#for the love of god read the warning
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IOU | OP81
pairing: ghostface!oscar x ghostface!reader
summary: reader & oscar are best friends but reader would love to get a shot with ghostface. what they don’t know is that their chances are closer than they think…
warnings: [DARK THEMES USED & SMUT] slightly descriptive murder, mention of stalking stalking, mention of blood, breath play, public sex, oral sex (m receiving), dry humping, dom!oscar, sub!reader, degradation, hair pulling (if you squint??), face fucking, deep throating
a/n: once again, dark themes used! please read the warnings above!!! i answered a asked on my main here and decided to make a oneshot of it (yes i quote J's ask cause it was too good). tbh didn't even plan for a plot but here we are! I know my answer and this are vastly different...i don't wanna talk about it. also ghostface!oscar series belongs to @piastrification so homie this one is for YOU!! Also happy belated Valentines day omg. Hope you enjoy 🫶🏽
word count: 4.5K
This week has started out to be one of the worst weeks you’ve had in a very long time. Monday started off with your car breaking down on the way to campus and you completely missed your first class. When you got to campus an irritated Oscar was waiting asking why the hell you didn’t call him. “Even though I was in class, I would’ve left and gotten you,” he told you. You weren’t in the mood to argue so you just apologized and told him you’d call him next time which seemed to ease his irritation slightly. Seemed he also had a pretty shitty Monday.
Tuesday brought your shitty manager everyone hates at your job to end a relatively quiet day. It was the typical bullshit but still didn’t mean you had to enjoy it. You spent the whole drive home on the phone with Oscar screaming your head off about all the things your manager had done. The micro-managing of your work, the snarky remarks, the extra work so he can just fuck off in the back, god you could not stand this manager at all. Oscar listened like he always did. “You don’t deserve that,” you could hear the frown in his voice, “honestly he shouldn’t even be a manager. I could take care of him for you.” You laughed. You thanked Oscar for the offer but you had already decided that your manager would be your next victim. It would be tricky considering everyone in the store knew how much you two despised each other but it would get done.
You ended up with a stomach bug on Wednesday. You woke up around four in the morning with a jump and just made it to the bathroom before you got sick. You stayed in there for a good hour before there was nothing left in your system and you dragged yourself back to bed. You somehow coherently managed to message your professors you’d be missing class due to illness and texted Oscar that you’d be out sick today before promptly falling asleep. You woke to a knock on your front door and dragged yourself out of bed. You made a face seeing Oscar standing outside with a bag. “What are you doing?” You ask.
“Taking care of you. Can I come in?”
“What if you catch it? What about classes?”
You watch Oscar simply pull a KN95 mask out of his pocket. You narrowed your eyes as he slipped it on. You didn’t need to see his face to see the cheeky smile he was giving. His eyes twinkled slightly with humor as he gently turned you around and guided you back inside your place as he listed the things he brought over and how he can afford missing one day to make sure you eat and rest, a habit you tend to struggle with. He really was a good best friend.
Thursday is really when you hit your limit. Arriving on campus you and Oscar head to class though neither of you really paid attention. You two spent most of the time texting each other even though you guys were sitting right next to each other. When class ended the two of you headed to the closest campus cafeteria before parting ways. You got on the line to grab the food while Oscar secured you two seats since it was roughly lunch time and everyone would be out and about.
Carrying the two to-go containers after paying you make your way to the back left corner. It’s usually where you and Oscar sat and enjoyed just people watching and gossiping about other students but you slowed your walking. Oscar was looking up at someone. Fucking Brittany. One of the sororities girls. Sorority president actually. Brittany was in a nice blouse, a skirt, some fucking heeled boots. Her blonde hair was thrown up into a messy bun and she was leaning forward slightly while smiling wide at Oscar.
Jealousy hit you like a truck. You grip the to-go containers tighter while standing frozen in your spot watching them. You wanted to march over and tell her to fuck off. Grab your stupid bun and slam her head into the table until she’s bleeding out. Or maybe take the plastic forks that rested on top of the to-go containers and gauge her eyes out for having the audacity to even look at Oscar. Alas, you refrained from it all. Instead you just tilted your chin up and made your way over with a tight smile. “I’m back!” You announce to Oscar. The both turn to face you and Oscar visibly relaxes slightly but Brittany is giving you a once over clearly unimpressed. You turn and blink, feigning surprise. “Oh! Brittany. Hi,” you keep your tone light and friendly, “what brings you here?”
“Oh, I was just talking to Oscar,” Brittany smiles, “we’re partners for our history project.” You could give two shits less what it was as you spy Brittany’s hand moving to Oscar’s upper arm and resting there with ease. Something so subtle but could come off as flirty and you wanted to cut her hand off. How dare she think she can touch Oscar like that? “…and wanted to see if he wanted to come to the frat party Saturday night,” she concludes.
“Oh, isn’t that sweet of you. Can he bring a plus one?” You ask putting the containers down, sliding one over to Oscar.
“If he wants…” Brittany glances at Oscar with a smile then back at you, “but we need to know to make sure they’re on the list. Even then…it depends on the mood if everyone gets in.”
“Then it seems kinda stupid for a list, don’t you think so?” Oscar asks finally. Brittany laughs. It wasn’t even that funny. You realize now that she’s flirting with Oscar. Well. This just won’t do. Not like you care anyway. Oscar is your best friend. Sure you love him but it’s platonic -or so you tell yourself- so it shouldn’t bother you but it does. It does bother you because Brittany was the queen heartbreaker. She used guys until she got bored. Until they got attached and couldn’t offer anything else after giving her everything. You were not about to have Oscar be a pawn in her fucking game. You had missed the remark Brittany gave as you sat down, your heart pounding in your ears.
“…let me know!” Brittany calls out as she’s already walking away.
“Ugh. As if,” Oscar murmurs and turns his attention to you. “Hey,” he starts softly. Bring your gaze to him and you blink, “you okay?”
“Yeah,” you manage a smile, “I’m fine. Did you see the shoes she was wearing?” You ask to divert the subject as now you might have something fun to do this weekend.
* * *
Personally, you never understood the hype of sororities and managed to curb every single one who tried to recruit you. It was just a bunch of girls with money and tried to make it sound like it wasn’t a cult but it most certainly was if you got in. Moving into the house, what they expected you to wear, how to act in public, who can and cannot date, for fuck sakes they monitored your social media post and if they didn’t approve of something you posted they would either make you take it down or probably kick you out. You much preferred your freedom over dealing with that bullshit.
Luck had shined down on you when you heard some of the girls mention Brittany couldn’t go to the bar tonight because she was under the weather and just ‘had to get better for tomorrow in case her special guest came’. It was a miracle that you didn’t march over here and slaughter Brittany right then and there but you bide your time. You had to be careful.
Now, slipping the mask on, you give it a five minutes after everyone else leaves before slipping through the back door. Standing quietly, you listen to the water running and slowly making your way through the house. Climbing the stairs you follow the noise until you’re outside the bathroom. You hear Brittany singing and you silently open the door. Steam hits your face and it takes everything not to cough from the sudden heat. Stepping in you watch Brittany’s silhouette run her fingers through her hair. Gripping the hilt of your knife, you inch forward. When Brittany turns you stab the knife through the shower curtain and straight in her heart. Twisting, you step forward until Brittany is pinned against the wall as she weakly has a hold of your wrist trying to pull the knife out her screams being drowned out by the shower and her choking on her own blood. You pull out before stabbing again to ensure that there was no chance she would be able to survive. When her attempts falter, you pull the knife out. Cleaning the knife off, you slip out of the house the way you came smirking knowing the rest of them wouldn’t have hot water for a long time.
Carefully you pack everything into your backpack you left in the woods by the house before securely zipping it. Slinging a strap over your shoulder, you start to head back to your apartment. You emerge from the treeline right into an alleyway and into town which is bustling with college kids. Perks of living in a college town. You just turn left and make your way back to your apartment which is a bit further uptown and you notice as the people start to thin out.
You feel eyes burning into the back of your skull. Turning your head over your shoulder, you stop. At the end of the block you see a figure in all black and an identical mask standing there. Normal people would do anything but stare. Call out to the figure, turn away and walk, call the police, something except just stand there silently and face off with this killer. Copycat killer that is. You suppose you’d have fans, sick and twisted probably, but you didn’t expect you’d end up creating a copycat killer. Not that you minded, actually the gesture touched you actually. People had been too stupid to realize it was a copycat but not you.
After all, their first kill happened to be one of your best friends you recently dropped.
You can’t even remember why but you arrived to apologize and found her body on the floor, throat cut. It was a bit messy. The cut wasn’t as clean as you would’ve expected and there was blood everywhere. Even on the poor bitch’s hands. Then you realize that there’s a few stab wounds. Seemed she put up a fight before whoever did it got the kill. Then someone clears their throat and you raise your gaze.
There you saw him.
An identical ghostface mask, black long sleeve shirt, jeans, and sneakers. Personally you preferred boots but to each their own. As much as some little sane part in your head told you to stop judging this person’s choice in shoes and run, you stood there staring because god he was so *distracting*. Honestly, the tight fit long sleeve should be illegal for killers to wear. It clung to him defining each curve of his muscle and you couldn’t help but get turned on because well–they’re a well fit masked killer.
“Did you do this?”
The killer nodded. Silence fell upon the two of you before you finally asked, “why?”
“...Why?” The voice asked. A shiver ran down your spine hearing the low murmur. A voice modulator just like you. Smart and well fit? Shit, “that’s all you can ask? Why? Aren’t you supposed to be running and screaming?”
“Well I find that a bit stupid,” you retort, “you’re right here. Masked or not, you're taller. You have length compared to my short legs. I might have you in agility and you’re a bit messy with your killing. Shaky in the hands.” You tilt your head to the masked figure with a small smirk. You watch the figure tighten his grip on the hilt of the knife before he’s in front of you in about four steps. You gasp as your head is yanked back by your hair, knife against your throat.
“Are you asking to be killed right now?”
“I mean you gonna fuck me before you kill me?”
Ghostface reels their head back slightly. Stupidly, they loosen their grip from the shock. Taking your chance, you grab the first with the knife and twist it away from you. They shout out in pain as you get your hair free and release their wrist before kicking the figure harshly in the stomach. You step on the figure’s chest a bit harshly. Smirking down at him, “expect the unexpected sweetheart. But you never answered me. Why?”
You can hear something faintly. You cannot believe this guy is mumbling. Leaning down slightly, you turn your ear, “I can’t hear you,” you tease.
“I did it for you.”
Now you’re stunned. You lean back slightly, hand over your heart. You don’t dare move though. You expect it to be some sick joke but the laughter never came. You bite your bottom lip having half the mind to suck him off right then and there. You stay strong though. Instead, you move to stand over the figure and bend down and hook a finger under his mask. His hand flies to your wrist and you laugh.
“I’m not gonna take your mask off,” you explain, “Trust me. Right now I am getting extremely horny and I don’t think I can handle you being ugly under the mask. Would just completely kill the mood.” You laugh hearing the figure let out an offended noise, “but aren’t you sweet,” you tilt your finger up and the figure follows, lifting his chin, “don’t be a stranger, yeah? Now, you should get off so I can feign the heartbroken emotional ex- best friend.”
Ghostface is in front of you now. He’s got your chin between his thumb and finger staring down at you and you blink as you come out of your memory. He’s close and you can hear his soft breathing which forces your own breath to hitch. You curl and uncurl your fingers and you hear a small huff behind the mask accompanied by a smirk you assume. “My,” he murmurs softly, “what do we have here. You shouldn’t be walking alone at night like this little one. You never know what lurks in the dark.”
You take a deep breath to keep your voice even. Pressing your thighs together you try so hard to stop the heat that’s starting to spread through your body. You should not be getting this turned on but how could you not? You had a copycat killer who kept killing people that you had issues with somehow and someway. “I–” You start, biting your bottom lip trying to find the words but you’re cut off with a chuckle.
“You’re so worked up for me. I can see it in the clench of your legs, the flush on your cheeks, the way your pupils dilate and the way you bite your lip for me. You don’t even know who I am. I could be a total stranger, who followed you home one night and just never stopped, but I could also be your best friend, that you’ve known for years, who you think you know like the back of your hand. You don’t even know. But I know one thing for certain though- I’m sure your panties, if you’re even fucking wearing any, are already soaked.”
You hate the fact he’s right. Your breathing slightly heavy as your eyes widen as you listen. Shifting, you clench your thighs even tighter as one of your hands slips between your thighs slightly. You can’t see his eyes but you can feel his stare bruning into yours and you actually look away. This hasn’t happened before.
“Look. At. Me.”
Your eyes snap back and your mouth hangs open slightly. You can feel how wet you are every time you shift and by god do you need something here. “What do you want, love?”
“I would very much like to take you up on that offer and suck you off,” you nod your head in the direction of the alleyway.
“Excited, aren’t we?”
“We’ve been at this for months of fucking course I’m excited.”
He grips your jaw tightly, “I’d watch that tone if I were you. I can happily just walk away and leave you here alone.” Your eyes travel downwards and spy his half hard bulge against his jeans and then back up, “I can handle myself and sleep much more satisfied than you probably would with your fingers,” leaning close to your ear, “but I’d be a fool to leave you so desperate without giving you a taste.” Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head but he lets go of your jaw and spins you around, smacking your ass. You startled with a yelp before quickly scurrying to the alleyway.
Any sane person, seeing the alleyway lead to the woods, probably would have taken the chance to run but not you. You were so desperate to finally fuck this copy cat that you spun around as he rounded the corner. You gasped as your back slams against the brick wall feeling pain through your shoulder for only a brief moment as your hands fly to Ghostface’s wrist as he holds you there by your throat. Oddly enough your calm even though he could easily choke you as your breathing becomes a bit more jaded. Lifting his mask slightly you stare at the slightly chapped but pink lips as you drop your bag. They look so familiar, why?
You can’t really think longer on it as he moves his hand up to your jaw tightly and his lips are on your neck as you gasp for air. He wedges his knee between your legs and immediately you roll your hips whining loudly. You let your eyes drift close as the figure litters your neck in kisses along with marks. You let the figure tilt your head so he can litter the otherside in matching marks. Your nails dig into his wrist earning a hiss against your neck. When he pulls back your eyes stare at his lips and you’re so tempted for a taste. You find yourself starting to lean in before he’s pushing you onto your knees. Blinking, you're now eye level with his obvious bulge and glance up at him fixing his mask.
Dropping your gaze, your hands get straight to work. Undoing his jeans you pull the zipper down before pulling his pants down just enough. You hold your breath seeing the outline of his cock because oh it looks so much bigger than you’ve had which…was very few. There was only one way to really find the truth. You let your fingers dance across the waistband of his boxers before you tug, cock basically popping free. You lean back with wide eyes because it is bigger than you’ve had. It’s actually the biggest you’ve ever had. The length was maybe just an inch or two over average which was impressive enough but it was the girth that really made your mouth water and the precum leaking out just makes you drool.
Gently wrapping a hand around his cock, the figure’s breath hitches as he bucks his hip. You give a few experimental tugs not really for a reaction but more so to get a feel of him in your hand. Big. Girthy. Heavy. God, how pent up was he? You feel fingers through your head as you continue to cautiously jerk him off before licking the tip. The reaction pulled out of the figure was a low satisfied groan and it encourages you to take the tip of his cock into your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the tip before sucking, alternating between the two before you finally you’re ready.
If you had known how big he was you would’ve been a bit more…prepared. You weren’t naive enough to think you could take all of him down your throat. God no. Maybe with some training and patience later if the figure would let you but you didn’t have either of those things or really time on your side. Still, you had to make sure to keep the figures interested in you- even if he’s killed for you already. Better safe than sorry, right?
Hollowing your cheeks out and flattening your tongue on the underside of his cock, you start to suck him off. Bobbing your head you can’t help but feel a bit of a rush go to your head as the figure above lets out another loud ground. You glance up to see the figure’s neck as his head is tilted back. You're absolutely drenched watching him and find yourself slipping a hand into your own pants and moan around him as you rub your clit. That catches his attention as his head snaps down to look at you.
“Naughty girl. You’re so turned on from sucking me off that you have to touch yourself?” It earns a strangled whine, “such a pathetic slut.”
You can’t help but moan at that. “Wow. You are so fucking pathetic it’s adorable.” The figure coos and grips your hair to stop you. Shifting, he puts one foot in front of you and smirks, “here why don’t you just hump my leg while you’re at it.” He taunts.
Funny enough you’ll take him up on that. The moment he frees your head you go back to bobbing your head on his cock humming in delight as you hug his leg, settling on his foot and grind your hips down. If your lips weren’t so occupied at the moment you would smirk at the shocked reaction you pull from the figure but you’re lost in your own world. The stretch of your jaw combined with the already dull ache lulls you into a peaceful trance. You completely ignore the spit that’s starting to wet your chin.
You feel the figure’s other hand gently grab your jaw trapping you in place suddenly. You stared up with doe eyes as the figure fucked your face before you felt him hit the back of your throat. You gagged and your hands flew to his thighs for some stability as he repeated the action. “So fucking good. Taking my cock,” the figure grunts out and tears prick your eyes when he stops moving and you gag because he’s so far down your throat. He pulls off just enough for you to gasp and get some air before he’s back in your mouth and fucking your face again. You’re prepared for it this time as you relax your throat and gag less.
Having lulled yourself into such a peaceful you nearly let your eyes slip close. Sliding your hands down, you wrap your arms around Ghostface’s leg as you continue to fuck yourself against his foot while he fucked your mouth. You ended up tuning everything else out except him and listening to him ramble was going to get you off alone. ‘Such a gorgeous cock drunk whore’, ‘you look so pathetic humping my leg while you let me fuck your mouth it should be illegal’, and ‘you’d look so beautiful being my personal cock drunk slut’. It’s the one you made out between all the groans and moans and curses. You felt his tug at your hair as a warning and you finally opened your eyes.
“Fuck–shit–I’m gonna–” He groaned but doesn’t stop his thrusting. He does the opposite as he picks the pace up. That’s all the encouragement you needed. You find your hips onto his foot even harder and faster as you. You feel the familiar coil in your abdomen and you’re trying so hard to reach it. He snaps his hips forward and forces himself down your throat. Your eyes go wide and you gag, choking on his cock as he spills into your throat. You hit his thighs and try to focus on breathing through your nose but even still the rough face fucking before forced deep throating was enough to send you over the edge. You groan and whine as you continue to hump his foot before he pulls you off his cock and slips his foot out from under you.
Sitting there, you gasp for air as your chest heaves. You look up at Ghostface and lick your lips slowly as you debate if you wanna turn over and let him fuck you right now. He would. For sure…probably and he taste good to. But that would be giving too much. You were the original after all. Finding your footing, you stand up and slide your pants down. There’s a choked sound from Ghostface and you glance over at the figure looking away.
“Seriously?” You raise a brow and giggle, “you just fucked my face but you get all bashful about seeing me in my panties.”
“I–well. I mean. No–” This one sucked at lying. Rolling your eyes, you look away as you take your pants off before sliding your panties off. “What are…” Ghostface’s voice trails off as you stuff your soiled panties into his front jeans pocket. “Consider it an IOU,” you say as you hurriedly put your pants back on. You’re grabbing your bag before the figure gets a chance, “this was fun but I have to run. My friend is coming over for a movie night and he’ll be pissed if I’m not there,” you sigh dreamily at the end of the alleyway, “he’s so caring like that. Anyway, bye!” You say before you’re slinging your back over as you take off. You get home and quickly change into some pajama panties (with new panties) and a sweatshirt before finding yourself settled on the couch while flipping through for a movie.
Hearing keys jingle you look up, you smile at your best friend walking in. You two are so close that he has his own copy. Oscar’s in a baggy grey hoodie with some black jeans on as he takes his shoes off before making his way to the back of the couch. He smiles slightly at you and offers dinner but you decline. As he turns for the kitchen, you spy something hanging out of Oscar’s pocket. It looks like a fabric of some sorts. Watching him in the kitchen, you decide to get some water. Quietly getting off the couch you stand in the doorway. Oscar continues to cook himself dinner and you wait until he’s focused on whatever is in the pan to strike. Passing behind him, your eyes drop down and your breathing stops. Black lacy panties with red roses on them. You look up at Oscar who’s glancing at you over his shoulder. His gaze follows yours and he smirks.
“Can I cash that IOU now, darling?”
#starlight library presents;#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri smut#op81 x reader#op81 smut#op81 imagine#oscar piastri x reader smut#f1 reader#f1 smut#f1 imagine#ghostface!oscar#ghostface!oscar smut#starlight library fiction#contains dark themes#mentions of murder#mentions of blood#smutty#bit toxic??#for the love of god read the warning
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giving the people what they want (jokes about spreadsheets)
anyway, Twst continues to prove that it is aimed at me specifically by giving us not one, but now TWO extended scenes of characters being incredibly difficult about signing an NDA. you just don't get this anywhere else.
#art#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland spoilers#tapis rouge#gif warning#gifs that tempted the gods and lost warning#azul specifically is making everyone's lives difficult by insisting on actually reading things before he signs him#like some kind of nerd who actually cares about his rights or whatever#no but i love that for him#(i have only a few more postcards left to unlock him...sigh...)#anyway vil just went full scarlett o'hara over here and made it WORK#i am sad we didn't get to see the infinity tiara though#in my mind it's three feet tall and looks like a bejeweled crown rack of lamb#this is why some things are better left to the imagination i guess
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if i didn't care (more than words can say) - a dabi / touya todoroki x reader fanfiction—NO QUIRK!college-ish!AU
wc: 7.3k — my longest to date :')
sum: a beautiful but notorious shadow keeps following you home. over the course of some weeks, you eventually get to know him.
a/n: more than anything, this is really just a huge ode to my hatred of graduate school, though since the start of writing this, i admit it has gotten a lot better—hence there being a mixture of characters and ocs included. i don't think i was able to nail this exactly the way i envisioned, in clarity and thematically (and it's wordy as all hell)... but i am still delighted by this concept. i hope it tickles you, as well!
a MAJOR thank you to my beloved @weird-dere-writes for beta-ing this! twyla is a a real one whom i adore like the shining sun.
warning: lighthearted in spirit but DARK CONTENT! features stalking, physical assault and mentions of sexual assault, miscommunication, suicidal ideation, talk of death, gore + general sense of unhappiness/unease. gender neutral but some of the pet names include: pretty, sweetheart, lollipop, cookie, hon, baby + etc., also I think you might have a purse?, HAPPY END!
(read on ao3 - coming soon!)
title credit goes to the ink spots.
enjoy!
The sun has just barely set by the time you leave your final class of the day. Fog seeps from over the distant hills that surround your city, subway tracks murmur from underneath the thick concrete, and car high beams yellow in the fading light of the sun and slate blue sky.
Your classmates—those who have all left the lecture hall before you to give each other rides home—laugh, their voices echoing throughout the campus plaza as they disperse; the last students of the night to begin their trek home, down the hill that is your campus, and far, far away from you.
You don’t mind.
…or you tell yourself, at least.
Your walk home is pleasant enough, not so close that it doesn’t feel like a trip worth making, not so far that it feels like you’re a freshman again, tearing out of class just to run to catch the bus in time. It’s the perfect temperature where walking is comfortable, and if timing allows, you’ll get to enjoy the sunset as you go. Maybe today you’ll see the funny looking tuxedo cat that stares at you sometimes from the ground floor apartment window of one of your neighbors; you only recently found out that they have a little tortoiseshell, too.
Besides, while it’s not as though you enjoy your time alone any more than you enjoy anything else in life, home has become a sort of sanctuary, the trip to-and-from, a ritual, from school and the tension that sears your nerves on a daily basis. You still can’t help but wonder why it is that you’re only ever regarded by other students with hateful looks or by plain being ignored, sitting in the front corner of every classroom, freezing from both the weather's cooling breeze and the fact everyone just happened to ice you out by sitting in the back.
It's no surprise that nor can you ignore it, either.
For as much as you try, which is almost as often as you open your eyes in the morning, you simply haven’t succeeded. Hence why, with the cold air nipping at your cheeks and your fingers numbing from a chill you know will only get worse the longer you stay outside… you suppose you should finally start heading back, too.
-
You notice them first when you stop to adjust a faulty earbud.
A figure behind you that stops. Waits. Lingers. More than a block away, under the newly darkened sky and opaque clouds. A street light illuminates their body as they appear to dawdle; awkwardly hovering about a pole, staring at something you don’t see on the ground, trotting a couple steps, and then looking up at the sky.
You glance at them, the way one glances, with one hand pressed to your ear, the other gripping the strap of your bag tightly as you turn your head ever so slightly to look out of the corner of your eye and pray the movement isn’t noticed.
The figure, of course, freezes–like it’s not obvious, like it’s possible you won’t pick up on the sudden shift from dance to pause, autonomous to marionette, breath to stone. You can’t make out much about them aside from their long, dark clothing as their face is hidden by dark glasses and a hood, but when your stomach knots with something sour, nerves that twist and scream, you know nothing good will come from standing around and waiting to find out anything more.
You let your eyes shift back to the paved street in front of you slowly, as if you just found yourself caught up in the frustration of skippy music. Then, you start walking again, hoping it was all just some coincidence, illusion, pretending that if you were to look back, the figure would have since simply turned the corner and left you behind, like most people almost always seem to do.
But you look again. Peek, from the corner of your eye, briefly, like you normally would when no one is there and you just want to make sure… but this time, someone is, and by the time you really catch sight of them (closer now, like they were walking fast, jogging maybe, red light, green light), you don’t want to draw any more attention to yourself and turn back before you can make things any worse.
Your heart beats. Your breath shudders. You flex your fingers where they’re held, stiff with terror, wondering: is this really happening? What should I do? Am I crazy?
It’s five more blocks until your house. Three stop signs, then two traffic lights. One liquor store, and an empty cafe that has already closed for the day, filled with stacked chairs and little mice you sometimes catch scuttling by the edge of the curb. You live by a school, but since it’s already dark, there will maybe be a total of four cars that pass you by. Maybe. Then there’s a trek up a short hill before you finally reach your street.
You wonder, not once slowing your step, if this is something you need to be worried about, if you’re really being stalked like you’ve always been warned of before, if anyone would even care if you didn’t show up to class tomorrow, or the day after that, or the day after that… and then, despite the whisper of your unconscious telling you not to be so self-involved, no one wants you, anyway, you increase your step. You want to look back, confirm what you think is happening, face a fight you don’t think is fair but haven’t yet decided whether or not you want to win.
But you don’t, thinking you can almost hear their footsteps now, though maybe you’re just confusing them for the wild thump, thump, thump of your heart and the catches of your breath. And when you check back, they’re half a block away but feel closer than ever, eyes on you and hands halfway around your throat though they’re still hidden deep in their pockets.
You feel a little like hurling, a bit more like giving up and letting them have you (though you’ve only ever written a suicide note, never a will)... but the creature of fear in you ends up prevailing, throwing it’s tentacles up through your gullet into your brain and dragging you into the depths… just as you say a prayer for the first, or any, god willing to listen.
And then you start running.
Heft your bag over your shoulder, suck in an icy breath and charge forward into the night, past the three stop signs and through the red of each stop light that blares at you, really the only thing that seems to acknowledge you as you refuse to waste any time looking back.
Self preservation is one hell of a drug, you only manage to briefly think in between gulps of air, your cheeks stinging with the breeze and your feet beginning to grate and blister against the friction of shoes that aren’t meant for running. You figure at this point you’re more likely to trip and crack your skull open on the pavement than be caught and dragged away by some freak with a violent agenda. Would that really be so bad?
But your answer quickly arrives in the form of making it home and climbing the stairs so fast you manage to forget the thought entirely, along with most of the rest of the world aside from the few people you come up with (and proceed to scratch out) when determining who, if there's anyone, you can call for help.
It's inside, silent and alone in the dark, you try to process what just occurred for so long that eventually your roommate comes home from their shift at the bar. It’s only at their surprise from seeing you still awake (ghostlike, on the couch) that you realize hours have passed in the span of what felt like only seconds, minutes, the metronome of a few steps home–and that you hadn’t actually processed anything at all.
You go to bed that night, not having eaten but not hungry, still feeling the phantom sensations of your bounding footsteps on hard concrete, cold sweat sliding down the slant of your neck, and the feeling of a man just inches from your putting his hands on your back.
-
The next day during lecture, you are awoken from a hazy daydream by a notification on your phone.
Campus Creeper Found Passed Out in Uni Plaza.
You blink, exhausted after an adrenaline crash made worse by your night of haunted sleep, eventual overheating, and your roommate taking a shower at four am. You were happy to even drag yourself out of bed this morning and make coffee just tolerable enough not to spit out all over your kitchen floors.
Local man, you read after clicking, deemed the “campus creeper,” was found passed out on the Student Union steps early this morning. Identified by a member of student patrol at Mustafu University, the man’s name has yet to be released to the public as it appeared he was suffering from a number of wounds, mostly external.
Despite condition, students have taken to social media to express their relief, as the man has reportedly been following students—
You stop reading, having hardly even processed the words, really, as you try to shake off the fog that keeps you from really understanding what the words are telling you.
A tightness settles in your stomach, heavy and painful with a nausea you can’t shake, a question you don’t yet realize: is this the same person, same man, who scared you half to death last night by trailing you all the way home? It’s unclear from the article, the timing, the picture with his blurred out features… and the fact that he must've been dragged all the way back up to school because he was found nowhere near your home.
While you assume you’ll be more excited once the new sinks in and the nerves turn to consolation (and the person to your left stops chattering into the ear of the person sat behind you), you can’t help but shoot to your feet and run to the closest bathroom in a panic, trying not to hyperventilate looking at yourself in the mirror in between splashing water on your face.
-
The day has once again fallen into night. Your bag is heavy with the weight of books and pens and your schedule notepad that has all your plans for the rest of the week and even the month beyond that. Today, however, the clouds don’t creep and instead, you see stars, maybe only a handful or so, one airplane too, as the sun descends in a tender calm and the windchill greets your cheeks once more.
You walk, out of class and down the ancient steps of the building, start descending the hill down to the first busy intersection of streetlights where the president of your school was once hit by a car.
It’s not three blocks into the way home, however, that a shadow appears once more. Distantly, though you’re sure it’s calculated enough so as not to ring as intentional no matter how much you know it is, and can feel it in your bones.
You thought he had been caught. The creeper.
You hadn’t realized you were so relieved by the thought. It slipped your mind, the celebration over as quick as it started under the weight of all your schoolwork and the dirty looks your classmates sent you after you came back from dry heaving into the bathroom sink. Maybe it was a different guy they caught, you wonder, then kick yourself for being so naive as to think that maybe you’d been spared.
Of course not, you think. It’s never that easy, is it?
Panic once again bubbles up in your throat, anxiety pooling in your stomach like something hot melting through stone, and tears start to sting at the center of your eyes. You do your best to ward away the urge to collapse, instead trying to focus on the fact that everything was fine yesterday and tonight’s just another dream you’ll wake up from again tomorrow…though by now you know it’s not.
It is easier, this time, however, to begin to run, to bounce on your feet with a purpose you hope isn’t any more transparent than your fear. You’re happy that today you managed to pack light, skipped filling up your water bottle, and happened to put on your sneakers instead of your slip-ons, as if you didn’t spend half of your entire morning trying to convince yourself that potentially saving your own life was a good thing.
By the time you make it to the door, chest heaving with a wheezing heat as your hand shakes the key into the padlock, when you turn back to look one final time before ducking inside, still gasping for air, the shadow is no longer behind you.
-
The creeper is getting braver, you notice.
It has been weeks since the shadow appeared and the following began. One week of that same distant trailing which had you sprinting like some sort of track star, two weeks of running only the last block home, locking every single bolt on your door (then unlocking when it was time to let your roommate in), and three in total of squinting behind you in stinted moments and wondering what you see.
You think his hair is white.
Now though, tonight, he stays not a block or two behind you but rather, less than fifty feet. You can make him out—see now the faded black of his jeans and the red of his chuck taylors, dirty. He’s young-ish, you think, more noticeable than before, and skinnier–though maybe your eyesight has just gotten worse, or the memories have faded in trying to spare you from another trauma, maybe even from awakening any of the first ones.
You wonder how he was able to speed up, where he was waiting for you, where he came from that first night, the second, and now. And you wonder why you’ve stopped running as fast, even if you’ve been trying to leave campus earlier and earlier as if that will keep you any safer from walking home at night.
(You had remained after class one night to ask your professor a question you no longer remember, and a wispy haired girl sneered at you so badly you ended up weeping on your way out the door. Not only did it kill your urge to ever stay longer on campus than you needed to, it also caused a wane to your desire to even arrive home at all).
-
One day, the creeper catches up.
Reaches, like he’d be able to touch you, smiles, like his canines are sharp enough to chew through you…hopefully in one bite if he was even able to swallow that much. Maybe he is.
But you swat back when he does. Hoist your bag in close. Glare over your shoulder. Then speed up, and your lungs tighten into stone almost immediately when he speaks.
“Hey—”
“Get the fuck,” you screech, turning back just enough to say the words despite not knowing if you’d even be brave enough to let them out, to get away unscathed, “away from me!”
The shadow, however, instead of shrinking into disparagement like you so hoped… laughs, skipping towards you, laces flying, smiling wide.
“Aw, c’mon,” he jeers, to which you wince as you try to stomp away from his pull. That is, in between your attempts at keeping your eyes on him so that he doesn’t pull anything else fast, or deadly.
“I swear to fucking god. I will call the cops.”
Another laugh, his footsteps now lighter, his voice switching to something airy and cool.
“Don’t be like that, pretty.”
You barely look, but you see a flash of red as he kicks out his foot, the curl of a grin pulling one side of his lips lopsided as he lazily trots to match your hurried pace.
You want to start running, to disappear, dissolve—anything to stop things from developing further into a conversation and your possible demise—but he catches up to you again before you can even try to skirt away in any direction other than forward.
“You noticed quicker than I thought you would,” he almost hums, the words exposing the soft, pink tissue of his gums. “‘didn’t think you would.”
There is a question in his statement, though his voice doesn’t lilt and only his eyebrows give it away, quirking, stretching, falling, the piercing on his left one along with it, when you slow down (hardly, still breathing rough and nervous, not wanting to look) but don’t respond.
“Most people…” he shakes his head, “eh.”
“What?” you stop your stride, more out of surprise than want, and stare at him despite how distinctly you avoid catching his eyes. “Like people don’t know when they’re being followed?”
“Nah,” he says, his mouth remaining open after, humorously, like you’re supposed to get the joke, think it’s cool, that he’s a zombie, maybe. Something. “Like I thought you wouldn’t care.”
You cross your arms, blink at the ground in trying to hide what is most likely a stupid looking pout in your failing attempt to get hot and angry. You shouldn’t even be speaking. “I care when creepy people follow me.”
He laughs again, raspy and free. “It’s been weeks.”
You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of looking at him, but you look at him anyway. Truly focus on the mop of messy white and black streaked hair atop his head, the stained, canvas jacket with extra pockets and copper zippers, and his smile; the delicate, creased skin of his jaw that fades smoothly up his cheeks and down his neck. He isn’t bare of a good amount of piercings, either: he’s got all sorts metal in his ears, nose, and dimples, as far as you can tell by simply looking at him
He’s not really all that creepy-looking after all. To your surprise (and slight disgust), in fact, you find he’s somewhat… handsome.
You swallow.
“It’s been three.”
“Hm, baby?”
You tense, the claws returning, this time aiming for your heart, shredding it open, every insecurity lighting aflame when he smiles that smile again.
“Three weeks. That’s how long you’ve been stalking me,” you say.
There’s a pause, a shift, something you don’t catch and can hardly read. Then, he rolls his eyes, shoving his white knuckled fingers into the pockets of his coat. He doesn’t move otherwise, doesn’t even look angry, or as though he’s going to take any steps backwards or forward, and not like he’s going to lunge at you as if you’re prey and there’s an animal in him that he’s already promised food.
You feel otherwise, though he shakes his head with a ‘tsk. “I’d say stalking is a little harsh.”
You’re not sure why you object, “But–”
“I don’t stare into your window,” he taunts, “don’t have your number, don’t send you stupid love poems every night and every morning that say,‘I love you, be mine!’” He pretends to sing-song,
You can feel the irony, hear the chuckle but turn anyway to resume your walk into the night. Briskly. Refusing to look back and acknowledge the stranger you’re not sure wants to kill you.
“I don’t throw rocks at your window,” he continues to call after you, “or approach you in cafes and pretend you’re crazy when you scream.”
“Then leave me alone,” you shout, hoping the wind carries it far enough behind you to reach him, though you shiver still.
You don’t see it, but he shrugs. And surprisingly stays where he’s put, watching you try not to look like you’re peeking at him before nearly tripping on your own feet. You’re not sure if it’s a relief.
It’s the first night since first learning of him that you’ve walked home alone.
-
Later, you learn the creep has two names.
It’s been five weeks now, just after winter’s turn, the clouds not so big anymore but often dense with the slightest bit of rain you enjoy only when you wake up in the middle of the night too scared to go back to sleep.
The creeper, the shadow, your stalker, basically lives behind you now, grinning whenever you glance, dancing whenever you glare; it’s like he soaks up your, any kind of, attention like a bonfire being doused with gasoline. You’re still scared, unknowing of what he wants, but now that you’ve spoken, there’s somewhat of a static that’s settled, too; it’s tense and awkward, but the horror of it all is stagnant in build, in wait for the spark to light and set your whole world ablaze.
Though he finds you again, two red lights in, halfway to your house.
“Hey,” he says, following with your name.
You immediately shudder, jerking away from him in surprise as if there’s anything else you could do, but he just laughs that laugh of his, undisturbed he’s now talking to your back.
“Where’d you learn that?” you snap, but you can practically hear his grin when he responds.
“Got classmates, don’t you?”
Most of your classmates ignore you half the time, the other half just roll their eyes. Most of your classmates laugh whenever you speak, the ones who don’t have made you cry in front of your professors.
“They wouldn’t piss on me if I was on fire.”
“I would,” he says, pausing as if he’s some sort of pensive, then giving you a look that assures you he’s up to no good, “and they gave me your name. Ibara, Setsuna, Yui–I could go on, you know?”
You’re surprised. You’re disgusted. At him, at them, and you gape, the only thing you can think to do under a circumstance that implies no one has any regard for your safety and yet, hardly leaves you surprised. “I think I’d rather just die.”
“That’s not true,” the creeper laughs, seeming oddly sure of the answer. You’re too nonplussed to decide if he’s right.
“I hate you,” you try instead.
“You don’t even know me.”
And it’s no nice to meet you, but the words slip out before you can stop them.
“So, what’s your name then?”
He hesitates, sucking on the piercing on his bottom lip before letting it pop back out in a sneer that shows pointed teeth. You’re not sure if he’s meaning to come off as upset or pensive, bitter or just plain rude.
“Dabi.”
The words fall off his lips, snappy and hot, like you’re lighting the burner on an old stove, or flicking a match against a matchbox for the first time and getting surprised when it sparks.
You pause, peeking over your shoulder. “‘gonna cremate me once you kill me?”
This time, he doesn’t laugh. “Maybe,” he says, then when you don’t react, “no.”
Your foot taps the ground when you look forward again. “You should really think about changing it, then.”
There’s a pause, a shift in clothes and in breath despite the pace at which you walk. You feel nervous, awkward the way one does when someone catches you with bad hair, or wearing the last clean clothes in the house on laundry day. You’re not sure why you care so much about a man who clearly does not care about you. Or does… in the same way a farmer fattens up a chicken for slaughter.
“Call me Touya, then,” he says, his eyes dark. “That’s what my ma calls me.”
“Touya,” you repeat, sounding the word out on your tongue soft and slow. Lamp. Arrow. A name from his mother. Your lips wrap around it, caress the warmth of the dip, the bend, the aim… and his face breaks into that knowing, wolfish grin.
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
You freeze, one foot freezing in the air, and he bursts into a rasp of laughter so loud your eyebrows immediately shoot up and almost off your head entirely. You go in to shush him like you would as if you were accused of something embarrassing, your expression morphing into a deep frown, and his own lightening with humor but still twisting with something hidden, something you really hope is not satisfaction. His lopsided smile falls just the slightest when he sees you readjust your bag and start, almost, stomping away.
He lets you find distance, of course, he’s always been a shadow not a stable fly, but Touya once again resumes his lazy trailing, joyously humming now, the sound echoing in your ears much longer than it probably should as he falls into a careful step behind you just as he always does… until you eventually make it home.
-
At six weeks in, he finally drops you off at your house.
Normally Touya stops his trail about a block or two before you make it, today, however, by the time you’re on the stone steps leading up to your front door, he’s a mere ten feet from your side like a chivalrous date making sure you get home safe (or like someone intending to grab your hands when you’re opening the door and rush in after you, as if to mount you right there on the floor). Your knees wobble on the first step when he speaks, though he remains standing politely next to the fire hydrant by the curb, playing with an unlit cigarette in between his fingers.
“Got any roommates?”
You stop, keys dangling from your fingers as you refuse to turn back and look.
“Yeah,” you say, staring at the chopped firewood on your porch as you let the silence sprawl. You would’ve said the same even if you didn’t.
“Good. Smart cookie.”
Your stomach twists. Your face burns. He bounces on his heels. You can’t move.
“That bakery down the street,” he begins again, nodding his head when you peek at him, barely. “It got food?”
You squint, your stiff hands cold and tight, his in his pockets.
“Um.”
He waits.
“It’s got mice.”
Then he bursts into laughter, quickly quieting to suck his teeth and kick a foot forward like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how. There’s a part of you that knows you need to stop indulging this man, for your own safety and sanity, but there’s another part that also doesn’t flip when you think of the possibility of dying. Instead of going inside, you kick your own feet out and ignore your trepidation.
“Why?”
“Wanna get dinner?”
He grins, and you hate the thought as soon as it arises, but it’s lovely; he has the smile lines of someone who has lived a happy life, and he looks so pretty you almost want to cry.
(Today he’s dressed in dark, stained jeans and dirty boots. His hair is still a white and black mess and his smile is boyish and toothy. It sends a current up your spine that makes you jerk when you turn back to face your front door.)
“Piss off.”
You shove your key in the lock to ignore the way he responds with a chuckle as his farewell, goofily waving when you manage to get the stupid thing to turn and yourself inside (which you notice only when you turn to slam the door closed and the curtain ripples).
But later, when you spare one more glance, the way one glances, out of the window of your living room as if to merely check the weather, Touya is smoking his cigarette on the street corner.
-
Campus Creep Caught Hanging Around.
Busted, but this time, not blue! The attacker who was dubbed the “campus creeper” by Mustafu University students was spotted once more about a mile away from the local school. A local cafe owner claims he saw the man being followed by another of a similar size, but is unsure if the two men are of a related circumstance or other.
He reports that the neighborhood has been in good spirits lately, so this comes as a shock. As we continue to find out more, the public will be updated—
-
Today your shadow is waiting for you at the end of the block. You spot him from out of the third story window of your classroom, feet sticking halfway off the curb and a lit cigarette between his lips that curls pretty, silver smoke into the golden blue light of the nighttime air.
“Hey, need a ride home?” one of your classmates asks beside you, the one that has your same name, shocking you out of your stupor as they tap the fingers of one hand against your table and swing their car keys around in the other.
You can barely tear your gaze away from the window to look at them; their flushed face, their short curls, tight and bouncing, and their awkward, half-assed attempt at generosity. You wonder if this is some kind of exercise they were told to practice in therapy.
“I heard about the campus stalker,” they continue without prompt. “Shihai and Kinoko are coming too, but you can squeeze in the middle, if you want.”
Their smile looks almost pitying.
“Uh,” you blink, a little stupefied, a little shy. “It’s alright, but thanks.”
They raise their eyebrows. “Isn’t your neighborhood a ways down by that cafe?”
“Yeah,” you nod, pausing to flick your eyes upward, “But I, uh...my friend is gonna walk me.”
You point toward the window, where your shadow, Dabi, Touya, whoever, has stopped smoking and is now bent over (teasing, most likely, with a gray-tinted shoelace) one of the mouser cats owned by the keepers of the small temple that sits snug at the back of your school.
You’re not exactly sure when he morphed into your friend. You don’t even think he has yet… but the words feel natural, eager, and easier than sliding onto leather seats in between two people who have never once looked your way with a nice expression and probably never will.
“Oh good!” same-name laughs, tipping their head back in a way that almost seems exaggerated. “I was scared someone might try to nab you. Not anymore, though.”
You’re not quite sure if they’re joking, but you try to smile and nod along anyway.
-
By the time he catches up to you that night, he’s half out of breath.
“There you are,” he says, grinning that stupid, wolf-like grin. “‘thought maybe you’d left out the back. Would’ve had to run to catch you.”
You frown, readjusting the weight of your bag on your shoulder like always, distracted as you multitask trying to make sure your water bottle hasn’t leaked as you run through a list of things to remember as well as double check that you haven’t forgotten anything inside.
“The north wing is halfway around campus,” you purposely avoid mentioning you took the long way to skip the corner where Touya usually stands. Instead of his face, you stare at the ground instead, by now resigned to the torture of waiting for your end… even if you’re secretly a tad disappointed he hadn’t brought the cat with him.
“So?” Touya doesn’t look perturbed when you finally face him, almost as if he was waiting for you, “’woulda caught up eventually.”
You make a note to add that to your list of things to remember, raising your eyebrows.
“Why?” you ask, and then before he can tease, “Why bother, I mean?” and you can tell he must think you’re joking by the way he doesn’t answer, instead responding by flattening his face–his eyes sinking back into the cozy crevices where they rest and the skin of his chin tightening with exasperation as dry as tinder.
You try not to be too perturbed by it, instead of pressing him for answers, simply turning to set back off as if that will stop the eye roll he’ll give you behind your back and change his mind about following you home. But, as always, or at least, as of more recently, Touya waits a mere five steps before starting right along behind you like the shadow his is.
-
“What do you want from me, Touya?”
You ask the question one day, finally, two and a half months in. Classes aren’t over yet, but the end of winter semester is fast approaching. The words seem to scratch at your throat, their destination apparent even if you find they’re hard to spit out and burn on their way out.
“What?” he asks, falling into a perky step beside you. He’s been that close everyday for the last two weeks now. And now, pressed up against you, near hopping like you’ve been friends for years, he doesn’t back away from the inquiry.
You’re tired. Sick of waiting. Sad that you let this whole thing last so long when you’ve been quite aware of your impending doom (not that you ever told anyone, not even your roommate) and have done little to try and stop it.
“You wanna kill me or something? Take me home so you can fuck me then run me over?”
Touya’s footsteps slow, and he halts (for the first time ever of his own volition) a little ways behind you. He’s not as tall as you initially thought him to be back when he kept his distance, but you’ve also since learned that his eyes are the prettiest cyan you’ve ever seen, and his scarred skin is soft and pink. Silver piercings adorn his cheeks like dimples, scars cutting the two different textures right in half.
“No,” he says, then half heartedly and calm, “you know I’ve done enough of that, already.”
You glance at him, pulling your head back in a half-horrified glare. But instead of the only half-serious expression you’re so used to seeing on him, however, you find a shit-eating smirk on his face that tells you he’d laugh if he weren’t so obviously trying to yank your chain by not doing so at all.
Still serious, he jumps at you though, eyes opening wide, hands outstretched and twitching like a monster in a cartoon out to grab you, and you hop back like he’s on fire. No sooner does his face fall that he glances at you as if waiting for some kind of reaction, positive review, happy Halloween (even though it’s ages before Halloween).
When you stay silent, the hands on your chest not falling, your expression still one of terror but to him quite bitter, he rolls his eyes so far up that only the white are showing.
“I’m joking,” he says, his baby ocean blues coming back down to settle right on you. “Obviously.”
You pause, standing still, trying to breathe, comprehend the, the, the predator that has been following you so closely for what you finally conclude has been months now.
All those torturous moments, since that first night of running, all amounted to something even he won’t name. A silent end, for someone as lonely and pathetic as you; it’d almost be fitting, except for the fact that there’s no specific reason for it to be you. You’re a nobody, friendless and unhappy, waiting for the day you finally graduate and can leave this shitty city behind. It’s not like it ever kept you safe.
“Then what?” you ask.
You feel resigned, defeated, undermined… yet he looks at you dumbly, as if you’re supposed to know something you clearly do not, and while you’d normally be embarrassed, you find you’re too worn down to care. Touya raises his brows sharply, the bruised-looking (but delicate) bags under his eyes shifting slightly with the tension of an annoyed frown as his voice strains to mock you. “What do you mean, ‘then what?’”
Your face goes slack, and you think you’d try to hit him if you knew that wouldn’t end up with you on the ground or sobbing alone at home. “Seriously, Touya? We both know you’re stalking me.”
He laughs dryly, one of the few times you’ve seen him so serious (the last time when he pointed out something dead on the pavement you had to stop him from trying to pray for. ‘I don’t even go to temple,’ he had said at the time, sounding so offended that you decided to drop the subject altogether and just let him go for the little dead bird he said he wanted to give to a friend). “I’m not.”
“You are. I know you are. You…”
“I can assure you, hon, if I were stalking you, you’d already be roadkill,” he twists one of his earrings, making a show of staring at the painted nails of his other hand, dark purple, before tsk-ing at you, sassy. “Not like you run from me, anyway.”’
You feel your stomach turn in embarrassment, in shame. You know he’s partly right, but you’re not about to admit that to the man who started it in the first place, who chased you home that whole first month, who, despite the familiarity you share now, still takes pleasure in your pain.
“Because, because no matter what I do, you won't quit chasing me. I’ve been running from you. ‘Cos you won’t leave. Me. Alone.”
Touya rolls his eyes, then sighs like you’re being a hassle. “If you really didn’t want me here I woulda left. I’m not stupid.”
“But I don’t want you here. I never did. You show up out of, of, fucking nowhere, acting like you know me—”
“I’m keeping you safe, lollipop,” he interrupts, though the words hardly register.
“Safe? As if it’s my fault you can’t leave me alone?”
You think of all the nights that had you near paralyzed with terror, from that first day onward, of rubbing your feet raw in your shoes, of wishing someone would come save you, of puzzling why you never ended up dead, to now. You never once thought, realized–
“Not your fault. His. The neighbor stalker.”
You can barely respond, your arms shaking at your sides, eyes watering with distress.
“But you, you’re…”
He smacks his lips with a yawn.
“Yeah, I beat him black and blue, maybe. But only cuz he was trailing you, I wouldn’t…” he shoves one hand in the pocket of his coat, waves the other dramatically in the air, “go after someone unless—”
“Touya?” you question, your throat rough, your swallows heavy and thick with a syrupy confusion.
“They did something real bad, like messed with a—“
“Dabi.”
He finally looks at you, the sheen in his eyes, for once, solemn, as if he harbors a genuine concern for your safety all brought on by your confusion.
“What?”
It’s a question he asks a lot, but this time, he seems to mean it.
“Dabi,” you repeat, “you mean… you’re not the campus creep? The one on the news?”
He gawks at you suddenly. The silence stretching, the night suddenly looming, the breeze even seeming to laugh. His disinterested expression begins to fade into a blank, unreadable nothingness… and then he howls. Hoots. Yells. His smile returning then, wide, blazing, hot.
He laughs like you’ve never seen anyone laugh before, guffawing joyously and jollily, slapping his hands against the ripped holes of his jeans as his chest heaves underneath today’s thin, white tee.
It’s almost contagious. Almost.
“And here I thought we were bonding.”
You prickle like a cat, digging your toes into the tips of your worn out shoes. “Stop it. I’m being serious.”
“You’re tellin’ me,” he manages in between snickers, “you thought I was the creeper this whole time?”
“You’re not?”
“That guy?” Touya straightens up to wipe his eyes, and you finally notice the crow’s feet that crinkle around his eyes, “Hell no. You think I do this for fun? Wear fuckin’ ugly hats and shit to terrorize pretty students at the school my ass of a little brother attends?”
You say nothing. He starts laughing again, clapping his hands and keeling over. Even in jest, his voice still has that soft, raspy charm as he hoots at the ground.
“Dabi. Touya. Whoever you are,” you plead, the first time ever you think you’ve voluntarily gotten closer to him, grabbing the rough shoulder of his jacket and tugging. He stumbles, maybe more on purpose than because of your grip, closing the distance between you such that his chest is pressed against yours and his hands are on your hips. “Tell me the truth. What’s going on?”
He snorts, the only difference in sound now that it’s muffled by the closeness of your lips, but responds slowly nonetheless.
“I beat the snot,” he emphasizes, exposing teeth, “out of your stalker. And you didn’t even know he wasn’t me.”
“But…” you say, hesitating against him, your hands slipping from the stiff collar of his jacket to the front of his chest, confused. His eyes are as cold as ice but set you on fire when you meet his gaze. “You didn’t have to. I mean, I woulda been fine, right?”
He doesn’t look entirely convinced. “You tell me, when you’re the one still trying to walk your stupid ass home alone at night.”
You flush, cheeks heating the skin all the way down to your neck. Touya seems to have clocked you far better than you ever knew it yourself–that he was never the enemy, that you were trapped in a self pity so deep only he could drag you out of it before choking, that dying, being tortured, being stalked, was far from the punishment you needed to get that kind of smoke out of both your lungs and your head.
And, if anything, that you were lucky to have him.
“Yeah, yeah. I don’t care.” Touya steps back only to purposely step gently on your toes. When you glare at him, hand still stretched out to link the two of you together somehow, he only grins. “Buy me dinner to make up for it. Or kiss me sometime. With tongue. Either’s fine, cookie.”
-
It’s been six months. Summer is just about to begin, your roommate has already left on vacation, and the closer you get to the end of the season, the more you feel your worries begin to melt off of you like layers upon layers of frost on an icy window of a warm cabin.
The shadow still walks you home, but he no longer trails behind you, and you no longer call him a creep. You call him Touya–now your lamp, now your arrow–and sometimes Dabi (that is, when you feel like he’s not listening).
Though the sun now sets a whole hour later than it did during winter, excusing as much of a need for Touya’s presence in your routine, you have now welcomed him into it, (even if you spent the first couple months of your real relationship trying to make up for your initial confusion at his presence with bowls of soap and burnt bread from the cafe near your house.)
It is a Thursday when a wispy-haired classmate comes up to you on the steps that lead away from campus. She’s the one you knew vaguely from elementary school in your distant home town, and who made herself reacquainted by sneering at you once for eating a candy bar in class; she bared fangs at you like she herself had never been hungry, and then ignored you every time you saw her after (even during assigned group work, when you realized she wasn’t even that intelligent).
But, now, you know, Touya can sneer, too, and sneer for you in ways that light a fire in the hearth of your existence… and he does so, sharply, arrogantly, when she approaches underneath the fading light of the sun and slate blue sky. She looks almost scared, even more so of his smile, big, wide and scary—that is, until you interrupt the moment by calling out to her from behind his back.
“You ever heard about the campus creeper?” you ask, to which she nods anxiously, big, wet tears welling in her eyes as she hobbles right over to your side, Touya already barking into the warming night air as he begins to walk you both home.
#dabi x reader#touya todoroki x reader#touya x reader#oh m god. i want to do another read thru so bad but i am just going to press post.#please please heed warnings but enjoy#i promise it's not so scary#i love you#caitie fic#gen#caitie post#dabi
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I will literally never get over Mizumono. Literally ever. I know how the show ends, I’ve seen the last episode. I’m working my way through season three now. But the way the misunderstanding played out at the end of season two is as horrific as it is so beautifully executed. I am going to be ripping it apart frame by frame and trying to fit it together differently for them in my head forever
#also I am being told to read fanfic#and I’m sure I will#but i have to say#this is the first show that’s already given me everything I wanted#I feel like I have no needs here#it’s wild how fulfilling this dynamic is to watch unfold#happiness is not what I am for I guess?#but will called him to warn him so he’d run away#and hannibal#who i will readily admit is a madman#needed to finish his surprise for him#oh god i love this and I hate this so much#hannigram#hannibal#also I’m not in any fandom so I don’t know if this is a bad idea to say on tumblr#so I’m burying it#but that s3 scene when hannibal is washing bedelia’s hair??#please???
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first official day of napowrimo!!! april 1st prompt is: poem that recounts the plot of a novel you haven't read in a while. (warning for themes of war, bombing, & past abuse)
overnight in a bomb shelter
if the world ends this week
please brush my hair
i won’t ask you to be gentle
let me walk barefoot
farther away than the eye can see
in weather cold or warm
i may bite you
sting and curse you
don’t come too close
feed me and bathe me
that’s all i ask
but bombs scream overhead
planes shriek with their engines
sirens blare from the streets
in a murky shelter
buried beneath the mud
of your childhood home
your calloused hands are soft
dropping a blanket ‘round my shoulders
reading a book in the dark
my ears ring and my hands shake
you shield me with your palms
you promise to teach me to sew
to read and write
to run and climb
in moments in the dark
where the world might end
where all i smell is mold
you treat me like a child
who has never known love
i treat you like a woman
who has never known love
and for a moment
the world feels right
as the bombs scream overhead
‘cause the world might end tonight
#napowrimo#napowrimo 2024#blue’s writing#poetry#poem#tw war mention#tw bomb mention#tw past abuse#just for tw warnings <3#the book this is based off is 'the war that saved my life' by kimberly bradley :]#first introduction to found family trope that i like. actually processed was found family#hence the 'child woman' not 'daughter mother'#<333 oh man ada and susan <3#i love this book sm i needed to write about it#highly rec u read it. rlly good and complex#also ada is disabled and still living her life fuck yeah. god i love ada sm. just like me fr#also yes im posting this 3 am on april 1st. early bird gets the worm or whatever
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youth by daughter is 09 soap in mw3, bitter and defeated after losing ghost, talking to 22 soap who’s so hopeful and secretly in love with his lieutenant
#just mw3 soap being broken after losing his entire team as well as ghost#talking to 22 soap who still has everything and is so full of love it almost makes 09 sick with grief#its a blend of him talking to 22 soap and almost warning him#‘and if youre still breathing youre the lucky ones. cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs’#‘and if youre still bleeding youre the lucky ones. cause most of our feelings they are dead and they are gone’#‘well ive lost it all im just a silhouette’#‘and if youre in love then you are the lucky one cause most of us are bitter over someone. setting fire to our insides for fun#to distract our hearts from ever missing them. but im forever missing him’#as well as him talking to his ghost#‘shadows settle on the place that you left. our minds are troubled by the emptiness’#‘destroy the middle its a waste of time. from the perfect start to the finish line’#‘my eyes are damp from the words you left ringing in my head when you broke my chest’#theres a fic by m1ckstar i think? something like that#about soap worshipping price and him just slowly losing it after he comes back and breaks his perception of him as a god#and mourning ghost at the same time#and i never shouldve read bc fuck if it didnt hurt#coming out of my cage and ive been doing just fine.txt#talk to me ghost#soapghost#ghostsoap#09 soapghost#09 soap#09 ghost#soap cod#soap mactavish#ghost cod#simon ghost riley#we’re a team. ghost team
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Pairings: Elriel, background Feysand
Rating: E
Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Murder, Attempted Kidnapping, Inappropriate Erections, BDSM, Blood Kink, Title from a Taylor Swift Song, Elain rips out a man’s throat with her bare hands and that’s a turn-on for Azriel
Summary: When a stranger tries to kidnap Nyx during an outing to the park, Elain reacts the same way she did that day on the battlefield: by going for the throat. Azriel distracts her in the aftermath.
——— Find more on my masterlist or read this fic on AO3!
Azriel was at the window in Rhysand’s office, looking out at the garden behind the River House and idly listening to his brothers talking, when Feyre shrieked.
Blood, his shadows whispered. Death.
He turned—and Rhys was gone, winnowing to his mate’s side at the sound of her scream. The wards pulled at Azriel as he tried to do the same, a dozen spiderwebs made of magic strong as steel caging him in. He cursed them and pushed off the window’s ledge, running, chasing the sound of growing panic out of the study and down the hall with Cassian hot on his heels.
Rhys was already there, his back to them, reaching for Feyre.
And as Azriel took in the scene, he realized that she was right to scream, because there, in the wide-open doorway where Elain stood with Nyx…
Azriel saw red, but it wasn’t the glow of Cassian’s Siphons guiding him to a fight. It wasn’t his fury blinding him.
No.
It wasn’t fury. He locked that away, deeper and more primal than his usual icy rage, because he could not waste his time or energy sating it when Elain—
Truth-Teller’s hilt was cold in his palm, the metal biting into skin, and he savored the pain. The clarity it brought.
Because Elain was covered with blood.
She was soaked in it, her pretty blue dress dyed purple and her fine winter coat drenched up to the elbow. It had splashed up onto her neck, her face, painting her cheeks crimson and plastering a lock of hair to her temple. A thick, wet droplet of it was still beaded in the bow of her lip, threatening to slip down onto her tongue.
And Nyx— Nyx’s little wings were similarly covered in gore, the back of his woolen onesie speckled with red.
Cold, murderous darkness billowed out in warning waves from Rhys, staining the sunny afternoon with night. The ground rumbled dangerously with every step he took toward Elain, his hands outstretched to take his son.
But Elain only trembled, clutching her one-year-old nephew closer to her chest as his parents tried to coax her into letting go.
“He’s fine,” she murmured miserably, and Feyre gave up on taking Nyx and wrapped her arms around her sister and her son together. “He’s not hurt.”
Feyre made a low, relieved noise, her head dropping onto Elain’s shoulder. “Are you? What happened?”
Azriel watched, his shadows investigating the small dribbles of blood pooling on the floor beneath Elain, but she said nothing. Her eyes went distant, though, and Feyre inhaled sharply, her knuckles turning white where they clutched Elain’s sodden coat.
And whatever she saw, she shared with her mate, because when Rhys turned back to them, his eyes were devoid of stars. In their place, only calculating fury remained.
“Stay with them,” he ordered. His wings unfurled, he snapped his fingers, and his fine, formal jacket and trousers were replaced by a familiar set of leathers.
Cassian cursed at the sight of them.
Azriel forced himself to stop staring at Elain, to stop drinking in the sight of the blood on her throat, to take a step toward the door. Whatever had happened, whatever threat was coming, he needed to go with Rhys, to investigate— His shadows were already snaking out into Velaris, past the citizens gasping and gaping at the sudden darkness their High Lord brought down on them in search of—
A bit of night-dark power slammed the door shut and the heavy, magical lock thudded home. Rhys blocked his path.
“Stay with her,” he said again, and this time it was less an order than…
“Guard the estate,” he said, the reasoning flimsy, transparent, as if Feyre alone weren’t powerful and pissed enough to protect her family, her son.
Azriel looked at him. His brother's teeth were still bared with fury, that dangerous corona of darkness still wreathed him, but in his eyes, in that knowing look…
Permission.
“We need to clean you two up,” Cassian was saying somewhere above Elain’s head. His hand was firm on her back, sturdy and comforting and warmed by the glowing Siphon atop it. “Warm you up, get a little something to eat.”
But Elain didn’t want to let go of Nyx, still feeling the grabbing, tearing hands on her arms, trying to take the baby from her. She still burned with anger, her teeth still felt sharp and dangerous in her mouth, her nails—sticky and wet as they were—as good as claws.
Nyx hiccuped, and she knew it was the prelude to a tantrum. She couldn’t blame him; his wings were all wet and cold, his dear papa had appeared and left just as quickly without so much as ruffling his hair, and now his uncle was staring down at him with a frown carved into his face while his mama rubbed a firm hand up and down his back.
“Elain.”
That voice… Elain had missed that voice.
“Give me the baby.”
Elain sniffled, but Nyxie whined again, squirming. And how could she say no to that voice? She buried her nose in the baby’s inky black hair, kissed his forehead one more time, and gently lifted him out of the cleverly tied sash that secured him to her. Her hands itched once Azriel took the baby, aching to snatch him back, but his dark eyes met hers over the tips of Nyx’s wings.
He shook his head. She fisted her hands together and curled them over her heart.
Azriel gave Nyx a quick once-over—no damage, no injuries, and Elain could have burst with pride at the impressed look he gave her—and handed him to Feyre. His arm curled around her, his hand resting at the small of her back.
“Come with me.”
#elriel#azriel shadowsinger#elain archeron#elain#feyre archeron#nyx#rhysand#cassian#feyre#a court of thorns and roses fic#acotar#my fics#crimson clover#read the warnings for the love of god#i might write a murderous feysand followup because i have ideas#anon asked for it and i said bet? alright
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i love having autism because it means i make the most insane crossover AUs that make no sense because i feel the need to insert my special interesting into every piece of media i consume.
anyways, completely unrelated (/s), i'm drawing miles as a fucked up biblically accurate angel because of a book i read-
#silly lawyer game#toadies ramblings#please for the love of god#read the book 'hell followed with us'#if you're queer or like reading about queer rage and bigots getting their shit rocked#read this book (after looking up trigger warnings)
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ridi im sorry i need to rant and i think youll get it 😭 like not to be a bitch but this fandom kinda going off the rails and annoying the shit out of me https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRbYASpf/ everybody in the comments unironically loving it,,, i mean wtvr ship who you want but its kinda getting delusional like ppl are just operating on thin air and pretty fancasts atp and i do Not understand or emotionally connect with any of it. at least w wolfstar theres so much material and foundation to explore but what is all the rest of this?? just hot celebrity fancasts and crack. to be fair part of me respects taking a terfs canon material and making everybody gay but the way it seems to be so oversaturating fics and the fandom that characters dont even feel like their original selves .. atp its all just surface level OCs
hello! yes! i'll be honest talking about things like this always make me a little nervous, and i feel obligated to preface anything i say with a disclaimer that none of it really matters, nothing i say matters, and you should do what you like, because--who cares. i am not an authority on--anything, frankly. my opinion holds no more weight than the next guy's, and all i'm doing here is giving it, so. essentially what im saying is--people are perfectly entitled to disagree with me, but people are not entitled to be mean to me about it xx
having said that. it is my personal opinion that s x barty is one of the worst fucking things i have ever heard lol. who even is barty who is that guy. why would s be interested in him at all. i do not understand it it does not make sense to me. from where are we sourcing the character traits and personality that we are giving barty that would ever endear sirius to him, because it objectively cannot be canon.
overall i do not get the new interest in barty + evan + pandora (+ regulus, but we won't go there)...at all, other than guessing that people were bored with the marauders and wanted a new version of them (and new celebrities to fancast) while simultaneously changing next to nothing about them other than superimposing them onto the first slytherin side characters they could rustle up. i expect ive become a bit of a broken record in regards to my dislike of the popular meow-meow-ification + complete absolution of regulus as a character in order to make him a loveable oc (just as i think erasing all the negative traits that r/s have in order to make them more likeable is just as boring), and all of that applies to those other guys as well (with the slight difference that they are, somehow, even less interesting and significant than regulus in canon), so i won't get into that too much. but i think what you say about having no emotional connection to any of it is exactly right lol--it is a sort of shift? i guess? in the fandom that is simply of no interest to me. they are characters that i just have no emotional investment in and admittedly struggle a little to understand why other people do. i am emotionally invested in, like, five characters overall (and even out of those--there's only two i'm really here for innit xx) and i personally cannot extend that investment to a creepy little side character who is mentioned maybe twice in the entire series.
and that is okay! i do not need to understand it. i don't want to say it annoys me because honestly--i don't go there, its nothing to do with me. if i dont like it i just wont interact with it, and the fact that it doesn't interest me has no bearing on what other people are into or want to do, and i couldn't give less of a shit what people do with the canon material, which is largely garbage anyway. take the bits you want from it, play around with those and ignore the rest. in that respect we are all doing exactly the same thing. but yeah i think s x barty is genuinely awful lol. hate it. very terrible. he's already got a loser werewolf boyfriend and he loves him so so much. leave him alone.
#i know most people are reasonable and thus it is perhaps overly cautious of me to insist on shrouding my unpopular#opinions in like. layer upon layer of placatory disclaimers but. well im a rather anxious guy i can't help it xx but im going to use these#tags to have a bit more of a consequence-less hater hour so. if you like regulus or barty or any of that lot i suggest you look away now#because i am about to express opinions about them that you probably wouldnt agree with + wouldnt enjoy reading!!#like full warning what im about to do is NOT any sort of analysis or defence of my opinion i will just be hating on them. is that clear.#okay. having said that. hater hour. barty and evan and honestly regulus were all cunts? like they were terrible people why do we care#about them now. regulus interests me solely as a piece of context for sirius' character. i could not give less of a shit about him as a#person in his own right. which leads me to my next hater moment: why oh why oh WHY on earth would canon james potter be interested#in canon regulus black. it makes sense in like a muggle au where they are virtually completely different characters but canon?#why would he be attracted to him. there is nothing. there is no chemistry i am ASLEEP and so is james. he would not give that#guy a second look. like it just baffles me it truly does. i feel like you have to bend over backwards to create a situation in which#james potter would ever show an interest in regulus. and i know jegulus is a fucking force to be reckoned with nowadays but god i just#do not like that ship. also i think the fact that barty and pandora and evan are essentially just oc characters who have been coloured#in by general fanon consensus shows in that what they have become is just. not interesting or complex or well fleshed out lol. like#idk i feel like they are just. very shallow. deliberately. so they are easy to like and easy to ship because that is what theyre there for.#god it feels so good to say all this. i will never be a hater again (<- lying) but i needed to be able to just. say this just once xx#also if you needed any more indication what barty and evan and regulus are here to do you just have to look at their#super-hot super-conventionally attractive celebrity model fancasts. like it all adds up its like but what if these death eaters were#not actually evil :-( what if they were really sweet and also? so so hot. like they were all so hot and actually really good#and none of them meant to be evil they didnt want to be :-( they were just hot good guys all in love with each other and the evil stuff#they did wasnt their fault :-( like that has to be. the most boring thing you couldve possibly done with these blank slates. surely.#anyway. im done now but i enjoyed hater hour immensely this was so fucking good for my soul xx thanks and goodnight xx#anon#telegram#scream hang on sorry. just looked at the comments of that tiktok where people are saying they were prison besties. girl. girl.#girl they were in prison for very different reasons baby. baby you know that right. baby look at me. look at me
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It’s alright. I’m here
Alright, folks, this is the Protective!Silco piece I referenced when I was planning my next set of fics. There are some warnings and general info I need to cover about this fic, so please pay attention to the author's note and trigger warnings. As a general reminder, the Witchy!Reader x Silco fic will be up next.
Trigger warnings: Attempted SA by an unnamed character, canon-typical violence
Pairing: Silco x AFAB!reader
Rating: Explicit
Word count: 2.8k
Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, attempted SA, this does end with comfort
Summary: You are having an incredibly mundane day, but things take a turn for the worst as a creep attempts to corner you. Thankfully, help is closer than it seems.
Minors DO NOT INTERACT
Author's note: I can't find the post to link, but a few weeks ago, I made a post about wanting to write a Protective!Silco one-shot based on a scary experience I had. This was the experience. I have been assaulted twice, and this piece directly pulls from a combination of those two experiences. I am in therapy and doing fine, but I needed to write it out. This was both extremely cathartic and very painful to write, and I almost didn't share it because it is difficult for me to re-read it. So, I couldn't edit the work as thoroughly as I normally do and it may not be my best work. Fair warning. However, I wanted to share it in the hopes that it can be helpful to another survivor. This should go without saying, but If you leave me a rude or hurtful comment, I will block you immediately.
It had been the most uneventful day. Silco was away on some kind of business, but all the mundane chores at The Last Drop still needed to be taken care of. Inventory needed to be ordered, supplies needed to be stocked, and someone eventually had to make the bar countertop slightly less sticky. Usually, that would be grunt work, but you took some pride in the place; way more pride than some random underling would.
The relationship you had with Silco was almost an unspoken one. Of course, the two of you had discussed it at great length, but only two other people were privy to the finer details. Jinx, of course, and Sevika because the full extent of her protection had to cover you as well. To anyone else, you were simply the lady Silco trusted to care for the less shady side of the business in his absence. Anything more than that was pure speculation. Some simply thought you were a very devoted assistant, and some had theories so scandalous you and Sevika had to discuss them over drinks.
The bar countertop was the first chore on your checklist today. The job wasn’t without satisfaction, and every inch of clean countertop only served to spur you on to the final goal. The cloudy haze of sticky syrups and exotic flavored liquors slowly lifted from the bar with each pass of a rag. Even though your fingers began to ache, the wood underneath started to shine, and a hum of contentedness passed your lips. One final pass with a different cloth dipped in a lemon-scented polish finished the job.
You were so engrossed in your work that you didn’t register a presence beside you until it spoke.
“Not many people woulda helped with that. Thank you.” Chuck’s familiar voice rang out in the room, startling you out of your concentration.
“Don’t mention it. I used to bartend, so it’s second nature to me. Besides, I’m not the one who has to be behind here all night.” You dismissed the thanks with a lighthearted wave.
Chuck hummed in agreement. The job paid well, and tips were great, but the constant flow of rowdy customers always constantly demanding more would wear anyone down.
You wiped your hands on the cloth tucked into your skirt's waistband and bent down to stow some of the cleaning products back under the bar. When you finally stood back up, Chuck was toying nervously with his hands and staring at you obliviously. The second your gaze met his, his cheeks flushed pink in embarrassment, and he immediately glanced away. “You know, you’re always welcome to work behind the bar with me.”
You laughed to yourself. Chuck was adorable, but he was one of the more clueless men that you worked with. Besides, he was far from your type. “I’d love to, but that's not what Silco pays me for.”
The syrup bottles still needed to be cleaned, so you continued wiping down the ones you could reach. Chuck picked up his own rag and began to clean a few glasses. You worked quickly and silently. After all, you had a schedule to keep. The silence between the two of you was comfortable, and the time flew by. Eventually, it was time for you to head out and run a few errands.
You packed up your things and finally broke the silence.
“Hey, I’m on my way out to run some errands and pick up another thing of bitters. We used way more last night than usual.”
There was no response. You turned back around to find Chuck lost in deep thought and polishing the glass like he was in a trance. Clearly, he didn’t hear you. You waved to grab his attention as you walked out from behind the bar, and it was his turn to jump slightly.
Chuck leaned back against the bar and tilted his head as if he was considering something. Then, finally, he found the right phrasing. “If you don’t mind me asking….. What does Silco pay you for?”
With the most deadpan expression you could muster, you turned to look directly at him as you headed for the door. “I bury the bodies.”
Chuck’s face instantly paled, and he dropped the glass he was cleaning. You turned around and walked quickly through the door before you lost your composure.
As soon as you shut the door behind you, you instantly doubled over in a fit of laughter. After a few minutes passed, you glanced at your watch as you wiped the tears from your eyes. Shit. I’m off schedule. I only have an hour before the shop closes.
Would Silco care? No, of course not….. but you would. The world would keep turning, but he worked so hard, and running these mundane errands was the absolute least you could do to help ease his load. Besides, you were only headed to one store to pick up a few extra bottles of cocktail syrup and bitters.
You rolled your eyes. The homemade syrup was infinitely better, but customers at the bar dropped a pretty penny for the stuff imported from topside, so it found its way into a wide variety of drinks. People paid to feel fancy.
On the bright side, the shop wasn’t even that far away from The Last Drop, and the walk was rather pleasant. Of course, the undercity had its problems, but it was the only home you’d ever known, and you truly loved it. You waved to some people you recognized on the street, and before you knew it, you had arrived.
The door to the shop jingled as you pushed it open and an unfamiliar man behind the register waved at you.
Oh, It looks like they hired someone new.
It was really not a problem. They should have the usual order stocked and ready to go behind the counter, and all you had to do was grab a few extra things and pay for the additional items. The bell jingled again behind you, and you barely even registered it as you walked around an aisle. You wandered a bit, taking time to look at the new stock and think of new drinks to try.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a man following you through the maze of shelves. He was tall and skinny, and he seemed to be watching you. As soon as you glanced in his direction, he hurriedly turned down a different aisle.
Weird. Maybe it was someone who was too shy to say hello earlier.
You didn’t start worrying until he returned. The people of the Lanes were your family, but some of them were undeniably dangerous. Part of growing up on the streets was learning when you were being followed or watched, and the man was undoubtedly doing both.
The seconds seemed to stretch on for hours and the hair on the back of your neck prickled. Someone following you down one aisle was nothing unusual, two was a coincidence, and three was unnerving. Your heart started to beat a little faster, but thankfully you reached the aisle with the bitters. You grabbed a few bottles and ducked back around the corner. The man seemed to vanish into thin air, and you let out a low sigh of relief. You didn’t even realize you’d been holding your breath.
He’d have to be stupid to try something in front of the worker.
Suddenly, you felt someone brush past you. You flinched at the unexpected contact and sharply twisted around to see what happened. The creep who had been following you around the store was leering down at you. He was towering over you and so close you could feel his disgusting breath hit your face. The man was messy and disheveled, but that wasn’t what frightened you. No, the scariest thing was his aggressive body language and the rapacious glint in his otherwise cold eyes.
His piercing eyes trailed over your body as he sneered down at you. His gaze was possessive and dark in a way that terrified you. You felt frozen in place, suddenly too afraid to move. The man grinned lasciviously as his predatory gaze raked over the swell of your hips and breasts. Your breath caught in your throat. You were too scared to breathe. Scattered thoughts flew around your head, and time screeched to a halt.
Leave me alone.
Why can’t I move?
I want to get away.
Help me.
Time started flowing again, but everything seemed to happen in slow motion. You could only watch in terror as the man reached out to grab your forearm. You desperately turned to the register, hoping to grab the attention of the worker behind it. But, to your horror, he was already looking at you, watching the scene unfold and nervously toying with his hands. His face had an apologetic, anxious look that screamed, “What do you expect me to do?”
You fucking coward.
The worst possible thoughts flew through your mind.
He’s going to grab me. Right here in the middle of the store.
As you flinched away from the man, your feet moved on their own, and you hurriedly looked for a way out. He was backing you into a corner of the store; there was no way to escape. The man directly blocked your path to the door, and you had no hope of overpowering him in your frazzled state. There wasn’t enough time to think, but you couldn’t just act blindly. You looked up at him desperately, prepared to bargain or plead if you had to. Honor was far less important than survival.
His smile was nothing more than sharp, bared teeth as he stalked toward you. However, the last thing you expected to see when you looked back at his face was a fist colliding with his head.
But…. there was nobody else in the store.
Your brain hadn’t even registered the jingle of the shop’s door opening again, but there was undoubtedly another person standing directly behind the creep. He stumbled at the sudden blow, but before he could recover, a glint of silvery steel flashed through the air as a knife materialized against the side of his throat.
Your tunnel vision dropped just enough for you to see light reflect off the gold filigree on the sleeves of the man holding the knife. There was only one person it could be. You scarcely believed your luck as you raised your gaze once again and sucked in a shaky breath.
Silco stood behind the man and held the pervert in a vice-like grip. One of his slender arms was snaked around the creep’s chest from behind, his hand hooked into his shirt collar and pulling it so hard his knuckles were white. His other arm crossed over the front of the man’s chest, wielding the knife.
There was no doubt that the kingpin of Zaun had the man pinned against him, stuck completely in place. Almost as an afterthought, a single, thin line of scarlet trailed across the man’s throat in the wake of the knife. The knife was so sharp you could barely see the cut itself, but you could certainly see the thin trickle of blood. Silco’s aquiline nose was almost pressed into the man’s temple as he snarled into his ear, his ruined eye glowing with hatred. “Now…. just what did you think you were doing?”
Silco was normally an imposing man, it came with the territory of being a kingpin, but you had only heard stories of how terrifying he could be. It was never something you had witnessed in person. His temper was legendary, and few people survived seeing him in his worst moods…. and many times, the ones that did probably wish they didn’t. Now, you very much understood why.
The man had the good instinct to begin shaking in fear. He couldn’t see who had him, but he didn’t need to. He knew that he was completely and utterly fucked. Silco’s signature deep, drawling voice was as unmistakable as his scarred face and wickedly cruel eye.
It was almost poetic how the situation had turned around. You had felt absolutely powerless in the situation that perverted bastard had forced upon you. Now, he was the prey, and he was in the claws of a predator more dangerous than he could ever dream of becoming. His mouth opened and closed repeatedly, but no words ever came out.
“Come now. There’s no need to be shy about it. I saw more than enough.” Silco pressed the knife in harder, and he yelped in pain. The trickle of blood turned into a steady but small stream.
“I…. I t..tried to grab her.”
“So, he can speak.” Silco’s tone was mocking, but it was as cold and sharp as his blade.
A tear rolled down the man’s cheek, “Please, please, sir. Let me go. I’d- I’d never have tried- I’d never have touched her if I knew she was yours.”
“That’s the problem.”
Silco shifted the knife, so the tip rested against the man’s chin and used it to tilt his head to look directly at you. “It doesn’t matter whose she is. She did not want you to touch her, and yet…..”
His pause was pointed enough for the man to realize his arm was still outstretched in your direction. He tried to lower it slowly, but a low, displeased hiss from Silco immediately stopped his movement.
“Now, I’m going to tell you exactly what you’re going to do.”
The man was still shaking pathetically, “Anything, sir, anything. I swear it’ll never happen again.”
The corner of Silco’s scarred lip twitched like he was about to laugh. A damned bloodthirsty grin flashed across his face, and he practically snarled, “Oh, I know for a fact that you won’t. Sevika.”
She materialized at his side and looked directly at you. Her eyes flashed with worry as she registered the tears in your eyes and how panicked you looked huddled in the corner. The man let out another pathetic sob, and you saw her eyes frost over and turn cold and hard. Every ounce of Sevika’s concern for you turned into a frigid, biting rage directed at the man beside her.
She took one look at the man’s outstretched arm and turned back to her boss with a savage smile of her own. Sevika grabbed the man’s wrist and upper arm. In a tandem motion, Silco kicked the man to the ground. The creep barely had time to shout in surprise as Sevika brought her knee up to connect with the middle of his outstretched arm.
The sickening crunch of bone and an agonized shriek filled the air. You had closed your eyes instinctively, and from the sound of the man’s screaming, it was a good choice. A second later, you heard the sound of his body hitting the floor.
Silco calmly spoke over the man’s wailing, “No one is going to help you fix that, or they will find out just how creative I can be. You will live with the pain you earned. You should also be very thankful that I don’t have more time to spend with you.”
He snapped his fingers, and the sound of wailing faded into the distance as the man’s body was drug out the door. In the distance, you heard the worker pleading with Sevika, but his words fell on deaf ears. She took poorly to men who abused women, and those who enabled it were no different.
A familiar set of slow, measured footsteps approached you, but you couldn’t open your eyes. You were afraid that you’d open them and Silco wouldn’t be there. Somehow, you feared that the rescue was a hallucination. Once you opened your eyes, the pervert would still be there… and you’d be all alone. Another tear slowly trailed down your cheek, but a slender hand tenderly wiped it away.
Instantly, you knew it hadn’t been some fucked up dream, and your eyes flew open. He was there.
Wordlessly, Silco pulled you into his arms as you sobbed. The ferocious kingpin had melted away, leaving the man who loved you more than life itself. You crumpled in his arms, but he gently caught you and lowered you to the ground. Once again, he pulled you in close and you wrapped your arms around him.
You sobbed into his chest, listening to his heart's strong, steady beating. His signature scent enveloped you. Cigar smoke and the deep leather and wood of his cologne soothed you. Silco’s long, slender fingers stroked your hair as he murmured comforting words into your ear.
“Shhh… I’ve got you. It’s alright. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. That sick bastard can’t hurt you anymore. Nobody will ever hurt you again.”
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#Silco#silco x reader#silco x you#silco arcane#for the love of god read the warnings#arcane x reader#arcane fanfiction#silco fanfic#silco fanfiction#arcane fanfic
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what’s the context of the it’s rotten work quote ��
asjldsad god okay, it's A Lot (which is kind of my point!) the oresteia is a set of plays about the fall of the house of atreus, specifically how they all can't stop taking revenge on each other through two generations.
under the cut so you can opt in 😭
agamemnon kills his eldest daughter (orestes' older sister) as a sacrifice to the gods so he can sail off to the trojan war. he comes home and his wife, clytemnestra, kills him for it. their other daughter elektra conspires with orestes and pylades to avenge their dad, and when orestes hesitates pylades tells him he has to do it, so he kills clytemnestra (apollo is also all up in this and encourages him). so then clytemnestra's ghost sets the furies on orestes to get justice and they basically follow him around and torment him to try to drive him mad until athena intervenes and finally puts him on trial and convinces the furies to leave him alone.
this last bit is why pylades is saying he'll take care of orestes: orestes has what amounts to multiple generations of vengeance and justice-seeking coming down on his head and driving him insane (and also like an angry crowd forming to make him pay for killing his mom, which pylades leads him through, but orestes is specifically talking about the furies making him crazy to prompt these lines). the "rotten work" isn't just like uwu hurt/comfort, it's grappling with this insane fucked up family and the cycle of revenge that he, orestes, actively participated in. pylades is like, well i'm already in this, i can't go home, i'm all in even if all this stuff breaks you to pieces, which it probably will btw.
which is all just way more meaningful and tragic and heavy than how generically it gets tossed around on tumblr lol. and i'm certain you're sorry you asked 😂
#asks#teledild0nix#god i am so sorry lol you do not have to read this#i think orestes says something like warning him off 'the contagion of madness' in response#and pylades is still like yeah i'm down it's fine i love you too much to be ashamed of you#he's offering to help him take on the consequences and guilt of his whole fucked up family!!!#and it's just like inserted into so many lower stakes blorbo things#anyway
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Chapters: 3/4
Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Relationships: Nesta Archeron/Lucien Vanserra, Elain Archeron & Nesta Archeron, Elain Archeron & Lucien Vanserra, Elain Archeron/Eris Vanserra
Characters: Nesta Archeron, Lucien Vanserra, Elain Archeron, Eris Vanserra, Eris Vanserra's Hounds, Cassian, Rhysand, Morrigan, Helion (A Court of Thorns and Roses)
Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, timeloop AU, Absolute chaos after chapter one, Timeloop ending death but also. Murder, fuck around and find out as a Plan, The Hybernian War, Bisexual Lucien Vanserra, Bisexual Nesta Archeron, Found Family, Arson, best friends overnight, (and very different reactions to that fact), Elain Archeron has a personality and a brain, Bookstores as important rebellion, healing and becoming, Oral Sex, Canonical Abusive Relationships
Summary:
It takes sixteen loops, to realize the trick to resetting is to let himself die.
@skychild29 @missanniewhimsy @blackcanary13 @ae-neon @theknittingoracle @andrigyn
#ITS HERE AND IT HURTS LIKE HELL#obligatory: do not read this if you're a Cassian girl#also mind the warnings and take care of yourselves!#(if you want more specifics#please feel free to message me)#oh my god its here#okay okay okay we are finally going back to Timeline Original Flavor#and it SUCKS SO MUCH#we are also here in Matebond Summer Sadness Era#yes tarquin feel in love with Nesta at basically first sight#yes Lucien continues to possess negative toxic masculinity#jealousy? pfff#I just think that their backgrounds do color their relationship!#homes lost and homes found!#Flowers do the Archerons actually have a kill list?#yeah they wrote it over waffles#Eris out here the third person ever not surprised that Elain is ruthless beneath those dimples#there's something so important about the ways that they're all so careful with each other#Elain never confronting Eris because he is NOT READY#but continually giving him exactly what he wants and won't ask for#Lucien just. missing Nesta so much an unable to stand the idea that his presence could hurt her literally banishing himself#Nesta never kissing Lucien first!#oh my god#they see each other SO acutely#no grave can hold my body down#lucnes#Lucien/Nesta
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realizing that jude st francis was always going to be a lost cause and st jude is the patron saint of lost causes is something that can be so traumatic personal actually
#anyways it’s been two years since i read that emotional nightmare and i’ll never recover#a little life#jude st francis#for the love of god look up trigger warnings if u haven’t read the book and are thinking of it#because if i had read them before i prob wouldn’t of read the book let’s be honest
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Listen. Listen to ME. If you enjoy horror novels. If you're looking to get back into reading or whatever else. If you love ghost stories or reincarnation stories or cults or serial killer stories. If you want to read a story about a boring middle aged lady going absolutely feral while learning to love her aging, menopausal body in the process. You need to go read Mary. Just go fucking read it. Just. I'm begging you.
(full title: Mary, An Awakening of Terror by Nat Cassidy)
#mary an awakening of terror#books#horror#horror novels#i promise you if you read this book you will not be sorry#obviously you should check trigger warnings before reading#some of the descriptions are truly gnarly#but oh my fucking god if i dont love this book
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(on main on purpose) going through 1 u fest fills and first of all almost everyone did a great job of following the rules!! and those who did not follow the rules, i do not have energy to follow up and scold. second of all, some of these fills are so galaxy-brained i'm actually sitting here with my mouth open, like. fandom is SO full of imaginative people
#checking word counts and glancing at tags and warnings and going oh my god?? this is on another level??#but deliberately not reading any. but one of the fics was tagged no archive warnings apply but the content tags were like#hmmmm i better skim this one just in case#started scrolling and just. eyes getting wider and wider. mouth dropping open. unhinged concept and beautifully wild execution#and you know what? no archive warnings applied#i love fandom. you people are out of your minds#1 u fest#fresno oilers.txt#also very curious if this ends in any wank beyond the hrpf tag getting absolutely torched#some of these fills are like. hmm i don't think the anon who prompted had [redacted kink] in mind. but also it's a prompt meme#not an exchange so it's not for you. it's just inspired by your prompt. the creator can do whatever they want with the prompt#and since there were no content rules beyond how much effort you could put into it the field was WIDE open for interpretation#a little stressed about that one ngl lmao. everybody be nice to me please this went way bigger than i thought it would
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I have a lot mixed feelings about the second part of the event.
#it's both good and bad feelings#warning for spoilers below about story so i will take about the grinding stages first#bad: i'm going to strangle cherry with my own hands#what do you MEAN he heals 50% of his hp after his passive aoe hits#excuse my language but what the FUCK#thought second grinding stage would be as easy as first grinding stage but nooooo#as expected of the man who took 120+ pulls and refused to come home#okay story spoilers below proceed with caution#good: i adore loulan's main story a lot; the concept of evil and good which gets blurrier the more someone tries to differiate them is hnggg#also the fact that dongbi is obsessed with catching a-yu is because a-yu is what he wants to be but could never become#a fugitive who fights for his own principles in the shadows; someone who doesn't think twice before following what he thinks is right#he envies that a-yu has the freedom to do what he wants so he's desperately trying to capture him in order to prove to himself that#the path he walked down was right.... even though that costed him so many things.... too many things#meanwhile a-yu envies that dongbi has an identity; a set of principles that he will stick to no matter what#everything a-yu ever wanted was lost in that fire so he has nothing left to fight for#the thrills of theiving and the amusement of this cat and mouse chase is only to distract him from the fact that he will never get-#-what he truly wants for they've long slipped out of his grasp before he realised how truly precious they were to him#ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh god i love this event so much it's so good#please read the story with cn dubbing for full immersion it's so so good#now back to the grind for a-yu and shifu#tale of food#the tale of food#▪︎ edits#cherry biluo
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