Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Killer found the god of civilization's ruin slumped in a crater of his own acid, ribs split open like a cracked egg.

He was so stupid.

He should’ve run. Should’ve stabbed the monster’s heart before that ethereal eyelight flickered to life.

But the thing whined as the rusted blade gleamed against his eye - a sound like a dying power grid - and Killer hesitated.

If it weren't for this thing, he'd still be rotting in a nameless shithole.

If it weren't for this thing, the world would still be a revolving downhill spiral of monotonous slop.

If it weren't for this thing, Killer never would have known what it felt like to be alive.

And then Killer forgot why he thought he needed the knife in the first place.

He nursed it in a hollowed-out gas station, peeling rot from its wounds. It watched him, silent, as he let it feed off the hissing magic dripping from his fizzling, half-warped soul.

For a monstrosity beyond mortal comprehension, it was oddly gentle in the way it avoided touching the organ too firmly.

“Heh, what, don't tell me you care 'bout little old me?” Killer muttered, pressing gauze to one of its tendrils.

The monster’s claw curled around his wrist. Warm.

It spoke on the seventh night, voice a radio-gutter, faintly backdropped by the crackling of hellfire.

“Why?”

Killer laughed. “Dunno. Guess I like fucked up things 's all.”

The monster - Nightmare - licked a stripe up his spine. Devilish grin forming that had Killer's pants way too tight. “Liar.”

(He was. Killer ached for the way its tentacles cradled him, like he was something precious instead of expendable).

Between the two of them, if anyone was fucked up, it was definitely Killer.

When Nightmare dragged him to the edge of a survivor camp, Killer didn’t flinch.

“That one,” Nightmare purred, pointing to a water elemental clutching a teddy bear, still in stripes. “She’s sweet. Tender.”

Killer palmed his knife, feeling that familiar rush of life jolt through his marrow. “Picky eater, huh?”

Nightmare’s laugh was a disease. “Only for you, beloved.”

The first body dropped. Killer’s chest burned brighter than the screams.

(Finally, he was alive).

Chapter Text

The basement smelled of rotting violets and burnt copper- real haunting smells, not the dollar-store crap they’d planted last episode.

That should've been their first warning, but Dust insisted that the whisperings were all in Cross' head.

And Killer believed him, at least, until his sneaker crushed a femur as he tripped over the uneven floor. "Okay, which idiot brought actual bones-?"

A child’s laughter echoed through the walls.

Four flashlights died at once. Which was honestly much scarier than the whole disembodied voices thing.

In the sudden dark, something crackled- like radio static fused with living static. A skeletal figure materialized midair, strings pulsing and curling like something out of a sci-fi film. Beside him, a liquid shadow unspooled from the ceiling, a singular blue glow glinting in the dark.

Horror dropped his spirit box. "...We’re gonna die virgins."

The hazy one moved first. Strings lashed out, sewing Cross’s jacket sleeves to the floorboards. "TreSPAsSING!" He screeched, voice glitching between a dozen dead languages.

The other one's tentacles slithered around Killer’s ankles, suddenly seizing him with an invisible force and dragging him across the floorboards like in those really cheesy flicks.

"Persistent little vermin," the shadow mused, dragging a claw down Killer’s clavicle. "You’ve been begging for our attention. All those cameras... those pathetic traps..."

Killer’s breath hitched, feeling hot under the collar from the unexpectedly cold and intrusive touch. "Fuck- okay, that wasn't what we were originally going for but damn, you’re way hotter in person-"

A string gagged him.

Everything became a blur of screams and flailing and lots of uh, intimate touches. By the time things really settled down, Killer was having a hard time telling up from down.

Honestly, it was only thanks to Cross' constant stream of complaints and snap-backs aimed at Dust that Killer was able to reconstruct their situation.

Which was being bound back-to-back in spectral silk, forced to watch their gear float into a self-made pyre.

Dust craned his neck. "So... ghost marriage. Is there, like, a registry?"

Killer nodded at Error, who was currently force-feeding Horror ectoplasm like an angry nursemaid. "I'm more concerned about whether we can market this somehow."

Above them, Nightmare pinned a half-hysterical Cross to the rafters, tendrils mapping his ribs while painting him in strange eldritch-looking designs. "Mine," he growled.

"OurS!" Error yanked Cross down by the fur of his hood, licking a stripe up his jaw with those strange, super dexterous tongues.

"stUpID, STuBBorN tHInGs...! You’Ll LeaRN tO p- P- poKe yOUr hEaDs iNtO a liON's DEn!" He cackled with a mischievous, malevolent energy.

Cross' crazed laugh was half a moan. "Joke’s on you-! I’m into that shit!"

. . . .

Lets just say that nobody walked out of that abandoned asylum alive.

Chapter Text

The SS Dreemurr had one rule: Never pick up unknown cargo or otherwise foreign material mid-transit.

Of course, that never stopped a few deck hands from trying to earn a few extra credits on the side. Pay was short, and rare alien trinkets sold high.

But sometimes, things happened that reminded you why the rule existed in the first place.

Killer crouched behind the cryo-tanks, practically choking himself to keep his ribcage from rattling as something foul and invasive peeled itself from a welded crate that had been covertly fished out of an asteroid belt.

It unfolded from unseen cracks like spilled ink- coagulating as oiled swaths of black; it bubbled and swept across the floor in large pools, forming a misshapen body that grew writhing limbs, then an eye, then a maw full of needle-teeth.

Fuck. The bio-scans hadn't mentioned anything like this. Maybe the container had blocked out the life signals? What the hell even was this thing?

Holding his breath, Killer pulled out his PSP and held it up to the thing. The moment he was sure he had a clear shot, Killer snapped the photo.

Quickly scooting back behind the cryo-tanks, Killer watched the loading screen intently. Breath bated.

Only for it to abort not even halfway.

No biological life signs detected. Please try again.

Holy fuck. Oh, fuck.

Killer dared to glance back.

Finding all traces of the nightmare creature gone.

"Fuck meeee..." He groused.

In the end, Killer didn't say anything about the encounter. Not only would it bring management cracking down on everyone working the docks, but Killer found he didn't need a snitch's target on his back.

He decided to chalk it all up to another hallucination. He had been forgetting his meds here and there, and the photo he took was lost to the void since it didn't go through; it was a reasonable conclusion to make.

So when Wine went missing, Killer hadn't lingered on it. The little narc had it coming for a while, it was unsurprising to find that someone finally managed to push him out an airlock.

A few days later, when Black was declared MIA, he brushed it off easily enough. Nobody expected him to last as long as he did anyway.

When Red disappeared, that was when people started to look at one another with suspicion.

Especially as rumors spread of the mysterious disappearances of two upper level engineers.

It was after Alphys managed to hack into the camera feed, discovering footage of a black mass slithering from the vents and impaling poor Sci through the throat, that hysteria began to take root.

One by one by one by one. The crew was picked off.

Until only Killer was left.

"Little predator. You stink of want," Nightmare purred, sending Killer's pulse jumping.

The creature's laugh vibrated through the hull. "You watched me hunt. Let me slaughter your hive. And now..." A barbed tendril slid under Killer’s jumpsuit. "Here you are, helplessly trying to endear yourself to my reproductive inclinations."

Another laugh. Mocking. Entertained, as Killer's hips subconsciously bucked into its taunting limbs. "Pathetic creature," Nightmare mused, dragging a tendril up his inner thigh with a dangerous grin. "Your senses must be truly broken if you seek pleasure from your conqueror."

Killer's breath hitched as Nightmare crowded him against the wall, the alien's massive frame radiating unnatural heat. His common sense screamed to fight, but his traitorous body arched into the contact with a lewd moan.

He was all too ready to offer his body up to the monstrous creature.

When Nightmare finally took him, it was against the cold steel of the airlock door. Hard. Fast. Brutal. Killer gasped as he was speared open without mercy and taken like property. Defiled from the inside-out.

It was the hottest thing Killer had ever experienced in his life. And he'd do it again in a heartbeat.

Later - when the last shuddering aftershocks had faded and Nightmare's claws retracted from his hips - Killer stared up at his lover through bleary sockets. The alien purred in satisfaction as he gathered Killer's limp form against his chest. Powerful and unrepentant.

"I will keep you," Nightmare decided, carrying him toward the bridge where the cryo-pods waited. "My little trophy from a doomed world. You should be honored."

And Killer was honored. He was so fucking honored.

Outside, the Dreemurr’s corpse drifted toward a waiting colony. Unsuspecting of the coming Nightmare and it's slumbering harbinger.

Chapter Text

The cell door slammed shut with finality. Nightmare stood frozen in the center of the concrete box, his orange jumpsuit hanging loose on his lean frame. Innocent. Wrongfully convicted. Prey.

He had no idea how he'd be able to survive this place for two whole years, but he had to hang on. For his brother, if not for himself.

Across the cramped space, Another monster uncoiled from the bottom bunk like a snake tasting the air. His grin showed off sharpened canines, and Nightmare felt all of his reluctant optimism go running. "Well, well. Fresh meat."

His throat worked as he took in his new cellmate- the tattoos crawling up the ulnas and radius, the predatory sway in his step, the way the other inmates had averted their eyes from his cell number when the guards led him past.

Of course, he wound up in the worst place to possibly be.

The skeleton circled him, close enough that Nightmare could smell the sweat and nicotine clinging to his clothes. "Pretty thing like you... gonna get chewed up in here." A calloused finger traced the line of Nightmare's jaw. "Unless you got a protector."

Nightmare felt his throat close in on itself, as if willing him to stay silent. "I don't need-"

A fist grabbed his jumpsuit collar, slamming him against the cinderblock wall. Dust crowded in, knee sliding between Nightmare's legs without warning and grinding into his pelvis.

The smaller skeleton couldn't swallow his brisk moan in time.

"See, that's where you're wrong, princess." His breath was hot against Nightmare's ear. "This place? It's gonna eat you alive."

The threat hung between them, only broken by the soft puffs of air Nightmare released as he tried to calm his soul down, shuddering as that knee kept pressing into his pelvic inlet, making him squirm and cant his hips without meaning to.

Somewhere down the tier, someone screamed.

Dust's - if his name tag was to be believed - grip loosened, his free hand sliding down to palm Nightmare's sacrum through the thin fabric, and the smaller skeleton felt too flustered to acknowledge the scandal of the action. Nightmare's breath hitched- equal parts fear and something darker.

"Here's the deal," Dust murmured, teeth brushing Nightmare's cheek. "You're mine. I keep the wolves off you." His teeth grazed the tender vertebrae of Nightmare's spine, causing the smaller to gasp breathily. "And in return..."

Nightmare's pulse jumped as Dust's hand squeezed.

"Say yes," Dust purred, "and I'll make sure your sentence is... comfortable." His thumb rubbed slow circles. "Say no..." He jerked his chin toward the cell door, where dark figures loomed along the bars to the opposite end cells. "And I promise you the moment that door opens, the whole block will have a taste by the end of noon."

Nightmare shuddered with a flaming blush. The choice was no choice at all.

Dust's grin turned feral when Nightmare's hips gave a timid grind back in answer, trying not to think about how out in the open this placement was.

"That's what I thought." He stepped back, dragging Nightmare toward the bottom bunk by his waistband. "Now let's get you out of these prison rags, sweetheart. Gotta put my mark on you before chow time."

As the jumpsuit hit the floor, Nightmare shuddered as starving hands wasted no time in tracing the contours of his body all over, squeaking when devilish fingers teased more sensitive areas.

Dust’s laugh was dark with triumph. "Good punk."

The kiss was brutal, claiming, Dust’s teeth drawing blood from Nightmare’s ecto tongue as he bullied him onto the mattress. Around them, the prison roared - catcalls, laughter, the distant clang of steel doors - but in that moment, there was only Dust’s hands on his ribs, Dust’s growl in his ear:

"Summon something pretty for me, princess."

And Nightmare relinquished, willing himself to just go with the flow.

For survival. Of course.

Chapter Text

The Calamity's deck ran red beneath Error’s boots. His crew scattered in the rigging, his proud sails hung in tatters, and his beloved cutlass - his beautiful, razor-edged darling that even Ink turned green with envy over - lay shattered at his feet.

If losing his boat hadn't lost him his pride, the loss of Stab-Horse sure did. May her blade rest in piece.

"finIsH iT," Error snarled, baring his teeth at the pirates circling him. "i’Ll mAkE sUre tO haUNt EveRy onE Of yOu miSerABle-"

A gloved hand fisted the bandanna beneath his captain's hat, yanking his head back with a hiss. Error’s breath hitched as Nightmare’s hooked tendril traced his vulnerable spine, the metal still warm from the spilt blood of battle.

"Tsk. So dramatic." The pirate captain’s breath was hot against his ear canal. "Who said anything about killing you?"

Behind them, Killer lounged against the mast, cleaning his knives with Error’s own embroidered cravat- something he had stolen from Ink long ago. "We’ve been chasing you for months, love. Bit counterproductive to stab you now."

Error thrashed as his temper flared, but Nightmare’s grip was iron. "ThEN wHaT-?"

Dust stepped forward, pressing a dagger to Error’s ribs- not to pierce, but to feel the frantic beat of his soul. It served to settle him down nonetheless. "How else were we supposed to get your stubborn ass aboard?"

"whAT."

Horror grinned, hefting a large sack of pilfered foodstuff like ill-gotten treasures. "Yer puppet crew’s trash. But you..." His single eye raked over Error’s heaving chest. "Yer keepable."

Cross tossed Error’s broken cutlass into the sea, much to his outrage. "We’ll get you a new sword. And new clothes." A pause. "Fewer clothes, actually. This shit doesn't suit you." He waved Error's blazer with a look of distaste, before tossing that, too, overboard.

Error’s face burned. "YoU- YOu basTaRds BOarDEd mY sHip, ButCheREd My MEn, aND nOw yOu- YOu wHaT, wANt To fuCk ME?!" He screamed in indignation.

Nightmare’s laugh was a dark, rolling tide. "Oh, darling." His hook slid lower, snagging the laces of Error’s undershirt. "We’re pirates. We take what we want."

Around them, the Calamity groaned as the waves rocked her- a dying ship cradled by the hungry sea. Error shuddered as four bodies crowded around him: Killer’s claws scoring his hips, Dust’s teeth at his shoulder, Horror’s bulk crowding him back against Nightmare’s chest.

Error tried his best to swear the insane bastards away, only to titter with an unbidden moan as something teased the inside of his spine.

"Swear at us all you like," Nightmare murmured with a devilish grin, nosing along Error’s ribcage with a trail of sultry kisses and an eye that devoured him voraciously. "You’ll be screaming our names by moonrise."

And as the sun sank beneath the waves, Error - the once-feared scourge of the Dark Seas - learned the weight of his new chains:

Gold. Heat. Silks. Three months of mapping his body inside and out, like a treasure they’d die to keep.