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thehollowwriter · 5 months ago

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Summary: Set in an alternate universe where Silas accepted his NRC letter, another student recounts his time observing this strange first year (repost bc I didn't like the original but I'm still not too happy with it so idk anymore lol)

Warnings: Violence, blood, ableism, self-harm (mentioned), probably full of mistakes. Word count: 2408

(Pls reblog and leave a comment ❤️)

Silas

During my three years at NRC, never has a student caught my interest the way Silas did.

The kid didn't have any last name. He was called up to the mirror dead last, after most students had lost interest in the repetitive ceremony and began talking amongst themselves.

You didn't get a good look at him from your seat, but even you could tell he was small. Tiny, even.

He was dwarfed in size by even average height first years, and he was incredibly skinny. He stood with his hands at his sides, long black claws catching the light of the candles.

He was placed in Diasomnia, the same dorm as I. He didn't have any reaction to

his placement that I could see.

I kept my eye on him as we all filed out the mirror chamber and made our way to our respective dorms. He kept away from the others, glancing at his surroundings and flexing his fingers.

I got a better look at him then. He was pale as death, the only darker shades being the scars and dark purple scales covering his face. His hood was pulled down, revealing the tangled rats nest that was his hair. He was a merfolk, large purple earfins rugged, damaged, and torn. His cheeks, well, they were skeletal. Hollowed out, giving his cheekbones more definition than what was comfortable. He wore large black sunglasses, and that fascinated me because it meant we finally had a deep sea merfolk student.

Our dorm leader gave his little welcome speech, and it was hard to tell if Silas was even listening.

Silas was fascinating to me. Silent as a grave and very anti-social, even for a member of Diasomnia, he was a mystery waiting to be solved.

He had an intense, threatening aura that made other students steer clear.

I thought I just felt a passing curiosity at first. But I soon found myself listening in whenever Silas' name was mentioned, taking note of any detail, or silently observing him... I didn't follow him! I wasn't stalking, of course not, but sometimes I just had to know where he was doing or what he was doing. It was simple curiosity.

Silas turned out to be a troublemaker. He rarely obeyed his professors and never came to the many detentions he was given. He ignored curfew and wandered around at night, even leaving the premises entirely. Nobody knew where he went, but he was always oddly... wet when he got back.

He never wore the uniform properly, either. When he first put on our dorm uniform, it truly showed how small he was. It hung off him, loose and baggy despite being such a small size, showing off his all too frail and bony body.

He spent his nights working, too. I once found him in Diasomnia's lounge at about 3am, doing homework.

He was holding his pen so tightly I feared it would snap, writing at a painstakingly slow pace. Every letter was drawn one careful line at a time, and for once, his expression changed, brows furrowing in a mix of frustration and intense concentration.

I watched him work for a long time. He worked in utter darkness without any lamps or even candles, and he didn't stop until his he was finished, though his earfins would flick every now and then, and I feared he'd noticed me, but... he didn't turn around. So I relaxed.

Silas was hot gossip often. Every week or so, there was some new shocking thing he had done that had everyone's tongues flapping as they whispered amongst themselves and tried to understand the utter mystery that was this odd student.

It was funny how quickly every incident escalated.

At first, it was when he was cleared to take off the sunglasses. His light amethyst eyes were soul-piercing, but also so... dead. It was almost disturbing to look at, even for me. Although his gaze was intense and frightening, his eyes were dull and lifeless, accentuated by his heavy eyebags.

He would silently stare at his professors throughout his entire lesson, every lesson. He rarely wrote things down. It was creepy, and even our esteemed teachers were uncomfortable with him and dreaded having class with him.

Then, it was his obedience. Silas never responded to his professors when they spoke, apart from maybe some vague gestures. I've seen him interact with them before. He looked wary whenever they spoke directly to him, his hands twitching at his sides whenever they moved suddenly or raised their voice at him. After some time, they'd give up and give him detention if he had gotten in trouble, even if it was in vain since he never came to detention at all.

After that, it was his cane, an unexpected development. I supposed it was because he was a merfolk, but it seemed to be for another medical reason. Of course, that isn't the shocking part. The shocking part is how quick he was to raise it against another student when they tried to kick it out from under him. Deserved, if you ask me.

Then, there was the incident that seemed to send shock waves through the entire school, after the first vears began doing duels.

"He stabbed himself," said one of Silas' classmates, looking pale and disturbed. "H-He slashed his palm open and used to the blood to... to cast some fucked up spell. He tried to kill his opponent a-and didn't stop casting until the professors stopped him by force."

"What the hell kind of magic was that?" Said another. "The professor didn't even know what it was!"

"He stained his fingertips with blood and used it to draw something in the air and..."

"His opponent nearly died from whatever the hell that was... how do you even describe something like that?"

Silas wielded some unknown, foreign form of magic that he would not explain no matter how much he was prodded and pushed. He would simply stare back at whoever was talking to him, his fingers flexing and claws tapping against his sides.

"It's abyssal magic," was the quiet whisper against the uproar of theories, from a prince of the Sunset Savanna. "You need blood or animal remains to use it. It sounds just like abyssal magic."

How fascinating.

I tried researching it. Nothing came up. Whenever I asked professors or fellow students, they would look at me in confusion or ask if I meant cosmic magic. Even now, I know almost nothing about it.

This just made me infinitely more curious about Silas and my... well, not stalking, my observations extended to mealtimes.

Silas was very rarely seen in the cafeteria. Apart from the few times he went there, nobody has seen him eat anything at all.

When he did go to the cafeteria, it was always the same procedure. Show up, get whatever seafood was there, then sit in the furthest corner of the cafeteria, where the crowd was sparse and the lighting was dim.

He'd pick at his food, eating tiny pieces one at a time and acting like he was afraid it would suddenly disappear.

I always made sure to be discreet in my observations, even if I felt confident that I would go unnoticed.

I wasn't careful enough, though. One night, when I once again found myself watching Silas do homework, he stopped his mind-numbingly slow writing and turned to stare right at me.

The full weight of his gaze was terrifying.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" He rasped, and my stomach churned, and my skin crawled. Those dull dead eyes bore into me with no visible emotion, and his voice was deep and strained, but so very soft.

I remember being shocked as well. That was the first time I had ever heard or seen Silas speak. My mind was a mess, scrambling to wrap itself around the idea of Silas not being deaf or mute like I had thought.

"You can talk?!"I squeaked out before I could stop myself.

"Yeah."Said Silas. "And I can see, too. Ya think I don't notice ya standing in the corner n' starin' at me all the time?"

He spoke slowly, putting careful effort into pronouncing each word.

"Stop."

I stared at him, slack-jawed.

"Leave me alone," Silas continued, his voice just as soft as it was before. He didn't say anything further, but he did start flexing his fingers like he always did when talking to people, and I suddenly realised that I was very alone with Silas in the middle of night, and no-one knew I had left my room.

A sudden sense of dread that filled me, and every alarm bell went off in my brain at once. I left, walking so that my back was never to him, slowly edging towards the door to the hallway. Those awful eyes, shrouded in shadows, followed me the entire way. I still felt watched even as I closed the door.

I cannot fully explain the fear I felt that night. It was almost primal, like my brain was telling me I was prey being stalked by a predator. I never felt afraid of him before, not even with the stories.

Was it because it was so late and dark? Was it because of those claws, long and sharp and startlingly similar to Cleacoves'? Was it those eyes, those eyes that looked so haunted?

I don't know. I just don't know.

I ceased my observations after that. "Curiosity killed the cat" is a phrase I never cared for, but it felt very much applicable here considering Silas' unpredictable nature.

It was odd, though. This sense that something would happen to me if I ignored him. Apart from one or two incidents that were really not that serious, he's never attacked anyone out of nowhere before. At least, aside from the whole duel situation.

Anyways, my days of playing detective were done, and I only spared Silas a passing glance from then on.

Everything seemed to calm down. Stories about Silas got lesser as his odd behaviour became boring and repetitive, and the gossip was replaced with something new. Everything was normal again.

Then, something happened.

It happened in the cafeteria. A group of older students had decided to make it their business to harass Silas, taking glee in messing with this small, quiet first year.

Students trying to bully and pick on Silas wasn't anything new, and I knew better than trying to observe, but... I couldn't help it. The moment I heard their loud, obnoxious voices, my attention was fully on them.

"Hey, speak up, pipsqueak!" The laughs and jeers of the crowd of third years gathered around where Silas was sitting could be heard even from where I sat, raising above the din of the cafeteria.

Silas ignored them.

"Come on, you're meant to look your seniors in the eye when they talk to you!" Said one.

Silas didn't respond. He simply stared at his lap, visibly tense, with his hands pressed flat against the table top.

"C'mon, answer! You aren't deaf, are you?" Said another, who then turned to the rest and asked, "Is he a mute or something?"

"No, he talks." Someone answered. "Barely. Not much worth listening to, though. He ain't all that clever. Sounds like he's never been to school in his life."

"That so?" The group's de facto leader, whose name I think was Cade Stobek, leaned down and jabbed Silas in the shoulder. "Come on, then, talk. You won't last long here if you don't learn to respect your seniors."

I wondered if I should intervene... and maybe check Silas' pulse. His deceivingly pale face and lifeless eyes made him look like he'd died right there.

"Maybe he's one of those prudes who don't talk till they're done eating." Someone else said. "Eric's family is like that. Silence at the table until everyone's finished."

"Eh? Is that it, then?" Stobek asked Silas. "Your fish is more important than your seniors?"

He made a grab at the plate of sushi in front of Silas and held it above his head, and suddenly, the sound of glass breaking pierced through the noise of the cafeteria, closely followed by a muffled scream.

Absolutely silence befell the room as students turned from where they were standing or sitting or walking to find Silas gripping Stobek by the hair and holding him in place.

Choked gasps and muffled gurgles filled the silence as blood slowly dribbled from the now broken bottom end of the table's small flower vase being being forced into his throat and onto his pristine uniform, staining it red.

Silas took the plate out of Stobek's trembling hands and released him, letting him fall unceremoniously to the floor.

Stobek's buddies exploded into a series of screams and shouts of alarm, gathering around him and waving their pens.

There was a brief pause, a moment of stillness, and then the rest of the student body followed, a wailing upoar of shock and confusion bouncing off the walls and reaching a crescendo of panicked chaos.

Silas drew his lips back and stared at them all in a silent hiss, earfins pinned back and monstrously sharp teeth glinting in the light. Then, he popped a piece of sushi into his mouth and walked away.

I never saw Silas after that. I don't know what happened, but I'm pretty sure he was expelled or at least suspended as the school desperately tried to scrub the stain a student's murder left on their image.

School was suspended for a few days as the mess with dealt with, but eventually, life carried on. At least, for the rest of us, it did. I'm sure it was a horrible time for Mr Stobek's family and friends. Eventually, I graduated, and my NRC days and the ever lingering memories of Silas' presence were left behind.

I still think about him, though. It's been years, and still, I cannot forget those eyes. That night. I think....I think if I haven't left, I probably would have ended up like Stobek. In a casket, my family demanding justice from someone who... doesn't exist. Silas has no ID, nor does the Coral Sea have any records of his birth.

I can't help but wonder if I went to school with a ghost, or maybe it was all a bad dream that I'm confusing with real life.

Hah... I really hope it's the latter

...........................................

A/N: I hope you guys like this ons better though I didn't change much

Tagging: @distant-velleity @br3adtoasty @rainesol @theleechyskrunkly @jovieinramshackle

@galaxies-and-gore @cyanide-latte @cynthinesia @officialdaydreamer00 @krenenbaker

@offorestsongs @kitwasnothere @elenauaurs @boopshoops @inotonline

@1dont-really-know @kazumify @minteasketches @elysia-nsimp @skrimpyskimpy

@casp1an-sea @offorestsongs @tixdixl @poisoned-pearls @the-trinket-witch

@ramshacklerumble @ghostiidasponk @thegoldencontracts @the-banana-0verlord @cloudcountry

@skriblee-ksk @twstinginthewind @lumdays @theolivetree123 @natsukishinomiyaswife

@authoruio @jewelulu @raguiras @honeynclove @moonyasnow

@skibidibabygirl @paperclvps

#silas clearcove #twisted wonderland #twst oc #writing

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bullet-prooflove · 2 years ago

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Blankets - Bishop Losa x Reader

Tagging: @witches-unruly-heart @annetje @abby2 @danzer8705 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @the-wandering-lunatic @alwaysachorusgirl @vannabanana1995 @beardedbarba @multifandomloversworld @camelia35 @queeniesdiary @est1887 @lilvampirina @creativitybeware @genius2050 @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @spookyboogyuniverse @kishie8 @saltyunicorn079 @nessamc @spaghettificationandpretzels @nu1freakshow @lyly00 @oureternalbond @beccabarba

When Bishop first meets you, he isn’t at his best. He’s exhausted, the stench of smoke and cordite clinging to his skin. He’s seen too much tonight; he just wants to go home and drink himself into oblivion, but he can’t because now there’s a kid involved that he has to do right by.

When he’d heard that there was a stash house in his backyard he was pissed. He thought the club had sent a clear message the last time Vatos Malditos had encroached on their territory, but apparently, he had been wrong. They’d expected drugs, a little smack, a couple of kilos of coke but they hadn’t expected the kid. He’d known they were into some dark shit but trafficking kids for sex…

Putting bullets in those animals had been way too fucking quick.

They’d found the kid cowering in the corner of a princess themed bedroom, nine years old he guessed, hair in pigtails, a schoolgirl’s uniform with a skirt that was far too short and a tie that was far too low. They’d tried talking to her in English and then in Spanish, it wasn’t until Bishop saw her hand gestures that he realised she was deaf. He couldn’t imagine how fucking terrifying that must have been, to be at the hands of monsters with no way to communicate, to have your voice stripped away from you. He knew a little sign language; he’d started learning when Aidan had been diagnosed with hearing difficulties. He’s rusty has fuck but he manages to tell the girl she’s safe, that no one in this room is going to hurt her, she signs back to him quickly, too quicky and he has to hold his hands up so that she understands that he’s a novice.

He discovers her name is Mari and she sticks to him like glue after that. He’s forced to ride in the van with Creeper because she refuses to let him out of her sight.

It’s Coco that suggests taking her to the community centre. Stitches has been running a clinic out of there and knows the manager, she’s helped out in situations like this before. It’s a happy place he tells Bishop, kid friendly and they’ve been doing some great work in the community. He can’t stand the idea of just dropping Mari off at social services, so he has Creeper swing by.

You’re waiting by the front door when he arrives. It’s been a while since he has been by this way and the place has changed a lot. Shit has been going downhill since the Galindo Agra Park project stalled and it looks like you’ve stepped up, he notes the additional services that are now on offer. The clothing drives, the food banks, the pop-up children’s library…

All of these things make difference to people who are barely managing to keep themselves afloat.

He thinks he recognises you, but he can’t be sure, it might have been back after Aidan was born and he was taking him to the Tummy Time play sessions. Even back then he knows he would have noticed you. He’d been committed to Antonia, but there was definitely something about you.

“Thanks for helping out with this.” He says, shaking your hand. “I only know a little ASL.”

There’s a thrum of connection there, something he hasn’t felt in years. He almost pulls away, but he finds that he can’t bring himself too. You like him, he’s gruff but earnest. He could have dumped Mari at social services, but he chose to bring her here, to a place that hopefully she’ll feel safe so that you can find out more about her.

Mari refuses to venture anywhere without him, so he finds himself seated on a red bean bag in the children’s library, his motorcycle boots resting on a brightly coloured patchwork rug. It makes his chest ache being back here, it’s different than before but the memories of Aidan, they’re everywhere. When he sees the Gruffalo book, it almost feels like he can’t fucking breathe.

It’s the motion of your hands that distracts him. You’re sitting cross legged on the rug across from Mari, continuing a conversation in ASL. It’s moving too fast for him to follow, but he’s captivated by the flourish of your movements, the speed and grace in them. It’s clear that Mari’s impressed too. The kid has been withdrawn ever since they found her, now she’s animated and rapt. He figures it’s been a long time since anyone’s actually spoke to Mari in her language.

“She says she was brought here by her Uncle.” You tell him later on in the break room, your hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. “When he couldn’t pay his own fee, he traded her to pay off the rest.”

“Man, that’s fucked up.” He says, his gaze on the young girl curled up under a blanket on the couch. The kid is fast asleep, a stuffed lion clutched to her chest, it breaks his fucking heart. “What’ll happen to her?”

“I have a friend who works at a charity who deals with this sort of thing. She’ll be here in a couple of hours.” You told him with a grimace. “Sadly, it’s more common than you think.”

Bishop sags back in his chair, his head tilting back as he sighs. The world is a fucked up place and he knows that but tonight, somehow it feels a thousands times worse.

“Obispo.” You say his name quietly, your hand coming to rest upon his. It’s warm, your touch. He doesn’t expect it, part of him wants to yank his hand away because that brief moment of connection is too much. He’s been alone for such a long time, he’s forgotten what it feels like to have someone actually give a shit, about him, about the people around them. You could have told him to fuck off tonight, you could have called social services, stayed at home drinking a glass of wine or whatever you did to wind down, but you hadn’t. You’d stepped up and he fucking admired that. “You did a good thing tonight. If you hadn’t found her…”

You let the words trail off because the truth is you can’t bring yourself to say it. He gets that, he doesn’t want to think about it either. He slouches down in his chair, arms crossing over this chest. It’s cold in here, colder than he thought it would be. You’re wearing a black sweatshirt with white stars over your jeans, it clings to your form in a way he tries not to notice. All he has on is a short-sleeved shirt and his kutte.

“I’ll stay until she gets here, your friend.” He says, his gaze coming to rest on Mari as he rubs his hands together to warm them. “I don’t want her to wake up scared.”

“Ok.” You tell him, before snatching up a blanket from the back of the second couch and handing it to him.

He shakes his head.

“I don’t need that.”

“You have goosebumps.” You point out, gesturing at his biceps. “I’m still working on getting the heating fixed but it’s a process…”

He fixes you with a stare, it’s meant to be a glower but you can see the exhaustion in his handsome features, how tired he is both mentally and physically. He’s stubborn, you shouldn’t like that, but you do. You set the blanket down in his lap. He huffs before rolling his eyes and shaking it out. You watch as he tucks it around his chest and upper body, drawing it up to his neck.

“I’m doing this because the heating’s out.” He tells you with a scowl.

“Not because it’s comfortable as fuck,” You summarise. “Yea I think I got it.”

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence as you busy yourself collecting the coffee cups and depositing them in the sink.

“You didn’t have to stay you know.” You tell him, glancing at him over your shoulder. “I can keep her company.”

Bishop tilts his head towards the little girl asleep on the couch, he remembers the way she clutched onto his kutte when he helped her to feet, how she refused to let go of his hand when they’d first stepped inside the community centre…

“Yea.” He said, closing his eyes as he hunkers down in the chair. “I do.”

Love Bishop? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#bishop losa x reader #bishop mayans #bishop losa #obispo losa x reader #obispo losa #mayans fx #mayans mc #mayans

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ladykailitha · 2 years ago

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The Places We Hide Part 5

So I decided to just post both of the last pieces together, so just one more post after this one. What can I say, I’m a sucker for Wayne being the only over 40 adult that gets Steve.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

The next time Steve had one of his attacks, Eddie wasn’t home. He was running some errands in town.

“Munson residence,” Wayne said.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Steve hissed.

“Where you at?”

Steve paused. “Home.”

Twenty minutes later there was a knock on Steve’s door.

“You didn’t have to come,” he murmured as he let the older Munson in.

“Boy, I think I’m about the only one who understands,” Wayne said gently before pulling Steve into a hug.

Steve went a little reluctantly, but once he felt Wayne’s strong arms wrap around his back, he let out a shuddering breath. A breath he didn’t even know he had been carrying. And then another. And another. Finally all the weight that Steve had been holding deep in his chest lifted and he could breath normally again.

Once Wayne could see that Steve was feeling better he told him to lead them to the front room.

Steve did as he was told. He sat down on one of the sofas and wrapped his arms around himself.

“Eddie told me that other than him, you’re the oldest of your little group of friends?” Wayne asked, his voice warm and comforting.

Steve huffed. “There’s a lot of us now, but yeah, me and Eds are the oldest.”

“Is that why you latched on to my nephew so fast?” Wayne teased.

Steve’s laugh was a little lighter and Wayne took that as a win. “One of them, yeah. The other reason was that he’s so easy to like.”

Wayne grinned. “Yeah, he is.” He licked his lips. “He also said that the other parents tend to treat you like another kid.”

Steve sighed heavily. “Yeah. I mean, I get it. When all this shit started I was barely sixteen, so they still see that sixteen year old.”

“Instead of the twenty year old warrior with a good head on his shoulders?”

Steve blushed. “Now I see where Eds gets his way with words.”

Wayne waggled his eyebrows and Steve finally let loose a real laugh. “I don’t have that problem, Steve. I met you as an adult. Sure, you are half my age, but I can tell you are a very capable person.”

“Except when I get like this,” Steve murmured.

Wayne grimaced. “Only I know something that your logical part of your brain forgot, but the rest of you didn’t.”

Steve looked up at him and frowned. “What’s that?”

“Next month is the anniversary of the earthquake.”

Steve’s eye went wide. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Wayne chuckled. “You’ve said that already.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve groused. “You’re right. My brain may have forgotten but the rest of me didn’t.”

“The town wants to sweep it under the rug. What happened, what they nearly did to my nephew because they were looking for someone to blame,” Wayne’s voice was hard for the first time since he got there.

Steve nodded. “All those deaths. All that destruction. And they want to pretend it was just some gas leak.”

“The unfortunate dark side humanity,” Wayne agreed. “Bury and forget. So throw a party at the park. Invite all your friends. Everyone that survived that, that you want to see celebrate just being alive. Put up banners announcing what it’s for.”

“Aaaannnddd there is Eddie’s sense of justice, right there,” Steve said with a grin.

Wayne grinned back. “You keep that up and I might just blush.”

Steve laughed. “Eddie loves you. Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if I had someone like you instead of parents that ran away from their problems.”

“You counting yourself as one of those problems?” Wayne asked with a raised eyebrow.

Steve ducked his head. “Look around you. Where are they? I can’t even see their presence in this house. It looks like one of those damned real estate magazines.”

Wayne looked around the room they were in for the first time. The bland pictures on the walls, none of the Harringtons. Not even wedding photos. The perfect furniture, the tasteful decorations. Soulless.

“Why do you still live here?” he asked after a moment.

Steve looked up. “For everyone else, I guess. A place to hold parties, D&D, use the swimming pool. To fill with a laughter and good times. With family.”

Wayne nodded. “You also realize that most of your panic attacks are when you’re here, right?”

Steve reared his head back. “I didn’t actually.” He looked around the room, too. “I guess some ghosts just can’t be exorcised.”

“You have all the money the government gave you for two world ending events,” Wayne reminded him. “You could probably buy another house in Loch Nora, one without the ghosts.”

Steve cocked his head to the side. “You know, I’d forgotten about that money.”

Wayne sighed. “You’re a good kid, Steve. But sometimes your upbringing shows up in the strangest of places.”

Steve winced. “Like forgetting I never have to work a day in my life if didn’t want to?”

Wayne huffed out a laugh. “The very like.” He got to his feet. “Come on. You’re coming with me.”

Steve frowned. “Why? Where are we going?”

“The hardware store,” Wayne replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“And why are we going to the hardware store?” Steve said as he put on his shoes.

“To get you a key to our place,” Wayne said with a grin. “Eddie says you can drive when you get like this, so if you’re home and need to get out. Come on over. Open invitation. No questions asked.”

Steve opened his mouth to protest but snapped it closed with a gulp. “Thank you.”

As they drove off in Wayne’s truck, Wayne turned to Steve, “Plus this gives us a great opportunity to talk about you and Eddie.”

Steve glanced at the door and then back at Wayne. “Are we going too fast for me to jump out now?”

Wayne cackled. “No, but I will if you open that door.”

Steve gulped. “Fair enough.”

“I’m not gonna hurt ya, or even give you the shovel talk,” he explained. “I just want to know if my boy has a chance.”

Steve’s head whipped around. “Eddie likes me like that?”

Wayne laughed. “Boy, he’s been flirting with you since day one, and you’re telling me you didn’t notice?”

He blushed. “I just thought he was overly affectionate with everyone.”

Wayne cocked his head to the side. “Fair enough. What about this thing you two have going with the panic attacks?”

That one was harder to explain away. “I guess I never thought about it. Which is awful to say in hindsight. But it just felt as natural as breathing.”

Wayne just smiled.

Part 6

#My writing #stranger things #steddie #steve needs a hug #ladykailtiha writes

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survivalist-anon · 9 months ago

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Log 13: Concerning Wolves

Sitting in Jame's office is a strange mix between having a candid conversation with an older friend and being in trouble I'm the principal's office.

"Young lady, I trust you know that you're about to embark on a rather tumultuous experience right?", his drawl was a bit more serious than usual. "This ain't like the movies where you know how things will turn out either.....things can go so far down south right into hell now that the Astartes are involved."

Remembering what had happened the night before, the circumstances of Grandpa's murder, and what I've seen, I had no excuses to ignore the dangers. "Yeah, I can see...... listen if it's about Jeff....and Fjord tossing the patrol car, he was trying to protect me. I didn't ask him to throw the car at Jeff a-", Jame's eyebrows arched up.

"He did what?", apparently he hadn't been told about that.

"Fuk. Well anyway....Jeff pulled his gun on me thinking I was someone trying to attack on him or something and Fjord reacted to protect. He was just doing his duty.", I could tell James was already going to reiterate the responsibility. A heavy sigh slide through his lips once more.

"It's ok, however Fjord's going to have to be kept on a tight leash and control himself around folks or he's gonna have to stay home. Do you understand me?", his tone felt like there was something else underneath.

"Ok...I understand sir....also....how....long you've known about all of this?", I ask only of curiosity...if he wasn't willing to tell me than that fine too.

James relaxed his seriousness and mellowed abit, taking out a photo album. "They've been here far longer than I have kid, in fact Aldercon was my great grandfather's Astartes. Way back when folks had come here for free land. He told me that Aldercon had come from the sky, landed squarely in the heart of the Wyoming wilderness. He was shellshocked, covered head to toe in blood and dirt....I remember stories of my grandfather and Aldercon, as wild as the tales of Paul Bunyan and Babe. The two had become folk legends out in the ol' West."

He opened the book to show me the first page, it was a collection of aged, photos from the late 1800's. One of the pictures was of Jame's grandfather, he really did come from an American lineage of cowboys. He was far more rugged than James however... I glanced at the tall, stockier man in a much more humble looking uniform, same black fist on his pauldron too. "Holy shit, this can't be him...for one he's smiling, and second, I thought -", I could see James giving me a look that said 'but you didn't '.

I could see a tiny difference between him from this photo and now. I can tell his hair was darker, I can definitely see that thousand yard stare of a man who's seen war, and his armor was slightly different from the Marines back at the fort.

James turned the page, this was one was a genuine surprise. "Even your great grandfather, had one.", next to him was a man fresh off the boat from Eastern Europe, my Great grandfather, dad for some reason or another was reluctant to tell me his real name...he kept calling him "Big George", after the Butcher Boy George from Hungarian folk lore. Then right next to him, probably helped bag a rather ominous looking bear, was Sten. That white stripe on his head wasn't present, he didn't change as much as Aldercon. This picture was even more older than James's granddad's photo.

"You see Lorey, they've been around for a while now....lord knows for how long though.". He began to reminisce about the past.

The implications of these Marines having been around is giving my inner history buff a massive concern. "Well....it would be extremely stupid to try to bargain the fact I thought they joking, but I'm starting to see...I take it this will be more complicated?".

He looks up at me, "Yes ... because just like with basic folks like us, there are bad folks....that big black one your grandpa wasn't lucky with....is one of them...there seems to be at least five or so kinds out there based on my sources.....one of them is out there right now reeking havoc near highly populated campsites..... Aldercon told me Sten and Toke will be in disposed of for the next week.... meanwhile have Fjord keep a sharp nose out for that one...it's the fastest I've seen of these ones....I'm not too familiar with the either...so I'm giving you a very special assignment. I need you to put your research training to go use."

He handed me a small leather bound journal.

"Keep track of them, now....let's go have some grub.", he gets up from his chair and pats my shoulder.

I sat there feeling something complex in me, I'm....going to catalog them? I open the journal and I SWEAR James has been screwing with me at least to this point....this journal aestheticly looked a DnD character sheet of it focused on identifying and profiling. I place it in my inner jacket pocket. "What the shit....", I still wasn't too sure of my role in all of this....I could understand why now.

I'm just part of a lineage of....marine handlers? I don't know.....

As I leave the room, I see the Fjord was getting a lesson in paper football from one of the volunteers.

James takes the desk bell and rings it to call the attention of everyone in the center. "Ladies, Gentlemen and folks. I would like to make an announcement, as of now. Be on high alert for any unusual activity. Anything and everything in regards to disappearances of livestock and or people, property damage of unexplained or unusual nature, and any purported sightings of creatures of unknown origin...I.e...NOT BIG FOOT.... We'll have to be reported to me, Lorey and Ronnie for the time being.

I figured Ronnie also got the information, I look at him and he was a little more on edge than I was.

Fjord, definitely knew what this whole deal was about.

With a ringing of the doorbell to the nursery, Shelly has brought in some new little guests.

"Oh guys come and see! The babies are opening their eyes!", Shelly, Ronnie and I have been researching the local wolf packs in the area and monitoring their behavior. One of the females under our care have recently gave birth a few days ago.

I check in the box as Shelly laid it on the table, 5 beautiful cubs. In their state, they're roughly two to three weeks old. As helpless as human babies. "Fjord, would you like to see them?"

He was a little curious, he walked over to see the five cubs. ".... they're so....small.... they're...just wee little things...".

I could see he was trying to piece together something....not certain what, but from my perspective he was wonder struck.

As the cubs peeped and whimpered, as all cubs do, one has just opened it's eyes. Showing a pair of smokey blue irises. Than, Fjord did something I wasn't expecting him to do. He gently placed his hand next to one of the cubs. "... interesting...."

"Oh careful please, they're fragile little ones.", Shelly had all the right to worry. These may have been wild animals, but even young wild animals need to be treated carefully.

His finger alone dwarfed the cub, he was so still and so focused. By this point I completely lost in what could he be possibly thinking. A little cub wiggled right on top of his finger, using it as a heated pillow.

Fjord, let out a soft but eerily convincing howl, low enough that it could be considered an indoor voice, but it was very real. All the cubs let out their first howls, right there, all with varying skill and ability. But every single one had howled for the first time in their lives.

The room was quite, understandably, this was extremely weird for everyone.

Anderson decided to break the moment, "ugh...yeah I'd like to report something.".

"Anderson hush.", James to the rescue. "Fjord seems to understand these pups pretty well.

Shelly was mesmerized, "Oh my gosh, they all just did that at the same time. In all my years here, I have never seen something so amazing before."

I kept looking at Fjord, if I could read minds, this would be a great time to use it.

After a few hours of everyone enjoying their food, drink and few games. I sat with Fjord in the back of the room.

I sipped the last of my ginger ale, I still couldn't get his expression out of my mind. "Fjord. That thing you did with the howl ....can...you explain that to me?"

He sat there, lips wrapped around a rib bone. "Oh, that....it just...why are yeh wolves so small? I mean, I seen some out there in the forest and yonder ....I'm use to the wolves back home. Ferocious and mighty beasts, equivalent to Astartes! Strong enough to bare us and ride into battle. The cubs from thosd wolves are just a wee bit smaller than your fully grown ones. They're born with their teeth already out. These ones.... they're.... just wee bairns...".

I still didn't really get it. "Ugh, you mean...you're confused on why they're small.....?", I ask.

He takes out the bone from his mouth, "I mean....why do they remind me of mortal children? Small, helpless.... fragile...".

The tone he took had felt familiar, it was the same tone I used when my expectations would be challenged. "Wait...are you telling me you're disappointed by our wolves?", I satirically question him.

"No lass, it's just.....they remind me of....well....me... before I became an Astartes. The wee one ....it had blue eyes....I ....use to have the same eyes.", that last comment took me a little to figure out he was actually feeling.

It was self reflection. I just gave this guy a massive 'thing' to think about.

"well, all wolf pups have blue eyes when they're born, than as they grow, they change colors... mostly to yellow, amber or green.", looked to the room watching everyone enjoying themselves.

I suddenly felt him gently pull the side of my jaw, making me face him directly.

"Interesting....you have green eyes.", he bluntly stated.

I could feel my heart pounding by this point, we just both intensely looked into each other's eyes. I didn't know what it was, but something about the way he kept looking at me, just burning into my soul, felt strange...yet I liked it...it wasn't human either....

"ugh....this feels a little bit....um.", I didn't want to be mean about the situation by calling it 'cheesy' or 'corny'.

"----Hey you guys want t-", Jonas broke the tension for the both of us. "oooooh you two were?", she gave a cheeky grin.

"Jonas! You scared me.", again I had no idea what to say but hey it was something.

Fjord snapped out of his stare and looked to Jonas, "oh hey lass, to do what?"

Jonas chuckled a little, "it's almost time to close up the station and let the night crew in. We're heading down to the bar tonight actually. Why don't you bring your kegs too, Franky doesn't mind it."

I had completely forgotten about those two kegs, if Fjord sticks to the. He could save me a little of money.

"Ah I could use a drink, I've been parched for some for a little while lass.", he looks to me as a way of asking for approval by this point.

"ok fine.", I lean in to whisper in his ear. "Please behave yourself, Aldercon's orders."

He looks at me was a smoldering look, leans into my ear, "I'll do my best.".

I have no idea why, but the way he whispered into my ear shot the best feeling in the pit of my being.

End of log 13

@kit-williams @barn-anon @egrets-not-regrets

@gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @walking-natural-disaster

@squishyowl

@starfrost740

#space marine husbandry #warhammer 40k #space marine #survival log #space marines #space marine husbandry sentience #space wolves

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braindump333 · 2 months ago

Text

To my future husband…

It’s not easy for me to say this, but I want to be honest with you about who I am and how I am in relationships. It’s something I’ve been working on understanding about myself. Ever since I can remember, I’ve always been the “needy“ one in relationships. I know that word has negative connotations, but it’s how I’ve often felt. When I care about someone, I care intensely. It’s like my whole world starts to revolve around them. I guess it all started in my childhood. My parents well I think they did love me, but their love always felt conditional. My mom was very absent. Some days she would be around and actually be a mom, while other days she’d be gone, lost in her own world. I never knew which version of her I’d get. My dad, on the other hand, was always working. He provided for us, but he was never emotionally available. When he was around, it felt like I had to compete for his attention. I remember doing everything I could to make him proud, like getting great grades in school, to make him notice me. Their relationship was precarious. My dad was very manipulative and didn’t treat my mom very good. They’d get into fights, then eventually sweep the problem under the rug, and pretend everything is OK again. As a kid, it was very confusing and scary. I never knew if our “family“ was OK or if it was all about to fall apart again. I think that’s where my anxiety in relationship stems from. I learned that love is unpredictable, that it can be here one minute and gone the next. So now, as an adult, I’m constantly on high alert in my relationships. When I start caring about someone, it’s like a switch flips in my brain. Suddenly, I’m hyper aware of everything: every text, every call, every slight change in tone or expression. I’m always looking for signs that you’re pulling away or losing interest. I know it can be overwhelming. I tend to need a lot of reassurance. If you don’t text back quickly, my mind starts racing: “are they OK? Did I say something wrong? Are they losing interest?” I know it’s not rational, but in those moments, it feels so real. I crave closeness and intimacy. When we’re together, it’s amazing. But when we’re apart, I feel this emptiness, this anxiety that gnaws at me. I want to reach out constantly, to know that you’re thinking about me as much as I’m thinking about you. And conflicts, confrontations, disagreements, that’s when my anxiety really goes into overdrive. Any sign of disagreement feels like a threat to the relationship. I might become clingy, or I might lash out. Deep down, I’m terrified of abandonment, of losing you! I know I can be intense. I feel everything so deeply. When things are good, they’re incredibly good. It’s like I’m floating on cloud nine. But when there’s any hint of trouble, real or imagined, it’s like my world is ending, like hell on earth. I’ve noticed I have a tendency to lose myself in relationships. My interest, my friends, my goals, they all take a backseat to the relationship. I know it’s not healthy, but it’s like I don’t know how to be any other way. Sometimes I test a relationship without even realizing it. I might create conflicts or dramas, just to see how you react, to reassure myself that you care. I know it’s not fair to you, but it comes from this deep, seated fear of not being enough, of being rejected and abandoned once again. I want you to understand that when I’m acting clingy or needy, it’s not because I don’t trust you. It’s because I don’t trust that good things will last because I’ve learned that good things always come to an end. My childhood taught me that love is fleeting, that people leave, and I’m terrified of experiencing that pain again. But I’m trying to work on this, finding myself, building my self-esteem, healing from my wounds, becoming more secure, and learning to self soothe instead of constantly seeking external validation from you. I’m trying to understand that your need for space doesn’t mean you’re abandoning me. I know it’s not easy being with someone like me.

You might feel suffocated at times or frustrated by my need for constant reassurance. I get it, but I want you to know that I’m aware of these issues, and I’m actively trying to change. If you choose to be with me, I need you to please be patient. There will be times when my anxiety gets the best of me. Times when I might seem clingy or overly emotional. But I also promise you unwavering loyalty, deep empathy, and a love so strong it might overwhelm us both. I need open communication. If you need space, tell me. if I’m being too much, let me know. I’ll try not to take it personally, even though that’s hard for me. And please be clear about your feelings and intentions. Ambiguity is like kryptonite to me. I can’t promise you it will be easy. But I can promise you that I’ll try every day to do better, to love you in a healthier way. Because despite all my fears and anxieties, I do want to learn how to have a secure, balanced relationship. I understand if it’s too much. If you want to walk away now, I get it, even though it will hurt like hell. But if you’re willing to try, to work through this with me, then I’d be the happiest woman alive. Because all I’ve ever wanted, is someone who sees all of me - fears, anxieties, and all the ugly - and chooses to stay and love me anyway.

#love #spilled thoughts #late night thoughts #2am thoughts #damaged goods #self improvement #work in progress #spilled ink

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fictionobsession · 1 year ago

Text

Thenii Begins

Pairing: None

Summary: What's her deal?

Word Count: 4,972

Warnings: domestic abuse, horror themes, this is emotionally painful

A/N: this is my baby. i love thenii so so much, and i feel very strongly about her character. if you don't like this or it isn't your thing, that's cool, but if i can get anyone to love thenii as much as i do, i wanted to try!

She looked across the room, squinting against the blinding light as it reflected off the dwarf’s bald head, highlighting the sheen of sweat that had begun to gather at the beginning of the meeting. She’d been at this job for twenty years, working hard, schmoozing harder. Getting a leg up for this position was supposed to be the saving grace of an otherwise terrible experience as a patriar’s secretary in Baldur’s Gate. As soon as a position opened up for an assistant to a magistrate, her application had been filled out. She knew she had the experience and skill, and, from the way this idiot stumbled over his words, an increasing confidence in her understanding of Baldurian politics compared to even those already serving in these positions. Her initial team of interviewers had made it clear she was the obvious choice. She just had to wait for the actual people in charge to make the final decision.

“We’ve decided to go with another applicant.”

Her green eyes snapped to the man’s face, looking for any sign he was joking, that it was some kind of sick prank. His eyes quickly fell to the table, his hands reaching to dab sweat from his forehead. The room spun as she felt the rug pulled out from under her. She felt nauseated. The room became stuffy, claustrophobic, as if there wasn’t enough air for her lungs. The man had picked back up with empty platitudes, but she could no longer listen. She could only focus on forcing the in and out of her breathing, her vision tunneling.

“Help.”

A voice came from right beside her. Her head whipped to the side, trying to pinpoint the source. There was no one else in the room, no speakers to project the plea. Her anxiety was too strong, making her panicked desires manifest outside her own mind. She closed her eyes for a second longer than normal to allow a bit of space to even her breathing. She forced herself to nod along to the last of the man’s obviously prepared speech, heard herself thanking him for the opportunity, and left, already writing her notice in her head and regretting the last 20 years of her life.

She didn’t know where she would go next. She hadn’t made any plans outside of this, really. It’s what her parents had wanted her to do. Work your way up the political ladder, get in good with someone important, make a good look for the family name. She looked up to see gray clouds covering the sun, casting a shadow on the world. The world felt in tune with her as she felt the first hint of rain lightly tapping her face, winding down the side of her nose, getting lost in the cracks of her lips. She should be crying, or at least upset at the loss of her future, she thought, but the weather seemed to be feeling that for her.

She watched the people of her town on the walk home, appreciating the diversity of her neighborhood, but feeling detached from it all somehow. The young kids playing in the alley regardless of the weather, her elderly drow neighbor stopping by the newly married tieflings home with baked goods. The cobbler giving a tight smile to the new Fist rushing out his door, uniform on mostly correctly. It seemed a wonderful place to live, everyone accepting each other without the presence of a singular culture or race, the thing that had drawn her to Baldur’s Gate in the first place - but none of them looked happy. She felt them all going through the motions of what they “should” be doing. The tall building that held her home stood menacing as she rushed under the awning, leaving the calming rain behind.

She could hear the sounds of men playing cards, losing money to one another in her home, her key pausing in the lock when she heard him yelling at the others about lost rounds, and knowing her rent money just went out the window. The sound of a tankard hitting the other side of the wall where she stood pulled her out of her musing. She sighed, steeling herself for the fight she knew was coming. She pushed the door open, slowly, cautiously, expecting something else to come flying toward her. She hoped to make it to the bedroom before he noticed, but luck evaded her yet again.

“You were supposed to be back an hour ago.” His accusation was heavier after the weight of the afternoon. The other men in the room went deathly silent.

“My shift was over an hour ago, but I had that meeting about the, uh, the job.” She cringed at her own tone, waiting for a hit that never landed.

He grunted. “Well hurry up and make dinner. I’m hungry.” A pause, long enough that she took a hesitant step toward the safety of the bedroom. “At least you’re getting paid more soon. Actually be useful. Worth something.”

She heard the question within the statement, heard him walk up behind her in the hallway. She stared at the small puddle on the floor where she’d been standing.

“You made a fucking mess of my floor. Better clean that up. Not like we can afford a maid, even if you got the job.”

“I didn’t - “ The whispered admission was cut off as his rough hand cupped her chin, tilting her head so that she was forced to look him in the eye. She could smell the alcohol on his breath, on his skin.

“You know how I feel when you mumble.”

She tasted the blood that welled up as she bit the inside of her cheek. She sent a quick prayer to whichever god deigned to listen to her. They never did. The hallway torch flickered behind him, giving him a beautiful, almost angelic appearance. She took that as a small sign, and had hope as she spoke again, stronger. “I didn’t get the position. They gave it to someone else. Some half-elf, power drunk on daddy’s money.”

The slap surprised her, though she should have been expecting it. She had been too candid, given too many details. She pressed her lips tight together to keep herself from crying out, to keep herself from making it worse. He turned on his heel, stumbling slightly into the wall, not seeing the tears forming in her eyes. Not caring when she sniffed back a sob. “Get out of my sight before I do something you’ll really regret.”

She shuffled backward until she felt the door handle press into her back. She spun to open the door, shutting and locking it behind her. She stripped her clothes, tossing them in the hamper, and went to wash up. The only thing on her mind was getting clean. Maybe she should have been more concerned about the rest of her life, she thought, but she just felt dirty.

She ran a bath in their small tub, the water as hot as she could get it. The tears fell then, the water putting false distance between her and the real world. She slid down as far into the tub as she could, drowning out the sounds of the men in her sitting room, giving herself permission to think, to wish for a better life.

“Help.”

The voice again sounded external, though she knew it could only be her own plea to the gods, or the universe, or anyone, anything that was listening. She realized at that moment that there was no help for her. If she was going to find a better life, she would have to do it herself.

Once there were no more tears to cry, she got out of the bath, toweled off, and started planning. She didn’t have much that was her own - her pay went to him, always - but she had enough stashed to make it a few days. She could make it to her sister’s, she thought, it was a twelve day journey, and she could surely make it that far.

She grabbed her old bag from the closet, stuffing it with a few days of clothes, the spare potions and tools she kept hidden under the loose floorboard. A coil of rope was tied to the side of the bag, just in case. She dug around her dresser for the knife her grandfather had given her on her fiftieth birthday, only five years prior. Her hand wrapped around the comforting leather of the hilt, pulling the dagger out. She meditated on its familiar weight for a moment before hooking it onto her belt, then stuffed the backpack between the bed and her nightstand. She cleaned the puddle in the hallway, started soaking his dirty clothes from the day before, and waited for him to fall asleep. After the others left, he wouldn’t remember that she hadn’t made dinner; the beer made sure of that.

“Go.”

Her inner voice sounded farther than it had, almost muffled, as if on the other side of the wall. Shortly after, his snores drifted through the tiny apartment. She rushed to the bedroom, slinging the backpack over her shoulder, grabbed her old bow and quiver from under the bed, and crept to the front door. She dared a glance into the sitting room, where she saw him passed out. His sleep had to be deep, she thought. The snores trailed off, and he had fallen asleep with a tankard still in his hand. There was dust swirling around his face, imperceptible if not for the moonlight shining through the window, landing across his chest.

She inched the door open, slipped through, and ran. She didn’t stop running until she reached the edge of town. Someone running down the street in the middle of the night should have caused some alarm, perhaps, but this was Baldur’s Gate after all. She would hardly be the only person running from something that night. She settled her bag more comfortably on her shoulders, and set off down the road. She pulled her sending stone from her pocket, leaving her sister a simple message that she was on her way. Her sister only said “Thank Sylvanus,” and told her to be careful.

Her racing thoughts and development of a plan proved to be a much needed distraction from the stress of the day. The stress of a year, the stress of many years, culminating in one trip to another town, hopefully far enough away. Just a few hours into the journey, she started to wonder if she should go back. She wondered if he was out looking for her, though she suspected he likely wouldn’t be out of his stupor until the next morning, anyway.

In the pauses between the fantasies her imagination provided, the fear kept creeping back in. The voice in her head was absent, or at least back to normal, but she couldn’t shake the concern she now had about why it had sounded so alien in those times of greatest stress. She thought it may be her body’s way of processing. She felt herself start to get comfortable, finding some catharsis in the sameness of the road, the quiet acceptance of the forest, and the thoughts of who she may become.

After two days with minimal food, she could feel hunger growing in her stomach, the effort of the journey almost too much for her underfed body, and she pulled out the last apple she had snagged from the kitchen as she fled. She knew she would have to stop again eventually for sleep. She had walked straight through the first night, and she hadn’t even considered sleep until that moment. She had no bedroll, so a night under the stars would have to do. She could imagine worse nights than that, assuming no unsavory characters decided to make an appearance and ask for money she barely had. She walked a bit farther, thinking, the sound of her sister’s voice telling her to be careful echoing through her mind. She tried whistling a tune from her childhood, she tried telling herself stories out loud, anything to make the anxiety lessen. But none of it could drown out the thoughts. She still couldn’t get the fear out of her mind. Walking down a mostly unfamiliar road, toward an uncertain future, all for the chance at a new life, some money, some friends. Initially she thought there was hope there, an escape, at least, from him. From the Gate. From the politics and the fake people and the bullshit.

She knew this trip would be long, and she hoped it would be boring. The sky turned to gray as the sun disappeared behind the mountains. Yet, her journey continued. The thoughts never ceasing, never letting her breathe. Of all her anxieties, sleeping under the canopy of trees was not one; however, in all her attempts to distract herself from that exact thought, she had let herself become unaware of her surroundings. She noticed a few homes, likely farmhouses, a ways in the distance. She hadn’t remembered there being a town, even just a small farming village, between the Gate and her sister, but she assumed that many things had changed since she’d last been this way.

“Help.”

She startled, looking around for the source of the… sound? offer? question? “I don’t need any help, I can take care of myself, thanks.” She turned around, waving off the stranger, but there was no one. There were no other people on the road as far as she could see. Had been, she considered, the only person she’d seen on the road for the last two days. A general store was the only building directly nearby, and it appeared to be permanently closed, with wood criss-crossing the entrance. Her brow furrowed, one hand reaching for the bow slung across her shoulder, before deciding on the dagger instead, on the non-zero chance she was too out of practice with the bow to survive a proper fight. She shook her head clear, putting aside the fear she was losing her mind, and went back to work looking for a safe, or at least mostly safe, place to lay her head for the night.

Resigned to sleep just off the road, in a bit of a clear patch mostly hidden by trees, she started to shrug off her backpack when her skin crawled with anticipation and the voice returned.

“Run.”

And she did. Slinging her pack back over her shoulder as she went, she ran as far as she could, losing her sense of direction completely, driven by adrenaline alone. When she finally stopped, she had the distinct sense of being followed. Tracked. Hunted. She hid under the porch of one of the farmhouses she had seen, begging the dark to hide her tracks from the pursuant. She crouched, eyes closed, waiting for his face to appear in the light outside the porch. Instead, she heard the squelch of feet in mud coming closer. She couldn’t help the sharp inhale when she heard the voice again.

“Come.”

Calmer again.

“Help.”

She backed further into the safety of the porch. The steps came closer. Stopped. She let herself look, just a peek, and saw…

Nothing.

There was no one there, no footprints in the mud to mark the passage of another living thing.

She knew it had been a hallucination. Exhaustion induced, perhaps. She was road weary, she knew she had been through a lot, but she still felt that hallucinations were a bit of an extreme side effect.

She extricated herself from her hiding place, the rough wood of the porch scraping across her back as she moved. The place where footsteps should have been, the direction from which the voice came, was empty. In fact, the whole space was barren up to the treeline, save for the puff of her breath in the cold, her own footsteps, and the rundown home that had hidden her.

The wind nipped at her cheeks as she inched forward. The quiet of the night was overwhelming, her mind distracted by a fear of what she thought she had heard. She could hear nothing but her teeth chattering, and the distant hoot of an owl, who left her alone with her fears. Her thoughts drifted back to that voice.

It had offered assistance, comfort, she thought, but it had also followed, pursued. It hadn’t seemed dangerous, but neither had its intentions seemed friendly. If it hadn’t been a hallucination, she knew she couldn’t go back to the road immediately, offering herself up to a potential threat. Not that it would have done any good. In a clearer headspace, this house was nothing like the farmhouses she had seen on the horizon, and she had no idea which direction she’d come from. She’d just get more lost trying to get back to the road. She wondered, if briefly, about the lack of people she had seen since she started her journey. She had seen others, she was certain, but not since… no. She hadn’t seen a single person since leaving Baldur’s Gate.

Blinking away the fog of adrenaline, she dusted herself off, worked to set her heartbeat to its normal rhythm, and set off to the front door of this random house. She knocked, only briefly wondering if she was going to be met by a knife to the throat. Waited. Knocked again. An ancient gnome opened the door, mostly obscured by shadow, only his wide, gray eyes visible as he took in the disheveled elf before him. “Can I help you?” He asked, his voice loud against the night. His frown seemed permanent, the wrinkles covering his face gave away no sign of happiness. She didn’t get the impression this man would help anyone with anything at all.

“Could I possibly get directions back to the road to Baldur’s Gate, sir? I got a bit turned around, and I’m not entirely sure where I am. Some direction is all I need, and then I’ll be going.” She reached to wipe invisible sweat from her forehead. When she pulled away, her hand was slick with brown-gray mud that wouldn’t come off no matter how much she wiped her hands on her pants. The old man shut the door slowly, calling “No, just keep on goin, thief. ‘M not falling for that. I may be old, but I ain’t no fool.”

She sighed, leaned against the doorframe for a moment as she once again surveyed her options, or lack thereof. There was the forest, a little further down, this house with No Fool inside, and the general store building back where she’d started. Wherever that was. There still weren’t any other houses in sight. The simple dirt path ended with No Fool’s walkway. Of all her options, the great unknown was the forest. She studied it from the driveway. She could feel the strange energy pulsing from it. She imagined the dark, twisting paths, complete with brambles and roots to trip on. The trees that were likely indistinguishable in the dark would make navigating difficult, even for someone who grew up in similar woods.

She imagined some poor kid exploring the woods on a soft summer day finding her remains if she was unable to make it out. She imagined the poor schmuck finding her frozen body somewhere in the expanse of nothingness if she tried to find her way back. She felt for the knife at her side, always accessible “in case of emergency,” as her grandfather had insisted, and rubbed a thumb over its hilt. A breath in, a breath out, and she walked toward fate.

She trudged the worn down path for quite some time, appreciating the beauty of the forest life, before the voice she had come to associate with her exhaustion returned.

“Left.”

She turned her head to the left, and found nothing but the dense trees that had been surrounding the path from the start. Nothing appeared different or special here. The trees were just as thick, the forest just as dark. The sticky sweet smell of sap tickling the back of her throat, the feel of an entire ecosystem watching her every move. She continued on, her feet starting to drag as the remainder of her adrenaline wore off.

The minutes passed like hours, the hours like days as she continued along the neverending trail, until she came to a split. The path looked identical in each direction, nothing giving away the secret to the way through. She felt drawn to the leftmost path, and remembered the hallucinations, the voice saying “Left” clear and obvious in her mind.

She took the path to the right.

A searing pain shot through her head.

The whole world faded out.

A voice. That Voice.

“Again.”

The blur of green and brown mixed with the feel of the crunchy grass beneath her, and her aching head, gave away that the night had not been a dream.She pulled herself off the ground, did a quick inventory. She still had her bow and quiver slung across her back. Her knife was still in its place on her belt. Her backpack was still on her shoulders, undisturbed. She touched her head to feel for the knot she knew must be there, the blood she thought might be, and felt nothing. No physical evidence existed that she had been harmed. She had no injuries that she could find. She looked up. The split in the road stared back.

“Left.”

The Voice startled her, though she should have perhaps expected it. She was not, she thought, about to have a conversation out loud with her subconscious in the woods. And this had to be her subconscious. It certainly didn’t feel like the voice of any deity she’d ever heard of. She imagined that arguing with yourself in the middle of a random wood was how forest witch legends were born. Though she didn’t want to give in to the Voice, she set herself on the left path regardless, hoping that the throb in her head would go away.

The trees seemed less threatening somehow, on the left path. The dirt beneath her feet was solid, safe, like it hadn’t seen rain in weeks, despite the region having consistent rain for the last four days. No roots twisted their way around her ankles. She could still feel the eyes watching her, but their energy was no longer hostile. Nonetheless, the cold wind still blew, the night became darker, and she couldn’t stop the shiver when the owl’s triumphant hoots sounded over the terrified squeaks of its dinner.

As she walked, a loose pile of dirt caught her attention. The Voice, or the feeling behind the Voice, compelled her to dig.

The soil was soft, marred only by the occasional leaf, its edges sticking into the flesh of her hand. No insects, no worms crawled around her as she dug. A bit of oddly colored rock stuck out of the ground, and she brushed away the last of the debris, revealing a small white bone underneath, approximately the size of her pinky. She rubbed her thumb along the length of bone as she stood, feeling each divet, crack, canyon; feeling where it had once connected to the larger Being, and she understood what it had felt in the last moments.

She felt the ache of the day in the creak of her joints as she continued. She slid the bone into her pocket opposite her knife. The silence here had begun to calm her, as if she had curled up beside a warm fireplace in the middle of a winter storm. The trees themselves seemed to push her forward into the shadows, her feet moving without having to tell her mind.

She carefully stepped over a fallen log, crawling with ants she tried not to disturb. She paused on the other side to watch them working together perfectly, feeding themselves with the leftovers of the larger world around them, unbothered by the dark and the quiet around them. She jumped at the rustle of leaves, looked up to find the owl watching her closely, as if committing her to memory. It flew off, seemingly satisfied that she was neither friend nor food. Its flight stayed low, and it stopped on a branch farther along the trail.

“Follow.”

She hesitated, the implications of following, perhaps literally, the voices in her head keeping her immobile. A tingling sensation began to work its way around her head, the pain from before returning, though not in full. It was enough. As her vision began to tunnel, she stepped toward the owl, her intent freshly set.

She followed the owl through the darkest parts of the forest she had seen thus far, the path winding back and forth, ruining any chance she had of knowing the direction. When her legs struggled to keep her moving forward, the owl would stop to give her a chance to catch up. If she waited too long, the tingling would return. The sky was still dark, still cloudy where the trees thinned, and the path widened. She stopped to look back at the warm embrace of the forest before stepping out into the clearing.

The house, the house where No Fool lived, stood at one edge of the clearing, which could be considered its yard, of sorts. The middle of the yard was empty. A stack of stones leaned against the house. She tried not to notice the owl, eating its dinner at last, sitting on the roof. Tried not to notice the drips of blood on the porch that may have been too large and old to belong to that particular meal.

She saw the rocking chair, moving slightly with the wind, now contained a small box. She walked up the porch steps, unsure how the house had gotten here. It was, assuredly, the same house. Small, but not too small. Made of stone, having more so the appearance of a traditional cottage than the cheaply built homes she’d seen in the Gate. She lined her hand up perfected with the muddy handprint she had left on the door frame those unknown hours ago.

“Open.”

The Voice came again. “Help.”

She let out a breath as she realized it had never been offering help to her, but had instead been asking for her help. She knew it had to be done, though she still wasn’t sure what “it” was. She rubbed her hands together and picked up the box, sitting where it had been in the chair. She pulled the top loose and tensed as the box fell open. Inside was nothing unusual. She found a matchbook, four candles, a bit of chocolate, and a note, written in crude Elvish. She unfolded the note, the messy scrawl almost illegible,

Thank you for help.

Light candles.

You know what to do.

The items, she realized, were inside a metal bowl in the box. She looked at the stack of stones again, noting the deliberate sizing of these random rocks.

“Begin.”

She nodded, more to herself than to the Voice, which she realized she no longer thought of as a piece of herself, but rather a very external Being. Starting with the largest stones, she made a circle, with one medium stone between each large one, making the clearing resemble a map compass.

She tiptoed out of the circle she had made and gathered enough of the smallest stones to make an impromptu fire pit. Satisfied, she went back to the box, bringing it to the inner circle. She removed the items one at a time. Each candle balanced on top of a large rock, lit using the matches. The box was used as a kindling, along with the note as a firestarter. Her brow furrowed, hesitant, unsure.

“Offer.”

The offerings were placed in the bowl. The candy to nourish the soul, the bone from her pocket to give respect to the dead, and…

She hesitated, waiting for guidance. She felt there should be three offerings, but she had only two. “Offer.” The Voice insisted, sounding closer now than ever. She started to stand to look for the last offering, but the sensation in her head brought her back to her knees.

“OFFER.” Forceful this time.

She trembled, whispered, begged, “Don’t make me. Please.”

Her request was met with silence. She sighed, thinking to relish the feel of warm breath leaving her body. She raised her knife, ready to obey. Knowing it could make her obey, regardless. As the knife point began to dig into her neck, the Voice returned.

“Stay.” Not a command, not an insistence. An offer. For her.

She stopped her motion and looked around. The house, empty, she somehow knew. The rocking chair in the shadow of the porch, beckoning. The owl, watching, anticipating. The trees stilled, waiting. The entire forest was waiting. The front door of the house creaked open, and she could see a fire burning in the fireplace. She could feel the potential of her life shift, in that moment.

“Stay.” The offer again. Softer, maybe.

She nodded, looking into the forest, somehow aware now that she was in its heart, had become part of it. The knife slid across her palm as she sealed the final offering - the promise. The contents of the bowl began to smoke, their essence burning away, giving life, or at least form, to something greater. The shadow being had never been, she realized, particularly malicious. Nor had it been entirely good. It was released into the world now to do its work, whatever that meant, but she smiled as she surveyed her home and decided the world was none of her concern.

#oc: thenii #d writes #please be kind #oc #oc fic #oc fiction

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myulalie · 2 years ago

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spoiler alert: I won't be writing fix it fics. because I don't need to ;)

More seriously this is full of spoilers from live-reacting to the movie, beware.

That opening in Japan was so cool? Like I was into it. Loved the suspicious silver bullet too, just saying...

Animal Shelter owner Scott is confirmed AND single by thirty I wrote the movie before the movie (just kidding, the fic I'm thinking of has a different premise but I'll rec it because self-promo is hot : The Cure with Sterek endgame too!). Also Scott got a buzzcut like his buddy Stiles!

"We call him the Alpha" just no, it doesn't sound as cool as you think it does, it's so corny.

I love how they re-enacted the interactions at the clinic for Scott and Allison, it's sweet. JR Bourne my love, I could feel your distress, but I have to say the bardo concept thing sounds weird (like, phonetically).

Lydia's reintroduction scene was glorious and how beautiful can this woman be??? She ages like fine wine.

Baby Hale in da place, such a fun scene! I mean what did Derek expect, keeping the Jeep at Hale Auto... Daddy Hale is a good look on him and suggesting they call Stiles... they're married, called it.

No seriously they keep mentioning Stiles and somehow don't even show flashback of him? Would love to be the tiny mouse in the copyright talk for this movie haha.

Malia and Parrish are a thing??? Where did that come from? I like that they lean into her non-commital communication styles and I did connect with their relationship (or lack thereof) immediately, especially when it becomes awkward with Scott later on (#thecure by the way).

I did suspect Chris has something to do with the release of the Nogitsune, that was badass.

Eli is such a Stiles rip off it's almost annoying, I like his back story with Derek's beta-shift more.

Allison is hot too wow, damn ladies. Melissa ROCKS obviously and Finstock still got it.

The partial memory recovery twist for Allison to turn her evil is the oldest trick in the book but I like the way they pulled it off. She's off hunting Derek and they're hopeless, some things never change.

Jackson is a delight and he's still with Ethan 15 years later, LGBTQ+ for the win. I am here for it.

Eli and Derek parallels with Sterek again, here goes the whump for Derek...

Sheriff Stilinski has the one and only braincell in this movie.

Peter is here baby, and I loved his entrance. I say: Melissa, Peter and Chris OT3.

"Go get her" no Melissa, no. Not the right line, not the right time.

I kind of feel bad for Scott's girlfriends (Kira, Malia) who came after Allison like what about his feelings for them??? I understand Allison was his first love and holds a special place in his heart but the others feel really swept under the rug.

Alpha roar check. It felt like a to do list at first but considering Eli's back story I kind of like it as a trigger for his own beta-shift.

For a moment I wondered between Kate and Harris summoning the Nogitsune but I'm kinda glad it wasn't Kate. Idk it feels more insidious with Harris.

Also I do like how the other Kitsunes are all brand new and not rip offs, it's more interesting, and I was interested in Liam for once haha, cuties the two of them.

Derek has better things to do than saving the world, he's too busy parenting... oh well, that was wistful thinking.

Finstock is so proud to say Greenberg and honestly so am I. I wish it was only Eli on the field though, Scott playing makes no sense and doesn't serve any purpose.

Did I just see Tyler Posey's ass when he scrambles up in the Nogitsune's illusion world??? I wonder if it was on purpose... also they messed up with his shirt it went from bloody to clean just to make the next blood loss more obvious...

I did like his attemps to reason with Allison and her big ass smile when he tells her he's still in love with her, but isn't it "burning the exact/same blend of wolfsbane powder into the wound to heal it" rather than just "burning it out"???

Peter going down on the ground to sniff blood that is right in front of him... you were a better werewolf than that before Peter... but banging Allison's head on the railing then Chris switching side makes up for it.

The aesthetics for the illusion in the colored rooms was GREAT and Lydia kinda broke my heart, but I'm glad we had this scene (also Jackson. you have a tail. with venom. use it???).

I will not adress Derek's untimely demise because why would he abandon his son, like Peter could have taken his place to hold the Nogitsune down? (also that twist with the werewolf bite was nice, I liked it, it made sense). plus Allison came back from the dead so he will too. In my fics. It's not a fix it it's canon compliant ;).

Why the fuck are they kissing when Derek just disappeared into thin air seriously. Poor Eli, really get someone else to take custody of you than Scott.

I feel for the Sheriff, seeing Eli like that must remind him of Stiles when they lost Claudia...

The little nudge at the end with Eichen House and there always be new teenage werewolves was so on the nose I loved it.

conclusion: I found it extremely fun, well paced with good aesthetics.

Made me want to watch the series (which I've been pushing off for fear of being disapppointed) actually.

So yeah unpopular opinion, but I had such a great time watching Teen Wolf The Movie I wish it was in theaters because it would have been great on the big screen!

#teen wolf movie spoilers #spoilers #teen wolf movie #teen wolf #jeff davis #teen wolf movie reaction

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crystalcow · 3 years ago

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Hi! I know you started school too recently so get to this whenever you feel like it, don’t stress urself, but can we get a scenario where schlatt ends up actually ends up fighting karlnapitys child? Ur writing is so good and u get the characters vibes so well!

𝑊𝑎𝑟 𝐶𝑟𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑠//𝐾𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑛𝑎𝑝𝑖𝑡𝑦𝑠 𝐶ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑

Masterlist // child reader

Schlatt x reader !p !child reader

Pronouns: they/them

Warnings: death, swearing

➵➵➵➵➵➵➵❂➵➵➵➵➵➵➵

“So this is where we’ve come to!” A dark maniacal laugh slipped through their mouth.

“Guess so rug rat.”

“All of this for revenge? You made me wish I wasn’t even fucking born, but I’ve heard you had the same effect on others.” The words spat venomously, leaving a sting right where it hurt.

“Fuck you” “Well you tried that on my dad, didn’t work so well now did it?”

༅:*·ﾟﾟ·⭑

I felt myself crumbling underneath schlatts rule, the country around me slowly falling apart. I looked around the devastating area, people closing and boarding off shops to protect themselves.

Papa once told me of the beautiful country I once grew up in.. Dandelion fields racing across acres of land, gentle streams passing through and underneath the prime path. Blue red and yellow banners hanging from every window.

I always wondered how such a cruel and hatred came to power here, torturing my father to death. I always see it every time he comes home, looking more and more tired attempting to hide the pain in his eyes.

I’m guessing he attempts to hide everything from me, giving his all to raise me in a perfect bubble of a world.

That didn’t work out so well..

Every time I pass on through, stepping into that grey White House, I feel a certain dread come over me. The need to make my livings worth, even so at a young age.

People sitting at desks started to yell, others crowding up as small slaps and whimpers could be heard.

A shiver ran down my spine, racing up the stairs trying to calm myself. Once I reached twords the top of the tower like structure, I quietly slipped in during the meeting. The cabinet sat around the wooden table, discussing things that I’ll never learn to understand.

Who would anyways?

I smiled as I saw Papa and uncle dream sitting near each other, a little security in a land of torture and tearany. Uncle dreams never been the kindest, he was supposedly different before the first war.

It seemed like years since then, a constant battle between nations and never a second to sigh. Stories have been told of the scars from before, a terrible or great time I may never be able to tell.

I ignored the shouting coming from those who sat at the round table, running over to schlatts office. I snuck in, pick pocketing the small lock in the drawer as my heart raced.

My hands shook as the bobby pin I held jingled, constantly checking the door. I tried to pace things up, hearing the shouting die down. I finally got the lock unhinged.

Aha!

I scurried through, making sure what I was looking for was perfectly in place. I raised a brow, heating up as it was missing. Looking for the small object, making sure to check every little corner.

“Its not there..” “It’s not fucking here!”

I cried, continuously repeating underneath my breath. I pulled my hair, the feeling as if it were about to just rip off of my head.

My head shot up as the door handle shook, eyes widening once the ram hybrid stood in the room. Some would say my heart physically stopped for a second, freezing up at the sight of him.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?!”

I held my hands up above my head, slowly backing up as I looked around for an escape plan. “Don’t make me ask again kid, tell me what your doing in my office.”

My voice shook, barley getting the sentence out. “Sir what’s the issue here?” Papa squeezed through into the room, stopping in his tracks as he saw me with my hands up high.

“Mi amor que hiciste..” He rubbed his temples, stress and fear overcoming him. I had nothing to show for myself, just the Bobby pin I used to break in.

Schlatt carefully treaded closer to me.. Grabbing the collar of my shirt, causing my breath to hitch.

“I’m giving you three seconds to answer me. What the fuck are you doing in my office, and what did you take.”

“N-nothing sir. I didn’t take a-anything.”

I squealed, whimpering in pain as I felt a harsh slap on my cheek. I felt tears brimming my eyes, hurt and the urge to run to me in papas eyes.

“I don’t fucking like liars.”

He let go, grabbing the tequila bottle from his desk, swinging a sip. The second he left the room, I collapsed into my fathers arms small sobs admitting from my body.

“I’ve got you, don’t worry.. We’ll have a better life one day”

༅:*·ﾟﾟ·⭑

I stood on top of the grassy hill, looking out as everyone fought down below. Yet the man they all wanted was in my arms, standing right in front of me as I held my crossbow up.

“Your dad has always been a worthless flatty patty, just like you.” He laughed flipping around a sharp dagger. I stood my ground, forcing myself to look into his cynical eyes.

He made me sick, everything I hated was stuck within him. All I’ve ever doubted in myself, the childhood I’ve been stripped of. It’s all this mans fault, and here I am taking it back.

“Give me the damn ring schlatt! I won’t fucking ask again, I’ll shoot you in the damn heart.”

He laughed, looking straight up in the air. I shook as the dagger flipped flawlessly in the air, right back where it started in his hand. The gold band, itched with burnt flames shining on his finger.

Today of all days.

“How dare you wear my fathers ring, after you stripped it off his hands. He found someone to love, unlike you!”

I cried, shouting out to the terrible man. I leaned the tipped arrow back, a clean shit right to his heart.

I focused on the ring, watching as it glimmered in the light. The small engraving of my dads initials, all together creating a perfect symphony.

Yet what I didn’t notice until the sharp pain flew through into my abdomen. Blood poured through, staining my clothing. I smiled, feeling my weight get the better of me.

My head soon hit the ground, the grass underneath me. A dandelion in my last line of sight, the small band carefully being placed in my palm as my body floated away.

𝐘/𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐉𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐭

➵➵➵➵➵➵➵❂➵➵➵➵➵➵➵

Too much death recently, I’ll make time for fluff laterrrr. now cry fuckers LMFAO. Listening to the hamilton soundtrack, that explains the angst tbh.

Taglist: @creatorofstars @georgenctfound @samistheidiot @smolfuckingblob @ghostlysenses @stellarinstigator @bobaducky @the-swageyama-tobiyolo @uwucorpse @chaoticotaku @k-l-a-w-s @denkisclown @arson-404

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wiypt-writes · 3 years ago

Text

Consciousness Of Guilt

Chapter 15

Summary: Blanc visits, and reveals exactly what it is he has found. You and Andy have a slight disagreement on exactly how to use the information.

Warnings: Language, adult themes, angst. Implications of situations involving a minor (nothing explicitly is described, that’s just wrong…but you’ll see what I mean when you get there…)

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar the reader and any other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

W/C: 5.7k

Consciousness Of Guilt Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 14

Andy’s eyes tracked your movements as you moved around the kitchen. You’d been up at the crack of dawn and so far you’d done two loads of laundry, cleaned the fridge and wiped down all the surfaces twice. He knew it was nervous energy causing you to do this, the prospect of seeing Blanc again was weighing heavily on your mind.

"Are you hungry? I can make you some breakfast. I'm not hungry, but if you want to eat," you spoke quickly, anxiously.

“Angel,” Andy shook his head and strode over the room towards you, “just take a moment, come on.”

His hands took yours and pulled you between his legs as he sat at one of the breakfast bar stools. "You gotta calm down, honey."

“I can’t help it, Andy, I haven’t seen him since… well, when I was in that hell house and…”

"Hey... Hey, hey, hey," Andy's heart broke for you. "Come here."

You took a long deep breath as you buried your nose in his neck. Andy's hands roamed your back, up and down, soothingly. He dropped a gentle kiss to the crown of your head.

“This is good news. He’s found what we needed.”

“I know.”

“And you don’t have to tell him anything, nothing at all if you don’t want to.”

You nodded quickly as the tip of your nose flared out, your eyes red and welling.

"Everything is going to be alright," Andy assured you, his voice soft and gentle.

“You don’t know that.”

"Don't do that," Andy's eyes grew firm. "Don't discount that I'm going to take care of this, of you."

“I’m not discounting anything. I’m just saying you can’t possibly promise this is going to be okay because we don’t know.”

"I can and I will."

“Dammed it, Andy!”

"Y/N!"

“Stop trying to sugar coat everything!” You pulled back from him and shook your head, “I’m not a kid who you can placate with sweeping, positive statements! This is bad! And you don’t know how the fuck any of this is going to turn out!”

You had no intention of sticking around for him to continue to assure you he hand things handled. He realized this as you stepped out of his grasp and decided, without another word that you were going upstairs to shower and prepare, alone, for Blanc's arrival.

You turned the shower on as hot as you could stand and stepped under the stream of water. It stung like hell, but in that moment you wanted your body to be as numb as your mind was. Surely, your racing heart and shaking hands would soon steady and follow. You knew Andy meant well, but all he’d done since Blanc had called yesterday was try and placate you, which might have worked had you not received the text message.

How they got your number, you weren't sure. You'd done all you could to keep your records private and unlisted, but it wasn't long after dinner last night that you'd received Linda and Richard's "demands".

Immediately, you tensed up, felt like spewing your lasagne dinner all over your rug and Andy's lap, as you read it. With nausea in your gut and tears in your eyes, Andy read what they wanted.

“We want everything you took from us when you killed our son, or we go to the police.”

Andy’s nostrils flared and he shook his head, “it’s an empty threat, Angel. Now their star witness is dead, they’ve got nothing. No proof.”

"How do you know that? You couldn't possibly know. Unless there's something you haven't told me."

“No, I’ve told you everything, you know this. All I’m saying is, without him to back up their claims they’re going to be laughed at. They’re trying to scare you, honey. But this is why I asked Blanc to do his digging. Once I get a hold of that evidence they bribed the doctor, I can throw that back at them and tell them to stop this bullshit or I’ll take this to-“

"Jesus, Andy, you don't know these people like I do. I spent months researching these psychos for that fucking article and now, this... Jesus Christ, I'm so fucking stupid. This has been my fault from the beginning. I brought this all on myself and you're dragged into the middle of it and you know what, I can't take it anymore!" You were on your feet in front of him. Your hands wrung through your hair and you forcefully pushed the sleeves of his hoodie up. You felt hot and crazed, angry and scared.

“Angel,” he shook his head as he stood and walked towards you, his hands gently prying yours from your hair, “you didn’t bring this on yourself, you did what you had to do to survive. Please, just trust me on this. I’m gonna make it okay, I swear.”

You closed your eyes and swallowed, "I'm going to bed, Andy. Goodnight."

Andy remained downstairs for a little while but joined you in bed, his arms gently wrapping round you as he sighed, kissing your neck softly, telling you he loved you.

And you simply lay there, pretending to be asleep.

You hadn't slept a wink, instead you got out of bed and did what you needed to keep busy. And, here you were, another spat with Andy later, and you were still disgusted and anxious, nothing being spared as the war inside you raged.

You stood under the stream of water for as long as you could justify, before turning it off and stepping out, grabbing a towel which you wrapped around yourself like a cocoon. You dressed in soft leggings and a lightweight sweater that went to your thighs, you slipped your feet into your soft slippers and decided this would do. You were not about to put on an encore performance for Blanc. That was the image that had kept you awake all night. That day replaying in your thoughts with images floating over your vision each time you tried to close your eyes.

Shivering, you pulled the sleeves of your sweater down a little further and made your way back downstairs.

You glanced at the big clock on the wall in the living room, a recent addition from the antique market you and Andy had randomly stopped at one weekend in Denver, and sighed. It was just gone noon and your guest would be arriving anytime soon.

“Feel better?” Andy asked as he looked up from his laptop at the dining table and you rolled your eyes.

“I’m not ill, Andy. Just fucking sick of all this.”

A knock at your front door sounded and your heart stopped. There was no doubt who would be on the other side.

Andy rose from his chair at the dining table, to answer the door.

The fingers on your right hand began to worry at the ones on your left as you stood, rooted to the spot as you heard Andy open the door, and that Southern drawl hit your ears as you heard Blanc greet him hello.

"Andy, good to see you again," he stated as he stepped inside.

“Mr Blanc.”

“Benny, please. I think you can dispense with the formalities seeing as you insisted I do.”

"Fair enough," Andy nodded.

"Miss Y/L/N. It is my pleasure to see you again," Blsnc softly smiled and extended his hsnd to you.

Behind Blanc, Andy caught your eye, his face utterly perplexed at the fact Blanc had literally just told him not to be so formal yet done the same himself. Despite how you were feeling, you couldn’t help the smile on your face at Andy’s expression and you shook the PI’s hand.

“Y/N, please.”

"If I may, you look like an entirely different person than when I last saw you."

"Why..." your voice gave out and you cleared your throat. "Why don't you make yourself comfortable and I'll get you some coffee."

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause any offence or upset.”

"No, it's... Thank you for your kindness."

“Milk, one sugar.” Blanc nodded at you, and it took you a moment to realise he had just told you how he took his coffee. With a nod, you headed back into the kitchen as Andy directed your guest to take a seat in the lounge.

You were quick to come back with a cup for Blanc and Andy, making their mugs the way Blanc had requested and the way you knew Andy would take his. You had nothing for yourself, you couldn't stomach it.

Blanc had sat in your chair while Andy sat on the cushion of the couch in the middle, next to his usual spot, the chaise, leaving you with a space closer to Blanc.

You sat down and immediately Andy's hand reached for yours in your lap, his thumb rubbing along the back of your hand.

“So, erm, you said you’d found something?” Andy looked at Blank who took a sip of his drink.

“That is good coffee,” he nodded appreciatively before his eyes gestured to the manilla envelope in the table, “I did indeed find something. Take a look.”

You looked at Andy, not able to pick it up for yourself out of fear and worry. He kissed the back of your hand before he let go to reach for the envelope.

Andy removed the pieces of paper, his eyes scanning down the details as his brows shot up.

“Seriously? They were this dumb?”

“Arrogant.” Blanc nodded, “but that’s that family all over.”

“What, what is it?” You asked as Andy handed you the statement.

“It’s a list of bank transactions.” He stated, “see the one highlighted?”

Your eyes scanned over the offending document until they landed on the highlighted line.

“Two million dollars?” You whispered.

“Yeah, two million to keep a lying murderer out of jail.” Blanc sniffed a little. You stiffened at his words and Andy gently squeezed your knee as Blanc continued. “Now, I haven’t traced the account but it wouldn’t be too hard to do. It’ll no doubt go back through some offshore holding on the Cayman Islands but it’ll track back if you go far enough. And I’m informed it will track back to an account in which Linda Drysdale’s assets were hidden when her company went bust.”

“Wait, you didn’t track it?” Andy frowned.

“I did not.” Blanc confirmed.

“So how do you know this is the transaction?”

“I asked.”

“And he just told you?” You looked at Blanc and he chuckled.

“He didn’t have much choice when I showed him my leverage.”

“Leverage?” Andy looked at you for a moment, then back to Blanc.

“Yes, leverage. Check the envelope again.”

Your skin crawled the second the photographs came into view.

“Oh Jesus.” Andy tossed them on the table in disgust, and your eyes followed them. The doctor in question was in a rather compromising position in his car with what looked like a teenage girl.

“She’s sixteen,” Blanc took a deep breath, confirming your thoughts, “she’s been working for him part time in the office.”

“She’s a minor.” Andy shook his head. “Jesus.”

“Once I showed him these, he was most talkative.”

“You blackmailed him?” You blinked, “using these photos?”

"Sometimes my work isn't the most admirable, but I won’t lose any sleep over using slightly less nice methods on the likes of men like the good doctor."

“Andy, this…”

“I know, just let me think for a moment.” He ran his hand over his beard.

"What is there to think about? This girl is...." you felt ill, physically sick and it wasn't dissipating.

“Y/N, may I speak freely?” Blanc leaned forward, elbows resting in his thighs as he looked at you.

You nodded and Blanc gestured to the photos on the table. “Normally I wouldn’t hesitate to report this to the police, you’re right to be disgusted, I am myself but something tells me that’s not what you want to do. Or to be more specific, that’s not what you want to do if you’re trying to stay off the authority’s radar yourself.”

You felt your blood run cold and beside you Andy stiffened, “what makes you think that’s what we’re trying to do?” His voice was calm but you could tell from his body language that Blanc had just sideswiped him with the implication he knew you had something to hide.

Blanc smiled a little. "Well, when you called me and told me that the Drysdale’s had been threatening Y/N here in her own home and demanding money, I didn’t think much of it. I mean, Linda’s business had just gone bust, it’s a perfectly believable claim.” Blanc looked at you both and beside you, Andy let out a breath as the man continued, “but I must admit, it got me wonderin’, why? Why not simply report it yourself?”

“Y/N went through enough when Ransom was killed, not to mention all the fall out afterwards.”

“Of course, yes, that’s what I told myself... at first,” Blanc agreed. “And then I remembered you questioned me about why my mind jumped to the conclusion that Ransom had something to do with Y/N’s disappearance. When I told you I suspected a level of coercion, you were most disgruntled when I informed you that I had merely left Y/N where she was.”

“That, no, I mean….” You stuttered and Blanc held his hand up, a gentle and kind expression, one that was almost sympathetic, crossed his face.

“And then I had the delight, if you will, of reading Mr Hugh Ransom Drysdale’s book, Murder He Wrote. My interest was piqued, seeing as it was the same tittle of your article, Y/N.”

Your skin went clammy and you assumed your color paled as a cold sweat washed over you.

“I was most amused to see that my visit was used as inspiration,” Blanc nodded, “nothing unusual there though, I mean that’s what most good novel authors do isn’t it. It was certainly Harlan’s style, drawing from their real life experiences to create a realistic and believable, fictional narrative.”

Next to you, you felt Andy let out an angry noise through his nose as you sat still, frozen in place as Blanc continued, his voice soft.

“Only it wasn’t a totally fictional narrative, was it?”

"No," you whispered.

“Shit, my dear girl…” Blanc shook his head, “if I’d have known the extent of what was happening…”

“It’s not your fault.” You shook your head, tears swimming in your eyes. “It’s no one’s fault but his.”

Andy’s hand moved from your knee to your back as he gently rubbed his hand up and down your spine over your sweater.

Blanc licked his lips, “I know you came under some suspicion when Drysdale was murdered, but discounted pretty quickly when the investigation progressed. But please, be honest with me, did you have anything to do with it?”

“Of course she fucking didn’t,” Andy blazed, standing tall and beginning to pace the floor in front of you. You took a deep breath and looked at him.

“Andy, what is it you always say about being in court?" You took a deep breath, "Don’t ask a question to which you don’t already know the answer?” You sniffed and wiped your face, “he already knows, don’t you?” You turned to Blanc and he popped a shoulder.

“It was the conclusion I drew as to why you didn’t want the police involved. They found out didn’t they? And they’re blackmailing you.”

"Yes."

Andy let out a soft groan as you sniffed and wiped your face. “I had no choice, he err, he gave me the first draft of his book on Valentine’s Day, thought I’d be pleased I was his muse. And all his notes…it was there in black and white, how he originally planned on killing me and…”

That was all you could manage before you broke down completely.

Andy sat and pulled you into his chest, his arms wrapped around you. Blanc sat there stunned but not surprised.

“So now what?” Andy looked at Blanc as he held you close and Blanc blew out his cheeks as he exhaled and sat back.

“Well, we absolutely can’t go to the police with this, that much is correct.”

"No shit," Andy scoffed.

At that you sat up, wiping your eyes, “you’re not gonna report me?”

“Well, strictly speaking I have no evidence just some, ‘heavy duty conjecture’ to quote the sociopath in question.” Blanc shrugged. “I don’t see anyone here recording your confession do you? And besides, if I was, it’s without your knowledge and without counsel present. I mean, that’s the angle Drysdale’s brief took anyway.”

“It was self-defence, a pre-emptive strike to preserve her own life.” Andy shot back and Blanc nodded.

“Agreed. So, the question is, what we do now? Do you know how the Drysdale’s found out?”

You were scared. That was the only emotion and feeling you could muster and you looked at Andy who spoke for you.

“They found out from the man, the person who actually stabbed him. I don’t know the exact details but it seems he went to them for money. He was arrested on an unrelated charge,” Andy licked his lips, “but he was killed whilst on remand.”

"Pity for him," Blanc quirked his head with a pop of his shoulder.

“But we don’t know what the Drysdale’s have, whether he gave them any evidence or…” Andy sighed, “this is why I wanted proof they bunged the doctor. So I could use that to make them keep their mouths shut.”

"Other than the junkie's account, what else could they have on you, Y/N?"

"Nothing. Not that I am aware of. I..."

Andy squeezed your hand and stopped you, mid-sentence. You had a feeling he didn't want you to divulge too much.

“Okay.” Blanc nodded, “I supposed it doesn’t matter either way, the outcome is the same. You’ve got evidence that would send them to prison, they have evidence that would send you to prison,”

“Or the chair.”

“Massachusetts doesn’t have a death penalty.” Blanc shook his head.

"You have an absolutely solid self-defence argument and I'd make sure it was defended to the max." Andy cut in and Blanc nodded.

“Yes, but, I think there’s a way we can work this so it doesn’t come to that.” Blanc looked at Andy, then you. “As I said before, we have a stalemate, which I believe was your intention, Mr Barber.”

"It was my assumed plan of action," Andy nodded.

“And now, you also have those photos of the doctor.” Blanc gestured to the items on the table, “if you can present all this to the Drysdales, show them you have a way to keep the doctor co-operatin’… then, well, I’d say that’s enough to make them think twice about continuing their quest for money, don’t you?”

“I don’t want the money, they can fucking have it.”

“Y/N, we discussed this.” Andy groaned, “we pay them and then what? They come back for more? No, we need a way to stop them once and for all and I think we have it.”

"By using this poor girl? That was low for both of you."

“I didn’t know it was gonna throw this up!” Andy looked at you, “but if we go to the police with this, they’re gonna start asking questions, honey!”

"I... I don't even know what to say, just do what you must, I don't want to know anymore." You stood tearfully, clearly frustrated. "Mr. Blanc, thank you for what you've done, for coming all this way. I'm sorry, I just... I need to go." You looked to Andy, words unclear on the tip of your tongue. You took a long blink and started for the stairs.

“Y/N.” He followed you to the hall, “honey, just hang on a second!”

You didn't want to or couldn't hear anymore, it was weighing heavily on you and that's what frightened you. Evidence was staggering on both sides, it worried you what more the Drysdales could have on you, and you found yourself wondering if you slipped up even more to further incriminate yourself. If you were honest with yourself, maybe a full-fledged confession to the district attorney himself was starting to sound better than all this secrecy.

“Y/N! Angel, please.”

The click of your bedroom door was the only response you gave. With a heavy sigh, Andy turned back and saw Blanc was now standing, shrugging his jacket back on.

“I’m sorry, she’s…”

“Please, don’t apologise. There’s no need.” Blanc shook his head, “I should be going anyway.”

Andy walked him to the door and Blanc stopped and turned back to him.

“Mr Barber, if I may be so bold as to offer you one final piece of advice," Andy nodded and Blanc continued. "If you haven’t already, I’d get your friend in the DAs office to send you the file on Drysdale’s murder. That way you can be sure not only on the facts as the police know them, but also if there is any possible further evidence his parents could have.”

"It's my first call," Andy sighed.

“Okay. Let me know what you find and if you’d like me to be there when you confront the Drysdale, then believe me when I say nothin’ would give me greater pleasure. I owe Y/N, I should have done more but that aside, this ones kinda personal for me too.”

"I'll call you, you can be assured of that. Nothing, I don't doubt, would make them shit their pants more than you showing up on their door."

Blanc chuckled, “don’t underestimate exactly how hard faced Linda Thrombey or Drysdale, whatever, is. Her husband, yeah he’ll crumble faster than a cookie you sit on but she, she’s the one to crack. Have a good evening, Andy.”

"We'll talk soon, Benny," Andy nodded and Blanc took the final steps out the door and down the walkway to his rental.

Once he was out of sight, Andy’s eyes drifted up the road to the familiar dark sedan. His lip curled a little, and he shut the door behind him making sure to lock it. Then with a heavy, heavy sigh, he made his way up to the second floor. He found you emerging from the bathroom, your eyes red from tears. He paused, and you looked at him, before you shook your head.

“Angel…”

“I don’t… Andy, please.” You stuttered, “I don’t wanna talk about it. It anymore.”

"Honey, we have to talk about this."

“No, no we dont. You've made this entire plan on your own and you chose to clue me in on what you thought was important. Think about it, Andy."

“That’s bullshit,” Andy shook his head, “I had no idea that Blanc was gonna find out Doctor Ross is a dirty pervert! All I wanted was proof of those transactions, and you knew that!”

"Did you have any idea, any inkling at all he was into little girls, Andrew?

“What? Of course I fucking didn’t! What do you take me for?”

“What do you take me for, huh?” You were yelling now, your anger and frustration all simmering beneath your skin, and you, like a pressure cooker, were ready to blow. "I'm fucking scared, Andy! I'm this fucking close to going to your friend in the DAs office myself with my entire written confession."

“Angel, will you stahp!” His voice was loud and earnest, “you don’t need to do that, we got what we need!”

"Stop telling me what I can and could, should and shouldn't do. You're no better than Ransom controlling my life. Do you want me to stop calling and seeing my parents? My friends too? Might as well."

At your words you saw Andy blink, before his brow furrowed and his face contorted in a mixture of anger and disgust. "You know what, you're scared and I'm scared, I'm fucking terrified." Andy yelled at you for the first time ever. "But I am nothing like that fucking pathetic, abusive piece of shit."

"You want to control the narrative yourself now, you want to control what happens to me, but face the facts here, Andy," you yelled and cried, "you can't. And you have no clue what the fuck they have on me outside some dead junkie who we both know your father had killed to try and save my ass.”

Andy ran his hand over his beard, looking away from you, his eyes flickering to the window as you continued.

"This is deeper than you can control, Andy. This is deeper than.... This is... I am not Jacob."

Andy’s head snapped back to face you, a look of stunned anger across his features.

“What did you just say?”

"You heard me."

“Fuck you.” His voice was cold, blue eyes blazing with anger as he stood, his shoulders tense. With one final look at you he turned and left, slamming the door to your bedroom behind him.

*****

Andy stormed down the stairs and made his way straight to the scotch. Grabbing the bottle, he yanked open the cabinet and grabbed a glass, pouring himself a healthy measure which he necked in one. It burned all the way down. But what stung more were his eyes and his heart.

He knew you had just been lashing out, but that didn’t make what you had said any easier to stomach, or any less hurtful. There was absolutely no way Jacob's situation compared to your own. That was a fact he was well aware of. And he also knew he was nothing like that abusive piece of shit, Drysdale.

He poured himself another glass and necked it for a second time. God damn it, what now?

He was lost, utterly lost. The relief and anticipation he’d felt yesterday when Blanc had called to say he had found what they needed was well and truly gone. Where the two of you stood in that moment remained to be seen. Your words cut but his no doubt gutted you. He'd never spoken to you like that, ever. But so help him, you were not confessing.

He’d already lost so much, losing you was not an option.

Glass in one hand and bottle neck in the other, he flopped down on the couch and hung his head as his forearms rested on his thighs. The glass hung in the tips of his fingers while the bottle dangled between his legs. He couldn't stop the burning in his eyes as the tears and flash backs flowed. This all felt horribly familiar.

Things were quick to feel like they were all closing in on him. The room, the air, his chest, it was all getting small and tight. His beard caught the salty tears as he silently sobbed. Where did he go wrong? Where did he fail you? Where did he fail his son, his wife? Why was it all happening all over again? Was he that shitty of a man that this was his punishment for the rest of his life?

Sitting up slightly, he poured himself another scotch before he placed the bottle on the table and slumped back on the couch, sniffing loudly as he wiped at his nose. At first his eyes stared forward, zoning out on the blank television on the wall above the fireplace. Then they flicked to the envelope on the coffee table in front of him before they longingly floated to look towards the stairs and up at the second floor.

How long he was staring for he had no idea, but when he finally zoned back in he realised it was starting to go dark outside. He took another sip of scotch, impatiently waiting for the moment when it would start to kick in and numb him.

It wasn't until the bottle was near drained that it did.

As his mind hazed slightly, he swung his legs up onto the cushion beside him and lay down. His heavy eyes turned and glanced up at the array of photos that adorned the far wall of the living room, the “wall of shame” as you dubbed it. There was a dozen or so snaps, all various sizes but in matching black wooden frames. The one in the middle of the display was the professional one taken of you both at the Christmas party, but his personal favourite was one you’d taken a few weeks after he kissed you for the first time.

It was a selfie that you’d snapped on one of your hikes. Both your faces were fresh and exuberant from the brisk, morning air as Andy’s chin rested on your shoulder, his cheek pressed to yours. Two pairs of happy eyes stared back at him along with two broad smiles as the breaking dawn lit up the sky behind you in hues of pinks and oranges.

His chest shook as he inhaled deeply. Tears clouded his vision again and with a groan to himself he lay back against the cushion. He would call Logiudice tomorrow, that was the only certainty he had.

*****

It was later when you woke, fully clothed in your bed, your room silent and dark. The darkness worried you as you came to. The house was too quiet and you were terrified Andy left when you cried yourself to sleep.

You were just as guilty, what you said was horrible and completely out of character and pure anger. Accusing him of being like Ransom had been bad enough, but to then drag Jacob into the argument, well, that had been cruel. You were disgusted at yourself. But how were you to fix it? The day was chalk full of what nows and zero solutions.

First thing was first, check if he was in the house. Your initial fear had settled a bit, because you knew that no matter how bad things were, to simply up and go wasn’t Andy’s style. Exiting your room and standing on the landing you listened a moment. You couldn’t hear a thing. You peeked into the spare room to find the bed empty, neatly made up as usual.

You climbed to the third floor and checked the office, nothing. Which meant he was either downstairs, in the garden or at a bar in town, getting blitzed. You knew you couldn't call, you didn't trust your voice, so you would check the first floor and garden before attempting to phone him.

You made your way down the stairs and when you entered the lounge you let out a sigh of relief as you saw Andy, flat out asleep under one of the fleece throws.

Your heart pounced in your chest. You were heartbroken. Forgetting your troubles, what mattered was Andy. You would worry about the news Blanc came with tomorrow. You crossed towards him and knelt up on the floor by his head. Reaching down, you gently picked up the empty short tumbler where it had fallen onto the rug, and set it on the table by the now almost empty bottle of Laphraig.

You noticed even by the dim light of the stairs his puffy and red, swollen eyelids. Your lips pressed to his temple as you swallowed back a sob.

"I'm so sorry, Andy." You whispered into his hair as your arm curled around his head and your nails scratched at his beard softly.

His face twitched a little at your touch and he moved slightly, turning his face into your palm, seeking you out even in his sleep.

A kiss to his temple again sent a tear down your cheek and onto his, the droplet rolling into his beard. You then pressed a soft kiss to his lips, and at that point he made a little noise and scrunched up his nose as his eye lids flickered. Slowly, they blinked open and he took a moment, clearly finding his focus.

Sad cerulean, cloudy with booze fog and red from his own tears, Andy's gaze found yours.

“Angel?” His voice was raspy from sleep as he looked at you, “you okay?”

And fuck, that broke your heart even more. After every nasty and shitty thing you had said, his first though was how you were.

"I'm sorry." You broke, sobs again wracking your body, "I'm so sorry."

“Oh, honey,” his voice cracked as you shook your head.

"I... I... I," you were hyperventilating now.

“Hey, hey…” Andy shifted a little so you could wrap your arms round his neck, his own gently on your back, “it’s okay, it’s okay. I’m sorry too.”

"What I said, I...."

“Don’t worry about it, please. We were both mad.” He soothed.

"Unforgivable...." you sobbed of yourself.

“Yeah, well that’s my decision to make,” he pulled back a little, his large hand brushing your hair off your face. “I didn’t mean to push you so far, I just… I’m trying to keep you safe. I couldn’t bear if if I lost you too. You’re my world, Y/N.”

Your face nestled perfectly in the size of his hands. His thumbs caught each tear that leaked from your eyes. "Please..." your body shook as you tried to breathe, "forgive", you tried again, "me."

“Fahk, honey come here…” Andy shuffled back further against the couch and held up the throw so you could slide next to him, snuggled into his chest as he lay on his side facing you.

You could smell the scotch on his breath but it didn't matter. What mattered was the forgiveness he was giving you. The side of your face sat against his chest as he wrapped his body calmingly around you like a weighted blanket. His denim clad legs tangled with yours, one hand gently cupped the back of your head as he kissed your temple.

“I love you.” He whispered, “so fahkin much, baby.”

"I love you too, Andy, "you said softly, your eyes welling still.

The pair of you lay in silence now, both your apologies had been spoken and accepted. It wasn’t long before you felt your eyes growing heavy, exhausted from the emotions of the afternoon.

“Andy?” You whispered, receiving a tired hum in response, “we should go to bed.”

“Hmmm,” he mumbled again, simply wrapping the throw around you both tighter.

So instead, you stayed right where you were.

**** Chapter 16

#consciousness of guilt #andy barber #andy barber x reader #andy barber x you #andy barber fanfiction #defending jacob #defending jacob fanfiction #andy barber fanfic #chris evans #chris evans characters

206 notes · View notes

inkykeiji · 4 years ago

Text

i can take you there but baby you won’t make it back

character: dabi | todoroki touya

notes: stepcest (kind of—ur parents aren’t married yet) with dabi-as-touya x a very naïve and inexperienced reader, normal!AU (no quirks, dabi also has tattoos over his scarred + fully healed skin), university!reader, implied yakuza!dabi, excessive use of the words niichan and good, praise kink, fingering, face fucking, title credit = save that shit by lil peep lmao uhhhh yeah i hc dabi as a very intelligent and perceptive individual soooo i feel like he’d be a master at reading a person & their emotions and then adapting his manipulation techniques

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), noncon/dubcon, slight somnophilia, emotional manipulation, toxic relationship, size difference, slight degradation, mentions of drug use

words: 7.1k

part 2.1 | part 2.2

synopsis:

“You want to be good for me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” you respond instantly. Later, when you lay awake in your bed, you’ll feel ashamed by your actions, by how readily captivated you were with him, by how easily he was able to manipulate you with those sapphire eyes and that rough voice—

But in that moment, you’ll do anything to pull that little smile from him, anything to hear him tell you you’re good. You just want to be good.

Something dark and primal flashes in those gorgeous eyes as they gaze down at you, a small grin spreading across his face. “Of course,” he repeats softly.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Your dad’s been dating Rei for a while—nearly a year, now—when things begin to get serious, and he proposes to her.

She accepts, so it’s not exactly a surprise when she suggests you guys move in with her—she’s got more than enough space, she tells you, it’s just her and her son in that big old house—and your dad seems pretty thrilled about it. This was the next step before marriage, after all.

You like Rei well enough, she’s always been nothing but sweet to you, and anyway, your father’s relationship really isn’t any of your business or concern.

It isn’t that you don’t want to move in with her—her house is in a better part of the neighborhood, a standard detached upper-middle class home, and just a short walk from a bus stop that’ll take you directly to university, which you start in a week.

It’s just…You’re a little apprehensive.

You know she has kids. She mentions them in passing every once in a while, but you can’t for the life of you remember their names, or their ages, or how many of them there are. You know they don’t all live with her, that her relationship with her ex-husband is complicated and rocky at best.

But you’re still surprised to hear that only one of them, her eldest, lives with her. She tells you he’s five years older than you are, that he’s a clever, smart boy, going off on a tangent about how disappointed she is that he didn’t go to university, because ‘he would’ve done so well—he could’ve shone so brightly.’ Something about the way she says that, the way her voice sounds almost sad, makes anxiety turn to lead in your stomach. She talks about him as if he’s already a lost cause, but he’s only in his mid-twenties, isn’t he?

You understand the moment you see him. The man standing in front of you as you shift from foot to foot unsurely in the foyer of this unfamiliar house is about as far from what you anticipated as he could possibly be.

He’s tall, skin pale as moonlight, with jet black hair and the most stunning blue eyes you’ve ever seen. But that isn’t what captivates you. It isn’t the lip ring curled around his bottom lip snuggly, and it isn’t the tongue piercing you’re about to find out he’s hiding in his mouth, either.

Every inch of the exposed skin of his arms is covered in intricate, seamlessly flowing tattoos—or, for a moment, you thought it was tattoos, plural. Upon closer inspection, you realize that each arm is actually covered in one giant tattoo, giving a new definition to the term ‘sleeve’. It’s all black ink, not a splash of colour anywhere, depicting an extremely detailed and anatomically correct mechanical arm, complete with what would’ve been joints, ligaments and bones in the form of wires and steel.

The tattoos extend onto the tops of his hands, made to look as if surgical staples are peeling his skin back to reveal the robot beneath. This same tattoo continues up his neck, along his jaw and onto his cheeks, all the way to his bottom lip, spreading across his entire face and disappearing into his hairline and onto his ears. Finally, there’s a small portion of the tattoo underneath his eyes, the surgical staples lining the edges of the face tattoos, too.

It startles you—you’re not necessarily scared, you just…weren’t expecting that. But there’s no denying the rush of breath that involuntarily escapes your lips as your eyes search his face, raking over his body in a brazen way that should make you feel shameful, travelling back up to find him smirking smugly at you, raising an eyebrow as your eyes meet again.

The look in his eyes tells you he knows, knows what you’re thinking about, knows how undeniably attracted you are to him, and scalding heat floods your cheeks.

He chuckles a little, which does nothing but add insult to injury, and sharp anger slices through your chest at the way that you stomach absolutely drops at his gravelly voice. You can’t believe yourself, can’t believe your body is reacting and responding so readily to this man—this stranger.

He introduces himself as Touya, in that rough, deep voice that forces a jolt of electricity to run through your veins. You idly wonder what your name would sound like on his tongue, how it might sound if his voice dropped to a growl, find yourself stuck thinking about this for the rest of the night.

✰ ✰ ✰

To your disappointment, and as much as you are unabashedly interested in him, you don’t interact much with Touya for your first few weeks in the house—in fact, you barely see him at all.

This only piques your curiosity about him more, finding that you’re unable to tear your eyes from him on the rare occasion that you are in a room together. He catches you staring every single time, and he has the audacity to chuckle to himself and shake his head when his gaze meets yours, your eyes quickly darting away and cheeks burning at his laugh.

You begin gathering little tidbits of information about him, purely sourced from interactions you witness in the house, desperately praying for something that’ll give you an opportunity to start a conversation with him.

Your efforts prove fruitless when, almost a month and a half since you moved in, you’ve still only spoken a handful of words to him. You do learn a bit about him through observing, though.

You discover that he’s a smoker, which really doesn’t come as a shock at all. Marlboro’s are his favourite, and he’s always got a pack in his back pocket or rolled up in the short sleeve of his t-shirt. He must have them imported—Marlboro’s are incredibly rare to find all the way in Japan.

Touya must have a lot of things imported.

You find out that every other Thursday, Touya discreetly stuffs an absurdly large wad of cash—all composed of ten-thousand-yen bills—into his mom’s hands, forcing her fingers to curl around it. She fights him on it, every time, but he’s firm and adamant that she take it. It always ends with Rei giving him a small, watery smile, Touya pressing a kiss against the side of her head and murmuring that he loves her.

After you witness this interaction for the first time, you begin to notice that, while the house looks relatively normal on the outside, it is stuffed full of luxury on the inside. Flat-screen TVs each complete with full entertainment systems, state of the art appliances that are somehow up to date with all of the latest trends (including a smart fridge—absolutely ridiculous), custom made furniture, ornate rugs, a housekeeper that drops by every Sunday…

You have no idea what he does for work, but you think you’ve got at least some sort of idea when you catch him one night, just past 2AM, exiting his room and using a thumb to brush excess white powder off his nose. His eyes catch yours, pupils blown and shining in the low light, and he smiles darkly at you, winking once as he walks away.

You don’t ask—no one ever does.

You don’t ask about the crimson splattered on the toe of his boot, or why he sometimes smells metallic, like copper, the strong scent wafting after him and invading the halls as he stalks leisurely toward the bathroom. You don’t ask why he leaves the house at odd hours in the night, and you definitely don’t ask about the soft clinking and clicking you hear through the thin walls every so often while he cleans his gun at 3AM.

You’re not sure if it’s really any of your business, anyway. So you stay quiet, and continue to wait.

The opportunity finally comes one Wednesday in October, two weeks before Halloween, when you’re in the kitchen after school busy fixing yourself an afternoon snack. Touya comes home uncharacteristically early—you rarely see him before 10PM, so his entrance scares you, and you jump a little.

“Sorry,” he murmurs as he passes by behind you, just an inch too close, just enough so you can feel his body heat radiating off of him.

“It’s fine,” you say quietly, shaking your head a little and trying in vain to stop your hands from trembling as you spread peanut butter across a piece of bread.

You can feel his eyes on you, and it makes you nervous, makes your skin crawl in a way you’ve never felt before. He laughs a little at your struggling, leaning against the counter next to you and crossing his arms over his chest.

“You don’t have to be so nervous around me, y’know,” he says with a smirk, eyes glittering at the way your lips part in surprise, your breath stuttering a little. “I’m your niichan after all, aren’t I?”

You hadn’t even considered using the honorific until he himself uses it.

Your hands freeze, hovering over your plate, and you look over at him slowly. “You…Want me to call you that?”

“You can, if you’d like,” he says smoothly, nonchalantly, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. It makes no difference to him, he tells you, but when he finally looks back at you, you think you can see it in his eyes—a sharp, small glimmer of…of something. Something that makes your stomach twist in a way you can’t decide if you like or not.

But this is it, you think, this is your opening to finally begin talking to him.

So you do. And the smirk he gives you the first time you address him by the honorific, voice quivering slightly as you ask him where Rei normally keeps the blender, is nothing short of predatory.

“It’s on the top shelf. It’s too high for you, though,” he says, voice so sickly sweet it almost sounds mocking. “Let niichan get it for you,”

It isn’t, but you let him get it for you anyway.

And he knows—knows he’s got you the moment you gasp at the honorific leaving his lips, trying to hide it behind your hand, nodding quickly and squeaking out a thank you.

It starts after that. He begins playing with you; a sick, perverse game of cat and mouse, hunter and hunted, and you play your part perfectly.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it, if you said it didn’t send wicked sparks of excitement shooting up your spine and an intense fluttering in your stomach.

And it starts slow. It starts with gentle pet names—honey, sweetheart, princess—and fingertips trailing down your arm as he passes you. It starts with a large hand placed on the small of your back, guiding you—out of the house and into his car, out of the kitchen and into the living room, out of the hallway and into his bedroom—and with little pecks on your lips stolen when no one’s watching, quick kisses that leave you feeling exhilarated despite their chastity.

Suddenly, he’s home a hell of a lot more. He’s sitting too close to you on the couch while you curl up with a textbook, his thigh pressed against you and flesh burning hot through his black jeans. He’s joining the family dinner a few times a week, idly hooking and unhooking his ankle with yours beneath the table while smirking at you from across it.

Suddenly, he’s asking you if you need a ride to school, or if you need someone to pick you up. You don’t, you tell him, the bus is just fine, but he insists. It’s what niichans do, he says. He wants to take care of you, he says.

Who are you to deny him that, really?

✰ ✰ ✰

The first time you experience Touya angry is about a month after the inciting incident, when he catches you walking home with a few of your university friends.

He had texted you earlier that day, telling you that he—very regretfully, he said—would be unable to pick you up from school this afternoon because ‘something had come up’.

You didn’t question what it was—you knew he’d lie even if you did. So you accepted it obediently, reassured him that it was fine, that you’d find another way home.

You’re pretty sure if you had told him that you didn’t have any extra change on you for the bus suddenly whatever important thing that had ‘come up’ which so desperately needed his attention wouldn’t be so urgent anymore. But you didn’t want to be a bother, or inconvenience him, so you say nothing.

Two friends decide they’ll accompany you on your walk home, so you aren’t lonely, they claim. Normally, the walk from campus to your house is about thirty minutes, but that day it takes you nearly an hour, wasting time goofing around and walking slowly as you talk idly.

Touya’s already pissed that it’s taken you so long to arrive home, that you’ve ignored all of his extremely considerate texts asking if you’re alright, but when he sees you squished between two boys, giggling as the three of you stumble up your driveway—he’s fucking fuming.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he asks, voice calm and monotonous, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Your head snaps up—you swear he wasn’t there just a second ago—blood running cold.

His stance is relaxed, arms crossed loosely over his chest, lazily raising an eyebrow as your wide eyes meet his. Technically, the only indication that he’s furious is the blazing blue fire in his eyes, but your friends can read the tension in the air surrounding him, shuffling a little closer to you. This minuscule action does not go unnoticed by Touya, sharp jaw clenching once.

“You had niichan worried,”

You’re frozen a few feet away from the porch, unable to find your voice, to move your legs, to breathe at all.

“I didn’t know you had an older brother,”

Your eyes do not leave Touya’s as you speak, the words hoarse. “Oh, we’re—”

“Yeah,” Touya bites, irritation finally bleeding into his voice. “She does,” his eyes float back to yours. “Come here, princess,”

Your body snaps into action, moving automatically before you can even comprehend it, allowing Touya to tuck you into his side the moment you reach him.

Your hands are shaking, but you have no control over them as your fingers curl in his white t-shirt, clinging to him. To your surprise, the arm around your shoulders hugs you closer in response, thumb caressing you.

“Thanks for making sure she got home safely,” he tosses over his shoulder, managing to make the simple sentence sound like an insult, tone bordering on patronizing, while he turns on his heel, marching you both inside.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you’re rushing to say the moment the front door shuts behind you two, Touya’s arm still wrapped firmly around you.

He looks down at you coldly. “Don’t you dare pull shit like that again,” he tells you, eerily calm voice forcing spikes of icy dread up your spine. He pauses for a moment, letting his words sink in as his eyes bore into yours. “You had me worried sick,” he breathes out then, squeezing you again. You’re surprised in the sudden change of tone, feeling your chest swell at the thought of him fretting over you, a small smile gracing your lips.

“I…I did?”

Touya’s eyebrows furrow, as if he’s offended at your questioning, mood morphing in the span of a second. “Of course you fucking did,” he spits like you’re stupid, arm dropping. “Do you ever check your phone?”

“Wh-What?”

Touya rolls his eyes. “Check your phone,” he calls out airily as he begins walking into the kitchen, shaking his head a little, disappointment rolling off him in waves.

Hastily fishing your phone out of your bag, you’re astonished to see eight texts from him and three missed calls. You scroll through the texts quickly, each one making you feel more nauseous than the next. ‘Is everything okay? You should’ve been home by now’; ‘Please answer me, princess, you’re making your niichan nervous’; ‘Where are you? Answer my fucking calls already’. Guilt turns sour in your mouth and you hurry after him.

“I-I really am s-so sorry,” you force the words out, unsure as to why there are suddenly tears stinging your eyes. He isn’t even doing anything—his back is facing you as he nonchalantly begins brewing a pot of coffee.

But the thought of him being upset with you, of losing his approval, sends a sharp pain searing through your chest.

“Are you?” he asks, and although his voice holds no malice in it, it causes your whole body to stutter with a harsh breath.

“Yes,” you whimper out, latching onto his arm and tugging in an attempt to draw his eyes to yours, to see how regretful you are, the remorse written across your face. “I should’ve…That was so careless and inconsiderate of me,”

“It was,” he agrees simply, voice still light, as if he’s discussing something as mundane as the weather. “But you’ll never do it again, right?”

“Right,” you agree readily, breathing out the word before you even realize what you’re agreeing to.

“Tell niichan you’ll never worry him like that again,” he finally looks over at you.

“I-I’ll never worry you like that again, niichan, I pr-promise,”

His eyes hold yours for what feels like eons, before he finally twists his arm out of your grasp, instead wrapping it around you and tugging you against his body. You stay staring up at him, eyes wide and obedient, breath bated as you wait for your next order, so pliant and ready to serve him.

“Good,” he whispers, eyes finally softening, and you feel like you can breathe properly again. His free hand cups your face, thumb running along your lips, then your chin, then your jaw. “You want to be good for me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” you respond instantly. Later, you’ll lay awake in your bed, feeling ashamed by your actions, by how readily captivated you were with him, by how easily he was able to manipulate you with those sapphire eyes and that rough voice—

But in that moment, you’ll do anything to pull that little smile from him, anything to hear him tell you you’re good. You just want to be good.

Something dark and primal flashes in those gorgeous eyes as they gaze down at you, a small grin spreading across his face. “Of course,” he repeats softly.

✰ ✰ ✰

He begins to trust you more. You meet his friends, each one terrifying in their own right. Jin is alright, although his brain is fried from drugs, and he talks to and contradicts himself a lot, earning the nickname Twice from Tomura.

Tomura horrifies you to your very core—a tall, lanky man with sunken red eyes and sickly pale skin who looks like he’s one bad day away from death—and Touya tells you very sternly to stay away from him.

A university student not unlike yourself, Keigo is your favourite. Keigo is the most normal, with his wild blonde hair and enticing gold eyes that always look like they’re playfully holding the secrets of the universe just out of your grasp.

Keigo’s brain is always going a hundred miles a minute, although you’d never guess it with his trademark lazy drawl, speaking as if he hasn’t got a care in the world. But he can always keep a conversation going, knows exactly what to say to avoid awkward silences or lulls in the discussion, and you appreciate that. You think he’s so cool—he has so much knowledge about the oddest things, everything and anything, ‘a walking encyclopedia’, Tomura calls it, and it fascinates you to no end.

It’s the speed, Touya tells you one night while you’re laying on the couch, your body on top of his, the pads of his fingers dragging down your back in rhythmic strokes. Speed is Keigo’s drug of choice, you find out. Speed is the reason why Keigo knows as much as he does.

“Sometimes he doesn’t sleep for days,” Touya says. “That’s how he has all the time to memorize everything he knows—though that big overactive brain of his plays a part in it, too,”

The thought inexplicably makes your heart sink in your chest, and you don’t say anything else. If Touya notices your shift in mood, he doesn’t mention it. You idly wonder what Touya’s drug of choice is, but you’re too scared of the answer to ask.

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s only a few nights later when you wake with a violent jolt, breathing laboured as you absentmindedly press your palm to your chest, trying in vain to calm your racing heart.

A nightmare.

You sit in silence for a moment, listening to the sound of your own harsh breaths echoing off the walls and debating what to do next. A minute later, you swing your legs over the side of the bed, wincing when your bare feet touch the cold hardwood, and pad down the hallway.

You try to trick yourself into believing that you aren’t using this purely as an excuse to spend the night with him. It really was so scary, you reason with yourself, it really has made you all shaken up…

Who are you kidding? You didn’t even attempt to go back to sleep.

You’ve been in his room plenty of times now—sitting daintily on his bed as he introduces you to new music, new movies, new books. Stuff that reminds him of you, he says, stuff that he thought you might be interested in. You’re grateful for it; there are so many things you’ve learned in the short time you’ve known him.

That isn’t all, though. There’s no denying the warmth that spreads through your body, that tiny excited flutter in your chest, when he calls your name and interlaces your fingers, leading you toward his room and telling you he’s got something to show you.

Yes, you’ve been in his room plenty of times now. But this is the first time you spend the night in his bed.

He’s still up, soft golden light leaking from under his closed bedroom door. Your hand quivers a little as you lift it to rap your knuckles against the wood. He appears in the doorway a moment later, leaning against the frame in a black t-shirt that looks like it’s a size or two too small for him, riding up to reveal a teasing sliver of milky skin, tips of his hipbones jutting out from the waistband of his plaid pajama pants.

“Princess? What is it?”

You didn’t realize you were staring, and you jump a little at his gravelly voice.

“Oh. I, um—Well, I just…had a nightmare a-and I can’t sleep,”

You can barely look him in the eyes as you say it, your cheeks burning. You both know it’s a lie.

But he plays along.

“Aw, baby,” he coos, drawing you into his arms, into his room, into his bed.

“You’re trembling,” he murmurs as he turns on his side to face you, propping his head up with a hand. “Poor thing. Was it a bad one?”

Your mouth feels like its been stuffed with cotton, rendering you incapable of speech, tongue dry and sluggish. You nod in response, heat seeping into your cheeks again at just how loudly your heart is thumping while you roll onto your side. There’s only a few inches of space between your bodies now, his hot breath fanning across your face as he speaks again.

“Do you want niichan to help you forget about it?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, and you suck your bottom lip into your mouth, eyes searching his. Your thighs squeeze together at the way his voice has dropped an octave, low and husky, familiar heat pooling in the depths of your belly. He waits patiently, lifting a hand to caress your cheek, then runs his fingertips down your bare arm, goosebumps following.

Finally, you nod. You think you see the corners of his lips quirk up into the slightest hint of a smirk, but you blink, and it’s gone.

“Here,” he whispers, hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you against him. Hand cupping your jaw, he tilts your face up and slots his mouth against yours.

You’ve kissed before, of course—in his bed, in yours, on the living room couch, on the kitchen counter with his hips shoved between your thighs—but this…this feels different.

These are kisses with intent, with purpose, with a goal in mind. These are kisses that keep you distracted—slow, soft, messy with saliva—as his hand slips down your body and between your thighs.

Your gasp breaks the kiss, wide eyes blinking up at him then fluttering shut as he brushes a knuckle against your clit. He hushes you, nimble fingers spreading your folds before he drags them up your slit, huffing out a laugh at how wet you already are.

“Were you thinking about something naughty before?” he gasps mockingly, sliding the pads of his fingers back down as he speaks.

His hand withdraws from your shorts and he orders you to lift your hips, tugging the waistband down your thighs. You squirm a little, forcing them further down your legs until you free yourself of them completely, eyes gazing up at him again, awaiting your next command.

Legs part dutifully as his hand travels back down to the apex of your thighs, pushing a finger into your soaking pussy.

It’s slow at first, thrusting leisurely with his middle finger a few times and loosening you up a little before adding his ring finger. Sapphire eyes watch his motions, captivated by how your eager little cunt sucks his fingers in selfishly.

“Look at that, huh?” he breathes, looking down at you. “Such a pretty little pussy you’ve got,”

You open your bleary eyes to peer at yourself, mesmerized by the way his fingers are pumping in and out of you, glistening in the dim light of his bedroom. He curls his fingers and you inhale sharply, hips twitching toward his palm.

“Oh?” he chuckles darkly, knuckles nudging the spot again. “Did niichan find something, baby?”

You don’t know, you’re not sure, you try to tell him, but all you can seem to manage is pathetic little whines while you nod your head.

“Have you ever touched yourself?” he’s asking as the pads of his fingers tap against that spot, your entire body jolting.

“Y-Yes,” you whimper out, a little breathlessly. “But it’s never felt like this,”

“Aw, baby,” he coos, and it’s so condescending. “Then you weren’t doing it right, sweetheart,”

He quickens his pace, chuckles at the way you try to desperately fuck yourself on his fingers at such an awkward angle.

“Poor little thing, can’t even get herself off properly,” he tsks. “You need your niichan to do it for you, don’t you?”

Soft whines spill from your throat as you nod eagerly, your stomach coiling tightly.

“One day,” he breathes, curling his fingers with a vengeance this time, your hips rolling up off the mattress. “When we have the time, I’ll teach you how to make yourself feel so good,”

He’s talking too much. You want to tell him this, tell him to shut the hell up, but every time you try to speak he presses the heel of his palm to your clit and grinds against it, effectively scattering all of your thoughts, soft mewls of niichan the only sound escaping your lips.

Can’t deny his voice is fucking hot though, a form of foreplay all on its own.

And he knows this, can read you like a goddamn book, especially when he’s got his fingers two knuckles deep inside of you. He can feel it, he tells you. You don’t even need to speak; he can feel your thoughts when his voice drops an octave and your cute little hole flutters, when he chuckles and your pussy clenches around his fingers—a slut for his voice, aren’t you?

“Pretty baby, you can’t do anything but nod dumbly, can you? Been fucked stupid by my fingers alone, huh?”

Your head barely moves, lost all control of your body by this point, only able to whimper in response.

“Gonna come all over my fingers, pretty girl?” the knuckle of his thumb begins grazing your clit in quick strokes. “C’mon, make a mess for niichan,”

And it’s pathetic, how quickly your body obeys. Your pussy squeezes once, twice, three times and you’re gushing all over his fingers, juices collecting in his palm, running down his wrist. You’re embarrassed—you’ve never cum that much before, have you?

Breathing still ragged, you nuzzle into his sheets, partially hiding your face from him. Nothing could hide the involuntary grin that forms on your lips, though. Arms snake under your boneless body, tugging a bit.

“Oh no, baby, we aren’t done yet,” Touya’s saying while he hoists you up, letting you lean heavily against him.

Head tilting in confusion, your glazed eyes find his. “Wh-What?”

He looks down at his lap and your gaze follows, a tiny whimper slipping past your lips at the bulge straining against his pants. “Doesn’t niichan deserve a nice reward for helping you forget that scary dream?”

Eyes darting back to his, you nod slowly, whispering out, “Yes. But—But…” But you’re hesitant; you’ve never done anything like this before. Shaking hands reach for the waistband of his pants, beginning to pull them down but freezing when the head of his cock peeks out.

Touya sighs. “Come on, you wanna be a good girl for niichan, don’t you?”

Of course. Of courses you do.

Then he wants you to touch him, he says. He’ll help you; he promises.

“But you gotta get it wet first,”

You ask how, and he laughs at you. “With your tongue, stupid,” he tells you.

He instructs you to kneel on the floor and you comply immediately, trembling legs folding beneath your body as you situate yourself between his knees. He inches forward on the bed a little, shuffling himself to the edge and caging you between his thighs. Bringing his cock close to your mouth, he taps the head against your closed lips.

They part instantly, obediently, his eyes flashing with something sinister as you take the head into your mouth and suck hesitantly, big eyes staring up at him waiting for approval.

He curses, his hips twitching ever so slightly, skin stretched taut over bony knuckles as a hand forms a fist in the sheets. Starting with kitten licks at first, the tip of your tongue barely touches him, tracing veins, then begins to gain more confidence as he groans a little, telling you what to you, that you’re doing good, so good for him.

Watching him through thick lashes, you have the audacity to look bashful as your tongue laves around the shaft, drenching it in saliva. A hand tangles in your hair and yanks, pulling you off his cock when he decides it’s sufficiently wet enough. Long fingers encircle your wrist, bringing your hand to form a fist around him.

“Like this,” he says, jerking your hand up and down.

You’re terrible at it, movements awkward and uncoordinated, but in that moment he doesn’t really care. He’s irritated a little, wondering out loud how anyone can be bad at handjobs while a large hand wraps around yours and forces you to speed up. Bad? Your heart sinks at the small three letter word, a hard lump forming in your throat, looking as though you may start crying.

But he cums quickly after that, ropes of searing hot white painting your cheeks and face. You watch him the entire time, panting a little, lips parted slightly and your tongue darts out to lick them, tasting him.

He laughs at your bitter reaction, and it’s such a patronizing sound.

“Don’t worry,” he says, collecting the cum off your face and forcing his fingers into your mouth. “Someday I’ll stuff your throat full of it.”

✰ ✰ ✰

You can no longer mention needing—no, wanting—anything around him anymore, because within the next few days it’s sitting pretty and perfect on your bed, propped up against your lace trimmed pillows.

He’s so good to you; you should be grateful you have such a generous niichan, one who eats you out and spoils you with gifts. You’re so spoiled.

And he tells you this, in the dead of night when you wake to find him shoving his cock into you, snarling a little at your soft whines of protest.

“Don’t be a brat,” he warns. Just be a good girl and take his cock. He does so much for you, can’t you be good for him?

Yes, yes, you want to be good for him, you want to be the best for him.

By this point you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve woken up in the middle of the night with his head between your thighs, prepping you to take him.

“Stay sleeping, baby,” he’ll tell you, words whispered into your hair as his cockhead nudges against your hole.

As if you could ever stay sleeping when only a few minutes later he’s pounding you into oblivion, large hand clasped over your mouth so tightly his blunt nails are digging into your cheek, so hard that it’s yanking your head back, neck beginning to ache.

He tells you to be quiet, “You don’t want anyone to hear, do you? Then we’d have to stop, and you don’t want that, right, sweetheart?”

You don’t, you whimper. Of course you don’t—you want whatever he wants, you want to be his perfect little baby, you want to be told how good you take his cock, the praise mumbled against your skin in a low, strained voice right before he fills you with cum.

✰ ✰ ✰

He disappears for a few days near the end of December. You have no idea where, Touya answering your curious texts with playful quips at first before he grows tired of it and tells you to stop fucking asking.

But eventually, he returns.

The front door slams shut and your body flinches with a jolt of excitement. Adrenaline spikes your blood when you hear his heavy boots colliding with the hardwood, getting louder, louder, louder…

He passes right by you, not glancing at you at all. Moments later, the sound of water hitting the tiled shower wall echoes down the hallway.

And you wait. Patiently, you wait, like the good little girl you are, not daring to move a muscle. Eventually he re-emerges, hair still damp, a few strands sticking to his neck.

With a groan, he collapses on the couch next to you, flopping his head into your lap and gazing up at you with glazed, blown sapphire eyes.

“You’re high,” you say softly, not accusatory, just an observation. He giggles a little.

“So what if I am?”

“What did you take?”

“Oh,” he gasps mockingly. “Oh no, baby, I can’t tell you that,”

Why? The question is burning on the tip of your tongue, and you can tell that he’s anticipating that to be your next response, but you bite down on your bottom lip, holding it in. You know his answer already, can practically hear his patronizing voice—Because good baby sisters aren’t supposed to know about stuff like this.

“Can I try some?” you ask instead.

All of the mirth fades from his eyes in an instant, and he moves in a flash despite his inebriated state, so quick you can barely tell what’s happening. His large hand wraps around your bicep in a bruising grasp, pulling you towards him as he sits up, his face an inch away from yours.

“Absolutely fucking not,” he spits, cobalt eyes blazing and voice rumbling against your chest. “And if I so much as catch wind that you’re using, have a mere feeling that you’ve tried it—even just once—I’ll slaughter you and the fucker you got it from. Do you understand me?”

Surprised tears spring into your eyes and you nod jerkily, body beginning to tremble as your breath gets caught in your throat. You want to tell him that you didn’t mean it, honest, you promise!; that you were just kidding around, you swear!, but you can’t, voice mangling itself with the hitched little breaths on the back of your tongue.

He growls at your silence, his grip around your arm tightening and you cry out, terrified that he might actually crush the bone with his bare hand.

“Say, yes Touya, I understand,”

“Y-Yes Touya, I understand,” you manage to stutter out, voice returning only at the command of a direct order, tears spilling over and rolling down your cheeks in pairs. His eyes search your face for a moment, his features contorted in fury, before he sneers at you, squeezing your arm once then roughly letting go, shoving you away from him.

You fall backward against the arm of the couch, heart thumping so vigorously you’re sure he can hear it. He groans, throwing his head back and closing his eyes, exasperated.

“Fuck,” he sighs, eyes opening to glare at the ceiling. “You’ve ruined my high,”

You stare at him, breath coming out in uneven huffs, clinging to the couch.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper, terrified to move lest you upset him more.

He’s silent for a moment, still staring up, until he lolls his head to the side, glancing at you through the corner of his eye. A small smirk spreads across his face.

“C’mere,” he says, nodding his head a little in indication.

“Wh-What?”

“C’mere,” he repeats. “Come make it up to me,”

Your body’s moving before you’ve given it permission to, crawling into his lap obediently, thighs on either side of his hips. His smirk widens, and you love it—you love how much control he has over you without even trying, you love the way a quiet whimper slips through your lips as his large hands begin kneading your flesh, running up your legs and grabbing your ass.

Lips trail up the column of your neck, and you tilt your head back, a silent plea for more. You can feel the way his lips curl into a grin against your skin, nipping at it a second later.

“So, how you gonna make it up to me? Huh?” he shifts his hips under you, pressing his hard cock into your clothed core. You whine a little, grinding against him.

“I’ve got a few ideas,” you breathe out while sharp teeth mar your collarbone.

“The hell you waiting for? Show me,”

You begin sliding down his body and he pushes on your shoulders, forcing you to your knees between his spread thighs. He watches you through half-lidded eyes, gaping pupils outlined by a thin ring of blue.

Holding his gaze, you lean forward with your pretty little tongue hanging out and begin licking along the straining bulge, tracing it slowly, the denim rough against your sensitive muscle. You relent though, lapping at his clothed cock in slow, long strokes, and his jeans are just thin enough for you to feel him pulse in response.

A giggle bubbles up past your lips, muffled by the denim, already beginning to feel heady as you pull simple reactions from him. Your mouth forms a cute little ‘o’ and you suck on him the best you can through his jeans, drooling all over his lap and soaking through the material.

The hand in your hair tightens into a fist, yanking hard and pulling your mouth away. “Stop fucking teasing,” he warns, a hint of something ominous in his voice.

You obey, because you always obey, tiny fingers working to quickly unbuckle his belt, pop the button, yank down the zipper. He aids you, lifting his hips and allowing you to tug his jeans down his thighs enough for his cock to spring out.

His own hand wraps around the shaft, you pausing mid-action as you reach for it.

“Open,” he demands, your dutiful lips parting immediately, letting him push his cock into the warm, wet cavern.

He sets a brutal, punishing pace from the start, refusing to give you a single moment to adjust. His other hand fists in your hair, forcing you to stay still as he rams his cock down your throat.

Reflexive tears burn your eyes, blurring your vision. You blink quickly to clear them, desperate to watch him, to catalogue all of his micro-expressions and the sound of his voice as he grunts out your name, to burn it into your mind, etch it into your very soul.

Touya’s head falls back against the couch, Adams apple bobbling with his rough whimpers, long neck and sharp collarbone on full display. If your mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, you’d love to lick up his smooth skin, to trace the dips of his collarbone with your tongue and sign your name in brilliant splotches of blue and purple.

You’re gagging around his cock now, starting to feel lightheaded and struggling to inhale enough oxygen. The ache in your jaw is beginning to spread, but you ignore it, stretching your mouth open wider, to take more, to be good for him, to make him proud. It’s worth it for the hoarse, throaty moans you’re pulling from him, to hear your name shuddered out, followed by a breathy, “Fuck,”

He forces hot cum down your throat a moment later, and you choke on it, sputtering around his cock, throat spasming as it tries to force the foreign object out. He won’t let it, though. He holds your head in place, nose pressed against his pubic bone, and you can do nothing but take it, like a good little girl, like he tells you to.

But it’s all worth it. It’s all worth it, to hear his broken whines like that, to have him look down at you and pull your hair and tell you you’re good, so good for him.

And you’re sobbing by the end of it, gasping for air the moment he lets go of you, wheezing violently as your head collapses against his thigh.

“Did I—” you cough, voice raspy from having your throat fucked raw, “—Did I make it up to you, niichan?” you gaze up at him, eyelashes spiky with residual water. You’re the perfect picture of obedience, strands of hair stuck to your face where your salty tears have dried and swollen lips gleaming with saliva as you watch him with glittering eyes, waiting desperately for his praise.

He looks down at you, eyes devious and diabolical, chest heaving a little. “Of course you did,” he tells you, corners of his lips tugging up into a sharp smirk as you melt into him. “You always do, don’t you?”

#todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya #dabi x reader #dabi smut #touya x reader #dabi may be a scumbag but he loves his momma #tomura baby i’m so sorry #promise u don’t horrify me at all oof #pls come horrify me more #christ if dabi isn’t touya we’re all gonna look like goddamn fools #a buncha clowns #anyway this is my first time posting something like this #n i haven’t written smut in an extremely long time #so pls be nice #actually u should always be nice #so pls be extra nice #no one beta’d this so there’s a good chance i’ll come back to it n revise it or whatever idk i’m just sick of looking at it rn #the ‘he talks too much’ is inspired by ch 271 w hawks where he’s all ‘he’ll keep talking’#dabi shut the fuck up challenge #prone to monologuing this boy is #also sorry abt the crazy sentences with a thousand commas #apparently now i’m oscar wilde w these run on sentences #idk i still kinda like em tho #i like oscar #tw pseudo-incest #tw noncon #tw dubcon #tw emotional manipulation #tw somnophilia #tw drugs

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catlucked · 1 year ago

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❝ yeah, no… we never really discussed that, but i think that’s because we didn’t actually have to. it just naturally came to us, this mutual, silent agreement that we wouldn’t… you know. ❞ have children of their own. and this decision has never felt like a sacrifice of some sort, at least not to selina. she has never experienced any kind of internal struggle or felt like maybe she’s missing out on something because she’s not changing diapers. if anything, she’s been at peace and considered it a relief to know that both she and bruce are on the same page when it comes to how they envision the future of their family. which is yet one more reason why the situation that they’re in right now terrifies her so much. it feels like the rug of stability and comfort has been pulled out from under her feet. ❝ what do you mean, bruce? it’s like an atomic bomb exploding in your backyard, ❞ she muses, brows slightly furrowed but in confusion rather than annoyance. she’s not trying to argue with the other, just hoping to understand his way of thinking better. how come news like that wouldn’t have ruined his morning? it makes her wonder if the thought of starting a family with her has crossed his mind before, if he’s tried to imagine them with a kid or two in some alternative universe where they were just ordinary people with ordinary jobs.

❝ no, it’s not, baby. remember when we walked into that lingerie store all those years ago? it’s that kind of chuckling. you also sometimes make these sounds in the waiting room at the dentist’s office. it doesn’t sound normal. ❞ or like a genuine sign of happiness. shaking her head, the situation might be daunting, but she still finds his reaction beyond amusing and can’t help but let out a giggle of her own. he’s not even trying and laughing is the last thing on her mind right now, and yet he’s making her do just that. ❝ it’s okay to be nervous, bruce. nothing wrong about it. i mean, i am. actually, i’m terrified. i feel like you should probably take me to arkham, not back home. ❞ the only thing keeping her somewhat sane is the possibility of the test coming back negative, and that’s it. just as she’s about to explain more, reassure the other that he’s allowed to have all these different feelings, she finds herself glancing down at what he’s holding and pursing her lips. she bites the inside of her cheek to keep herself from grinning goofily, wondering if he’s even remotely aware what this item is used for. ❝ put that back, honey. please. this is the one thing that’s actually scarier than what we have in our cart, ❞ she lightly teases, the more immature part of her wishing she’d just kept her mouth shut and snapped a quick picture of bruce with his first diva cup instead. giggling softly, she wonders if he has any idea how much she appreciates the little break, how much these few laughs mean to her. nothing could magically make her feel less tense and relieve her anxiety, but at least for a few minutes she’s managed to forget why they’re in this aisle.

❝ thank you, bruce, ❞ she murmurs with a sweet smile upon hearing his promise to help her with anything and everything, once again reminding her that he’ll be here for her always, no matter what. feeling a sudden rush of admiration and love for her husband, she closes the distance between them just so that she can plant a soft kiss on his cheek. her fingertips brushing against his shoulder as she pushes up on her toes to reach his face. ❝ that’s for always being my person, ❞ she explains, taking a step back so that she can marvel at him from a distance. he’s so sweet, so kind. how did she end up with someone like him? ❝ yeah, probably. i guess it would have been less traumatic that way, but it’s fine. the adventures of puberty, right? ❞ she says with a small smile, brushing the other’s concerns off with a dismissive wave of her hand. emerald eyes studying his side profile as he speaks, and she can feel her chest expanding, heart fluttering. it never fails to amaze her how considerate he is. she figures her friends had her best interest in mind, too. they just weren’t as thoughtful as bruce would have been. ❝ it’s okay. we’ll just figure it out when we’re back home. no need to worry about it now. thanks for helping me pick out the right one. ❞ it can’t be rocket science, she thinks. still, it’s kind of amusing how oblivious they both are.

❝ why? i mean, what do we need two for? ❞ she inquires out of sheer curiosity, glancing at the blue box in her husband’s hands, suddenly incapable of drawing the simplest of conclusions on her own. emerald eyes following its journey to the cart, widening in surprise when bruce decides to just leave it out in the open. what if they bump into someone they know? and they start asking questions? and most importantly, why do they need to be reminded of this dark cloud looming above their heads every time they look down at their groceries? she’s tempted to take off her jacket and throw it on top of the box, cover it somehow — out of sight, out of mind. but refrains just because she doesn’t want to look like she’s completely lost her mind and give her husband one more reason to worry. ❝ i hope so, ❞ she says quietly, appreciating his reassurance even if something about his voice, how sweet and gentle it is, makes her feel emotional all the sudden. when she picks her gaze up and looks at him again, her eyes are glossy, shining with a faint layer of tears. she blinks them away quickly but the tip of her nose continues to tingle, threatening to produce more.

❝ i just — i love our life the way it is. i don’t want it to change. ❞ his hand on her back encourages her to lean into him, cling to his side in a moment of weakness. her slender arms curling around his waist briefly, cheek brushing against his shoulder. she closes her eyes and just holds him, as though he were a life raft and she was drowning. ❝ i’m sorry. i’m — i don’t even know, ❞ she sighs, pulling back and shaking her head because it isn’t like her to just break down in the middle of a store. ❝ yeah, let’s do that. i don’t think i’ve ever said this before but i love baking with you, you know? i mean, i’m mostly watching you do everything, but still… i love that. and we could stop at starbucks on our way home? grab a coffee? a pup cup for ace? ❞ she suggests, trying to change the subject and make sure bruce doesn’t have the time to ask about what’s just happened, why she hugged him so tightly and almost broke down. she rests one of her hands on the handle beside his, letting him lead the way. ❝ wait, are we going for brownies or chocolate chip cookies? ❞

unsure what to respond, he leaves it off on that note. if it’s a serious situation or not. “i understand. it’s not like we have really discussed the idea all that often or been very passionate about it.” with their line of work, not because he’s a person who dislikes children. he loves them, even though he does feel he’d be awkward and never live up to the way his father raised him. scared of failure, scared of what that would mean... what a risk it would be bringing a child into their line of work, into their dangerous world... that’s the part he can’t get past of wanting one. that’s why neither of them have planned on it. & of course, selina has her own personal reasons. “it wouldn’t of ruined it, honey.”

“chuckling..? what chuckling. it’s normal chuckling. i’m not–– nervous, selina.” he didn’t even notice the way he was laughing was any different from how he usually laughs. is he really making it that noticeable? now he has a tic of not looking at her, picking up some more boxes of feminine things he’s never held or seen in his life just to fidget with something. somehow he makes himself even more nervous when eyes fall down on the letters of the box he’s holding, realizing there’s a ... something called a menstrual cup ... in his hands and quickly but gently puts that back before he looks insane holding it. "i see." nodding to her reasoning, feeling sad now though that he sees why she's like that. "and that's okay. i'll help you with whatever you need." he smiles softly, "those girls, however. i think... should've taught you to use the softest option first." the pads, he means. he's a man but even he can see it doesn't make sense to guide someone to use a stick for their first time. or however he should describe a tampon. he would've given her better advice if they had known each other at that time. “you’re right. i didn’t read it correctly.” so he’s not sure. he can hack into computer systems, he is an engineer, can create things from scratch no one else can, he has studied biology, technology, mathematics, physics, mythology & geography but can’t seem to understand what a pregnancy test box is indicating.

“i’ll just grab the other one to go with it.” the clear blue brand he saw. which he leans down to get then turns back to selina, seeing she’s drowned the other one in grocery items. does she have a nervous tic now? makes him pause for a second in questioning before proceeding to simply sit the clear blue one in the seat part of the cart. right in front of them. “it’ll be okay, selina.” bruce reassures her once he realizes she’s taking it even worse than him & he needs to be the stronger one for her, placing a hand on the back of her leather jacket. “of course we can, lets go get the ingredients.” he tells her to try and get her mind off it, gently nudging her to start walking out of this aisle and back to the bakery one.

#batisms #pls this gif icon >>> its so pretty with the psd!!! im squeaking omgosh #hes so sweet :') hes terrified himself but hes pulling himself together and being strong for her :') bye #and the diva cup fsnkd im yodeling that cracked me up so bad

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