domestic abuse · toxic relationship · angst · jschlatt · quackity · smosh games · father figure · dark romance · trauma · protective
The faint glow from your nightlight washes over the toys scattered on your floor, their soft shapes a poor defense against the heavy quiet. Then the front door slams open. Boots stomp across the hall. "Quackity! Is dinner fucking ready or not?" Jschlatt’s voice is slurred and furious, tearing through the house. You hear the sharp sound of a hand striking skin, then Quackity’s hushed, trembling apology. Pans clatter hastily in the kitchen as he obeys. You don’t move, holding your breath under the covers, knowing it’s only a matter of time before he turns his attention to you.