#phyllis futterman x reader

♡ A/N: Happy Valentines Days, lovies! ♡ Also, to all the Kress Twins fans reading this, they're coming very soon! I didn't forget them, I just wanted to have these out in time for the holiday.

♡ Something Important to Note: In these headcanons, romantic, platonic, and sexual attraction are treated as three different things. If a character is mentioned to be sexually attracted to you, that doesn't mean that they're necessarily romantically attracted to you. The type of attraction they have towards you is left to your imagination/discretion ♡

CW: Obsessive, overprotective, possessive, and violent behavior, mentions of mutilation, non-fatal electrocution, drills and drilling, firearm usage, non-sexual spanking, beatings, mentions of sex and sexual attraction but nothing explicit, excessive swearing, subtle themes of forced age regression, mentions of breaking limbs, force-feeding/drinking, brief mentions of castration and skinning (not towards reader or the prime assets), non-consentual touching (non-sexual), these characters are their own warning

Sergeant Leland Coyle

♡ Possessive, violent, and cruel, Coyle is (arguably) the worst Prime Asset to have obsessed with you.

♡ He thinks of himself as morally superior to everyone he encounters, and will constantly lecture you about his supposed virtuosity and others’ degeneracy any chance he can. Coyle acts like he’s the teacher, and you’re his naive pupil who needs to be protected and taught the ways of the world. His constant repetition of the things he wants you to believe aren’t just so that they’ll stick in your head, but are also a subconscious reassurance to himself.

♡ Coyle is obsessed with power, and especially with having it over you. He’ll always take the dominant role in any of your interactions and will react with rage and violence if you try to (or if he thinks you’re trying to) challenge his authority. 

♡ He’s unbelievably possessive. If you come into a trial with any other reagents, Coyle will become extremely aggressive and try to kill everyone but you on sight. He’ll accuse them of being predatory perverts who only want to get in your pants and tell them that he won’t let them “take what’s his”. In the same breath, he’ll yell at you for being promiscuous and will declare that he won’t let you make a cuckold out of him.

♡ Coyle is constantly looking for reasons to punish you. It’s partially to satisfy his sadism, but he does genuinely view each punishment as a teaching moment. He wants to teach you (more accurately, break you) as soon as he can, as he justifies it. Although he acts extremely violent and cruel towards you a lot of the time, he always comes up with a reason or excuse, because he would actually feel bad if he hurt you without justifying it to himself.

♡ Coyle will use his baton against you often. It’s normally to incapacitate or punish you, but he’ll also jab and crackle it at you if he wants to herd you somewhere and doesn’t want to/can’t drag or carry you. He also tries to mark you with it, because he gets very jealous when he thinks of you outside the trials, interacting with other people. He satiates the feeling by shocking you in noticeable places just enough to leave marks. When he’s not using its electricity on you, he’s swatting or beating you with it, or using it to trip you/sweep your legs.

♡ Coyle likes to hunt you down when you’re in the trials. He likes the thrill of the hunt in general, but it’s also because it feels much more satisfying when he finds you (and has an excuse to punish you). While you’re hiding from him, he’ll constantly call out for you, talk about how he’s going to punish you when he finds you, and will make lecherous comments (if he’s sexually attracted to you).

♡ He’ll often try to keep you in a cell when he’s not hunting you down, so you can’t go anywhere when he has to stop any reagents that survive his initial rampage, or if you manage to squirm out of his iron grip. If he’s romantically attracted to you, he’ll ramble about the two of you getting married very often. It’s what the Lord wants, he says.

♡-> “Your little head is all mixed up now, but don’t you worry, sweetness. I’ll teach you exactly what you need to know.”

♡-> “Fuck are you doing, running wild with all these got-dang junkies and perverts?! Stringing me along?! I’ll teach you to make a cuckold out of an officer of the fuckin’ law!”

♡-> “I’m the only one out of these fucked-up pinko shits who’s got any sort of decency about him. Ain’t no one who can look after you good as I can. You remember that, honey.”

Mother Gooseberry/Phyllis Futterman

♡ Gooseberry sees herself as your mother, and will refer to herself as such. However, her obsession with you goes far beyond merely labeling herself. She thinks that you’re her own child, and will treat you like it. Phyllis coddles and babies you to the uttermost degree, and will either ignore you or become very upset if/when you object to her infantilizing treatment of you.

♡ Ever the protective type, Phyllis wants to keep you far, far away from your fellow reagents and  the other Prime Assets. While she isn’t fundamentally opposed to the concept of you having friends, she sees the reagents as dangerous, bad influences, and the other Primes especially so. If she thinks someone is trying to take you from her, she’ll panic and become extremely violent towards them, be it scientist, reagent, or Prime Asset.

♡ She’ll refer to Dr. Futterman as your grandfather, and insist you do, as well. The goose puppet has a very rude and strict attitude towards you, and will encourage (or order) Gooseberry to be more firm with you. If you’ve been “misbehaving”, Futterman will encourage her to punish you violently, but she won’t take his advice if she doesn’t think you deserve it. Regardless of his usually cruel demeanor, he’ll act protectively of you if other people are involved, yelling about how he won’t let anyone pervert or lay a hand on his grandchild.

♡ Though Gooseberry doesn’t inherently mistrust you, she’ll often have you incapacitated in various ways so that you can’t run from her, usually with Dr. Futterman’s drill, ropes, or by breaking limbs. She thinks that you just don’t understand that Mother knows what’s best for you. When she’s trying to find you (when you come into her trials or manage to escape her), she’ll think that you’re trying to play hide and seek and will happily play along- to a certain point. If you evade her for longer than she’s comfortable, Gooseberry will become desperate, calling out for you to stop playing and come to your mother when she tells you to.

♡ When Phyllis finally manages to catch you, she’s giddy at the prospect of being able to coddle you as much as she pleases. She loves spending time and doing things with you, and will treasure the moments she has with you (before the scientists take you away) to the fullest. 

♡ She’s almost always holding you in some way or another, whether you’re cradled in her arms or trapped on her lap. Gooseberry is always trying to keep you entertained and happy, and will make you do a variety of activities with her. She’ll dress you with clothes she steals from mannequins and dead reagents, sing to you constantly, spoon-feed you any food she has on hand, and play games with you.

♡ If she thinks that you’re too tense or upset, she’ll force you to take cocaine, claiming that it’ll make you happy and energetic. She’ll press a palmful of the stuff up to your mouth and nose while she holds your head in place, and will sometimes turn on Dr. Futterman’s drill behind you to startle you into inhaling. She’ll also use it as a sort of laughing gas when her and Dr. Futterman perform dental cleanings on you. Phyllis will often check your teeth and insist on brushing them for you.

♡ Her punishments normally involve spankings or time-outs, but as was stated before, Dr. Futterman will try to convince her that you need harsher treatment if you’re going to actually learn your lesson. Gooseberry will usually advocate for a gentler hand, but she will become violent if you try to escape or hurt her. What warrants her normal punishments are things like backtalk, repeatedly refusing to eat the food she gives you, ignoring her, or challenging her worldview (ex. insisting that Dr. Futterman is only a puppet, saying that she’s not your real mother, etc.)

♡ When Gooseberry deems that it’s your bedtime, she’ll take you to a room in the orphanage that she’s set aside just for you. You’ll be rocked in her arms while she sings or hums lullabies to you, or you’ll be tucked into the bed while she and Dr. Futterman tell you bedtime stories. They’re either upsetting twists on fairy tales, or disturbing anecdotes.

♡-> “There, there, little gosling, Mother’s here, Mother has you. Listen close, there are dangerous people about. They want to hurt you, to take you away from Mother, but you don’t have to fret. Your grandfather and I won’t let anyone take you from us.”

“We’ll drills ‘em to grease if they tries it! Ha-ha-ha-ha!”

♡-> “You’re too goddamn softs on ‘em, Phyllis! We should drills one of their little digits off for that!”

“Now, now, Doctor Daddy, I’m sure they’ve learned their lesson. Haven’t you, little darling?”

♡-> “Sweetheart, come to Mother! I know how much you love to play hide-and-seek, but we can play another game! Don’t you want to play with your mother?”

“You’re gonna gets a goddamn spanking when we finds you, you ungrateful little brat!”

Franco “Il Bambino” Barbi

♡ Franco is a very big bully towards you. Like Coyle, he wants to have total power and dominance over you, and pushing you around and having you scared of him (to a certain extent) makes him feel powerful and like he’s in control. He’ll belittle you, because even with his own proclivities and fetishes, he doesn’t want you, specifically, to seem bigger than him in any sort of way. He’ll still refer to himself childishly, but will become enraged if you try calling him a baby, refer to him as bambino, or if he thinks that you’re insinuating that he’s immature.

♡ Unlike Coyle and Gooseberry, he’ll become upset when you hide from him or when he has to hunt you down in a trial. He has very little patience, and this will be amplified by the fact that he knows that the doctors will eventually come to drag you away. Franco will call out for you in a variety of tones, from sweet to angry to impatient. 

♡ Franco is probably the most possessive out of all the Assets. When you come in with other reagents, he’ll throw a huge tantrum and will shoot Lupara every which way when he sees your group. He won’t even bother with the usual beating when he finds the others, and will immediately shoot them in the face when he catches up to them. However, he’ll shoot any reagents that you seem close or friendly with in multiple non-fatal places before he gets to their head. 

♡ When Franco eventually finds you, he’ll drag you (or force you along by pointing Lupara at you) to a room that he’s set aside in each of the trial environments that he goes to. Despite his cruel actions and nasty demeanor, Franco does actually feel very affectionate towards you, and he isn’t afraid to show it. To Franco, you are the only person he’s ever truly loved. His father was anything but tender on the best of days, his affair with Angelina never went anywhere beyond sex, and he doesn’t even remember his birth mother at all.

♡ He’s very touchy, and not only in a lecherous sense. Franco is constantly grabbing onto you, hugging you, holding your chin/cheeks in his hand, forcing you to sit on his lap, straddling you, kissing you, tugging (or yanking) on your hair and ears, forcing you to cuddle him, and wrapping his arms around your neck, waist, or shoulders. He’ll also give you strange and/or disturbing compliments that he thinks are flattering.

♡ Though he’s usually affectionate with you (in his own, twisted way) he’s still a cruel and violent person, and this will extend to you if he thinks that you deserve it. If you’ve done something that he thinks warrants a punishment, (ex. call him bambino/childish/immature/a baby, insult him, hit him, refuse to drink/use the things he gives you, scream too much, avoid him in a trial, try to run away, etc.) he’ll get rough with you. He’ll drag you by your hair, slap you, kick you, knee you in the face or stomach, and hit you with the butt of Lupara. Franco isn’t eager to use Lupara against you, but will shoot to wound if you’re getting away and he can’t catch up with you in time.

♡ He’ll force you to drink Wolf’s Milk, and will get offended if you refuse to drink it and/or say that it's gross. You’ll be forced to drink it from one of his baby bottles upon repeated refusal, but with the normal rubber nipples attached. Not because he acknowledges how disgusting the human nipples he attaches to them are, but because he would get extremely jealous if someone else’s nipple was in your mouth, attached or not. Franco would also force you to suck on his pacifier, to gag you or just to “bond” with you. 

♡-> “The fuck d’you think you are, trying to take what’s mine?! I’ll shoot your goddamn cock off after I skin you, you rat motherfucker! Don’t you lay your filthy fuckin’ eyes on them!”

♡-> “You can’t hide forever, sweetness! Might as well come on out, I just wanna see your pretty little smile, just wanna love up on you. I’ll cuddle you right, keep you nice and warm…”

♡-> “A Barbi's word is his bond, sweetheart, and I can promise you two things. One, Franco is gonna take good care of you, and two, he’s gonna take care of any fucks I catch trying to get between us.”

A/N: do I have a Franco scenario in the works? maybe! you'll just have to wait and see :3

hiii! wanted to give a little more to you guys since i really only got dirty in my first pieces with half of the assets, and wanna give a little sampler that i'm here for the whole haul. not to mention that it's been a hot second since i indulged this kink in particular, so i hope this reaches its target audience, lmao <3

NSFW | Word Count: 2,346 ( ~ 500 per excerpt) | The Prime Assets x GN Reader contains SOMNOPHILIA/DUBCON, voyeurism, masturbation, dirty talk, wet dreams, fluff, making out, mentions of both penetration and scissoring, cunnilingus (receiving), mild degradation, the nipple fixation is gender neutral in these here parts, groping, subjects of poly in the kress section, fingering, turn back now if you're not ready to read about the neckussy because i am going there

Nurse reader x Gooseberry Drabble

——————————————

Nurses at Murkoff were rare. Not because of a lack of people in the profession, god no, but because… well..

No one wanted to work here. Hell, you barely wanted to work here, but you were strapped for cash and the pickings were slim in this area.

You were assigned to take care of the prime assets- patching them up, making sure they were okay after getting bricks and bottles thrown at their heads. (You still didn’t know how they got their hands on this many bricks…)

The shuttle to Gooseberry’s sleep room was quiet. Everything in her… general era was vaguely unnerving. Quiet carnival music floated in through the speakers as you padded to her room.

It looked- and sounded, like she saw you first.

“Oh, Doctor Daddy, look! The nurse is back!” Gooseberry opened the door, a six foot wall of smiling glee. “Hello, dearie!”

“You calls this a nurse, Phyllis? Looks like a goddamn highs schooler!” Dr. Futterman squawked angrily, his drill whirring.

You smile nervously, opening your mouth to protest, but Goosberry pulled you in.

“Don’t you worry, doctor daddy! They’re the bestest they could’ve sent.” She hummed and sat, kicking her feet almost childishly

Right.. you were getting little Phyllis today instead of Gooseberry. You could handle that. It was still hard to get a read on which… Phyllis, you were getting.

She smiled up at you. “Whats next, Nurse??” She tilted her head, her hands folded politely in her lap.

Smiling nervously, you gathered your supplies. “Alright… I just need to take a few measurements and check for broken bones. Heard you got tagged pretty good by a brick—“

“THOSE BASTARDS THROWIN BRICKS AT MY BABY GIRL!” Dr. Futterman shrieked, startling you out of your train of thought. “I outta drills their heads off!!”

“Oh, doctor daddy, they were just naughty children… but don’t worry, nurse, we taught them manners!” Gooseberry preened as you gently massaged around her head, checking for lacerations or concussions.

She leaned into your touch, a delighted little hum coming from her.

“No injuries…” You mumbled to yourself, letting Gooseberry nuzzle into the palm of your hand. Her skin was warm underneath the mask.

You couldn’t help but smile. She was.. sweet. Much sweeter than Franco or Coyle…

Hell, the twins were hesitant to even let you touch them.

You hesitated only for a moment, before you carefully pet her face. “….youre… very nice.”

Gooseberry preened and smiled. “You are… too…”

The room was quiet, aside from the sound of your breathing.

“Hh.. oh nurse… i don’t think—“

“GET YER PERVERT HANDS OFFA MY DAUGHTER!!!” Dr. Futterman shrieked, drill slashing at you.

“Doctor daddy!!”

You were promptly chased out, followed by a swearing Dr. Futterman and Gooseberry.

Idea by @forbidden-soda TW: Horror elements, chemical usage on MC/Reader, we're gettin' spooky with it babey MC/Reader has holes in their skin as well as exposed skeletal bits, bloodshot eyes, and rough, scarred skin. Clyde Perry is alive. None of this is real, I pulled some magic, science-y stuff out of my ass. Carcinogens don't do any of this lol don't inject yourself with any

To Easterman, cruelty was a necessary evil in order to achieve peace; after all, one must experience hardships to truly appreciate the feelings of freedom and harmony.

This project was no different.

And so he stood before the room of his most trusted medical personnel, one of which being Barlow [despite the unsure quirk of her brows], and the infamous figure of Clyde Perry, sitting close to the front.

Hendrick's smile was contagious as he slid files onto the table they all sat at, his free hand nursing a glass of whiskey.

"Behold," he was bold in his announcing, "Project Carcinogen."

Even the name was something that made Emily's stomach do backflips with nausea and intrigue. A project had usually meant the introduction of a new prime asset, and the name sounded so...menacing.

"What was done to this new prime asset?" One of the many scientists took one of the files, a photograph of the new prime asset making his stomach mimic Barlow's; he didn't know whether to feel fascinated or disgusted.

So many...wounds.

"This new prime asset is named Carcinogen. They're a fascinating case, really." Easterman sounded like a proud father figure, almost like his child was in the school play.

This wasn't exactly too far off.

"They were selected by yours truly to be pumped full of Agent Opal, a selective, systemic herbicide agent. What occurred was truly stellar."

Barlow didn't like the sound of that. She pursed her lips, but questioned him anyway, "What, exactly, did occur? And what the hell is the difference between herbicides? They're all dangerous to the human body."

Easterman was more than proud as he chugged the rest of his whiskey and slammed it down onto the table, making her flinch. Almost like he was trying to control her growing rebelliousness and questioning.

"Systemic herbicides kill plants, and in this case, humans from the inside out. First, their organs began to shut down. They clawed at their flesh, trying so desperately to free their soul from their damaged vessel."

Easterman had looked like he was describing some holy event, but this was anything but.

"The herbicide...the carcinogens within it began to attack their brain, but amazingly, their body now relies on it to live."

This sounded like a horror flick.

"...Relies on it, you said?" The same scientist from earlier asked with intrigue, "How so?"

"The carcinogens are what form new cells. They completely took over their immune system. They require that specific strain of herbicide to live, but here's the most fascinating thing..."

Easterman leaned in, almost like this was a secret, "Their blood? Full of herbicide, now. Their organs, instead of shutting down, are now pumping a cocktail of blood and herbicide through their veins."

"This sounds supernatural," Barlow scoffed, "There is no way this is happening. Agent Opal is next to deadly, there is no way a human body would react this way."

"That's what we thought as well," Easterman mused. "But they seemed to defy our expectations."

"What were your expectations, anyway?"

Easterman did nothing but shrug. "Truthfully, we used Agent Opal seeing as it was selective. We wanted it to attack the immune system, albeit their body reacted in an opposite manner."

This was disgustingly cruel, even for Murkoff. But Barlow now remained silent, trying to keep her lunch contained.

She should quit. But she knew too much. Clyde knew where she lived.

"We have been using Agent Opal for months now, during the 'toxic' events we hold once or twice a year. But seeing it in action within the human body...it's fascinating."

Another nurse took one of the photographs, her face full of disgusted curiosity. "Their body looks like it's decaying, sir."

"It is."

"Respectfully, how do we stop them from rotting even more? Their bones are showing in their face, for gods sake."

Easterman smirked, pouring himself another glass. Excitement often lead to whiskey with him. "You don't. The agent is what's keeping them alive. You could even say it heals them."

"What in gods name are you talking about?" Barlow found herself scoffing once more. "How does a cancer-causing herbicide heal somebody?"

"It affected their immune system, yes, but their white blood cells have combined with it. Learned from it, even."

Barlow had to hold back a gag.

"What do they use as a weapon? They're interesting, but...they don't sound too threatening." Another scientist raised a brow, clearly bored. "A self-healing freak of nature doesn't exactly sound like they'd thrive in a therapeutic environment."

"That's where you're incorrect. We've given them a tank full of pure, concentrated Agent Opal. Spraying a Reagent with it can burn the Reagent's flesh."

The scientest rolled his eyes, "Easy to avoid if they have a heavy tank on them. Reagents can just stun them with their rigs, or throw a brick. And with the way their flesh looks? With all of those holes...Carcinogen looks a little too fragile."

Easterman sighed with disappointment, "Have you no faith in me? Or do you become a selective deaf when it's convenient?"

He was quick to speak before the scientist could, "Carcinogen can easily spray themselves with Agent Opal to heal. That is what makes them fascinating."

"And how do the other assets feel about them, hmm?" Perry asked from his spot; his neck was wrapped with pristine white bandaging, clearly due to Carcinogen getting a little too trigger happy when he had to bring them in.

Easterman looked like a proud parent once more, "They've formed a business alliance with the Kress family heirs. Combining a walking carcinogen and a science-oriented political pair was the smartest thing we've done."

Perry hummed, satisfied with that answer.

"I think what's most interesting is how they can heal other prime assets," A guard spoke up, looking over the files with intrigue. Barlow furrowed her brows, looking to Easterman for context.

"Ah, yes, right. As I've said, their immune system and cardiovascular system now pumps Agent Opal. This, also, applies to their bile, their saliva..." Even Easterman had looked slightly disturbed at this information, "They can coat wounds in their saliva or otherwise to heal minor to severe wounds."

"And that wouldn't...infect anything?" Barlow seemed unconvinced, even more so. This sounded like a horror story from the barracks of a warzone.

"Surprisingly? No," Clyde looked to Barlow, "For some reason, it acts like a 'mold' of sorts. The combination of the white bloodcells and the selective nature of the herbicide have made it detect and attach it to damaged cells."

Disgusting. Inhumane. Yet all Barlow could do was sigh.

"We've got work to do, ladies and gentlemen." Easterman finished off his new glass of whiskey, "It's prime time this week."

"Stupid fuckin' Reagents, throwing a fuckin' brick at ME!" Franco's voice was irritated as he wiped at his teary eyes. No, they weren't tears. They're water. Eyes needed to water themselves.

"I'll show them, those fucks..." He scoffed, sniffling slightly. His head began to pound, the impact of the brick making his flesh swell slightly.

He didn't hear the clanking of a tank, nor did he see you appear; your eyes, bloodshot, scanned him slightly before you walked up to him.

Pew!

"Stand the fuck back, freak!" Lupara smoked at the barrel, eyes glaring at the new figure.

Still, you stood there, the metallic nozzle of your sprayer in your hand. You looked like a damn strawberry, with the amount of small holes within your flesh.

"Let me help you."

You didn't give him an option as you licked your hand, your saliva thick and a sickening shade of flourescent green; you smeared it onto his head, making him yelp.

"Fucking- HEY!" He nearly screeched, his gloved hand desperately wiping the saliva off. "Did you just fuckin' wipe your gunk on me?!"

You said nothing, watching him with boredom.

The wound began to burn before he felt his skin begin to close; he couldn't see, but he did stare at you with wide eyes as he moved to touch the wound again.

Or lack thereof.

"...Your gunk healed my fuckin' head." He scoffed with disbelief, "You- what the fuck even are you?"

Nothing more was exchanged as you walked to the elevator, the doors shutting behind you.

...Whatever you were, Franco could tell you'd work perfectly together.

"...Interesting."

Otto held the tank of herbicide with ease, like it had weighed lighter than a feather; Arora peered into the beaker in her hands, the herbicide mixing well with her own personal mixture.

"And you say this...eats at the flesh?" Otto questioned with a raised brow, Arora purring from her position above him.

"Even if it didn't, it's bonding well with my work," Arora shook the beaker with eagerness, "I'm more than eager to test it on those...Reagents."

And that's all that needed to be said.

"You're a fuckin' freak."

Coyle could insult all he want, but deep inside, he knew he couldn't argue when you killed off the Reagents in record time. The officer stood beside you, the cigarette bobbing between his lips as he was in thought.

"...But you're an effective freak. I'm a man o' honour...I can respect when a freak like you does their shit n' does it well."

A clap on the back was all he gave you before he walked off, grumbling about the prisoner in the cells.

With Coyle, a clap on the back was flattery.

"Phyllis! Get away from the fuckin's herbicide bitch, they reek!"

"Now now, doctor daddy," Gooseberry tutted as the pair watched you work; reagents clawed at their flesh in agony as you sprayed at them, your face eerily stoic despite the torture you were inflicting onto them.

"They're quite good at this, don't you think?"

"I don't thinks, Phyllis, I know, and I know they're a fuckin' nuisance! This is our job!"

"Teamwork won't kill us."

"Shaddup! It'll take our moneys away! Who will pay for us with a freak like that?!"

Gooseberry did nothing but roll her eyes and walk off into the Root Canal.

She appreciated the break.

tags & content: NSFW, rape/non-con, sexual content, female reagent reader, physical assault, pussy slapping, rough fingering, impaled (by the drill), minor gore, size difference, (implied) reader death but it’s very much open ended

With each task you completed, blood slick with fingers, you could always tell when Mother Gooseberry was nearby. The incessant drilling noise punctuated the air like an alarm, your ears often shifting focus to strain for how close she was. It almost seemed like mannequins leered at you when you tore their bodies off after releasing the mechanism, faces splattered with blood and paint worn off over time.

It was difficult to get a good grip on them when your fingers were covered in blood, their heads twitching and twisting and calling out with their shrill, high pitched voices.

“Mommy! Mommy!”

Your breathing deepened, navigating through the thick fog of darkness. Complete stealth was never an option during these types of trials. If the child mannequins weren’t spitting out deranged remarks, they were screaming out garbled, shrill laughter, their voice boxes crackled and piercing.

The pig tailed mannequin’s mouth dropped open erratically. “Help me! Over here!”

With a sigh of relief, you make it into the light, though you’re not stupid enough to drop your guard. You peer cautiously over the wooden railings, eyeing the two sets of staircases that would lead to the fabricated garden outside. The awaiting van’s doors are cracked open, waiting for another child of God to be dropped into its empty space. You suck in a sharp breath.

Just one more child, and you’ll be free of this trial. The child’s head snaps past your shoulder.

“Yeah, get ‘em!” It screams, its voice elated and shrill. “Kill ‘em!”

You know their movements are automated, but it’s the sudden change in tone that makes your hairs stand on edge immediately. The drill seemed to erupt with piercing noise beside your ear, a shadow falling across your form before you can realise what’s going on. Your heart leaps into your throat, thoughts bouncing at a hundred miles per hour.

How? How did she move so quietly—

“You wicked child!” Gooseberry yells in a ragged gasp, and you feel the firm smack of the Futterman drill bash into the side of your face. The sharp metal of the sides of the tool instantly cuts open sharp scratches on your face, the force from her arm alone sending you flying. Pain erupts in your temple as you land head first, a shocked choke tearing from your lips.

You can barely hear the shrill, nasally voice of the Futterman drill barking insults. “Watch where you swings me, you daft cow! I’m dizzy!”

The mannequins clatters hard to the ground somewhere near you, erupting into glitched, manic giggles and laughter.

Blood pools near your lips, breaths coming out in short puffs. The impact from hitting the floor had knocked the wind out of you, pain spiralling up your arm as Gooseberry’s fingers pinch into your limb, twisting you roughly onto your back.

Blood trickles back into your nose, and you splutter.

“Oh, Daddy, the children!” She cries, her voice filled with horror. You grit your teeth and buck, but Gooseberry’s sheer size makes moving her a difficult task, only serving to create a series of dark, purpled finger prints against your arm in the future. Her grip is like iron. “My sweet, poor children!”

“Let me at ‘em, Phyllis, let me at ‘em.”

Your head is pounding, but your struggles turn into cowardly shrinking when the bill of the Futterman drills snaps open with a crazed laugh, the bloodied tip hovering near your face. You let out a frightened shriek, snapping your eyes shut as your blood runs cold. No, please. Not like this.

“Right through those fuckin’ eyes! Cleans ‘em out from the inside!”

“No,” you plead, your chest collapsing inward. You told yourself you’d stay strong, that you could cling onto any shred of bravery or courage you forced yourself to harbour, but it was all collapsing in on you. You’d end up like one of those corpses in the orphanage, a gaping hole in your skull. “Don’t, please…”

Your pleas fall on deaf ears, with Gooseberry too deep in her emotions towards the children, and now, the apparent wrongdoing of Futterman.

“Daddy, language in front of the children!”

The drill’s eyes even narrow in contempt, swinging round to look at Phyllis with a harsh, flapping mouth. The mannequin is still sprawled out on the floor, giggling more softly now.

“Go fuck yourself.”

The air races from your lungs. In the short window you have before Futterman is drilled through your eye socket, you reach blindly for the brick you had carried around, bloodied fingers clutching it tight. Gooseberry hardly has a moment to realise what you’re doing before you swing as hard as you can, the weapon smashing against the side of her face.

She let’s out a guttural scream, her form jerking off of you and releasing the death grip attached to your arm. In an instant, you scramble to your feet, throwing yourself down the stairs. Your legs had gone weak in seconds only, knees sweeping out from under you. You just barely manage to catch yourself against the wall on time before you’re flying down the last set of stairs, shoes slapping against the ground.

Gooseberry’s anger simmers, you can tell, flying into an enraged state. She screams as she stomps down after you, following your darting form deeper into the orphanage.

“You lets ‘em get away, you stupid bitch!” You can hear Futterman berating, his words harsh and spiteful. “Charge! Faster!”

Disorientated in the dark, your hands are shaking so fiercely that it’s difficult to get your night vision goggles over your eyes. By the time you do, legs stuttering as you register where you are, it’s too late. Fingers twist violently in your hair, yanking your head back with enough force to make your neck ache. You cry out, hands flying, but the position leaves your feet scraping for balance, and you know you won’t be able to get the upper hand.

With a final, rough tug, your tailbone hits the ground with enough force to send a painful shock wave up your spine.

“Bad girl,” Gooseberry pants, her voice a ragged, mocking coo. “Very, very bad girl.”

Your teeth clench, legs kicking uselessly as she drags you into the light by your messy tufts of hair. The strands tug painfully at your scalp, a searing pain making your expression twist. When she dumps you unceremoniously onto the ground, you can’t muster the strength to run again. Your body throbs in aches and pains, trying to press your spine flat into the grimy floorboards instead.

“Bad children need punishment, don’t they, Doctor Daddy?” She murmurs, those sickly eyes surrounded by her flesh mask glancing at the puppet perched on her hand. “Oh, what should we do?”

“Drills her fucking teeth in!” Futterman roars, bobbing in glee. Gooseberry’s lips purse in a mocking pout, considering the suggestion with a calmer temper than she’d had just moments ago. Her hand is already reaching for your hip, and you feel her fingers tugging incessantly at the fabric.

You gasp, your squirming instantly jump started.

“Mother thinks we should learn together,” she hums in delight, shifting over you so she can easily manhandle you back into the ground. Your hand grasps at her wrist, nails digging in, but it doesn’t stop her from tearing your trousers and panties down to your ankles. “You just need a lesson in good behaviour, child. Don’t you? I’ll forgive you. You just need correction. Yes, correction. Like all naughty children.”

Humiliation burns your face. You keep trying to close your legs, to stop yourself from being exposed, but you always underestimated just how strong this deranged woman was. You shriek, arms shaking from the exertion of trying to push her off. Your mind suddenly flashes with rationality.

For a second, you think, is this better? Is this the alternative to being drilled full of gory holes, to spend your last living moments with the agony of a drill driving through your guts? The thought of enduring something like this in exchange for your life makes tears track freely down your bloody cheeks.

Futterman glares wearily at her. “Phyllis, you fucking slut.”

Sensing your moment of hesitation, Gooseberry clings onto the fantasy that you’re coming around, her head nodding vigorously. Her palm suddenly slaps your exposed pussy, and you let out a shocked yelp. Your legs automatically try to snap shut, fire burning along the back of your throat.

“No, no,” you beg, trying to wiggle out of her grasp. “Please, stop. Please, I’m sorry. I won’t do—”

With a frustrated grunt, Gooseberry buries the whirring drill straight into your inner thigh. The scream that erupts from your lips is so loud it makes your ears ring. She pushes her weight hard into your thigh, keeping it spread as sticky blood pools around your impaled flesh and drips onto the floor; she’s hovering over you in a way that makes it impossible to close your other leg, rendering you at her mercy.

The stars don’t leave your vision, ragged sobs tearing from your burning lungs. Gooseberry’s head tilts, letting out a mocking coo. The drill isn’t spinning; you’re not sure when it stopped.

“See? You should listen to Mother. Mother knows what’s best.”

“Tastes like dirts and grime! Yuck!”

“Daddy, don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Another slap against your pussy snaps you back from your growing daze, vision lighting once more. She exercises no restraint with the force of her hand, palm striking your sensitive flesh and sending fresh, wilting stings through your firing nerves. The force is so hard that it sends painful vibrations straight to the drill embedded in your thigh, the impaled flesh flaring with agony.

Each slap makes your body jerk, your breath hitch, her hand rising and falling in a brutal rhythm.

“My beautiful babies did nothing wrong,” she gasps. “Mother just wants to look after them! Protect them!”

Her eyes are glued to the space between your legs. Each hard smack hits your clit, and your eyes squeeze shut from the continued pressure. You weren’t even sure it would be possible to feel anything when you’re drowning violently in this much pain. Shame bubbles in your throat when the next slap makes you jolt, hitting your clit just right. An involuntary moan escapes your lips. Whether of pain or pleasure, you don’t know, and it doesn’t matter.

Gooseberry’s eyes crinkle in delight. “Oh, naughty little girl. Mommy knows, Mommy knows…”

Her fingers poke and prod at your flesh, as though she’s assessing the damage. Your pussy is red and sore, and each shift of your body presses the drill against impaled flesh, and your whole body lights up with tension. The lights shining above you are becoming streaky and blurry. It’s like torture, the pain lulling you deep into unconsciousness, only for Gooseberry to drag you straight back up.

A sobbed moan releases from your lungs when she forces her fingers inside of you. She doesn’t care for your comfort, roughly plunging them in and out in a relentless, jarring rhythm. The lack of lubrication makes your eyes widen; it feels like she’s trying to tear your dry walls apart. You realise she’s not doing it for you, though. Her own chest is rising and falling erratically now, her body shuddering subtly as though waves of pleasure are wringing through her.

You hate the way she’s eyeing you, with depraved lust in her eyes, and she finally pushes her fingers as deep as they can go, until her knuckles press against abused flesh. Her sigh is ecstatic, trembling through her, her eyes fluttering shut weakly. Tears blur your vision, and when you blink hard, it doesn’t seem to go away.

With a wet squelch, the Futterman drill is mercilessly ripped out of your flesh, the overwhelming pain sweeping you under almost immediately. Wet blood slicks your skin, a sticky pool that fills the air with an acrid, metallic scent. In your fuzzy ears, just before you lose your strength, it’s Futterman’s shrill voice you hear for the last time.

𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭<𝟑 .ᐟ (Mother Gooseberry/Phyllis Futterman X Sick GN!Reagent!Reader)—SFW!!

Summary: Mother Gooseberry takes care of her darling when she catches them sick during a trial.

Just a heads up!! Dr. Futterman is an ass and likes to ruin sweet moments // Slightly OOC!Mother Gooseberry (sorry, it's my first time writing her) // MG! Uses pet names towards Reader (all are GN) // Reader refers to MG as Mother // Reader has unsaid beef with future father-in-law atp // I know it's technically not possible for this scenario, but shhh // I don't really know anything else to put, but if you do, please tell me!! I don't want to mess up!

WC: 1.8k

Author note:

Honestly, at the moment, I am waiting till I am 18 to actually speak about my TRUE options on what a relationship with prime assets would be. But for now, these are the ones I twist to be sorta sfw. Franco was hard to write for cuz of his um things....