#implied/referenced assault tw | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

takeyourcyanide · 13 days

Text

Do What You Will

AO3

TWs: Repeated Mentions of R@pe, Implied/Referenced Childhood/General Sexual Abuse

Fandom: Soul Eater

Character(s): Franken Stein, Marie Mjolnir, Spirit Albarn, Yumi Azusa, Lord Death

Tags: Implied/Reference R@pe/Non-Con, Implied Mind R@pe, Implied/Referenced Child, Abuse Implied Childhood Sexual, Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Trauma, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Not Beta Read, Triggers, Franken Stein Has Sexual Trauma, Age Regression/De-Aging, Hurt/No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 6 978

Summary: Stein believes Marie is going to harm him in some way, and it ultimately leads to a belief she has assaulted him in his sleep, and planned to assault him whilst awake. Marie is unsure how to handle the situation.

Note(s): I hope this isn’t all over the place. This took me way too long, I’ve been so scrambled lately. I forgot what I was originally going to say. I can only imagine everyone’s faces when they read that summary haha. I’m working on other shit. When it comes to the series, I’m not sure that I’m going to do multi-perspective. Most likely not.

With the crashing of the thunder came the flashing and burning of the lightning, in which they disguised themselves, capturing Stein freely, flash on, through the now covered window.

Franken stared unnerved daggers into the all-encompassing darkness drawing him in, into the ceiling on which it seemed both spiders and some sort of humanoid creature crawled.

The bugs dashed and chased on and under his unwilling, exhausted, and pallid flesh, fingertips brushing against his scalp, his shoulders, his neck, as he pondered until morning what would be done of his saying too much.

The metal, rusted frame of his unwelcoming bed creaked with fervor from the slightest of breaths, from the slightest of movements. He’d have covered his ringing ears, but his extremities were practically paralyzed under the weight of the raging, unbridled, and crushing trepidation.

He’d been forced to rely on Marie. It wasn’t his fault. He was forced to confide in Marie. He didn’t want to. He hadn’t failed himself. He hadn’t worked against himself. She wouldn’t hurt him. But there was no point in deceiving himself for the sole sake of comfort; then he’d be just the same as each and every coward he’d ever criticized and chided.

What would the woman do to him? He had calculated from the very beginning that her kindness and generosity was a mere act; an easy and banal way in which she could earn the trust of others, particularly Stein, only to suck his soul of whatever life is still left within it.. For whatever life he was born with. But how would she utilize her mask to her advantage? Franken could see through her, and manipulation seldom worked on him… Or did it? What if she had mastered the art and he hadn’t even realized he was being played? Would she do something physical? Or would she simply tell everyone about the deepest pits of his harrowed soul?

He never wanted to see her again. He never wanted to hear of her again. He never wanted to see, nor hear of anyone ever again.

He had to kill her. Not even dissect her. Kill her. He never had an interest in basic and overdone homicide, but how else could he achieve safety? Would he ever? Had he ever once experienced such a feeling? No. He needed to kill her. Maybe a prompt dissection afterwards. Perhaps he’d even experiment on her if he felt well enough. But that was not the goal. He had to kill her. If not kill, then run away from her. He knew not of what she would do, but he knew for certain she’d do something.

His formerly chilled skin warmed to unprecedented levels for reasons he could not comprehend, the steady ringing growing louder, a hushed whisper and a lullaby joining the unending and incessant noise.

Stein wanted to scream, bloodcurdlingly scream… He wanted to scream, and scream, and scream until his sore throat bled, the thick, crimson liquid pouring out from his shredded lips. He wanted to rip each individual strand of tangling, unkempt, and rustling hair from out of his head, he wanted to devour himself whole, just as the supposed “paranoia” was. It was slowly turning his entire body inside out, toying with him as though he were but a helpless rag doll.

But they only wanted him to believe that he was just paranoid, so that they could more easily do as they pleased with him.

Lord Death would surely put him to death for murdering a comrade. But would that be so bad? But then all of the work he put into rehabilitating, or rather, suppressing his violence, his malice would be thrown out of the same window that they were all looking in on him from.

What would become of him if he were to run away? Perhaps he could simply attempt an escape first and see how that pans out; an experiment. His favorite.

Stein glanced over at his small, bedside clock, of which read in luminous, ruby numbers, ‘04:44.’

Marie was an early riser. She’d typically awaken and begin undertaking her habitual routine anywhere from 06:00 to 07:00 in the morning. And it was only a Thursday, meaning she had to be within the DWMA’s walls by 08:00.

Once she leaves and moves far enough away, he’d go… somewhere. He couldn’t simply venture out into the desert could he? The DWMA had eyes everywhere, they’d catch him eventually, especially if he were to be still within the confines of the city. And he didn’t have a plane ticket.

What if he were to hide out at some bar? A tavern such as Chupa Cabra’s, perhaps? No one would expect him to be there… But the staff would surely notify every one of his appearance at their establishment the very moment he’s classified as missing. Not to mention, they’d find his long stay awfully conspicuous… And they’d have to close eventually…

Where could he go? Perhaps he’d simply have to stay in his laboratory. He could attempt to avoid Marie, but she’s a persistent woman.

Then again, he was the strongest meister to ever graduate from the academy… Surely he could defend himself. But he was vulnerable in the current state he was in.

As he checked the clock again, which now read ‘5:14,’ a certain phrase buzzed around, shouting in his skull repeatedly;

“Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.”

🎩 🎩

🍭<(^-^)>🦖

“I made some breakfast, if you’d like some. It’s nothing much, though,” Marie distractedly stated from the bathroom, fiddling with her blonde hair, as Stein trudged leisurely past her.

He spared a concurrently disinterested and suspicious glance over at the kitchen, canned crescents stacked upon a rotund, oxidized pan, the scent of the food wafting out and filling various sectors of the laboratory.

The meister took an almost unnatural-seeming seat down onto one of the two loveseats perched facing one another in the quaint living space, his body taut, muscles refusing to relax, unable to freely sink into the inviting coziness of the cushions.

“You need to eat, Stein,” the weapon gently lectured, sticking the end of one of her golden earrings in and through the teensy little hole in her lobe. “You know you shouldn’t be skipping meals.”

“‘M not hungry,” he muttered under his breath, eyes threatening to close as he babbled out an overtired, and low-pitched whine in protest - one of which Marie herself was unable to detect.

“But you didn’t eat hardly anything last night, surely you are,” she spoke with a tone of disbelief, as thought Stein were the liar and not her, whilst straightening her lengthy skirt.

“I don’t want to eat,” he gripped his lower lip with his sharp teeth the moment his partner’s hand made contact with his scalp, with his silver hair. It was similar to that of the invisible being’s touch, but more soothing, and less attention-seeking.

She gently ran over the more fragile skin with the very tips of her painted nails, running lithe and well-versed fingers throughout his hair just the way he liked it.

Manipulative and calculating was she.

“Come on, Franken. Unless you think it might nauseate you this time, you need to eat something before I leave. I want to watch you. You’re my responsibility now, and that includes your terrible eating habits,” as opposed to continuing with the mauling of his lips, he moved to roll his inner cheek in between his teeth, biting down hard into the ample and soon-to-be irritated tissue, helping him to focus on not allowing his body to go slack, and melt into her beguiling ministrations; that’s only what she wanted out of him.

Though after the noise-filled, restless night he had, he’d be lying if he said the gesture wasn’t lulling him into a soundless sleep.

But that’s only precisely what she intended to happen.

Stein bolted away from her touch as thought it had scorched his skin, a surge of seething paranoia manhandling his limbs for him. Marie’s eyes briefly widened, before a concerned and baffled glint bloomed within her brown eyes.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” She prodded with a sincere countenance, though that did not fool the mistrustful and non-naive scientist.

“Nothing,” he stood guardedly, his alert eyes bulging out from their sockets - somehow his most striking feature despite the screw protruding from the side of his head. He held his arms in a folded manner, close to his sternum, as though he were attempting to shrink away from whatever stimulus had disturbed him so demonstrably.

Marie analyzed the ever-clicking clock, reading aloud, ‘7:29,’ with a pensive sigh.

“I’ve got to head to the academy, Stein - just… Please, eat something today.. Something more substantial than a small snack if you can. And if you can’t, then try to eat multiple little snacks or something until I get home. And just remember, you can tell me anything, okay?”

In other words, “feed me more information.”

Stein kept his mouth closed, continuing to shy away from her very presence, as he observed her every step whilst she sauntered towards the door, a perturbed expression on her visage.

“I’ll be back soon,” she flashed him a kind and somewhat knowing smile as she exited the premises.

What did she know that he didn’t?

Upon her departure, Franken spun in repetitive circles, scanning each and every crevice which surrounded him with a simultaneously quizzical and agitated gaze.

And it ran through his head once more;

What does she know that I do not? What is it that I am missing? Does she have a leg up on me? Perhaps. What do I do? What will *she* do?

A rather delicate tapping on his shoulder left him reeling, whipping around, only to discover nothing, save for a promptly dissipating shadowy figure.

They were taunting him.

“Go away,” he murmured, his face rather petulant, as he awkwardly stood in place.

He stared into the abyssal corridor, considering striding his way back into the warmth of his bed, deterred by the clear and unsettling presence howling from within it, audibly groaning in annoyance.

But he needed to walk through the hallway, even despite the stirring, for they were each still monitoring him intently, sniffing out his vulnerability like bloodhounds. What if they were to see that he was too disquieted to enter a stupid hallway? He’d be easy prey for them, then. He was acting as though he were a scared and small child begging his parents to check the closet and look under the bed for the curated ‘boogeyman.’

And if he were being frank, he almost wished there was someone here whom he could send through the daunting corridor before him - or perhaps even walk alongside him. But that was a moronic desire to have, thus he settled on shoving the odd clump of feelings down, mechanically marching through the energies, of which, too, followed after and above him.

Stein rushed under the weight of his blanket, eyes batting back and forth and all over wildly, as he made himself as comfortable as he could possibly be given his current predicament.

He retrieved the little stuffed, stitched up and bandaged T-Rex which laid beside him, cradling it against his chest, as he slotted his thumb immaturely between his two metallic-tasting lips, the blanket up and over his hiding head.

What was he meant to do the rest of the day? Question precisely what would be done with him? He didn’t wish to think about that.

What was he meant to do the rest of the day? He could no longer research, he could no longer do anything other than shout back at the fizzling static. He couldn’t nourish himself, he couldn’t sleep properly, for even if he did sleep, it was never restful. He couldn’t take care of himself. He’d grown into a large child.

The thought left him to curl in on himself even more so. He’d say that at least he was still emotionally independent, but Marie keeps trying to force him not to be. She, the rest of the academy, and the radio wanted nothing more than to take everything from him. Is that what she’d do? No poisoning, no rape, no selling him into sex slavery, no simply being here to mock him, no nothing except for further ruining him? She’d most definitely discuss her breaking of him with the others, though, there was no doubt about it.

Every thought he could hardly process, every foreign feeling rising within him culminated into one large whirlwind swirling and twisting his insides. He clutched the stuffed toy closer to his chest, his chin resting on its fuzzy head, as he closed his eyes, only to reopen them upon hearing their breathing, feeling their presences.

This became a repetitive process long ago; opening and closing, and opening and closing. Over and over again. Eventually, he’d managed to slip into a wasteful sleep, finding himself awake once more within an hour or less. Over and over again.

The more they sang, the more they muttered, the more a certain frustrated ball raged in his throat, the closing muscles in his throat battling and arguing with his open glottis, just as he’d been in a constant shouting match with the popping static since day one.

The foreign sensation worked in tandem with the old friend he was well-versed with, feeding on his decomposing flesh like vultures whilst he supposedly lived, as he shoved his face into his stuffed animal, avoiding what stood all around him, as well as the light of the morning sun illuminating his gelid bedroom.

It was truly a never-ending cycle; the same precise process over and over again.

🎩 🎩

🍭<(^-^)>🦖

Stein groggily peeled his eyelids open, entirely disorientated as he took in the lack of light, his eyes oddly moist, rubbing the obnoxiously yucky, sticky discharge from his eyes, as he jolted his body upwards, coughing and wheezing into his clammy hand. He pitifully whimpered, still feeling too small for the body he was inhabiting, internally frigid, despite his perspiring skin being swelteringly hot, trying desperately to breathe through his snotty nose.

The cacophonous sound of steel cookware banging against various other materials caught his attention, the world spinning uncontrollably after he whipped his head in the direction of the sound.

Was Marie home already? For how long had he managed to sleep? But he couldn’t feel this way when she or anyone else was around.. What was she going to do to him? What did she want from him? And why was he suddenly sick? Had he quite literally neglected and stressed himself to the point of illness?

His train of frazzled thought was ultimately interrupted by the grumbling of his intestines, and the burning within his vacant stomach. A sense of hunger-induced nausea rose within him, leaving him feeling faint and weary.

Perhaps he’d have to eat whatever Marie decided to whip up. At the end of the day, if it happened to be poisoned or anything, at least that would add a layer of thrill to his currently mundane life.

Franken utilized the smooth, stone walls as an aid whilst he stepped lethargically through the corridor, having hardly made it down the stairs without injury, his surroundings still twisting and turning like warping mirrors in a funhouse, squinting his bare eyes as a sudden burst of light came into view.

“Stein! You’re awake!” The weapon joyously spoke, dancing around the laboratory like some sort of conniving, and overly-expressive ballerina. “I checked on you once I got home, but you were deep asleep. It’s already past seven.”

Deep asleep? She went into his room? What? Why? What? What did she- no.. Did she do something? What did she want? What did she do? What happened? He never sleeps deeply, nor for a very long time. How did he manage to sleep that long? Why’d he have to be sick now? Did she touch him, too? What did she do to him? Why didn’t he wake up? Is he that sick? Wha-

“Earth to Stein? Are you okay?” Marie waved the hand that surely grazed his skin in front of his watering eyes, his chest tightening. “Hey… You don’t look so good. Are you sick?” She placed her palm over the male’s dazed forehead, countenance becoming rather worried and shocked, as she gasped out, “You feel really warm.”

The meister remained still, unresponsive towards her manipulation, as Marie gave him the once-over, observing right away how the tone of his skin seemed to lighten significantly since she last laid eyes on him, and how flushed his cheeks were. His shoulders were slumped morosely, his under-eyes blending in with the absence of light in the hallway.

“You should really take some medicine, Franken,” she softly stated, placing a cool hand on his heated shoulder.

Stein flinched away, instinctually grimacing, acting on a sort of fight or flight response. He bit on the inside of his lips, shuffling away from his weapon.

“What’s wrong?” She appeared almost guilty.

He wanted to tell her to stop pretending. To just be honest about wanting to have her way with him. Or mocking him. Or whatever else she premeditates and has done. She was just like everyone else, after all. Unfortunately, however, his mouth would not comply with his desires, opening and closing just as his eyes had earlier, unable to form a sentence properly. So, he simply settled on shaking his head back and forth, twitching his fingers, and continuing to shuffle backwards away from her imminent touch.

She wanted to have her way with him.

“It’s okay, Franken,” Marie had seen him get this way before. He’d behave rather childishly, though given her proclivity towards children, she never once minded taking care of him. The only problem was that Stein minded. “You can tell me what’s wrong.”

A sizzling emanated from the kitchen. Along with the random flashing of a light, which caught the scientist’s waning attention. The woman’s prodding voice disappeared into the ringing, of which overpowered her ceaseless incanting. The only string of words he managed to process happened to be:

“Franken? Are you maybe feeling… a little small on top of sick? Do you want me to get some medicine for you?”

Was it that obvious?

He couldn’t decide whether or not he wanted to rush away from her, and lock himself away from her greedy fingers. Wouldn’t she just transform her hand into her hammer form and knock down the door if necessary? What was the point?

Stein nearly sucked his whole bottom lip into his mouth, concealing the gentle quivering with his teeth, though she was standing directly before him and could easily watch as he suppressed salty tears.

Why was he even beginning to cry? He never felt the urge to weep - even as a small child. He was only failing himself, allowing for Marie to swoop, with ease, in and exact every single vile fantasy she’s ever had onto him.

“Hey… Don’t cry,” she stepped forward, closer to her meister, of whom hadn’t even realized he was blubbering.

Stein began hacking again, shoving his face into the crook of his arm, whining noiselessly as his body convulsed, sniveling.

“Aw, sweetie,” Marie tried to soothingly pat him on the back, empathetically pouting as she ogled at how his frame shook.

Franken, once again, jerked away, shouting, “No!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” the woman panicked, as a harsh and distressed sob interrupted his violent coughing. “I won’t touch you again. It was on instinct, I-“

“You ‘ill ‘gin,” he slurred his words together horribly, struggling to breathe and speak as he crumbled completely, sitting on the icy floor, his back against the wall.

“Huh?”

“Y’u will again!” Franken exclaimed, his legs sprawled out in defeat, his arms limp, his chest bumping up and retracting rapidly.

“No, love, I won’t. If you don’t want me to touch you, then I won’t, I promise.”

“S’op lying,” he snarled. “‘Ou went in bedroom an’..”

“Oh, no, Stein, no, no, no, no… All I did was crack open the door. I just noticed you were sleeping, that’s all,” her eyes widened significantly at what he was implying, her stomach falling to her feet. “I would never ever do anything like that to you - or anyone else, for that matter.”

Marie kneeled down, far enough that no contact was made, but still too close for comfort, as any form of ‘by him’ was enough to startle. But, truly, she had no clue as to how she could console Stein without involving physical contact. That’s what she was used to, after all. Evidently, that was the complete opposite of what he was used to or usually enjoyed. Though she’d try her best regardless.

Franken shrunk in on himself, bringing his knees against his abdomen, away from the weapon, hiccuping, wetness staining his face, as his eyes swelled.

She’d be lying if she said it wasn’t the least bit cute to see the typically stoic, somewhat composed and calm man shudder and pout. It was, however, a little difficult to focus on how much she wanted to just squeeze him when he was… seemingly experiencing genuine terror for the first time in his life, and well.. accusing her of a nauseating practice for unknown reasons. Perhaps it was madness-induced?

“Come on, you have to know I’d never do that,” she drawled, earning the most malice-filled glare ever directed towards her. “Okay, look… I know this must be scary for you, but I don’t understand why you’d think that. I mean… While you were pretty deep asleep, I’m sure you would’ve woken up if.. Death, I don’t even want to think about that,” Stein coughed once more, shoving his head into his knees to evade the sheer dizziness of it all.

She sat down, leaning against the wall opposite to the scientist, of whom had returned to apprehensively eyeing her.

“Liar,” he sniffled, somehow managing to back further away into the concrete and stone. “List’ning ‘n watching, too…”

“What?” Marie confusedly tilted her head, particularly taken aback at whatever notion that happened to be.

“Go’way…”

“Are you sure you want me to leave?”

“Go away,” he demanded more persistently than before.

“Okay… If that’s what you need, sweetheart,” she lifted her body, standing and glancing over her shoulder as she walked into the kitchen, fully prepared to throw the surely scorched food out.

Stein observed how almost disappointed and distraught she appeared, how sullenly she moved.

‘Someone give that woman an Oscar,’ was the first thought that came to his mind.

🎩 🎩

🍭<(^-^)>🦖

“I just… I don’t know what to do,” Marie abruptly huffed in complaint, playing with the food she had diligently prepared.

A variety of smells intermingled, everyone having cooked vastly different meals for their lunch-break, the Death Room’s brilliantly blue sky blessing their food, never faltering despite the fog and thick clouds saturating the outside.

“Oh, Death, what relationship troubles are you experiencing this time?” Azusa sarcastically questioned, earning a snicker from Spirit.

They were each sitting, comfortably cramped, around a boxy and wooden table, including Lord Death himself, of whom merely chuckled along with the group’s antics.

“No, no…. Actually, it’s not that this time,” the hammer sighed sorrowfully, taking a humble bite out of her chicken. Her eyebrows were pinched closely together, her jaw clenched in anxiety.

“Then what could it possibly be?” Albarn teased, a blithely sardonic smirk stretched across his visage. Mjolnir scowled at him, smacking his upper arm upon hearing his mirthful giggles.

“It’s about Stein, you jerks,” she almost seemed genuinely offended and hurt, visibly perturbed.

“Oh, has something happen?” Yumi immediately placed her utensils onto the table, paying her utmost attention to Marie.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about him… And stop by for a visit,” Spirit, too, attentively sat, too unease to continue plunging food down his gluttonous gullet.

“It’s just… He.. I think the madness is getting worse…”

“In what way? Is he attempting to cut you open?” Azusa jumped the gun, solemnly ready to attack.

“No! No, no… Not yet, anyway.. He just accused me last night of… Ugh, this is.. He, like, broke down and accused me assaulting him in his sleep.. And then he said something about ‘listening’ and ‘watching,’” Marie shuddered, repulsed by the very prospect of the accusation.

Lord Death and Azusa kept silent, analyzing and processing the words said to them intently and pensively.

“What did you say back? How did you respond?” The seriousness and urgency on the scythe’s countenance was uncharacteristic of him, only serving to further trouble the blonde.

“Well- I, uh… I told him that I’d never do that, and I didn’t really get why he was saying that, and I knew it must have been scary for him, and that he’d have to know I would never do such a thing, and-“

“Don’t argue with it,” he held his hands up warily and advisedly.

“What am I supposed to do, lie and tell him I actually raped him?” A wave of defensive surprise washed over her.

“No.. God, fucking no! Whatever you do, don’t argue OR validate that shit. Look - I’ve been through this with him before, though he’s typically not that open about it…. He started acting kinda weird and out soul resonance began to suffer, and I found out he thought I put cameras and shit in the vents and around the house, and was selling the video is online, and telling Lord Death over here literally everything he ever did or said,” Spirit elucidated, pointing informally with his thumb over at his boss. “I made the same mistake of getting defensive about it and arguing with him. We couldn’t resonate for a good couple of weeks until whatever that was went away somewhat, because he had absolutely no trust in me at all.”

“Then what am I supposed to do? He was sick, too.. I don’t even know if he took anything after I went to bed…”

“Just-“

“And it’s not like I could get close enough to try and comfort him or anything,” she neurotically interjected.

“Just remember that he’s not gonna believe anything you try to do to convince him otherwise. He’ll be suspicious of you no matter what you do. And if he’s not accepting any sort of physical contact, just… Erm… Well, say sort of what you said, like, ‘Oh, it must be really scary to think that.’ Though he may not exactly love that either, it’s better than entirely dismissing him. Just ask him why he thinks what he thinks, but be aware that it may sound a little off or strange. You need to allow him to slowly warm up to whatever sort of comfort you try to give him. Be reassuring and patient. It’s a little hard to know what to do in the moment, but you’ll learn, I promise.”

“Are you sure?” Marie had never felt so grateful over something Spirit had said or done.

“Yes, absolutely. I did. It’s not something he really talked about, but whenever he started to act even weirder than usual, it was just like a switch would go off in my brain, and I would just prepare for whatever consequences came from his thoughts,” the ginger tittered in remembrance. “He’d go from, like, his usual… just existing self to startlingly agitated due to this all, so it’s something I just learned how to handle.”

“Yeah, I noticed that… Thank you, Spirit,” she flashed him an indebted and sweet smile, the corners of her mouth stretching from ear to ear.

“Oh! And also, pay extremely close attention to the language you use while talking to him. One wrong word and I was on trial,” he laughed, grinning himself.

“What do you mean exactly?” She curiously prodded.

“Anything that would imply you feel obligated to do whatever you’re doing is a no-go, I noticed. And anything that would imply a loss of control on his part, or… I’d say anything that’d imply you actually did whatever he thinks you did or are planning on it, or are going to harm him in some way, but just your existence is evidence of that to him,” Albarn began to scarf down his food again, feeling a little more confident in his friend’s abilities to assist his other friend.

“Oh… I told him this morning that he was my responsibility.. Is that included? Is that bad?” A surge of guilt and self-directed frustration swirled within her body.

Death Scythe nearly choked on his food, shaking his head theatrically back and forth.

“Fuck, no! Don’t say that again unless you want to infinitely worsen everything,” he swallowed his meal cartoonishly loud. “For him, that’s, like… It sort of equals, ‘Oh, they don’t even want to be here in the first place? They’re out to get me.’”

“Okay…. Ugh, now I feel bad,” she moaned immaturely, sulking whilst sluggishly taking in tiny bits of food.

“Well, use that to improve.. Even I don’t get it right with him one-hundred percent of the time. It’s sort of impossible with Stein.”

“I think Stein finds it impossible to get it right with himself,” Azusa sneered, breaking her long lasting silence, Marie and Spirit chortling along. “What do you think, Lord Death? You haven’t spoken much, which is odd, given that it’s you.”

“I’m frankly a little concerned.. It doesn’t seem that Stein is distinguishing between the madness and the non-madness anymore,” his body language was particularly ruminative, as his usual gleeful voice possessed a lower and more gravelly twinge to it.

“Yeah… He’s not,” Marie stared down at the table, burning a gaping hole into the oak the same size as the one carving into her thumping heart, as she watched her close friend die a slow, and painful death. “Do you think he’ll come out of it?”

“He always does. I have complete faith he will this time,” Albarn offered his opinion, or, rather, desire.

“Yeah… You’re probably right…”

Hopefully right.

🎩 🎩

🍭<(^-^)>🦖

“Stein? I’m home!” Her voice echoed, bouncing off of the walls. “Franken? Where are you?”

Marie sat her purse down onto the coffee table, roaming around the laboratory in search of her meister, finding him seemingly glued to his computer screen, staring at nothing at all whilst sitting in complete darkness, the only light coming from the living room, giggling to himself, as he spun his chair repetitively.

“Stein?”

He nearly gave himself whiplash, having harshly snapped his head towards the weapon, eyes wide open.

“Hey, what’cha doin’?” She stood awkwardly in the doorway.

Marie was a persistent woman.

The scientist continued to stare through her, that same fuzzy glint in his eyes from the previous night readily apparent.

“You still feeling a little small, baby? I know yesterday was stressful for you,” she sympathetically reminisced, Stein ripping skin off of his lips with his sharp teeth, visibly growing more uncomfortable. “How long has it been since you last ate? I know you probably didn’t eat hardly anything yesterday.”

Franken shrug his shoulders, mumbling, “What’d’y’u care? Wan’ keep me alive f’r more?”

Marie tellingly exhaled, remembering her and Spirit’s conversation. At least she could apply what she’d learned to a real situation.

“Well, I’m hungry, and was wondering if you were too. Why do you feel that way, dear?”

Stein’s face contorted into one of blunted repulsion, shrinking away from the already not close Marie.

“Not feeling very verbal, then?” The weapon languidly asked upon receiving no response… And, well, listening to how difficult it seemed to be for him to simply speak. “You wanna come sit on the couch with me? I’m gonna order us some food.”

She wasn’t going to allow for letting more food go to waste.

The meister appeared fairly on tenterhooks at the notion, his formerly bulging eyes narrowing in leeriness.

“It’s okay if you’re not ready to.. I can sit out here if you want to come out.”

“Why’re y’u bein’ so nice?” He maffled, his right thumb unconsciously making its way past his lips, as he chewed on it, sucking on portions of the skin at times.

If she were to say it was because he’s her friend, would he view that as obligation?

“I want to be. You’re just adorable,” she beamed, avoiding a variety of responses that floated about in her brain.

That disgusted grimace returned to his face, or rather, a disgusted twinge. It wasn’t something she took to heart, for it was clear to her that it was an instinctual, guttural reaction he was having to the foreign treatment. And it certainly didn’t help that he was entirely mistrustful of her kindness and generosity.

“Ado’ble?” He babbled out quizzically. After all, he was infamous for his violent tendencies. Most wouldn’t consider him anything other than scary.

“Adorable,” she assured, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest.

How could she not find him cute? Sure, she’d seen for herself how malevolent he could be, but watching his sadistically and atypically giddy, curious expression as he dissected anything and everything lit up her world. Though, maybe not as much as it lit up his world.

“You wanna come sit on the couch?” Marie asked once more before leaving.

While the couch did sound cozy and inviting, would she not pin him down and have her way with him? Could he use his soul-thread sutures to keep her from moving, giving him the upper-hand and ability to escape?

Stein began coughing, sniffling into his arm as his thoughts encased him.

“Aw, still a little sick? It’s hard to see how you look in this darkness,” she chuckled, waving her hands around as to almost point at the shadowy room. “How about I get you some medicine? I think we still have some liquid cold and flu stuff…”

Franken pursed his lips in response, another painful reminder of an experience he did not want, nor choose to have. That is, other than the finger lodged in his mouth that he had long since forgotten to force out, for Marie would find something to exploit regardless.

Liquid medicine was only for when he felt too incompetent to swallow pills, though she always called it “feeling small.”

“‘Kay,” his mutter was barely audible, as Marie beckoned him to follow after her, Stein complying, desperate to rid himself of his pestering illness.

When all was said and done, she’d hurt him whether he avoided her or not.

“You don’t have to speak, okay? It sounds like it’s a struggle for you right now. You don’t ever have to feel pressured to around me,”

He peered up at her most likely feigned sincere expression, his mind unfortunately betraying him as he was pushed further down into headspace.

He shouldn’t enjoy her lies. But he was. It was fuzzy-ifying in a pleasant way, for once.

Why was he even enjoying it? That’s what she wanted out of him, anyway.

A needle-less syringe filled with icky-tasting medicine was placed between his lips, floating between the two, not coming in contact with either, as the horrendously sticky liquid ran down his throat. He swallowed, snarling as he chugged down the glass of water he was given, chasing a tasteless paradise.

“Doesn’t taste very good?” She mimicked his displeased countenance, a fascinatingly empathetic response that the scientist, in any other state of mind, would pick apart until there was not an atom left. In his current mindset, he couldn’t even process thought, however, so only a quick and brief analysis was conducted, being stored in his head for a later date.

The both of them sat side by side on the quaint, little sofa, Stein still too apprehensive to sink into its warmth, though Marie sighed in relief as she fell peacefully into the cushions.

She pulled her phone out from her pocket, clicking away at what was evidently some sort of food delivery app, leaving the meister to wonder what else must’ve been in her pockets. Condoms? Or would those be in her clearly intentionally-placed purse… Right by the place she wanted Stein to be. And what was stored in her leather bag? Rope? Some sort of sex toy to use on him as he tried to writhe away? Was there a variety of toys?

Speaking of toys, the longer he found himself stuck inside of his aching skull, the more he desired to rub his hand around his T-Rex’s fur.. To caress its tail in an effort to maintain his composure.

Tears welled in his eyes, causing him to feel more pathetic and moronic than he’d ever felt before, bring his knees to his sternum, shoving his face into the crack in between.

His heart felt as if it evaporated from his body, a cavernous, hollow hole left in its place. He felt as though he might faint, though that most certainly would only give her easy access.

A sob racked his body, garnering the attention of a certain individual.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” She promptly tossed her phone aside once finished, rushing to quell whatever storm was raging on within him. “You want me to get you your dinosaur? Maybe that would help?”

Oh, God, could she read his thoughts, too?

He lifted his head, slamming it against his kneecaps repeatedly, struggling to merely inhale and exhale, teardrops having seeped into his pajama pants.

“No, no, no, don’t do that, baby,” she worriedly chided, holding his head still reflexively, immediately backing away once Stein bolted to the other side of the sofa, eyes bugging out of their sockets.

His lower lip trembled as he bit into it, whimpering as he returned to his former position, though this time yet another finger found its way back into his mouth, despite its unsanitary nature.

“Yeah, how about I get you your T-Rex? I’ll be right back, okay?”

At least something could cuddle with him. Perhaps it could soothe him and offer him some form of tranquility?

It still pained her to walk away from what might as well have been a weeping baby, especially since that baby was Stein. And Stein didn’t cry. So, it was more than obvious that something was deeply wrong.

Eventually, she’d rushed back to their shared living space, holding out the stuffed animal for him to latch onto and take.

He lifted his eyes cautiously, speedily yanking his favorite stuffie from out of her covetous, unrelenting, and grabby hands, tucking it in between his knees and against his sternum.

What if the supposed “medicine” he was given was a sedative?

His bawling only grew in intensity, as he nuzzled into the softness of his toy, gasping for air as the revelation of just how monstrously he’d betrayed himself fell upon him as crushingly as if the weight of the sun had been the thing to fall on top of him.

“Why’s ever’one wanna touch me?” He began to ramble, a few wheezes here and there as he snuffled.

“What do you mean, sweetheart? Why do you think that?” She moved back towards the sofa, plopping down onto the farthest side.

“Everyone a’ways does,” he whined into the head of the T-Rex, kicking his feet up and down, upset, similarly to a toddler. “Don’ wan’ be touched.”

A toddler…

“I’m sorry you feel that way, sweetie. It must not feel very good..”

What was she supposed to say in this situation?

“Don’ feel ‘at way! I’s the truth!” He choked on yet another convulsion-inducing sob, hugging the T-Rex even tighter than before.

Marie knew Spirit said she’d eventually adapt to Stein… But she was beginning to doubt that idea. What was she supposed to do? Just sit here and listen to him wail?

“Why do you think that?”

“‘Cause tha’s what a’ways happens!”

“Has it happened before, love?”

He glowered at her for simply asking, forcing himself deeper into the corner of the couch.

“Go’way,” he repeated once more. “Jus’ like everyone else.”

“No,” Marie denied his request. “I’m not just going to leave you alone again, Franken.”

“Why not?” He caterwauled.

“That’s not good for you. Come here, sweetheart,” she held her arms out.

“No.. I wanna be alone..”

Marie leaned closer, pulling him in, allowing for his head to rest in the crook of his neck.

Franken squirmed away from her, the weapon only continuing to hold him, hoping to Death it was comfort him in some way.

He tried to use his soul-thread sutures out of pure fight-or-flight, they sparked and dissipated like the flame of a failing lighter, evidently too distressed to properly utilize his skill.

Was it because he never was really distressed? And thus using it in such an anguished state was something he genuinely needed to practice?

Whatever the case may be, he eventually just gave up, succumbing to her unbidden whims.

‘I thought she said she wouldn’t touch me if I didn’t want to?’ The thought left him hollow.

People weren’t to be trusted. This was going to happen whether he avoided her or not. But why did he let himself cry in front of her? He’d betrayed himself for nothing.

A few monotone-sounding, dead sobs escaped his mouth.

He should probably keep it shut if he wants nothing inside of it.

Why did she continue to hold him even when it was perfectly clear he wasn’t enjoying it? Wasn’t she supposed to be the “caring” one?

No matter her intentions, it didn’t make it feel any better.

With the crashing of the thunder came the flashing and burning of the lightning, and soon he was too empty, too betrayed despite having always expected it, and had been much too sapped to cry.

She could do whatever she wanted with him. He was done.

#soul eater #franken stein #stein #stein soul eater #dr stein #spirit albarn #marie mjolnir #spirit soul eater #takeyourcyanide #soul eater fanfic #soul eater fanfiction #my fanfic #my fanfiction #Spotify

19 notes · View notes

searchingforserendipity25 · 4 months

Text

Vigil. idril & aredhel. ao3.

TW: references to kidnapping, implied/referenced sexual assault.

"Aunt," said Idril, rather stiffly, where once she would have used her name, and would not have asked at all. "Might I join you?"

Aredhel fought the urge to bare her teeth, and kept her eyes on the crowded clouds above.

Pink-washed and round-bellied, west-bound. The wind was fierce with currents only clouds and birds sailed, but the courtyard Aredhel had chosen for her rest was well-sheltered, the stone rich with heat.

It had been some effort, to go the long way alone; but she had a cane, and a son to lean on. She had been weary and pained enough to send the son gladly away; and be gladdest of all to be alone.

She heard Idril come, her silver feet making their familiar song upon the mosaics of Gondolin's courts. That was more kindness she was used to in Nan Elmoth, where many things scurried, and few gave a warning of their proximity.

A glorious warmth seeped into her bones. She had been so cold, in Nan Elmoth. Not a first - but it was a damp mist that sank through the skin, a dizzying weariness. Sunlight - only occasionally. Eöl kept to the starlit-ways.

Aredhel had kissed Arien Sun-Star once, and crowed to voicelessness when first she saw hard land, and thawing frost. She had missed this - it made her angry so. What a waste of years she might have spent otherwise.

And still Idril was waiting. It was not kind, to set a test upon her; but Aredhel could not do otherwise. And it was good to know Idril would wait; that she was not so changed as to have lost her persistence.

"Sit, if you like," Aredhel said. "I am not your master, to tell you what you might do."

Her voice sounded rough with long illness to her own ears, but she took her time gathering it in her throat, made it strong. In her sujourn under the curling boughs of Nan Elmoth, it had been needful to speak, and always it had been done with effort. She might have forgotten the sound of her own words, let them fade entirely.

Was he your master, then, Idril thought. Were you not free to do as you would, even to sit in the sun?

Aredhel did not hear it, but she knew her niece. The same wisdom that kept Idril's thought away from the walls that Aredhel had raised about her mind would make her draw conclusion.

Not the wrong ones. They spoke in Sindarin. Aredhel was not certain yet she would speak the language of her people again; if she could, even inside the high walls of Gondolin, where Quenya was used in the market, in the king's chambers, in songs of devotions.

Gondolin's benches were wide and sturdy enough; two might lay abreast, and not touch.

Idril's hair smelled of laurel and honey, still. Few things had made Aredhel's eyes sting on her return to Gondolin. The white stone shimmering in the heat had been a great relief, but an indifferent one, as a hunted beast might feel at the sight of a cave or a tall branch. Now only did Aredhel feel - how familiar it was. This smell, Idril's closeness, the whirring machinery of her mind close enough they might have shared a moment of wry understanding, as they had so many times before.

They did not touch.

Now a small army of cirrocumulus overhead, sweet clouds all following on one another. She had tried to teach Lómion the different cloud names, but he had not the love for the skies that she did. Her son was busy in the forges. He had found his source of warmth, learned at his father's side. Aredhel had loved him less the day she understood he would not need to live as she did.

Possibly her measuring scale of love had grow skewered. O, now Turgon never would allow her out! But the worst of it was that she was tired. Not her wound alone caused it, though that healed slowly regardless.

She willed herself to see it - herself on horseback again, crossing fields of clover, narrow passes. Her body thrummed with exhaustion at the thought of it.

The high noon sun pressed against their lids, turned the world to a blinding gilt. Idril surely felt Aredhel's fever rising, the warmth that rose from her skin; but Idril was wise, and knew how to measure her silence. Aredhel had forgotten a little, how worthy her niece was.

At times dark shadows swirled overhead through the clouds. Slow, broad wings high above, coming from all corners of the mountainside.

The vultures that fed most often by Amon Gwareth had flown days ago to the city walls for a feast: Eöl, they cried. Eöl is dead. More and more came, eager, hungry.

As a widow she had woken from near-death, knowing with rare foresight that her body would not be her own, and whole and hale again, until Eöl was eaten entire, bowels and eyeballs and marrow. Aredhel of Gondolin waited.

It was a good wait; long enough to learn the skies again, to be sun-warm all the way through.

She touched her fingertips lightly to Idril's, when it was done, and felt her stir, her thought turning to Aredhel, a constrained joy and grief and relief. But Aredhel was in no hurry, and did not wish to open her heart again, nor leave to return to her chambers; not till the last birds of rapine were borne slowly away in the wind.

#fic #idril celebrindal #aredhel #my fics #february ficlet challenge #prompt 1 - high noon #silm fic #tolkien fanfiction #tfog

25 notes · View notes

serickswrites · 4 months

Text

Whump One Shots

Here are all my one shots (can become series by request!) organized by theme (this is the first of many)

Whump

That Didn't Work Out as I Intended--TW: implied/referenced kidnapping; hurt/recovery; trauma response: flight and freeze

Definitely Not--TW: kidnapping, torture, future torture, restraints, creepy/intimate whumper

Just Watch--TW: kidnapping, confinement, creepy/intimate whumper

Let's Kiss--TW: noncon; assault, future assault, kidnapping, self-sacrifice, creepy/intimate whumper

You Can't Quit On Me Now--TW: kidnapping; blood; hospital; wounds; mild description of gore; major character injury; recovery and aftermath

Idiots--TW: referenced kidnapping; implied torture; helplessness

If I Have to Tell You Again--TW: kidnapping; creepy/intimate whumper, implied torture, noncon, defiant whumpee, conditioning

Horribly Wrong--TW: kidnapping; future/implied/referenced torture; beatings; restraint; forced to watch

A Mask--TW: kidnapping; blood; death; character death (temporary)

Impossible--TW: referenced torture; hurt/comfort; hurt/aftermath; recover/aftermath; reluctant whumpee; hospital

Kind of Fun--TW: suffocation; blood; creepy (not intimate) whumper; defiant whumpee

Moon--TW: blood, major character injury, restraints, captivity, stabbing, rescue, caretaker and whumpee

Stars--TW: mentions of torture (electrocution, beating, whipping, waterboarding), attempted drowning, bound, forced to watch

Rain--TW: past abuse/torture, recovery/aftermath, conditioning, burns, break with reality

Wake Up--TW: torture, burns, kidnapping, creepy whumper, blood, future torture implied

Lost--TW: restraints, rescue

Flirt--TW: wounds, injury

Movie--comfort, vaguely referenced whump

DND--TW: kidnapping; torture; blood

Late--TW: restraints, torture, defiant whumpee

Sleep--TW: torture, creepy/intimate whumper, water torture

Braids--TW: kidnapping, restraint, gags, torture, creepy/intimate whumper

Call Me, Maybe?--TW: kidnap, rescue, injury, referenced torture, restraint, gags, seizures

Smile--TW: kidnapping, creepy/intimate whumper, noncon, future assault, past assault (assumption)

Earth--TW: kidnapping; burial; buried alive; rescue attempt

Gone--TW: recovery/aftermath, discussion of suicide (very very passive ideation), implied torture

Five Minutes--TW: kidnapping, torture, blood, creepy/intimate whumper

Flowers--just comfort, vague implication of past whump

Tree--TW: restraint; kidnapping; defiant whumpee

Hush--TW: ball gag, gagging, noncon, implied kidnapping, creepy/intimate whumper, defiant whumpee

Ghost--TW: character death, death of a loved one

Snow--TW: kidnapping, escape attempt

Reunion--TW: past mention of trauma/abuse; dissociation; comfort; hospital; mention of blood

Taste--poisoning

Five--TW: kidnapping; torture; blood; stabbing; creepy/intimate whumper; conditioning

Beloved--TW: past abuse/trauma; aftermath/recovery

Sizzle--TW: restraints; mild depiction of gore; branding

Countdown--TW: kidnapping; torture; referenced murder

Here?--TW: kidnapping; beating (aftermath); hallucinations; referenced character death (major)

Sleep--TW: sleep deprivation; kidnapping; torture; restraint; defiant whumpee

Song--TW: hospital; coma? (honestly idk what medically is wrong with whumpee....); aftermath and recovery; implied torture; implied kidnapping

Shoulder--TW: gun; blood; gunshot; wound; mild depiction of gore

Snap--TW: escape attempt; broken bones; torture (mild); kidnapping (implied)

Crackle--TW: sickfic (maybe, idk what caused Whumpee’s pneumonia--which is what this is y’all if you didn’t know lol)

Pop--TW: restraint; kidnapping; dislocation

Cook--TW: kidnapping

Shirt--hurt/comfort

Roses--TW: non-con drug use, creepy/intimate whumper

Unsure--TW: aftermath; trauma aftermath; hurt/comfort; hurt/recovery

Better--TW: captivity; kidnapping; implied torture; referenced botched rescue attempt

This--TW: self sacrifice elements

Lies--TW: torture, blood, knives

Anniversary--TW: captivity, non-con, drugging, restraints, creepy/intimate whumper

Touch--TW: referenced captivity, hurt/aftermath, referenced blood, implied kidnapping, implied torture

Wake Up--TW: implied kidnapping; mcd; noncon drug use; poison

Sea Sick--TW: cruel whumper, seasickness

Dropping the Eaves--TW: captivity; physical assault; implied torture

On My Way--TW: no express whump warnings, but pain is coming

Sick--TW: creepy/intimate whumper

Tired--TW: blood, unconsciousness, hurt/aftermath

Sense--TW: implied kidnapping/captivity

Worse--TW: injury, blood

Writing--TW: hurt/aftermath, hurt/comfort, implied torture, implied kidnapping

Missed--TW: implied torture, implied future violence, rescue

This is a nightmare--TW: referenced kidnapping, referenced torture

Wrong--TW: captivity, restraint, torture

Wonderful--TW: kidnapping, torture, restraints, non-con, sexual assault, blood

Hug--TW: hurt/aftermath, referenced kidnapping

Stubborn--TW: captivity, torture

Try--TW: abduction, implied future torture

G'Morning--TW: implied noncon, restraints, creepy/intimate whumper

Interesting--TW: choking, implied noncon, creepy/intimate whumper

Last Chance--TW: kidnapping, restraints

So Many--TW: restraints, implied torture, stress position, noncon, creepy/intimate whumper

Goodbye--TW: self-sacrifice

Happen--TW: hurt/aftermath, blood, unconsciousness

Plan--TW: hurt/aftermath, hospital, broken bones, head injury

Unexpected--TW: bindings, gags, restraints, implied noncon, creepy/intimate whumper

Stay Down--TW: head injury, blood, physical violence, gun

Struggle--TW: kidnapping, sensory deprivation

Blood--TW: blood, blood loss, knives, stabbing, gore, caretaker and whumpee

Bad Dream--TW: kidnapping, torture, restraint, drugging, creepy/intimate whumper, hurt/aftermath

To Annoy--TW: stress position, whipping, blood, violence

Let Me See--TW: blood, wounds, gunshot, sprains, self-sacrifice

Cold--TW: hypothermia, hospitals, rescue

Dreaming--TW: mcd, referenced death

Bolt--TW: arrow wound, wound, blood, losing consciousness

Worse Ways--TW: threats of death, electrocution, defiant whumpee

Spiked--TW: drugging, referenced kidnapping, hurt/aftermath, hurt/comfort

Why Care--TW: hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery

My Heart Belongs to You--TW: medical whump, blood, gore, blood loss

Yandere Whumper Request--TW: yandere whumper, captivity, non-con, restraints, gags

Self-Inflicted--TW: captivity, blood, knives, self-harm, escape attempt

Shrapnel--TW: explosion, blood, wounds, unconsciousness, self sacrifice

Alright For Now--TW: Hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, tbh this is just fluff

Don't Leave--TW: hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, implied sensory deprivation?

Like That--TW: torture, knife, blood,, defiant whumpee

Safety--TW: torture, captivity, restraints, electrocution

Clown--TW: captivity, torture, wounds, whipping, restraints, defiant whumpee

Promise--TW: implied torture, kidnapping/captivity, mcd (maybe? you pick your ending folks: does team arrive in time to save whumpee? or do they just find caretaker? the world may never know)

#serickswrites #not writing #whump

15 notes · View notes

karatekels · 6 months

Note

Finally! For so long there was almost no Gus content (I remember one great post with headcanons from @terrence-silver and some lovely fanarts here and there but that's it). I can't wait to read your stories!

Since you mentioned you're waiting for asks could your write a story about reader being undercover cop trying to infiltrate Gus and his group but he finds out and decides to punish her?

Hello everyone, I've missed you! Thanks for bearing with me through the combination of life and getting shadowbanned. This request is one I had initially planned to add to Dark Desires October, but we're well past that now, so just enjoy! This is going to have a very dark second chapter and then a short epilogue, so stay tuned!

---

TW: Crime, stalking, domestic violence (referenced), assault or murder (implied, off-screen), slipping someone drugs, abduction [and it will only get worse from here]

---

In Deep Water

Chapter 1: Making Waves

You check the watch on your wrist again; it’s nearly four o’clock in the morning. The sun will be rising soon – you have to get out of here quickly.

You take one last crack at the safe, holding your breath as you try to work out the combination, your earpiece connected to a diaphragm that lets you hear the tiniest clicks from within the safe like a stethoscope. There’s a clunk, and you barely keep yourself from letting out a cry of victory as you pull open the door to the safe, your gloved hands greedily reaching in and pulling out the binders of bonds. You slip them into the bag on your back before resetting the safe and hightailing it out of there, your footsteps barely audible.

Once you’re out of the building you keep to the shadows as you make your way to the nearby docks, trying to keep your pace measured to avoid attracting unwanted attention on the off-chance somebody was awake and watching. Your target was a smaller, lesser crime family, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t dangerous.

You make it to the docks just before sunrise, joining three other men in ski masks and hoods, identical bags slung over their shoulders. Right on schedule, The Lucky Mermaid drives up, stopping right at the edge of the dock and allowing you all to quickly hop aboard, disappearing out into the open ocean – you would put some time and distance between the boat and the warehouse you had just hit before looping around and returning to shore.

You all make your way into the cabin where the captain is steering the ship, the five of you crowded in the cramped space. Everyone else towers over you – they were big, tough-looking men, far more like the stereotypical criminal than your own short, slender frame. The captain in particular can barely stand upright in the cabin, his messy brown curls hanging in his eyes as he looks down at you, slightly stooped over.

“You get ‘em?” he asks you with a sly grin. You nod, pulling off your bag and opening it to reveal its contents. Gus thumbs through the bonds, his hand briefly brushing yours as you hold the bag open for him, and your breath hitches at the contact.

“Nice work,” he praises you, clapping you on the shoulder with a large hand and giving it a squeeze. “Bit of a rush, isn’t it?” he says knowingly, his blue eyes bright. You grin at him, tugging off your ski mask and letting your hair down.

“It’s definitely more enjoyable stealing from the competition!” you agree, smiling at him before pulling your hoodie over your head. You add your mask and hoodie to the bag one of the crew holds out for you and put on your favourite blue one; the sea breeze is chilly, and you want to differentiate yourself from the shadowy figure in dark clothing that had just stolen hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of bonds.

The others add their gear to the bag, which is then stowed in the storage compartment under one of the benches, out of sight.

“Well, I think we all agree that you have more than earned a place for yourself on my crew, Y/N,” Gus tells you with a warm smile, the rest of the team murmuring their agreement, and you lift one side of your mouth in a lopsided grin.

“Of course I have,” you say with mock-arrogance. “None of you big oafs could have fit through that window!”

The others laugh good-naturedly, gradually shuffling off to find a flask to warm their bodies or a corner to rest in; the day had just begun, but your shifts were over. You stay standing next to Gus, still unaccustomed to being at sea and needing to look out on the horizon to prevent yourself from getting nauseated. You’re both quiet for awhile, not speaking until he begins to steer the boat in a wide turn, heading for Harbour Manor.

“You’re sure that I’m good enough to be on your crew?” you ask Gus hesitantly, worrying your lower lip between your teeth as you look up to him.

“Good enough?” he repeats incredulously, raising an eyebrow at you. “Sweetheart, you’re going to be my secret weapon!”

You give him a shy smile at his reassurance, and he grins at you, his eyes lingering long enough that you feel the need to repress a sudden shiver. His faith in you isn’t something to be taken lightly; he was fairly high up in Malcolm’s ever-expanding mob, having risen through the ranks over the years. For him to have taken you under his wing in just over a month was nothing short of a miracle considering his paranoia, especially when it came to women; there's a reason that you are the only girl on his crew.

One of the other members of Gus’s team had spoken to you briefly about it, once – Gus hadn’t worked with a woman since his ex-wife, Natalie, who had betrayed him and ran off with some guy (and his money) a couple of years ago. Apparently Gus had been infuriated for ages, before seeming to bottle it up suddenly one day and channel it into aggressively working his way up to the upper echelon of Malcolm’s organization. Regardless, you being accepted into his crew is no small feat.

You’d gotten the sense that maybe he was interested in you – you’d felt his eyes on you before you’d even spoken, that first day you had seen each other, before you had even done anything worth catching his eye, so presumably you were somewhat attractive to him. You’d caught him still staring as you snatched an inattentive businessman’s wallet, and initially thought that he was going to rat you out, his eyes glittering as they tracked your movements. But he hadn’t; in fact, he’d pointed the man in the wrong direction, giving you the opportunity to slip away. Your mouth had dropped open in surprise, and all he’d done was wink at you before you both moved to disappear into the crowd.

You’d gone out of your way to “accidentally” run into him again on more than one occasion, introducing yourself and making small talk, never once bringing up the circumstances of your first encounter. Then he started taking the initiative, showing up at places he knew you would be. And then, one day, he’d taken you to the shore to look at this very boat, asking if you wanted to work with him and what that entailed. It was a far more sustainable way to get by than your petty, solo thieving, and you had eagerly accepted the opportunity, both of you very obviously pleased you could spend more time together.

“Earth to Y/N!” Gus teases, pulling you out of your reminiscing. You blink a few times, looking up at him with embarrassment. “What were you just thinking about so hard, huh?” he asks with a grin.

“Oh jeez, I’m sorry!” you apologize sheepishly. “I was just thinking about…” you bite your lip nervously, trying to build up the nerve to tell him. “…about how different my life is going to be now. Because of you,” you tell him, trying to convey the depth of your gratitude in your gaze. “Thank you, Gus, for giving me a chance to make something of myself.”

For one long moment, Gus stares at you deeply, his expression unreadable. You find yourself fighting to keep still and maintain eye contact with him. Eventually he blinks, lifting one corner of his mouth in a smile.

“Yeah well, don’t let me down, alright?” he says, and you give him a mocking salute, biting your tongue to keep your face neutral.

Gus eventually pulls the boat into the marina, and the other members of the crew hop out and begin tying off the boat.

“Let’s go, Y/N – we’ll need to keep all of this in one place!” one of the crewmates calls to you from the dock, beckoning you to disembark The Lucky Mermaid and join them.

“Actually, I need to chat with Y/N for awhile longer,” Gus cuts in with a tone of finality that leaves no room for argument. He pulls the backpack off of you and tosses it to the crew. “Take hers with you, Alex.”

The man immediately obeys, throwing your bag over his other shoulder, and the three men move to shore. You turn to look up at Gus, trying not to be nervous – this is the first time you’ve been alone with him since you had first started talking, and this is definitely a more secluded location than your previous, public encounters.

“We should do something to celebrate your first successful job. Are you free for dinner tonight?” he asks, getting right to the point. You find yourself gaping at him.

“You… you want to take me to dinner?” you stammer, somewhat incredulous, and you’re sure you must be blushing like mad right about now. Gus seems to be taking in your butterflies with a good deal of amusement, giving you a charming smile. ��Like a date?”

“Maybe. It could be,” he says, shrugging his big shoulders and trying to play it off casual. “I had to make sure you were good to run with us before anything else, and now I have. So how about it?”

“I… yeah,” you reply eagerly, still processing the surprising invitation. “I mean, yes, Gus, I’d love to!” you tack on, flustered, and his grin widens.

“Great! How’s Brigoli’s, 7 o’clock?”

That would give you the day to catch up on sleep, maybe get some other work done, and still have time to make yourself look presentable.

“Sounds perfect, Gus. I’ll see you tonight!” you beam at him before nimbly hopping onto the dock, heading for home.

---

The minute you get home and lock your front door behind you, you collapse back against the door, clapping a hand over your mouth. It had worked; you were in with Gus’s gang, and he wanted a more intimate relationship with you.

You desperately want to take a shower and nap, but you need to update your report before you started forgetting details. You head into your bedroom, removing the picture hanging on the wall to reveal a hole concealing a laptop and a wireless router; you leave your badge and gun tucked in the corner of the hidden area.

Opening the computer, your eyes briefly skim the report in progress. You had been investigating Malcolm’s gang for over a year now, and had been looking at Gus in particular for the past four months. After two months of recon, it was determined that you would be the best candidate to go undercover as a petty thief in the hopes of attracting his attentions and getting close.

And you had.

You’d known it was a risk, getting a dangerous, temperamental guy with a history of DV to be interested in you, but if you succeeded in your ruse and got in close, you would be privy to everything in time. And you suppose it wasn’t all acting – Augustus Travis was scum, an abusive man and a criminal through-and-through, but he was more than easy on the eyes. You allowed yourself to check him out during your time together – it would only strengthen your disguise (or so you told yourself).

You take off your shirt, retrieving the tiny camera stashed in your bra, and connect it to the laptop, placing both back in the hidden alcove and replacing the painting. The videos you had taken could back up while you took a shower, but you could never be too careful, and didn’t want to risk leaving such important evidence out unattended, even in your own home.

You hop in the shower, the hot water helping to relax your tight muscles – you found you were always tense these days, the pressure of being caught overwhelming – and try to think of a to-do list while you wash up.

You were scheduled to meet your handler later on today at a local café to give him an update. Jacob was an old friend that you'd trained at the academy with, and it had been decided that having him liaise with you would be safer than one of the more local cops – he shouldn’t be recognized. In some ways, you found interacting with Jacob more difficult with Gus. It was much harder to stay in character when you were talking to someone who actually knew the real you.

You’d check the video uploads once you were out of the shower, nap for a few hours, put together the updated report and print it out to take with you to the meeting. There are a few photographs in particular of the inside of Harbour Manor – what the team had seized in a recent heist, before you had been added to the team – that would go a long way in a criminal trial against Gus, Malcolm, and the whole group. You’d probably get back from meeting Jacob in the late afternoon, giving yourself a bit of time to unwind and prepare for your dinner with Gus.

This was going to work; you could handle playing house with the man.

You’d have to.

Gus’s POV:

Gus shows up outside your house just after noon, after having rested up a bit at the Manor. He liked keeping an eye on you, even if that was only in the form of watching your house while you slept the day away, telling himself that it was just to make sure you weren’t lying to him.

Perhaps it was a bit more than that.

He needed to be sure that you were safe, that you were coming back to him; he needed you in ways he’s not entirely comfortable with.

He hasn’t felt this way since Nat.

He thinks you might be better.

Yeah, maybe he’s being a bit overzealous – you’d only just agreed to go out with him today, after all – so what? He was devoted, committed, passionate. Women appreciated that.

The tinted windows of Alex’s car afford him the perfect view of the front of your house – he knew you would recognize his own vehicle, and he doesn’t want you knowing about the depth of his desires quite yet. You’re probably still asleep; it had been a long night. Perhaps he could slip in just to pay you a visit, just to take in the sight of you at your most vulnerable…

Your front door opens suddenly and he jumps slightly despite himself. Just where the hell did you think you were going?

You’re dressed better than you usually are when you’re looking to swipe a few wallets, and you’re on the phone with someone. He opens the app on his phone that allows him to listen in through the bug he’d planted under your mailbox – being one of Malcolm’s top guys had its perks, and after the incident with his ex-wife, he’d learned to keep track of what was his.

“ –there in about half an hour. No, not the Sea urchin Café, the Seahorse Café!” you clarify, and Gus’s jaw clenches. “Yeah, I’m looking forward to seeing you too! Bye.”

You hang up and walk down the path to your driveway, getting into your car and driving off without a second thought. He debates following, but it would be too suspicious. Plus, he already knows where you’re going.

Scrolling through the contacts on his phone, he finds Frankie’s number. Frankie was an… associate… that worked as a waiter at the Seahorse Café. It provided him ample opportunities to eavesdrop, and it was much easier to conduct ‘business’ in broad daylight when someone on the inside was there to help set things up and keep things quiet. Gus had him stationed at the Café and Louie at Brigoli’s; he’d long since made a habit of having eyes everywhere, since he (regrettably) couldn’t be everywhere at once.

He dials the phone.

“Hey, Frankie? It’s Gus. I need a favour.”

He rattles off the request, giving him your general description and asking him to keep an eye out for you… and whoever you met with. As soon as Frankie is satisfied with his promised payment, Gus hangs up, immediately starting the engine and heading over to the Café. He needs to see this for himself.

He pulls up to the restaurant just in time to see you stand from your chair, greeting a lanky blond man with a smile and a hug that has him seeing red. Infuriated, he sends off some quick texts to Frankie, demanding he determine their relationship as soon as possible. If you were with someone else, if you had lied to his face and told him you wanted him…

He isn’t sure what he’ll do.

Over the next hour or so, Frankie sends him short updates that mostly alleviate his suspicions, though he still can’t help himself, watching your lunch through the restaurant’s windows:

They’re friends.

Old coworkers maybe.

Looks like she just brought some stuff to give him to help him out.

Gus is mostly mollified, but still jealous – he should be the one you’re doing favours for, the one you obey unquestioningly, the one you stick to like glue...

He’s so distracted by his possessive thoughts and dark desires that he misses the awkward, fumbling exchange that you and the man you were with have with Frankie before quickly moving to pay your bill and leave. But he is notified of the situation by a new text from Frankie that pulls him out of his fantasizing:

She’s a cop.

He freezes, the words initially failing to register. When they finally sink in, he’s still not buying it. There was no way. Still, he watches you leave, taking note of the other man’s license plate as he drives off, just in case, and then drives to the back of the restaurant, ordering Frankie to come give him an update face-to-face in a terse text message.

The man climbs into the passenger seat a few minutes later, closing the door behind him.

“What the fuck do you mean she’s a cop?!” Gus hisses at him, getting right to the point. Frankie immediately raises his hands in surrender.

“Look, they were wrapping up their meal and she accidentally knocked over the file folder she’d brought – they’d talked about it like it was some old records for work, and a photograph slipped out. I grabbed it to give back to her, and she completely froze – she looked terrified. I took a quick glance, and…” he hesitates, probably wishing there was more space between himself and an increasingly irate-looking Gus.

“It was the loot from the heist we did a few weeks back, in the Manor, man. If she’s not a cop, she’s at least feeding info to someone else.”

Gus’s rage pours out of him in tangible waves, but he is completely silent for a long moment.

“Get out.”

Frankie all but dives for the door’s handle, flinging himself out of the car to escape, and Gus immediately speeds off in the direction of the Manor, seething.

First Nat, now you? At least Nat had had some loyalty, in the beginning, but now you were coming in to fuck him over, and you’d been lying the whole time? After he’d worked so hard, built himself up, made something of himself? You were going to take everything he’d worked for, take him down, leave him?

No. Not this time. You’d never get the chance.

The minute he reaches Harbour Manor he’s making calls: one to a dealer, one to Louie at Brigoli’s, and one to his guy on the inside at the local car insurance company, who confirmed the car the guy you’d met with had left in as being registered to one Jacob Henson, as well as the man’s address. He jots the information down and hangs up the phone, and just looks down at the slip of paper, a hand covering his mouth.

What a fucking mess you’ve caused by doing this to him.

But it’s nothing compared to what he’s going to do to you.

He moves to the foyer at the front of the house, hollering for Alex and tossing the man his car keys back when he appears at the top of the stairs.

“You’re gonna go find someone for me,” he tells the younger man, handing him the information about Jacob. “And they’re gonna have an accident.”

---

By the time Gus is at the restaurant waiting for you, he’s calmed down somewhat, knowing that it’s necessary if he wants to execute his part of the plan. He’s in a booth that gives the table a degree of privacy but that is close enough to the front for an easy getaway, which would be needed to get you out of here.

You arrive a short time later looking lovely and innocent and he hates you; you could’ve been his partner; now it would take longer, take more work to break you in. But he would break you in with time; he’d picked up a few things since Nat, and would have you compliant and submissive and his in time.

“Hi Gus,” you greet him with a shy smile, and now that he knows it’s bullshit he wants to beat the fake expression right off your beautiful face. Instead, he grins warmly at you, eyes raking over your body poured into a tight black dress. Even if you’d faked your attraction to him, he could still fuck you, he thinks to himself, and the idea helps him stay calm. There will be time to lash out at you later.

“You clean up good, Y/N,” he leers, keeping up the act just as you are, and continues flirting with you until Louie shows up with champagne and two glasses. You look over to him questioningly, and he smiles.

“I mentioned that we were celebrating tonight,” he admits, trying to sound bashful. Louie leaves once he has taken your order and Gus slides a flute over to you, raising his to you.

“To a long and successful working relationship,” he toasts in a low, husky voice, his eyes dark as he watches you bite your lip to keep back what he presumes is a guilty smile before you raise your own glass to clink with his.

“Working relationship, huh?” you tease after a sip of your beverage, and he makes a point of looking you up and down, considering which parts of your body will look the best bloodied and battered.

“Among other things,” he adds suggestively, giving you a wink. You blush and lick your lips, and he senses that your attraction to him may not be a complete lie. That boded well for your future together; it made you even marginally closer to giving into him. That had not been the case with Nat, when he’d first met her – it had been a struggle in the beginning, getting her to accept his love. But she had... Eventually.

He refocuses on you, not wanting to waste any more thought on his traitorous bitch of an ex-wife. You’re surveying him over your champagne, the romantic lighting making your eyes flicker at him. You clearly hadn’t noticed the trace amounts of powder in the bottom of your champagne glass, and as he watches you take another sip he wonders how long it will take for the rohypnol to take effect. He’s nearly giddy at the thought.

“So, was getting me to work with you all just a ploy to get us closer together?” you ask coyly, looking over at him with a flirty smile.

“Oh, I don’t know, I think we could get a bit closer,” he purrs, pointedly sliding a little closer to you in the booth. Time to see how far you were willing to take this thing…

He can hear your soft gasp from across the table, and watches as you gather the nerve to join him, slowly moving yourself down the booth towards him. Halfway to him, your hand slips and you fall forward into his lap with a squeak.

“Oh, sorry!” you say, giggling breathlessly as you right yourself, moving to sit beside him. “That champagne went right to my head!”

“No need to apologize, sweetheart. I’m more than alright with you throwing yourself at me,” he teases, reaching over to take your cheek in his hand gently. Your eyes flutter closed at the contact, and the moment would almost be sweet if he didn’t know it was a ruse influenced by the drugs starting to take effect.

“Maybe I’m getting sick or something; this doesn’t feel right,” you mumble, looking up blearily at him. He gives you a look of mock sympathy, deciding to let you in on the scheme.

“What’s wrong?” he asks innocently. “Should I call someone for you? Maybe… Jacob?”

You tense up, your eyes wide as they try to focus on his face.

“W-What?” you ask groggily, and he gives you a mocking smile. He stretches his arms up and lays them along the back of the booth, his jacket opening just enough that you notice his gun at his hip, even in your loopy state.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he tells you, bending to speak quietly in your ear. To anyone that looked, you both appeared just like a couple out for a romantic evening. “Those drugs I had put in your glass are going to start to kick in. You’re going to come to my car with me, nice and easy, and no one gets hurt. And then we’re going to go have a talk.”

He kisses you softly, right below the ear, throws some cash down to cover the champagne – Louie had never put your food order through – and half drags, half carries you up out of the booth, reassuring everyone that you were just feeling under the weather, and sweeps you up into his arms. He’s pretty sure he hears a couple of women coo at the sweet picture the two of you make.

Perfect.

Carrying you out of Brigoli’s, he walks with you to his car, settling you in the passenger seat.

“Sleep, sweetheart,” he coos patronizingly, and you can’t even glare at him, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as the drugs really start to kick in. “You’re going to have a lot to answer for when that wears off.”

He buckles your seatbelt for you, almost tenderly, before closing your door and walking around the car to take his seat behind the wheel. As he drives you both to Harbour Manor (emptied of witnesses for the next day or so at his instruction), he looks over at you, his heart clenching with adoration for you even as his hands grip the steering wheel so hard he worries he’ll break it.

You wouldn’t be getting away from him. Not like last time. Not like Nat. You’d take the beating both of you deserved for trying to leave him, for lying to him.

And then he’d make sure you never fucked with him again.

[As you can see, I am in need of decent quality screenshots of this movie, if anyone has access to a better version than the one on YouTube and wants to help me out!]

Chapter 2 | Epilogue

#gus travis #gus travis x reader #thomas ian griffith #black point 2002 #black point #dark desires october #extremely dark #in deep water

17 notes · View notes

bug-decal-kissing · 1 month

Text

Hey friends!

A paradise for students, by Lyulchik20002, was updated today, with 5/? Chapters released! It has a rating of Teen And Up Audiences and Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, with additional tags "Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - College/University"

You can read it here:

Good ol' party with new faces, by CatDragonStella, was updated today, with 4/4 Chapters released! It has a rating of Teen And Up Audiences and Graphic Depictions Of Violence, with additional tags "Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, How Do I Tag, Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, My First Fanfic, LGBTQ Character, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Intersex Scarab"

You can read it here:

There is discussion of the previous chapter (see the additional tags for TW), so please read with caution :]/lh

#im going to be out of my house for a few days pretty soon #posts might get spotty around the 9th ill be on when i can !! orz #prohibitedwish #prohibitedwish fics #a paradise for students #good ol party with new faces

9 notes · View notes

aftgficrec · 7 months

Note

ah I'm so excited you're open!!! thank you for the ridiculous amount of work you all do 🙏ok, this might be too specific but any fics with an alternate take on Andrew and Neil's post-trk reunion? Andrew gets out of easthaven early, Neil leaves the Nest later, AU's, etc.? i think it's a really interesting point in their dynamic, and I'm a sucker for sober Andrew realizing someone was watching his back for once

Feeling a bit like a Bernie Sanders’ meme – ‘I am once again asking myself why I spent so much time on an ask,’ 😅 but it's because this is such an iconic and beloved scene for our fandom. For a super fun ‘live’ first-time reader reaction to this high drama, check out ‘The King’s Men, Chapter 1 – Hello Foxhole, My Old Friend’ by @nickireadstfc here. -A

also see

Andrew's POV of throwing keys off roof here

‘Come and Save Me From It’ here (completed)

‘Learning To Feel (When You've Forgotten How)’ and the fandom meta posts here

‘pipedream’ here

‘reaching for the heights’ here

‘Lost boy’ and ‘[Un]broken’ here

‘I Know You From A Nightmare,’ ‘The Marks We Make,’ and ‘Draw Me Out, Mark Me In’ here

‘Marked’ and ‘Soulmates who can feel each other’s pain’ here

‘Of Stars and Stories’ here

‘What’s normal now?’ here

long previous recs with reunion mention

‘No More Fucks To Give’ here (updated)

‘The Sphynx and the Hare’ here (completed)

‘corvus, vulpes, lupus’ here

‘never fallen (from quite this high)’ here

‘Not a Pipe Dream’ here

‘everything and nothing begins with you’ here

Andrew gets sober, Neil stays at Evermore

‘Oh Raven,’ ‘Jailbird,’ and ‘Take to the Wing’ here

‘Scared to Live (But I'm Scared to Die)’ here

‘Comeback’ here

you may also like

in the dream I don't tell anyone (you put your head in my lap) by Fortheloveofexy [Rated T, 1850 Words, Complete, 2022, Locked]

The real Neil would never allow this, would not let himself be this vulnerable. The real Neil can barely stand to be around him. Andrew knows this. But Dream Neil? Dream Neil is a different story.

Will you be there when I come back? by Shamman [Not Rated, 299 Words, Complete, 2017]

Andrew is trapped in Easthaven with an eidetic memory and tries to focus his thoughts on the confusing image of Neil Josten's face. -Because however terrible it may look, Andrew's current circumstances are much less pleasant. Furthermore Bee has been making him sing and play the guitar in a very therapeutic attempt to make him express some sort of actual emotion over the past year.

tw: violent imagery

You Gave Me A Key And Called It Home by glintchi [Rated T, Collection, Complete, 2019]

Chapter 19: Yes, I Admit It, You Were Right [460 Words] Renee was waiting for him in the basement, fingers already taped, hair pulled back into a tuft of a rainbow ponytail.

Foxhole Tidbits by SpangleBangle [Collection Rated T/M, Updated 2018]

Chapter 14: My Friend, O My Friend [M, 953 Words] Prompt for Renee's reaction after Drake/Easthaven and Andrew's return.

tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: canonical character death

Did You Miss Me? by Deathandcommas [Rated G, 555 Words, Complete, 2023, Locked]

Aaron and Andrew have a late night chat after Andrew gets back from Easthaven.

tfw spoons by StrawBerryRains [Rated G, 216 Words, Complete, 2021]

Nicky offers Andrew ice cream when they arrive home from Easthaven.

A Taste of Your Own Medicine by caffeine_withdrawl [Rated M, 66454 Words, Incomplete, Updated March 2023]

Set after the infamous Thanksgiving, but then diverges from canon. Andrew and Bee decide it’s time for Andrew to come off the drugs, but works some magic so that he is allowed to do it in Columbia. Neil is tasked with helping him through it. They decide to do it the same way Andrew helped Aaron sober up, by locking him in a bathroom. Andrew doesn't react well, and switches between rage and panic. Andrew wonders if Neil is real or if he made him up because of the drugs.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: body horror, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: flashbacks, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: drug addiction, tw: withdrawal, tw: vomit, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: ptsd, tw: emotional abuse, tw: hallucinations

making it harder to breathe by Azure_Allumiia [Rated T, 1643 Words, Complete, 2021]

Christmas Break with the Foxes, featuring Andrew at Easthaven and Neil in Evermore. Foxes celebrate New Years in NYC with the ball drop.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: rape/noncon, tw: medical abuse, tw: torture, tw: blood

Dead Birds by Noah98 [Rated G, 1601 Words, Complete, 2021, Locked]

Neil just got back from Evermore and Andrew has returned from Easthaven. Riko calls. He wants a rematch and oh boy does he get it.

tw: violence, tw: blood/gore

Art

NB: just a sampling of art for this scene

“Feel Again” original song by @whatbutandreil [Tumblr, 2020]

Picking up Andrew from Easthaven part 1, part 2 comic by @coldcigarettes

andreil keys off the roof scene: animation by @hahanken | comic by @rainbowd00dles | comic by @lunapiq | art by @esklinray

I hate you comic by @thematicallycoherent

I’m not a hallucination art by @clumsyartish

Stick around long enough to figure it out for yourself. edit by @m1nyards

You are a pipe dream art by @viennemort

“you spend all this time watching our backs” edit by @matthcwboyd

not a hallucination a pipe dream art by @kryptidfox

“you were supposed to be a side effect of the drugs.” art by @planetmontressor

"Go inside and leave me alone." art by @dimsunstuff

“No, you’re a pipe dream.” art by @starkingdraws

113 notes · View notes

insoukokuhell-434 · 9 months

Text

Getting Together/Love Confessions - skk fics

Including:

Love Confessions/ Getting Together

LC/GT + their relationship after

The format I’m using is:

Title - writer (ao3 link) Fic length Time period (teen/mafia skk, 22! Skk, all ages) Love Confession and/or Getting Together Additional tags (Anything in bold added by me for extra info) TW

the same groove - halfbloom (diphylleias)

11.3K MAFIA SKK (16), 22 SKK Love Confessions Feelings realization, Pining, Light Angst, Happy Ending, Growing Up

Summary: "Dazai always knows too much, and too fast, whether it be for the better or for the worse. But for Chuuya, the realization comes slower, gradually, clumsily over the years"

it must be because i love you - communist_sasuke

5k MAFIA SKK (15, SB) 22!SKK Love Confessions Mutual Pining, Falling In Love, Fluff and Humor, Dazai is Whipped, Developing Relationship, Post-Corruption Ability Use, Feelings realization, First kiss TW - Dazai-Typical Suicide References

From summary: "(Or: A series of incidents in which Dazai and Chuuya can't gather their thoughts around each other, and a couple of clues as to why.)"

High tides - refectory

4.3k 22 SKK Getting Together Post-Dead Apple, Confessions, Dazai gets vulnerable, Chuuya is doing his god damned best to be patient with him, but it's hard

Summary: "Dazai is embarrassed by the idea of wanting something for himself that he is fully capable of attaining.

or : after the events of Dead Apple, Dazai and Chuuya finally talk."

Stay - the_most_happy

23.6k 22 SKK Love Confessions, Getting Together Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence Deaf Chuuya, Sign language, Chuuya is so done, Dazai tries his best Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Chuuya in Denial, Feelings Realization, Love confessions in the rain because SKK are dramatic, First Kiss, Kiss Kiss Fall in Love, Idiots in Love, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Skk's Unconventional Mating Rituals, Developing Relationship, Relationship Study, Soft skk Hurt/Comfort, Literal Sleeping Together, Domestic Fluff, Canon Compliant, Sweet

A chance to start again - Root (Fyki)

4.4k 22 SKK Love Confessions + Getting Together Mutual Pining, First Kiss, Fluff, Introspection, they work they shit out

i have died every night waking for you (all alone i have been waiting for you)-scripted_suicide

3.4k 22 SKK Love confessions First Kiss, Fluff & Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Literal Sleeping Together, Canon Compliant

believe me darling, the stars were made for falling -communist_sasuke

14.6k ALL AGES Love Confessions + Getting Together Worried Chuuya, Dazai is a Mess, Angst, Self-Harm , Fluff & Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon timeline, First Kiss TW - Dazai-Typical Suicide Mentions , Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt

Happily (n)Ever After - Memos

14k 22 SKK + flashbacks Love confessions, Getting together Romantic Comedy, Light Angst, Bad Decisions, Alcohol, Suggestive Themes, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Assault With Flowers, Don't Be Like SKK Kids, Drunk marriage, Reconciliation

hey look, the sky's falling apart - saffroncassis

24.8k TEEN SKK (16/17) Love confession + Getting Together AU - Canon Divergence Protective Nakahara Chuuya, Angst, Fluff, Humor, Developing Relationship Found Family (the Akutagawa siblings, Oda's kids, Kyouka, Oda, Ango) TW- Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse and discussions of both these, also cw food for the whole fic

Summary - "At age 16, Chuuya defects from the Port Mafia and drags his partner with him not so much kicking and screaming as silently begrudging, and the rest follow suit in time."

Wish in one hand - forest_raccoon

5.2k 15, 16, 22 SKK Getting Together First Kiss, gratuitous yearning about holding hands, this whole thing is basically: what if Dazai was just a bit more of a disaster, Chuuya Uses Corruption, Angst with a Happy Ending, Swearing, Dead Apple Spoilers, Fifteen Light Novel Spoilers

I won't leave - Kyril

2.1k 22 SKK (Post Dead Apple) Love Confessions Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Chuuya, Chuuya recovering from Corruption, reluctant bedrest, Caring Dazai, Dazai Takes Care of Chuuya, Accidental Confession, Fluff, Light Angst, Idiots in Love, Chuuya-Typical Swearing, Whumptober 2020

Grown on me - Jules_tea

16.9k 22 SKK Love Confessions + Getting Together Alternate Universe - Post-Canon Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Possessive Chuuya, Jealous Dazai, Caring Dazai, Chuuya Uses Corruption, a new mission but at what cost TW- Dazai-Typical Suicide Mentions

From Summary - "Or, a story in which Nakahara Chuuya and Dazai Osamu come to accept their feelings, one way or another… and Dazai helps Chuuya finally accept himself."

Slightly More Human - Bulllshitzarry

3.9k 22 SKK (Post Dead Apple) Getting Together Angst with a Happy ending, Acceptance, Feelings realization, Attempt at Humor, Protective Chuuya

LC/GT + their relationship after

Without Words - StarshipDancer

11.5k 22 SKK Getting Together, Love Confessions Caring Chuuya, Domestic Fluff, Light Angst, Moving In Together, Literal Sleeping Together, Cuddling & Snuggling, video game references, sticky notes, Idiots in Love, Soft skk, skk’s Unconventional Mating Rituals, 5+1 Things TW - Dazai-Typical Suicide Mentions

For the Record - zombiemarker

19.1k TEEN SKK Getting together AU- Spies & Secret Agents Physical Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Childhood Trauma, they get all dressed up and go to a gala, Implied Sexual Content, Fluff & Angst, Literal sleeping together, First kiss, Developing Relationship TW - Blood and Violence, Childhood Trauma

From tags: "Chuuya's a government experiment, Dazai's been with Mori for years, they've both got trauma now"

Willful Neglect - timeisdancing

27.9k 22 SKK Getting Together Angst with a Happy Ending, Time Travel, Not a death fic - It starts off as a death fic but it does not stay that way Dazai Being An Idiot , Dazai Being An Asshole , But he learns his lessons and comes around. Dazai also starts off distant and then goes full simp, Clingy Dazai Dazai needs a hug, Chuuya needs a hug, Mutual Pining, Cuddling & Snuggling, Soft skk, Chuuya Uses Corruption, Dazai Takes Care of Chuuya Grief/Mourning, Self-Hatred, Guilt, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Gaslighting, Manipulation By Mori, Mori Ougai Being An Asshole

30 Kisses - setosdarkness

19.2k ALL AGES - AU Getting together AU - Modern: No Powers Childhood Friends, High School, College/University Fluff and Humor, Developing Relationship, Poet Chuuya, Port Mafia Boss Dazai, skk's unconventional mating rituals, Ficlet Collection, 30 kisses challenge

From summary: "30 kisses between Dazai and Chuuya, starting from highschool, all the way to adulthood.

It starts when Dazai steals Chuuya's first kiss and Chuuya convinces himself it's just how alien mackerels greet each other…"

Please like/reblog if this helped u find a fic, I'd be delighted to know <33

Soukoku fic rec masterlist here

#soukoku #soukoku fics #soukoku fic rec #skk fic rec #skk fics #17 in total :D #sierra’s recs #Sierra’s posts 🌸

21 notes · View notes

ao3feed-superbat · 3 months

Text

Clark Kent's months of Terrifying Mortality: A Love Story

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/VItC0vp by Only_The_Queerest_Gods_Hypnos_and_Apollo Clark Kent is dying from his Kryptonite poison, transmitted via everyone's favourite bald-headed villain, Lex Luthor, and slowly. He had never felt more alone in the world. But Maybe his friends Batman, Wonder Woman and Lois Lane can get him through it . And what if this new crush on billionaire, socialite Bruce Wayne, just blooms into something more? And what was this new mafia business, and how is it linked to Alaskan green tech? And just who were all these mysterious people following and watching him? Clark Kent has a lot to do in his final months this summer. Hopefully win a Pulitzer, high five Batman, and , most importantly, score Bruce Wayne. So he better get on it fast. A story of love, friendship, and friendly mortality And gratuitous action-violence. This is a love story// This is a Detective Story :) Words: 3805, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Superman - All Media Types, Batman - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: Major Character Death Categories: M/M Characters: Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Lois Lane, Duke Thomas, Perry White, Cassandra Cain, Wally West, Shayera Hol, John Stewart (DCU), J'onn J'onzz, Arthur Curry (DCU) Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Diana (Wonder Woman)/Lois Lane Additional Tags: American Football, Love, Idiots in Love, Humour, Mortality, Explosions, Major Character Undeath, Multiple times BA-BY, Sons and daughters and kids and fathers, Found Family, literally they keep stumbling into each other, Poisoning, slight cancer TW metaphors used, ex-love, past relationships gone wrong, Toxicity, fun-and-tumble-romance, past teen romance, Pulitzers mentioned, high-speed reporter-work, Attempted Murder, Cuddling, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Attempted Sexual Assault, Emotional Hugs, long discussions of mortality, Themyscira (DCU), slow forgiveness, viewed fragility, high-rise buildings, Moving On, moving forward, Finding Love, in tough times, it's sweet and it's sad and it's action packed and it's funny what more do you want?, Consensual Sex read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/VItC0vp

#ao3feed #superbat #world's finest #Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne #Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent

8 notes · View notes

undiscovered-horizon · 2 years

Text

[TW: stalking, implied/referenced assault]

>PUNISHER playlist<

Imagine meeting Frank while you're being followed.

The glimpse of your own shadow frightened you. Have these alley always been so narrow? Have their walls always threatened to close in on you, suffocate you under their rubble? Was the sky always this dark, this... hopeless?

His footsteps persisted. Part of you was still believing it was simply an accident - that he was headed in the same direction as you and maybe felt as uneasy about the whole situation as you did. That naive believer inside you, however, had been gradually growing silent with each wrong turn you took on purpose, each store you entered without a need for it. Reason, on the other hand, was a quiet beast - its voice couldn't be heard over your fear and thundering heart.

You rounded a corner, praying that this unknown alley did not lead to a dead end. Staring at your feet, fighting back tears, you accidentally walked into someone, suddenly feeling a rush of both adrenaline and cortisol leading an incursion on your sanity and blood.

"Sorry," you spat out quietly, ready to walk past the stranger and continue your nightmare. The man, of course, could be of help should you ask him but that was the problem with creatures of the night: foes and friends tend to smile just the same.

Before you could leave the scene, the man gently grabbed your arm. With terror rattling your bones, you dared to look up at his face: worst case scenario, you were going to be able to point him out in a line-up. First, you noticed his crooked nose, no doubt a result of his adventurous lifestyle. Then your interest was piqued by the bruises and scars peppering his face. Before you stood a man of little fear. His sanity, however, had never been as questionable to you as at that moment.

"You okay?" he asked.

His tone, despite the roughness of his voice, was softer than you expected. Just as you had predicted, there wasn't an ounce of hesitation or fear audible in his voice. Truthfully, his decisiveness made the hurricane of your thoughts spin slightly slower, although only for a short while.

"Yes, I'm just in a rush, sorry," you answered while trying to look anywhere but his face: the last thing you needed right now was egging someone on. "Good-..."

"It's him, isn't it?" he asked but the tone of his face made the question sound more like a statement.

"I'm scared." Your whisper was bearly audible and entirely unexpected. Only when the words left your mouth did you realize how foolish it was to acknowledge your vulnerability to another stranger. A panicked tear run down your cheek, your scattered wits unable to keep you whole anymore. Perhaps it was the sudden dreadful realization that broke the dam - it was very unlikely that you were going to return home safe and sound.

To your surprise, the man shoved you behind him, now standing tall and proud in the face of the shadow that was following your footsteps for far too long. Peeking around his broad shoulders, you took a glimpse of the menace in the form of a hooded figure. Whoever he was, his physique was in no way imposing. The wraith that resided inside his ribcage betrayed its existence through eerie, fairly inconspicuous means: it was as if a dark cloud, invisible to the naked eye, hung above his head. Your wits, however, seemed to sense the upcoming storm, smelling lighting of evil in the night air before it even struck.

"Move on, pal. Nothing to see here," your unfamiliar saviour called out to the stalker. Saviour... Could you really be sure he deserved that name? He was, after all, as beautiful as the Trojan horse.

The stalker, however, remained in place, standing only partially in the yellow light of the streetlamp. He was waiting, no doubt.

"I said," the stranger continued in a more angered tone. "Go home."

A flash of light moved in the distance and if you were to squint your eyes, you could see a knife in the man's hand. Your limbs were hot, swollen with blood begging your muscles to just run ahead and never look back until the morn. The flashing continued in a rhythmic manner as if the man was closing and opening the weapon while thinking about something - calculating the chances of success of whatever actions he was thinking of taking.

You weren't sure whether the time slowed down or picked up its pace. In any event, it didn't flow according to its usual, unbothered rhythm. Perhaps it was because its heart was trembling just like yours, forever hesitating whether it was flight or fight that would give you a better chance of survival.

It could've been hours or minutes until the hooded stranger in the distance closed his knife for the last time only to back away into the darkness of the night, vanishing in the lack of yellow streetlights. His disappearance in the face of failure was impeccably swift, leaving you with an impression that, maybe, he never indeed was there. Could it be that a curse of fright and madness runs inside this city's walls?

"Let's get you home, alright?" the unfamiliar stated while gently patting you on your shoulder, offering awkward reassurance. Feeling his hand against your body, you began to wonder whether you didn't exchange a lion's maw for a shark's teeth. "I'm Frank."

"(Y/n)," you answered weakly. As adrenaline and cortisol ended their pillage on your organism, it seemed as though all of your strength did too. If that beast did, in fact, bite and claw, you no longer had any power to fight it back. The pleasant simplicity of his name forced you to paint him in brighter and softer colours in your imagination.

The walk to your condo was silent. Maybe he didn't want to be nosy or he wanted for you to know as little as possible about him. Whatever it was, you felt grateful that he wasn't much of a talker - that night had been long and you were in no state to have casual small talks. Even after reaching the entry door to the building, he didn't leave immediately. Instead, he was waiting for you to go in and the door to shut behind you. Caging you, in a way, in the safety of your own home.

"Thank you," you said timidly right before shutting the doors closed. You weren't going to reimburse his time and effort but Frank, to be honest, didn't expect that either.

You never learned this but Frank lingered around your apartment until the morning light - just to make sure that some vultures never retake their flight.

102 notes · View notes

flowers-that-sing · 10 months

Text

"baby, if it feels good, then it can't be bad"

(a post s3 steve harrington songfic based on Gibson Girl by Ethel Cain)

TWs// sexual content, dubious consent to put it lightly but it's more implied to be sexual assault, past csa, grooming, it's not super detailed (the csa much less so, and told through memories where steve doesn't even exactly know what's happening), but like. you know. it's pretty bad. referenced physical abuse. referenced past incestual sexual abuse. alcohol consumption, smoking. lightly implied drugging.

also, disclaimer: this is all told through steve's eyes—the way he sees things is very warped, his relationship with sex is unhealthy to say the least, and just because he's saying he feels good does not mean that anything that happens in this is good. it isn't. nothing about this is good or healthy at all.

She approached him in the dark behind the bar, where Steve was half-considering lighting up in spite of his promise of quitting to Robin. He had drank enough that it didn't seem to matter. She had leather pants on, and sunglasses, despite the dark.

"Corey Hart fan?" he asked lightly. She didn't bother to answer.

"Just saw you leave the bar. I'm glad you stuck around."

Steve didn't recognize her, and she didn't seem to recognize him either. She was dragging her eyes across his body, and Steve was suddenly all-too conscious of his scars on display, his sweat-melted hair wax.

He was sick of it, he was sick of feeling ugly, and this girl had desire in her eyes. Steve was craving desire.

And he was craving thrill. His thoughts had been rapid all week, his body more fidgety, his stomach constantly filled with bees and his energy so high he hadn't needed more than a couple hours of sleep a night. He had so much time in every day, but nothing to fill it with besides the monotony of work, and he needed adrenaline. There weren't any monsters to fight now, and there weren't any basketball games to play since high school, and he needed the feeling. The melting, excruciating, nauseating excitement, racing heart, the feeling of something about to happen, the fear, the risk.

"You came alone to me—from however far away," he mused, lighting his cigarette, delicately placing it between his lips, exhaling into her face.

"How'd you know?" she asked with a grin.

You're all the same.

Steve shrugged. "Lucky guess."

She stepped in, so he could feel her breath on his face. "You gonna buy me a drink?"

Steve put the cig out on his thigh. He didn't feel the burn. "I was just about to ask."

If I'm still walking straight, I need another drink anyway.

They went inside together, sat back at the bar. Steve opened a new tab.

By the time he had a glass of whiskey in his hand, she had a hand on his thigh. She didn't even pretend to drink the vodka she'd ordered, and he was still downing his last gulp of whiskey when she pushed it into his hand with a little half-smile. He drank it.

The lights were bleeding all over him.

He felt a hand in his back pocket, and when he looked up, she was pulling cash out of his wallet.

You wanna love me right now?

"You wanna get alone with me?" Steve asked. Her eyes were bright, and she nodded, pulling him to his feet and all but dragging him out of the bar. He wasn't exactly sure when he'd gotten there, but he was in the trunk of a car, the backseats folded down to make room. "You wanna get my clothes off and hurt me?"

He hadn't meant to say 'hurt.' But she just laughed and grinned, and ripped his clothes off.

☤

"Baby, if it feels good, then it can't be bad," Lynn says. Steve's eight now, beginning to question if it was wrong. He's remembering his Sunday school teacher talking about how nakedness was wrong, or something. And a new word, he doesn't know what it means. 'Chastity.'

Lynn's touching him, she says it's to make him feel good. He doesn't really know how he feels. It reminds him a little of his grandfather, but Lynn's a woman, and she's not family, so it's different. It's better. If he closes his eyes and lets himself sink into it, he likes it. Is he supposed to like it? Lynn says he's supposed to like it.

He tells her he does, and opens his eyes when she's done, and she's smiling. She promises him a new teddy bear. But for right now, it's his turn to make her feel good.

☤

Steve likes to think he's a good person now, but he knows he's still a whore, and he can't deny the high that comes with being immoral in a stranger's lap. He's kissing over her chest and grinding down onto her leather pants, and she's digging her nails into his back. He still doesn't even know her name. She doesn't know his. Maybe it's better that way.

She hasn't taken off more than her shirt still, but he's fully naked. It's dark, the only light coming from a dim greenish streetlamp outside the car, and he thinks maybe she can't see his scars, but she's running her hands over the scar on his chest, from where the Russian guards had cut him open. She looks at it with something he can't quite decipher. It almost looks like fascination, but he knows that isn't it. Her eyes are wide, her pupils dilated.

Ah. Desire.

"You know, I was serious about hurting me. You wanna add some more?"

☤

"I'm in love with your body. That's why I'm fucking it up." Steve listens to Lynn's voice from where she sits on the back of his legs. He is on his stomach, face turned to the side so he can breathe. He can’t see her. He sees his disorientingly patterned wall. He smells rosewater and orange zest, and his head feels fuzzy. Something hurts. Everything hurts. He doesn’t think about it too much. He just focuses on the warmth, the heat from the points of contact between him and his babysitter, the sweat in the backs of his knees, on his upper lip. The bedsheets are damp. It’s itchy.

☤

Steve tasted his own blood on her teeth as she bit his upper lip. He was starting to see colors in the spaces where she'd been after she moved. And then his face was between her thighs, and when had her pants even come off at all? His heart was racing, exactly like he'd wanted, and his body was wracked with tremors. He listened to the music coming from her lips, the moans rising from her chest, and his heart leapt. I did that. I'm making her feel good.

His arms felt a bit numb as he reached up to rub his thumbs into her hips. She was panting hard, and he was giddy.

"Oh, fuck—you really are special, baby," she hissed.

Steve's eyes widened, watered, and he whimpered against her.

I'm special. She said I'm special.

Steve was going to ride this high for at least a week. He was desirable, wanted, special. He basked in her attention, even if he knew he wouldn't see her again after tonight.

He felt like he was being shown something he could never have. Something he'd searched for all his life. For a second, he could pretend it was love. Love for his brain and his scars and his body. Him taking all of her attention and giving back anything she wanted in return. Just to feel special. He'd do anything.

Because that's what love was, right? Love, want, attention, specialness, was just tied to sex. Maybe his parents didn't love him since they couldn't fuck him. His grandfather loved him, his babysitter loved him, and for one night at a time, anyone could love him. And growing up, it was the only way he was really touched, with affection, at least. In ways other than a beating.

He knew that wasn't right, because him and Robin loved each other. He loved the kids—never in that way, ever, and he still loved them. It was a different kind of love. But then, it was another different kind he was looking for, anyway. Maybe he was ungrateful. But he was hungry for attention, for someone to call him special, to want him around, he was starving for it.

His thoughts weren't making much sense anymore.

She was holding him in her lap, his boxers were back on, he was resting his head on her shoulder. He assumed she'd finished at some point, he didn't remember, and he knew he hadn't, but he hadn't really wanted to anyway.

He was drooling, and he couldn't stop himself, and he couldn't see much, but her body was warm. He crawled closer, squirmed in tighter. It felt good to be held. He felt good.

He woke up almost naked on the sidewalk in the sun with drool pooling at his chin and the rest of his clothes on a pile next to him.

19 notes · View notes

ao3feed-rhaenicent · 1 month

Text

#ao3feed #fanfic #rhaenicent #alicent hightower #rhaenyra targaryen #hotd

4 notes · View notes

buttercupsandboys · 2 years

Text

Sunshine & Rainbows — an Alfie Solomons x original character story — Chapter 10

18+ NSFW - minors don’t interact 🙅🏻‍♀️

MASTERLIST | READ ON AO3

CHAPTER 10: bad fucking men

Word count: 3642

TW: language typical of Peaky Blinders, implied/referenced sexual assault, implied/referenced child abuse

Alfie and Livy have been keeping secrets from each other, and it’s time to come clean.

A/N: this is another dark chapter, so mind the tags! Send me a message if you need an edited version. (*things get fluffier soon, I promise!)

If he wasn't sure before, he is now—and it can only mean one thing.

He's utterly and totally fucked.

Alfie exhales, dragging a hand down his face as he collapses against the pillows. His eyes are heavy, but every time he closes them, the day's events flash like he's watching a film, and all hope of sleep goes out the window.

It's strange because violence—even death—rarely keeps him up at night. At least, not anymore. Ghosts haunt his dreams, but they're familiar friends, and the only evidence of their visit is sweat-soaked sheets in the morning.

But this is something new.

When he pictures Livy, curled in the corner like a wounded animal, painted head to toe in fresh blood, it causes him physical fucking pain—like ripping his heart out of his chest and leaving it for the crows to tear apart.

He's never felt anything like it, and that's saying something. After all, it only takes one look at the myriad of scars littering his chest, like points on a treasure map, to know that Alfie's no stranger to suffering. There have been bullets and blades and burns, but nothing from his past has prepared him for what he's going through right now.

Witnessing her pain and her terror cracks him open in new and horrible ways, and deep down, he knows it can only mean one thing.

He's fucking fallen in love with the girl.

Head over heels in love, and it's un-fucking-deniable. Despite his limited experience with the emotion—due mainly to his unwillingness to let anyone into his fucking life—Alfie is discerning enough to know that he's in deep. Livy has found her way into his heart the same way the morning sun seeks out the shadows, and he can't help but love her for it.

This is a problem.

It's a big fucking problem because Alfie is a bad fucking man who does bad things to good people, and it's only a matter of time until she finds out.

Or worse, gets caught in the middle.

Actually, scratch that. Livy's already in the crossfire; she just doesn't know it yet.

Alfie shakes his head, flexing his hands and cracking his knuckles as he looks her over. Livy is sleeping soundly beside him, tangled in the crisp sheets, wearing a soft cotton nightgown that makes her look far too fucking young.

Her breath is calm and steady, and he almost smiles as he adjusts a thin strap, dragging the delicate fabric up the gentle slope of her shoulder. After so many nights spent thinking of her, here, in his bed, he almost can't believe that it's finally real.

But it must be, or else this "dream" is a fucking nightmare.

Reality hits hard, and he curses at the sight of her beautiful face, swollen and bruised like a ripe plum. The doctor said it's just a concussion, nothing broken, but advised Alfie to stay close for further observation.

Not that he'd let her out of his sight anyway. Right now, he needs to be where he can see her, even if the guilt nearly tears him apart.

She could have died tonight, and he knows it's all his fault. He had a choice, and he let this fucking happen. Now the least he can do is be honest about it.

Soon, he promises as he brushes a stray hair from her forehead. Once she's recovered, he'll sit her down and explain everything.

It will hurt, and she'll hate him afterwards, but in the end, it's best for everyone. It's the only way he can guarantee that what happened today will never happen again.

But until then ….

Alfie's never been one to hide from the truth, but just this once, he gives in and pulls her close. As his fingers trail down her side, coming to rest on the curve of her hip, he shuts his eyes and tries to imagine that he's a good man, wrapped in the arms of a good woman who loves him.

— • — • —

Three days later

"The men have been looking day and night, sir. But so far, there's no sign of—"

Ollie is suddenly interrupted by the sound of the door opening. No one from the bakery would enter without knocking, and Alfie instinctively reaches for his gun. The cool steel is heavy in his palm as he removes the safety, but then a familiar voice rings out, and he flicks it back on.

"Hello, darlings! Did you miss me?"

"Livy, what the fuck are you doing here?" demands Alfie, as he puts the gun down and slams his drawer shut. "I told Edna that you need to stay in your fucking bed."

"Well, it's nice to see you too, Alfie," scoffs Livy as she turns away, removing her gloves and hanging her coat on the rack by the door. "I'm perfectly fine now, thank you for asking, and leave Edna out of this. Your poor housekeeper has enough on her plate already.

"What about you, Ollie?" she asks, crossing the room and pressing a small kiss to his cheek, ignoring Alfie's emphatic grunt of disapproval. "Is he giving you trouble, or has he finally snapped out of that mood he's been in lately?"

"I'm good, but—"

"Oi, fuck off," barks Alfie, abruptly dismissing his second-in-command before he puts a foot in his fucking mouth. "As for you, treacle," he continues, shaking a thick finger in her direction, "If I'm in a mood, it's because you're wandering around town with a fucking concussion. Did Ishmael drive you here? I'm going to beat that fucker—"

"It's been three days, darling. I'm fine," she argues, sounding bored as she twists around to give Ollie a wave goodbye.

Humph. Alfie furrows his brows and glares at the back of her head. Why is she paying Ollie so much fucking attention? What is she doing out of bed? And most importantly, why the fuck hasn't HE been kissed yet?

Livy turns back and is halfway around the desk when her eyes suddenly widen. "Alfie Solomons!" she cries out, with a hand to her mouth as she struggles to contain her laughter. "Are you fucking pouting?"

"What?" he huffs, gently smacking away her hand when she reaches for his arm. "No, I'm not fucking pouting. I'm just worried about you, aren't I? But apparently, a man can't do that without getting laughed at."

He grunts and continues to fidget under her touch, but Livy's grip is surprisingly strong. "There, there, my love," she coos as she rubs his broad shoulders, holding him firmly in place.

Alfie frowns disapprovingly at her mocking tone, but after a few minutes, he gives in and relaxes under her nimble fingers. Livy notices and presses a soft kiss against his neck, sending tingles down his spine.

"Listen, darling," she whispers as she moves her lips closer to his ear. "It's just a bruise now, I promise. Everything's ok."

His mood turns as the weight of her words sinks in. Everything is not fucking ok, he wants to shout but clenches his fists instead.

Of course, he's happy that she's better—and he knows she's right, it is "just a bruise" now—but admitting it means it's time for the conversation he's been desperately avoiding. He sighs because he knew this day was coming; he just wasn't ready to face it.

"Livy," he starts as he lifts a hand to stroke the side of her face, "we need to talk, pet. Why don't you take a seat."

She leans back and cocks a brow, questioning the sudden change in his tone. But for once, god is on his side because she bites her tongue and does what he fucking asks.

His eyes track hers as she circles the desk, sitting down and smoothing her skirts while she waits patiently for him to begin. As always, she looks fucking beautiful, even with half her face covered by a faded bruise. He takes a moment to appreciate every detail—her finely arched brows, her tiny button nose, her full red lips—and thinks back to the day when she first walked through his fucking door.

It's only been a few weeks, yet somehow she's managed to turn every inch of his miserable life entirely upside down.

"Are you alright, Alfie?" she asks gently when he doesn't say anything.

His eyes snap up, and the words come tumbling out before he can stop them.

"Livy, you need to leave."

"What?" She glances over her shoulder, looking confused. "Do you have a meeting, darling? I can come back later."

Fucking hell.

Alfie fights the urge to slam his fist in frustration. That was not how he'd planned to start this conversation, but now the cat's out the bag, and he may as well keep going.

"No, Livy. I need you to go home and pack your things. You can't stay with me any longer."

"I-I don't understand, Alfie," she stutters. "Where is this coming from? A few days ago, you were making promises—"

"I know what I fucking said!" he snaps, losing control of his temper because he's mad at himself and this fucked up situation. "Trust me, I am taking care of you, love. But you need to leave. Get your shit packed, and Ishmael will take you away. Anywhere you want, as long as it's not here."

Livy frowns. "Is this about Sabini? "she asks, looking at him like he's lost his mind.

"Of course, it's about Sabini!" he explodes, throwing his hands in the air. Why is this so hard for her to understand? "Listen, Livy. It's about him and every other fucker in this town. If you stay here, you'll always be in danger because of me." He leans forward and taps the desk for emphasis. "It's not fucking safe."

"Alfie, you're not making any sense." She reaches out and gently caresses the back of his hand. "Sabini came after me because I killed one of his men. It has nothing to do with you. You saved me."

"I didn't—"

"Alfie, you did—"

"Can you just SHUT UP and listen for five fucking minutes?" Alfie pushes her hands away and shoves his chair back, increasing the distance between them.

Her eyes narrow, and he instantly regrets his harsh tone. But this isn't easy for him either, and he just needs her to fucking listen while he still has the balls to say what he needs to say.

"Look, Livy …" he pauses, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his forefinger before continuing. "Sabini came to me, alright? Before you were taken. He told me—he fucking told me—what would happen if I didn't end things with the Blinders. And do you know what I said?"

"No, Alfie," she whispers.

"I told him to fuck off. Do you understand what I'm saying, love? I told him to fuck off, and I might as well have drawn a big fucking ‘X' on your forehead." He slams his hands on the desk, and Livy jumps at the sudden noise. "I sold you out, pet. Sold you like fucking cattle because the deal with Thomas is too fucking good to pass up."

"Alfie—"

"I'm a bad man, Livy. There's no way around it. I'm a bad fucking man, and I can't keep you safe unless I send you away."

Alfie drops back in his chair, exhausted by the weight of his confession. His chest tightens as he waits for her reaction, expecting her to explode and knowing she has every right to be angry.

The least he can do is take it like a fucking man. He owes her that but hopes she doesn't stab him with one of those knives she's so fond of.

Although if that's what she wants, he's not sure he'll bother putting up a fight. He's done a lot of fucking horrible things in his life, but he's never felt as ashamed as he is right now.

"Are you finished?"

His eyes snap up, and he watches her walk towards the door. He expects her to leave, but instead, she removes her sweater and gently drapes it over her coat.

"Alfie, I'm going to assume that today is about honesty, is that right?"

Livy's voice is calm and steady, and now it's his turn to look confused.

"I mean, yeah, love. I suppose you could call it that …."

His voice trails off as her fingers undo the top button of her blouse, revealing the creamy skin of her throat. He's momentarily distracted, but her next words reclaim his full attention.

"Well, darling. I must confess that I haven't always been honest with you." Livy takes a deep breath and looks him straight in the eye. "There are a few … things that you should know."

His heart starts pounding in his chest as his senses kick into high alert. He wasn't expecting this, and every fibre of his being warns that he won't like what he's about to hear.

"What the fuck are you on about, Livy?" he demands in a gravelly voice.

"Well, first, William isn't my father—"

"What the FUCK?"

Alfie's chair goes flying as he storms across the room, stopping inches from her face. Before he can register what he's doing, a large hand wraps around her slender neck. Somewhere in his mind, a voice is telling him to calm down, but he can't hear it over the betrayal thundering in his veins.

"Who the fuck are you then?" he demands sharply.

Livy doesn't even blink.

"Calm down, Alfie," she soothes, her voice remaining calm and steady. "I'm exactly who I say I am. Perhaps, that was a bad choice of words. What I meant to say is that William isn't my biological father. He and Tillie, my mum, they adopted me."

He abruptly releases her and takes a step back.

"Fuck. I-I'm sorry," he mumbles, feeling like a right cunt and even more confused. "But I don't understand, Livy. Why are you telling me this now? I'm sorry, love, but it doesn't change things."

She smiles and undoes another button.

"Patience, Alfie. I'm going to explain everything, I promise. But I need you to sit down and shut up. It's my turn to talk now."

Livy gives him a gentle shove, and he's too flustered to do anything but what he's told. He takes a seat on the edge of his desk and waits.

"So, as I was saying, I'm adopted." Pop. There goes another button. "I don't know where I was born, I don't know anything about my birth parents, I don't even know how old I am."

She chuckles under her breath, and for the first time, it makes her look harsh and bitter.

"But there are things I know, Alfie. Things I know that even you could never imagine." Livy pauses and taps a nail against her plump red lip. "What was it you told me earlier? Oh, yes, I remember…."

She stops to release another button, and Alfie can't keep quiet any longer.

"Fucking hell, Livy," he interrupts. "You look beautiful, don't get me wrong, but this isn't the fucking time—"

"Keep it in your pants, Alfie. I'm not trying to seduce you." She rolls her eyes, and he almost smiles. But then she looks him up and down like he's a whore from the docks. "Of course, you can't help yourself, can you? Because you're a bad man."

Livy takes a step forward, looking oddly menacing, and he can't help it. He actually flinches, and she laughs.

"What, Alfie? That's what you told me, isn't it? You want me to leave because you're a bad man. Well, let me tell you something, darling. I know a lot about bad fucking men."

She turns around and drops her blouse, and Alfie's hand flies to his mouth because he's genuinely afraid he might be sick.

At first, he can't understand how she kept this a secret, but then he remembers that when they're together, she's never been naked—and now he knows why.

Every fucking inch of her back, from the shoulder blades down, is covered in violent scars. Alfie has many of his own, but he looks like a fucking schoolboy next to her.

His eyes are drawn to a series of round marks, like an infestation of roaches against her pale skin. He's well-versed in the art of torture and knows exactly what they are: cigarette burns. Rage pulses through his veins because this was no fucking accident. Someone did this to her.

Alfie takes another step forward, and it's even worse from close up. Her skin is a tapestry of raised marks—some thin and delicate, others thick and angry—woven together like strands of wool. His hands shake as he realises this wasn't caused by a single traumatic event.

No, whoever did this must have spent years abusing her.

Without thinking, he reaches out to trace a particularly raw looking ridge at the base of her spine, but she spins away, withdrawing from his touch like she's just been burnt.

"Fuck, fuck. I'm sorry, Livy." Alfie trips over his words as he lifts his hands, keeping them up where she can see them. "I don't know what I was fucking thinking, love. I'm sorry."

Livy avoids eye contact and takes a deep breath as she buttons her blouse with shaking hands. Alfie is trembling with rage and has a million fucking questions, but he knows to wait patiently until she's ready.

Finally, after the longest silence of his life, she raises her head and places her palms on his chest. Her voice is small but steady as she continues with her story.

"When I was young, I was sold. No one knows exactly how I ended up there, but I wasn't alone. There were a few of us girls, and men … well, they would come and pay a lot to do whatever they wanted. There was only one rule," she explains, vaguely indicating at her face and chest. "Don't damage the merchandise.

"We lived at the back of a whorehouse. One day William visited—this was before he met my mum. He didn't know there were children there, but once he found out, he came back. He came back and rescued all of us."

Alfie can't believe what he's fucking hearing. He might be infamous for his temper, but he has never been so fucking angry in his entire life. Nothing he's seen or heard could possibly hold a candle to this.

His fury is building, and his body is shaking, but he needs to let her finish. So he places his hands on top of hers and tries to focus on the warmth of her skin.

"I'm telling you this because life is not black and white, Alfie. My father was a fucking thief, love. He ran petty cons; I helped him, and we'd run with the gypsies when things got out of control. Our lives were always in danger, but when I needed him—when I needed him—he was always there for me.

"If you want me to leave, I won't argue with you. I know that I'm… I'm not the woman that you thought I was." Livy bites her lip and looks away for a moment as she musters the courage to continue. "If you don't want me, I understand.

"But if you're sending me away because you think you're a terrible person or somehow think that I'm safer without you … well, you're wrong, darling.

"I know you refused a deal with the wop, but I don't care because you came for me. You came for me, Alfie, and I don't think you understand how many people in this world would simply look the other way."

Livy collapses against his chest, and all he can do is wrap his arms around her. He knows she's not referring to Sabini anymore and wonders how many years she spent trapped in that hellhole. His heart shatters as he imagines a young girl waiting night after night after night for someone, anyone, to come to her rescue.

But no one ever fucking came.

It's almost hard to believe what he's hearing, but the gears in his head have to started to turn, and all the pieces fall into place. This explains everything—the fear of the dark, her time with the gypsies, even William's cryptic stories—it all makes sense now.

All except for one thing ….

For the life of him, he cannot begin to understand how someone who's been through so fucking much can move through the world with so much light. Livy is the most beautiful person, inside and out, that he has ever met.

And he'd be a complete idiot to let her go.

Alfie sits on the sofa and brings her down with him, settling her gently on his lap. His fingers lift her chin, and he chokes up when he sees her silent tears. She's perfected the art of crying without making a fucking sound, and it's just another knife in his gut. He swallows thickly.

"You're right, Livy," he murmurs, keeping his voice low and soft. "You're absolutely right, and I'm fucking sorry. You're not going anywhere unless you want to leave, alright? You'll forgive me … please?"

Her golden eyes meet his, and Alfie holds his breath until she breaks out the familiar smile that he already loves so much.

"Of course, Alfie. I don't want to be anywhere else."

"Thank fucking god," he growls as he goes in for a kiss. Her lips part, and their tongues meet, and he makes her a silent promise.

He's not sure how or when, but heads will roll, rivers will bleed, and all of England will know to fear the Mad Baker when he finally gets his hands on whoever did this to her.

A/N: Ok, I know everyone loves angst, so I was really tempted to let Livy leave and get them back together in a few chapters. But here’s the thing – I just don’t think Livy would tolerate that bullshit. If Alfie pissed her off? Yes, absolutely. But the whole “send her away for her own good” thing? Bitch, please. She cut off a man’s cock in Chapter 9, haha. She's been through a lot, but she's a tough cookie.

#livy x alfie #alfie solomons #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie x original character #peaky blinders alfie #alfie solomons x ofc #alfie solomons x oc #alfie solomons fanfiction #alfie solomons fic #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fandom #tom hardy #tom hardy fanfiction

77 notes · View notes