There's a knife at their throat, their chest, their shoulders, their face, peeling the skin from their still living flesh while he ruthlessly violates their mouth, as he has for what seems like time began. It doesn't end. It won't ever end, their body coming apart in layers until there shouldn't be anything left of them. Pain is all there is. Ceaseless, calamitous agony. That's all they are. A tortured wretch defined by their ruin.
And yet worse than that, somehow, is that he's bored in the face of their suffering. He speaks, they think, as his hips crash against their mutilated face again and again, and while they can't pick out what he says over the sound of their own choked, gurgled screams, they can tell he's grown tired of this. Of them. If they can't please him anymore, he'll seek his pleasure somewhere else. Even though the cabin is pitch black all around them, cold, cavernous, howling, their screams ringing discordant and wet through air left heavy with their blood, Kurt can feel eyes on them. Surrounding them. Watching. Judging. Condemning. Encouraging.
Pleading, a tiny presence underneath it all, a tiny voice crying their harrowing fear, don't touch me, don't see me, protect me, mommy, please—
Kurt is jolted from their nightmare with a sharp whimpering gasp—breathe, they can breathe, it wasn't real—hands weakly pushing against Corrigan's chest in a sleepy panicked scramble. They don't mean to. They never do. It's pure instinct, their body irrevocably primed to fight, to escape at all costs. But as consciousness slowly returns, as they realize where they are, who they're with, their struggles wane into tremors, fingers shaking as they instead cling to their Alpha's form. Kurt has apologized so many times for fighting him in their sleep. They'll keep apologizing forever.
"S-Sorry," they whisper into Corrigan's shoulder, voice tiny and trembling on his skin. They're already crying. They do this a lot now, almost every single night, never truly free of the nightmares. "So s-sorry, Alpha, I— sorry." It's all they can choke out before dissolving into quiet, terrified sobs, curling up tight in their beloved's embrace.
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Date: 2024-01-05 04:00 am (UTC)And yet worse than that, somehow, is that he's bored in the face of their suffering. He speaks, they think, as his hips crash against their mutilated face again and again, and while they can't pick out what he says over the sound of their own choked, gurgled screams, they can tell he's grown tired of this. Of them. If they can't please him anymore, he'll seek his pleasure somewhere else. Even though the cabin is pitch black all around them, cold, cavernous, howling, their screams ringing discordant and wet through air left heavy with their blood, Kurt can feel eyes on them. Surrounding them. Watching. Judging. Condemning. Encouraging.
Pleading, a tiny presence underneath it all, a tiny voice crying their harrowing fear, don't touch me, don't see me, protect me, mommy, please—
Kurt is jolted from their nightmare with a sharp whimpering gasp—breathe, they can breathe, it wasn't real—hands weakly pushing against Corrigan's chest in a sleepy panicked scramble. They don't mean to. They never do. It's pure instinct, their body irrevocably primed to fight, to escape at all costs. But as consciousness slowly returns, as they realize where they are, who they're with, their struggles wane into tremors, fingers shaking as they instead cling to their Alpha's form. Kurt has apologized so many times for fighting him in their sleep. They'll keep apologizing forever.
"S-Sorry," they whisper into Corrigan's shoulder, voice tiny and trembling on his skin. They're already crying. They do this a lot now, almost every single night, never truly free of the nightmares. "So s-sorry, Alpha, I— sorry." It's all they can choke out before dissolving into quiet, terrified sobs, curling up tight in their beloved's embrace.