of him once again. His hands grabbed along his arms, pushing at his shoulders. They practically rubbed down his sternum in a way that made Rain shiver. Warm hands pressed into his ribs looking for any signs of pain or discomfort.

He took a deep breath as Dew finally made it up to his breast, palms kneading into the supple flesh with a careful eye. Rains fingers dug into the paper on the table with a sickening crunch. Aether immediately noticed how he practically stopped breathing, going entirely still with his lip between his teeth.

Dew tried to pretend he was being entirely professional, every pull and knead being necessary even if the pressure lingered until Rain finally squirmed under his touch, making Dew move on to the next area he was supposed to be examining.

“Seem sensitive” Dew practically hissed through his teeth. The professional demeanor was slowly coming unraveled the more he was able to see what his touch was doing to Rain. A blushing virgin practically losing his composure beneath him just from groping his tits. It was taking all of his self control not to just push him back onto the table and hike the gown over his hips.

Dew was getting ahead of himself. A particularly rough grab as he got lost in thought had Rain writhing off the table.

“Jus- just a bit- ah!” Rains thighs clamped together, chest debating on pulling away or pushing into the rough sensation. Dew was properly pulling at his nipples now, rough calloused fingers pinching the pretty buds just to keep drawing small forced noises from the back of Rains throat.

The gown had fully slipped down and threatened to slide off of his lap if he wasn’t careful. Small neat trail of hair along his navel with a couple dark curls peeking from behind the plastic. Rain knew he was about to be exposed if he made one wrong move, but couldn’t bring himself to grab the gown to cover himself again, not when Dew was touching him like this.

Rain shot a look towards Aether in a small plea for him to do something. Aether looked shocked, pen sitting idly in his hand as he stared blatantly at Rains chest while Dew worked. He should probably step in, pull Dew off and let Rain catch his breath but god he looks like he’s thoroughly enjoying himself and he puts on such a nice show that Aether doesn’t think he can intervene.

“Soft, probably feels so good, doesn’t it Rain?” Dew was almost impossibly close to him by now, both hands groping him and breath hot on his neck, “really never done this for yourself, never let yourself feel good?”

The words made Rains bRain turn off for a solid couple seconds. Whatever air of keeping things chaste and clinical now unraveling as Dew tugged on Rains nipples. He couldn’t deny the small sparks of electricity that ran through him with the pain of Dews pinching and pulling, couldn’t deny that it made his head feel fuzzy and stomach feel hot even if he wanted to.

“Not supposed to” Rains voice was meek. Sure he wanted to, but it was wrong. Sinful. Body dedicated to his papa but oh being touched like this was absolutely delicious. Even if it was just his breasts, something he had done in the shower more than a couple times with the excuse of making sure he was healthy even if his hands lingered, much like what Dew was doing now.

“You’ve never thought about it? Never considered giving into the desire?”

“I have” the admission struggled to come out. Like saying the words out loud were enough to damn him completely. “It’s wrong- not supposed to need or want anything more than papa”

Dew felt a little bad at the laugh that got forced out of him. A bit cruel especially as he pushed Rains tits together just to thumb at the cleavage, more just for the sake of doing it and to see Rain squirm than any other reason. The whole persona of medical professionalism had been thrown out the window the second he was even allowed to touch him there, and hell, Aether didn’t seem like he was going to stop him.

“Afraid you’ll just become addicted? Won’t be able to keep those hands away from this pretty little body of yours?” Dew gave another squeeze to Rains tits before skating them lower and lower, hovering over the only thing still covering any amount of modesty Rain had left.

Rain let out a shocked gasp as Dew pushed him down onto his back, legs maneuvered to be fully spread in front of him. The flimsy gown fell haphazardly onto the floor along with Aethers pen that had been dropped as he watched the scene in front of him. Rains legs pulled apart and cunt practically on display, slick coating him in a way that could only be described as obscene. Even for a water ghoul, it was more than a bit surprising to see how wet he had gotten from Dews hands on his gills and chest.

“See? Cunts just aching for it isn’t it?” A gloved finger slid between Rains folds, practically gathering the arousal and letting it drip down the latex, “Can feel you twitching. Give in, ask for it.”

Rains body was trembling. Legs shaking as Dew dipped the tip of his fingers inside of him for him to clench around. That’s all he had ever done himself. A couple of slow pets and maybe just the tip of his finger before he could come back to his right mind and stop himself. A night trying to deny what he really wanted, how he craved for something to be inside of him in a way that prayer just couldn’t take the edge off of.

“Papa wouldn’t allow it, my bodies for him”

“But it feels good doesn’t it Rain?” Dews fingers fully pushed inside of him. He was hot, beyond tight as he clamped down and let out a strangled sound. His thumb pressed against Rains clit earning a gasp that was forced from the back of Rains throat.

“So good-!”

Dews fingers pumped in and out of him slowly, scissoring apart to see if he could get him any looser. Dew could pass out if he thought about it too hard, his fingers being the first to open up the water ghouls virgin cunt? The thought had him about to shove down his scrub pants and be the one to fuck him first as well. He tried to maintain his composure, looking back at Aether who had a hand on top of his bulge, palming himself through his pants.

“Let yourself feel good, come on baby, give into those sick desires I know you have” there was an awful wet squelching sound coming from Rains cunt, slick dripping down onto the exam table as Dew rubbed fast circles into his clit.

“Please- need more” Rains hips canted off of the table, practically trying to hump Dews hand as he pumped his fingers in and out of him “don’t tell papa please-“

“Oh but Dew, it’s not supposed to feel good, it’s just an exam” Aether had gotten up to stand by his side, white coat discarded on the chair and clearly still hard.

What was he even getting at? He pulled apart Rains cunt to get a look at how Dews fingers slid in and out of him with ease, cold air of the room only making Rain feel more exposed while Aether practically gawked at him.

“It’s not?” Dew stalled his movements, Rain giving a small noise of protest beneath him.

“No, its entirely medical remember? since we are supposed to be keeping him pure, papas orders” Aether said like it should’ve been obvious. Maybe it should have been honestly, Aether pushed a finger of his in next to Dews making Rain arch off the table with the stretch. With the way he clamped down he was surely close already, never been touched and now being stretched wide on three fingers, “maybe the poor things just too far gone if he’s feeling this good. If he was truly devoted he would be still, wouldn’t ask for more. It’s a shame that we will have to inform papa”

Dew pressed a bit harder on his clit, fingers crooking up against that sweet spot he wasn’t sure if Rain even knew he had. Before he could stop it, Rain was spasming around Aether and Dews fingers, a small cry leaving his lips as he completely soaked the paper on the table

“Oh well that’s certainly not normal” Aether removed his hand, disposing of the glove in the trash can without another beat while Dew debated licking his clean, “a true disciple wouldn’t do that, would they?”

[bring-forth-his-sac]

The Christmas Party - Finale!

summary: the Christmas Party is finally here! … and you and Negan are not on good terms

tags: Modern AU, Teacher AU, Gossip, Swearing, Pet Names, Slow Burn, Misunderstandings, Flirting, Kissing

word count: 7.1k

A/N: this is the final chapter! thank you to everyone who's read this and left comments!! For some reason, I always hesitated doing multi-chapter fics because I didn't think my writing was good enough to keep people captivated for more than one chapter but this has given me a serious confidence boost! and that's thank to all of you!

Merry Christmas and I hope you enjoy!!!

Negan doesn’t know if you can be pussy whipped when you’re not getting any pussy, but damn that’s exactly how he feels with you.

He’s always been a fan of temporary pleasures, quick fixes for the emptiness that gnawed at him. He wasn’t interested in long term or relationship—at least, not in the way most people understood it. Love was something people with hope clung to. 

And Negan? He had lost hope a long time ago.

He’s had women, plenty of them, but none of them have ever meant more to him than a night of fleeting connection. Negan never made a fool of himself ice skating for some pussy, nor has he ever wined and dined them.

And he would say he still hasn’t, mainly because that would mean referring to you as just another piece of pussy. And no matter how hypocritical it may be, he doesn’t like that.

He doesn’t know how you do it, how you can penetrate the walls he’s spent years putting up. You’ve never been impressed by his bravado or his flirting. 

No, instead you’re the sweet type. You like the little moments, the playfulness, the cheeky texts neither of you should be sending during work hours.

Negan’s known it for a while now. He doesn’t want you like the others. He doesn’t want a night away or a quick fix. He wants the ice skating, the banter throughout the work day, the hot chocolates and dinner dates. 

Fuck, all you’ve given him is a kiss and Negan’s smitten. 

Waking up the morning after your sweet kiss, you’re the first thing that pops into Negan’s head. More specifically, it’s you in his truck, his leather jacket over your shoulders and eyes crinkling at the corners as you laugh at some dumbass joke he made. 

He woke up alone, having gone home the night before and spent an hour on the phone to Mark Smith. 

Negan couldn’t believe he actually sat on his couch and willingly listened to his colleague talk about some upcoming market by where he’s staying in Jamaica. Negan even asked Mark how his wife and kids were doing– voluntarily!!

He didn’t recognize himself anymore. The pain, while still there, isn’t as strong. Negan can’t find the strength to harness that resentment he had at the world and himself. 

Because how could he hate himself when he’s had your sweet lips on his not even 24 hours earlier?

But his Thursday goes downhill from the get go. Negan has a pep in his step as he leaves his house, quickly locking the door behind him before heading for his truck. A part of him hopes the smell of your perfume will still be lingering in there.

Aaaand that’s the start of a very bad day. Negan never gets to his truck, instead stopping a few feet away when he sees someone else parked behind him. 

His lips twist downward in a slight sneer. It’s the kind of look that says, “I don’t like you, and I’m not hiding it” without needing to say it aloud.

Sherry has her car parked directly behind Negan, purposefully blocking him in. She stands outside, her arms crossed as she tries to keep warm. 

“Hi…” she says plainly, trying to ease into this. 

When he speaks, it’s deliberate. His voice is dry, almost bored, but the weight of his words hangs heavy. "This is private property, ya can’t park there" Negan’s tone is laced with the kind of casual authority he’s so used to. 

It’s not a request. It’s not even a command. It’s a fact, something he’s not even sure needs to be said, but he does anyway because she’s standing there like this is some kind of game. 

Starting for his truck again, he only stops when she says his name.

Sherry huffs, rolling her eyes. Of course he won’t make this easy. “Negan,” her tone is firmer now “I want to cash in that I-owe-you. Now”.

His hand rests on the truck door but he doesn’t make a move to open it yet. Instead, he turns his body slightly, pivoting so he’s facing her fully now. Negan’s posture tightens, shoulders squared. 

“And you think that means you show up to my home at…” he makes a point of bringing his wrist up to read his watch “seven forty five in the damn morning?”.

“I said whenever and wherever,” she shrugs “and I remembered where you lived, so…”. 

Now it’s Negan who rolls his eyes. Because, yes, out of everything, he needs a reminder that he brought her home once upon a time ago. 

Seeing his little cooperation is shrinking, Sherry cuts to the chase “You have a motorbike, right?”.

“Used to” he corrects her vaguely. Medical bills are a hell of a hit to the balls… and bank account.

“Ok, good,” opening the passenger door to her car, Sherry begins to walk back over to the driver's side “well, get in”.

Negan doesn’t move. “This is kidnapping” he states.

Sherry tries not to lose her patience, nibbling on her bottom lip so she doesn’t let out a string of curses. “No, it’s the favor you owe me,” she corrects “and it’s for Christmas, so c’mon”.

Despite every fiber in his being telling him not to, Negan takes a step closer. “Unless you’re gonna drop me off at the school, we’re gonna be late” be points out.

With the wave of her hand, Sherry dismisses him and gets in. “It’ll be fast” is all she says to assure him.

Glancing back to his truck one last time, Negan sighs before reluctantly getting into Sherry’s car.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

By the time Negan gets to work, he’s pissed off, late and hungry. You’d think as the head cook of the cafeteria, Sherry would’ve had some snacks hidden away in her car but nope, Negan had to starve.

Negan tries to stay positive. He reminds himself that once he knocked out a few more classes, he would have time to do something he’d been looking forward to—setting up the Christmas tree with you. 

But as the day drags on and the hours tick by, his phone remains suspiciously quiet. He sent you a few texts, nothing crazy, just simple check-ins asking when you’d be free to hang out later. 

A casual message, nothing too pushy. But now, after getting through some classes, it has been hours and there still isn’t a reply.

At first, he figures you’d just busy, maybe caught up in teaching or managing your unruly students. He knows you have a lot on your plate and he didn’t want to be that guy who expecta instant responses. 

It’s fine. He’s patient. You’d get back to him when you have the chance.

But as lunch rolls around and there’s still nothing, he can’t shake the nagging feeling that something isn’t right. It’s subtle at first, just a flicker of unease, but it grows with every passing minute. 

He finds himself glancing at his phone more often, tapping his fingers against the desk, trying to focus on his work but getting distracted.

Something is off.

Negan gives the little pumpkin statue on his desk a quick rub, as if the small gesture might bring him some kind of luck. 

He doesn’t know why he’s so worked up. It’s not like he’s a clingy guy. But the silence between you two today? It’s not like you and it’s starting to eat at him.

First stop is the teacher’s lounge. Empty. He checks your classroom next— locked. No sign of you. Then, he heads to the sports hall, hoping you might be there, finishing something up. No luck.

Hell, he even hangs around the women’s toilets for a minute. It’s stupid, he knows, but he figures if you’re dealing with that time of the month, you might need a minute. 

He leans against the wall, trying not to look too out of place, but when Sasha passes by with a raised brow, he realizes how ridiculous he looks.

“Shit,” he mutters, pushing away from the wall.

He’s not the clingy type. He knows that. But by the time lunch comes to an end, he’s sent you a decent amount of texts. 

Negan: you ready for the tree?

Negan: it’s in the hall

Negan: u ok?

Negan: is this hide and seek? Where are you?

Negan: hellllllllooooooooooo? My messages are going through so I know you don’t have me blocked

More classes pass and Negan’s patience wears thinner with every passing minute. He yells at a group of rowdy students, his voice echoing through the sports hall as he orders them to watch out for the cheerfully decorated tables as they do their jumping jacks. 

He checks his watch, the second hand ticking a little too loudly for his liking. It’s almost the end of the school day and Negan can feel the weight of his frustration pressing down on him. 

He hasn’t heard a damn thing from you, not a single text, not even a “Hey, I’m busy.” Nothing.

And the silence? It’s driving him nuts.

By the time he’s checking the teacher’s lounge again, he’s about ready to give up… but then it happens. Just as he’s walking by Ms. Peletier’s classroom, the door clicks open.

You step out.

It’s like a moment of clarity hits him and for a second, all his frustration melts away. There you are— looking like you’re trying to escape something. 

You’re not your usual self. There’s something different about you today, something… timid. You’re not holding eye contact, your shoulders are a little hunched like you’re trying to make yourself smaller.

“Holy fucking shit,” Negan says, his voice full of relief “I was about to send out a search party, where the fuck have you been, doll?”

He expects a smile, some kind of warmth in your eyes. But instead, you tense. For a heartbeat, your body locks up, like you didn’t expect to see him. 

He watches, confused, as you quickly gather yourself. For a second, he thinks you might be walking toward him, like you’re about to talk, to explain yourself.

But then, just before he can take a step forward, you say it.

“Fuck off”.

Negan’s a man that likes to curse. He likes to throw in a few fucks, pricks, shit balls, whatever he feels in the moment. 

But this is different. 

The curse slices through the air, harsh and bitter. The venom in each syllable sticks in his chest like a jagged piece of glass. 

Negan’s stomach drops. He watches you walk past him, not even sparing him a glance and strut down the corridor without breaking stride.

For a moment, he’s frozen. The anger, the confusion— it all hits him at once. He isn’t the kind of man who gets easily thrown off, but right now? Damn right he feels uneasy.

“Woah, sweetheart, what’s that for?” Negan calls after you, confusion and hurt twisting his words. 

He takes a step forward, instinctively wanting to follow you but before he can move another inch, a voice calls his name.

“Negan.”

He turns, annoyed, ready to snap at whoever’s interrupting him but when he sees Carol standing in the doorway of her classroom, he stops dead.

“Let her go,” she says, her tone calm, but firm.

His brow furrows. What the hell is this?

“What?” He takes a few strides toward her, his voice rising. 

Carol raises a hand, palm out, silencing him before he can continue. “Let her go,” she repeats, her expression unreadable “She’s not interested”.

Negan’s chest tightens. Her words hit him like a punch to the gut but it’s the way she says them so matter-of-fact that makes him freeze in place. He opens his mouth, but the words don’t come. 

He looks at her, searching her face for some hint, some sign that this is a misunderstanding. But Carol doesn’t flinch. Instead, she just watches him, her eyes steady. 

“She’s not interested,” she repeats, softer this time, but still unyielding.

The truth stings. It settles over him like a weight, heavy and suffocating. The realization that everything he thought he knew about what was happening between you two—what he thought was real—might have only been a quick flash in the pan.

Negan stands there for a moment. The hallway around him feels too quiet, too empty. His chest tightens again and he can’t tell if it’s from anger or hurt or pure disbelief.

He looks back down the hall,  where you disappeared, then back at Carol. With a sharp exhale, Negan turns away, heading in the opposite direction without saying another word. 

What else is there to say?

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Friday feels like damnation, and not just because of the party. You purposely come in earlier than usual, not wanting to run into Negan as you set up the last remaining decorations for the gym. Even Joey isn’t in yet.

You can still feel the rush of anger, the way it surged through you when you saw them together, Negan and Sherry. You wouldn’t say you’re a jealous person but to see them arriving together, after everything?!

After Sherry warned you away from him, the dates that weren’t dates you went on with Negan… the kiss. You wonder if you didn’t move fast enough for him and if he went straight to Sherry’s after dropping you home that night. 

You’re pissed—so fucking pissed—but more than that, you’re hurt. The way he acted around you was like you were something special. It was as if maybe, there was something more between you two, more than banter and attraction. 

But now? Now it feels like a fucking joke. He’s out there, probably flirting with whoever is next on his hit list while you’re here, stewing in your own mess of feelings and sticking wreaths on to tables.

You want to punch something just to feel like you’re doing something to get rid of this ache in your chest. 

Your mind races—did they sleep together? Was it just another one-night thing for him? Did it mean nothing? 

The thought of it gnaws at you, each question digging deeper. The betrayal, the feeling of being tossed aside, his voice when he called after you yesterday, the knowing look on Carol’s face when you told her what you had seen… It's too much. 

You wish you could cry but you’re too damn mad. So you keep working, head down, fighting the sting of tears that are just waiting to break through. 

The good news is the sports hall is finally done, besides the Christmas tree that was never put up. 

The high, vaulted ceilings are draped with thick strands of sparkling tinsel in gold and silver, catching the light from the overhead fluorescent bulbs and making the whole room shimmer.

Long rows of tables are now covered in bright red and green cloths, each one bordered with tinsel and a wreath hanging off the front. Paper snowflakes some of the students made dangle from the walls, swirling like an indoor blizzard.

Around the room, there are signs that read things like “Merry Christmas!” and “Season’s Greetings!” in big, bold letters and decorated with holly.

Even the basketball hoops are dressed up, with thick, red ribbons tied in bows around the rims, and a few oversized ornaments dangling from the netting. 

Everywhere you look, there’s something to bring a smile to your face— and yet that’s the one thing you can’t do. 

“Well, hello there,” you don’t tense when you hear the masculine voice. 

It doesn’t have that deep drawl Negan’s does. Nor does it make you want to shiver and purr at the same time.

“Hi, Joey” You don’t even glance at him as you say it, your eyes fixed on the twinkling lights that are tangled up in tinsel, casting a soft glow across the sports hall. 

“The place looks great!” he says, his voice a little too bright as he walks deeper into the room, clearly trying to make conversation.

“Uh-huh,” you reply, your voice flat and distracted “It’s basically done now. Just have to run home after school to grab the drinks, and it’ll be ready”.

You don’t want to engage much more than that. The last thing you need right now is small talk or having to deal with anyone else. 

“And the food?” Joey presses, his tone a little too chipper.

You force a tight-lipped smile, your jaw set as you turn toward him briefly. “Can you let Negan know that’s his shit to sort?” you ask, trying to keep your voice neutral, though it comes out cold.

“Uh—sure! Yeah!” Joey nods quickly, probably sensing the shift in your mood but not wanting to push it. 

Without waiting for another word, you head toward the door, not bothering to look back. The last thing you want is to stick around the hall in case Negan shows up unexpectedly. 

You can feel the tension already creeping up your spine at the mere thought of seeing him, of dealing with whatever’s going on between you two.

So, you leave, eager to put some distance between yourself and the mess you’re caught up in.

The school day drags, yet somehow, it feels like it’s slipping away too fast. The hours blur together— teaching feels more like a flurry of words and half-attention from your students as they count down the minutes to the end of the day.

You try to keep them engaged but it’s obvious they’re all just as eager for the holidays as you are. 

The morning feels slow, like every minute stretches just a little too long. You try to get through your classes but every time the clock ticks, your mind drifts back to the party— back to everything that’s been weighing on you. 

By the time you hit the afternoon, you’re caught in this weird mix of excitement and dread. Each class passes, each bell that rings to signal the end of a period feels like a countdown to something you’d rather not face.

The students, for their part, are bouncing off the walls. They’re eager to get out, to be free from school and homework and whatever else hangs over them. 

You watch them, their chatter almost deafening and you can’t help but feel a sense of urgency in the air. It’s almost like the whole school is vibrating with the countdown and the seconds feel like they’re slipping through your fingers.

The lessons go by in a haze—you’re teaching, but you’re not fully there. You’re running through the motions, reciting your notes and trying to keep your class on track but you know that the closer you get to the end of the day, the closer you get to the party, to seeing Negan again, to dealing with whatever awkwardness looms between you two.

Finally, the last bell rings, the sound cutting through your thoughts like a knife. You breathe out a little too heavily, a mix of relief and frustration swirling inside you. 

It’s over.

The school day’s done. 

The holiday break is here and the party is just around the corner. You grab your things quickly, eager to get out of the classroom but the thought of facing the party, of facing him, slows your steps.

You want a moment of quiet before everything kicks off but you can only have such a luxury when you get home to quickly dress into something a little nicer and bring all the alcohol back here to the sports hall. 

The noise in the hallways is deafening, students filing out, chatting excitedly about the break. Your thoughts, though, are already on the evening ahead. 

You rush home, the quiet of your place a welcome relief after the chaos of the day. You head straight to your room, pulling off your teaching clothes and slipping into something nicer for the party—nothing too fancy, but enough to feel put-together. 

A soft sweater and dark jeans, something comfortable but still festive. You grab the bottles you’ve set aside for the party, having to make multiple trips to your car before they're all loaded.

A quick glance in the mirror tells you that you’re ready but the knot in your stomach tells you the opposite. You grab your keys and head out the door, locking it behind you before making your way back to the school. 

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

It’s almost half six when the first few people trickle in and you’re glad to see their faces. 

For the past forty minutes, it’s just been you, Joey and Negan in the hall, stealing plates and cups from the home ec room and putting all the drink on display. And in that forty… long… minutes, you and Negan exchanged a total of seven words.

“Where’s the tequila?” he basically huffed at you.

“Still in my car” you retorted, giving him the same energy.

You got a grunt in response and he yelled at Joey to go out and grab it as Negan left to get more plates.

But now the sports hall is buzzing with that awkward in-between energy—everyone’s showing up but the party hasn’t fully kicked off yet. There’s a nice hum of conversation, teachers hesitantly reaching for liquor and some commenting on the decorations.

Every time you cross paths with Negan, you veer the other way. It’s like there’s an invisible wall between you two, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. 

You’re doing your best to keep yourself busy— lining up glasses, making sure the food table’s stocked thanks to the newest light in Negan’s life, Sherry (you swear you’re not jealous)—but it’s hard to ignore the tension, the way Negan moves around you, not quite looking at you but not completely avoiding you either.

In one corner of the hall, you see Aaron head towards the large speaker that sits silently waiting.

After a few seconds of fumbling with the speaker, the opening chords of ‘Last Christmas’ filled the room, too loud at first, making everyone glance at each other nervously, unsure if they were meant to sing along, dance, or just pretend it wasn’t happening.

Some teachers head over to the food. Thankfully, you haven’t run into Sherry yet, nor is that something you wish to do. But to give credit where credit is due, the food smells delicious and it’s not as plain as the food usually served at the cafeteria. 

Fingers quickly grab skewers of chicken satay or tiny puff pastries as the music loops on, providing a kind of strange comfort. 

"I swear," Morgan says as he fills his plate, laughing awkwardly as he nudges a colleague "I only came for the pigs in blankets".

Everyone chuckles the first real laugh of the evening and suddenly the awkwardness seems to melt away, if only a little. Yet it’s enough to kick off the night.

As the evening stretches on, the awkwardness begins to fade into something more familiar, a sort of communal ease that only happens when you’ve spent enough time around people you mostly like, but don’t quite know how to relax with. 

You stand back and watch, nursing your drink. 

A few teachers have found their rhythm, wandering between the buffet table and the cozy clusters of conversation, laughing a little too loudly and talking shop just enough to remind themselves they’re not too far from the classroom.

Jesus walks up to you and a few others, gesturing towards one of the empty corners. “Where’s the tree I gave you guys?” he asks curiously, no annoyance in his tone.

Taking a deep breath, you struggle for an answer “We uh, ran out of time to put it up”. 

Jesus gives a quick laugh and a nod, taking your answer for what it is. “And you still have the extra baubles I donated too?” he clarifies, taking a sip of his drink.

You nod and hesitantly explain “Yeah, the tree and baubles are uh… they’re under the bleachers. We didn’t have the space in the storage room”.

Looking around at the other teachers listening, Jesus smiles “Well then, who’s game for putting up a tree?”. 

Before you have time to process that, there’s a burst of energy. 

Jesus and Morgan help bring out the tree. Tara takes the box of baubles, standing with her hands on her hips as she looks down at the box. 

Aaron, ever the optimist, picked up a string of lights and began untangling them with the patience of a saint.

You stand there with a surprised look plastered on your face. Even the people who aren’t helping, stand by and watch. Michonne snaps a few pictures before typing on her phone, no doubt sending it to her husband or Carl. 

Jesus, who has already taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, grabs the tree stand. 

“The tree’s the easy part,” he tells the crowd “the real challenge is making it look intentional when you know it’s probably just going to be… well, a mess”.

Eugene, who has been quietly inspecting the box of ornaments with Tara, looks up at the group. 

“I must admit, I find the idea of a decorated tree somewhat... quaint. But I’ll go along with the sentiment if it makes the rest of you happy,” Eugene says, picking up a candy cane ornament “Plus, I believe we can all agree—Christmas lights are critical”.

Aaron chuckles “Of course you’d have a whole theory about the importance of lights”.

With Eugene’s help, the tree is quickly set up and anchored in its stand, though it wobbles slightly, as if unsure of its purpose. 

“No, no, no, it’s leaning to the left!” Gregory tries to direct them. As you all listen to Gregory and Sasha bicker whether the tilt gives the tree character, you notice a figure lurk closer to you.

Out the corner of your eye, you see Negan. His every movement seems charged, as if he’s on the edge of saying something but never does. And you? You’re not sure what to say either. 

So instead, you both continue this dance, each of you pretending that the other isn’t right there, just a few feet away, caught in the kind of silence that screams everything without a single word being spoken.

“And where’s the tinsel?” Rosita rummages through the box of ornaments. 

“I think there’s some old tinsel in the storage room,” you call out, wanting an excuse to get away from him “I’ll go get it!”.

Negan lowers his head, watching through his lashes as you hurry off to the storage room. He suppresses a sigh, wondering if it’s really that hard for you to be around him.

Do you seriously prefer the cramped, shitty old storage room compared to him? 

This should have been fun. You two should be celebrating! Fuckin’ finally! You’ve made it and now the others are having the time of their life by willingly doing a team building exercise! 

Right now, you should both be teaming up to haggle Michonne for a raise, not barely looking at one another.

And yet Negan can’t do it. He can’t find the words to say this to you. And so he stays in his spot and listens to the others make the task of decorating a Christmas tree seem impossible.

Ten minutes pass. 

Still nothing. No you. No shitty tinsel. Just a whole lot of avoiding. 

Negan can’t believe this. You’d rather hang out in the storage room? Or quietly slip out early? All that hurt and tip toeing around each other starts to bubble in Negan, slowly reaching it’s boiling point.

With a sharp turn, he makes his way through the crowd and towards the storage room. He figures he’ll check in there first and then check the parking lot to see if your car is still here. 

His hand comes straight out as he opens the door with enough vigor to make it fly open. Not that he’s thinking about the door when he sees you, just standing there.

“Are you really gonna hide on me?” He starts, boots slamming against the messy floor as he leaves the doorway and walks deeper into the room, closer to you.

For a split second, you freeze. But as you see your opportunity for escape closing, you rush forward. 

You don’t pay any attention to his question, trying to get past him as you blurt “Wait! Stop! Don’t let the door—”.

But before either of you can reach it, the door slams shut with a resounding thud, cementing back into its frame. Negan’s anger falters when he realizes what just happened.

He doesn’t know how many times he warned you about the old storage room door being hard to open from the inside, yet here you are— and now him, victim to the heavy door.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me…” His voice drops to a low, venomous growl as he steps back to the door. He tries to yank it open once, twice, thrice! And yet it stays in place.

With the click of his tongue, Negan looks to you “You seriously got yourself locked in here?”.

You don’t appreciate the mocking tone and so you bite back “Yeah and now you have too!”.

With a sigh, Negan leans up against some of the boxes. His anger is gone and now he’s just unsure what to say to you

You step up and try the door again. You yank the handle again, twisting it violently but the door stays still. 

“Dammit!” You mutter under your breath, before you get a new idea and begin banging on the door. 

“Hey! Hello? We’re in here! Help!” you shout, your voice rising with each strike. 

Unfortunately it’s still not enough compared to the loud thumping of bass and jingle bells from the Christmas music blaring in the adjoining room.

Negan watches you with a mixture of bemusement and annoyance. He chuckles lowly, folding his arms across his chest.

“Well, that’s one hell of a performance,” he comments with a grin, the sarcasm dripping off his words. Stopping for a moment, you throw him a glare before continuing again.

“You’re bangin’ on beat with that Christmas nonsense. Hell, they won’t hear you over the jingle bells and whatever crap is playing” he points out, taking no notice of your glare.

You stop, staring at him with an annoyed look “I don’t need your commentary right now, Negan”.

He shrugs, uncaring “Just callin’ it like I see it. Looks like you’re stuck with me. Again”.

Ignoring his comments, you listen to the party outside. Laughter. Chatter too loud that it drowns out your shouts for help. The occasional cheering as they continue to decorate the tree. 

“Sounds like they’re having fun” you grumble.

Negan waits a moment before replying, his tone losing his sarcasm “So should we”.

There’s a tightness when he says that— but not the good kind. You’ve always been one to blurt things out, Negan should know that better than anyone. 

Although hearing you quietly mutter “Yeah, I’m sure you and Sherry should be having the time of your lives”, throws Negan’s head in a tailspin. 

“What? Sherry?” The edge is back in his voice as he asks, making you go quiet again. 

You shrug in response.

He narrows his eyes as you stay silent. When you don’t say a word, Negan shakes his head “Fuck, I thought we were gettin’ somewhere, and now? Now this shit?”.

Negan takes a breath before deciding to start small. “Why’re you bringing up Sherry?” he lets the question hang in the air.

Eyes flickering to the ground, your voice feels tight as you reply “I… I saw you with Sherry, arriving to work with her, and—”. You stop yourself, biting back the words. 

It doesn’t matter that you stopped anyways as Negan interjects with a slightly sarcastic laugh “You thought I’d what? Sleep with her?”.

He steps closer, trying to get you to look at him.

“Doll, she just wanted to cash in that I-owe-you,” he says before deciding you’ll need more of an explanation “she wanted to buy her boyfriend a motorbike for Christmas but she knows fuck all about bikes… I, however, have had my fair share so I went with her to get give her my expert opinion. Nothing more. I just spent the morning looking at shitty second hand bikes”.

You nod, eyes still down as you process his answer. But now it’s Negan’s turn to get some answers.

“You really think I’d kiss you, then go and sleep with someone else right after?” his voice is firm but tinged with hurt “Is that how little you think of me?”.

That makes you look up, eyes wide before they soften with regret “No! I don’t— It’s just, you didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to think. You didn’t tell me anything about her or what you were doing”.

You hesitate, realizing how much you’ve misinterpreted “I should’ve talked to you first. I’m sorry, I just… I didn’t want to make a fool of myself”.

A few hollers can be heard in the sports hall as Negan pauses, letting out a slow exhale.

“You don’t have to apologize for giving a damn. I get it, though, how that would’ve looked,” he runs a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself “I mean, Sherry and I, that was a one time thing that neither of us want a round two of”.

You nibble on your bottom lip, unsure whether you’ll like the answer to your next question but needing to ask nonetheless. “So… what did happen? Back then, between you and Sherry?”.

His posture shifts slight as if he’s physically as well as mentally letting down his guard. 

“Sherry and her man were on a break, she wanted a distraction…” he trails off, letting you fill in the details “and then when they got back together, she had to really prove to the guy that she wasn’t interested in me anymore so she went from thinking I was good enough to fuck, to straight out hating me”.

“Huh… I kinda presumed you just cut contact with a lot of them after the deed is done” you reply, not expecting to hear that Sherry hated Negan anyways, whether or not he ghosted her.

“Oh I do sometimes, other times it just fizzles or it’s decided beforehand that it’s just a one night kinda thing” he explains “We both get something out of it”.

“A two way system” You call it.

Negan tilts his head as he thinks, “‘I wouldn’t exactly call it that. It’s just… mutual benefits.

A faint smirk ghosts his face “A two way system is you arguing with me, me arguing with you, you taking me on a date, me taking you on a date, me flirting with you, you flirting with me”.

You can’t help the smile at that, rolling your eyes teasingly, any annoyance you had for Negan melting away.

He continues, poking his tongue out of his mouth “Me kissing you.. you shoving your tongue down my throat”.

“I did not do it like that!!” You exclaim with a laugh.

He chuckles, his own annoyance gone now too. “You’re right, you’re right,” he concedes before thinking up a better way of saying it “you… oh so subtly slipping that dainty tongue of yours into my mouth all sexy like”.

“I didn’t use tongue!” You declare, throwing your hands up before the playfulness fades into a somber silence.

“I am sorry,” you reiterate ”I guess I should’ve trusted you more. I should’ve asked, instead of assuming.”

He gives you a look you can only describe as tender. 

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly the talking-about-feelings kinda guy and I kinda thought you didn’t want anything to do with me anymore,” he tells you, his voice a gentle hum “But if you’re asking— I want this. I want you. No more games, no more misunderstandings. Just… us. Alright?”.

A small, relieved smile tugs at the corners of your lips, tension easing. “I think that would be nice” you agree, trying to drown out the loud Christmas music during your intimate moment.

There’s a quiet between you both, no more words needing to be exchanged. Negan begins to move again but instead of heading towards the door, he briefly disappears to the back of the storage room.

“Negan?” You call out.

He strolls over to one of the old boxes and starts to look through it. The musty smell of forgotten storage fills the air as he pulls out a dusty, crinkled piece of tinsel, its once-silver strands now dulled and faded with time.

“If we’re all good now…” he says as he stops and reaches down into the box “y’know what we gotta seal it with, right?”.

His mouth twitches with a hint of amusement and as he steps back toward you, dangling that goddamn piece of old mistletoe in front of you. 

His expression is half-mocking, half-playful, as if he’s trying to make light of getting stuck in here. 

You look at the mistletoe and then back up at him. “Well, it is tradition…” you tilt your head up, expecting to see that cocky expression of his but instead it gives way to something more sincere.

Before you can say anything, he’s lifting the mistletoe above your heads, positioning it just right. 

Not being one to waste time, Negan presses his lips to yours, the kiss soft at first, just a light brush but as if giving into the moment, you deepen it. 

His lips are warm and steady against yours. The taste of him lingers as it becomes more heated. Negan drops the mistletoe, both of you each other instinctively pulling closer.

His lips press more urgently against yours, like he's unable to hold back anymore. His hand slides from your waist to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, pulling you into him with a force that makes you gasp into his mouth.

That gasp seems to push him further, the heat between you intensifying. His tongue sweeps against yours in a coaxing manner. Backing away, you pull him with you until your back is flush against another stack of boxes. 

There's nothing tentative about this anymore; it's a powerful, consuming kiss, raw with hunger and desire.

Negan’s hands slide under your festive sweater, skin on skin. The contact sends a shiver down your spine, heightening every sensation. Your fingers clutch at his shirt, needing more of him, more of this. 

His body presses against you, hips aligning with yours, and the pressure builds as you feel the weight of him against you. His breathing becomes heavier, his chest rising and falling in sync with the erratic make out session.

The words around you fall on deaf ears, neither you or Negan paying attention to the Christmas music or the mumbling of Gregory outside saying “It’s in here, you say? Oh Christ!”.

Suddenly the music is clearer and another light source shines across your face. “Mm?” You question, although it’s hard to get the words out with Negan’s lips still on yours.

Pulling away, you see a look of shock and disgust on Gregory’s face.

He clears his throat, trying and failing to regain some semblance of control. “This… this is—uh—what is happening here?” his words came out in a disjointed jumble, bringing the other’s attention to the storage room.

“They’re together?!” you hear Rosita’s voice.

“You didn’t know about them?” the voice of Michonne reaches your ears “Carl told me they were a couple ages ago!”.

Suddenly you realize you’re like a deer in headlights, just frozen and watching. That is until Negan takes you hand in his and yanks you out of the storage room while the door is still open.

You follow his lead, letting him bring you out to the middle of the sports hall until he turns to face you again. His hands find their home on your back and he begins to sway to the slow Christmas song.

“Are we… dancing right now?” You question, clasping your hands around the back of his neck. 

The others stare for a few moments before carrying on with whatever it is they were doing beforehand. Some drink, some stuff their faces and chat, while others grab a partner and dance too.

Negan doesn’t answer with words, instead giving you a little spin before finding you back in his arms.

“So… you still spending Christmas alone?” Negan says it casually, though there’s a subtle trace of concern in his tone.

You inhale before replying, shifting slightly in his arms “Yeah”.

“You sure about that?” He leans in a little closer, his face now just inches from yours, as though trying to read between the lines. 

There’s a small, almost imperceptible shake of your head, showing you’ve already made peace with the decision as you sigh “I think it’s for the best I don’t change plans now and go spend it with my family”.

“Yeah, sweetheart, I was kinda trying to crash your plans, not suggest you skedaddle out of town” Negan’s grin widens, and he gives you a playful nudge

“What?”.

His smile deepens as he watches your reaction, fully aware of how bold he’s being. “Well, you’re spending Christmas alone, I’m spending Christmas alone,” he explains “we get on like a house on fire, you’re hot, I’m hot”.

“Negan!” you exclaim, a mix of embarrassment and amusement flooding your chest.

“I’ll bring the mistletoe” the offer hangs in the air, and you can feel the moment shifting, building toward something neither of you is fully ready to name, but both are undeniably feeling.

“… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you were there too” you slowly admit “but you have to bring me a present!”. 

Negan chuckles, keeping his hands on the small of your back as he looks up and pretends to think. “Hm… I might be able to do that” he says. 

He tries to act as though he’s debating the condition, as if he hasn’t already bought you things.

A cinnamon candle.

A pumpkin statue to match his own.

A winter coat that will actually keep you warm (that may have some leather accents so you’ll match his own jacket).

Some snacks he’s been picking up whenever he’s out.

And a list he’s made himself of the corniness Christmas movies he could find on the many streaming services that are around.

“Maybe I could do with that mistletoe now,” you tease, showing off your actual flirting skills.

Negan smirks down at you, one of his hands trailing up your back as you both sway to the music.

“Darlin’ I think we are way past mistletoe now,” he quips back before he leans down.

Despite being in the sports hall that made you and Negan go at each other’s throats. Despite being surrounded by your colleagues …

You kiss him.

[sorry-moots]

Clever… Boy?

pairing: tsukishima kei x gn!reader tags: reader insert, characters are adults, fluff, no pronouns used, no use of y/n, reader likes jurassic park cw(s): none

so just pretend with me for a second that you work at a boba shop right next to your college campus, yk the kind that sells boba tea and then random little desserts and pastries

you’re doin your thang when this giant blond saunters in with the most displeased, unimpressed visage a human could possibly muster

but he’s wearing a jurassic park t-shirt which has you perked up in an instant

“Hey, nice shirt! I like Jurassic Park, too,” you greet him, showing off your own merch.

The blank look doesn’t leave his face. “That’s not from Jurassic Park, it’s from the Jurassic World trilogy. Those movies were just a money grab.”

Surprised he noticed, you let out a nervous laugh. “No, literally, have you seen Jurassic World Dominion? Half the movie is cameras panning between some unfortunate reptile and Chris Pratt making aggressive eye contact with it. I just bought the merch because it was cute…” you trail off.

Had you been focused on his face, you would have seen the way his lip quirked up at you. “A velociraptor’s a velociraptor, I guess.”

“Yeah!” you agree, lighting up. “Anyway, what can I get you?”

he visits the shop every monday, wednesday, and friday between classes. these are the days that yamaguchi has tutoring but this is a total coincidence. totally not a decision made to avoid sharing your time and attention with another man.

on mondays and wednesdays, he orders earl grey boba milk tea, but on fridays he asks if you have strawberry shortcake (the answer is always no)

“Why doesn’t a shop like this have strawberry shortcake?” he scoffs. “You have vanilla, chocolate, coffee, red velvet, you even have tres leches.”

“Would you, perchance, like to order vanilla, chocolate, coffee, red velvet, or tres leches?” you asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“This is a serious failing as a business to cater to the demands of its clientele.”

“Want me to tell the boss?”

“Just give me the vanilla cake and the usual.”

once he’s become an official Regular™ and you’re trusted with the display case, you abuse your power. for good obviously.

As he walks in, your eyes are trained on his face and you can actually see the excitement shine in his eyes for all of three seconds before he scowls at you.

“Did you really print out a picture of a strawberry shortcake and tape it inside of the display case? How much time did you waste photoshopping that? Isn’t this a health code violation?”

“Aww, I can’t believe you figured it out so quick!” You expected him to see through it at some point, but not instantly. “I guess you really are a clever… boy?”

“Don’t ever say that again.”

“Clever guy? Clever dude?”

“I’m giving you one star on Yelp and mentioning you by name.”

“WAIT NO MY BOSS READS THOSE”

a/n: please shoot me if someone has already done this

[corallapis]

‘wait, it’s all the master?’ ‘always has been’: or, So Why Do People Think the War Chief & the Master Are the Same Character, Anyway?

hello, it is i, sebastien, resident master=war chief truther. as you can imagine, i’m currently having the time of my life enjoying one of the few bright gems from the mess that was the war games in colour. i mean, of course, the master’s themes (yes, themes with an ‘s’) playing over the war chief, giving a very unsubtle nod to the wide-held belief that the two characters are one and the same.

but why, perhaps you’ve wondered, do people think that? is it just that some master-obsessed fans see a time lord villain and can’t stretch their imaginations enough to conceive of there being more than one bad guy who’s run away from gallifrey and made an enemy of the doctor? no. come on, give us some credit! i freely admit to being master-obsessed, and find the vibes very compelling, what i truly like to deal in is Cold Hard Lore, straight from the text. and, boy is there a lot of it! to summarize:

the war chief was introduced in the war games, written by malcolm hulke and terrance dicks. (dicks, of course, was also co-creator of the master, with barry letts). based on the novelizations, i firmly believe that malcom hulke intended his character, the war chief, to be the master. dicks also hinted along these same lines.

but, i hear you cry, didn’t dicks go on to write timewyrm: exodus, which shows us a future incarnation of the war chief that isn’t the master? yes, because the official editioral line for the vmas & vnas was that the war chief & the master were to be treated as two distinct characters. this caused more than one writer who personally believed them to be the same to write otherwise in a professional capacity. writers still dropped hints or left space open to link the two despite this editorial limitation.

and what about magnus, the guy who’s well-known in current fandom as the “academy era” version of the war chief? magnus was originally written as a younger incarnation of the master, not the war chief. in flashback, goth opera, and invasion of the cat-people, the character of magnus is a young master. so why did gary russell retcon the character in divided loyalties to be the war chief instead? he did so out of respect for david mcintee, who had recently written an early master story which used the koschei. despite divided loyalties’ portrayal of magnus and koschei as separate characters, it actually in large part serves to conflate the two further, due to said retconning.

in faction paradox lore, the war king is a version of the master (i don’t need to make a post on that, do i?) that was also once the war chief.

craig hinton’s rejected pda time’s champion (ultimately completed & published after his death, by chris mckeon) explicitly depicts the war chief as an incarnation of the master, as well as reasserting that magnus was the name the master used at the academy.

and now also the music choices in the war games in colour :)

of course, this list of Evidence (elucidated in detail below the cut) doesn’t mean you’re obligated to think the war chief is the master (canon, in doctor who more than most, is what you make of it), but i hope it gives you idea of the long history of the character(s) and why other people do!

the ‘70s target novelizations

the essential thing to know about the early target novelizations is that they were written to be self-contained, so that they could be enjoyed by an audience that hadn't seen the show. they weren’t written in the same order as the television serials, and as such only assumed reader knowledge of previous novelizations, not tv stories. for example, in doctor who and the doomsday weapon (aka colony in space) jo grant is shown joining unit and meeting the doctor for the first time, despite having done so three stories earlier and in completely different circumstances from a tv perspective, because that is the first novelization her character appears in. got it? good.

doctor who and the doomsday weapon (aka colony in space) is also the first novelization to feature the master, and was written by malcolm hulke in 1974. it begins with a scene that doesn’t occur in the tv story, where a senile old time lord tells his apprentice about the theft of two tardises by a pair of time lords now calling themselves the doctor & the master:

“There have been two stolen, you know.” The younger Time Lord didn’t know. “By our enemies?” he asked. “No. By Time Lords. They both became bored with this place. It was too peaceful for them, not enough happening.” The old Keeper smiled to himself, as though remembering with some glee all the fuss when two TARDISes were stolen. “One of them nowadays calls himself ‘the Doctor.’ The other says he is ‘the Master.’”

this ‘only two tardises stolen’ business is a big deal in hulke’s novelizations, as we will come to see. and, just to clarify, there's no question of this meaning the master might be being conflated with the monk here — the time meddler won't be novelized until 1988. remember, the novelizations are self-contained, and do not rely on knowledge of previous tv stories. except the older time lord continues, and a little further on says:

“There were tens of thousands of humans from the planet Earth, stranded on another planet where they thought they were re-fighting all the wars of Earth’s terrible history. The Doctor” — he interrupted himself — “I told you about him, didn’t I?” “Yes,” said the young Time Lord, now used to the old Keeper forgetting what he had already said. “You mentioned the Doctor and the Master.” “No, it wasn’t the Master,” said the old Keeper in his confused way. “The Master never does anything good for anyone. He’s thoroughly evil. Now what was I saying?”

‘wait,’ you say, ‘you just made a whole point of the novelizations being self-contained. but the war games wasn't novelized until 1979, so readers wouldn't know about it yet. why is hulke bringing it up now?’ why indeed? hulke summarizes the events and specifically brings them up in relation to the doctor & the master. the facts are presented to us: a) there were only two tardises stolen, by the doctor and the master. b) they went by different names at some point. c) this seems to have something to do with the war games. d) it maybe wasn’t exactly the master in the war games (but perhaps he was calling himself something else then?). it is quite ambiguous — the keeper's confusion leaves it open to interpretation, but the fact that this whole little scene serves as an introduction to the master (he steals the keeper's files in order to discover the doomsday weapon) is, in my mind, quite an extraordinary hint, especially when paired with hulke's novelization of the war games.

later that same year, in doctor who and the sea-devils, hulke again brings up the two stolen tardises, which we will get back to:

“But what use is your TARDIS to you while you’re stuck in here?” Jo asked. “It would be difficult for you to understand,” said the Master, “but my TARDIS is my proudest possession.” The Doctor laughed. “You don’t even own it! You stole it from the Time Lords!” “As you stole yours!” retorted the Master.

terrance dicks then wrote doctor who and the terror of the autons in 1975. additional info is added to the scene between the doctor and the time lord who comes to warn him about the master’s arrival on earth:

“As a matter of fact, I’ve come to bring you a warning. An old friend of yours has arrived on Earth.” “One of our people? Who is it?” The Time Lord pronounced a string of mellifluous syllables — one of the strange Time Lord names that are never disclosed to outsiders. Then he added, “These days he calls himself the Master.”

he uses the master’s gallifreyan name first and then provides his title. again, this suggests that the last time the doctor & the master met the latter was using a different name.

then, we’re given a description of the master, including:

Already he had been behind several Interplanetary Wars, always disappearing from the scene before he could be caught. If ever he were caught, his fate would be far worse than the Doctor’s exile. Once captured by the Time Lords, the Master’s life-stream would be thrown into reverse. Not only would he no longer exist, he would never have existed. It was the severest punishment in the Time Lords’ power.

which brings to mind the war games, certainly intended to be an interplanetary war (with the eventual aim of ruling the galaxy) even if it never really got off the ground. more significantly, though, the punishment described here is exactly what the time lords did to the war lord in the war games & what they would have done to the war chief, if he hadn’t escaped. (note even stories that don't posit the war chief as the master assume he escaped, despite his onscreen death — he is a time lord, after all.) and, speaking of that escape, the doctor asks:

“Is his TARDIS still working?” “I’m afraid so. He got away before it could be de-energised.” “Then he was luckier than I,” said the Doctor sadly. He had never really got used to his exile.

the master’s escape described here could, of course, mean some general, unseen-by-us escape from the time lords by the master, but the conversation strongly suggests that the doctor and the master were escaping from the same event: the master was ‘luckier’ than the doctor because he succeeded, while the doctor’s tardis was captured and he was forced into exile. and that happened, of course, in the war games.

which in 1979, malcolm hulke wrote the novelization for. in doctor who and the war games, a change occurs when the war chief invites the doctor to rule with him:

“Now I understand,” said the Doctor. “It’s my TARDIS that you want. But surely you have one of your own?” The War Chief smiled. “No more mine than yours is really yours! We are both thieves, Doctor. Yes, I do have a TARDIS hidden away. But are not two better than one? While I rest and enjoy the spoils of victory, you can patrol our empire. And I shall do the same for you.” “Our empire?” “We shall rule the galaxy without fear of opposition,’ the War Chief said confidently. “For we shall be the only two who can travel through both space and time.”

this invitation is, of course, very reminiscent of the master’s ‘half-share in the universe’ proposal, but much more significantly: their empire will be secure because they have the sole two stolen tardises. crucially, this is a deviation from the tv story, wherein the doctor realizes the war chief is allying with him because he doesn’t have a tardis of his own, only the failing sardits. hulke intentionally chose to amend his own story to emphasize this, and we know these two stolen tardises are the doctor's & the master's, as hulke told us in previous novelizations. thus, there's no doubt in my mind that malcolm hulke, co-creator of the war chief, intended his character to be the master.

all other master=war chief lore is building off of what was implied in the novelizations, some more explicitly, some less.

virgin books says no

in 1991, terrance dicks wrote a vna, timewyrm: exodus. in this novel, the war chief appears as a botched two-bodied regeneration after his death at the end of the war games, called dr. kriegslieter. as said in the beginning of this post, virgin’s editorial policy nixed the idea of a connection between the war chief and the master. but, reading timewyrm: exodus, there seem to be shades of him anyway. like when the doctor realizes who kriegslieter is:

And behind them, aiding them, manipulating them, giving them the time technology they needed, the Time Lord renegade who called himself the War Chief. Or, in German, der kriegslieter. “Well, he couldn’t have spelled it out for me much more plainly,” muttered the Doctor.

he really couldn't have. just like all the times the master’s alias has been an exceedingly obvious translation of his own name. and then there's also kriegslieter’s plan, which is to steal the doctor's body to use as his own (complete with sexual innuendo):

“Once I have wrested from it the secret of the TARDIS, your mind will be of no further interest to me. But your body…” “Please,” said the Doctor, looking embarrassed. “Ladies present.” “We are both Time Lords, Doctor, our brains and our bodies are compatible. Regeneration therapy is far beyond the War Lord’s scientists, but even they can manage a simple brain transplant.” Kriegslieter studied the Doctor with detached, clinical interest. “To be honest, it isn’t the body I would have chosen but it’s infinitely superior to the one I have. When all this is over Doctor, I shall be you — and you, or whatever shattered gibbering remnant of you is left, will be me. Appropriate, don’t you think? A crippled mind in a crippled body…”

this was, of course, the master’s plan in the keeper of traken (and many others since). in addition ‘we are both time lords’ is a direct echo of both the war chief in the war games and delgado in the mind of evil, the claws of axos, and colony in space.

kriegslieter also calls seven ‘my dear doctor’ throughout, which is not a quirk of speech that the war chief has been ever shown to have. i can't claim it's unique to the master, but i think there's a certain history there. (did you know ainley says it five times in one 50 min long serial?)

similar can be said about the dark path, written by david mcintee in 1997, which explores a villain origin story for the master. though early drafts of the novel mentioned the war chief as a separate character, this was cut before publication (and can be found instead in the charity anthology perfect timing). on mcintee’s tumblr, he indicated that he left the ending ambiguous in order to facilitate other incarnations between the koschei of the novel and delgado’s appearance on-screen, specifically citing edward brayshaw (the actor who portrayed the war chief) as an example. mcintee also posited, in the tags of a gifset of the war chief: ‘#depending on your point of view #the master #or not #does it matter?’ and on another, cryptically, ‘#oh if only i could tell you-’

i think it matters in some sense, or else i’d probably not be writing this post! but again, it goes to show that writers during the virgin era were aware of the connection between the two characters, whether their views on the subject aligned with the editorial line or not.

magnus, as the master

as said before, the character of magnus was introduced in the comic flashback, which appeared in the doctor who magazine winter special for 1992, edited by gary russell & written by warwick gray. it depicts seven and benny viewing a scene from the doctor’s past, where two old friends, thete and magnus, are at odds.

BENNY: Pistols at ten paces, anyone? DOCTOR: Yes… ‘Thete’ and ‘Magnus’. Funny how old nicknames can stick. They were good friends once. A long time ago.

magnus was, at the time of this comic's creation, meant to be the master. there is no connection to the war chief in this story. which is why when goth opera, written by paul cornell, is published in 1994, magnus is the name used for the young master when listing out the doctor's school friends:

“That was when I was young and wild, Doctor. My contemporaries and I grew up to take our responsibilities seriously.” “Ah…” The Doctor nodded. “Unlike my year. I begin to see.” “Yes.” Ruath warmed to her subject, sipping from the goblet. Her eyes never left the Doctor’s. “Mortimus, the Rani, that idiot Magnus. And you, Doctor. All graduates of Borusa’s Academy for scoundrels.”

and, in 1995, when gary russell wrote invasion of the cat-people, he again used magnus as a name for the young master, referencing the master running out of lives far more quickly than the doctor by the time of the deadly assassin:

Polly smiled. “I’m glad you’re completely recovered, Doctor. You had us worried, you know.” “Regeneration’s a tricky thing,” he said. “And it was my first one. Always the trickiest. They’re supposed to get better as they go on, so long as you don’t flitter them. Always used to say to my academy chum Magnus, ‘Magnus,’ I’d say, ‘Magnus, don’t throw old bodies away like you would a suit. They don’t grow on trees.’ Or something like that. Never listened though.”

then, when gary russell wrote divided loyalties in 1999, he followed mcintee’s lead in using koschei as the name for a younger master, and instead retconned magnus as a younger war chief, showing the two of them interacting during the doctor’s academy days. for someone who doesn’t think the war chief and the master are the same (and russell doesn’t), this was a strange move… surely naming the young war chief character quite literally anything else would’ve neatly severed the two, but using a name already established as the young master’s just confuses the whole thing and leaves them even more intertwined than before.

(if you’re a fan of the academy era and strongly adhere to the lore in divided loyalties and so this is a particular sticking point for you, remember that all the academy era scenes we see in the novel are actually part of a nightmare the fifth doctor is having — who’s to say he didn’t dream his best friend as two different people? he forgot which one of them killed a guy with a rock, after all…)

the war chief king

in the book of the war, the 2002 faction paradox ‘encyclopedia’ edited by lawrence miles, the entry on the war king (the master, as he was known as president of gallifrey during the war in heaven) states:

His personal assistant notes that his office is brimming with official business, but devoid of decoration. The only concession he makes to sentimentality are the components of a hypercube, twelve white squares stacked neatly on his desk. Its significance is unclear, but it’s thought to be the War King’s last remaining link with his unfortunate past.

the very first use of a hypercube was, of course, at the end of the war games, when the second doctor used it to call in the time lords. though an allusion to the war chief was not the author of that entry's original intention, the connection was made in readers’ minds and became an established part of faction paradox lore, becoming even more firmly cemented as other writers ran with it. the war king spells it out himself in the 2021 audio sabbath and the king by aristide twain:

THE WAR KING: I have failed to introduce myself. I am— ah, but as we have just seen: names have power. I do not think I shall grace you with one of my true names, Sabbath, no, not yet. Let’s see. The Deathless? Oh, let us not get ahead of ourselves just yet. Chief and Master, Minister and Magistrate, President and King… I have been many things.

twain again linked the two characters in the 2023 short story the god who came for christmas, a sequel to the 1986 fasa ttrpg adventure the legions of death. fasa portrays the war chief and the master as separate characters, but twain bridges this gap in a particularly masterful way.

time’s champion

and finally we have time’s champion, originally written in the '80s(?) by craig hinton, completed by chris mckeon in 2008 as a charity publication. first, we have mel stumbling upon a corridor of portraits in the tardis:

Her first impression was that the Doctor was at the end of a long, thin corridor. And then she realised what the corridor was. An art gallery, the length hung with paintings, from the doorway to the far distance. As she started padding silently along the corridor, she looked at the paintings, and saw they were all portraits. Portraits painted in a variety of styles, from photo-realistic to impressionist, and everything in between. And she recognised some of the subjects. […] Moving on, Mel had hoped for something a little less depressing, but it wasn’t to be. The atmosphere had changed again: it was still cold, but a sterile light was now bathing the area. Then she realised why: the sterility, the coldness — trademarks of the Time Lords. This must be the Doctor’s own people. Pride of place was given to the Master — or rather the Masters: the familiar, music-hall villain in his velvet penguin suit had been captured in all his melodramatic glory, but there was also a suave, older man, his eyes radiating a fierce, evil intelligence wrapped in charm, next to which was positioned the portrait of a young, satanically handsome man with long, sharp sideburns and a thin, beard-length moustache, whose hand vainly clutched at a strange medallion hanging around his neck, as if clinging to the only power in his possession. And then there was an image of the cadaver, that rotting corpse that Mel knew was all that remained of the Doctor’s oldest friend and oldest enemy, animated by nothing but pure malice and spite.

the description of the ‘satanically handsome man’ is obviously the war chief.

and then, the doctor remembers events from his past:

The night time vanished into the shadows of light, as new images, all familiar, threw themselves past the Doctor’s eyes: his tedious years at the Academy, his rise in the Time Lord hierarchy, his flight from Gallifrey, the early years of his exile, the planet of the War Games and his reunion with the Master, the lost years of imposed servitude to the Time Lords, all his memories and so many more impressed their way across the Doctor’s vision, even up to the moment of the present day. Then, abruptly, the vision ended. The Keeper began to speak again.

his reunion with the master occurs during the war games and precedes his exile (which is when his meeting with delgado’s master occurs).

and magnus is once again used as a name for the young master:

The Doctor and Benton managed to glimpse him as he raced past. He was young, with a curving moustache and a dark, haughty face accustomed to obedience but now shadowed and twisted by fear. He ran onwards without even pausing to acknowledge their presence. He seemed desperate to outrun something. Moments later, a group of well-armed and uniformed men rounded the corridor and also hurried past the Doctor’s party, following the fleeing man in their wake. Steadying himself against the cool stone wall at his side, the Doctor watched the squad pass, recognising them as members of the Chancellery Guard, but clothed in armour and dress from the long departed era of his days in the Academy. The Doctor paused, wondering where he had seen that face before. “Magnus?” the Doctor whispered. Benton stepped over to the Doctor. “Who was that bloke those boys were chasing after, Doc? He looked a bit like the Master.” The Doctor gazed into the distance. “That he did, and for good reason.”

for good reason indeed :)

[messangerforthestars]

I will never recover from the fact they share the same va.

[chloesimaginationthings]

William Afton has top tier FNAF parenting skills

[corsairspade]

Halenthir scenario where they get married for tax benefits (in a platonic good friends sort of way) and fall in love long distance via sending each other letters with ideas on how to best leverage their marriage for tax evasion.

[wikitpowers]

art: @cassandrajean

[somesmartsmarties]

One of the greatest mysteries of the Red Shoes fandom will forever be the enigma of where Arthur’s accent is from 💀

[thedreamingpiscesfangirl42]

BTW! "Morde" isn't an official surname for Zestial, if you look carefully, it's from a roleplay wiki! Which means it's someone else's personal headcanon!

…WHAT 😭 I thought it was his actual surname! Now I feel like a fool 🫠🫠🫠

Thank you for telling me though!! 🩵 now I gotta go through the fics and take out Morde 🫠

[kelpermoosee]

I need to draw Booigi real soon, the lack of them is making me itchy

[adrift-in-thyme]

Dang it I knew I shouldn’t have gone on the shelter website