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Papyrus HATES villains. They hurt people, they’re fucking selfish and disgusting and absolutely worthless…
He’s never felt more like a villain.
His bony hands grip the steering wheel of his car with the kind of strength only a guilty man could manage. How could he just drive away like nothing happened? Like he hasn’t a thing to hide?
Is it too late now to back out?
Yes. Undoubtedly so.
Before he can keep thinking, he’s pulling out of the driveway.
He can’t take this back to his home. To his brother’s home. His brother will want to know. Where he’s been. What’s in the trunk.
He can’t take it home.
He pulls off the highway onto an empty rural road. Beneath the tires the pavement turns to gravel turns to dirt. The cover of trees and night shroud him off from anyone who’d ever say this was wrong, anyone who’d ever question the great and heroic Papyrus.
And then, he hesitates, just for a moment, before getting out of his car, and again, before opening his trunk.
Digging himself in ever deeper.
He sees that the boy in his trunk is still sleeping soundly. No, the VILLAIN in his trunk, surely dreaming of slitting the throats of thousands of innocent civilians! Yes. A waste of space! Of course he deserves anything bad that he gets. Anything that someone might do. And anyone in their right mind would agree with that.
He scoffs in disgust as he picks him up by his tiny, fragile… disgusting, villainous shoulders and carries him with him into the backseat of his car.
~~~
“No, we still don’t know if it’s even possible for them to recover.”
The calls from the hospital that night had devastated many families.
“And to be honest, Papyrus, no. They won’t ever recover.”
That had been the part that only Papyrus heard.
He’d been too late. The captives were tortured too long and they were… changed.
One of the nurses had even used the word “broken”.
The guilt from that day has tortured him relentlessly for weeks, wracking his body with the kind of sobs he hasn’t allowed himself since he was nine. You couldn’t have gotten there any sooner, they said, they’d already been gone for days, they said. It didn’t change anything for him, but especially not the hatred, the RAGE. What if that had been HIS family? Undyne, his brother?
Proper authorities had arrested most of the accomplices, the fucking demons who couldn’t help but listen to their leader’s orders. But the leader? The one behind all of it?
He got away.
He got away.
He got away.
“He’s definitely there.”
At that address?
“I saw him.”
“THANK YOU, UNDYNE.”
He has his address.
He has his address.
He has his address.
~~~
He picked up one hand of the “leader” and let it fall to his own side with a harsher sound than he was expecting. The drugs were still working great. Peacefully, the other breathes with an eerie calmness.
God, what the fuck is he doing.
Justice, is what he’s doing!
“YOU, DEMON, HAVE RUINED THE LIVES OF COUNTLESS. YOU ARE A SPECIMEN FROM HELL.”
The other says nothing.
And that makes his words feel a little less righteous, somehow.
“I HATE YOU.”
He feels worse.
The silence of the night feels all consuming.
Stick to proper hero talk.
"AND AS THE DEFENDER OF MONSTER AND HUMANKIND, AS IS THE ROLE I HAVE BEEN GIVEN, TO PROTECT, TO DEFEND, I, HEREBY SENTENCE YOU, TO, THE…”
He doesn’t finish. It’s just not working. It’s just not making him feel better. It’s not making this feel any less degenerate, or cruel. Because that’s what it is.
He knows what he’s here for.
All denial falling away, his hand trails up the torso of the soft and helpless boy, slipping under his shirt, grasping a breast, thumbing a nipple, squeezing. He’s happy to see that the aphrodisiac mixed in the cocktail of drugs has done its job and formed his ecto.
Papyrus knows what he’s here for.
Roughly, tearfully, uncontrollably, he nearly rips in half the pants of the sleeping victim beneath him. Phalanges tear into the fabric and stray threads spring free from their collective garment. What remains of the fabric is tossed into the passenger seat and forgotten, revealing the bare, plump, vulnerable skin, no underwear, only one disgustingly fuckable pussy and one horrifically fuckable asshole. Of course this little cunt would form a pussy, always using his lackeys’ cocks to break his victims instead of his own cock, he knew it, he knew it, he’s his to break now, his to ruin forever, HIS.
Freeing his fully-formed cock from his pants, how long it’d been summoned he doesn’t wonder, he growls and snarls and huffs as he pushes deep, deep inside the little pussy-hole of his toy. The toy’s legs spread automatically in his sleep and Papyrus’ lustful drool drips down upon the toy’s cheek.
Already the slap of his cock against the ecto ass echoes in the silent night air, only accompanied by his pleasured grunts and soon the tearing of the toy’s shirt as well. Toys don’t get to be clothed, to hide their body from who rightfully owns and uses them. His breasts bounce with the force of his thrusts, his nipples hard, his pussy twitching and squeezing around his enemy’s cock.
“FUCKING MILKING ME…” he hisses, resting a hand on the toy’s lower belly. “MINE.”
The toy’s breath starts to change. Soon, he’s moaning, he’s whining and squeaking in his sleep and especially when Papyrus rolls his hips in a way that rubs up against his pathetic little clit.
His tongue lolls out of his mouth like a whore.
Papyrus slams deep into him, the head of his cock pounding against the most pleasurable spots in his little body. His hands grip his legs and hold them up above his head, lifting his ass up higher, leaving nothing unseen. His tits move in mesmerizing circles. His body is warm.
And slowly, slowly, he opens his sockets.
“nnnugh… wha… huh…?”
The drugs have worn off.
Suddenly, he’s alert and gasping.
“huh?! wha! sta- stahp! a-aaaaAAA-!!”
The drugs that kept him unconscious may have lost their strength, but the ones that kept him paralyzed…
The boy screamed and began to cry, not moving an inch except for his bouncing tits and twitching pussy.
Papyrus didn’t pause for even a moment. In fact, he found that he liked this. His guilt had haunted him before, but now? This?
“no! no! stop!” he sobs. “why?! WHY?!”
This was beautiful.
“LOOK AT ME FUCK YOU…” he growls. “LIKE YOU MADE YOUR WORKERS FUCK THEM…”
His tears, budding at the edges of his eyes, begin to transition to rolling down his cheeks, cheeks still stained with Papyrus’ drool that he’s unable to wipe away.
He purposely slams against his best spot, making him scream again.
“BUT THIS ISN’T EVEN ABOUT REVENGE ANYMORE, RED, IT’S ABOUT YOU TAKING MY COCK UNTIL YOU’RE FUCKING MINE!”
Red’s sockets widen. He means it. He knows he means it. He’s scared. Papyrus pounds into him harder, faster, rougher…
He realizes what he’s doing. He already knows that there’s no chance of escaping with his sanity, because he knows, quite intimately, what Papyrus is doing to him.
And the thought of it makes him cum.
His pussy squeezes so tight, forcing the cum out of the cock that now owns him. Spurt after spurt of warm sperm flood his hole and tunnel and womb, and as he feels it filling his insides he whimpers out the most pathetic sound he’s ever heard, and blushes at the realization that it came from him.
Papyrus groans and moans, riding out his orgasm, pushing every last bit deep inside. When he finally pulls out, he spanks Red’s ass as he dribbles, one last humiliating treat.
Picking him up from under his shoulders, he carries his toy like a doll out of his car and tucks him neatly back into his trunk where he came from, his sockets wide, his body trembling.
Just before he closes the hood, leaving him in darkness, he notices Red’s hand twitching. The paralyzers are wearing off as well. But the thought of him trying to escape doesn’t cross his mind. After all, he’s already half-broken.
He climbs back into the driver’s seat, sealing up his zipper and taking a deep, satisfied breath, the guilt gone, the excitement for his new pet bubbling up inside him. He finally understands why anyone would buy what Red sold. He finally knows that joy.
Calmly, readily, he begins the long drive home.