#their wings are retractible and become uncontrollable when it is overwhelmed

[xheartachee]

kleki my beloved

[yanderenightmare]

YANDERE ! SHINSO HITOSHI x FEM ! READER

goodiebag WARNINGS: dubcon/noncon themes, yandere, abuse, profanity, ableism, amnesia, animal abuse, anxiety, kidnapping, abduction, manipulation, mind control, stalking

CURIOSITY KILLED THE CAT

He didn’t want it to be this way. 

Or… that’s a lie. He didn’t want to enjoy it being this way. He had to do it either way, but disliking it would make it slightly easier to forgive himself afterwards. Yet, he was enjoying himself, thoroughly at that. Looking into those large wax-like eyes, glossed over by some thick veil, no longer in her own control, but in his. No longer constantly distracted by the faintest noise or the mildest view or the most mellow smell accompanying the fucking breeze. Her attention undeniably and uninterruptedly set on him and only him. It felt better than what he had imagined, as though some war had been won; peaceful, right.

Yet wrong. It was wrong of him to take advantage of her trust, what more: it was wrong of him to enjoy it so devilishly as well. But how could he not? How could he resist taking pleasure in her utter submission, even if he’d forced it from her; looking at him so helplessly, hopelessly, no plead or hatred or fear evident in her defenseless features, just complete and pure vulnerability. 

Not that she was ever one for caution anyways. She was always so temptingly careless, reckless, ruthless, dangerous. Chaos in desperate need of control. She was always chasing some new type of death as though in love with the idea of her life being ripped away, in love with the idea of not having any control. He was granting her just that. Where she lacked the ability to control herself, he had no qualms in doing it for her. She couldn’t blame him when she was practically begging for it.

He was scared, he realized. Afraid of letting go now that he’d taken her, unsure of how to brace himself once he unclutched his claws from her mind. It was easier to simply stare into her orbs as she did him. Yet, he didn’t take her to feel safe. Quite the opposite. He took her to taste the chaos she provided. That unpredictable terrifying wilderness that seemed to swirl behind her eyes, the one he’d currently subdued. There was no way to prepare, he figured. No point in postponing the inevitable either.

Her eyes flickered, as though waking up from a nap, fluffy puffy soft-looking tail raising behind her, ears ruffling as though sensing she wasn’t where she was supposed to be before her mind reached the same sense of dread. Licking her lips as she’d been unable to for some time. Hands scrunching into the bedsheets, nails plunging through the thin fabric, knees retracting to her chest as her breathing picked up. Eyes locked onto him, recognition then confusion, then a newfound panic building and brewing and storming her senses all at once. 

“What did you do?” 

She sounded unsure, unbelieving of her words, half expecting there to be some logical explanation behind her situation, yet she couldn’t shake her insurmountable sense of dread. Eyes scanning and spiraling from the purple-haired man to the large bed she was placed on to the unknowingly locked door.

Without further thought, she leaped as though she had wings attached to her back, all granted by her cat-like mobility, and even as she realized the door was locked, she still pointlessly shook at the handle as though some saint would grant her wish and unlock it for her. 

She only stopped when she felt his hand touch something sensitive. His hand feeling so familiar in its distinct resolution, firm and purposeful and greedy, handling her extra limb, controlling the only reign she had in keeping control, keep her balance, keep her footing, now strangled inside his fist.

Her tail wormed in his grasp, bending and twining in discomfort, begging for her to whip around and plant those knife-sharp claws into his skin, dragging them, digging them, graveling along his arm, leaving an imprint of three blood-red streaks in their wake, a stark contrast to the softness of her tail-fur.

He hissed and let go, yet couldn’t blame a wild thing for acting on mere instinct, thinking that maybe relieving his control of her was a decision made on hope more so than on logic. His scarf coming to wrap and slither around her quite similar to how a boa constrictor would suffocate their victims. The tendrils lifting her up into the air, all with her thrashing, joined with all downtrodden panicked little yelps and screams which were second by overwhelming second becoming uncontrollable sobs the more and more the situation dawned on her, feeling herself be placed down on the bed again, which sparked the dreadful thought of what impending violation the following events might contain. However, despite the fat globs of tears that soon made passage down her face, drowning out her sight, she was in no shape or form subdued, and would most definitely not be handled without a fight.

The sheets were an easy target for her claws to shred into ruins as quickly as her body met with the soft surface of the mattress. Feather of pillow came flying shortly after, until the idea of ruining whatever bond was holding her in place even came into mind. Her hands finding the capture weapon, beginning to pull and scratch, but to no avail.

“Chess.” His voice managed to send chills shooting through her, now that she could remember each and every time she’d heard it but been made to forget afterwards. All those times he had pulled her tail, coaxed her into answering a question then made her forget the whole ordeal. All those times he’d come by to rub the softness of her furry ears like lucky charms, those times he’d twirl the plush bushiness of her tail around his fingers and hand, those times he’d kissed her, tested to see if her tongue was gravel in texture, and the moan he gave when finding how it was velvety and squishy like a regular human’s would be, maybe even more so.

Her caution rendered frail and pointless in the whirlwind of her panic. “Let me go!” It was half a sob and half a scream, soaked with panic, yet it made no difference to the heavy weight that soon feel upon her conscience. Her eyes growing wide and glossy and void like before, her body lying limp on the bed. Every nerve of her body; raped. The entire construct of her mind; abused, to the point where she felt the faulty cracks created like never-ending ravines made by the gaps in her memory, decisions she didn’t make, wasn’t allowed to make. 

It’s not something you think about… how easy it is for the strong to make the weak crawl, how easy it is for them to excuse themselves, forgive themselves, thank themselves.

His was a patronizing smile, sly in its crookedness. Thinking of how cute a little reckless and forgetful creature he had the liberty and luxury of finding, of having, taking, owning. “Curiosity really did kill the cat, didn’t it?” In her defense it hadn’t sounded like a question. In her defense it wasn’t even her real name, yet the new, or rather old, memories flooding her mind told her otherwise. “It would seem… Kitty’s on her last life.” A long pale finger dragged up her leg slowly, and although she wanted nothing more but to pull her leg to herself, she couldn’t even as much as look at the attacker from anywhere but the very edge of her peripheral, his control not allowing her an inch of mobility.

She realized she hadn’t known fear. She only knew of small fleeting moments where her heart would make a leap into her chest, the feeling of almost pleasant fluttering followed by that flush of relief that could feel like blessing or absolution at times. She used to think fear was something people needed every once in a while. A good little thrilling scare to keep the mundane at bay. But this, this crippling crawling creeping draining, as though there was a puncture somewhere and all her blood was leaking from her limbs and had the fine hairs of her skin raising like spires in a manor where she swore it hurt. And although the fear had her feeling light, as though she was nothing, made of glass or worse, she felt heavy, grounded, trapped. The command placed not in her mind, but on her chest like a two-ton brick.

Stray silent tears slipped past his control, but the act was just as meek and pointless as a whisper in the wind. “I have you wrapped around my pinky, but I promise…” She felt like shaking, like trembling, quaking like earth does in uproar, but her body remained engulfed in some false sense of calm. His knees dipped down into the mattress, and she’d never before wanted to whimper so badly, the sound stuck in her throat, choking her. Her breathing slow and reserved, her own lungs betraying her even as his finger made way to brush up the valley between her breasts over the satiny feel of her blouse. “I won’t do anything you won’t like.”

Hitoshi liked to think he’d learned how much to give and how much to take, when in reality the only thing Hitoshi had cultivated through his several years of struggle was the tenacity, the drive, the strength to take and take and take things when the world doesn’t serve him his desires on a silver platter.

[brokenjardaantech]

rk1700 december day 4, 9, 23, 28: broken/damaged; sensory overload; resurrection; instinct

written for @rk1700december. day 4: broken/damaged; day 9: sensory overload/overheat; day 23: resurrection; day 28: instinct.

trigger warnings: temporary character death (how else can i resurrect him?), sensory overload, a bit of robogore

again, female connor is called rhea. rk900 is called cronos.

also on ao3

----

‘Tell me again why you’re suddenly training me?’

There is a certain irony when the only time Cronos sees Anchor without her underarmour is when they’re supposed to beat the crap out of each other with spacetime-bending, physics-breaking space magic that apparently every single android in the world has, but there she is, standing in the middle of a deserted gym dressed in a black tank top and standard-issue trousers, and Rhea, bundled up with several layers due to the lack of temperature control in the gym and Mars is cold, is seated on a bench pushed against the wall and is nibbling on a piece of thirium chocolate. 

‘The situation is getting worse out there,’ says Anchor as her hands light up with swathes of blue. ‘The Administrator has ordered me to give both of you training so that you can defend yourself in case we got attacked, and seeing that Rhea -’ she cocks her head towards the other android - ‘is under no condition to fight and you two stick together at all times anway,’ out of nowhere, she throws a biotic sphere towards Cronos which he dodges easily, ‘giving you enough training should offer enough protection. Lesson one: use your biotics wisely.’

She yanks her head back and pushes again, and this time the force slams into Cronos’ chest quicker than his processors can register what exactly happened. It does, however, activates programmes he didn’t know exist in him. His nerves tingle, the air around him crackles with static, and the next thing he knows is that his world is tinted a shade of blue so bright it is nearly white. Power and mnemonics - familiar yet foreign, like a dormant instinct awakening - rush through his mind, his circuits, his veins, urging him to open a corridor through spacetime which brings him directly through Anchor. He will kill her, he realises as time seems to slow down and Anchor’s face gets closer, closer, closer. Another surge of energy, a bright spike of light -

And nothing.

----

She can’t. Can’t see, can’t stand, can’t imagine, but it’s happening in front of her, the bright lights, the splash of thirium, the horrible creak of Cronos’ chassis before he becomes a mess of tubes and wires and grey plastic on the floor of the gym and he is dead, dead, dead, dead and he’s gone and she’s going with him and she can’t and runs and runs and runs until her world is dark her body in pain and no one is shouting behind her and there is only pain, pain pain…

----

The scraps and scattered biocomponents that comprised Cronos’ body wriggles and trembles on the floor of the gym as if guided by an invisible force, moving towards a specific direction with his processors as the epicentre, and when two pieces are close enough to each other, they slot together into a larger piece like an invisible builder completing a part of a puzzle. The thirium dries and evaporates. The click of chassis against chassis remains constant.

The door of the gym opens to reveal Anchor bringing two large containers of fresh thirium with her. Her face is blank as she approaches the nearly-completed body on the floor, nor does her expression change as she uncaps one of the containers and pours the thirium down his throat, exchanging the empty bottle for the other one when all the blue blood has been drained. 

A skinless hand smacks the bottle away suddenly, and Cronos jerks into a sitting position with a bone-rattling coughing fit, biotics crackling uncontrollably on rapidly-generating skin in wisps of dark blue. He takes a deep breath and looks down at his biotics-swathed hands.

‘Is this your plan?’ he asks as he flexes his arms and retracts his powers. ‘And I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to -’

Anchor waves his apology away. ‘Not the first time the Administrator programmes weird shit into her androids,’ she says, giving a hand to help the android stand. ‘That’s her signature move. A Charge, as she calls it. I couldn’t have countered it if she had been in your place.’

Cronos busies his hands by making himself presentable, his fingertips touching where the dried thirium is and has to override his auto-scan function. He looks around and realises, ‘Where’s Rhea?’

Anchor calls up a map of the facility on her omni-tool. ‘Can’t get a signal on her,’ the hologram blinks away. ‘She can’t be far. I’ll issue a wing-wide search, and if there’s no sign of her -’

‘I know where she is,’ Cronos interrupts without knowing why. Then a small stream of data starts letting itself known, a barely-there presence in his mind that is so familiar and is crying for help. ‘I can sense her.’

He doesn’t wait for Anchor to give him permission to leave and instead bolts out of the gym guided purely by the small trickle of Rhea’s consciousness. Being broken lines of code, it isn’t even coherent data that he can make sense of without decryption or further processing, but his legs seem to have their own will and bring him through hallways, pass staff who he doesn’t greet, cannot greet because he is so focused on his task, round unfamiliar corners and into unfamiliar hallways, and finally stop in front of a strangely-familiar door. It looks identical to the one leading to the lab where he was built and where they more or less figured out what was wrong with Rhea (and it was a lot), but then again, a lot of hallways and rooms in the facility look familiar from being modular and deserted to the point that nothing distinguishes them from one another. There is power feeding into the door which saves him the hassle of rerouting energy from stars-knows-where, and after receiving no response - both in reality and through their bond - for five minutes, he interfaces with the door and it slides open with a small hiss.

Their bond explodes.

NO LIGHT! Rhea yells through their connection. In reality, she screams and pulls on her hair, a sharp, ear-piercing sound, and Cronos makes the mistake of slamming his bare hand on the door to override it as the sound only makes Rhea jerk and sob even more. The only source of light in the room is the holographic lock indicator hovering in front of the door, but still Cronos dims it until he can barely see anything. The proximity sensors kick in automatically, his world turns grey, and there Rhea is, curled up in a corner in a foetal position with tears rolling down her face, her LED hidden from view behind her palm in her hair. Minimising the sound of his footsteps and approaching her slowly, he brushes her hand away so that both of them have some light to see by - and to deactivate her skin as he kneels down while deactivating his own. With no barriers at all between them, he draws her into his arms, temple against temple, cheek against cheek, hand in hand, Rhea’s back against his chest, her body between his legs, he opens his mind to her and her to his, sharing knowledge and processing power and every single bit of pain Rhea experienced in the last twenty minutes. It felt like a lifetime.

It was to you, Rhea says through their interface. I saw you die.

Didn’t feel like dying to me. Somehow I know I am always going to return.

Rhea turns her head for a kiss which Cronos gladly gives her, a gentle press of lips with no tongue so that they won’t overwhelm Rhea’s system again in such a short period of time. Maybe later when both of them have calmed down. Maybe after they tell Anchor that they are indeed alive and well.

Can we stay here for a moment? Rhea asks.

Cronos nuzzles her LED spinning in serene blue that reminds him of sunsets. Of course.