notroadkiller - Tumblr blog

SAUDADE !! DEADDOVE VENT FIC

!!THIS WAS ALL A DREAM I HAD, AND ANYTHING SIMILAR TO REAL LIFE EVENTS IS JUST A COINCIDENCE. PLEASE DON'T READ IF THE LIST OF TWS TRIGGERS YOU!!

TW WARNINGS : underage sex (forced), rape/non-con, (forced) stepcest, minor violence , references to murder, references to feeling watched, minor injuries, & grooming. (pls tell me if you'd like me to add anymore to the list, I don't want to be making anyone uncomfortable here)

proshippers and in general ppl who are into this sorta thing are not welcomed on my acc, at all. This was a nightmare I had that genuinely freaked me out, I'm not trying to sexualize these topics and anyone who enjoys doing so will be immediately blocked

Wrote this in one sitting so sry if it's a bit shitty, I just wanted to write the concept down before I lost the motivation to

I'm not sure how it happened, how my life changed so drastically over the span of only a few months.

Or how I ended up coming home from another day at school to be met with the sight of my new stepdad, William Afton. He's sitting on the living room couch, still in his work clothes from the pizzeria, his tie loosened for his comfort, giving off a casual and relaxed aura that doesn't reach his eyes.

He moved in with me and my mom a week ago, but I'm still not used to seeing him. Maybe I'll get used to seeing him eventually, I thought to myself, even though I knew I wouldn't. It's never been that easy for me, there's always something preventing me from letting people into my heart and mind. It's like when I try opening up, thorny vines curl around my Adam's apple, and suddenly I don't want to talk anymore.

To get to the staircase to my room, I have to pass him. As I do so, I feel like there's something digging into my back, like someone's burning holes into me. But I'm too scared to look back, even though it's probably nothing. It's usually nothing.

I make my way upstairs to my bedroom, swinging the door open before walking over to my cozy bed and laying down. My face is burrowed in the blankets, so are my ears, but faintly I can hear the creaking of my bedroom door reopening. I felt the bed suddenly weigh down on the opposite side of me, hands wrapping around my waist, uncomfortably close to an area I didn't want anybody touching. I don't have to open my eyes to know it's him. But I'm too afraid to tell mom, she'll say it's just my anxiety again, that he'd never do that. And maybe she's right, maybe I'm imagining all of this, maybe William's still downstairs watching television on our living room couch. Thus, I fall into an uncomfortable sleep for the day.

I'm not sure how it happened, how my life changed so drastically over the span of only a few months.

Or how I ended up coming home from another day at school to be met with the sight of my new stepdad, William Afton. He's sitting on the living room couch, still in his work clothes from the pizzeria, his tie loosened for his comfort, giving off a casual and relaxed aura that doesn't reach his eyes.

He moved in with me and my mom a week ago, but I'm still not used to seeing him. Maybe I'll get used to seeing him eventually, I thought to myself, even though I knew I wouldn't. It's never been that easy for me, there's always something preventing me from letting people into my heart and mind. It's like when I try opening up, thorny vines curl around my Adam's apple, and suddenly I don't want to talk anymore.

To get to the staircase to my room, I have to pass him. As I do so, I feel like there's something digging into my back, like someone's burning holes into me. But I'm too scared to look back, even though it's probably nothing. It's usually nothing. But there's something in the back of mind telling me something's wrong.

I make my way upstairs to my bedroom, swinging the door open before walking over to my cozy bed and laying down. My face is burrowed in the blankets, so are my ears, but faintly I can hear the creaking of my bedroom door reopening. I felt the bed suddenly weigh down on the opposite side of me, hands wrapping around my waist, uncomfortably close to an area I didn't want anybody touching. I don't have to open my eyes to know it's him again. But I'm too afraid to tell mom, she'll say it's just my anxiety again, that he'd never do that. And maybe she's right, maybe I'm imagining all of this, maybe William's still downstairs watching television on our living room couch.

I feel his warm breath against my ear as he whispers into my ear...

"If you tell anyone about this, I'll spill your fucking guts."

And suddenly his lips are on mine.

I'm not sure how it happened, how my life changed so drastically over the span of only a few months.

Or how I ended up coming home from another day at school to be met with the sight of my new stepdad, William Afton. He's sitting on the living room couch, still in his work clothes from the pizzeria, his tie loosened for his comfort, giving off a casual and relaxed aura that doesn't reach his eyes.

He moved in with me and my mom a week ago, but I'm still not used to seeing him. Maybe I'll get used to seeing him eventually, I thought to myself, even though I knew I wouldn't. It's never been that easy for me, there's always something preventing me from letting people into my heart and mind. It's like when I try opening up, thorny vines curl around my Adam's apple, and suddenly I don't want to talk anymore.

To get to the staircase to my room, I have to pass him. As I do so, I feel like there's something digging into my back, like someone's burning holes into me. But I'm too scared to look back, even though it's probably nothing. It's usually nothing. I feel like this has all happened before.

I make my way upstairs to my bedroom, swinging the door open before walking over to my cozy bed and laying down. My face is burrowed in the blankets, so are my ears, but faintly I can hear the creaking of my bedroom door reopening. I felt the bed suddenly weigh down on the opposite side of me, hands wrapping around my waist, uncomfortably close to an area I didn't want anybody touching. I don't have to open my eyes to know it's him again. But I'm too afraid to tell mom, she'll say it's just my anxiety again, that he'd never do that. And maybe she's right, maybe I'm imagining all of this, maybe William's still downstairs watching television on our living room couch.

Suddenly I'm flipped on to my back, my wrists pinned above my head.

He grins down at me, his canines on display and sharp like knifes.

This has happened before.

I'm not sure how it happened, how my life changed so drastically over the span of only a few months.

Or how I ended up coming home from another day at school to be met with the sight of my new stepdad, William Afton. He's sitting on the living room couch, still in his work clothes from the pizzeria, his tie loosened for his comfort, giving off a casual and relaxed aura that doesn't reach his eyes.

He moved in with me and my mom a week ago, but I'm still not used to seeing him. Maybe I'll get used to seeing him eventually, I thought to myself, even though I knew I wouldn't. It's never been that easy for me, there's always something preventing me from letting people into my heart and mind. It's like when I try opening up, thorny vines curl around my Adam's apple, and suddenly I don't want to talk anymore.

To get to the staircase to my room, I have to pass him. As I do so, I feel like there's something digging into my back, like someone's burning holes into me. But I'm too scared to look back, even though it's probably nothing. It's usually nothing. But this time I know it's definitely not nothing.

I make my way upstairs to my bedroom, swinging the door open before walking over to my cozy bed and laying down. My face is burrowed in the blankets, so are my ears, but faintly I can hear the creaking of my bedroom door reopening. I felt the bed suddenly weigh down on the opposite side of me, hands wrapping around my waist, uncomfortably close to an area I didn't want anybody touching. I don't have to open my eyes to know it's him again. But I'm too afraid to tell mom, she'll say it's just my anxiety again, that he'd never do that. And maybe she's right, maybe I'm imagining all of this, maybe William's still downstairs watching television on our living room couch.

Suddenly I'm flipped on to my back, my wrists pinned above my head.

He grins down at me, his canines on display and sharp like knifes.

His hands caressing my hips and thighs, stroking the insides of them with drool on his lips and darkness in his eyes. I'm just another meal to him, I'm just the prey and he's just the predator.

Why am I repeating myself? No one's listening.

You already know how this story starts, I'm sure of it. I hear my words echoing in my cranium, bouncing off of each other painfully.

I make my way upstairs to my bedroom, swinging the door open before walking over to my cozy bed and laying down. My face is burrowed in the blankets, so are my ears, but faintly I can hear the creaking of my bedroom door reopening. I felt the bed suddenly weigh down on the opposite side of me, hands wrapping around my waist, uncomfortably close to an area I didn't want anybody touching. I don't have to open my eyes to know it's him again. But I'm too afraid to tell mom, she'll say it's just my anxiety again, that he'd never do that. And maybe she's right, maybe I'm imagining all of this, maybe William's still downstairs watching television on our living room couch.

Suddenly I'm flipped on to my back, my wrists pinned above my head.

He grins down at me, his canines on display and sharp like knifes.

His hands caressing my hips and thighs, stroking the insides of them with drool on his lips and darkness in his eyes. I'm just another meal to him, I'm just the prey and he's just the predator.

He whispers something to me once more, but I'm tired.

I'm tired of this limbo.

I'm tired of staying silent.

I try pushing him away, scratching at his arms so he'll let me go. But my nails are too short and my body too weak. I've only fed his desire.

He loves the chase.

He grabs me and pulls me down the staircase, which I try clinging on to. But my nails are too short and my body too weak.

He doesn't care for all the bruises I'm getting, he never did truly care, did he?

We go to the basement, and he throws me in his workshop. The cold tiles covering the floor digging into my elbows, and soon my back when he forces my shirt off.

Then my bra.

Then my pants.

Then my underwear.

Then my socks.

Until I have nothing else to hide from his humiliating gaze.

I hate the way he touches me. The way he talks to me.

I hate this cycle. I hate this torturous situation I find myself stuck in time and time again.

I hate the fact no one bursts through the door to save me like in the movies and books. I hate the way that even if they did, William would just stuff them into one of the many animatronics in the dreary room.

I long to wake up from this nightmare. I long for my innocence back.

Saudade. . .

reposted from my AO3 btw, just in case anyone thinks this is stolen