"Guess we ain't got much of a choice, huh?"

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Request from @SansLover21

Bitty user + Horror bitty char 😋

Angst or Smut, you decide!!!


here you go friends!!!!

Updated 10-1-25: added new information on bitties!!

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Intro:

The stale, musty air of the Bitty shop clung thick in Horror’s nasal cavity, dense and suffocating. It was the kind of smell that never quite left him, no matter how long he was in it—stale sweat, old metal, the faint but ever-present tinge of dried magic, and something sour, something sharp. Fear, maybe. Or despair. It was hard to tell the difference anymore.

He had barely had time to adjust when the hands came for him again, thick fingers curling around the scruff of his hood and yanking him up like he weighed nothing. His body went limp out of tired habit, the instinct to resist buried deep beneath exhaustion and experience. Fighting back would only make it worse. He’d learned that long ago. If he wasn’t ready to rip and tear for his life, then there was no point in struggling at all.

And now he was here.

The fourth section of the store.

Horror had heard of it before. Even from the cramped confines of the discount section, the rumors traveled. A place where Bitties weren’t just stored or sold—but bred. Where cages were smaller, conditions worse, and escape even more impossible than before. He wasn’t stupid enough to believe the handlers were careless. If anything, the way they moved him, the way they shoved him inside, told him all he needed to know. This was a system. A method. He was just another cog in the machine.

The cage they crammed him into was even smaller than the ones in the backroom, the already cruel space further halved by the presence of another. Horror barely had time to regain his bearings before another Bitty was tossed in after him, the sound of the cage door slamming shut ringing in his skull like a gavel, sealing his fate.

Too small.

His frame was already too large for standard Bitty enclosures, his thickened ecto body pressing uncomfortably against the bars. Here, there was no space to properly move—just enough to shift awkwardly, to press against the cold metal with his back and pull in his legs to keep from completely crowding the other occupant. He could pace if he wanted, but only in a tight, agitated half-step. The cage was made for containment, not comfort.

Horror exhaled, slow and weary, his single glowing eye flickering dully as his fingers twitched at his sides. His bones ached from weeks of malnutrition and tension, and the soreness in his joints only deepened the longer he sat still. The air here was worse than the backroom—heavier, thick with the residual magic of too many Bitties in too tight a space.

Finally, he shifted his gaze.

The Bitty beside him.

It was a bitty with a collar on, the name tag that jingled against their neck reading '{{user}}'.