doe eyed and ready to kill
Ghoap x street kitty!hybrid fem!reader
introduction: ok ok the tension is finally building people!! and the beef between reader and ghost begins 😓 as much as i like this part it’s definitely kind of a filler chapter so i can move on to the next main plot point (smut coming soon 😋). tysm for 200 followers! masterlist here
contains/warnings: 2.6k words (un)consensual kidnapping, ‘rough but he means well’ ghost, allusions to drugging, manipulative & pushy ghoap, noncon touching but no sa, reader is awkward & insecure, slight unreliable narrator, brief mentions of piss but nothing sexual about it, slightest of angst & mildest of comforts, quick description of gagging & fingers in mouth, r eats toast & jelly.
“How long d’you think she’ll be out for?” Johnny asks, watching as Simon pets over your hair like a beloved dog. Simon’s gaze is downturned towards you, blinking slowly as he watches your eyelids flutter and close.
“I gave ‘er enough to last ‘till tomorrow morning.”
Johnny whistles quietly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his gray sweatpants. “Talk about a hell of a hangover, huh?”
Your mouth is dry as you wake. There’s something slightly scratchy around you. Under you. You’re warm. It takes all of your energy, and multiple seconds, to pry your tired eyes open.
You’re in a room. A small table stands beside the bed you’re on. A plain, dark wood. Blueish grey sheets. A door to the left and a double closet to the right. You’re trying to conjure some sort of memory, but nothing is coming immediately.
Your arm doesn’t ache so bad. In fact, it feels kind of numb.
A blanket is draped over you. A few, you think. The warmth you feel is from something- someone hot pressed against your back. A naked chest tight against you. You feel a chin on your shoulder, breath against your neck. This feels familiar.
You blink. Your fingers spasm. Your ears flick.
“Mm.. you awake, love?”
Johnny.
Your breath shakes as you feel a crooked nose run up your neck and nuzzle along the edge of your jaw. Your heart beats louder in your ears than his voice does.
You’re still wearing clothes. You can feel his boxers against the back of your thighs.
You know he knows you’re awake, so you hesitantly nod. You can feel your hair is combed and clean. The fur on your ears and tail is brushed. Soft. For the first time in a while.
He peels himself from you, and you can hear him sit against the headboard. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, turning you towards him, and lugging you up against the bed frame with him.
He pulls your limp body into the crook of his arm, pressing his nose against your hair and breathing in before he presses a small kiss to the top of your head. The flesh of your cheek is smushed against the muscle of his shoulder. You smell men’s shampoo. You don’t know if you can move or not. You haven’t tried.
You slowly flex your fingers, then curl them into a fist. You’re tired, but you’re okay. You shift to sit up a little, subconsciously leaning away from him a little.
“Are ya feeling okay?” he asks, “Took quite a tumble yesterday. Still ain’t sure if ya hit yr’head or not.”
Why is he holding you like this? You broke into their home. And aren’t they together? You swear you thought Simon and Johnny were in a relationship before, but now you can’t remember much.
“Tumble…?” you question, lips sticking together as you part them to speak.
“Oh, yeah. You don’t remember? Yesterday morning, when ye were about to leave. You collapsed.” Johnny tells you, squeezing you a little closer. You can’t tell if that was his response to you scooting away, or if he really is clueless.
“..Oh.”
“Yeah, but we got ya all fixed up, didn’t we, Si?”
You frown in confusion, eyes flicking to the doorway where you find Simon lurking, one hand gripping the doorframe. He hadn’t made a sound. Not even the creaking of a floorboard or squealing of shoes. He’s dressed in casual athletic wear as if he might’ve come home from a jog an hour or two ago. You’ve learned he does that every morning, usually around seven.
Simon just grunts like the caveman he is, eyes running over the picture of the two of you.
“Get up. I’m making breakfast.” he huffs, turning and walking down the hall just as quietly as he came.
Johnny sighs next to you, his free hand flipping the covers off the two of you. “Well, let’s not make him wait any longer than we need to.”
He stands, your eyes trailing down his back as he bends over. You watch as he tugs some gray sweatpants over his hips, grabs a shirt from the floor to pull over his head.
“After y’finish eatin’, I figure I’ll rewrap that nasty wound o’ yours, and you can tell me all about how ya ended up that way, yeah?”
You don’t speak, but he doesn’t seem to be looking for a response, anyway. He straightens and turns back toward you, your eyes fixing on his thick fingers tying the strings of his sweats, on the imprint of something against his upper thigh-
You blink heavily, eyes swiftly flashing up to his. He’s smiling at you, but not smugly. More… gentle, than anything. Your voice quakes when you speak.
“Don’t want to talk about it.”
He sighs, reaching a hand up to shove some overgrown strands of hair out of his face. “Alrigh’. How about you go on ahead an’ join Simon? ah’m gonna take a piss.”
He turns and trudges over to the connected bathroom before you can respond. You slowly nod to yourself. You feel tired. So tired. You shouldn’t, considering this is the first time you’d slept on a mattress, let alone a bedframe, in years.
You pull yourself to the edge of the bed, legs shaking as you push to stand. The floor is cool against your warm skin. You take a quick scan of your surroundings and don’t find much more than what you’d expect from them. A single, golden brown dresser. Two bedside tables. Not much decor besides a little clutter. Everything’s a little mismatch.
Your feet move as if they don’t belong to you. They seem to know the choreography of their kitchen more than your consciousness does.
Your vision is fuzzy. Your body feels like a rusty engine of a car. Just barely rumbling back to life each time you twist the key, sluggish and old.
Your sense of smell stirs to life before anything else. Slightly burnt toast, you think. Strawberry jam. You sniffle as cold air pinches at your nose, shivering and hugging your arms with the opposite hands.
You flinch and hiss when you make contact with the sore skin beneath the bandage on your upper right arm, shifting your grip lower as you wince. Your slow walk has finally brought you to the kitchen.
Your eyes trail over his face as he slides three pieces of toast on a plate, two on another, and a single slice on the last one.
“Mornin’.” He vaguely gestured around the stools at the kitchen bar. “Sit.”
And once more, your feet guide you before your thoughts do. The backs of your thighs meet a stool as he spreads a vibrant red jam across the piece of toasted bread, most of it golden brown with the crust a little black. He slides the plate with a single slice in front of you.
You prefer raspberry jelly. You don’t like the crust on your toast. You also can’t imagine he’d care if you told him either of those things.
Your fingers shake as they reach in front of you, skin feeling fragile as it touches the brittle corners of the bread. Sharp canines pierce the texture easily, teeth tearing off a chunk and chewing as your tongue slips out to swipe the remnants off of your lips.
He’s staring at you. Has been since you picked up the piece of toast. His gaze fixes on your tongue so vehemently, that you’d think he was waiting for you to open your mouth just to catch a glimpse.
A shiver runs down your back and you shudder, spine curling inward slightly to keep you looking small. Even if you weren’t physically.
“‘ave you brushed your teeth?”
Your face twitches into some expression of confusion, and your hand comes to cover your mouth not so subtly as you place the toast back on it’s plate.
One of the many luxuries you didn’t have being homeless.
“N-no, I haven’t h-“
You’re stunned into silence by the view of him abruptly standing, lips parting in surprise as he curves around the corner of the counter.
“C’mere.”
His hand is on your nape, grip just a little too tight. Again, you feel a sense of deja vu. He pulls you out of the chair and your hands jerk up to commit some sort of action, just to fall flat at your sides. You feel like a snail in comparison to his heavy footsteps.
He walks you to his bedroom and opens the attached bathroom, ignoring the way you nearly flinch at the sight of Johnny- his boxers and sweats tugged down to where you can see the beginnings of a pale appendage. There’s still a toothbrush hanging out the side of his mouth. His head pops up when the door opens but he doesn’t seem surprised to see you.
You swallow thickly, throat suddenly feeling tiny and clogged as Simon pushes you to the counter. You cast your gaze downwards.
His big fingers seem to randomly grab a green toothbrush from a cup on the marble. It’s clearly been used, has to be one of theirs. You nearly gag at the thought.
He shoves the plastic object into your mouth, his lips twitching at your gurgled grunts as he roughly pushes the bristles back and forth against your teeth.
Your hands jolt up to his offending digits and wrist, halfhearted claws digging into the firm muscle beneath his sleeve.
You try to turn your head away and his grip slips to the front of your throat. Light pressure. Thumb just under your jaw to keep your chin propped up while he listens to the thu-thud of your heartbeat. Your ears flick to the side and lower.
When you finally get a good enough grip to tug yourself away from the toothbrush, neck muscles straining to tear away, he seems amused at the flash of teeth.
“Yeah, bare those pretty teeth at me, love. Let’s see how that goes.”
The expression on your face twists to the closest thing you can get to a scowl. You almost get away when he tightens his grip on the front of your throat enough for you to part your lips in a gasp.
“Enough.” he snaps, so loud you think you can feel your skull vibrate. You nearly choke on the toothpaste, just barely manage to stop yourself from swallowing. Cold fingers tremble in front of you before you lower them to cling to the counter at each side of your hips. Squeezing your eyes shut helps a little and you go still.
“Jeez, Si, didn’t get a good night’s sleep?” Johnny pipes up, and you can hear a rustle of fabric and the groaning of pipes as the toilet flushes. You hear him spit into the sink behind you and the tap run while he rinses his mouth briefly.
Simon ignores him and resumes for a minute or two before he turns and pushes you to bend your upper half over the sink. Gives your tongue an exceptionally harsh scrub before he drops the toothbrush into the sink.
“Spit.”
And when you hesitate, because that’s a weird fucking thing to say, he shoves his salty, meaty fingers down your throat until you gag, nearly retching around his fingers so you expel the toothpaste involuntarily instead of just repeating himself.
Your nose burns.
You’re crying when he releases you, bitterly glaring up at him as he rubs the leftover toothpaste from your lips. He doesn’t let you rinse.
“Way to scare a girl away,” Johnny sighs, shouldering Simon out of the way to stand in front of you.
He cups your cheeks with his warm hands and gently brushes the tears away with his thumbs. “It’s alright, lovely. No need fer the tears. You know he means well, hmm?”
You can’t help the relieved sigh as he touches you, body instinctively relaxing under his heated touch.
You don’t know if it’s your own doing or his when you nod.
“Let’s go finish our breakfast.” he says, moving his hands to your shoulders. He turns you and you pout (frown) the entire time he walks you out of the bathroom. He brings you out to the living area but instead sits you down on the middle cushion before joining Simon in the kitchen.
You huff to no one but yourself, tongue running over your teeth absently. At least you have a clean mouth now. Better than nothing for all the trouble he’s put you through.
Johnny walks back in just as you finish your train of thought, holding your plate and his. He places the one with a half-eaten piece of toast in your lap, sitting beside you and doing the same with his. Your fingers twitch on your thighs.
Johnny slings an arm around your shoulders, bringing you a little closer to him. Just like he’d done a few minutes prior when you’d woke up in his bed.
You’re hungry. You know you are. With the way your stomach aches like a crater, there’s no way you couldn’t be. Why don’t you want to eat?
Maybe it’s the whole situation, the way they’re treating you. Like they don’t plan on you leaving. They’ve already started making space for you in their lives. It feels as if they’ve shoved you into the deep end, not given you a chance to catch your breath or dip your toes in. It’s weird.
“Not hungry?” Johnny’s voice brings you back to the moment, as well as Simon joining the two of you on your other side.
He’s farther than you’d like.
Your eyelashes flutter after a moment, and you shake your head.
“Tired.” You rasp, your voice scratchy and your throat feeling swollen.
“m’sure now you regret wasting all that energy causing a fuss in the bathroom, huh?” Simon unhelpfully adds, voice slurred while he speaks with food in his mouth.
You glare at him from the corner of your eye, but he doesn’t notice with the way he’s shoveling food down his throat.
Johnny releases your shoulders to reach for your plate, ripping off a small piece and getting some jam on his fingers as he brings it up to your mouth.
“Come on, just a bite?”
You don’t respond for a moment.
Eventually, you decide you’ll do whatever it takes to get you out of here fastest.
It only takes a nod before he’s pushing it past your lips, a bit more gently than Simon was with the toothbrush.
He ignores the fact you agreed to a single bite as he continues feeding you. The toast tastes slightly of mint when you take your next bite.
“So, after breakfas’ ah’ll rewrap tha’ wound, Simon’s gotta go to the store, I’ve got a game t’watch, I figure you can rest up on the couch with me. How’s that sound?”
You look over at him, red jam smeared over his lips, free hand stuffing food in his mouth nearly just as quickly as Simon. They’ve both got a bad habit of talking while eating.
It doesn’t feel like have any other choice but to nod. Not that you plan on sticking to that. You drift off to a memory earlier in the day when you were in the kitchen for the first time.
When your eyes naturally flit back to the window you’d climbed in the day before, you noticed the dried blood had been cleaned up.
You also noticed the little nob on the top of the window had been turned, sealing the window shut. Probably just because of the storm.
lHowever, it irks you. Even when it was storming, they kept it open for you. It’s only closed now that you’re inside. You need to say something. Confirm that they know you aren’t staying.
Something inside you hushes your thoughts, telling you to keep quiet, you want this-
You urge your unease to the front of your mind.
“S-So when can I leave?”
Do you really want to?
Your head turns to Simon, and he pauses, before resuming his meal.
You turn to Johnny, and he just smiles at you sympathetically, a speck of red on his cheek.
“Oh, love. You aren’t goin’ anywhere. Not in this weather. Let the storm pass and we’ll talk then, yeah?” he says, reaching forward to wipe a bit of toast from the corner of your lip with his thumb.
For the first time, his smile doesn’t comfort you.
You don’t finish your piece of toast.
notes: that little moment of reader struggling with food was meant to show her unease around them and loss of appetite from the drugs, not an ed btw! i admit i have no idea what foods english people eat so take it easy on me ok? if you’re reading this thinking ‘god i just want them to fuckkkk’ me too 😞 in due time. also at what point do i stop using the ‘new writers on tumblr’ tag?
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me telling u guys i posted part three:
