manoverboard-fic:

Bill/Ford and safewords, set pre-Fiddleford being sucked into the portal. Contains dream!gore and noncon.

*

When Bill’s teeth sank in, Ford hit his limit. Not
because of the pain—pain was different in the Dreamscape, muted, less
physical—but because of the sight of his flesh buckling, the sudden spurt of
blood, the hole Bill was creating. He screamed. “Stop, Bill, stop-stop-stop!”

Bill didn’t stop. He didn’t have to: This was his body, his mind, his pupil. Ford knew
that entering this, but in his panic he didn’t know what else to say. He
writhed, horrified, as Bill took another bite, his bottom teeth catching on
Ford’s rib cage. Then, quite suddenly, Ford remembered: Bill had given him a
phrase to say if he was ever close to being broken. Bill had assured him that
there were stopgaps in his mind of his own design, to ensure he never
irreparably broke a mortal. Just
say that, and I’ll remember who you are. Got it?

Ford stammered, struggling to remember the
phrase as the fog of panic rolled over his mind. Right. Right. “Potso
tuoyd nammoci!”

Bill froze. His multitude of eyes turned to
Ford’s face; the teeth lifted away from Ford’s chest, trails of blood dripping
from them. A hand touched his cheek, gently. Very gently. Relief flooded Ford,
so intense that tears filled his eyes. 

“Oh, Stanford,” he said.
“Stanford, Stanford, Stanford.” One of his thumbs brushed blood away
from Ford’s chin. “This isn’t your limit.“ 

His monstrous mouth opened wide.