bunny hybrid probs has to deal with a lot of racism because most think they’re just breeders and stuff, so reader has gone as far as to swear they’ll never become a breeder (which is fucking hard not to with soap around lmao)
~🧋
Cw: sexism?, racism/xenophobia?, non-con touching, soap being horny, tell me if I missed any.
Despite wanting to fight for your cause, you knew there wasn’t anything you could give - excuse - to reason your biting, the lingering taste of spoiled and rotten blood on the back of your throat and the stains of red on your lips were a constant reminder of your aggression. You knew Price wouldn’t fault you for lashing back at them, insulting and disgusting pigs whose eyesight went as far as the end of their noses, with an ego so high up their arse that they couldn’t differentiate a softer and domestic rabbit to a hardened and trained one.
It felt degrading, being constantly reminded that you could’ve been a small breeder, a broodmare to another mate, forgoing your person for a duty others seemed to have filled. The world didn’t need more bunnies than it already had. It didn’t help that you were softer than them, wider hips, tender skin and rounder curves, charmingly feminine despite the rough material of your fatigues or your growls and snarls. They’d often ignore your hisses when their hands lingered, ignoring the signs of aggression because what- bunnies weren’t inherently aggressive? You fought, you bled and you killed, so how would biting and clawing be any different?
But Price wasn’t proud of your manner of escape —self-defence, anger issues, rage, whichever word he used. He grumbled lowly, placing down his precious hat to fist at his hair, the gleaming silver strands a physical reminder of the stress and pressure he lived when he had you all under his care. A dedicated leader. An empathetic friend. A good captain. A loving man. He was all and more, but there were things even he couldn’t do, and the constant complaints and reports on your “biting problem” was souring his bitter tea.
“Biting won’t do any good,” he mumbled your name in slight disappointment, sighing at your sudden pout, ears drooping sorrowfully.
“I know, but they keep saying things,” your snarled, fisting the fabric of your pants, “These p- men keep touching me and Soap isn’t hel-”
“Helping you with all the times he’s pulled you into his room or a closet. I’m aware,” he breathed out a puff of smoke, rolling his head back with a satisfied feel of ash and tabacco, “I’ll remind him to be mindful.”
You flashed him a grateful smile, small but happy, shoulders slumping lighting at the small respite Price had given you. It might not be a fix-it-all, but it would mellow down the on-going rumours of you being both a bunny hybrid and a barracks bunny —however insulting and debasing that was.
“Now, onto the actual issue,” you were keenly aware of his hand, running along the seams of his beard and against his lips, “Reckon they’d enjoy longer drills.”
You couldn’t help the grin that curled your lips into a cruel smirk, teeth flashing at your captain’s planned punishment.
Home Alone Yandere! Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Female Reader Chapter Two
Author note- Here we are back again with chapter two of Home Alone. Now as you can gather I like to mention any and all trigger warnings in the authors notes before we proceed. If that's okay with everyone. Anyways this chapter will feature such things as stalking, violence. and non-con touching, non-con drugging almost non-con SA as well as more obsessive thoughts from our boy, Simon. And more paranoia from our poor reader.
Now that we got THAT out of the way here is Chapter Two. I hope you enjoy.
Chapter Two.
You were exhausted. Having spent most of the night tossing and turning, and now you were on your third coffee of the day. The good news was that you didn't have to work today. The bad news was you were meeting your sisters for lunch soon and all you wanted to do was sleep. And to top it off? Was you were so sure you had closed your window last night, the one that didn't lock, the one you had meant to talk to your landlord about but it always slipped your mind. Normally it wouldn't bother you but you could swear that someone had been watching you.
And during the night you could have swore you saw a large figure concealed in the shadows of you room, wearing a mask with a skull on it. But as dawn broke you brushed it off as a nightmare. And in all honesty nothing seemed out of place, though if you really looked you would noticed that a couple pairs of panties were missing, thankfully not the ones that were your favorites, but if you really looked you would notice a pair of pink and red panties with a bow on the butt had gone missing, as well as a pair of maroon panties. No big deal you bought panties in bulk it would seem, considering how often you lost panties. Oh, if only you knew...
Heaving a tired sigh that turned into another yawn you went to your bathroom intent on grabbing a shower, not knowing that during the night the seaweed scented body wash you had been using, that you loved had been replaced with a new bottle, or how your razor, one that had been replaced because your old one had looked rather rough. Not that you'd really notice the difference you never did, brushing it off as something you did but had forgotten about.
Turning on the water you heaved a sigh as hot water cascaded over you, tilting your head back you tried to push the odd thoughts from your head, surely there was no one following you, right? Shaking your head you turned off the water, and stepped out of it, wrapping a towel around yourself you stepped into your bedroom, getting dressed for the day. Unbeknownst to you of the man clad in black sitting outside your apartment, staring up at the window of your apartment.
One day Simon would find the courage to speak to you, to actually meet you, not as Ghost, but as the real him, the real Simon Riley. Taking a drag of his cigarette he turned away from your apartment and walked off. He would be back tonight. But for now he would be watching, always.
***
"Are you okay?" You older sister, Lynda asked.
You nodded, before stifling another yawn. You, Lynda, and your younger sister, Amy sat in one of your favorite cafes catching up on your day to day life. Lynda had told you about her job, and her current boyfriend that she had been dating for a few weeks now. And your younger sister had told you about her job, and school. Claiming that she was having trouble with one of her classmates, but things had worked out in the end.
"And you?" Amy asked, looking to you.
You bit down on your bottom lip and shrugged your shoulders. "Works been okay, but it's funny..." You trailed off, glancing out the window of the cafe, your eyes widening when you caught a glimpse of a large man staring right at you. Dark brown eyes that were almost black stared right at you. The rest of his face covered with a black balaclava with a skull emblazoned on it. A chill running down her spine.
"Y/N?" Lynda asked, jerking you from your thoughts. "You okay?"
You continued to stare when Lynda tapped you on your shoulder, jerking you from your staring contest, when you looked back he was gone. "I think I'm going crazy." You told your sisters.
The both of them looked to you. "Old news." Amy joked, and was rewarded with a laugh from Lynda.
Okay, you couldn't help but muster a chuckle at that, however your smile soon disappeared.
"No, seriously." Any spoke, placing a hand on your shoulder. "What's going on?"
Taking a sip of your tea you took a deep breath. Maybe you were being silly, maybe you were being paranoid. But maybe telling your sisters what was going on, how you thought you were being followed, how you thought someone had been in your apartment, had seen some guy at your work, and now outside the cafe.
Both Amy and Lynda looked to you as you spilled your guts, looks of worry etched on their faces. "Have you done anything about it? Asked your manager? Or called the cops?"
You shook your head. You knew they had a point, if someone was stalking you it would be best to get others involved. But whenever you noticed the stranger he was gone in a blink of an eye. So quickly you thought it was just your imagination. But maybe it would be best to get someone involved. The the big question was, what would you tell the cops. 'Help, there's a strange man stalking me. And I have no idea what he looks like.' Yeah, that would go over so well. Aside from his eyes and the fact that he was a big dude you really didn't have much on him.
Shaking your head sigh, you're at a loss for what to do. Downing the rest of your drink you get up from your seat, wishing your sisters a good day before leaving.
***
You knew I was watching you, didn't you? Simon thought, dark eyes tracking you as you left the cafe and headed home, Simon trailing behind you. Occasionally you would glance over your shoulder, and every time you did he would dart down an alleyway, occasionally you'd catch a glimpse of him and quicken your pace. Until you finally reached your apartment, glancing over your shoulder as you did. And as he watched you Simon couldn't help but wonder if there would ever be a day when he would be able to talk to you, touch you.
Shaking his head he walked away.
***
Days had passed since you had spoke with your sisters, and now you found yourself in your work breakroom, a cup of bitter black coffee in you hands as you talked with your coworkers, listening to them discuss their plans for the night. When one of them turns to you, Stacy.
"So, Y/N what are your plans for the night?" She asked.
You thought for a moment, if you were being honest you really didn't want to go home. Didn't want to be alone. So maybe hanging out with your friends after work would do you some good.
"No really, why?" You asked.
"Well me and Kayla are going to this new club downtown, want to come?"
That sounded like a good idea. Smiling you nodded. Perhaps this would help you forget about what was going on, there was no way your stalker would follow you to a crowded place like that, right?
"Great! We'll pick you up around eight. Wear something cute, there are going to be a ton of cute guys there, you might meet someone there." Stacy said.
If you were being honest you weren't really looking for anyone but you weren't going to tell her that. You liked Stacy and Kayla but they always seemed to be trying to hook you up with someone. So you said nothing. And before long your shift ended without incident. And were now wandering around your apartment trying on various outfits, before finally picking on a short black dress. And were now fixing up your make up, painting your lips a dark red.
Placing the lipstick in your purse, before looking at yourself in the mirror, smiling, satisfied with how you look before turning away from your mirror as you hear a knock at the door. Opening it you were greeted your friends, a wide smile on your lips.
"You ready?" Kayla asked.
Smiling you nodded, before closing and locking the door, before following after your friends. Unaware of the eyes on your retreating back. Unaware of the large man following you as you laughed and joked with your friends, as you got into the car, Simon following suit, following you into the club you and your friends had gone to, him following after. And soon disappeared into the crowd and drunken and probably high club goers.
Eyes on you, always on you, watching as you danced, the tight black dress you wore hugging your curves, and perhaps to him was a tad too short if the hungry glances other men shot were were any indication. Anger swelled in Simon's chest as he moved closer to you, when from the corner of his eye he caught movement, seeing a man with spiky black hair and torn jeans saunter up to you while you were dancing. Alarm bells began to ring in Simon's head at the hungry look on the mans face as he placed his hands on you, clenching his fists he moved closer to you, watching as you and this man, no, not a man, a boy danced, a sultry smile on your painted lips.
***
God, you needed this. You thought as you stepped into the club, eyes widening as you looked around at all the dancing people, before following your friends to the bar, and ordering a few drinks, before glancing at the over crowded dance floor, Kayla and Stacy glancing around at the men, who looked at the three of you, and you would admit it did make you feel kind of uncomfortable, but you quickly brushed it off. You would have fun tonight, whether you went home with someone or by yourself.
Downing your drink you looked to the girls, and blinked as they were nowhere in sight, obviously having melted into the throbbing mass of people before you. Great. Hopefully you would be able to find them by the end of the night. And if you couldn't you had your phone to where they were at when it was time to call it a night-
You didn't have your phone...
"Fuck..." you muttered, looking through your purse once more, and found it gone. Obviously you had left it on your nightstand as you busied yourself with getting ready to go out. Great.
Hopefully you wouldn't need it, or run into trouble where you'd need to call someone. Shoving that thought from your head you moved towards the dance floor, letting the music take you away from all your problems, occasionally going to the bar to buy a few more drinks, and as the night went on you felt yourself getting more and more tipsy. When you felt hands on your swaying hips, followed by the feel of someone pressing up against you, looking over your shoulder you saw a man around your age looking down at you, and offered him a smile as you looked him up and down.
He wasn't too bad looking, but perhaps that was the alcohol talking. But hell, you had come here to let loose and have fun. So why not dance with this guy? Turning around in his grasp you place your hands on his shoulders. Smiling seductively at him as the music continued on and you and your unnamed friend continued to dance until the song ended.
"You got some pretty sweet moves." He said, smirking down at you.
"Thanks." God, you never knew what to say in these situations. But this unnamed gentleman only chuckled. "Names Danny, and you are..."
"Y/N." You answered.
"Well, Y/N, can I buy you a drink? You look like you could use it after all of that." Danny said.
You should say no. Something about him seems...off. But maybe it's the alcohol maybe it's the fact that something seems off, but still you accept. Smiling when Danny went off to get you another drink. Unknown to you that Danny had slipped something into your drink before approaching you once more.
You thanked him, smiling at him. Danny watching as you took a sip, a dark look on his face as you did so. Little did he know was that a certain someone was watch him and was seeing red.
***
A low, animalistic growl escaped Simon as he witnessed this all happening before him, fists clenched he stalked to where the two of you were. Eyes glued on you as he saw that whatever that guy slipped into your drink finally took effect, and the guy wasted no time putting his hands on you, muttering some reassurances that you would be okay, a slimy smile on his face as he guided you towards the exit, Simon trailing behind.
While it was true you would be okay, the man that had drugged you, wouldn't live to see tomorrow...
***
Something was wrong. You felt wrong, all the colors were swimming together and you felt dizzy, were you sick?
"You okay?" Danny asked you, placing a hand on your shoulder, steadying you. Concern in his voice.
"I-I don't... know?" you murmured, your words slurring. Stumbling into his arms.
"Let's get you home then."
"B-but..." You tried to get out, he didn't know where you lived, so where was he taking you? Fear gripped you as he guided you towards the exit as you struggled to get away, to no avail as Danny lead you outside towards what you couldn't only assume was his car.
"Please, I just want to find my friends." You whimpered, trying in vain to break free of his grip.
"Relax, beautiful. Everything is going to be all right." Danny drawled, a slimy grin on his face, eyes looking you up and down, his cock twitching at the thought of all the things he would do to you when he got you to his home. Completely unaware of the large looming figure creeping up behind him, a figure clad in all black.
Not until he found himself slammed against the brick wall of the building the two of you stepped out of, the air knocked out of his lungs.
"What the fu-" Before he could even finish his sentence a fist connected with his face, breaking his nose in the process, blood spilling down his lips. Crying out he stumbled, blinking back tears as he managed to push himself away from the wall, and the walking pillar of death that was one Simon Riley, towards where you lay on the dirty ground. Having finally passed out, and were completely unaware of the danger you were in.
But he didn't get far as Simon grabbed him and drove his fist into his stomach, making him vomit up the contents of his stomach. The punch was soon followed by a kick to the ribs, dropping him to the ground. Poor Danny tried emphasis on tried to ward off the blows that rained down on him in rapid succession, he screamed and cried as he felt his bones snap, as he spat out his teeth. Oh, he tried to scream, to beg, to get whoever was beating him to stop but he was too busy spitting out his teeth and vomiting blood to get a word out. And sadly, he was pretty certain whoever this guy was, and he was beginning to suspect that this guy was one of your friends wasn't going to stop until he was dead.
And he was a right, as the last thing he saw was a size twelve boot stomping down on his head, then nothing.
Simon saw red, anger like he had never felt before consuming him as he grabbed that scum that thought he could hurt you, take advantage of you. An animalist growl escaping him as he threw the guy against the building as that was the last thing he remembered as he slowly calmed down, looking down at the bloody body, he had beaten the guy to an unrecognizable mess, his face was a mess of blood, his teeth laying scattered on the ground. Simon heaved a deep breath as he looked down at his hands, noting that he had beaten the guy so damned hard he had split the skin on his knuckles.
Nothing he hadn't endured before, something he could take care of later. But for now, he needed to take you home. Wiping his hands on his jeans he picked you up, dark eyes looking you over, looking for any sign of injuries and noted your skinned knees. Obviously from when he had grabbed the guy, forcing him to drop you. He would take care of those when he got you home. Nodding to himself Simon headed to where his truck was, placing you in the passenger seat before driving off to your apartment. Even though all he really wanted was to bring you to his home, to keep you locked away, safe from people like that man who drugged you, and from your friends that left you all alone at the club. Leaving you vulnerable.
But no matter, when he was sure you were safe he would take care of your friends and then he would work on turning his home into the perfect place for you.
The drive to your house wasn't very long, Simon was silent as he carried you to your apartment, fishing through your purse for your apartment key, and unlocking the door. Simon wasted no time carrying you to your room, and undressing you before putting you in your pajamas, before moving to your bathroom where he would assume you kept your medical supplies and found some disinfectant as well as some band aids. Cleaning up your skinned knees he bandaged them before looking down at you once more as he pulled the covers over you.
You had no idea who he was, to you he was just another face in the crowd, one of many. But to him you were everything, there was just something about you that drew him to you. And he knew he couldn't just walk away this time, not yet. Pulling his mask over his nose he brushed his thumb against your bottom lip, relishing the feel of how soft your lips were against the rough pad of his thumb. Licking his lips he leaned down and placed a gentle kiss to them before pulling away somewhat reluctantly.
Trailing his fingers across your cheek he turned away from you. You would be his one day, but for now Simon had some work to do getting rid of those that would harm you. "Goodnight, Y/N." He whispered, before melting into the shadows.
***
Authors Notes- Thus concludes Chapter Two. Sorry it took forever, life you know. Also I apologize if Simon might be a little OOC. Couldn't help it.
Happy Sunday everyone! I had so many tags last Sunday and I had the best time reading/enjoying everyone’s shares! I didn’t have anything to share then, but thanks so much @artsyunderstudy, @monbons, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @facewithoutheart, @roomwithanopenfire, @rimeswithpurple, @drowninginships, @larkral, @ileadacharmedlife, @fiend-for-culture, @prettygoododds, @forabeatofadrum, @tender-ministrations, and @mooncello for thinking of me this week!
Today I’m sharing another snippet from my increasingly un-secret COBB. I’m putting it under the cut for sleazy harassment and non-con touching. I censored a name with ** just to keep certain details under wraps for a bit longer.
** slaps his hand over Dev’s mouth and pulls him close, grinning in the rear view mirror.
“Take your paw off my cousin right now, unless you’re prepared to lose it,” I suggest, my voice low, dangerous. Dev’s eyes widen slightly, and then he gasps in a breath as ** pushes him away, laughing.
“You’re the good one, aren’t you, Basilton?” ** teases, leaning forward. His seat belt isn’t buckled, and if Dev’s was, I’d seriously consider slamming on the brakes. If ** went through the fucking windscreen, the world would know no great loss. “Always living by the rules, doing what you’re supposed to.”
He’s touching my hair now, coiling a strand around his finger. I’m less offended than when he was mauling Dev, but it still makes my skin crawl. “You don’t know anything about me,” I say softly. Least of all how far I’ll go for the people I love.
“You have an aristocratic profile, Basil,” ** coos, his breath warm on my neck. “I can see the family resemblance.” He takes another glug from whatever cheap fuckboy liquor he’s got wrapped in that paper bag, and then I grimace when his lips brush beneath my ear. “I could be feeling very into cousins tonight.”
And with that, have a great week everybody! No pressure tags to: @cutestkilla @supercutedinosaurs @aristocratic-otter @iamamythologicalcreature @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @orange-peony @thewholelemon @beastmonstertitan @shrekgogurt @bookish-bogwitch @raenestee @letraspal @arthurkko @papierhaikuphoto @stitchy-queerista @c0nsumemy5oul @asocialpessimist @skee3000 @cows4247 @ic3-que3n @nausikaaa @palimpsessed @alexalexinii @youarenevertooold and anybody else who’d like to share!
All of this could be worse, Elliot had to constantly remind himself of this fact; so, so much worse.
At the very least he didn't find himself in the trunk of a Honda or a crack house bathroom, just the sparsely decorated home of Chris, being far more tidy than he'd like to give him credit for. Said man had disappeared a few minutes ago, leaving Elliot to stew in bewilderment. The spots where skin had met skin started to itch.
Focus, come on. Neither the lonely houseplant next to the TV nor the properly aligned armchair could help him; behind the bed he was placed in stood a dresser with a full ashtray on it. The sun that had so rudely woken him up before already moved on, but the window it entered through didn't budge an inch, letting the muffled sound of cars driving up and down the road flow through the glass. They were at least on the third floor.
Jump, a harsh force pulled at his stomach, now. What else would he break in the process?
The smell of vanilla and sugar let him come to a bit more, a sour taste gathering at the thought of what's next to come. Even though Elliot had no idea why he was taken again, the animal part of his brain prepared for the worst regardless; knowing this time could be dangerous in a whole different sort of way.
"Do you like pancakes?" Morris called out, looking back from the kitchen to check if this was still real, if Elliot was really with him now, "Of course you do."
Did he? Elliot wasn't so sure about it anymore, he couldn't get his next steps on track: a rescue he couldn't remember, the warm welcome, the fact that Amber was just old news - where did this suddenly come from? What do you call a joke nobody's laughing about?
Wrapped up in the hysteric circle of repetitive thoughts, his hands started to knead hills and valleys into the blanket and rewarded his already tense arm with a short sting of fire. Elliot usually avoided to, but looking down at his palms, he noticed the rough red lines of dark scab across them.
"Did I fall?" he whispered to nobody in particular.
"Yeah, I guess so. I mean, you were bleeding; your knees too. Don't you feel that?" The well-meaning hint fell on deaf ears.
Though Elliot did feel that. An all-too familiar burn started spreading its stinging tendrils out to reach his elbow first and if not appeased quickly enough, it would only grow further. On some days, it crawled up behind his eyes.
But not yet, there was still time. Finally ready to act, Elliot threw the heavy covers off his legs, which were not tied together despite the uneasy memories. He could work with that.
The cooked batter already built up bubbles, he could see it from where he was standing now, the kitchen also being the entrance area and final room to separate them from the outside world. After flipping it over to reveal a perfectly browned crust, Morris at last noticed him: "I thought of you, moving north into the wilderness to ride moose and become a park ranger or whatever. She got me good; upstate, my ass!"
Jesus Christ, what is he going on about? Elliot had read an article about brain damage some odd months ago: poor Morris probably had an aneurysm during the time they didn't see each other, and hopefully would be blessed with another one soon. This had to be it. He, for one, didn't act like a guy who got invested in a spontaneous religious awakening.
Elliot swallowed hard, interrupting the senseless yapping and looking into Morris' steam-covert face that only underlined his unsettling glassy expression: "I can't do this again. Please, I give you everything."
They faced each-other while still keeping a good distance, with the door to the hallway practically only a jump away. Elliot could make it.
"The bathroom is on your right," Morris said through a patient smile, "Freshen up a bit."
--------
Coward. Even a splash of cold water on his puffy eyes didn't soothe the lingering frustration; if this were the Olympics, he'd be awarded the golden medal for backpedaling, especially when it came to his own survival. You dumb fucking coward.
Elliot even lacked the guts to lock the bathroom door. When push comes to shove, one could bet Morris would just kick the hinges in.
Where had the time gone; the time he should have used to prepare, to take action against Morris? Not boxing, naturally, but something... anything meaningful. All that followed was well deserved, it seemed, the punishment for wasting away in his childhood bedroom and staring motionless at a wall for eight months.
The bathroom mirror gave a flash of relief as Elliot pressed his forehead against the cool glass. Think!
For the first time in a long year, he looked at his reflection. A broken man glared back through empty eyes. Single beads of water ran down his chin to be soaked up into his shirt, already damp with the stench of fear and sweat.
The shirt he wore the whole night; a shirt he did not wear yesterday, one he did not even own, meaning that Morris had to- Oh god.
Maybe he should think less, before losing the last bit of sanity.
Not that it mattered, Elliot's only goal was clear: convince Chris to leave him alone, even when he had to bear his unorthodox signs of reparation. Smile and nod and play Crazy Eights until he opens the door: old habits and such. Nothing to lose this time, he could do it!
As Elliot awkwardly stalked back to the kitchen, the stinging had already engulfed his whole left hand and throbbed with every horrid expectation. One favor Morris could do him, if this went south too, was to cut the damn thing off already. Turning around into the kitchen fully now, he was greeted by the same stupid grin that send him away. At least one of us is having fun.
Elliot was gently led to the table and forced to sit tight until the chef was gracious enough to join him; dragging his chair to position it opposite to his guest. A stack of warm pancakes was placed carefully in front of both; they didn't look half bad.
So this was the apology breakfast then.
"Here you go, Ell!"
The cutlery slid right next to the plate and with Chris closer than ever before, Elliot could feel his body heat on his face. By reflex, his head curled down to make himself as small as possible, as if mesmerized by the pancakes he was blankly staring at.
"Say when." A thin stream of sticky maple started to coat them: the apology syrup, surely.
He would have appreciated all the effort in a different context, but with his sweaty right clenched around the butter knife, any sense of domestic bliss was lost.
Elliot felt his mouth go dry in anticipation; bile already collecting further.
None of them had noticed how heavy their breathing went, so Morris decided to be more brisk and let the hand he had positioned so innocently on the backrest slip down the small of Elliot's neck.
This is the apology- the-the apology...
The touch of rough fingers against his sensitive skin made Elliot shudder violently and writhe away from the contact. Even though that wasn't a "when", the steady drizzle of syrup stopped in its flow.
Letting his hand wander even further down to dip under his collar and between his shoulder blades, Chris too was mesmerized. His skin felt pleasantly warm to the touch; stroking back and forth, up and down to soothe his boy who was nearly losing it again. So tense.
He knew it only got worse the longer this medicine he demanded was held back, so why not enjoy the last calm moments for a while. Brushing the peach fuzz at the base of his hairline awarded Chris a low whine. So pretty.
His left arm was sore by now and already cooking up a storm, Elliot could feel it.
Morris felt glad his guest was deadly focused on the meal he made them, otherwise his bright red face would only prove how excited he was getting.
He hadn't missed how much longer Elliot's hair had grown, still happy that he managed to wash it last night. Speaking of which, was he always this pale and skinny? He did look kinda rough, Chris determined with a frown, they hadn't taken good care of him, wherever he'd been before.
Not for much longer, of course.
Elliot too had learned from his mistakes, though he never expected to use his newfound knowledge. Enjoying a bite to wake up god-knows-where; no, thank you! It made little sense to take his meds and just drug him still, but he had to anticipate senseless acts from a senseless man.
Elliot wouldn't look up, hell no, that face just helped to make him throw up faster.
"Sorry, but I'm not eating this," Elliot murmured, unsure if there was a gentle way of teaching him that.
Morris looked sheepish: "Oh, is it burned? The first ones always get a little bit more...crispy."
He neither took silence nor no for an answer, but two could play that game.
"So, what do you want to do after this?", Morris asked. He hoped to get the best use out of their intimacy before the inevitable temporary mood killer.
"You talk a lot." Sadly, not one coherent sentence. So Elliot refused to give in to the chit-chat.
"I'm just excited," Morris admitted quietly while desperate to hide the red blotches on his face.
Excited about what?
He had to sound like a broken record by now: "Did I do something wrong? I didn't tell anyone, I swear!"
Morris sighed.
"No, no, I'm not angry with you, is that so hard to believe?" He couldn't stop playing with full, dark strands of hair. "I just said these things to buy more time."
Collecting what remained of his shaky words, Elliot failed to bite his tongue any longer. Sweet-talk me all you want.
"Y-you said, you'd kill my mother."
Morris would never, scout's honor! That woman was huge.
"Yeah, I didn't mean that, obviously!" came the annoyed huff.
Obviously, like Morris wasn't a dangerous man to be around. Obviously, like it was Elliot's fault for believing threats against their lives.
"Wouldn't make a difference if you had told them, either."
A difference for Elliot nonetheless, one could suppose, seeing how drenched in tears he suddenly was. In another life, one where he got to be less of a disappointment, he told his parents and doctors the truth to make peace with himself.
At worse, new accusations only fast-tracked Morris tardy rendezvous with justice. Dragging an unconscious stranger through the streets perhaps did raise some eyebrows... Do you even know about the warrant? Maybe you like a spark of danger.
Unable to protest, free-flowing tears got thumbed away by a caring hand and unbeknownst to Elliot, Morris simply loved that he let himself cry freely.
In the open space behind them, a phone started humming anew. The unhappy musician was finally lucid enough to recognize the melody this time: Für Elise.
In case he had been smart enough to spend the last months growing a backbone, he would have spat Morris straight in the face. The sheer audacity made all tears ebb in an instant.
After what had been more than enough time with strange hair between his fingers, Morris took a seat and let his head drop into his hands: "I hope that doesn't bother you, I'm just gonna let it ring."
Actually, it did bother Elliot, but in a whole different way.
"Where's my phone?", he asked instead, because surly, whatever scenario he was dragged into, Morris considered him sympathetic enough to gift him one call. Like in the movies.
Bet he isn't dumb enough to let it lie around.
The response he got was a worthless shrug: "You didn't have one on you."
How well did that freak search me?
The only other explanation was him losing it during the fall, where and when this supposedly happened was a whole different mystery to him. Taking a hesitant forkful of batter into his mouth, Elliot hoped his good manners would earn him a blink of silence: time he needed to think about his next steps. For now, it only brought a satisfied grin onto himself.
After a few more minutes, the ringing died down.
--------
It became extremely clear that Elliot's plan would go up in flames. A chat with Chris, to smile and look pretty, forcing half a pancake down his tightening throat - he really put all into it. It wasn't enough.
His face burned brightly now too, from fear or rising nerval misery was unclear, all he knew was that it hurt. Pearls of sweat slipped along his fingertips into his lap while Morris was too busy cleaning up the table: "I guess you're full for now, huh?"
The low coo only made him twitch in his seat. Elliot had to stop losing himself.
"How's your...the-the rabbit. You had one of those, right?" Chris asked, turning towards the sink to put the dishes in.
"Good," Elliot tried to say, but any effort to speak was cut off by a choking flare that shot up his neck. The ache hit him without warning throughout every muscle fiber and surged right back into its birthplace, over and over, until nothing but a hollow wheeze shook his body.
It hadn't been this bad in a long time; his skull threatened to split into pieces and if nobody was here to help, then Elliot was glad to take the job.
Fuck Chris and his absolution, if he didn't want to finish what he started, so be it.
This wasn't an abandoned crack house, he didn't need to leave the building, but just had to find someone who lived here too.
Move, the force demanded again, now; and this time Elliot listened.
Without second thought, he slid from the chair and leaped for the door, even closer to it than ever before.
One -two- three steps now and with the door latch just in reach, he-
A thick arm quickly wrapped around his waist to throw him unceremoniously against the nearest wall. His left hand was on fire.
"Let go!" Elliot gasped loudly; too close to screaming for Chris' liking, so a skilled grip around the neck made him shut it quite nicely.
"Calm down, it's alright. Just don't be loud." At least right now. Nobody minded him being noisy elsewhere...soon, he couldn't expect this right off the bat. "Look, I'll let go, but the door is locked anyway, so don't freak out again."
What Elliot tried didn't came as a surprise, but hurt him nonetheless. Morris was more disappointed than upset.
"I'm not doing anything to you, I'm just trying to help!"
Still pressed against the wood-chip wallpaper, one fist grabbing his left arm and one flat on his chest, Elliot could do nothing but take ragged breaths. He was going insane, without question.
"Then help me," he wailed, "nothing of this is alright, I want to leave!"
"You want your next fix, but I won't let that happen, sweetie," he replied sullenly, noticing how Elliot cringed at the pet name. There was enough time to find one that fit.
"I'm not a fucking junkie!" he tried now, his breaking voice didn't make this any more convincing, much less his mood.
"Then why so antsy, huh?"
"It hurts," Elliot mewled, trying to pull his hand free, "just stop!"
"Why? I'm not even holding on tight..."
What was this man going on about? Elliot wondered if he was that dumb; or maybe found it funny.
"You know why," he whispered baffled.
Morris' disappointment spread. He knew what that meant, an imminent truth he tried to sugarcoat for a while: the answer to the question of why Elliot didn't show up for the Oratorio, or any other show after that.
Loosening his grip on the arm, but still pressing Elliot closer against the wall, he took his time to inspect the damned hand in question, to really look at his past fuck-up.
It was clearly thinner and paler, even compared to the rest of Elliot, except for the gnarly red scar line that ran from his wrist all the way to the back of his pinky. Fresh new wounds aside, the weakly curled up pair of fingers, four and five respectively, refused to spread out, not held by force but lack of it.
Morris could feel the rigid metal wires under the dewy, paper-like skin. A few pins in there, or a plate at least. The noise when knife met bone played on loop in his ears: the moment once sharp crunch turned into soft smacks.
This wasn't supposed to happen, all of it was simply wrong.
"Why does it look like that, Ell?"
"You tell me, asshole!"
The tension between them rose high again, and with their faces just inches apart, Elliot prayed that he overheard his insult. Any more pressure and his fingers would just snap on impact.
Despite it all, the confused man didn't pay him any mind, too focused on the fruit of his labor: "That doesn't make sense, it should be back to normal by now."
Through the smoke of pain and leftover narcotics, Elliot wondered if he could be braver this time around, as he pulled the hand back to his side.
"Doesn't matter anymore. I want - I need to go home. I don't understand why you're doing this at all. You're so-"
Different, yes. His Elliot was on the best way to finally understand. Chris didn't want to confess yet, it would be too much at once.
"I missed you." The soothing tone was put on in good faith.
"Missed?" It was practically spat at him. Missed what? Beating me? "Didn't you do enough already?"
Craving revelation, though refusing to back down, both men clenched their jaw tight.
"You need to stop, Morris," Elliot had one last desperate offer to give in case Chris really was insane, not in the pop psychology sort of way, but by being a seriously sick man: "I-I can visit you, okay?!"
Why visit when you can just stay?
"Elliot, quit being so formal."
A buzz ripped them apart. Go to hell, Elise!
Gladly, Morris let go of his chest to stomp over to the kitchen counter.
"Fucking Belanger, I swear to god." With a swift motion, the call was ended. It was obvious that dear Chris tried to keep his facade alive, even with all nerves on edge.
"That's my - uh, that's not really my boss, he only annoys me sometimes."
Elliot nodded wordlessly, as if he could give a rat's ass about Morris and his little pusher friends running around town, playing UNO all night long and ruining other people's relationships.
"Just ignore that, he's from Quebec so," he rolled his eyes excessively, "y'know?!"
No, Elliot didn't know. Respectively, he knew nothing, even after spending all morning with him. The oh-so obvious reason for his stay was still a blank hole of ignorance for him.
He couldn't believe a single word coming from that bastard's mouth, he was a liar back then, and he would be one on every single day to come.
Elliot didn't even register how badly he was shivering.
"We just take it slowly," Morris offered, but struggled to cleanse the atmosphere, "only talk and spend some time together. Do you know Azul? The game with the little tiles?"
Elliot sensed how this would go, the bile in his mouth started having the horrible aftertaste of moonshine and ichor.
Oh god, I can't do this again.
Dizziness hit him from nowhere and took all leftover strength from his already drained body. Panting heavily, Elliot didn't remember how he ended up on the cold floor, just how he kept on shaking whilst staring at Morris through blurry eyes.
As if underwater, no words reached him.
He'd laugh at himself, how the thought of another game night made his already wild panic spike, if his lungs didn't trick him into believing he was drowning on land.
I can't do this again, I can't do this again.
"Hey!"
A weight was placed on his chest, wrapping around his ribs and holding him close - so, so close as if to press all the fear out of him. His mind was racing, partly happy the oncoming lightheadedness alleviated the pain being pumped into him with every fluttering heartbeat.
Inhaling was needles in his lungs, exhaling pointless. The air refused to leave against the source of the comforting pressure.
"-need my pills," was the last thing he could force out, before the rest of Chris' heavy body buried him in a tight embrace. Next to Elliot's ear, he shook his head and shushed him gently.
"You're good for me" he murmured, fighting to keep the clutch, "I'm sorry, we'll make this work."
Unable to help himself, Elliot gave in to the dark walls that were closing in around them, praying for unconsciousness to take him away quickly.
whumpee who is touch averse. whumper taking advantage of it and enjoying whumpee squirming with discomfort even at gentle touches, and caretaker who gets snapped and swatted at for trying to touch whumpee. thoughts?
Hell yes touch-averse Whumpee! So many potentials >:D.
- Whumpee being tied up and unable to avoid Whumper’s touch. They are extremely uncomfortable and maybe even feel pain on how tense they are.
- Whumpee trying to dissociate from the scene to escape the unwanted touch, but Whumper doesn’t let them retreat into their own head. Maybe taunting them, or touching them with force or with certain materials, shocking them, etc.
- Whumper using touch as a bargaining chip.
If Whumpee lets Whumper touch them, they will get to eat or get untied or get to sleep, etc.
If Whumpee be obedient and not move away, Whumper won’t hurt their friends.
(TW: amputation threat) Any of Whumpee’s body part that flinches at Whumper’s touch will be cut off.
- Whumper using non-touch to torment Whumpee: they move in so close at if they will touch Whumpee, but move away before then. Whumpee is left to squirm and wonder if Whumper will touch them or not, and they are both hyperaware of Whumper’s proximity and unprepared for their touch.
And touch-averse Whumpee with a Caretaker who fumbles because they don’t know how to offer comfort without touching Whumpee. (Check out my post about comfort/caretaking for touch-averse Whumpee [here]).
- Caretakers who assumes Whumpee’s need and ends up hurting them more because they hug Whumpee or grab at them.
- Whumpee, who is traumatised already by Whumper’s unwanted touch, lashes out at Caretaker thinking they are a new Whumper.
- Caretaker is confused at why Whumpee is lashing out, they are just trying to help. Maybe they try to manhandle Whumpee because they need to get Whumpee out, but Whumpee is not cooperating.
- Good Caretaker who learns to ask Whumpee what they need, and who keeps a comfortable physical distance with Whumpee.
- Good Caretaker and Whumpee who start to learn each other’s language of affectiona and respect each other’s need and boundaries. Caretaker learns how to help Whumpee without touching them unnecessarily, Whumpee takes comfort in Caretaker respecting them and starts to speak out more about what they need.
Summary: Now that Sam and Dean have reconnected, you must decide whether or not to share more an even more devastating secret.
Word Count: 1400+
Warnings: angst, past cheating, drunkeness. dash o’smut
A/N: More warnings will be in the tags as I don’t want to spoil anything.
Here’s another part for you @superbadassnatural 😘
My Full Masterlist
You Broke Us Masterlist
Part 2
"Hey there, sweetheart. Sammy's told me a lot about you."
You offer Dean a tight lipped smile and shake his hand lightly before he pulls you into a hug. You stiffen slightly against him, letting your eyes fall back onto Sam who doesn’t seem to notice your reaction.
“Uh, yeah,” you pull away and take a step back, desperate to put some space between yourself and Dean. “It’s good to finally meet you. Why don’t the two of you sit? Have a beer? Dinner’ll be a little bit longer.”
Sam nods, and he leads Dean to the couch, while you retreat to the kitchen unsure of how to proceed. You couldn’t have known that Dean was the bartender, that he happened to be Sam’s brother. You’d only seen one picture of Dean and it was from when he and Sam were little boys.
You were too desperate at the time, longing to be touched, to be fucked, that you didn’t notice the familial resemblance that’s now glaringly obvious. The brothers chat away, though you can’t quite make anything they’re saying. You focus on dinner, trying to keep your mind off of the fact that the man you cheated with just happens to also be your brother in law.
“Y/N,” Dean enters the kitchen and you can feel your heart drop into your stomach. “Or do you prefer I call you Janelle?” A smug smile appears on his lips. “For future reference, if you’re going give a fake name to someone you hook-up with, make sure that they haven’t already seen your real name.”
“I– What?” You can barely process what Dean’s saying as he reaches into the fridge and pulls out a couple of beers.
“Or maybe pay cash next time,” Dean twists the top off the bottle and takes a long swig.
“I’m sorry?” You aren’t sure if you’re understanding what he’s insinuating. “Are you saying that you knew? That when you offered to– you knew who I was?”
Dean takes another swig of the beer before giving a nonchalant shrug and your heart sinks even further.
“Are you going to tell him?” You ask cautiously. Dean licks his lips before answering
“No sweetheart, as long as you–” he looks into the hallway towards the living room and lowers his voice. “Cooperate.”
You don’t have a chance to respond before Sam’s voice carries through the house, calling for Dean. He flashes you a wink and leaves you alone in the kitchen. What did he mean, cooperate?
From the little information Sam had told you about his past, you know that Dean practically raised Sam. That Dean was more of a father to him than his actual father. He never did tell you why they had fallen out, or why he’d never tried to get in touch with him after years without contact.
The rest of the night was, luckily for you, uneventful. Sam was so swept up in Dean’s return that he didn’t notice the glances that were shared between the two of you. Yours of unease, afraid that at any moment Dean might blurt out the secret between the two of you. Dean’s was of arrogance, the same look he’d given you the night he’d taken you to his place and fucked you with no abandon.
As the clock ticks towards midnight, you curl up against Sam, quietly listening as the brothers catch each other up over the last ten years of their lives. Three glasses of wine calms your nerves, just enough to take the edge off, and you come to the conclusion that if Dean was going to tell Sam, he would’ve done it already. A loud, involuntary yawn leaves you, and Dean offers to leave, but Sam insists that he stay the night.
You panic for a moment, unsure of how the sleeping situation will work, you only had the one spare bedroom, and you and Sam were still sleeping in separate rooms. Sam grabs you by the hand, helping you up from the couch as you wobble slightly from the fourth glass that you probably shouldn’t have had in the first place.
Sam’s hand falls around your waist, keeping you steady as you walk down the hall towards the bedrooms, Dean only a step or two behind you. Sam opens the door to the spare room, and points to the guest bath across the hall telling him to use whatever he needs. Through your drunken haze, you swear you see a fleeting smirk on Dean’s lips.
Dean bids you both goodnight, and Sam gives your shoulder a squeeze before walking you into your bedroom. As soon as the bedroom door is closed, Sam is pressing a rough and passionate kiss on your lips.
It takes you by surprise, but you return it with just as much excitement. Sam’s hands cup your face as he leads you to your bed, and you tug at the hem of his shirt, desperate to free him of it. He pulls away briefly so that you can toss his shirt to the floor, Sam reaches over to do the same to you, and within a few moments you’re both naked and falling onto the bed.
Sam lowers himself down, hovering over your exposed pussy before licking a tentative swipe through your folds. Sam uses his tongue to continue teasing you, working you into a frenzy before sliding a finger into your weeping hole. You cover your mouth as he adds another finger and curls them upward, hitting that special spot inside you.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whimper as Sam’s lips attach to your clit, sucking hard and you grind your pussy against his face. Sam doesn’t let up, moving his fingers even faster, until you can feel your release coating his fingers.
Sam works you through your orgasm, and places a kiss on either of your thighs before climbing back up to meet you face to face. There’s a shine on his lips and you pull his head down letting your lips meet again, and you can taste the tangy remnants of your orgasm on his lips.
You squirm under him as he ruts his cock through your folds. You reach down, grabbing his rock-hard cock and notch the spongy head inside your pussy. Sam slowly moves his hips forward, filling you to the brim, as he latches on to your nipple, swirling his tongue around the peak, making you moan loudly as he begins fucking into you.
When you wake in the morning, Sam’s gone, there’s a note on his pillow: Called into the office, be back by lunch. XX Sam. Your head aches from the wine you’d drank the night before, and there’s a dull ache between your legs. You lost count how many times you and Sam fucked the night before, and each time his sole focus was on you and your pleasure.
It’s still early, so you decide to sleep for a few more hours, only to be woken up by a dip in your bed and large arms wrapping around your body. You hum as lips place wet kisses over your back and shoulders, and a hand snakes around your waist and starts to toy with your clit.
“Mmm Sam,” you whimper, pressing your ass against his crotch, feeling his cock hardening under his boxers.
“Not Sammy, sweetheart.”
You immediately jerk away, turning around to see Dean half-naked in your and Sam’s bed.
“What’re– what’re you doing here, Dean?” you ask, rolling out of bed, and taking the sheet with you to keep yourself covered. “You can’t be here.”
“No need to cover up, sweetheart, it’s nothing I haven’t already seen,” Dean sneers, but doesn’t move from your bed.
“I’m married,” you argue, “to your brother.”
“That didn’t stop you at the bar, Y/N.”
“That was– that was different. It was a mistake. I should’ve never gone home with you that night.”
“But you did. Sammy’s been neglecting you for months, Y/N, lemme take care of you.”
“We’re working past that.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I know. You wanna know how many times I came last night listening to you and Sammy? And the cherry on top? Knowing I can make you cum better than my brother.”
“Leave, Dean, please. Go home. I won’t tell Sam about any of this.”
“Tell ‘im Y/N,” Dean smiles coyly. “Who d’ya think he’ll believe? The cheating wife? Or the brother who raised him?”
“Please,” you beg, “I’ll do anything, just go.”
“That is a poor choice of words, sweetheart.”
Part Four
Feedback is appreciated!
This mini-series started with a request by @superbadassnatural, if’d you like to request something, please drop me an ask!
Warnings: needles and injections, suffocation, mild Emeto, general lab whump, non-con drug use, non-con touching (not nsfw)
If there's anything else you need me to tag or warn for, let me know!
__________
He shivers as he waits for whatever comes next. The chains that bind him are treated with something, some chemical that prevents him with using his powers. Such products are commonplace on the black market, a regular problem for the superhero team.
Where is Garwin’s team?
He can’t really tell what’s going on. He thinks he might be on the floor of a van. Or a truck. Some kind of vehicle. There’s a shaking metal wall to his back and a plastic carpet on his bare feet. The black hood on his head blocks out anything else his keen senses might detect. In all honesty, the hood is what irritates him the most. It smells awful, like mildew and blood, which is likely his own. His nose might be broken. He can’t move his hands to check.
It’s getting harder and harder to breathe.
But that might just be the stifling hood. Or the panic.
Are they okay? Did I do something wrong, what can I do now?
It’s not nearly long enough before the van stops and Garwin is wrestled to his feet by rough hands, they won’t let up, even when he tries to shake them off. He’s dragged over smooth concrete ground and then what he guesses is linoleum. And even through the hood, the awful smell of pungent chemicals makes his eyes water and the hairs on his nose burn off. He kind of wants to throw up a little. He’s thrown over something, something hard, cold. His legs are lifted up and fastened down and his arms are unchained only long enough to do the same. The position feels familiar, like being at a dentist. A dentist from hell maybe. There’s no padding on the chair and the restraints are so tight they’re cutting into thin layers of skin. It doesn’t take long before his neck is fastened too. His chest. And then they seem to be done.
There’s a horrible moment of waiting. A beat, that feels like your foot missing the third step. Weightless horror, watching to see how far he’ll fall.
And then finally, finally the hood is taken off.
The smell hits him first, so horrible that Garwin is coughing before his eyes adjust the white light filtering from the ceiling and he notices the man standing above him.
“You again.”
“Welcome to my laboratory. I trust your trip was comfortable?”
“Look, I’ll be honest, I’ve had warmer welcomes.”
The man gives him the barest hint of a smile, those violet eyes just as unsettling as they were before. Everything about him looks sterilised. From the pristine state of his black lab coat and the white turtleneck underneath barely wrinkled. The hardness of his gelled blonde hair. He’s standing next to a table, which is higher than the metal chair Garwin is tied to, so he can’t see what’s on it. He doesn’t like that.
“Ever the dancing monkey, you are. I noticed that while I was watching your news broadcasts. You’re very interesting Garwin.”
“I perform to please. Tell you what, let me go, right now, and I’ll show you just how interesting I can be.”
“Oh there’s no need for that.” He turns to the table. Garwin struggles against the restraints helplessly as he picks up an empty syringe.
“Alright. Let me clear on this” Garwin spits. “Where the fuck is my team? What did you do to them?”
“Frankly, Garwin” the man begins, and he growls. He doesn’t like the way this guy keeps using his first name. “I don’t know.”
“Bullshit. If you’ve hurt them, I swear-“
“I’m not a very powerful person Garwin. At least in terms of physical abilities, the way you are gifted. And I’m not a schemer either”
Gar watches him suspiciously as the syringe is filled from a small unlabelled bottle, with a red screw-on lid.
“I like to call myself an opportunist. I noticed that you were abandoned, outnumbered. So, I took a risk. And see how it has paid me off?”
He approached the boy lying helpless on his operation table and smiled at the way he pulled away, as far as the restraints would allow. It did not stop him from pressing a hand gently to his cheek, pushing his face down to allow an area of neck, completely vulnerable.
“If your team is around, doubtless, they’ll come to you. And I’ll have them then, to play with. Until that day, I’m set for what I need.”
Garwin whimpered as the needle broke skin and the plunger was slowly pushed down.
The sting only lasted a second. And then the man withdrew himself and placed the syringe back down onto the table.
“Who” Gar breathed. “The fuck. are you?”
“I’m a Doctor” he replied. “That’s all you need to know.”
Garwin’s mouth suddenly became dry, but not out of fear. It was something artificial, something he couldn’t control. His chest began to ache in a rather frightening way as it began beating wildly out of his control and with every pump, it felt like it sent waves of blistering hot pain to the rest of his torso. Garwin wriggled his toes, trying to mitigate the hurt. The open wounds on his chest, the bruises that the boots of his kidnappers had left felt like they were opened anew. Like a thousand flies were feasting on them, he could smell them rotting from where he lay, choking desperately.
“Wh-wha” he gasped “Wha’d you do to me?”
“A simple but effective device. I designed it” Garwin felt his eyelids being pulled at, was helpless as the doctor shone a little torch into them.
“You’re crying” he noted simply.
As it happened, Gar was too exhausted and in too much pain to do much else. He should be planning. Thinking of a way to get out of there, punch this villain in the face. All he could do was lay there and cry, hoarse, loud sobs.
The doctor picked up a scalpel, methodically cutting away Gar’s shirt to reveal the heaving chest underneath. His fingers skimmed the bare skin and lightly rested above his right shoulder.
“The pain starts . . . here, doesn’t it?” And he pressed down.
He did not get anything much more coherent than a loud wail. He did not expect much else. Sighing, he picked up a second syringe, undressing it from its sterile plastic wrapping. The second bottle, also unlabelled, had an icy blue lid. He sanitised the area of neck this time before injecting, and waited until the body before him went still before talking again.
“You don’t need to concern yourself too much. These are just preliminary tests, nothing major. Now, I know you have typical blood vessels. That’s good to know. This second serum will test your nervous system.”
Gar didn’t have the mind to process what he was saying. Slowly coming down from his blistering fever, the air of the room around dropped to a lower temperature, soothing. As he relaxed, the metal of the chair he was tied began to turn icy, and though he tried to tense up against the effects, he could not. He could not so much as wriggle his toes or even blink his eyes. And he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move his chest up and down to breathe, couldn’t open his mouth wide enough to breathe, he needed air. Oxygen. Please.
“You can breathe you know” he heard the doctor vaguely, as though through a radio. “Even though it feels like you can’t. That’s the beauty of this solution actually. It keeps everything in the body up and running but because it’s no longer in your conscious control, it feels like you’re dying.”
Gar whined, aware of how pathetic he must look.
The doctor smiled kindly at him. “It will be okay. The dosage will wear off in about two hours. I’ll let you settle in until then.”
He called someone in- an intern, it looked like, with a labcoat similar to his. She was wearing a gas mask however. Gar wondered if it had something to do with the smell of the chemicals that was laden about the air.
“Hose him down. Find a nicer uniform that suits his place better. And burn his old clothes.”
The intern nodded.
“Holding cell A110. Any mistakes and you’ll be transferred to testing, do you understand?”
Gar closed his eyes, struggling to contain his panic. They couldn’t burn his uniform but he was heartlessly aware of how little he could do to stop it. But there was one thing he could.
Somehow, his tail was unaffected by whatever the hell the villain had poisoned him with. If he could hide that from protection, maybe, just, maybe, he would be able to curl it up at the base and leave the rest of it limp, to avoid detection.
And that way, he’ll keep Orbita’s Day Watch within his possession.
may i ask what's your thoughts on yandere horangi but like specifically just him (Konig excluded pls and thank you 😂)
Yandere Horangi
Headcanon
Pairing: Yan!Horangi x reader
Cw: yandere behaviour, possessive behaviour, DARKFIC, non-con touching, punishment, forced relationship, tell me if I missed anything.
Wc: 694
Horangi’s a cold and sarcastic guy, but Yan!Horangi has the added bonus of being mean and stupidly possessive.
Yan!Horangi could be laughing at something you did, be it a clumsy mistake or something he deemed ridiculous. He confronts you, glaring down at you with narrowed eyes filled with dark intent, something dangerous that has you shuddering, but you can’t talk back to him when he looks so menacing in his get up: mask pulled up to his nose, eyes gleaming under his red-rimmed glass, hood shrouding his face in darkness and his body exhuming death with his simple and minimalistic choice of clothes.
Yan!Horangi is cruel with his remarks, he demeans you, breaks you down for him to build up to something more profitable, more likeable to him. He prefers doing things hands-on, as he’s always done, moving you around as he deems fit, one hand on your shoulder, on your waist or the small of your back, anywhere he can touch you.
Yan!Horangi might be means and degrading, but it’s his way of showing KorTac who you belong to. As stated previously, he’s very physical, he isn’t shy of publicly touching you, manhandling you to his pleasure in front of his coworkers, uncaring of your enflamed and shamed flushed cheeks. He’s not bothered by how embarrassed and undignified you feel, you scratch and hiss, fight him whenever you can. He likes the fight, that feisty gleam in your eyes when you glare at him through your lashes and pouty lips, staring up at him with a subtle tremor.
Despite Yan!Horangi’s usual rough handling, he can be gentle, helpful and insightful. He might help you master or better understand a certain skill. If you have issues with a certain gun, he’d stand behind you, chest flushed to your back, hip to ass and him breathing down your neck. He takes training very personally, he expects you to commit to mind every word, every advice and every compliment, but he knows he’s demanding too much from you. He’s easy to understand, teaching with simple wording and visual cues to follow.
That, however, doesn’t stop Yan!Horangi from punishing you if you do something wrong, pulling you to his room to reprimand you for disappointing him. He has you kneeling before him, hands on your thighs, eyes downcast and lower lip pulled between your teeth. It’s a power play for him, to show you who’s in control in this self-proclaimed relationship he forced you into.
Yan!Horangi treats you as a pet behind closed doors, holding you on his lap, fingers carding through your hair and making you abide to his many rules. He’s finicky about it, easy to anger when you’re not doing things by his book. Although he has a few dozens, he only pushes for a few: don’t let other people touch you; don’t talk to anyone for too long; don’t spend too much time with someone who isn’t him, especially alone; don’t forget that you belong to him; and don’t forget to listen to his words. He’s especially hard on you to let people know that you’re his.
Yan!Horangi doesn’t want to be cared for, he has the money, the strength and the independence to live on his own, learning from his past gambling issues. He wants to care for you, that’s all he truly wants, to love and care for his little pet. Despite his wish to lock you up, to keep you to himself and deprive the world of your presence, he’s whimsically desperate, like a feline marking its possession, he likes when you smile, your crazed gleam when you return from a successful mission with him or another operator.
After all, Yan!Horangi is as in love with you sweet and submissive side, obediently listening to him after he pinned you to the ground, hissing at you, as he’s obsessed with your feral smirk, grinning as you cleave a man in half with a bloodthirsty gleam in your eyes, staring at him. You’re his pretty, pedigree cat, clean and posh, listening to him when he asked, yet bratty when you felt like it.
