Work Text:
When she comes into your room, she is not herself. Her skin glows with the dark, pulsing terror you have come to call Grimdark, and she is muttering in Eldritch tongues, drifting towards you. Slick, long tentacles slap at the floor in her wake, their suckers smacking at the cold tile of the room you have come to call home. You’ve seen her before, like this, in small fits and bursts as you pass near the Old Ones. It’s never been this terrible before, and never has she looked quite so ominous. She’s naked and her skin steams with grey smoke, billowing off of her in irregular bursts.
“R-Rose darling, what are you doing?” You pull your blankets tighter around yourself, scrambling to sit up. She hisses, and the swirling tendrils behind her start to slide towards you, almost curious in the way they flick their tips at your skin. “Take a deep breath. You don’t have to-” and you are cut off by one pressing against your open mouth, forcing itself into your throat. It’s wet, and it’s dripping something bitter and salty and cold and you feel it inch into your throat, cutting off your air. You cough, trying to bring it up and you can’t breathe and Rose is still walking towards you, her eyes sharp and glowing white. Your vision swims, losing air quickly, your bloodpusher pounding in your ears and the tentacle is gone, leaving you to spit up thick mouthfuls of ichor, gasping for breath.
She growls, climbing onto the bed and yanking down the blankets, her mouth curling into a mockery of a proper smile. Her head twists, watching you, and one of her dripping tendrils comes to cup your face. She speaks, again, and your ears ring. The Old Ones may be eloquent but you cannot understand her, voice sounding more like depth charges than any humanoid speech- pounding, low booms followed by slick, squirming noises that make you want to cover your ears, get away by any means you can.
“Please. Stop.” It’s a quiet plea, trying to appeal to Rose- if Rose is still in there after all, her eyes glowing, showing no sign of emotion. No, that’s wrong. The only emotion she’s showing is elated glee, the twisted horror of her face a grotesque imitation of the human girl you had slowly come to human love.
She kisses you and it tastes like seawater. You kick her, feet landing on her hips to shove her as far back as you can. Her body tumbles to the edge of the bed and you scramble to get away from her, to run, find Dave or Karkat or Terezi or, hell, even Gamzee- anyone to hide you until this bout has passed. Feelers whip out, grab your ankles and wrists. These ones are apparently spiked, the jagged edges dig into your skin. Rivulets of jade leak out of your skin. You are held down as Rose climbs on top of you, dragging her hands down your front. Her words come, again, and it sounds like an explanation but you can’t understand it, damn it, you can’t know what is happening unless she can tell you! This is worse than anything she’s ever done before and you recoil from her, trying to hide by curling in on yourself. Please, Mothergrub, please do not let this be happening. Tears drip down your cheeks and she’s cutting off your clothes with sharp, claw tipped coils, your nightgown falling open around you, leaving you exposed.
Something is snaking up your leg, prodding at your closed nook. There’s no way you could open for her, even if you wanted to, not when your veins are filled with icy terror and stress.
“S-stop.” It’s another begged word, barely making it past your teeth. Rose leans over you, kisses you again, the slick tentacles binding you softening, just for a moment. She kisses you like she always does when she’s human, gently tugging at your lip, gentle pressure on your mouth as she moves in familiar patterns. This... this thing knows what you like. She looks distracted and your claws press into the appendages trapping you, black blood seeping out of them and she giggles. What? Why would she be giggling when you’re trying to hurt her? Her hand is making its way down your body, cupping at your crotch, fingers light and pressing and oh, fuck no you’re slowly unsheathing, bulge completely unaware of the circumstance as your nook unfurls, open to intruders.
Are you really enjoying this? No, no you’re not but her hand works you in every way Rose knows how, tapping along the perimeter of your sheathe and stroking thin lines across your skin. Your bulge snakes out to meet her wrist. This is it, then. This is really, honestly happening. It doesn’t come as a surprise when another one of her pitch black limbs shoves into your nook.
It doesn’t surprise you in the slightest when it begins to pump in and out of you. The appendage she’s using emanates from her folds, snaking out like the small, underdeveloped human bulge of hers has grown to monstrous size. You turn your head away from her, crying into your pillow, not daring look and see what is happening to your body somewhere far, far below. The tentacle swells, pressing you open and you feel yourself barely able to accommodate its new girth, the walls of your nook screaming in protest as she writhes inside of you. A noise reaches your ears and you groan in protest, trying to identify the sound as it reverberates through your core.
She is laughing. The giggle from before has grown into full blown laughter. Rose is laughing as she fucks you, holding you down and hovering above your chest. There’s no sign that she’s pleasured, no sign that she may be getting off on this. Just a sick imitation of laugher, her faux bulge slamming into your core. Your own pales in comparison, writhing impotently on her hand as she strokes you. It’s enough to keep you aroused but not enough to provide any real stimulation, and it would just be easier, at this point, if she stopped even trying to touch you, every sparkler of pleasure another reason to hate yourself.
It is not long before things begin to go much, much faster. Your matesprit is moving faster with every passing second, her hips working as she begins to pant from exertion. She’s speaking, her words twisting over themselves, relaying some ancient prophecy through her booming voice. Your chin is still tucked to your shoulder, turned away from her, and she grabs your jaw with her hand, yanking you up to look at the join of your bodies as she stills. A thick rope of cold ichor splashes inside of you, and you feel almost relived. Maybe it’s over now. Maybe she will let you go lick your wounds in private.
Her face twists, and the base of her bulge swells, a hard sphere inside of her bulge pressing through the rubbery skin of it, into you. The pain is immediate, nook tearing around the ball pressing inside of you, through the passageway and then against the entrance to your gene bladder and you shriek, trying to get away from it, from her, but she persists and she is pressing and pushing and your body is fighting her every step of the way.
You black out as it manages to force itself into your gene bladder.
When you come to, the world is hazy, in soft colors and numbed sensations. You can’t feel your legs, and your crotch aches, but you seem otherwise intact. With slow, shaking movements, you manage to pull yourself up, into a sitting position, and your lower abdomen shifts uncomfortably. You look down. It is distended, bumpy and moving gently under your skin. Balls shift and collide just below the surface, and you watch, trying to sort through conflicting sensory input. It’s not genetic material- genetic material is liquid, and won’t make those ridges and bumps on you. With one hand, you press down. It feels like you are pressing on a bag of marbles.
“Eggs,” a voice near you clarifies, high and shaky. Rose sits, curled on her side, her skin pink and sweat coated, the remnants of the ooze from her throes drying on her skin. “In case you were wondering.” Her words are weak, and you stare stunned at yourself. Eggs? What could- why would- you alternate between worried glances at her and disgusted glances at yourself. There is nothing to be done. There is nothing you can do, and that fact slowly dawns on you in full.
“And... when they hatch?” You’re not entirely sure you want to hear the answer.
“I have no idea.” She doesn’t move an inch, still clinging to herself as though she will break in two if she loosens her grip for one second. “In all probability they will attempt to escape you by any means necessary.” Death, then, or something close to it.
“Will you... stay with me for the duration?” It shouldn’t even be a question but you ask it anyways. She take several long, tense moments to respond.
“Yes.” You nod, sharply, and lean back against the pillows, waiting for whatever is to come.