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sweet-as-an-angel · 2 years ago

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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 <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

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cameronspecial · 8 months ago

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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

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myuni-moon · 1 year ago

Text

#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.”

#hsr.dan heng #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #star rail x reader #dan heng x reader #yandere x reader #yandere dan heng x reader #yandere honkai star rail x reader #yandere hsr x reader #yandere star rail x reader

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barelylivingscholar · 7 months ago

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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!

#platonic genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin angst #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #platonic genshin x reader #fatui harbringers x reader #pantalone x reader #arlecchino x reader

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whitedarkmoonflower · 7 months ago

Text

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.

Comment or write to me if you want to be added to the tag list.

Tags: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @hb8301 @zillahvathek @alexagirlie @gemini-mama

@verenahx @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @willowbrookesblog @thenameswinter99 @ellabellabus07

@mcbuckyyyy @kirtseinw @siimonesvensson @sigtryggrswifey @ladyinred2248

#sihtric x reader #sihtric x you #sihtric kjartansson #the last kingdom #sihtric #sihtric fic #the last kingdom fic

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boundinparchment · 1 year ago

Text

Let’s Fall Silent

He was created as a companion to a capricious dawn; rejected, he haunted the waters of Snezhnaya until he grew bored. Saved by a foolish inventor, he wonders if there is more to life than his rejected purpose.

Or: whatever happened to that merman Dottore segment?

Sequel to my fic, “Endless.”

RATING EXPLICIT. MINORS DNI. ON AO3 HERE.

Water rushed through his gills and oxygen flooded his system in steady, rolling waves. He didn’t need to breathe but yet his body seemed perfectly suited to do so, yearned to.

He looked down, the shining blue scales of his tail resembling stones he knew only in name and vague understanding. Knowledge that was not his but readily given, as if he’d already read ten thousand books. Webs between his fingers were gossamer thin and yet seemed to catch and push water as if made of the strongest steel blades.

His fingers looked as if he’d dipped them in the reflections of the night sky, scales shimmering and shifting with the light.

There was a weight on his right ear, a glass tube that seemed to contain a type of water. Touching it sent faint shockwaves through his fingers and head, voices echoing distantly.

He assessed his surroundings: a tall man with blue hair and a white coat, eyes hidden; a clear boundary between them; a flicker of sunset out of the corner of his eye. The creature titled its head, the fins on either side of his head flitting with the motion.

Creator. Right. His image was almost identical to the bipedal human before him. Intended for…

He turned his head, garnet eyes falling in the direction he felt another presence.

A flash of a memory—not his—told him everything.

Rejected without ever having a chance. The dawn would kill him for carrying out his purpose if he ever so much as approached her. Understandably so. Sensations welled up inside him, foreign and intruded upon, not his to feel. Although the man on the other side of the glass (yes, that was the word) had made him, he was nothing but a vessel for wish-fulfillment. A bridge built to cross a too-large gap.

His Creator was a curious man. Whether he wanted to see the dawn’s reaction to the addition to her tank or because he was too far along in the process to stop didn’t matter to the finned mirror image. The result was the same. The merman was awake and contained every awareness that already, the tides had changed.

An existential crisis was not on the agenda. There was still plenty more to do. An entire world outside of this tank. The dawn came from somewhere, of course, and water was the necessity for all life.

He swam, gauged how far to move his arms and the proper movements of his tail. Easy, fluid motions that allowed him to cut through water came from somewhere deeper than muscle memory. Base instinct left little room for error.

“Our observation time is short, Nadir. How do you feel?”

The voice did not vibrate the water in the same fashion other sounds did. The Creator’s mouth did not move as it did with her. It felt as if the words floated in his mind like driftwood waiting to be collected.

And what was it he was called? Nadir? He was named? Given an…identity?

He wracked his pre-filled memory banks. The merman held back the biting laugh that threatened his lungs for a moment. An amalgamation of both living creatures and he was named after the lowest point of the sun’s daily descent in the sky. Arguably, he was also the lowest point in his Creator’s infatuation, given her blatant rejection of his attempt to give her companionship.

The man stared, awaiting a response. His patience was thinning, lips pressed together.

“I am…fine. I experience no pain. I can see, hear, breathe, and move,” the Segment spoke.

The sounds were strange and guttural and his mouth moved in unnatural motions. His vocal cords did not like it. They felt too loose and lacked control over the sounds.

“Can you not respond without moving your lips? Without making a sound?” His Creator asked.

The merman, for he was beginning to understand the differences biologically and his own identity in more depth, schooled his expression and focused. He tried to feel anything beyond himself, than the water on his skin that rippled his fins and the hum of the filtration system and the low hissing from the far corners of the tank network. He could see his Creator, sense his presence in a physical understanding of him occupying space facing the tank. Whispers crept up into his ear and throughout the base of his skull but it was akin to the way his Creator once pressed an ear to a closet door as a child.

One way. He could listen and observe, distantly, but he could not partake.

All the better, really, Nadir considered. The others were very loud and boisterous and clambering for attention.

The only attention the merman wanted was that of his intended companion.

But he was not eager to have his existence snuffed so quickly.

When Nadir did not reply, and instead shook his head, the man on the other side of the tank brought a hand to his lips. Silence dominated.

Until the Creator’s shoulders rose and fell in a single motion when he reassessed what the Segment could only assume were notes.

“Perhaps it is the medium required for your physical form that prevents the connection. I had to make several modifications to account for waterproof mechanisms. Sound travels differently in water. It stands to reason that water would slow other waves down as well…”

The bipedal man dropped the papers with a flick of his wrist, uncaring and bored. They were worthless now, in the face of recent events. He approached the tank, arms behind his back.

“I am otherwise quite proud of this particular specimen, Fjar. If he were to reside in the far reaches of the waters here, or live elsewhere, would you object?”

Ah, so that was her proper name. The word was familiar, danced across his mind when he recalled memories of a name and another land. Once again, none of it his . Nadir had not existed properly until roughly twenty minutes ago.

The dawn spoke, her voice made for water, beautiful as the sunrise she represented.

“As long as he stays far away from me. From us . Your work is appreciated, my Zandik, but you know how I feel. I will have you , not an imitation of you. He will be safe provided he never approaches me.”

Nadir stared at his Creator, who raised his head a fraction before removing his mask. Eyes as red as a blood moon watched the Segment in return. Exhaustion tugged at the skin beneath his eyes and Nadir caught a flicker of hurt well-hidden behind a cold and calculating demeanor.

“There is no shortage of food and means to occupy yourself past the hole in the ice,” the man called Zandik said. “Her territory does not extend past that delineation. She has never been one to stray far from comfort. I do not anticipate requiring your presence as I do the others, so you are free to go where you wish.”

The Creator returned his mask to his face and turned away from the tank before leaving the room. He did not look back nor hesitate before he crossed the threshold and the door shut behind him.

Something constructed in Nadir’s chest and he could not, in all of the databanks and memories he was connected to, put a name to it. It was not sharp, like a knife, but it persisted from his chest up through his throat and crawled over his tongue. The sensation grew worse as the tank shimmered and flowed, the source obscured but unmistakable.

The Segment dove and found the pipeline connected to the ocean depths. His skin prickled as the temperature changed and the balance of minerals shifted.

At first, he lingered. How could he not?

The only other of his kind, manufactured though he was, lived in these waters. He held memories of what it was to be on two legs and feet, feel sand between toes and the sun on a face that was his and yet not.

The best way to learn and understand was to observe, watch, see what unfolded without interference.

There was no point in staying where he was not wanted. But if nothing else, such knowledge would help him survive elsewhere.

___________________

He grew bored within the year and set out from the reaches of the far north, with nothing but the currents and memories of maps as guides.

Down here, beneath the ice and at such depth, hardly any sun reached through the frigid waters. His Creator saw to it that his vision was intended for all environments but the winter months made it especially difficult when light was so infrequent.

The overworld was vast but the bodies of water were far larger still. Nadir had the world between his fingertips. Anywhere. Everywhere. He could go to the land of Freedom, where it was said the air was clear and the water even clearer; or perhaps to the reaches of the land of Eternity, where he might have better odds among the yokai; the nation of War was far too hot for his liking and the adepti of the land of Contracts were protective of their legacy.

His Creator spent time in…what was it…a fountain…ah, Fontaine! Although the nation embodied Justice, it was said that all life sprang forth from the waters of the land of Hydro. Zandik had enjoyed it there under a guise that had no name and was never recorded. No doubt the waters would be crowded but of all nations, it seemed the most promising.

He stuck to the shadows of the water. The voices at the base of his skull whispered, screamed, and shouted all the while.

Until one day, his ears began to ring after a muted pop and his vision went dark as he caught a glimpse of a waterfall in the moonlight. ___________________

When he opened his eyes again, he felt rocks and silt beneath him. Everything felt dry . Disgustingly so, as if every water droplet was sucked from his entire being. Something bright and painful winked down at him and with difficulty, he raised a hand to cover his eyes.

Pale strands of aquamarine hair clung to him, long and tangled. Despite how arid everything felt, his hair continued to stick to everything. When he was swimming, it didn’t matter much but now? It just made his dry skin itchier.

He heard the splashing of water and his…tail, yes, that word seemed correct swayed with the soft current. He couldn’t recall how he arrived here. All he remembered was ringing, like high pressure, and darkness.

There was a sudden rustle and then another sound, foreign but soft.

“Are you alright?”

He gritted his sharp teeth and lifted his arm. What language were they even speaking ? The light was now obscured and instantly his skin felt several degrees cooler.

His bleary garnet eyes focused on the object, no, person before him. Backlit by the brilliant light in the sky (was that the sun?), he could make out wide eyes shot with concern but as stunning as gems, lips slightly parted as if to speak again, and colors framing you that he had no name for.

You.

You were beautiful.

He couldn’t help the smirk that crossed his face as a distant sensation swam in his mind that another might be jealous of you.

“Can you speak?” you asked.

His throat was arid, his tongue thick and rough. He dared not trust his vocal cords and instead shook his head, grits of sand embedding into his hair.

You made a sound that made his heart jump, a rush of air passing through your lungs that mimicked bells. Your smile was apologetic, sweet in the way your lips curved and your expression conveyed your sincerity.

“Silly question, this place is eternally dry and you clearly belong in the water. Let’s at least get the rest of your lower half in the water first. You’re too striking and handsome to dry out.”

Forward, too. Had he met others like you before?

Your hands were warm, a little rougher, and with a little assistance, he was sitting upright with his tail properly in the water. He was already feeling a bit better, even if his gills felt dry as they laid flat against his neck and his second respiratory pathways took over. His hair, he realized, was much longer than he initially thought, tickling his back.

He watched as you pulled out a flask, opened it, and held it out to him. His red eyes traced the line from the canteen, to your hands, your arm, and then your face.

Human. You were human, same as…

Same as who?

“At least take a sip so your throat isn’t dry,” you prompted. “It’s safe, I swear.”

He took it and put the metal to his lips, which he now realized were painfully cracked, and let the water pass across his tongue and down his throat. The water tasted of iodine and he gagged as he swallowed.

So he not only needed to be in water but he needed water to survive. That seemed counter-intuitive. After all, he was mechanical . Or partially mechanical. What purpose did such a thing serve?

“Certainly tasted otherwise,” he managed to choke out, holding the container out to you.

Your fingers were warm against his webbed fins and you didn’t even hesitate when your fingers brushed his claws. He could not determine if you were very brave or very stupid for that, with the way your touch sent a jolt down his spine and into his tail.

Thankfully, his lower half was in water as he silently cursed at the other sensations that arose. He would have to research this experience further…

“Out here, the water has to be purified before it can be consumed. At least for me, at any rate,” your smile showed your unspoken apology. “Do you have a name?”

A question he could not answer. At one point, he had to have. Someone gave it to him. The opposite point of the rising sun…

Before he could respond, your hands found his hair and settled on something he didn’t feel until you gave a gentle tug.

“Oh, that has to hurt, no?”

He liked when your voice was tinged with worry, especially for someone you barely knew. That was kind of you, if not incredibly foolish. So many in the water gave him a wide berth, avoided him, and for good reason. Or so it seemed. In hindsight, he had no explanation, no context, just…end results.

You tugged on a different spot and he gritted his teeth again.

“When you pull on it, human , yes, it hurts,” he spat. “Are you always so callous with all you come across?”

“I’m sorry. You have…that’s a fishing lure…and a piece of a net…that looks like some kind of mollusk…if you’re going to have long hair, you have to care for it…this isn’t salvageable…”. You sounded almost sad and you reached around to show him a crude pair of shears, large and clearly intended for working with harder materials than hair. “I can cut it but I’d have to remove most of it. Your neck would be bare.”

“Why would I trust the one tugging on me to use anything with a blade near me?”

The question felt logical. After all, you’d caused him great discomfort. Interrupted what was likely meant to be the embrace of death. Maybe death was the purpose, the point. After all, he hadn’t felt anything other than the drive to explore and understand. And if his body couldn’t go on, then what use was…

“I can leave it if you want but it’ll weigh you down and create more drag when you swim. Not very aerodynamic, you know?”

He turned his head and felt his skin grow hot at how close your face was to his. You smelled of sweat, dirt, and something uniquely you and his heart began its own unorganized rhythm. That sensation that sat at the base of his spine tingled and turned into an ache as it ran through him, ruining whatever trains of thought he had. Now, all he could think of was your lips and how much he wanted to feel your heat against him, around him, how he wanted to see your eyes blown dark with base need…

He swallowed when you smiled and your low laugh jostled your torso into his. You were soft , Archons above, so soft…

Your eyes seemed to marvel for a moment, dropping to the bottom half of his face, before you spoke again.

“I gave you water and made sure you didn’t dry out like a raisin; surely that’s enough reason to trust me? All I ask in return is your name. So if our paths ever cross again, I know what to call you. It’s only polite.”

He couldn’t reply, too preoccupied with preventing you from realizing whatever was happening under the water. He did not remember much but he did recall that such base needs were…a boundary for most. One he could not get a grasp on but you were far kinder than he anticipated…

Why did that preconceived notion exist if there was no evidence to support it? What happened ?

He felt the wet hair fall away in chunks, his neck muscles instantly relieved as soon as most of the weight was gone. You worked carefully when the locks were short enough and only twice did you ask for him to wet his head. Something about an even plane to work with. He closed his eyes and leaned back a little into your gentle touch. You knew exactly how to run your hands through his hair against his scalp. The only sounds between the two of you was the harsh click of the shears as you worked.

All the while, he resisted the urge to place one hand in his lap. He couldn’t determine if he wanted to hide his protruding appendage or stroke it.

No one had touched him. Ever. Whatever memories of who he was were vague if not outright gone entirely but he knew that much. His life had been solitary and this need had never existed before.

“There, all done!” You chirped. “It’s actually quite curly when it dries. Suits you better, if I can say so myself!”

Curly?

He brought a hand up and felt the locks, shorn and…oh, they flipped and had patterns of their own…

You stepped away and from the pack you had thrown down, you pulled out a panel of reflective silver.

“Here. I’m an inventor, not a hair stylist, but I think I managed to keep your handsome visage from being ruined.”

He stared at you, and then the object, and back at you. Didn’t people use that word for those they held affection for? Or was it a general descriptor for someone who was pleasant to look at?

He would need to do a significant amount of research on human customs. The knowledge he did have was insufficient and vague, like he had swallowed it without understanding its contents.

The merman took the shining glass and almost dropped it. Familiar red eyes stared back at him, sharp teeth that tore through the flesh of any creature winked in the mirror, and his hair…

Oh, that was much better. It wouldn’t get in the way, easy to maintain…

His right ear sported a broken piece of glass on a wire. What had that been? Could that pop have been…?

“Well, I don’t look like a shark attacked my head,” he muttered in amusement when he handed back the mirror.

That earring should come out. If it was broken, there was no point in keeping it. Maybe he could replace it with something else. He tilted his head to get better leverage on the post, his claws making the task harder. Ridiculous. How did that thing get in, then?

“I’ll take that as a ‘thank you’, Mister…?”

Your patience ran out, it seemed. He returned your expectant look with a weary expression. Truth would be prudent. He had no one else to turn to. And if you did run your mouth when you returned to wherever you were from, no one was liable to believe you, were they?

After all, that was a large backpack for a day adventurer and you had absolutely no fear helping a strange creature survive.

No, you, too, were an outcast.

“I cannot recall my name,” he said at last. “The last thing I remember is a high-pitched ringing before waking up here.”

“Nothing? Not even a nickname? A notion?”

Your persistence might have been charming if he wasn’t so focused on not ripping his ear fin. Was the stupid thing sewn into his flesh?

You clicked your tongue and knelt down beside him. Your softness pressed into his shoulder as you brushed away his hands and worked with the clasp and post, pulling the wire from the piercing. When you offered it, he shook his head and you reeled your arm back and flung the broken thing into the water. It landed with a plunk and sank where it hit.

“I do have a notion, if you must insist on information. But you have not shared your name, only your profession, inventor .”

His eyes locked with yours and you never looked away, never so much as stepped back. No, this lack of fear wasn’t confidence, it couldn’t be. Perhaps you were touched in the head or just absolutely without sense from the high sun.

You tilted your head and he had to close his mouth to repress the urge to latch onto the column of your neck.

Killing you would do nothing but potentially result in people looking for him. A dead body, even that of an outcast, brutally torn apart? It would only reinforce whatever superstitions existed in these parts.

Your name was nothing more than a whisper across your tongue. He wondered, briefly, if the jolts that ran through every part of him at the syllables was anything like being electrocuted. He repeated your name as his tail fins twitched and he throbbed again beneath the water.

“Mmhmm. Your turn.”

He paused, licking his cracked lips before attempting the name that lingered in his memory banks like a ghost.

“Nadir.”

“The opposite of zenith,” you replied. “Where someone’s shadow would appear…the lowest point of someone’s spirit…” You frowned, almost wounded. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that last one.”

“I did not know its true meaning. That is beneficial.”

You shook your head and gave a smile that was too tight to be kind. You had embarrassed yourself and whatever glimmer of enthusiasm had existed was snuffed out with regret.

“Its meaning is irrelevant. You look like the evening sky out here, when the sun finally falls and fades from a light blue into the shades of night. We are not our names given to us. I think there might be a more suitable one for you out there.”

You returned to your pack and fiddled with something. A rag and a bottle and small pieces of metal. The merman inched himself towards the deeper parts of the water, not intent on leaving yet but itching to test his physical capabilities. You stepped into the water with ease, legs protected by leather, and you reached down, experienced hands sliding a post into place through pierced flesh.

Nadir, for he had no other name to refer to himself, touched his fin and felt the small earring. A stud, nothing fancy. When he looked up, he noticed the gold and tanzanite gem from one of your own ears was missing.

“Whatever you call yourself, as long as you have that, I’ll know it’s you. If we ever meet again.”

___________________

Without a past and without more than loose tendrils of memories, Nadir found himself wandering the coasts of an arid desert beneath high waterfalls. He kept his hair short, as you had shaped for him, and he quite liked the way it retained a fluffy volume, curling in a wild fashion.

In the depths, he found caverns and ruins, documents preserved through sheer luck and machinery that sputtered and whirred.

So much of the machinery felt familiar, although he didn’t know why. He knew exactly where to touch, how the joints held together, and the distance to keep from those blasted sensors that targeted enemies. Working with them was as easy as swimming and converting hydrogen dioxide into its smaller compound to oxygenate his circulatory system.

Presumably, whatever past he held and whatever memories were once in his system held the answer. But he was not likely to obtain them again.

Language was retained. The world’s history, such as it was, and its geography, were readily available. He knew he was on the cusp of Sumeru and Fontaine.

But he did not know how he came to be. Nor understand why he was so fascinated with the notion of artificial life (other than, perhaps, that he was not quite organic nor mechanic).

Above the waterfalls was a large statue that glowed bright at night. The water there was purer, crisper, tinged with a sweetness that came with the surety of one’s actions. Climbing it would not be impossible, even for Nadir; he did not lack the muscles to achieve it.

But it would be a waste of energy and time.

Where there were steam engines and mechanics, there were pipes to provide water to the various parts necessary. He could only conclude that there were other means to make one’s way into Fontaine.

The Fountain of all life.

Part of him wished to stay here, in the seams of the nations, perhaps even set up a workshop. There was plenty to explore and play around with. Ships came through here regularly and superstitious sailors would be easy to bargain with.

But Nadir was never one for staying idle. The world waited for no one and there was so much more beyond his tiny scope.

And so, upon several inspections and tracking of schedules, he entered one of the pipes at the most opportune time and came out of the darkness to shining brilliance and crystalline waters. The shallows were tricky for a creature like him, for he could not easily hide and there was too much activity around for his liking.

The other creatures were friendlier than he expected. Otters tumbled with their shells and presented him with a rock to tuck away. Blubberbeasts rumbled and invited him to swim with them. The crabs were troublesome but nothing he couldn’t handle with a hard thwack of his tail and a slash of his claws.

Glowing crystals, flowing fauna, coral reefs…everything here teemed with life.

And below Fontaine City, there was plenty to explore, it seemed.

Yes, this would do quite nicely for now.

___________________

He settled in quickly. Food was abundant and there were so many caverns and old ruins that Nadir was not without shelter. Some of the ruins appeared to be some kind of research facility or library, which suited him just fine.

What did not suit him were the random devices that would find their way to his usual hunting ground. They often scared the fish away and he would return to his vast underground network with only metal cogs and curiosity, his stomach grumbling all the while. Many of these things were almost operational as well. It was like someone tired of the project or could not finish it through and flung it out the nearest window.

Ridiculous. Wasteful. Pathetic.

Nadir fixed the contraption once he understood its mechanical intentions and returned it to the shoreline. On more than one occasion, he tied a bow on one out of seaweed, just to be, well, petty and make it harder for the owner to pick up.

The devices were always gone within twenty-four hours and in their place, he found mora. Which he had little to no use for but at least the sailors he traded with never questioned its origin.

One day, Nadir was unlucky enough to be caught as he was placing an unfortunate device back onto the ledge.

“So you’re the reason I’ve yet to be fined, huh?”

His garnet gaze burned as he laid eyes on familiar hair, shining eyes. He would know you anywhere.

Surely not.

Surely you had more sense than to throw away your projects. To complete them yourself.

He couldn’t determine if he should be angry or ravenous. You, in Fontaine? It must have been fate. But then again, fate implied agreeing with the Heavenly Principles and partaking in the constant samara cycles of the world. Which Nadir wanted no part of.

“And you call yourself an inventor,” he muttered, running his tongue over sharp teeth. “Can’t even follow through on your own work.”

“Not my fault everything’s been done before. Just when I think I’m making progress, turns out seven other people did the same thing. Nothing’s original.”

“So have I been fixing garbage for nothing?”

“No. I did earn a position in research and development for a private company that works with the Palais thanks to you. And I have been fairly compensating you…although in hindsight perhaps I should have asked if mora was the best way to do that…not many places to use it for those who live in the water…”

You trailed off, face alight with embarrassment. Your attire was dingy and looked like you’d endured an explosion. Nadir sank into the water, keeping his eyes and ear fins just above the surface.

“How long have you been in Fontaine?” You asked, settling into the ledge.

You removed your boots and stockings and stuck your feet into the water. Nadir couldn’t help but admire your bare skin for a moment before raising his head.

“I do not know how you track time but I have seen winter and spring already. That is roughly…six months, if I calculated correctly.”

“You were okay when the waters froze over?”

How did he tell you that he held memories of ice far thicker and water far colder?

“I am here, am I not?” Nadir shot back.

You gave a wry smile in return. Silence dominated as you watched him, just as he watched you in return.

“You kept it,” you pointed to your hair and then your ear.

“Short hair is far more practical and the earring is quite pretty. It reminds me that some humans can be kind. If not a bit…lacking in self preservation.”

“Oh?”

Nadir gave a wide, toothy grin and you didn’t so much as flinch. When you didn’t react, he slid his tongue out slightly, the exact way he would when eyeing prey.

“I could have killed you in the desert.”

“But you didn’t.”

“And I could kill you now.”

“You won’t.”

Nadir barked a laugh. “What makes you so sure?”

Your smile widened. He watched as, for the first time that evening, a spark shimmered in your eyes.

“Because you enjoy tinkering. If you killed me, what else would you fill your days with, Nadir?”

“You think very highly of yourself, Inventor. There’s plenty of underwater devices, I’ll have you know. Some of the Research Facility fell into the water, after all. And it’s quite easy to find the parts I need from defective mechs or bargaining with divers.”

“And who else would you talk to, hmm? Who else is brave enough—”

“Stupid enough,” Nadir interrupted.

You raised an eyebrow but continued, “—to try and bridge the gap?”

Nadir’s gaze dropped to your bare knees and feet, where your skin met the water, before he flicked his eyes back up to you. Even now, months after you saved him, you sat with him and treated him as an equal. Anyone else would attempt to bargain with him, keep him at arm’s length but here you were, feet in the water, treating him like…

Like you wanted him.

His chest constricted. In the deep reaches of his mind, he tried to remember a time or a place someone wanted him and he came up short.

He reached a webbed hand, mindful of his razor-sharp claw, and danced a finger on the sole of your foot. When you didn’t react, he swam closer, skimming his palm across the muscle of your calf.

“And what gap might that be, hmm?” He asked as he situated himself between your open legs.

From this angle, you were smaller than he originally thought (or perhaps it was the ledge height); he towered over you regardless. His heart danced in time with the cadence of your laugh when his nails tickled your skin ever so slightly.

You smelled different than the last time he saw you. Metal, soot, and the air of the thunderstorm just before the crack of lightning.

He expected cockiness, a sharp remark. But all Nadir found was a simmering gaze and parted lips, perfect for the taking. Your breath mingled with his and he couldn’t help but wonder what you might taste like.

“This one,” you whispered.

You leaned forward and Nadir gripped your legs to keep you from falling as your lips crashed onto his. You were all softness, eager heat, and searing touches as you rested your hands flat against his bare chest.

His head swam as you pressed exploratory kisses to his mouth and jaw. He read about this, along with many other things regarding human courting and mating. Few researchers knew of or studied the creatures he was created to mimic. But he knew enough to recognize that his body’s responses were normal, even if he disliked the loss of control.

Nadir gave a hiss as your dull teeth grazed the curve of his neck before you swirled your tongue across his skin. His skin felt as if he were on fire. A shiver ran down his spine and a throbbing ache settled in his lower belly as he hardened at your teasing.

As long as he kept himself in the water and you stayed on the ledge, he might survive this encounter with shreds of self-control.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, human ,” he murmured.

“Am I?”

You laughed softly into the soft flesh of his neck and he twitched beneath the water as a jolt ran straight down to his member. Your warmth left him as you pulled away and he gripped your legs harder when you cupped his face.

“Looks like you’re liking it, though. Flustered just like when I cut your hair.”

Well, that left him with no choice.

Nadir pulled you into the water with a splash and he dove, crashing his tail on the surface once to create additional spray. He heard a cry as you flailed, your head bobbing above water once, twice, and then you began to…

Panic shot through him, killing everything else as he darted towards you. In one swift motion, he scooped you under your arms and brought you back to the surface. His heart calmed every so slightly when you gasped and coughed (although he would not have minded pressing his mouth to your again). The ledge you were on was too high to easily reach, he realized, and he brought you to the nearest patch of shallow water.

“You could have mentioned that you couldn’t swim,” he muttered, settling you into the shoal.

“Right, yeah, because I’m going to admit that to a man with a tail and fins who lives in the water. That’s like telling your murderer where to shoot you.”

Your voice cracked. You sniffed and then coughed again before getting to your feet.

“Am I not allowed to tease you back?”

“ Teasing would be pulling away and splashing me,” you shot back, extending an arm out in emphasis. “Finding something else about me to make a flirtatious response about. Not putting me in danger. What if I hit my head going down? What if you didn’t have the reflexes you do?”

You wrung out your clothes and tried to make yourself presentable. The previous flush across your cheeks was no longer soft and endearing; you instead looked like you were trying to embody the red creatures he saw in the regions near the Fortress. Your eyes shone but not with the usual enthusiasm nor vibrancy he liked. In fact, you didn’t look at him at all.

“For the record, most people apologize when they hurt someone else.”

He wanted to call after you as you trudged through the water, your name (your beautiful, brilliant name) on his lips. But he didn’t want to taint it. You didn’t deserve that.

Nadir watched, only the top half of his face to the bridge of his nose above the surface, as you made your way back into the city without sparing a glance back.

___________________

He never had a single device thrown into the nearby waters after that encounter.

And you never came to claim the one you left behind.

It glared at him every time the morning sun glinted off the metal and he caught the stupid thing out of the corner of his eye. A constant reminder of you , as if the pangs that shot through his arms and chest weren’t enough.

He hadn’t wanted to hurt you. In fact, despite his words, he never would have been able to bring himself to truly sink his teeth into your flesh. Nadir would never be able to live with himself if he watched life fade from your eyes and your body slump.

Which made him all the more frustrated with himself. Pulling you into the water had been a gut reaction, a way to equal the playing ground when you were so intent on mocking him. He did it with sailors who tried to cheat him out of an agreement.

How was he supposed to know you, someone who lived in the city of Hydro, couldn’t swim ?

Part of him tried to simply forget you and move on with his existence. That’s what any normal creature would do, after all. You weren’t like him and you certainly weren’t as clever as he was, at any rate.

But he never heard anything as beautiful as your laugh and the way you smiled at him…

He tried not to take the physical reactions into consideration, how he imagined you might feel beneath him, what coupling with you might feel like as you squeezed him, your lips parted and eyes lidded…

His seed joined the seafoam one morning before he grabbed the stupid contraption and brought it back to his workshop.

How did one apologize ?

This device was meant to be a timed lantern; the user would set the amount of time on the bottom in increments of five, ten, fifteen minutes up until a full hour. You had not positioned the heat sensor right and it kept turning off before the actual timer recognized the appropriate measurement of time. It was functional now and to change anything would render it useless for its intended purpose.

Nadir frowned. He’d had a purpose once, hadn’t he? His creation was not random; one did not just assemble pseudo-biological systems for no reason, after all. Despite having no memories of his creator, he knew his muscles were synthetic and his biological systems were as functional and necessary as any other living creature. Granted, he never tried not eating, but why else did he physically respond to your touch at all, if nothing was functional ?

He shoved the thought aside as he disassembled the housing on the lantern and removed the bulb, leaving only the lighting node itself, the sensors, and the glass panels through which the light shone.

The timer moved a set of cogs as it counted down and the heat sensor had a little lever to insert a piece of non-conductive material into the circuit, cutting off the flow of power. Simple and basic wiring and cog placement.

But…

He rummaged through and found a comb and wheel, the pieces sliding home as if they were meant to be there. Thorough testing revealed that another song might be needed, both because this one was grating to listen to and because he needed to take the extended intervals into consideration.

While he continued to work on the abandoned device, he sought pathways into the city itself. Just like with the waterfall and the elevator’s steam engines, there was no way all of the machinery in the city operated without some kind of system to pump water through the streets. Eventually, he came upon pipes and underground tunnels, entire networks of stairs and walkways far beneath the sunlight of the city.

Small houses, crammed in next to one another, food stands and market stalls packed as vendors bargained and shouted. Children ran along the waterways, pretending sticks from the surface were swords.

He never allowed more than his eyes above the surface and never for too long. This was too close for comfort. The last thing anyone down here needed was a rumor of a monster lurking in the water.

It took weeks but he finally heard murmurs of your whereabouts. A child, knelt down next to a broken mechanical animal, was told your name and that you fixed machines all the time. That you could be found on the outskirts of the market when you weren’t working on the surface.

The sections there were shallower, if not outright inaccessible Nadir recalled. Perhaps not quite a problem but admittedly, it made this all the harder.

Upon hearing your voice from one of the tiny cramped living spaces, he burned the image of your door into your mind until he finished the device. He wrapped it carefully and made his way back to your location, the invention clutched tight to his chest. Knowing at this hour that no one would spot him, Nadir lifted himself out of the shallows before the grating covered the waterway. He pulled himself along with one arm until he reached your door, carefully placed the gift where you would see it and not break it, and gave your door a good thwack with his tail. You grumbled a threat to supposed intruders as he made his way back to the water and he dove just as he heard your door open.

Quietly, he surfaced and watched as you picked up the wet oilskin package and opened it. You froze almost instantly in recognition (he had not changed the shape in the slightest, despite his modifications). Nadir’s heart hammered in his chest and his mouth became surprisingly dry when you wound up the key on the bottom.

The lantern flickered to life and images began to move between the bulb and the glass panels, casting shadows on the metal walls. Notes from a song he only knew in composition danced in the air as you watched the shapes. Nadir’s eyes were glued to your face.

A tail became legs. The figure walked to another. A kiss. A house. A life.

He once read a tale about a girl from Remuria, born partially in the image of an Oceanid, who fell in love with a person on the surface. She made a bargain for her voice in exchange for the excruciating experience of legs, endearing pain with every step just to be with her true love.

It was too flowery for Nadir’s liking and seemed to reinforce the idea that people should stay where they belonged. Nonetheless, the base sentiments were there.

You closed your eyes and clutched the lantern to your chest when the song ended.

“I’m sorry, too,” you whispered, the words as loud to him as though he spoke them right next to him.

He did not expect you to join him the following evening. But when he heard the notes as he was hunting for dinner, he could not help but heed the call.

You stood on the ledge, lantern in your hands. Your face was puffy and you looked like you hadn’t slept. A terrible look for you, if he were honest, but now was not the best time to say such a thing.

“Is this how you feel?” you asked. “About me?”

Your words were soft and you broke your gaze away to look at the lantern you held. He should have had a speech prepared. Or at least a sound argument. In actuality, he never expected you to show up again. It had been enough to express how he felt through the shadow art and he would have been content with your apology, even if he wasn’t supposed to overhear it.

The longer the silence stretched on, the thinner your patience became.

And you were gracious enough to make the trip.

“If you are asking if I love you, the answer is truthfully that I do not know,” Nadir admitted. “I have never had the life experience to tell me one way or the other and it is easy to mistake infatuation and lust for something more…foundational.”

He ran his tongue over the sharp points of his teeth.

“But I do know that I never meant to harm you, that I never wanted to harm you, and I think I would be quite happy seeing your face every day of my existence. However long that’s meant to be.”

He could see by the way your expression shifted that you had plenty of words to say. For the first time since he met you, however, you opted for silence and instead placed the lantern down on the ground. You removed your boots and uniform, leaving yourself only in the thin underclothes that gave the vague outline of your true form.

And then you jumped.

Your name left his lips as soon as you broke the surface and Nadir flicked his tail, propelling himself forward.

Was the idea of loving him so abhorrent that you could drown yourself to be rid of him? Did you truly have a death wish?

Hands found his chest before arms wrapped around his neck and he surface with you clinging to him, your feet kicking. Nadir glared down at you, a cheeky smile across your face the whole while.

“What were you thinking—” he started.

Wait, kicking?

You giggled and pushed away from him, moving your arms and legs to keep yourself afloat.

“Forced myself to learn. I didn’t have a lot of time after my shifts for much else. But I realized I was actually angry at myself,” you said. “Had I known how to swim, that night would have gone differently.”

Your movements were clumsy but calculated. Swimming wasn’t even second nature to you, or even third; he could see it in the way you expended too much energy in treading, in the clear discomfort of you submerging yourself under water.

“I’d like to try again,” you said, swimming slightly closer. “If you’d be open to it.”

Nadir couldn’t name the feeling that seemed to stem from his fins and reach all the way into his head, making him dizzy.

“You… want to…”

“Would I be here if I never wanted to see you again, Nadir?”

No, you didn’t seem the type, he wanted to say. But sometimes, silence was better. It didn’t weigh everything down. And he very much enjoyed this warm feeling swelling inside of him seeing you in the water with him.

“I can’t think of anything I’d like more.”

___________________

It took time, as all things did.

You moved out of the undercity and, with a little help from a few colleagues from your company’s engineering department, assembled a house over the water just northeast of Fontaine City. The trip into the city was the same length of time as before. Only now, there were beaches instead of stone ledges and you had plans for creating underwater parts of the house for Nadir.

The lantern often lit up your room at night when the two of you went to sleep, both of you keenly aware of the other’s absence.

You didn’t want a solution that involved changing him, you said one night, toes in the sand. Although you might never share the same bed nor eat at the same table, you were content to have dinner in the same space as him and to sit on the beach and discuss various mechanical ideas until the early hours of the morning.

At some point, he confessed to knowing that he was not entirely organic and that he hailed from a frozen country. Beyond that, he held little to no recollection; when you protested about closure, he pressed his lips to yours and said that you were all he needed.

Hearing your resolution on not changing him meant more to him than he could truly put into words. Finding a way to give him legs would be more practical but there was so much of human life that he didn’t understand nor wanted to.

So instead, he opted to hold you close, tail in the tide, and point out the available constellations.

Until your breath was too hot on his neck and he lost the ability to concentrate. This close, your scent mingling with the fresh evening breeze, your soft warmth pressed against his side, Nadir wondered if he might combust.

Discussions of logistics happened, of course. You were no biologist but you admired his form on more than one occasion and took to sketching him when you needed a break from schematics. He had felt your wet folds before when you directed his hand through your panties and demanded he understand just what his affections did to you.

He did. All too well.

Nadir grew hot when your hand wandered, tracing his slit and the tip of his member. He gasped when you coaxed him further, your lips on his neck and his cock in your hand; he turned his head and found you gazing not at the stars but at him, every bit of you burning with a deeper yearning than mere lust.

“I mean it. I don’t want anything different. Just you.”

You ran your hands through his hair, tugging slightly and he swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry.

“I want to taste you first,” he panted. “Properly.”

Before he could rearrange either of you, you remove the remainder of your garments and situated your legs around his neck. Your folds were glistening with your own slick and he only caught a glimpse before his nose was pressed against your clit and your scent and taste overwhelmed him.

Nadir gripped your thighs tight, nails digging into the soft flesh as he licked and teased. He did his best to keep his teeth covered as he dipped between your folds, feeling your velvet walls against his tongue. He pulled away only long enough to nibble at your thighs and nuzzle between your folds, reveling in the way your desire dripped down his chin.

Your taste made him dizzy and served to only harden him further. Your feisty hand reached behind you and squeezed his length and he groaned, the edge already closer than he wished it was.

No, not yet.

He pulled your hips down onto him and pushed his tongue into you as far as it would go. Judging from the jolt that rocked both of you, that was much deeper than you anticipated. He flicked across one particular spot and you bucked again as you gave a low whine.

Now that was interesting…you enjoyed that…

Nadir repeated the motion and you clenched around his tongue with a louder cry. He continued, unrelenting, until you shuddered, walls fluttering as your taste changed and you gushed atop him. You were breathless, chest heaving, glowing with a desire yet to be extinguished.

He licked every drop from your lips and your thighs. You tasted magnificent and he couldn’t let that go to waste.

Your hands reached for him again but Nadir leveraged you with ease and flipped both of you over, your back on the sand and legs wrapped around his waist.

“I need all of you,” he whispered. “Just you.”

You felt absolutely divine against his tip and he eased into you slowly, inch by inch, your swollen walls still fluttering. He watched your expression, eyes widening and lips parting in pants as he finally bottomed out. You were already beautiful but like this?

Such things were not meant for this world. And yet you were all his .

Your hands trailed across his back and down along his hips, tracing the scales of his tail. He moaned when, as he pulled out slightly to simply steady himself, the heel of your foot pressed against his tail and pushed him back in and you held him there, filling you entirely with his length. He nipped at your neck in retaliation.

“Nadir…”

Oh, when you said his name like that, dragging out the last syllable…

He pulsed inside you and you had the gall to bring your other leg up, pinning him inside you. Nadir gritted his teeth and, claws digging into your waist, pulled you further down the shore and into the water. He flipped both of you so you rested atop him, legs encircling his waist, and your bodies still joined at the hip. You sputtered for a moment but were wholly undeterred

He continued to thrust into you lazily as he floated along to deeper water. He held you tight, and pulled your body further underwater, until only your heads were above the surface. You were weightless on top of him, shrouded in his element, and he dragged out both of your releases until you convulsed on top of him, moaning incoherently.

Nadir buried his face in your neck, teeth sinking into your shoulder to muffle his guttural groan as he released deep inside you. He shuddered as you peaked again, the intensity too much for him to bear so soon.

He kissed and licked your shoulder apologetically as you both came down from your high, tangled in one another. In the distance, the water sparkled with the promise of daybreak, the sky already full of soft pinks and oranges. Had you truly been up all night?

“Have you ever seen such a beautiful sunrise?” you whispered, nuzzling closer to him.

A vague memory tickled his mind. A flick of fins, a touch of dawn, possessive glares.

If that was beauty by most standards, then he wanted no recollection of that.

“No. No, I have not, my love. But every day with you will contain such light. I’m sure of it.”

#dottore #il dottore #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #dottore x female reader #il dottore x female reader #dottore/female reader #il dottore/female reader #Dottore merman segment #smut #Tw: smut #merman fucking #idk how else to say it tbh #Happy ending

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hollywoodroses · 2 days ago

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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

#guns n roses #guns n’ roses #request #axl rose #axl rose gnr #axl gnr #axl rose fanfiction #axl rose smut #axl rose x reader #guns n roses fanfic #guns n roses smut #gnr #gnr fic #gnr fanfiction #gnr smut #duff mckagan #duff gnr #text #post

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nouearth · 3 months ago

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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?

#✰ : nou.asks

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seoksgrl · 6 months ago

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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.

taglist: @maryseesthings @rkivesfilm @btsffreader92 @creolesoul2seoul @kissme-ornot @wecanpretendit

#namjoon angst #namjoon smut #namjoon fluff #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #namjoon fic #namjoon scenario #purplearmynet

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drewstarkeyupd · 2 months ago

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Queer Makes Drew Starkey a Movie Star. Its Impact on Him Was Even More Profound

The Outer Banks star redefines himself as Daniel Craig’s enigmatic lover. Over lunch with Vanity Fair, he calls the role “a wake-up call for me.”

By David Canfield

September 13, 2024

media.vanityfair.com

Photo by Greg Williams

“This is my breakfast,” Drew Starkey proclaims as a plate of medium-rare steak and potatoes gets placed in front of him, a near-empty cup of black coffee to its side. He woke up at noon, coming off of a late-night screening of his new movie Queer, for his final day in Toronto. It’s the last meal the 30-year-old star will have before he flies home, taking a pause from the glamorous fall-festival circuit. He’s just walked the same Venice red carpet as Angelina Jolie and Nicole Kidman; he’s newly swept up into the A24 family. Things are moving fast. As he searches for a fork, it’s natural to wonder how he’s taking it all in.

The answer to that is hardly simple, in part because Starkey’s been on a journey of introspection since he was cast in Queer well over a year ago. An adaptation of William S. Burroughs’s semi-autobiographical 1985 novel, the film directed by Luca Guadagnino takes an elliptical approach to the story of a slippery romance between two men in mid-century Mexico City. Lee (Daniel Craig) becomes infatuated with a beautiful, enigmatic younger man named Allerton (Starkey), whose sexual proclivities prove maddeningly difficult to read. They become intimate—as captured by Guadagnino in explicit, passionate detail—and eventually travel both around South America and into the depths of their own subconscious (via a trippy ayahuasca sequence). One piece of dialogue, spoken at different points by both of them, haunts their courtship: “I’m not queer, I’m disembodied.”

Starkey references the line at one point over our meal. A feeling of disembodiment rushed up in him about as soon as he finished production on Queer, one of many reasons he’s still processing the film’s impact on him. Its professional impact may be clearer: The star of Netflix’s Outer Banks and teen films like Love, Simon reintroduces himself here with a rich, complex, and brave performance that ought to open new doors. But as we chat, he sounds more interested in the personal doors Allerton may have introduced him to.

At the film’s Toronto premiere the night before our interview, Starkey revealed on stage that Guadagnino first described Allerton to him as a “nasty bitch.” Naturally, we began there.

Vanity Fair: Let’s start with “nasty bitch.” How do you react when you get that description for your character?

Drew Starkey: Luca was being cheeky, but in earlier conversations we had, he talked about Allerton as cold and slippery and very hard to read—and Lee is always trying to put his finger on the pulse or define him in some way. He’s always just out of grasp or just out of reach. There’s a quote that Burroughs had in the original Queer from 1985, one of the last paragraphs. In the sentence, it says something to the effect of, “What happened to that knife called Allerton?” That image was always really an anchor for me. So, a nasty bitch. [Laughs]

You’ve talked about how you are still figuring him out.

I’m going to give you a Burroughs quote. For the last few days, I’ve had his quotes in mind.

Just for the last few days?

[Laughs] Well, the past year-and-a-half. But he was talking about writing Junkie versus writing Queer. He said that he felt like he was the one writing Junkie but he felt as if Queer was writing him. That kind of mirrored my experience in the filming of it. I felt like I did all my work, and I had to let Allerton lead me—which is so different from the way that I’ve worked in the past. It was a lot of meditating and letting things happen. But it was tough. It was really tough.

What does surrendering to the material feel like?

It feels like you’re holding onto a plane crash. You’re like, “I hope I survive this.” There’s an energy to it. [Costume designer] Jonathan Anderson is a friend of Elton John’s, who was an incredible help in terms of the wardrobe and what he wears. So much of it was the image of Allerton, what Lee is drawn into and sucked into. That was really a lot of the focus: What’s the silhouette going to be here?

I was going to ask you about the physicality. You move in a very specific, alluring way.

Well, I lost a lot of weight for it. There’s only a few photos of Lewis Marker, who Allerton was based on, but he was very thin. The bodies of that time were not very muscular.

There was just a great essay in TheNew York Times that touched on that, specifically related to the show Fellow Travelers.

Yeah, I wanted to avoid that. I see it a lot, in a kind of mid-century period setting—because that’s such a modern look. This was about a four-month process of losing about 30 pounds. At first, I stopped eating. Not a great idea. Then I worked with a nutritionist. I got a little bit too skinny at one point and then he was like, “Wait, wait, wait.” But that really did change the way I felt and moved. It felt very natural. And then [Daniel and I] were in, essentially, a dance class with each other. My body felt a lot more fluid and I think that kind of informed my gait. It felt like a lot of outside-in work, which was fun.

You clearly sensed this was a major opportunity. What scared you the most?

Living up to material. I felt a lot of pressure, maybe too much. I was quite nervous, and usually I feel okay. And this was like my heart was racing on the first day. One, Luca and the words of Burroughs, and then Justin Kuritzkes did such an amazing job with [the script]. But then working with Daniel and Lesley [Manville] and Jason [Schwartzman], it was an amazing cast. I felt like I was being found out. I never really had that before.

And given the weight loss, you had a lot of time to think about it before even stepping on that set. Could you think about anything else?

No. I was just engrossed with everything. All my responsibilities went out the window. I mean, every day I woke up and thought about it. It really felt like who I was for a year and a half. I’m not one that can really detach from a role and work in that way. It has to be: Blinders on. I can’t separate.

Everyone’s last day of shooting was the final scene you see in the movie. It was Daniel and me, and it was very emotional on the last day. I never really cry. And I’m crying! Just because it was so—it was so much. It was such a release.

Did you feel generally nervous to do sex scenes as you would be asked to do in this movie?

Not more than any other film, any other sex scene. But there was so much conversation around it, too. Luca made it a point during the first two weeks in Rome, when we had table readings and rehearsals, to separate those and talk about those as their own thing. Get comfortable with it. Daniel and I had been familiar with each other enough that by the time we got there, it felt like any other day.

Really?

It, strangely enough, did. There was such a comfort in our bodies. We were really, for months, essentially in a kind of choreographed jujitsu. There was no trepidation. There was no shying away from the nude scenes at all. Dan and I just wanted it to exude a type of truth and normalcy, how two people would be intimate with one another. You don’t want to put anything on top of it. Yeah, so strangely enough, no, it didn’t. It really didn’t.

To your point about the choreography though, there are specific sex scenes that indicate where the characters are in relation to each other, in terms of power and connection. How did you balance the jujitsu you’re talking about with that sense of intimacy?

We would talk with Luca about how he had a picture for it, his ideals for a given scene. We would just walk through it, but then left some freedom to let things happen. That’s the way Luca works in general. He’ll have a specific idea like, “Here’s my idea for what I think it should be, how I think it should be played out.” And then it’s a very intimate, small, closed set. Only the camera operator, Bianca [Butti] was with us. Months prior, of course, that was something that I was weighing like, “Oh, my God”—I was pretty nervous about it. When you read the script and you see the scene, you go like, “Oh, man.” But Luca was very, very particular about, “I will do nothing that you are uncomfortable with.” We had an open dialogue about all that. And Daniel is also such a giving person. He’s a great partner. Once we got into working, all of that was fine.

The final chapter of the film centers on Lee and Allerton doing ayahuasca. Have you done ayahuasca before?

No, but I’m interested. I feel like I’ll know when it’s time to; I don’t think right now is the right time. It hasn’t called to me. But we had some crew who had done ayahuasca and it was a great reference. It was like: “Okay, how did it feel in your body? How did it feel to walk? How nauseous were you?” That part was really fun. Yeah, I’ve never done ayahuasca—yet. But it seems, I don’t know. I certainly have some things that I need to address.

What can you share about that?

This year, I definitely got happier with myself. The past five years or so it’s been fast-paced and always going. Funnily enough, the strike happened and I felt incredibly disembodied. I had nothing to latch on to. I actually thought about Burroughs in that time, and his relationship with what he calls the ugly spirit. It’s this version of yourself that only wants to destroy, and how to make destruction your friend. I really did a lot of soul-searching, because we finished right before the strike happened. It was like boom-boom—I had this very intense, beautiful, creative kind of experience, and then nothing. I was a little mad.

Did you feel like work was important to keeping those feelings at bay?

Yeah, and maybe it’s not really that active. It’s just, I care so much about this and I want to do this, and that’s a byproduct. You lose a sense of yourself. That’s definitely my relationship with acting. I don’t feel like a confident person. I love life and I love tackling life, but in some way, I’m substituting the job for therapy. I never have admitted that I was doing that. And then this past year, I was like, “Oh, that is what I’m doing.” Now I need to actually ask questions about myself and consider myself, and talk and communicate. I didn’t do that a lot about what I was going through. I love to work and I love to distract myself.

It’s interesting to be going through that while you’re playing a character who is so non-verbal.

Mm-hmm. I’ve thought about this a lot. Even though Allerton felt like the hardest person to be, he also felt like the closest person to me in a way. In a lot of ways I really, really understood him and it felt like me—the way he moves through the world, the way he interacts with people. It was like, “Oh, right, that’s how I would be.” Maybe he was a wake-up call for me.

You already alluded to it, but I was going to ask you: What does, “I’m not queer. I’m disembodied” mean to you? Clearly, you’re someone who thinks a lot about Burroughs these days, and it is the core line of the film.

Oh, I’ve thought a lot about Burroughs. I think it’s the inability to define yourself. He doesn’t use language to express anything, to show his admiration or how he feels. Luca always said in the beginning of this, “It’s not a story about unrequited love. It’s a story about unsynchronized love.” Having that type of love can make you feel more detached from yourself. These are two people who do have this love for each other, and it’s beautiful—you see fleeting moments of it, and you see Lee attach himself to those moments. But they’re operating on two different planes of time in some way. That can make you feel more disconnected, experiencing that and confronting that with your counterpart, than even being alone can. [Pause] Yeah, I think I answered?

Very much so. It’s a movie that prods some deeper introspection, so I appreciate the answers.

Yeah, I know it’s a movie that if I saw it at 14 or 15, it would open doors for me, like: “Oh, my God.” My parents weren’t prudish in any way, but there was definitely some censorship. It was my grandma who was watching us, I was maybe 10, when she was like, “What rated-R movie do you want to watch? Pick one. Go pick one.” Me and my brother were like, “Okay!” I think we watched The Patriot or something. [Laughs] But yeah, I’ve had to go off and find those things on my own.

This interview has been edited and condensed. This story has been updated.

#drew starkey #queer film #queer #tiff 2024 #luca guadagnino #justin kuritzkes #omar apollo #daniel craig

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