#I’ll fill the graveyards until I have you | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

charmandabear · 5 months

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Ascendn't

Summary

I got mad when the game wouldn't let me hug him after the Cazador fight. So I fixed it. Plus a bit more steaminess in the graveyard scene. (Also, yes, I'm insufferable about this title.)

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Tav Rating: M Word Count: 4.5k Tags/Warnings: post-Cazador fight, Act 3 spoilers, blood kink, biting, hurt/comfort, fluff and angst, soft dom Astarion, enthusiastic consent

It's been a good 10 years since I've written fanfiction and probably about 20 since I've published any online. This boy got me down BAD. I made an AO3 account for this fucker. (Which you can find here.)

“I can do this, but I need your help.”

You’ve never heard him plead like this. He’s usually so cool and confident. He doesn’t need anyone if he can help it. But this is different. Standing over Cazador, dagger in hand, fear and desperation in his eyes.

“I’ll be free - truly, completely free. Isn’t that what you want?”

He knows how to make your heart melt and break all at the same time. Gods, yes, of course that’s what you want, more than anything in the world. For him to be free to live the life that he never got to have, the life that Cazador stole away from him. He was so young when he got turned. And if he doesn’t take this chance, then as soon as you manage to get these damned tadpoles out of your head he’ll be relegated to the shadows once again. You can’t do that to him.

But this isn’t it. This won’t give him the freedom he so desperately craves, no, deserves. It’s just another form of chains. You take a shaky breath and prepare yourself for his disapproving glare.

“I know you think this will set you free, but it won’t. This power will trap you, just like it trapped Cazador.”

Astarion’s face goes slack, the recognition of the cycle of abuse suddenly clear. His eyes on you soften as he murmurs, “You– you’re right. I can be better than him.” He turns a steely gaze back to Cazador.

“But I’m not above enjoying this.”

With a ferocity that you haven’t yet seen in Astarion, he yanks Cazador’s head back and starts viciously stabbing into his neck. Two hundred years of pent up fury and revenge release in a matter of moments. At a certain point, he’s not even stabbing the man, but rather the idea of Cazador and everything he represents.

Eventually he slows and drops Cazador’s limp body to the ground. The dagger falls with a clatter, and Astarion takes a step back. His eyes finally come back into focus and he realizes that it’s over. Really, truly, over. He’s finally free.

His face is awash with an overwhelm of emotions that you can’t identify. He’s panting, first from the physical exertion and then the sobs that wrack his body. He lets out a howling cry filled with pain and suffering and relief and anguish and he falls to his knees, shoulders shaking. Up until this point, you and the rest of your party have been frozen to the spot as you watched Astarion claim his revenge. But something in you breaks free and you rush to his side. Where you need to be. Where you belong.

You grab him tight in your arms and curl into his neck, your own tears mixing with the blood and grime on his bare shoulder. You think with an almost sardonic humor how often your positions have been reversed. Whereas when he leaned into your neck it was often with hunger, or lust, or even just a flirty playfulness, now all you could bring is a shared pain and comfort. You plant a tender kiss just below his ear and he looks at you with tearful eyes, an unidentifiable question present. You wrap your hand around the base of his neck, fingers raking through bloodstained silver curls. Pressing your foreheads together, you sync up your breaths with his, trying to slow them back to an even rhythm. Gods, you love this man so much.

You finally dare to break the silence, whispering, “Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?” He lets out a weary chuckle and nods. You take one more look into those wet crimson eyes, bloodshot and tired, and smear some of Cazador’s blood left on his cheek in an attempt to wipe away his tears. He takes your hand and kisses your fingertips gently. You suddenly become aware that the other six spawn have been released from their soul-draining chains and are approaching, just as tired and sweaty as the rest of you. The two of you slowly get up to your feet, each helping the other in the process.

“Is… is it over? Is he…?” The woman you vaguely recall meeting in the flophouse in Wyrm’s Crossing, Dalyria, cautiously peers at Cazador’s body. Astarion lets out one final sigh, his breathing finally returning to normal.

“Yes. He’s gone.” He sounds like he can hardly believe it himself. As though saying the words aloud might somehow break a spell and make them untrue.

“What does that mean for us?” Petras, you think, comes up behind Dal. You do remember meeting him, feeling like he was like a knockoff version of Astarion. Trying all the same moves with half of the charm. You feel bad, now, about that judgemental assessment. He looks like such a lost little boy.

“It means you have a choice,” he says with exasperation. Sibling bonds, even when forged in fire, never die. “You can hide here, living in the shadows, like parasites.” His voice is filled with venom. “Or you can be more than what he made us to be. You can choose differently, of course. But the consequences are on your head.”

“What does it mean for them?” Dal asks, and Astarion falters slightly.

“Ah. Now that is a question…” You can tell he had been trying not to think about the seven thousand vampire spawn locked up in the dungeons. He was trying to get Sebastian out of his mind since their conversation. You don’t blame him, honestly. Astarion may have been forced to do Cazador’s bidding, but that doesn’t make the fallout from that any less reprehensible. Worse even that he was good at it.

Astarion had taken a step away from you to talk to his siblings, and you can see him beginning to spiral. You close the distance again and lay a hand on his shoulder. You can feel him start under your touch.

“Let’s release them,” you offer quietly. “They deserve the same chance you got.” You have no idea who Astarion would be right now if he hadn’t gotten kidnapped by the Illithid. If he hadn’t been on this journey, seen everything he had seen. Met you. Honestly, you don’t know who you’d even be if you hadn’t met him either. The thought alone makes you run cold.

“You’re right,” he breathes barely above a whisper. “The poor wretches in the cells are innocent. They shouldn’t have to suffer just because I-” his voice catches in his throat and you see him shake off a dark thought, “lured them here.” He reaches down to pick up Cazador’s staff - Woe, you think it’s called - with a hand still stained reddish black with the vampire’s blood. He looks at it for a moment, considering it carefully, and everything this staff had ever meant. Then he slams it on the ground, red waves of energy emanating from it, using its power to unlock every single one of the cells in the dungeon.

“They’ll need someone to lead them. Take the tunnels into the Underdark. Find somewhere… well, not safe, but less perilous.” Petras eyes light up with fear.

“What? No, we can’t-” he begins desperately, but Astarion cuts him off with a hand.

“Just try to keep them out of trouble.” The exasperated tone is back. How often had he needed to manage Petras’ emotions as much as his own? You vaguely wonder if Petras looked to Astarion as a role model. The other six spawn walk off slowly, exhausted but clearly relieved to be starting anew.

You turn to Astarion, who has just finished redonning his armor that Cazador had stripped him of. His gaze is glassy; you’ve seen this look before, sometimes even when you’re in bed together. He might as well be a million miles away. You gently touch his arm to bring him back to you. He jumps slightly, then a wan smile touches his lips, but not his eyes.

“That’s it. He’s gone. After all these years – these centuries – it’s really over.” He shuffles his feet, antsy and tired at the same time. You hesitate a moment, unsure of the best way to respond, but you finally settle on, “I’m proud of you. You did the right thing.” His smile isn’t free of bitterness.

“I’m glad you think so, because I’m not so sure.” His eyes flick up back to you, but that glassy look has returned. “I just feel numb. What I’ve lost, what I’ve gained – it’s all so much. And gods, all those spawn, free in the Underdark. I need some time, I think. Just to let it all sink in.” You reach out to touch his face comfortingly. Your heart sinks as he gently pushes your hand away, but it settles when he doesn’t let go of it.

“Let’s just go. This place reeks of death and I want to feel alive again.” He gives your fingers a small squeeze and then walks off ahead of your party, making his way down the long corridor into Cazador’s dungeon. Well, not Cazador’s anymore. You briefly wonder what’s going to happen to this place.

At the end of the hallway, you see the Gur standing there, too late to be even remotely useful. You struggle to keep a scowl off your face. You hate how they treated Astarion in your last encounter. You could be sympathetic of their pain, of course; they’ve lost so much to Astarion’s actions. But the fact that they offered no sympathy for him back, the fact that they could barely acknowledge that he was a victim himself? Absolutely despicable.

Ulma stands at the head of the group, and her scowl matches yours. “You killed one vampire, but released seven thousand of his spawn? Have you lost all sense?”

“They were innocents. To kill them would have been an even greater crime.” Astarion couldn’t possibly sound more tired. You don’t blame him, these are the last people he wants to defend himself against right now.

“Some of those innocents are your fucking kids,” you grumble under your breath, hopefully not enough for Ulma to hear, but just enough for Astarion’s benefit. It’s clear that she couldn’t when she retorts, “And our children? What of their fate?”

“Cazador turned everyone we brought him into spawn. I can only assume your children are somewhere in those wretched cells. You’ll find them in the Underdark, although you may not like what you find.” The grief is plain in Ulma’s face, as well as the rest of the Gur. You feel a little more sympathy for them, but still no warmth.

“This is…” Ulma searches for the right word to capture the enormity of the situation, “difficult news.” She probably could’ve done better. “We will need to decide what this means.” She lets out a heavy sigh. “Thank you for what you have done – slaying Cazador was a great justice. As for the rest… well, time will tell.” Astarion nods curtly, and you’re relieved to be able to push past them and leave.

You and your party finally trudge back to Elfsong Tavern to rest. The rest of your companions are eager to gossip about the day’s events, everyone having something to say. You shield Astarion from their nosiness and distract them while he bathes in the tub in the corner, washing away more than just the physical dirt.

Later that evening as everyone else is beginning to tuck into bed, Astarion comes to you, finally ready to talk again. You can smell his signature fragrance, an earthy citrus with an undertone of spice, and it’s positively intoxicating. You’ve grown to really love that smell, and even the slightest whiff makes your head spin. For the first time maybe ever since you met, his eyes look… soft. Almost warm, even.

“I should probably start getting used to the shadows, again,” he muses with a light smile. “Who knows how long I have left in the sun?” Your heart drops. This had been your greatest fear, that he would feel resentful of the fact that you convinced him not to go through with the ritual, thereby committing him to an indefinite lifetime in the darkness. You know how much he’s grown to love the feeling of the sun on his skin. Not to mention how it makes his skin look, soft and kissable.

“Don’t say that,” you plead with him. “We could still find a way to control the tadpole.” He shakes his head, his freshly washed curls bouncing slightly.

“Maybe, but even if I could control it, it’s a dangerous game. I’d spend every day waiting for something to go wrong. For the tadpole to find a new trick, reassert itself, make me a slave again.” His eyes grow lighter, discovering the truth of what he’s saying as he says it. “Maybe never seeing the sun again is just the price of freedom.” You reach out and give his arm a reassuring squeeze, relishing the feel of his cool, toned arm beneath the warm linen. Even after all this time, being this close to him makes you a little lightheaded. You feel the blood rush to your cheeks and neck, almost as though it’s aching to be drunk.

“I’ll be with you either way,” you breathe softly. You can’t help but glance at his lips. “I hope you know that.”

“I think I do.” He sounds genuine, a bit of a rarity for him. Lest anyone believes Astarion to have a sincere bone in his body, he adds, “Assuming we survive, of course. Because a horrible death is always just around the corner with you.” You playfully shove his shoulder for teasing you. He laughs and gently pulls you in by your lower back and you feel the heat rising again. Your breath catches as his eyes rake over your body and face. He lingers on your lips for a moment before darting back up to your eyes.

“There’s… something I’d like to show you, if that’s alright? Something out in the city.” He cocks his head and looks at you with an almost impossible combination of bashfulness and lust. Being this close to him and breathing in his heady scent makes you dizzy. You manage to recover just enough to quip, “If you want to sneak off for a cuddle, you can just ask.” He lets you go and you feel a significant drop in your internal temperature.

“I’ll try to restrain myself if you do,” he says with a cheeky smile. He takes you gently by the hand and leads you out the Elfsong Tavern.

The graveyard is quiet, almost serene. Astarion walks forward towards a tombstone covered in ivy and, with something bordering on reverence, brushes the vines away to reveal the text engraved in the crumbling stone.

Astarion Ancunin 1229 DR - 1268 DR

He wipes the dirt off his hands and steps back next to you to get a better view of the stone. You stand together in silence for a moment, as if in prayer.

“Nearly two hundred years and I never came back. Not since the night I woke up down there.” His gaze is overtaken by that glassy look, the one you recognize to be him reliving his trauma. “I had to punch a hole in the coffin and claw my way through six feet of dirt. Then when I finally broke the surface, retching up dirt and congealed blood, Cazador was waiting. From that day on I was his.” He sneers at the memory. Then he pauses, considering, “Until today.”

He comes back to himself with a shake of his head, and his eyes return to this plane. He adds, as much to himself as to you, “Now I need to figure out who I am. What I want.”

“And what do you want?” Your mouth is dry as you ask the question. You can hope for the answer, but you wouldn’t dare presume. He might need to figure that out on his own, and if that’s the case, you will respect that.

He turns to face you, his red eyes full of more warmth than you’ve ever seen. Your heart leaps into your throat as he smiles and says, “You… I want you.

“You were by my side through all of this. Through bloodlust and pain and misery. You were patient. You cared.” As he’s speaking your heart starts beating loudly, blood pumping through your arteries at an almost vulgar rate. You know he can tell, and he chuckles softly. Cupping his hand below your ear and gently stroking your cheek with his thumb, he adds teasingly, “You trusted me when that was an objectively stupid thing to do.” He pulls you even closer and rests his forehead against yours. You could never get tired of this. As much as you love those moments filled with heat and lust, there’s something so tender about these intimate gestures that aren’t about sex.

“I feel safe with you. Seen. And whatever the future holds for me, I don’t want to lose that.” You grasp at the back of his shirt, looking for purchase as you fall so much more deeply for him. Your voice is barely above a whisper as you breathe, “You won’t. Whatever comes next, I’ve got you.”

“Thank you.”

You two stand there for what feels like both an eternity and a fraction of a second before he pulls away and looks at the grave again.

“Well. I should probably fix this.” He pulls a dagger from his belt with practiced fingers and kneels beside the stone, carving something into it. You kneel beside him and see that it now reads

Astarion Ancunin 1229 DR - 1268 DR 1492 DR -

His new life. For the first time in two hundred years, he can call it his own. You find yourself at a loss of what to do, or what to add, so you self-consciously pick up a nearby wildflower and gently place it at the base of his gravestone. He glances at you sideways and smirks, “Cute.” You both sit back on your heels to admire his work. He heaves a great sigh, letting go of centuries of tension and fear.

“I’ve been dead in the ground for long enough. It’s time to start living again.” He turns to you and takes your hands. “With everything life has to offer.” His voice has taken on that gravelly tone that sends a shiver up your spine. You don’t want to pressure him, of course, but your desire for his touch is getting harder to ignore. These gentle grazes, lovely though they’ve been, have set your skin aflame.

“Meaning…?”

His eyes glint mischievously and that familiar flirty lilt comes back to his voice. “If a night of passion is on offer, I could be persuaded.” Your body leans toward him instinctively, breath heavy in your chest. The words are out of your mouth before your brain catches up, “Sounds good to me.” He gets close to your face and you can feel his breath on your lips before he pulls away suddenly. He’s teasing you, and you know that he’s relishing in the satisfaction of it.

“You know,” he says with a feigned innocence, as though he doesn’t know the effect he has on you, “I didn’t care for you when we first met.” The sudden shift in tone knocks you back to reality, and you can’t help but laugh. He impishly glances up at you through his lashes.

“But I do now. Being with you is about more than lust or manipulating you into a tactical alliance.” He takes your hand, cheekiness gone, and looks you squarely in the eye with a rare earnestness. “I love you. I love this. And I want it all.” You will never tire of hearing those words. He reaches behind your ear and tenderly pulls you closer to him, finally giving your lips the reprieve they’ve been so desperate for. It’s a soft kiss, gentle, yet it still makes you burn up inside.

He pulls away far too soon, and you gaze back at him with starry eyes. His features is soft and smiley, but in an instant he raises on his knees so he’s towering over you and he takes on that stern expression that makes your temperature rise. He shoves you back onto your elbows before bending down to crawl up your torso hungrily. He kisses you again, this time with more intensity. He pins you down with the weight of his chest and then traps you further by nudging your leg up with his knee, eliciting a small gasp of surprise from you. You couldn’t escape even if you wanted to. And you most certainly don’t want to.

His body presses against yours and you curl your leg around him, pulling him tighter. An almost imperceptible grunt escapes his lips and you smile through your kiss. You can feel his smile in return and you lace your fingers into his silvery hair. He deepens the kiss, rolling his hips harder against you and your mouth opens involuntarily. He takes advantage of this momentary lapse and makes his way toward your neck, marking the trail with kisses. You seize up and your fingers tighten in his hair, encouraging him silently. But he needs more than that, and you know exactly how he’ll respond.

“Use your words,” he hums between kisses. You squirm beneath him, trying to sound even remotely dignified.

“You can,” you manage to gasp out as you try to suppress the moans that his lips are tearing from your throat. He flicks his tongue right over his usual puncture wounds and then gently trails it up the shell of your ear. You shiver with the intensity of it all.

“I can… what? I can’t know unless you tell me.” How the fuck does his voice stay this even? You can bearly even think straight, let alone string full sentences together. And yet he remains calm, nigh indifferent to the effect he’s having on you. But as cool as he is on the surface, you know how much he wants it. You both love the teasing, each night a challenge to see who can outlast the other.

“You can bite me,” you breathe and he nips at your ear ever so lightly, causing you to choke out the last few words, “if you want.”

“If I want? But what do you want?” He emphasizes the pronouns in a singsongy tone, and even hearing “I” and “you” in the same sentence does it for you. He’s still grinding against you all while assaulting your neck with filthy kisses. You try to remember what words are.

“I want you,” you gasp, trying to keep your words legible, “to bite me.” You suck in sharply through your teeth as he hitches your leg up a little higher. He grabs both of your wrists in one hand and pins them above your head.

“Are you sure?” his tone is still infuriatingly innocent. He knows how much you want this, and you know what he wants in return. You’re not quite ready to give it to him yet. But gods how you wish he would break first tonight. Odds aren’t looking great as his free hand slips behind your lower back causing you to arch it off the ground slightly.

“Yes,” you groan in agony as his lips continues their heinous walk up and down your neck and collarbone. “Please, Astarion. I want you to.” He nips you again at the same time that he presses his thigh right at the apex between your legs. He tightens his grip on your wrists and whispers sharply in your ear.

“Beg for it.”

That’s it. You’ve lost. You cry out in a delicious mix of pain and pleasure. The words come tumbling out of you, unbidden and unburdened.

“Please, Astarion, bite me. Please please please. Bite me. I want to feel your fangs pierce my skin. I want to know the feeling of my blood inside you. Gods, please, I can’t take it any longer and if you don’t bite me soon I think I might-”

Thank the realms that he cuts you off in that moment, acquiescing to your begging, because you have no idea how you planned to finish that sentence. The sharp moment of pleasure as he sinks in, followed by the loveliness of feeling your blood flow into his mouth. It makes you feel slightly lightheaded, and the high it gives you is better than any you might hope to achieve on Elendren pipeweed. The gentle feeling of his tongue lapping at your neck contrasts beautifully with the sharp tension of him sucking the blood out of you. You can feel him starting to get lost in your neck, his grip on your wrists loosening. You use this moment of vulnerability in Astarion to get him back by arching your back even more to move your hips against his. You hear the sudden intake of breath through his nose and you smile to yourself smugly. He knows what you did and isn’t about to take it lying down, metaphorically speaking.

Once he’s had his fill he draws away from your neck, lips stained red with your blood. He sits up again, one knee between your legs as he looks down on you. He tsks quietly as he shakes his head, drawling, “So naughty. What am I to do with you?” You prop yourself up on your elbows and return his gaze wickedly, your blood tickling your neck as it drips down toward your shoulder. He swipes at the drop with a long pale finger and lasciviously sucks your blood off his fingertip. Your smug grin is back, knowing how weak he is for you.

His face drops into that stern expression again, but this time a devilish smile plays on his lips. He puts his hand on your chest gently, then takes a hard turn as he grabs you by the throat. Not enough to be painful, nor enough to constrict your breathing, but just enough for him to have control. He studies your face for a moment, admiring its beauty, before he yanks you upward commanding you to look him in the eye. He leans in for a forceful kiss as he keeps his hand tight beneath your jaw. You start to lose yourself in the kiss, melting into him, and he takes the opportunity to sharply push you away, his pointer lingering on your chin to show that he’s still in control of where you look. He lets you go and leans back confidently, enjoying how you’ve become extremely pliable in his hands.

He stands to loom over you for a second more, then reaches for your hand to pull you up. You’re completely under his power and couldn’t be more than happy to give him whatever he wants. You take his hand and he pulls it behind his back, pressing your chest into his.

“You’d better be good for me,” he murmurs against your lips, once again denying the kiss you ache for. “We wouldn’t want to punish any bad behavior, now would we?” He caresses your face momentarily and then turns with your hand still in his and pulls you toward… somewhere. Honestly, you couldn’t care where. You love him, and you love this, and you’ll go wherever he leads.

#astarion fanfiction #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x gn reader #astarion x gn!tav #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 spoilers #astarion angst #astarion fluff

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 5 days

Note

Curious on how the Pleiades interact with Flower of Nazarick Mc.

I've already done Entoma and Solution but here are the others! 🖤🖤🖤

Flower of Nazarick Reader with Pleiades | Yandere Overlord

Sebas Tian

“Master (Y/n)!”

“Oh hi Sebas…I seem to be in a predicament.”

“Master…how did you get yourself trapped in the wall?”

I figured out I could phase through things but then I somehow just stopped…But I’ll get out eventually! I'll just be here for a while.”

“I see. Would you like anything while you wait?”

“Hmm, can I get a–”

He finds you oh-so-precious

He just so happens to witness some of your weirdest and vulnerable moments

Internally he’s the happiest dragon butler there can be

He absolutely lives for the times you first discover different parts of Nazarick

When you aren’t training or being babysat by Albedo you’ll be doing your own thing

Sometimes monitored by him and the Pleiades

And the way he’s bared witness to your general silliness is a blessing to him

As much as he’ll preach to Yuri about their job to ‘raise’ you right he too will sway with a bat of your eyes

Yuri Alpha

“Come Master (Y/n). Lord Ainz summons you.”

“So early? Can’t he just wait a few more hours….”

“He’s already been waiting Master (Y/n). Please wake up”

“..”

“...Master. Master? I apologize in advance.”

"Blagh!!!"

Because the floor guardians tend to spoil you to bits no one’s all too keen on actually making you do anything

But with Ainz’s permission, she takes it upon herself to be some kind of disciplinarian

…a disciplinarian whose authority sways with her admiration

She’s well aware that you are a Supreme being in training

So she regales you with tales of the supreme beings who ran Nazarick in hopes of inspiring your greatness

Any kind of decision or even a break in your casual tone with the Pleiades she’s swooning with a blush

She can’t believe her Nazarick’s flower is growing well and will one day be fit to rule alongside Ainz

She will personally take over anyone she deems too forward with you

Whether in disguise or not you happen to be way too flippant about your importance to Nazarick

So until you take the proper discretion to threaten those who disrespect you she’ll do it in the meantime

With extreme prejudice

Lupisregina Beta

“Ah! Master I’ve never tasted something so wonderful!”

“Gee, thanks it’s a favorite of mine back where I’m from!”

“Hmmm~Learning about my Supreme Flower is the best!”

“Ah haha, LP make sure to chew your food before you speak.”

“Ack-! A nickname I’m dying!”

One of the most fun Pleiades to hang out with

Unless given specific instructions she’s all about fun

And she adores how you just want to have fun with her too

That often doesn’t mean being in Nazarick which means you’ll be going a little outside their perimeter

That’s where you’ll probably get to see just how little Lupusregina cares for anyone who is not you

You’ll have to stop her from turning invisible to silently slash away anyone who could take your time from her

She’s not good at filling in the blanks so you’ll have to be very specific

Otherwise, you might just find any place you visit to be a graveyard

Narberal Gamma

“Psst Nabarel…you’re scaring everyone away. I’m supposed to blend in.”

“My apologies Master. It’s just these dirty humans dare look at you so casually I feel inclined to–”

“Nabarel.”

“Right sorry.”

This whole pretending to hide among the humans thing has gotten on her nerves

To see Ainz be treated so flippantly by worthless beings no less

It doesn’t help when the prized Flower of Nazarick occasionally does the same thing

And while she might have the restraint to behave around Ainz

She slips a lot more around you

Glaring more openly at anyone who even looks at you

She won’t even let anyone put a friendly hand on your back

She’s breaking bones if they get too close

But if you bat your eyes and smile sweetly she’ll snap it back

She won’t apologize though

Not for hurting them or endangering their life

Disguise or not she refuses to accept lower-life forms even getting within your vicinity

But she can’t deny the pride and excitement when you allow her to wait on you

Taking a break from her stupid disguise to return to serving you makes it a little bit better

Though she much prefers you stay within Nazarick

CZ2128 Delta

“Master (Y/n).”

“Yes, Delta?”

“May I hold you?”

“Uh, sure?”

“Thank you, Master!”

She thinks you’re so so so so so so cute

She thinks she might short-circuit from cuteness

In her mind, you rival Eclair Eklair Eklare (The penguin Janitor)

If you give her permission to hold you she may never want to let go

But if it bothers you

She’ll settle by resting her head on your lap

Or holding onto any part of your person

She’s not as violent as the other Pleiades when it comes to protecting you but that doesn’t mean she won’t hurt anyone for you

If any creature divides her attention from you she’ll smite them quickly

And then try to get praise from you

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yanderes #yandere harem #yandere overlord x reader #yandere overlord anime #yandere overlord #yandere overlord x flower of nazarick reader #flower of nazarick reader #yandere pleiades #yandere nabarel gamma #yandere sebas tian #yandere yuri alpha

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chickenparm · 6 months

Text

Thorough (Wriothesley/afab!Reader)

happy halloween, we're suckin' and fuckin' in a graveyard.

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AO3 Link

Wriothesley/afab!Reader (female anatomy, no pronouns)

3,212 Words - NSFW

(mild consensual non-con, handjob, handcuffs, use of anal plug, power dynamics, fingering, cavity search, pre-established relationship, i wasn't kidding it's in a graveyard)

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It’s a good hiding spot, you think. No escaped prisoner would be brazen enough to hunker down in a place like this. Maybe it’s a little cliche, and if you were any less than you are, you’d be worried about something spooky. But under the moon it’s just mausoleums, rows of tombstones in varied states of care, you, and the loose clothing hanging off your frame. The least they could do is get you some standard-issue prisoner’s clothes in a size that’s appropriate.

A shiver runs through you, just from the cold. Not that it’s a little unsettling being here at night. But it’s just so quiet, only the sound of the wind rustling through the trees, a slight dryness to it thanks to the changing of the seasons. The air even smells a little different, a little more crisp as you inhale deeply and get a move on.

Among the tombstones, you feel too exposed. It allows you to see around yourself to make sure no one is tailing you closely - and they are tailing you - but it also means that the vision will go both ways. No matter who you are, being in a cemetery at night isn’t normal behavior. As the larger constructs of mausoleums and tombs grow closer, you pickup the pace, pulling the collar of your shirt back up from where it sags on your shoulder.

They’re close together, with enough space to walk single-file between them. Fontaine has a long history, shown in the rows of noble-blooded family resting sites, one after another after another. You feel a little safer, less exposed when it’s you and the marble on each side of you, your fingers running across the chilled stone. Not even your own footsteps echo - the leaves haven’t blown far enough to fall here.

Maybe it’s best to just settle here for the night. To wait until your pursuers lose hope that you’re nearby, and you’ll have a little more wiggle room to plan your next moves. Leaving the country for sure; you’ve heard good things about Natlan and its hot springs. Warmth sounds really nice right about now, a little shiver bringing goosebumps along your skin as you turn down a different row.

It’s darker here, the moon at just the right angle to cast everything in shadow. It calms you a little, lets you slow down and take a deeper breath, another shudder as your lungs fill with cold air. God, why couldn’t you have committed a felony in the summertime?

That cold air in your lungs is swiftly forced out, your cheek smacking against the marble as a weight pushes in against you from behind. There’s that warmth you were thinking of, pressed against the length of your back, breezing across your face as you look over your shoulder and your stomach drops.

“Almost got me good, you know,” his voice rolls across your skin as surely as his breath. “I thought, surely you wouldn’t be brave enough to hide out in a place like this.”

And then he laughs, low and from the bottom of his chest, yet it still makes your spine vibrate with its proximity, “But you were brave enough to run from the authorities. Brave, or stupid. Maybe a little of both; I’ll be generous.”

And in response, you say nothing at all. What is there to do but plead for your freedom, spout apologies, spit insults back at him? None of that would change the fact that he’s got you in custody again, and the latter would certainly make all of this worse. So you pull your lower lip between your teeth and try not to shake as he makes a little tsk noise with his teeth. “Right to remain silent, of course. Unfortunately, there are no attorneys around to represent you, so you’ll just have to trust I’m doing it right, hm?”

Wriothesley’s hands, palms pressed into your shoulder blades to hold you still, start to run down your sides, fingers dipping into every little space they can reach. “Now, you were out of my sight for a little while, so I’ll just have to conduct a search to make sure you didn’t pick up any contraband.”

You shake your head - of course you don’t have anything, you didn’t have time. But he continues on, sliding his hands along your arms, then back to your shoulders to feel around your too-loose collar. Nothing there either, of course.

Unthwarted, his fingers slide down your spine once more before easing along your waist toward the front, feeling at your waistline for anything tucked there. Unable to help yourself, you stammer, “I didn’t pick up anything, I-I swear-”

“Stuttering? Are you nervous?” Wriothesley’s hands pause for a moment, pressing into your lower stomach with light pressure, his pinky just beneath the band of your pants. “You have nothing to be nervous about… unless you have something to hide.”

And with that, his hands rise, dipping beneath your shirt to skin along your skin. There’s no way he doesn’t feel the goosebumps, or the way your breath catches as his fingers skim at the bottom of your ribs. Wriothesley must be able to feel your racing heart as one hand slips up the center of your chest to your sternum, fingers splaying out across your collarbones. “Hm. Nothing so far.”

Your eyes shut tighter, a shuddering breath leaves you as his hand moves to the side, sliding across the curve of your breast before he stops to squeeze, the heel of his palm dragging against your nipple - hardened from the cold, not from this. At least, you try to tell yourself that as he cock his head to the side curiously and his fingers tug to draw a little hiss from between your teeth.

“That was something, but not what I was looking for. We’ll come back to that.”

Your cheek presses hard against the marble of the mausoleum he has you pinned against, the cold seeping through your cheek enough to make your molars hurt with the change in temperature. Parting your lips, you suck in a lungful of that same chilly air as he releases your breast and travels further down.

The tip of his pinky beneath the cheap elastic of your pants has been humming at the back of your mind throughout this exchange, demanding attention enough for you to remember it’s there. You don’t forget, especially now that one finger has turned to five, then ten as his hands slip beneath. One holds you steady at the hip while the other brazenly cups you, the tip of his middle finger dipping in just so.

Your thighs clench together, a reflex born from the unexpected suddenness of it all. Like you didn’t know this would happen the moment you saw his expression over your shoulder when you slipped away from him and the Gardes in Vasari Passage.

Wriothesley notes your instinct, the way you close your legs tighter as if to keep him out - or keep him close. A little cooing sound leaves him, as if he finds your reactions impossibly amusing, “Aw, did I not say this was a cavity search?”

Dumbly - because you feel dumb - you shake your head, and he leans in to laugh against the shell of your ear, his breath warm enough against the cold skin that you feel it condensating.

“Oops.”

That teasing fingertip presses harder, curling up through your undeniable wetness until it strokes against your clit once, then again when he decides he likes the way your hips rock at the sensation. Your spine curls, arching against the wall in a way that you’d feel shame for in just a moment. But for now, your mind is whirling and his finger is dragging wet little circles that make your nails scratch uselessly against the perfect, polished stone.

There’s nothing for you to grab on to, nothing to brace yourself with as he toys with you.

“Wri-”

“Your Grace,” Wriothesley corrects you, pressing hard against your clit to push the line of pain. The motion steals your words, and he only makes a little sound that sounds awfully close to, “Oh well.”

With a drag, his hand releases your pussy, smearing wetness up and over your hip as both pull free of your clothing. A bit of relief flows through you, barely noticeable from the frustration of his little game. You didn’t think the Duke was one to be cruel, but you had broken the law. It should’ve been expected.

Roughly, he snatches your hands from where they’re flat against the marble, tugging them behind your back with an ominous rapid-fire clicking of his cuffs. They’re frigid against your skin as he binds them at your lower back, something he should have done when they first picked you up. But you’d been so well behaved, he’d remarked when you went so willingly into custody.

Fear has a way of shaking things up, and now that you’re completely at his mercy, it’s potent in your throat with its incessant squeezing. Patiently you lean against the wall, waiting and waiting for him to start to drag you away. Yet all you hear is the shifting of fabric, the jingle of something that sounds like a belt buckle, and then something hot is pressed into your hand behind your back.

“Just… hold ‘em right there. Where I-... mmh… can see ‘em.”

Wriothesley’s hips roll forward, his cock thrusting into your curled fingers, abundant arousal catching on your palm and easing his way as he does it again and again. With a slap that startles you into squeezing your hand around him tighter, his palm smacks against the wall next to your face to brace himself against the movements of his own hips.

Heat burns at your cheeks, creeps down your neck, makes your thighs press together as he uses you to get himself off with slow, languid rocking. Like he has all the time in the world. In truth, he does, because who else would come looking for the two of you in a graveyard? No one is coming to find you, no one will see the Duke of Meropide rutting himself against your cuffed hands.

Each push forward comes with a little groan in your ear, his knuckles bleeding whiter as his fingertips press and press against the mausoleum wall. You’re entranced by them, your eyes watching as his grip starts to slip with the sweating of his palms. Zoned out, eyes glazed over, your mind takes in the hotness against your palm, the weight of his cock as your fingers close a little tighter.

The sound of his quiet appreciative moan in your ear.

It makes your jaw tick, your eyes refocus on the moment, just in time for Wriothesley to pull back and leave your hand wet with pre cum that chills rapidly in the autumn air. He hadn’t finished - denied himself of it, it seems. Wriothesley doesn’t lean on you for support, instead using the wall over your shoulder with both hands, just for a moment to catch his barely-lost breath.

And then both hands leave your vision, curling around the band of your pants again. Anticipation floods your veins, making you tense as he snaps it against your skin once. “Got a little distracted, sorry about that. Back to business - we’re not done with the cavity search.”

Your knee jerks, smacking painfully against the wall as you instinctively try to stop him, but his chest presses you flat against the surface with a quiet sound of sympathy to placate you, “I’ll be quick, just relax. Maybe next time you’ll think twice about running from me, hm?”

Not running from the authorities, or from the Gardes, but from Wriothesley.

The curve of your ass is revealed as he tugs your pants down enough to get at what he needs. Closing your eyes, holding your breath, you wait on the precipice as his fingers squeeze against your cheeks, then pull apart to scrutinize your ass.

And then laughter, disbelieving and a bit more elated than you expected. “You little liar. And to think I almost trusted you when you said you didn’t have anything to hide.”

His hand on the right shifts, his thumb pressing forward, pushing on the flared base of the plug to force it a little deeper, making you whimper breathlessly. The same fingers that pinched at your breast, toyed with your cunt, find purchase on the plug and tug on it a little, just enough for the flare to pull out a little, to test the tight ring of your hole before letting go. You can feel his interested gaze as it goes back in, the base sitting snugly against you once more.

“Spread your legs. Looks like I’ll have to be more thorough in prior places. You understand, right?”

You weakly nod, spreading as much as you’re able with your pants still caught on your mid-thigh. It’s good enough, you think, because he adjusts his position and he presses his cock against your cunt with very little preamble. Just a single moment for you to take a breath, to reconcile all of this, to say you don’t understand.

But you don’t, and you take that breath, and look at him over your shoulder with eyes that plead for him to do it. And he does, with one long, slow stroke that makes you feel every inch of him. Everything feeling is magnified, your breath turning into a low moan as both of your holes are filled, each feeling tighter together than they would have alone.

“Your Grace…”

“Don’t cum,” Wriothesley orders, hand curled around your hip, squeezing in emphasis of his warning, “little liars have to face their punishment.”

“Please-”

“Hush, or the sentence is just going to be worse.” You don’t doubt it, and you keep your mouth shut even around your moans as he crowds you further against the wall, your arms shifting uncomfortably with the cuffs at your wrists. “Take what you’re given. Be grateful that it is what it is. Nothing more, nothing less.”

It doesn’t even sound like it’s affecting him, but you know it is. You can feel the way his pace picks up when he shifts and his cock drags perfectly inside you. The plug in your ass makes it all the better for him, but it doesn’t seem to be quite enough. Lost in your own haze of pleasure and a desperation not to succumb to it, you don’t notice his wandering fingers until they’re already tugging on the plug again.

The sudden shift, the slight stretch as he pulls on it, makes you tense and tighten and bear down on his cock in a way that makes him laugh through his pleased groan. “Nice, just like that… knew you could be amenable.”

It rankles at you, and your fists tighten. One of them is sticky, the remnants of his use before he abandoned that for elsewhere on your body. And yet you can do nothing but bite your tongue and taste the blood that blooms faintly in your mouth, hoping the pain will distract you from the way his cock nudges insistently against something inside that makes you want to scream loud enough to wake every one of the remains in this graveyard.

But beyond disturbing the dead, it would also likely bring someone curious. Some caretaker or passerby that can’t leave well enough alone. As much as you want this to end differently, you don’t particularly want to end it prematurely. So you keep your mouth shut and let your eyes roll behind closed lids as he fucks you against the wall of some mausoleum that belongs to a family you’d never heard of before.

Meeting his demand is a near impossible task. You think you’re going to fail with how he pulls and twists at your contraband, how his free hand curls around your shoulder to pull you back onto each thrust. But then he snaps first, his grip turning from the pads of his fingers to nails digging into the loose fabric and the skin beneath.

The length of him pushes as deep as he can, pressing his entire body against you, up against the wall until your toes barely reach the gravel below. It’s like he can’t drive himself far enough in, even as he throbs inside with each rope of his cum you’re given.

With a little slide, he pulls back and you barely catch yourself on your wobbling feet. You did as he asked, you didn’t disobey for fear of a longer sentence. You were well behaved - willing. But you’re still surprised when he fixes his clothing in a deft move then takes a knee behind you.

Craning your neck to try and look back and down at him, you cry out as you’re given no warning when two of his fingers slide inside and hook. His thumb finds your clit with clumsy, rough circles that still do a hell of a job making you writhe as he works you over quickly. It’s torture, one that you can’t endure for long, and you plead, “Please, Wriothesley-”

“Oh, yeah, no you’re good. Cum hard, push it all out.” A brush of his lips against the swell of your ass that turns into the feeling of his teeth in a little grin. “Wonder if I could make you do it hard enough to push your little toy out, too.”

Really, you’d love to have this conversation later, but he’s got all the time in the world to chat away as you writhe on his fingers and feel the remnants of his release drip down the inside of your left thigh. “I’ll be honest, that was a nice surprise. You hadn’t mentioned you were gonna do that.”

“Wriothesley, please-”

“Yeah, you’ve been saying that a lot. Alright, anything for you.”

The words are like an invisible tripwire, one that sends you tumbling end over end as your shoulders roll forward and you arch in on yourself under the weight of your orgasm. Wriothesley is relentless, watching with an attentive gaze as you leak down your thighs, along his fingers, into the fabric of his wrappings. And you’ll never see him use the same ones again, unaware of what he does with them.

That thought doesn’t get to live in your mind long as it peters out into some strange white noise that could be a short circuit, or just your blood rushing in your ears. Vaguely you feel him cleaning you up with a square of fabric from his pocket, his hands working quickly to fix your clothes and then wrap you tight in the very jacket he’d been wearing.

It’s warm. It smells like him, comfortable and familiar, tea and whatever brand of aftershave he’s been fond of lately. Against your ear, he asks if your legs work or if you need to hitch a ride, then doesn’t wait for an answer as he scoops you into his arms.

You’d like to apologize to whatever resting place you just desecrated, but as you look over Wriothesley’s shoulder, you honestly couldn’t pick out which one it was from this distance.

Hopefully they’ll understand.

#mind the a/n for content tags #wriothesley #genshin impact #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #mdni #nsft #x reader #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley/reader #genshin #genshin x reader

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duchess7878 · 8 months

Text

Part 1/2

I saw this request from tumblr user lelandswife and wanted to deliver for you! I hope it’s to your liking :) If it’s too short let me know and I’ll try and write you a longer version :)

Warnings: murder, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome

The family could only watch as Johnny tore apart the house-shouting and screaming about you. When Johnny had gone to go fetch you for supper, you were nowhere to be found. Not in the house, the barn, the shed, the car graveyard. Anywhere. Johnny at first tried to think rationally, but it didn’t last long. Within 10 minutes of searching, it didn’t take much to piece together what has happened. You left. No-you left him. The rage Johnny felt was like no other. People had gotten away before and it only ever excites him, especially for the chase, but this time was different. He was panting heavily, his chest rising and falling with every breath.

“Nobody escapes me.” He growled and immediately headed out the door in search of you. To Johnny, you were weak and he figured that you wouldn’t make it far before you’d had enough.

Johnny checked around the property for any sign of your footprints. Out by the front driveway, Johnny spotted a small indent in the dirt; one he knew wasn’t there before. He bent down to the print, swiping two fingers across the tracks before smelling it and standing back up.

“I know you’re close my little bunny.” He grinned, bloodlust and lust filling his body simultaneously.

“Why don’t you just come on out and we’ll forget this ever happened?” He lied, but hoping it would work anyway.

He wasn’t going to let you forget. When he got a hold of you, he would make sure that you knew who you belong to and you don’t get to leave. He would tie you down and fuck you for hours until you were begging for him to stop and then he’d fuck you some more. Once he was done, he planned on where he’d be carving his name onto you. Your chest? Your stomach? Leg? Arm? Neck maybe if he was careful? Either way, you’d never forget. Ever. He would make sure of that.

You were crouched down in the shed about 30 feet from where Johnny was standing. You didn’t even make it off of the property before Johnny realized you were gone. You should’ve known better, but you had fallen for him like a complete idiot. He kidnapped you and originally meant to kill you.

This wasn’t a normal relationship by any means. Johnny is dangerous and deadly, but for some reason-you didn’t care. You fell for Johnny not long into your disappearance and for the longest, you didn’t even think about leaving. You were so badly wrapped up in the fantasy world in your head, you didn’t realize you had been gone for almost a year. But it was hard to ignore that part of Johnny when he had come home the night before carrying a corpse, drenched in blood, and wearing the most sadistic smile you had ever seen. The corpse he was holding was another girl your age and it immediately hit you like a train. That was going to be you at first, but something about you was different. However, it didn’t change the fact of what Johnny was-a killer and that’s it. The year that you had spent with him shouldn’t have happened.

You were so wrapped up in your thoughts you hadn’t even noticed the jean-clad legs that had planted themselves in front of you.

“Aw, you leaving’ so soon?” He asked, leaning down and grabbing your hair, yanking you to your feet.

“Johnny wait, please.” You begged, tears streaming down my face in fear of what he had planned.

“Oh no sweet pea, we’re going back home right now.” He ordered and continued to pull you by your hair back to the house. Once there, he dragged you inside and up to his room. He wasted no time and shoved you towards the bed and you stumbled back falling onto it. He stalked towards you and crawled on top of you looking down and studying your face.

“You’re gonna be taught a lesson, one that you’ll never forget.” He leaned down and kissed me harshly biting my lip and panting heavily. You felt his hands viciously roaming your torso, touching and squeezing anything he could reach. You heard his bedside drawer open before you felt something heavy and cold being put around your wrists. He brought your hands above your head and chained you to the bed post.

“Get comfortable darlin’. It’s going to be a long night.” He warned, sitting up to begin disrobing.

Here’s part two if you’re interested :)

#johnny slaughter x reader #johnny slaughter #johnny tcm #texas chainsaw massacre #texas chainsaw game

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agent-cupcake · 2 months

Text

Flashbang

Chapter 6 - Howl

Spotify Playlist / All Chapters / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 /Chapter 7/ Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 pt.1 / Chapter 9 pt.2 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12

Pairing: One Piece Live Action Buggy x f! Reader

Synopsis: A night of several firsts.

Warnings: Explicit smut, violence/death, dub/noncon, consensual drug use

Word Count: 13.5k

Notes: What do you get when you cross a mentally ill reader with a society that abandons her and treats her like trash? I'll tell ya what you get! You get whatcha fuckin deserve [weird culty clown porn]

“Now I wait as love and fate Echo from your lungs Do you, do you, do you want me, babe?”

xxx

A blood red sun set upon the sea, shining a single golden spotlight across the water as pirates rallied for the Final Call. Not even the wind could cut through the kinetic mist of untapped aggression. The pirate ship was a powder keg of violent energy and artistic ego, pressure building and building for this very moment. The crew was ready and the tides were right and the prey was chosen. All they needed was for the curtain to raise.

When the bell finally rang, it would be a lit match into an oil drum.

Not that you stayed around to appreciate any of it. You were safely stowed below long before the first cannon was fired. Like everything else on the ship, the brig had once been a neat, utilitarian holding cell. Time had worn the wood and metal, lending it a creepy, haunted atmosphere, the cramped space a graveyard of abandoned props. The scent of rust and aging wood and thick salty stale rot was borderline suffocating, the air holding you in a shivering cold vice.

All you could do was pull your jacket closer, trying to get as comfortable as possible on top of one of the many prop chests. It was claustrophobically slotted between a barrel filled with batons and a drum that had a violent gash through the top, but it was one of the only places in the room where you couldn’t see your distorted reflection in the cracked funhouse mirror.

Even though everyone assured you it would be an easy victory, even though you had seen Captain Buggy’s Devil Fruit ability, and even though you had witnessed the chaos of the assault on Barley Village, you worried for the crew. You didn’t know how to pray, or even what higher power might protect pirates, but you closed your eyes and hoped very fervently that your new friends and your captain would be fine.

Anything else was unthinkable.

After that, there wasn’t anything to do other than hunker down and endure the night. You thought that since you had seen the violence in Barley Village, that you wouldn’t be as affected by it now, especially since you couldn’t see anything. You thought that you were ready for the shockwave impact of cannons. You thought that it would be okay because you were stronger now.

Maybe, on some level, that was true, but when you heard and felt that first boom your body responded with the unrestrained panic of a wild animal. If you hadn’t peed before you hid away, you would have pissed yourself in pure terror. All at once, your breathing became fast and shallow, your heart pounding in your chest, a cold sweat coating your body. Then there was another boom. And another BOOM and muscles you weren’t aware of until that moment began to tense and quiver, your lungs seizing as if in the throes of hysterical weeping, dragging in air only to regurgitate with a spasming violence.

It was fine. It was nothing like that day. It was fine. Why would you even think of it now? It was fine. It was entirely different. It was fine.

It was fine and yet your body curled up into a ball with your arms around your head and chin tucked against your knees, your eye wide yet dry, your mouth gaping, opening and closing in a desperate attempt to suck in some air. Your brain was on fire and the only thing you could think was that you were going to die. It was as if your body didn’t belong to you, like it had a will of its own, feelings of its own, because you couldn’t understand the reaction, it didn’t make sense.

As the assault above worked its way down, your lantern frantically swung back and forth in a smear of flame. The metal creaked unhappily, the ship complaining all around you like an unhappy beast. Part of the strategy, you knew, was to limit cannon fire. They didn’t want to destroy the ship they hoped to commandeer. But even after it seemed like all shots had been fired, your body refused to relax. Down here, you had no idea what was happening above. No idea if Captain Buggy was okay, or Crina, or Cabaji, or Pippa, or Marty. You wouldn’t know for a while. Possibly hours.

If it weren’t for your state of hyperarousal, you might not have noticed the sound from above. A noise, and a scuffling, and then something that might have been footsteps. Was that the hatch opening?

You held very still, listening intently. Those were footsteps. You weren’t alone. Why? It wouldn’t make sense for anybody to come down here. Not unless something happened. There were plenty of worst case scenarios that could bring somebody down here.

Covering your face with your arm to stem the ragged gasp of your body trying to get air, you checked to make sure you had the knife Marty had given to you safely in your pocket. You didn’t know what you would do with it, but having a weapon was better than nothing.

A man jumped down from the steep ladder with a grunt, landing hard. He stood in the shadows, making it hard to parse details, but you had a feeling. A very bad feeling.

Then, in a moment of true and genuine surrealism, he called your name. Your real name, the one you hadn’t heard since you boarded the ship. He picked his way over to the brig’s holding cell, but the door was too rusty to close, and the inside was filled with more props. You could see him in the funhouse mirror, his image distorted into a creepy facsimile of a human being, his face stretched out and limbs grotesquely skinny.

You didn’t move, half hoping you would be obscured by the amount of clutter that surrounded you.

He stepped back, looking around until his eyes met yours. And still, you didn’t move, you could hardly believe it was real.

“Easy now, I don’t wanna hurt you,” he said, stepping into the light with his hands up. “I’m looking for a girl. A hostage. Real short, one eye.”

You didn’t say anything, didn’t move, just looked up at him. Your mind screamed run, but your limbs locked up.

The man squinted, leaning forward to get a better look. “Holy shit, it’s you, isn’t it?”

A little spasm made your body jerk awkwardly, a burst of energy from the part of your mind that wanted to escape.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, holding up his hands to show that they were empty. “I’m here to save you from these freaks.” Your silence made him frown, some of the warmth fading from his voice. “We have to move fast, while they’re all distracted.” He came even closer, reaching out to grab you.

“No!” you cried, recoiling. “I’m not… I’m not going with you. I don’t need to be rescued.”

His eyes narrowed, you could practically hear the gears turning in his head. “You’re not their hostage, are you.”

“No,” you said, once again checking your pocket for the knife, squeezing it so tight that the metal indented your skin. “I won’t go.”

“Look,” he said, his voice hardening. “Your dad’s offering a lot of money for your safe return, so you’re going to come with me. Is that going to be a problem?”

“You can’t make me go with you, I won’t,” you said, shrinking back. You were essentially cornered, but you were also closer to the ladder than he was. If you could scramble up and close the hatch, you could find a place to hide.

“I want you to know that if it were up to me, I’d let it be,” he told you. “But you’ll have to figure that out with your dad.”

With a burst of energy you didn’t know you had, you sprung up and practically fell off of the chest, scrambling towards the ladder.

He swore, grabbing you by the arm to jerk you backwards before striking your face. With your momentum broken and then flipped, you couldn’t adjust, going down hard and hitting the floor without feeling much of anything, just the mindless, deafening fire burning up your entire face. You were blind, your right eye streaming, seeing nothing except dark. The man hauled you off of the floor, grabbing your arms to painfully twist them. Your left shoulder socket screamed with red hot pain. That soundly snuffed out any will you had to fight.

“I’m going to… To wrap you up. Try not to hyperventilate,” he advised, his words muffled beneath the sharp ringing in your ears. You realized that you weren’t blind, you had crashed into the light and shattered it when you fell. The man did as promised, covering you with a sheath of coarse fabric. It smelled dusty and a little rotten, it was probably one of the prop curtains. You didn’t have time to struggle before he threw you onto his shoulder, knocking the wind out of you all over again.

Blood rushed down into your pounding head, mixing with the potent disorientation of being struck. It pulsed against the burning flesh of your cheek, you could practically feel the swelling. You knew you needed to escape, but if he dropped you while climbing to the upper deck, you could seriously injure yourself. And what good would it do? There was no way you could escape, you would only invite more pain. Maybe some people got used to it. They could take beatings and bear the pain with their teeth grit, but that wasn’t you. Already your head hurt so bad you worried you were going to vomit, your face burned, your left shoulder screamed, and your breathing was dangerously unsteady, muffled and hot in the cocoon of dusty fabric. The pain you felt now was nothing compared to what it could be, you knew that profoundly, and you couldn’t handle that.

Think.

You had to think.

When you gingerly raised your right arm to check, you found that your knife had stayed in your pocket through the ordeal. You couldn’t be stupid about using it. The blade wasn’t long enough to do much damage, the most you could hope for was that it’d give you a chance.

Even muffled by the curtain and pierced by the sharp ringing in your ears, the sound of the battle was deafening when he reached the upper deck. Your final night in Barley Village had given you a hint of violence’s atonal song, but when the man carried you out of the hatch, it hit with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Screaming, shouting, clanging, popping shots, howling like animals.

Your kidnapper’s grip on you tightened, although you were less inclined than ever to struggle, your body seizing up in response to the cacophony, withering in fear. You wanted it to stop, you wanted to get out of the noise, to escape to where it was quiet. Not outside quiet, but the inside kind. You could feel it creeping up with its anesthetic-like haze, your mind’s best attempt to protect you from the fear and the pain and the horror.

No, you couldn’t withdraw. You had to be brave. You would not let him take you back to your dad. You could not let him take you away from Captain Buggy.

Figuring out where you were was too difficult when there was so much noise and activity. He would be taking you to the Jolly Boats, wouldn’t he? That was the only way to escape. You needed to act while you were around people, where you could escape into the chaos. Better to take your chances amidst a brawl than let him get you onto that boat.

Slowly, you reached into your pocket and found the knife. Moving as little as possible, you worked your arm back down to hang forward. Fumbling blindly, you felt for the notch to flip the blade out, nearly dropping the weapon in the process. But you got it, readjusting the handle to hold it in your fist. Wrapped up like you were, there wasn’t much space for you to get good leverage or hit especially hard, but it was all you had. Biting into the loose fabric of your jacket to keep yourself from vomiting, you slammed your fist into your kidnapper’s back blade first. You imagined Buggy behind you, pulling your hand out to thrust it back in, helping you just like he had on that day. Once, twice, three times and then the man practically threw you off of him with some expletive that you were pretty sure ended in bitch.

For a second you were falling blindly, wrapped in a suffocating shroud. Then the deck caught the bend of your spine, your momentum rolling you away into a painful sprawl. You fought wildly to free yourself of the fabric, your panicked limbs thrashing desperately.

“You fucking—you stabbed me?” The man shouted incredulously. You shucked off the dusty cocoon finally, sour bile dribbling out of your mouth as your body finally relented to the stress. You choked and coughed it out, unable to do anything else with the massive jolt of sensory overload. You thought the fighting was loud and frightening from within your curtain cocoon, but it was nothing compared to finding yourself on the deck in the midst of a true hostile takeover.

The man was right above you when he stopped in his tracks, something emerging from his chest. He looked down at it in surprise, but the blade pulled out just as quickly. He pressed his hand against the stab wound as blood began to gush out, looking more like ink than anything else.

Before he could do anything, he was stabbed again, the sword sticking through his chest and out the back of his hand. When it pulled up and out, his body followed it. He hit the deck with a heavy thump, his body spasming as it tried to expel the blood in his lungs. Behind him stood your vengeful guardian angel. Cabaji lowered his sword, his expression unchanged as he stalked past your would-be kidnapper.

“Are you alright?” he asked when he was close enough for you to hear him. You stared up at him blankly, unable to comprehend the question.

The man on deck in front of you wasn’t dead. Even as he choked on his own blood, he went for his weapon. Scowling, Cabaji pushed him down with his foot and finished him off, carving a bright red smile across his neck. The man dropped, his eyes open and empty.

Cabaji sheathed his sword and offered you a hand. You took it and stood weightlessly, your head as light as a balloon. The world spun, blinking out of reality before it slammed back into you all over again, you were made of lead. Were you crying? Or just sobbing? You realized right then that your hands were shaking violently. The entire world shook and trembled.

“You can’t stay up here,” Cabaji told you.

You nodded, agreeing because you knew you should.

“Stay close to me,” Cabaji told you. You nodded again, clinging to his back. Cabaji didn’t stop you from holding onto his scarf, practically burying your face in it, ignoring everything else as he guided you across the deck. Every muscle in your body strained with tension, the scent of blood and smoke and gunpowder choking you, the howling of men and explosions and steel only barely piercing past the ringing in your ears.

From what it looked like when you dared to look, the fight was very one-sided. The Buggy Pirates had overwhelmed the other ship with their noise and number. You passed beneath a screaming, thrashing woman who hung from the rigging, it looked like she had climbed up in an attempt to escape and gotten tangled up. Somebody had thrown one of the powder bombs at her, painting her in red. Richie the lion had joined the fray, looking every bit the beast you feared. Bodies littered the deck, their inky blood reflecting the colors flashing in the sky. And the pirates, people you knew, rejoiced in it, cackling and dancing and killing with a reckless joyousness you couldn’t fathom.

A surprise party. As in, the other ship must have been surprised by the vicious crowd of circus performers throwing a party on their ship.

It was grotesque. Unnatural. You didn’t belong here, it didn’t make any sense that you were. It didn’t make sense.

When Cabaji stopped at the quarterdeck hatch leading down the officer’s quarters, you nearly fell against him. He opened it up, stepping aside to usher you through. It was on unsteady feet that you stepped down onto the ladder, and with clumsier hands that fumbled. You hit the floor hard on your tailbone. There was no pain. Cabaji jumped down next to you, once again holding out a hand to hoist you back onto your feet.

“Go into the captain’s cabin and lock the door.”

With the battle muffled, your deafening heartbeat took its place. You nodded, swallowing hard to pop your ears. “Yes,” you said. “Yes, sir.”

Before he could ascend the ladder again, you grabbed his hand, looking him in the eye with a sudden, vivid flash of hyper reality, every detail of the ship and the man in front of you viscerally present.

“Thank you, Cabaji.”

Although his severe expression remained, you thought you felt him squeeze your hand in passing reassurance before swinging around to rejoin the chaos above.

The trip back to the captain’s cabin was just that—a trip. After locking the door, you stumbled your way past the antechamber where you would normally wait and into Captain Buggy’s bedroom. For a long moment, you stood there looking at Buggy’s bed which you had neatly made earlier that day. His desk, littered with a familiar mess.

This was real. All of it.

Doubling over with a hard punch of nausea, you rushed to the bathroom, barely getting the lid up before you threw up everything in your stomach. Supper had been a while ago, there wasn’t much to expel other than acid, but your body violently convulsed in rounds as if to get rid of something more, something worse. Trying to rid itself of the sickness that nestled right into your bloody, corrupted insides, desperate to cleanse itself of the sticky rot that thickened your blood and made your head ache.

But that relief never came.

When you were so emptied out inside that your body couldn’t justify even dry heaving, you stood up and flushed the toilet. Moving slowly, lethargically, you grabbed the nearest liquid—a bottle of disinfecting alcohol Buggy used to wash his pierced ear—to rinse your mouth. It tasted foul and felt worse, but it removed the taste of vomit from your tongue.

With slow, stumbling steps, you went into the bedroom and poured yourself a cup of water, drinking until you couldn’t take any more and then-

And then what?

You stared at the worn down edge of his desk and even though you weren’t moving, couldn’t even feel yourself shaking anymore, the world was collapsing around you. It felt like that one time you fell out of one of the buildings northside, that hook like drag from behind your bellybutton as gravity got a hold of you, the terror that came moments before the agony of crashing onto the ground.

Not knowing what else to do, you huddled in the corner. Not on the bed, but behind it. Hiding.

You wanted to shut it all off, to retreat into the inside quiet like usual, to go where the world couldn’t touch you. There was too much pain and horror. Too many thoughts you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking. You did not belong here. You wanted to go home.

That pathetic thought broke through the fragile composure you’d maintained and you curled up into yourself, crying openly. You didn’t want to be here anymore, it was scary and violent and loud. You wanted to go home.

Pressing a clammy, trembling hand to your cheek, you could almost feel your dad’s touch imprinted on the skin, burned there as surely as a brand.

You closed your eye and it was as if you were in the familiar old sitting room with the overstuffed upholstery and fire that burned so brightly yet never seemed to put off any heat. That night, the last night before he left, dad called you to sit at his feet, appraising you with tired, bleary eyes. At the height of his fury, he looked more vicious god than man, towering above you with lightless pupils and a blank expression. Now he looked old and worn out. His days at sea had carved a million little creases into his face, the leathery flesh sagging off the bone from one too many emptied liquor bottles.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said as he stroked your cheek. “I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

“I know, daddy.”

“My sweet little girl.” His words slurred together like they always did when he was in an affectionate mood. “You are, aren’t you?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“You’ll be good now, won’t you? You won’t misbehave while I’m gone?”

What you wanted to remember was agreement. A bland ‘yes’ that you didn’t mean because of course you were going to run away. But that’s not what happened. That’s not what you said that night.

“Please don’t go,” you begged. That part of the memory was the most important because you understood it now. If he had stayed, you wouldn’t have left. You would have died in that house if he was there to keep you with him. Because you didn’t want to leave, not really. But you knew you couldn’t stay, either. You had to at least try to get out. But dad stroked your cheek and told you he would be back in a blink, that you wouldn’t have time to miss him.

You saw him off the next morning, your shoulders heavy with the knowledge of what you were about to do. What you had to do.

Destiny, fate, a bad joke—you didn’t know what to call it. Inevitability, maybe. Now you were here.

Your own hand dropped from your cheek, falling limp to the floor beside you as that memory fell away, replaced with another.

“If he doesn’t kill you, your dad will. Do you really think you’ll ever be able to hide from him?” Randall said that right before you cut him—cut him a huge red smile—and he was right. That’s what this was.

What happened tonight had been a deliberate attempt to kidnap you, to get away while everybody was distracted by the raid. Maybe your dad would be able to guess which merchant ships the Buggy Pirates would raid based on the stolen maps. Maybe he sent messages out to a few mercenary types, people who would be on board to protect the goods anyway, people who wouldn’t mind abandoning their crew for a bigger payout. Maybe this was just the most rotten confluence of bad luck and coincidence.

The execution was overshadowed by the far more intimidating message of it all. He would never let you go, not you, not his sweet little girl.

There was no quiet, not inside or out. The thrashing, raving thing within you screamed, and you did too. A ragged and terrible scream that ripped up the inside of your throat. It was pathetic and ugly. More than anything, it hurt.

Even if you went back to him, he would know what you had done. He would know that you weren’t his little girl anymore, that you were tarnished. One life burned for another you could never have. No matter what you thought or told yourself, you weren’t a pirate. You were a fake. A coward.

And there was nothing you could do. Not now, not anymore. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

For the first time since boarding the ship, you thought about what led you to this point. Really thought about it. The sneaking, the hiding, being strung up and threatened, the cage. Standing behind Randall with a stranger at your back, a knife in your hand, a blade to the neck of a man you had loved nearly all of your life, a man who never loved you. Screaming. Blood dripping down your wrist.

Murderer.

There were moments in your life that you thought were too much. You stopped crying, stopped shaking, stopped breathing, and knew, knew with absolute certainty, that you could not handle any more. Then time continued to march on, pulling you right along with it, and there was nothing other than your suffering, it was without end, and you wanted to die—more, you wanted to never have existed in the first place.

Those moments didn’t come when dad beat you, or when he screamed at you, or after losing mom, or because of what happened to your eye, or seeing Randall marry another girl. Pain and fear and sadness were immediate. Pain and fear and sadness, no matter how intolerable, made sense. At least you weren’t alone, at least you had a tether—even one that was barbed and electrified.

True misery, the kind that made you want to claw your way out of your skin and rip out your still-beating heart, was a solitary experience. It came when the cellar door closed and you heard the lock turn. When your desperate pleas and apologies and cries were met with silence because nobody was close enough to hear them. Those dark hours you spent curled up on the stone floor shivering, listening to your wheezing breath shudder in and out of your lungs. When the quiet didn’t come and you realized the enormity of imprisonment. It wasn’t that you were trapped in the dark, dank cellar with rats, or in a house with your angry dad, or in a town where everybody thought you were a freak. Hell was realizing that you were trapped within yourself, with the monstrous creature who lived in your head, the one that hated you so bitterly. Was that you? You without any mask at all, exposed and plain and wretched and a murderer.

It was too much. You could not handle it.

But there was nothing else. No one else. And you only had yourself to blame.

There was something Randall used to tell you. He’d laugh good-naturedly and say you’ve really stepped in it now. You could hear him now, as clearly as if he were right next to you.

You’ve really stepped in it now.

You heard the door unlock and open from the other room. The sound jolted you stiff, a gasp leaving your sore throat.

“Honey, I’m hoooome,” Buggy called, shutting the door. Hearing that it was him made your shoulders relax a little. Did that mean the fighting was over? “Babydoll, are you here? Cabaji told me you were naughty and he had to put you in time out.”

“I’m back here,” you called on autopilot, your voice cracking.

You had no idea what happened now, or what you were meant to do. There was nothing you could do to hide the fact that you had been crying, no matter how much you wiped your face. Bracing yourself for anything, you got to your feet. Standing up so fast made you dizzy, and suddenly you felt quite aware of how ridiculous it all was. Pathetic. A pirate wouldn’t cower in the corner of a room crying like a child. A grown woman wouldn’t do that.

You reached up to pull down your bandana, only to poke your left eye. It must have come undone sometime during the attempted kidnapping. You lost your knife too. That hurt worse than losing your bandana, nearly prompting you to start crying all over again.

“Where oh where has my baby gone,” Buggy began to sing as he walked through the other room. “Oh, where, oh, where can she be? She whines so sweet, like a bitch in heat—” He reached the open doorway, smiling as soon as he saw you. “Oh, there you are. I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“No, sir,” you said, your head bowed to hide your splotchy red face.

“What were you doing?”

You sniffled. “Nothing, sir.”

“Aw, did the big scawy fight make you cwy?” Buggy asked. You shook your head fast, unwilling to trust that your voice wouldn’t break if you spoke. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s okay to be scared your first time. Even I was a little freaked out during my first big raid.”

You dared to look up, your eyebrows furrowed. “Really?”

“No,” he said, laughing as if the thought itself were too ridiculous to entertain. “Can you imagine me being scared?”

He took his gloves off, tossing them aside. Buggy had lost his hat and coat and his clothes were splattered with blood and colorful powder and who knows what else, but he wasn’t wounded. He was fine, and he was in good spirits. That was good.

“You know,” Buggy finally said to break the silence, “if you want me to keep you around, you’re gonna have to suck it up and put on your big girl pants. Nobody likes a crybaby.”

“I know,” you said softly, self loathing making your chest swell, sitting heavily on your heart and lungs like a tumor. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“God, you’re so… so pitiful,” Buggy said. “Yeah, no. That’s not gonna do it for me tonight. We’re drinking.”

You side-eyed his collection of bottles. The sweet liquor he had shared that first night was an outlier, most of what Buggy drank was much harder and more abrasive. Even the smell made your stomach turn, you had no idea how he could handle it. “I’m okay,” you said, wiping your eye again.

“Oh, right. Poor little baby can’t handle her liquor. Don’t worry, Captain Buggy has just what you need. I scored this a month ago at a club owned by this Saydon guy.” He walked over to the armoire, shuffling around the clutter before finding a bottle. “He’s a thieving sack of shit without an original bone in his body, but I had a good time fleecing his stupid customers. This,” he held up the bottle as he turned and approached you, “is the good shit, straight from some rich guy’s personal stash. I was going to sell it, but I’m willing to sacrifice a few berry to cheer up my pathetic little charity case.”

You swallowed hard at the offer, looking from his smile to the bottle. Thick red glass and a real paper label, although the text was illegible.

“Let me pour you some so we can skip to the part where you’re not making me miserable and we can celebrate my brave and triumphant victory.”

“Okay,” you said. It was fine, probably some type of opiate. Your dad had given you that sort of thing to help you stave off the hysteria before. It would be nicer than feeling like this, wrung out and hiccupping in the pitiful clutches of despair.

“Gotta be careful not to overdo it. Hey, you wanna eyeball this for me?” Buggy asked, laughing as he measured out the tincture and added some water. Seeing your lack of smile as he handed you the cup, he sighed dramatically and grabbed one of the bottles from his desk. “A toast to the flawless victory won tonight by the most fearsome captain in all of the East Blue.”

“To Captain Buggy,” you said. Buggy drew back the bottle, giving you a sharp look. Sluggish as your brain was, it took an excruciatingly long few seconds to realize what he wanted. “To Captain Buggy, the future King of the Pirates... and-and the best man I’ve ever known,” you tried again.

“Eh… I’ll take it,” he allowed with a shrug, tapping his bottle to your cup.

The drink was as terrible as you expected, but the taste of bitter medicine was still better than hard liquor. Buggy clearly didn’t feel the same, downing a mouthful without even wincing before unceremoniously collapsing onto the end of his bed. You ran a hand over your face. Red, hot, and a little swollen. You knew you looked rough, probably about as bad as you felt.

“You weren’t this weepy last time,” Buggy said. “You weren’t worried about me, were you?”

“Of course I was,” you said, frowning. “I was worried about all of you. I… I don’t know what I would do without you, Captain Buggy. I’m sorry, I’m…” You shook your head, trying to clear it somewhat. “It’s silly.”

“Yeah it is. Those idiots wouldn’t be able to hurt me even if I was doused in seawater and blindfolded,” Buggy said, rolling his eyes and leaning back on his elbows. “It was so easy, barely even worth bragging about. After I killed like ten of his men, the captain came out with this huge sword—clearly compensating for something. I let him get a good swing in right through the middle, and you should have seen his eyes when I put myself back together. His reaction was even better than yours. I’m pretty sure he shit himself.”

“And everyone else?” you asked.

“Yeah, they did fine too,” he said flippantly. “Frankly, it was boring. For me, at least. I could probably have taken them down all by myself.” He sighed dramatically. “But, hey, it was a good learning experience for my freaks.”

You nodded, dropping down to your knees to take his boots like always.

Buggy capped the bottle and buried it in the sheets, pulling something out of his pants pocket. You glanced up to see him messing with something wrapped in thin foil wrapping before forcing yourself to focus on the nightly ritual of wrestling his boots off. They were splattered in blood, a fact you only realized when some of it smeared onto your hands.

“I found these in his office,” Buggy said after you got the first boot off. “Salted caramels. They’re a bitch to get out of your teeth, but-” Buggy popped one in his mouth, moaning loudly at the taste, “sooo good. Want one?”

You were more concerned with the unabashedly vulgar moan than you were with the candy, it took you a second to remember the question.

“Oh, um. Yes,” you finally said. “Yes, please.”

“Okay, but don’t tell anyone that I’m playing favorites,” Buggy said as he unwrapped another, sitting up to hold it out. When you tried to take it, he pulled away. “Ah, ah, ah. Open wide, babydoll.”

You frowned, realizing that he meant to feed it to you. “Why?”

“Look at your hands! Have you got any idea how nasty blood is? Come on, say ahhh.”

You sat up to take it with your mouth, he pulled it back at the last second, your lips closing around empty air.

“Oh, you almost got it,” Buggy teased. “Try again.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Captain Buggy, why…?”

“I’m teaching you a valuable lesson. If you really want something, you have to work for it.” He held the chunk of caramel up again, within reach. Once again, you tried to eat it, but he pulled it away again. “So close,” he taunted. Every time you leaned closer, Buggy pulled it away, scooting further up the bed to keep it just out of reach, laughing the whole time. It forced you to crawl up, bracing yourself on the edge of the bed to chase the prize. Once you thought you really had it, uncomfortably hovering above him, he looked you in the eye and popped the candy into his mouth. “Guess you didn’t want it that bad,” Buggy said with a big grin, the words gummed up as he chewed.

Flushing with embarrassment, you sat back onto your knees.

“You know,” Buggy said, sitting up. “I had a dog once that did the exact same trick. It wasn’t as good as when you do it, although he was a lot better at actually getting the treat.” Foil crinkled and, this time, he pressed the caramel directly against your lips, pushing until you accepted it. You were too caught off guard by the way he’d put it into your mouth to do anything other than automatically chew and swallow, barely tasting anything. “See?” he asked. “Delicious, right?”

“Yeah,” you belatedly agreed, the word coming out on autopilot.

“I can’t stand having sticky fingers,” Buggy said, tapping his tacky fingertips together with a frown. “Be a good little puppy and lick them clean for me.”

You blinked, laughing dizzily in disbelief before you fully comprehended what he said. “What?”

“It’s what dogs do, isn’t it?” Buggy asked, wagging his fingers in front of your face.

“You mean it?” you asked, hoping that he was just playing with you.

“Yes, I do,” he said slowly, condescendingly. “It can’t be that much more embarrassing than doing tricks, right?”

So it was just another game. An embarrassing one. It felt dirty, like something you shouldn’t have been doing. But maybe that was in your head. Maybe Buggy didn’t see it that way. It was fine. Avoiding looking up, you opened your mouth for him. He said to lick them clean, but it was more practical to close your lips and suck until there were no more traces of caramel stickiness on his skin.

“And Cabaji says you’re dead weight,” Buggy said, satisfied. Pulling his fingers out of your mouth with a slick pop, he leaned back again, grabbing the bottle from the sheets to take another drink.

“Cabaji says that?” you asked, confused. You and Cabaji were, well, not friends. But he saved you. When you thanked him, he squeezed your hand. Hadn’t he? When you tried to think of it, the whole night floated somewhere distant, far beyond the warm bubble of this room, there was a chance you made that part up.

“Are you ever gonna finish up down there?” Buggy asked as if he hadn’t heard you, raising his remaining boot. Somehow, you’d forgotten that removing his boots was the reason you were on the floor to begin with. Trying to shake your head clear, you braced yourself to get his boot off. It took more effort than it probably should have. Your limbs had loosened, your head light like a balloon. When it came free, you tipped backwards, thumping down on the floor. There was no pain.

Buggy laughed. Surprised at first, then louder, a big belly laugh.

You sat up, dazed and frowning. Your expression only made him laugh harder. When his amusement settled somewhat, he managed to speak. “You okay?”

“It’s not that funny,” you said.

“You know when you see a kid trying their little heart out to do something, but they keep failing because they’re so small and stupid? It’s like that,” Buggy said. “Watching you struggle with everything you try to do is half the reason I keep you around.”

Frowning with all of the indignant strength you could muster, you got your legs beneath yourself, using the edge of his desk to stand. Although it had probably been more of a gradual process you were simply unaware of—that would explain your lack of concern with his antics—it was only when you were upright that you fully realized the impact of the medicine.

Woah.

Breathing deeply, you followed the motions of getting a rag to clean up your hands, surprised at how lethargically you moved, how warm your skin felt. Annoyed, you pushed off your jacket, relaxing when its weight was gone from your shoulders.

You mumbled an apology, something about the room being too warm, turning to look at Buggy. The air felt so nice brushing against your bare skin, like warm little whispers all over your arms and legs.

“Hey, kiddo, you’re lookin’ kinda flushed,” Buggy said. “I didn’t give you too much, did I?”

You blinked slowly, caught off guard by the way his pale skin glowed in the warm lamplight, the way it highlighted the shadows beneath his cheekbones. “What?”

“Come here,” he said, holding his hand out to you.

It wasn’t a long distance, a few feet at most, but your legs weren’t steady at all. You let go of the desk and almost immediately tipped forward.

“Sheesh,” Buggy said with a laugh, catching you before you fell. “I didn’t expect you to throw yourself at me.”

“Sorry,” you said distantly, trying to get your bearings. The melty lightheaded feeling had your head spinning, reality shifting on its axis before snapping back into place.

“It’s not like it's the first time,” Buggy joked, grinning. Standing like this, your hands on his shoulders, you were so close. His breath smelled like whiskey and caramel and his makeup had faded and smeared after the fight. You wanted to be closer, to feel his bare skin against yours. That would be so nice, wouldn’t it? He was warm and solid and-

You looked around, overcome with the absurdity of the situation. How long had you been in here? The air was warm and too close, and your bandana was gone when you nervously tried to pull it down.

“Sorry, um… What?” you asked with a confused smile, trying to focus your thoughts. “I… can’t think…”

“It’s not like I keep you around for your brains,” Buggy told you. He sounded a little drunk, smiling that boyish grin you usually only saw in the morning. “Why don’t you sit down? We’re still celebrating.”

“What about your… your makeup?” you asked, trying to find a familiar point to tether yourself with.

“What about yours?” Buggy asked, running his thumb over your cheek. “It’s smeared all over your face. You look like a one-eyed racoon.”

“Oh, I… I forgot,” you said, running a finger under your eye. It came away smeared with black makeup. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t mind it,” Buggy said, “Actually, you look kinda cute like this—all cried out and red and pathetic. I don’t know why, but there’s something about that sad look you get that really turns me on. Is that weird?”

A beat too late, your eye widened in surprise, your shoulders raising defensively. “You can’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” You floundered, searching for the right words. The other night when you were drunk, the alcohol made your thoughts scatter, difficult to interpret. This drug was different, it eased away the edges. Too many words and a very soft world in which to speak them. That was confusing, just for a different reason. “Because it’s not true,” you finally said, almost proud to have remembered what you meant to say. “You’re just trying to embarrass me.”

Buggy laughed. “I don’t have to make shit up to embarrass you. Half the time you spare me the trouble and do it yourself.”

You frowned, your eyebrows furrowing.

“Don’t worry,” he said soothingly, “I’m into it.”

You looked at him for a second before laughing nervously, a little tremor working down your spine. “Captain Buggy, I, um…”

“Don’t you trust me?” he cooed in an overly saccharine tone.

“Yes, I do.”

“You’re not afraid I’m trying to pressure you into something, are you? It’s not like there’s anything wrong with sitting together. I bet you sat on your dad’s lap all the time,” Buggy said as he pulled you towards him, scooting back to make more room for you to sit.

“Not… like this,” you said, your nervous smile straining as you tried to twist sideways to sit with your legs across his lap because that was the normal, safe way. Sitting with your legs straddling his hips was entirely different and wrong. “Isn’t this… awkward for you?”

“Not at all. Make yourself comfortable.” You tried to hold your weight off of him, one foot on the floor, but he reached around to hook a hand around your thigh, forcing you fully onto the bed and onto his lap. “Yeah, just like-” Buggy’s words cut off with a groan when you tilted forward, a sound that made you tense up, very, very aware of his hips between your thighs.

“I’m sorry,” you said, trying to squirm away. “Did I hurt you? I can… move…”

“No, don’t,” Buggy said, his hold on your hips tightening. “It’s, uh…” He exhaled harshly. “Fuck. I swear I never even thought this sorta thing was hot before now… Like, sure, I guess it’s a little charming when girls get coy and act like they’re innocent, but, I don’t know, it’s so played out. But then the real deal comes around and suddenly I get the appeal. I really get it.”

You giggled at that. It wasn’t funny, you weren’t sure why you would find it amusing. “Shhh,” you said as seriously as you could. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true, isn’t it?” Buggy asked, raising his eyebrows. “Have you ever even kissed anybody?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Yes, I have.”

“Riiiight, that shithead from the other day. But he abandoned you, didn’t he? Broke your poor little heart all because he couldn’t imagine looking at your busted eye while fucking you.” Buggy’s hand raised to cradle your head, his thumb tracing the scar beneath your left eye. “Well, personally, I think it’s hot that you’re just as damaged on the outside as you are on the inside.”

“No,” you told him, shaking your head with more vigor than was warranted when you weren’t sure what, exactly, you were protesting.

“Between you and me,” Buggy continued, leaning even closer to speak in a conspiratorial tone, “last time I was jacking off, all I could think about was how adorable it is. Your eyes just scream ‘rape me’ which is weird because only one of them works, and believe me, it makes it pretty damn difficult when you spend so much time on your knees. God, would you even know what was going on if I popped a boner while you were down there? I’m chubbed up half the time and you don’t seem to get it.”

That crossed a line you hadn’t been aware of, and he said it so easily. So casually. The words dripped hot poison into your core, pulling a dark shiver down your spine and an unexpected sound from your mouth. You didn’t mean it, you never really did, but your mind was drifting above the clouds, leaving your body to try and sort out the feelings he so effortlessly dragged out of you. As soon as your reaction registered, you clasped both hands over your mouth with enough force to almost send you tumbling backwards, but Buggy pulled you back, laughing.

“What was that?”

“I… didn’t mean to,” you said, but he probably couldn’t hear through your hands.

“No, seriously. Do you practice these sounds ahead of time, or do they just happen?”

“I’m sorry,” you said, releasing your mouth. “I…” When you squirmed in discomfort, his hips rolled to meet it, grinding directly between your legs. You squeezed your eye shut, just trying to breathe. The drug made your body relax, but it relaxed too much, dragging you down with the heaviness of your flesh. A bubble of sound left you, something like a sob or a laugh or a hiccup. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because it’s fun and, more importantly, because I want to,” Buggy said in a matter-of-fact way. “Do you want me to stop?”

You shook your head again, refusing to look at him as if that would buy you some time so you could find an answer.

“Hey, your captain asked you a question.”

“I… don’t know…” you told him, fleetingly meeting his eye in an attempt to convey your inner conflict, to make him understand what you felt.

Buggy made a harsh sound of frustration, his eyes rolling up to stare at the ceiling. “Yeah, that’s not really an answer. The last thing I need right now is you waking up tomorrow and crying molestation or some bullshit.”

“I wouldn’t,” you told him. “I don’t want you to-to stop, but… I-I don’t know what… or-or how, I…”

“Ah, I’m doing this all wrong, aren’t I?” he said in a softer tone, looking back down to meet your eye, smiling and petting your hair. “I mean what is the first rule of storytelling?”

You frowned, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“Show,” Buggy answered for you, his hand sneaking around to hold the back of your head, “don’t tell.”

It wasn’t a kiss, not at first. At first it was just hot and wet because you didn’t understand what was going on. You knew you were supposed to open your mouth, so you did, but you couldn’t comprehend anything other than the vulgar assault of tongue and teeth. He tasted like salt and caramel and liquor and greasepaint. It was strange to feel his nose pressing against your cheek and the drag of his stubble against your skin.

Then something clicked, your body taking over while your mind faltered behind. With the drug swimming in your system, everything felt at least a little good. The heaviness inside of you was also raw, stimulating warmth, a sort of buzzing wherever the two of you touched. Kissing Buggy felt even better. Being kissed, letting him guide you. It was filthy and messy and a little gross to feel his tongue in your mouth, but it was animalistically hot.

When his hand pushed under your shirt, it tickled enough to make you laugh, squirming in his lap. He groaned hungrily right into your mouth, his hips grinding up against you. With one arm wrapped around you to keep your head in place, the other pushed your undershirt up and out of the way to palm your breasts. The limited exploration you had done with your body had given you the impression that you were indifferent to feeling anything other than disgust and shame, but the sensation of him rolling your nipple between two rough fingers zipped down your spine like electricity.

Even muffled by his mouth, you couldn’t stop yourself from moaning and whimpering, from helplessly pressing yourself against him for more. He said you hadn’t noticed when he was hard before, but you were pretty sure that’s what you were feeling right then, that it was his erection hot and hard between your legs.

Leaving both nipples hard and painfully sensitive, his hand slipped down to wiggle under the waistband of your shorts. Bad. Bad. Wrong. Very wrong. You pulled away with a harsh gasp, trying to squirm away from that hand.

“Hey, no, it’s okay. I’m just gonna check real quick to see if you’re wet,” Buggy said to console you. His makeup was smeared from the kiss, and his eyes were round and excited. “It’s not weird, I’m just trying to figure out where we’re at with the whole consent thing, okay?”

“Okay,” you mumbled, even if you had no idea what one had to do with the other. The angle was awkward, especially when he had to navigate beneath the confines of your shorts, but his searching fingers found your clothed pussy pretty quickly. His touch shocked you as physically as a jolt of electricity. Even through your panties, there was a foreign intensity to the pressure. More intense, maybe, was the look in his eyes. You expected amusement, but there was none. Stripped of the jokes and the teasing and the smile and the crass comments, he was somebody who wanted. Wanted you.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Buggy said, his fingers curling, pushing the fabric of your panties between your folds, and you choked back an embarrassing whimper, your hips unintentionally bucking forward.

“I don’t think this is… I’m really, really sorry, I…” you stammered out, stumbling over your excuses and apologies and anything at all that would get you out of this. “I mean, we shouldn’t, it’s probably not-”

“Shut up,” Buggy told you sharply. “Here I thought I should take things slow so you didn’t feel too bad about it afterwards, but you’re fuckin’ soaked.”

“No, it… ‘s not-”

“No?” he cut in, easily shutting you up with another curl of his fingers. “So what am I feeling right now. Did’ya piss yourself or something?”

“I didn’t! It’s just…” Hard to think. Hard to talk. Hard to figure out what you wanted. Hard to know what was happening, what he expected. You laughed a little, hoping that he would too, and that this would be a joke, but he didn’t. You broke, shaking your head and whining. “It’s too… too embarrassing.”

“For you, maybe. I mean, jeez, talk about desperate. You really want me, huh?”

“I… I don’t know if… I shouldn’t.”

“God, it’s like pulling teeth,” Buggy said, pulling his hand out from between your legs. “Wait, there’s an idea. Should I go get the pliers? Will that get me a straight answer out of you?”

You swallowed hard, trying to focus on anything other than the zapping memory of his hand down your shorts. If you didn’t want something, you already would have left, your body wouldn’t be singing and surging to get more of his touch. But you couldn’t say that you wanted to go further either because you could not imagine or conceptualize that happening. More than anything, you didn’t want to be alone. You didn’t want to disappoint him. The idea of being touched drove you wild, but there was a sickness in your stomach that was only getting worse.

“Listen, babydoll,” Buggy told you, his voice lowering, steady like he was talking to a frightened animal. “I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do, but I’m really hard right now so I’m gonna come. You can either stay here and come with me or get the hell out of here.” As much as you could feel Buggy trying to maintain composure, it wasn’t working.

You closed your eye, trying to think, just to scrape together a single coherent thought that would help you figure out what to do, but instead you thought of the warehouse. The air stank of wet rot and ocean air and old metal. “New girl,” Buggy had called, snapping to beckon you closer. Randall knelt on the ground. Pathetic and powerless, groaning in pain. You obliged then, rushing to Buggy’s side, your feet crunching on the broken glass and chunks of old building. Buggy didn’t look angry, not like you feared he would. Instead, he smiled. It was a mean smile, a frightening one. But a smile all the same, a gruesome expression meant to set you at ease, and maybe to keep himself composed. “Are you ready for your big moment?”

“So, uh,” Buggy, the real one, the one sitting beneath you watching with expectant eyes, said, licking his lips, “which is it?”

There was only one answer, there had only ever been one. You didn’t know. These things, your choices, weren’t for you to make. So you didn’t know. Not then and not now. Instead, you took the knife he offered and asked for him to show you how. Instead, you pressed yourself closer to him, hoping that he would decide, desperate for him to choose for you. Buggy moaned, his hips rolling upward to meet yours. He caught himself quickly, practically growling in frustration.

“Fuck… Stop,” Buggy told you in a rough voice, grabbing you by the back of the hair to force you still. “I need you to tell me what you want. Out loud. Right now, so it's on the record.”

“I want,” you told him in a weak voice, stopping there as you tried to find the right words.

“Yeah?” He prompted you.

“I want…” The words sounded so far away, like it wasn’t really you speaking them at all, as if you were trying to guess the right answer. “I want you, Captain Buggy. Anything you want, I’m yours.”

“Finally!” Buggy said with a hoarse laugh, shaking you back and forth. “See how easy it is when you allow yourself to be honest?”

Easy. It was easy, of course it was easy, of course you wanted to give him whatever he wanted, especially if it was you. Anything, anything, everything. Buggy grabbed you by the hips to spin you around, dropping you onto the bed. You landed on your back and bounced twice, dizzy from the sudden shift. Buggy was already kneeling between your legs by the time you blinked your vision clear, roughly getting out of his pants.

“Since we’re being honest now, I’ll tell you something too—I’m glad this is your first time,” Buggy told you, flinging off his shirt before getting you out of yours. He didn’t undress you with any grace, pulling your shirt and undershirt off in a twisted bundle of fabric, leaving you half naked to his manic, hungry eyes. “Opening night is special,” he continued, licking his lips. “It’s something that nobody has ever seen before. Sure, it lacks the polish of later shows, but there’s beauty in that. It’s real, it’s raw. This, right now, is your debut, babydoll. I wanna see you come. Once, maybe twice just to start because then I’m going to fuck you and that…” Buggy laughed, pulling off one boot and tossing it behind himself with a thump before taking the other. You sat up, trying to cover your chest, only to be knocked back down when he grabbed the waistband of your shorts and underwear to pull them down your thighs, curling your legs up to shake you out of them. “It might hurt, after all of this teasing I don’t think I’ll be able to hold myself back. But that’s good. You want it to hurt, it should hurt—pain is how good art is made.”

Before you could respond to that, he descended upon you. Not a kiss this time. At least, not a kiss on the lips. While his fingers trailed up your thigh, his mouth latched on your neck. The same moment he found your entrance, his teeth dug into your sensitive skin. When he began to suck, his fingers trailed upward to land on your clit.

You might have wailed, if only you had enough air in your lungs to do so. He only got a sharp, pathetic whine and more nervous giggling, your hips jumping up into his hand. Somewhere inside of your swimming mind, there was a thought. A spark of one, a bit of consciousness that had no real conclusion before it bubbled out of your mouth in a string of stuttered “I…I…I…” while your hands gripped desperately at his shoulders. He kept rubbing your clit and you knew, logically, that it would feel better if you stayed still, but you couldn’t.

Buggy pulled away from your neck with a slick pop. “Can you…fuckin’...can you settle down? I can’t do this with you trying to buck me off.”

You meant to tell him that it wasn’t your fault, that you couldn’t keep still, but the only response your drugged brain could manage was a nervous smile and hiccup. Making a sound of frustration, Buggy sat up and grabbed you by the waist to pull you down, his forearm settling across your pelvis to keep your hips flat. With his weight pinning down one leg and your other shoved aside by a not so gentle slap, you couldn’t go anywhere. So you whined, giving up and covering your face with your hands instead.

Buggy laughed. “Don’t act so pathetic, I know you love this. You're sooo sensitive," he said, lazily pushing a finger into your pussy before dragging it out. Letting his fingers glide between your folds with an agonizingly light touch, drawing little circles over your swollen clit. Again and again and again and- "I’m barely doing anything and you're practically having a seizure down there."

You whimpered, squirming beneath him to no avail. He had your hips completely immobilized. Buggy laughed again, slowly sinking his fingers into your pussy. Two of them now. Two calloused fingers to press deep into you, to seek out the spongy spot as they curled and thrust in and out. Slow, painfully slow. There was nothing you could do about it. Push at his shoulders with shaking hands, arch your back to nowhere, shake your head back and forth like it mattered, like he cared. You tried to laugh like he did, needed to diffuse some of the scorching tension, but the sound was breathy and high pitched and it wasn’t funny, it was torture.

Buggy’s fingers finally broke the slow pace to practically slam into you, and it sounded disgusting. Wet, harsh. You couldn’t stop shaking, and there wasn’t enough air, your lungs were being collapsed by the weight of the drug. Despite that, despite everything, your pussy squeezed his fingers, only getting wetter the rougher he got. The noises you made, the mewling and the whining and the moaning, were practically innocent compared to the loud squelching of each thrust.

“It sounds like I’m plunging a fuckin’ toilet,” Buggy said, laughing.

You pressed your palms against your eyes as if that would hide you, caught between humiliation and need. “I’m s-ss-sorry,” you babbled. “It’s… gross… I’m sorry, please just… Stop, it’s—”

“Stop?” he repeated. “Is that what you just said? You’re giving me orders now?” He slowed down, only to add another finger. The frantic rise of tension had your heels digging into his bed, your hands unable to decide if you wanted to cover your face or claw at the sheets.

“No! No, no no—” What were you even denying at this point? It was all incoherent anyway, and you knew you didn’t actually mean it.

“Do you know when I’m gonna stop?” Buggy asked. “After you come all over my hand. So quit yer yappin’ and hurry it up.”

Your whimper was barely audible, but it was one of resignation. He was right, the slick squelching sounds really did conjure the worst imagery. But, somehow, not even that killed your building orgasm. Neither did the musky smell, or the gross feeling of your sweat soaking into his bedding. It was all just sex and, right then, it was hot. You couldn’t focus on anything other than the tightening coil in your core, not even the man fucking you with three fingers, going hard enough to hurt, hooking and curling with each thrust to grind them against the spongy spot inside of you. The only thing that mattered was the pleasure that sat on the very tip of your tongue and how badly you needed it. To please him, to end this embarrassing torment, to stop inconveniencing him. You had no idea if it was what you wanted but, one way or another, your body would expel the foam in your head, the need in your belly. Come or throw up or scream.

With a choked yelp, you came. Your back arched, your body fighting against Buggy’s hold. You had one hand across your face while the other desperately clawed at the sheets and you wanted to fuck yourself on his fingers, to meet them with each thrust, but you couldn’t move your hips. All you could do was take what you were given, endure the helplessness, the sticky waves of pleasure.

And then it was over, just hot air and sweat.

There was a sense that you were not yourself, like you had been unbound from your existence as a person. But also one that stitched you into your hot, heavy skin so tightly that you knew you could not ever be somebody else. The lucidity of the feeling killed your desire, you needed a break. You needed to breathe.

“No more,” you told him, trying to squirm away, to grab his hand. “Please, I… Please, no more.”

“That was it? Seriously?” Buggy asked, incredulously amused. His fingers did slow down, stroking your g-spot in a way that made you twitch uncontrollably. “You just came?”

“I’m sorry,” you said breathlessly, covering your face with your trembling hands.

Buggy laughed in delight. “No, it was,” he said, finally pulling his fingers out and taking his weight off of you, “weirdly adorable. I was just joking about the puppy thing earlier, but you’re kind of proving my point. Girls usually, you know, moan. Or scream or something, I don’t know. What is it, do you think? The daddy issues? Or is it ‘cause I’m the first guy to make you come? Don’t get me wrong, I liked it, it was fuckin’ hot, but now I’m curious. Do you think you can moan like a normal girl at all, or are you just gonna keep whining the whole time?”

“I, um… I-I don’t,” were the only words you could muster as you stared at him, completely still. For a couple of seconds you had fooled yourself into thinking you had escaped the red stained-glass fog of the drug, but the vulgarity drew you right back in, enveloping you in its humid dusk.

Buggy grinned, a mad expression. “Guess we’ll find out.”

When he pulled off his underwear, you didn’t know if it was okay for you to look or not, your eye flicking nervously from his smile to the pale expanse of his torso, following the trail of hair that led down, and down. His cock bobbed up the moment it was free. It was more intimidating of a sight than you thought it would be, giving you that uncanny sense of vertigo, like staring down a very high cliff into some unknown abyss. This was wrong. Buggy clearly had no such reservations, spitting into his hand to stroke his dick as he loomed above you.

“You’ve got me in a romantic mood, you can stay just like that,” Buggy said as he crowded you further up the bed. You stared up at him, stiff and too nervous to move. He frowned. “Okay, well I didn’t mean literally just like that, you’re gonna have to make some room for me.” He gave you a second before huffing in irritation, rolling his eyes. “Fuckin’ virgins.”

Buggy grabbed you, hauling you up the bed to drop you unceremoniously into the pillows. You squeaked, trying to hold onto him while he hiked your legs up his waist. Breathing was difficult, all of the air smelled like Buggy and sex and you were so, so aware of the way it pressed slowly out of your chest. He released your right leg to grab his cock, slicking it between your folds. That made you gasp sharply, your fingers digging into his back.

“Are you trying to scratch me?” Buggy asked, amused but distracted as kept nudging his dick between your folds, his hips rolling forward when it caught on your entrance.

“I… I’m… No-hh—I-I-” Any part of your mind that was still functioning was focused entirely on the pressure of his cock as he pushed forward again, pressing it a little deeper.

“I don’t mind it,” Buggy told you, “but fair’s fair.” He punctuated that word with a harder thrust, pushing his cock past the initial resistance of your entrance. Your eye widened, a sound of surprise practically punched out of your body with the shock of it. His fingers had not at all prepared you for what it would feel like. The insistence. The weight. Buggy smiled, watching your face as his hips rolled forward.

This time, you whined, squeezing your eye shut and digging your fingers into his back, your pussy unintentionally tightening around him which only made the discomfort that much worse, but you couldn’t force your body to relax and you honestly didn’t know if you were trying to push him out or pull him deeper.

“No, look—look at me,” Buggy demanded hoarsely, hiking your right leg back up his waist, not moving until you met his demand. You let out a shuddering breath and opened your eye, looking up at him through tear coated lashes. His eyes were familiar to you, but not like this. In the dim light, all that remained was their devious sparkle, his hunger, his all-consuming lust. You tried to keep your expression composed, to hide your embarrassing reactions, but it was all in vain. The leverage made it easier for him to rock his hips forward, his cock driving deeper, and your expression crumpled as you cried out, you couldn’t help yourself.

The intimacy Buggy demanded of you while splitting you apart became intolerable. You tried to rear back, your back arching beneath him, but Buggy grabbed your jaw to keep you from looking away, to keep you from hiding. You tried to tell him that it was too much, too heavy, too big, too overwhelming, but you couldn’t find the words before he was already thrusting forward again, filling you more and more, his entire body covering yours, his eyes devouring your reactions. He watched with parted lips, his eyebrows raised in some sort of needful appeal. It felt so cruel, but Buggy didn’t look at you cruelly.

It was too much to bear, let alone understand. Giving up on begging him to slow down, you tried to push at his abdomen. Buggy wasn't bothered by it, or by the scrape of your nails along his back, it was like he didn’t even notice.

“Cap-tain,” you whined, the word broken in your mouth, squished from the grip he had on your jaw. When he moved, you could feel how you were shaking beneath him, around him, your heartbeat thumping hot blood between your legs. The pressure was intense, unfamiliar. You whimpered, your back restlessly arching, your free hand clawing at his shoulder. “I… It's… Too much…”

“Yeah?” Buggy asked, managing a smile before that became another moan. “You’re so fuckin’... Fuck.”

It was impossible to not respond to the overt sound of his pleasure, your pussy clenching around him, soaking his cock. It sounded filthy. You opened your mouth to say something and, like he’d been waiting for it, Buggy released your jaw, his hand resting beneath your chin to push your face up so he could kiss you instead. His tongue in your mouth was just as invasive as his cock in your pussy, it felt more like he was trying to eat you, to devour you, leaving you no space to breathe or think or react. You could feel every grunt and groan, feel the way he reacted to every little sound you made.

There was no refinement to it, no mercy, no thought given to anything other than animal instinct and need. Buggy was barely even pulling out, grinding himself into you as deep as possible over and over and over and it was maddening because he wasn’t slamming his cock into you the way he had with his fingers and that should have been easier to take, but there was no release, just more and again.

When he pulled away from the kiss, giving you a few moments to catch your breath, you threw your head back to keep him from kissing you again, worried that you’d pass out from the lack of air. Buggy groaned in irritation, punishing you with a hard thrust. And then another, and another. Skin slapping and squelching and your confused yelps of pleasure or pain.

“I-I—I can’t, I…” Your nails dug into his back, his shoulders, not to make him stop or even slow down, but because you had no other way to express what you felt. “Too much, i’ss—”

Buggy grunted, grabbing your legs again to pull them back up, changing the angle. The surprise zip of pleasure struck hard, making you moan loudly and openly, your wide eye meeting his. Buggy’s lips twitched almost like a smile, a little look of victory at getting such an unabashedly slutty reaction from you. You couldn’t take it back, and he knew he had an advantage, exploiting it with every thrust.

“Come on,” Buggy said, his voice labored and heavy. “Admit it… You love this. You wanted me to fuck you from… from the day we met. You’re a freak.”

“Captain… Buggy please,” you begged, whining his name desperately in a voice that sounded so unlike your own. None of you really felt familiar, not your voice or your body or the sensations. Maybe it was someone else and you were only along for the ride, that would explain why you lacked any and all control over your body, why you could feel the torturous build of pleasure in your core in spite of the discomfort or fear or uncertainty, why you had been driven to true delirium from the way his cock ground against your walls like his fingers had, another point of excess stimulation on top of the overwhelming fullness. You could feel your pussy squeeze around him, feel the fresh wave of slick arousal that coated his cock, spilling out around the seams. You had no control, there was nothing for you to do but hang on and accept what had become helplessness in its purest form.

Buggy laughed, a hoarse, mean sound that stuttered with each thrust before leveling into a moan. You couldn’t help but whimper in turn, your hips moving to meet each rocking thrust, your thighs trembling with how hard they were clamped around his waist. If you let go, you worried that you’d never stop falling, that you would be lost because there was nothing else.

“Buggy,” you whined. “Buggy, I…”

He groaned low, grabbing your hand to hold it with your fingers entwined, pinning it by your head. By now you were chest to chest, both of you sweaty enough to be slick, your breathing dangerously unsteady, lungs puffing the sweltering air. He was kissing you, but every part of your functional mind that still worked was focused on coming. Buggy didn’t seem to mind your preoccupation, content to kiss your open mouth, content to swallow all of your moans. You didn’t think it was physically possible to be closer to another human being, you could feel his heart beating within your own heavy ribcage, feel the rush of his blood through your veins. There was nothing left of you without him.

So, then, you couldn’t do anything else, there was no choice, just that anxious need, some wild feeling that you’d scream if you couldn’t come. After teetering so close for a frightening few seconds, that was the thought that tipped you over the edge, your body tensing and seizing beneath him, disturbing your synchronization as your pussy spasmed around him, your hands holding onto his back in a death grip, pleasure rippling through you, stoked over and over again by the relentless weight of his cock. When you were done whimpering and whining and writhing your way through your orgasm, your body going limp beneath him, Buggy released you from the kiss. You saw a thick strand of saliva pop between you as he pulled away.

“Did you just… come?” he asked breathlessly, incredulously.

You nodded, gasping for air, your glassy eye swirling with moving colors, your hazy mind unable to focus on anything while he was still inside you.

“Guess that answers that question then,” Buggy muttered. Laughing as he began fucking you again, laughing and then moaning, his thrusts less targeted and more indulgent. All he had to do was get his hand on your jaw to remind you to look at his eyes. It made you choke, whimpering as the wake of your orgasm faded into overstimulation all over again. The intensity of too much combined with the trembling pleasure-pain, all of it twisted and hazy red, a world filtered and scattered, intangibly delicious but also anxious and frightening.

Buggy fucked into you selfishly now, his hands digging bruises into your thighs, his thrusts jarringly rough and without any rhythm you understood. But the sounds he made, you liked those. They were almost pained, rising in pitch as he got closer. Lustful appetite in its most crude and feverish form.

“Buggy,” you whined, scrambling to hold onto him, to mitigate the violence of his desire. “Buggy, please-”

He moaned loudly, crushing you, claiming you with his open mouth on yours, all teeth and tongue and hunger. Using you, sparing you no soft affection when he came, burying his cock as deep as possible for those final few sporadic thrusts.

You thought you could feel it, feel his cock twitch inside of you, but maybe it was just your imagination. How could you feel anything other than the steady throbbing between your legs?

Buggy groaned, breathing hard. A second later, he pulled out and flopping onto his back beside you, either missing or ignoring your wince of pain. You covered your face with your hands, willing the world to fall away. You couldn’t understand it anyway, what was the point?

“I was thinking of a more appropriate title for your job,” Buggy said between ragged breaths. “I get worried that-that people might expect too much from you. So I was thinking something like Buggy the Clown’s Cocksleeve or—or the Flashy Fool’s Fucktoy. But just now, it came to me-” He snapped his fingers. “Captain Buggy’s Cock Puppet.” He turned his head to look at you, grinning. “Eh?”

A hard shiver worked down your spine. “That’s gross,” you muttered.

He huffed, annoyed by your answer. “It’s pretty bold to act like a prude when you were creaming all over my dick a couple minutes ago.”

You groaned, covering your face again.

“We’ll work on that,” Buggy said, sitting up. You opened your eye, watching him roll his neck and arms, his shoulders popping. His hair was a mess, a lot of it had come loose, he had to fight against the hair tie to get it out, swearing at it before the thing snapped and he threw it somewhere to the side. You were too sleepy and dazed to care that you were staring at him, admiring him. You did admire him, even if he said things you wished he wouldn’t, or did things you didn’t like. You admired him as your captain. And he was beautiful.

Buggy rolled off the bed. He wore his nudity without a shred of shame. You watched as he poured himself a big cup of water from the jug, downing it all in a steady stream of gulps.

“Thirsty?” he asked, shooting you a look over his shoulder.

You pushed your hair off of your sweaty face, the world spinning spectacularly as you sat up, and nodded. He filled the cup again as you crawled to the edge of the bed, wincing at the sharp pain between your legs, the wet mess coating your thighs.

“Drink up, you were leaking pretty bad from both ends tonight,” Buggy joked as he helped hold the cup steady in your shaking hands. You hummed, not really caring about his words because the water was the best thing you had ever tasted in your entire life, and it felt even better on your dry tongue and throat. He took it when you were done and you wiped your mouth, an anxious question forming in your mind. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to leave or not.

But you weren’t sure if you could move, either. Maybe you would just stay there forever. That didn’t sound too bad.

Buggy turned off the lights and threw himself onto the bed, uncaring that he was lying in the mess the two of you had made or that he was sweaty and grimy.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

What were you doing? Why were you here? What had you done? “I… um-”

“Yeah, I don’t actually care,” Buggy said through a yawn. “It’s been a long day and I’m wiped. Get up here.”

It took a moment for you to follow the simple order, but you managed to crawl up the bed. Rather than suffer your nervous attempts to find a spot that wouldn’t disturb him, Buggy grabbed you, pulling you against him like a child with a toy. He was hot and sweaty and the amount of weight he put on you wasn’t exactly comfortable, but you didn’t dare move—you didn’t want to move. His skin smelled like greasepaint and musk and sweat and gunpowder and leather and you drank it in, accepting your discomfort because it was Buggy.

In the swampish dark left behind in the red heat of passion, and especially in his arms, you thought about the affection you felt when you looked at him. It was only natural that you would love Buggy. Not as a lover, but as anybody would love their captain. To serve him as you had sworn, your love had to be absolute. But then you wondered what he felt for you. It would be too much and much too soon to ask for love, but surely there was something.

You, with a shocking amount of clarity given the fogged state of your mind, decided that you would ask him and accept whatever answer he gave. Emboldened by that resolution, you looked at him.

Buggy was already asleep.

#opla buggy #opla buggy x reader #buggy x reader #one piece live action #buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #my writing #flashbang #tw.dubcon #not sfw

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elvisalltheway101 · 3 months

Note

Hey!! I have a request, I was wondering if you could write a Elvis X reader. Where Elvis finds us in the kitchen making breakfast(doing housewife duties) and he's just so glad that he married us and he's all lovey Dovey with us and we're just giggling and carrying on🤭🤭

Definitely take all the time you need!! No pressure :)

•I Want A Love I Can See•

Summary: Just a daily vision that Elvis sees everyday after work, who wouldn’t love marriage life with you?

Author’s note: thank you for your request, hun! (Get it? hun, because like your username…no? Okay, uh yup.) anyway, I hope you enjoy this! I’m slowly gonna get out recent requests, and then get out my little fic bits I wanted out. Like I always say, if you ain’t satisfied with it, tell me and I’ll be happy to write you an another to fit your liking! But let’s read on!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Shutting the door behind him single-handedly, his eyes travel over his tidy and comfy home. The kid’s lunch boxes stored nicely under their backpacks, with all shoes tucked under the coat hanger that hangs their school jackets.

he hums to himself a soft and proud smile, moving his legs smoothly around the corner and into the kitchen. The aura of such sweet baked goods, and savory meals fills the air and surrounds into his nostrils.

it’s so nice to come home to this, he thinks to himself fluttering his eyes closed. Letting his faith and love walk him. After a graveyard shift, to be welcomed with the home clean, the kids still sleeping just until their alarm clocks ring, and his beautiful wife in the kitchen.

He flickers his eyes open and smiles widely at the sight. His darling baby standing in all her glory, her back turned to him as she busies herself with cooking. The oven is stuffed with a blueberry pie has properly done arrays of dough atop that’s just baking into a toasty, yummy treat.

He takes a moment to stand back, and tuck his hands into his pockets. Watching you so elegantly chop the fresh strawberries you had bought the day before, and he just can’t hold back anymore.

Stomping over behind you, and swiftly hugs you into his long arms. You gasp softly in expected surprise, and giggle sweetly. Your voice and sounds are just music to his ears. You shrug your shoulders slightly and snuggle into his chest, but continue to chop the fruits. Hooking his chin over your shoulder, his cheek grazes then presses against your face, you feel his rough, textured skin.

You hum a tune, your knuckles touch against the cool steel of the knife as you expertly glide the knife, through and into the fruit. The red nectar dripping and seeping out from the berries. Elvis watched in awe, wrapping his arms so close into you, his forearms snugging your body so tightly to his.

There’s a comfortable silence. Your breathing and his, in sync and soft. He peppers soft, moist kisses along your clothes shoulder and up to your delicate, warm neck. He presses his body into you. Not in such a sexual, or intimate way. But in such a loving matter.

“how did I get so lucky?” He whispers against your skin warmly. He sighs among and cradles you to him. You only smile and move your cheek to his. He’s bound to pull a Mr. Adam’s. Worshipping his wife from her pretty damn head, to the earth grounds that her yittle toes walk on.

and that’s exactly what he does.

slowly dropping to his knees, sliding his arms down to hug loosely your thighs as he presses his lips to your soft, but sprinkled with bumps of strawberry skin. He kisses every mole and freckle on your arm til he gets to your wrist, tenderly then pulling your hand away from your duties. To kiss the very skilled and dainty fingers that provide love and care to not only him, but the children you both have brought into this world. To show love you can see.

You smile and raise a brow, multitasking when you glance down at his loving gaze and position on the floor. One hand of yours wipe onto your white apron to clean away any sticky, sweet juices, to then ruffle through his fluffy, dark black hair. Giggling when you see he doesn’t pay you no mind, carrying on his worship as he just mutters sweet praises and compliments.

He goes traveling over to your other arm to show some loving, you use your free arm to display and lay out the cut berries into your readied bowl. You roll your eyes playfully, you can feel his hot breath onto the other side of your neck when he finally rises from his knees. Only whispering soft but genuine thank you so so much, hunny. For everything’s, and I love you so so so much’s. You can get used to this.

and you will.

for the rest of your life. Because this is a kind of love that will never grow old.

never.

•••••••••••

author’s note: hopefully this is what you meant(?!) I hope you enjoyed it! And really, thank you for everything @jhoneybees

#elvis #spotify #elvis presley #elvisaaronpresley #elvis imagine #elvis x y/n #enjoy!#elvis fanfic #Elvis fluff #elvis x reader fluff #elvis x you #elvis x reader #elvis fanfiction

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ginnyw-potter · 6 months

Text

James Sirius's first Halloween

“Happy Halloween!” one of the Aurors of the night shift wished them as he entered the department.

“Yeah, you too,” Ron said half-heartedly as he gently attempted to lead Harry out into the hallway.

They walked in silence, the excitement of the holiday reaching neither of them. Ron paused in front of the fireplaces and turned to Harry. “I’d ask you out for drinks tonight, but I bet you’d rather go home.”

“Yeah, need to check on Jamesy,” he said with a small smile. “But thanks.”

“He better not grow until Sunday,” Ron said with a shake of his head. “Tell him, no growing until Uncle Ron sees him again.”

Harry chuckled. “I will. Goodnight.”

Ron waved goodbye as he stepped into a fireplace. Harry quickly got into a fireplace too before someone had another chance to wish him a happy Halloween.

Seconds later he arrived in the living room of his home. The noise of the fireplace roaring had announced him, and Ginny walked into the living room to greet him.

He was alright, really. But the moment he saw her his shoulders slumped, and his face pulled into a deep frown. Tears prickled behind his eyes, but he blinked them away.

She was in front of him immediately, pulling him into a welcome hug. “I told you to take the day off.”

His arms wrapped gratefully around his wife. “I’m fine.”

She hummed and didn’t argue, continuing to hold him until he let go first. She met his eyes.

“How’s our kiddo?”

Ginny smiled, kissing his lips. “About to be awake from his nap.” She stepped away from him and pointed her wand at the fireplace, making the flames flare up into a cosy fire. “Do you want to go to the graveyard tomorrow?” she asked hesitantly.

“I don’t know.” He looked at her as if she would have the answer.

“James hasn’t been there since right after he was born, I thought it could be nice,” she said, her expression soft and compassionate.

He nodded. “Yeah, let’s do that.” He looked at her. “Fred after?”

“Mum will insist regardless,” she supplied.

Harry turned his head when he heard the baby’s cry.

“Your son is awake,” she said. “Go on. I’ll get started on dinner.”

Harry couldn’t hide the fact he was eager to hold his son. Becoming a parent himself had given a new perspective on his parents’ deaths and it was at the front of his mind tonight. He walked into the kitchen with the baby still crying—James was clearly hungry—and his gaze fell on Ginny.

In the small pause his son gave him by catching his breath, Harry spoke. “Now we have a kid of our own, it seems so much more cruel. They were younger than we are now. Their lives were barely getting started, just had a baby... they didn’t get a chance to live.”

Ginny nodded silently, setting the knifes to work chopping up vegetables. A pot filled itself at the tap and then landed on the stove, which she switched on. She walked to him.

“I have been thinking of that too,” Ginny said, caressing his hair. “It really wasn’t fair. I can’t imagine leaving James,” –Her eyes flitted to their son and filled with worry—“But I know I’d give my life for him in a heartbeat.”

“Me too,” he agreed. He offered James to her. “He needs feeding. He’s very upset with me.”

Ginny took the baby into her arms easily. “That feels like five minutes ago, but I suppose if you’re hungry...” She settled down on a chair to feed him.

Harry kept an eye on the food, putting the sausage into the pan before turning back to Ginny.

“You know,” she continued. “Nothing is going to happen. Not tonight.” She looked up from James to meet his eyes. Her look was determined.

He didn’t want to admit the fear that had settled in his gut. He was so grateful he didn’t need to explain. He stepped to her and placed a kiss on her hair. “I know, because you’re with me.”

She let out a small chuckle, her focus returning to James. “Your Auror dad relies on his wife for safety, isn’t he silly? Yes, he is!”

Harry’s smile widened and he continued looking at them, reluctant to let them out of his sight. Only when Ginny said she smelled something burning, did he turn back to the stove.

#hinny #harry potter #does this qualify as flangst #canon compliant #harry x ginny #halloween #parent!hinny

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emptyheadwriting · 1 year

Text

I Leave This Letter to You, Beloved (Alternative Ending)

Be sure to read CMBIPP and ILTLTYB first for background

Word count:1.3k

Warnings:reader death,talks of suicide, hallucinations, and a funeral

Wednesday’s hands shook rapidly, the letter ruffling from her force. How could she ever live with herself, her brain was tearing itself apart as she cowered further into her seat, terrified to lift her eyes and have them fall upon your lifeless body.

“Please” she whimpered, her hands shooting up to grip the sides of her face in agony. The letter floated down to the floor slowly, wavering sideways on its descent before it finally fell. The paper’s movements ceased, everything seemed to go quiet, until a constant beep filled the room.

It took Wednesday until doctors started to rush into the room to grasp what the noise was and what it meant. “no no no” she said, voice getting louder with each word, “save her, don’t just stand there, save my wife! I’ll kill you, I’ll kill all of you” rage was all she could manage to summon as she stood from her chair and berated the doctors.

No matter her fight, there was nothing she could do, you were no longer there laying on the hospital bed. Only a shell, a body no longer full of life and love remained, and she could do nothing more than collapse over your chest, sobs of how sorry she was pouring from her lips for the rest of the night.

—

Wednesday Addams the Widow, it was not a title the woman ever hoped to hold when she married you, but as she looked around the small group of people that were standing around the Addams Family graveyard she realized that it has been finalized.

“I am so sorry my storm cloud, I can not imagine how you are feeling” Gomez said honestly as he laid a hand on her shoulder in an attempt of comfort. There would be none from his words or his touch, he only received a dismissive hum.

“I can’t believe she’s gone Wednesday, I thought we would all end up in a retirement home together like we were back in school all over again” Enid said teary eyed, Ajax by her side nodded along silently, his eyes not leaving your casket.

“A ridiculous thought” Wednesday said softly with a shake of her head. She had always envisioned you and herself dying together in your sleep, fading off into nothingness together, intertwined one last time.

Uncle Fester did not bother to say anything on his approach. No he simply stood by her, and snuck his hand around her waist before pulling her into a side hug, the squeeze on his own side telling him all the words of appreciation she would not dare speak, even now after all that had come from not sharing her emotions or caring enough about others.

Wednesday gave one last kiss to your ring before you were lowered into the ground, she shoveled on all the dirt herself as everyone else watched too scared to offer a hand due to the determination on the widow’s brow.

Lurch added your tombstone, and the ceremony was complete, people started to filter out, many leaving a lingering hand across your tombstone on their pass.

Wednesday sat on the grass next to your grave, her sight being overtaken by a shadow as her mother stood over her. “What will you do now my dove?” She asked gently, frowning at the way the her normally stoic daughter’s lip quivered.

The two shared an embrace in front of you before parting, Wednesday had things to do as far as she was concerned.

—

She flew back to the cabin, packed all of her things. Installed more cameras than there already was and locked all the doors and windows for the last time, for she had quit her job and knew where she needed to go.

She flew to your hometown, she had bought the first house she could get her hands on the day after your death. It was so strange. The place she had never bothered to visit or even really pay attention to a story about your time there, was the place she had decided she would spend the rest of her days.

Wednesday was full of regret at each pleasant moment she had. She visited places she had heard you describe and would breathe them in, cursing herself for never getting to see them with you. She would wake up every morning to sounds that you endlessly compared to those that would fill the cabins walls. You were right when you said those of your hometown were more, gentle a harmony of soft chirps and people starting their days greeted her pale ears.

On one of her firsts nights she decided to order food from the one restaurant you had mentioned before, you had mentioned it once in your time together, how she could remember that from a random parents weekend and not remember to show her wife proper affection and care was a mystery to her.

She unpacked the bag and sat down with your go-to order, and when she looked up across the table she saw you, bloodied, cut up, but with a small smile on your face. She ate a small bite, as her eyes stayed trained on your glimmering image.

“How are you liking all of the things that made me, me?” You asked gently, placing your hands on the table, fingers interlocked with each other.

“I’ve missed your voice” she starts, and looks away at the look of disapproval written on your face, “I know that’s not what you asked, I wanted to express myself is all, I love them all” she says sadly, “I should have experienced them all with you” her eyes finally going back to you.

You shrugged with a laugh, the sound making your wife shudder and nearly moan, it was heavenly, and she wished she had worked harder to hear it while you were still alive, “well I’m dead now, atleast you’ve gotten around to it” a wide smile forms on your lips at the upturn of her lips.

“I could join you” she offers serious, she knows she’s talking to herself, much too smart to not realize that this image of you was only her mind’s doing, but the offer sounds favorable and reasonable to her.

“No my love, you still have so much to do” your voice floats into her ear as your image fades away.

That night after her meal she calls her mom for a favor.

—

Months have passed since she saw you at her dinner table, she had picked up a few new habits.

The plants by the windows and on the porch grew as best as they could due to her novice gardening skills.

A few drawings were hung around the house. All done in charcoal, her own style of commemorating you in art. Each one was inspired by a part of you, your smile, your eyes, the way you would pull her close, and everything in between.

The most important of all, nightly calls to a crystal ball that was positioned on your gravestone. She would talk about her day, new experiences, and reminisce on your life together.

“I miss you a lot today my love, I saw a little girl at the store, her laugh sounded so much like yours I almost cried, I settled on buying her a candy that her mother refused her”

The private conversation was muffled by the walls and distance between the graveyard and the house, but the Addams Family Manor was a quiet home these days and Morticia and Gomez heard it nonetheless.

“Do you think she will ever stop cara mia?” Gomez asks softly, fingers dancing on his wife’s arm.

“Would you ever stop darling?” She asked with a roll of her eyes, knowing the answer that was to come.

“Of course not” he said like it was the most ridiculous question he had ever been asked.

“then no, she will not stop, she did promise our daughter in law forever after all” Morticia says gently.

—

Tag List: @wandaszn @thedemoninme141 @oh-thats-cute @jinxscatbomb @glorioushamsterqueen

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday series #wednesday netflix #wednesday x you #wednesday #wednesday x reader #wednesday fanfic #wednesday addams #angst

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gasolineghuleh · 6 months

Note

A DRABBLE you say!? I’ll take a sweet, sweet Copia/Reader under the stars, a full moon and a date in the graveyard that takes a spicy turn (or not, up to you). Maybe it’s Dracopia. Maybe not.

Maybe so 🖤

don't ask where he got the cooler, k? i didn't think this through, it just appeared and i went "rolling with it!"

Under the shimmering moonlight, you find yourself in a quiet graveyard, hand in hand with Papa Emeritus the Fourth, or simply Copia, as he prefers to be called when you're alone together. The night is clear, and the stars above seem to twinkle just for the two of you. The full moon casts an ethereal glow, casting shadows that dance among the gravestones.

As you stroll through the graveyard, Copia's gloved hand tightens around yours, pulling you closer against his side and tucking you gently into his slender frame. He turns to you, his eyes reflecting the moonlight, and his painted lips curl into a gentle smile. "I thought a midnight walk in the cemetery would be the perfect way to spend our evening," he says, his voice low and velvety. It curls around you like the smoke from his thurible, rich and sensual.

You smile back at him, feeling the undeniable chemistry that always crackles between you. "It's beautiful here," you reply, your voice soft and filled with affection. You don't want to speak too much-- don't want to ruin the mood that's already begun, tender between the two of you and unspoken until now.

Copia leads you to a secluded spot where a large oak tree stands sentinel. Its branches stretch out like gnarled fingers, creating a natural canopy under which you both can sit. He spreads out a blanket on the soft grass at the base of the tree and gestures for you to join him.

As you settle down, Copia reaches into a small cooler, producing a bottle of wine and two glasses, along with a smaller decanter that you know to be blood. He adds the decanter to his own glass first, the thick and viscous blood coating the bottom neatly. Copia pours the deep red wine into both of them, now, and the glasses clink together in a silent toast. "To us," he murmurs, and you both take a sip.

The wine warms your body, but it's Copia's presence that truly sets your heart on fire. You talk and laugh, sharing stories and secrets beneath the watchful eyes of the departed. It's a strangely romantic setting, one that only Copia could have thought of.

Eventually, the conversation takes a more intimate turn, and Copia's eyes darken with desire. The blood wine has clearly gone to his head already, and his eyes glow with a sort of mischief that you've come to expect from the man, in these silent one-on-ones. He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your earlobe. "I can't help but think about how much I want you," he whispers, his words sending shivers down your spine.

His gloved hand slides up your thigh, his touch electric against your skin. You gasp softly, your heart pounding in your chest as desire courses through you. You lean in closer, your lips meeting his in a searing kiss. The kiss is passionate and deep, a reflection of the intense attraction you both feel for each other but never speak aloud-- the two of you wouldn't dare, to break this tenuous connection with something so permanent as words. Copia's hands move with purpose, removing any barriers between you and him. The moonlight reveals the almost primal hunger in his eyes as he explores every inch of your body.

You can't resist the pull any longer, and you find yourself lying back on the blanket, your body writhing with pleasure. Copia's lips travel down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he leaves a trail of hot kisses. He moves lower, his mouth finding your most sensitive areas and driving you to the brink of ecstasy. Copia's tongue flicks against the bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs and you clench, your legs pressing against his slightly pointed ears with every motion he makes.

The night is filled with the sounds of your shared passion, blending with the whispers of the wind through the trees and the distant hoot of an owl. Copia's devotion is unwavering, his desire for you consuming him completely. As the climax washes over you both, you cling to each other, your bodies trembling with release and pent up desire, finally being let free. Copia's forehead rests against yours, his breathing ragged and labored. He presses a soft kiss to your lips, and you can taste the lingering sweetness of the wine and the sharp tackiness of the blood-- a sharp reminder of how dangerous this man could truly be.

The two of you lay together beneath the moonlit sky, the graveyard around you a testament to the eternal nature of your love. "Goodnight, my love," Copia murmurs, his voice filled with a mix of tenderness and desire.

"Goodnight," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. With the moon as your witness, you drift into a blissful sleep, wrapped in each other's arms, knowing that your love is as timeless as the stars above.

#the band ghost fanfiction #reader x copia #ghost bc fanfic #reader x papa emeritus #papa emeritus #lorraine writes #cardinal copia #copia #popia #papa emeritus iv #papa iv #fanfiction #papa 4 #reader x papa

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cardierreh15 · 8 months

Text

The Stranger

A lil’ sumn, sumn just in time for spooky szn my dears 😩🧡 enjoy.

**I do not give anyone permission to repost and/or copy my work!!!

Warnings 18+: Cursing , Blood , Cutting & Stabbing with claws , Non-Con Sex , Full Nelson Position?? (I think lol) , Biting , Oral (Female Recieving) , Praising Kink , Breeding , Kidnapping .

Pairing: Vampire!August x Maria(Black!Plus Size Female)

Description: August has a lil fun with his food. 😋

Word Count: 2.9K

Song: Eat Your Young by Hozier

They’re having sex in a graveyard. Thought I’d make that clear. Basically: Dead Dove Do Not Eat

The woman wheezed as she rested her hands on her knees; trying her damnedest to breathe, but the cold air burned in her chest. Doubled over, she coughed hard before slowly inhaling through her nose and then out through her mouth. Standing up straight, her lips trembled as the winter’s air embraced her in a deadly hold.

‘Home, just— try to get home.’ she muttered to herself as she wrapped her torso up in her own arms. It had seemed as if she were walking for ages now, but at least she caught her breath. ‘Home… just…almost there.’ she shivered.

Run, girl, run. A dark essence whispered through a cool breeze, heart sinking into the pit of her gut as a familiar dark laughter followed suit.

‘Stop!’ she cried out, placing both hands over her ears as she started running again. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to focus on pure thoughts. ‘This— *huff* has to be— *huff huff* a nightmare!’ Suddenly, she tripped over a branch, tumbling and rolling until her weight betrayed her; head colliding with something cool and hard. Vision blurred and disoriented, she let out a pained groan as she weakly reached out, ‘Mmmmhhhff.’

Whimpering out, she felt something wet and warm trickling down the side of her face. Dragging her weight across the cool, dewy dirt and grass. ‘Please… please,’ she begged; placing her hands on the tombstone while struggling to pull herself to her feet. ‘Please just— leave me alone!’ she called out, her knees buckling as she stood up straight.

‘Hahah, and what’s the fun in that?!’

Heart ramming in her chest, her breathing had become shallow, the lump in her throat growing painful. ‘Who— why do you follow me?! Why can’t you just leave me alone?!’ she broke out in a hysterical sob, words inaudible. ‘Please! I have nothing to offer you— I can’t— I can’t…’

It grew quiet for a moment. Only the sound of the wind dancing through the trees and the dead leaves scraping against the ground filled the air. Suddenly, when safety seemed sure, she got wrapped up in a tight embrace. A cold hand covered her lips as she began squeal into the stranger’s flesh. The stranger grinned darkly as the woman flayed her arms and legs around.

‘Tag. I've got you now!’

He snickered, turning her around to get a good look at her. She was ravishing! Full puckered lips, gray eyes that made her tears resemble a rainy day. Her skin, soft and silky like raw honey. She was almost too pretty to eat. But he’d always been the type to play with his food.

Grabbing her jaw, his pointy nails gently stabbed at her flesh. She tried to let out a shriek but he placed his index finger against her full lips, ‘aht, Aht, — that’s not a smart idea sweet pea. He grinned, ‘Scream, and I’ll slit your throat ok? Give me a nod if you understand.’

The woman’s frightened eyes stared up into his bright blue irises that shone in the darkness, resembling that of the deepest depths of the ocean. She nodded hesitantly, never taking her eyes off of him.

‘Mmm, that’s a good girl. You are awfully pretty.’ He cooed, dragging his claw down the side of her face. ‘I would have hated to kill you before I've had my fun.’ he grinned; salivating at the thought of her being his personal blood bag.

‘Now, you’re going to do whatever I say… alright?’

The woman nodded again, a single tear falling down her face. She was freezing! It wouldn’t have been a shock if her tears turned into icicles at this point.

He brought her head towards him, gently sniffing at the open wound she’d created from her dance with the ground earlier. ‘Mmm,’ he hummed in delight. ‘So sweet,’he said, before licking up the blood that dripped down the side of her face.

She was stiff as a board, unable to move from the shock that coursed through her body. There was no way this was truly happening. No, no this had to be some kind of nightmare. Shutting her eyes tightly, whispering, ‘it’s just a dream, wake up Maria, it’s just a dream—‘

His thunderous laugh ripped through the air. ‘Are you sure about that princess? Seems real enough to me.’ He cooed in her ear as he pushed her thick hair behind her ear and ran his claw down her cheek, leaving behind a simple cut. She started to cry once again.

‘Awww, shhhh —don’t cry princess,’ he said as he wiped her tears away with the pad of his thumbs. ‘Everything will be over soon. And, if you behave, I might just let you go. All you have to do… is be a good girl.’

Maria swallowed her sticky spit and nodded once again, letting out a shaky sigh. She was willing to do anything if it meant for her to live.

‘Wh— what will you have me do?’

He smirked as his eyes flickered from her face to her breasts. ‘Well,’ with just a quick swipe of his finger, he tore the fabric of her shirt with his pointy nail. His eyes immediately landing on her silky brown skin, his fangs tingling at the thought of sinking them in that supple flesh.

‘Ah!’ she gasped, instantly wrapping her own arms around her body to conceal it. ‘Wh—‘ she backed up slowly until she tripped and fell back against a stone. ‘Oof!’ she whimpered, looking up at him. ‘H-here?! Now?’ she looked around as she quivered. ‘It’s cold! And we’re in a graveyard! Have you no respect for the dead?!’

‘Oh honey… haven’t your parents taught you not to assume?’ his smirk never faltered as he stood above her, glaring down at her like a hawk stalking its prey. ‘I am… the dead.’ His fangs seemed to appear out of nowhere! They were massive, frightening and white. Very distinguishable even with nights as dark as these. She stared up at him in fear as he reached down and lended her his hand.

‘Up…’ he commanded.

Maria swallowed her spit once again and placed her hand in his before he whisked her up to her feet in a fast motion. He pressed her against his chest, listening as her heart hadn’t ceased to keep its fast pace. ‘Why were you hiding that pretty body from me huh?’ he said, running his tongue over his fangs.

‘B-because I don’t know you! You’re a stranger! A monster!’

The stranger chuckled and backed her up against a tall tombstone. Her back was pressed flush against the coolness. ‘Alright,’ he placed his hand against the stone, ‘My name is August… there, am I still a stranger?’ He drug his pointy nail down the hill and the valley of her breasts, down her tummy until he rested it beneath her button to pop it.

‘I mean… no… I guess. B-but you’re still a monster!’ She bit back.

‘Oh really? Why… that’s not very nice.’ he chuckled, ‘You’re scared of me… aren’t you princess?’ he asked, popping the button to bring the zipper down. She jumped at the sudden flick before giving him a hesitant nod.

‘Good, you should be.’ he said before grabbing her wrist and swiftly turning her around and pinning her against the stone. ‘I’m not gonna hurt you… yet,’ he whispered softly in her ear. Something so sweet, like a lullaby. ‘Just—want a little taste,’ August added as he got down on his knees and pulled her jeans down to her ankles.

‘Wha—?!’ Her panties followed soon after.

‘What are you doing?! Stop!’ She tried to move but he grabbed her thighs and held it in a tight grip. ‘Aah!’ she yelped out at the sudden pain. His claws dug into her cool flesh. ‘I told you to be a good girl! Move again, and I will crush your femur!’

‘Ughh,’ she cried out in pain. ‘Please! Just let me go! I promise I won’t tell anyone!’

‘Well you may not make it out of here to tell anyone sweetheart. We might as well have a little fun huh?’

Maria’s bottom lip trembled before she sucked it between her teeth to keep from wailing like a wraith. But instead, she utter a sound.

‘Attagirl,’ he grinned as he released his grip on her skin, ‘Now… sit still,’ he said before inhaling the scent of her core. ‘Mmmm,’ he let out a guttural growl, stretching his neck and pressing the flattened tongue against her womanhood.

‘Ooh!’ Maria’s mouth fell open as a chill slid down her spine. She could feel her knees growing numb as his tongue assaulted her clit with a vengeance. If she were going to die, at least her last few moments would be of her experiencing a one in a lifetime moment. Fucking a monster.

August lifted her thigh as he flicked his tongue over her glorious abyss and her sensitive nub. ‘Mmmm,’ he hummed before pulling away for a second. ‘Fuuuuck, you’re delicious,’ he pressed a kiss on her inner thigh before he sank his teeth into her soft flesh.

‘AAAAAAH!’ she yelped out, startled by him biting into her. Maria looked down between her legs. ‘You said you weren’t going to hurt me!!!’ she whined out.

August licked at her punctured, swollen skin before placing a kiss on it, ‘Oh relax, baby girl. It’s just a love bite. You’ll be fine.’ He chuckled before his tongue was met with her pussy once again. Such a hungry lover he was.

‘Ooooh! Dear God! That feels sooo fucking good!’ Her head fell back as her fingers gripped at the tombstone. She subconsciously began to grind her hips against his face and reached behind her to grab a hand full of his thick dark hair. His face was just a seat for her at this point. And he didn’t mind it either.

A gasp ripped through her chest as her groin began to tighten as she grew closer to her orgasm. ‘Aaah! FUCK!’ She felt as if the world were crumbling beneath her feet.

August smiled softly as she came in his mouth unreluctantly. She was so warm on his tongue. He could stay here forever if she allowed it. Pulling away from her pussy, he bit into her other thigh. Hissing at the sudden pain, Maria gritted her teeth together and just bore it.

He bit her thighs, over and over again, as if trying to mark his territory. He stood up, peppering sweet kisses against her shoulder, and then her neck. ‘My, my— you are so delicious.’

Maria was lost in a world of pure bliss. The way he touched her, the way his cool lips danced across her now burning flesh— she felt like she was in heaven; or perhaps, hell.

‘How do you feel?’ August asked as his nose nuzzled comfortably behind her ear, in her braids.

‘Am I— am I dead?’ She whispered.

He chuckled darkly before grabbing her face once again as he leaned in for a kiss. ‘Not yet princess.’

Her now hooded, lust ridden eyes stared up at him as her lips parted gently, ready to embrace his frost bitten lips in a warm kiss. Once their lips met, it was as if she’d taken ecstasy. She never felt like this before on behalf of the lips of a man. Could it be the venom on this tongue?

The more her lips indulged on his taste, the more hooked she became. Plus, she kind of liked being able to taste herself on his tongue.

He broke the kiss and looked down at her with a twinkle in his eye. Hmm, he might need her after all. But he immediately pushed those thoughts to the side and walked over to a gravestone. August unzipped his pants and pushed them down along with his boxers.

Maria’s mouth fell open in shock and partly in fear when she saw that monster spring free from the prison of his pants. How was that thing going to fit inside of her?! She’s probably had sex only a handful of times in her life. It wasn’t at the top of her To-Do list either. So it was safe to say, she was scared.

‘Don’t be afraid princess. I promise I’ll be gentle,’ he gave her a devious smirk as he motioned his sharp claw towards himself. Her head fell forward, ashamed. Once in his grasp, he spun her around so her ass was facing him. August scooped her up effortlessly with a carnivorous grin on his face.

‘Whoa—‘ she gasped as she wrapped one arm around his neck for stability as he sat down on the destroyed grave.

August lowered her down on his dick. Thanks to the blood intake, he was standing at full attention and was ready to take advantage of this moment with her.

Maria hissed, digging her nails into his shoulder as the intrusive member basically split her in half. But the pain was blissful. He was filling her out the way she deserved, the way she needed.

‘Uhhh. Damn baby girl. You are so fucking tight.’ He lifted her thigh, hooking his arm beneath her knee and using his right knee to keep her leg up. He dug his sharp claws into her flesh. His other arm lay draped across her belly in a tight hold. This way, he was able to move her body up and down just the way he wanted.

The curvaceous woman threw her head back as he took full control of her body. And the way that he used her felt so good.

‘August! Please!’ she begged before she grit her teeth together, ‘Augh!! Fuck yes!’

‘That’s good baby? Damn, you take this dick so fucking well. Such a good girl for me!’ He let out an animalistic grunt, still bouncing her body but now adding in his own thrusts.

With the two frictions coming together to make one, Maria could feel her fragile human body begin to betray her. She breathed in short breaths, the cold air burning at her chest as she did so.

‘Ooh!’ With August’s fleeting movements, Maria thought she was seeing stars. The grip she had on the upright headstone was so tight, she split her nails.

August howled as his grip on her thigh grew a bit tighter. His nails finally pierced the skin and he drew a little bit of blood. But Maria was far too gone to even pay attention to the pain. August landed multiple slaps on her inner thigh as he reached between her thighs with his free hand and began to rub at her erected clit. He picked up his thrusts, ‘Fuuu—‘

Maria’s head fell forward, her mouth falling open in a big “O” as she watched his strong hand go to work on her clit. ‘Ohhh shit!’ Her bite ridden thighs began to shake as he handled her like a $2 whore.

‘Yeaaaah? You’re gonna cum aren’t you? I can feel it. I can feel you throbbing… that pretty pussy just begging for a release.’

‘Uh huuuuh!’ She whimpered out.

He thrusted harder, faster. Her cries grew louder as he abused her pussy with purpose. With the way she was wailing, someone would say this graveyard was haunted! ‘C’mon princess,’ he gritted his teeth, ‘Come on! Give it to me!’

Maria’s toes curled in her shoes as he plowed into her as if he were trying to explore new realms. She felt the numbness creep up her neck, and now she felt like she couldn’t breathe. This didn’t feel like a common orgasm. It felt euphoric but she felt as if he’d snatched her soul.

August let out a sinister laugh. ‘Oh you sweet thing. You don’t even know what to do with yourself!,’ he cooed teasingly before he grabbed her face. He opened his mouth to welcome her in another kiss. He allowed her tongue to slither between his teeth. And with just a gentle bite, he pierced the muscle.

She whined out in pain, squirming in his embrace as she bled into his mouth. Once he broke the kiss, she laid her head back lazily against him as he had his way with her. She’d lost a lot of blood now because of him. Her body felt completely numb and at this point, he was just using her like a doll. She couldn’t feel much anymore. All she could taste was iron, and hear his desperate grunts over the sounds of the night. Her eyes filled with tears as she knew what was to come of her.

‘Ugh. Fuck, you’d be the perfect mother for my children,’ he snarled out, his teeth clenched as he felt his member throb within her. ‘Sooo, fucking warm princess.’

Maria’s eyes grew wide as a tear slid down the side of her face. She couldn’t find the strength to speak! It was a miracle she was even alive! So she just laid limply on him.

His hand cupped at her bruised up thigh as he rammed his hips faster, coaxing and milking his own nut out of him, ‘Aaah. Fuuuck!’ His balls squeezed as he shoved his member deep inside of her, kissing at her warm cervix.

Used like a whore, Maria just laid there in his hold. Just waiting for her demise. She barely blinked as she felt it would be her last.

August let out a sigh before he laid her on top of the flat gravestone. He stood up, putting himself together. ‘Aww don’t play dead on me baby girl. You’ve proved to be a lot more useful than I thought.’ With the “warmth” of his embrace gone, she laid curled up on that cold stone shivering. She was mute.

‘You’re gonna be staying with me for awhile,’ he said before effortlessly scooping her up in his arms before he began to walk into the darkness of the night.

Her eyes were heavy… and she was growing cold by what had seemed to be the minute. ‘Sl—sleeep,’ she muttered out in pain.

Sleep my princess… for you will be my Queen once you’ve awakened.

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