#image bank haunted

[ded-and-gonne]

Terrifying

An overgrown light pole in Poland

[fictionadventurer]

It's amazing how every chapter in On the Banks of Plum Creek has blatant foreshadowing in the form of either, "It's extremely important that we have a good wheat crop this year," or "Here's how the weather is perfect for grasshoppers," and the grasshopper plague still manages to feel like a completely out-of-the-blue apocalyptic event.

[lorephobic]

not to be tmi but the thing is right like am i ever going to be able to jerk off again normally without thinking about the w92baj wank bank incident or is cranking the hog just ruined forever now

[thethief1996]

I can't stop thinking about the news out of Palestine. Israel is sieging al Shifa hospital. Videos of people's limbs being severed off are haunting (graphic video tw). The hospital has ran out of fuel and 39 babies in incubators are fending for their lives by themselves, because Israel has stationed snipers around the hospital and is shooting all medical crew that walks into their sight.

First, the narrative was Israel would never bomb hospitals. Now, the hospitals are Hamas bases. Then, we respect journalists. Now, we have a fucking kill list of journalists because they are Hamas collaborators. First, we are not letting fuel in until the hostages are released. Now, we are not accepting the hostages back because that would stop our ground invasion and let Hamas win. And I could go on about every single lie they're making up. If you look up "Hamas rape" on google, the first link leads to Times of Israel saying Israel has found no forensic evidence of sexual violence, and only one eyewitness testimony out of 3.5k people attending the rave. If you Google "Hamas beheaded babies" the top links say they have no evidence for the claim besides word of mouth from extremist soldiers. Israeli extremists think about the ugliest goriest scene they can make out in their sick heads, tell that to a international journalist and they run away with it like it's gospel.

And children are being killed in the name of these lies. Thousands are being displaced in images that remind me of the pictures of Tantura 75 years ago, with their hands up so the tanks don't shoot them. Amputees are leaving the hospitals in wheelchairs hours after their surgeries because they are being shot at. Elders who survived the Nakba on 48 are having to walk towards Southern Gaza on foot (imagine walking from one end of your city to the other on foot), displaced again. People are cheering for the haunting images of white phosphorus bombs being dropped over Gaza. Gazan workers who were arrested in the West Bank are being thrust back into the bombings wearing numbered labels.

This is not normal. We are seeing the early stages of the settler colonial genocide of an indigenous population. Native leaders who have visited Gaza say its refugee camps look eerily like reservations. We can stop this. For the first time we are able to see wide scale accounts from the hands of the people suffering the genocide, and Israel is so scared of it they have cut all communications in Gaza.

This is our litmus test. I think we have never seen more clearly, with Palestine, Armenia, Congo and Sudan how colonialism has made our world a rotten place to live in.

The South African apartheid collapsed due to boycotts. We have to do everything in our power to stop Israel's hegemony. Even talking to a group of friends about Palestine changes the status quo. There's no world where we can live peacefully if Israel accomplishes their goals.

Keep yourself updated and share Palestinian voices. Muna El-Kurd said every tweet is like a treasure to them, because their voices are repressed on social media and even on this very app. Make it your action item to share something about the Palestinian plight everyday. Here are some resources:

Al Jazeera, Anadolu Agency, Mondoweiss

Boycott Divest Sanction Movement

Palestinian Youth Movement is organizing protests and direct action against weapons factories across the US

Mohammed El-Kurd (twitter / instagram)

Muhammad Shehada (twitter)

Motaz Azaiza (instagram) - reporting directly from Gaza.

Hind Khudary - reporting directly from Gaza. Her husband and daughter moved South to run from the tanks but she stayed behind to record the genocide. The least we can do is not let her calls fall on deaf ears.

You can participate in boycotts wherever you are in the world, through BDS guidelines. Don't be overwhelmed by gigantic boycott lists. BDS explicitly targets only a few brands which have bigger impact. You can stop consuming from as many brands as you want, though, and by all means feel free to give a 1 star review to McDonalds, Papa John, Pizza Hut, Burger King and Starbucks. Right now, they are focusing on boycotting the following:

Carrefour, HP, Puma, Sabra, Sodastream, Ahava cosmetics, Israeli fruits and vegetables

Push for a cultural boycott - pressure your favorite artist to speak out on Palestine and cancel any upcoming performances on occupied territory (Lorde cancelled her gig in Israel because of this. It works.)

If you can, participate in direct action or donate.

Palestine Action works to shut down Israeli weapons factories in the UK and USA, and have successfully shut down one of their firms in London.Some of the activists are going on trial and are calling for mobilizing on court.

Palestinian Youth Movement is organizing direct actions to stop the shipping of wars to Israel. Follow them.

Educate yourself. Read into Palestinian history and the occupation. You can't common sense people out of decades of propaganda. If your arguments crumble when a zionist brings up the "disengagement of Gaza", you have to learn more.

Read Decolonize Palestine. They have 15 minute reads that concisely explain the occupation (and its colonial roots) and debunk popular myths, including pinkwashing.

Read on Palestine. Here's an amazing masterpost.

Verso Book Club is giving out free books on Palestine (I personally downloaded Ten Myths about Israel by Ilan Pappe. If you still believe in the two states solution, this book by an Israeli professor debunks it).

Call your representatives. The Labour Party in the UK had an emergency meeting after several councilors threatened to resign if they didn't condemn Israeli war crimes. Calling to show your complaints works, even more if you live in a country that funds genocide.

FOR PEOPLE IN THE USA: USCPR has developed this toolkit for calls, here's a document that autosends emails to your representatives and here's a toolkit by Ceasefire in Gaza NOW!

FOR PEOPLE IN EUROPE: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace targeting the European Parliament and one specific for almost all countries in Europe, including Germany, Ireland, Poland, Denmark, Sweden, Netherlands, Greece, Norway, Italy, Portugal, Spain, Finland, Austria, Belgium Romania and Ukraine

FOR PEOPLE IN THE UK: Friends of Al-Aqsa UK and Palestine Solidarity UK have made toolkits for calls and emails

FOR PEOPLE IN AUSTRALIA: Here's a toolkit by Stand With Palestine

FOR PEOPLE IN CANADA: Here's a toolkit by Indepent Jewish Voices for Canada

Join a protest. Here's a constantly updating list of protests:

Global calendar

Another global calendar (go to the instragram of the organizers to confirm your protest)

USA calendar

Australia calendar

Feel free to add more.

[luveline]

omg would die for a concussion fic with remus <33

—your concussion causes moderate memory loss, and you forget some very important details about your relationship with Remus. fem, 1.3k

“This is nice.” 

You toy with the ring on Remus’ finger, turning it around and around and around. With your weight bearing down on his right arm and your hand secured around his left to stop him from moving, there isn’t much he can do besides say, “Yeah?” 

“I love when guys wear rings.” 

“I had a suspicion.” 

You wince as stars flash through your vision, pausing in your toying to press your face into his chest. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

“I can see black and white spots.” 

“Oh, no,” he says sympathetically. “Close them, dovey. Take a breather.” 

The chair under you is uncomfortable, your back aches, your head twinges, but Remus is comfortable to lean again. He’s wearing one of his big hoodies, old enough to feel like brushed cotton under your cheek and against your nose, decals washed away. He steals his hand back to pat your shoulder, an image of patience. 

“Sorry. This isn’t a good second date.” 

Remus leans down to talk near your ear. “Dove,” he whispers, “this isn’t our second date, remember?” 

“It’s not?” 

“No, sweetheart. But that’s okay.” 

“You’re really handsome so I don’t want to mess it up.” 

“Mess what up, the date?” he asks. “You didn’t mess it up, it went very well. It was a year ago, but.” He smiles, his breath warming your face, his arm hot around you and securing you to his chest.

“A year ago?” 

“Yeah, a year ago. We went to winter wonderland and the bookshop by the train station and you wouldn’t let me buy you any books.” He laughs softly. “But I got you one eventually. A couple by now, at least.” 

“That’s nice.” 

“You’ve bought me a hundred more, it’s awful.” 

You raise your head to squint at him. “I have?”

“So many,” he whispers, dipping his chin down to kiss your nose, to your wide-eyed delight. “But you let me look after you in other ways.” 

“Let you?” 

“Yes, let me. It’s part of…” He cups your cheek quickly. “Sickness and health and everything. I have to keep you happy.” 

“Ah.” His ring is warm on your cheek. “Sickness and health, like we’re married.” 

“Something like that.” 

You straighten up as someone behind you coughs aggressively. A little further down a baby cries against a mother’s chest, and the TV plays a quiz show you’re starting to hate. Moving your head has black haunting the sides of your vision again, the light seeping in from the automatic doors too much to handle. 

“I’ve asked Sirius to bring you some sunglasses.” 

You turn around. “Sirius, that’s the one with the motorbike?” 

“Yeah. He should be quick. But maybe they’ll have called you in again by then and we can go home.” 

That’s right. You’ve been seen once by a doctor for triage, and sent back out again when they deemed you only mildly concussed, no bleeding on the brain, but an X-ray ordered for safety's sake anyways. That’s what you’re waiting for. Remus is waiting with you, because he’s a very nice man. 

“Sorry if I’m ruining your Saturday.” 

Remus’ hair falls from behind his ear as he lifts his head properly. “I think you might be having a worse day than me, so I’ll forgive you. I'm joking!” He tucks that stray strand behind his ear unsuccessfully. “You could never ruin my Saturday. I’d spend the entire bank holiday weekend in here with you, I only want them to look after you so I can finish the job.” 

Heat like a kiss on each cheek. You bring your hand to your nose, overwhelmed. “Really?” 

“We spend a lot of time together, sweetheart. I know you don’t remember right now, but I love you.” 

“You do?” 

“Don’t tell me you can’t feel that.” 

You look at him with the sunshine caressing the side of his face, his three mean scars and his scattered beauty spots. He has thick eyebrows, light brown eyes in the sun like honeyed tea, and a playful smile. More frown lines than smile lines, but the beginnings of crows feet speaks to some joy, at least. You bring your thumb up to a small wrinkle and stroke it, before tucking his hair behind his ear. It’s too short to stay put for long. 

“I love you,” you say surely. You do, even if you can’t remember more than your first date. 

He’s a good kisser, you remember. He’d pulled you back from your door and kissed you like you’d stolen the breath straight from his lungs. 

“I know.” He brings your hand from his ear to kiss. Gentle, he strokes your knuckles, his thumb turning a golden ring where it sits on your marriage finger. 

“It’s really like we’re married, we have matching rings,” you laugh. 

He holds his hand up between you. “We are married, lovely girl.” 

You steal your hand back. He waits without hurry, though a line of concern marks his brow. “Are we? When did we get married?” 

“Only a few days ago, but we’re married. This wasn’t on the honeymoon agenda.” 

He takes your hand with care and shows you the gold ring on your marriage finger to match his own, aligning your hands. The colour hadn’t seemed important a moment ago, nor the placement, but now you’re seeing them you realise you’d made a small misjudgement. It’s not like you’re married at all, you simply are. 

You frown. The way he’s holding your hand feels familiar, though the idea that you’re married is preposterous. You can’t remember any ceremony or reception, a proposal, nothing. There’s simply blank space there, which isn’t very nice. But… 

You’re not scared. You haven’t been worried once all day. 

“You have a concussion,” he says quietly, practised, like he’s said it to you before. “And it’s resulted in some amnesia, but it’s going to get better very soon.” 

“We’re definitely married?” 

“Unless you’ve changed your mind.” 

“I don’t want to change my mind.” You fluster quickly with what you’ve said, looking down at the hospital’s linoleum flooring. 

Remus takes your hand where it lays on your thigh and squeezes it. A thread of memory tugs at the touch; you remember this. His tender concern. His constant support. 

“Then you don’t have to. Whether you remember me or not, I’m here to look after you, okay? I’m right here.” 

You nod without looking up. His hand knows yours no matter what you remember, rubbing at all the best parts, holding with the perfect amount of pressure. 

“You okay?” 

“I guess our second date really did go well.” 

“Better than I could ever explain.” He tugs at your hand until you look at him, his head already ducked to keep you pinned by his gaze. “You’re like my shy girl all over again. I forgot how nervous you used to get.” 

You can see the Remus who became your husband and the one who scared butterflies into action every time he looked at you coalescing. “You’re really good-looking,” you explain. 

“And what do you think you are?” He rubs your hand. “You’re beautiful. Can I have a kiss, dove? Is that okay?” 

You squeeze your eyes closed. You’d been fighting stars in your eyes anyways.

When Remus kisses you, your body responds to his touch like it knows him. Your heart thuds against your ribs, your lips know exactly how to move and when he’s going to turn his head. Love for him shines through it. His love for you makes your chest hurt, his chaste kissing like a straight shot of oxytocin. All your worry saps away. 

“Feel any better?” he asks knowingly.

You remember enough about his teasing to withhold an answer. He kisses your cheek, his smile unmissable on your skin. 

[sweet-as-an-angel]

MW2 Reaction to You Having an OnlyFans

Warnings: 18+, Non-Explicit Implied Sexual Content, Implied Sexual Imagery, Territorial MW2 👀, Possessive MW2  👀👀, MW2 having a Crush on Reader, Petnames, Profanity, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’.

Ghost

Initially, he was in disbelief.

Denial, even.

But when you accidentally sent him a link to your OnlyFans instead of a link to the website of the restaurant you were visiting, Simon’s heart almost stopped.

You deleted the link immediately after, but it was too late.

The tab was already open on his browser.

Despite his agility and lightning reflexes, this situation is not one he’s going to be able to bounce back from quickly.

Will just stare at his phone for a minute or so before eventually starting to understand that yes, you did just send him evidence of your goings-on online.

And yes, you had just confirmed that you made intimate images of yourself accessible to whoever wanted them, though for a hefty fee.

You know your worth; you charge above average.

For days afterwards, the idea of you compromising yourself haunts him.

He doesn’t condemn you for your actions. Far from it !

He’s just surprised he hadn’t found out sooner. That he’d failed to read you well enough to know that this is what you did for work.

And, trying to justify to himself that it’s ‘just out of curiosity’ and ‘a need to confirm that it is actually you’ who is featured on the account, Simon buys a subscription.

He’s glad he waited a while since the appearance of a new subscription days after the incident is much less suspicious than receiving one right after.

Let’s just say, whatever morbid fancy Simon had before seeing your work transformed into a ravenous appetite after he’d seen what you had to offer.

Can’t see you the same way afterwards. But in the best way possible.

When he looks at you, he feels like he knows a secret.

Sure, he does feel creepy when you look at him, not knowing that he’s beaten himself off to videos and pictures of you approximately eight times that week.

But he tries to justify it. Again.

He’s supporting your business, he’s being a good friend (he winces when the word passes him by like a phantom), he’s…

He’s absolutely eneamoured with the way you look.

And the fact that he knows you personally – that he can (and has) heard you call his name – makes whatever little fantasy you’re acting out feel that much more real.

His favourite image of you is one where you have your arms bound above your head.

He always finds himself coming back to it.

Until one day he realises…How are you tying those ropes by yourself ?!

It’s impossible. Simon knows because he’s tried it on himself (don’t ask). So now he’s faced with the burning question of: Who is helping you with these shoots ?

And why isn’t it him ?!

König

Didn’t realise what he’d stumbled upon at first.

One minute, he was checking your socials to see how you were doing while he was away.

The next, he was at a sign-up page for something he’d never heard about.

The fact that it asked for his bank details left him somewhat suspicious, but your endorsement of the site – your claim of it being ‘The best investment of your life &lt;3’ eased him into a false sense of security.

Oh, how König condemned his trusting nature.

Past the paywall, König didn’t know what to expect.

Whatever he could have dreamt of, he never expected it to be…this.

You in the most indecent images he’d ever seen.

Yes, König did scream when he realised what he was seeing. Yes, he did close the tab out of sheer panic.

After a minute, then two, he found the ability to breathe again.

His phone quivered in his hand, his grip a python about its glass neck.

Sighing shakily, König dared to unlock his phone.

Swallowing thickly, he approached the OnlyFans tab.

Opening it, he gasped, your likeness filling his screen and his mind once again.

“Oh, (Y/N),” he said, nobody else about to hear him save for himself. “What have you done ?”

After the aftershock fizzled out, König’s cheeks warmed.

Though, whether of anger, disappointment, or something else, he could not be sure.

He’d enjoyed thinking of the two of you as more than friends. For a while now, too.

And you hadn’t helped: not with how you took to his lap as if it were your throne, how you’d bend and hit him at just the right angle when he was behind you, reaching up for something.

Not with how you clung to him and whined his name at night when you slept over, always a doe-eyed look accompanying whatever minimal favour you were about to ask of him.

So to see you capitalise on yourself like this before he’d ever even seen your bare torso made him…

Territorial.

“I can’t let you get away with this, Engel,” he promised. Your smiling face was oblivious to his threat.

He palmed the bulge in his pants, his grip on his phone tightening.

“One way or another,” he found himself smiling. “You will be mine.”

Soap

Buys a subscription immediately.

He genuinely only did it as a joke to embarrass you. At first.

A rather expensive joke, mind you.

He almost choked on his energy drink when he saw your lowest monthly rate.

Whatever.

He bought it.

And his mind promptly went blank.

When seeing a friend in a compromising position, one typically tends to look away, either out of respect or embarrassment.

Soap didn’t.

He couldn’t.

He just stared at the image of you with your legs spread and your face the image of viscous lust.

Only after every pixel of that image was burned into his memory could Johnny look down.

And there, between his legs, sat a growing, pulsing, aching problem.

One which he had been vaguely aware of yet entirely unwilling to accept.

Every time your likeness throbbed in his mind, he felt himself twitch.

He sighed, his hand a resting place for his face as a dark dawn of realisation washed over him.

For what was unlikely the first time, Soap dealt with himself to the image of you, a euphoria he’d never known before shooting through him now he had you to look upon in such delicious detail.

At first, guilt impeded him, strangled his chest, propelling the likelihood of you walking through his door at any minute and catching him like this.

But all caution threw itself to the wind as the promise of release clouded his judgement.

“Besides,” he told himself. “You let other guys do this. So why not me ?”

After he finished, post-nut clarity settling over him, Johnny couldn’t help but feel dirty.

Getting off to the image of his best friend in such gruesome detail while they were completely unaware…

Sure, he’d done it before, but the fantasies had been vague enough for Soap to evade guilt.

Until now.

But, even so, with the weight of his actions on his shoulders, Johnny couldn’t bring himself to loathe his actions.

Not when you made yourself up so pretty for him.

Something tells him that this won’t be the last time he visits your page.

Valeria

This woman is already possessive to the max, so to see you posting content of yourself at your most intimate angles is nothing short of infuriating.

Regardless of whether you’re hers yet or not (you already belong to her, Valeria just doesn’t have the official title of ‘girlfriend’ yet), she will have something to say about your page.

Of course, she’s upset. Angry doesn’t even begin to cover it.

But more than anything, she’s…

Hurt.

Hurt that you never told her about your little account. Hurt that you didn’t trust her enough to let her know that this is what you did for work.

You weren’t obligated to, but where Valeria is concerned, there is no excuse.

Will drive up to your house in the dead of night and interrogate you.

And when she’s got you crying and shaking and apologising for having a career, she consoles you.

“I’m not angry,” she says, her arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes are hard; black pearls. “Just disappointed.”

Female manipulator 100%.

She’ll tease you every now and then because of your account, nothing but playful banter (as she calls it). But you can tell there’s venom to her words.

Especially when she refuses to let you pursue it as a career anymore.

“Your body is for me to see alone, Mi Amor.”

Price

This DILF may not know how technology works, but he does know that he likes what he sees when a grotesque little picture of you floods his screen.

Don’t ask how he got here; that’s not important.

What is important is how full of you his mind is both during and after the initial discovery of your OnlyFans.

All he can think about as he’s scrolling through your portfolio is how devilishly sly you’ve been as to keep such an impressive career a secret from him of all people.

Like some kind of secret.

He’ll definitely tease you about it – drop eerily familiar turns of phrase into conversation with you, ones which you’d used on the captions of your pictures.

Calls you things which you refer to yourself as online: “Prince/Princess”, “Puppy/Kitty”, an extremely specific nickname that you’re certain you’ve never mentioned around him before.

He just loves watching you squirm under the false scrutiny in his eyes as you question yourself as to whether he’s found you out.

Little do you know that he’s your most generous benefactor, tipping you most ardently on your posts where the angle of the camera gives him a glimpse of what lays beneath the thin layers of your robe.

Comments something like ‘Fucking beautiful, Love. Keep up the good work for Daddy x’

And, when he’s ready to let you know that, yes, he has been following you for months, he’ll repeat that same sentence as his mouth is to your ear, his head just over your shoulder, as he guides your hands as he teaches you how to defend yourself.

And the feeling of your body stiffening, stepping back into him in disbelief and rubbing him just right is enough to send him over the edge, his breath shuttering, his hips pressing into yours.

Horangi

Despite the disciplinary values the military taught Horangi, nothing can restrain the sheer carnality brewing in his lower half as the video of you bent over a desk, an unknown antagonist taking you from behind filled his computer screen.

If it weren’t for your breathy, whining moans, your glassy eyes and the overwhelming fact that the person I like most is literally on full display in front of me, Horangi may have been mad enough to question who was railing you right now.

That, and why did one of his associates have a subscription to your OnlyFans ?

Better yet – since when did you have an OnlyFans ???

So many questions, and Horangi can’t focus on any of them.

His first instinct is to close the tab – to preserve your privacy, your dignity

But…something stops him.

Call it logic. Call it a sick need to fulfil his own desires, but Horangi stops just short of exiting the tab.

You’re putting this online with only a paywall to separate you from the common man. So why should he feel guilty for seeing it ?

Long story short, Horangi’s shame dies, and there is little that can resurrect it or stop what’s coming next.

For the rest of his mission, his mind drifts back to you – in that position – more often than he’d like it to.

Granted, his mind had wandered to such places long before now, but he’d never had anything so visual to fuel his fantasies save for a time or two when you bent over and your underwear peeked out from beneath your shirt whenever you slept over.

When he gets home – his long-awaited reprieve – he purchases his very own subscription to this newly-found slice of Heaven.

And he gives no indication that he knows of your activities, instead waiting for the day that you ask him for his help in filming your latest masterpiece.

Alejandro

He may not look like it, but Alejandro is lowkey an internet sleuth.

I’m talking, you mention a YouTube video you watched once when you were younger that’s since been removed, based off a blurry thumbnail and Alejandro will finish your sentence like: “Oh, the one with that cat who steps on that leaf and jumps up its owner’s leg,”

So, finding your OnlyFans account isn’t exactly detective work for him when, after an outing with the boys™, he sees you get particularly jumpy when you pull out your phone.

Through the process of elimination, Alejandro concludes that you’re pursuing a more adult career.

And since he follows all your socials, he knows what your handle is likely to be.

And when he finds you in some rather compromising positions on your beloved little app, he can’t help but crack a smile.

“My, my, mi Corazon…What have you been up to ?”

He takes a leisurely stroll through your portfolio, makes a note of some noteworthy posts. Then, he makes a decision. An investment.

He purchases a subscription.

Sure, he could feel guilty about doing so – feel ashamed of his deep-rooted desire to see someone he’s seen as more than a friend exposed in ways he’s only dreamed of so far.

But he takes comfort in the fact that he’s admiring your artistry for what it is; hard work, dedication, and beauty.

Yeah, he still gets off to the stuff you post, but unlike the basement-dwellers who’ll pop a shot to a lewd picture of you and then go upstairs for their dino nuggies and their off-brand energy drink, Alejandro takes time, care, to really analyse your work – to see the colours you’ve used, the camera angles.

And to try and capture even a reflection of the guy who seems to “help” you in your productions.

Rodolfo

Screamed out loud the first time he caught sight of your page, which was open on Alejandro’s phone.

To be honest, he was too dazed by the risque picture of you in a very frail-looking swimsuit to consider the implications of Alejandro having access to your OnlyFans.

At first, he did the only thing he could think of – the gentlemanly thing to do.

Which was to look away; to grant you your privacy and pretend he’d seen nothing.

At first.

Rudy managed to make it a whole 24 hours before, after fighting a losing battle of wills with himself (one which he put little fight into the longer that image of you stewed in his mind), he found himself on your page. Again.

Shamefully, one might add.

And, much to his chagrin, he didn’t hate it.

Nor did it satiate his growing hunger for you.

And, considering how he already liked you well before making this discovery, Rudy is…conflicted, to say the least.

On one hand, you’re letting whoever has an internet connection and a bank card see you in ways that, even in his wildest imagination, Rudy never had.

Conversely, you’re letting whoever has an internet connection and a bank card see you in ways that, until now, Rudy never had.

Two sides of the same coin. Identical outcomes. It just all rested on how Rudy wanted to view the situation; as a hurdle, or an advantage.

A loyal follower of two months now, his evenings spent worshipping the visage of you in what one could barely consider clothing, Rodolfo chose the latter.

And you have no idea. And Rudy is going to keep it that way until he feels you’re ready to learn that your top contributor is the man who’s sat beside you right this second as you stay at his house for a sleepover; one upon which you rest your head and listen to the deceptively steady beating of his heart.

Graves

Not that he would admit it, but he felt somewhat offended the first time he found out about your OnlyFans account.

Bruised his ego considerably ☹️

He took your self-sufficiency personally.

Did you not believe he could provide for you ? Is that why you turned to…adult practices ?

He sulked about it for a little while – about a day or two – before the fact that the person he’d been – dare he say it – crushing on for the last few months had an ONLYFANS ACCOUNT.

Needless to say, he hopped right back on his computer and got to buying your most elite subscription available.

Yeah, perhaps the idea that a couple thousand or so other weirdos were ooglign your body aside from himself bothered him. But he wasn’t exactly whiter than white himself, so he dropped the subject (with himself).

However, his jealous tendencies do lead him to some rather unorthodox places.

Has genuinely, seriously considered acquiring OnlyFans to try and get you scrubbed off the platform.

His accountant managed to (eventually) convince him otherwise after drilling it through his skull “How questionable this would look on your company record, Sir.”

And then, obviously, Graves decided to just try and buy the internet.

Bless him, he may be a CEO, but he isn’t a boyboss. Or tech-savvy.

Regardless, he eventually cools off and actually sees this situation as playing to his advantage.

He could already feel the cogs in his turning as he realised that you didn’t know he’d seen your account, nevermind contributed to it.

And thus began Philly’s plan to make you so financially dependent on him through anonymous donations and financial contributions. A hostile takeover, as it’s known in the trade.

Gaz

Since he is both the youngest and the most tech-savvy of the 141, he knows what he’s doing.

He’d heard a whisper while traversing your socials that you owned a fabled OnlyFans account.

And, like the good friend he was, instead of embarrassing you and asking you directly, he went on the hunt for it himself.

Okay, maybe he didn’t do this without your knowledge out of pure chivalry – rather a need to see if there was a possibility that, yes, you posted yourself online for money.

And, perhaps, a need to see if he can get his hands on some of those images himself…

Eventually, ever the internet sleuth he is, Gaz found your account.

And boy, did he underestimate what he thought he’d find.

“Jesus, (Y/N)...What have you been doing ?”

But that isn’t to say he didn’t like it.

On the contrary; he couldn’t help but feel drawn to it.

Especially when, in one of the pictures, he saw you drenched in a shirt of his he’d lent to you months ago. One which he still hadn’t gotten back.

He doesn’t pester you about it anymore. Even jokingly.

Though, he is somewhat envious that his shirt gets to be that close to you, especially in those conditions.

That, and…

Wait, who’s taking these pictures ?!

Not that you’d know this, but, his chest alight with the need to identify this mystery victor, those dark rings under Gaz’s eyes when you meet for lunch the next day are for you.

“Gaz, Sweetie, did you get into a fight or something ?”

And Gaz can’t bear to tell you how much an effect the jealousy you’d inadvertently inflicted on him has had on his psyche – had on his sleep schedule as he burnt through the night trawling every image and video of you for any identifying feature of your work partner.

As evidenced by the crusted tissues piling up in the bin beside his desk, to dry his tears and…other fluids.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

[cameronspecial]

A New Kind Of Normal (Part 1)

Pairing: Dad!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Drug Use, Swearing, Arguing, and Name Calling

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.4K

Summary: Five years later, Rafe makes an unplanned stop at a diner that reveals a secret that Y/N has been keeping from him.

Masterlist

Y/N wipes the counter with a clean rag, looking up at the clock across the wall. Three more hours until Stella is dropped off from daycare. “If you think rubbing that spot over and over again will make a genie appear and you can wish for her to be here faster, then I’m sorry to say that you are going to be disappointed,” Harvey jokes, following her gaze to the clock. She stops cleaning, “Sorry, I just miss her so much. I think I’m PMSing.” “Sure, we can blame it on your period,” he laughs. Y/N pushes him over in annoyance, escaping to her back office to hopefully make the time go faster. 

She smiles at the picture of the grandma on the desk, settling on her chair to order more inventory. Her life plans weren’t exactly to take over the diner, yet it’s not like she was planning on having a baby at twenty either. Y/N was left the diner in her grandma’s will and she took it so that it could stay in the family. There are no regrets in either of those decisions. Sure, she didn’t get her big break in LA or New York, but she would never dream of trading her daughter for anything in the world. Stella Y/L/N is the light of her life, even if she is the spinning image of her dad. Stella is all Y/N’s and that’s all that matters. She may have Rafe’s eyes, but she has Y/N’s sense of humour. Her lips are the same as his, but she loves the same movies as her mom. Her hair colour may match his, but she also has the same bad habit of biting her nails as her mom. 

Y/N focuses on the words on her screen when Harvey comes running into her office. “A total hunk just came into the restaurant and I have been ordered by Patty to come get you. She thinks he can be your soulmate. Says to let you take his table,” he informs, pointing behind him with his thumb. Y/N shakes her head, “I’m the owner. I really should be the one telling you to take tables, but I won’t disappoint Patty. I’ll be out in a second.” Harvey nods and heads back out to check on his customers. She finishes up the order she was working on, fixing her shirt before heading out the door. 

The sound of a door opening draws Rafe’s attention and his heart stops at the scent of vanilla he hasn’t smelt in five years. Even if it was only one night, he has been haunted by the wearer of that scent for years. His eyes land on her and he can’t believe he gets to see her again. Her smile is still as brilliant. Y/N heads behind the counter to get an apron and his insides collapse in on himself as he watches her smile dim at his sight. He doesn’t know why she would be upset at him. She was the one who left in the morning without a word. Suddenly, the face on his watch needs to be constantly adjusted.

As Y/N exits her office, she has to stop herself from screaming at the man sitting in the booth. She could never forget him; a living reminder of him literally came out of her vagina almost four years ago. Fear creeps into her brain. The only possible reason he could be here after all these years is because of that living reminder.  With the resources he has, he would most certainly win custody over Stella and Y/N couldn’t allow that to happen. But maybe he doesn’t know about her. If he did, then wouldn’t it make more sense to bring a lawyer with him? She decides to find out why he is really here first before she goes on the defence as she walks over to take his order.  

“What are you doing here?” she grits through bared teeth. He gives her a confused look, “I had a meeting with clients. I thought I would stop to get something to eat before heading back to the Outer Banks.”

Her expression lightens up at his words. “So you aren’t here to see me?” His head moves from side to side, “No. I mean that night was amazing, but I wasn’t expecting to see you here. I’m just hungry.” He notices that her eyes keep glancing towards the clock and the nail of her thumb is being gripped by her teeth. He wonders why she looks so worried all of a sudden. 

“Okay, good. I mean cool. What can I get you? A burger? Salad? Pie?” 

“Woah, woah, woah. Slow down, Buttercup. Why are you in such a rush? Aren’t you going to get my drink order first?”

“Right. Of course. What can I get you to drink?”

“A coffee, please.” 

Rafe had never seen a woman run away from him so fast before and he has got to say that he is offended. He doesn’t know what he did to garner such a reaction from her, but he vows to make it up to her. His hand goes up to his mouth, so he can check his breath. Smells fine. The mug of coffee is quickly placed in front of him and she practically forces him to give her his food order right at this second. 

Y/N hands the order to Patty in the kitchen, “Pat, I need you to focus on this order, please. Get it out first and as fast as you can.” The older woman’s eyebrow shoots up. “That’s a little unusual, but I can do that for you, honey. Can you watch the other food then for me, please?” she asks. Y/N does as asks and makes sure the chicken tenders in the fryer don’t burn. Patty gets Rafe’s food done in a jiffy and Y/N takes it out to him. She stays behind the counter, looking between the clock and Rafe eating every so often. She swears she has never seen someone eat so slowly. He has to be doing this on purpose. He can feel her gaze on him and he has pieced together that something must be coming that she doesn’t want him to see. His curiosity gets the best of him, so he decides to make this lunch last.

The jingle of a bell above the door catches his attention. He turns to see a little girl run into the diner and round the counter to the woman standing behind it. “Mommy,” she screams, jumping into Y/N’s arms. With a clear view of the girl now that she is being carried by her mom, Rafe can now see her in more detail. 

The long locks that frame her face are the same muddy blonde colour as his. Her eyes match his ocean-blue ones. And she definitely inherited the shape of his lips. He tries to do the math in his head. He isn’t great at guessing kids’ age. She looks about three, maybe four. So four years plus the ten months of pregnancy, that child is almost certainly his. He feels like his world is falling in on itself. How could he not know that he had a little girl? Did she know she had a daddy? He promised himself if he ever had a kid that they would never feel the same way about him as he does about his dad. But he did one step worse by not even being in his daughter’s life. Anger starts to fill him and he knows he needs to find a way to manage it before he lets it out on the wrong person. 

“Stells, what are you doing back so early?” Y/N questions her grinning daughter, moving the hair out of the girl’s face. She nods along to the explanation about daycare ending early today, so Mrs. Winters dropped her off early. Her eyes are focused on Rafe and she watches as he pieces the puzzle together. She observes as he slaps money onto the table, quickly making his exit. “Shit,” the mother whispers. “Can you go to my office, please? Mommy will bring you a snack, baby.” Y/N makes sure Stella is making her way to the office before running after Rafe. Her feet slap against the concrete and she spots him entering his truck. She goes to chase after him, but he drives off in a blink of an eye.  

——

He had a daughter. He had a little girl that he could cherish and watch grow that she kept a secret from him. He doesn’t even know their daughter’s name. His anger fills him to the brim and he needs an outlet to get rid of it. The white powder in the small baggies calls to him, so he rushes to his coffee table. He draws the cocaine into lines and brings his nose down to snort the powder. The drugs start to affect him; his judgement starts to be clouded. 

He pulls his phone out of his pocket to dial a number, “Barry, I need you to find an address for me.”

——

“So how was daycare, Stella?” Y/N questions her daughter, cutting up a cucumber for a snack. Stella runs up to the counter, “It was good, Mommy. I got a rainbow sticker for being a good girl.” The girl pulls at the front of her shirt to show off the sticker on it. “That’s great, Baby. You must have worked hard today to be a good girl. I’m proud of the effort you put in. Now, why don’t you go get ready for your snack? Mommy is almost done getting everything ready,” she suggests, moving on to get the cheese cut. Stella yells an okay and runs to the bathroom. 

The hard knock on the door reverberates around the open floor plan of the small house. This stops Y/N in her tracks and she goes to answer the door. When she sees who it is, she tries to shut the door in his face, but his foot stops her. “How come you didn’t tell me I had a daughter?” he growls, pushing his way into her house. His force causes her to stumble backwards and luckily, she is able to catch herself before she falls on her bum like on the night they first met. She shuts the door, turning toward him, “I was going to tell you. But by the time I found out I was pregnant, I had already learnt the type of person you truly were.” 

“The type of person I truly was? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

“Can you keep your voice down, please? She is just down the hall.”

“What do you mean?” he snarls, approaching her so they are chest to chest. The dark look in his eyes and the towering figure over her should’ve scared her. She can see the abnormal size of his pupils, so she knows he is high. However, she can’t stop thinking about the man that she met. Not about the stories of his anger issues or how he beats people to a pulp. Not about how he not only does cocaine but sells it at parties too. All she can see is the man who lost his button and ranted about how his father is an asshole. Passing the anger of her hiding Stella, she can see the sadness he feels about missing out on her life so far. Yet, the fact that he shows up at her house, high and yelling while Stella is there causes her to feel her own fury as her maternal side starts to show. 

She stands straight, taking a few steps forward that makes him walk backwards, “What do I mean? I mean that I found out that you not only do drugs, but you sell them. I found out that you beat people up who aren’t in the same financial circle as you. I found out that you have anger issues that you don’t seem to want to change. Rafe, you weren’t the type of father I wanted for my daughter.” Seeing such a sweet person say all those vile but true things about him sends a pang through his heart. 

“You never gave me a chance to change! I would’ve done anything for her if I knew she existed.” 

“Really? Because from where I’m standing right now, you are proving me right. Look what you did when you found out about her. You didn’t try to talk to me like an adult. You went out and got high then barged into my house demanding answers.” 

“You know what? All of you bitches are the same. You think that you are so much better than everyone because you don’t do drugs or get angry. Well let me tell you something, you are just a poor slut who got pregnant on purpose to have a permanent cash cow. You aren’t better than me. You are just better at hiding it than me.”

The volume she was about to talk at was not one she had ever used before, but she wasn’t about to let him talk about her or her daughter like that. “GET OUT! I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN UNLESS YOU HAVE A LAWYER WITH YOU!” She storms toward the door and throws the door open. Rafe didn’t think someone with such a nice personality could be so loud. It helps bring him back to reality and he realizes what he just did. His shoulders relax with his anger. He looks at her sadly as he follows her pointed finger out of the door.

Y/N shuts it once he is out the door. She runs her fingers through her hair, giving a tug to the end of her roots. The frustrated sigh she lets out is the only sound in the room until a small voice catches her attention. “Mommy, are you okay?” Y/N turns to her teary-eyed daughter and concern floods through her. She rushes to her, bringing her up to rest against her hip. Her forehead rests against the younger girl’s temple, “I’m okay, Stells. Mommy isn’t hurt, just angry. Are you okay, Baby? I know hearing Mommy yell might have been scary. I’m sorry you had to hear that.” Stella’s arms circle her mother’s shoulders and she gives her mother a kiss on the cheek as comfort. “I’m okay, Mommy. The scary man is gone now. Who was he?” 

Y/N wishes she could pretend like there was no man, but Stella had obviously seen Rafe. There is no denying it. Y/N just has no idea who she wants Rafe to be to her daughter. 

Taglist: @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @drewstarkeyswifehoe @kisstaya @magicalyoura @mp-littlebit @loverfu55ii

[hollywoodroses]

I Own You

This is a story for the anon who requested dark axl rose who is a villain and he seduces the reader.

I wrote axl as a gang!leader this will be a dark erotic thriller. I hope you like it, anon.

Don’t go out after curfew as the city of los angeles is terrorized by a gang, led by it’s seductive leader axl rose.

Warnings: axl is a gang!leader, smut including: knife-play, blood-play, threesome, an orgy and mention of orgy, fem!slash and mention of fem!slash, violence, drug use, language and strong sexual language. (I went a little crazy with this story)

Minors please don’t interact

Los Angeles is an interesting place to live. Everything is normal during the day when the city-folk would go to school or work. It seems like a nice place to raise a family. There is a catch, don’t go out after curfew as LA was owned and being terrorized by a gang.

Surprisingly, the population never hear the debauchery and violence that happens during the night. You see, this gang has connections to businesses including the local pharmaceutical company who sells a pill that people take at night so all they hear is silence.

The gang is called, The Family and is led by a seductive leader named Axl Rose. The group includes Axl’s inner circle of men and a young girl named Quinn. Quinn joined the gang after her father sold her to payoff a debt he had with the group.

Quinn is still a high school student and is allowed to go out during the day. While in school, Quinn became best friends with Y/N when she was new to town and didn’t know anyone. The moment Quinn met you she knew you’d be a perfect mate for Axl and birth his child who will take over the gang if he is ever got caught by police.

Quinn made sure to rush home to the family and tell them about Y/N. She found out you work the night-shift at a porn shop which means you would have to walk home in the dark after curfew. A perfect way for Axl to meet his pet.

You usually kept the door locked as you stock merchandise and hang around the cash register while reading romance novels.

You suddenly hear the sound of a shot-gun and a woman scream. You get scared but are curious about what happened. You look out the window and see a man with long hair and a bandana. He has the woman who screamed by her shirt collar that was ripped.

You felt yourself get heated as you watched him kiss the woman as her boyfriend lay dead. Turning away from the window, you couldn’t bear to watch the sight. Still feeling curious, you turn back to watch as the mysterious man fucked the woman out in the open street.

Feeling yourself unlock the door, you ran outside and yelled, “HEY, LEAVE HER ALONE YOU BITCH!!”.

He lets the woman go and as she ran off. He looked at you, annoyed. You start to panic as you run back to the shop your parents own, but the man is too fast for you and grabs you as you try and get away from him.

Pushing you against the door, he pulls out a knife and puts it against your neck as you turn away from him in fright.

“Did you like the show, darling”. He asks you with an evil smile.

You look at him innocently trying to give him a silent message to let you go. When you don’t say anything he puts his head on your neck and breathes in your scent. You roll your eyes as you feel yourself get turned on. You moan when you feel him bite your neck. Finally getting out of his embrace, you safely get in the shop.

“I’m gonna get you!” You hear the man say as he chuckles. Feeling a bit of excitement in your pussy, you make sure to lock the door as a fight breaks outside a bank and the man runs off to join his friends.

****

That night you couldn't sleep as images of what happen haunted your dreams. Worried that the man had given you a threat, you begged your parents if you could at least stay at home.

Your parents refused saying the hard work would do you good. At school the next morning, you greeted Quinn and asked her if she would hang-out with you at the shop that evening as protection. She seemed more of a bad-ass herself than you ever did.

You enter the school and see her at the cafe reviewing her notes for the morning math test.

"Hey, Quinn!” You call out to her.

“Listen, I need some help. My parents own a shop in town and always make me work the night shift. I need a friend to look after me and since you are the coolest chick in school I was wondering if you would join me?”

Quinn was silent as she thought for a moment. You are worried she would think it’s a stupid idea. Little did you know, she had other ideas.

“I will help you but you have to come to a house party I am throwing once we are finished”.

You sighed in relief and planned to meet Quinn after school so you could walk her to the porn shop. You are a little embarrassed at what she would think of it. What you don’t know is she is surrounded by sex at a daily basis in her home.

Once it was the end of the day, Quinn agreed to walk with you to work. It was slowly getting dark and you are nervous that this mysterious gang would attack you and Quinn. You didn’t realize that she was a member of the gang and as long as you are with her you will not be harmed. There was already talk from Axl, who had met you the night before that no other man from the group could touch you.

As you walked through the dark streets you thought you saw the man from the night before. You noticed a strip-club get raided and you gasped when you saw him. When he saw you, you grab Quinn’s hand and run to your shop which was just down the road. You screamed as you saw the man chase after you. You swear you heard him call Quinn’s name but you are too frightened to care.

Finally getting to the shop, you are too late as the man was able to push his way in.

“Hey, darling I knew I’d get you”. He laughed in glee.

“Leave her alone, Axl”. Quinn told him off.

Even though Quinn was the youngest in the gang she had a fierce attitude.

“Shut up Quinn, you know what happens when you are a bad girl”.

“Wait, you two know each other.” You say in disbelief.

Quinn introduced you to Axl as he smiled at you. You turn away, you can’t look at him. You had heard night-time stories about Axl and his gang of misfits. These stories would keep you up at night fearing for your life. There was a rumour that Axl’s gang would collect forgotten youth, more like forgotten women for their sexual pleasure. Women whose families gave up on them, but that was just a rumour, right?!

“Get out of here, Axl we’ll see you at the party later.”

Axl winks at you as he leaves the shop. To say you are speechless is an understatement.

“Why didn’t you tell me you know him?” You asked Quinn.

“It’s a sad story but Axl gave me a family when my own family gave up on me.”

You are shocked to learn the rumours are true. Axl really is a monster, how can he forcefully take young women against their will. Unbeknownst to you, these women happily joined the gang even if temporarily.

Giving Quinn a tour of the shop, you showed her everything. She had the bright idea of having you dress in one of the bondage outfits that your family sold. It was a piece of leather that wrapped around your tits and around your pussy in a zig-zag pattern. The out-fit even had a short skirt that barely covered your lady-parts.

You originally refused to wear it but when Quinn explained the type of people who would be at the party, you agree to wear it.

Time went by very fast as you and Quinn chatted about what life was like in the gang. You wondered how she was loyal to Axl and his gang mates. You admire Quinn’s positive attitude towards everything.

Finally it was time to change into your bondage out-fit. Feeling yourself get wet as you put it on, you feel yourself squirt and you moan as you watch Quinn lick your cum off your leg.

She grabs your hand after you lock up the shop and you walk together to her party.

*****

Once you enter Quinn’s party you notice there is a lot of rough housing. You look at each of Axl’s men, two looked past-out on drugs while the other three are having a group orgy with two women. You blush as you watch the women fight as they made out. You swear you saw them lick their tongues together. You whimper as you watch the scene.

Quinn pulls you away and walks you towards Axl who is sitting on a chair with a woman in his lap. She is topless in her underwear as she rubs herself against his jeans. He hides himself in her hair as you walk over to greet him.

Once the greeting is over, Axl offers you a powered drug. He watches with a smirk as you gladly snort the drug up your nose. When you feel the effects of the drug, you feel someone carry you upstairs to a bedroom and let you sleep it off. Axl grins as he has you right where he wants you. It’s only a matter of time that he will make his move on you. In bed, better yet maybe in the shower. Using the wetness of the water to get you off on his body was just perfect to him. You’ll literally look like a water goddess. He’ll wait as he didn’t want to scare you.

*****

It was dark, you didn’t realize you were sleeping in Axl’s home for a few days. You feel someone next to you, thinking it was Quinn you sigh in relief. You slowly start to wake up from your slumber and smile over at her.

“Thank you for bringing me here, Quinn.” You say to her with a smile.

She kisses your hand and looks over behind you. You turn your body around and you see Axl. Just as you are about to scream, Axl covers your mouth. When you have settled down. He gives you a light peck.

“Sit on my face, darling. Let me make you feel good.”

You know Axl frightens you but you are intrigued. You roll on-top of him and climb up his body until your clothed pussy is at his mouth. You look up as you pull your skirt up and move the leather material out of the way. As he starts to lick your flesh, you can’t help but to rock against him. You are so high in the sky, you don’t notice that Quinn began to finger herself as she watched. Axl was a master at eating you that it didn’t take very long for you to squirt in his face. He had his mouth open at the right time, drinking your cum. Once the encounter is over you slide down his body and kiss him hungrily, lining up your pussy with his cock. You hold your breath as he pushes himself inside you and you moan as you both become one.

Was this what Quinn and the rest of the gang wanted? You to be Axl’s play-thing and give him a baby? Regardless if it was, you didn’t care. You love the feeling of being with him in an intimate way and getting to share that experience with your best friend was even better.

When Axl climaxed inside you, you moan out his name in ecstasy. You swear you heard yourself call him ‘daddy’ in the heat of the moment. What you didn’t realize was that sex with Axl was your initiation into the gang. Every member of the gang had a different experience. The men in the group had to do something criminal like rob a bank while Quinn’s initiation was a group orgy. sexuality was open and free in Axl’s gang it’s how the members gave their love to one another.

*****

That was exactly three years ago, you now are the mother of a three-year-old girl named Willow who was the light in your life. Not only did Axl protect her from harm but also the family did too. Axl’s right-hand man named Duff imprinted on Willow and he felt the need to be her saviour from the dark life-style of Los Angeles.

You had disappeared since meeting Axl’s gang but your parents knew what you were up to. You later found out that your parents made a deal with Axl’s gang that they would give you up to them when you were of legal age. Meeting Quinn in high school was a set-up. Regardless of what happened in your life, you are happy and content being loyal to Axl. You would literally die for him. The final part of your initiation was, Axl cut his wrist and made you taste his blood. It made the love-bond forever. When you were crowned Queen of the gang and Axl’s life-mate, your life felt complete but was Los Angeles ready for you?

the end

[fairlyabookie]

Little things they like about you

Content: lighthearted | wholesome

The fae wasn’t particularly picky with whatever life threw him, as long as he gave himself time and the mental fortitude to handle such. Love, on the other hand, spoke of a different matter. He finds himself craving your presence, just the sound of your voice enough to quell his troubles for the day. 

He sneaks glances of you when he feels your presence, his ears pricking for a tease of your voice, for any sign of laughter or change in tone. Whether he had spoken to you, the fae always found your presence welcoming - your presence enough to do wonders to his heart. Your presence felt like a panacea, a welcome invitation into one’s space. He feels a familiar memory whenever he was with you, fragments of centuries flashing him by as familiar faces wash ashore in the banks of his mind. 

Lilia finds beauty in your hands, so soft and gentle, compared to his callous ones. He’d find himself playing with your fingers, tracing the imperfections, the lines all over your palms. At times, he’d coo at how delicate your hands are, so precious, an image seemingly reminiscent of hands he had held oh-so-long ago.

The quiet tranquility between you and Lilia was more than enough for him, the content smile on your lips, sunlight casting upon your features like a halo - Lilia thought he had found another embodiment of heaven at first sight. He wishes to have this moment a little longer, if he could be selfish, so he can see to your happiness. 

Just as how he was able to raise Sebek, Silver, and Malleus, he wishes to ensure your happiness is everlasting. He recalls a faint memory of long ago: a promise he had made with someone he had loved, the bittersweet sensation of a broken promise, cruel tears bordering the corner of his eyes. Alas, he wishes Fate were kind to him for a selfish wish. For now, he could cling onto your presence, a cruel gossamer existence for a fae like him.

Cater was not used to the concept of sustaining friendships. He was fine with keeping each other posted by viewing each others’ stories on social media, taking pictures together for the memories, and sometimes teasing his peers. He didn’t really mind keeping superficial airs for his peers - his cheery demeanor a usual sight for everyone around him - except for you on the other hand. 

You often reciprocate his antics with a teasing smile on your lips, always ready to quip back when you had the chance. Such reciprocation would catch him by surprise, earning a genuine smile on his lips. He wasn’t expecting anyone to return his little teasings, but a strange sensation akin to warmth would encompass his chest, this very interaction engraved in his mind. 

He would anticipate every interaction with you, anticipating every banter he can think of as a means of interacting with you. Of course, he’d ask for your social media, if you had one, so he can see your posts. Cater would find himself delving into your social media, your likes, and would look for the time to talk to you. 

At first, he’d be quite shy about it, leaving small comments on your recent posts or boosting your post on his story, sometimes DM’ing you about certain things. Of course, he’d love to take the time to get to know you from peering into your story or meeting up with you physically. Yet, in the back of his mind, the thought of you leaving his side haunts him, a bitter pill he might have to swallow if he ever loses you as a friend. 

Soon, he discovers something beyond the screen; your smile, your laughter, your vivaciousness, something he found quite endearing apart from what he normally sees from your social media. He wishes to preserve such happiness, a rarity that he had the honor to experience. For now, Cater had to keep his cool, the sign of a budding friendship a welcoming omen for his social life. 

Kalim very much indulging into you, even if it meant spending his family fortune just for a quick smile. He relishes in the way your eyes light up in delight for every trinket he brings you, his heart soaring as soon as he catches a glimpse of your smile. There was something charming about the way you smiled, the way your lips curl to the corners of your lips. 

If he can perfectly describe your smile in written form, he’d make a poem worth pages long. Such sentiments were pure, sincere, and clear as morning dew, his heart quite heavy with thoughts of you when he peers your smile. If he had a camera, he’d capture the very moment you let your lips curl, an expression he wishes for eternity on your beautiful features. 

Some say a smile indicated of a window of happiness, an embodiment of one’s satisfaction in the present moment. Kalim very much embraced that notion, wishing nothing but joyfulness in everyone’s lives. Such a naive mindset, many would say to Kalim, as life isn’t as simple as making one happy with a wave of a wand. 

Although Kalim was quick to give counters about his naivety, he simply wished for the well-being of others if not bright futures that could merit smiles. In his own words, a smile was something worth protecting, even if something small would bring a temporary smile. 

He keeps your smile close to his heart, immortalizing it in Polaroids, pictures on his phone, and little text messages exchanged between the both of you. Your smile, the sun, radiant in its beauty, fuels his motivation for the day - another reason why he keeps smiling. Your smile was his sun, as he was also the sun itself, ever bright and forever shining. 

[myuni-moon]

#Ink Splotches

—Synopsis: Dan Heng has never liked being reminded of his past, but no matter how hard he tries, some things just stay.

—Pairing(s)/Character(s): Dan Heng x GN!Reader

—Genre: Yandere (Sensitive content ahead)

—Warning(s): Dark content, yandere, possessive, stalking, Dan Heng is a creep that likes to watch people sleep, reader's gender isn't specified but they're described with the word "pretty," reader is shorter than Dan Heng, a/b/o-ish themes (Dan Heng goes feral), mentions of hypothetical choking

—Word Count: 2.4k

—Note: Some of these I'm making up, so please discern the information here as just headcannons for Dan Heng. Most of this was written prior to any updates about Dan Heng's past, so please excuse the discrepancies. Also this is darker than some of my previous works, so proceed with caution.

Dan Heng never liked discussing his past, never did enjoy doing anything that reminded him of it either– save for a few things, of course. He liked reading. Him deciding to use the library as his quarters alone was a testament to that. If that wasn’t enough, you could always catch him reading in his spare time with the few pocketbooks he stored under his coat. It was something he used to do on slow days when he hopped from one station to another, and it stayed with him even after joining the Express. He liked the food in the Xianzhou Luofu, too. Despite the initial hesitance, he came to enjoy the multitude of flavors that coated his tongue. The cuisine may have been similar, but it was so much better than the staleness of his day-to-day in the past. 

Most of all, he liked calligraphy– though it was an activity most inhabitants of the Express didn’t exactly know he partook in. Dan Heng couldn’t quite remember how he learned it or when he even did (out of his own mind wanting to block out any memory of that time), but the hobby gave him peace of mind. There was something about the careful concentration of the brush on parchment and the orderly manner in which each stroke was placed that lulled his mind into a quiet away from the chaos of time. Perhaps that’s why he never felt all too bothered by the constant whirs of the machinery that surrounded his quarters. The constant white noise distracted his mind just enough for him to dwell on anything but the skeletons in his closet.

The low table before him was ready and set, and the door remained locked to any outsiders that could interrupt. The scroll was blank, but the brush in his hand had already collected ink. The dark liquid dripped onto a container as Dan Heng stared into the white void in contemplation. He sighed. Doing calligraphy that day was meant to calm him, something to ease him out of whatever stressed him.

The data bank whirred on and on, yet no matter how many minutes passed, his hands could conjure nothing– neither a single stroke nor flinch. If anyone were to watch him, he’d look like a statue. It was quiet. It was peaceful even if nothing even happened. However, disarray plagued his mind and soul.

It was simply a stray thought at first, something just a little more impulsive than how he usually thought of his companions. You looked tranquil, he supposed as he kept watch that night. Belobog was cold, and he could see your breath puff out of your mouth with every rise and fall of your chest. The campfire’s heat tickled and licked at your skin as it illuminated your features with a warmth that painted you in an innocence far divorced from your typical image. Even when the hardships of battle befell your little party, you always slept soundly, peacefully. Dan Heng remembered a time when he wished for that too– to sleep as if the horrors didn’t haunt him at night. The way the shadows danced across your face, the wrinkle of your nose whenever a stray snowflake found its way a little too close, or the twitch in your fingers as you searched for warmth– he craved it if he was being honest. Maybe too much, even because every time he stayed up, he always stared at you sometime into the night. 

You looked pretty, he admitted a few nights later. Once again, he had taken the role of lookout. Again, he watched you with fascination and envy. He twirled a tassel of your jacket around his fingers, careful not to tug hard enough to awaken you. It was like a switch was flipped in his head because as he looked at you now, he could feel something in his spine tingle. An urge long buried and forgotten with the rest of himself that was slowly trying to dig itself out from the facade of indifference he put together. He tried composing himself first, isolating his mind and shoving whatever it was that tried getting out back into the deepest, darkest parts of his brain. 

It was okay after that. Dan Heng was back to normal, and everything went back to how it was before. Once you completed your mission, you all went back to The Astral Express. Himeko and Pompom welcomed you back aboard, and Mr. Yang dismissed you all to your rooms to rest before setting out on trailblazing once more. As per usual, Dan Heng only holed himself up back in his room with the piles of data he compiled during your time in Belobog to be sorted. The blue screen before him had already started to burn his eyes as he propped his elbow on the desk. His head rested on his palm. He had already read through half the files when someone knocked on the door. Instinctively, he checked the time. It was way past the time for someone else to be awake at that hour. It couldn’t be Himeko, Mr. Yang, or Pompom; he knew they went to bed earlier than the rest of the crew aboard. March was unlikely to be awake either because he had already heard her snoring a few hours ago. That only left–

“Dan Heng, are you still awake?” You.

The man gulped as he jumped to his feet, and his heart thrummed beneath his ribcage. His footsteps felt heavy, slowly making his way to the entrance. In hindsight, Dan Heng shouldn’t have even paid attention to your call. Maybe it was the fatigue and tiredness that relaxed his self-restraint, enough for his hands to get a grip on the handle; however, he was more than used to snapping himself back to reality. In a sliver of a second, he was able to catch himself. All his muscles seized up, and his breathing went ragged. 

Just what was he doing? His control over himself had slowly been slipping, and for what? There was no warning, no transition. There was no logic either in why his usual disposition had crumbled. There was nothing unusual from that first night, and it didn’t feel any more weird the days after. In fact, everything was just how it normally was for him. Sure, he loosened a few restraints and came to terms to the thoughts floating around his head - but that was rational, surely. So, why did static start to settle under his skin the longer he kept you outside? Why did his nails dig into his palms every time you laughed? Why did he feel like breaking the door down when he could just simply open it?

Nervously, Dan Heng eyed Cloud-Piercer, stowed away in a corner of the room. The orb in its clutch glowing ever so faintly in the dim brightness, its calm twinkle a stark difference to the instability swirling within his veins. With his current condition, it was dangerous. Extremely so. He wanted to tell you to go away, to have the others take him far from the rest. His unshakable calm was slowly diminishing, and his fears of losing control only made it worse. But something in him just didn’t want to.

“Dan Heng?” God, could you just stop saying his name? He could feel himself slipping.

“Dan Heng, are you there?” The handle started to rattle, his shaky hands flexing as he fought for control.

“Dan Heng, open the door, please?”

The mechanisms of the door whirred as it slid open. You stood so close, too close to what he would deem safe. Yet, the moment he saw you, everything went quiet. It wasn’t just the dead silence of space. The thoughts in his head had calmed down. The pins and needles that pricked his fingertips had vanished. It was as if nothing ever happened. Dan Heng blinked, bringing his palm up to his chest. His heartbeat was normal– stable even– as he gazed down at you. The strangeness of the whole ordeal shook him. Never in his life had he experienced the way his mind and body tumbled the moment before. He’d have to alert Himeko or Mr. Yang of the changes the next morning. 

“Is there something you need?” His demeanor returned to normal, too. 

You looked down at the ground sheepishly, shifting your balance from one foot to another. Your lips were pressed together in a thin line, leaving your cheeks to puff up. Your gaze even shifted from side to side until you looked up at him. Innocent, he noted. Your eyes reminded him of a doe’s. “Well, I couldn’t sleep. I just thought you might be awake, too.”

“I’m sorry to disturb you at this time of night, but can I stay with you?” 

He wanted to say no, to bring back the iciness on his tongue and the dismissiveness of his tone. Yet, before he could even think to say it, his mouth had already moved. “Alright.”

You smiled so sweetly, immediately slipping beside him and into his room. His arm brushed your skin as your fingers grazed his knuckles. The hairs on Dan Heng’s body all stood up. A static washed upon his ears, drowning out all other noise as if it had been stuffed full of cotton. It was a minuscule interaction, but it was electrifying. But just as his senses dampened, they would heighten. Soon, he found himself hyper-aware of the beat of your heart, the way he could count each beat with only his ears. His eyes had zeroed in on your movements, everything slowing down cinematically– which he would have found humorous if it weren’t for the fact that something animalistic started to crawl its way out of Dan Heng’s carefully maintained self-constraints.

A part of him howled, growled, and gnawed for him to shed his shell. A beast, running only on its instincts, began to awaken after being forced into hibernation. His humanity couldn’t battle against it, and it could only give way to the feral force lest Dan Heng risked losing himself completely. 

Can’t you smell them? It crooned at him. He could– fuck, he definitely could. You smelled so sweet to the point his mouth started to water with every whiff he took. Your scent was so appealing, and he wasn’t even referring to body wash or cologne; it was just you. You never smelled like that before. Maybe it was because of his true nature coming to light that he was able to, but he couldn’t help but want to be enveloped by it. 

Don’t they look so perfect, so pretty? You did. You always did even when he couldn’t bring himself to admit it. He could just imagine the cute smile you showed him seconds ago, and he couldn’t help but want to release a guttural purr at the fact that it was directed toward him and him alone. Then it hit him.

You want them all to yourself. That’s right. Dan Heng wanted you all to himself. 

After all, what was stopping him? If he really wanted to, he could just knock you out on your next adventure, abduct you right then and there, then take you to wherever he saw fit– as long as it meant keeping you with him without having any such disturbances. You’d think a more rational– dare say, human– part of him would’ve realized the morality of his thoughts, perhaps even chase them away and put himself into self-confinement until he came back to his senses. But no.

No, if anything, it only served to smooth out the rough edges of his devious plan. Starting with places to go when he finally had you in his grasp. The routes from place to place, just to avoid other trailblazers and authorities that may have picked up on his bounty. Suppose he’d use drugs or physical force to get you to be cooperative enough to go with him (as if you’d have a choice). Then when he was sure you two were finally alone, he’d put his claim on you with a bite to your pretty neck– but that didn’t sound as appealing as giving you his mark right now. All he needed to do was wrap his hands around your neck and-

A crack snapped him out of his stupor and away from the image of you in his mind. Dan Heng retracted himself back into the present. His draconic gaze settled on his workplace before clicking his tongue. He had applied too much pressure to the brush; one remnant still sits in his hand while the other half had found itself in a farther place. The paper was in no better condition. In some areas, the ink had bled through, creating large splotches of dark, foreboding circles on the page. What were supposed to be detailed strokes had become near-erratic in the time span he was stuck in his imagination. The man frowned and sighed. 

However, his eyes brightened when they flit to the very center of the page. Amidst all the chaos and rage that had been thrown into the work, your name remained neat in the expanse of Dan Heng’s mental deterioration. Fitting, he supposed. 

Without another word, he cleaned up. He didn’t need March barging in and finding the evidence of his deep affection for you. He disposed of the calligraphy brush (begrudgingly. It meant he’d have to go back to the Luofu to attain another). 

Straightening himself out, he left his room towards the parlor. Pom-pom, as always, came to greet him. The small bunny skipped over to him, tilting its head as it inspected him. The conductor of the Astral Express pointed to his robe.

“You’re not usually this untidy, Dan Heng.”

Dan Heng looked at the area the bunny referenced. On his green robe, typically free of any stain, was a noticeably-sized black dot. It must’ve been from his haphazard movement earlier. If he didn’t exercise any self-control, he might’ve let out a laugh under his breath.

“It is nothing,” he waved a hand dismissively. Truthfully, it felt almost entertaining to see the naivety of the conductor to the obscenity happening within its very own train. He thought it was poetic– comical, almost– how it looked as if it had been a subtle sign of the corruption happening to Dan Heng. Or maybe, he’d always been this way, waiting for that sick part of him to finally run rampant. Dan Heng side-stepped and proceeded on his way as if everything had been fine. His lips curled into a smirk the moment Pom-pom could no longer see his face. 

“Just an ink splotch.”

[bring-forth-his-sac]

The Christmas Party - Chapter 2

Summary: After seeing your text, Negan tries to use your mistake for his own benefit, but what will happen when you find out?

Tags: Modern AU, Teacher AU, Swearing, Pet Names, Slow Burn, Negan being a manipulative little fucker

Word Count: 4.4k

Link to Chapter 1

Negan remembers the first time he saw you. Morning meeting. September. While everyone else looked hungover or as if they considered driving off a cliff before getting there, you were chipper than a goddamn chipmunk.

He debated trying to swoon the newbie right then and there but Negan knew it would be a lost cause since you were obliviously surrounded by his very own Legion of Doom. Rosita, Aaron, Alden. Hell, even the grunting janitor was hanging around you.

And so he waited.

The shit part was what he thought would be a brief wait until the faculty meeting was over, stretched into days, then weeks and eventually months. Not that he was banking on getting you anyways, the staff was a vast ocean and many fish were practically begging to be on his rod.

He learned your name in the passing conversations of other teachers, was told you taught English and put you on the to do list, knowing he’d get around to it at some point.

What Negan didn’t expect was for you to seek him out. Sure, you weren’t the first to and most certainly wouldn’t be the last but this was the first time someone sought him out to unknowingly shit talk him.

Well, you most definitely knew you were shit talking. All you didn’t know was that you were doing it to his face. 

It was funny when you realised, trying to put up a professional front despite how pink your face was getting. It was nice though. Refreshing. Not another woman coming over to flirt. You were hard headed yet bashful. Another nosey fuckin’ gossip but you had an ounce of humility which was new for Alexandria High. 

It gave him a new objective; try to beat his personal record of getting under someone’s skin. 

Whether that be in a hot and bothered kinda way or general annoyance, he didn’t mind. That’s what made him walk into your classroom later that day, so boldly telling you that you were on detention duty. 

He knew that would piss you off and as he yelled at some spotty teens the next morning, he kept a special eye out for his new favourite English teacher, just waiting for you to storm up to him and go on some rant about making you cover his shift. 

Negan had a viable excuse as to why he couldn’t do it, he was busy doing other things. Well, Amber, to be more specific. 

Sitting in his small office with his feet propped up on the desk, Negan busies himself with the latest monotonous game he’s downloaded onto his phone. Without so much as a knock, the other Coach Smith, Mark, walks in. 

“Packed and ready! I was thinking of pulling a sickie for Thursday and Friday and laze around the house before the family and I jet off next week…” Mark begins and Negan simply hums in response, drowning out his colleague’s vacation plans.

After about five rounds of Negan’s game, he gets a nudge to the foot. “But you’ll be real busy, eh?” Mark laughs, oblivious to how little Negan was paying attention “Y’know, I think it would be a big success if you both convince Gregory to dress up as Santa… although knowing him, he’d probably want some of the ladies to sit on his knee”. 

Mark shivers at the image before zipping up his bulky coat, as if that would stop his imagination. “Why the fuck would Gregory be dressed as Santa?” Negan laughs “And what would that have to do with me?”.

Finally, he puts down his phone.

Mark shrugs “Just throwing out some ideas for the Christmas party, oh– and make sure to take some pictures of it! I want to see everything from my sun lounger on the sandy beaches of Jamaica”.

“I’ll ask again,” Negan tries not to get annoyed “what the fuck does all that have to do with me?”.

And then Mark says it. The words that would haunt Negan.

“Haven’t you checked the group chat?”.

Negan didn’t take much notice of the group chat, one that he never even asked to be added to in the first place. He’s never been bothered enough to text a message in and just skims through it every once in a while when he’s diabolically bored.

The next ten minutes, Negan spends alone, muttering to himself as he scrolls through the messages. 

Stupid fuckin’ Gregory trying to rock shit that shouldn’t be rocked. Same goes for Eugene and his shitty fuckin’ weekend getaway idea. Negan would prefer that over Gregory’s though, considering a city visit means a much broader pond for him to fish in. Although the Kingdom has never failed in the past, the restaurant’s dim lighting and loud music make most gal’s up for it.

But then he got to Mark’s message. Or, ‘blessing’ would be more fitting, considering he gave the go ahead for the sports hall to be used for the staff party.

Like fuck they were going to get wasted in his fucking sports hall. Do they really think he’s that stupid? Negan’s fucking office is beside the hall and with a bunch of depressed, drunk teachers right next door, his place would actually become a ‘fucking office’ but full of the wrong people. 

And for Mark of all people to offer up the hall, while he’ll be away tanning himself in Jamaica? Talk about friendly fuckin’ fire. 

It would be nice to have been considered in this shit. Fuck Mark. And fuck that disingenuous thumbs up emoji too. Oh, and fuck the very idea of this Christmas party being on his turf. 

Just as Negan is about to turn off his phone, he sees it. Out of all the people to volunteer for a last minute collab, you so eagerly offer to help? Negan smirks, running his tongue along his bottom lip. 

“You are something else” He mutters to himself, fiddling with his phone as he figures out how to properly save you as a contact. 

As far as Negan is concerned, there’s only two options. Either a gun was held to your head and that’s why you offered to help him, or… maybe, just maybe… the day before was your own funny little way of flirting. Negan prefers that option.

Typing out a contact name for you, he adds in some detail. It’s tough remembering each person, especially when he’s already ghosting so many and thus, the more detail added to jog his memory, the better. 

Next to your name he adds a set of brackets: (good ass, weird at flirting).

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You stay off your phone until late afternoon, unable to bear the thoughts of looking at that godforsaken group chat.

You hoped the group chat would help your socialising skills, especially after the move to a new town. You can’t even remember the last time you went out with friends, mainly because you’d need friends to do that. 

Moving away from your family to this small town was supposed to be the new beginning you see in tv shows, full of quirky characters, constant but unimportant drama and an array of hunky love interests. Instead you have Carol, a Christmas party to plan and a gym teacher that hates your guts. 

A part of you hoped that if you just ignored your apparent request to help with the Christmas party, then it would all fade away. But the swarm of teachers at lunch gave you quite the reality check. 

“Will there be a dinner provided? Or just finger food?”.

“I heard Gregory’s dressing up as Santa, do we have to sully Father Christmas’ name with something like that?”.

“Are you sure having it next Friday is a good idea? I mean, it’s the kids last day of term so they’ll be running riot! How will we be able to enjoy ourselves after dealing with that all day?”.

“Will there be tequila?”.

When the bell rings for classes to begin again, you hurry off as fast as you can, promising to have answers to everyone’s question… eventually.

You rush in and glance at the empty chairs, relieved that your students haven’t arrived yet. But when your eyes shift to your desk, you freeze.

“Jesus fu-“ you manage to stop yourself before the curse comes out.

Your body goes rigid as the shock overrides you, unsure whether this will be a showdown or simply another bickering match. Subconsciously gripping your small lunch bag, you hesitantly walk nearer to him.

Negan sits there with a wide grin, satisfied that he caught you off guard. 

Quickly recuperating, you try to up your confidence as you move closer to your desk, giving him a stern look. “If you’re here to ask me to cover more of your detention shifts, then you’re out of luck” you keep your voice as neutral as possible, not wanting to add to his smugness.

“You didn’t have a problem doing it last time” Negan teases with one of those easy going smiles, standing from his seat so you can sit.

You don’t justify that with a response, shooting him another badly hidden glare as you sit and set your things onto your desk.

Keeping his stride, Negan swoops up your lunch bag and begins searching it’s content.

“Hey!” You exclaim, debating whether you should stand and take it off him. The image of him holding it just out of reach pops into your head and to avoid a humiliating re-enactment of that, you stay seated.

“Hmph, sandwich,” he shrugs, eyes lingering on your lunch “oooh and a half eaten blueberry muffin! Now that looks tasty as shit”.

You bite back a huff. “Tasty as shit?” You question, wondering if you should take offence. 

“You know what I mean,” he mumbles flippantly, setting your lunch bag down but keeping the muffin.

As much as you want to badger him with questions as to why he’s here, you know that’ll inevitably lead to him hanging around longer. So, you stay quiet. You don't try to make conversation, simply organising your notes for your next class and ignoring his presence. If he’s come into your classroom then he can state his business, not wait for you to try and pull it out of him. 

Besides, maybe he’s like a poltergeist and if you ignore him long enough then might disappear. 

With his mouth full of your blueberry muffin, Negan taps one of the folders on your desk. “Are these all your big ideas for the Christmas Party?” he asks. 

Pressing your lips together, you muster up your professional front. “Actually, Negan, about that…” you start “it’s a big misunderstanding, I never technically agreed to help with the Christmas party, I was just replying to Sherry’s question in the group chat. So, you’ll have to find someone else to help you plan it”.

You give a big grin, unable to hide the slight joy it gives you to leave him in the lurch. 

Negan meets your smile with one of his own, leaning down so he’s eye level. His tone is just as patronizing as you expect “Naawww, honey, that bullshit excuse won’t fly”.

You don’t back down. Like a child, you mimic his tone “It’s not bullshit, it’s the truth and obviously a simple miscommunication, something you’d know if you actually read the texts”.

Negan studies you for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly. He may not know you but he knows exactly what you are.

Negan chuckles under his breath, knowing full well that if he’d been in high school with you, he’d have to find a way to coax you away from your perfect little study sessions.

You’d be the type that would give him a disapproving look if he didn’t do his homework. The one that would hesitate to ditch classes because you want to be a goody two shoes and not rock the boat. Hell, you’d probably try to talk him into going back to class after he swoons you behind the bleachers. 

If there’s one thing Negan knows he can count on, it’s your honesty. Despite what he says, he’s aware you’re not the type to bullshit. He found that out first hand yesterday.

Your comment about him floats back into his memory and he has to wiggle his jaw to loosen it.

”I mean, from what I've heard, her side of the bed wasn't even cold and he was already crawling into the beds of other women” your words echo in his head.

You definitely caught him off guard with that one but it’s not like he can be mad when it’s true. Your damn honesty is annoying, Negan is sure about that.

So when you’re adamant it’s a mistake, Negan does actually believe you… but that doesn’t mean he can’t use this to his advantage.

“Miscommunication, huh?” Negan taunts, trying to goad you “well, in case none of your gossip buddies filled you in yet, Ol’ Greg will be like a goddamn sore on your ass if you try to sell him that excuse. Just a little FYI for ya”.

You scoff. It’s all right there in black and white, anyone who reads all the texts can see you didn’t mean to volunteer for this shit. The only reason no one is admitting that is because you’ve become the scapegoat, thrown forward to work with this jackass.

Still, the stubbornness in you outweighs your willingness to do this just so everyone else is off the hook. Any semblance of a petty smile leaves your face and is replaced by a pout.

Negan holds your gaze, his deep brown eyes twinkling with a playful glint as he takes another bite of muffin. His eyes sparkle with seductive mischief, as if to communicate what his lips (and full mouth) can’t.

“Well, FYI for you,” your words cut through the air, direct and sharp “No, I’m not bullshitting anyone. No, I am not helping you. And no, I am not giving you my number so stop with the eyes!”.

Negan chews thoughtfully.

There’s a genuine smile tracing his lips by the time he swallows. “Jesus, sweetheart, I didn’t even mention getting your number and you’re already aching to give it to me,” he lets out a low chuckle, running his tongue along his bottom lip as you scowl. 

“What? No, that’s not - ugh, that’s not what I meant” you ramble as he swallows more of your muffin.

“Don’t worry, I got some good news on that front,” he pauses for dramatic effect “I already got your number and, I don’t even think you’re bullshitting with that super weak excuse!”.

A wave of confusion washes over you, your mind scrambling to make sense of what he just said. Your heart skips a beat as you blink rapidly, trying to process it all but the confusion only deepens.

“W-what— how?! No, you can’t—“ you stutter “you have my number?”.

“That’s not the important part right now, honey” Negan shrugs casually, standing up straight “what’s important is how I’m trying to warn ya, y’gotta be strategic if you’re gonna tell Gregory you’re not interested in doing this party shit”.

A steady stream of students begin to filter in, giving you both curious looks before sitting. Negan pays no attention to them.

Now that they’re others around, you lower your voice “What? We’re not moving on from you having my phone number!”.

“Anyways, I see you got shitheads to teach,” Negan doesn’t lower his voice as he looks around at the students “so I’ll leave you to it, but why don’t you swing by my office when the day is done? I think I’ll be able to help you get out of this party shitshow. Sound good? Great”.

With a wink, Negan doesn’t wait for an answer and disappears out the door, taking the rest of your muffin with him.

Your jaw clenches, already knowing what your student’s faces will look like once they register that you’ll be seeing Negan later, outside of work hours. 

The room falls silent as whispers start to swirl. Some of the kids exchange knowing glances, others raise their eyebrows and a few stifle giggles. The students are eating it up, practically salivating over the scandalous idea of you being Negan’s latest pursuit.

You rub your temple, wishing you could just get the day over with. The unfortunate part is that you’re starting to grow used to Negan’s antics, but the curious looks and murmurs? That’s something you absolutely do not want to become a common occurrence.

Clearing your throat, you force yourself to focus and start your lesson. Thankfully, everyone kicks into learning mode pretty easily and the murmuring fades to nothing.

The rest of your classes go by in a blur, mindlessly spouting off Shakespeare as the kids try to decipher what the hell any of it is supposed to mean while you wonder if you should go to Negan’s office after school. 

As much as you hate to admit it, Negan has a point. Deep down, you know he’s right about Gregory. The man’s a stickler and he never forgets—or forgives—anything. No matter how much you try to explain that you didn’t mean to volunteer for the Christmas party, Gregory will hold a grudge. And that’s the last thing you need, especially this early in your job.

You can practically hear him in your head now, his clipped tone passive-aggressively accusing you of not being a team player, of not taking your responsibilities seriously. The thought sends a knot of dread into your stomach.

You want to stay stubborn and insist this was all just a mistake, but is it worth the trouble it could bring? Planning a Christmas party with Negan couldn’t be that bad… right?

You’ve already worked so hard to fit in and make a good impression. Pissing off someone like Gregory is like kicking a wasp’s nest on purpose. He won’t confront you directly; he’ll just sting you with a thousand tiny jabs. Negan’s been around much longer than you, at this point he’s practically a veteran at this place. And hopefully, he’s got some kind of way with Gregory.

Of course, taking up Negan’s offer to help is the last thing you want to do. You don’t trust him as far as you could throw his lanky ass.

Yet somehow you still find yourself outside of his office after school, debating whether you should enter his lair or run while you still can. Staring at the office door, you gulp as you read the bold “COACH SMITH” sign on the opaque matte glass. There’s a fraction of you that’s hopeful you got it wrong again and this is Mark Smith's office.

You hesitate, raising your hand to knock before faltering again and dropping your arm back down to your side. 

“Just cause the glass is frosted, don’t mean I can’t see you” his voice makes you stiffen momentarily before your shoulders sag and you just open the door. 

A broad, mischievous grin greets you. Negan sits as though he’s the student, not the teacher. His chair teeters on its back legs, while his long legs are casually propped up on the desk.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he says it like he’s in on a secret joke “you wanna lock the door behind you?”.

Your face contorts in a mix of disbelief and shock. “Uh, no!” you exclaim, your expression saying it all.

Negan shrugs, laughing “A voyeur, huh? I can get behind that”.

You can feel the annoyance creeping up inside of you, like a slow burning sizzling under your skin. “Y’know I am this close to reporting you for sexual harassment,” you retort “and you owe me a muffin!”.

Raising his hands in faux surrender, Negan tries to turn on his charm “Damn it, sweetheart, here I am trying to help you out and you’re threatening to report me? Take it easy, sit, I know this whole Gregory shitstorm must have you stressed out”.

Hesitantly taking up his offer, you sit across from him. “So?” you ask “what wisdom do you have to bestow on me?”.

You watch Negan pucker his lips slightly to keep himself quiet, already thinking of another innuendo he could bestow upon you.

Swaying back on his chair, Negan says “Well, I was thinking of that saying, the one that goes like 'the best party is the one that never happens'". 

You scrunch up your face, not following his line of thinking. “That’s not a saying” you point out.

Letting his legs fall off the desk, he leans across the desk, getting down to business. “It should be, though,” Negan admits before clearing his throat “look, here’s the bottom line, you shouldn’t be wasting your time trying to stop yourself from helping out with the party. Y’gotta stop the party entirely”.

Now you’re even more lost.

You know Gregory will be annoyed when he hears you don’t want to volunteer, so you can only imagine how frustrated he’ll be if you actively campaign to cancel the teacher’s supposed one night of fun.

“I’ll back you up… partially,” Negan mutters the last part under his breath but you still hear it. Your expression shifts to a deadpan stare. A part of you wonders if this is his final pay back for your badmouthing.

"I swear, you’re actually trying to get me fired" you say, clearly annoyed.

Negan’s smirk says it all and yet he still tries to convince you "Me? I’m just lookin’ out for you, sweetheart. Trust me. I’ve seen it all. You plan a Christmas party, next thing you know, teachers are too drunk to think, they all end up sobbing or fucking, someone gets hurt and boom—the whole thing’s on your head. Cancelling it now? That’s just smart planning".

Scoffing, you roll your eyes and stand “You’re unbelievable”.

He grins “I try”.

You turn to leave but the frustration builds. You spin back around, exasperated. “And why can’t you just tell Gregory this yourself? You have to help with the party too!”.

And then it clicks. You scoff in disbelief. Negan doesn’t want the hassle of being the one to oppose the Christmas party. He’d rather sit back, let you take the heat, and still get his way.

Crossing your arms, you watch him closely as you comment “Bet ya can’t wait for everyone to be in the sports hall, huh?”.

Much to your amusement, Negan has a terrible poker face. His mouth immediately turns downwards, eyebrows drawn together as his jaw stiffens “Oh yeah, can’t wait for everybody to be in my hall”.

A sly smile quickly appears on your face, eyelids at half mast as you purposefully wait for Negan to look your way again. When he does, he grumbles “What?”. 

“Gotcha,” you says with the raise of your eyebrows, smile getting even wider “you hate doing this, don’t you?”.

Negan scoffs “You’re the one with your panties in a twist over doing this party, not me”. 

You roll your eyes, smile still on your face and leaving Negan’s attempts to goad you simply slide off of you. You give a small laugh “Damn, Mr Big Shot, why won’t you tell Gregory you don’t wanna do this?”.

He narrows his eyes at you but you don’t let that deter you. “You scared of little ol’ Gregory?” you taunt playfully, knowing that should be enough to irk him. 

Sticking his index finger in your direction, Negan retorts “Watch it, don’t think I don’t know you’re trying to wind me up”. 

You laugh, shaking your head. With his shoulders square, Negan lets out a tight huff “I’m trying to do you a favour here, doll. You don’t want this extra shit on your plate, believe fuckin’ me”.

“I don’t want this extra shit or you don’t?”.

Standing to full height, Negan’s office chair rolls backwards and bounces against one of the filing cabinet. “You know what, I tried to warn you,” he tries to sound sincere “you want to dive straight into the deep end and go along with this party, that’s your fuckin’ problem. I’ll leave my office door open for when you come crying to me about all this”.

“Oh you don’t need to leave your door open, you’re helping plan this party too,” you have a cheery tone as you remind him, a sense of satisfaction filling you “unless you want me to plan the party with Coach Joey instead. One of you coaches will have to be involved if we’re using the sports hall”.

Negan flexes his jaw for a moment. “First off, don’t even call Fat Joey a goddamn coach, he’s a glorified intern. And he doesn’t get a say on what happens on my turf” he corrects you “and secondly… damn sweetheart, you’re petty enough to plan this party just to piss me off?”.

Grabbing the door, you swing it open with a little too much gusto. But who could blame you when your patience has completely worn out with this jackass? Trying to keep your mock cheeriness going, you give him your best jolly glare “I guess I am, yeah”.

Negan chuckles, meeting your glare with one of his own. “Fine then,” he concedes “you want to plan a fuckin’ Christmas party? Then let’s plan a party”.

There's a slight sinking feeling in your gut but you refuse to back out now, not wanting to give Negan the satisfaction. Turning on your heels, you walk out, your head reeling by what has just happened. Negan stays standing as you go, a slight smirk on his face.

You’re petty, stubborn, honest to a fault and as far as Negan’s concerned, you got balls bigger than most of the men at this damn school.

next chapter here!

———

gif made from scenepack provided by harleys.scenes on insta <3

[barelylivingscholar]

Arlecchino with a daughter prt. 3

Arlecchino with a daughter prt. 3

And before I knew it, a month had passed. Under the banner of “Regrator,” I had been learning a lot under his guidance. I started to look like him as well. Everything about my appearance had been designed to match his… It wasn’t something that I had decided right away, but it was more of a branding for me. To better match his image as his “disciple,” rather than to feel like I still am a part of the House… I discard the clothing that I wore before and burned it. It was a clothing that was too similar to the outfit of “Knave.” The color… And the designs… It’s too much of a coincidence… She continues to haunt me in my dreams, that I wake up in the middle of the night… Sweating profusely at the prospect of returning at the House and to meet her once again inevitably.

Pantalone had decided that I should not return to Fontaine as a safety measure for me since the “Knave” had been informed of my return that day… He told me about her sending letters to him about my wellbeing and demanded that he return me back to her house… In which, I had been assured again and again that I won’t be returning back to the House at all… Pantalone plans to keep me as his disciple. Although I am still shaken up by her now and then, I grew to resent her more as days would pass…

I began to see Pantalone as the closest familial figure that I have as it was only natural, I felt that way due to how well he has taken care of me. I used to think that I am more or less just a servant to him. He had trained well to see him as his “business partner.” More or less, we do indeed have a transactional relationship. But I know there is more to it. H̴̴e̴ ̴j̴̴u̴̴s̴̴t̴ ̴w̴̴o̴̴u̴̴l̴̴d̴̴n̴’̴t̴ a̴̴d̴̴m̴̴i̴̴t̴ ̴t̴̴h̴a̴̴t̴ ̴I̴ ̴i̴̴n̴̴f̴̴l̴̴u̴̴e̴̴n̴̴c̴̴e̴̴d̴ ̴h̴̴i̴̴m̴ ̴j̴̴u̴̴s̴̴t̴ a̴̴s̴ ̴h̴̴e̴ ̴i̴̴n̴̴f̴̴l̴̴u̴̴e̴̴n̴̴c̴̴e̴̴d̴ ̴m̴̴e̴ a̴̴s̴ ̴w̴̴e̴̴l̴̴l̴…̴ He had introduced me to Pulcinella, who in return, mentored me during my visits in the other branches of the Northland Bank with Pantalone. He mentors me exceptionally well that I grew to respect him in the same manner as Pantalone. When I am unable to accompany Pantalone, I am with Pulcinella. He takes care of me well. Too well that there is something more to it.

Pulcinella would come to tell me stories about the “Knave,” that made me despise her even more. He warns me about her madness. Pulcinella had successfully managed to deter me from ever seeing the “Knave” in a positive light. The remnants of her teachings still remain. It is not easy to break free from it. Somehow, I still felt guilty for leaving the House. But I will never admit to it at all. I was led to believe that she cared for me, and had loved me the best out of the many children from the House, so how was I supposed to hate her, right? If only that was how I felt. ̶I̶ ̶b̶̶a̶̶r̶̶e̶̶l̶̶y̶ ̶f̶̶e̶̶l̶̶t̶ ̶i̶̶t̶ ̶a̶̶t̶ ̶a̶̶l̶̶l̶. She was a liar. ₴₮Ø₱ ₮ⱤɎł₦₲ ₮Ø ₲Ɇ₮ ₥Ɇ ฿₳₵₭. ł ₩łⱠⱠ ₦Ø₮ ⱤɆ₮ɄⱤ₦ ₮Ø ɎØɄ. ł Ⱨ₳₮Ɇ ɎØɄ.

Pantalone informs me that we will be arriving soon at the House of the Hearth. I mentally prepared myself as we make a trip to the House… I kept my hood up and my head down during the duration of the trip. Pantalone informs me of the project in collaboration with Pulcinella, one that involve the members of the Hearth… He plans to give them a great deal of funding, to make them the “key members” of the project… Project Stuzha; A project that supposedly sets the Fatui’s future. I have yet to meet “Tartaglia” or Childe as he is frequently mentioned in this conversation. I couldn’t care less how the project would turn out. I only care about the amount of Mora that is put on this project. Pantalone really is a generous man. Too generous.

I clicked my tongue as we arrived at the destination. There were many children that were staring at my figure, probably shocked that I am alive and well. Dressed in expensive clothing, glasses that are studded with eye-catching jewelries, and with a cloak elegantly placed on my shoulders… I almost looked like the man himself. Pantalone held a closed-eye smile as he greeted the children. Then, the door opened. It was her. The woman that I grew to resent. The knave. I adjust my glasses to hide my growing anxiousness as the memories came back. I stifled a shaky sigh. ̶I̶ ̶f̶̶o̶̶r̶̶c̶̶e̶̶d̶ ̶m̶̶y̶̶s̶̶e̶̶l̶̶f̶ ̶t̶̶o̶ ̶c̶̶a̶̶l̶̶m̶ ̶d̶̶o̶̶w̶̶n̶ ̶u̶̶s̶̶i̶̶n̶̶g̶ ̶t̶̶h̶̶e̶ ̶4̶-̶7̶-̶8̶ ̶t̶̶e̶̶c̶̶h̶̶n̶̶i̶̶q̶̶u̶̶e̶. Pantalone greets the “Knave” politely. While the “Knave” eyes me down, her crossed eyes narrowing at the sight of my appearance. ̶S̶̶u̶̶r̶̶p̶̶r̶̶i̶̶s̶̶e̶̶d̶ ̶t̶̶o̶ ̶s̶̶e̶̶e̶ ̶m̶̶e̶? Her eyes stayed on me, while speaking with Pantalone.

“I see you have brought yourself a new child. A child from the Hearth.” I froze at her words. She continued to stare at me deeply. “What was the reason for not returning the child from my orphanage, Regrator?” She hissed at him. Pantalone paid no mind at the hostile tone aimed at him. “You are mistaken. I did not take an orphan from the Hearth. I offered Anastasia to be my disciple after saving them from an ambush by a cryo abyss mage.” Pantalone countered. I glanced away at the two adults talking, to see Freminet staring at me. I gave him a brief nod, and I was then met with a familiar pair of twins looking in my direction as well… Lyney and I briefly stared each other down for a short while, before my attention went back to the voice of the “Knave.” “Nonsense. She would’ve returned to the house had you not manipulated her to come with… You must’ve threatened my daughter for her to work with you.” The “Knave” accused.

I rose a brow at the comment. Blinking slowly as I take in the words she had said to Pantalone. I decided to speak up before Pantalone could reply, “My mentor had come to visit the orphanage for a proposal. The “Regrator” has other business to attend after the meeting, I suggest to keep the exchange brief, “Knave.”” I didn’t miss the way her eyes widen slightly at the sound of my voice. The children were shocked to hear me interrupt the harbingers heated exchange. I simply brushed off my coat, in an attempt to feign nonchalance at my action. ̶I̶̶f̶ ̶o̶̶n̶̶l̶̶y̶ ̶t̶̶h̶̶e̶̶y̶ ̶c̶̶o̶̶u̶̶l̶̶d̶ ̶s̶̶e̶̶e̶ ̶m̶̶y̶ ̶h̶̶a̶̶n̶̶d̶̶ ̶s̶̶h̶̶a̶̶k̶̶e̶ ̶a̶̶s̶ ̶I̶ ̶a̶̶t̶̶t̶̶e̶̶m̶̶p̶̶t̶ ̶t̶̶o̶ ̶s̶̶t̶̶o̶̶p̶ ̶t̶̶h̶̶e̶ ̶t̶̶r̶̶e̶̶m̶̶o̶̶r̶̶s̶.

The “Knave” went silent for a short while. Before answering in a calm and collected manner. “Very well. We can discuss the matters in my office.” She then went ahead of us. I went to discreetly grip the hilt of my dagger tightly. ̶I̶ ̶a̶̶m̶ ̶r̶̶e̶̶l̶̶i̶̶e̶̶v̶̶i̶̶n̶̶g̶ ̶t̶̶h̶̶e̶ ̶m̶̶e̶̶m̶̶o̶̶r̶̶y̶ ̶o̶̶n̶̶c̶̶e̶ ̶m̶̶o̶̶r̶̶e̶… ̶M̶̶y̶ ̶b̶̶o̶̶d̶̶y̶ ̶h̶̶a̶̶d̶ ̶r̶̶e̶̶f̶̶u̶̶s̶̶e̶̶d̶ ̶t̶̶o̶ ̶m̶̶o̶̶v̶̶e̶. Pantalone snapped me out of it as I hear his voice. “You have the option to stay behind. I’ll make it quick.” I shook my head, clearly uneasy at the thought of being surrounded by children from the Hearth. “No need. I’ll come with. I have so much to learn about socializing with people like her…” My voice had a trace of venom at the last word, luckily no one dared to point it out. Children were still staring at us, as we walked inside the house, on the way to the “Knave’s” office…

The walk to her office felt so short, that it just made me realize of how much dread I felt from before I decided to escape from the orphanage. ̙̥̻̰̻̀͡T̩̙̰̬͙͖̝̙̲̰͚̗͓͝ͅh̢̛̟̲̘̯̙͈̫̹̜͢͠ͅȩ̣̰͓̻͎͡ ̧͈͇̘͎̫͙̰̗̩s͇a͏́͏̧͖͍̞̥̰̣̼̘̱̰̥͟͜m̵̧̛̯͖̺̥̘̯̙͈̫̹̜͢ͅȩ̣̰͓̻͎͡ ̹̖̘ḑ̡̱̥̜̺̘͍͚̻̤́ŗ̸̛̲͙͉͓͚̘̯̙͈̫̹̜͢ͅȩ̣̰͓̻͎͡a͏́͏͖͍̞̥̹̖̘ḑ̱̥̜́ ̨̣͕͉̫̜ͅI̴̞̦̦̗̥ a͏́͏̧͖͍̞̥̰̣̼̘̱̰̥͟͜m̵̧̯͖̺̥ ̝̺̠̖̭́͟͝f̷̛̩̲͈̘̯̙͈̫̹̜͢ͅȩ̛̣̰͓̻͎̘̯̙͈̫̹̜͢͡ͅȩ̣̰͓̻͎̜͔̘̰͇́͡͠l͏̘̜̭̤̱͇͞҉͏̫̼̜͉̭i̙͙̙̥̰̯͎̘̖̹̦̙͝͞n̴̫̘͈͈͈̳̩̳̞͔̭̤̩͍͢g̨̪̣̤͎̟͟͠ ̖̹̦̙͝͞n̴̛̛̫̘͈͈͈̳̩͢ͅớ͈̙̦̗͖̜w͚͈̟̬̩… Pantalone had opened the door. I stepped inside after Pantalone. I forced myself to calm down using the same breathing method I use to alleviate my anxiety. The meeting went well. Too well… The whole time I was being watched by the “Knave”, her eyes were observing me during Pantalone’s breakdown of the project. I didn’t like that. I felt uncomfortable.

Despite her eyes were on me, I was able to keep a straight face, and was able to maintain my composure from the start till the end… The “Knave” would eventually request my presence after the successful meeting, to which Pantalone had left the decision in my hands, whether I accept or decline her request. To both their surprise, I agreed. Pantalone looks at the “Knave” warily before handing me a tracker before he left.

“You now go by the name Anastasia. Why is that? Was it a name that he picked for you?” That was the first question being asked by her. “No. Pulcinella picked it for me.” Her eyes had narrowed at the mention of the “Rooster.” “Who else did you meet other than the “Rooster?”” She interrogated. I was left confused. Why is she asking me these questions instead of asking why I left? “None. It is only my mentor and him that I met.” Her suspicions didn’t stop from there. “Do you happen to know the “Doctor?” Had you met him before?” I went stiff at the mention of the “Doctor.” “No. I do not want to meet him.” The “Knave” seemed to be pleased by my answer. “The “Doctor” and “Regrator” work closely. I can shield you better than Regrator. You just have to come back to the House… I will not let harm come upon you.” The “Knave” attempts to sweeten the deal. I didn’t fall for it easily.

“I humbly decline the offer. My mentor takes care of me well enough to keep me safe from any possible harm to befall upon myself.” I didn’t like how my voice went a bit shaky… “So, you are saying that Regrator is protecting you better than I did for you. Is that what you imply?” My eyes widened at her tone. I didn’t like when her voice gets like this. “…I am not implying anything. I am saying that, I am in good hands, “Knave.”” I flinched as I hear the sound of wood being scratched. This was not good… “You have changed your identity. From clothing to a new name… Are you sure that he did not force you to change drastically?” My brows were now furrowed. “Pantalone never forced anything on me. It was I who made the decision to change my own identity. I did it for branding.”

Her tone went sharp. “Since when were you ever interested in business? I never strike you the type to be interested in such matters…” My eye twitched. This is getting ridiculous. “What are you trying to say? That I am not suited to be my mentor’s disciple?” I tried to sound calm but my agitation was taking over… “I am saying that you perform best under my guidance.” Her response surprised me.

At this point, I was unable to refrain from making unnecessary commentary anymore. “What makes you think that my performance was better when I was on your side? Did you never notice how miserable I was during my stay here in this house?” I am distressed. I fell into her trap, again. “I knew you were alive. I refused to believe that you were dead. I know my daughter very well that she is able to defend herself well.” The “Knave” was smiling. ̶I̶̶t̶ ̶w̶̶a̶̶s̶ ̶u̶̶n̶̶s̶̶e̶̶t̶̶t̶̶l̶̶i̶̶n̶̶g̶.

I took a step back as she rose from her chair. “No… Stay back…! She is dead! I am not her!” My voice trembled; I was shaking due to how intense my fear was… “No. My daughter has come back to me. She is alive and well. She is right here in front of me.” The “Knave” went closer… I felt trapped. Unable to move as she stepped closer and closer to me… “Welcome back, dear daughter…” Was what she said before attempting to embrace me. But before I knew it, I was then pulled away by Pantalone. He came just in time to save me from the “Knave’s” attempts to take me back to the house… An: I was supposed to post earlier but ended up posting wayyy late... I'll be having a break writing this to think about the plot more and the alternate routes that I planned to write. Till then! I also appreciate the likes, the reblogs, and follows. Because I cannot believe people actually read this... If there's a new post it's either that it's a new part or a silly short story that I will write about. Idk which fandom I'll be writing for, though!

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Dream

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: @foxyanon this is for you. Your request was absolutely amasing and I just hope I've done justice to it. 💖My warmest thanks to lovely @arcielee for beta reading, you are awsome and your comments literally made my day 😘

Warnings: angst, longing, some lowkey SMUT 18+ nothing explicit, use of she/her pronouns, happy ending 😉

Word Count: 2,6 K

Inspired by the The Apparition by Sleep Token

Why are you never real? Whenever you appear You leave me with that grace I am trembling with fear But I know that you will disappear Just as I awake Whisper in my ear Well, I believe Somewhere in the past Something was between You and I, my dear And it remains With me to this day No matter what I do This scar will never fade

He awoke with a silent cry trembling on his lips, hands instinctively reaching to wipe tears from his wet cheeks, his breath panting as if he were drowning in his own sobs. He had dreamt of her. Again. 

The sensation lingered in his fingertips: the soft touch of her palm against his, the echo of her laughter wrapping around him like a warm summer breeze on a cool evening. He couldn’t recall her face anymore. Sometimes he wasn’t even sure she was real; just a fleeting memory or fantasy conjured by the ghosts of his past, taunting him anew.

And yet from the moment he had set his foot on Dunholm’s rocky ground, he dreamt of her almost nightly. The sweetness of their shared moments intertwined with the bitter ache of longing, all overshadowed by the burning flame of guilt for having failed her, that made him wake up with a cry, forehead covered in sweat and heart racing. 

Sihtric’s eyes wandered the small room, slowly adjusting to the darkness, disturbed only by the faint glow of the waning moon. With a deep sigh ripping through him, Sihtric swung his legs over the edge of the bed and pushed himself up. His bare feet brought him to the window. The rough uneven wooden floor was a constant reminder of the past times indelible from the deepest corners of his mind, of times long ago when his feet pounded the very same wooden floor, with each step carving the memory of these paths into his very being.

The dreams were too real, clinging to him with all the colours, smells and sounds, leaving a bitter taste on his tongue. A taste of remorse and longing.

Sihtric lifted his hands, shielding his eyes with his palms and gently rubbing them, as though attempting to cleanse himself of the haunting impressions left by the dream. He had seen her so clearly, the colourful images spinning around in his head. 

Her hair loose and billowing in the wind, her merry laughter a bright messenger of joy as she skipped through the meadow, the gentle fingers of the rising sun caressing her glowing skin. 

She was the light in the darkness, the breeze of the fresh air in his lungs. Her laughter was a thread through the haze of his crippled existence. Just as the damp earth after a rainfall carries the scent of rebirth, her aroma was that of a promise of a new beginning – a gentle mix of sweet wild berries and midsummer flowers woven into her hair.

His body and mind ached for her, longing for their fingers to intertwine as he would willingly follow her wherever she led.

And then the kiss – his very first. Fingers trembling, heart pounding against his chest like a wild drum. She leaned against the sturdy trunk of the oak tree by the river, the tranquil sound of water splashing against the sandy bank filling the air. Pressing his palm against the rough bark, he sought to steady his racing heart, drawing strength from the solid presence of the majestic giant. The softness of her pale skin thrilled him as his other hand gently touched her cheek, tenderly guiding her gaze towards him.

“I… I want to kiss you,” he whispered softly, his breath catching in his throat, drowning in the depths of two sparkling eyes, pleading for his touch.

“What are you waiting for?” A sweet, lighthearted giggle echoed around him, and he released a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. With closed eyes, his dry, chapped lips timidly brushed against her soft ones, like a fragile whisper dancing on the edge of a sigh, like two lonely travellers adrift in the vast expanse of a starlit night, seeking refuge and salvation. 

“Sihtric ...” his name rolled off her lips, mingling with a soft whimper as his both palms cupped her face, their breaths picking up.

Sihtric's fingertips traced down to his lips, pausing there. He stood motionless for a moment, leaning against the window frame, arms crossing over his chest and breath catching in the cool night air as he attempted to summon her face from the depths of his memory. Yet it remained elusive and all he found was shadows dancing in his mind's eye. A silent curse escaped his parted lips. He had long ago banished these memories, fortified them behind a wall of self assured certainty that there was nothing he could do, that it was for the best. 

The mocking grin of the moon looked down at him from the height of his throne in the nightly sky. It sent shivers down Sihtric’s spine. 

"I didn't abandon her, I was sent away," Sihtric whispered, the words barely audible over the night's gentle breeze. "Away... away... away..." echoed through the empty yard, his own voice a cruel taunt. "I inquired about her in the village after the fall of Dunholm, but no one knew anything.”

The sound of his fist connecting with the wooden wall shattered the serene silence of the night. The impact reverberating through the stillness like a thunderclap – hollow and darksome. 

Yes, he had searched for her. A solitary visit to the nearby village where he knew she hailed from, greeted by anxious faces hastily retreating into their ramshackle homes, peering cautiously through the safety of their shuttered windows. The presence of Danes had always brought fear and uncertainty to them.

He had inquired about her at the small, dusty inn, amidst discussions of purchasing horses and timber to aid Ragnar in repairing the damaged gates. The host, suspiciously eyeing them, poured ale and swiftly pocketed the silver Uhtred had tossed his way.

Sihtric wasn’t sure what he had feared more: finding her happily married, her eyes denying him recognition and filled with fear, or discovering her waiting for him, unable to offer her anything. Nevertheless, he asked, quickly finding satisfaction in the host's indifferent shrug, as he explained that many had left in recent years due to meagre harvests, and there were no women matching Sihtric’s description in the village.

It was that one moment as they mounted their horses, Sihtric thought he heard her voice, calling his name. He cast a wary glance around the deserted square, the only sound a mocking crow's cry echoing through the stillness. He shook his head, as if trying to dispel a vision, before leaving his past behind like a worn boot—ten long years ago.

And now he stood once more in this place—Lord of Dunholm, a title that sent a shiver down his spine with each utterance. The shadows began to shift, the night's veil slowly lifting to reveal the faint glimmer of the sun lingering behind the horizon.

“I... I crave you... it's something I can't conceal... I've never seen anyone so beautiful..." his breath grew ragged, the silkiness of her flawless skin beneath his fingertips stirring an excitement unknown to him.

"Oh God," she gasped, her body arching against the soft blanket of moss and grass he had carefully laid her upon, his clumsy fingers seeking their way to her core, hungry lips stealing the soft moan escaping her.

"Please, tell me to stop," he pleaded almost desperately, voice quivering, unsure, even scared of where this journey would lead them. Yet unable to release her, unable to tear his gaze from her. 

“Don’t… please, don’t stop,” a shaky moan from her parted lips forced a low groan from him, his fingers dipping in her hot tightness. “It feels so good, too good… Sihtric, please, I want to feel more of it. I have never felt anything like this before,” she whispered through panting breaths.

He had never touched anyone like this before; his limited knowledge gleaned from overhearing drunken chatter around firesides or hushed conversations in the kitchens as staying unnoticed had become almost second nature to him. 

His own breathing getting more and more uneven with each quivering whimper, each soft moan leaving her lips; he watched her body responding to his touch, her breasts heaving, gaze getting glazy and eyes rolling back into her head.

She seemed almost otherworldly to him—her eyes curious and trusting, unburdened by fear or suspicion, her smile so radiant it felt like the warmth of the first sun rays in spring melting the snow of his desolation.

What had he done to deserve the gods sending her his way? A vision on an early morning, peacefully gathering flowers in the solitary meadow by the river where he had brought the horses to graze for the first time. His resort, a ray of light, piercing the dark loneliness of his soul, keeping him from drowning in it. 

Each time he returned, fear gripped his heart, his eyes scanning the secluded meadow, his back against the lonely oak by the riverbank. What if she didn't come? But she always did, and his heart danced with joy, bathed in the soothing warmth of her genuine smile. 

It had been so long ago. He had been just a boy, falling in love for the first time in his life.

Sihtric rubbed his sleepy eyes. Not a day passed without him believing he had caught a glimpse of her—whether in the shadows of the long corridors, the dark corners of the spacious great hall, or even his own bedroom. He knew his mind played tricks on him, yet each time his eyes seemed to capture that fleeting silhouette; he couldn't resist leaping to his feet, reaching out only to grasp empty air.

Hastily dressing in his breeches and boots, he tugged on a linen shirt while descending the stairs, snatching his leather tunic on the way out. Urged by an inexplicable force, he allowed his feet to guide him to the stables where he mounted his unsaddled mare.

"Open the gates!" his voice boomed across the yard, jolting the drowsy guards into action. They hurried to obey their lord's command, their eyes wide with surprise as they watched Sihtric spur his horse into a gallop.

The old, majestic oak tree welcomed Sihtric with a soft rustle of its green leaves in the wind. Leaning his head against the mighty trunk, he pressed his palms against its weathered bark, seeking solace and reassurance in the tranquil serenity of its solid presence, just as he had done before.

“Oh Sihtric,” she moaned, her nails digging into his shoulders, as he slowly forced himself inside her. The feeling of her tight walls gradually parting, wrapping around him and letting him in so overwhelming, he was afraid he would pass out. 

Heart frantically beating against the cage of his chest, he froze, breath withheld, seeing tears pearling in the corners of her closed eyes. 

“Am I hurting you? Do you want me to stop?” 

A vehement shake of the head, her hips rising to meet him, was the only answer, and he leaned in, trembling lips brushing against her parted ones to kiss away the deep sigh drifting from them. 

“I love you, Sihtric!” 

“I love you too, and I always will,” he breathed, his hips starting to move, meeting hers with every slow thrust, breath quickening, like the rush of a rising tide. 

He had never put much stock in the tales his mother whispered under the veil of night, her gentle hands pulling their only blanket tighter around him, shielding him from the cold. Stories of beautiful angels, guiding lost souls back to the light—until he encountered one. An angel in disguise, wandering the earth and plucking flowers from the meadow.

She arched her back, enveloping him in the embrace of her fragile arms, and he buried his face in the curve of her neck, drinking in her sweet, intoxicating scent, his deep moans mingling with her soft whimpers.

He had meant every word of it. Without a shadow of doubt clouding his mind, he had made a promise—a promise destined to be shattered in the days that followed, as the Norns had already woven the threads of his fate, laughing over his youthful resolve.

Tears blurred his vision as he made his way back to Dunholm. He had waited until the first rays of the sun, knowing it was futile, knowing she wouldn’t come, as it was not the right day. There had been no goodbyes, no sweet kisses sealing the promise to return—just a lonely heart carved into the thick bark of the old oak tree, the silent witness to their happiness.

The sound of a dry branch cracking beneath feet jolted Sihtric, prompting him to turn his head.

“My lord, are you alright?” a slightly concerned voice inquired, and Sihtric's moist eyes met two sparkling, mismatched pools of brown and blue.

“I... I’m...” he stammered, his own uncertainty mirrored in the growing fear in those eyes as they darted down to his chest, fixating on the pendant of Thor's hammer hanging there.

Before he could utter another word, two gentle hands released the wild flowers they were holding, allowing them to scatter to the ground as the young girl spun on her heels and began to flee.

"Wait, please! I mean you no harm," Sihtric finally found his voice, but the girl paid no heed.

Sihtric remained rooted to the spot, unable to shake off the shock that held him captive, his gaze tracing the slender silhouette as it vanished from view. Eventually, he stirred, though the girl had already disappeared into the depths of the meadow and the forest beyond.

Driven by an inexplicable compulsion, he followed. Though he didn't want to frighten her, his feet seemed to move of their own accord, propelling him forward through the thorny underbrush. Long branches reached out like bony arms, clawing at his bare skin and leaving behind bloody scratches and bruises, yet he hardly noticed. Emerging from the forest, he beheld a crooked house nestled amidst a small garden.

Approaching cautiously, Sihtric scanned his surroundings, searching for signs of life. 

Engrossed in your work, you hadn't noticed anyone approaching. The weeds had begun to overtake your small carrot bed, a task long overdue for attention. A cough caught your attention, prompting you to straighten up and glance over, wondering who had ventured from the village to your secluded home.

You both just stood there, eyeing each other with disbelief and bewilderment. Sihtric shifted his weight uneasily from one foot to the other, unable to tear his gaze away from you, unable to believe what he was seeing. 

Here you were—his ghost, his dream,  the most beautiful face he had ever seen, his most cherished memory locked away from his consciousness due to its unbearable pain.

Your fingers released the hoe, letting it slip from your grasp to fall to the ground at your feet. Covering your eyes with your hands, hot tears streamed down your cheeks as you staggered, struggling to maintain control over your wobbly knees.

In two long strides, Sihtric was beside you, his strong arms encircling your shoulders, providing support. Torn between the desire to push him away and to melt into his embrace, you remained rooted in place, sobs wracking your body as he enveloped you in his warm presence, like a comforting blanket.

"Gods, you are here. You have always been here," Sihtric whispered, his lips grazing your hair. "My love… I… I've never stopped loving you, and I never will. Will you ever believe that? Will you ever forgive me?"

"Mom, in the meadow where you always send me to pick flowers, I met a Dane today," a girl's voice rang out, as she appeared in the doorframe of the old house, freezing in her tracks as her eyes widened at the scene before her.

"She is mine. Isn't she?" Sihtric asked, tears starting to flow freely down his cheeks, yet he made no move to wipe them away. He didn't need your confirmation.

With a soft thud, he allowed himself to sink to the ground, his knees meeting the damp earth of the garden as he buried his face into your belly, arms enveloping your frame. The fearless warrior and the Lord of Dunholm cried, unashamed of his tears, while your fingers gently stroked his hair.

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[presidenthades]

And now the behind-the-scenes for Lavender Ch. 8!

Usual disclaimer that these thoughts aren’t necessarily canonical to the fic verse until/unless I write them into the actual story.

Jace’s thought about how she can’t hover over the future king forever makes me a bit sad. It echoes Aegon’s thought about how Alicent eventually stopped cuddling him because future kings aren’t supposed to be cuddled. 😭 I like to think Jace will keep cuddling her son even after he’s grown up and insists he’s too big for cuddles though.

Jace knows how to manage Aegon. She also figures out very quickly how to manage Otto. It helps that she and Otto both try to find a diplomatic solution first, and they understand the necessity of compromise. They strongly disagree on the best way to handle Aegon, but they’re at least willing to discuss it in a civilized manner.

Unlike in canon, Otto decides to gracefully volunteer for retirement. He’s achieved his main goal (putting Aegon on the throne), and the realm seems like it will be stable for a while. He also has confidence in Jace’s ability to temper the worst of Aegon’s habits. So Otto decides to quit while he’s on top. Sure, he’ll miss governing, but he can handle a bit of boredom if it means his legacy remains intact.

I like to headcanon that Otto is secretly an infrastructure and urban planning nerd, and he’s always wanted to lead a big project where they revamp KL’s sewage and sanitation system. Everyone needs a hobby lol.

I love the image of Otto interviewing a bunch of kindergarteners for the role of Elenar’s future Hand. 😂

Corlys, like Otto, is also a curmudgeonly old man with a lot of pride and not the best temper. But Corlys has a much different dynamic with Aegon, so Aegon will be able to work with Corlys…for a while.

I think Otto secretly wishes Jace could be Aegon’s Hand, because Aegon would listen to her 99.999% of the time. But Otto is pragmatic and knows that being a woman will count against her, so it probably won’t happen unless everything goes perfectly during Aegon’s reign. He doesn’t explicitly praise Jace for her abilities, but there’s the unspoken implication that he thinks she’s doing a good job. He’s also probably patting himself on the back for ensuring that Aegon married her.

Helaena’s “ghost” references mean Larys. The Lord of Harrenhal (a very haunted place) has basically been hiding in the walls, much like a ghost. She says “it comes and it goes,” a repeat of her firefly riddle in Ch. 4. And “ghosts used to be men too” is foreshadowing that Jace uses Larys’s human weaknesses (lust) against him.

While he’s been in hiding, Larys has kept tabs on the royal family’s routine so he can identify the perfect time to strike. Aegon eats with Smallfolk buddies regularly, and a bunch of the Targs and Velaryons like to have date nights. This is Lavender’s less tragic version of Blood and Cheese (book, not show version), where B&C spend a lot of time scoping out the royal family’s routine before attacking. Larys has the advantage of a) his whisper network and b) leverage over a bunch of castle staff whom he helped hire. It’s not a coincidence that the maid stops Rhaena from following Jace to her chambers, where Larys is waiting. Larys is aware that Aegon has been reluctant to use any Kingsguard but Criston to guard Jace, so once again Larys strikes when Criston is resting.

I finished posting Lavender shortly after S2 ended, so I was able to include a reference to S2E8 where Larys mentioned storing most of his family money with the Iron Bank (I think that’s what he said? It’s been a while since I watched the episode and TBH I’m not inclined to rewatch it). Braavos had a fraught relationship with the Targs, but Jace is determined to attempt diplomacy wherever possible. The Iron Bank speaks the language of money, so she sent two trusted representatives (her father and the master of ships), who happen to be from mercantile houses, to negotiate.

I originally thought about Larys pressuring Jace to kill/poison Aegon, so it would be a) more B&C-like in that she has a Sophie’s choice between her husband and son, and b) to hammer home what she said about doing anything for her son’s sake, including imitating Alicent’s example. But Larys’s primary goal is to escape with a lot of money, and it would be very dumb of him to think he could stick around in Westeros scott-free after he facilitates Aegon’s death. So instead he decides to pull a kidnapping/ransom scheme.

I spent a lot of time thinking about how Jace outsmarts Larys. I try to avoid depicting sexual violence just for the shock and horror value, and I had to think about whether the breastfeeding scene made sense story-wise. I think it does. A lot of Jace’s story involves using her limited assets as a woman in a patriarchal world to solidify her own power. There’s been a repeated theme of Larys being like other men, beholden to their baser instincts. Also, taking something that gives Jace joy (nursing her son) and twisting it into something depraved (forcing her to participate in his kink) seems like the kind of thing Larys would do to demonstrate his leverage over her. But Jace, who has spent a lot more time than she’d like with Larys, figures out his weakness (forcing someone in power to do what he wants) and turns it against him.

The tree that Daeron climbs up to the balcony is the same tree that Aegon climbs in The Golds Ch. 3 after Jace locks him out.

Jace knows Larys might kill her when he reaches her. She could’ve tried to climb off the balcony to save herself, but she has a baby to think about. She would rather ensure Elenar’s safety and give him to Daeron, even if it means she’ll certainly be violently attacked. Luckily, Daeron the Daring has different ideas.

Jace is on the verge of a panic attack, but she still tries to be queenly and give orders. Her dad is here though, and he tells his daughter to let him handle it. 😭

Jace usually advocates for peace and non-violence, but she has some of that dragon blood. We see a flash of it when she’s pleased by the thought of Aegon mutilating Larys’s corpse for her sake. She also doesn’t hesitate to order the maids be executed, because the maids endangered her son.

I love Jace’s line to Aegon about how “yes, Viserys loved you, but that isn’t enough, you deserved better.” She gives Aegon the validation he needs: he was worthy of love from his own father. But she also reminds him that just because Viserys loved him, that doesn’t make what Viserys did OK. Otherwise Aegon might start feeling guilty about Viserys, and Viserys doesn’t deserve Aegon’s guilt.

Mysaria proves to be a useful ally, but Jace is skeptical whether Mysaria’s loyalty can be counted upon. She doesn’t think Mysaria should be given one of the most important jobs in the realm just because she helped Aegon once or twice. At best, Jace thinks maybe they should allow Mysaria a probationary/trial period.

Aegon knew nothing about fashion when he married Jace, but by the time his coronation rolls around, he’s picked up on a lot about clothes. He definitely knows his wife hates black. 😄 He’s unusually interested in planning the coronation because, as we find out later, he’s planning a surprise coronation for Jace too.

Jace loves dressing Elenar in mini versions of Aegon’s outfits. 🥰

I like to think Elenar says “bah” a lot because he’s steadily working toward his first word, which is going to be “Pa.”

It’s been a while since Jace and Aegon did their striptease study sessions, but she is kinda turned on when Aegon demonstrates he’s been doing his homework about past Targaryen coronations. 😆

Aegon makes two promises to himself in Chapter 1. First, everyone will know Jace is first among women. Second, he’ll build a nicer throne for her next to the Iron Throne. He achieve/works toward both promises this chapter. The throne one is self-explanatory. As for the first among women promise, that’s tied to his vow that he’ll publicly empower Jace as his equal. It’s unprecedented since the Conqueror’s time for a Targ queen to be the king’s equal (and there’s room to debate just how equal the Conqueror’s sisters were to him), so this is the start of Aegon and Jace making history.

Of course Otto hired a painter to capture the coronation. I imagine the final painting will look a lot like The Coronation of Napoleon where Napoleon crowns his wife Josephine, though it would be Aegon and Jace in those roles, respectively.

It seems important/symbolic for Rhaenyra to crown Aegon. She was heir before him, and she has a chance to weaken his claim after Viserys died. But for the sake of peace—and especially for Jace’s sake—Rhaenyra agrees to make this public gesture. It also allows her a moment to be mentioned in history books, which she’s always craved.

The crown fits Jace perfectly and isn’t as heavy as expected. More symbolism for how Jace was destined to wear a crown and how she is able to bear the weight of duty more easily than Aegon.

Aegon makes a point of publicly celebrating Elenar as the Prince of Dragonstone because Viserys never did that for him.

Aegon thinks nothing of letting his infant son chew on the Conqueror’s crown, a very important relic. His son is more important than the past. 🤷🏻‍♀️

[nouearth]

SHIT 😭😭😭 i have way too much chris evans in my mind rn im just gonna vomit everything i've been thinking

1960's/1970's!steve rogers

him getting into the counterculture movement, getting the typical long hippie haircut, going on pride parades and shit even when he and reader are well into their 50's 💀 (or even 60's idk i forgot when this man was born)

college professor!chris

you guys meet at a random talk, convention or public assembly thingy, he tries to be all professional and just let it be platonic but reader's ass leaving him every time just gets him up in his feels

football player!chris

he might be the star athlete of the world's greatest team but he makes reader feel like the real star, he's a hotshot but never EVER leaves his baby in second place

(sorry for taking over ive just been reading some enchanted evenings over and over bc of how perfect it is and i can't stop thinking of scenarios with this GOD-MARBLED MAN!!!)

💌 : wait wait this is perfect, let me join in because this makes me so soft but also so horny. (also i'm very happy you like some enchanted evenings! :^) i'm in that era where i feel like my works suck SOOOOO, THANK YOU!)

neighbor!chris he's not one to mingle much on his free days, he does enough of that at work. but when chris notices the attractive man moving into the house across from him, he figures turning over a new leaf could do him some good, and that starts with giving your sweaty body a much needed relief.

ceo!chris high-strung and a ticking time bomb, your douche-bag of a boss has been on your ass every second of the day since his divorce. protein shakes aren't green enough, window blinds aren't dusted enough, your dress shirt isn't ironed enough. as his assistant, it was exhausting being demanded from one place to another more than usual. and as his assistant, you knew chris more than you knew yourself, from his allergies to his kinks, and you knew exactly what can finally get him off your back (or rather... on your back?)

overworked husband!chris / detective!chris it hasn't been a great couple of months for chris. the murder case he's been assigned to was showing no signs of slowing with another family violently slaughtered within near vicinity, taunting him with the serial killer's nihilistic symbol. the image of mangled bodies haunts him in his sleep, a mother's lament keeps him awake, and the relief of coming home to you and the kids, tucked in and safely sleeping in one bed fortifies his sanity for a little longer.

and i'm also cackling because i feel like we sound like tyra banks when she was interviewing beyonce. 😭

BUY-YONCÉ, when was the last you bought anything from a store? SEANCE-CÉ, if you could communicate with anybody that has passed away-BRIE-ONCÉ, what's your favorite type of cheese?

[seoksgrl]

happier than ever, 5. : knj namjoon x reader friends to strangers to lovers

tws: alcoholism, depression, mention of attempted suicide

note: whoops in classic me fashion i accidentally took a 3 month from updating lol. well...here it is. sidenote, i did used to work in mental health, but my knowledge is a little fuzzy, so if anything is wrong or inaccurate, pls just ignore bc after all...this is just a fanfic :)

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Namjoon doesn’t even think before he shrugs out of his jacket, Jooheon watching the water where you disappeared with wide eyes, lips parted in shock. It’s only when the splash and crackle of Namjoon’s boot on the ice fills the air alongside the two men’s harsh, panicked breaths that Jooheon even reacts.

“What - Namjoon you can’t go in there, let me call for an ambulance -”

Namjoon isn’t listening to his friend’s worries, his frame is heavier than your own, and the thin ice cracks under his weight before he even gets past the old pier. The frigid water takes his breath away, but he inhales a couple of deep breaths to try and keep his mind focused, to stop his body from going into shock too quick. He needs to get to you, needs to see you bob up through the choppy waves in the gap your body made through the ice. 

His fist aches from where he smashes the ice, relieved at how thin it is all while his body shakes against the cold and the terror of that image locked in his mind, your tired, devastated face disappearing beneath the water. It’s a moment that will haunt him for the rest of his life, and he just hopes that’s the only image that does. 

Jooheon is calling out his name on the bank in between talking to the emergency services on his cell phone, and Namjoon blocks him out, his haggard breaths forced from his tight through against the freezing lake that envelopes his body, soaks into his clothes and his bones. Once he gets close enough to where you went under, he sucks in a quick, deep breath and drops beneath the surface. 

The cold, murky water of the lake burns his eyes as he fights against the automatic instinct to close them. He’s too focused on finding you to worry about whatever water parasites he might contract swimming around in this old, unkempt reservoir. His eyes squint against the darkness, various shapes and shadows under the water catch his attention as he swims deeper, long forgotten boats that had sunk long ago, or trash thrown in by people passing by. God knows this isn’t a tourist destination anymore, not that Namjoon remembers people coming to the lake when the two of you were young. It was always your safe place. 

Now he wants nothing more than to get you both far away from here. 

Through the misty, green water, Namjoon spots a shape that can only be you, and he prays silently to himself that this isn’t some cruel figment of his imagination. Your body drifts in the water, arms uplifted, legs bent slightly. You’re not fighting, and Namjoon screams your name beneath the water, but the sound dies in a flurry of bubbles. The taste of the lake chokes him as he rushes to you, feet kicking hard in his heavy winter boots. There’s a burst of movement as his fingers grip your arm, the soft material of your sweater sodden and heavy, his skin numb as he wraps his arm around your waist, glancing up to see the faint outline in the ice before he swims up, resurfacing with a gasp. 

His eyes blink furiously, and he’s not sure if it's the lake or whether there are tears flowing down his cheeks, but his throat closes around your name, the sound escaping his lips in a ragged cry. His hands are useless, riddled with pins and needles, but he grips your cheeks anyway, shaking you, trying to do anything to wake you up. Blue and red lights beckon him from the bank, and he smashes through the ice blocking his previous path, dragging you ashore as the ambulance pulls up. His entire body shakes, and he can’t stop himself from attempting to revive you, needing to work quicker, hardly able to wait for the paramedics to get here before he’s pinching your nose, tugging your jaw open and sealing his lips over yours. He blows in a long gust of air, moving back to pump a couple times before hands are pulling him off of you. 

“No! No - I have to - She needs to wake up -”

Jooheon grips his arms, pulling him back and out of the way from the paramedics, “Let them do their job, man. You need to warm up,”

Then there’s a woman surrounding him with a blanket, stepping in front of him and blocking his line of sight as he paramedics begin to pump at your chest, placing a mask over your face as one guy pumps the large, plastic apparatus. He can’t breathe, feeling as if he’s drowning along with you, and his legs give out while Jooheon follows him down to the floor, crowding him with arms that make him feel as if he’s suffocating. 

“Please, please, please…” He mutters to himself, too quiet for anyone to hear. Hot tears run down his face now, and seconds turn into minutes as the paramedics continue trying to revive your cold, lifeless body. 

It feels like years pass before your chest moves jaggedly, body bucking as you choke on the small amount of water in your lungs. The sound of your first hoarse breath is like music to Namjoon’s ears, and he falls back onto his ass on the soggy bank of the lake, his face in his hands as he sobs harder than he has ever in his life. 

There’s soreness all over your body when you wake up, your eyes unable to open while your hazy, addled mind tries to catch up. There’s something in your throat, something around your mouth, and you begin to panic, your eyes springing open into the harsh white light as your legs thrash.

“Shh, we’ve got you, Y/N,” A soft, feminine voice, slightly muffled, comes from beside you, and your eyes roll to look up at them. Their face is blurry, half covered with a mask, and you realise quickly that you’re in a hospital room, “This is gonna be uncomfortable so just try to breathe through your nose for me,”

You try to do as the doctor says, but the instrument being slowly removed from your throat makes you gag repeatedly, eyes stinging with tears until it passes your lips. Your mouth feels dry, lips cracked and sore. There’s a familiar smell stuck in your nostrils, a natural, watery scent that mingles unpleasantly with the sterile aroma of the hospital. 

“I -” You cough, swallowing hard as your bruised throat contracts, “I can’t afford this,”

The nurse looks down at you, eyes soft and full of pity, just as you hate. When they speak, your brows draw together, “The bill is covered, please try to rest,”

“But -”

The nurse doesn’t wait to hear your protests, instead leaving the room and walking out into the corridor. You look around the room, alone and confused at how you got here or what has happened in the last however many hours its been since you visited your mother’s grave at the cemetery. It’s only when you remember laying a cheap, plastic-wrapped bundle of flowers at her gravestone that you recall what your intentions had been; the lake, the ice, the wine you’d gulped at for courage, it all comes back to you in a wave of humiliation and dread. 

That familiar, dark shadow raises it’s head once more in the form of a thirst for something you know damn well you can’t get at a hospital, and so you look around and down at your form, eyes snagging on the tube that’s been inserted into your arm. It’s still a little sore, as is the rest of your body, especially your chest. There are a few long, heavy minutes where you contemplate pulling the foreign object out of your arm when you feel the presence of someone enter the room. 

“You’re awake,” Namjoon says, and your eyes close on impact, like the sound of it hurts. And it does, especially when you’re mostly sober. That’s why you need to numb it all, and why you need to get out of here. 

“I have to go,” You say, your hand reaching for the tube and tugging. It hurts, and you wince, but carry on until a pair of warm hands cover your hand, stopping your movements.

“Y/N, please don’t do that,”

“Get off me,” You say, voice failing to hold the anger you feel towards the man before you. The feeling of his skin touching yours is almost painful, and to get away from his touch, you rip your hands out from under his, aborting your plan to pull out the tube, “I don’t want to be here. I want to go home,”

“You can’t go home yet,” Namjoon says, still standing close to your bed. You feel trapped, suffocated and completely unable to look at him, so instead you pick at a stray thread on the blanket, “they’ve arranged for someone to come and talk to you,”

This is where you look up at him, your eyes lifting to greet Namjoon’s face, concern etched into his features. It leaves you breathless and pissed off all at once, “What do you mean? I don’t need to talk to anyone,”

“Y/N,” He sighs, looking exasperated, the bags under his eyes out of place when you’re so used to seeing him upbeat, friendly, “you tried to drown yourself,”

There’s something strange in hearing the words come from Namjoon’s lips, even when it’s the truth. You had intended to do that, and you’d wanted to succeed, too. But for some reason it makes you feel embarrassed and caught out when he points out the fact.

There’s a long moment of silence between the two of you, and you can feel Namjoon’s eyes on your face, his hands still brushing the blanket where your arm had been. It’s too much, you feel naked under his watchful eye, and it’s almost as if you’re a child being chastised. 

“I know you’re mad at me,” He says, voice quiet and pleading, “and I am too. I’m pissed off at myself for letting this much time get between us. I should’ve been here,”

“I don’t need anyone to look after me,” Is your reply, even when your throat tightens upon hearing the softness in his voice. Your body is simply reacting to the words you wanted to hear for years, the moment you imagined might happen five or seven years after the two of you stopped talking. But it’s been twelve years, and you’re incapable of feeling anything anymore.

Maybe if Namjoon had reached out a year or two ago, you wouldn’t feel this way, but it hurts more to think about forgiving him than it does to keep being mad, and so you do that. 

“I think you’re wrong,” Namjoon replies, and it’s not at all what you expect him to say, or what you imagine most people would say in reply to you claiming your independence. Your eyes fly up to meet his and his head is tilted inquisitively, as if he’s waiting for something.

“Excuse me?”

He clears his throat, looking away when you meet his line of sight head on, “I don’t think you can always look after yourself. I think you need someone to look out for you, and for the last year, or maybe longer, you haven’t had that,” he swallows, and you wonder if he is nervous, “you’ve been alone. And that’s partly my fault,”

Even as you frown at the side of his face, you have a sense that he may be right. Maybe this last year would have been easier if he had been around, or if Seokjin hadn’t fucked your best friend during your bachelorette party, or if you had any friends left in Yeocho. After you began drinking heavily, people didn’t want to be around you, and it’s safe to say you burnt some bridges with your actions and some of the shit you said. But you’ve gotten so used to people leaving, to being alone, that the idea of letting someone in, or back in, makes you feel itchy all over. It makes you feel vulnerable in ways you haven’t had to in so long. 

Namjoon turns back to look at you, then, possibly wondering why you haven’t replied. His lips part, as if he wants to say more, but someone else steps into the room, a doctor in a long, white coat followed by another person in a shirt and tie. 

“Miss Y/N, I’m pleased to see you’re awake,” The doctor says, his eyes darting between you and Namjoon. He smiles warmly at you both, and for a second it actually feels nice for someone to view you with something other than pity or second hand embarrassment, “My name is Doctor Chen, this is my colleague, Doctor Ryu. We’d just like to have a word with you, if you don’t mind,”

Licking your lips, you sit up, pushing against the mattress and lifting your weakened, bruised body until you’re sitting, “I don’t believe I have a choice,”

Namjoon sighs your name, and you almost turn to him before Dr Ryu steps forward, his demeanour open and relaxed, “I understand that this probably feels overwhelming, but we truly just want to have a chat for the moment. Is that okay?”

Despite everything, your eyes find Namjoon’s, his brows lifted as he looks down at you with tired eyes, but for a moment his lips twitch into a smile, oddly comforting despite your anger with his presence. 

“Fine,” You say, turning back to Dr Ryu and Dr Chen, “but I’d like to be alone,”

Namjoon nods like he was expecting the dismissal, and smiles at the two doctors before looking back at you, “I’ll go get some coffee and leave you to it,”

There’s a long moment of silence where you watch the doorway, eyes lingering on where Namjoon walked out into the hall for some inexplicable reason, and you find yourself turning away and letting your eyes land on the two doctors in front of you. Their soft smiles and penetrating stares leave you feeling naked, exposed like a raw nerve as they wait for you to talk first. 

“So, what exactly do I need to say to you in order to get out of here?”

Dr Ryu is the first to react, his lips lifting a little as if this isn’t the first time he’s heard those words. Dr Chen looks marginally more uncomfortable, adjusting his watch absentmindedly. He allows Dr Ryu to answer, and you realise that of the two, he must be the psychiatrist. 

“I’m sure you are aware of the gravity of your situation, Y/N. We don’t have to sugar coat it for you,” His voice is calm and cool like an early morning by the lake, and the fact that this is the first thing you think of almost has a bubble of hysterical laughter crawling up your throat. Irony at it’s finest, you suppose. “What happened at the lake was a suicide attempt, and in order for us to make sure you have the help you need, there will have to be several assessments done before we can discharge you,”

When the first few visions of your plan first came into focus, you were so sure you’d thought of everything. Seokjin didn’t need you, there were no pets to look after or give away, no job to call in sick to. All you had to do was die. 

It never ever occurred to you what might happen if it didn’t work. If someone saved you. But perhaps a part of you should have been prepared for this; the worried glances, the questions, the soft, pleading stares from two men in white coats. 

When you don’t answer, Dr Ryu is the first to break the silence once again, his posture relaxed as he leans back to look at you, “When was the first time you had these suicidal thoughts, Y/N? Can you tell me a little about what life has been like the last few years?”

The memories come unbidden, sober thoughts flashing behind your eyelids like the harsh rays of sunlight when someone rips the curtains away from the window to wake you up. Your sober mind can’t shake them off, can’t let them fade away, so instead you’re punished with them, haunted by the memories of finding Seokjin and Yeji after your bachelorette party, repo men carrying out your computer from the studio. 

Your mother’s pale, gaunt face turned towards you as she lay dying. 

Your eyes screw shut against the glare of years worth of pain, and you swallow it all down like a bitter pill, “I don’t want to do this,”

Dr Ryu doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to calm you or change the subject. Instead he leaves you to feel your feelings, to let your mind circle through the memories as you unwittingly pinpoint exactly where your life turned to shit. 

“I was engaged,” You say, the words forced out of you in a shattering exhale, “and then I wasn’t. I owned an art studio, and then I didn’t. My mother was alive, and now she’s -” It’s hard to say the word, despite the fact you’ve said it countless times in drunken rambles to old school friends at the bar, even to Namjoon when he showed up in your kitchen that morning. But it feels so much harsher to say it when sober, and you stutter, frightened as if saying it makes it all the more final. “She’s dead,”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Y/N,” Ryu says, his face is soft, sincere, and you have to look away with a nod, “Is this when you began to drink?”

There’s a bolt of shame that races over your skin when he says those words, even without the accusatory tone it still feels as if you’re being judged. When you first started drinking, it was just an excuse to blow off steam, to ignore what you were feeling day to day. But then it snowballed, until it felt as if you couldn’t go a day without having a drink.

A drink became a bottle, and a bottle became two bottles. So on and so forth. 

“I partied a little when the studio got repossessed. But after my mom died I…” You shrug, unsure if you can even explain your actions for the last year or so adequately, “It helps,”

Dr Chen takes over for a little while, going over the logistics, how much exactly you have on a daily basis. Then he explains the dangers you pose, the damage you could do - have already done - if you were to carry on this way. 

“You’re still young, and thankfully the damage we’ve seen so far is reversible, but that would require total sobriety,” Dr Chen says, serious and stern, “We can prescribe some medication to help with the withdrawal symptoms, but these are to be closely monitored by your physician, and it would help to have someone at home to make sure you have a support system in place. Is there anyone you know who would be willing to stay with you? Or vice versa?”

“I…” It’s a lot of information to process, and you find yourself momentarily overwhelmed, those dark thoughts creeping in once more and reminding you how easy it would be if you were left at the bottom of that lake. 

“Y/N,” Dr Ryu says, “we want to work with you, to get you healthy both physically and mentally. Now, I know this may be difficult to hear, but if we feel you do not have a support system in place to help you through this process, it may be best if you were to enter a rehab facility. There you would have access to psychiatrists like myself, along with doctors specifically trained in drug and alcohol abuse,”

“What’s the alternative?” You ask, “I want to go home, is there any way I can go home?”

Dr Ryu offers you a gentle smile, a hand landing atop yours, “Do you have someone back at home, Y/N?”

It's at that moment that you hear footsteps approaching the door, and you turn just in time to see Namjoon standing at the threshold, a cup of steaming coffee in his hand as he glances between you and the two doctors with parted lips. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,”

The thought pops into your head like a faulty lightbulb. 

It’s hardly true, and you can always find a way out of it eventually, but you turn back to Dr Ryu and open your mouth anyway, the lie spilling past your lips before you can stop it. 

Four days, and dozens of assessments later, you’re signing discharge papers and leaving beside Namjoon, his gaze steady and warm, mistakenly believing that you’ve forgiven him. That you’ll lean on him for support. 

Little does he know, you just needed a ticket out of this clinical hell, and he was the first person you laid eyes on. 

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