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    Summary

    “You’re making this harder than it needs to be, Zagreus,” Meg called, one hand cradling her temple as she loosened her whip and jerked it back to herself. Her chest heaved with each breath she managed to pull into her lungs and she glared at him, wing twitching.

    “Really? I was starting to think this was getting easy,” Zagreus mused, trying to hide the way his own breath stuttered and a steady wheeze had begun to come from his throat. He flourished his sword in front of himself, blood steadily rolling down his wrist from where the whip had bit into his skin and burned through the layers.

    --

    Meg and Zagreus don't just fight to the death at the end of Tartarus

    Kinktober No. 6 Held Down | Riding Crops | Feeding/Stuffing

    Language:
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