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Puss withheld a groan of frustration as sleep continued to elude him. He then opened his eyes when he felt a slight shift in the air and was met with the sight of Death and his glowing crimson orbs hovering over him at the side of the bed. The hero let out a defeated sigh and cast his blanket aside.
Death smirked and leant down to gently scoop him into his arms, then he held a feeding bottle to Puss’ mouth that the cat easily allowed entry, languidly suckling its contents as Death turned and sat on the edge of the bed. Puss now supported in his lap, the reaper used his free hand to pet the orange-furred head soothingly. Settling in, Puss put his paws on either side of the slowly draining bottle, still letting the wolf support its weight while allowing himself some semblance of control as well.
One week prior:
Puss decided a nice stroll through the crisp night air might be just the thing he needed to calm his tired mind. Sleep had been eluding him as of recent and none of the other things he’d tried thus far had worked, so here he was.
His ambulating led him to a large fountain in the middle of the currently deserted town square and he soon found himself staring at the nearly full moon’s reflection in the lightly rippling water of the fixture. A cloud making its way across the night sky blocked out the visual of the heavenly body and Puss gave a sigh, turning around to a sight that had his breath catching in his lungs.
Death.
The reaper was standing right there, glowing red eyes not five paces from the hero, just staring back at him. Puss felt frozen to the spot, unable to so much as breathe in the presence of the terror-inducing spirit. That changed when the wolf took a single step forward, that simple movement the impetus Puss needed to turn and bolt. However he didn’t make it more than four steps before he ran into a soft wall, which he discovered to be one of Death’s hands as fingers closed around his torso, effectively trapping him. He was then lifted from the ground before his back was being pressed into the reaper’s other arm along his cloaked chest. Once settled into place, Death released the cat’s front and reached down to his side, where Puss knew he kept a certain curved deadly weapon at the ready. When he saw that arm headed back toward him he slammed his eyes shut, waiting for cold steel to press against his throat. But when several seconds passed with nothing happening he slowly squinted his eyes back open, and what he saw had him questioning his sanity.
What the hell?
Instead of a sickle, he was met with the sight of a nursing bottle—of what appeared to be milk—being presented to him. Equipped with a suckling nipple and all. He turned his confused gaze to the reaper in question, receiving an expectant look with the hint of an amused smirk before the wolf slowly started lowering it towards Puss’ face. Okay no, that was not happening. No way in hell was he drinking anything the reaper offered him, least of all from a bottle. Orange paws flew up to push the offending thing away, to no avail, as his strength was nothing in comparison to the reaper’s.
It was getting closer.
Puss turned his head to the side, managing to free his legs from where they were pinned between the reaper’s arm and chest, and using the stronger limbs to kick at the arm that wasn’t holding him.
He felt a sense of victory when the bottle was pulled away, but it was short-lived as the now empty hand returned and he found his arms suddenly pinned to his sides by the appendage. The reaper then walked them the short distance to the fountain and sat down on the edge of it before moving Puss from his arm to his lap. He hardly had a chance to wonder what was happening now as he spotted the recently unencumbered limb pull a swath of black cloth from seemingly nowhere for some reason. Its purpose was made abundantly clear though when Death began to wrap it around the cat’s torso. He tried his best to escape the wolf’s hold before it was too late, but his struggles were in vain and he soon found himself completely immobilized, limbs effectively trapped within the cloth binding him tightly enough to be just shy of painful or constricting his breath.
He then felt a hand slide its way under his head, holding it gently but firmly in place. Immovable in the reaper’s puissant hold as a hand moved toward his face. Knowing what was next he kept his mouth clamped shut tight, not wanting to make things easy. It was unfortunately a simple task to get past the seam of his lips, but Puss would not allow the following steps to be the same. Running along smooth pearly whites, the tips of two black claws locked into place strategically in the little gaps between small pointed teeth before spreading apart.
Puss tried his best to resist, but his jaw strength was hardly a challenge for the reaper to overcome, and his mouth was soon opened enough to easily accommodate the nipple of a bottle, which was brought over not long after the hand underneath his head slid away.
The reaper, obviously feeling his continued resistance, didn't let go and try to have Puss just suck on the nipple; instead held his mouth open as milk filled the cavity. When an acceptable amount had drained from it, the bottle was then pulled away, but before Puss could spit the liquid in the reaper’s face his mouth was clamped shut; the wolf’s thumb and index wrapped around his muzzle. Well, that may have dashed his plan to make the reaper regret his choice of action, but that did not mean he had to swallow. This was an easy solve; Puss would just breathe through his nose for as long as he needed to until the reaper simply gave up and left him alone.
That strategy was immediately proven nonviable as his nostrils were blocked with a light press from two finger pads. He stubbornly held his breath until his chest screamed at him to do something, and was eventually forced to swallow; the hands releasing their hold, allowing him to pull in sweet oxygen.
Despite wanting to gasp in breaths from his now freed mouth, he did not want to make it easy for the reaper to make him drink any more, so he kept it shut and pulled in breath through his teeth alongside his nose; the reaper would have to pry his mouth open for every gulp if Puss had any say in it. He hadn’t even finished catching his breath when he was shocked to note the effects of the milk had already hit, his body starting to relax without his approval. The reaper must stock the good stuff. Despite his now mitigated control over his muscles, Puss still resisted as best he could, but it got easier for the reaper with each dose delivered; Puss able to use less and less of his strength as the stuff filled his system. Eventually the effects of the liquid lulled him to sleep and he awoke in his bed the next morning, wondering if it had all been a dream.
That was, until it happened a second time.
And a third.
And so on.
~•*•~
Here we go again. Death never hurt Puss for struggling against his ministrations, so the hero wasn’t afraid of trying to fight it each time (but it was starting to get exhausting, and his jaw always ached in the morning from trying to resist). Puss dealt with the usual sensation of his mouth being forcibly prized open with claws against his teeth, but his brows furrowed in confusion as his jaws were spread further apart than usual and something other than the nipple of a bottle entered his now wide open maw.
He wondered why the hell Death was sticking a finger into his mouth, when a spike of fear ran through him as it kept going in, his mouth needing to strain to accommodate the large foreign intrusion, which finally stopped its forward momentum just shy of choking him. He even needed to breathe through his nose as his other airway was all but completely blocked by the furry digit.
He was further confused when he then saw the familiar sight of a bottle come into view and lower towards the mouth where there was no longer room for it, filled to capacity with the finger as it was. But then he saw the nipple press against the side of Death’s finger just outside his mouth, and furrowed his brow in perturbation before he soon felt a tickle in the back of his throat and his eyes suddenly shot wide as he realized the contents of the bottle were soaking into the fur of Death’s finger and running down into his mouth.
The opaque liquid started to pool at the entrance to his esophagus, even continuing for a few seconds after the bottle was lifted, and he could only resist the tickle for so long before he was forced to swallow reflexively, sensation odd as his throat gave a couple extra involuntary spasms after the liquid made its way down as it tried to close around the large intrusion, only able to do so part way due to the blockage.
Puss was horrified to discover Death had found the most effective way yet to force him to drink the damn stuff, and his eyes widened when he saw the bottle coming back down. He tried to back away, but there was nowhere to go, pressed into the reaper’s lap as he already was. He tried to turn his head to avoid the inevitable, but couldn’t move it more than a fraction with that damn finger keeping it in place and his mouth wide open.
He tried begging as a last resort, but his unintelligible whines went ignored as the nipple of the bottle was lowered back down, pressed against the side of the finger, and the milk began to flow once again. But this time not stopping after a single gulp was forced, rather staying until a good third of the bottle was drained. When it was finally pulled back Puss gasped in sweet air through his nose as he tried not to inhale droplets of milk from the still-soaked fur of the finger stubbornly refusing to leave his mouth.
No sooner had he finished just barely catching his breath when he saw the bottle being lowered once again. No. His struggles began anew as he tried to tell the reaper with his panicked eyes and increased volume of whine to stop. That he’d drink straight from the nipple if the reaper just took his finger out of his damn mouth. Just please, don’t-
Milk flowed down the finger.
His throat was forced to swallow.
This cycle continued until the bottle was drained, the potency of the liquid within seeming to be lower this time, as he still felt plenty awake when it’d emptied. Or perhaps he was just getting used to it.
Whatever the case, Puss felt immensely relieved now that the bottle was at last finished, waiting for Death to finally remove his finger, only to then see an amused smirk pulling at the reaper’s mouth. That did not bode well, he thought before another full bottle made its way into his line of sight. Eyes suddenly shooting wide in horror, he gave the reaper a pleading look, which went ignored as the bottle was slowly lowered.
No, he didn’t think he could take another bottle in this manner. He turned to trying a vocal plea once more, his voice coming out as nothing more than an incomprehensible whine, which only got louder and more desperate the closer the blasted bottle got. Until it suddenly stopped. Puss didn’t even have time to feel relieved as he then felt the finger in his mouth pressing in further, until it was blocking his airflow and effectively muting his protest.
Oh no, he couldn't breathe.
He turned suddenly terrified eyes on the reaper, who merely returned the look with a cool, unconcerned stare. Trying to shake the god forsaken intrusion was proven completely useless as it stayed firmly lodged in place, remaining where it was until Puss’ eyes began to water in earnest from the building burning in his lungs and he was certain he was going to pass out. Just as darkness started to encroach on the edges of his vision, though, he was suddenly able to pull in breath as the finger retreated a fraction.
He gasped in desperate breaths through his nose, virulently trying to make up for lost oxygen. When he could finally breathe as close to normal as was possible in his current situation, he slid his gaze to the side, away from the reaper; too embarrassed to be seen straight on with the tear tracks running down the sides of his face. Unfortunately this was when he felt his head being turned toward the reaper by the finger in his mouth and he was forced to look into the wolf’s eyes. Death cooly held his gaze as the bottle was brought back into his line of sight. Puss glanced over at it, before looking back into the reaper’s eyes, then broke the contact in a reluctant show of submission.
His head was then returned to its previous skyward position. This time he knew to keep quiet and still as the cursed object finished closing the distance, tightly shutting his eyes as he awaited the clearly inevitable.
He learned to stop resisting after that encounter.