#k8writing

“*hnn,* a-ah—” Comic’s wavering voice cracks as Gaster sinks inside of him again, nearly to the hilt this time.

Gaster stills his hips immediately.  “Comic, are you certain you’re alright?”

Sans’ brow is furrowed again and his thumb caresses soothingly over Comic’s cheekbone, a wordless gesture of the same worry, the same compassion.

“y-yes,” Comic whimpers.  y-yes, i-it’s just...it feels...”

He trails off, his mind reeling too much from the pleasure to find the words to continue.  Sans seems even more worried at that, and he looks up at Gaster.  

“hey... wings, maybe you oughta, uh—”

“n-no, i l-like it,” Comic says quickly, knowing that they’re worried he’s falling into another episode.  It’s okay.  He has control over it.  Really, he does.  Even though he can’t stop the tears from welling up in his eyes, even when the concern in both Gaster’s and Sans’ expressions deepen.  “it j-just...i-it feels so good.”

“Sweetheart... you look overwhelmed.” Gaster’s voice is filled with unease.

“comic, you don’t have to be strong for us, okay?  we want you to enjoy this.”

“i-i am,” Comic insists.  “th-that’s... what i... what doesn’t feel right.  i-it doesn’t hurt.  it doesn’t h-hurt even... even a little bit.”

It’s never been like this before.  He can feel the way Gaster’s cock stretches him, but there’s no pain.  There’s only warmth and pleasure as Gaster throbs inside of him, as Sans holds him, as he feels all three of their souls pulsing in sync.

It hurts more, Comic realizes.  It hurts more realizing that everything the Doctor did could have been like this.  It could have been entirely painless.  Of course Sans and Gaster have told him before that it wouldn’t hurt, but it’s different experiencing it himself rather than being told.  And... he assumed they just meant it wouldn’t hurt as much as what he’s used to.  He was certain that... that it must hurt at least a *little* bit, that he’d have to grit his teeth through *some* pain.  He’s never known anything else.

The Doctor really wanted to hurt him that badly.  He didn’t just want to use him, he wanted to *hurt* him.  All those times Comic screamed in pain, begged him to stop.  All those times the Doctor left him, broken, lying in a disgusting puddle of the Doctor’s release mixed with his own blood.  All those times he wished his soul would finally shatter to free him of his endless agony.

Every time, the Doctor could have gotten his pleasure without hurting him at all.  Every time, the Doctor *wanted* to hurt him like that.

*”You deserve this pain, you __deserve__ it.”*

Comic’s breath catches as he hears the Doctor’s voice.

“wings, shit, he’s—”

“I know.  Comic, I’m going to stop.  We’re going to stop, alright?”

Comic thinks maybe he nods, but it’s hard to feel his own movement now.  Distantly, he feels Gaster pull out of him.

*“I’m never going to stop.  Beg me, S-01.  Beg me to stop.  I’m never going to listen to you.”*

It hurts.  It hurts so much.  Every thrust inside of him feels like it’s going to tear his magic apart.  Gaster’s being so gentle with him, cupping his face so softly as he slowly rocks his hips into him, but it doesn’t matter.  Comic made his magic too small, and Gaster’s far, *far* too big for him this time.

But it’s okay.  It’s what they want.  They want him to pretend he likes it.  That’s how it’s always supposed to work.  He has to be good, has to be good for them.  It’s okay.

“you’re doing so well, comic.”  Comic’s head is resting in Sans’ lap, and Sans leans down and places a gentle kiss on Comic’s forehead, lacing their fingers together.  He almost shivers.  It doesn’t feel right.  He doesn’t deserve loving touches like this.

“You’re so tight,” Gaster murmurs.  “Are you certain this is alright?  I’m not hurting you, am I?”

Comic’s breath almost catches as his emotions rise, but he stops himself.  If he shows any sign of pain he knows he’ll be punished for it.  And the punishment will be worse than this, somehow.  It always is, even when he thinks it must be impossible for him to be in more pain.

“i-i love it,” Comic whimpers.  “i-i love it, gaster, pl-please—”

It hurts. It hurts it hurts ithurts*ithurtsithurtspleasestop__pleasestopplease__—*

“Mm, good,” Gaster murmurs.  “You’re being so wonderful, Comic.  You feel so good, sweetheart, so good...”

The praise feels wrong.  Doctor Gaster isn’t supposed to say that.  He’s supposed to remind ~~Comic~~ S-01 what a filthy, worthless toy he is.  That he should be grateful that he’s being put to use, because he’d be left to die otherwise.

*Tell me you love it, S-01.  Beg me to fuck you harder.*

S-01’s eye sockets burn.  He can’t.  He can’t take it any rougher than this.  He *can’t*.

-

“h-harder, pl-...please d-doct—” he chokes on the words.  He doesn’t want it, he *doesn’t want it*. “pl-...please fuck me h-harder.”

Doctor Gaster groans, and S-01 hears Sans’ breath catch above him.  That’s good, it’s good.  He’s fulfilling his purpose.  He’s making them feel good.  He’s a good experiment.  He’s a good fucktoy.

“You’re certain you can handle it?”

He can’t.  He can’t handle it, there’s no way.

“yes, y-yes, i w-w-want it,”  His voice wavers.  He’s never been good at lying when asked so directly, especially when... when Doctor Gaster sounds so sincerely concerned.  But he knows that sincerity must be part of the trick—people don’t *care* about their fucktoys like that.

“Tell me if becomes too much, alright?”

He wants to tell the truth.  He wants to beg him to stop.

Instead, S-01 nods, and Doctor Gaster picks up his pace.

S-01 desperately tries to keep his expression under control as his magic starts to tear.  He can feel it, the wound inside of him worsening, each thrust just deep enough to tear him further every time.  He feels the blood and raw magic beginning to drip from his entrance and squeezes his eyes shut, unable to hide his teary eyes any other way.  It’s so gradual, he’s not sure whether Doctor Gaster even notices what’s happening.  He’s not looking down at their joined magic this time as he sometimes does.  Not that he should care even if he did notice.

“Stars, you’re so wet.”

*I love how wet your blood makes you, S-01.*

S-01 wants to cry.  He wants to scream.

--

He can’t.  He opens his eyes to stare intently up at the ceiling, an attempt to distract himself, to focus on anything else.  He has to be good.  He’s going to be a good toy for them.  He’s going to let them use him and then they’ll be satisfied and they won’t have a reason to punish him.  He can do it, he can, he *can*—

“comic, hey... is it too much?”  

S-01 isn’t sure what prompts Sans to ask, but his panic sparks at Sans’ voice.

“n-no,” he says too quickly.  His voice is cracking.  In his alarm he meets Sans’ gaze, and Sans’ worry only seems to increase the moment their eyes meet.

“it’s just your, uh, eyelights... they’re pretty blurry.  i mean—the kind of blurry when you’re having a... rough time, you know?”

S-01 can’t get himself to respond.  Somewhere along those lines, Doctor Gaster must notice too, because his movement stills.  It still hurts.  He still feels himself bleeding.  Sans looks up at the larger monster, and then he gives a staid glance down towards S-01’s magic.

“Comic, we can stop right now,” Doctor Gaster says.  “Perhaps we should.”

It’s an act, it’s an act.  The Doctor is testing him.

*If you don’t stop that pathetic whimpering right now, I will make you sincerely regret it.*

“n-no, no,” S-01 finally manages, his voice watery, desperate.  He can’t mess this up.  He can’t.  He’s supposed to pretend that he likes it and he’s not doing it well enough and he’s going to be punished and *it’s going to hurt*. “i’m s-sorry, i’m— i can do it, i c-can, i—”

Suddenly Sans’ eye sockets widen in realization, his eyelights constricting to pinpricks.  “wings.”  Sans’ voice is sharp, a note of terror in it, his eyes now locked onto their magic.  “wings, get off of him. look at him, wings *look*, oh *fuck*—”

Doctor Gaster’s brow furrows, and he looks down.  

His pupils disappear.

“n-no, no, i’ll be g-good,” S-01 says, unable to keep the tears out of his voice now.  He’s failing, he’s failing, they must see all of the blood and this is his only purpose and *he’s messing it up*.  “i’ll be good s-sir, i-i’ll—”

Gaster doesn’t even pull himself out.  His magic instantly dissipates, and he scrambles backward as though S-01 has burned him.

“I’m so sorry.  Oh my god.”  Gaster looks terrified.  More upset than S-01 has ever seen him.  “Oh my god.  Comic, I’m so sorry.  Was I—I must have been—I was hurting you that whole time, I was—”

“gaster,” Sans interrupts again, and this time S-01 sees Sans is staring down at his sternum, through his rib cage at an angle that Gaster must be unable to see.  “gaster, his soul...”

*What a pathetically tiny soul.  Such an ugly, disgusting thing.  You’re lucky I’m doing this to you, S-01.  You’re nothing without me.*

"it's too much," Sans begs.  "stop, please, s-stop!"

"Quiet now, Sans," Doctor Gaster murmurs, not bothering to raise his voice above Sans' sobbing.  "I'm not finished with you.  It's your job to give me what I want, remember?"

"i kn-know, i-i just--" Sans pushes pathetically against Gaster's chest again, but Gaster's thrusts don't falter.  "i can't take it!  please stop!"

"You already agreed to this, Sans.  And I was even kind enough to let you cum, yet *this* is how you repay me--with insubordination?"

"i d-don't--i c-can't--"  It's so hard to think.  He doesn't even remember coming, only the pain of the Doctor's cock inside of him.  It's like his nerves have been lit on fire.  He's not sure how long he's been here, trapped under Doctor Gaster--all he knows is that he wants this to be over.  

It's too much.  He feels like he's going to pass out from the overwhelm if this continues for much longer.

"Stars," Doctor Gaster groans.  "The way your soul shivers against mine... and you feel so good on my cock, you sweet thing.  You're so good at being my fuck toy, you know that?  You were made for this job.  You're *perfect* for me."

Is his soul summoned?  Is Doctor Gaster touching his soul?  He can't remember.  He can't breathe.   How long has Doctor Gaster been fucking him like this?

Sans can't remember how to speak, the overstimulation buzzing in his bones drowning out any other thought.  Desperately, he looks up to meet the Doctor's gaze, hoping to the stars that he'll see his suffering, see his overwhelmed tears and that he'll stop.

Grillby bites down on a moan as he thrusts up into Sans' warm heat.  He can feel Gaster's cock moving inside of Sans in tandem with his own, and he can't help but be hyper-aware of the way Sans' magic throbs around him.  He knows the pulsating certainly isn't from arousal, though--it's from the pain.

Grillby looks up, meeting Gaster's worried eyes.  There's fear and unspoken understanding--certainly, Gaster feels the same as Grillby does.  Surely Gaster too can feel the way Sans trembles between them, surely Gaster can feel the way Sans' ribcage heaves with the sobs he's trying to choke down.

Surely Gaster feels just how tight and warm Sans' pussy is.  Maybe he even feels the same self-disgust.

"Faster, monsters," a human growls behind them.  Grillby's grip on Sans' lower ribs almost flexes, his soul tensing with hatred for these humans.  Grillby sees the same anger flare in Gaster's expression.

Another human speaks up.  "You don't want us to fuck him ourselves, do you?"

A sob finally escapes from Sans at that.  Gaster's expression twists from muted hatred into a true snarl, and he turns his head and opens his mouth to retort--only to snap his jaw back shut, clearly remembering the punishment he caused the last time he dared speak up.

Grillby's not certain the water scars are going to heal over like the rest of his battle scars.

But Grillby can't keep quiet any longer.

"He's got low HP," he growls.  "You said you... wanted him alive.  We can’t be any rougher with him."

“Well it’s not our fault your little fuckbuddy’s got such pathetic stats,” one of them answers, a note of something dark in their tone that makes Gaster tense above him.

Scythe's horrible, triumphed expression flashes in Grillby's mind.  Standing above Sans, eyesockets empty, the puddle of blood and spent magic around him growing.  His soul, shivering and newly cracked.  He can still hear Sans’ wailing, his begging for Gaster to save him.  For anyone to save him

Anger and pain burn in his soul.  It *is* their fault Sans' HP is stuck at low levels.

“Fuck you,” Gaster hisses, clearly thinking the same as Grillby.

“Maybe later,” the first human chuckles.  “For now, you’d better pick up the pace if you don’t want us to take matters into our hands, hmm?”

Maybe the humans wouldn’t be able to see it, but Grillby knows Gaster well enough to see the distressed tears building in the scientist’s eyes.

Gaster meets Grillby’s eyes again, and the pain in them reflects what Grillby feels in his own soul.  Knowing there’s no other option, Grillby tries to increase the pace of his hips’ rocking as gradually as he can.  Gaster follows suit, his arms shaking as he holds himself above Sans and Grillby, trying to pump his hips shallowly without drawing suspicion from the humans.

It’s not enough.  Sans’ shivering between them increases in intensity, and a few moments later, the tears start.

"i c-cant, i can't, i can't take anymore," Sans sobs pitifully between them.  He buries his face against Gaster’s chest as he trembles.  “please, please...”

"S-01, grab my hand, now!  Pull me up!"

S-01 pauses inexplicably, staring at his creator hanging off the ledge, dangling over the open Core.  The memories hit him all at once; all the times he begged the doctor to stop hurting him, to let him rest for even a few seconds after hours of being used like a toy.  The times he begged him for mercy, only to be denied over and over again and punished for daring to ask for such a thing.

He's supposed to help the Doctor.  He's supposed to pull him up.  He's supposed to follow orders.  That's what toys do; they listen to instructions.  They don't think for themselves.

"What the hell are you waiting for, S-01?! If you don't grab my hand now, you will regret it!"

S-01 barely recognizes his own voice as he speaks.

"when mercy is given," he says, “it is simply a failure to punish those who deserve it.”

The Doctor's face is a terrifying mix of frustration and confusion for a moment, before his expression drops blank as he recognizes his own words.

S-01 sees his own foot stomp down once, hard, on the Doctor's fingers.  It all happens in the same moment from there; his creator's eyes go wider than S-01 has ever seen them, and his hand slips from the edge of the platform.