Oh God, what have I done? *sobs*
Title: Taking What You Deserve
Pairing: Mechakara/Hooker!Linkara
Warnings: Dub!Con, general fucked-upness.
Disclaimer: Not mine. And oh my, we can be glad for that.
Word Count: 366
A/N: WhydoesthisexistwhydidIthinkIcouldwriteMechakarawillIeverstopwritingdark!fic? *panics and hides*
You sniff the air disdainfully. This universe is odd. Your old master doesn't live in the right place and he doesn't even have an internet show. You had begun to believe that he didn't even exist in this world until you found this place, reeking of sweat, alcohol and semen.
You see him by a table filled with young, disgusting-looking women and you instantly notice his strange clothes and the innuendo-laden, calculating way in which he works. You smile to yourself, this could be interesting.
You stalk him for over an hour until he notices you, eyes wide with questioning fear, and you try your best to look safe and puppy-like. At least that's a plus for the sickening human skin that you're forced to wear, it makes people trusting you so much easier. When you tell him that you'll give him more money if he doesn't talk and lets you hurt him, he almost lets out a whimpering noise and all but drags you into the back room.
When you slam him up against the wall, the look on his face is one you've seen before; scared but tinged with an excitement caused by debased human lust and a ridiculous self-obsession. You attack his mouth, drawing the sweet taste of metal and the warm moistness of the flesh making you shudder with revulsion.
You throw him to the floor next and before he can pull himself back up, you pin him down and straddle him, delighting in the increased stench of terror. This is what you wanted, this is what you missed, this is what you desperately need. You pull off your glove slowly, teasingly, and slap him hard across the face. If you had far less dignity, you would giggle at the blood and the hysterical sob rising from his throat.
You tear open his white button-down before you do anything else, quirking an eyebrow at the big, fading bruise on his right side. After this, you'll have to hunt down whoever did that and make them scream. No matter what the universe is, no matter what the circumstances are, he'll always be yours to hurt. And you're going to make him see that.
Pairing: Mechakara/Hooker!Linkara
Warnings: Dub!Con, general fucked-upness.
Disclaimer: Not mine. And oh my, we can be glad for that.
Word Count: 366
A/N: WhydoesthisexistwhydidIthinkIcouldwriteMechakarawillIeverstopwritingdark!fic? *panics and hides*
You sniff the air disdainfully. This universe is odd. Your old master doesn't live in the right place and he doesn't even have an internet show. You had begun to believe that he didn't even exist in this world until you found this place, reeking of sweat, alcohol and semen.
You see him by a table filled with young, disgusting-looking women and you instantly notice his strange clothes and the innuendo-laden, calculating way in which he works. You smile to yourself, this could be interesting.
You stalk him for over an hour until he notices you, eyes wide with questioning fear, and you try your best to look safe and puppy-like. At least that's a plus for the sickening human skin that you're forced to wear, it makes people trusting you so much easier. When you tell him that you'll give him more money if he doesn't talk and lets you hurt him, he almost lets out a whimpering noise and all but drags you into the back room.
When you slam him up against the wall, the look on his face is one you've seen before; scared but tinged with an excitement caused by debased human lust and a ridiculous self-obsession. You attack his mouth, drawing the sweet taste of metal and the warm moistness of the flesh making you shudder with revulsion.
You throw him to the floor next and before he can pull himself back up, you pin him down and straddle him, delighting in the increased stench of terror. This is what you wanted, this is what you missed, this is what you desperately need. You pull off your glove slowly, teasingly, and slap him hard across the face. If you had far less dignity, you would giggle at the blood and the hysterical sob rising from his throat.
You tear open his white button-down before you do anything else, quirking an eyebrow at the big, fading bruise on his right side. After this, you'll have to hunt down whoever did that and make them scream. No matter what the universe is, no matter what the circumstances are, he'll always be yours to hurt. And you're going to make him see that.