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just-mint-to-be · 1 month

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Death Roll (Yandere! Male OC x Female reader)

Luca ‘Salty’ McLaughlin: Character Reference + Prologue

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Name: Luca ‘Salty’ McLaughlin

Age: 36

Sex: Male (he/him)

Ethnicity: Caucasian (Australian)

Occupation: Military Police Officer/‘Safe Zone’ checkpoint defence personnel

Description: Nothing about Luca seems outstanding at first glance. One may brand him tall enough at 6’3 (190cm) but not gargantuan, muscular and fit from a few years service but not hulking in shape. A neat but generous head of hair that’s somewhere between strawberry blonde and russet, a similar shade appearing in a decent display of stubble on his face. Tired but emotive eyes that were somewhere between olive green and washed out hazel beneath thick brows. The only feature one might commit to memory is his tattoo; a large, realistic graphic of an estuarine crocodile perched and ready to attack on his forearm.

Personality: Self contained, but not unfriendly. Good company, a good conversationalist, but seldom the one to initiate or act as the life of the party. His close knit group of friends would describe him as loyal to the bone, a positive trait in most cases.

Yandere Archetype: Protective and/or obsessive. His every ambition and action somehow ties itself to keeping you safe and keeping you as his. Luca watched you for ages, his primary goal always to have you as his own, but it was the unique circumstances of the breach and his accompanying ‘rescue’ that enabled him to truly isolate and control you. At first he felt guilty about lying to you, about instilling further fear in you to keep you where he wanted you, but it wasn’t for naut. Everything is justified within him; his every action given a selfless, non domineering cause. After all, even villains think they’re the hero in their own mind.

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Prolouge

CW: yandere, female reader, kidnapping, violence

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Three months was all it took for the world you’d known to transform into something dark and despondent. Humans were no longer the intelligent species they championed themselves as; the slightest hindrance, the slightest grand test rendering them weak, hopeless and pugnacious. Self preservation was a fault, a flaw dressed in the sympathetic guise of instinct that you’d seen first hand. Some said it was a virus; either born by man, maker or mere madness. The red, itching irises, lethargy and swallow skin painted it as such. But there were those that argued for the case some kind of chemical weapon;a favourite theory of the old man next door who was starting to sound more justifiably incensed than senile as the days went on…

The penultimate symptom demanded outlandish suggestions. Within a week, the infected were rendered mad; starved for flesh, thirsty for blood as though it were the answer to their suffering. An alien attack? Divine intervention? Nature fighting back at last? They were all theories, doing little more than serving to garnish a world plagued with more uncertainty. When at first you’d felt dampening sympathy for the woman down the street that’d fallen ill, you were soon forced to run with fear as only a bullet could halt her bloody rampage. It was a means to an end, for anyone bitten felt the same vicious cycle soon start to ravage them. When there’d still been formal news broadcasts, they’d merely titled them ‘The Infected’. It was at least, an alternative to the colloquial term ‘Barnacle’ for any victim of the disease. A diminutive, almost derogatory and dare you say, dehumanising term based on the flaky, hardened qualities of one’s skin when ill. Perhaps such nicknames made it easier to hate them, to seperate them from humanity so that the necessary evils could be completed.

Your sleepy little home town had become a sanctuary, a maze of military blockades, ration caches and quarantine screenings. It was not the world you knew, but a new and carnivorous existence that threatened to devour anything akin to humanity.An eerie, selfish world where a man didn’t think twice about coiling barbed wire, cocking a gun or dropping the leash on fury for the sake of his needs in lieu of another’s wants. Often, it wasn’t even the ghoulish, humanoid husks the virus produced that stalked ones nightmares; but the greed glossed face of a once trustworthy neighbour or previously selfless friend.

No matter what, you wouldn’t let yourself fall to such temptations. You had your family; a small group you could save if no one else, but that didn’t mean you would forgot your continued acts of kindness. You always smiled, you always let the elderly go first when picking up your meagre helpings of tinned food; the sun was never lost from the sky in chaos, but in your wake it was insignificant.

Luca was nothing but a figure in the crowd at first. Just another of the armed guards ushering disgruntled tides of people, barking orders and, occasionally, making a difficult call in the wake of potentially fatal disobedience. You might’ve recognised him a few times in passing toward your ‘workplace’, offering a nod as you were permitted past the neighbourhood boundary by his allowance.

‘Have a good one,’ often paired with a humble smile made for the dependable, satisfying base of his burgeoning admiration.

Something fluttered within him, a little drop of warmth that instilled a strange but far from unpleasant feeling.

‘Working hard or hardly working?’ A cliche expression, but from you it was pure comedy.

Hook line and sinker, was the day you addressed the trio of guardsmen he was a part of. Your palm outstretched, offering a single issued protein bar to anyone daring to take it, ‘They gave me an extra, not a fan of the flavour. One of you should have it’

His two companions stepped back, knowing better than to intrude on such an occasion. Cautiously his gloved hand reached forward, plucking the little plastic wrapped rectangle from your palm. ‘I…thanks that’s kind of you.’ He didn’t know what to say, you merely nodding before continuing on your way. He stood there for a moment, staring at the mystifying gift; did you seriously not understand what you’d just done to him? His eyes traced your figure as it parted back through the checkpoint gate, hardly aware of what you left in your wake.

‘Christ mate,’ his fellow soldier chuckled, ‘might as well be a banana flavoured wedding ring with the way you’re looking at it.’

He refused to title it a crush; it was too schoolyard, too pedestrian for what he felt. The other men in his unit didn’t see it that way, insisting he fix his boyish habits, lest he loose focus or, worse, you to someone else. The thought alone made him recoil; he knew, he saw how hungry eyes gazed upon you in ways you were blissfully ignorant of. Impartially, neutrality and servitude could only be taught so far- like an unsung guardian, he found a reason to secretively detain any man he caught staring you.

Still, he was practically no one to you. If anything at all, he was a pillar of disembodied regime- a necessary evil, a man enforcing rules and volunteering to be rued in the face of the greater good. Some saw him for what he was, a blank slate, trying to make ends meet, waiting to be filled with either violent praises or disdain from those he guarded. He endured it all; not really caring what anyone but a certain h/c shadow in the masses thought.

God it was fucked, a grown man not able to spend his spare moments doing anything but wondering and yearning. He trained, to keep you safe. He ate,despite intensive butterflies, to stay strong and healthy for that same purpose. All he had to go off was brief anecdotes of your kindness and run of the mill daily interactions; it was nonsensical to think it was something like love. But alas, it was the very nature of your meetings that had him all the more convinced- to feel so strongly from so little must’ve denoted fate.

Every time he got closer, the crowd pushed you away, or another unbecoming task of survival had you run away. It seemed like a pipe dream, a foundation-less hope he didn’t have the gall to push further; content to watch, to lust. Until, one day, a great opportunity cut itself free from the fabric of misfortune.

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‘Oi…’

‘Oi Salty….’

‘Luca get up!’

It was a crisp winter morning, the rails of his cot steely and chilling to the touch as he steadied himself on them. Eyes bleary with the remnants of sleep interrupted provided little more than a cloudy vision to match the voice of his best friends stern pleas.

‘The fuck…’ Luca blinked, repeating the process before sitting up, his hand coming to swipe away any lingering difficulty. ‘Jack, the fuck is going on?’ His words were validated by the sight of his fellow patrolman fully kitted out; protective gear and all bulking out his presence.

‘It’s…’ the black haired male shrugged, nerve painting him in a way that seemed alien compared to his normal demeanour, ‘it’s gone to shit Salty. Western perimeter is…’ he finished adjusting the straps on his helmet. ‘It’s pineapples. We’ve already lost ten guys to the bastards.’

Luca rose, immediately slipping into the pair of boots at the base of his sleeping place, ‘ten guys?’ He said, voice shocked, ‘who-‘

‘Rusty, Damon, Andy…’ his friend paused, dipping his head to the side as he corrected his statement, ‘n..not just guys, Sandy….’ He cut himself off, not giving grief time to stew. ‘Just, get ready, we’re going out in 15…’

‘Bugger…’ was all he mustered in response; there wasn’t enough time for the lengthy words of frustration or mourning the occasion demanded. There was also the matter of his other preoccupation, worry settling in his stomach the moment he remembered of your proximity to the now declared hot zone. The brunette immediately launched to action, not at the behest of his duty, or the second hand demands of his commander, but for the mere thought if you.

His heart pumped, a dozen panicked suggestions of your fate and how he might’ve stopped them if he’d been there arising. Alas, it was useless to resign himself to uncertain worry, when definitive action might turn things around. So he continued, cold and nerve numb fingers wrestling every strap and lace into place.

At last he stood fully clad in uniform, a rifle he’d not used since the dawn of the outbreak perched in his grasp, the safety mechanism seemingly more and more like a suggestion. It was all hands on deck in the briefing room, desperation making the act of standing at attention a mammoth of a task.

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Chaos was the only word he could think of to describe the scene unfolding, but even it wasn’t powerful enough. The brief had suggested an explosion of some kind beneath the guard tower; a pissed off, short sighted revenge stint by a crook perhaps? Either way, it wasn’t the blast that had his fellow soldiers fall, but the resulting swarm of infected seizing the breach in the perimeter. Luca pushed aside civilians, ordering them to either stand aside or return to the safety of their homes. Few listened however and in a selfish truth, he didn’t really care. On the radio he could hear muddled voices, one of his commanding officer falling into more urgent, casual tone. He declared the situation a SNAFU and that all personnel should return to base to regroup; Luca’s ambition at least formally falling to more personal matters.

He ran through rubble, dodging cantilevered metal, bullet dusted bodies and the soggy remains of a burst pipe. There was a single destination he had in mind; the little makeshift laundry you frequented as a pseudo workplace. His haste was rewarded, for you stood there in the entrance fruitlessly attempting to shoo away an infected male. Its eyes were red, it’s skin hardened and a sickly yellow in hue and it hardly seemed to mourn the chunks of hair from its head or the teeth from its smile.

‘Get away!’ You hissed, a plastic broom a meek attempt at a makeshift weapon. It worked for the most part, the stupid brute disdaining the rounded jabs of it onto its bony, bruised ribs. Alas, it took only one misstep for your lifeline to be pulled from you; Luca was sure his own irises might’ve matched the creatures if his anger and manifested physically, not a single qualm about what he planned to do surfacing as his rifle cocked toward it.

A precise, red puddle producing shot dropped the offending infected, its form lifeless as you stood there dumbfounded. E/c eyes went from the being to him, shock giving away to relief, then to recognition. ‘Thank-‘

In a way that was curt, that in any other situation he would’ve rued himself for, he cut you off. ‘Are you hurt, did it bite you?’

‘No he didn’t,’ you answered, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You showed your arms, as if to prove it.

‘Thank fuck…’ he muttered, one hand coming to guide your shoulder, ‘we’re getting out of here. Come’

You pulled yourself from his grasp, shaking your head, ‘I’m not going anywhere!’ Your hand pointed back toward the checkpoint gates in a way that confused him.

It seemed so simple, so right to him; just outside the boundary was a cache of surplus seldom used, saved for emergencies like this. There were vehicles, supplies, and a map to the closest base; his old stomping ground, Harthall. The two of you would make it there and camp out the clusterfuck for as long as needed.

Luca let his hand fall to your back once more, trying to gear you forward, ‘We have to it’s not safe, I’m taking you somewhere else.’

You stopped, daring to slap away his guiding, panicked touches, ‘I don’t really know who the fuck you are!’ It stung, a reminder of how little his presence occupied your life- a stark contrast to his reality. ‘I can’t leave my family, I won’t.’

His whole form bubbled with the acidic weight of a difficult decision. He couldn’t blame you completely; perhaps you felt about them the way he did with you. A secondary, darker thought quaked him for a moment; perhaps, that’d be a problem.

There was no if or but about whether he’d have you by his side, that was a given one way or another. ‘Please,’ he pleaded, his voice crackling lightly as he dearly wanted you to just comply, ‘I can keep you safe. There’s nothing left here.’

H/c hair stained with sweat swayed in unison with your head, ‘I have to go… thanks for… you should stay safe too…’ you didn’t need to finish your sentence, your relief at being rescued outweighed by your evidently misplaced sympathy for the thing that’d tried to harm you. As always, you wished him well; a softly sympathetic but encouraging smile threading your lips for a moment before you began to turn away.

With a swallow, his hand began shakily found position on the butt of his rifle. This was a last resort, a weak replacement for understanding; an apology already forming on his lips as he quietly but quickly closed the small distance between you.

‘Sorry…love,’ he muttered, earning your attention just long enough to deliver a precise blow. If only circumstances had been different, if only you’d listened, perhaps you’d have found yourself in his arms more comfortably.

He hoisted you over his shoulder fireman style in a way that felt so natural because, in his eyes, it simply was. Every step was cautious but speedy, part of him that cursed whatever idiot had set the charge also blessed them for it. They’d blown a hole in normalcy, in the flimsy peace of the little compound you both were stuck in. Above all however, he did not mourn a partial loss of self.

The side of him that was content to stew, to bide his time in background heroics hoping he’d have the gall to approach you properly was gone.

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A/n: I didn’t put a portrait as I didn’t want anyone to be tied down to a specific physical appearance for this guy, but I won’t deny being inspired by Martin Copping. Hope y’all enjoy this awful dude!

#minty’s writing #yandere x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #Yandere oc #minty’s ocs #death roll story #luca oc #Luca salty mclaughlin #Yandere male #yandere blog #Yandere writing #yanderecore

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montammil · 7 months

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Playing Along, Part 1

This is a collab with @lucakairomi ! I had a lot of fun with this!! Luca belongs to @lucakairomi

CW: Parental whumper, female whumpee, description of gore and wounds, failed escape attempt, kidnapping, mentions/threats of drugging

Luca slowly comes to, her head pounding. Lights and skin and darkness dance. She tries to move her hands- rope stops her. It chafes. She blinks a few times, forcing the black spots to recede from her vision. What she finds is... well, unexpected, to say the least.

She's lying on a bed- a colorful bed, the kind she recognizes from magazines. Around the room- windowless, but spacious- are piles of stuffed animals, drawing supplies, as well as a large easel. A large beanbag chair sits in the corner, surrounded by what looks like chapter books- she knows some of the titles. The closet has a neat pile of folded clothes beside it. A children's room...?

She sits up with some difficulty, inching herself up against the headboard, and swings her legs over the edge of the bed. Her shoes are gone- the plush carpet feels pleasant under her feet. But more to the point... Lawrence. Right. He'd shot her with something... no wonder her legs felt like lead. Her head was still full of fog. Where had he taken her...?

She slowly slides off the bed and carefully regains her balance, grimacing at the ache in her neck. She tries to pull at the ropes, but they're tight- not enough to hurt, but enough that she won't be able to slip out of them without serious work. And she doesn't have time for that. Getting out of here is the priority.

She manages to twist the doorknob with her hands tied- it's unlocked, luckily. Bruefly she wonders what sort of kidnapper leaves the door unlocked, but she's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Creeping out into the hallway, she heads for the stairs, pressing herself against the banister and listening intently for any signs of movement.

She begins to walk down the stairs, her bare feet making no noise, her heart in her throat. She hopes... she hopes he's gone. She doesn't want to see him.

She reaches the bottom of the stairs without incident, and starts to creep towards what looks like the front door. It's right there, just a few more feet...

The lights flicker on.

"Luca!" a voice gasps.

She spins around, heart pounding.

Lawrence is standing in the doorway, one hand on the light switch. He's dressed neatly, wearing a sweater and jeans, and his expression is shocked. "What are you doing out of bed?"

Luca shakes her head, incredulous. "What do you mean? Why am I here?" Get as much information as possible. If he really is the Collector- and let’s be honest, if it wasn't obvious before it sure as hell was now- she's in a situation unlike any she's been in before. "And what's the deal with these?!" She gestures to her tied hands, letting a bit of the bitter betrayal leak into her voice. "You shot me!"

"Oh, Luca," he says softly, approaching her. "I'm so sorry about that." He takes her shoulders, steadying her. "I didn't want to knock you out, but you gave me no choice. You shouldn't be walking around like that." He gently turns her around. "Come on, let's get you back to bed."

She digs her feet in. "No! You have to tell me what's going on!"

"Luca..." he chides, and there's a warning in his voice.

She takes a step back, away from him. "No! No, I'm not going with you!" She's surprised by how even her voice is, when inside she's trembling.

He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I can see I'm going to have to be a little more persuasive, then." He reaches behind his back, and when his hand reappears, it's holding a filled syringe. He sighs at her baffled expression. "I always keep them on me, for moments just like this. So you can continue to throw your temper tantrum, or you can make your dad's life a little easier and obey him."

Ingratiating herself with her captor was a slippery slope to Stockholm syndrome, but it was also the best strategy she had at the moment. It didn't usually work with regular goons (motivated by money) or... certain others (sadists) but Lawrence didn’t seem to be either of those. If she got into his head enough, maybe she could convince him to let her go of his own free will.

Not to mention that cocktail of drugs he had shot her with left her feeling a little less confident than usual about brute-forcing herself out of this situation, and she can't do anything while unconscious, so she takes a few more steps back. "Hold on- you- you don't have to do that, Lawrence. I'll- I'll come."

"Ah, see, was that so hard?" he asks, and there's a touch of smugness in his voice. He gently takes her by the arm and leads her back up the stairs, towards the room she woke up in.

Luca swallows. She needs to try and keep him talking- find out where he's taken her. She casts a glance at him out of the corner of her eye- he's smiling softly, almost beatifically.

"I'm not tired," she says as Lawrence opens the door to the room. "My- head hurts. And I'm uh- I'm scared. Where are we?" She lets a little of the fear she's suppressing color her tone- the better to garner sympathy, and she isn't sure how long she can keep up the calm facade anyway.

"Oh, Lulu," he says, and the words make her skin crawl. He gently leads her to the bed and helps her sit down. "It's all right, sweetheart. You don't have to be scared. You're safe here." He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "We're at my house."

Luca manages not to flinch away from the touch. From her short look around the house, the place is big, and presumably on a private plot of land, so Lawrence definitely didn't lack for money. She wishes she would have been wrong on that deduction.

Which meant her others were also probably correct- he had done this before. With two people, if not more. And they hadn't gone after him... well. She understood why. He was rich, powerful, and influential. And apparently extremely delusional, from what she could tell... "Is that why- you were so nice? You wanted to kidnap me?! I got too close, is that it?" Her tone is accusatory. "Why didn't you just kill me like a those other reporters who looked into your business, huh?"

Probably a terrible idea to tempt fate, but she was wondering about that. Why had he spared her? What was different?

Lawrence seems taken aback, and then sad. "Oh, no, Luca, of course not." He sighs. "I'm not going to hurt you, sweetheart. You're my daughter. From the day I met you I knew you were my daughter. You just didn't know it yet. But now, you do." He smiles. "And you're not leaving. You're never leaving. I need you to understand that."

Okay, he's... seriously delusional. Bad sign. Very bad sign. "Never? You mean- I'm stuck in this house like- forever?" Surely he didn't plan on keeping her imprisoned, right? That was impractical as well as, well- ridiculous.

He nods with conviction. "You're making it sound like a bad thing! I want to be there for you, Luca. I'm going to take care of you. You're safe here." He takes her bound hands in his. "There's nothing to worry about here. I'm not like those… other people you deal with regularly. Far from it. In fact, that's just another reason why I need to keep you here. To keep you safe."

Luca nods slowly, less out of agreement and more out of a dawning sense of cold understanding. "I... see..." The obsession with paternity and trauma from losing his wife has led to... well, this. Kidnapping young adults to be his surrogate children.

Definitely one of the weirder things she's seen in her line of work... "But I- I was doing okay before. I was safe." Well, "safe" wasn't the word she'd use, but it was manageable. It wasn't being stuck in a house with a potentially unstable man, at least.

Lawrence laughs, like he can't believe she'd claim such a thing. "Not from what I saw. You were throwing yourself into danger, Luca! You were always running into some bad situation! You're my daughter! I'm not going to let you throw your life away like that!" By the end of his speech, he looks genuinely angry and hurt. He runs a hand through his hair. "I had to save you. I had to take you out of that dangerous job, before you got yourself killed! I can't lose you."

He sounds... he sounds like he means it. Luca doesn't know what to say to that, so she falls silent for a moment.

Looking back to her, Lawrence murmurs, "I know I sound crazy to you, but I promise, everything will make sense soon." He sits down on the bed next to her. "Why don't you rest for now, sweetie? We'll talk again later."

Luca quickly grabs his hand, more out of impulse than anything. "W-wait! Don't go! I'm- I'm not tired, really." She won't get anywhere being stuck in here. Even getting a layout of the house was better than that. Besides- Lawrence's strangely genuine words had piqued her interest. Was he really that concerned after knowing her for a total of a few weeks, maximum? "I'm uh- hungry."

Not a lie, she hadn't eaten since before her visit to the college. Not that she trusted him not to drug her food, but if he had a syringe on him at all times it didn't seem necessary to hide it.

Lawrence seems to brighten up at this. "Of course you are! I'm sorry, I should have thought about that. I'll go get you some food." He gets off the bed and heads for the door, turning back at the last second. "Don't get out of bed again, Luca." His voice drops slightly, to let her know how serious he is.

Luca nods at that. She can practically feel his emotions shift from lighthearted to threatening. It makes her hair stand on end. She'd have time to see the house later- and not like she'd be able to do much while her hands were tied, anyway. "I won't."

After studying her expression for a moment, Lawrence nods and heads downstairs.

She breathes out a sigh of relief as soon as he's out of earshot. She's... not sure what to make of this. Lawrence is obviously obsessed with her, but she hadn't thought it went *this* deep. But she can use it. Maybe if she plays her cards right, he'll let her go.

She hears the sounds of cabinets opening and closing downstairs. It sounds like he's making something on the stove. She wonders what it is.

She looks around the room some more. The childish decor makes more sense now. Clearly he had some sort of belief she needed protection... even from herself, apparently.

But if there had been others here, they must have escaped somehow, right? Surely she could too- maybe she could get enough evidence here- assuming he kept that sort of thing- to put him away when she escaped.

Lawrence comes back up the stairs carrying a tray. On it is a plate with crêpes and strawberries. A cup of orange juice sits on the side. He sets it down on the bed next to her, then starts to cut a piece of the crêpe for her.

Luca stares at him incredulously. Before she can open her mouth to protest, he shakes his head.

"This will be easier if you just let me help you." His tone brooks no argument.

She shuts her mouth. Definitely not a fan of this. "My hands still work, you know..." Begrudgingly, she allows him to feed her a bite. It's delicious- apparently between kidnapping people the man had taken some cooking classes. She feels energy flood back into her body- the fog finally fades, snapping her mind back into focus.

Luca takes a moment to flex her muscles, before she channels her strength into her arms and snaps the ropes binding her wrists in two. She leans her head back then abruptly thrusts it forward, smacking Lawrence in the face with her forehead.

He stumbles away, the tray crashing to the floor, and Luca takes the opportunity to bolt out of the room and down the stairs.

Lawrence is close on her heels, and he lunges, grabbing her ankle and yanking her to the ground. Her chin smacks the tile, and she feels blood in her mouth. Before Lawrence can grab her more firmly, she kicks him in the face and continues running.

"Luca!" he yells, fury evident in his tone.

She makes it to the front door, twisting the knob frantically, but it's locked. She hears Lawrence coming down the stairs, and she curses, scanning the room for another escape route. There's a window that looks like it leads to the backyard, so she grabs a nearby lamp and smashes through it. She ignores the shards of glass digging into her palms and climbs out, wincing as a few pieces dig into her feet.

The yard is large and grassy- she can't see any houses nearby. She runs into the trees, hoping that maybe she'll find a road if she goes far enough.

After about twenty minutes of running, she slows, panting. She listens carefully- the forest is quiet.

No sign of pursuit. Maybe she lost him... she sags against a tree, heart pounding. She can feel the glass in her hands and feet- she's probably leaving a trail of blood, which isn't great.

She scans the area- no sign of anything, and she has no idea what direction she's going. She doesn't even know what state she's in.

She sits down with a huff, wiping the sweat from her brow. She'd take a minute to rest and then go looking for help.

If she could just find a main road or something, she'd be able to figure it out from there.

But, from the looks of it, there could be no roads for miles. It looks like Lawrence took her to a secluded house in the middle of the woods. She sighs. "Of course."

She considers her options. Keep going, injuring herself past the point of being able to walk, for a road that might not exist... and a very VERY pissed-off kidnapper... or give up, and wait for a better opportunity. He couldn't keep her in the house forever, eventually one of them would have to leave for some reason.

And although she hated to admit it... she didn't want to leave yet. Not before she knew what had really happened to those other kids. Escape now, and he'd get off scott-free.

Probably find her again- or worse, someone less equipped to deal with this type of thing. So, against every nerve in her body, she stands, wincing, and steps out from behind the tree with her hands in the air.

Her palms are bloody- wielding like this will be painful, if not impossible. Probably should have thought about that before she went through the window...

Quickly, Lawrence sprints over. Blood is dripping down his nose, and his expression is furious. He doesn't say anything, instead taking her by the arm and marching her back towards the house.

"God, I can't believe you, Luca." He shakes his head. "And now look at you! Look what you've done to yourself!"

She winces as he tightens his grip, but says nothing.

He drags her all the way to the kitchen, where he plops her in a chair. "Sit. Don't move." He leaves for a moment, returning with a first aid kit and bandages. "I'm gonna take care of you."

He dabs a wet towel over her palms and fingers after removing the glass. He takes one hand and cleans it carefully, placing a bandage on it.

"Why'd you call my name? You had the opportunity to leave and you chose to come back to me, still." He moves to pluck the glass from her feet next. He smiles slightly. "You don't actually want to leave me, do you?" It was presented more as a statement than a question.

Luca grimaces at the pain, gritting her teeth as she replies. "You get kidnapped once and it isn’t normally a mistake you make twice." Half excuse, half true. Normally she'd have been dead by now.

He exhales through his nose. "I guess I should be glad you didn't make the same mistake twice." He finishes cleaning her feet. "But you shouldn't have tried to escape at all." He wraps her hands and feet, then places the first aid kit aside. He looks over at her, studying her. "But... I am glad you came back."

To her surprise, he goes to the kitchen, even turning his back to her, to wash off his own face, from the bloody nose she gave him.

"Luca, I want you to listen to me," he says, as he washes his face. "I don't want to have to knock you out again, but if you keep acting out I will. Do you understand?" He dries his face with a dishcloth. "If you ever run away again, I won't take it well. You don't want that."

Luca flexes her hands and winces. "Yeah... I don't. Sorry." Not for escaping, obviously- that was a given. She actually felt more guilty about giving him a bloody nose. He hadn't manhandled her or anything, after all. She's been treated worse for far less.

He turns back towards her and sits down. He seems to be calming down. "I forgive you, kiddo. You're just scared and confused." He pats her head. "You must be exhausted. Why don't you get some sleep, and we can talk more when you wake up?"

He probably won't fall for the food excuse again, and her feet and hands are still stinging. The energy from the few bites of food she had eaten had pretty much been wasted on her escape attempt, and as if to punctuate her point, she suddenly yawned, the stress of the past few hours abruptly hitting her like a truck.

Lawrence turns her towards the room, but stops her at the door. "One last thing- I want you to think about your behavior today. You disobeyed me, and you put yourself in a lot of pain." His smile disappears. "If you do it again, I'm not going to be so lenient, Luca."

Luca feels his aura shift, turning cold. She shivers. Delusional... and dangerous. She'll have to tread carefully- obvious won't cut it. "Okay."

He nods, satisfied, and opens the door to the room. "Get some rest, and then we can talk about the house rules tomorrow." He kisses her forehead and then closes the door, the sound of a lock clicking unmistakable.

Luca grimaces, and hobbles over to sit on the bed. She glances at her bandaged hands, then back around the room, then back at the door. Lawrence was strange- violent one moment and calm the next. He almost seemed normal, of not for the kidnappings... and the murders... and, okay, he definitely wasn't normal, but maybe he could be...? Sighing, she flops back on the bed and stares at the ceiling. Thinking later, sleep now. She has a feeling she'll need all the rest she can get.

#lawrence oc #luca oc #cce collab #parental whumper

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