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forcemeanakin · 1 year

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Make you feel better.

•WARNINGS: SMUT. Vaginal sex (female top), unprotected sex, blowjob, handjob, degradation kink, spanking, dirty talk. Explicit mentions of injuries.

Pairing: TCW!Anakin Skywalker x female reader.

Summary: You are a nurse in the 501st squad and General Skywalker needs some assistance. Only you could help him feel better.

Word count: 4.8K. This started as a blurb, but I’m incapable of shutting up. I haven’t stood up from my chair since 10am, so enjoy.

A/N: I’m so so so so in love with this man, it’s sickening. Scenario inspired by Ahsoka ep.5!. NOT PROOFREAD!!, english is my second language, so please be gentle. If there are any mistakes, pls let me know in private so I can correct them, thanks :) Also I have a serious issue between differentiating “in” and “on” situations, so bare with me lmao

Also first one shot since like forever????

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As a war nurse, you are used to treating the nastiest of wounds, the bloodiest of cuts, the vilest of injuries.

You have chosen your profession out of love and vocation. As cliche as it might be, the true desire of your heart was to help people feel better: The plan was to specialize as a pediatric nurse, even becoming a doctor one day. Working at a hospital, maybe have a private practice with that medic husband of yours you often dreamed about.

All of that was erased the moment war erupted.

Fresh out of nursing school, every single one of your classmates, including yourself, were drafted to report to duty as nurses on the frontlines. The assignment of troops was random, but as if fate had decided, you were put at the service of the 501st. Little did you know, the job was harder than you had ever imagined it would be; and the constant bombing and deceased people you had to observe had nothing to do with it.

It was the general of the squad that made your job more complicated than it had to be.

General Skywalker.

Well, it wasn’t exactly him, but the persistent crush you had on him.

Needless to say, it was extremely unprofessional to be daydreaming of the person who was technically your boss. Even more unethical to be full-on fantasizing about his dick size when you were supposed to be suturing injured clones. But dammit, was it hard. So hard to be so close to his pulling presence and yet so far from achieving anything real with the man. Not that you had tried. Public rejection would be even more embarrassing than crushing on him.

Anakin Skywalker hardly recognized your existence. Between his duty as leader on the field, his responsibilities as Jedi off-hours and the reduced sleep time he could squeeze in between battles, he didn’t have time to remember the name of one of the nurses of his legion. Especially when he never went to the tents himself; the god of a man was indestructible.

Fuck, was he hot.

Just watching him scream: “Forward!” every day, as he ran directly to conflict with bravery was enough to have you dripping. His whole General image was your own personal definition of lust; his armor, the tone in which he would deliver orders, the frown he would wear until he had defeated each and every single one of his enemies. The smile he would flash whenever they won over a battle. Luckily, it was often.

But you had this idea that, out all of the medical staff, you were his least favorite. Maybe it had something to do with how social you were: always distracting his soldiers with jokes as you cleaned their cuts so they wouldn’t think of the sting. Or maybe it had something to do with how emotional you could get during your shifts: always fighting with your colleagues so they would treat the troopers as people, not numbers. Even if he had created a culture of trust among his peers, you weren’t sure if he appreciated that you caused so much trouble within the medical wing.

You had endured a year of stolen glances, salivating at the sight of him from afar and lonely nights with just your hand. Cheeks would blush so fast whenever he would catch you checking him out, and maybe you were drunk on the smell of medical alcohol, but you swore that you caught him checking you out too once.

But that was long forgotten the next day, when he came back to being his same old cold persona. You forgave that aspect of him: the atrocities he had committed in the name of the Republic weighed heavy on his shoulders, slouching his proud figure whenever he had to face the reality of his situation.

The same you had to face everyday.

“Who’s available?!” Yelling was the official way of communicating over here. You were finishing up a bandage on a trooper that had lost his left leg, meaning that you had to answer the call of duty.

The Ryloth takeover was more hectic than the squad had ever anticipated. Soldiers falling left and right, some didn’t even make it to the medical bay, just straight to the pseudo-morgue that was built to then give them a final resting place.

“I’m almost ready to take the next one!” You screamed over the noise from the ships flying over.

“Ms. Dana.” Someone called you by your last name from outside the medical tent. “General Skywalker’s tent in 5.”

That made you drop the jar of gauze.

No one has ever been there, you thought.

Outside of his skippy padawan and uptight master, Anakin’s tent had always been off limits to the public. His sacred place to unwind in peace. The ways he must unwind after a long day of battle…

“Ms. Dana!” That woke you up from a very explicit image of Anakin jerking off the stress away.

“C-coming!” You choked. Grabbing your personal kit, you ran to the destination that had your clit throbbing with anticipation.

You would see the sheets he slept on, the place where he storaged all of his robes, the shower that saw him naked every day. Jealousy of an inanimate object took over you as quickly as it left, making you feel stupid for getting angry at a room.

You almost didn’t notice that the battle was over, the only remnants of it were the people being moved in gurneys, the clouds of dust and the beaten up ships. Your outfit was probably not the best to endure the hardness of the Ryloth landscape: a tight, white buttoned up dress with a stupid little hat on top of your head. You hated the son of a bitch, it was ridiculous as fuck, but necessary for recognition among all of the personnel working in camps.

Anakin will think it’s stupid too.

He will think you are stupid.

The self-degradation stopped once you reached the entrance of his tent. Gulping exaggeratedly, you were unsure if to knock, announce yourself or wait until he was annoyed enough to come out and see you standing there like an idiot.

“Come in.” It was his voice who cruelly cut the silence, growling.

With shaking legs, the green fabric that formed his personal chamber was removed from your eyesight and you were hit by the delicious smell of him. So manly, so musty. It smelled like his cologne all over and you wished you bottle that up to spray it on your own sheets.

It was less rewarding to see him sitting on the edge of his bed with an exasperated stare, analyzing your figure with obnoxiousness. You even cut short your eye-fucking tour of his body when you met his tired eyes. Have you taken too long to get here?

“So they sent you.” He sighed, deviating his gaze. The evident disgust at your presence made you slouch timidly. You were a good nurse. The best one in the camp, if you dare to say. “I told Rex I’m fine. I don’t need assistance, it’s just a bruise.” His tone was harder than his words, surprisingly.

“Well, now that I’m here, might as well take a look at that, huh?” Fighting through the devastating embarrassment, you proceeded to walk over his bed to place your kit. Biting your lip, you feared to ask the next question. “Shall we get started?”

He was one step away from rolling his eyes. “Fine. Just do it quickly.”

“Got it, sir.” Weird. There was no chilly breeze, however, Anakin had just flinched. “Care to show me where the bruise is?”

He hesitated for a bit, closing his eyes with frustration. You were about to ask again when he exhaled with annoyance. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“I would like to confirm that. Please, sir, the faster we do this, the faster I’m on my merry way.” You hated that he was desperate to kick you out, but apparently your compelling argument helped to accelerate the process.

After seeing that he still felt fuzzy about checking the bruise, you decided to start somewhere else. “Let me get started with this cut over here. Looks pretty nasty.”

You doubted if to take a seat, scared that it would be too close to him, but you needed the space to maneuver. Giving up to your internal fight, you sat down next to him and began by cleaning up the wound that escaped the fabric of his burgundy robe.

“That’s nothing.” He mumbled under his breath, still not looking at you.

Ignoring his attempt to diminish your work, you decided to also ignore your basic instinct to start a conversation to ease up the process. The internal alarms of survival were yelling at you not too. However, there was a moment where the alarms shut down, basically because every part of your brain shut down simultaneously and it was when you had to grip his bicep to make it stand still. Your fingers dug into the hard muscle, feeling how every little bit flexed under your fingertips, proving first-hand just how strong he was.

“Done. Now I’m gonna clean the ones in your face.” You poured some alcohol into another cotton ball and turned to face him.

Being face to face with Anakin Skywalker had been the most intimidating experience of your life and that hot as hell scar and mean frown didn’t make it easier. In fact, it had you clenching around nothing. You cleared your throat before slowly reaching out for his chin, pulling him to give you a better look of his dirty and exhausted aspect.

He gasped the second the puffy ball made contact with a cut on his left cheekbone. You took that opportunity to bring him some comfort, despite your irregular breathing and overall tenseness. Rubbing your thumb along his jaw, you saw his pain decreased until the sting was gone. You moved to another cut on his forehead, repeating the process until you had treated most of them gone. When you swapped your current cotton ball with a new one so caught him looking down on your body.

It’s this stupid uniform.

He sensed your eyes on him and quickly deviated them to focus on your irises. You gulped before continuing your beeline around his face, this time close to the scar you often fantasize about in bed.

“That one 's old. No need to worry about it.” He joked.

He joked.

Unable to form a coherent comeback, you limited yourself to give him a nasal laugh, demonstarting that you got it.

“Thought you wouldn't be this silent. You’re more chatty with the clones.” He said, slightly tilting his head.

“I didn’t know you wanted me to talk.” You replied, this time with a little smile as a peace offering.

“What did you think I wanted?” He frowned, interrupting your cleaning.

“I thought you wanted me out as quickly as possible.” You stopped momentarily to accommodate his face once more into a position you could work with.

He let out a dry laugh. “It’s nothing personal. I just want to come back to work.”

“You just came back from battle and want to keep working? Do you ever stop?” You joked back, feeling how the atmosphere inside the tent had changed. Feeling more comfortable, you switched your body a little, now your chests were aligned, just inches apart.

“Hardly.” He clicked his tongue, gaze slightly dropping to give a quick sweep of your lips.

“Well, you should rest. Relax. That’s an important part of recovery.” You advised him, finishing up the last cut. You took a cloth of your kit and used it to clean some of the dry blood and dirt off him.

“Can’t stay still.” He shook his head.

“There are other ways to relax.” You shrugged your shoulders, taking that little pause to admire his beautiful demeanor. Those blue eyes could spell you into saying yes to basically anything.

“Like?” He pushed, licking his lips as his intense gaze focused on making you feel smaller and smaller.

“Like…” You dirty minded bitch, think about something other than sex!

Almost like he could hear your inner dialogue, he chuckled.

“Like taking a walk or reading a book.” You finally came up with a pg-13 alternative to relaxing.

“Could be.” He snickered. After his beautiful giggle dialed down, you felt the tension switching. Thicker. More intense. “More of a physical guy myself.”

Feeling the pull to his plump lips, you rushed to get out of the trouble zone. “Ready for me to see this world-famous bruise?”

Your brain short circuited when he snapped his shoulder armor in one swift move and threw it on the floor. The next thing had you mentally panting and physically in shock: Anakin was removing his robes to expose his naked and bruised torso. The skin of his middle part would dip perfectly into breathtaking abs, not to mention the flexing of his arms became more evident to you without the stupid robe in your way.

The reddened-purplish spot expanded all the way from the right side of his lower abdomen, all the way down the waistband of his pants. The silent gawking didn’t go unnoticed by him, a little smirk coming to greet your widened eyes. That woke you up enough to get moving.

“H-how-“ You took a moment to regain some composure. “How did this happen?”

“A droideka fell on me.” He muttered shortly, almost as if the portion of information brought shame to him.

“Alright, I’m gonna need to palpate the area to know if there’s any further damage.” You announced with more nerves than a medical professional should speak to their patients.

Because he was now standing up, sitting down didn’t give you the best height to disinfect some of the minor cuts that tainted his perfect tanned skin.

“Sir, I’m going to need you to lay down for me, please.” Formalities came back as soon as you felt threatened by his overpowering presence again.

“No.” He spat, furrowing his eyebrows. “I’d prefer to stand, if it’s possible. Please.”

“Sure.” After all, it was your job to make the process easier for him. On the other hand, that meant having to kneel in front of him. That caught him off guard and almost backed down when you reached out to feel the tampered skin. “Please tell me where it hurts.”

Your little fingers began to poke around the wounded area, massaging the zones where you knew a more serious injury could present itself. It didn’t go under your radar the way he would have goosebumps whenever you looked up to him or groped him more firmly. Repeating over and over: “How does it feel here?” you made your way all over the part of the bruise that was visible to the eye.

“Good. It seems like no internal organs have been compromised.” You announced with a little smile. Now the part you dreaded -and kind of expected- was next. “Uhm, I’m going to need to check the rest of the bruise to make sure you didn’t break your hip, sir.”

“Anakin.” He spat.

“Pardon?” You blinked rapidly.

“Call me Anakin. It makes this… easier.” He cleared his throat.

“Okay, Anakin.” You nodded. How you said the next thing so calmly was still a mystery to you. “So, I know this part may be uncomfortable, but I’ll need to remove your pants out of the way. Probably your underwear as well, if I need to take a better look. Don’t worry, I’ve seen enough male anatomy for this to be routinary for me-”

In the middle of your speech, as you dropped your gaze to prepare yourself for dipping your fingers under his pants, something snapped your attention.

The gigantic bulge right in front of your eye line.

How you had missed such a tent while you palpated his abdomen was another mystery to you.

“Uhm- I-” You choked, unwilling to look up. “I-”

Anakin made no effort to try and hide his wood. But what was the point? It was already there. You had already noticed it.

Mumbling, you decided to continue being professional. It was a normal response after all. “I’ll go ahead and lower your pants, sir- Anakin, sorry.” You corrected yourself, but it was too late.

You had already seen the reason why he made you call him Anakin: his dick twitched the second you said “sir”. Now that was interesting.

Your hand pulled down the brown pants, lowering his black underwear at the same time, only revealing his right hip, leaving the bulge quietly covered. Anakin’s chest rose uncontrollably, flinching every now and then when your hand would get too close to his boner, or when your warm breath would fan his exposed hip. When you finally dared to meet his gaze, to let him know you were almost through with the exam, you were pleased with the view above you.

Rose pink cheeks, bottom lip trapped in between his teeth, darkened gaze fixed on your cleavage. It was the equivalent of liquid courage in human form.

“Does this hurt?” You felt up another portion, this time closer to his groin. When he murmured a weak “no”, you inched even closer. “And here?” Same response.

When you got to a point where your pinky grazed the bulge and he gasped, you knew this was the point of no return.

“And does this hurt?” You asked, slowly palming the thick shaft that was threatening to rupture his pants at any given second.

Swallowing harshly, Anakin refused to speak up a word. Instead, he let you carry on with your devilious plan.

“And this? Does it hurt, sir?” You wrapped your hand around the still clothed member, rubbing faster and harder.

He limited himself to closing his eyes, moaning on the low as your hand gripped his swell cock with more pressure and more confidence. Your ego was so high up in the sky that you had the impulse to rub your lips against the fabric already stained with pre-cum.

“Sir, can I finish up the exam?” Your wide doe eyes were quite the contrary of your filthy intentions.

Once he nodded with hooded eyes, you fished his veiny cock from out of the confinements of his underwear and tugged it out for you to admire all of its glory. It sprung free, the tip pointing directly at you, like it knew. Involuntarily, your mouth opened in admiration to such a big and thick frame. Anakin’s sly smirk made another surprise appearance at your gawking.

You were acquainted with male genitalia. But not like this. Never like this.

So huge. So intimidating. So mouth-watering.

“It’s almost like you have never seen one. Not as huge as this one, right?” You shook your head, biting your lip as you took in the whole image. You needed a minute to wrap around the idea that he was carrying this weapon everywhere he went.

Your hands -yes, plural, because you needed both to handle such beast- pumped fast to grant him the deliberation he so desperately craved. Yanking his thick shaft in between your palms had you pooling all over your white panties, like a goddamn slut. His hips were thrusting at the rhythm you had set, fucking your fist like he pleased. Feeling how he tensed his abdomen, the climax was closed.

Taking a last leap of fate, you stopped the jerking off momentarily and clutched the fabric of his pants down with both hands, revealing his whole lower part to your delight. His thighs, oh, his muscular thighs always did unholy things to you and to have them right there for you to grip was making you rub your own thighs together. Foreseeing what was to come, you let your hair down, losing the stupid hat.

Digging your nails on the hardness of his leg, you licked the tip of his shaft, testing the water. The little drop of pre-cum you managed to catch was salty and warm, so deliciously milky. Moaning, you opened your mouth to lazily envelop his tip, rubbing it without interest, just softly teasing him.

“Look at you. Who would say that you would be so unprofessional, sucking your commanding general’s cock? Huh?” Anakin mocked you from his proud stand. “Miss little giggling nurse turned out to be a filthy cockslut. Salivating at the sight of my dick.”

You moaned, still pampering the reddened head of his cock.

“I could.” He chuckled, his thumb coming to caress your jaw just like you did to him earlier. “You think I haven’t noticed the way you stare when I walk by the medical tent? How you practically undress me with your eyes? Such a desperate slut. Begging to be fuck just right. Acting like you're not thinking about hopping on this dick while working.”

After giving a last open mouthed kiss on the sensitive tip, you opened your mouth and presented your pink tongue to him, for which he rewarded you with a smiling expression.

“You offer yourself to make me feel better?” He cocked an arrogant brow.

Nodding, you let out a small, high pitched whimper to hurry him up.

“Hope you know what you’re doing, baby.”

And with that, he grabbed a handful of your locks with his gloved limb and the other one he used to tug your chin further down, making room for the rest of his cock. In the blink of an eye, he was fucking your throat raw, having no mercy for you or the tears that spilled from our eyes when he would especially far down. He emphasized repeatedly how he had to train you to take all of him in, that you were not properly ready to take someone as big as him. He even said it with pity, making fun that you hadn’t been fucking with real men.

But he was here now. And he was going to take care of you.

Even if you lack the ability to relax your throat enough for you to take the whole 9 inch monstrosity that was violating your breathing canal, he was appreciative of the way you gagged around him and the noises you made whenever the tip would hit a wall. He even praised the movements of your tongue on his underside, rewarding you with a little slap on your cheek. Anakin laughed when he heard your horny moan at the harsh action.

Suddenly, Anakin stopped bobbing your head up and down his length, causing the mess of saliva that was covering both you and him to dissolve into a mesly string connecting you two.

“Let me see how well your other hole makes me feel, baby. Up.” As your legs made an effort to stand without shaking, Anakin returned to his previous seating position, this time manspreading to let his cock breathe in all of its glory. Patting his lap, he called you in like a dog. “Here.”

Dying of shame at the wetness that dripped from your inner thighs, you spread yourself until both your knees were at each side of his hips. Anakin glanced at the leaking juices and fucking grinned the brightest smile.

“So wet just for sucking dick.” His index and middle finger retrieved some of the spill, playing with your sensitive nub on their way. He tasted the juices himself, licking his fingers clean. He hummed in approval, ripping your panties apart to have more access and drink up more of your arousal. “Pretty little pussy. Do you think it’ll fit?” He asked you with a narcissistic loop side smile, as he sucked some more off his fingers.

“I don’t know.” You answered honestly, shaking at the ministrations of his hands around your ass.

“It will.” He reassured you, pulling your skirt up and entangling it just above your hips. “You’ll make it fit.” He put his hands behind his back, on the bed, yielding control to you. “Now show me how bad you’ve been wanting this. Ride my dick.”

Using his strong shoulders for leverage, soon your slick pussy was sucking up his length. The first contact had you digging your nails on his shoulders, fighting through the pain of the stretch, this position only enlarging the already swollenness of his member. Gasping with an open mouth, you fought to push yourself even further down. Skin to skin, you were feeling all of him in: every curve, every wrinkle, every twitch. Even after remembering the condom, you opted for not mentioning it. There was no way you could say goodbye to feeling him bare.

Anakin pulled you in by the neck, drinking in the scream you let out when you bottomed out. His lips tasted better than anything you had ever tried, so sweet by nature and salty because of the sweat. You just wanted more and more; anything he was willing to give you.

“Faster.” Anakin demanded; clasping to your hips to bounce you harder on him, to remind you that this was about him, not you.

Obeying like the sub you were, you humped him faster, adjusting yourself to surround his shoulders with your arms so you could pull his hair. You knew he liked it by the way he purred on your ear, embracing your waist tighter to manhandle you better. The hug you were both entrapped in ended with his big hands holding both your ass cheeks, groping them in such a disrespectful manner: splitting them open, squeezing them until it hurt, slapping without any sort of consideration.

“Mhm, just like that, baby.” He praised blissed out, his hand cruelly smacking your already red and abused rear. “You do know how to ride dick. So good, taking me so well with this slutty pussy of yours.”

Chasing your own pleasure, you gripped him harder and grinded on his wood, rubbing your clit with his pubic bone. You whimpered when you felt the delicious shock on your clit, which only incentivized you to rock your hips even faster. You were close, so close to coming undone, clenching him like a vice.

“C’mon, you offer yourself to me, to use you as I seem fit.” Anakin pushed you back so you could see him clearly. “I want you to bounce, baby. Bounce those tight tits for me.”

Anakin removed three buttons of your dress, enough for him to get drunk on the sight of your boobs pressed together and bouncing, but not all the way exposed. Like instructed, you bounced on his dick like it was your job to do so, enamored by the view of him hypnotized by your jumping breasts. Your nipples would shyly come to greet out of your white top, albeit Anakin wouldn’t have the full show because of the fabric that still caged them.

Tired of the partial view, Anakin’s hands left your ass and traveled to their next destination: your full tits. Without removing another button, he took in the weight of your boobs inside of his palms and played with your meaty buds like he had never seen a pair before. The rough movements of his hands around the fat caused your dress to open a bit more, basically leaving you naked for him.

“They’re more gorgeous than I ever anticipated.” He muttered, before enveloping a peak inside his mouth and lapping at it repeatedly. “Seeing you with this lame excuse of a uniform it’s harder than going to war, baby. Craving a taste of you and not being able to do anything about it, it’s torture. Pure torture.” He moaned in a ragged voice, sucking in the same nipple with closed eyes, savoring it.

“You- you wanted me?” You cried, sliding in more frantically.

You were so close and he had it in his hands to make you come in that same instant.

“Baby, I’ve been dreaming about filling this pussy to the brim the second you were drafted.” He exhaled with a smile. “I hate seeing you with the clones: gifting them smiles that should belong to me, parading this cleavage around when it should be for my eyes only, showing off this ass when only I should know the feeling of it inside my palms.”

“Anakin! I’m coming! I’m coming!” You announced, simultaneously feeling how his dick twitched inside of you.

“Let me feel it, baby. Come all over my cock. Indulge me.” This time it was you who took the initiative to kiss him, thinking this would be your last chance to savour him before this was all over.

You convulsed around his dick, just like he asked, tumbling over his shoulder to regain your breath. Anakin followed short after you, shuddering as he spilled over, biting your shoulder to muffle his groan.

After the aftershocks dissipated and you regained consciousness, the shame of what had transpired hit you like a train. Fixing your dress to cover more of you, you wondered how long you should wait before saying something. Luckily, Anakin broke the ice first.

“Next time you should keep the hat. I like it.” He chuckled, making you giggle as well.

Needless to say, you were now expected to be in his tent every night after he came back from battle, split open for him, ready to take in all of the frustration of the day and make him feel better.

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker smut #anakin #anakin skywalker #star wars #sw anakin #tcw anakin #ahsoka series #darth vader x you #darth vader x reader #darth vader

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the-fiction-witch · 2 months

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I Like Him

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Oscar Tully Couple - Oscar X Reader Reader - (OC) Jaerra Targaryen [Daughter of Daemon Targaryen & Rhea Royce] Rating - 12 Word Count - 1121

Requested -

Hello Miss Witch! Can I request an Oscar Tully story in your “Boys Yet To Have Books” please? The reader is a Targaryen (probably just the same age as him and named Jaerra) and has a he-dragon, she flew to Harrenhal to accompany Daemon and then met Oscar and just some cute interactions between them that grew into something. It’s up to how you will write it and can have lots of parts too because I will love it either way. I hope you read this request. Thank you! <33

The dark echos of Harrenhal seem to sicken Daemon the longer he remains, food seems to turn to ashes in his mouth, wine soured, his mind a mess of his own failings and falls.

“I’m surrounded, by witches, and idiots.” He sighed to himself,

Suddenly a familiar sound echoes through Harrenhal’s half-melted halls, the sound of a dragon's triumphant cry. Which caused Daemon to perk up and move quickly for the first time in months. He headed out to the courtyard part of him hopeful to see Syrax across the sky, or perhaps even MoonDancer.

But a deep blue dragon with shimmering white scales fluttered down onto the grass,

“Iēdar lilagon…” he sighed, He approached the dragon glaring down at its rider, “Why did she send you?”

“Because you're causing chaos on your own,” Jaerra answered as she climbed down from her dragon, wearing her tall boots and grey washed-out leather trousers, a deep blue jacket with a high low skirt and dragon clasps down her chest, her long Targaryen blonde hair with a single dark brown streak by her face knotted up into a tight braid.

“I already have enough to deal with,” He sighed,

“Hence why I’m here.” She said pulling off her leather gloves and walking past him, “You’ve been causing enough problems around here, so she thought I’d be best to come. Plus everyone else is far too busy to be your babysitter.”

“Busy!” He said as he followed her,

“Her grace is busy, planning wars and alliances,”

“And what does she think I’ve been doing!”

She rolled her eyes and continued, “Jacaerys is defending his claim at her side -”

“Baela and Rheana?”

“Baela is beside her betrothal, as she should be. Rheana is with Aegon and Viserys in the Vale.”

He sighed, “I’d have taken Corlys before you.”

“He is of far to high priority.” She glared, “You get me. If you’d have been more careful I wouldn’t be needed and I could be patrolling.”

“So that’s what she’s got you doing? Patrolling?”

“Ravens are slow, men even slower. Dragonback is the best way to get sights of our lands and the movements on them.” She explained, “Speaking of which, the riverlords are here.”

“They haven’t-”

“They haven’t arrived yet but they will in an hour, I flew over them.” She answered before she went inside,

“...Fucking-” He sighed following her, “We have an hour, time to change into a gown for the Riverland lords.”

“Alright,” She shrugged, “Off you go, to get dressed.” She glared,

“I meant you.”

“Seems a waste of my time.” she sighed, “We are at war, gowns seem pointless at this point,”

“You are … so much of your mother,” He barked,

She chuckled, “Is that meant to insult me?” She smiled, “I’d rather be a spitting image of my mother… than anything like you.” she spat, “Now let's get this sorted out before we all end up on spikes in Kings Landing.”

Daemon sat at the head of the table in Harrenhalls Grand chamber, Jaerra to his side with two seats between them, as in walked the Lord of the river lands. Jaerra raised an eyebrow given this was not the man from the many lords she saw from Dragonback whom she expected to be the lord. Lord Oscar Tully made his way in dressed in his fine amour, curls messy from his helmet. He simply nodded as a greeting to Daemon and his eyes flicked to Jaerra, he did a double take but focused his eyes forward.

“My condolences on the passing of your grandser.” Daemon spoke, “But the crown congratulates you on your ascension to the head of your house. And Lord Paramount of the Riverlands” He explained, “Truly Glorious well done,”

“I did nothing,” Oscar answered,

“Nevertheless, you are here which is the important thing.” Daemon nodded,

“You were quick enough to dismiss me before.”

“You were of no significance to me then.”

Jaerra sighed, rolling her eyes a little.

“Now. I shall have my great host you have a decision to make.” Daemon stood from his chair mostly to avoid the eyes of Jaerra, “Presume it is clear to you which is the right one.”

“You will forgive me, your grace… I am green. In this sort of matter. As you so kindly point out, but it does seem to me that you’ve made rather a mess here.” Oscar explained making sure to meet Daemon's eyes as he walked around him, “Countenancing barbarities in the queen's name.”

Jaerra choked back a small laugh but made no secret of her smile, as she rested her feet on the table,

“Who’s side are you on?” Daemon glared the boy down,

“... The river lands are held together by oaths.” Oscar nodded, “House Tully swore on oath to King Viserys Targaryen, We recognize the authority of the named heir Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen… And your own as her king consort.”

“Good.” Daemon nodded, “Then we should go to face your vassals and you shall call your banners to war,”

“That might be difficult my king,”

“Well… I was told they would come to heal When house tully declared it’s allegiance.”

“That… may be the case,” Oscar nodded, “But it is yet to be seen that they will heed my authority, as young as it is.”

“You are no older than my daughter.” Daemon chuckled as his eyes met Jaerra,

“... I’d further follow her than you.”

“Power and control don’t have an age. Merely a mindset.” Jaerra smiled,

Oscar nodded to her, “And there is another problem… they all hate you.” he turned back to Daemon,

“Everyone hates him.” Jaerra spoke up again, “Never stopped him before.”

“I don’t need their love, I need their swords.” Daemon glared,

The two in a deep moment of staring before the door opened,

“You’re grace, My lord, the river lords await. I fear we cannot delay them any longer.”

“Of course,” Daemon nodded, “Come along lord Oscar,”

Oscar nodded and walked out hand on his sword,

“You too.” He demanded to Jaerra,

She sighed setting her feet down on the stone floor and made her way out the door, but turned around as she passed Daemon walking backwards out the door, “I like him.”

“You would.” he glared, forcing her out with him.

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gay-dorito-dust · 8 days

Note

Okay hear me out ....

after getting kicked out they erase all the memories of the pines after the pines family finds the truth. They find reader and giving her a heart felt apologize for all the stuff they said and did but reader is just confused even when Mabel, tries and shows them the bracelet they still have no clue and just hug Mabel because they feel bad for her. I can image how sad they'll be realizing it pained them so much they erased there mind of them.. also I live your storys there so heart breaking I love it. ❤️

This can take place after Weirdmagedon and they might’ve pulled a mcgucket and erased their memory of it all a second time cuz it was too much.

It hurts even more when Ford doesn’t have anything to show reader in hopes of jogging their memory and neither does Stan, only Mable has the bracelet and it’s not enough.

You’re is stuck with no memories of ever being Ford’s assistant, going anomaly hunting, being possessed by bill nor the past thirty years rebuilding a portal.

‘Please remember.’ She pleads tearfully as her worst fears come true after pulling away from the hug you’ve given her.

You could only stare at the child that once upon a time you would’ve happily risked your life for in confusion. ‘What is there to remember? I’m sorry kid but I don’t know any of you.’

Mabel cried and dipper goes to comfort her while Ford and Stanley only feel just as hopeless as neither of them had anything to jog your memory of them, and now their apology fell on deaf ears because you didn’t know them nor know what they did to you.

You only looked at Mabel with sympathy but stood up regardless and left the weird family that claimed to know you alone to mourn whoever it was they were mourning for, you knew damn well it wasn’t you. However as you were walking you noticed a weird statue of a cartoonish triangle with one eye, bow tie and a top hat with his had out stretched as though making a deal.

You didn’t know why but the statue struck you as familiar but not in the good way, the familiar feeling this statue gave you was pain, betrayal and anger along with the vow to never let certain people back into your life, but what people? Who hurt you? Who betrayed you? Was it that family you left behind? If so why would you ever want them back in your life just so they could mistreat you again?

You shrugged your shoulders and kept it pushing, not noticing that Bill’s eyes glowed a sickening green as it followed you, knowing that even if he didn’t win neither did the Pines Family and that was all he cared about as he cackled in his cell farm far away.

Poor Mabel, not even the stupid bracelet she made could jog your memory and due to the lack of memories made with you by any of them outside of her, you are doomed to wander Gravity Falls memory less of the life you once lived, nor the fact that you wandered the town you single-handedly saved at the cost of your own memories; everyone knew you and you knew them but the Pines Family? They’re just some strangers who claim to know you.

#gravity falls x reader #posession series #gravity falls imagine #gravity falls imagines #gravity falls

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masuchu · 9 months

Text

“𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆?” [WRIOTHESLEY]

what happens when your gaze is hopelessly bound to those seemingly innocent, but inexplicably lewd handcuffs your boyfriend constantly carries around with him? ‧₊˚

genre. smut! nothing actually happens, but the entire thing is extremely suggestive, mentions of bondage & punishment, manhandling lol

pairing. wriothesley x reader

love, masu. ah, i think this is an amazing way to get myself back into writing on this blog again! my real writing style is finally being shown haha, none of that sickly, too cute stuff. hope you enjoy!!!!! let me know if you want a part two :))

Wriothesley always spoke with such a sultry, sickening tone that left you feeling your heartbeat in places you usually do not. Perhaps the gentle rasp was what left you so at his mercy? Or maybe, the simple yet defined vocabulary he used when explaining his day, or in other, more intimate moments, what he would like to do to you.

Having said all of this, why could you care not a shred for his words this very moment? Why were absolutely none of his sentences registering in you hazed mind? Instead of paying attention like a lover should, you had your hungry eyes pinned on those alluring, metal cuffs dangling from his belt. The images they conjure, the activities they connote: it all left you salivating and shuddering in the office of the infamous Duke. (Or in terms more personal to you, your lover.)

“Like I said, the prisoners become rowdy when they get bored. I’ll need to implement— Sweetheart, are you listening?” Wriothesley’s eyes dragged across your abnormal, quivering form and he mentally concluded that something was … distracting you.

You jumped out of fear of your daydreams being exposed, but also in mild concern of the daydreams themselves and their insatiable nature. Nodding fast like a guilty toddler, you blurted,

“Oh, I have never been better! Whatever gives you the impression I am not okay?”

The man in question took a careful glance at your wide, doe eyes and stiff form. Suddenly, his head tipped back just an inch or two, and a low chuckle departed from his lips. (The action having a much more arousing effect on your nether regions than you would ever admit.)

“I said ‘are you listening’, not ‘are you okay’. Well done for exposing yourself, sweetness.”

If only he knew what else you were hiding, you thought gravely to yourself. In a naïve belief that he had unknowingly saved you from a mortifying admission, you attempted to go along with his interpretation of your abnormality.

“How silly of me! I really am not with it-!”

Your hips were suddenly locked in solid grip, hard enough to invoke deep, purple bruises along your skin, and you were yanked into a firm but comfortable chest. A chest you knew all too well.

“Also, don’t think I didn’t noticed the way you were looking at my handcuffs, pretty. Got something you wanna’ tell me?”

“You’re mistaken, I— It was simply a one time glance! Absolutely nothing to do with—!”

Your boyfriend removed one hand from your waist and weaved the remaining arm tightly around your waist entirely, keeping you firm against him. His now free hand took a delicate hold of your jaw, and whilst lifting it up his face travelled closer to yours. His hot breath fanned over your lips, and all you wanted for him to rearrange your guts then and there.

“Ah, and now you’re lying? Lying is not very becoming, especially not on you. It makes you bad, and do you know what I do to bad girls?”

His ragged yet stylish hair, his impenetrable, piercing eyes, his strong hold on your body. The physique of a God, you thought. Every aspect of him, how his eyes were intently fixes on yours, waiting for you to answer his question, to use your words— as he was always so keen on you doing. It all came together to allow you to blurt out such a meek, pitiful and uncertain whimper,

“You punish them, Your Grace?”

A devilish smirk tugged on his lips.

“Clever girl. Your little … imaginations might just be brought to life far earlier then you expected. Now strip.”

2023 © masuchu , do not repost, reword, plagiarise, take inspiration, translate or share my work anywhere!

#⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ sincerely me ‹𝟹 #genshin impact #genshin #wriothesley #wriothesley genshin #wriothesley genshin impact #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley smut #genshin x reader #genshin smut #tee hee #guys this is just a starter in the feast i have prepared …#i’m really hoping this does well over night and that my cuties havent abqndoned me 😭😭#anyways

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eliorabunny · 2 months

Text

deny me

angstyyyyyy!!!!! bestfriend!chris x fem!reader, unrequited luvvvv

𐀔⋆ ིྀ₊𖧧 “i get this twisted and sickening feeling i’m gonna marry you” 🂱*𖦹°‧ ༘

𖦹 genre: fluffy angst, no happy ending (unless i decide to do an alternate version) ✄༝𑁤

𖦹 word count: 547 𖧧

𖦹 a/n: first thing i’ve written on here yippie🧚🏻‍♀️ also do i tell my friend/producer i’m using their song for plot inspiration. stream grace gardner everyone they fucking rock

i’m feeling moody so now y’all are too ᵕ̈ ̤̮

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌❀°✩⋆ʚ♡ɞ⋆✩°❀﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

it felt painfully safe to lie in his arms.

any moment with him, really, made her heart plummet deep into her gut. her rosy thoughts of him felt wrung out like a towel every time they were together. each minute gnawed at the fragile bones of a fading daydream. for once, she actually wished her best friend liked her more than that.

unfortunately, he was respectful.

they’d known each other since childhood, always seeing movies together at the local theatre and getting ice cream across the street afterwards. she knew which monopoly piece he’d choose (the terrier) and he knew which ice cream truck character she’d pick (spider-man). only those who have surpassed love and found themselves in a deeper bond could remember details like that.

which is why it hurt so much more once she realized she was falling. honestly, it felt more like repeatedly tumbling over exposed roots and snarled branches in a cliffside nosedive. she chuckled bitterly to herself at the cartoonish image, eliciting a raspy “hmmm?” from the sleepy arms around her.

“oh.. was that out loud?” she mumbled bashfully, as reality yanked her back from imagination. she turned to look up at the boy sitting next to her on the couch, who nodded slowly. his half-lidded but steady eye contact would have made her collapse if she wasn’t already curled up against him. a vague redness crept towards her face, and she struggled to ignore the corners of his mouth twitching towards an amused smile.

“what are you thinking about?” he asked softly, laying a gentle finger on the skin between her eyebrows. she tried to disregard the idea that superheroes ever had the ability to read minds. her eyes wandered to the collar of his hoodie, which had slipped enough to let his collarbone taunt her, dare her, to move closer.

and if the lights were dimmer, she wouldn’t have seen it.

a violet, blooming there on his chest. a mark of someone else’s teeth and lust. a tear begged to be set free, pricking the corner of her eye. she prayed her mascara would remain faithful and squeezed her eyes shut.

“hey,” he whispered, pulling her into a tighter hug. she melted against his neck, idly chewing on the sleeve of her sweatshirt as her focus dissolved. this particular sleeve had a heart-shaped patch sewn onto it, a playful gift from her best friend. it felt ironic now, knowing her feelings would only cause trouble if she let them show.

the warmth of his lips just inches from her forehead was devastating. her skin ached for contact, and she mindlessly tilted her head upwards. her gaze met azure, caged by enviably long lashes. the delicate beauty of his features overwhelmed her, and she quickly glanced down to the offensive blossom on his neck.

she contemplated bringing it up, knowing every response would shatter her. the sight was torturous, and she felt her tether to paradise disintegrating as she pointed. her mouth opened slightly, and she felt the pressure behind her eyes threatening to betray her.

his eyes followed the line of her finger and felt his heart wilt. they shared an understanding, silent moment, and he pretended not to notice the tear that traced an apologetic line down his shoulder.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌❀°✩⋆ʚ♡ɞ⋆✩°❀﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

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pin-k-ink · 4 months

Text

tacenda // fushiguro megumi

tw ⇢ hurt/comfort, angst, mutual pining, mentions of bullying, mentions of violence and injuries, megumi being bad with feelings, childhood friends to lovers, mildly suggestive content

wc ⇢ 19.2k

a/n: mauerbauertraurigkeit

Megumi's heart thundered in his ears as Gojo's words echoed through his mind. You, his childhood best friend and the person he loved with every fiber of his being, were going to be attending Jujutsu Tech. A cold sweat broke out along his spine as visions of your bright smile and warm, open gaze were immediately tainted by flashes of malicious curses, fangs bared and claws extended to tear into that radiant essence he cherished.

His throat constricted with panic, the metallic tang of fear coating his tongue. Shakily, he forced out a strangled denial. "There must be some mistake. She can't be here, she doesn't belong." In his mind's eye, he could see the innumerable ways this path, this world of darkness and death, could snuff out your brilliant light in an instant.

The thought caused his stomach to roil violently, memories of your steadfast presence during his most anguished moments searing the backs of his eyes like afterimages burned into his retinas. When Tsumiki had been cursed, her mind shredded by malignant magic, it was you who had held him through the agonizing nights. Your soft hands cradling his face, thumbs brushing away scalding tears, as you pulled his anguished cries against the steady thrum of your heartbeat. You were his shelter, his solace in the midst of this evil world's relentless cruelties.

Which was precisely why he couldn't allow you to walk this treacherous path where un-living nightmares dwelled, eager to extinguish any spark of warmth and hope that dared defy their shadowed existence. The thought of losing you too, of cradling your broken body as the transcendent radiance in your gaze flickered and went dark, it cleaved at his soul with rusted knives.

Gojo's piercing stare remained implacable as Megumi attempted to regain his frantic breathing. "Her power levels are unprecedented. She performed exceptionally on the interview." His teacher's tone brooked no argument, each word dropping like granite in the tomb-like silence between them. "She has potential...which means she's a target."

Nausea swamped Megumi in roiling waves, an arctic rime of dread encasing his vital organs. The things drawn to beacons of power in this wretched realm...they were abominations on par with his darkest, most anguished nightmares. To expose your brilliant, incandescent essence to such profane horrors was unthinkable, sacrilegious on the most visceral of levels.

"You don't understand," he rasped, dimly aware of the broken desperation tainting his words like blood in the water. Flashes of Tsumiki's hollow-eyed gaze and wasted form bombarded him in rapid succession, each ghostly image feeling like a vicious blow across his psyche.

"I've already lost so much to this world's evil," Megumi continued, each word tearing free from a throat constricted by the twin serpents of grief and terror. "I can't...I won't let that happen to her." His voice cracked on the final words, all of his anguished confessions and pleas strangled by the leaden weight of denial settling in his bones.

Gojo regarded him with an inscrutable expression for several beats, the weighted silence thickening until it felt suffocating in its immensity. At last, he released a sigh that held far too much weary resignation for Megumi's battered heart to withstand.

"Her choice has been made, Megumi," Gojo said, each word inflected with paradoxical gentleness and undeniable finality. "Attempting to circumvent that path will only incur far more suffering than allowing her to walk it."

The words were like a battering ram against Megumi's reinforced walls, reverberating through his entire being with sickening profundity. He shook his head forcefully, desperate to dislodge the intrusive acceptance, the horrifying reality being hoisted upon his shuddering shoulders.

"She's not ready for this darkness," he argued, voice rising in frantic urgency. "Y/N doesn't truly grasp the evil, the depraved monstrosities lingering in every shadow. She's too pure, too full of light. This path will break her!"

Unbidden, memories of your brilliant smiles and warm embraces surged forth in counterpoint to his panicked pleas. Your steady presence and indomitable spirit had been his bulwark through every hardship, illuminating even his darkest pits of despair. How could he not erect every possible barricade and shield against the encroaching evil that threatened to extinguish your vibrant essence?

"If you hinder her at every turn, you'll only destroy what you claim to protect."

Gojo's voice sliced through the tumult like a skillfully wielded blade. When Megumi raised his gaze to meet the other man's stare, the roots of raw truth driving his instructor's words cleaved him to his core. Denial was a seductive delusion; obstructing your chosen path held as dire consequences as permitting your steps down it.

It was an obliterating truth, one that reshaped Megumi's world into jagged shards which sliced deeper with every reverberation. To uphold either path meant embracing the annihilation of what he cherished most. But the promise of your survival, no matter how diminished or perverted, it glimmered with splintered rays of hope he could not relinquish.

And so it was with a fragmented heart riven by hairline fractures that Megumi swore himself to the merciless path - all in effort to safeguard the brilliant spark at your core. If robbing you of your radiant warmth, driving you into the barren chasms of loathing, was the price for ensuring your physical survival...then so be it. Anything to prevent your essence from being wholly extinguished by the depraved darkness stalking his footsteps.

From that fateful moment on, Megumi's entire world became an exercise in calculated brutality - each harsh word, acidic glare, and callous dismissal measured expressly to strip away at the brilliance of your spirit. He watched with shattered reverence as your warm, effusive smiles slowly twisted into pained grimaces under the relentless deluge of his verbal lashings.

"Pathetic stance, you're practically broadcasting your weaknesses!" he would bark, flinty disdain coating each syllable like jagged shards of glass. "Do you even want to be here or are you just wasting everyone's time?"

The hurt lancing across your expressive features with each barb unleashed was like a serrated dagger twisting in his already eviscerated heart. Megumi drank in the delicate downturned shape of your lips, the shimmer of unshed tears in those eyes that had once regarded him with such radiant adoration. Each fractured shard of vulnerability splintering free from your stalwart defenses etched itself into the fabric of his very being, scars mapped onto his psyche that would never fade.

Through it all, you weathered the merciless onslaught with that same stubborn persistence that had drawn Megumi's admiration and unshakable devotion all those years ago. No matter how scathingly he sneered and derided, you refused to surrender an inch of your fighting spirit. That blazing inner fire, so brilliantly incandescent it bathed the world in vibrant hues, could be battered but never extinguished entirely.

If anything, you burned all the brighter in the face of Megumi's vicious attempts at dousing your radiance. Like a platinum forge, you were heating to unbearable temperatures under the hammering blows of his abuse, essence glowing electric white as impurities were burned away. It was a sight of such breathtaking majesty that Megumi frequently found himself faltering, glacial shards of cruelty fracturing as he was consumed by the molten torrent of his love.

In those fractured instants, he had to exert every fiber of his being to resist reaching out, resist gathering you into his embrace and confessing the entire anguished truth. Of how your unparalleled light was the only force banishing the utter desolation of his shadowed world. How eviscerating his heart through acts of depravity against your soul was a torture rendering even the most sadistic curse techniques merciful by comparison.

But then the moment would pass, and he would be awash in visceral recollections of Tsumiki's tortured existence - a chilling reminder of what awaited those whose essence burned too bright in this realm of malicious spirits and depraved conjurings. The risk of that same perverse annihilation befalling your radiance was an obscenity he could not permit, no matter what profane rituals of self-damnation it demanded.

So on he pressed with his scorched-earth campaign against your warmth and vitality. Heedless of the lacerations each acidic remark and disdainful look inflicted upon his battered soul, Megumi marched relentlessly onwards. If hollowing out your dazzling spirit until just embers remained was the aberrant price for safeguarding your existence, then he would immolate them both on that profane pyre.

There were moments, often unbidden in the deepest thralls of night, when he teetered on the precipice of unbearable regret. Memories of your shared history, effervescent and golden, would crash over him in ruthless tsunamis of dying sparks. He recalled with searing clarity the first instant your paths had intertwined, that fateful day when the courteous overtures of childhood had blossomed into an unbreakable bond.

You had been the new student, painfully shy and soft-spoken in a way that inevitably painted a target on your back for the more aggressive children. Megumi had watched impassively at first as the bullies circled like sharks on the first day, dangling insults and petty cruelties intended to inflict the maximum anguish. That was, until one particularly vicious remark about your beloved stuffed rabbit had drawn forth an avalanche of crystalline tears from your downturned eyes.

Something deep within Megumi's childish psyche had clenched protectively at the sight, resonating with the helplessness and quiet grace of your sorrow. Before any of his classmates could register the uncharacteristic shift, he had inserted himself squarely between you and the tormentors - eyes blazing with a ferocity that momentarily shocked the bullies into stunned silence.

"Leave her alone," Megumi had decreed, hands curling into miniscule fists as he widened his combative stance. When the ringleader tried to bluster and shove past, Megumi had reacted with savagely precise strikes, dropping the larger boy to the ground in an unceremonious heap before any witnesses could properly process the altercation.

Cradling your stuffed companion to your chest, you had blinked up at Megumi with those luminous eyes, all traces of sadness supplanted by pure, sparkling wonder. In that fractured instant, something pivotal had shifted in Megumi's world - the blinding gravity of your incandescent essence searing itself into his very bones with smelting heat. It was a radiance he realized almost at once he would dedicate his entire lifetime to cultivating and protecting without reservation or exception.

Even now, years later with valleys of anguish and entire continents of suppressed trauma distancing him from that blazing genesis, Megumi could access its perfect clarity as easily as breathing. Some nights, he clung to those recollections like a drowning man seeking air, absorbing every shard of warmth and untarnished joy as starving lungs gulped down precious oxygen. Other nights, the pangs of nostalgia were flaying knives, slicing him asunder until he thrashed mindlessly in the agony of all he had knowingly shattered.

Those were the nights he would reach for his phone in the dim, ever-present glow of his bedroom. Fingers trembling faintly, he would pull up your contact and begin painstakingly typing out messages - abject confessions, anguished pleas, apologies and explanations and devastating truths all coalescing into a tangled thicket of words. He would pour his mutilated heart and soul into the grayed-out screen, keening silently into the void as the emotions he had mercilessly cauterized threatened to consume him whole from the inside out.

But he could never send them, could never risk fracturing the meticulously constructed quarantine separating your essence from the cataclysmic inferno of his all-encompassing feelings. To reveal even the barest slivers of vulnerability, be they pangs of devotion or agonized lamentations of loss...it was tantamount to erecting neon billboards advertising the precise location of what he valued most in this world. And in this plane of existence where any source of light and warmth was perverse antithesis to the pervasive evil, doing so would sign your immediate death sentence.

So instead, he would seal the damning words away, thumb hovering over the delete icon until his eyes blurred with the strain of unshed tears, his throat felt flayed and the skin of his palms was scored with crescent indentations. Only then, when every facet of the message had been permanently expunged, could he collapse back into the shredded remnants of his bedding and surrender to exhausted oblivion.

Each morning, he would awaken to a visceral melancholy laced with fractured determination. He was stripped raw, every emotional core exposed to flay against the whetted blade's edge of his self-ordained mission. Turning you caustic, weaponizing your hatred as a scourge to temper and erode your own inner brilliance, it was a vile perversion of all he cherished most. But one he would gladly immolate upon, if it meant preserving however scorched and diminished those sacred sparks remained.

So he hardened his resolve, locking himself into an upward spiraling cycle of brutality and rejection. He watched with hollowed anguish as your luminous smiles were slowly, inexorably eroded into rictus frowns under the relentless barrage of his verbal flayings. That stubborn fire in your eyes turned to banked coals, lambent glow dimming until it threatened to gutter out entirely under the choking fumes of his abuse.

Where once you had radiated warmth and kindness, like the welcoming glow of a hearth, now your essence emanated in icy increments - each interaction reinscribing the mantra to keep your distance, lest you risk being forever frozen out by the tundra wastelands of Megumi's demeanor. It was nothing short of psychological and emotional torture, each day chipping away another fragment of your bond until scarcely anything remained beyond hollowed familiarity.

Still, you persisted with that same tenacious drive, always picking yourself back up despite the maelstroms of derision blustering against you. At times, Megumi was gripped by a sense of pervading awe and pride so transcendent it momentarily unmuted the rabid chorus railing for your defenselessness. Your refusal to surrender so much as a molecule of that brilliant spirit, no matter how deeply he sought to submerge it beneath frigid waves of scorn, it was a feat of profound heroism.

And yet there were other instants, bleeding out into torrential epochs, where the sight of your resiliency evoked only soul-searing anguish. Each time he bore witness to you hauling yourself back into the fray, bruised but unbroken, his mind would instantly assail him with visions of your incandescence being cruelly, irrevocably extinguished. Images of your ethereal features contorted in agony, rivulets of vibrant lifeblood chasing crimson trails down abused skin. Your eyes, so bright and lambent, dimming to enfeebled clouded glass as every sacred molecule of light was leeched away, your essence defiled by the exact nightmares he was ostracizing you to protect from.

In those moments, rational thought abandoned him, his psyche throttled by the recursive loop of terrorizing visions and the stark lucidity of how his actions, his mission, only increased the probability of their manifestation. There was no justification nor easy absolution to be found in the dichotomy - only the yawning chasm of damned-if-you-do, damned-if-you-don't oblivion gaping ravenously to consume them both.

The all-consuming isolation compounded by his merciless excoriation of your bond, it was an unremitting torment more galling than any curse the vile spirits could inflict. And yet, for every fracture of your trust and love that sliced immeasurable depths into his very being, Megumi only honed the razor's edge of his cruelty with heightened fervor.

He knew, without an iota of doubt, that seeing this path through to its apocalyptic conclusion would unwind his entire existence until even the concept of self-identity devolved into meaningless detritus. But he would gladly accept that hellish reckoning, would rush headlong into the churning abyss with his arms flung wide in embrace, if it meant holding your light's dissolution at bay even a fraction of a heartbeat longer.

Because in the end, that was all that mattered. Not his own tattered remnants, scattered like viscera upon the sacrificial altar of his self-immolation. Only the guttering, infinitesimal sparks in the husk that had once been you.

As long as those glimmered on, held at embers against the entropy shrouding this calamitous realm...no butchery was too profane, no ritual self-mutilation too sacrilegious to withstand.

He would burn it all down without ceremony or regret if it meant you might someday rise from the shattered, smoldering ruins to blaze anew.

The descent into depravity accelerated at a dizzying pace from that point on. With every passing week, Megumi found his soul walling itself off further, emotional forges smelting away any vestiges of warmth until only an impenetrable basalt remained.

He observed the systematic deconstruction of your radiant spirit with a sort of clinical detachment - cataloging each incremental dimming of your luminous smiles and the fractures webbing across your unwavering determination. What had once been a brilliance potent enough to stave off the bleakest of his nights was now hardly strong enough to counter the pervading gloom lingering along the training hall's shadowed fringes.

Still, you soldiered on with that same steadfast resilience which had so utterly enthralled Megumi from the moment your paths first converged in blistering orbit. No matter how corrosive the lashings, how scorching the dismissals he pelted you with, your dogged persistence remained an indomitable bulwark. Like scaling the curved walls of a tidally-locked world, your essence just kept pushing higher, seeking out any infinitesimal cracks or fissures through which more light could blaze.

It was a futile effort, one that Megumi could hardly bear witness to without feeling each of his internal powering furnaces stoke dangerously close to overload. Because with every agonizing foothold you gained, scaling that little bit further up the obsidian cliffside, he was struck by overwhelming premonitions of your form silhouetted against the endless void. A brilliant crimson crosshair burning in the abject darkness, leading every starved horror across unfathomable expanses directly to your unguarded essence.

Those visions, so viscerally photorealistic that he could hear the predatory shrieks reverberating through Orion's scorched nebulae, were enough to divorce him almost entirely from any last wavering attachments of compassion or empathy. You would burn, absolutely and irrevocably, if he permitted even an ember of that smelting furnace to blaze fully unshielded against the depthless starvation of this depraved plane.

He had to extinguish it utterly; had to choke out those flames until all that remained were infinitesimal sparks suspended in spent ash, glimmering so faintly as to be utterly imperceptible to even the most ravenous spirit's senses. It was extinction of the highest, most profane order - the systematic unraveling of all that had made your essence so damn incandescent to begin with.

And if pulling that metaphysical thread caused the entire tapestry to unspool in smoldering heaps around you, Megumi was past the point of relenting or restraint. This path had been scorched into the deepest stratifications of his ruinous psyche. There could be no deviation or respite until the task stood complete.

The nights provided little solace or refuge in the face of such unflinchingly bleak determinations. Where once he had found solace in the crepuscular lull of quietude, a reprieve where he could exist untethered from the waking world's torments, now there was only a pervasive emptiness more desolate than the infinite vacuum arcing between galaxies.

Lying awake, sheets twisted around his feverish form like shrouds, Megumi found himself inexorably drawn towards those final guttering embers. His awareness telescoped with remorseless intensity onto each flickering shard of radiant memory he had so rigorously partitioned off behind scorched earth blast barriers of his psyche.

The soft luster of your hair haloed in the dying sunrays of some sleepy summer afternoon, gentle zephyrs coaxing loose strands into ephemeral arcs of gleaming accents. The way your starlit eyes had crinkled at the corners whenever he managed to coax forth that sunburst of laughter, source so warm and effervescent it threatened to liquefy his very marrow. Recollections of your skin's velvet softness beneath reverent fingertips, subtle thrums of vitality reverberating with each elevated heartbeat.

He pulled them tattered and unspooled into his consciousness like brightly-dyed weavings, sharp contrast against the charred desolation of his mindscape. Turning their prismatic facets, he analyzed them with surgical precision - documenting each shade and texture, every luminous aspect inherent to your transcendent light.

This was flight data, sensor metrics and cosmic sounding calculations - the quantified breakdown of a celestial body's essence unraveled into composite metrics so that the exact material alloy could be reconstructed, forged anew from whatever remnants might remain when the silicate dust finally settled. Insurance parameters self-encrypting, rendering them beyond the reach of whatever devastation might still be looming on the periphery.

Or so he told himself as he clawed at the tattered edges of his recollections, fingernails scoring bloody crescents across his temples as if the physical apertures could ever grant audible access to all he was so rigorously quarantining away.

In truth, these scarcely lucid rituals existed as nothing more than the final vapor trails of obsession arching across a pitch-black event horizon. For every shred of memory and ligature of sensation he coaxed into hyper-lucidity, another piece of his owns soul's blazing furnace was irrevocably smothered to charry ashes.

Like burning away the xylem and phloem just to preserve a single wilted flower petal, the cycle was unsustainable at its core. An incomplete picture, the data hopelessly scrambled by its very process of preservation. And still, with the frantic intensity of a madman, Megumi persisted - surrendering more and more of his own essence to maintain these fragmented relics while the whole of your light continued to wane.

The contradictions fractured his consciousness into scattering shards before embedding like armor piercings through his splintered awareness. Pulling you close enough to preserve your resonance, while similtaneously pushing you farther and farther away until the emitted frequencies fell beyond measurable range. It was a paradox clawing through his synaptic pathways with incandescent fury, laying waste to everything in its path until his entire corporeal form became a charred immolation zone devoid of alight spark or burning refuge.

But for all the collateral obliteration stamped into his mind's eye, for every scorched and dispassionate hierarchical tree subsumed by the searing inferno of his self-mutilation, Megumi never once considered an alternative axiom to chart. This was the sole vector etched into his being down to the sub-quantum architecture - an inviolable trajectory hewn into reality through scorched continuum dynamics.

While your spark guttered and dimmed, his would remain an active pheonix blaze - anchoring these rituals of meticulous annihilation and smelting away the very capacity for regret and respite until only tendrils of smoke and atmospheric particulate remained to carry the cycle's unwavering inertia.

On and on it perpetuated, until his every waking moment existed in dual simultaneities of excruciating preservation rites and systematic soul unbinding. Until the recollections and impulses that had once made your splendorous radiance so irresistible were downloaded as little more than fragmentary code to keep on endless recursion loop.

The wages of this path were immeasurable across all quantifiable spectra, from the biochemical to the theological and every dimension beyond. But such concerns held no gravity over Megumi, not when each fractal infinitesimal of your Light continuing to blaze through the abyssopelagic murk was worth every calorie of heat death actively radiating from his shredded form.

There would be no redemption or recompense for the cataclysmic undoings he had wrought upon himself and any remnants still tethered to his unraveling existence. Hells far more arcane and cosmically profound than any religion's dogma could conceive awaited their caustic reintegration beyond this anguished pyre of seared continuum.

But to Megumi's mind, such oblivions carried less dread than the visceral eventuality of your luminous spark being permanently extinguished before his tormented gaze. He would gladly set the whole of this corporeality, this so-called reality to purging flames before permitting your essence to be devoured by the ravenous terrors lurking in the periphery.

And so the cycle spooled endlessly onward, each revolution shedding more layers of conscience until only the basalt core of compounded obsession remained - burning away every other element, every contaminant that might restrict the searing beam of his self-ordained calculations. He had become Inertia itself, irresistible and singular in purpose as he hurtled them both inexorably towards a conclusion as inevitable as it was annihilating.

No force, neither celestial nor demonic, would deter him from this merciless trajectory. Your Light would perdure, calcified into immutable etchings if necessary, while his burned itself into cauterized oblivion across the whole of existence.

It was cataclysmic, it was terminal, it was inevitable.

And for your light's continuance, he would bear nourish this sacred, all-consuming blaze until his last embers winked out across the cosmic desolation.

The darkness ate away at the marrow of Megumi's soul with each passing day. With every cruel remark flung your way like sharpened obsidian, another fragment of his empathy withered and turned to ashen ruin. He watched as you weathered the ceaseless onslaught, that stubborn light in your eyes guttering but never fully extinguishing no matter how fiercely the gale-winds of his derision battered against it.

There was a perverse type of awe in bearing witness to your perseverance, your will to fight against the impervious current he unleashed. Like a solitary sapling standing tall against a hurricane's full fury, roots sinking deeper into the tempest-swept earth with every lash of punishing rain and gale. It simultaneously filled him with surging pride at your unyielding resolve... and penetrated him with lances of dread at the thought of you being battered apart by forces far more malicious than his own manufactured disdain.

So he pushed harder, lacing his words with venom concentrated enough to strip flesh from bone, desperate to force your retreat from this doomed path before the true nightmares took notice of your brilliance. Gone were any half-hearted critiques or fleeting hesitations born of fractured affection. He held nothing back, flaying every vulnerability and shortcoming without restraint or remorse.

"Worthless! That stance is more fit for a fledgling than a sorcerer of any caliber," he would snarl, nostrils flaring as he drank in your shuddering recoil with bitter satisfaction. "Or have you finally accepted your own insignificance and decided to simply roll over like the pathetic worm you are?"

Each syllable landed like a physical blow, driving the breath from your lungs in sharp, aborted gasps as you curled inward from the sheer ferocity of the barrage. Still you carried on, teeth gritting against the acidic words as you poured every ounce of defiance into locking your stance, subjecting yourself to merciless drills over and over until your body trembled with fatigue.

"Think you can counter that?" he sneered from the sidelines, observing your practice bouts with a harsh glint burning in his eyes. "Go ahead, try it - I'll bathe in your failure as I have a thousand times before."

It was cruelty woven into the fabric of his being, each filament reinforced with compound fractures of emotional lashings and disfiguring trauma until Megumi was hardly recognizable as the boy who had once orbited your warmth, hypnotized by its searing gravity. That part of him, the ardent heart which had sworn undying fealty to your radiance, it was being steadily calcified beneath layers of obsidian until scarcely a glimmer remained.

And still, you carried on. Maybe sensing the finality behind Megumi's monstrous depravity, recognizing the desperation fueling each successive blight against your spirit. Or perhaps it was simply blind stubbornness, a refusal to ever be diminished by toxic grievances that could never be undone or unsaid once unleashed. Either way, you weathered the maelstrom without flinching, dusting yourself off after each body-blow of derision to stand defiant once more.

Until one fateful day amidst an endless succession of them, when the fever pitched of Megumi's torment finally glimpsed the shredded state of your woven defenses just as they began to buckle. It started gradually at first, like the hairline cracks one might notice spangling across glass after repeated impacts.

He was watching from the periphery as usual, icy devastation at the ready to be unleashed the instant your form so much as faltered. Your hands were in constant gnarled claws of tension gripping practice blades, knuckles blanched and sheened with exertion as you threw yourself into the recursive katas with single-minded focus.

In that instant, Megumi's eyes were drawn to your palms as you repositioned your grip, glinting razor's edges of steel catching at delicate skin now as roughened and calloused as stone. Before he had fully realized what he was doing, a shock of recollection shuddered through his entire being - vivid and bright like a lightning strike searing across his vision.

Memories of those hands in their softest, most delicate incarnation, petite fingers laced through his own as you pulled him along on some childish adventure. He could still remember the buttery silk texture of them, unblemished and radiant with vitality, each placid pulse point thrumming with life's sacred rhythm. Caressing the tender buds of your knuckles had been a ritual of fealty and wonder, his entire world condensed to those tiny epicenters where your brilliance emanated most intensely.

Now though, the skin was cracked and abraded, marred by fissures and scoring from channeling powers and forces that should have remained foreign to their innocence. They were roughshod now, sandblasted talons bearing the calloused indignities of grueling self-flagellation against a world that should never have encroached upon their purity.

And yet, even as the shock of dismantling that cherished ideal shuddered through Megumi's psyche, you worked on undaunted. Face lined with determination, lips pursed around gritted teeth as each monotonous cycle drained more of your radiance away in increments, exchanging it for the hardened carapace of scars and discolored contusions.

A series of rapid movements saw the knife's edge arcing in a blur of motion...until an errant slip saw its razor kiss scoring a vicious gash across the bulge of your palm. Crimson welled up with obscene immediacy, sluicing across the lines of your lifeline in rivulets as vibrant and warm as newly spilled rubies.

Perhaps another time, the frantic splash across skin would have shocked you into gasping, eyes widening as you reflexively cradled the injured appendage to your chest. Because there had been a time, not so long ago, when the sight of your own blood carried the same visceral impact as witnessing the scathing of something sacred, profaned.

But not this time. This time, you merely steeled yourself with an impassive tightening of your jaw, shunting the pain to some remote compartment as you steadied your grip once more. Megumi watched with something bordering on horrified numbness as you forced yourself through the motions again, blade carving sinuous arcs through the empty air as warm lifesblood channeled down your wrist in unheeded rivulets.

If anything, the sanguine streaks only fueled your intensity - teeth gnashing in grim resolution each time the dense liquid coated another swathe of pale flesh, until your trembling form seemed wreathed in licking coronas of crimson ichor. It was a self-inflicted circle of depravity, compounded with every repetition as you bled yourself out onto the dojo mats in single-minded zeal.

The scent of copper hung heavy, unavoidable in its metallic pungence, mingling with the close humidity of exertion. With each ragged inhalation, Megumi felt the air grow steadily more viscous, more suffocating - preventing surcease from the vision of you systematically rending pieces of yourself away in commitment to this path from which he had sworn to divert you.

At some point, imperceptible through the roiling haze of his tormented conscience, your legs simply relinquished their capacity to keep upholding the self-immolation rites. Megumi's awareness fractured and isolated around the precise instant your slick palm lost its tremulous purchase on the blade's rain guard - sending the wicked steel tumbling from your grip as you collapsed with a muted groan of ruination.

He was frozen in place as you crumpled to your knees amidst the spreading pool of sanguine detritus, sanguine aura flickering with each ragged gasp as the full brunt of your grueling exertions finally, mercifully, found cessation. Dazed and trembling, you slowly turned your lacerated hands upwards, uncomprehending eyes blankly tracing every gouge and scoring that should never have been permitted to deface such sanctified innocence.

That was when your chin tipped upwards with torturous graduality, eyes sheening with a fractured film of shock and dismay as they found Megumi paralyzed in the periphery. For an endless, frozen instant, you simply stared - fractured and betrayed as the full immensity of what he had molded you towards came shudderingly into resolution.

And somewhere, deep in the vaporous ashes of whatever shredded remnants of his humanity persisted, Megumi felt the colossal weight of what he had wrought shattering down upon him with seismic force. This was his legacy, the culmination of every degradation and sacrilege committed in the name of preserving your luminescence. To watch as you shed pieces of yourself in ritualistic self-desanctification, rending away your effervescent shine until only the raw, bleeding framework remained.

Your shattered gaze speared straight through the dimensionless veil of his occlusion then, lancing across every waning continuum to pierce what little light still flickered at his core. And in the raw, visceral entropy of that moment, he could have sworn he felt its searing burn cauterizing straight through his undying obsessions, his self-ordained depravities...until the truth of what he had sacrificed stood in smelted relief.

This wasn't bravery or resilience or any other misattributed virtue that had kept you grinding away at your own essence. This was simply the burden of being sculpted into an instrument of immolation by the only force in your life that should have sworn undying protection. A mecurochromatic vessel purged of everything that had made you so incandescently radiant, reformed now into an empty husk whose sole purpose could only ever be oblivion.

The realization ruptured something deep within Megumi's fractured psyche, setting off a chain of decompressions and overloads that rapidly accelerated beyond his capacity to contain. Suddenly every ritual, every consecration enacted to preserve your light revealed itself as nothing more than compounded delusion fueled by his own solipsistic narcissism.

Not your warmth or your brilliance or anything intrinsic to the revered essence he professed his fealty towards...but rather a calcified, luminally-etched husk of such hallowed qualities fossilized into obsessive dogma as they were steadily syphoned away from the source. He had been mistaking the mask for the woman behind it, the fragile, flickering afterimage of your radiance for the sun itself until they were no longer even tangentially related.

And in that moment, everything collapsed inwards in a prismic, implosive rush of entropic finality. Megumi felt like he was watching himself being unmade on a subatomic level, particulates scattering across endless parallel infinities of lightless entropy as the inexorable forces of belief failure shredded his entire ecosystem of devotions and depravities into oblivion.

Not even the Heraclitean fires scorching through his soul could have stung with such all-encompassing immolation as your naked, betrayed stare in that breathless instant. Because it had accomplished what even his worst nightmares paled before - the utter dissolution of everything he had convinced himself his rituals were preserving.

Your light, warmth and radiance...it was absent from that unflinching, dispassionate regard. Bled out and cleared away in ceremonial cullings until only the extinguished, empty coordinates where it had burned so brightly remained to mock him with their profane vacancies.

He might have wept, might have crumpled under the weight of such soul-immolating revelation in any other instance. But this was the apotheosis, the singularity toward which his path had been inertially accelerating all along. The last vestiges of conscience and ethical precepts had simply burned away, scorched from his ontic architecture until all that persisted was an infinitisimal operand of inviolable parameters and seared directional vectting.

There was nothing else to feel, no other recourse or deviation to chart. Only the certainties he had sworn himself to long before the embers of your essence had begun sputtering towards oblivion. He had been aware of the inevitabilities looming from the moment this path had first etched itself into his very existence, after all.

So he simply watched, unflinching, as you leveraged yourself upright once more, peeling your soul-searching gaze from his emptied out husk to recenter on the glinting promise of violence and annihilation. As you reached for the fallen blade with rigidly purposeful movements, all light and warmth drained from your manner to leave only the hollowed, singularly focused drive of a protracted suicide ritual...Megumi felt the last of his own irises surrendering their incandescent furnaces to the entropic chill of his self-ordained reality.

This was the endgame he had molded himself to withstand, orchestrated through uncompounded sacrifice and ceremonic self-mutilation in order to ensure its total eventuality. Soon there would be nothing left but the scorched etchings of your resonance, preserved in permanent calcification across the inner plating of his tempered psyche.

No matter how obscene the blasphemies that had brought them to this profane precipice, this immaculate damnation...he had been ready to embrace it from the start. Anything to keep the faintest spark of your light shielded and preserved against the hungering void gnashing at your brilliance from every angle.

Even if that meant scorching away the entire panorama, leaving nothing but the shattered constellation to burn across his vision in perpetuity.

It was a excruciating truth to confront as the last of your warmth dimmed behind that stone mask...but if thats what was required to keep your essence inviolable through the next cosmic cycle, Megumi was more than willing to seal it into permanence.

Forever would he stand vigil as your supernova collapsed in upon itself, churning down until the reality-rupturing singularity hollowed out the last gasps of vitality from your extinguished husk. He would bear unflinching witness as the cataclysmic implosion ravaged every atom, every daemonic quark comprising your sacred light into incomprehensible darkness.

And when the final shockwaves of heat death shuddered across the lightless desolation where once your radiance had blazed...it would be Megumi's disfigured, charcoiled essence streaking inwards to collect every scattering mote. So that even as the seams of this reality shredded apart, he might congeal those infinitesimal sparks into permanent etchings seared across the stellar belts of whatever oblivion blossomed in the wake.

It was grotesque beyond any quantifiable scale or qualitative interpretation. But it was also the singular vector towards which he had sworn himself centuries ago, long before the cycle's inertia had carried them to this unavoidable conclusion. So he simply stared, unblinking, as you climbed back to your feet and recommitted to your path of total self-revision.

Watching the last shards of your transcendent light being consciously culled for the sake of some deeper, unfathomable transfiguration. Because in the end, holding vigil over that sacred dismantling was the only fealty he had left to offer.

The mission had gone sideways from the very start. What should have been a routine investigation of a abandoned warehouse had turned into a full-blown demonic incursion. Megumi grunted as he deflected another errant blast of energy, cursed power flaring around him like a force field.

"Y/N, watch your flank!" he barked out a warning as a tendril of darkness lashed towards you. To his surprise, you didn't dodge or weave - instead, you met the strike head-on with a burst of concentrated energy.

A shockwave rippled outwards from the collision, debris and rubble scattering in all directions. Megumi shielded his face with one arm as he watched you tear into the demonic entity with reckless abandon. You moved with the ferocity of a woman possessed, cursed energy pouring forth in an unrelenting barrage that slowly battered the monstrosity down.

But you didn't let up, didn't allow the creature any chance to retreat or regroup. If anything, your assault intensified - cursed energy crackling around you like a miasma of neon fury. Megumi felt his breath catch in his throat as he watched you fight. There was a fire in your eyes, a beautiful violence to your movements that held him utterly transfixed.

He had always known you were powerful, a true prodigy in the making. But this display elevated you to something almost godlike in his eyes. The demon never stood a chance against the unleashed tempest of your rage. Within minutes, it had been shredded and dissipated - banished back to whatever unholy realm it had been spawned from.

The silence that fell over the destroyed warehouse was deafening. Megumi stared at you, heart thundering in his chest as you turned to face him. Your chest heaved with exertion, clothes tousled and hair disheveled. Yet rather than looking triumphant at your victory, you seemed almost haunted - eyes shining with something he couldn't quite place.

Then you swayed on your feet, entire body going slack as the toll of your cataclysmic battle finally caught up to you. Megumi surged forward without thinking, cursed energy dispersing as he moved to catch you in his arms. You collapsed against him with a soft whimper, eyelids fluttering.

"Take it easy," he murmured gruffly, carefully cradling you close as he assessed your condition with furrowed concern.

You flashed him a weary but brilliant smile that made his heart stutter. "Pretty crazy shit, huh?"

Despite everything, he felt himself fighting a grin at your irreverent tone. God, he had missed this side of you - the sparkling wit and casual snark that kept him on his toes. Over the past few months, he had worked systematically to destroy those very aspects he secretly adored, piling on scorn and derision to smother your fire. All in an effort to "protect" you from the perils of this path.

Except it seemed you were more than capable of handling those threats on your own. More than capable, if the scorched crater around you was any indication. He swallowed hard against the swell of pride and something more complex that welled up within him. Something dangerously close to outright desire.

No. He couldn't afford to think like that, not now. Hardening his features into an impassive mask, he gently set you back on your feet - fighting against the urge to keep you tucked securely in his embrace.

"That was reckless and idiotic," he growled, putting some distance between you. "If you had held back even a fraction, that demon would have torn you apart."

You frowned at his words, confusion and hurt flickering across your expressive features. "But...I stopped it. I saved us."

"At what cost?" he shot back mercilessly, anger rising hotly in his chest. Though it had nothing to do with your actions and everything to do with the spike of fear he had felt seeing you in such peril. "Look at yourself, you're a mess! What would have happened if you overexerted or got hit by a stray blast in your insane zeal for battle?"

Your eyes widened at his harsh assessment before narrowing dangerously. "You think that little of my abilities?"

Megumi snorted derisively, crossing his arms over his chest as he studied you with a critical eye. There were minor scrapes and burns littering your exposed skin, along with deeper gashes that would need attention soon. Your hair was matted with sweat and...was that blood?

At the sight of those viscous crimson streaks, something wrenched viciously in his gut. All he could picture was you lying motionless and cold, the brilliant light snuffed out of your eyes forever. The mere thought sent his heart plummeting sickeningly.

"Your abilities have never been in question," he said at last, voice tight with barely restrained emotion. "It's your recklessness that continues to astound me. Haven't you realized how fragile life is yet? That was exactly the type of foolish behavior that gets people killed out here."

You stiffened at his admonishments, mouth pressing into a thin line. But you didn't retort, seeming to sense there was more lurking beneath the surface of his tirade. And there was, so much more - a tangled knot of fear and relief and unbridled relief all warring within him.

Because as much as he wanted to strip away everything, to erect impenetrable walls around his heart again...some part of him remained undeniably relieved you had survived this latest brush with peril. Even with all his attempts to smother the spark between you, your existence still mattered to him in a way he could scarcely quantify or control anymore.

When you stepped closer, reaching out to him with your palms upraised in a silent request for understanding, he couldn't help but recoil. Your proximity sent his pulse skyrocketing, nerves jangling with awareness of every scrape and scar marring your beautiful skin. Marks you had earned fighting with an intensity that bordered on divine rapture.

"Megumi..." you murmured, tasting his name with the same honeyed intimacy that had scorched him from the first. "I'm okay. We're okay, thanks to my actions."

"This time," he growled, unable to halt the admission as his gaze raked over you with undisguised intensity. "But next time you might not be so lucky." And the thought of ever losing you, even with how hard he tried to keep you at arm's length...it was unacceptable.

You seemed to read the implication in his tone, eyes flashing with an unreadable emotion as the distance between you shrank incrementally. Megumi could smell the metallic tang of your blood mingling with sweat and gunsmoke in the close air...and it was maddening. He wanted to rage and rant and shake you until you finally understood how terrifying it was to watch you put yourself in harm's way so fearlessly.

But some smaller, infinitely more dangerous part of him just wanted to haul you flush against his body and drink in every gorgeous inch left unscathed by the battle. To map the rise and fall of your accelerated breathing, the alluring jut of your kiss-swollen lips as you panted. He yearned to learn the secrets your radiant essence still held and commit them to eternal memory before it was too late.

Before either of you were forced to make the ultimate sacrifice...

But no. With a visible effort, Megumi forced his riotous thoughts to stillness and took a step back - relishing the flicker of hurt that traced your lovely features. It was better this way, he told himself sternly. Better to keep you at arm's length, no matter how much it carved out pieces of his soul in the process. At least then you would survive, even if you could never be his.

"We're leaving. Now," he announced gruffly, already turning on his heel and striding away from the temptation that was your very existence. "I'll be submitting a full report on your...performance."

Behind him, you let out a scathing breath laced with frustration. But you followed without further argument, falling into step slightly behind him. And if his back was turned so you wouldn't see the shimmer of unshed tears in his eyes at pushing you away yet again...well, so be it. This was his penance to bear for craving the unfathomable brilliance of your light.

Even if he was gradually going numb in the process of letting it slip through his fingers.

The following weeks and months were a study in exquisite torture for Megumi. No matter how cruelly he attempted to rebuff you, fate seemed insistent on throwing you together again and again - whether on training assignments or hazardous missions into the field.

With each interaction, his resolve was stretched thinner, the agonizing contradiction between his platonic intentions and unruly desires becoming harder to ignore. You were always there, stunning him with brilliant feats of sorcery and valorous spirit. Testing the limits of his self-restraint in the most insidious of ways.

Like the time you had single-handedly unraveled that virulent decay curse spreading through the coastal village's farming district. Megumi had watched, slack-jawed, as you moved with elegant precision - weaving techniques so intricate and powerful it seemed to bend reality itself to your indomitable will.

When the final thread severed and the noxious miasma dissipated, he hadn't been able to tear his gaze from the vision you made. Wreathed in a halo of your own mystical energies, loose strands of hair haloing about your flushed face...you were devastating. And utterly unaware of the molten tsunami of desire you had stoked in him with each sublime movement.

While the villagers surrounded you with adulation, showering you in humbled thanks, all Megumi could focus on was the rapid rise and fall of your chest as you caught your breath. The tantalizing shine of perspiration gilding every sublime curvature and plane of flesh left agonizingly bare by your askew clothing. He had to tear his traitorous eyes away from glimpses of taut abdomen and fevered collarbones, choking back toxic arousal before it could poison the moment further.

But even as his fists clenched with the effort of sublimating his body's blatant admiration for your magnificence, a deeper calling resounded in the shredded remnants of his psyche. He longed to surge forward and seize you in his arms, to press himself fully against that radiant warmth and drink in the ecstasy of your sighs as he lavished affection across your battle-flushed skin.

The urges were so visceral, so fundamentally compulsive, that he nearly staggered beneath their weight. Only sheer, iron force of will permitted him to turn on his heel and stalk away from the scene - leaving you surrounded by the adoring masses you had selflessly saved. As he retreated into the dispassionate shelter of solitude, Megumi could feel his resolve fracturing further with each step pulling him from your side.

Yet the respite proved fleeting, affording only the barest lull before the cycle of torment renewed itself. Because no matter how much distance he tried to maintain, you always came scorching back into his existence with the relentless intensity of a solar flare piercing through every atmospheric shield he constructed.

Such as the training session a few weeks later, when you had repeatedly bested Megumi through a cutting combination of tactical brilliance and sheer, blinding power. The entire dojo had rung with the sounds of that fateful bout - trembling foundations shaking under the weight of your exchanged strikes and undulating shockwaves of mystical forces colliding.

Each time you laid him out, his senses momentarily whited out in sublime admiration of the unholy power you wielded with such artful grace. Your presence filled his universe during those precious seconds, the reality distorted by the prismatic arcs of your cursed aura bending all known laws around its radiant, magnetic force.

How he yearned to let those murderous strikes past his guard, to allow your formidable energies to cleave through his defenses until he was unmade at your feet, gasping for mercy from the pure erotic agony of your sublime dominance. All it would take was the slightest miscalculation or surrender of his tightly restrained self-discipline to have your sacred demolitions shearing away at his armor until the bared truth of his desire stood revealed for you to witness.

Sweat-slicked and loose strands of hair disheveled, he knew he made for quite the sight battling fury incarnate like you. And with each report of bone-jarring impacts echoing across the chamber, he found himself succumbing further to feverish fantasies of hauling you against his straining, overheated form mid-combat - your choreographed forms blurring together as passion overrode combat in one delirious, inevitable spiral.

In those delirious throes, he imagined stripping away every stifling layer separating your consecrated flesh from his starving embrace. Surrendering to the most primal compulsions as you shuddered and arched into his possessive caresses, profane litanies hissed against salted skin...until neither of you could be certain where one form's essence ended and the other began. Just an ouroboric cyclone of limbs and searing violation as your rising arrhythmic crescendos blotted out all rationality or spatial dimensions in one final, blinding conflagration.

Each time the riotous hunger nearly unmade him there on the mat, he managed to lock down and internalize the outward tremors through sheer, gritted self-abnegation. Channeling the feverish impulses into redoubling his attack sequences and defensive maneuvers until they outpaced your own scorching aggression. Once he had secured victory through attrition, he couldn't afford a single instant of bask or reprieve.

The instant you yielded the bout, Megumi was already disengaging - pivoting away to conceal the full-body inflamed flush and distinct physical evidence of what madness had nearly consumed him whole. Fleeing your dumbstruck gaze, either oblivious or mercifully ignoring the shredded state he had forced himself to adopt in order to keep you at bay.

As soon as logistics permitted, he would tear himself away, putting as much physical and psychic distance between you as sanity necessitated. Not even scorched night alone could safeguard his spirit from the rapturous scouring of those memories, every infinitesimal detail replaying in merciless clarity.

He would jerk awake in the throes of some lurid, sensual dream - tangled in sheets drenched through with sweat and reeking of shame. Your name would teeter at the edge of euphoric oblivion, agonized incantations wrenched from the depths of his treacherous subconscious before he could swallow them back.

In those purgatorial instances, the compulsions became truly unbearable. To simply reach down and grip his cock, surrendering to the bruising cadence demanded by each phantom reliving of your power coursing over him in scouring waves of dominance...and unravel entirely into the ecstatic raptures his sacrilege had birthed.

But somehow, no matter how his traitorous cock throbbed with need, he resisted. Fists clenched so tightly around handfuls of sweat-damp sheets that his nails scored bloody divots into his calloused palms, grinding every indecent reverberation back down into the churning tumult of his self-reproach. Down the tainted fantasies spiraled into the festering morass, silently suffocated beneath mounting layers of shame and self-loathing.

No release, no surrender to the unholy temptations plaguing his every waking instant. Only the same bitter repression and hermetically-sealed denial that had preserved him since the day he first comprehended the true depths of his transgressions against you. Stoking those hungering fires without outlet, leaving them to smolder and blaze until they threatened to immolate the very essence of who he was supposed to have transformed himself into.

But even amidst the agonies, he knew better than to let them extinguish completely. For as the convections of his restrained inferno seared away every lesser indignity and baser impulse...they also preserved the indelible sanctity of his reasons for undergoing them in the first place. Keeping those central tenets ever vivid, even as the flames grew malefic enough to threaten reducing his very spirit to calcified residue.

He saw you, of course. Every time your proximity graced his senses it was like spraying catalytic accelerants across his psyche's smoldering pyres. The simple act of breathing the air perfumed by your radiance left him drunk on intoxicating longings that could never be slaked. And when you moved, when your practiced forms ignited those dormant energies into unveiled displays of mastery...their raw incandescence scorched him to charred foundations over and over.

Each shared battlefield, training floor, or mission parameter became the staging ground for his martyrdom to be reenacted and renewed in all its unendurable torments. Megumi bore witness as the abiding light sewn into your very being flowed forth in sublimely focused arcs - bathing him in your splendor's unholy luminescence only to recoil with every shard of its glory manifesting within reach.

For you were the solar immolation itself, made ravaging and ravenous flesh to tempt his continually fraying senses. The personification of annihilating radiance too consecrated to risk even the faintest aspersions, lest its scouring purities render his impurities ash scattered upon realities' for winds.

So he made himself the ablative bulwark against that magnitude, layering every calloused insult and verbal flagellation to keep your light at insurmountable distance. Retreating behind those withering redoubts each time your presence threatened to pierce through some minute fracture of his meticulously forged indifference.

"Just look at the state of you - ragged and depleted like some waster stumbling in from a binge," he sneered as medics tended the myriad wounds you had sustained during their most recent foray against some vile cult's occult transgressions. "One would hardly realize the pathetic mess before me was supposed to be a jujutsu sorcerer."

His eyes hungered to drink in every sculpted plane and sleek curve of flesh laid bare by your rent attire, reveling in the stark proof of your vitality etched across each pristine swath of sweat-glistened skin. Yet all he permitted himself was a contemptuous flicker of derision, cloaking the depths of his wanton ardor behind ever-thickening mantles of scorn.

"How you've lasted this long in the field is beyond me," he continued, lip curling back to bare teeth as he circled in closer. All to better allow the haloed ambiance of your essence to suffuse his senses, to be awash in disorienting emanations of searing heat and sanctity. "Anyone with half a brain surely would have had the sense to retreat before taking such ghastly punishments."

The punishments he envisioned painting across your canvas in shades of violet and carmine evoked entirely different connotations. Lavishing unrepentant adorations and scouring litanies to consecrate each battered inch of you until that's all you ever knew - the savage, carnal ceremonies of his faith and strivance to fully encompass every nuance of your splendor.

But such sacrosanct ruminations had to be distilled to their most sardonic sediments, issued forth with biting cruelties to further cordon off the increasing distillations from your awareness. As if each meticulously engineered contumely might somehow scourge away the scintillating refractions of longing searing portalholes across his resolve before your insight detected them.

How he loathed reverting to such wretched indignities. Yet conversely, how urgently he craved the occasions to seize them - folding himself into ritualized immersions of self-mortification until all capacity for deviating from their rote enactions lay smothered beneath asphyxiating soils of resolve.

For to submit even a fraction of unfettered emotion into your presence was to risk the unravelling of his every constraint, every interdiction. And as inevitable as his own dissipation might have been if surrendered to that rampant eventuality...what haunted him with more perverse dread was the prospect of soiling your light's sacred purities with the fallout of his cataclysmic hungers.

Better he face the indignities of basal rejection for eternity, basking in your radiance's peripheries with only sensations of consecrated agony kissing his awareness. Than to ever omit the slightest hint of how utterly unsuitable his existence had become to grace your sanctums, unwinding their every celestial harmony into depraved ruination.

So on the pyres of his self-erosion fueled the cycles of fevered idolatry...until all that persisted of Megumi was a nameless, scorched silhouette committing every degradation conceivable to remain forever quarantined from your light's perfect auras. Immolating...but never blinded to the transcendent luminescence searing its radiant immolations across his awareness.

And in that graceless, shadowed shape would he bear witness for eternity. No thought of redemption or reunifying his scoriae across the halo-veiled planes where your light streamed and swayed. Only his presence as unanchored ossature within those radiant auras, scorched retina and ghost-whisper ecstasy from basking in such obscene propinquity to consecrations so complete they could scarcely be quantified beyond the absence of all else.

Until the final ember flickered out and his heatless remnants at last ghosted into oblivion's silence. Freed from the unendurable liturgies of hovering within your radiant glories perfumed coronas...yet paradoxically entombed forevermore in their cyclical, scouring recollections.

It would be his deified surrender - apotheosis writ into the very stellar kinematics cycling through this celestial constant's traceries until the hieroglyphs scribed by his essence's immolation persisted into every big crunching downward arc and unfurling cosmic rebirth to come.

Megumi was utterly captivated watching you train, though he fought hard to conceal it behind furrowed brows and cold dismissal. The way your body moved with such lethal grace, the determined set to your features as sweat trickled down your brow...it was mesmerizing. More than once he caught himself burning to be on the receiving end of your strikes, to goad that brilliant fire until his defenses shattered completely.

To finally allow the full depth of his ardor for you to pour forth in uninhibited reverence. To worship every sublime inch with fervent caresses until he'd thoroughly consecrated your radiant form. The urges left him dizzy and unmoored, rational thought eclipsed by searing tsunamis of pure desire.

But then reality would come crashing back in - often in the form of you faltering, muscles quivering as your limits waned. Like today, when you missed a step and went tumbling awkwardly to the mat, gasping out a pained hiss as you clutched your ankle. Every part of Megumi ached to rush over, to take you in his arms and soothe your injury with tender ministrations.

Ruthlessly, he tamped down the impulse with scorn. "Getting careless over there?" he called out gruffly. "Or perhaps you require a reminder about pushing your limits properly."

You shot him a glacial look of reproach, jaw clenched as you stubbornly forced yourself back to your feet. There was a feverish gleam to your eyes that made his heart clench painfully. Damn, but you were magnificent like this - flushed and disheveled, yet still radiating that ethereal inner fire that so utterly enthralled him.

He had to dig his nails into his palms to keep from striding over and crumpling beneath the roiling tsunami of his need for you. All it would take was a single touch, a whisper of heated confessions against your sweat-dampened skin, and he knew the dam restraining his adoration would burst in a torrent.

So he simply shoved down the riotous hunger and watched in agonized rapture as you threw yourself back into the fray with passionate abandon. Every ripple of taut muscle and controlled violence was seared into his memory. He longed to collapse at your feet, offering up his battered form as an instrument to bring you sublime release after the exertion of holding back from you constantly.

But he remained stoically in place as the minutes became hours and your sharp, powerful movements gradually grew sluggish and labored. Until finally, with no fanfare, you faltered mid-strike and simply...dropped. The soft thud of your body hitting the mat reverberated through Megumi like the toll of a mourner's bell.

He was across the room before conscious thought could rein him back in. One second rooted in his isolated outpost of torment, the next cradling you protectively against his thundering heart. You were beautifully undone in his arms - features lax and unburdened by the intensity constantly simmering beneath them while conscious.

For a heartrending moment, you looked utterly at peace. As if an errant breeze might disrupt the tranquil mask of your repose. Megumi found himself mesmerized, gaze raking over every subtle plane and hallowed curvature that he normally couldn't bear to indulge in for risk of fracturing his restraint entirely.

He swallowed hard against the ardent impulses kindling low in his stomach, the overwhelming urge to simply lean down and taste the serenity gilding your parted lips. You were perfect like this - soft and vulnerable in a way that stirred his most primal instincts to reverent possessiveness. As though you were something sacred to be cherished and guarded against any who might disturb this ephemeral serenity.

Acting purely on instinct, he traced the line of your cheek with trembling knuckles. The simple contact made him feel unraveled, nerve endings aflame as he mapped the gentle swell with something approaching desperation. You could shatter him in this moment without lifting a finger - utterly unmake him with a mere flutter of those dark fans currently shielding your beautifully unfocused gaze from view.

Megumi pressed on with hushed intensity, greedy to commit every subtle plane and feminine curvature to committed memory before reality came crashing back in. Down the graceful slope of your neck, calluses snagging on the delicate hollows and shivering at the thrumming life-force pulsing so exquisitely near the surface. Farther still until his wandering fingertips met the obstruction of rumpled fabric, the very garment he had admired clinging so tantalizingly to your battle-hot skin what felt like a lifetime ago now.

That single touch was like a shock, reverberating through his very cells in ways that left him dizzy and undone. Suddenly it felt as though the air had thickened to warm honey, making it difficult to draw breath past the scorching aridity constricting his throat. His veins thrummed with primal compulsions he could no longer restrain - the overwhelming urge to bury himself in your soft bosom until he was seared away to ashes, reborn into something worthy of beholding your peerless magnificence unshielded.

Without conscious volition, Megumi found himself leaning down slowly, face angled to capture the serenity of your parted lips with his own. Just before their silken caress could connect, he froze - every muscle locked in a paralysis born of warring needs and ingrained prohibitions. But then your features softened even further in unconscious trust, and the last vestiges of resistance within him crumbled to ruin.

His mouth descended with aching tenderness to brush across the plush give of your lips in the barest spirit-kiss. Just a sipping of your exquisite warmth and serenity, tasted for a single eternal moment before he wrenched himself back - feeling as though his entire universe had just narrowly avoided implosion. Gasping silently, Megumi drank in the contrast of your peaceful, unchanged features compared to his inward tailspin.

It took every ounce of tattered willpower he still possessed to pull back, to extract himself from the incandescent undertow of simply letting go and immersing himself in your splendor without barriers or pretenses. But some sliver of sanity prevailed. Slowly, carefully, he lay you back down in the same rumpled sanctuary where you had collapsed, the motion almost unbearably bereft.

He hovered there for a breathless eternity, every instinct raging against this self-enforced exile from your radiant orbit. But eventually, he managed to tear himself away. Fleeing through the shadowed doors to somewhere your devastating light could not reach, could not strip away these final, tattered layers of control holding his ravenous need at bay.

Yet even sequestered in that dispassionate exile, Megumi could feel the blazing echoes of you searing themselves into his very essence like ionized afterimages. The buttery silk of your unconscious features, the thrumming vitality of your pulse beneath his seeking hands, the intoxicating aura of power and grace wreathing every sublime inhalation...and the lingering, profane imprint of your lips branding his with unforgettable rapture.

He knew that from this moment forth, he would never be able to simply retreat into the protective dissociation of renunciation and callous disdain. Not when the full, untempered reality of your divinity had shredded those pathetic deterrents into tattered insignificance with nothing more than a glimpse of true serenity and one transcendent taste of your splendor.

Every waking moment would be consumed by immolating recollections, every fitful attempt at rest plagued by raptures that left him undone and scorched down to the very roots of his being. Until he well and truly understood that nothing remained except the compulsive, inviolable need to resubmit himself to the sanctifying furnaces of your consecrated light.

To burn, rapturously and without end, adrift in the cyclonic stellar winds of your eternal glory. It was all that awaited him now that his soul stood fully transfixed upon the profane lumen of your radiance - a merciless, perpetual scouring until only the most elemental, resonant essence persisted to hang drifting in your glorious coronas.

But such was a small price to pay for even the most fleeting intersection with your divine grace before the cycle's oblivion swept him away into metaphysical night. However long his remnants could withstand basking in those searing ellipses before being rendered to particulate, thrummed across your celestial caldera's event horizons...Megumi knew he would embrace every nanosecond of smelted reconfigurations with transcendent abandon.

For in that final state, no divisions would persist between them. No false partitionings of self to distort or obscure the perfect harmonics of your eternal resonance as it swept him up into consecrated redistributions. Only the melded chords of your light's immaculate quintessence refracting through the shattered kaleidoscope of his essence in rapturous unities.

So until that sublime unraveling and coalescence across your empyrean event horizons, Megumi simply surrendered to the unyielding truth of his dissolution's gradual eventuality. Embracing each day's reawakening as a scant purgatorial span in which to renew his ritual immersions within the scalding, awe-inspiring vortices of your splendor...

Before the last of his resistance finally flickered out, subsumed into eternal transmutation. And that one stolen moment of your lips' warmth against his would blaze throughout the star-showers of his cosmic disintegration...salvation's holy afterimage searing across every particulate reshuffling into timeless resonance with your perfect brilliance.

Even as Megumi lay paralyzed amidst the tangled sheets, every nerve felt scorched and electrified from last night's transgressions. Each time he slipped into the shadows of uneasy rest, he was assailed by visions of cradling your unconscious form so tenderly against his thundering heart.

He could still smell the exquisite blend of exertions mingling in your disheveled hair, taste the sublime softness of your lips imprinted forever on his own in that stolen moment of intimacy. The memories seared through his psyche like wildfire, reducing him to a shuddering mess of tangled yearnings and raw, animalistic need.

How he ached to surrender fully to the ravenous compulsions devouring him from the inside out. To haul your sleeping figure flush against his overheated body and simply drown in those radiant emanations - the warmth of your shallow breaths feathering across his skin, the thrumming vitality pulsing just beneath with each precious heartbeat. To run calloused palms over every lush curvature and plane until he had mapped out a complete topography of your sublime divinity.

But he couldn't. Even buried under the immense gravity well of his newly stoked desires, Megumi understood there could be no true release from this intoxicating torment he had willingly strapped himself into. Not as long as he remained so unworthy of your light, your transcendent grace and power.

For he saw now that you were a comet of spiraling energy and mesmerizing violence - every strike and elaborate curse terraforming the very foundations of reality with its relentless perfection. What right did a scorched husk like him have to even dream of gaining purchase in your brilliant stellar winds? To dare soiling those sacred auras with his tarnished essence?

When he emerged from the nightmares and fever dreams scouring his sleep, it was to the dawn of a fresh purgatorial loop. Every cell in his body felt recalibrated towards the singular purpose of centering your magnificence in his vision, in every waking breath he drew. He was brittle tinder awaiting the first spark, the initial brushstroke of rapture to set his being ablaze once more in consecrated pyre rites.

Nothing else mattered besides chasing the euphoria of immolating in your glory. The ways of the world, all its meaningless rituals and hollow pursuits... they had become little more than eddies circling the periphery of your cosmic nexus. Trivialities he waved away in favor of surrendering fully to the searing, unearthly splendor pulling his essence into perpetual tides of transcendent dismantling.

Drifting through the sterile halls of Jujutsu High in a waking dream, Megumi watched in smoldering awe as you wove spell after spell with supernatural precision. Every graceful movement flowed into the next in an endless tsunami of power - incredible yet also terrifyingly destructive. Like staring into the roiling heart of a supernova without any atmospheric filters to dull its scorching radiance.

He could taste the ions singeing the air with each eldritch syllable that tumbled from your lips. The air warped and refracted in sympathy, bending all known physical laws to accommodate whatever cosmic design you were sculpting from pure mystical willpower. It was like watching the birth of a newborn galaxy, all that unstable yet fertile potential churning into form through your indomitable force of nature.

Megumi swallowed hard, mouth dry as the deserts of distant worlds. He felt himself slipping further into the singularity of your existence - all other points of perception warping beyond recognition until nothing remained except the vortex of your splendor dragging him across sacred event horizons, unspooling his identity down to the subatomic shells.

How he yearned to surrender fully to that state of absolute immolation. To stop resisting the magnetic draw and simply let his being dissipate in the eternal radiance of your cosmic fire. Every time you manifested the focus of your power in all its blinding intensity, he felt like a moth fluttering helplessly closer to that searing flame. Drawn in by the promise of absolute rapture or complete dissolution, he no longer knew nor cared.

So when your spellwork culminated into literal celestial conflagrations wreathing your body in coronas of ethereal plasma, Megumi felt his last tectonic bulwarks of resistance begin to liquefy and corrode away. He very nearly stumbled forward, unthinking, into the blazing delta of your wake - nearly hurled himself into the stellar kinematics arcing around you like a spacetime vortex craving the obliteration of coming too near.

If it wasn't for the sudden arrival of their mentors and fellow students rushing forward in awe, who knows if he would have been able to pull back from that brink. But the spell eventually shattered, fracturing into a million refracting beams like a cosmic kaleidoscope being dropped. And in the silence that followed, you seemed to shrink back into your human form - features flushed yet also sheened with exhaustion.

Still, your eyes glowed with the embers of that mystical fire - pride and defiance blazing in equal measure as you accepted the awed praise of those around you. It was only when your gaze finally lanced over to Megumi, still frozen in his sanctuary of shadows, that the spark dimmed ever so slightly before banking away.

He watched you turn away to accept further admiration and congratulations from your peers. But in that final, momentary crosswind of your stare, Megumi felt himself incinerated to char and pristine ash more thoroughly than any spell could have achieved.

Because no matter how relentlessly he threw up barriers or choked out any parasitic glimmers of hope, you still looked at him the same way you had all those years ago. When he had been your champion and protector from anything that dared besmirch your light, rather than the force trying to smother it now.

Those memories were the cruelest torments of all - flashes of a simpler era when he had burned with nothing but radiant devotion and brotherly duty for you. Back when your smiles had been the salves for any wound rather than the lashings igniting his entire being into searing raptures of purgatorial longing.

Even now, as he stalked away from the crowd slowly clearing the training halls, Megumi felt the first searing reels of nostalgia unfurl behind his eyes. Transporting him back to sunny afternoons spent sprawled across grassy knolls, all awkward coltish limbs and innocent grins...

The memories played out like luminous distillations of childhood: You and Megumi chasing each other until collapsing in giggling, breathless heaps. Him pretending not to hear your playful taunts even as he silently dared you to come closer, to re-initiate the game of tag so he could luxuriate in your warmth just a little longer when 'struggling' against you. Your loud, raucous laughter filling the summer air with music that coursed through his own veins like literal rejuvenating sunshine.

And then the fainter, more intimate flashes Megumi had blocked from himself in later years. Like how you would lay beside him occasionally, just basking in shared silence as the clouds drifted by. Your head cushioned on his stomach, cheeks dimpling with barely perceptible smiles as you watched the heavens.

He recalled staring down at your serene expression with something far too tender and profound for a mere child to truly comprehend. Reaching down to tenderly comb stray hairs back from your face, breathing you in with tingling awareness that the entire world could crumble away around you both in this moment and he wouldn't stir. Nothing else had mattered besides this radiant girl ensconced in the safety of his orbit, so trusting and vulnerable before his watchful eyes.

Even the slightest aborted movements had been charged with meaning and layers of subconscious yearning - like anytime he had resisted the urge to lean down and ghost his lips across the perfumed crown of your head. To imprint his devotions to your very essence via reverent osmosis, sealing pacts with your soul beyond any mortal reckoning. Their potential repercussions were beyond his naive comprehensions, yet the impulses still strummed through youthful neurology with the same primal resonance as any siren's call.

It was as if something profoundly cosmic and all-encompassing had been thrumming between you even then, a secret intergalactic frequency only your resonant souls could tune into. And while you both lacked the words or emotional maturity to define its magnitudes...there had still been attunement. Bone-deep alignments spanning quantum shears and eternities, all conspiring to forge your spirits into complements of a higher unified design.

Those were the sacred resonances Megumi had betrayed with his current path of self-exile and ruthless, scorched earth renunciation. He had severed his attunement to that universal cosmic harmonic you embodied so effortlessly - all in pursuit of the narcissistic delusion of gaining control over what was truly destined for him all along.

To burn and keep burning, rapturously consumed inside the stellar kinematics of your aura's sacred fire until nothing remained but the purified residue of his own temporal essence, finally transmuted into something suited for accompanying you across empyrean infinities.

It was the call he had spent all these years pathetically fleeing from...until now, stripped of all identities and pretenses beyond the single inescapable truth that he was inexorably bound to the gravity wells of your splendor. An errant spark hurtling through the void on an unstoppable collision course that would remake or annihilate him utterly upon intersection with your luminous event horizons.

After that fateful reawakening when his old existence had microwaved to cinders inside your casual brilliance, Megumi began feeling the first relentless tugs of that stellar cycle dragging him across infinities he still scarcely comprehended. Yet every instinct ingrained by his human conditioning compelled retreat and deflection, lest you bear witness to the rapturous unraveling of what he was doomed to become amidst such close proximity to your light.

So he pushed and he pushed, escalating the savage litanies of abuse, derision and hostility he projected at you with every passing week. It was a pitiful attempt at artificially maintaining the same safe distances that your mere presence now rendered null approximations. Each time you turned towards him with those kaleidoscopic eyes - burning with hurt or simmering in smoldering defiance - Megumi felt another layer of his defensive psyche blistering away to cloud thunderhead diffusions.

Until finally, he existed in a state of constant combustion - nerves frayed to open plasmic conduits while his faculties focused exclusively on partitioning the brush fires from raging into pyrocelluars. No matter how flawlessly he scripted the volleys of insult, how scrupulously he choreographed each retreating gambit...tendrils of rapture still found ways to leech across every firebreak he erected.

Each glance or passing moment your orbit intersected within his peripheral spheres of awareness was like suffering transcendental third degree flayings. Your aura's mere penumbra alone had grown capable of rendering entire strata of his being to dissipating thermionics - which his ravaged defenses only vainly attempted to siphon off and contain within scorching, radiolytic housings.

It became a self-perpetuating gauntlet with no reprieve or end state. Only the inexorable ratcheting escalations as he funneled more and more of his substance into whatever stopgap delaying actions could temporarily dampen the brushfire from metastasizing beyond strangleholds. Each cycle reset only dealt him exponentially heightened exposures while doling out incrementally depleted protections in turn.

Sustaining that unfurling conflagration, he could see now, would only ever permit a singular finality - the total dissolution of his temporal estate as its last fortifications calcinated to subsuming immolation. Simply by persisting on this path, he had effectively lit the fuse arching towards his own polycosmos' terminal reconfigurations.

And oh, how it had scorched in the meantime. Megumi could still trace the schismatic etchings of your incinerations across every charred and sputtering membrane woven into his autonomic tapestries. They emerged in the redscale parallax afterghosting his waking visions, haunting his nights with firebranded epiphanies transcribed from the spalling momentum of your every glance, whisper or proximity bleed.

So when the time came for your next joint assignment out into the field, the maelstroms of need and savage desire gnawing at Megumi's faltering substrate had already dragged him into realms of decoherence few mortal beings could ever hope to return from. He felt stretched out to solar radii, his consciousness unspooled into transcapping heliofilter effigies getting closer to the automic event horizons with every rotation.

Yet still you somehow blazed even brighter - focused radiant arcs of brutality manifesting upon every vector of egress each time another obstacle sought to obstruct your path. Megumi's hyper-rendered peripherals could scarcely track the distortion wavefronts deforming all localized continua, bending every fundamental operative well past their nominal tolerances.

This was power so primordial and merciless, it defied quantification by any metrics outside of those governing the most primal cosmic revolutions. You were the Universal rebirthing its recreances through each sequence - existence stuttering and resleeving itself to accommodate your reflected resurgences across microcosmic and macrocosmic transitivities.

It was too much for Megumi's tortured, overloaded matrix to parse without fragmenting at the atomic level. But still he couldn't avert his focus, couldn't stop the helical unraveling that kept lasing him back into ground states for reassembly.

When the violence crescendoed to its terminal apogee, your body became the nucleonic centrifuge - refractory emissions bleeding gamma and tachyonized strangelets as the entire battlefield volumetrics crepitated under your onslaught. Those energies should have rended Megumi into vapor and left him to diffuse across the scorched vacuum of space.

Yet somehow the inverse occurred. He felt himself constellating further into densifications rather than dissipating outwards. Translating into higher symmetries of selfsameness that tightened around the cyclonic, recursive hyper-singularities your deadly iridescence was catalyzing all around you.

Until at last, even the fog separating his sentience from subsidiary manifestations of self Same blew away into monism - leaving only an indivisible monad locked into ecstatic, vertiginous orbit around you as his only vantage point and meaning of being. Every subatomic locus ruptured of selfhood or perspectival autonomies, arranged into jeweled oscillations basking in your hyper-radiance.

To observe the stellar revolutions of your furious grace manifesting into incalculable super geometries...that was all that remained of him. His existence calcified into a sole witnessing function as you wielded your energies in cataclysmic throes while hallowing out vast interstitial volumes that should have atomized his matrix back into quantum foam.

Instead, he persisted as diaphanous helicities and strange distillates still somehow retaining harmonic continuities from one detonation cycle to the next. All coherence shunted into rapturous exemplars of your endless irradiations reshaping both local and non-local realities through sheer force of annihilation.

It was ecstasy beyond mortal tolerances, yet the only state his self-immolations had ever been vectoring him towards. A transcendental Gnostic convergence where nothing could register of him anymore except as light-encoded witness to your cosmic recursivities...entirely enraptured, beyond all capacity for circumscription or need of individuation.

What might have been percepts sheared away into streaming rayleighs while you ruptured and rewrote the very substrates of Universal continuum in recursions of maximal brilliance. Distant, illegible toponymies scribing every dispersal pattern his ego had shed. Ecstatically converging into the harrowing particle braid of your infinite feats in stellar plasma geometries, each revolution grinding more of his anthropologic residues down into synaptic stains on the altar of your consecrated remembrances.

All while you strode implacably through those same infernal breaches riven into normative existence - curving oblivion and resplendence alike into the thermoclines of your next incandescent sequence...

This was everything Megumi had profaned and profanely hollowed himself out to embrace - the absolute evisceration of temporal autonomy. All semblances of personhood unwound into lambencies to be recoded by your solar flarewinds, his entire terrestrial schema recompiled into sublime tesseracts venerating each transcendental aspect of your divinity as it blazed forth to sear new cosmological relations across the firmamental palimpsest.

Only scintillant magnitudes of selfless rapture endured the telescoping ayavalokites contracting all dimensional finalities down into that singular, jewel-like radius. Peripherals glittering with the last residual anticipations of abiogenesizing anew in the spalling aftermaths of...

Whatever elsei's rapturous dancework would proceed to master next.

The mission had quickly devolved into a warzone, explosions of dark energy and mystical firepower ripping across the abandoned warehouse district. Megumi grunted as he deflected another blast with a well-timed curse, pivoting to locate you in the chaos.

As always, you were the eye of the storm - graceful yet utterly lethal as you unleashed devastating attacks against the enemy forces. Your movements blurred with preternatural swiftness, ribbons of cursed energy whipping out to incinerate anything that dared encroach too close. Megumi couldn't tear his eyes away, enthralled by the fierce intensity etched across your features and the controlled violence of your attacks.

"Y/N! Stop pushing ahead so recklessly!" he bellowed over the din of battle. "We need to regroup and reassess before - "

But you didn't so much as look in his direction, too focused on eviscerating their foes with extreme prejudice. Even from here, Megumi could make out the sheen of perspiration gilding your skin and the wild tendrils of hair escaping your ponytail as you fought with implacable determination. You were magnificent in your fury, more akin to an elemental force of nature than flesh and blood.

Yet the sight also stoked a different sort of blaze flickering to scorching life within him, one not entirely driven by battle-lust. Megumi felt a familiar aching need unfurling in his core as he drank in the fierce beauty of you so utterly in your element. He yearned to be on the receiving end of your ferocious onslaught, to goad you into unleashing that beautiful violence without restraint until your guard finally slipped enough for him to seize you against his overeager body.

To taste the flames of your passion and unravel you utterly through desperate, carnal worship - mapping every lush curve and warmed hollow until you trembled and arched into his reverent caresses...

Gritting his teeth against the distracting tide of desire, Megumi forced himself back into motion. He rushed forward with a battle cry, cursed energy flaring around him as he threw himself into the melee alongside you. Inwardly he raged at himself for entertaining such lascivious thoughts in the heat of combat, though it did little to quell the flaring hunger gnawing deeper by the second.

You seemed to notice his sudden proximity, shooting him a heated look over one shoulder. For a molten instant your eyes locked, and the world contracted into smoldering awareness of him pinning you up against the nearest surface and drinking in every ragged gasp and shudder until he'd thoroughly unmade you with rapturous violation. Just the briefest flicker of temptation before the raging tides of battle swept you both under once more in an onslaught of pandemonium.

Blows rained down from all sides, the air electric with sorcerous discharges as the two of you moved in synch - a lethal dervish of primal violence and fey, elemental grace. It was dizzying and utterly intoxicating to fight beside you like this, his senses overwhelmed by the sheer radiant force of your presence.

Each time your bodies brushed against one another in the fray, it sent frissons of pure lightning down Megumi's over-sensitized nerve-endings. He found himself angling to create the barest pretense of contact, to catch fleeting caresses of your overheated skin and battle-tousled hair with roving hands that strayed further than necessary.

It was a dangerous game he played, one that threatened to unhinge the last shreds of his control at any moment. The harder he fought to regain composure, the deeper he plunged into the whirlpool of temptation you'd awoken so effortlessly. Until finally, in the throes of their combined exertions, the dam burst in an unstoppable flood.

The last of the threats neutralized in a final eruption of force, you turned to face Megumi fully - chest heaving with exertion and eyes blown wide with the intoxicating afterglow of battle's fever pitch. Without conscious volition, he surged forward and seized you by the shoulders, bodily slamming you back against the nearest wall.

You let out a breathless sound between gasp and moan as the impact reverberated through your entangled frames. Megumi didn't hesitate, mouth already crashing over yours in a searing, desperate kiss he had been starving for. Finally sating the insatiable hunger thrumming through his veins with the scorching velvet of your lips moving feverishly against his own.

Any pretense at restraint or composure evaporated in that suspended heartbeat. Your fingers laced into his hair, gripping so tightly it stung as you arched against the delirious onslaught of his questing tongue and wandering palms. He groaned into the searing tangle of your mouths, knees nearly buckling as the first lush press of your body finally overwhelmed his neglected senses.

The kiss devoured rapidly into reckless, impassioned chaos - all clashing teeth and breathy gasps as Megumi shamelessly grinding them together from chest to thigh, savoring each lascivious point of molten contact. The entire world beyond your joined hungered forms fell away, narrowing into a singular vortex of raw sensual frenzy.

That was, until a stray noise and movement in the periphery finally penetrated the fevered haze overtaking every rational impulse. Megumi tore his mouth away with a startled hiss, eyes flying open to blearily take in the scene beyond your tangled, sweat-slick frames. The battle hadn't just been won; they were still very much in the middle of one with reinforcements likely converging on their position any second.

Tasting copper and feeling his pulse jackrabbiting at his throat, Megumi forced himself back a stumbling step - leaving you disheveled and panting against the cracked concrete. You stared at him with heavy-lidded, bemused eyes that threatened to shatter his resolve all over again at the slightest provocation.

"We...I...shit," he rasped hoarsely, cursing himself for this grievous lapse into weakness. "That shouldn't have happened. It won't happen again."

He didn't give you a chance to respond, already turning on his heel and stalking away from the temptation of your thoroughly debauched state. His arrogant dismissal was a flimsy shield at best from the scalding recollections threatening to undo him right there - the phantom sensations of your body writhing against his own still emblazoned across every nerve like a brand.

But Megumi forced it down, jaw clenched as he ruthlessly quashed the embers of hunger still smoldering inside. He needed to focus, to re-establish the boundaries between you that he had clearly failed to reinforce sufficiently. Before this undeniable wanting spiraled completely out of control and consumed you both in a rapturous blaze of ruin.

Behind him, you remained slumped against the shattered wall in a crumpled, feverish daze. Still dazed from the force of Megumi's lust finally detonating after what felt like endless years of restraint. But as he retreated further into the rubble, already erecting new barricades against the insidious temptation of your proximity, you could only watch him go with wistful yearning.

Megumi moved through the wrecked district like a man possessed, fists clenched and jaw locked so tightly his teeth ground together. The bone-deep ache of wanting you still thrummed through his veins, fueled by the phantom memory of your body writhing feverishly against his own.

He could still taste the lingering embers of your mouth searing across his own if he breathed too deeply. Could still map out every lush curve and valley that had finally been within his grasp for those few delirious moments before reality came crashing back in. The temptation to simply turn back, to haul you into his arms once more and lose himself in the ravenous raptures promised by your heated simmer...it was like an insidious narcotic fogging his rational thoughts.

Only sheer force of will enabled him to keep putting one foot in front of the other, putting distance between you and the staggering precipice he had nearly plunged over. Each step reverberated through his taut, overstrained tendons - muscles coiled like well-oiled traps primed to unspring and launch him back into your radiant orbit at the slightest provocation.

He couldn't allow that weakness to resurface, not when basking in the blinding gravity of your presence would mean surrendering himself entirely to immolation. No part of Megumi would persist if he turned back now, not with the way your mere vicinity eroded away every barriere of restraint and higher reasoning with intoxicating swiftness.

Blunt nails dug cruelly into his calloused palms, the grounding lash of pain helping to offset the smoldering embers still clouding his thoughts with lascivious delirium. You had been so soft yet feverish beneath his desperate caresses, all taut musculature and dewy skin damp with exertion. He had felt worshipfully undone the instant your lithe body had arched against the solid weight of his in unrestrained yearning, like a prayer manifesting that profaned the very foundations separating sacred and blasphemous.

Teeth clenched hard enough to grind enamel, Megumi shoved away the visceral recollections with ruthless determination. This mortifying lapse, allowing his compulsions to reach such an uncontrolled fever pitch, it was inexcusable. A weakness he couldn't permit to resurface, not when the stakes were so unthinkably high.

The image of you lying broken and still amidst the rubble flashed across his mindscape, one final horrifying recollection powerful enough to truly cut through the narcotic haze of temptation. In the wake of that grotesque vision, Megumi felt himself steadying - fanatic instincts sublimating the physical cravings into their rightful origins of conscience and deep reverence.

Yes, there had been an inescapable, cosmic gravity between you long before either of them had developed the emotional vocabulary to comprehend its vast significances. But opening himself to its pull, surrendering fully to the profane yearnings of the flesh...that would only serve to diminish something sacred and greater than his temporal, finite longings could dare fathom.

When viewed through the harsh lens of those stakes, the scale of what would be sacrificed if he allowed the current blazing hunger to fully metastasize became horrifically lucid: your life itself could be forfeit. The very essence that he cherished above all celestial dominions extinguished from existence if he failed to remain vigilant, to erect those barricades even more stringently than before.

The thought of existing in a cosmos without your radiant light to illuminate his path, without the promise of your luminous power reforging existence into more consecrated truth...it cleaved Megumi's very being asunder. Stripping away the sweat-slicked, lust-fevered haze to leave only foundations of adamant purpose and responsibility standing tall once more against the susurrations of weakness.

He had sworn himself to the path of your preservation before ever understanding the true cosmic magnitudes of what elevated you so transcendentally beyond his meager scope. Before realizing the staggering inevitability of what your ascendant glory would birth before consummating all of creation into perfect resonance. How could he surrender to profane hungers now and risk being the singular flaw that extinguished your boundless potential?

Which left only one recourse: to persevere with renewed fervor, impressing every transgression of feeling or intimacy that threatened to distract from his sacrosanct purpose into ritual suicides of spirit. No deviation, no quarter given in the vigilant undertaking of your ultimate security -- even from himself.

Because Megumi understood better than any that his own autonomies and caprice were perhaps the greatest threats of stifling or tainting your divine trajectory off its immaculate vector. His ego and mortal passions were the potential extinguishers from which you could suffer the gravest impurities if left unchecked.

Already he had come within a hair's breadth of profaning your essence tonight, damn near rupturing your protective veil through lust-blind selfishness. Had he not regained discipline and perspective, therewas no telling what disastrous impingement he could have dragged you into for the sake of indulging momentary, physical gratifications.

No, tonight's lapse would be his last such indulgence permitted, Megumi swore it with reinvigorated severity as he resumed his patrol of the still-unstable peripheries. From here on out, only the most stringent of austerities and observances would be tolerated along the executory path of your vigilant safeguarding.

All tender emotions and profane compulsions would be methodically excised through ceremonial scourges, their impure essences siphoned away like toxins tarnishing his most sacred oath. Every soft, vulnerable aspect of his own being that threatened to stray from the singularity of your protection would similarly be eviscerated until only obsidian purpose remained.

He would erect walls of impenetrability so profound even the sibilant whispers of temptation itself piercing their redoubts would be strangled into silence. If scathing renunciations were the only recourse to keeping your starfire radiance inviolable, then a thousand eternities of that brutal self-immolation would be endured without faltering.

For as Megumi looked out across the ruined landscape of this paltry dimensional theatre, he saw with sobering clarity how infinitesimally insignificant it truly was compared to the vast, cosmic apotheosis you had been encoded for since primordial manifestation. Any struggles waged here between the paltry impermanences of flesh and desire were less than embers before the scorching celestial grandeurs of your true hypothesis and theomantic birthright.

No, only one reality could possibly command his every devoted action and thought going forward: the all-consuming mandate of elevating your sacrosanct flame into the transcendent spheres and birth matrices into which it was always destined to reforge the very pillars of existence itself through ecstatic conflagration.

Even if it meant walking the loneliest of roads in eternal solitude. Surrendering to the harshest calcinatory rituals until only enough of his spark persisted to bear witness from these profane wastelands as you seeded new galaxies into being through the shuddering orgasms of your stellar godhood.

That would be Megumi's sole sacrament from this cataclysmic epiphany onwards. To remove himself from any potential of casting pall or shadow over your inevitable dawning empyreal...even if the mantras of amputation excised him down to the basalt hadronic substrate to achieve that sacred directive.

So as he resumed his vigil over the abandoned battlefield where your latest miracles of creative annihilation had been wrought, Megumi enacted the first of those immuring severances. Blanking his perception of the exquisitely raw, breathy moan still echoing from your lips in the wake of their carnal clashes -- so that it no longer possessed the power to bliss out his entire sentience into the raptures of recollection.

One by one, each phantasmic sensation that had burned itself into the annals of his devotional canon during that fatefully illicit delirium began undergoing surgical cauterizations. All the slick glides of supple flesh whiting out, until only the cold spartan resolve of his service's eternal severities were permitted to endure amidst the churning cosmic cataclysms to come.

It was brutality etched into the fundamental encodings of his very being, this merciless scalpel with which he flayed away every matrix of tender feeling. But it was also the only path which might shelter your divine presence from whatever profane scourges he could still inflict were he ever to stray from its rigors.

So Megumi braced himself as the surgical agonies unfolded, purging bright and brighter until at last only the closed black of your security's hallowed continuum remained within his consciousness's reach...

The decrepit warehouse groaned around them like the breath of some massive, slumbering beast disturbed from its ancient repose. High above girders creaked ominously as a haze of dust and pulverized concrete danced through the dim shafts of light leaking in from shattered windows. Megumi kept alert watch beside you, every sense on high alert for new dangers.

"We should split up and clear this place room by room," you said, voice pitched low but resolute. "Cover more ground that way."

He opened his mouth, protest already forming about willfully separating in a structure that seemed moments from total collapse. But Megumi knew from the set of your jaw and the glint in your eyes that arguing would be futile. Much as he hated to admit it, your approach made tactical sense - leaving him with no recourse except to give a terse nod as his throat worked convulsively.

Hunkering low to stay below the choking dust clouds, you pulled away in one direction while Megumi took the opposite path. Though every instinct screamed at him not to let you move beyond his immediate scope of protection. Each step putting more distance between your frames only amplifying the anxiety corkscrewing through his gut.

Still, he tried to focus on making a thorough sweep of the maze-like complex of rooms and catwalks branching out ahead instead of giving into fear. Every sense straining for some disturbance, the slightest displacement of air or skittering sound that could indicate malicious activity. Apart from his own ragged breathing echoing in his ears, there was nothing but an oppressive, tomb-like silence to amplify tenfold the occasional metallic groan from overhead.

He worked his way deeper into the thickening darkness, rebar and jagged chunks of cement crunching under his boots. The flashlight beam only served to carve out a small bubble of visibility before being swallowed by the claustrophobic gloom pressing in from every side. Except...what was that flicker in the corner of his eye?

Before Megumi could fully process the rapidly shifting shadow, a bone-rattling tremor rocked through the already compromised foundations. Instinctively, he dropped into a defensive crouch as a deafening avalanche of debris began raining down all around. Rafters twisted loose, shearing off huge chunks of ceiling in their descent to pummel the floor in a choking grey curtain of devastation.

"Y/N!" he roared over the cacophony, throwing one arm up in a futile attempt to shield his head as another support beam came crashing down. "Y/N, get out of here! Go!"

But there was no answering reply over the enveloping clouds of concrete dust billowing outwards. Only the stomach-churning realization that you were somewhere in the maelstrom with no way of tracking your location. Panic seized Megumi's throat as visions of your lifeless body entombed beneath the rubble stampeded through his mind, each gruesome possibility more disturbing than the last.

Something blunt and heavy slammed into the back of his skull, momentarily whiting out his vision before he could shield himself further. He tasted blood as he slammed face-first into the ground, breath punching out in a violent whoosh. There was another rumble underfoot, the debris field shifting and settling around him as the avalanche began to subside.

His head rang like a gong while he squinted around, trying to orient himself amidst the pulverized devastation. Fighting to keep his wits about him despite the ominous stillness creeping back in all around. But then...a sound. A feeble cough somewhere amidst the dust clouds rolling outwards, so muffled as to be nearly imperceptible yet tugging at his senses like an insistent specter.

Adrenaline lent him strength as Megumi dragged himself upright, ignoring the blossom of agony along his battered ribs as he stumbled in the direction of that faint noise. Loose stones clattered under his stumbling feet as he surged forward, dread and desperation pulling him onwards like chains. Just a glimpse, any sign of life would be enough to extinguish the horrifying possibilities flickering through his concussed thoughts.

He lurched around a semi-standing partition of wall, scrambling to higher ground...and there you were. Relief and anguish hit him simultaneously like a physical blow as he took in your sprawled form, left arm twisted at an unnatural angle but chest rising and falling in shallow sips of air.

"Y/N," he croaked, throat raw from inhaling the swirling particulates as he dropped to his knees beside your still body. Gingerly, he smoothed away the grit and debris clinging to your hairline, thumbs trembling over the pale curves of your cheeks just drinking you in.

If he looked anywhere except at your slack expression, he couldn't help but see all the new grievous damage scattered across you - blood steadily pooling at a concerning rate from a jagged laceration in your thigh, blackening bruises already beginning to mottle the exposed skin of your abdomen in sickening indications of internal trauma.

"Megumi?" Your voice was so faint and reedy, barely more than a pained rasp that sliced straight through all his battered defenses with uncanny precision. Glazed eyes cracked open, struggling to focus as you shifted infinitesimally closer to his hovering frame with obvious effort.

"Hey...hey, easy now," Megumi hushed you with trembling urgency, wishing he could scoop you up securely into a bracing cradle yet terrified of exacerbating your injuries. "Don't try to move, just...just look at me, okay?"

"What..." you managed around a shallow cough that made him flinch in sympathy. "Happened...?"

He exhaled a shuddering breath, thumbs continuing their sweeping circuit over your temples as if the repetitive strokes could somehow smooth away the paleness steadily draining into your features. Willing strength and warmth back into your trembling frame through the simple contact alone.

"The whole place came down around us, you were...for a minute there, I thought..." Megumi trailed off before the chilling visions could fully manifest, giving his head a minute shake as he swallowed against the remembered torment of those endless seconds convinced the worst had occurred.

Of course he should have predicted this outcome, should have anticipated some new catastrophe looming to swallow you both up without prejudice. That was the ever-evolving pattern of life when your light shone so brilliantly against the darkness - reality itself conspired to find new, more creative avenues of attempting to smother those sacred flames. And each time Megumi swore up and down that he would be better prepared, more vigilant against the myriad threats lurking around every corner craving to extinguish the sun itself.

Yet here they were amidst the ruins of his failings yet again. You lying battered and frighteningly fragile amidst the fallout of cataclysms he should have foreseen with the vigilance sworn into every subatomic strand of his existence. How many more stark reminders did he need that he must remain eternally steadfast? That anything less than perfect, unyielding protection of your spark meant courting existential oblivion itself as the ultimate price of his carelessness?

The self-recriminations stung with renewed ferocity this time as Megumi took in the bruises already painting their darkening intimations across the soft canvas of your flesh. Like scorpion stingers flexing maliciously against your mortal confines, hungering for enough toxin to leach through these defensive boundaries and poison the luminous core at your very center.

Haggard concern clawed at his throat as he surveyed the slow seep of your lifeblood dispersing outwards in concentric rings around your trembling frame. Each droplet rolling sluggishly free filled him with a fresh surge of guilt and determination in equal measures - an oath sworn on every glistening ruby bead that he would shelter you from further harm even if it meant relinquishing his own fragile form to soak the deadly ramifications instead.

"Just stay with me now," he half-pleaded, half-commanded in as steady a burr as he could muster. Drawing your wandering gaze back to anchor onto his own even as it struggled to drift into realms of semi-lucidity under the weight of your injuries. "We're getting you out of here. Do you hear me?"

There was so much more he longed to divulge in that suspended gulf between mortal peril and temporary refuge. Every pent admission and emotion long suppressed within the angelic hollows of his austerities clamoring to spillover now that he was cradling the very spark responsible for their conflagrations against his breast. Just a universe of secrets and solemn vows held at fevered impasse behind the lockgates of his stoic aspect while you slowly bled out before him.

But this wasn't the time, he reminded himself with merciless discipline. Not with the keen edges of oblivion hovering so near, tracing patterns into the dust that promised imminent incursions given the slightest invitation. Not until he had enacted every protocol and contingency calculation to ensure your light would not only persevere...but also shine on even more brilliantly in the wake of this latest brushstroke against the canvas of your mythos.

No, for now he had to focus every iota of himself into the moment at hand - preserving your physical integrity at all costs while transitioning you to more stable grounds where the extent of your injuries could be professionally diagnosed and treated. Everything else, all the latent poetry of their celestial intertwining and the vows he had undertaken to stand eternal vigil throughout its unfolding, those verses would have to wait.

At least until the immediate threat of mortality had passed, the predations held momentarily at bay by whatever scarce stopgaps could be managed in this blasted arena of wreckage and particulate drift. Once that most primal of emergencies had been quelled and sanity allowed to sift back into the resumed currents distinguishing order from entropy...then and only then could Megumi even begin contemplating indulging the luxuries of emotional candor.

You must have sensed the dialectic warring across his visage, even through the hazy veil of shock and disorientation instilled by your traumas. Either that or recognized the abrupt calcification of his demeanor into something far more implacable and intractable regarding your immediate well-being than you were accustomed.

"Hey...talk to me..." you gasped out faintly, brows knitting in a fleeting flicker of residual defiance. As if already intuiting the stringent shifts in priorities and mindsets now governing Megumi's observances as he began calculating every potential avenue and variable towards procuring your expedient exfiltration. "Don't just...sit there stonewalling me in silence..."

"…"

"Talk to me, dammit!" you rasped out through gritted teeth, eyes flashing defiantly despite your battered state. "Don't just shut me out again like you always do."

Megumi clenched his jaw, the familiar flare of irritation momentarily overshadowing the tenderness cradling him moments before. Old habits died hard, especially where you were concerned.

"I'm a little preoccupied trying to get you out of this death trap, in case you haven't noticed," he bit out, shoulders tensing. Why did you always have to be so stubborn?

You let out a breathless scoff that quickly turned into a pained wince as you instinctively tried to shift away from him. "Yeah, forgive me for wanting more than stony silence from the guy who's treated me like a burden for years."

The accusation sliced deep, dredging up the ever-present well of guilt that Megumi could never quite escape. He opened his mouth to snap back a defensive retort, but what came out instead was something adjacent to the complicated truth.

"You're the furthest thing from a burden," he said roughly. The ragged emotion in his voice made you pause, brow furrowing skeptically even as you stilled against him. "If you knew how much I--"

Megumi cut himself off abruptly, recoiling slightly. He could feel the words trembling on the edge of his lips, threatening to upend the precarious balance he'd spent years constructing between you both. A confounding mix of fear and profound longing warred within him as he searched your questioning gaze.

Somehow you always managed to strip away his layers whether he wanted it or not. He could actually see the undisguised hurt flickering in your eyes at his aborted confession, the unguarded yearning that made his throat go tight.

"How much you what?" you murmured, refusing to let it drop as you always did. Refusing to allow him to retreat back to safety. "Megumi...talk to me."

Your quiet insistence was the tipping point. Suddenly the world narrowed down to the precious inches separating your faces, the soft puffs of your sharing breaths in the debris-laden air. Megumi's control fractured like a dam giving way.

"How much I need you," he confessed in a low rasp. He searched your widened eyes as the words hung between you, weighted with years of repressed wanting. "How much I crave your light, your spirit, with everything I am."

Your lips parted in a stunned inhale as his palms came up to reverently cup your face, holding you suspended in the heavy pause. Megumi felt laid bare in a way he had never allowed, every barrier finally crumbling.

"I've been in love with you for as long as I can remember," he admitted roughly. "Loving you...it haunts me, terrifies me because I couldn't bear for anything to extinguish your brilliance. But I'm so tired of running from how I feel. Of hurting you to keep you away."

He ducked his head then, resting his brow against yours as the rest of the anguished truth poured out in a rush. "You are everything to me, Y/N. Despite my best efforts, I'll never stop loving you with every part of my soul, even if it means risking having my heart shattered—"

The rest of his impassioned confession was cut off by the searing collision of your lips against his own. The kiss was desperately heated from the start, all of the pent-up longing and secret yearnings finally boiling over into this single molten exchange.

Megumi groaned into your mouth, overwhelmed by the feeling of having you in his arms this way at last. He clung to you tightly but carefully, tilting his head to deepen the drugging caresses of your lips moving in fervent tandem.

You gave as good as you got, all thoughts of your injuries temporarily obliterated by the intensity of finally sharing this connection. Your fingers fisted in his hair, tugging him insistently closer as you gave yourself over to the ardent rhythm of lips, teeth and questing tongues.

The kiss went on and on, seeking to pour out every unspoken truth and secret ache through the passionate communion of mouths and roving hands. For once, there was no trying to suppress or deny the blazing need you sharing...only a desperation to drink each other in, to chase the high of intimacy you had both been denying for far too long.

Inevitably, it was your body that enforced reality's harsh homecoming. You suddenly cried out against Megumi's lips, the sharp hiss of pain finally severing the fevered haze of desire. He instantly froze, breath sawing as he carefully extricated himself just enough to see your face contorted in anguish.

"Y/N...?" he choked out hoarsely, gut clenching protectively. "I didn't mean to hurt you, I got carried away and forgot--"

"I'm okay," you managed through a grimace, though your grip on his shirt was white-knuckled. "Don't you dare stop now..."

The vulnerability in your eyes pierced straight through him. Megumi let out a shaky breath, pushing away the lingering guilt as he tugged you closer once more. This time he handled you with exquisite care, countering any jarring movements.

"Let me get you out of this hellhole first," he murmured in your ear, lips brushing the sensitive shell. "Then I'll never let you go again, I swear it."

You gave the barest nod of assent, eyes slipping closed as Megumi gingerly gathered you up to leave the smothering darkness behind.

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader fluff #jujutsu kaisen smut #fushiguro megumi x reader smut #megumi x reader smut #fushiguro megumi x reader #fushiguro megumi #megumi smut #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro

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dollfacefantasy · 11 months

Text

And If the Sun Comes Up

pairing: vampire!leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: leon knows that you and him are meant to be. if the only way to show you that is to sneak in during the night, then that's just what he'll have to do.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, oral (f receiving), fingering, somnophilia, non-con, biting, blood, reader is tied up, spitting in mouth, overstimulation

word count: 4k

a/n: hey everyone. when he fucks u so good, u think u love him, am i right? i wanted to get one more done for halloween and i'm kinda late, but it's still halloween here so idgaf. i hope everyone enjoys. also i'm trying a new style with the header image so yeah. as always i really appreciate reblogs and comments <3

tags: @sleepyluxe @kaitkatme @tosuckmyweenis @pupthepokemonenthusiast @bizzarethirst @death-paint @petitecolibri @iron-toxinz

i made a playlist of songs i listened to while writing here.

It’s the middle of the night with moonlight shining down through the slits in your blinds. You’re sleeping off a stressful week tonight. You lay between your soft blankets with your head resting on your cool pillow. You had been in a peaceful, dreamless slumber, but now whimpers erupted from your unconscious form as you felt a persistent sensation between your legs.

You still aren’t fully awake. Your eyes briefly flutter, and your hips shift, trying to alleviate the disturbance that was disrupting your rest. A long whine escapes your throat as cold hands wrap around the tops of your thighs and keep you in position.

You gasp softly as your mind struggles to differentiate dream from reality. When you try to close your legs, you’re met with resistance. You start to come to as your limbs tug more forcefully on whatever was keeping them spread. You could vaguely feel the sensation of restraints around your ankles. It’s difficult to see in the darkness of your bedroom, but you can hear something unfamiliar. Soft grunts and groans emanate from the bottom of your bed.

You weakly lift your head to figure out what was happening. Your eyes were still sleepy, and your mind was still fogged from returning to lucidity, but you could still recognize the sensation of someone lapping at your cunt like it was their final meal.

Looking down between your thighs, you see a mop of blonde hair. At first, the sight brings you mere confusion. It didn’t make sense, and you struggled to process it. But as the gears in your brain began sliding into place, terror coursed through your veins.

A strangled cry leaves your lips, and you thrash harder to get away. You realize your arms are bound too, connected together by your wrists that were secured at the level of your navel. The adrenaline in your system makes you much more alert. You could now see the long, toned body of this stranger. He wore tight, black clothing that allowed you to see his definition. His strength was obvious from that alone if you couldn’t already feel it from how he held you in place so easily.

Once he notices you’re awake, his head pops up. Your eyes widen as they connect with his piercing irises through the dark. Fear moves through you in sickening waves. Every cell in your body yearns for him to just get away.

“Shhh, sweet one. It’s alright,” he whispers. He rubs his fingertips on your inner thigh in an attempt to soothe you. His voice is husky yet familiar, and his eyes are glazed over with arousal. From what it looked like, he had been doing this for a while.

You don’t stop squirming. Your heart pounds so erratically that it feels like at any moment you’ll go into cardiac arrest. As your breathing picks up and becomes shallow, your cries become breathless.

His brows furrow momentarily at your response, but then his expression softens. You felt like you recognized him, but you couldn’t be sure.

“My darling, there’s no reason to be afraid,” he says and presses a few small kisses to your thigh, “Calm yourself, my love. I’m not going to hurt you.”

You’re still so freaked out by the fact that this is even happening that your brain fails to formulate a response. You stare at him in horror as your squirming becomes weaker and your muscles begin to freeze out of fright.

“Good girl,” he whispers and caresses your hip, “This is for your pleasure, angel. Just relax. I know I may have startled you, but there’s no need to carry on.”

He leans in and presses a gentle kiss to your clit causing you to softly yelp in both protest and pleasure. He chuckles and pulls his face back. His thumb begins lazily swiping through your folds, up and down. As soon as he cracks that smile, you’re able to place him.

“Leon?” you ask, your voice still raspy from sleep. Your drowsy mind couldn’t figure out why the man you’d seen only in passing at your job as a waitress was eating you out in your bedroom in the dead of night.

“Yes, beloved?” he answers, looking up at you with genuine curiosity as if nothing was off.

Now that you know the identity of your mysterious trespasser, your fear fades, and anger takes its place.

“Leon, what the fuck? What are you doing? And what are you doing here?” you say, your voice wavering. You try to stay focused and not let yourself be distracted by his thumb sliding around your slick. He doesn’t seem too fazed by your reaction.

“What does it look like I’m doing, pretty baby?” he whispers, “Making you feel good. You had a hard week, little doll. Let me make it better. Then I’ll explain.”

With that, he returns his head to the junction of your thighs. He parts his lips and begins making out with your pussy. Your eyes widen at his words, but the feeling of his tongue on your most intimate spot pushes your protests back down your esophagus. Instead, you whimper and take your lip between your teeth.

Erotic, wet noises from his lips and tongue working on your cunt spill out into the bedroom. Your cheeks heat with the shame of how good it felt, but there was really nothing you could do but take it. His tongue circles and laves at your clit with intense dedication before gliding down and fucking into your dripping hole.

His fingertips trace soothing circles onto the soft skin of your thighs while his mouth continues working you to the edge. He starts grunting again like he had been doing when you were sleeping. From the sounds alone, it seemed like he was getting as much pleasure from this as you. His breathing was heavy. You could feel it fanning across your pelvis.

You whine, your physical resistance dying down as release gets closer. You can feel his smug grin against your skin.

“L-Leon…” you stammer out through moans.

“Hush, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “Let it feel good. Your body knows it’s right. It knows what you need.”

He flicks his tongue on your swollen bud a few more times before you come undone. You jerk and spasm against the restraints on your wrists and ankles. Broken whimpers fall from your lips as your head fogs with the euphoria of release.

He watches from below with wonder. “There you go, pretty girl,” he breathes while thumbing your clit, “Give it all to me. You don’t need to worry about anything else.”

You ride out your release on his tongue. When you finish up, you look down at him with half-lidded eyes. He continues to gaze up at you with a look of love, his pupils dilated and his chin covered with your arousal.

“Leon. Explain,” you say, trying to sound firm, but your voice was hazy from your release.

“Why so many questions, little one? Did that not feel good?” he asks, “Did that not feel like everything you needed?”

“Leon. What are you doing in my house at three in the fucking morning… touching me like that?” you say, your voice picking up some of the intensity you initially intended.

He sighs and shakes his head, but still sports that smug smile. “You’ll see in time, my love. I know you’ll feel it too,” he says.

My love. Those two words struck you like an itch you couldn’t scratch. All these weird pet names. You barely knew him. He was always nice to you, but in a cordial kind of way, remembering your name and little things you’d told him about your day when you gave him his order. You weren’t even friends. You definitely didn’t consider yourself to be his love.

“Feel what? What are you talking about? You sound crazy,” you say.

“You’re my mate, sweet one,” he responds. He looks at you as if it’s a fact and speaks as if this was the most normal conversation, like you weren’t tied up and nude from the waist down.

You blink at him in disbelief. The words ring through your mind.

“Your mate?” you repeat incredulously, the only response you could think of.

“My mate,” he confirms, “I know you can’t understand it now. But you will. I’ll-”

“I barely know you!” you raise your voice, “Just cause I smile at you and can remember your order that doesn’t mean I want to fuck you! And it sure as Hell doesn’t mean we’re mates.”

He remains calm as he continues to speak. “You may not know me, but I know you, sweetheart. I love you, but you aren’t the most observant. I’ve been watching, and I know we’re meant to be. I know it’s right for you.”

The thought of him watching you while you went about your life, clueless as ever, disturbed you to the pit of your stomach, but you tried not to let that show.

“Oh my God, you’re delusional. Fucking delusional. You think we’re soulmates? Like what? Like we’re written in the stars or something?” you mock.

“No, darling. Not written in the stars. It’s written in our DNA, something tying us together. I can sense it. You have the sweetest smelling blood I’ve ever come across.”

Your eyes widen at his explanation.

“What… What are you talking about? You can’t smell my blood, Leon,” you say.

“If only I couldn’t, maybe then I wouldn’t have to do this,” he says, his voice growing more hushed, “But I can. You have to understand, little love. I’m not a man of normal appetites.”

The way he spoke freaked you out. Various horrific ideas ran through your head about what he meant by unusual appetites. Your anger was slowly exiting, and your fear was seeping back in. Your limbs tremble as you try again to pull yourself out of your bindings.

“Sweetheart, all throwing a tantrum will do is tire you out,” he chides, "And while it’s not required, I would prefer if you were conscious to see how good I can make you feel.”

“You’re fucking insane!” you exclaim with a shaky voice, tears of terror pricking at your eyes, “I don’t know what gave you this sick fantasy that we’re true love and meant to be or whatever. But that’s all it is. Leon, I-”

“Enough,” he says, his voice dropping to a more commanding tone, “If you’re not willing to understand, I’ll just have to make you more agreeable.”

With that, his mouth returns to your cunt. He sucks your clit between his lips and flicks his tongue against the sensitive bundle of nerves. One hand holds your thigh like it was before while the other comes between your legs and prods at your entrance.

You’re whimpering in no time, still being tender from your previous release. Your hips squirm and writhe as he pumps two fingers in and out of you.

“Quit moving,” he growls and tightens his grip on your thigh.

The gravelly harsh tone lights the pool of arousal in your belly like a match falling into gasoline. You clamp around his fingers and mewl softly. A sharp exhale leaves his nose and smirks.

“Good baby, deep down you know you want this. You’ve only had my fingers so far, and she already knows to get nice and tight for me,” he breathes before returning his attention to your pussy.

His fingers continue working you open, scissoring inside your hole as they move back and forth. The whole time he relentlessly plays with your clit, flicking, sucking, circling. Short, strained cries come from you as your back arches off the bed.

“There we go, pretty baby. Cum again for me,” he purrs, “I doubt you’ve been with a guy who could make you cum even once.”

You didn’t even fully register his words because you were so wrapped up in the throes of ecstasy. Your body convulses as release washes over you again. You shiver in waves, whining and babbling as he continues pleasuring you through the high.

As you come down, he doesn’t ease up on you. His fingers tease you a bit before applying enough pressure to overstimulate you. He adds a third finger into you and continues maneuvering them skillfully, hitting all the right spots.

His mouth doesn’t stop either. He spits onto your pussy and dives back in, licking up your slick and flattening his tongue to massage you into bliss.

He brings you at least two more peaks, eating you out until your mind is nearly melted and you’re a whining, drooling, nonsensical mess.

When he finally feels that you’ve had enough, he moves up, coming face to face with you in a blur. You flinch at the quick movement, and draw a chuckle from him. His hand wraps around your throat while his eyes give you a predatory scan. He lowers his head to the crook of your neck and inhales deep.

“Smells like cherries,” he mutters before laying a few soft kisses up your neck and behind your ear.

You shiver at the gentle contact and a quiet whine escapes you. Your nipples are hard beneath your top from the countless highs he brought you and the fluttering of his lips against your skin. It’s not long before his other hand is sliding up your body to squeeze and fondle your breasts, his thumb teasingly swiping across the hardened buds a few times.

“I don’t need you to understand this, my love. I don’t expect you to. It’s a little out of your depth anyways,” he whispers and nips at your earlobe, “What I expect is for you to take it like a good girl and let me show you what you need. I think you can already see that you’ll be begging for more by the end of the night whether you understand it or not.”

Your thoughts are too muddled to formulate an actual response. Instead, you just watch him with your blissed out stare. He leans back and pulls off his shirt, exposing his muscular torso and chest to you. The moonlight coming through the blinds illuminates him just enough for you to feel more desire building in your abdomen. He smiles at your impressed reaction, and that’s when you see it.

He has fangs.

It’s only a glimpse, but you would swear on your life that it was the truth. His canines are clearly sharper than normal, it can’t be your imagination. And with all his talk about blood… You felt like you were losing it. There was no way he made you cum so hard that you’d believe in vampires.

“What is it, precious?” he asks softly as he undoes his belt and starts lowering his pants. His tone projects innocence, but the look on his face makes you think he knows exactly what you’re fixated on.

“Nothing, I- I- it’s-” you stutter. Your jaw almost drops as his hard cock springs free from his boxers. It was long and thick and you weren’t even sure that it would fit.

He climbs on top of you again, his strong, thick arms boxing you in on your bed.

“What’s the matter? Like what you see? Or is it that you don’t think I have a pretty smile?” he asks, flashing his teeth again. The fangs are in clear view now. Their existence is undeniable.

He can hear your heartbeat speeding up and your breathing getting shallow. It brings him a twisted sense of pleasure that he doesn’t dwell on. He lazily strokes himself in preparation to enter you.

“What are you? You… you can’t be…” you say, your voice dropping to nearly a whisper.

“A vampire?” he asks, “That’s probably the term easiest for you to understand, so yes, my little doll. I am a vampire.”

Your eyes widen. Your fearful gaze locks onto him.

“It’s not like a movie, baby. I can eat garlic and clearly I don’t need to be invited into your house,” he explains, almost as if he’s trying to lighten the mood, “But I have a bloodlust.”

You’re stunned. This couldn’t be real. “So what? I’m like your personal blood bank or something? Is that what being your mate is?”

“No,” he scoffs, “Being my mate is what it sounds like, angel. In all my years, I’ve never met another who makes me feel like you do. You’re my love, the light in the darkness I’ve been existing in. My personal heaven and hell wrapped into one perfect vessel.”

Your head is spinning with everything you’re hearing. He presses a gentle kiss to your lips before leaning back onto his knees and positioning himself at your entrance. He stares at you with his eyes, glossed over with lust. He reaches for your confined hands and brings them to his lips.

“It will all make sense soon, darling,” he says, “Soon enough we’ll be together in this.”

He takes one of your fingers into his mouth, keeping eye contact with you the entire time. One of his fangs presses into the pad of your finger, and draws a small drop of blood. You wince at the pain, but you’re quickly distracted by the guttural groan Leon emits as he smooths his tongue against the warm liquid.

He pushes inside you and tilts his head back. Your finger slips out of his mouth and smears some blood on his lips.

“Tastes so fucking sweet too, Christ,” he grunts as he begins thrusting.

Despite the circumstances, he felt good. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say it was the best you ever had. He filled you up perfectly. A string of whines and whimpers expel from your mouth into a long moan.

“That’s right. You know it’s perfect,” he mutters, “Soon, it will be just me and you. For all of eternity. No one else. The entire world could burn, and you and I could fuck on top of the ashes.”

Your own head falls back, and he sucks your finger back into his mouth to taste more of your blood. He moans around your digit, his hips beginning to piston with more intensity. His hands lock onto your hips, so he has a firm grip to slam into you with.

You felt a mix of shame and fear, but you started to believe him. You felt something inside you that told you this was right. This was what you longed for. What you needed.

He starts leaning over you more. He had to see you, had to see your mind changing about him, the look in your eyes shifting from fear to lust. One of his hands rises to hold your jaw and direct you to look at him.

“Open your mouth,” he commands, eyes boring into you.

You do it with no hesitation. Your lips part and your tongue lolls out obediently. He smirks, still rolling his hips as he slowly spits into your open mouth. His saliva leaks from his lips, lands on your tongue, and starts sliding to your throat. The feeling combined with that look in his eyes almost made you cum on its own.

He feels the same. Watching your pretty eyes become unfocused as you accept what’s happening had him digging his fingers into the flesh of your cheeks in order to hold on. Once he felt you had enough he pats your cheek.

“Swallow,” he grunts and reverts his primary focus to fucking you into the mattress.

And you do this too. You swallow it all. A garbled moan erupts from you afterwards, and your eyes roll back as he strokes all the sweet spots inside of you.

“Good girl,” he coos with a low tone, “Taking it perfectly. Just like you’re meant to do.”

You lift your arms and loop your bound wrists over his head to pull him closer. He follows your guidance, but his face looks almost pained. He keeps his face further than you want. You whimper and try to pull him down to the crook of your neck more.

“Sweet baby, you have to be careful. I can’t… I have to make sure you’re safe my love. I don’t know if I can control myself if I’m that close,” he breathes.

“What? Control how?” you babble, still not really focused because of how his cock is battering your insides at the moment.

“Your blood, baby. It’s too strong. I won’t be able to hold back. I could hurt you,” he says.

That almost snaps you back to reality for a moment. “Like what? You wanna bite me?” you ask with a curious expression.

For a change, this time he has no words. He nods, still maintaining eye contact.

It wasn’t your smartest moment, but you don’t hesitate as the words leave you.

“Do it.”

His eyes flash with a look you can’t read in your state.

“Sweetheart, I… I want to, but it’s not safe,” he whispers, but you can hear the desire in his voice.

“If we’re really mates then you should be able to stop yourself. Prove it to me. Prove that I’m yours and you’re mine,” you say, your voice taking on a whiny quality from how close you were getting.

He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t resist when you were asking for it like this. He slowly lowers himself to be level with your neck. His thrusts become slower but deeper. He takes another deep breath of that scent before baring his teeth and sinking them into your flesh.

You gasp and pull your arms around him as you feel the punctures. At first it hurts, but then he begins to softly suck, coaxing your blood into his mouth. You both let out simultaneous moans. His eyes flutter now and his grip on your hips tighten.

He’s getting lost in his own world of euphoria now as he feeds off of you, gulping down that sweet, hot liquid. You tremble as pleasure courses through you too. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt before. It was light and airy while being grounding and all consuming. You couldn’t hold on for any longer.

He growls as you cum, the feeling of your cunt latching onto him is almost too much. He manages to hold it together for a handful more thrusts. His breathing is rough as he cums and his thrusts are sporadic. You feel his muscles tensing as he groans into your neck. He spills rope after rope of cum into you.

When you’re both done, both of your bodies are trembling. Your sweaty skin is pressed to his which is still ice cold. He goes limp on top of you, breathing deep as he comes down from the high. You could feel blood trickling down your neck as his mouth disconnects from your throat.

You didn’t know what to say. The fog of lust was clearing and while you didn’t regret your decisions, this was still weird. You remove your arms from him, and he takes that as a signal to pull out and roll off of you.

He pushes his disheveled hair out of his face and gives you a crooked smile. His mouth was still red with your blood. He reaches over and starts untying the restraints around your hands. You watch him quietly.

“So you said soon… we’ll be in this together?” you ask awkwardly.

He lets out a short laugh as he gets the bindings off and drops them to the side. He runs his fingers through your hair and kisses your forehead before getting out of your bed.

“Soon, sweet one, I’ll change you to be like me. A vampire,” he says, using a teasing tone for the last word, “But not yet. I know you’re not ready, and my goal isn’t to scare you. I truly love you.”

You just nod because you honestly didn’t know what to say to that. Even if you felt something for him, you wouldn’t say it was love. Yet.

You watch him put on his clothes as you reach down to start untying your ankles.

“So… you’re just leaving?” you say, almost sounding disappointed.

“Yes but don’t be too sad, my love. You’ll see me as soon as the sun sets again tonight,” he says.

He finishes putting on his clothes and leans in to give you one more passionate kiss before he leaves. You could still taste your blood on him.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #resident evil imagines #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy imagine #smut

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invertedspearofseveneleven · 3 months

Text

Bedrest (boyfriend!Nanami Kento x fem! reader)

Summary: your boyfriend Nanami takes care of you while you're sick and on your period

CONTENT WARNING: Illness, period pains (reader) fluff, love even, Nanami loves you so very much it is almost sickening, short self-hate moment but nothing insane I promise

Author's note - I too am cramping so bad I'm awake at night, so I wrote this while delirious and missing a certain college friend (situationship across the fucking US? fuck) Needed Nanami to take care of my sorry ass

This is also my first JJK work, so pleasepleasepleaseplease give me your thoughts!

READ THIS ON AO3!! -

Thank you! Love you!

Sick. The sickest you’ve ever been on your period. Sure, you’d be stuffy or have a runny nose when your time of the month rolled around, but this was diabolical. Your head throbbed with a headache that no amount of water seemed to slow. Finally, you canceled your noon meeting and went home. NEVER before had cramps or illness made you leave your place of work. On the way to your car, you bumped into a familiar white-haired sorcerer.

“Y/N!” he shouted across the parking lot. “Skipping out?” You wince at his loud voice, but nod, sunglasses on to block out all unnecessary light from your pupils.

“Yeah, not feeling well.” your answer is short, not curt, but aiming for a sense of urgency. Your headache is fast changing to a migraine, and spots of blue light dot the side of your vision. Gojo doesn’t seem to notice. “I’ll call the funeral home, you’re obviously near death if you’re leaving this early.” he rasps out a laugh. Any other time, you would have laughed along, but right now, your focus is on getting home. As fate would have it, Gojo’s phone rings and he says goodbye before answering it. You smile and nod, moving quickly to your car and speeding out of the lot.

Home isn’t far away, and out of habit, you drive without much thought. A good thing too, otherwise the mental strength to sit up, focus on directions, and not crash would have been too much. It would have been easier to sleep at your desk.

The house is calm when you enter, and you hear Mino, your Ragdoll, meowing softly to you when the door shuts. You drop your keys, purse, and briefcase unceremoniously onto the table. Holding the edge of the counter, you move gently across the room, eyes on the couch. When you reach it, you flop down and pull blankets around you. Suddenly you’re freezing. Is there a window open? The blankets feel heavy and soft, but there’s no warmth to be found. Taking a deep breath, you get up off the couch, looking at the room. You move dishes to the sink, thinking that you’ll wash them. You remember the pile of dirty laundry in the bedroom, and get to it, only to drag what you can to the washing machine. There’s clothes inside, you flip them to the dryer, and pull the dry clothes into the laundry basket. When you start the machines and get up off the floor, you notice dirt and grit on your hands. The floor needs to be swept. Why is the house such a wreck? The thought of cleaning is stomach turning right now, and you feel tears push at your eyes.

Useless. Useless. That’s all you can think of yourself. You can’t finish a workday, can’t imagine folding the warm laundry, hate the image of dishes in the sink, and your stomach is cramping so badly you can’t breathe. Dusting off your hands on your pants, you lurch, that’s the only word for the movement, holding the walls of the hallway, and lean into your bedroom.

You can smell his cologne still. You always leave before he does, so he gets ready long after you’re gone. He comes home later, and you would give anything to smell his warm skin, not just the memory of who’s hand sprayed the scent in the air. You crawl into his side of the bed, burying yourself under the heavy comforters and soft bedspreads. His smell wraps around you and lulls you to sleep.

You wake up to the door closing again. Mino had sat with you on the couch for a little, but when you fell asleep, she must have left for a different part of the apartment. You hear a soft thump when Mino jumps to the floor from what you assume to be her usual perch, a seat on the barstools by the counter. There's a jingling of keys, soft murmuring, and a crinkling noise.

Bags? I just went to the store…

You consider other possibilities, but none match up the way you need them to, and your head hurts like mad. You squeeze your eyes shut and push at your temples. You hear the door open, and Nanami joins you in the room, his presence so comforting, you don’t even have to look to know it’s him. “Go to mama.” His soft voice coos, and a weight joins you, padding near. Mino prods at your exposed ear with a cool nose. A curtain rod clinks and the familiar squeeeak of the unoiled window sounds.

“Just some air. It’s a little stuffy in here, love.”

“Hi, Kento.” your voice sounds foreign, even to you. How long has it been since you spoke aloud? You try to clear your throat, but only succeed in coughing. You hear Nanami move to your side, joining Mino.

“Gosh, y/n…” He moves your hands to the side and feels your forehead. You can almost see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but it isn’t hard to read his emotions, he’s obviously very concerned. “You’re really warm.” He moves his large cool hand from your forehead to your cheek, and you can’t help but lean into it, chasing the cool it offers. Any other time, you’d make a goofy face and act entirely relieved, but now, the movement is genuine.

Nanami shakes his head. He rises, moving out of the room. You watch him go, and pet Mino absentmindedly. In the next room, a bustling rises, ebbs, and ceases. The dishwasher can be heard opening. The sink turns on. A broom moves quickly. In five minutes, Nanami is back. His blue shirt sleeves are rolled to the elbow, and he has a small dishcloth over his shoulder.

"Did you get home and try to clean? My dear, what would the world do without you? Sicker than I've ever seen you, and still, you work. Well, now it's my turn." His light eyes shine at you, he must have taken off his glasses. He has such lovely eyes, you find yourself musing.

“Thank you, love.”

Did I say that out loud?

You must have, but that’s besides the point. Still wrapped in soft blankets, Nanami picks you up gingerly, holding you against him and moving from the bedroom. The small sitting room area is clean as anything, how long had he been working? Maybe you had fallen asleep.

Nanami places you gently on the couch, pulling the cloth from his shoulder. You notice it leaving a mark on the fabric, and when he applies it to your forehead, it's pleasantly cool from being soaked in sink water. The rush of cool on your feverish skin makes you pull the blanket you’re cocooned in closer around you, but deep down, you know that you need to cool off before you overheat. Nanami has disappeared into the bedroom again, and you close your eyes, hoping to fall asleep again.

You wake up again in Nanami’s strong arms. He crosses back into the bedroom, taking care not to let you bump a wall or a doorframe. The windows are wide open, the fan is on, and the bed has been stripped and remade.

“Let’s get you into something more comfortable.” He whispers, placing you in a seated position at the end of the bed. Checking to see you’re stable, he turns to the closet and dresser. Looking down, you realize you’re still in your button down and dress pants. Lord, you must really be sick.

“I- can’t, can’t miss work…” you trail off as Nanami turns to you with a gentle look that seems to say really?

“That’s all you can think of right now? My love...” He pulls open a drawer and looks through it, his back to you. “Let’s get you changed, and if you feel better in the morning, I promise we’ll discuss you returning to work.” He turns back, a large, soft looking t shirt in hand. It’s yellow, your favorite color.

He looks at you, then your hands, with an oddly furrowed brow. Leaving the room, he spots what he was searching for, the discarded towel, on the floor next to the couch. You hear him rewet it at the sink, before coming back and picking up where he left off. Pressing a slow kiss to your head, he kneels by the bed, taking your hands in his.

The large, cool, square palms feel incredible against your arms, and you’re tempted to sit like that for hours, soaking in the cool of his skin while you shiver for your blanket. Slowly, Nanami moves your hands to the collar of your shirt. “Unbutton that for me.” The command is simple, and you realize that, in any other situation, it would have been EXTREMELY hot. For the time being, you decide to tuck that thought away to bring up later. The shirt is wrapped around you strangely, probably from the crash you had when you got home. When it’s loose enough, you pull it up over your head. Nanami is ready, taking it from you and sliding the t-shirt over you. He deftly flips the dress shirt into the laundry basket, and moves a hand behind you, unclipping your bra through your shirt. The movement is so natural you find yourself shocked by its simplicity, and laugh, a short bark followed by a cough. You take a breath, a freer one, and move the undergarment off gently, under the shirt.

But your laugh is enough for Nanami, who sees his lover through the veil of illness. He smiles at you, and leans forward to kiss you. Your hands fly up on their own, and you chastise him between giggles and short coughs.

“No WAY I’m getting you sick, mister.” “No better way I can think to spend a weekend with you.” His soft eyes are aimed right at your lips, even though his words are sent right to you.

“So, sick and achy? I simply can’t allow this.”

“I’m risking it.” He leans forward and kisses you slowly. You laugh around the kiss, moving your head away and blushing as he sprinkles kisses all across the bridge of your nose. He’s smiling too, you can feel it. In a practiced move, though handled now with care, he hooks his hands into the sides of your pants, refusing to break the kiss. The waistband slips down, revealing your legs and making goosebumps prick on your skin.

Once your pants are completely off, leaving you in your black, everyday underwear, Nanami moves to stand above you, scooping you up again. You wrap your arms around his neck, cradling his face in your hand. The lines of his cheekbones and jaw are etched into your memory, a mix of angles and shapes that is so strange to consider being comforting, and yet…

Sitting you down onto the cool, light blanket, Nanami takes the re-wet washcloth to your flushed skin. He trails it across your decolletage, down your neck, along your arms and legs, and over your face as well. The trace coldness on your skin that it leaves in its wake is exactly what you need, and you sink a little lower onto the bed. Nanami smiles softly, happy to see you get a bit of relief. He tucks you in, under only one blanket instead of the pile he found you under.

“I know it may be uncomfortable, but trust me, it will help the fever break. The kettle just boiled, and I’ll make you some tea, so sit tight.”

The command is again, said with loving intent, and makes your heart float a little. He slips from the room, and you hear a beep and the sound of water pouring. Leaning back, you relish the feeling of cool, while missing some warmth. Nanami is back quickly, carrying some medication from the drugstore and a mug of sleepytime.

“When did you-”

“Gojo gave me a call about your rather hurried exit today.” He answers, a hint of a laugh in his voice. He places everything on the bedside table before moving out of sight behind the door frame, and you hear his voice fade slightly before returning.

“I- well, this is actually a little embarrassing. I’ve been tracking your cycle for a while now, and I noticed that your immune system tends to take a hit right at the start of your period. And, um, with cold season hitting its peak, I had an idea of some things you might need.” He’s been looking at the ground, and you can see that he’s half proud and half… something else. Ashamed? “I swear I didn’t think it was going to be this bad, I just wanted to come by with everything you’d need. Or, well, want.” from behind his back, Nanami pulls out a plush cat, similar to Mino in every way but two. One, it’s grey, not white. And two, it’s, um, portly. It looks like it weighs more than you’d expect. Nanami scoots next to you and places it on your stomach, eliciting a soft gasp of surprise from you. It’s weighted, for sure, but it's warm too. “You put it in the microwave. The saleswoman said it was full of rice and lavender, and since you like lavender I thou-” You cut him off, moving as quickly as you can over to him and pulling him down to you. He laughs at the sudden fall, but then gasps, rolling off of you. “Hey! You’re in a lot of pain, I’m not crushing you, too. Are-” He cuts himself off now, looking at the figure holding him and, shaking?

“Y/n, darling, are you crying?”

You are, the tears pushing hot trails down your face. Your breath is shaky, and there’s something about this whole situation that makes you laugh.

“You’re so, sniff, you’re so wonderful.”

Nanami’s eyebrows knit together, and he smiles, pulling you closer to stroke your hair softly. His other hand lays flush against your back, and he begins gently running his kept nails against it, massaging your tired muscles. “Only for my girl.” He kisses your forehead and rests his cheek against the warm skin. “You work too hard not to be taken care of AT LEAST once a month.” He gives you a squeeze before leaning to the table and picking up the mug of tea with the tiny cup of cough syrup.

“Now take a sip for me, and shoot this back, you’ll feel better.”

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk nanami #jjk nanami kento #nanami kento #kento nanami #fluff #jjk fluff #period #period care #care #love #angst #gojo satoru #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #nanami kento my beloved #y/n

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lilacmingi · 19 days

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EVIL QUEEN (DISNEY VILLAINS AU)

My works are 14+ ONLY. If you’re under 14 DO NOT interact with me or any of my works. And please don’t spam-like!

Pairing: Evil Queen!Yeosang x fem!reader

Word count: 5,970

Yeosang watched as you strolled through town, an annoyingly cheerful smile on your face. Why were you always so happy? What was there to be happy about?

Everyone you passed greeted you with a bright grin, their faces lighting up when they saw you, especially the men. Yeosang grimaced at the sickening sight, observing from his window. He didn't understand why everyone was so fond of you. There was nothing special about you. You were average, dull, and ordinary. Yeosang, however, was royalty. He was powerful, intelligent, and wealthy. He ruled over the kingdom and had an magnificent castle, furnished with only the finest pieces of furniture. He should be the one getting all of the praise and attention, not you.

"Why does everyone like her so much?" He grumbled.

It took everything in him to step away from the window though he wanted to keep watching you. It sounds absurd, watching someone you despise. Yeosang never once stopped to consider that fact. He was too busy keeping tabs on you and peering at you through his large viewing window. When he wasn't doing that, he was watching you through his enchanted mirror.

He paced around his room, taking long strides across the floor, his mind fogged with thoughts of you.

"You need not concern yourself with her, your majesty." His mirror spoke.

"I'll do as I please." Yeosang snapped.

"She is only causing you stress." The mirror continued. "This obsession you have is not good for you."

"It's not an obsession." He hissed. "And how do you know what's good for me?"

"This behavior is no good, your majesty. It will only cause you harm."

"Stay out of my business. What I do is none of your concern."

"Very well." Sighed the mirror.

Yeosang continued stalking around his room, his temper being pushed to its limits. He was already annoyed with you to begin with, then his nosey mirror had to get in his business. He's there for Yeosang to watch the townspeople (and you), not to give him unwanted opinions.

The king had to come up with a solution to this issue. Perhaps he could just try to be better than you. He reached up, running his fingers over the long hair at the base of his neck. Maybe he could grow his hair out more? His hand then moved to his black and purple attire. Maybe wear flashier clothes?

How could he bring more attention to himself?

He was quick to shoot the idea down, thinking it was too foolish. It would never work. He had to come up with another idea.

Yeosang sat in front of the magic mirror that hung in his chambers, a scowl on his face as he did so. "Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?"

He already knew the answer.

"As you wish."

The face in the mirror disappeared, an image of you strolling down the street replacing it. You smiled brightly as you waved to everyone. Yeosang glowered at the sight of you. He couldn't understand how the townspeople adored you and fawned over you.

"She's not anything special." He grumbled. "Her looks are mediocre at best. What about mine?"

"It's not just her looks." The mirror spoke.

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's her personality."

"What about her personality?" Yeosang inquired, his tone becoming snappy.

"She's extremely kind to everyone she meets. That is why everyone loves her."

Yeosang let out a scoff. "Please."

"You need not be so sour towards her, your majesty."

"What did I tell you about staying out of my business?"

"I am only looking out for you, your majesty."

"Well, stop."

"She has done nothing wrong. Tell me, what has she done to you personally?"

Yeosang's jaw clenched in annoyance.

"Existed."

"That is not a valid answer."

"You have no right to ask me these questions." He snapped.

"I am only curious."

"She's become the center of attention. I'm supposed to be the one everyone pays attention to. She is only a citizen, I'm royalty."

"Perhaps you should try being nicer." Mirror suggested.

"I am nice. I've never once been unfair or harsh with the people of this town."

"That may be true, but you're not a very friendly king. Y/n goes out on a walk through town every day and is always kind to anyone she meets. You stay cooped up in here."

"And?"

"You should try getting out. Perhaps try and socialize with the townspeople."

"I've heard enough." Yeosang held his hand up. "I don't need you to sit here and nag me."

"I am not nagging. I am merely making suggestions."

Yeosang glared at the mirror before stalking away.

Yeosang was deep in thought as he sat on his throne. He had to do something to get rid of you. Attempting to switch up his appearance to shift the attention to himself was a stupid idea. There had to be another way.

I could have her killed. He thought to himself. Then I wouldn't have to deal with her anymore.

He shook his head at the idea. For some reason, thinking about ridding you from the planet left a bitter taste in his mouth. He had to think of something else.

Moments later, a devious idea popped into his head, one that would surely take all the attention away from you.

Yeosang then began constructing a plan.

For once, he listened to what the mirror had suggested and decided to get out of the castle. His perfectly polished shoes tapped against the cobblestone streets as he strode down them.

With a plan on his mind, he went to your quaint home nestled just outside the trees. He came to a stop in front of your door, giving it a few brisk knocks. You answered shortly after, a look of surprise flashing across your features.

"Oh. Hello, your majesty." You greeted with a small curtsey. "What brings you here?"

"I wanted to invite you to the castle for dinner."

Your eyes widened, cheeks flushing.

"Me?"

Yeosang nodded.

"Why?"

"You see, I've decided to do something special and choose one person to come have dinner at my castle, as well as receive a personal tour of the place."

Your eyes sparkled. "Really?"

"Of course, my dear."

"Wow." You placed your hand over your mouth in shock. "I can't believe this."

"Do you accept my invitation?" King Yeosang asked, awaiting your answer.

"Yes, absolutely!"

"Wonderful. Here are the arrangements." The king retrieved an invitation from inside his coat, handing it over to you.

You stared down at it, the date and time written on the decorative parchment in perfect calligraphy.

"I'll see you then, my dear." Yeosang waved as he walked away, a sinister smirk tugging at his lips once he was turned away from you.

You were immensely excited about having dinner with the king. You always thought he was a rather attractive young man and couldn't help but feel giddy at the fact that he chose you of all people to come to the castle. He could have chosen any one else, but he picked you.

You couldn't help but wonder why he was allowing a citizen to have dinner with him.

King Yeosang has never had anyone by his side. He's ruled the kingdom on his own ever since he took the throne. Perhaps he was holding this dinner to find a queen of his own.

You let out a gasp as the thought crossed your mind. If that was the case, did that mean he was considering you to fill that position?

You were quick to shake the thought away, not wanting to get ahead of yourself.

"There's no way." You chuckled. "That couldn't possibly be it."

Instead of allowing yourself to be delusional, you chose to settle on the possibility that he just wanted to build a better relationship with some of his citizens.

The number of days until your special night with the king dwindled down to zero. You spent all afternoon searching your wardrobe for the perfect dress, planning your look accordingly. You couldn't believe how lucky you were. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity and you didn't want to squander it. This would be your first proper meeting with the king and you wanted to make a good impression.

Once evening rolled around, you got yourself ready for your special night. When you were done, you stepped outside, ready to head towards the castle. You came to a halt when you saw a carriage sitting in front of your home.

"Miss Y/n. The king sent me to bring you to the castle." The coachman informed you.

You were surprised, and somewhat flattered, that he sent a carriage to take you to the castle. You had never experienced anything like that before.

Without wasting a moment more, you stepped inside the carriage, your heart racing.

Yeosang stared out one of the windows in his chambers, watching for you. It didn't take long for the carriage he sent to roll up at the entrance.

"Finally."

The king couldn't stop the evil smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth. His plan was beginning to be put in motion.

"Your majesty, are you sure this is a good idea?" The mirror asked.

"It's the only way I'll ever be satisfied." Yeosang responded, impassively before striding out of his room and into the foyer.

He put on a fake smile when he greeted you, welcoming you to his home before escorting you to the dining room where he allowed you to take a seat at the opposite end of the large table.

"You have a wonderful home." You complimented as you sat down.

"Thank you." He then called for his kitchen staff to start bringing in the food.

The meal the staff had prepared looked amazing. You thanked them and let them know how delicious it looked.

Yeosang's jaw tightened as he watched the exchange. Even his own staff seemed delighted by your presence and kind compliments. It angered him.

"Just eat it." He demanded, his words coming out much harsher than he intended.

His anger was getting the best of him.

"Oh. Of course." You responded softly, reaching for your fork.

Yeosang gave a sharp glare to the kitchen staff, causing them to scurry out of the room.

"This is really good." You told him.

"Wonderful." He responded, trying to make his tone light.

Yeosang could hardly stand it. You where right there, just mere feet from him. His eyes moved to the steak knife sitting on the table, his mind wandering to dark places.

No. He thought. Stick to the plan.

All he had to do was endure you for the rest of dinner, then his plan would come into play.

"The townspeople are quite fond of you." King Yeosang spoke up.

"They are?"

"Of course. Do you not see them staring?"

You shook your head.

"You don't see everyone looking at you with adoration?"

You shook your head again.

"My." He chuckled. "You're an oblivious one, aren't you?"

"I—"

"The townspeople adore you. Their faces light up when they see you."

"I like to greet everyone I pass down the street."

"So you do." Yeosang murmured.

"Is there something wrong with that, your majesty?" You inquired.

Yes.

"No. Not at all." He lied.

You were so blissfully unaware of what you put him through on a daily basis, it was sickening.

Dinner had ended and Yeosang could finally begin the next part of his plan, but not before you stopped to compliment the cooks on the meal. They were so happy to get that praise from you. Yeosang tried not to let it bother him, but seeing how they smiled at your words made him livid.

"Come along, Y/n." He told you, trying to keep his tone light and friendly.

He led you through the halls, droning on about items in his home. It wasn't anything interesting. He was only trying to waste a bit of time. Without anyone noticing, he slipped something in your drink. Not anything dangerous, just something to make you a little drowsy for a short while, just in case you tried to put up a fight later.

"This painting here has been passed down for centuries." He pointed.

You nodded, feeling your eyelids become a bit heavier.

"Are you alright?" Yeosang asked, feigning concern.

"Just feeling a little sleepy."

"I see. Well, the tour is almost over. There's one last place I would like to show you."

You hummed in acknowledgement, following him down the hallway and through a door. The air becomes significantly more humid as you enter an area with stone walls. You pay no mind to it and continue trailing behind Yeosang.

"This is the dungeon." He told you. "Come closer. Have a look."

You moved towards the only cell, looking at the bars that were rusted with age. Yeosang opened the door causing it to groan and creak.

"It may be old, but it still does the job." Yeosang commented.

You took a step forward towards the opening of the cell.

"It's empty." You mentioned, taking notice of the lack of prisoners in the dungeon.

"It won't be for long."

You were about to ask why when you were shoved forward, falling onto your hands and knees, the sound of the creaky cell door being slammed shut. You gasped, turning to see Yeosang standing outside the prison cell with a smirk on his face.

"Oops. My hand slipped."

You scrambled to your feet, hurrying to the door, grabbing onto the bars, shaking them. The door wouldn't budge.

"The door is stuck."

"Yes. How observant of you." The king spoke in a sarcastic tone.

"I need to get out of here."

"I'm afraid the door is locked, my dear."

"There has to be a key."

"Oh, there is." Yeosang retrieved an old key from his suit jacket's pocket, waving it in the air.

"I... I don't understand."

Oh, Y/n. You're so naive.

"You're trapped." He stated, bluntly.

"But why? I didn't do anything."

The king scoffed. "I believe you need time to think about that."

He turned away, his cape billowing behind him as he left the room. The further he got, the more your heart sank. What did you do? You had never met the king before, so why was he so cross with you?

You slumped down on the cot, your eyelids feeling heavier than they had earlier. You were so tired. Maybe if you went to sleep, you would find out that this was all just a dream.

Yeosang sat in his chambers feeling more proud than ever. His plan actually worked.

"How did it go, your majesty?" Mirror asked.

"All went according to plan."

"Well, how do you feel?"

"Right now? Proud."

"I would like to say I'm happy for you, but I believe you've made a horrible decision."

"Well, I think I made the right decision. You'll see."

The next day, Yeosang sprung out of bed with a pep in his step. He strolled over to the window and looked out. The townspeople appeared to be going about their business, not noticing your lacking presence. He smirked to himself before getting ready for the day.

He spent part of the morning watching everyone through the magic mirror, pleased to see that none of them were questioning why you weren't around.

"Your majesty, don't you think you should check on the girl?" The mirror spoke up.

"Let me see her."

The scene of the town was replaced with you stuck in your prison cell. From the looks of it, you were still sleeping. You were curled up on the little cot with your arms wrapped around your small frame. Yeosang felt his chest tighten at the sight of you, but chose to ignore it.

You looked feeble all curled up like that.

Perhaps he should check on you.

You were still asleep when he arrived, but his footsteps woke you up. You pushed yourself up, your body feeling heavy from sleeping so deeply.

Lifting your head, you saw Yeosang standing outside your cell.

"Good morning, your majesty."

He didn't say anything.

"I don't know what I did, but I'm very sorry." You told him.

He scoffed in response. "You don't even know what you're apologizing for."

Even locked in a prison cell you were still unbearably polite. He hated that.

"If we could just talk about it, I'm sure we could work something out." You reasoned.

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"If you're upset about something, especially if it has to do with me, I'm more than willing to listen."

"I don't need you to listen." He snapped.

"I see." You murmured.

Without another word, Yeosang turned away and left the dungeon.

You slumped against the cold wall, your hands resting in your lap as you gripped the fabric of your dress. There was a few stains on it and it felt absolutely filthy. The damp air in the dungeon didn't do you any favors. Your hair was frizzy and your whole body felt sticky from the muggy atmosphere. The situation you were in was dreadful, but you refused to let yourself get discouraged. You weren't the type of person to lose hope so easily.

Yeosang told himself he would only come to see you to bring you food and water. That was all. He refused to go down to the dungeon unless he absolutely had to. However, once night fell, he kept thinking about your curled up figure that he saw this morning through the magic mirror. So, he returned once more to the dungeon with a blanket in hand.

"Here." He threw it into the cell before turning on his heel to leave.

You picked the folded cover up off the concrete floor, dusting it off.

"Thank you." You told Yeosang, your tone warm and sincere.

He froze for a moment, then went on his way without saying a word.

Days passed by, then weeks. Yeosang would watch you through the mirror, sometimes getting a tight feeling in his chest as he observed you trapped in your little cell. He would sometimes come and check on you, bringing you food and water. He tried not to go down to the dungeons any more than he had to, no matter what he was feeling.

You were still kind as ever, greeting him whenever he came down to deliver you a meal. You would ask how his day was and thank him for bringing you food. He hated it. He wanted you to be miserable and it didn't seem like you were.

Yeosang thought things would be different by now. He thought you would be begging to come out of the cell and that everyone in town would forget about you and focus more on him.

He even went out one day just to see if the response towards him would be different since you had been gone for a while.

Everyone he passed greeted him, bowing their heads and murmuring, "Hello, your majesty." But no one seemed happy to see him, even if he gave them his best smile.

He tried to hold in his anger as he continued down the street only to have it boiling over the edge after overhearing some of the male townspeople talking.

"Where's Y/n? I haven't seen her in a while."

"Me either. Now that you mention it, it's been weeks since I saw her out."

"Is she okay?"

"I hope she's not sick or something."

Yeosang didn't stick around to hear anything else.

As soon as he got back to the castle, he rushed to the dungeon, his anger fully taking control.

When he stormed in, you jumped up from your cot, startled by his sudden entrance.

"They're still talking about you. Why are they still talking about you?" He growled angrily.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about."

"The townspeople! All I hear is, 'Where's Y/n? I haven't seen Y/n. I hope Y/n is okay.' and it's infuriating. I'm the king. People should be focused on me."

Your brows pulled together in confusion. "I don't understand."

"You're so oblivious! The guys all look at you with adoration. Their faces light up when you flash them a smile. No one does that to me."

You were taken aback by this revelation. King Yeosang was angry because the people in the kingdom are more focused on you than him? That's why he locked you in here?

"Oh my." You placed your hand over your mouth, processing everything. "I'm so sorry, your majesty."

He only stood, staring you down with an emotionless expression. Even now, you were referring to him as your majesty and being so nice. It made him mad.

"I had no idea. I didn't know everyone felt that way. I was just being kind. I didn't know it effected you so much... or the townspeople."

"Well, now you do."

Yeosang turned around and left the room, unable to stay there any longer. The kindness you had consistently shown him was beginning to eat away at him little by little. He knew if he stayed in that dungeon any longer, he would crack.

He stormed into his chambers, slamming the door behind him.

"I don't understand. I have her trapped in the dungeon but I don't feel any better. The men in the kingdom are asking where she is. She's gone, but they're still talking about her."

"What do the men have to do with this?" The mirror asked.

"Men? No. I didn't—I didn't mean that. I mean the townspeople in general." Yeosang clarified, stumbling over his words.

"I thought you were mad that it wasn't you getting the attention?"

"I am. She's gone, and yet, no one bats an eye I pass. They're all too busy worrying about her. She's just another person living in the kingdom."

"Seems to me like your plan didn't work out the way you had hoped."

"We don't know that yet." Yeosang pointed, angrily.

"Your majesty, it's been weeks. Three to be exact. Nothing has changed. All you've done is make the townspeople worry."

Yeosang's jaw tightened.

This is not what he wanted to hear.

"She's being so nice to me. I locked her in a cell and she hasn't tried to escape. She hasn't even yelled at me. It's driving me crazy." Yeosang ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at the roots out of frustration.

"I think you like her."

"What?"

"I believe your feelings are mixed up. You didn't trap her in the dungeon so you could be the center of attention—you want her all to yourself."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You're angry that she's being nice to you because you feel bad for locking her up and you feel like you don't deserve her kindness." The mirror continued.

"No." Yeosang hissed. "That's not it at all. You think you know everything, but you don't."

"You're easier to read than you think, your majesty."

Yeosang was ready to smash the mirror to pieces. Instead, he grabbed a cape and threw it over the mirror, covering it up before storming off.

"You'll realize it sooner or later." Mirror told him just before he left the room.

Needing to be somewhere alone to simmer down, he went to the balcony overlooking his garden. His fingers gripped the concrete railing as he clenched and unclenched his jaw, his chest moving up and down as he tried to steady his breathing.

Was the mirror right?

Yes. His subconscious answered.

Yeosang squeezed his eyes shut.

There's no way he liked you. He couldn't possibly like you. Everyone liked you, but not him. No way.

If that was the case, why did his heart feel warm every time you spoke to him?

His head dropped as realization hit him.

Yeosang liked you. He liked you a lot.

And he locked you up. You've been alone in that dusty, old cell for three weeks. He hardly spoke to you, hardly gave you things besides food, water, and a single blanket. He was horrible. Why did he think that was a good idea? Feeling heavy with regret, he stepped back inside, heading down to the dungeon, dragging his feet as he went.

You heard the light thump of shoes against the stone steps, watching as Yeosang entered the dungeon, his head hanging low. His body language was unusual. Normally, he came striding into the room with a sour look on his face, but today was different—much different.

You watched as Yeosang pulled a key from his coat, placing it into the lock on the cell door. There was a quiet, metal sound as he jiggled the key, followed by a click as the cell door was pulled open.

"Go." He said.

"I'm sorry?"

"I said go." Yeosang didn't make eye contact with you as he stood with the cell door open. "Locking you in here was a horrible idea. I don't know what I was thinking. You can go back home."

You slowly stepped out of the cell. Then, you did what Yeosang never expected you to do.

Instead of running out of the dungeon, you hugged him. His body stiffened in response.

"You're a lot kinder than you realize." You told him.

You pulled away, giving him a warm smile.

"Goodbye, your majesty."

You were more than relieved to finally be set free. You hated being trapped in that cell, but you knew you'd be set free eventually. Seeing that Yeosang seemed to come to his senses was reassuring.

You had a lot of time to think while you were locked up. First, you thought about how deceiving Yeosang was. He always seemed like a nice person, but he wasn't. Then, you began to realize he was just troubled, lonely, and confused. Despite having a negative outlook on him at first, you decided to be nice. That's just the type of person you were. Seeing that you were now able to go home, you couldn't help but think that maybe all that kindness paid off.

As you headed up the steps and out of the dungeon, Yeosang called for you.

"Wait!"

Hurried footsteps followed after as he tried to catch up with you. You paused, wanting to see what he would say.

"Your dress is dirty and I'm sure you'd like to bathe."

He was right. You desperately wanted (and needed) a bath. You didn't exactly have access to amenities like a bathtub while locked up.

"I—"

"Please." He cut you off before you could even begin your sentence. "It's the least I can do after what I put you through."

"Okay." You nodded.

He let out a huff of relief. "Follow me."

You wanted to be wary of his offer and wonder if he had some ulterior motive—a second trap for you to fall into, but you couldn't seem to think that way. Based on the way he came dragging into the dungeon, you could tell he was feeling immense guilt.

Once upstairs, Yeosang led you to a bathroom where he asked you to wait while he got you a fresh change of clothes.

When he returned, he still wouldn't look you in the eye.

"Here you go. It's all I have."

You glanced down to see a folded up dress shirt and a pair of navy trousers.

You thanked him and stepped into the bathroom, your eyes immediately landing on a shower. Though you'd be thankful for anything, you were happy to see that the king had a shower. You were filthy and preferred to shower rather than sit in a tub full of dirt and other yuck that's built up over the past few weeks.

After thoroughly cleaning yourself, you felt much better. The clothes Yeosang had provided you with were a little baggy, but nothing you couldn't handle. You looked down at your soiled dress as you left the bathroom.

"I owe you an apology."

You jumped at the voice, lifting your gaze to find Yeosang standing in the hallway.

Did he wait for you?

"I shouldn't have locked you up. My reasoning was completely uncalled for. I was being selfish. I don't know what I was thinking."

"Thank you, your majesty."

"Don't." He held his hand up. "I don't deserve that title. Just Yeosang is fine."

He still wouldn't look at you. His eyes wandered anywhere but your face; he was ashamed. He was a king for goodness sake. He shouldn't have been acting the way he has been. While avoiding eye contact with you, he saw the dress you wore when you first arrived to the castle. It was a little stained and looked dingy from being exposed to the humid air and dirty floors

"I can have that cleaned for you." He spoke up, gesturing to your dress.

"Oh. That's alright." You politely declined.

"No. I insist. Please, just let me do this for you."

You gave in, handing the dress over to him. If getting your dress cleaned would make him feel better, you would allow him to do so.

"Thank you." He bowed his head. "Can we talk?"

"I suppose."

He handed the dress off to one of his castle staff and the two of you went out in the garden. You kept your arms wrapped around yourself, feeling the awkward tension in the air.

"I need to explain why I did what I did." He took in a deep breath, preparing himself. "At first, I was angry that you were getting all the attention because I felt it should have been me. I thought that's why I was mad. Then, I realized the real reason why I felt that way. I was jealous that the men in the kingdom were fond of you and so I locked you up to have you all to myself."

You were taken aback. Hearing his sudden confession made the whole situation a lot weirder.

"Goodness." You muttered. "I... I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. I just wanted to get it all out there."

If Yeosang was jealous and wanted you all to himself, did that mean he liked you?

You turned to the king.

"Thank you for telling me. I think I'll be going home now."

"Wait. Do you want something to eat? I can have my cooks make something."

"No thank you. I think I just want to go home."

He seemed upset, but nodded. "I understand. I'll get your dress back to you as soon as possible."

You bid the king farewell and left. The atmosphere between the two of you was awkward. He was feeling guilty for what he did and appeared to be trying to make up for his behavior. You were forgiving, but didn't really feel like staying at the castle any longer than you had to.

A few days passed and you returned to regular life, falling back into your normal routine. Some of the townspeople bombarded you with questions, many of them genuinely concerned about your abrupt disappearance.

"Are you alright?"

"Where have you been?"

"Did something happen?"

You just brushed them off, saying that you were feeling a little under the weather. Despite what you went through, you wouldn't dare tell anyone what Yeosang did. You wanted to keep it to yourself.

You were currently at home reorganizing your bookshelf when there was a knock at your door. You put a pause on what you were doing and went to see who was at the door. Upon answering, you saw a box sitting on your doorstep. You also saw Yeosang hurrying away.

"Hey." You called out.

He froze, slowly turning around.

"What are you doing?" You asked.

"I was just returning your dress." He said.

You picked up the box adorned with a gold bow, glancing down at it.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." He nodded. "Well, I'll be going now."

"Wait."

He stopped, turning back towards you.

"I have so many questions."

You'd be lying if you said you hadn't been thinking about what Yeosang told you. It's all you thought about since returning home. You weren't sure how to accept his apology or even if you wanted to.

You always thought the king was handsome and you did kind of wanted him to like you, but after what he put you through, you were reconsidering the way you felt about him.

You watched from your front door as Yeosang chewed nervously on his bottom lip before speaking up.

"I'll answer them."

Minutes later, you found yourself sitting on your patio with Yeosang seated across from you.

"I'm going to be honest with you, I thought you were a wonderful person. I was so excited when I was invited to the castle, but you tricked me."

"I know. I'm truly sorry."

"Yes, well, I appreciate your apology." You pressed your lips together. "I do want to know something, though."

"What is it?"

"Why did you want to keep me all to yourself?"

"I told you it was jealousy, but it was also the fact that I like you."

"You didn't really act like it."

"I know." He fiddled with the rings on his fingers, clearly nervous.

"I'm not a vengeful person, you know. I also meant what I said that day. You are kinder than you realize. You locked me in a cell for three weeks, but you were also able to come to your senses and do the right thing. So, I'm choosing to forgive you."

"You are?"

You nodded.

Yeosang felt like some of the weight that had been on him was lifted when you said that. However, he knew he would have a long way to go. After realizing just how much he liked you, he wanted to right his wrong and maybe even get a chance to make you his for real—the right way.

"I hope it's not too much to ask, but I would like it if we could get to know each other the proper way. I'm sure you don't have the same feelings as I do, especially after what I did to you. But, at the least, I'd like to be friends with you."

"Friends?" You questioned.

He nodded.

You knew Yeosang meant well and that he truly had changed, but it would take some time to fully trust him. Pursuing a relationship with him was something that was currently out of the question, but maybe in time you could work towards that.

"Truth is, I've always thought you were a handsome person. Of course, I don't know all that much about you."

"Right." He nodded.

"We can start with being friends." You told him. "We can work from there."

"That's alright. I absolutely understand. Truthfully, I'm just thankful that you haven't decided to shun me—or worse."

"I told you, I'm not a vengeful person."

Silence settled between the two of you.

"Well, I'd better get going." Yeosang stood up absurdly. "Thank you for your time."

He quickly said his goodbyes and started to head out.

"Yeosang." You called out.

He paused. "Yes?"

"I'm always open to spending time together. Just let me know."

A soft smile pulled at his lips as he nodded. "Will do."

With a final wave, he went on his way.

You were well aware of how odd your situation was. You agreed to try and be friends with a man who trapped you in a prison cell. However, he was a troubled man and someone who clearly didn't have his thoughts together. He needed someone to show him the right path and that someone was you.

Hongjoong: Hades ⟡ Seonghwa: Maleficent ⟡ Yunho: Captain Hook ⟡ San: Cruella de Vil ⟡ Mingi: Dr. Facilier ⟡ Wooyoung: ⟡ Jongho:

Masterlist ᝰ — enjoyed this imagine? reblogs & comments are very much appreciated!

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agent-cupcake · 8 months

Text

Flashbang

Chapter 1 - Puppet Loosely Strung

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: Running away to join the circus doesn’t go exactly as you hoped it would.

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse, murder, generally dark content

Word Count: 13.9k

Disclaimer: I don’t read the manga or watch the anime. This is based solely on OPLA Buggy because Jeff Ward.

Some quick notes before we start: This is what I've been working on this since October. Originally it was going to be one really big one-shot posted at the same time, but it's big enough that I can justify posting it as a series. I'll add warnings as I go, but this is not a happy story and there will be explicit content later on. The reader character might not be somebody you see yourself in, I had a very specific image of what character I had in mind while writing. To me, reader fic is more of a sort of play acting rather than "oh that's literally me" but I know that's not everybody's cup of tea. A lot of this is cope fic and it shows. When times get rough the porn gets rougher, right?

I had help writing this from an individual who is very dear to me. Flashbang wouldn't exist without her, especially since she was the one who gave me the clown brain rot. And then there has been the hours of brainstorming and spitballing and watching Jeff Ward shows/movies as she continued to feed my addiction. Thank you, my love, and also damn you because this wasn't what I needed.

New chapter every Sunday. Enjoy~

“Let me put myself in your shoes

As a puppet loosely strung

Around you, they were so confused

That a faulty man could have so much fun”

All it took was a little doubt. Through logic or confusion or wishful thinking, you could be convinced that the insignificant person who had parasitically driven you around for the past however many years was a stranger, and now they were gone. Everything that had ever happened fell into incomprehensible dust, and every thought you ever had belonged to somebody else. A cycle of a million memories you didn’t recognize spun through this foggy place, none of them real, none of them familiar.

Logic, confusion, wishful thinking, or unconsciousness. An endless dream of nothing at all. But as soon as you became aware, it was awareness that those thoughts happened in the past tense, crushed inward by the unrelenting force of existence, and you were shoved back into a body. You—not the real you, the stranger you, the one made of heat and fury and pain, the one you couldn’t recognize—were gasping and thrashing in ignorant confusion, coughing out the sickening taste of blood in your throat.

Everything, all of it, hurt. And that was all that existed.

Until it wasn’t.

Your panicked thrashing made you realize that you were upright, your body straining painfully against the various chains keeping you pinned against the wall in an X. The position put nearly all of your weight on your shoulders and left your head to sag heavily to the side, making the terrible, dizzying headache that much worse. Having suffered more than your fair share of them, you knew that this headache was from more than an uncomfortable position or your old injury. A hot throbbing pain radiated out from the back of your head, shooting little sparks down your spine. It hurt bad enough that nausea formed a tight, heavy ball in your stomach. Gritting your teeth, you forced your eye open, fighting the urge to cringe away from the light as it rolled this way and that. Colors and lights were nothing more than a nauseating smear, but at least you could see.

Little by little, you became aware of yourself. From far away, you had a vague recollection of leaving, of nerves, excitement, and then of danger. But… no, why weren’t you at home? Doom settled in its rightful place as you realized exactly how little you remembered or knew, slotting into the spot of coherence and reason. Despite the pain, you fought against the shackles holding you in the uncomfortable position, irrationally desperate to be free of them.

“There she is! Finally,” somebody said from your left. His voice hit like a hammer to the back of your aching head. You strained to look at the speaker, he sounded close, but you couldn’t turn your head far enough to make up for your limited vision.

Luckily, he didn’t stay out of sight for long. The man’s boots were loud and deliberate as he slowly moved out of your literal blind spot. To your ill-adjusting eye, he was not much more than a blur of white and red and blue, his big smile smudged as you rapidly blinked to focus. A little shock of meaningless recognition in your brain saw the makeup and red nose and said ‘clown’, but the sheer ridiculousness of that made you even more sure that this wasn’t real.

“Not a fun way to wake up, is it?” he asked. “Keep breathing, let it drain back and cough it out. Trust me, it’s over quicker that way.”

The question you tried to form was, “Who are you?” but all you could manage was a heavy groan followed by a fit of painful coughs, wheezing raggedly in between. Each desperate convulsion rattled the chains and caused the wood to creak, but did nothing to free your bound limbs. The man seemed bored by it, annoyed he had to wait for you to get ahold of yourself.

Since he hadn’t immediately helped you down, you could only assume that he was the one who shackled you in the first place. Strung you up against a wooden board of some kind in a room you didn’t know. Cramped and windowless, it reeked of paint and sweat and sawdust and sweet salty rot—a unique smell that didn’t help your nausea. Clutter stacked up against the walls. Dense, humid air pressed against you like a heavy coat, paradoxically chilling. Probably because of the fever burning beneath your skin, slicking you up with sweat, soaking into your clothes and the bandana you kept wrapped around your head over the left eye.

Breathe. You focused on your breathing. Panic wouldn’t help you.

“You done?” he asked. Without any other choices, you turned your head to shamefully wipe your face off on your sleeve before nodding. “Great. Well, now that you’re awake… Welcome!” He threw out his arms with the flamboyant manner of a showman with the greeting, but they wilted right after, his big smile dropping a bit. “Or, at least, that’s what I would say if you hadn’t let yourself in and stolen the opportunity from me.”

That was bad. Very, very bad. You jerked in an awkward, uncoordinated burst, physically reacting to the danger he presented.

“No, no, don’t leave on my account,” he said, waving his hands and getting closer as if to stop you. “Oh wait, you can’t! Hah! Yeah, ‘cause of the chains.” He smiled affably, like it was a harmless joke, standing close enough for his gloved fingers to skim along the chain wrapped around your neck. “I guess you’re not going anywhere, huh?”

You didn’t respond, barely daring to breathe when he was so close. Smiles and melodrama aside, his blue eyes were oddly dead, fixed on you without the slightest bit of humor. And then it finally came back to you, the vital thing that you should have known, that you would have known if you weren’t strung up and suffering such a crippling headache. The makeup, the nose, the hat—

“You’re,” you began to say, but your voice was hoarse and weak, you could barely get it out when he was looking at you so closely, so intently. You cleared your throat, wincing at the metallic taste. “You’re the-that pirate captain Buggy, like on the-the poster?” Right! The clown guy, the red-nosed pirate. You were looking for him. So this was… good, wasn’t it?

He gave you a flat look, clearly not sharing your weak enthusiasm. “Yes. I am that pirate captain. Buggy, the Genius Jester? The most feared pirate captain in all the East Blue?” He turned with a dramatic flick of his coat, messing with something that had to flash silver before you realized it was a knife. “The man destined to find the One Piece and become King of the Pirates. Yes. I am that pirate captain. And,” he paused, checking to make sure you were paying attention, “a very busy, very important man. I’ve got, oh, ten minutes or so for you to decide how this is gonna go. So let’s get straight to it.” He turned back, pointing the knife at you. “Who are you, and what are you after?”

The accusatory tone of his voice took you aback. “Nothing… I’m not anybody,” you stammered out. “And this… this isn’t what it looks like, I swear.”

Buggy, to your surprise, relented after a second of considering your appeal, nodding understandingly.

There was no transition from his look of sympathy to raising the knife and aiming it at you. By the time you realized he meant to throw it, you barely had a chance to yelp. The blade took a loud, thumping bite into the wood beside you. On your left side, of course. Where you couldn’t see it. You could feel it, though. The air displacement ruffled the fine hairs around your ear. If you had flinched in that direction, it probably would be in your skull. With your dizzy head aching and confused, you had no regulation to your fear or discomfort, your breathing dangerously unsteady and tears pricking the corner of your eyes.

“Let me try a different question,” Buggy said before you could collect yourself, pulling out another knife. “Who else knows about this place?”

“Nobody! I swear, nobody else. I was just…” You didn’t know what to say. It was all you could do to breathe the thick, heavy air and fight down the tide of nausea.

“Just what?” Buggy asked, leaning in with raised eyebrows to show that he was listening intently. You opened and closed your mouth, unable to come up with the right words. Thoughts churned through the thick sludge in your head, getting stuck or lost or confused.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, the stumbling apology coming out more naturally than anything else, an attempt to buy time while you organized your thoughts. “Please doh-don’t…. I’m so ss-sorry.”

Buggy sighed, standing up straight and raising his hand to aim.

“Nonono, please d-” You yelped louder this time, flinching away as the knife streaked through the air and stuck not even an inch away from your right cheek. You exhaled a pathetic little sob, whatever you were bound to shaking with your body.

“Listen, honey buns,” Buggy said. “Drop the act. Stop the whining. I caught you, red handed, sneaking into my lair.” He pulled something out of his pocket. Not another knife, but a piece of paper which he unfolded, holding it up for you to see. His wanted poster, creased into sixths from the way you folded it to keep it close, to keep it hidden. “I found this in your bag. You know who I am, and you know where you are. You have to, so let’s do away with all the theatrics, okay?”

You swallowed hard, nodding quickly in the hope that it would appease him.

“Right now, this is a conversation,” Buggy said, gesturing between the two of you. “A light interrogation, really. But if you keep being uncooperative and wasting my time, it’s gonna go from being interrogate-y to being torture-y real quick. You don’t want that, right?” Although he was unmistakably threatening you, Buggy’s tone was more natural than before. There was a bluntness to it, an honesty. Men like him didn’t idly use words like torture.

You sniffed, trying very hard to calm yourself down. This was a misunderstanding, so you just had to convince him. Simple as that. He would understand. You would make him understand.

“Right,” you agreed.

“Fantastic. So,” he loudly clapped his hands together, “who else knows about this place?”

“Nobody, I promise… I’m really sorry I broke in,” you told him, speaking slowly so your words didn’t catch. “I just wanted to meet with you.”

Buggy’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, the hair hanging out from the sides of his hat swaying as his head tilted curiously. “You’re a fan?” he clarified. “That explains why you’re so pathetic. Well I hate to break it to you, but there’s a reason I only hold meet and greets after shows.”

“No, that’s not why! I-I want to join your crew,” you said. “I came to ask you to let me join your crew.”

He blinked twice, staring at you with obvious disbelief. “Excuse me, what?”

“I want to be a pirate,” you told him, louder. “Please. Please let me join your crew.”

Buggy’s expression didn’t change, but you could see the rippling shift of incredulity, befuddlement, skepticism, and then amusement in his eyes. That emotion burst outward into a loud laugh, making you flinch. “That’s the best you can do?” he asked. “Ask to join my crew?” He looked at you again, laughing even harder. “I don’t know what’s funnier—that anybody would send you to spy on me, or that you’d think I would consider hiring you.”

“I mean it!” you argued, humiliation and desperation seeping into the thousand other discomforts of your position. This wasn’t at all how you wanted this to go.

“Sweetheart,” Buggy said condescendingly, “even assuming I believe you, this is a pirate crew, not an afterschool club.”

“I know. I know what pirates do, I know what you do,” you told him. “I’ll do anything, whatever you want. Please, please, just give me a chance.”

He nodded, turning to pace as he thought about it.

“Okay, let’s say that I buy this… this act of yours,” Buggy said. “Do you have any experience? Maintaining ships, reading maps, loading cannons. You know, basic stuff.”

There was a line you had prepared to answer this question, one that would paint you in the most charitable light. You remembered that, but you couldn’t remember the line. All you could give was the truth. “A little.”

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Thought so. What about specialties? Unique skills? Any sort of talent that I can use in my show—anything at all. I mean other than,” he gestured vaguely in your direction, “that. We don’t need another one eyed midget. They’re surprisingly common.”

“I’m not a midget,” you told him, nerves fading to incredulity.

Buggy stepped back to size you up before seemingly conceding the point with a shrug. “And the eye?” He covered his left eye to illustrate. “Is that for a bit or something?”

Your stomach twisted with a familiar lurch. Disgust. Shame. Phantom light in the dark. “It’s not.”

“How’d you lose it?”

“I didn’t… lose it.”

“It’s still in there?” he asked excitedly, stepping forward and reaching to remove the bandana. “I have got to see this.”

“No, please—please don’t,” you begged, trying to wriggle away from his hand. Pinned to the board with your hands bound above your head, there was nowhere to go. “Please don’t, please-”

“Come on,” Buggy said, indifferent to your pleas as he pulled the sweat soaked fabric off of your left eye. “How bad could it be—AH!” He yelled in horror, jumping away as if you’d bitten him.

The bandana hit the floor, leaving your ruined eye and its jagged scar exposed. You couldn’t hide. All you could do was flinch back, turning your head away. “I’m sorry,” you said, ready to continue apologizing before you realized that his shock had immediately dissolved into raucous laughter. “Why are you… why are you laughing?” you asked, pulling desperately against the chains.

“I got you good,” Buggy said, his laughter subsiding. “The way you reacted, I thought that you’d be completely deformed. A real sideshow. But this…” He grabbed your chin, forcing it to the side so he could get a better look. “I couldn’t charge for this.”

“Please stop,” you begged, shaking off his grip and staring hard at his shoulder.

“Ohhh. You’re really embarrassed about it.”

You didn’t say anything, focusing mostly on fighting the tears.

“Okay, alright, yeah,” Buggy said, stepping back. “I think I’m starting to get why you would risk life and limb to beg me for a job. You grew up as a cute girl in a shithole town like this. A big fish in a little pond, as they say. Then, suddenly, BAM, you’re deformed, and, sure, they all say that it was tragic, but the truth is that they can’t stand to look at you. Even the people who loved you, the people you trusted, think you’re a freak. They abandoned you. So, without any other options, you come to me, pleading for me to give you a place amidst your fellow freaks. That about it?”

You didn’t say anything—what could you say to that?— which Buggy seemed to take as confirmation, nodding thoughtfully.

“Well, go big or go home, right? As far as a starlet’s breakout role, you couldn’t go any bigger. Thing is, I’m not really looking for new acts. Not to mention your abysmal audition.” He sucked in a breath through his teeth, looking you up and down again.

You could feel your chance slipping away. Just like that. Go big or go home, that’s what he said.

“Please, Captain Buggy,” you begged, staring him in the eye despite how disquieting it was, despite how your skin crawled from exposing your left eye to somebody. Addressing him properly, at the very least, got his attention. “I promise that you won’t regret it. I’ll learn, I want to learn how to be a pirate, how to perform, all of it, everything. And if I can’t, I’ll do laundry and clean and cook, I have lots of experience with that. I don’t care what you ask me to do, if you let me join your crew, I’ll happily serve you for the rest of my life.”

Buggy didn’t respond right away. You thought—hoped—that it meant he understood how serious you were, but his expression gave you nothing. There wasn’t much light in the room in the first place, but somehow he found enough to shine unnervingly in his pale blue eyes. Somebody with a bright red clown nose shouldn’t have been able to look so intimidating, but the way he studied you burned with an uncomfortable intensity. It had been a while since anybody looked at you so frankly, so openly, without disgust or pity.

“Why?” he finally asked.

“Why…?” you repeated, confused.

“I get that you want to leave this place, and I even buy into your whole wanting to be a pirate thing, but, you know, aside from the obvious,” he gestured to himself, “why should I believe that you really want to serve me? You’re young and cute…ish, don’t you want freedom and empowerment and all those other things girls go on and on about?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Why would I?”

A moment of quiet that wasn’t quite silence but twice as heavy passed before a slow smile began to spread over Buggy’s face, and then—of all the bizarre, uncomfortable responses he could have—he laughed. “Oh, you’re broken, aren’t you?” he asked, clearly overjoyed by the revelation. “Well, I’m sold. I’ll have to start you on probation just in case you’re secretly up to no good. But, after that, you can audition for real. I’m sure I can find something you’ll be useful for.”

His reaction gave you whiplash. The word ‘broken’ was obviously bad, but everything else was good. You had succeeded. Only, you didn’t know why. You were still trying to decide if being called cute-ish was a compliment or not.

“Hey, just one more thing, okay?” Buggy asked, tapping your cheek. Standing mere inches away, he smiled a rictus grin. It wrinkled his eyes, but they were without life or pity or mercy. “If you’re lying to me about anything, I’ll carve some symmetry into your cute little face. You’ll thank me for it too. You won’t want to see what the guys will do to you after I toss you out there.”

“I’m not lying,” you said softly, shrinking back. “I promise.”

“Great!” Buggy said, his demeanor immediately cheering up. “Let’s get you down.” He walked behind the board you were strung up on, and you let out a shaky exhale. “Brace yourself,” he called. You had no idea what that meant, or how you were supposed to brace yourself when there was nothing for you to brace yourself on. “Three… two…”

He undid the lock, and the chains keeping you bound to the board went slack. You dropped hard, your limbs as heavy as lead. Luckily, your head was too light to feel anything when you hit the ground with a dull thump and the loud cacophony of rattling chains, spinning and blank and utterly empty. There was a suspended moment of floating, lighter than air itself. And then you were blinking rapidly and nauseous, pain shooting up your arms and knees.

Buggy dropped a key in front of you, metal bouncing on the old concrete.

“Unfortunately we didn’t bring any real props with us, so I had to improvise,” he said. With numb fingers, you grabbed the key and worked it into the locked cuff around your wrist. “You lucked out, if this were the real Wheel of Death, you’d be blowing chunks!” He paused, looking down at you. “Can you hurry this up?”

“Sorry,” you said. Your shaking hands kept missing the keyholes, but you finally got the last lock on your ankle open. The cuffs hadn’t broken skin, but your wrists and ankles were rubbed raw, ugly bruises already developing. You’d had worse.

“Alright, upsy daisy,” Buggy said, crouching down to take the key away and grab the only chain you hadn’t gotten out of—the one around your neck.

It acted as a noose, giving you no other choice but to lurch upward with an unappealing choking sound, your head spinning all over again, the weightless itch tingling all the way down to the base of your spine. You stumbled forward, unintentionally falling against him.

“Holy shit,” Buggy exclaimed, helping you stand up straight with a hand on your shoulder. “I didn’t know girls came in fun size. Legally, at least. Are you sure you’re not just like… the maxiest midget?”

“‘m dizzy,” you muttered, swaying despite his support.

“That’s not really… Ah, whatever. Hey, at least if you fall, you don’t have that far to go.”

“I’m… I’m okay,” you finally said, which was mostly true. Breathing slow, steady breaths helped, and then you shook your head a little. The bump on the back of it throbbed painfully, and you’d have bruises on your knees the size of apples, but you would survive. You were still trying to get control over your body. It was heavy and unwieldy, although part of that must have been the exhaustion.

“If you need to vomit, make sure to aim away from me,” he said. That was about all the warning you got before he decided it was time to go, dragging you along behind him like a dog on a leash.

You realized you were leaving your bandana behind, your left eye uncovered, and reared back, trying to stop him. “Wait, I have to grab my-”

“No time,” he said, talking over you and tugging again at the chain.

There was nothing you could do but stumble over your own feet to keep up with him as he led you through the cluttered and dark storage area. You felt a tiny bit of relief that you were still in the familiar decaying buildings northside. The old warehouses were dark, dank, and dingy. Easily defended and difficult to navigate, perfect for criminals to hide out in. You knew them very well, and that helped orient you.

"As I’m sure you noticed, I’m running a bit of a skeleton crew here. The rest aren’t coming ‘til the grand finale,” Buggy said, leading you into the main warehouse space by the chain around your neck like it was completely normal. The awful smell of rot and decay was only compounded by a sickly sweet, chalky scent you didn’t recognize. Gray sunshine flooded in through the broken windows around the high ceilings, piercingly bright. “And after that, we’re gonna blow this town.”

You didn’t respond, growing even more skittish. The two of you drew the attention of the people scattered around. Some were lounging, others were training. All of them turned to look at you, watching with the dark, focused stare of hungry dogs. Colorfully dressed, very dangerous dogs.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I have an introduction to make!” Buggy called in a loud enough voice to fill the large space. “Crew, new girl. New girl, crew. Make sure to give her a nice, warm welcome." None of them spoke or reacted, watching you with varying degrees of hostility. Buggy pulled you forward a few steps so he could whisper to you. “See that guy?” he asked, pointing to a bald man with square features and an especially dark glare. “That’s Ivo. He was the one who caught you. To be completely honest, I think he’s still a little angry that he didn't get to keep you. If I were you, I’d try to stay on his good side.”

“How?” you asked, your uneasy stomach sinking further, but Buggy was already preoccupied with something else.

“Oh, hey-” he called, flagging down a woman who was leaning against one of the steel supports. You stumbled behind him, holding the chain around your neck to ease the pressure. “Crina, I have got a very important job for you.”

The woman slowly looked from Buggy to you, giving you a weighty once-over with dark, kohl-lined eyes. Her clothes were different from the rest, draped with beads and loose and layered in shades of purple. Beneath the mystique, however, you felt the same hardness you recognized in all the pirate’s faces. “You want me to look after the little rat,” she said with an accent you didn’t recognize.

"God, it’s like you can read minds or something,” Buggy said, laughing. “Anyway, yes. Make sure she doesn’t get up to anything naughty while I’m gone. In fact, don’t let her out of your sight.”

“With all due respect,” Crina said, “why not just kill her?”

“Because I don’t want her dead,” Buggy snapped, suddenly irritated. If Crina was surprised or off put by the abrupt change of his mood, she didn’t show it.

“Of course, captain.”

“I thought I saw some cages over there,” Buggy said, gesturing vaguely and forcing the chain into Crina’s hand. “Stick her in one of those. In the back, away from any prying eyes.”

“A cage?” you asked.

“As fun as it is to see you all chained up,” Buggy said. “I worry that it might send the wrong message. Out of sight, out of mind—I don’t need you distracting my crew. They’re planning a very big surprise party. If you behave, I might be able to find some time for you later. Sound good?”

You nodded, almost surprised by how good that sounded. He ruffled your hair before turning away, barking orders to some of the men.

“Let’s go,” Crina said, pulling your attention back to her. “We have our orders.”

The cage Crina put you in, one out of several bolted to the floor in the corner out of the way from the main space, had just enough room for you to sit slouched, or lay curled on your side, meant for big dogs or small humans. There was a market for both, and you knew that this warehouse had likely housed both.

The old, dilapidated buildings had been out of use for a long time, as long as you could remember. Barley Village had been originally built to be close to the mineral deposits, but as those dried up and industry trended towards the water, southward expansion left all of the old buildings empty and rotting. There was always talk about tearing them down, but it was only ever talk. One time you were told that some people wanted to keep the buildings available to people who wished for some privacy. But when you asked your dad if that was true, he got angry, telling you that was a lie, that he would never let that happen. He said it would just be too expensive to take them down, and that there was really no point in it.

But he also told you to never, ever spend time northside. Of all of the rules he gave you, that was the only one you ever truly disobeyed. You had no idea how many times you had gotten in trouble for playing here, climbing up rusted stairs and crossing the support beams up by the ceiling, using rocks to knock out the jagged edges of broken glass from the windows so you could go onto the rooftops. Your health problems made it difficult, and sometimes impossible, but you were patient. Plus, that had been before the accident, when your coordination was still good.

Back then, you didn’t worry about the many dangers that lurked here, and you certainly didn’t believe you could be hurt. You were too entranced by the world you created for yourself. The only thing you worried about was the beatings you earned when you got caught. Dad used to tell you that if you kept disobeying him by going northside, you’d wind up locked in one of these cages—or worse. It took you a while to think of the word, because it wasn’t funny, but it also was. Ironic. It was ironic.

You couldn’t even imagine what kind of reaction he would have to what you had done now, what punishment you would earn. It would be bad. You knew it would be very bad.

Better not to think about it. Falling unconscious after being hit on the head was the most you had slept for the previous two days. It was the level of exhaustion that you could be staring down the business end of a sword with indifferent, sleepy eyes. Being locked up was bad, very bad, but you were content to lay listlessly on your side.

At some point, you must have fallen asleep because you weren’t entirely conscious when somebody kicked the front of your cage. “Hey, wake up.” Your physical response was to startle, jolting you awake enough to flinch away from the violence. But it was only Crina who crouched in front of the cage. “I have food for you. And medicine for the headache. I’m going let you out, and I suggest you don’t try to run. If the guys get a hold of you, I won’t stop them.”

“I won’t run,” you told her, your voice hoarse, your eyes fixed on what she had brought. A bowl of something that looked like stew and a bottle. More than food, you wanted water. Crina undid the lock and you shuffled out of the cage. Your head spun just as badly as it had when you dropped onto the floor earlier, your vision crawling with darkness and stomach heaving unhappily. She was right about the headache. It wasn’t a pain you ever got used to, no matter how many days you spent laid out from one. After an uneasy moment, you sat on the floor, grabbing the water and eagerly uncapping it.

“Hand,” Crina said, holding out a glass bottle. You allowed her to shake two capsules into your palm, tossing them into your mouth before taking in a blessedly wet mouthful of water. It soothed your tongue and throat like a salve, although you knew your stomach wouldn’t be quite so happy to receive anything. The stew’s scent alone made your stomach clench and churn with equal parts hunger and nausea. Slow. You had to take it slow.

“Thank you,” you told her, picking up the bowl. She’d brought a wrapped sailor’s biscuit to eat it with. Not very appetizing, but you hadn’t eaten much more than you slept. It could have been saw dust and you would have been grateful.

“I have your bag,” she said to fill the silence as you ate, pushing the limp canvas towards you. “They took anything that looked valuable, but your clothes are all there. They need to be washed. I’ll lend you something to wear in the meantime.”

Since your mouth was full, you nodded your thanks.

“While you eat, I’m going to talk. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” Crina said. “You don’t strike me as the talkative type.”

She didn’t say that in an accusatory tone, but it still caused your heart to skip with anxiety. The fear had to be irrational, it wasn’t as if you had lied to Captain Buggy, so what did you have to worry about? Besides, only the guilty feared scrutiny, that was a favored line of your dad’s.

“There’s a man in town asking if anyone has seen a girl. Petite. Missing an eye. Mentally unwell. He’s concerned that she might have gotten lost somewhere,” Crina told you. “From what I gather, her father is a pillar of the community. They’re all very worried.”

You averted your gaze, anxiously pulling your hair to cover your left eye. Of course Randall would be looking for you, although you had hoped you would have more time before he noticed your absence. It didn’t matter that you left in such a way to raise as little suspicion as possible, or that you were an adult, or that you didn’t want to be found. Your dad asked him to be your keeper while he was gone, and Randall did as your father said. Everybody did.

“Finish your food,” Crina prompted. “It’s worse when it’s cold.”

Right. You started eating again, your movements mechanical. She said nothing, and you had nothing to say.

“Everybody has their reasons for turning to piracy, and they’re not always pleasant,” Crina suddenly said. “Unless it interferes with my own business, I don’t care about who you were and why you ran away. It was a stupid choice, I think you know that. I won’t try and convince you to leave. Buggy seems to like you, so you wouldn’t be able to go anyway. But you need to understand that there will be consequences. The life you had before, no matter how terrible, did not prepare you for the life you’ve thrown yourself into.”

You stared hard at the bowl, thinking about that. It was true, you had to accept that you had blindly stumbled into a world you knew nothing about. But what choice did you have? The things that led you to this point were arranged like the rusty, creaky rungs of a ladder scaling the side of a building. Climbing up had always been the easy part, it was the inevitable descent that gave you trouble. You had to go slow, one rung at a time, blindly feeling with your toes, holding on with sweaty fingers, not looking up and not looking down because once you were on the ladder, you could only keep going. The first rung was spotting the Buggy Pirates, which you only did because you were sulking around the docks after seeing your father off on his trip. You only recognized the crew because your dad kept track of pirate captains with significant bounties. You only had the courage to sneak away from your house because dad was too far away to stop you. You only had the ability to scope out Buggy’s temporary hideout because of how much time you spent northside when you were younger. Those things all connected and followed so naturally and you didn’t know if fate existed, but you knew for a fact that you wouldn’t have wound up here on your own volition. It wasn’t a choice you made, it was the only way to get down from the roof that you had been stranded on for so long.

“I’ll give you some advice,” Crina continued, her tone lighter, “and I suggest you listen. You’re young and pretty, and you wouldn’t be the first to try and use that to get an advantage. It might work for a while, but men will get bored and your looks will fade. Before long you’ll be spat out into a cheap whorehouse with a couple of children you can’t afford and a hell of a rash.”

The whiplash from your thoughts to the conclusion she had drawn made your stomach twist with disgust. “No,” you said. Was that what she thought of you? Even if the idea was utterly ridiculous, shame rolled uncomfortable through you. “I would never—I could never ever do that.”

“Don’t be naive,” Crina said, rolling her eyes. “The boys you’re used to are disgusted by that scar, but the kind of men you’ll meet from now on won’t be. If your low self-esteem dictates who you let between your legs, you’ll find yourself in the gutter. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t sleep with men to get an advantage if that’s an option, only that you must be smart about it.”

You pulled your hair forward again, shaking your head clear of what she was saying. She didn’t understand. It wasn’t the assumption that men would be repulsed by your scar—which they would be, you knew that—but that you didn’t have it in you to invite or manipulate male attention. In so many ways you were already ruined, but to stoop down to letting other men touch you would be too far, it would destroy you.

“Assuming you live past tomorrow night,” Crina continued, “get a knife and figure out how to use it. The men aren’t going to accept you as a member of the crew until you prove yourself. So if anybody gets too close, you prove yourself with blood.”

“Do you think they’ll try to hurt me?”

“I think you look like an easy target,” she said. “And I know you have no concept of self preservation or defense.”

“Yes, I do,” you said, frowning. You had made it this far, after all. That was more than anybody would have thought of you.

“You don’t,” she said plainly. “The tablets I gave you are for treating pain, but imagine if they weren’t. You didn’t so much as ask me to clarify what they were.”

You opened your mouth to argue, and closed it, shame squeezing your throat. You hadn’t even thought about that.

“It might not matter anyway,” she said, “depending on Buggy’s reasons for keeping you.”

“What do you mean?”

Crina gave you a long, pitying look and you could tell there was something she wanted to say, something she was holding back. Eventually she shrugged. “That is between the two of you.”

You wanted to push for more, confused by the cryptic answer, but you didn’t. You could tell by the hard look on her face that she wouldn’t tell you anyway.

“One more thing. The most important thing,” Crina told you, leaning close so she could whisper. “Never, ever mention the captain’s nose. In fact, never mention noses at all.”

“His nose?” you repeated softly. “Is it… is it real?”

“What did I just say?” she asked sharply. “He killed a few of the last new recruits for saying something that sounded like nose while he was in a bad mood.”

“He… killed them?” you asked.

“Buggy is a very temperamental man,” she said, leaning back. “Try not to get on his bad side.”

“It sounds like you don’t like him.”

“I do, actually. God knows why. Are you finished?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Come on then,” Crina told you, getting to her feet and dusting herself off. “There’s running water on the other side. I’ll keep watch so you can clean up.”

Although birds called and the breeze carried all sorts of noises from Barley Village, none of it really reached the northside. A solemn graveyard hush settled heavy between the wreckage of ruined buildings, drafty even in broad daylight. No ghosts hid in the shadows, no historical tragedy marred its name, but there remained the haunted imprint of people who were no longer around.

Before setting you on your task of the day, Crina had given you a dress of hers to wear while your own clothes dried in the sun. You swam in it, but a sash at the waist made the fit look somewhat intentional and the long sleeves hid the ugly bruises cuffing your wrists. That, combined with having slept the previous night and most of the day, left you feeling oddly refreshed. Sure, all of the sleep had been in a cage and the only ‘bath’ you had was a couple of minutes alone with a spout that spat freezing water and a washcloth, but it was better than yesterday. Better than the day before that too, save for the bruises and big goose egg bump on the back of your head.

Despite the headache, you were glad to be given something to do. The task wasn’t difficult. Busywork that kept you out of the way. Checking to ensure that everything which would be loaded on the ship was documented, organized, and ready for transport. It wasn’t entirely unlike what you had done in the past and, you imagined, would be doing in the future. It was, however, the opposite way around. The goods were obviously looted, you were creating a list to know exactly what and how much of it had been stolen.

Vinegar, oil, wax.

You used the end of the pen to scratch beneath your bandana, which Crina had kindly retrieved for you. Sometimes the scar got itchy, like it had when it was healing.

Twine, needles, thread.

There was a particular smell to supply crates like these. Something to do with the place they were stored, or where they were made. Even now, years since you had been on a ship, it was overwhelmingly familiar. It made your stomach ache and chest clench, although you weren’t sure which quality of the scent was so unsettling.

You scratched the scar again.

Vinegar, oil-

Wait, you had already done that. Annoyed, you crossed out those words and crouched down to get into the next crate. Rope. It was coiled in tight loops like a huge snake, coarse beneath your fingers. Anything that was strong enough to endure the fury of the sea had to be coarse. Good rope was vital on a ship, you knew that even with your limited experience. Touching it reminded you of the time your dad tried to show you how to tie knots, and then subsequently had to treat your rope burn.

What would he think when he returned? Retired Marine or not, he was deeply involved with northside business and law. Missing supplies, missing daughter. Sometimes you felt an acidic sort of pleasure when imagining his reaction to your absence, but usually it was just dread.

Or worse. Prickling paranoia. You could run, for a time. But that was all it was. Running. He used to be a Marine, it wouldn’t be difficult for him to find you. When you were younger, the thought gave you comfort.

But you didn’t want to think about that. Not at all. Not ever again. You stared very hard at the rope, desperate to put those thoughts out of your mind.

You stared and stared and stared and-

Somebody grabbed you around the bicep, dragging you to your feet and forcing you back to reality. Yelping in fear, you were nearly knocked back down from the bloodrush dizziness of standing up too fast, saved only by the crates.

“Good god, girl,” the unfamiliar man said, taking a step back, clearly put off by your reaction. “Are you deaf or something? I hollered at you three or four times. Were you sleeping?”

Putting a hand to your racing heart, you looked from him to the still open crate and the notepad you had abandoned mid-task. You had no idea how long you had been sitting there. Long enough for your foot to go numb, prickling with pins and needles now that you were standing up.

“I’m sorry,” you told him.

“The captain wants to see you. It’s urgent,” he said. When you didn’t immediately respond, still orienting yourself, he sighed impatiently and grabbed your elbow, physically dragging you away. You stumbled to keep up, trying very hard to avoid falling. “If Buggy asks why you took so long, you better tell him it was your fault.”

“I will,” you said to appease him, attempting to shake off his hand before realizing that it was pointless. “Please slow down.”

“Not my fault you’ve got stumpy legs,” he said. “Keep up.”

The unfairness of that stung, but you didn’t have much choice. You had a feeling that he’d keep on pulling you along even if it meant dragging you across the ground.

“Where are we going?” you asked, embarrassingly out of breath.

“There,” he said, nodding to one of the waterfront buildings. At least it was close. You never strayed so close to the water, the buildings were too squat to make for fun exploration and too exposed to give cover.

The pirate released you when you got to the door, leaving you winded and scared. You adjusted your bandana and tried to catch your breath. “Don’t forget to tell him it was your fault it took so long, not mine,” he said, opening the door.

“I won’t,” you promised, the words papery thin on your dry tongue.

You were in trouble. You had no idea what you might have done, but there had to be something. Why would you be summoned like this otherwise? A very bad feeling pressed against your sternum, but you forced yourself to walk forward. The door shut behind you. Inside, the air was dark and cool and wet, sending a little shiver down your spine.

Buggy stood in the middle of the room, the only place where the sun found its way between the mangled teeth of glass and steel that used to be windows, his own little spotlight amidst the ruins. There were three other men on the edges of the light, their backs to you. One of them was bound. You did not like this.

“There she is!” Buggy exclaimed, inviting you forward with his arms spread wide. “Come on, don’t be shy. Especially not after keeping us waiting so long. Your friend over here could hardly handle the suspense.

Rocks and broken glass crunched beneath your feet as you approached them. Once you got close enough, finally, you could see the faces of the other men. One was the square-featured, angry man Buggy called Ivo. Another, a man you didn’t know. And the third, the one bound with a busted lip and developing black eye—

Randall called your name, trying to escape and rush to your side. Ivo grabbed him, pressing the blade of his knife against his throat.

“See, I told you, they’re working together,” Ivo said, glaring at you. “She tipped him off. No doubt this place will be swarming with the law before long.”

You stood completely still, staring at Randall with the steadily rising tide of panic sloshing in your stomach. After everything you had done to misdirect him, the note you left to beg he didn’t follow, the trouble you had put yourself through to keep from being seen, he was still here.

“Are you okay?” Randall asked, looking you up and down frantically, concerned in a way he never had looked before. “Did they hurt you?”

“I told you, she’s fine,” Buggy said with a grin. “I mean, yeah, Ivo over there did give her a little knock on the ole noggin—a love tap, really—but the eye was already like that when we found her.”

“I wasn’t asking you,” Randall said, glaring at Buggy.

“Shut up,” Ivo said, pressing the knife close enough to Randall’s throat that it broke skin.

“No, no, let him go,” Buggy ordered casually, waving his hand. “He’s not gonna do anything stupid.” He threw an arm around your shoulder. “Not when I’ve got her.”

Ivo reluctantly complied, releasing Randall. He watched you intently, and you knew what he was thinking. How could he save you?

“Ivo over there thinks that the two of you are working together,” Buggy told you, smiling. His arm was heavy around your shoulders, oppressively so. “He thinks that we should kill you both.”

“I’m not—I wouldn’t,” you told him.

“And see, I wanna believe you. I really do. But he’s not talking, and,” Buggy ran his finger over your right cheek, reminding you of his threat from yesterday, “I’m starting to worry you’ve been lying to me.”

“I’m not,” you said, ice cold dread dripping into your veins a drop at a time. You fought your discomfort and forced yourself to meet his eyes, hoping he could see your sincerity. “I promise I’m not.”

“Then how did he find this place?”

“I don’t… I don’t know…”

“She used to hide here when we were kids,” Randall answered. “I thought she ran away, not that you freaks had kidnapped her. If I had known I’d find pirates here, I would have come armed.”

“Is that true?” Buggy asked you, pulling you even closer. Close enough to be embarrassing, to give the wrong impression, especially when he was stroking your cheek with a sort of affection that didn’t mesh with the danger in his blue eyes.

“I told you it is. Let her go, clown!” Randall shouted. His voice was loud enough to echo, and harsh enough to make you wince. That sort of rage wasn’t one you expected from him, but it was familiar all the same.

“Oh, wow,” Buggy said with a laugh, looking up at him. “Is that jealousy I hear? She didn’t tell me she was leaving behind a boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you said softly, your insides twisting at the thought.

“Really?” Buggy asked. He shrugged, and looked at Randall. “If you’re not doing this because you want to have sex with her, why are you here?”

“I am a dear friend—both to her and her dad,” Randall answered. “He asked me to look after her because she… She’s not in a sound state of mind. And she’s the only family he has left. Without her, he’ll have nothing.” He grit his teeth. “Take me, kill me if you’re that thirsty for blood, but let her go. Please.”

“You’re a real knight in shining armor. Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but she came here all on her own,” Buggy said, releasing you to approach him instead. “She begged to join my crew, got down on her knees and told me that she would be happy to serve me for the rest of her life. It was the most adorable thing.”

“No,” Randall said, his face twisting with disgust. “You’re lying. She wouldn’t do that.”

“Ask her yourself,” Buggy invited, stepping aside and sweeping out his arm. All eyes landed on you like a spotlight. Blood rushed in your ears, and you felt dizzy with it, ready to pass out on the spot. When you looked at Buggy, he smiled and nodded encouragingly.

“It’s true,” you said.

“No. That is impossible,” Randall said. “This is insane. You are mad, you cannot make decisions like this for yourself.” You stared at his feet, your hands balled into fists. You were not crazy. You were not. That had to be true. “Whatever hysterics brought you here, give it up. These are pirates.”

“I’m a pirate too,” you declared, your hands forming fists at your sides. You weren’t crazy, or mad. You were thinking very clearly, more than you had in a while.

“No, you are your father’s daughter,” Randall insisted, loud enough to make you flinch. “Can you imagine the agony he would feel hearing you say that?”

Your breathing was too fast, rapid enough to make your head spin. You kept shaking your head, tears flying off of your cheek, but you couldn’t recall when you had begun to cry. “I don’t care.”

“Don’t care…? This bastard has already gotten into your head,” Randall said. “He has poisoned your broken mind with his lies and manipulations, please don’t let this go any further.”

You shook your head again, but there was nothing you could think of to say. You didn’t want to talk anymore, you just wanted this to be over.

“Believe me, as much as I would love to claim otherwise, I had nothing to do with this,” Buggy said, raising his hands innocently. “You’ve got no one to blame but yourself. Think about what would drive a girl like this into the arms of a pirate. A broken heart, maybe? Was that your doing, lover boy? Did you break her heart? Make her feel like she wasn’t good enough?”

“Keep your big goddamned nose out of our business, clown,” Randall said.

The other pirates audibly gasped, and you could feel the sudden zap of tension in the air. Buggy’s taunting smile froze in place, his posture icing over like a statue. And then, a second later, he was rushing at Randall, burying his fist in the other man’s stomach. Randall crumpled onto his knees with a heavy grunt and you waited for something else, something worse. Crina said that Buggy had killed over jokes about his nose, and, right then, you believed it.

Nothing happened. You watched, frozen, as Buggy breathed in deeply, his shoulders rising and falling with it, and then he raised a hand.

“New girl,” he called, snapping to beckon you closer. You obliged, rushing to his side. He 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. “Are you ready for your big moment?”

“What?”

“Your audition! I thought of the perfect act for you. Kill him.”

You looked down at Randall, he was clearly still in pain, his eyes watering as he looked up at you. “I can’t,” you whispered, shaking your head again.

“You can and will. Assuming you want to remain on my crew. Otherwise I’ll kill him and you’ll have to explain to daddy why prince charming was here in the first place.” He held out his hand towards Ivo. “Knife.” When he got it, Buggy flipped the knife handle first, holding it to you with a flourish. “You’re up, babydoll.”

“She won’t do it, clown,” Randall said through grit teeth.

“Of course she will,” Buggy said. “For me.”

As if moving through the dusky haze of a dream, you took the knife, wrapping your sweaty hand around the grip. The way Buggy smiled in response made your heart flutter, something to cling to amidst the horror and disgust. It didn’t feel real anymore. How could it be real?

“I don’t know what to do.” Were those your words? Your voice?

Buggy laughed. “Of course you don’t,” he said, circling behind Randall. “C’mere, I’ll help you.”

Randall was shouting and pleading, but Buggy had grabbed a fistfull of his hair to keep him from escaping.

“You’ve gotta hold him still,” Buggy told you. “Like this, see?”

“-don’t do this, please. You can’t… I love you!”

You got a fistful of Randall’s hair, making him cry out in pain. There was no pleasure in the sound, only a roiling sense of disgust. It would be better when he was dead, and then he wouldn’t be in pain.

“God you’re short,” Buggy said as he adjusted you into place, right between him and Randall. “You’ll be better off going for their ankles.” He wrapped his hand around yours, getting a good grip on the knife and holding it still.

“-when he gets bored of fucking you. That’s all pirates do, rape and murder. You’ll never be one of them, you’ll just-”

“Start on one side and move to the other, easy as that,” Buggy said comfortingly, resting his chin against the side of your head.

“-he doesn’t kill you, your dad will. Do you really think you’ll ever be able to hide from him?”

Moving slowly, through a dream, you put the knife on the left side of Randall’s neck. It was no different from what a butcher did, really.

Breath in. Pull. You instinctively locked up at the sound of Randall’s screams and the resistance of his flesh, but Buggy forced your hand, pulling the blade deep into his neck and then fast to the side. The knife got caught part way through, stuck in something hard. You tried to saw through it and Randall made an inhuman noise of agony. Buggy had to help you unstick it, to follow through until the knife slashed that horrifying scream short and then there was just a sort of gurgling sound and you didn’t know if it was because he was still alive or if it was an automatic process.

There was so much blood, and it was hot, burning you. For some reason, you hadn’t anticipated the messy scarlet spray. From the deep slice came more blood. More, and more still. Randall’s heavy, limp body dropped onto the floor into a puddle of it, although you weren’t sure when you let go of his hair. Buggy released your hand, but you didn’t drop the knife, holding it in a death grip as blood streamed like red veins down your hand and wrist, down the blade and all the way to its tip before dripping to the dirty floor. The tang of iron filled your lungs. You shook all over, all the way down inside, your bones and organs shivering. It was your heart. It pounded frantically, like butterfly wings. And your breathing. Wheezing, gasping, gurgling like Randall’s had before he fell.

Your mouth opened to exhale, but there was nothing there. No air, no words. Nothing. Your cold gaze turned to look at Buggy, confused as to what you were supposed to do next. He had led you this far, but now you were lost. He smiled, and laughed, and took the knife away from you, tossing it to the side where it clanged and slid away.

And then he folded you into his arms, your head pressed against his chest. His heartbeat was firm and steady, and he was so warm. He smelled of gunpowder and salty sea air and greasepaint and the natural warm scent of his skin. You clung to that, breathing in deep to excise the scent of blood.

“Congratulations, babydoll,” Buggy told you. “Looks like you just got the part.”

The first firecracker went off not long after the sun had gone down, kicking off the surprise party with an especially loud zip and then a bang and a bursting sizzle. “It’s a surprise party,” Buggy told you, his face illuminated by the flash of red. “As in, the people who live here are going to be so surprised by the party I’m throwing for my crew. Get it?”

A chain of firecrackers followed the first, a show that the pirates set off amidst a barrage of explosions, lighting up the sky with brilliant colors and smoke, making the earth tremble beneath your feet. They acted as distraction and lure, drawing people further into the town and inviting the ship that had been lurking nearby to enter the harbor.

And after that came the chaos.

Many things happened that you were aware of, if only passively. Leaving the northside and then Barley Village, waiting at the dock, and then boarding the ship as men and women in colorful attire flooded the yard, overtaking the few armed guards. You were told to sit on the deck and wait, so you did. Aware of it all—noxious sulfur and smoke filling the air, thunderous claps of explosives, popping gunshots, screaming voices, roaring fires—but uninvolved. There was a sense of great quiet. Not outside where things were loud and violent and scary, but inside. You were very quiet on the inside. Far away from everything and everyone else.

Blood flaked off of your skin, caking beneath the nails when you scratched your arm. It would have been nice to wash it off, but you didn’t know where you would go for that, and you didn’t want to get up.

“Yoo-hoo, is anybody in there?”

A gloved hand waved in front of your face.

You let out a hoarse scream, nearly tipping backwards from how violently you startled. It didn’t take long for you to realize how overblown the reaction was, Buggy’s laughter made the point quite clearly.

“What was that?” he asked, almost laughing too hard to get the words out. He stood above you without his coat and hat, although he kept the striped headscarf, and a bottle tucked under his arm.

“You scared me,” you told him, a hand on your racing heart.

“That noise you just made though,” he said, still laughing. “It sounded like one of those scream-y fireworks.”

“I didn’t know you were there.”

“Your fault, not mine. I was trying to talk to you, but you just sat there. I thought it was your eye that didn’t work, not your ears.”

“I guess I… zoned out a little.”

“No shit. Ah, that was good,” Buggy said as his laughter subsided. “I had no idea human beings could even make sounds like that.” Letting out a big breath to settle himself, he sat down next to you. Very close, far closer than you would have, almost touching. “Kinda makes me wonder what other kinds of sounds you can make.”

“I know, it’s annoying,” you said, staring hard at the deck. “I’m sorry.”

Buggy laughed at that too, shaking his head. “You really have no clue, do you?” he asked. “Is it weird that I’m into it?”

“Into what?” you asked. “I’m sorry, I… don’t understand.”

“I know you don’t, and that’s okay,” he said with a mocking sort of indulgence, patting your head. “Anyway, I had a little business in town and snagged this from some rich guy’s house.” He held up a bottle by the neck and swished its contents a little for effect. “We’re going to celebrate.”

“Wouldn’t you rather be out there?” you asked, the first coherent question that came to your mind as it scrambled to make sense of what he had just said.

“Between you and me, this,” Buggy said with a confidential hush, gesturing to your burning town, “isn’t my thing. It’s a reward for my freaks, gives ‘em an outlet to express themselves artistically. I prefer a more… performative platform. True art deserves a spotlight and an audience.” He waved that away, smiling. “But this isn’t about me, it’s about you.”

“Me?”

“You really impressed me earlier. I mean, yeah, your technique needs polish, and you’ve got no stage presence to speak of, but you displayed raw talent. I really think you have a shot at success, sweetheart. Stick with me, and I’ll make something out of you yet.”

“Thank you,” you said softly, shying away from thinking about earlier. The praise though, that was heady. That made you feel warm.

Buggy popped the cork off the bottle, taking a drink straight from it and smacking his lips appreciatively. “You like sweet things, right?”

“I-”

“You’ll love this then. Here, try it.”

You eyed the bottle he was proffering to you warily. Alcohol was something you were familiar with, but you could count on your fingers the number of times you had actually tasted it. “I don’t know…” you said, trying to think of ways to reject drinking without seeming ungrateful.

“You’re a pirate now, so you’ve gotta learn to drink like one,” Buggy told you, pushing it into your hand. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

You sniffed the open lip, surprised by the sweetness. It didn’t smell as strongly of alcohol as you feared. Not like what your father drank. Maybe it would be okay. Trying to avoid embarrassing yourself, you tipped the bottle back just like he had. That was a mistake. It didn’t smell like alcohol, but you could taste it—feel it, even. Panicked by your body’s natural response to expel it, you swallowed as much as you could, coughing out the rest. Red liquid drooled down your chin, staining the dress that was already ruined with dried blood. Buggy laughed. A little at first, and then a lot.

Flushing, you wiped your mouth.

“Oh, don’t be like that. That was hilarious,” Buggy told you. You looked away, even more embarrassed. “Your face was priceless. You threw that back with the confidence of a real fire-hazard, saggy skinned, dead eyed alcoholic. You were so serious about it too, and then… Good lord.”

“I didn’t know!” you said, trying and failing not to sound shrill.

“It’s okay, you’ve got me to help you now. Try it again, but don’t be so greedy. Baby sips.”

“No, thank you,” you said, holding the bottle back to him.

“Drink. That’s an order,” he said, pushing it back to you.

That gave you pause. “Do you mean that?” you asked.

He nodded, urging you on.

Your shoulders drooped in defeat. Trepidatiously, you took a small sip. At least you didn’t hack it back up this time. While the taste was sweet, the burn was not. It rose up like smoke into your head, you could feel it.

“What if I get drunk?” you asked.

“Oh, you’re going to get drunk, captain’s orders,” Buggy said with a grin. “I can’t stand watching you sit around moping about killing that guy. Besides, you’re a pirate now.”

The little ball of anxiety deep in your gut doubled. This was wrong, you knew it was. Or maybe you were wrong, and Buggy was right. You didn’t know.

“I don’t want to embarrass myself,” you muttered.

“As long as you don’t jump into the water or shit yourself, you’ll be fine…” You looked at him, horrified. “Joking! C’mon, I’ve taken good care of you so far, haven’t I? You’ll be fine.”

The way he laughed made you want to believe him. He was your captain now. You nodded seriously and, steeling yourself, took another drink. And another.

“See? It’s good, right?” Buggy asked, holding out his hand for the bottle.

You licked your lips, cleaning up the lingering sweetness. “It is. Thank you,” you said, unable to keep yourself from admiring the way his throat worked as he swallowed, the view unfortunately obscured by his cravat.

The perverse thought took you by surprise. Was it the alcohol? Already, your head was spinning, your thoughts a little more disorganized. It wasn’t like the quiet, empty feeling of before. It was warm and distant, it made your shoulders relax, the anxiety and uncertainty of before fading. This was a good idea, you already felt so much better. When he passed the bottle back, you didn’t have to be prompted to imbibe, chasing that feeling.

“I don’t mean to pry, but when that guy back there mentioned your dad, it really seemed to get to you,” Buggy said. “What, did daddy not love you? Or maybe he loved you a little too much.”

You didn’t want to talk about that. You didn’t want to think about it. You took another big drink.

On the horizon, the town was utterly ablaze. As the night grew darker, the flames rose higher. Which building was burning so brightly? It belched thick, black smoke into the night sky. Who was in it? Anybody you knew?

“Don’t wanna talk about it, hm? That’s fine,” Buggy said, stealing the bottle back. “With any luck, my freaks’ll kill him tonight, eh? Then you’ll really be free.”

“He’s gone right now,” you said, your words soft and slurring together. “Out of town.” What would he think of the smoldering ashes? Would he believe you had perished in the flame? Somehow, you doubted that. He would know what you had done. There was no chance of freedom, not for you.

“That’s even better,” Buggy said.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you turned to him, both in confusion and disbelief. “How?”

“Because, babydoll,” Buggy told you, shaking your shoulder to make sure you were paying attention. “It’s good to have somebody to hate—somebody to prove wrong. He tried to convince you that you’re crazy, he tried to keep you from ever being yourself. That pain and anger made you weak. But you’re not weak anymore. Tonight, I showed you how to be strong. It’s not enough to tell those assholes that they’re wrong, you have to prove it to them. That’s what tonight was about, right? You proved to your dad, to everybody, that you’re stronger than they thought. And, hey, you proved it to me, too. I wasn’t sure about you at first, but I changed my mind.” He threw an arm around you, pulling you close. “I like you, kiddo. A lot.”

“I like you too,” you said, relaxing into the little side hug, very aware of every place his bare arm met your bare shoulders and neck. The alcohol had stoked a nice blaze in your stomach and chest, making your head spin in a way you didn’t mind that much. Smoothing the colors, softening the air, making you want to lean into his touch, made you crave more of it.

Buggy pulled away, leaving the bottle in your hands. You felt a little cold without him.

“You know,” he said, smiling at you. The far off flames glinted mischievously in his eyes. The flaring reds and oranges highlighted his cheekbones too, defined the sharpness of his jaw. You were caught off guard by how viscerally you reacted to the thought that he was handsome, your filterless mind caught in an endless loop of focusing on the fact. “Burning down this shithole is nothing compared to what I will do. The towns I’ll raze to the ground, the treasure I’ll steal, the shows I’ll put on. Now that I’ve got a crew, I’m gonna put on a show like nobody’s ever seen. The biggest, flashiest, greatest show ever. Everybody will be screaming my name, recognize my face. I’ll shine so bright that they’ll have no choice but to love me. ”

Buggy’s intensity made you smile, you couldn’t help it. Alcohol had created a cloudy burst of affection within you, or maybe it was just the floodgates of tension finally collapsing, letting out something that would have otherwise been smothered. Either way, it was as intoxicating as the drink itself.

“Are you laughing at me?” Buggy asked, his tone filled with steel. You looked to see his dark expression, his narrowed eyes.

“I’m not,” you said, confused by his rapid shift in demeanor. “I’m… I’m happy. I’ll do anything to help you.”

He relaxed. “Well, you’d better start working on your act.”

That made you laugh, a dizzy, bubbly sound. “I can’t do an act. I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“There has to be something. Let me think… Can you sing?”

“I used to, a little. But not for a really long time.”

“Come on, let me hear it.”

You were drunk, you knew that for a fact because in no state of sobriety would you offer to sing in front of another person. But, right then, bubbling with alcohol and protected by the darkness of the smoky night sky, you felt invincible.

“Oh, what do you do with a drunken sailor? What do you do with a drunken sailor? What do you do with a drunken sailor, early in the morning? Slash his…um… something, something, captain’s daughter. Toss him in… to… the dirty water…” Whatever coherence you held onto unraveled into a fit of drunken laughter at the awful rhyme. “I’m sorry, I think… I think I forgot some of the words.”

“Seems like you forgot the tune too,” Buggy said, wincing dramatically. All that did was make you laugh harder. “Hold on a second, let me wipe the blood out of my ears.”

You swatted his shoulder, although your attempted indignance probably wasn’t very convincing when you were still smiling. “Don’t be mean!”

“That’s a bold way to treat your captain,” he told you, but he was smiling too.

“Please don’t be mean to me, Captain Buggy,” you said, speaking slowly to emphasize how serious you were.

“Beg me again.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said, waving it off in a way that made you think he was making fun of you. “Anyway, I’m being nice right now, especially after that performance. The critics would eat you alive for that one. So, singing is out. Clearly. What else have you got?”

“Oh! I know a, um, a rhyme. A joke.”

He looked at you skeptically. “Really?”

“What is that s’posed to mean?” you asked.

“You don’t strike me as somebody with… How should I put this… A sense of humor?”

You frowned.

“Alright, alright, quit pouting and tell me,” Buggy said impatiently, waving you to continue.

You cleared your throat very theatrically, sitting up as straight as you could manage.

“There was a young lass who thought

Very little but thought it a lot.

Then at long last she knew

What she wanted to do,

But before she could start, she forgot.”

Deflating, you laughed, surprised at how clearly you had delivered the words. Especially considering how long it had been since you heard them.

Buggy didn’t look nearly as impressed. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard a clean limerick before,” he said. “And now I know why. I mean, what’s the point of limerick without the ick.”

You blew a raspberry at him. “Fine, you do one.”

“Okay, but you have to prepare yourself,” Buggy said. You nodded encouragingly.

“There was a young plumber named Lee

Who was plumbing his girl by the sea.

She said, ‘Stop your plumbing,

There's somebody coming’

Said the plumber, still plumbing, ‘It's me.’"

Belatedly, you gasped, your hands covering your mouth. That shock dissolved into giggles. “That’s, oh, that’s… that’s dirty.”

“Aw, was it too much for your delicate sensibilities? Now that you’re a pirate, you’re gonna hear a lot worse than that. A looooooooot worse. I hope your unspoiled ears can handle it.”

“I can!” you insisted, taking a big drink to steel yourself before setting the bottle aside. If you were going to be a pirate, you had to stop getting so flustered. “More. Please.”

“Okay, okay…” Buggy cleared his throat. “A hooker roaming the East Blue,

Once filled her vagina with glue,

She said, with a grin, ‘Well, they paid to get in,

And they’ll damn sure pay to get out, too.’”

You laughed loudly, as much at the joke as the taboo nature of it. You laughed, and then giggled in a bubbly, drunken way that you knew was too loud and embarrassing. “That is icky,” you told him. “Jeez, that’s…” Your faux seriousness dissolved into a fit of giggles again and you leaned against him for stability. “What would you even do?”

“Yeah, I don’t know. It sounds like a sticky situation,” he said, nudging you with his elbow. That, of course, sent you into another fit of giggles.

“I’m sorry, I’m…” you said. “I think I’m drunk.” You looked behind yourself at the town, the glittery haze of joy buzzing in your head fading at the sight. It was horrific, wasn’t it? And here you were, laughing like a fool. You couldn’t really comprehend the magnitude of it all, even if you could acknowledge that it was terrible. “Is it okay?” you asked, looking back at him imploringly. “Everything that happened tonight… I thought I would feel very different after, but I don’t. It almost feels like it’s not even real. You ever get that? When things happen but they feel so impossible that you get confused?”

“If you can think that clearly,” Buggy said, “then you’re not drunk enough. Bottoms up, babydoll.” You smiled at his use of the pet name and the fluttery feeling it gave you. What else could you do but oblige, tipping the bottle back like before. Only, unlike before, you kept it all down. There wasn’t any real burn, just more sweetness, more warmth.

And then there was nothing left.

“Woah,” you said, lowering the empty bottle and wiping your mouth. “‘s all gone.”

“And how do you feel?” he asked.

You opened your mouth to respond, but all that came out was a dizzy sort of laugh. “I dunno…” you said, closing your eye, trying to collect your thoughts. “I’m…” Already things were getting even more fuzzy and foggy. Fabric stuck to your flushed skin, the salty air drying across your chest and cheeks. “I feel… very…”

Making an upset noise in the back of your throat, you pushed your hair back, catching the bandana and pulling it off so you could feel the breeze on your whole face. That helped. Drawing in a deep breath, you looked at him, trying to focus. Only, the second you saw him, all you could do was smile. His eyes were greedy about the light, sparkling with it. Even with the nose, Buggy was handsome. That was not something you could tell him though, not at all ever. Unfortunately you had forgotten what you were saying in the first place.

“Very… what?” Buggy asked. “‘Cause if you keep trying to be a buzzkill, I’ll give you something to laugh about.”

Were you a buzzkill? You couldn’t remember what you had said or done to earn that title. It was hard enough to comprehend what was happening in the moment. “Like what?” you asked.

“Like… this!” Buggy said, using the sash around your waist to pull you closer so he could tickle your sides. You jumped and squealed, the bottle rolling out of your hands as you tried to fight him off.

“No no no, don’t,” you cried, trying to escape. You were being too loud, moving too much, acting like an idiot, but you didn’t have enough control to stop.

“Why not?” he asked. “You’re laughing, aren’t you?”

It was true, you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing, letting it out in panicked little bursts. Time had a bizarre elasticity to it, everything hitting you at once and fading just as fast. Laughing, sobbing, begging him to stop. It was easy to catch and hold onto one of his hands, but that left the other one free. And if you tried to catch that one instead, you had to release the first. There must have been a better way to do it, but you felt as if, bit by bit, particle by particle, the world was separating, the hot and humid air splitting, your limbs becoming loose, your capacity for rational thought dissipating like mist.

Lacking any sort of control and with a completely undeserved sense of invulnerability, you tackled him. Buggy let it happen, still laughing. At least he had stopped.

“God, it’s like being attacked by a drunk, one-eyed toddler,” he said. “What are you gonna do, whine me into submission?”

“Don’t be mean,” you said seriously, your words ruined by something wavering between a laugh and a sob, or maybe it was just the drunken slur.

“You attacked me. If anything, I'm the victim here.”

“No! You started it!”

“Hold on, are you… crying?” Buggy asked incredulously. “Aw, you poor thing. I mean, you were laughing so much, how could I have known you didn’t like it?”

“I don’t!” you insisted.

“To be clear,” he said. “You don’t like this?” He attacked your sides, not tickling so much as just teasing, but to the same effect. You yelped and sat up squirm away, swatting at his hands.

Rather than laugh like before, Buggy groaned, his hips bucking up against you. A loud, harsh gasp left your mouth, your entire body going rigid from the liquid heat of friction, your thighs squeezing around him. At some point, your skirt had ridden up, your panties being the only barrier left. You didn’t think you had ever been as acutely aware of how achingly empty, electrically tingly, as you were right then.

Bad. Very bad.

“Oh, there’s another fun noise,” Buggy said, laughing as he propped himself upright with his arms. “I can’t believe that got you.”

“No,” you said quickly, dizzy from the intensity of your reaction and how close the two of you were. You could smell him, the sweat, the musk, the salt, the greasepaint, the gunpowder. You could see the glitter in his makeup, the fire catching in his eyes. “It jus’... surprised me.”

“Is that why you’re shaking?” Buggy asked, rubbing your exposed thigh, the fabric of his glove catching the sensitive skin.

“I’m… um…” Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to organize the drunken slush of your brain. Being so close to him, feeling his body against yours, sent deviously tantalizing tingling sparks through you. And guilt. It was wrong, he wasn’t doing anything to invite those feelings, you were just being weird and drunk and embarrassing and you couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss him. You’d have to tilt your head a lot, although the stubble would be more hazardous than his nose. The last time you kissed someone, you were both young enough that you didn’t have to navigate facial hair. And then there was the matter of the makeup. You tried to imagine what you might look like after, the slash of red and imprint of white. Maybe they’d mix into pink. You tried to force yourself to focus on something else, but you couldn’t meet his eyes either. Nervous and confused and filled with a million different feelings you had no name for, you squirmed again, thoughtlessly adding to the anxious feedback loop of heat and need and intoxicated emptiness.

“You know, sweetheart, this reminds me,” Buggy said, “there’s still the matter of your physical. It’s standard procedure for new crew. We could get that over and done with while you’re… lubricated.”

“What’re you… talking about?”

“I’ve gotta make sure you’re fit, healthy… Clean of anything you could pass on to the forty or so people you’re gonna be stuck with in an enclosed space for weeks at a time.”

“How d’you do that?”

“You’ve been to a doctor, right? It’s kinda like that. I know it can feel a little invasive, so it might be better to do it while you’re drunk.”

“What…” you started to ask, but then Buggy shifted, his hips pushing up against you. The fresh wash of warmth it sent into your core scattered your mind, and you lost the already tenuous thread of thought. Your eyelashes fluttered, although you weren’t sure when you had closed your eye. “Umm…”

“Well, first,” he said, answering the question you hadn’t asked, “you’d have to take off your clothes. Then relax while I have a little look-see. It’s important that you stay as still as possible. I’ll have a hard time finishing if you can’t stop squirming around the whole time.”

“Do you really have to?” you asked, your brow furrowing. It sounded embarrassing. But maybe if it was him, you didn’t mind? Your dad did all of your past medical check-ups so it wasn’t inherently wrong. But the thought of Buggy seeing you without clothes wasn’t exactly nice, you could only imagine his disgust. That was bad.

“Depends on if you’re serious about being a pirate or not,” Buggy said.

“I am serious!” you exclaimed. Your hands went to the sash around your waist to pull the bow free. If you did it quickly, you wouldn’t be as embarrassed.

“Woah, wait. Holy shit,” Buggy said, “are you seriously—” He cracked up laughing, making you freeze. “I didn’t think you’d actually fall for that.”

“You’re… laughing,” you said, your fingers falling with the slow sink of humiliation.

“You really were going to strip for me, out in the open and everything.” Buggy laughed harder, rocking forward. “I didn’t expect you to be so eager. Hey, if you really wanna get naked, I’m not going to stop you.”

“I don’t, I just… I thought…” you said, pulling away from him and trying to get onto your feet to get away, embarrassment lighting the worst sort of fire within you.

“Woah, calm down, it was just a joke,” Buggy said, his laughter fading. “You’re absolutely plastered, if you stand up, you’re gonna fall right back down.” You didn’t stop, resolute to get onto your feet and put some distance between you and him. “I won’t catch you.”

“’m fine,” you told him.

You finally got your footing and braced against your knee to lurch upright. For a second, you were standing up and weightless. And then you were nothing.

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