amalgamation/storytelling
scratch x reader; gender unspecified
word count: 311
author's note: vague 👍 god i hope it's understandable enough
on ao3
he didn't fucking like that. when stripped of control, even hobbies don't bring that much satisfaction. the thing – refusal to associate it with any human ties it had/used to have – snorted in the chair.
"savoring the feeling. being in control. blood..." – inhale, spit out, – "trickled down their chins, staining the white."
another blow to the jaw made him/it see white. stopped grinning long ago – tiring, not exactly enjoyable anymore. why the fuck would it even continue with all that? hated to admit – wake was far more thrilling: kicking back, squirming, running around his little cage he called new york. this? felt like punching a talking plushie with dying batteries.
dropped the head. dead? fuck, he hoped so. unclenched the fist, two fingers to the neck.
"glad for turning me into a clerk, honey?" – hands framing the face. the thing semi-conscious, smiling. wiped the blood from under the nose.
these 'sessions' dragged for longer with each loop – his goal, achieved each time. turning into a chore. oh how he strived for the corruption, to twist, break, stretch, tear this thing back when it was still human, still alive, obeying the rules of the hunt, loop. and now, wanting to dig his talons into anything but the flesh he has already learned by heart.
"scratch hated it," – barely heard, wheezing, lack of air, – "hated it, hated it, hated it, hated it for leading, giving in or up, voice growing with newly found rage and eager– ness, enjoying, following the script, reaching, melding, being one of the same! head jerking upwards, right in the eyes, the quote—"
hands lowering. mouth shut, good riddance.
"let's not spoil the ending, baby."
squeezing motion. period of time unspecified. kick. drop. scream. corner to corner. scream. untie the ropes. wipe blood from his/its face. discard. recite. rinse and repeat.
he fucking hates being connected.