Discipline (Yandere Darkiplier x Reader)

The Day After

Chica's cold nose pressed to your hand, her tail wagging wildly as you began to stir. Your stomach was rumbling with a mix of nausea and hunger, a mix you weren't too keen on. Your hand automatically began to pet the retriever by your side on the sofa, and she eventually wandered off.

The smell of breakfast cooking woke you up a little more, and the hunger overtook the nausea for the time being. Sitting up you winced, head pounding. It had been a hell of a dream.

Dream? That was a fucking nightmare. No more alcohol for me, not for a long time.

Mark peered into the living room, looking a thousand times better and wearing an apron as he cooked. "Morning!" he said cheerfully.

You eyed him, mildly suspicious. "I'm guessing you're feeling better now?"

He nodded, smiling. "Yeah. I know you passed out, but I wanted to apologize for what I said last night. You just meant well, I just didn't want to get you sick." Silence for a little while, save for the sounds of sizzling bacon. It smelled good, you had to admit. "If you want to, I can get you a clean towel so you can shower. Feel free to stay awhile longer. I'm gonna be doing some recording today."

You took a peek at the amount of food he was making and raised your eyebrows. "Are you making breakfast for an army or something?"

Mark grinned but shook his head. "Ethan and Tyler are coming by, we're all recording something. Probably something stupid," he added with a chuckle. "You wanna stay and watch?"

You smiled back and sat at the kitchen table. "Of course I do." His grin grew wider. "What's that look for?"

"Oh nothing," the male waved you off casually. "I just happen to know some information that you might be interested in."

You didn't like that. Not a bit. You stood up, ignoring the enticing smell of the food and sighing. "The shower sounds good, Mark, if you don't mind."

The Korean male shook his head. "No, not at all. The towels are in the hallway closet next to the bathroom." He turned back to the stove as you left the kitchen, feeling out of sorts.

It's that dream. That goddamned dream I had. It felt so... real.

•●♡●•

The hot water was soothing in more ways than one. You let it wash over your head and body, oblivious to your surroundings. You didn't know how much time passed while you were inside, and to be frank, you didn't care.

It's okay. It'll be okay. I just had some fucked-up alcohol-induced nightmare.

But the pain had felt so real, that was the problem. Amidst the steam of the hot water, you frowned and looked down at last.

There were welts on your thighs.

Panic rose like bile in your throat, and for one awful second you were sure you were going to vomit, right there in the shower. Your hands sought purchase, needing support and finding none on the tiled walls. Your head spun, blurring your vision until you at last collapsed, sending shampoo and soap bottles tumbling down.

"You all right?!" you heard Mark calling from outside the door a few moments later.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine... just... slipped..." was your half-hearted reply. Luckily you hadn't hit your head on anything, but you remained on the shower floor for a few more minutes. Inspecting the welts, you felt the panic beginning to rise again. Wincing, you turned and threw up into the drain, trying to be as quiet as you possibly could.