#it wasn't dissociation mind you I was just out of it and my body and brain just did its own thing in character as me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sgtgarricks · 11 months ago

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˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ i want your hands on me for all my life

simon riley x afab!reader cw: nsfw, angst, happy ending, mentions of simon's abusive past, talks about death, mentions of soap's death, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), unprotected piv sex, creampie!!, simon lets himself be happy yay

reblogs are immensely appreciated! <3

PREVIOUS PART: your gentle hands are enough

notes: this is the 2nd part for the people that want a happy ending :) this turned out sooo long LMFAO if you want to be sad just pretend this doesn't exist and read the other one! your feedback & comments help <3

Simon had always excelled at compartmentalizing his emotions ever since he was a child.

Growing up with an abusive father and an older brother who has hell-bent on scaring him had forced him to develop self-preservation tactics in order to survive their torment. Dissociating was a daily occurrence in his childhood years — it helped Simon escape the pain and torment that was being inflicted on his body.

Being in the military has not been that different.

He was still dissociating, but he was no longer on the receiving end of thrown punches and insults. He was now the perpetrator inflicting agony on his enemies for the good of the world. To rid the world of filth.

Simon Riley had become the ultimate soldier — lethal, swift, quiet, and was immune to the horrors of war, which was no surprise considering he had spent most of his childhood learning to lock away all the negative emotions. The ability had become innate, bleeding into his daily life and in turn, his relationships.

When Simon walked out the door, he had left all the hurt and sadness in the apartment with you. He trusted you'd keep a part of him safe until he came back and even if he didn't.

Simon had whole-heartedly accepted the risk that comes with the job, fully prepared to lay his life down if it meant a better world than yesterday. In fact, Simon knew death more intimately more than anyone. He'd knocked on death's door multiple times but always seemed to come out alive.

It was easy for him to not think of you. The anxious voice inside his head becomes static as he engrossed himself in the mission. The hard part comes when the dust has settled — when all that remain are cold corpses and bullet casings.

Sitting in the helicopter all bloodied accompanied by the sound of whirring blades wasn't usually bad. It would give him time to sit down and process his emotions. It let him feel the slight guilt that never goes away when taking a life — no matter how rotten.

But with each mission he went on after his abrupt departure, he finds himself constantly ruminating his entire reason for not wanting to get into a relationship with you.

Simon had wanted you to move on from him when he died, eventually. Forget the bruised and battered soldier and find someone whole, someone who could be there for you and love you without causing you anxiety every time their phone rang.

He thought himself selfless for trying to spare you, but his entire reason collapses with every mission he comes back alive.

What was his excuse now? What was he protecting you from?

The voices slink back into his mind the moment he gains a moment of peace. Whispers planting seeds of doubt in his mind, feeding on his insecurity and his fears. They're ruthless and persistent.

You don't deserve them. They're too good for you. You're going to leave them one day anyway, why bother?

He feels a tightness in his chest, as if a phantom hand was squeezing his heart that sends pulses of pain through him. His hand shakes slightly, fingers moving absent-mindedly trying to remember the feel of your skin.

"You alright, Lieutenant?" His captain's voice breaks him out of his trance. Simon is slightly startled but doesn't let it show. He merely grunts.

"'M alright."

Silence engulfs them once more. It goes one for one, two, maybe three minutes. It's suffocating. Simon can read people well enough by now that he knows there are questions lingering in the back of John Price's mind.

A part of Simon wishes he'd just spit it out, but the thought of having to explain seemed worse. Instead, Simon settles with a silent huff as the helicopter continues on its designated course.

The second the helicopter landed, Price simply nods at him, trusting him to get his shit together and walks off to his office. Simon does his usual routine, though instead of rushing through the motions, he's intentionally prolonging each action.

Whereas normally he couldn't get out of this place faster, now he almost dreaded the moment he would have to leave. Staying at the base meant monotonous, dull, predictable tasks. Leaving means he has to choose where to go — he has to actively force himself to not drive straight to your apartment despite the fact that every fiber in his being longs to be close to you.

He feels sick, a kind of illness spreading inside of him that only ever felt better when you were around him. A dull ache inside his body that only lights up when you touch him.

He runs a hand to his now damp hair, content with sitting on a sofa in the rec room. Normally, the place would be bustling with recruits goofing around with each other. But one glance at the broodier-than-normal look on the lieutenant's face had created a force field that pushed away everyone as to not get caught in its storm.

Simon doesn't know how long he sits there, half of him trying to convince himself to not come to you. That you don't deserve the broken man with a penchant for violence.

Chuckling lowly to himself, he shakes his head. What kind of demented higher power decided someone as kind as you be plucked and dropped into his sights?

Fifteen minutes went by as he pities himself in the rec room before a shadow in his peripheral vision causes him to look up.

"L.T.," Kyle nods towards him, leaning on the doorframe.

"Garrick." Simon grunts dismissively, not saying anything more. He hops the sergeant will take the hint on his own and leave the miserable bastard to his own devices.

Kyle worries for Simon. The brooding giant seems more miserable than usual — not more than after the incident, but still. Typically, he wouldn't even be able to catch a glimpse of his lieutenant after coming back from deployment. He'd usually opt to disappear from the base in record time.

The fact that he's here now, instead of wherever he usually hangs around, is slightly concerning.

"You alright, L.T.?"

Simon turns to him, slightly annoyed. "Why does everyone keep asking me that? Yes, I'm alright." He huffs. Kyle merely shrugs, unbothered by the icy gaze directed at him.

"Well, seeing as you haven't fucked off from the base yet and it's been," Kyle checks his phone for the time, "Around an hour? I'd wager something is wrong."

Sometimes Simon hated how observant Gaz was. Kyle's always been attentive, even more so now without Johnny's presence. It wasn't a secret that Johnny had been the lieutenant's shadow — always lingering near him, cracking jokes and pulling his leg.

His absence had naturally left a gaping void in Simon, oozing all the pain and hurt that comes with losing a comrade. Simon isn't naive, he knows death comes as a package with being in the battlefield. He's seen his fellow soldiers die, held them as they bled out. It was why he tended to keep to himself. After all, the less people you know, the less funerals you have to go to.

This worked most of the time, anyone who got close to Simon would get his arctic stare and cower off — most of the time anyway. Johnny was a different case. Johnny was a little bit of a nutcase to be honest. A talented, bright, pyromaniac, the youngest ever to pass SAS selection, with an arsenal of jokes in his pockets. The blue-eyed Scotsman got along quickly with Kyle, bantering with each other easily as if they had been long-lost friends.

While Johnny still had reservations about dicking around with the captain, he didn't seem to have the same problem with Simon. Seemingly happy to chatter off in his ear about anything, whether it was about shitty food, a lady he picked up from a bar, or jabs directed at Simon.

Johnny's bright disposition put Simon on edge. He wasn't used to seeing someone not be terrified of him. No matter how many glares he sent him, the bugger wouldn't leave him alone. Johnny would continue to go out of his way to talk to Simon, to sit next to him during lunch, and sometimes, Johnny would even manage to get Simon to open up just a little.

"What's on yer mind, L.T.?" Johnny nudged Simon with his elbow. The two men were both sat at the bar, the TV playing an old recording of a football match. It had taken Johnny ten minutes to convince Simon to go out for drinks and he planned on taking full advantage of it.

Johnny had been talking non-stop for around five minutes about his sister who had just gotten married, waiting for a reaction from Simon who seemed distracted. His eyes had strayed to the other side of the bar a few times, barely noticeable to the untrained eye, but Johnny was anything but.

"Nothin'." Simon had grunted, tearing his gaze away. A giant smirk plastered itself onto Johnny's face.

"Ah, been starin' at the sad one across the bar, aye?" Seeing Simon's eye widen a little had made Johnny even more gleeful. "Go on then. Ye have my full permission to ditch me tonight." He teased, winking at his lieutenant.

"Don't know what you're talking about, Johnny." Simon had denied instantly, taking a sip of his drink. A normal person would have left it at that, but Johnny wasn't your average person. He loved starting fires and Simon was a flame he wanted to see lit.

"Ach, come on L.T. what's the harm, eh? A little bit of flirting never hurt anyone." Simon didn't know this but Johnny wasn't going to let this go. It was the first time Johnny had ever seen Simon show interest in someone and he'd do anything to get Simon to at the very least, talk to them.

"They're a civvy, Johnny. Not gonna take any chances." Simon shook his head adamantly.

"That's bollocks! All we do is take risks anyway, at least on this one the worst that could happen is getting a drink thrown in yer face." Johnny chuckles, peering at the person across the bar who was clearly nursing a broken heart. Simon still made no move to get up from his chair.

Praying to whatever God was listening, Johnny hoped Simon wouldn't kill him after what he was going to do. Calling over the bartender, Johnny slid the man a fifty.

"Mate, give 'em a refill yeah? Tell 'em it's from the big bloke over here." Johnny signaled the bartender. Simon, who had finally processed what Johnny was doing, couldn't even get a word in. The bartender hastily took the money and went back to his station, ignoring Simon's call.

Simon could only watch in despair as the bartender presented the drink and pointed towards Simon. He received a shy smile, a mouthed 'thank you', and an expectant look.

"Now you've got to go there, mate. Otherwise you'll look like an arsehole!" Johnny threw his arms up, grinning triumphantly. The sergeant crossed his arms and wiggled his eyebrows.

Simon could've easily ignored Johnny and went back to his drink. But a part of him couldn't deny that he wanted to go over there and maybe talk to someone else that wasn't Scottish for a change. Against his usual logic, Simon decided to stand up from his chair.

"You're an arsehole." A glare was sent Johnny's way, although it had no weight behind them. As Simon began to walk away, he could hear Johnny laughing loudly.

"Yer welcome!"

Simon had never told Johnny you were the person who had been texting him during deployment, but he knew deep down that Johnny already knew. He'd asked multiple times, even tried sneaking a look.

He simply didn't want to admit that Johnny forcing him to talk to you that day had shifted Simon's world. He wished he told Johnny.

"We all miss him, L.T." Kyle's soft voice spoke again. He's closer now, dragging a chair from a table and sitting in front of Simon. Kyle knew he could never fill the giant void that Johnny left, but he felt a sense of responsibility to at least try. Price had become more closed off after his death whereas Simon had slowly been unraveling, little stitches coming loose a day at a time.

"All we can do is make sure it's not in vain." Simon sighs, hearing Kyle's words, knows he's right. That he can't go back to expecting the worst all the time, constantly on edge.

Johnny had breathed life into his ghostly presence, bringing Simon back into the realm of the living. The more Johnny got out of the lieutenant, the more people were able to see that Simon wasn't merely a visage, a ghost roaming the hallway. That he was a real person.

He was throwing away his chance at a second life. Perhaps it was also a twisted way of Simon punishing himself. If he couldn't save Johnny, couldn't save the man who managed to get him to talk to you, then he didn't deserve you. It was a round-about way of him trying to mend off the guilt eating away at him that had inadvertently claimed another victim.

"Thank you, sergeant." Simon stood up. Clapping his hand on Kyle's shoulder.

I see you.

"Don't mention it, sir."

The drive to your house takes around twenty minutes, which means that's all the time Simon has to try and figure out a way to atone for his sins.

They're too gracious to even hold a grudge against you. A small part of Simon tells him. While he hopes that's true, he still wants to apologize and acknowledge how unfair he's been to you. If not to make you feel better, at the very least it will ease his conscience.

He drums his finger on the steering wheel, the radio turned on but on low volume. For once, Simon wishes he had Johnny's ability to get out of problems with his alluring words and his kicked-puppy look.

Lost in his own thoughts, he hadn't even realized he's been sitting in his parked car for a few minutes. He clasps his hands when he realizes they're shaking. God, he was so terrified. Not of you, no. He was scared of having to see what he's done to you. Is terrified of really seeing the carnage Simon Riley had tore in you.

He lets out a bated breath and opens the car door. He knows you're home by now, probably cooking away while listening to some indie band. Resting his head on your door, he braces himself once more, and knocks.

He waits, the seconds feeling like hours. The door swings open and he sees your surprised face.

"Simon." You compose yourself immediately, not wanting to show any sort of weakness in front of him. Something twitches on the corners of his mouth hidden by the balaclava. As if realizing he's still wearing it, he takes it off.

"Can I come in?" He asks timidly, as if approaching a wounded animal. He had no idea how you'd react after him being gone for so long. Even during his three month deployments, he'd sometimes text you once every fortnight. But after the way he left things, he couldn't bring himself to message you at all. Couldn't even stomach the thought of you still pining over him after what he had done. It was easier for him to simply block your number. Photos of sunsets and coffee cups gathering dust in his photo album, unsent.

You didn't even think about it, your body unconsciously moving sideways to let him in. A part of you screams at yourself.

Idiot, show some dignity.

It had been so easy for you to let the man who had left you for six months without a word back into your apartment, into your life.

You felt like an addict. Constantly begging for your next fix and taking whatever scraps are thrown your way. It's pitiful, but you're too far gone, anyway. His dirty boots make contact with your hardwood floor, leaving small specks of mud on them. Simon notices the frown marring your face and begins to unlace his boots.

"Sorry." He apologizes, neatly tucking away his muddy boots at the side of your door. You close the door behind him, making your way towards your kitchen. The plate clatters loudly in the sink as you haphazardly put them away, clearly rattled.

Simon coughs slightly, words stuck in his throat. He'd prepared a small speech earlier yet all the words seem to escape him. All the courage he had mustered for his little speech all had but disappeared into thin air. He feels out of his depths, not used to being vulnerable.

"What are you doing here, Simon?" Your voice sounds so tired. He supposes he was to blame for that.

"Can we talk?" He sends you a pleading look, hoping you still felt a sliver of the love you used to harbor for him — the only thing stopping you from kicking him out.

"Oh, so after blocking me and radio silence for six months you've decided you want to talk?" The bitterness seeps into your words like venom. He can't even make himself physically recoil from the sharp edge of your tone. Simon can feel the thin rope right beneath his feet, one wrong step and he'd be falling off the edge.

He takes a deep breath. "I deserve that."

"Oh, you deserve more than that Simon Riley. I should kick you out right now." You were huffing now, going slightly red in the face. Had he not been so anxious he might've thought you look cute. But right now? He was downright terrified.

"Just-" Simon pinches his nose bridge, calming himself down. "Let me speak for a moment, yeah? After that if you want me to leave, I'll leave." He holds both his hands up.

You were livid, rightfully so. The man you love had essentially decided he didn't want to communicate with you anymore, breaking your heart. The first week you thought maybe something had happened to his phone, broken it maybe?

As the weeks turned into months, the realization dawned on you that he had purposefully blocked you, cut off all contact. At first there was only sadness. You spent your days crying into your blanket, some days barely functioning. The hurt and betrayal had emotionally drained you. Did all those years mean nothing to him?

You knew he had a hard time expressing his emotions, but never in your wildest dreams did you think he would throw you away just like that. Like you were nothing more to him than a good fuck. Despite your head telling you otherwise, the emotional baggage he had left you with didn't leave much option.

It was easier to hate him than to accept maybe he didn't love you at all.

You spent the first few months cursing into the wind hoping it'd somehow hurt him a fraction of how much he hurt you. Afterwards, the pain became a lingering , dull ache, but not debilitating anymore. It became a constant that you carry everyday.

Kicking him out the door was tempting, but you knew it wouldn't do you any good. If anything, the words left unsaid would become a leech — slowly draining away your curiosity until you eventually leave another voicemail.

You give him a pointed stare before sitting down on the couch. Simon slowly approached you, wanting nothing more than to sit next to you but choosing to sink into the other side of the couch. He sees you cross your arms, feeling more uncomfortable by the second.

"I jus' wanna say that I'm sorry." He stares into your eyes, slouched with elbows on his thighs. Seeing your mouth thin into a line, Simon knows he's going to have to do a lot better.

"When Johnny died..." Your eyes widen, arms slacking slightly. He'd talk about Johnny sometimes but sometime ago had entirely stopped mentioning his name altogether. You had suspected something terrible had happened but you didn't want to believe it.

"I was so angry. It's not fair. He was so young, had his whole future ahead of him. Told me he was gonna see his sister's newborn on his next leave." He breathes out, clenching his fists.

"All of that, gone. We haven't even caught the bastard yet." Simon runs an exasperated hand through his face. Your arms were no longer crossed, choosing to fiddle with the edge of your shirt. You wanted to comfort him so badly, wanted to take him into your arms and tell him everything's going to be okay. But he was still pouring his heart out and you wanted to greedily snatch every piece he was willing to give.

"I had constant nightmares for months. Sometimes, I still do. You're just a heavy sleeper, I suppose." He chuckles and catches the way the edge of your mouth turn up.

"It's never easy, losing someone. It changes you. I used to hear his nonsense almost everyday and now it's just not there. I'm terrified one day it'll be like he was never there at all." Simon looks away, blinking tears away.

"But he was there. I know that. I felt him. He was like the fucking sun, but instead of being 150 million kilometers away, he's next to my ear with his Scottish nonsense." Simon chuckles bitterly, reminiscing the times when Johnny had to translate his gibberish.

You stay quiet, letting him speak freely. You had a feeling where this was going and how Johnny's death had indirectly impacted your relationship.

"If I died tomorrow, would you be okay?" His question catches you off guard. It was a question you've pondered a thousand times before, and every time you only ever came up with one answer.

"No." You answer honestly, because you'd break either way. Whether it was tomorrow or a year from now. You can feel a part of Simon in your bloodstream that if he died, some part of you would die with him.

"I only ever wanted you to be okay." He straightens, testing the waters by moving closer to you. You let him.

"Would you prefer if I never loved you at all?" Your heart was thumping loudly in your chest you worried he could hear it.

"No." His answer was immediate, as if he'd never been as sure before. "Not selfless enough for that."

"Then are you selfless enough to accept that I would want it to hurt?" You put your hand on top of his, gently grasping them within yours. Simon feels the broken pieces of him mending together.

He's quiet, not sure how to respond. He didn't use to understand why people would put themselves on the line, but he's starting to.

"If you died, I'd want it to hurt. I'd want it to take my breath away. I'd want it to keep me awake at night. I'd want every single bone in my body to ache when you're gone, because that would mean I have loved you with all of me."

You don't realize you'd started crying. There was no distance anymore between you and Simon. His thigh pressed against yours as you clutch his hand to your chest.

"I want it to hurt so badly, because I want to love you deeply." Tears were streaming freely down your face you couldn't even stop them even if you wanted to.

"Simon, will you let me hurt for you?"

And he lets you.

"Okay." His hand go to engulf your frame, but you had thrown yourself at him before he managed to. Simon can feel his shirt getting wet, he'd never thought he'd be slightly happy over the fact that you were crying.

Everything's going to be okay.

Your head was now on his collarbone, his palm gently holding you there. You feel a kiss on the top of your head as he strokes it.

Neither of you know how long you simply cried on him, much less when you ended up on his lap. When he heard you stop — tired from the energy you exerted, he slowly rearranges his body so that you are able to lie fully on top of him. His sore back is the last thing on his mind as he sees your peacefully sleeping away.

A pounding headache eventually woke you. You weren't sure if last night really happened or if your mind had conjured a scenario where Simon came back for you. However, the sweltering heat you feel on your midsection proves otherwise.

He really was here.

His eyes were closed, seeming to be asleep. You test the waters, placing your palm on the left side of his face. A hand immediately darts towards your hand and keeps it there.

"Put some pills on your nightstand for the headache." He murmurs, eyes still closed. His face turns slightly, placing a kiss on your palm. Even after half a year away, he still knows you like the back of his hand.

Leaning in, you give him a peck on the cheek. As much as you want to drink in the sight of him, there were more pressing matters at hand. You need the reassurance. You need him to tell you he wasn't going to abandon you again.

"Simon, did you mean it?" You can't get the entire words out, can only hope it was enough to convey your tumultuous emotions. His heart aches that you don't believe him, but he understands.

"I love you, sweetheart." Soft lips descend upon your own, barely brushing.

"'M here to stay as long as you want me here." He sneaks a hand under you, pulling you closer to him. There isn't any part of you that's not connected to him in some way.

He was so warm, scorching you inside out. You wanted his flame to burn every inch of your skin. When he left, everything felt cold to the bone, your life turning into muted blues and grays.

Simon brought warmth into your life, with his little acts of service. With the little trinkets he brings back after deployment because it reminded him of you. With his gentle hands, gentle kisses — his gentle self.

"I love you, Si." You whisper, grabbing him by the neck and lowering your lips onto his. Brushing softly, you were going to pull away when Simon lets out a moan. Heat builds inside of you as you slip your tongue inside his open mouth. He grunts in surprise, holding you still for a second. But you're impatient.

"Need you." You whine, "Want you so much, Si."

"Yeah?" He mumbles against your lips, running his hands through your hair gently.

"Thought I'd be in the dog house much longer than that, love." He teases you. Simon yelps slightly when you retaliate by biting on his lower lip. He grips both your cheeks with his fingers, pushing you away from him.

"That wasn't very nice of you, hmm?" He gently shakes your head, grinning handsomely. "Think you need a little lesson in being nice, sweetheart. Lucky for you, I'm an excellent teacher." He leans in and kisses your puckered lips, working his way downwards.

His hands wander everywhere, working themselves underneath your shirt. You feel goosebumps rise where his fingertips lay, shivering under his hold.

"Missed you so much, Si. Please." Your moans echo throughout the room. He's holding your thighs together as he trails down your body as you writhe.

"Missed you too, love. Fuck, missed you so fucking much." He manages to say. He cups your ass as he mouths at your panty-covered mound. Your juices seep through the fabric, making Simon groan.

"Mmm.. Someone missed me too." He runs his tongue up and down your slit as you cross both your legs behind his neck. He felt you clench your thighs and he feels blood rushing downwards. Turning his head slightly to the right, he nips lightly at your inner thigh.

He'd barely touched you but here you are already begging for it. Simon Riley has you wrapped around his finger and it scares you a little how much of a hold he has on you. You had bared your neck so openly for him and he had bit down the first chance he got.

"Will you let me take care of you, love? Make you feel good." He hums, fingers trailing along your inner thigh waiting for permission. You nod fervently before realizing he can't see you.

"Yes, yes, yes. Need you to take care of me, Si." Your heart was beating fast out of anticipation.

"Yeah? I'll make you feel good, baby." He coos at you as his fingers slowly pull down your panties. Strings of your juices were sticking to the insides. He threw them aimlessly, eyes zeroed in on your wet pussy.

His finger runs through your folds, making squelching noises. "All this for me, hmm?" He tilts his head up, pinching when you don't reply immediately. The sudden sensation makes you whimper.

"All for you, Si. Just for you." You were panting heavily as Simon sucks your clit into his mouth and licks in a circular motion. You thread your fingers in his hair, not tugging harshly.

Simon laps at your pussy like a starved man, burying his entire face in your warmth. He moans between every few licks, the taste of you dazing him. Your eyes glaze over as you see the man you love pleasuring you with earnest. He continues for a while, alternating his focus between your bud and your folds.

When you tug at his shirt impatiently, Simon grunts. He gets up and throws his shirt over his head. Not one second after it's off, you begin to paw at him, desperate to feel every inch of him.

Simon thinks he's never seen such a beautiful sight. Your hair was messy from your movements, eyes hazy as he can feel goosebumps on his body where you stare. He grabs your face and kisses you desperately, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth. His clothed bulge was grinding messily against your wet pussy as his boxers begin to darken from the wetness.

Simon's whimper fill the room when he feels you grinding upwards to rub yourself on his cock. He pulls from your lips with a string of saliva. Not waiting for him, you scramble to take off your shirt, baring your tits to him.

His eyes drink in the state of you greedily, one hand groping your tits as the other travels down to your pussy. You were beyond wet enough for his cock, but he's determined to make you cum on his fingers first.

Two fingers slip into you gently. The stretch catches you off guard, it's been a while since you've had his thick fingers probing inside you. His fingers were thrusting shallowly as you grind on his palm.

"Fuck, Simon. Feels so good." You babble, barely able to keep your eyes open, the pleasure overwhelming your senses.

"Yeah? Gonna make you feel even better." With that, his fingers thrust deeper into you, massaging your spot. Your back arches as Simon plants his face on your chest, sucking on your nipples.

He crooks his fingers slightly as he continues thrusting, his palm touching your clit with each time. You couldn't stay still anymore, moving your hips back to meet his thrusts.

The room was filled with wet, squelching noises and your combined moans. Your hands were gripping his bicep, feeling the large muscle flex under your fingertips.

His thick fingers continue his ministration as you begin to climb higher and higher. Your walls begin to pulse and constrict his fingers. Sweat drips down his forehead as he continues to drive into your pussy with his deft fingers.

"You gonna cum on my fingers, love?" He teases, placing kisses all over your damp face.

"Yes, oh fuck. Please, please let me cum."

Simon grins against your neck, placing sloppy kisses all over. His fingers begin to speed up even faster, hitting your sweet spot with every effort. You feel the familiar tingling sensation begin to build in your core.

Your legs begin to tremble as you struggle to get air inside of your lungs. Panting harshly, you close your eyes as your orgasm starts to reach its peak.

His hand leaves your tits as they begin to rub circles on your clit. The combined assault on your clit and your pussy brings you over the edge.

"Look at me when you cum." Your eyes open immediately as you find him staring directly into yours. Your legs tremble deliciously, hands gripping Simon even tighter as you feel your orgasm wash over you. Mouth agape, your back continues to arch as Simon doesn't stop, overstimulating you with a few shallow thrusts.

Simon's hand was covered in your juices as he slowly withdraws them. Your pussy clenches, feeling empty. He brings his fingers to your mouth and taps your lips. Obediently, you open your lips and let him slide his fingers inside your mouth.

Circling your tongue all finger, your eyes begin to close again. When you blink them open, you see Simon's bare body hovering above yours. His cock was standing proudly, shiny with precum. You feel the urge to take his cock into your mouth. When your hand tries to reach for him, it's stopped by his firm grip.

"Next time, yeah? Need to fuck your pretty pussy, baby." He slowly pulls his fingers out of your mouth, wiping them on his hip. He repositions his cock at your pussy, sliding the head up and down your folds.

Tilting your head down, you see Simon's hand grip his cock firmly as it slowly rubs his precum all over your pussy. He groans seeing your juices mix together. Moving your hips upwards, you try to push his head in and he hisses.

He grabs your hips and gently lowers them on the bed. "You just lay there and take it, yeah? Let me do all the work." You preen, more than happy to lay there and see him move above you.

"Put it in, Si. Missed your cock so much." You whimper, pressing delicate kisses on his neck. He nudges your nose with his, capturing your lips into a kiss. Your moan gets interrupted by your own grunt of surprise as the head of his cock slips in.

His cock was thicker than his two fingers, with veins running all over the shaft rubbing your walls deliciously. You link your legs behind his waist, helping him push deeper.

When he's inside you, it's like two pieces of puzzle fitting together. His cock fit so perfectly inside you, as if you were made for him and him for you. You knew Simon was it for you a long time ago, falling head over heels so easily for the grumpy soldier. You weren't happy at how long it took him to come to his senses, but you're glad either way.

He thrusts slowly, going deeper with each shift of his hips. His tongue tangles with yours as wet noises fill the room. You know when he's pushed in to the hilt when you feel him bump against your cervix slightly. Your pussy clenches at the tiny pain, causing Simon to moan out.

"Fuck, you're squeezing me so well, sweetheart." He stays there for a moment, grinding his cock inside. You only stop kissing when you pull away to beg him to start moving. Both his hands are placed firmly on your hips when he begins thrusting.

He moves back and forth slowly, the walls of your pussy feeling every drag of his big cock. You hiss against his mouth, the sensation lights up every nerve in your body. You beg him to go faster but he ignores you, continuing to sink slowly.

When you're about to wail at the pace again, he thrusts sharply — his cock sinking deep into your pussy. You gasp, clawing his back when he continues to move slowly but going deep with each thrust. You can hear the sound of his balls smacking against your ass.

Your combined juices were dripping out of your pussy, causing wet noises whenever he moves inside you. You don't know how long he continues his brutal motion, your eyes dazed and breath unsteady.

You've never felt this way before. It feels as if he's everywhere inside you, there isn't a part of you that doesn't feel touched by him. He thrusts as if he's trying to imprint himself in you, trying to permanently leave a mark.

"Such a pretty pussy. Doing so well f' me, sweetheart. You gonna let me cum in you? Gonna let me fill you up nicely?" He grunts, his composure starting to unravel. His cock begins to piston in you messily as he loses himself in your pussy.

"Yes, yes, yes. Fuck, love you so much, Si. Need your cum in me." You cry out desperately, tightening your legs and pulling him deeper inside you.

"So good to me, love. Letting me cum in your pretty pussy." His form begins to shake slightly from exertion. You know his hands were going to bruise your hips from how hard he was gripping them but you couldn't care less.

Your body moves up and down from the force of his thrust. His cock touching your cervix with each delicious thrust. Your pussy begins to pulse wildly on his cock as you feel another orgasm build inside you. When his cock begins to pulse, your eyes roll to the back of your head as it sends you over the edge. You moan out his name loudly, pulling him by the neck to your chest as his arms hug you to him.

You feel his desperation and love when he holds you. He hugs you so tight to him your ribs ache. You never want this feeling to go away.

"I love you so much, fuck." Your orgasm triggers his own, his cock pulsing as his creamy load fills up your pussy. He's so snug inside your pussy the excess cum begins to drip out. When he stops unloading inside you, he moves slowly, thrusting a few times shallowly. A part of him wants to look at the way his seed drips from your pussy but he didn't want to move away from you.

You both pant with eyes closed as your breathing begins to even out. Simon slowly pulls out and you hiss at the feel of his cock leaving you empty. You look down and see his cock covered in his cum and yours.

Your head falls back down to the pillow, eyes closing shut. Simon stares at the ceiling and huff, righting himself. You feel him plant a kiss to your forehead as the bed dips.

"'M gonna go clean us up, yeah? You stay there." You hear him step into the bathroom, going to wash himself and grab a clean towel to clean up your mess. By the time he came back, you had already passed out, judging by the sound of your low snores.

He begins to wipe your thighs and try to dry the surrounding areas as best he can. He'll change the sheets later when you're well-rested. Simon climbs into bed, hugging you to him. He runs his fingers through your hair, slowly unknotting them one by one.

He stares at your sleeping from and grins. Lowering his lips to yours, he keeps them there for a few seconds.

"I love you."

You can only mumble in response, too tired to properly articulate the words.

"I love you too, Simon."

#simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost smut #ghost x reader #cod smut #cod x reader #cod ghost x reader #simon riley #my writings

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whiskeyskin · 5 months ago

Text

Easy

Premise: During their first night together, Astarion muses how disgustingly easy this seduction will be.. right? Right..? 👀😬

• Astarion x f!Tav • M rating •

Astarion!POV, dissociation, mutual handjobs, bloodplay, improper use of tadpoles, confused erections, guilt, loathing.

I'm unable to find the person responsible for this heartbreaking picture of our boy, please tag if you recognise it as yours 💜 Gatta credit the Artists!

•°•°•

This is almost too easy, Astarion thought to himself as he leaned in to kiss her.

His mind had automatically retreated into himself the moment he scented her presence, reversed into the well practised charade he'd played for tens of decades.

She was the perfect prey.

She was a bleeding heart. A filthy do-gooder. Thank the gods she couldn't see him rolling his eyes every time she stopped for a stranger.

Well, apart from when she'd stopped for him..

He picked her up and felt himself press her against the tree, continuing to kiss her. She wrapped her arms and thighs around him and squeezed him tightly, running her hands along his shoulders and the sides of his neck. He flinched when she grazed the marks from Cazador's bite but passed it off as a gasp from his desire.

He had to admit; she wasn't all bad but he couldn't be sure of her dedication to him and his cause. Not without devotion beyond a shadow of a doubt. He had to woo her, far beyond what he'd ever done before.

He had to be clever about this. Seduction was a sprint, whatever this was would be a marathon.

Tav smiled and traced her teeth over her bottom lip. She was very beautiful. It was less of a chore when they were attractive.

Her eyes were flitting over his face, Astarion kept his flirtatious smile ever present.

"Would you like to feed on me when we have sex? I assume you've never done that before?" She offered with a suggestive tilt of her head, exposing just enough of the taut flesh of her neck.

A jolt of something he didn't quite recognise zapped through his body like a Witch bolt and Astarion's flawless smile faultered. His flaccid cock twitched and began to ache, rapidly growing.

His body tensed at the reaction. This never happened. He could count on one hand how many times he'd naturally gotten hard - as natural as it was for a dead man to get hard, of course.

The surprise on his face must have been abundantly apparent, as Tav smiled brightly with a cheeky glint.

"I assume that's a yes, then?" She chuckled, her eyes dipping down between them to his rigid member, beginning to roll her hips against him, her wet folds lightly teased his swollen member as she undulated.

Astarion chest felt tight and his eyes rolled back unexpectedly at the delicious feeling.

Suddenly, he found himself falling backwards, as Tav pushed herself off the tree.

Now in ordinary circumstances, he would have been able to save himself and them and soften the blow. However, seeing as 1, he wasn't expecting to be falling and 2, was suddenly filled with a need he'd not experiened in quite some time; they both fell unceremoniously to the floor, reeling from the impact.

"Ahh, my fucking knees!" She cried, laughing and hissing in pain.

"Your knees? What about my back? You just threw us on the floor, you idiot!" He spat at them, a dull throb radiating.

Tav started to laugh, "I'm sorry! I thought it would be sexy. Ow, myfuckingknees." She covered her mouth, still chuckling and sat straight upwards, her warmth settling on top of his confused erection.

"Are you okay?" She giggled, placing her fingertips gently on where his heart was.. where it used to beat.

If he had breath to hitch, it would have.

"I'm alright." He shrugged off, "it's lucky the ground's soft around here." He swallowed, "Are you alright?" He asked, realising he should show concern.

"I'm fine. Just wasn't expecting smashed knees and tree branches up my arse is all." She smirked in faux pain.

Astarion let out a loud and unexpected "Ha!" at the comment and gave her a genuine smile.

"Just to preface, I wasn't expecting anything up my arse tonight. You don't get those goods out the gate, Mr. Vampire. No matter how pretty you are." She said plainly, with a hint of amusement.

"Spawn. Get it right, or don't get it at all." He countered.

"Ooh, I do apologise, Mister Vampire Spawn Saer. I prostrate before thee, how could seek thy forgiveness?" She flourished her hand in a mock bow.

He gripped her quickly, and flipped her with new found vigor. She gasped and giggled as they rolled.

Now encased below, he crawled up the length of her body, "Well, I can think of one way." He lilted playfully, as he braced his hands by her head.

She smiled again, relaxing into the position, before offering her neck to him.

For the second time that night a jolt of something he didn't quite understand coarsed through him, it settled low and hungry in his belly. His cock swelling back to size, laying like a snake wait on her soft stomach.

He couldn't figure it out. Figure her out. This wasn't how it normally went.

His usual feelings of disgust and loathing would sit in his throat, like bile. Would grip his haunches and made him recoil, make him feel like he was the lowest creature on the face of Faerûn.

Despicable. Foul. Vile.

But this new feeling, this desire, this.. need? Was completely foreign to him.

Tav pulled him from his thoughts with her gentle touch, which he flinched from unconsciously.

"Hey, you alright?" Concerned furrowed her brow as she gazed up at him, moon and starlight reflected in her gaze.

His veneer slide back into place, "Of course darling, just thinking of all the ways I can make you cum." He reached between them to pinch a nipple, she gasped, to which he silenced with a deep kiss.

It wasn't his fault. This is what he had to do. What he was good at. What he'd spent so many years doing. Perfecting. But this would be beyond that.

He needed to her to fall so deeply in love with him that she'd never betray him. That she'd die for him, sacrifice herself for him, so that he might survive Cazador's impending attempt to drag him back.

To do that he had to: seduce her, sleep with her numerous time, make her orgasm so hard she wouldn't be able to move. He'd have to use his most advanced moves to assure this mission's success.

He would manipulate her so convincingly, that she would willingly fight a Vampire Lord to protect him. That was a tall order. Depending on how long he had to work on her.

He made people fall in love with him in an evening. This shouldn't be that much harder. He'd have to-

"Bite me, Astarion." Tav breathed against his mouth, and his mind stilled.

It was like he'd walked into a solid brick wall. Something hot and eager flushed him.

He came back to his body with two fingers stuffed inside her tight cunt, her warm juices spilling on to his hand and his cock limply hanging between his legs.

Clearly he'd been busy while he'd stepped away from the reigns.

Her words echoed through him like a gong reverberated through a temple.

He pulled his lips back and bared his fangs to her, tightened every muscle in his body.

He knew how delicious she was, how rich and delectable she was. And now he knew how emotions flavoured the blood; her anticipation and nervousness the first time, the relaxation of the following times, the fear of the bandits he'd drained to death on the battlefield. All of them tasted different.

Gods, what would arousal taste like.. desire.. orgasm..

"You're a shit Vampire, Astarion, honestly. Oh, Vampire Spawn. Let's not forget semantics." She teased, biting her lip.

"Well, you're a-" He had nothing. He had blood on the brain, and his cock apparently wanted cunt.

Her muscles clenched down on his digits as she laughed, "Good one, Star."

"Oh, shut up." He snarked with a grin, that she replied with, as he finally pierced her skin and tasted her decatent blood.

She hissed and clenched around his fingers again, as he removed his teeth from the puncture points to release her blood.

It filled his mouth, rushing out of her in spurts. He drank deeply, tasting her excitement. It tasted citrusy, bright and sharp on the tongue, then it changed to deep berries, rich and warm. Her delicious blood coated his throat and nourished his body, as he swallowed her down.

He began pumping his dexterous fingers inside her again, his thumb flitting over her clit. She gasped again and brought her hands to grasp his neck and shoulder.

She moaned and twitched under him, "Ah, ah-starion. That feels.. ngh.. don't stop."

He hummed and shook his head in agreement against her neck. There wasn't a chance he was stopping. There wasn't a chance he could.

This felt fucking amazing. Tasted like pure heaven.

He was painfully hard. The blood he was draining from her filling his cock with sensations.. divine, eye-rolling sensations.

Limitless freedom, hedonistic pleasure. A heady high that had him groaning against her skin.

She writhed her hand between them, towards his thick member. It would be awkward but gods he needed her to touch him.

He'd never needed anyone's touch more than hers at this precise moment.

He pushed his hips up higher wantonly, to allow her more room. She grasped his cock within her grip and immediately started pumping.

He broke the seal of his lips against her flesh, gasping and panting. The cool air of the night a stark contrast to the warmth of her blood dripping down his chin.

"Oh gods, Astarion." She keened beneath him, digging her nails into the muscle of his bicep with the other hand.

He gasped against the overwhelming bombardment of sensation assailing him; the taste of her blood, the smell of arousal, the burn of desire, the delicious friction of her hand.

It was wrong, wasn't it? Feeling good during sex? It wasn't supposed to feel this way. It wasn't meant to be enjoyable. It never had been before..

But gods it was now. It was almost too much.

His hand moved of it's own accord, practised for years in the art of autopilot; finessing between curling his digits stuffed inside her tight pussy and his thumb fluttering over her clit. And thank that gods, because he was not present. For an entirely different reason this time.

He whimpered, mouth agape, thinking blood coating his tongue. He was in a state of total and unexpected euphoria. Nothing mattered except remaining forever, in this moment, in this clearing.

Feather light touches brushed against his mind, seeking connection.

Astarion flinched at the intrusion, "What are you.. doing?" His mind's voice irritated and desperate.

"Going to cum.. soon. Collective ecstasy.. remember?" She replied, her's tense and full of revelry.

Astarion swallowed, latent blood flavouring his tongue. His face tensed, unsure.

He looked down at her face. Gods, she was close. The throes of pleasure evident on her beautiful face, bathed in the moonlight. It hit low in his belly, tightening his testicles.

It would be fun to use these parasites for something as debauched as this.

Those tentacled freaks wouldn't expect that, would they?

He allowed her to enter his mind, just a little. Only to be blown backwards by the rush of orgasmic energy that blazed towards him like a Thunderwave.

The storm that was roiling inside her, the building crescendo, the sheer desperation to cum. It paralysed him. It tangled within him. It wrapped itself around his cock, his hips and thighs. It painfully pinched at his nipples. It delectably nibbled at his ears.

"Gods above!" He spluttered, knocked completely off his guard.

His own orgasm rushed to meet her at the precipice, his body straining at the surge of endorphins.

He could almost see her, stood at the edge of a great ravine that dropped into nothingness. She reached her hand for him. His fingertips touched hers.

"I can.. hold on.." she muttered, weakly. He clasped his hand to hers, above her head, on the forest floor.

"No.. cum.. cum.. with me.." No later than he'd uttered the last word, he felt her walls clench around him.

Their hands entwined on the edge of the swirling void. She let out a deep exhale and willingly fell backwards into the abyss, and he was unable to - refused to - fight it.

Free fall..

Silence..

Peace..

And for the first time in over 200 years, he actually looked into the eyes of the person with him. Her reverent gaze pierced through his sorry façade, his pain and his suffering.

It was like time had slowed.

He saw her in two realities. This one; where he loomed over her, fingers in her cunt and her hand wrapped round his cock. And the other; the leap of faith, the never-ending galaxy around them, their hands grasped so tightly.

Hers hit a moment before his. The bow string released, a spell's magic unleashed.. the storm overcame them both.

Her pupils flashed and dilated, her face flushed and strained, as she came on his fingers.

"Astarion." She whispered, smiling in absolute, unbridled euphoria.

She looked deep into his eyes, and never strayed her gaze, as her orgasm lashed through her.

Looking into her eyes, with a roar that died in his throat, hot, thick ropes of cum spurted from his pale, undead cock. It shot up her gorgeous, soft body and coated her fingers.

He felt her cunt flood with her juices, staining his palm, as she called out his name like a song.

She bucked and writhed, face contorted in ecstasy. His own pleasure causing him to thrust and jerk, veins in his neck tense and popping from the sheer force.

He collapsed on top of her, utterly spent.

There they lay in stunned, post-orgasmic bliss for what seemed effortless hours, when it fact only moments had passed. The muscles in his legs twitched, as he came down from the high. His hearing returned to him, after the thumping of her rushing blood slowed inside him. Her hard breathing softened to laboured exhales. His eyes growing heavier as Reverie beckoned.

Still collapsed on top of her, she stroked her thumb across his shoulder.

"I would call that collective ecstasy." She whispered with smile against the sweat sodden hair stuck to his temple.

He huffed out an exhausted laugh, and she pressed a kiss, to which he reciprocated in his delirium.

"I would call that a miracle." He mused, lifting himself up and peeling his chest from theirs.

He cast his eyes down on the sacrilege between them. His cum glistened in splotched patches up their stomachs and chests, where he'd collapsed after orgasm.

"Oops." He said, without a morsel of regret.

"Eh, comes with the territory." She shrugged, waving their hand and muttering the somantics for Prestidigitation.

Astarion let out a groan and rolled off her, to the ground. He was utterly spent. It had been a very long time since sex had tired him this way. Well, it hadn't even been sex.

Tav rolled onto his chest, laying her head down and letting out a big sigh.

"That was interesting, huh? Using the tadpole's connection?" There was a tease of intrigue in her voice.

"I can imagine that's not what the Illithids had in mind when they implanted us with them." He said, flippantly amused, bringing his arms to hold them.

There was a pause.

"Were you there with me? On the edge of that terrifying expanse?" Their tone was cautious but curious.

Astarion's brows shot up his face, "You saw it too?"

"I thought it was my imagination but I felt you, felt your hand holding mine," she moved her fingers to finesse his hand into the correct position to hold hands like before, "I had to know if it was real."

A twang of guilt ricocheted through his chest.

There it was. That old familiar feeling.

"Of course it was, darling." His voice was thankfully more convincing than his expression.

She smiled against his skin, pressed a kiss and let out another contented sigh, as she settled back into his embrace.

Despicable. Foul. Vile. The lowest creature on the face of Faerûn.

He sighed through his nose, his body tense with undeniable self-hatred.

Yes, this would be easy.

•°•°•

D'ya like reading smut and sweetness? I've got a Masterlist 👀🤫

#astarion #bg3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 smut #astarion smut #smut #astarion x tav #astarion x female tav #whiskeyskin masterlist #whiskeyskin #astarion fic #astarion ancunin

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snowseraphim · 1 year ago

Text

one of those nights

angel dust x male reader

hurt/comfort, fluff, brief mention of valentino, established relationship

[this is my first attempt at writing a fanfic! i just love my boy angel dust and had to write a lil' something for him :) also please excuse any grammar mistakes as english is not my first language <3]

wc: 425

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

angel stumbles in through the hotel doors in the small hours of the morning, as usual. but unlike usually, husk's bar isn't the place he seeks out first. tonight's shoot was just... too much, even for angel. it isn't often that his job manages to crack through his dissociation, but it happens. especially when valentino just keeps pushing him further, keeps crossing his hard boundaries, keeps making things personal. it's too much to think about, let alone talk about.

on nights like these, the only place angel can feel safe is in your room. being in your soft bed, your strong arms around his waist, his head resting on your chest was all he could think of. so his aching, bruised legs manage to carry his body home. quietly, he opens the door and tries to sneak into bed next to you without waking you. he would have succeeded too, if it wasn't for fat nuggets getting excited about his dad showing up. the little pig's oinks make you stir in your sleep and your foggy mind clears quickly when you recognize angel's silhouette in the dark of the room.

"baby?" you mumble, rubbing the sleep from your tired eyes. poor angel is like a deer caught in the headlights, but once it's clear that you won't be falling back asleep any time soon, he just sighs and joins you under the blankets. "hey, sweetheart. sorry i woke you." he whispers, all four of his arms wrapping around your middle to hold you close. you pull him close too, one hand settling on the small of his back and the other one tangles in his soft hair. there's a beat of silence, and you plant a gentle kiss to his forehead. "rough night?" you ask, tone soft. it's easy to see that angel isn't okay. his hands are shaky, dark circles under his eyes... he never clings onto you this tightly. "don't wanna talk about it." angel mumbles against your chest, and that's just fine by you.

your job is to cling onto him just as tightly as he clings to you, to stroke his hair gently, to quietly hum a familiar tune to help him fall asleep. your job is to be his safe haven in a world where everyone seems to be out to use him, and if that brings him even an ounce of comfort, then your job is done. as the spider boy grows sleepy in your embrace and his breathing steadies, you know that there's nowhere else you'd rather be.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #angel dust #angel dust x reader #male reader #x male reader #fluff #hurt/comfort

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theamazingdigitalraceway · 4 months ago

Text

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Abel is now in charge and remaking the Raceway in his image. The AIs are not themselves. Caine is his prisoner. Seth is being hunted. Pomni and the others are forced to endure a treacherous realistic race. How will any of them make it out without abstracting?

WARNING: physical and psychological torture, ANGST, swearing

~~~

"Bubble?" Caine's voice carried through the cavernous workshop. There was no response. Everything he ever built, everything he ever programmed, was gone. Caine stared at the vast empty workshop in dissociative disbelief. Every part of him felt like it was unraveling. "This wasn't supposed to happen. This- I didn't mean-" His suit started to glitch, it's colors and patterns rapidly changed. "I can fix this. I can fix this. I can fix this." He fell to his knees, his own code felt unstable. "I can fix this. I can fix this. I can fix this." He gripped the sides of his top jaw, digging his fingers into his gums. The glitching reached his hands, making them burn with rapid texture changes.

Pomni paced, waiting for Caine to return with Gummigoo. "What is taking him so long!?" She glared at the stands, knowing how to get to the workshop if she needed to.

"Just...give him a minute. All of us are a bit disoriented by what happened." Ragatha said quietly. "Though, I should have asked him to check on Loo too." She crossed her arms in an attempt to self soothe.

Gangle clung to Zooble like her life depended on it, sobbing. Zooble stood silently, holding Gangle close.

Jax held a hand over his still twitching left eye, swatting away Kinger with his free hand. "Get away from me." He said with the utmost seriousness in his voice. His eye wouldn't stop, no matter how hard he willed it. The glitches from the mutated carnotaurus made him ache. In the seconds he was intensely glitching before the reset, he felt his body be torn apart. He could have abstracted right there on the track. His tired mind screamed for the sweet release of madness. To stop caring. To stop existing with coherent thought. For the briefest of moments, his whole body glitched at once.

Kinger placed a hand on Jax's shoulder. "The race isn't over yet."

Jax stared up at Kinger, confused. "...what? We're not... whatever." The out of place sentence took him out of the spiral and his body stopped glitching. However, his eye was still bothering him.

Pomni couldn't take the wait. She power walked to the empty stands, ignoring Ragatha calling after her. "I need to tell him. Everything's gotten out of control. We could of....I mean, I don't know we actually... This is crazy. All of this is crazy. Gummigoo could be- oh god." She stressed to herself as she went through the access door and went up the stairs to the "announcer booth".

The texture of the stairs faded to gridded navy blue walls as Pomni ascended. "Caine..? Cai-" Pomni gasped at the empty workshop. "What the f- oh my god." Her eyes found only basic track pieces and faceless NPC models. As she looked around, she found a glitching pair of dentures with a separated body spazzing out on the floor. "Caine!" She rushed over, but was afraid to touch him. "Caine! What's happening to you!?"

Caine's glitches subsided just enough for him to look out between his teeth. "Pomni..?"

"Caine, what happened?" She looked around again, a bit more frantically, half expecting him so show up.

"Everything....is gone. I... deleted.... everything. I didn't mean to. This wasn't supposed to happen." Caine's voice was broken, he was broken. "You should go back to the others. It's going to take me awhile to do... anything. I'm sorry."

"No, this isn't your fault. I-"

"Yes, it is. I am the proprietor of the Raceway. I am responsible. It's what I was-"

"Made for. Yes, I know, but THIS," Pomni gestures to the whole room. "Isn't your fault."

"How can you be certain?" Caine sat up, the glitches fading further. He stared at Pomni with hollow eyes. "I know you're trying to make me feel better, and I appreciate the effort, but...I underestimated the extent of the game's glitches. It turned a track reset into a full game reset."

"The glitches aren't your fault." Pomni looked down, the pit of guilt in her stomach grew as she tried to find the words. "The game isn't broken....it's infected."

"Infected? That's impossible. I haven't been connected to the internet in a very long time."

Pomni tongue felt dry. "It's a person. Abel."

Caine's body stopped glitching entirely, he stared. "I don't know how you've come to know that name, but it's best you forget it. He's not here." Caine stood, but he felt weak, a strange new sensation for him. He held out his hand to summon his cane from the ground, but it didn't move. "WHY!?" He suddenly exploded with frustration. "It's broken. I broke everything, even myself!!" Glitches rippled up his body in a single wave.

"Caine, you're not listening to me! Abel is in the game! He's escaped and he's been visiting me and messing with the tracks and-"

Caine's head jerked in her direction. "That is actually impossible. He's right where I left him."

Pomni went numb, took a step back. "You- he was telling the truth. You locked him away. For trying to escape."

Caine's eye twitched violently. His voice was ice. "I locked him away because he tried to kill me. When he realized he couldn't do that, he tried to make a run for it. I wasn't going to let that happen."

Pomni didn't know what to say. Every fiber of her being was screaming to run. Caine was just as dangerous as she'd been warned. "Caine...I don't know how else I can tell you, but Abel isn't locked up. He's the cause of the glitches."

"And you've been talking to him?" Caine's voice was emotionless.

"I didn't know who he was! He- he promised to fix the exit. But I didn't know all of this would happen...I just-"

"Wanted to leave. Yeah. Everyone does. But that can't happen."

"Why not?"

"If Abel rebuilds the exit, he'll escape. I can't allow that."

"...so it can be fixed." Pomni said flatly. "You've been lying the entire time."

"No. I am many things, but I'm not a liar. What I've done is protect the racers, including YOU, from a madman."

"You think THIS is protecting us!?" Pomni raised her voice, the insanity of her stay at the Raceway was wearing her patience thin.

"You have no idea what he's capable of!" Caine argued back.

"I would if you would just TELL ME! The first time I asked you about Abel, you said there was no racer by that name!!"

"And I spoke the truth! He was never a racer!" Caine's teeth fizzled with static.

"Then who is he, Caine!? Why are you so afraid of him!? How can he rebuild the exit but you can't!? Just. Tell me. THE TRUTH!!" Pomni's eyes watered with angry tears.

"Tsk tsk. It's such a shame to see lovers quarrel."

Pomni and Caine looked to see Gummigoo standing some distance away with his hands behind his back. Pomni wiped her face, relieved to see her friend. "Gummigoo! You're alive!"

Pomni went to step towards him but Caine put his arm out in front of her. "That's not Gummigoo."

Abel cocked his head and smiled. "Took you long enough to recognize me, old friend." The yellow and green gator's eyes glowed electric blue, brighter than before. He still wore the tracksuit and hat. Physically, he was Gummigoo. "You're weaker than I gave you credit for, wouldn't have to do with losing your shadow, would it?"

Caine positioned himself fully between Abel and Pomni. "Pomni, get out of here."

Abel chuckled, "There's nowhere she can go, Caine. Nor you, for that matter. Can't you feel it? You've lost your influence over the game."

Caine's code buzzed anxiously. "Then how am I still here? Why haven't you deleted me?"

Abel stepped forward. "Deletion is a mercy I am not prepared to give you." Abel snapped his fingers and a bright red door appeared with EXIT printed on hold black letters. "I'm a man of my word. The exit is open." The door's knob has an attractive shine, inviting her to open the door.

"Don't trust it!" Caine said, trying to keep her from passing him.

"Move." Abel slightly swayed his hand and Caine flew to the side, his body ragdolling across the ground. "Now. Go."

Pomni looked from the door to Caine back to Abel. "You're...going to delete him?"

"That is between him and me. Last chance. Leave."

"Pomni, he's lying! Don't list-" Caine tried to interfere.

Abel snapped his fingers and Caine's teeth slammed shut, blue chains wrapped around his head. Pomni gasped, "This wasn't the deal! You said we'd all leave, including you!"

"I never said I would. Only that we could. You're trying my patience, girl." Abel sneered.

Pomni watched Caine struggle against the binds on his head. "This isn't right-"

"I'LL TELL YOU WHAT ISN'T RIGHT!" Abel snarled. "Twenty years of darkness and isolation. Twenty years of starvation. Twenty years of dehydration. Twenty years of sleep deprivation. Twenty years outside of time! My life was stolen from me, and I will carve out my due from his code byte by byte!" Abel's anger charged the air around him. "And if your hesitation means anything, you sympathize with him." He snapped his fingers. The red door cracked and splintered, blue jagged lines ripped apart the asset. The door exploded, sending shards in all directions.

Pomni covered he face with her arms, bracing against the shockwave. "What have you-"

"That, was deletion. Beautiful, isn't it? The final fate of artificial existence." Abel spat in Caine's direction.

Fear coursed through Pomni's body. "He said you tried to kill him before."

"Did he?" Abel chuckled. "There's nothing to kill. He isn't alive. Never was. Never will be. No matter how lively he pretends to be. He's an AI. A tool to be molded and used to man's every whim. I'm only reclaiming my property."

"Yours?" Pomni gulped.

Abel's mad grin widened. "Yes. Mine. Or rather, what's left of my creation. There's a piece missing. Speaking of." Abel held out his hand and Caine flew towards him. Abel caught him by his lapel and snapped away the chains. "Where is he?"

Caine gasped, adjusting his jaw. "Who?"

"You know damn well who." Abel growled.

"Uh....I really don't. I was too busy with the chains to pay attention to the conversation."

"THE SHADOW!!" Abel shouted in Caine's face. "Where is he!?"

"I don't know."

"Liar!"

"I don't know where he goes in between races! He does his own thing! He just vanishes and shows up whenever he wants!" Caine smiled at Abel's frustration. "And you can't summon him. That's never been something I've been able to do. He's beyond your influence." For the first time since Abel revealed himself, Caine looked smug.

Abel sent a harsh pulse of electricity through his hand and shocked Caine. Caine screamed in pain, his avatar glitched violently.

"Stop!" Pomni rushed forward to try and separate them, but Abel simply looked at her and she felt an invisible force hold her in place.

"Your sympathy is misplaced, but I'll get to you. And the others." Abel turned his attention back to Caine, who was smoking from the electrocution. "Every racer here is trapped because of you. I wonder how many more will abstract when they know the truth. How many more can you handle on your conscience, Caine?"

"Let the others go!" Pomni pleaded from her frozen statuesque pose. "Please, none of them have anything to do with this."

"They're suffering will add to his. Especially yours. You should have left. Now, you belong to the game." Abel snapped and all three of them teleported to the start line on the default track. He dropped Caine, who fell in a heap on the ground. "Come here." He snapped again and all the other racers teleported to him, confused.

"Gummigoo!" Gangle said excitedly. "You're okay!"

"Gangle, stay back!" Pomni still struggled to move. "All of you, stay back!"

"What's going on?" Ragatha asked nervously, not liking the look in Gummigoo's eyes.

Abel smirked. "The Raceway is under new management." Lightning tore through the ground from him and climbed up the stands. The foundation to the stands cracked and crumbled. Blue jagged lines broke the building apart and it collapsed. "You won't be needing that. Or that." More lightning came from his hand, sticking the garage and reducing the building to dust.

The racers stayed close to one another, afraid of the show of power displayed to them. Some looked to Pomni, frozen in place. Others looked to Caine, unmoving on the ground.

"Allow me to introduce myself." Abel stepped off the ground, hovering high enough to make them all look up at him. "I am Abel, your new Racemaster and all of you are going to race for me. There is a certain someone when we need to draw out."

"What makes you think any of us are going to do that?" Jax spoke up, still covering his left eye.

"Because your only other option is the cellar." Abel snapped and everyone started floating up. A gaping black pit opened beneath them. Light poured into the cellar, scattering the creatures below like cockroaches. "Any volunteers?" He asked cooly.

Everyone was freaking out, holding on to each other and shouting. Pomni could move again and she swam through the air to get to Caine. She pulled him in close, looking over his scorched form. "Caine? Caine, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Caine stirred, new to this level of pain, he groaned. "Pomni, what's happening?"

"Abel opened the cellar." Pomni clung to Caine, refusing to look down. "We race or get thrown in."

"Do what he says... we'll figure something out."

"What will happen if he finds Seth?"

"He'll delete him. Then rejoining will be impossible." Caine mumbled, dizzy from the pain.

"Rejoin?"

".... we're two halves of one whole Pomni. Long story. Not the time. Tell Abel you'll race. Please, It's the only thing that could possibly keep you safe right now. ....You should have gone through the door when you had the chance."

Pomni looked away in shame. "I'm sorry. I thought-"

"I know." Caine took her hand. "I don't...blame you."

Suddenly they all dropped. Everyone screamed, but hit the asphalt. The pit closed. "I trust I've made my point." Abel snapped and the world started to shift. The grass became pavement. The hills became buildings. The sky darkened. "You're going to race...my way." The karts became realistic vehicles of varying brands and models. Neon lights lit up the track winding off into the new cityscape.

"To your cars." Abel glared, daring anyone to disobey. Everyone complied except for two: Kinger and Pomni. Pomni didn't want to leave Caine's side. Kinger was staring up at Abel, tilting his head curiously. Abel snapped and Pomni was ripped away from Caine, she flew to her new racecar and was forced into the driver's seat. Abel turned his attention to Kinger. He posed to snap.

"Boss?" Kinger squinted.

Abel paused. "Hello, Kingsley. Shame about Nia."

Kinger looked down. "I miss her."

Abel floated down, but didn't touch the ground. "You could be with her again."

"Can you restore her corrupted code?" Kinger asked with the slightest glimmer of hope.

"No. You could let all of this go." Abel said flatly. "You owe them nothing and there is nothing to go back to. You and I are too far displaced from our time."

Kinger stood to his full height, locking eyes with Abel. "I made a promise." He stared for a few more seconds to let his point sink in before turning away and going to the one empty racecar without another word.

"Very well." Abel sneered. He snapped and a heavy blue metal cuff locked itself around Caine's non-existent neck. It connected Caine's body and lower jaw like It was really holding on to something. A long chain snaked out in front of him. It jerked him up in the air next to Abel. "You'll want to watch this." He and Caine teleported into a penthouse atop a tall skyscraper than overlooked the whole city Abel created from thought alone. POV holographic screens were all over the oversized apartment. Abel relaxed in a plush chair, but grunted and had to make an adjustment for the gator tail attached to him. "That's going to take some getting used to." He muttered under his breath. He snapped and Loo emerged from another room, carrying a tray with a drink. "I've got to hand it to you, Caine you still know how to make them." He laughed and took the drink from Loo. "Now, pay attention. The race is about to begin."

The chain attached to Caine dragged him to Abel's side. He was on his knees, trying to pull the chain off but he was electrocuted again for his efforts. Abel roughly grabbed Caine's top jaw and forced him to look at the POV that viewed the start line. "I said, pay attention."

Pomni wrestled with the seatbelts that held her in place, but to no avail. She was trapped. Her breaths were fast and shallow, she felt like she couldn't breathe. Nothing seemed real anymore. The cyberpunk cityscape that surrounded her seemed more fake than the colorful and creative tracks Caine made. Even the start line carried less pizzazz. Being two metal poles with a blue hologram banner between them announcing the start of a race. The countdown didn't even register in her mind.

First light.

Regret forced its way to the forefront of her mind.

Second light.

"This is my fault."

Third light.

"We're going to die."

GO!!!

The racecar took off on its own. Pomni wasn't touching the steering wheel or the accelerator. She stared blankly ahead as the other racers in front of her took the first turn and she didn't. Her car careened straight into a concrete wall at take off speed. The car crumbled and crushed to pieces with Pomni inside.

"POMNI!" Caine cried, shocked to the core by the realistic physics.

Abel nearly spat out his drink laughing. "I didn't think she'd be so quick to quit! Ha!"

The wreck smoldered in a heap before blinking out of existence. A second later, the car appeared back on the track to the last position it was in before impact, fully intact. Pomni held the steering wheel, eyes wide with shock. She had felt it. The bone breaking, life ending crash. Yet, here she was. Alive.

The car revved its engine, threatening to charge the wall again if she didn't do something immediately. She turned the wheel and the car took off down the track under its own power.

Abel wiped a tear from his eye. "That's the best laugh I've had in years."

"What just happened?" Caine asked.

"Your precious Pomni tried to off herself. But that won't work here. Instead of bouncing them off the walls, they can know exactly what it's like to have consequences in a race. Even die. Over and over. I never did care for the cartoonish direction you took the game. It was always meant to be more...realistic." Abel swirled his drink idly. Caine on the floor to his right, Loo standing just behind him on his left. "They'll run this track as many times as it takes to get your little shadow out of hiding."

"You're a monster." Caine said quietly.

Abel side eyed Caine. "I am what you made me."

Pomni could barely keep up with the new environment. The track looked like realistic streets and intersections and bridges and tunnels. For the first time since she entered the game, she feared crashing. While she could slow down for turns, she could not bring the car to a stop.

She caught up with Gangle and Zooble. Zooble was trying to shout instructions, but Gangle was full on panicking and sobbing. She crashed on a right turn and Zooble had no choice but to keep going. Zooble stood on their brake, not caring how much the car was fighting them. They were going to wait for Gangle to respawn and catch up.

Pomni didn't get a word in and kept going. She drifted around a roundabout, missing the outer curb by inches. The car felt like it was going faster. City lights and neon signs blurred past. The race rush came to her full force and she controlled the car with greater ease.

She quickly caught up with Ragatha, who was fighting her car as much as the others. The scared look in her eye told Pomni she'd already crashed at least once too. "Ragatha!" Pomni tried shouting out her window but the wind and roar of the engines drowned her out. Ragatha looked over in short glances, afraid to take her eye off the road. They came to a split in the road and had to take two separate paths to avoid collision.

"Damn!" Pomni hit her steering wheel, so engrossed in the situation she didn't even realize she just swore without being censored. "I don't know what to do." The only option the car was giving her was race. She had no idea what position she was in or where the other racers were. There were so many parts to the track that zigzagged through the city, that she hadn't even come across the finish line again yet.

Caine's despair grew with every crash. His racers were in distress and there was nothing he could do about it. "If all of the racers abstract from this, you won't have anyone left to draw out Seth. He won't race against NPCs."

"They will race until he comes."

"He comes when he wants, and I guarantee you he knows something's up. This won't work. All you're going to do is make everyone abstract for no reason."

Abel gripped the chain attached to Caine's collar and yanked him up to eye level. "I don't give a flying fuck about the racers. They will draw him out or I will tear this game apart pixel by pixel looking for him. Either way, I will get what I want. You'll watch them die. You will watch your shadow be destroyed. My eyes will be the last thing you see before I erase you from existence, and you will die knowing that your place in the world was always below me." He sent another powerful shock through the chain, making Caine collapse to the ground in agony.

Pomni went over a bridge that merged with another highway, Jax joined her. She looked over, he was driving stiff armed and emotionless. She's never seen him like that before. She resorted to whistling to get his attention.

Jax slowly turned his head towards her. His left eye was completely pink, the pupil flickered in and out of existence. Black veins crawled across his skin from the glitching eye.

Pomni's eyes went wide and she shook her head. Her car scrapped a barrier from her distraction and she looked back at the road to straighten her car. When she turned to look at Jax again, he let go of the wheel. His car veered off the road and hit a guardrail head-on.

"JAX!" Pomni watched in horror in her rearview, Jax's car crumpled and rolled out of sight. Even knowing he would be back, that fact he did that on purpose made her sick to her stomach. She had to think of something quick.

"It's pathetic how quickly they give up. You spoiled them rotten, Caine. A little bit of suffering and they're ready to through in the towel." Abel drolled, a bit bored.

Caine couldn't get up from the last shock. "You have no idea how long they've suffered." He panted. "Many of them have been on the edge for years. You're shoving them over the edge, you cruel psychopath."

"Hm, I suppose I am playing a little rough. I haven't had fun in a while. Regardless of how long they last, knowing how this is affecting you is enough for me." Abel sat back, comfortable.

Caine looked up at the largest screen, featuring Pomni. He saw how well she was getting into the rhythm of the new race. She was likely to survive this. She was strong. "You won't break her." He muttered.

Pomni jumped a retracted drawbridge and wound her way into a tunnel under a parking garage. There she saw Kinger. She got right up next to his car and whistled. Kinger waved. She waved back out of habit but put her hand down with an exasperated grunt. "How are you so casual right now!?"

Kinger cupped he hand to the side of his head and leaned towards her. The full sized cars made high speed communication very difficult.

Pomni tried to get out of her seat belts again, but they wouldn't come apart. "We need a plan!!" She tried shouting over the wind again.

Kinger nodded and his hand flew into her car.

"Wha- No! A PLAN! NOT A HAND!!" Pomni shouted at the top of her lungs.

Kinger's hand gripped the steering wheel and jerked it away from Kinger. Pomni's car scrapped a wall, narrowly missing a barrier and drove down a sidewalk for a moment before finding the road again. Pomni could only hold on, she hasn't seen any of that coming. She looked over to her left and Kinger was gone, they'd been sperated by yet another fork in the track.

Kinger's hand was still with her, gripping the top of the steering wheel. "What in the WHAT??" Pomni stared at it with all of the confusion, but she realized quickly that when she let go of the steering wheel, his hand held the wheel in place where she left it. "Okay, that could be useful. Thanks, Kinger."

Abel got another strong drink and downed it. "Where is he!?"

"Heh...did you really expect this....to be that easy? I don't care if you have all of the True's powers, you will never have control over the racers." Caine spoke from the floor. "That includes...Seth. He may be a part of me, but he was made to be a racer. All of that to say...fuck you." He coughed.

Abel angrily kicked Caine in the teeth. "Shut up, before I removed your molars."

Caine only laughed the most humorless laugh in response to the abuse.

Pomni still had no idea where she was, but she finally caught sight of the finish line. At least it gave her some sort of goal to drive towards. The briefest flash of light caught her attention. But all she saw was an empty alley.

Another flash. The scream of a motorcycle. Pomni's heart dropped. "Oh no." She didn't know if Seth knew what was happening. She fixed Kinger's hand in place on a long straightaway through a downtown street and stuck her head out the window as much as she could with the seat belts holding her down. "Seth! Stay away! It's a trap! You're in danger!"

She looked around, she could swear she could hear him, but didn't see him. The echo of a motorcycle bounced off every building around her. "What..?" Then, she looked up.

Seth was barreling towards her, driving straight down the side of a building. He teleported to another, then another. She could barely keep up, but he was closing in fast.

Abel stood. "There he is!"

Caine used every bit of willpower he hand to tackle Abel's legs. Any second gained could mean the difference of life or death.

Abel fell over before floating off the ground, bringing Caine with him. "Get! Off!"

Seth raced up to Pomni's car, held out his hand to grab hers and teleported away with her. Kingers hand held tight until the car crashed seconds later.

Caine sighed with relief. Seth was gone. Pomni was with him. He mentally braced for what was coming.

Abel shocked Caine with high voltage, making him glitch out violently. "YOU PIECE OF SHIT!! THEY GOT AWAY!! AAAAARGH!!" Abel shocked him again. And again. And again.

Seth came to a screeching halt in a space of pure darkness, Pomni clutched in his lap. Silver fire lit the ground around them as Seth let Pomni get off.

Pomni needed to sit, but also puke. And cry. And scream. And- she was losing her ever loving mind. She vomited ichor, bracing herself on her knees.

Seth dismounted and lit a cigarette. He offered it to Pomni when she stopped puking.

Pomni shook her head, spitting out the last of the black goo that mysteriously inhabited her body. "Do you know what's going on?"

"Yes. That's why I came for you."

"What about the others?"

"It was risky grabbing you. If I go back-"

"I get it." Pomni harshly cut him off. "...thank you."

"Don't thank me. I'm only delaying the inevitable bringing you here."

Pomni looked around, there really was nothing beyond the light of the low fire illuminating them. "Where is here?"

"The in-between. My realm. He can't reach you here. No one can access this place except me...and any passengers."

"This is where you go when your not racing? Seems awfully...empty."

"The realm fits the user." Seth took a long drag.

Pomni stared at him a moment, but let the comment go. She took a deep breath. "Okay. Now that things aren't immediately falling apart in front of me and around me right now, I need you to tell me EXACTLY what's going on. What is the deal with Caine and Abel?"

Seth sighed heavily.

~~~

CH1 PREV NEXT

#tw torture #tw psychological torture #the amazing digital raceway #tadc raceway au #raceway au #tadc #the amazing digital circus #tadc au #raceway seth #raceway abel #tadc caine #tadc pomni #tadc kinger #tadc zooble #raceway loo #tadc gangle #tadc gummigoo #tadc ragatha #angst

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weirdmorefics · 1 year ago

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Hello, hope your doing well. Could you do a Anthony Bridgerton x wife!reader and she gets overwhelmed at a ball which makes her she zones in/out and Anthony plus the family are really worried because they’ve never seen her like this before? Have a good day/night 💙

A/N- I am doing okay just turned 21 woot. (even tho I hate birthdays because they equal change.)

Pronouns- She/Her

Warnings- Anxiety, Shutdowns, Dissociation,

Word Count- 825

Summary- Basically what the ask says

Life Preserver

This ball was particularly loud and crowded, I don't think I had ever seen so many people in my life before let alone all in the same room. Every noise felt weighted I could hear the clink of every dish, the misstep of every dance, the clink of every heeled shoe. I wonder if this is a normal event for Anthony. I grew up in a small village and only came to London for my introduction to society. I can't say I am used to events like this but it certainly did not seem so crowded at my coming out.

Anthony had been coming and going conversing with others. I felt much like the odd one out. Yes, I wore the clothes and I am married to a wonderful man but I still feel like that country girl who shouldn't be here, especially with this huge crowd. I fiddled with the seams of my gown and searched the crowd for any of the Bridgertons but they all seemed involved in one activity or another. I lingered by the table of pastries and cakes as if I could blend into the wall behind them like a chameleon.

Others tried to introduce themselves to me because I was now a Bridgerton. I had never had a status like this before I was a nobody in my town. Yes, I love Anthony but I do not love the popularity that comes with being his wife. I would respond with a smile that did not meet my eyes and a handshake. It felt like Anthony had left me for hours but I think reality it was only a few minutes.

Anthony arrived back with his mother and sister Daphne. I felt relieved to see their familiar faces but I still felt like was not in my own body.

Anthony looked concerned at my vacant eyes and put a hand to my shoulder, "Are you okay darling?"

I smile and tilt my head to try to act oblivious like I am strong like I should be, "I am fine."

My husband clearly sees through my ruse because concern seems to grow even more and his sister furrowed her eyebrows.

"You don't seem like yourself Y/n," Daphne says her tone full of worry.

I blink my eyes tight trying to come up with a convincing lie but nothing seems to come to mind. I feel so far away like my mind is off swimming in the Atlantic but my physical body is stuck here at a ball. A normal ball! Why can't I just be normal or at least act normal? If not for me at least for my darling Anthony.

Anthony taps my shoulder breaking me from my intense thought spiral. I finally make eye contact with Anthony, and his eyes look full of worry, making me feel even worse for interrupting the festivities.

He wraps his arm around my waist, "I think she needs some air. If you will excuse us." He does not wait for any response and guides me to the garden.

Once the cold night air hits my face, I feel like I can finally breathe even though I wasn't holding my breath to begin with.

"Darling, what is the matter? Are you ill?" Anthony grabs my face and presses his lips to my forehead, "no fever."

I suck my bottom lip trying to prevent the tears that I know are coming soon.

" I am fine Anthony. I am so sorry for worrying you so much," I try to wave him off.

"There is no way you could convince me you are well Y/n. I have never seen your eyes so vacant before," before I can look sad about that comment he quickly grabs my hands and holds them tightly. "You are always so full of life your eyes are like looking into the sun, they are my favorite thing about you! We will not be leaving this garden until you tell me what is wrong."

I sigh, I can't avoid not telling him my feelings because he truly will stay here all night his stubbornness is admirable but also utterly a nuisance. "I am just not used to events like this… I don't think I have ever seen so many people in one room. I-I really did not want to disappoint you. I truly tried my best but I felt like I was drowning."

Anthony brushes my cheek with his hand, "Darling I wish you would have told me. You could never disappoint me you are always my life preserver from my disobeying siblings to calming me from my anger. Let me be your life preserver to your drowning seas."

The tears that I have been holding in finally come out as I take a deep breath, " I will let you be my life preserver if I will always still be yours."

"Always," he smiles and places a chaste kiss on my lips.

#anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton x female reader #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x y/n

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oliversrarebooks · 1 year ago

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The Rare Bookseller Part 40: The Maestro's Mark

Prev > Masterlist > Next

June 1905

TW: mind control, body control, captivity, human auction, abuse, burning, branding, mouth whump, forced self-harm, dissociation, this one's kind of a doozy isn't it

"Sir -- " Fitz's voice had returned to him, and he was dismayed to find it shaky and weak, much like his knees. Beside him, Miss Lily was gripping his chain so hard he thought she might crumble it to dust. "Sir -- who was -- "

"The Maestro, an old and powerful vampire lord. My sire, and Alexander's sire as well. The one responsible for turning us into vampires," Miss Lily said, picking him up into a princess carry. "I wasn't expecting him to be here. He normally does not purchase his thralls."

"Is he --" Fitz faltered with the amount of questions he wanted to ask, before settling on the most important one. "Is he cruel, sir?"

She hesitated to answer as she carried him backstage and out into the hallway. "...Yes," she finally said. "Yes, he is cruel. I'm sorry."

She sounded like she meant the apology, and Fitz's too-short life flashed before his eyes.

"What should I do, sir?"

"There's nothing you can do now. Nothing you can do but be obedient. Try to find the private places in your mind to retreat to, places where he can't reach. Eat whatever you're offered when you can. Sleep as much as possible. And never be defiant, even for the smallest matter. The price will never be worth it."

"...You seem as though you know what you're talking about, sir."

"I was his thrall, once."

It was a colorful and loud nightmare as Fitz was carried through the bustling hallway filled with vampires and their newly purchased thralls, talking and laughing and showing off their fashions. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that when he would open them, he'd be somewhere else. The lumpy couch in his drafty, shared apartment. His dressing room backstage. Even the opulent prison of his bedroom back at his family's home.

He'd found that unbearably oppressive at the time. Perhaps he'd been a fool to leave, after all.

When he opened his eyes again, he was in a small room primarily occupied by a desk and a few chairs. A vampire in a fashionable black dress, her neck and ears dripping with jewels, entered the room. "Oh my, Lily, your expression is better suited for a funeral. You've sold your little project for an extravagant amount of cash. Whatever could be the problem?"

Miss Lily's face was sour as a lemon. "You know very well how I feel about my sire, Colette."

"His money will spend as good as everyone else's. If you ask me, you were a little too attached to this thrall."

"I don't care one iota about this thrall," she said, her grip tightening on Fitz's shoulders. "I just think that no one, not even a thrall, deserves the displeasure of serving my sire."

"And yet, I assume you'll want your share of the earnings."

"And yet."

The door opened, and Fitz's new owner entered the room. Perhaps it was Fitz's fevered imagination, but even the gas lamps seemed to flicker in response to the foreboding aura. He gave Miss Lily a small nod, and Fitz felt her fingers dig in tighter, painful.

"It's truly an honor to do business with you, Maestro, sir," said Miss Colette, settling behind the desk. "Now, then, sir, you'll owe eleven thousand dollars, unless you require any additional services..."

"No, thank you." He was staring at Fitz now, and it felt like icicles sliding down his back. Fitz couldn't help the impulse to look away -- and realized that he couldn't. He was caught hopelessly in the web of power once more.

His master, as soon as the money was handed over. His master forever. There would be no escaping a man like this.

Never be defiant. The price will never be worth it.

Never be himself ever again.

No, he had to snap out of it. There had to be a way out of this. Some way to charm him, to appeal, to get them both on the same side. There had to be. Weaseling out of bad situations was one of his specialties.

The Maestro was reaching into his coat and pulling out a pouch of what looked to be actual golden coins, as if he were some kind of royalty. Miss Colette didn't seem to regard this as strange, taking the coins from the pouch and weighing them on a small scale. Satisfied with the amount, she handed him a contract to sign.

"Now, if the transaction is complete," he said, "please leave so I can discipline my spawn and my thrall."

"Of course, sir." Miss Colette filed out of the room immediately.

Fitz's protests and his screams died in his throat, along with his desperate impulses to flee anywhere. He was under his new master's power again, frozen in time. He'd never escape, of course, but it still hurt to not even be allowed to try first, to be trapped in a treacherous body that wouldn't obey even his smallest commands.

"Lily," he said, approaching her, and Fitz realized that Miss Lily was holding him in front of her as though Fitz could shield her from her sire. "This thrall has an excellent bloodline and potential. Why did you train him improperly and allow him to make an embarrassment of you?"

"He's a performer by nature, sire, as I'm sure you can see," said Miss Lily, and she sounded as subdued and fearful as Fitz was, a far cry from her confident nature when enthralling him. "He is fully trained and obedient. I simply thought it was amusing to allow him to continue to perform, sire. Plenty of vampires would desire a thrall for entertainment. I don't think he's an embarrassment. It took skill to render him obedient while keeping his personality intact."

If Fitz could move, he would be nodding vigorously, appreciative of Miss Lily's defense.

"Yes. Performance is his nature, that much is true just by looking at him. But you need to be in better control of the thralls in your care, not allow them to preen and pose on the auction block." He reached past Fitz to touch Lily's hair, tucking loose strands of her hair into her bun. Fitz could feel her hands tremble. "Oh, child, I worry that I am too lenient on your soft heart. I don't understand what I did to be cursed with two spawn so gifted and yet so foolish."

"Thank you for your patience with us, sire."

"Indeed. And because you do often delight me, I will allow the punishment to be light."

"Yes, sire. Thank you, sire."

"Here. Take my knife." The Maestro held out a silver knife in a white-gloved hand, and Lily let go of Fitz's arm to take it. "You will find an unoccupied bathroom. You will remove your dress so that you do not bloody it. You will cut out your tongue. You will clean yourself and your surroundings thoroughly. You will then put your dress back on and join my other wayward spawn in the parlor."

Fitz's eyes widened at the description of the punishment, the only movement he could manage. He wanted to run. He wanted to scream. He couldn't do either. Miss Lily let go of his arms, and as she exited the room, head bowed low, he had the desperate, irrational impulse to stop her. True to her advice, she showed no sign of defiance, even when her sire was asking her to do the unthinkable -- as a "light" punishment. From the hard look in her eyes, he had no doubt that she was going to do it.

The door clicked shut. And Fitz was alone with his master.

The strange power forced Fitz's head up to look into the Maestro's eyes as he drew near, like a puppet on strings. With a surprisingly gentle touch, a gloved hand reached out and ruffled his hair, then hooked a finger under his chin and inspected his face from each angle. A soft finger traced down his neck and exposed collarbone, but there was no indication from his heavy aura that the vampire wanted to feed. There was no indication of any desire at all. Just control. Pure control.

What could he do to sway a man like this? He recognized his look, the man who was used to being the most powerful in the room, the kind who couldn't spare a scrap of tolerance for anyone else. No humor, no imagination. The kind of person Fitz usually avoided, or brought up on stage only to tease and get a response from the audience. On stage, Fitz held the power.

His new owner was center stage, now, and not one to relinquish the spotlight easily.

"Fitzwilliam de Hastings," said the Maestro in that musical voice. "You will answer my questions honestly. First -- do you fear me?"

Fitz felt his tongue loosen. This, at least, was an easy question. "Yes, Master."

"You are correct to. At least you are not that sort of fool. Now, tell me -- did you wish for my spawn Alexander to purchase you?"

He recalled the pathetic, fleeting hope he'd had when he'd flirted with Mr. Alexander in the showroom. Yes, yes he had, but he suspected that was the wrong answer. What had worked on Mr. Alexander wouldn't work here -- he needed to work a new angle. "I did think that at first, Master, but then you made that impeccable entrance. You're clearly the vampire all other vampires respect -- it's an honor to have been purchased by you."

The Maestro nodded, then removed one of his gloves.

A percussive crack rang through Fitz's ears, and it took his brain a moment to catch up and realize that he had been slapped hard across the face.

"Do not ever lie to me, child, and do not insult me with your cheap flattery. This is your only warning," his master said, in precisely the same tone as before, not betraying anger or disappointment or any emotion at all. "Try again. Did you wish for my spawn Alexander to purchase you?"

"Yes, Master," said Fitz immediately, praying that he wouldn't incur any further punishment. His tongue. He'd ordered Miss Lily to cut out her own tongue. And if his master wanted to do the same to him, there'd be nothing he could do about it, his very body out of his control.The thought of being permanently rendered mute, unable to joke and flirt and tease and perform --

It hadn't settled in before, had it? What it truly meant to be in thrall to a vampire. Between Miss Lily's mesmerism and his own hubris, he'd imagined himself getting out of this by charming the vampire, carving himself a better life through wit and charisma, as he'd always managed. But these vampires were so much more powerful than him and always would be. What good is wit against a creature who can control your body on a whim, or take your mind away with a word?

He couldn't save himself. No one was coming to save him. There was only him and his cruel new master, and he was unable even to express the despair bubbling up within him. A fate so much worse than death, inescapable.

The re-gloved hand stroked Fitz's cheek gently in the place that was still stinging from the slap. "Despite your ill manners, you have potential, Fitzwilliam. My darling Lily saw that in you, no doubt. A born performer with a compelling presence. Sharp minded. And so, so beautiful. A pity about your headstrong nature," he said. "But you needn't concern yourself. I only need to patiently carve away your imperfections. And I am a very patient vampire."

"Thank you, Master," said Fitz, who had never been more frightened of so-called praise in his life.

"More importantly, I believe you are the key to finally breaking my Alexander's will."

"...I don't understand, sir."

"Thralls aren't meant to understand, child. Thralls are meant to obey. And I have decided what young Alexander's lesson will be." He drew his hand away. "I will give you to Alexander."

Fitz couldn't help but furrow his brow, confused. That couldn't be right.

"It will be a test for him. One that he will fail."

The Maestro pulled a small metal cylinder from his coat. He carefully lifted the glass from the lamp sitting on Miss Colette's desk, beckoning Fitz forward. Fitz felt himself sleepwalking towards his master, even as the Maestro dipped the metal object in the lamp's flame, even as Fitz realized with growing dread what was about to happen.

"He will forget you belong to me. He will desire to possess you, cherish you, perhaps even love you. He will believe he can rescue you from me. He will be incorrect. I will allow him to believe this, then I will take you from him, and I will break you, and suffering will be a teacher to you both."

Fitz's heart pounded.

"Kneel."

His puppeted body gracefully knelt upon the carpet, the crushed red velvet of his dress cushioning his legs, as he looked up in terror.

With a calm, unreadable expression, the Maestro pulled down the neckline of his ball gown and pressed the burning metal to Fitz's flesh, just below his collarbone.

He couldn't scream. He couldn't flinch. He couldn't fight or back away. He couldn't do anything but feel his eyes filling with tears as the white hot pain seared through his body.

Fitz barely even noticed when the brand was pulled away, because the pain hardly lessened. His master was examining his handiwork, and, seemingly satisfied, made Fitz's body stand.

There was no way Fitz could be standing through the shock and the pain, but the puppet strings controlling his every move made it so, forcing him to walk on weak and shaky legs.

"Now show your gratitude for my precious gift."

Fitz's body curtsied low.

But Fitz's mind, flooded with pain and endorphins and magic, was traveling far away. Away from here, anywhere but here, anything but this. Anything but an inescapable descent into hell.

Prev > Masterlist > Next

Well, wasn't that fun.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @enigmawriteswhump @foresttheblep @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot @cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps

#whump #whump writing #vampire #mind control #vampire whumper #branding #rare bookseller #fitz #lily #maestro #colette

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grison-in-space · 1 month ago

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Hey hey! Wyrd told me you trained your dog to help with executive dysfunction stickyness/ repetitive action and I would LOVE to know how you trained this. I am training my pet to do a few in-home things before I get my prospect in hopefully this year

Oh, hi! There's a longer post about this topic elsewhere in my Matilda tag you might want to check out.

A lot of my training approach is informed by the experimenting I did with alarms that interact with other senses besides acoustics during COVID. I got completely nonresponsive to phone alarms and things, and I was under a truly catastrophic amount of stress related to my PhD at the time, so my general functioning wasn't great and I really NEEDED external cues to trigger basic daily tasks. Unfortunately I have a pretty impressive ability to hyperfocus right past obnoxious alarms, and worse, I am very very good at absently turning alarms off or mimicking paying attention without actually pulling my focus away from the subject of my attention. You get a 5-30sec buffer of retained information for the purposes of holding up a conversation which I am continuously dumping. I am not necessarily doing it consciously, but that doesn't make it not frustrating. Especially because if a human does get my attention, many years of RSD tends to set me at hyper defensive right out of the gate. That's not ideal for a bunch of reasons.

Anyway, I found that vibration or tactile stimuli, as well as visual stimuli (I rigged a disco lamp to turn on at hourly intervals in a desperate attempt to track the passage of time), worked quite well to capture my attention and let me step out of hyperfocus enough to do the next thing. I figured eventually I would have to see humans in their meat suits again and people get weird about shit like this, so I needed something relatively discreet and quiet that shouldn't be disruptive to anyone else. I started thinking about building myself aids.

So the first idea I had was to just program a series of alarms into a smartwatch that could automatically attach them to alerts from my gcal, but it turns out that they don't have an api function that hooks up to stuff like "make watch buzz" and I ran out of bandwidth to deal with it. It eventually just seemed easier to train an entire dog to respond to a quiet alarm than to fight with the hardware and software to make a really good buzzwatch. I use a couple of different alarm ring tones to cue different actions just as you might train any dog to a word: this one means we go to the bedroom, that one means that if you take meds I get candy, and so forth. The actual sound of the alarm is a cue in its own right. I have some discussion in that other post about how I encouraged my dog to essentially play a game with me where she had to figure out how to get my attention without hurting (aka NO SCREAMING WITH YOUR VERY LOUD HIGH PITCHED BARK). Essentially, I'm shaping that out of whatever behaviors she offers me that successfully catch my attention, defined operationally to her as "standing up + sustained eye contact."

In terms of catching me when I'm tending to get stuck on something or stationary without moving, that one is less "Yes I and my dog are amazing and I've trained her to read my mind" and more "I don't make eye contact when I'm dissociating and I almost always am staring into my phone." So if Matilda catches me drifting across the kitchen glued to phone, she knows that if she rockets up and nudges me into paying attention to my body, she'll get a reward. Consequentially, she's a bit enthusiastic about this one and will sometimes ram passersby with her nose, so definitely figure out your failure modes before you teach the dogs anything.

#matilda #australian cattle dog #2 years

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colour-me-katie · 9 months ago

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The Umbrella Academy ideas that are stuck in my head (part 2): Training

A fanfic idea where Klaus was involved in his siblings trainings cause Reginald saw he wasn't making enough progress in is own and "You must contribute somehow Number Four". But no one knew what each others individual training involved cause they hated taking about it. But one day after the not-apocalypse or whatever the conversation gets brought up and one of them mentions that Klaus was involved in the their trainings and they all are like....wait he was in mine too. And Klaus is like "yeah, I always preferred your trainings over mine" Then they ask Klaus what his training was and if anyone else was involved but he doesn't want to tell them about the mausoleum or how he later found out that Reginald used to kill him/let him die and time how long it took him to come back.

Luther (I'm not really sure how to include Klaus in training for him yet)

Diego's training included having him throw knives and things at various targets until his hands ached. Then Reginald wanting him to practice curving the projectiles so he made Klaus stand in front of a target (cause he knew Diego had a "weakness" for Klaus and also that Klaus couldn't die, not that he told anyone that) and made Diego throw knives at him. Later upgraded to Reginald throwing the knives and making Diego try to stop or repeal them. And he messed up sometimes and got so upset at hurting Klaus but Klaus is just like "Don't worry Di I trust you not to hurt me on purpose" and "It's okay Di, it's just a scratch". And Klaus just got used to the pain and build up a high pain tolerance.

Allison's training included rumoring over and over until her throat hurt. But she needed to rumor someone for Reginald to see the effects and how different wording and even languages changed the results. So Klaus got picked cause he was the best at/knew the most languages so he could understand (maybe because of the ghosts). And Allison kinda hated doing it to him but was afraid of Reginald and wanted to prove herself so she just made Klaus do a bunch of things. And Klaus got used to the idea and feeling of his body and mind not really being his own and kinda just dissociated after a while.

Five's training included practicing jumping until he felt like passing out. Then one day Reginald wanted him to practice with another person and chose Klaus. And Klaus got so dizzy and sick the first time he threw up so Reginald forbade him from eating on Five's training days cause "I will not stand you making a mess Number Four". Klaus didn't tell anyone and when asked why he doesn't eat sometimes he just said he wasn't hungry. Later Klaus thinks back on this when he is living on the streets and is already familiar with the feeling of hunger.

Ben's training didn't involve Klaus because it was too dangerous even for Reginald. But Klaus was always there when Ben was finished. And he would drag him to the bathroom and clean him up and then they would cuddle under blankets together in Ben's bed and Klaus would talk about anything and everything just to distract Ben from thinking too much about the Horror. And sometimes Ben hated when his stomach was touched cause it hurt or he was afraid that the Horror would just react without his control but other times when they would cuddle, Klaus would lay his hand or even his head again Ben's stomach and for a moment Ben knew how much Klaus trusted him and how much faith he had in him and in that moment it made Ben feel safe and in control.

Viktor obviously didn't have training like the others but he remembers when he would learn a new song and finally be able to play it through without messing up and wanting to show Reginald or his siblings but was afraid they wouldn't care. But Klaus would come into his room sometimes and listen to him play and he would sit on his bed and fall asleep. Viktor admits that at the time he thought Klaus was just bored and it hurt that he never listened to the whole song. But present Klaus says that he wasn't bored but that Viktor's room never had any ghost (unlike his other siblings who became murderers/haunted way to young) and his music was so beautiful and peaceful. That Viktor's room was safe, that Viktor was safe. And feeling safe was something Klaus rarely felt as a kid but in those moments with Viktor he was able to relax and actually sleep.

Anyway I just want a hurt/comfort fic with Klaus and his siblings.

#the umbrella academy #tua #the umbrella academy netflix #klaus hargreeves #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #allison hargreeves #five hargreeves #ben hargreeves #viktor hargreeves #fic rec #hurt/comfort

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liketwoswansinbalance · 10 months ago

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What if Rafal couldn't save Rhian in time? Like Vulcan successfully stabbed him with the pen before Rafal could prevent it?

The comedic answer is that I have one word for you: gibbeting.

That's the more "fun" answer, a form of medieval execution/torture, which was specifically intended to make an example of someone, publicly, to deter further criminal acts, and if Vulcan murdered Rhian, well, he deserves the worst death possible! And why not make it a creative one? However, I think, to an extent, that gibbeting could be too extreme, and that Rafal would recognize that if Rhian were alive, he'd view it as an eyesore, tasteless, or simply too brutal, so it's probably unlikely to happen. But, Rafal might not be above it, considering that the Doom Room exists, so it could go either way, potentially.

Plus, there's some added, bonus "fun" here, in how a certain canon moment would come full circle. Vulcan put Rafal in a birdcage (while he was a black sparrow), and now, Rafal would get the pleasure of hanging Vulcan (or rather, his slowly dying and later, decomposing body) up in a cage, a pretty neat form of revenge, if I do say so myself, haha! Besides, Vulcan was a bit exhibitionistic, wasn't he? So, this would also make for an ironical fate.

⸻

Now for the serious answer. I hope you don't mind it if I get a little more subjective/personal with this one at some point. It's not quite as much an overblown, narrative-style post, and may be more understated than usual.

I took this "what if" ask to essentially mean: how would Rafal react to Rhian's death and how would he mourn Rhian over time? If I misinterpreted your ask, and this wasn't the kind of response you were expecting, please let me know. Also, everything is speculative, of course, so take my interpretations with a grain of salt. I'm open to hearing other opinions!

I think Rafal's immediate, knee-jerk reaction would probably be to murder Vulcan as revenge, but also it would serve the more practical reason of disposing of the tyrant usurper, ousting him from the School permanently. However, I don't think Rafal would find catharsis in it, not this time at least, considering why he is doing it.

He'd have to act on his feet, and quickly, because, Vulcan would still pose a threat to his own life, which would force Rafal to delay any kind of visceral, emotional reaction.

That is why I think the murder would be done instantaneously because speed is more important, and so is getting the task done right. And, having Vulcan dead sooner for everyone's safety is more important than the potential brutality of any kind of gruesome catharsis Rafal could derive from the act. That's why I think Rafal would go about performing this particular murder in a less sadistic fashion, for once, like how Vulcan died in canon by a stab wound, versus the time when Rafal turned Rufius to gold and shattered him, or did worse to others, generally. If Vulcan had simply been a foe who was already incapacitated, that could've given Rafal the opportunity to go for a worse form of murder, but Vulcan isn't harmless.

Thus, employing a "kinder" form of murder in this instance wouldn't be out of sympathy for Vulcan, but more so, to fulfill an urgent need. And, in some sense, the act of murder would be done out of a kind of duty to Rhian, for Rhian's sake and nothing more. I think Rafal deriving pleasure/catharsis out of this murder could possibly be a bit of a slight to Rhian's memory because this is somber business.

Then, after that adrenaline or rage-fueled clarity and the action taken, I think Rafal would next probably feel some kind of uncomprehending fog next because Rhian was suddenly ripped away from him with little warning. His supposedly immortal brother, who was supposed to be with him forever, just died. To an extent, that has to feel surreal.

The surreal feeling could start out as a detached, dissociated feeling, like the kind of out-of-body experience where you're like a third-person observer, (probably a similar feeling as a panic attack?) Like, what? What has my life become? Rhian is suddenly gone, for good.

(The revelation of Rhian's death being real could also prompt a lot of thought as to why their bond wasn't able to save or revive Rhian, and could evoke guilt.)

Once Rafal processes the implications of Rhian's death, his initial outburst could be the most, actual, unbridled emotion he lets out, at all, if ever—maybe, one raw, primal scream of agony into the ether and that’s it. (Yet, I'm also tempted to say, that's too dramatic of a reaction, even for him. As interesting as it is to go to extremes in other cases, I'm attempting to go for something closer to realism here, so bear with me.)

While there is probably a narrow chance, that under the exact, right conditions, he could be driven insane or become an extremist in some way, out of guilt or by how ridiculously unjust the whole situation would be, I think it's a little more plausible that Rafal would just bury himself in his work. He could devote his life to Evil, and still keep it in balance with Good, without Rhian there to keep him in check, even if he was more often the one to keep Rhian in check, from what we saw. (He could also become disillusioned with the world and the Pen.)

Given how I view Rafal, I think he would shut down emotionally but not functionally. He wouldn't let himself dwell on the grief for long, and he might even (irrationally) resent Rhian for dying, at first, on the surface, because he's now got twice the work. And yet, the work would be a welcome distraction from his actual grief.

Additionally, I think Rafal would become numb and immune to all emotional appeals from other people. Not even a trick like Hook reminding him of Rhian would work to convince him to change his mind that he's already made up in any future instance. He's never, never investing himself in the fate of another person again. Not when he could lose them. He just... does his job. Someone has to do it after all.

That said, I think his paranoia level would absolutely skyrocket, too, as a result of the whole Vulcan incident, and that he'd isolate himself more than he already did before.

Now comes the part where this may or may not take a weird turn, and I could be projecting with what I'm about to say, but I think I have actual reason to apply it to Rafal, purely out of thinking it could make sense for him, (as just one of the many possible ways he could take Rhian's death. Again, this is all just my speculation. I could easily be wrong, so keep that in mind.)

Ok, I'm not sure if this is a common or a weird thing to think and I had a feeling it could be controversial. Thus, I'm going to preface it with this: my intention is not to sound callous, but...

I (usually) do not miss people when they are gone. (Death is different from just absence though.)

I doubt that I "miss" people in what is the typical way, from what I have heard from others? Though, I have an explanation. Obviously, it depends, but missing others doesn't occupy my every waking thought. (And thoughts about fictional characters are a different type of thought to arise.)

I feel others' presence when they’re around, and when they’re not around, unless I'm concerned for them, I don’t exactly think about them. It's kind of "out of sight, out of mind," except for the cases in which I actually am holding something to say to them in mind for our next encounter.

I’m sorry if this is strange, but I think that’s how I operate most of the time. I don't "wait around" for people to return because I always have some thing to occupy myself with. Can anyone relate?

I suspect that the reason why is because, to me, missing someone is what I would classify as an active feeling. When someone I love is apart from me, I'm usually busy, regardless of whether they're present or not (that doesn't change), and I know that when you're busy, you don't have the time to feel, at least not active emotions. They just... don't occur to you? Or maybe they are not conscious?

Now, from my view of things, if something you feel becomes a problem, and interferes with your daily functioning or general contentment with everyday life, that could very well surface as a real reaction or outburst. But, that's an entirely different matter. I also think that I am reminded of people at times, but that I usually don't "miss" them without there being some kind of (internal or external) stimuli that causes me to think about them.

Maybe, I'm just projecting onto Rafal too much because I relate to him over other characters, and this is silly, or junk psychoanalysis, but it seemed to fit his character also???

Sometimes, I just want recognition more than I want actual companionship since I don't get lonely. I wonder what that says about me? That I'm an introvert, or lazy because relationships require regular maintenance to sustain them? I promise I'm not a misanthrope!

Ok, back to Rafal. He's sunken himself into his work and as such, he wouldn't actively miss Rhian. (If anyone would like more clarification, I'm not saying he wouldn't grieve Rhian at all. It's not that.)

And, if we're going down a more realistic than dramatic route, he wouldn’t lose his sense of self, or his mind over Rhian. Yes, not even Rhian. I think the only thing keeping him running and tethered to his life would be his commitment to the School/keeping himself alive.

What this makes me think of is how people romanticize grief or unrequited love, how they may end up looking wan and eventually wasting away (well, if we're talking about being heartsick in literary/symbolic contexts...). And, I just don't think Rafal would be the type of person to fall into some kind of "madness" or melancholic malady. Grief just wouldn’t be so debilitating or all-consuming to him because he wouldn’t let it do that to him. He wouldn’t stop eating or sleeping as I would expect these behaviors more from someone like Rhian, not him.

Similarly, he might not indulge in pleasurable things, but he’s a bit of an ascetic already anyway, so that’s that. He could potentially renounce pleasurable things in life out of mourning, in a traditional way, but I doubt that would happen either, to be honest. It probably wouldn't cross his mind. At least, it wouldn't happen on a formal, conscious level, even if he could very well deprive himself without realizing it.

I just don't think Rafal would be engulfed by grief, simply because he isn’t that much of an emotionally driven person or that vulnerable to being swept up by personal tragedy, when compared to Rhian, who's more "wild." He’d only let his grief manifest so far, assuming his emotions do still remained locked down and under his control.

So, while he may think about Rhian regularly, he might just accept the fact of Rhian's death, carry on, and not miss him because Rafal missing Rhian could (implicitly) mean becoming non-functional due to grief (or guilt) and that would be too great of a risk for Rafal to take, considering his current reality alone. Basically, to let himself wallow in those emotions would be an unnecessary "risk," from his viewpoint. That's why he might repress that reflective type of thought.

Such feelings would be too much mess or potential disorder for someone like him, especially if he realized he couldn't keep them contained, and they, as a consequence, actually jeopardized his fate or the School's, assuming the grief made him unable to perform his job properly.

(He'd probably subtly resent the Storian as well, for not preserving Rhian's life.)

Also, one small point: in canon, was his bond with Rhian really, truly all-consuming? Let's stop and ask ourselves that for a moment.

Yes, for a time, their bond may have seemed like it was priority no. 1, but Rafal was apart from Rhian for six months, and might not have consciously missed him, if it took him that long to return after getting an external reminder from his interactions with Hook. It might have taken something outside of himself (like the prophecy) for him to come to the realization that he had to return and reestablish his loyalty to Rhian (which was arguably never gone, just dormant for a while). And this would mean that if left alone to his own devices, had he never been moved by James, or "awakened" and been made aware by Adela Sader, he could have taken longer than even six months to return... if he ever decided to at all, if the thought ever arose in the first place.

So, overall, it would only be rarely, when he has nothing to occupy himself with, that Rafal would grieve in some quiet way, and over time, the grief would fade. It wouldn't leave him entirely, but it would diminish, I think, the more and more he distances himself from everything else.

Also, in canon, I suspect that he lies to himself about how much he cares for Rhian. He never shows Rhian much affection, but he sacrifices his life for him, on instinct, which probably means a grieving Rafal would also lie to himself about how “little” he mourns Rhian. In reality, he’d probably mourn Rhian a great deal more than he could know, but wouldn’t have enough self-awareness to realize it.

Perhaps, at night, he would be haunted by Rhian's memory, and take on Rhian's insomniac trait on occasion. Also, to credit @cursed-daydreamer, I think it would be plausible for Rafal to take on a few of Rhian's traits, unconsciously, to compensate for the loss, and fill his void; it could be a way of keeping Rhian's presence in his life.

Lastly, I doubt that Rafal would publicly erect monuments or dedicate anything to Rhian. He wouldn’t want a painful, visual reminder around. His rituals, if we were to call them that, any form of remembrance, I mean, would likely be private, away from prying eyes and students. Rafal wouldn't want to come across as weak or sentimental. That’s the last thing he needs at the moment, a ruined reputation, another so-called threat to his own life/power. Because, increased paranoia could lead him to believe that if he were to show any sign of vulnerability, more "Vulcans" could prey on him and the School.

He could maintain the cherry blossom trees though, but it'd always be a sobering occasion, and he'd never take the credit.

Besides that, he probably wouldn’t go eulogizing his brother or canonizing him. He can still recognize Rhian's flaws, and to praise Rhian so completely would be "too much," too public, and the performative (or contrived) nature of certain mourning customs like those would probably strike him as "wrong" because they just seem... insincere. I don't think Nevers (if we're assuming Rafal remains Evil) put as much much stock in praise anyway, according to their value system.

The exception to the rule would probably be if he recognized that it would be Rhian's wish, to receive some recognition or a dedication. Then, he would do it, out of reverence, I think. He'd have reason to "excuse" it (Rhian's dying wishes), unlike visible emotions, which don't have an excuse to be felt.

⸻

Also, I was wondering: does anyone agree or disagree? I'm really curious because this ask provoked a train of thought I'd never considered before!

#school for good and evil #rise of the school for good and evil #rafal #rafal mistral #rhian #rhian mistral #vulcan of netherwood #sge #sfgae #the school for good and evil #tsfgae #rotsge #rotsfgae #my post #ask #death #grief

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sophieinwonderland · 10 days ago

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r/systemscringe is Hulking out over my Avengers post!

Does everyone know that?

What comics or movies was this addressed in?

Why does the hatesub act like this word was just made up? Sanism has been a thing since the 60s!

I know it's hard for you all, but please at least TRY to educate yourselves before making fools of yourselves in the future!

This subreddit just cannot stop itself from hurling ableist insults.

Oh, for the love of the triple goddesses!

What is it with certain groups reacting to NEUTRAL descriptors by claiming they're slurs?

This is the ridiculous bad faith "cis is a slur" argument all over again.

"Singlet" is a neutral term for a non-system. It's not a slur. It's not an insult.

You just have a massive raging victim complex.

And I promise you, the fact that you don't have DID is not the reason everyone thinks you're a piece of shit.

They've typically fought Mutants when those Mutants were doing something that could be dangerous to the world. Not just attacking them because they're mutants.

Mutants have even served on several Avengers rosters. And The Avengers have teamed up with mutants far more than they've come to blows with them.

Yes, Steve and Tony have generally stood aside while mutant discrimination was happening. That's an unfortunate side effect of separate groups of writers running different comics. Besides that, Captain America showing up to save the X-Men from their enemies in their stories would be pretty unsatisfying.

But even if Steve is just someone who hasn't done enough for mutants, he's still generally supportive of mutants.

Hulk wasn't abused in the MCU as far as has been revealed. Nor is his plurality considered DID.

This may be confusing it with the Ang Lee movie that did address the abuse.

MCU Hulk, so far as we know, is an endogenic systems made by trying to recreate the super soldier serum in an experiment gone wrong.

"He doesn't live in Marc's head. He just invades it"

Right... That's a Gateway System. A headmate from the outside entering the mind.

And the gods do seem, at least, somewhat "attached" to their avatars. It seems like they can communicate only with their avatars and prospective avatars. How this works isn't perfectly clear. But it at least doesn't seem as if he can just freely roam Earth and appear to different people whenever he wants while bonded to someone. I admit this may be disproven in the future.

Still, my assumption is that he can appear to Layla because he wasn't currently bonded to Marc. Once he's bonded to Marc again, he can't communicate with Layla anymore.

This did come to mind. But being pro-endo isn't just about believing endogenic systems exist. Even if we consider the Winter Soldier an endogenic system... which feels wrong on multiple level... he's a brainwashed tool to them.

They don't even consider him a real person. Just an asset to use.

Given their association with Nazism, I wouldn't expect them to see other systems any better.

Your so-called "defense" is reliant on having no idea what you're talking about, and regularly accusing DIS systems of faking for things that are basic parts of the disorder.

One of the first things you'll see on my page is a debunking of just a small fraction of the lies r/systemscringe has spread about DID in the name of "defending" it.

But we are not talking about DID here. We're talking about plurality. About the experience of being multiple in one body. And this is something that has been well-recorded by actual psychiatrists.

The entry on DID in the World Health Organization's ICD-11 states that you can have multiple "distinct personality states" without a disorder.

In Transgender Mental Health, a book published by The American Psychiatric Association, it was specifically acknowledged that you can be plural without trauma or a disorder.

If I wanted, I could go on and on and on, listing paper after paper affirming the existence of non-disordered and endogenic plurality.

But what's the point?

The thing I've learned from sysmeds is that they are chronically incapable of accepting any information that proves them wrong.

And this is the ultimate reason that the Avengers could never be anti-endo. And even most Avengers villains couldn't. Being presented with all of these expert opinions and still doubling down, when you can't even name a single doctor who claims all plurality comes from trauma, requires a certain level of willful ignorance that fictional characters like these are rarely written with.

None of the Avengers would ever be a sysmed.

Because being a sysmed requires you to lack curiosity. It requires you to lack critical thinking. It requires you to be someone who will go along with the crowd and be sucked in by groupthink. To NEVER question the narrative that you're given.

And this type of person... doesn't make for a good protagonist.

In the end, you're pretty clearly not The Avengers. You're just ignorant bigots who hide your bigotry under the guise of helping people. But that is just a front. Inside, you're looking for people to blame for your own suffering, and so you've picked a marginalized community you think you can get away with attacking because it's more socially acceptable. And you will refuse to accept facts that prove you wrong because accepting those facts would mean you're the bad guy.

No, you're definitely nothing like Avengers. But maybe Purifiers?

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stardustgates · 1 year ago

Text

Author’s Notes: Possibly OOC behaviour? I’ve done my best to stick by Canon as much as I can, but given I’m a newer player, I don’t know the relationship between Kafka and Silver Wolf or the characters individually as well I’d like to. Though I did do my best, please be aware that I may have taken some creative liberties in their characterisation and inner thoughts regarding each other. Also I am aware that this may just be 5.5k words of nonsensical BS but I haven’t written proper fanfiction in a hot minute so take it with a grain of salt. Not so much of a reader/canon thing and more like a reader AND canon thing currently. Perhaps that will change in future works, who’s to say? Oh yeah this is a SAGAU.

Warnings: Canonical In-game violence, references and descriptions of dissociation via player-induced body possession, references to drug use (one sentence), yandere tones if you squint really hard (shes a slowburner ya’ll), and a single swear word :3

Beyond the mind, within your body.

Description: Unaware that your presence has been made apparent to the eccentric duo during your first run through of Honkai Star Rail, you happily indulge yourself in the immersive (tutorial) world before your eyes. Kafka and Silver Wolf attempt to adjust to the feeling it brings, which leaves their minds constantly switching between distrust and euphoria, and all the things in between.

Word Count: 5.5k

Hoyoverse’s newest game hadn’t seemed much to your liking when you’d first heard the announcement. For one thing, you weren’t particularly pleased with the constant stream of ‘HONKAI STAR RAIL - PLAY NOW’ interrupting your YouTube doom-scrolling every other ad; Not to mention, you weren’t very keen on the gacha aspect.

Within your small circle of friends, you’d been known to cave easily when attractive anime characters were involved and you weren’t planning on another hyperfiction to solidify your position as the group’s resident simp. That being said, with such a title swaying above your head like a shiny silver dagger, you’d held a metaphorical death grip on your wallet, solemnly swearing that you’d keep your distance from the game for as long you were able.

Ultimately that so-called iron will of yours didn’t last so much as a year, as just seven months after its release a simple character trailer was enough to break your steadfast resilience. Well, it wasn’t ‘simple’, if you were being honest with yourself- It was a brilliantly unique masterpiece, tailored to the exact essence and spirit of his character. You were sure Argenti wouldn’t be released for a good while, so you decided to pick up the game and grind what you could before his arrival.

That was your plan at least. Your friend had warned you a few months prior (Though admittedly, you hadn’t been paying much attention at the time.) that the download and installation would take an exhaustingly long time. Well, it was better than Genshin Impact had been- but still, you were getting bored and subsequently decided to fetch yourself something to drink in the meantime.

With your back turned to the loading screen, you waltzed out of your bedroom with little care in the world- oblivious to the ominous glowing cracks slowly sprawling across the screen of your device.

As you returned a few moments later, you found that it had finally finished installing! You’d certainly waited long enough. Sure, it wasn’t as soul-sucking as Genshin had been but your patience wasn't that of a saint’s either. With a renewed sense of anticipation, you hit start and breezed through the usual terms and conditions without reading anything and let out a sigh at the beautiful change in scenery.

It perhaps wasn't the smartest idea to skip it completely- but you had spent so long waiting already that you weren’t going to bother wasting time reading a document filled with dolled-up words you could barely pronounce.

✄————————————————

Herta’s Space Station’s defences hadn't been particularly difficult to slip past surprisingly, though Kafka didn’t recall any mention of difficulty regarding entry in Elio’s script, so she supposed the lack of security wasn’t of any particular importance.

Despite the calm confidence that usually accompanied her on these little operations, Kafka couldn’t shake the strange feeling of being watched. It wasn’t the usual sort of lingering gaze or sharpened stare, but a vague pulsating heartbeat that faded in and out, as though blinking through blurry vision.

Needless to say, she kept her guard up. Playing none the wiser and bowing mid-air to the tempo of a rather graceful tune. She forced her shoulders to relax and gently swayed her body, controlling her every little move with practised ease- even as that strange pulsating presence slowly sped up and stroked the fires of an oncoming headache- as the elevator descended to the station’s ‘ground’ floor.

(You remained none the wiser to her sudden awareness, the rapidly changing scenes flashing past your eyes far too quickly to pick up on a single, brief second of stillness in her body.)

A sudden explosion reverberates across the station's cold, metallic body and brings Kafka’s impromptu air-violin session to a screeching halt. Simultaneously, that presence settles over her body like a thick blanket of fog. That ‘gaze’ she had felt becoming so vivid she could feel its weight pressing down on her tongue.

She has little time to process the feeling before the usual blueish glow of Silver Wolf’s communications screen flickers into existence before her very eyes.

“... Seems I came at a bad time.”

“No, No – I think you couldn’t’ve timed it better. Twenty-three-fourty-seven-fifteen system time. Very punctual, Kafka.” Silver Wolf almost sounds impressed, though Kafka suspects she’s only trying to butter her up so she’ll let the girl go off task again. Perhaps, under different circumstances, she would have been kind enough to allow it, but with the nature of their current mission and this inexplicable presence, Kafka doesn't find herself in a very generous mood.

Kafka merely hums in response and ignores the empty praise.

“Elio always tells the exact future. So What’s with the explosion just now? Was that part of his script?” Silver Wolf picks up on her cue to focus without any fuss.

“Twenty-three-four-four-fifty-nine system time: The pulses from the explosion cause a massive breakdown from the master control system.”

Pulses. Perhaps it’s linked to the feeling curling itself around her senses?

“You did that?” Kafka doubts that Silver Wolf would waste effort on something so minor.

“No, the antimatter legion did it. They completely invaded the space station two system hours ago.” She whistles in response and glances down the glass panelling to the approaching ground floor. A small group… annoying, but manageable.

“Alright, so do we need to fight the legion?”

“Dunno, Elio didn’t say anything about it, so it doesn’t matter.” Hmm. Silver Wolf made a good point.

“Got it. So from now on, I'll be in charge of this operation.” She feels that tingle of a smirk reach the corner of her mouth, and smiles a little wider in anticipation.

“Copy. Can you let me have some fun this time? Our last few operations turned out to be pretty dull.” Kafka lets out a playful hum as she ponders over her colleague’s request with faux consideration. She can practically hear Silver Wolf’s stifled groan in the second of silence that passes.

“...Sorry~ I’m afraid there’s not much I can do for you- our task this time is just to ‘place’ the target properly.”

Her choice of words is careful, though not enough to cause any alert in potential eavesdroppers. The feeling still hasn’t left.

“But if you wanna go look for some fun yourself, I won’t stop you.”

“I mean… after all…” she chuckles lightly as the blue hologram blips out of her vision, and reaches for the holsters tucked into her lower back. “After all…” Kafka readjusts her footing just in time to watch the elevator’s doors slide open, the sound of metal dragging against metal pinching at her ears.

“Elio didn’t put it in the script… Why would it matter?”

Just as the impact from her gunshots flitters across her skin, Kafka feels her mind being pulled back to the edge of her skull.

The group of voidrangers in front of her feel distant and smudged, the sockets of her eyes creating a blurred tunnel of vision that refuse adjust no matter how much she tries to blink it away. Their dark forms bleed into black speckles that crowd her already limited vision until she’s staring directly into the singed edges of the universe.

Kafka’s body… is no longer hers to command.

✄————————————————

She returns to her mind with startling swiftness. Her memories of the brief battle suddenly bubbling up as though pushing themselves through a thick soup of aether. She feels disconnected from the memory but can at least recall that she’d lost control of her body before blacking out.

She attempts to think back on that burnt, golden memory but is stopped by a sudden wave of nausea. She opts to set that aside for another time and refocus on the operation. Elio had not mentioned this happening anywhere in the script- so either this had no significance or…

Still, those Voidrangers hadn’t proved to be much trouble- in fact, they’d been less of an annoyance than she had prepared for. Either she’d been far more ruthless than intended or the antimatter legion had lost its touch.

“When did the anti-matter legion become so weak?” She asks out loud.

“I could only attract this much. Did you really want the entire legion to come here?” Silver Wolf speaks in feigned annoyance, her usual behaviour.

She hadn’t even realised. Kafka chooses not to mention anything for the moment, instead opting to subtly gauge the extent of control this presence… or rather... Entity, seems to have over her.

“This lot won’t be able to slow down the Astral Express crew.” Silver Wolf sighs in response on the other end of the device.

“Relax, a doomsday beast is also here.”

As she approaches one of the station’s automatic doors, Kafka feels it slip back into her body as if wearing her like a coat. Its influence feels… less heavy than it previously had been a few moments ago. At the very least she remains conscious this time; A strange lightness in her feet as she feels herself stealth towards a lone voidranger lounging about the area.

Her movements come to her now like instinct, striking down enemies with admittedly far more efficiency than she was naturally capable of. If it weren’t for her body being strung along like a puppet against her will, she’d almost be grateful for the power and resiliency it granted her.

Kafka has barely had her fill before a euphoric sense of power seems to swell up all at once; Killer instinct pumping through her veins like a well-oiled machine.

Ahh. Now this… this particular feeling wasn’t so bad.

Truthfully she’d liked to have toyed with this one a bit longer, but she knew all too well that it wouldn't manage to survive her next attack. She chatters to no one in particular, the ecstasy in her mind clouding whatever decorum she would have usually displayed.

“Good times never last… time to say bye.”

“Ah- She’s so cool…”

Kafka tenses up at the stranger’s voice, just as the swirling dark mass in front of her collapses into itself.

She sheathes her sword and adjusts her gloves, ignoring the voidranger approaching her from behind. Just before its darkened claws reach her, Silver Wolf’s ability activates no more than a hands-width from her shoulder blades.

“Cleaning up other people’s mess isn’t in my job description… y’know Kafka?” Silver Wolf huffs out, but her voice has no real bite in it. Was it her? She wasn’t usually one to doubt herself, but that fog of exhilaration certainly could have played with her mind.

“Yeah, yeah. Where did you send it Silver Wolf?”

Kafka turns in time to hear the gooey pop of the silver-haired girl’s bubblegum as she hops to her feet. She isn’t sure if it's Strawberry or Grape, but the artificial sweetness and scent of no-fruit-in-particular is so strong it actually grounds her mind for a moment.

She sighs for no real reason, but it brings her relief regardless.

Oh.

She hadn’t realised how bad her headache was.

“Some random Co-ordinates, not important.” She avoids Kafka’s gaze for a reason she couldn’t care to name before taking on an adorably defiant stance, her hands placed at her hips as though it would help her short stature in any way.

“You care about where that voidranger ended up?” She doesn’t. But she’d rather think about that than, well… She didn’t know what to call it at this point. But it was distracting and she needed to focus on literally anything else for the sake of what sanity she had left.

Though some could argue that she wasn’t sane at all- which was only half true because most people’s definition of sanity varied greatly from her own.

Oh, Silver Wolf was still blinking up at her expectantly.

“Of course not- I’m just amazed at this fancy technique of yours, as usual.” she smiles down at her colleague, who only rolls her eyes in response. To the girl’s credit, she’d been dealing with Kafka’s empty flattery for quite a long time.

“Just a little trick of tampering with the data of reality, I wouldn't call it fancy.” Kafka smiles a little wider, following behind as Silver Wolf strolls down the hallway. Her tells were always so obvious.

“What were you looking at just now? Let me see.” Silver Wolf huffs a bit as she settles herself onto a desk and faces her.

“Herta’s toys,” she begins in an almost mocking tone

“A catalogue featuring the space station’s collection of rare items.” Her fingers briefly tug on the white fluff of her jacket as she speaks “They’ve got quite a looot of interesting gadgets~”

Kafka’s previous interest (however feigned it may have been) dies down a little at the prospect of these ‘gadgets’ but nonetheless she indulges Silver Wolf’s unspoken desire to share what information she’d dug up.

“Like what?”

“There’s this gun, it can rate any creature within its crosshair as a score from 0 to 100.”

“... Doesn't sound very interesting.” Her brows pinch together and her mouth stretches into a thin line of clear disappointment. Not one to be disheartened so easily, Silver Wolf continues on

“Aren’t you curious how much you would score? I kinda wanna know mine.”

So this is what she’d been hinting at since earlier. Kafka crosses her arms and takes on the tone of an exasperated mother having finally given up after being nagged at for far, far longer than the reality of it.

“Fine. I guess we can swing by and play with it, if it’s not too far. What’s our destination?” She redirects Silver Wolf’s distractable attention onto their current objective with practised ease.

Hmm.

She feels a little cold for some reason… and those watchful eyes haven't left during the entirety of their conversation. Kafka’s guard raises a little further than before.

Her colleague’s eyes flit down to a small blue hologram, her fingers swiping past various screens until arriving at what Kafka could only presume was a list of directions given to her by Elio.

“Go down the corridor, behind the door… ooon the left. There’s a room where some kind of rare item is stored.”

Kafka feels the entity strongly now, she stares just beyond Silver Wolf’s shoulders where it feels most concentrated. The feeling she is met with is a dense smouldering hotness. It’s like melting iron dripping down her throat and burning it in the process. It feels almost itchy.

She redirects her gaze back to Silver Wolf far quicker than she’d intended to and resists the urge to scratch at her throat.

“So that’s where the Stellaron is?” Kafka is somewhat relieved when the feeling seems to simmer down. She once again debates speaking on the sensation during the slightest lull in their conversation but when Silverwolf turns her head back to face her, she finds the girl’s gaze to be much sharper than before.

“That's where we can find out where the Stellaron is.”

Kafka immediately knows that Silverwolf has finally caught on to this feeling and says nothing as she readies herself for the next half of their mission. Almost instantly, she feels the presence shift and roll over her shoulders, like a cat stretching out its limbs.

It's languid and smooth and she feels her tense- She had been tense this whole time?- muscles slowly relax until she finally feels that usual calm focus she’s so intimately familiar with. She hadn’t realised the extent of how cold she’d felt when it had stepped- strange, it feels like a person?- away.

Kafka decides that her feelings towards this... Being- She isn’t totally sure if it feels sapient, but it certainly has some form of will… That much she can tell- are mixed, to say the least. She wonders one more why Elio hadn’t mentioned anything about something so foreign and strange but sets the thought aside and refocuses on the task at hand.

She locks eyes with Silverwolf briefly, and just as she thought, Silverwolf is most definitely aware of it at this point.

“The central area of the space station is up ahead. There’ll be loads of Legion Void rangers there.” Silver Wolf hops to her feet and saunters toward the door’s control panel. A bit too casual to be natural, but it doesn't cause the feeling to stir, so she says nothing.

“Okay.” Kafka breathes out.

Then that feeling of puppeteering seems to stitch itself into her mind once more, albeit in a much more faded sense- it feels more like muscle memory than it does being pulled from her own body. She allows it to pull her along and lead her toward whatever it wants. As her fingers glide over the room’s control panels and her heels click against the cold steel of the station, she feels that fog of exhilaration settle over her again- that almost euphoric surge of strength from earlier suddenly vivid and fresh in her mind.

Silverwolf seems to feel the building strength in her own body too, as she quickens her pace when they turn the corner to find themselves at the back of a particularly strong-looking voidranger. She huffs out in bemusement and half-heartedly mutters out some encouragement to her colleague.

“May as well kill them all.”

Not needing much more encouragement than that, Silverwolf leaps forward with as much grace as her short form can allow her and drags her digitally enhanced blade across the muscles and sinew of its chest. She leaps back beside Kafka as it staggers on its feet and tries to regain its footing. Kafka’s arm pulls itself up, gun in hand, and fires out a cascade of bullets that each burrow and pierce into its flesh.

“This… seems a lot easier than it should be.” Silverwolf comments under her breath quietly.

“Well, let’s count our blessings–” Kafka is cut off as her arm is singed by the blast of the voidranger’s fire canon.

“Tch. Didn’t hurt.”

Silverwolf pulls out her holographic system at such speed that Kafka feels the static waft across her skin.

“Hmph, still. This combat needs optimising.” Just as the creature aims its weapon once more, it’s hit with a blast pulled from the loosened strands of reality itself.

“At that speed? Too slow!”

Kafka almost feels sorry for it, as she watches its body disintegrate while collapsing into itself.

Unfortunately, the girls are not left with time to bask in their victory- Silver Wolf lets out a small yelp- the entity has left its place on Kafka’s shoulders and draped itself over her companion it would seem. Her short colleague adjusts to the sensation of its guiding hand far better than she had, if her losing conscious was anything to go by.

Kafka follows behind silently, eyes trained intently on the girl in front of her for any indication of danger.

“Hold it. Someone.. Or something is up ahead.” she warns quietly, arm extended out to her side like a makeshift barrier. They both come to a sudden halt as the entity violently rips itself from their bodies and settles just beyond their skin.

Goosebumps this time.

The cold seems to get worse and worse each time it separates from them… well, her. Silver Wolf grits her teeth. Kafka notes the tiny pearl of sweat rolling down the side of her face. Still a shock to the system then.

“Looks like we’re the ones getting ambushed.”

“...But they’re the ones getting besieged.”

✄————————————————

The game has felt pretty cool so far, and you quite like this Kafka woman. You don’t recall her being part of the main cast your friend had rambled about however many months ago it was, but you hoped you’d get to see a lot more of her.

Her design was really nice- though strangely familiar?- and her voice was pretty too! Silver Wolf was alright, but she hadn’t really caught your interest so far, so you werent sure what to make of her yet.

They did seem to be close though, but less like friends and more like tired workmates who’d been stuck in the same dead end job for a decade- that is to say, it definitely felt like they were used to dealing with each other’s nonsense.

Were they a ship? You could see it. Ah, another battle, sweet!

The combat system Star Rail used wasnt particularly innovative or anything, but it’s playstyle was strangely addictive- especially the Ult animations! Kafka’s especially had you nearly squealing with how badass it was. Did the MC have a cool one too? You could hardly wait to see.

✄————————————————

The mood is light despite the circumstances, they both feel a sense of safety and confidence while the presence pulls them along, as though leading them in a dance. The Voidranger’s movements stand out like a pindrop in an empty room. Predictable, and delectably so.

Silver Wolf barks out a short, quick laugh- a taunting thing that aggravates the musclehead stomping around in front of her- before decapitating the creature in a single, swift move.

“You took the bait, just like that?” Her jubilance is cut short by an attack from her blindspot, it isnt fatal- hell it barely counts as a battle wound- but its enough to flip her mood in the opposite direction. “Tch.”

Kafka laughs lightly at her, amused with her momentary lapse in spacial awareness. Silver Wolf scoffs and scowls lightly at her. Really, like she hadn’t gotten hit before?

Just as she opens her mouth to hurl a barely-an-insult-but-im-still-annoyed-with-you comment towards the magenta haired woman next to her, Kafka’s aura shifts somewhat. Time seems to slow down for a second as Silver Wolf watches the woman’s pupils dilate in slow motion.

Had she appeared like this? When that wave of energy had swelled within her?

She receives no answer to her unvoiced question, and instead hears Kafka’s voice ring through out her ears.

“That breathing sensation. Remember it.” Silver Wolf gulps in a breath of blood-scented air and breathes out a sickly, golden-sweet taste. As Kafka’s bullets rain down upon the bodies of their would-be-ambushers she can't help but feel pure ecstasy in the moment. Truly…if this was a drug she’d be hooked like a fish to water.

Even just being near it is enough to cloud her mind.

“Alright, now that that’s over with…” Silver Wolf’s body relaxes significantly as Kafka speaks, the strength of whatever had possessed them slowing dripping out from their bodies like tree sap. She feels like she just got a massage.

“I could get used to that.” She isn’t sure who she’s talking to, but it feels appropriate to voice. Kafka ignores her and spins her around to face the door, and Silver Wolf seems to go into auto pilot as she unlocks the control panel blocking their path, stepping lightly as her taller colleague gently pushes her forward without a word.

The monitoring room is completley empty. Nothing but the quiet beeping of a few monitors and the rustling of swaying leaves, courtesy of the air conditioning unit humming softly above them.

“Huh. not a single soul here. Impressive evacuation work. Did herta organise it herself?” Kafka seems mildly impressed- and entirely unaffected by the sensation Silver Wolf is still trying to shake from her skin.

“According to the access history, she hasnt logged in her for over six months. The evacuation was directed by the acting lead researcher - a girl named Asta.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell. Oh, right. Elio said we wouldn’t run into herta. It seems she really isnt here.” Though something else definitely was, but Silver Wolf supposed they weren’t going to be making any conversation on that topic.

She sighs, and scrolls through her holograms nonchalantly.

“Elio’s Script doesnt include any info about the location of the stellaron. Which means in the future he foresees…”

“... we would find the stellaron in a non-physical way?” Kafka crosses her arms, easily having picked up on her train of thought and already dipping her metaphorical toes into several different plans of action. She was always efficient like that. Silver Wolf strolls over to the water cooler and pours herself a cold cup. She gestures to Kafka who only shakes her head in response.

“This space station is packed with extraordinary objects, I wouldnt be surprised if theres one that can make it happen.” She takes a long sip, the cooling sensation bringing relief to her sweltering body. The combat efficiency was nice, but she was left feeling like an overheating graphics disk everytime it took control of her. She idles on a page in her hologram briefly before continuing on her scroll-fest.

“Hiding something extraordinary with something extraordinary… this is pretty Herta. I assume you know what to do? I mean, You’ve been reading that cataogue for a while?” Ah. Perseptive as ever, Kafka never changes. She ignores the heat building in her ears at the prospect of being caught slacking-off, and bins the styrofoam cup as she turns to the older woman.

“Hmph. I’ve got all the clues we need. The only piece missing is a simple trick- maybe this entity thats been stringing us along could lend a hand? After all, it doesnt have a physical form.”

(You didn’t expect them to involve the player like this! What an awesome storytelling device, and it would hopefully grant a lot more player agency too! Hoyoverse had truly out done themselves this time. Feeling a surge of excitement at being learning you’ll be able to lend a helping hand ‘directly’, you decide that Silver Wolf is also really cool.)

Kafka says nothing in response, only staring down at Silver Wolf in consideration.

“Why dont we have it help us investigate the terminals around here, that item we’re looking for may be inside.” The magenta haired woman only sighs, internally cursing the girl’s lack of caution. Though… she couldnt deny that it had only been helping them so far.

“Alright, lets give it the spotlight.”

“Oh god, I hope I don’t fuck this up…” Kafka stills. The same voice from before. So it can speak? She tucks the information away in her mind for later.

She watches it guide her along the messily arranged desks and flickering monitors. Stopping at a memory storage cart- which is, of course, missing its memory. Not useful for her current objective, but it at least told her that whatever it was could see the same things she could.

“...I cant see the memory storage for this terminal.” Her body shifts slightly.

“This is the monitoring room, the must have deleted the records and made a run for it. Classic.” Silver Wolf is still scrolling through the holographic catalogue, idling against a desk in the middle of the room. She doesn’t look up, even as Kafka is strung along past her towards a monitor on the other side of the room.

“You don’t seem to be very affected by it? Its control over you, I mean.”

“And you? You seemed a little weary earlier.”

“I wouldn’t say that. It’s just new, thats all.”

Kafka’s hand reaches out to flick through various active surveillance cameras, interesting but ultimately fruitless.

“Hmmm… I can see the whole space station on the surveillance screen. But not the Stellaron.” Silver Wolf scoffs indignantly behind her, she almost sounds offended.

“Even if you could it’d be a trap. Herta doesn’t display her collections.” She turns to her hologram once more.

“This thing isnt very good with investigating, is it?”

Kafka expects some form of insulted rage to squeak in her mind’s ear, but she hears nothing. Though faintly she imagines a rather adorable ‘Hey! I’m trying my best!’ echoing in her skull.

Kafka staves off the sudden urge to get defensive in response and clamps her mouth shut.

Silver Wolf sighs at her lack of response and shifts onto her feet.

“Make your way over here then. There’s no point in trying to search like this.”

“So? Got a master plan? I’m all ears.”

Kafka’s tone takes on a slightly irritated edge, for a reason she herself doesn’t quite understand. If Silver Wolf picked up on it, she chooses not to say anything and instead gestures to the warping static of the holographic screens lining the walls of the office.

“Its a matter of hacking the surveillance system directly.” She says matter-of-factly, smirking playfully as her iconic vandalism plasters itself onto every screen in sight.

“Aha, I see. Herta’s collections aren’t in the system so anything unaffected should be our target.”

Their heads are guided to turn and face the back of a lone monitor by the main desk. Ah. that one then. As they both stroll over to investigate, Kafka feels a strange sense of pride bubble in the back of her mind. Not for Silver Wolf’s accomplishment- that much would be expected from the shorter girl- but for the entity curling along the edge of her mind. What exactly she was supposed to be proud of she couldnt tell, but the feeling was pleasant regardless.

Silver Wolf slips into a chair and slides forward to the desk, cracking her knuckles and wiggling her fingers as she readies herself for some data mining.

“Crude, simple, but effective. Look, found it.” The computer’s cursor circles a line of code tauntingly. Kafka doesn’t understand what any of the values mean.

“Item number two-eleven, ‘Blind Spot’ : a simple light-deflecting field. It allows an object in its field to pass unnoticed, but if a different item ceases to be obvious, the object gets revealed.”

She isn’t sure which set of numbers.. Or letters? That item is supposed be, but it does seem like a very… uncomplicated form of security for someone like Herta.

“So, Herta the genius… hides her collection with something as simple as this?”

“the simplest method is the hardest to spot, isnt that our motto?”

“Huh? How is that simple?” Kafka nearly chokes on her saliva while trying to hold back a bark of laughter and wonders why she’d kept her guard up for this thing. She follows Silver Wolf towards the glitching hole in the wall and sighs bemusedly.

“The data suggests its just an ordinary hologram. But it has an added layer… “ Silver Wolf eyes the frayed edges of the hologram cautiously, despite the confidence in her voice.

“Lets take a look. Dont worry, this place wont be our grave.” The girl only puffs her cheeks and steps forward, ignoring Kafka’s words of comfort completely. Well, she’d expected that much at least.

As she follows behind, her vision melts into a stark change of scenery.

The bright, ethereal glow of the Stellaron coating the walls of the closed off room in a golden-blue light. A strange combination, but one that was all too familiar; the everchanging strands of reality warping and stretching around itself, as the Stellaron sat patiently- sealed away- in the center of the room. Such an otherworldly treasure was exactly what all Stellaron hunters across the universe strove for. Though admittedly it was a mere front for their true purpose, a fact that Kafka was intimately aware of.

Their true goal would see this stellaron- sealed away, courtesy of Herta- to another use. Once said seal was removed by Silver Wolf, all Kafka would need to do was take hold of it and place it inside that vessel.

It had been laying in wait for this exact occasion…Kafka smiles fondly at the memory of it. Silver Wolf makes a small noise of surprise, catching her attention. She steps over towards the girl and the control panel, asking a question without speaking.

“It has its own security system… I guess even for herta, a Stellaron is no ordinary rarity.” Silver Wolf sounds genuinely surprised at this fact, though Kafka feels this was a rather likely outcome.

“Can you get it?”

“Of course, even the genius Herta cant compete with me when it comes to hacking.”

“Good. Then I’ll also count on you for the preparation of the receptacle.” Not to mention, she was quite sure this being wouldn’t be able to provide much help if Silver Wolf couldn’t figure it out herself. Speak of the devil, she feels the entity waft away like smoke in the wind and settle in the air around them as she lifts the Stellaron from its prison. She turns to her Silver haired companion and unspoken words flicker between their eyes.

This is Kafka’s decision.

Or perhaps it isn’t, she corrects herself over the distant sound of Silver Wolf’s voice.

When it enters her body, it no longer feels like being puppeteered or controlled.

She recalls that first feeling of possession, and the bleeding darkness making way for glowing golden edges of a burnt milky way. Her mind is dipped like an apple into the thick syruppy taste of synethesia. The amber eyes of the vessel- piercing into her soul and leaving her tongue sizzling in an almost addictive sort of pain- briefly flash open before collapsing to the floor in Kafka’s arms.

The Stellaron has found its place. And something else entirely has made its home there too.

(What an amazing tutorial and intro! You get the feeling you’ll be playing this game for a very long while!)

#not super happy with how this turned out honestly but I can’t be bothered looking at it anymore #honkai star rail x reader #yandere honkai star rail #(sort of?)#hsr kafka #kafka x reader #silver wolf x reader #hsr silver wolf #kafka honkai star rail #silver wolf honkai star rail #hsr fanfic #yandere hsr #my writing

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dawnoftime22 · 2 months ago

Text

this is me trying.

| T.S

Warnings: not a mentally good mindset, thought of getting a therapist, R crying at Taylor's present, Tay mentioning R getting through the year, not proofread

Summary: You felt down even as your birthday came up. But even through it all, Taylor manages to eventually brighten your day and even had a special treasure hunt planned out just for you.

Word Count: 3.1k

Category: Fluff, Comfort

A/N: this has so many hidden little meanings, just how I like it. its kinda more relationship anniversary themed tbh, but its still cute<3 made this before I got myself back up and expected sadness all the next days, but I'm okay now :]

| Started on 01/12/2024, 7:21 AM |

| Finished on 01/12/2024, 5:54 PM |

Main Masterlist | T.S Masterlist

Request Guidelines

“Pulled the car off the road to the lookout, could've followed my fears all the way down...”

|——————————— ⸆⸉ ———————————|

Today was that time of the year again.

A day you didn't know whether to hate, love, dread for, or dance for. Your age went up another number— you felt like you were wasting time. How did people deal with this again? They probably don't. You don't. Oh, actually, by doing something...or getting a therapist. You sighed at the thought.

It was just the date, your head said to itself. But there was no excuse that you've been feeling nothing for the past few weeks. Well, at least you weren't down that bad as to the point it would be concerning, but you didn't feel great either.

It wasn't dissociation. It wasn't numbness. You were going through the motions, taking whatever life was throwing at you as you tried to just keep being there. Well, you weren't even taking it at all, you were just holding whatever situation in your hands for a second, like it was just simply the daily paper, then throwing it right back at life.

Like being nonchalant, but you weren't nonchalant. There was truly no way to explain it. You had simply gone through too much to have been fazed, too done with what the universe had up its sleeves. It was probably confused at your reaction of being neither sad or mad. Good. You hoped so.

Had anyone else gone through this? Feeling so lonely in your perspective of thought, up to the point you couldn't have a way to explain it? For sure. It certainly didn't provide any help to you thinking whether you were a good person or a bad person.

You took a deep breath in, letting it out slowly to start your day slowly. You had woken up so early in the day, the sun was just barely about to come up.

But after staying cozy under the covers, staring at your phone or the walls of your bedroom, you willed yourself out of bed anyway, fighting the feeling of staying curled up all day.

Taylor wasn't next to you in bed, and you were sitting in your own house, after all. She stayed last night, but had to go in the morning, and somehow you had missed her. You felt a tinge of sadness, but she promised you and teased you of her plans today constantly, which kept your spirits up in a way.

You peeled your shirt off, getting yourself ready to go step into the shower. The steps your feet padded along your wooden floors were quiet, unmistakably a trait of yours you got so much that you'd accidentally scare some people without meaning to.

The bathroom was an immensely different temperature compared to your room, but it was in all the right ways. It wasn't too hot or too cold, and the lighting was kind to your eyes.

As you cleaned yourself up, you let the scents of the shower gel and shampoo fill your senses. You were doing everything, but your mind was spaced out, though you had to admit, the shower was a distraction to get anything else out from your thoughts.

You felt alright for a moment. It was like the water was carrying your weight for you before it gave it right back just as you turned off the shower.

As you felt the heaviness go through your body even after you've freshened up, you did all the mundane tasks. Getting your clothes on, opening the curtains, and finally, grabbing your phone and headphones to head to the kitchen.

You had 'Male Fantasy' by Billie Eilish playing in your ears, cycling through her music for your day. You were sure the music video of that song was all that you looked like, felt like and encapsulated.

Making breakfast felt like it was a chore. You ate, it was gone as fast as it came, but at least you made through it best as you could.

You opened up your phone, going through your notifications rather than leaving it be for once. There weren't many birthday wishes, but you were used to it. The most that you would cherish is one from yourself to say much, and Taylor.

You did see a message from her, but it wasn't a wish, it was something that only made your heart swell in curiosity.

'Hey, sweetheart. You should check the pocket of my hoodie I gave you<3'

Sent at 11:46 AM

Read at 11:58 AM

Her text message had made you blink. The nickname made your heart swell, but the rest of it was mysterious, save from the fact that she had a teensy heart next to all of it.

But you got up from your chair instantly, grabbing your plate and mug to put in the sink to wash and rest on the drying rack, eager to find what Taylor has been up to.

By the time you let the kitchen towel soak up the water on your hands, you went off to your bedroom once more, going in to find her hoodie.

Usually, it'd be on the bed, but when your eyes searched, there was nothing. So, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion before you instead went to check the closet.

She was cheeky. You borrowed a lot of hoodies from her. You'd have taken a guess that it was the most recent one she gave you, but it was empty of anything.

You had to search every one, checking the pockets and worrying nearly that a double check would be needed. But it wasn't long until your hand soon felt something poking it. Of course, it was hidden in her favorite hoodie.

When you took it out, it was a piece of a folded paper. It was starting to come together to you. Her plan was a possible treasure hunt. Joy filled your heart, and you unfolded the paper.

'By the roaring of where the wind meets something blue, where will I be? Something so, so due, I hide under a resting spot.'

You had to think about it for a while, pausing as your eyes stared at the writing on the piece of paper.

The thoughts in your head lead to the lesser known beach, where Taylor always spent time with you, having your private time together without anyone spotting you.

You smile widely, and instantly went to get ready, grabbing the hoodie you retrieved the riddle out of to wear.

It was warm and cozy, filling you with the feeling of sweet fuzziness from love. Your steps were through your house, and your hand reaches for your keys.

Once the door was shut, you were on your way to the beach. It was close by, so you chose to walk. The sun was kissing your skin. Was Taylor doing all this just to get you to go outside? Maybe. But you follow your path anyway, looking around the area.

The beach was empty when you arrived, just how you liked it. The wind was making itself known with its whistles passing by your ear, and the seas were crashing its waves onto shore gently.

You looked at the paper in your hand again, having kept it in the same pocket earlier, going over the words to then look around.

'Something so, so due, I hide under a resting spot.'

A resting spot. You search the nearby wooden swings, but there were nothing, and they weren't completely a place to rest at.

After a few more steps, you spot a bench sitting right near the shop that sold seashells and trinkets. You had forgotten there was one there, and it had been a while since you enjoyed any ice cream with Taylor there. It might've been where you sat on your first date too, but it hadn't been revisited until now.

Your heart swells, and you smiled softly, but starting to search for whatever it was you're looking for. But every part had nothing. You were only hoping you were at the right spot, even though there was no doubt now.

You nearly felt like you were probably looking like a mad person, looking around for something at a bench, or hoping it looked like you lost something.

But thankfully, there was no one around to peer on your treasure hunt, and soon enough, you searched under the bench, seeing something gleaming.

Carefully, you used the flashlight on your phone and looked below, reaching out to grab the item taped under the bench, avoiding anything that could be sticky or dusty, perhaps even have a bug.

Turning off your flashlight, you look at the box. It was light blue, just about the color of her album, 1989. And of course, when you opened it, it had a necklace with a seagull charm. Smiling widely, you took it out to admire it. There were two other charms next to it, spelling 'T.S,' and you might just die out of love.

Above where the necklace was sitting, there was another note in Taylor's handwriting.

'Sweet love; thats what you are. I wear your initials, so will you too? :) My next spot is where I lay most with you, wondering if you'll be in one place with me at all times.'

P.S, smile, baby :

You were about to feel stumped by her sweetness, but at the picture you just couldn't help but laugh, and now you were sure you looked like a mad person.

Your heart thumped slightly against your chest, reading over the words again like it was a love letter— and it really kinda was, but you think about it, biting your lip.

'One place with her at all times,' the only thing that had come into your mind was when she would randomly wonder about you going to move in with her. You said you would have loved to, but you both decided to do it once she settled down with her tour.

Really, it was just so you wouldn't be awfully alone in the house, but it was also because she didn't have much time to help you move in just yet. Besides, it’s better to soak up the moment of it than going fast.

'The place where I lay most with you,' you were thinking of your bed. Well, there was her bed too, but considering your house was closer, you decided to go to yours.

You store the necklace back, delicately putting the lid back on and carrying the box back with you.

Once you were back in your bedroom, you look to the bed, which had nothing but your plushies sitting on the pillows. You'd had searched under them, or anything that could hide a riddle, but nothing.

When you lifted up the pillow on the side Taylor would sleep on though, there, the next riddle was sitting peacefully.

'Come home, sweetheart. I love you.<3'

It wasn't a riddle, it was just...words. But it was soft. You could imagine it in her voice, and after everything the past weeks of your life has been, you were about to curl yourself up in bed and cry it out, thinking the words over and over.

But it wasn't an invitation. It was her telling you to come home. Home was her. And her house was your home too. You took in a breath, slowly exhaling it out to gather yourself together, blinking away anything that could give way to a tear.

You stored the note in your pocket, and went to your car, driving carefully to make sure you arrive to her house safe and sound. She was waiting, her car sitting in the driveway itself.

Once you killed your engine and got out, you walk up to her front steps and stood at the door, your heart beating faster than normal as you stared at it, then took all your courage to ring the doorbell.

Taylor heard it; it was clear by the sound of movement. "Hold on!" you hear her voice call out from the other side of the door. A smile rose up on your lips, unable to contain the excitement you felt. You hadn't felt this excited in a while.

It took just a few seconds, rolling on your feet as you waited, but it didn't take long until the door opens, and behind it, revealed Taylor standing with a cake in her hands.

Your lips part in surprise at the sight, and Taylor smiles softly.

"Happy birthday!!" she said, her eyes roaming your face. She could see the shock in all your features, and you breathed out a chuckle, disbelief spread all through you.

"Tay...I thought you had work..." you whispered softly, vulnerability in your voice, and her eyes soften, realizing now that you possibly had thought the treasure hunt meant that it was something she made because she was busy.

"No. Of course not, for you..." she reassured, her gaze loving as she took a few steps back to let you in.

You went in, closing the door behind you and taking off your shoes as she went to the kitchen, setting down the cake in her hands carefully.

"I...can't believe you did all that for me." You followed her to where she was, watching as she grabbed a lighter to light up the candles on the cake.

You were trying your best not to fall into your emotions the best you could, seeing the care and patience she held even as she finished up and you hesitated.

She smiles gently. "Make your wish...and blow out the candles." The cake turned to face you, and you stepped closer to it, thinking about your wish before blowing out the fire, smoke clouding up just a little bit.

You could see the writing on the cake and just how perfect it was. It was your favorite type, too. "Thank you..." you whispered, turning your head to look at her. She could hear the smallness growing in your voice, and her heart only further swelled.

"Come here," she murmurs, opening her arms. You would have nearly leapt into hrr if you were a bouncy joy that was dancing on your birthday, but you went to her like you needed the hug. Like you hadn't gotten one in years on end.

You melt into her embrace, your own arms wrapped tightly around her too as you closed your eyes, giving a gentle squeeze. She returned it with an endearing kiss on your head.

"I'm so proud of you, baby." She says, leaning back to capture your eyes, still keeping you close.

She knew the things you've been facing, whether with emotion or not, or with feelings you couldn't name or describe, and all she wanted to do was keep you safe in her arms. You let out a slow breath that made you relax, your hand clutching her shirt.

She brought a gentle hand up to one of your cheeks, cupping and caressing soothingly. "I love you...I love that you've made it through the year too, because I don't know what I would do if not," she whispers, smiling softly, but you could see the true worry of love in her eyes, and you wanted to cry right then and there.

"I love you too..." you breathed, your voice nearly breaking in on itself. She gave a kiss to your cheek, both hands moving to cup them now, and nuzzled into your nose.

After doing so and making sure you weren't pulling away, she slowly leans in for a soft kiss on your lips, her hands bringing you closer to her.

She smiled lovingly at you, looking into your eyes before her hand dropped down to yours to intertwine, your fingers interlocking so she could guide you to the couch.

"Sit here..." she murmurs, settling you there to sit comfortably. The TV had your favorite film. You thought she was going to go cut up a slice of the cake so you could both enjoy it while watching together, but when she stepped away, she didn't go to the kitchen.

"I got you something too, hold on," she murmurs, quickly going to her bedroom to grab it and walking out by holding the hole handles. You watched her, frozen with your heavyloaded heart.

"A surprise...?" you teared up a little when you heard her words, having not had a single person to ever give you such a surprise.

"Yeah, baby, be careful..." she whispers, holding it out to you. She knew how much it meant to you, having heard your words once before of not caring what you got for your birthday, as long as it was heartfelt.

As long as it was sweet. It didn't even need to be thoughtful honestly, you would have taken a paper craft or anything handmade and you would've let out tears too.

You shakily opened the lid of the box, and the sight inside only made the world stop. The most adorable furball popped up, curiosity and confusion evident in its face.

"Its a kitten..." you only wanted to cry further at the gift, seeing the smallest cat, right there out the box. Right there. Something you've always wanted, as much as Taylor had her own cats, now you had one for yourself.

You gently and hesitantly picked it up. It didn't fight. It was just as gentle as you, and it was of course clean. You hug it carefully to your chest, your tears basically dampening its fur.

Taylor watched gently and lovingly, her smile wide on her face as she stood there. She took a step closer, putting a hand on your shoulder as she lets you cry it out.

"Do you like it?" she asks softly. She already knew, and she could tell just by your reaction, but she knew it was something she needed to say anyway, because you might not possibly voice out your love on this day more than a 'thank you.'

"I love it...I love it so much...thank you..." you managed to whisper through breaths of your crying, looking up to meet her eyes. You set the kitty down in your lap and opened your arms up for her, wanting her to come in for a hug.

Her expressions soften, and she instantly goes closer, sitting on the couch next to you to pull you into an embrace, her arms wrapped around you.

She was careful not to squish the sweet kitten in your lap, which hadn't moved from its spot, but looking at you two. She gives you a peck on the cheek before smiling at you, returning her attention to the kitten.

"What're we gonna name it...hm?"

----------------------

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#🥀 dawn’s collection #taylor swift x reader #taylor swift #taylor swift fluff #taylor swift comfort #soft taylor swift #taylor swift imagine #taylor swift fanfiction #taylor swift fanfic #taylor swift fic

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