#12 hours.... my eyes hurt my brain hurts my throat hurts

[starwolf53]

I have been playing ace attorney for 12 hours...

#at least i got through the big top case... #i dont wanna see moe or max or regina or that ventriloquist ever again #worst experience of my life #12 hours.... my eyes hurt my brain hurts my throat hurts #its time to be done for the day. next case tomorrow when im not running on 6 hours of sleep #ryker rambles #ace attorney

[reiding-writing]

may i request getting stuck in an elevator with early season Spence after hours at the BAU and the lights go out and obviously him being terrified of the dark he starts panicking and reader has to comfort him until he eventually explains his fear of the dark in relation to something happening in his childhood. just some angst and hurt/comfort ig? I live and breathe your content <3

malfunction [ s.r ]

Summary:

You and Spencer end up staying late to finish some paperwork after a case, when you finally vacate into the elevator to leave it breaks down, revealing some secrets harboured by both of you and strengthening your relationship in the process.

WARNINGS: claustrophobia, nyctophobia, arachnophobia, mentions of spencer’s bullying

pairing: s1!spencer x gn!reader

genre: hurt/comfort

wc: 3.2k

masterlist!!

a/n: glad i’ve curated an audience of angst and hurt/comfort enjoyers <33

It was late.

12:06AM to be exact.

Silence riddled the bullpen, making the usually bustling office stand completely still.

You might’ve found it a little disturbing if not for Spencer sat a few desks down from you, his mere presence stopping your mind from running rampant with irrational fears of ghosts or demons that might lurk in the dark corners of the room.

It was a little stupid sure, your lanky book-genius of a coworker held no chance of being able to physically protect you from whatever your brain could conjure up, but the mind works in wonderous ways, and he offered you an unintentional blanket of security nonetheless.

You could hear the loose papers of his files rustle as he closed the manilla folder, rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses with a sigh.

Looks like Spencer was done for the night. And by that logic, so were you.

You mirror Spencer as you shut your file, packing it away in your messenger bag and tucking your chair under your desk as you stand, the two of you silently acknowledging each other’s presence as you reach the elevator.

You could practically feel the fatigue surrounding the both of you as you stepped inside, your tiredness bouncing off each other and making you more desperate to crawl into bed and knock out for the night.

It didn’t last for very long.

A loud clunking sound echoed through the metal walls of the elevator, followed by it jolting to a stop, and you had to grip onto the metal bar lining the wall so you didn’t lose your balance.

Your eyes turn first to the small screen above the door, flickering between the numbers 2 and 3 as if it can’t decide what floor you’re currently on.

Then they turn to Spencer.

Spencer's breathing is uneven and his body tense, eyes darting around the tiny enclosed space with a distinct air of panic.

“Reid? Are you alright?” You raise an eyebrow at him, your expression a mix of curiosity and concern.

"N-No, no! I am not alright! This is my worst nightmare come to life." Spencer presses himself against the far wall, as if plastering himself to it will make him part of the elevator and therefore unable to be injured if something goes wrong.

“You do know how unlikely it is to actually get any sort of injury from an elevator accident right?”

"One out of ten point five million. I know that. But this isn't about logic this is about fear." He turns away as he speaks, taking a few breaths in an attempt to calm himself down. "I'm-I'm claustrophobic. And this is not helping."

“Okay- okay- let’s just calm down for a second,” You hold up a hand in Spencer’s direction. You never took him as somebody to have irrational fears like this. You always figured that he’d just use his knowledge to rationalise what was happening and move on. Apparently not.

Spencer looks back at you and nods, taking in another deep breath.

“I'm trying. It's just-“ The elevator makes a rumbling sound that elicits what you can only classify as a whimper to leave his throat. “I can't do this. I can't be stuck in this tiny space for an unknown amount of time. I can't. I just can't. Please. Please, someone. Someone has to know we're in here. They have to.”

“Reid- Calm down.”

You let go of the bar you were holding onto to walk over to Spencer, placing your hands cautiously on his shoulders.

"I-I'm trying. I'm trying."

But he doesn't actually seem to be any better than he was before. His body is shaking, his breaths shaking and uneven.

He's getting very close to having a full blown panic attack.

“Sit down,” You push gently against his shoulders to encourage him to sit, following after him yourself to sit in front of him with your legs crossed underneath you.

Spencer lets out a trembling breath. "What if we die in here? What if no one comes? What if something goes wrong?"

“We’re going to be fine,”

You hold out a hand palm up in your lap as open invitation for him to take it if he needs to.“just take slow breaths Reid,”

"I-I'm trying." He looks down at your hand and almost reaches out for you, but hesitates before yanking his hand back.

He looks away and forces his breath to slow down again. "What if we're in here for hours?"

“Elevators have failsafes Reid, it’ll sort itself out don’t worry,”

Spencer takes a shuddered breath in through his nose, closing his eyes as he repeats your words in his head.

It’ll sort itself out. He doesn’t need to worry.

He meets your eyes with a small nod and you sigh, giving him a sympathetic smile that reassures him he’s going to be fine.

Unfortunately, all of your efforts to calm him down are quickly reversed as the lights cut out, sending the elevator into complete darkness.

His sudden blindness brings a startled cry from Spencer, his body instinctively trying to protect himself and in that split second of shock he grabs your hand.

He clutches at it tightly, eyes squeezed shut.

“Everything’s fine-“ You return his startled grip with a light squeeze of your own.

The grip around your hand feels firm and shaky but the contact helps to ground him, bringing some of his panic down a notch or two.

“It's not f-fine. It's dark. I don’t like the dark . I hate it.”

“You’re scared of the dark?” You sound more surprised than you mean to, and although you can’t pinpoint all of his features in the shadows, you’re sure you can see his eyebrows knit together.

“11% of the US adult population is afraid of the dark.” His tone carries an air of defensiveness through his fear, although he doesn’t seem offended enough at your comment to sacrifice the physical comfort that your hand is offering in his.

“Oh- no- I didn’t mean it as a bad thing-“ You shake your head despite the fact that he can’t see you, tightening your hold on his hand as an offer of reassurance. “I just- didn’t see you as somebody to have a fear of the dark is all-“

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You can hear the slight waver in his voice as he speaks, clearly trying to distract himself in your questions so he doesn’t have to think about his current situation.

You’d also wager he has his eyes shut, as ironic as it is.

“I just meant- you know- your brain rationalises everything so quickly that I figured you just wouldn’t have fears like this?”

He chuckles nervously, the sound echoing in the darkness. "Well, even the most rational minds have their quirks, I suppose. Fear doesn't always follow logic." The tension in his voice begins to ease, and he opens up a bit more.

“Is there a reason you have a fear of the dark?” You could understand his claustrophobia to a certain level, but nyctophobia wasn’t something very common in adults, especially ones who work as field agents for the FBI.

“I uh- it was just something that happened when I was younger, it’s stupid really-” Spencer skirts your question with a half-truth, not divulging any details of his seemingly irrational fear of the dark.

He shifts slightly, adjusting to find a more comfortable position on the floor, his hand tugging yours and in the process forcing you to change your seating position as well.

You squeeze his hand gently. "Do you wanna talk about it? People usually find it easier to rationalise their fears if they voice them to another person,” You use Spencer’s own intelligence against him in the hope that it’ll get him to open up.

As much as you had learned about him in the past two years, you still knew surprisingly little about Dr. Spencer Reid and his life outside of the office.

You knew all about his academics, how he liked his coffee with as much sugar as humanely possible, how under normal circumstances he would rather lick a toilet seat than shake someone’s hand.

But you didn’t really know him; And you figured this might be a good place to start.

“I… It’s not something I like to dwell on,” He tries to shut down your questioning once more, clearing his throat to try and rid of the lump that forms when he thinks back to the origins of his fears. “It’s not exactly a nice thing to remember,”

“I get that, some of my childhood memories aren’t the best either,” You let out a breath that could almost constitute as a laugh of exasperation. “But it might help, and i’m sure that just getting it off your chest will give you piece of mind nonetheless,”

You can hear Spencer take in a breath through his nose, and through the small adaptation your eyes had made to the darkness you could just barely see his lips purse into a line, debating whether or not to divulge his childhood to you.

It’s not like he didn’t trust you with it. Quite the opposite. He’d come to enjoy your presence over the time you’d spent working together.

You didn’t judge his intelligence, nor did you reduce him to it. You just saw him as another person and it was something that he was incredibly grateful for.

He knew you wouldn’t make fun of him if he told you, but he wasn’t worried about that. He was worried that you’d pity him.

That you’d treat him like some fragile object that would break if you spoke too loudly in its presence.

That’s something that he’d never want.

“I- don’t want you to think of me differently…” His voice was still laced with fear as he spoke, but this time it wasn’t a fear of the dark metal box he was trapped in; It was a fear of how your view of him would change.

“Reid…”

“I don’t want to be pitied or have people walk on eggshells for the sake of hurting my feelings…” You can practically feel his apprehension through the way his hand tenses in yours.

“Reid-“

“I’ve just managed to get people to treat me normally and I don’t want all of that to go down the drain-“

“Spencer.”

You can see his eyes snap upwards towards yours as you raise your voice, and you pull his left hand into your own to hold both of them in your lap, eyes chasing his in the darkness to maintain eye contact. “You’re human. Humans have fears and they have bad memories, and it’s not going to change anything about how I treat you.”

“Tell you what,” You give his hands a squeeze, leaning forwards slightly towards him to try and get a better look at his face. “I’ll tell you one of my childhood tragedies if you tell me yours, deal?”

He goes silent as he ponders your offer, ending with a small nod that you can only half see. “Okay…”

“Okay,” You return his nod with your own, running your thumbs over the backs of his hands. “So, i’ll go first,”

“When I was eight, my cousin thought it’d be a good idea to let his pet tarantula crawl all over my face whilst I was sleeping, and I woke up with it half in my mouth,” You practically shudder at the memory. “Needless to say I developed arachnophobia after that,”

You laugh breathily, shaking your head slightly. “It was not very fun,”

“Why would he do that?”

You shrug slightly, arms moving enough that he can feel it where your fingers connect. “He was a bit of a bully if i’m honest, but he’s matured since then thank god,”

“Are you- still afraid of spiders?” Spencer’s eyes practically shine in the darkness, big, round and glistening with curiosity as they scan your face from beneath his glasses.

“Promise not to make fun of me?” Your question is answer enough, but he still nods softly nonetheless. “I think they’re terrifying,”

“Almost 20% of the US population has arachnophobia, it’s a very common fear to have,”

“So is a fear of the dark,” You bring the conversation back to Spencer’s fear once more. “Willing to tell me its origin story yet?”

Spencer sighs, his shoulders slumping and his head leaning back against the wall of the elevator. “It’s-“ He exhales through his nose, his eyes diverting from yours to stare at your interconnected hands.

“When I was in school I was bullied a lot…” He purses his lips and you nod. As sad as it is you’re not exactly surprised.

Someone as insanely intelligent as him was unfortunately bound to be tormented by those who were academically inferior to him, it’s a by-product of jealousy.

“They uh… stripped me down and tied me to a goal post, and- then they just left me there-“ Spencer’s throat catches as he speaks, and you can see through the way his eyes flicker around that he’s replaying the memory in his head.

“I- managed to untie myself after a while, but I spent over an hour searching for all of my clothes and ended up walking home in the dark half dressed…” Spencer’s lip quivers as he reaches the end of his explanation.

“I don’t think i’ve ever been more scared in my life…”

“I’m so sorry they did that to you…” Your eyebrows furrow with sympathy, and you shift your hold on his hands to intertwine your fingers with his. “Nobody should have to experience that…”

Spencer exhales, and you can hear the shake in his breath. “I thought if I just buried it that i’d forget, but I still remember it like it happened yesterday…”

The curse of an eidetic memory you suppose. Destined to remember every detail of the worst experiences you’d ever had.

Although you’re sure that Spencer wouldn’t need an eidetic memory to have what happened to him burned into his brain.

“Spencer…”

“I’m sorry-“ Spencer shakes his head, attempting to pull his hands out of yours. “I told you it was stupid-“

“Hey. No.” You close your hands around his to stop him from pulling away. “That is in no way stupid at all.”

“You went through something awful and developed a fear because of it. That is the furthest thing from stupid Reid,”

“I just-”

You cut off Spencer’s attempt at a rebuttal with a pull of your hands in his, separating them only to wrap your arms around him in a hug. “No excuses.”

Spencer is stiff in your embrace, unsure of what exactly he should be doing. Should he hug you back? Should he pull away to regain his personal space?

He wasn’t exactly sure. He did however, feel like he was going to cry.

He could feel the tears welling up behind his eyelids, squeezing his eyes shut to stop them from falling down his face and hiding his face against the curve of your shoulder so that you wouldn’t be able to see the shadow of his expression.

God he was pathetic.

Sat in his coworkers embrace because he was scared of the goddamn dark.

On the verge of tears because of something that happened twelve years ago.

A twenty four year old man. A fully grown adult.

His shoulders begin to tremble as he thinks about it, and you can feel the way his breath catches in his throat as you bring your hand to the back of his head to hold him closer to you.

“This is pathetic i’m sorry…” He shakes his head against your shoulder, hindered slightly by the way his glasses sit on the bridge of his nose.

“Shhh,” You shake your head in tandem with his, leaning your cheek against the side of his head as you rub your hand over his back. “Don’t be silly,”

"You're not pathetic, Spencer," You reassure him, your voice gentle. "Everyone has their own fears and struggles. It takes strength to open up about them."

He takes a deep, shaky breath, trying to compose himself. "I just never thought I'd be so affected by it for this long."

"Trauma doesn't have a set expiration date," you say softly. "It's okay to still be working through things. And you don't have to face it alone."

Spencer finally relaxes a bit in your embrace, allowing himself to accept the comfort you're offering. "Thank you," he mumbles, his voice barely audible against the fabric of your shirt.

“No problem-“ You don’t finish your sentence before the lights come back on, causing you to squint from the sudden brightness.

The sudden light flooding the elevator exposes the position the two of you had found yourself in, your legs tangled together as Spencer sits in your embrace with your arms around his torso and his hands resting limply by your waist.

“See?” You pull his face away from your shoulder gently, leaning back to finally get a fully clear view of his face. “Nothing to worry about,”

“Yeah…” He nods softly, eyes still a little red from holding back his tears, and he sniffles as he pulls away from you properly when the elevator starts moving downwards again.

“Do you want a ride home?” Your invitation is obvious as you two of you pick yourselves up from the floor, your eyes silently encouraging him to accept your proposal.

“I-“ The elevator came to another halt, this time thankfully opening its doors on the ground for the two of you to leave.

He had his train ticket in his pocket, but he was willing to forget it for now.

“That would be great, thank you…”

“No problem Spencer, let’s get outta here,”

He tries to brush aside the way he feels when you call him by his first name, nodding softly with pursed lips.

“Yeah, let’s get out of here…”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #mgg #criminal minds angst #spencer reid angst #asks 🫶

[agent-cupcake]

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.

#opla buggy #opla buggy x reader #opla x reader #buggy x reader #my writing #one piece live action #buggy the clown #buggy the genius jester #buggy the flashy fool #lmao all of those come up when you type buggy that's cute #flashbang

[throwingmetothelions]

Stress Relief

Nick Ruffilo x OC (Aaliyah)

Slow and soft Nicholas sex? You mean my favorite thing in the entire world?

Please understand that this is not for kids. This fic has been fighting me like fuck for 3 weeks. Take it away I don’t wanna see it again.

“So you’re taking it seriously this time? What’s he gonna say when he finds out that you’ve mastered Twinkle Twinkle Little Star in the 4 years you’ve owned this thing,” I jabbed as my brother threw a balled up napkin at my head.

“Fuck you. I also know how to play the intro to Brain Stew … Mom tell her!” Jackson yelled across the dinner table as I smirked into my plate of chicken and rice.

“Okay … okay. Aaliyah he’s serious this time. I mean he picked up that D he had in Chemistry and he’s been mowing the lawn and weeding for 3 months to prove that this is what he wants. We think he could actually get somewhere with this tutor,” our mom let out. “He’s home from touring in some band he plays in. Really doing us a favor by offering these lessons. He’s Denise’s kid if you remember her from church. Real quiet thing,” she slowly picked apart her spaghetti while we went back to eating in silence.

Color me shocked honestly. My younger brother Jackson raised hell with our parents for 6 months after he saw that ESP in the window of the music shop downtown. I swore he only wanted it because it was shiny and purple, and our parents were desperate for their 12 year old son to show interest in anything outside of video games and sleeping until 1 pm.

They bought it for him, and it sat. And it sat. And dust collected. And it sat.

I had just come back home after wrapping up the first semester of my final year of college. Coming back home wasn’t necessarily on my to-do list, but there was no denying that coming back to where the food is free and someone else does your laundry for a little bit can’t hurt.

I was brought out of my head by my father clearing his throat the way that old men do. “Aaliyah. We’re going to head over to the Anderson’s house tomorrow. Lexi’s got this book club wine tasting situation she’s started with your mom, and I told Tom that I’d take a look at the motor in that boat he just bought. He got the same one we did a few months back and I think I know why it’s sputtering,” my dad paused and looked at the ceiling, “but we need you to be home because it’s going to be an all afternoon affair, and someone has to let Nick in,” he stated.

Pointing my fork at Jackson without saying anything, I shot an eyebrow at my father.

“Ah. Jackass over there is serving detention on a Saturday for signing himself out of his last period class four times in a week. If I hadn’t already paid Nick for this lesson I’d tell him not to bother. He said something about just changing his strings and taking the pickguard off, or whatever the fuck. Just be here to let him come work. Should be like 2 hours,” he grumbled with anger and garlic on his breath.

“Hmm. No problem. Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to shower and hang out upstairs. The weight of being the favorite child really takes a toll,” I laughed as I pretended to crack my back earning me another balled up napkin to the hip.

———————

There’s a place off Ocean Avenue where I used to sit and -

I hadn’t changed the alarm tone I had set on my old iPod Touch even though I’d graduated middle school almost a decade ago. It’s still the same.

Tired hands rubbed tired eyes as I rolled over and out of bed and steadied myself against my childhood dresser. Mind numbingly bright numbers read 2:30 pm. Fucking great. I checked my phone and saw that my mom had put something in the family group chat.

Birthgiver: Hey Peanut. Dad and I left a bit early. Sale at Costco on that brie I use when I make the mac n cheese for Sunday dinners. Nick will be there around 3. Money for food is in junk drawer. Jax will be home at 7. BETTER BE 🤬. We’ll be later. Let me know if you need something, but try not to need something 😉

She really had a way with words.

I found myself mentally exploding them all momentarily because I had approximately 25 minutes until Mr. Too Optimistic Guitar Man showed up. I threw my hair into a high ponytail while trying to ignore the product buildup I could so clearly feel. The shirt I ripped from the confines of my suitcase was a beat up Motionless In White tee that had seen many teenage tears, and the cherries of a few late night cigs judging by the burn holes. Black leggings finished off the look, and I jogged downstairs to figure out what I could shove in my face now so I wouldn’t disturb Nick later.

I walked across the hardwood past the living room until I hit the fridge. As my fingers touched the stainless steel handle … *ding dong*.

2:48.

He’s early.

My eyebrows creased as I padded over to let him in.

——-

Truthfully, I had remembered what he looked like - Denise’s son. A few vacation bible camps, and the handful of times he showed up to my school to watch his sister perform in the yearly plays.

That just couldn’t have been the same boy that stood before me as I opened the door. About 5’10, shaggy black hair that fell right above his shoulders, and tattoos covering his exposed forearms and hands. He wore a faded Foo Fighters tee underneath a red and brown flannel, and his black jeans had a few too many rips for him to have bought them like that.

“So … can I come in or …,” he chuckled nervously as he lifted his backpack and guitar case to imply that he’d like nothing more than to lay his heavy shit down.

“Y-yeah. Yes,” I cleared my throat as I stepped to the side. “You must be Nick,” I questioned as he placed his stuff on the couch and took off his flannel.

He faced away from me as he shook his head slightly. “It would be a damn shame if I wasn’t seeing as I’m standing in your living room,” he said with a quirked eyebrow.

I stood motionless with my lips parted.

He was right after all.

“That might have been a little rude. I’m sorry,” he shook the hair from in front of his eyes and held his hand out toward me, “I’m Nick,” he smiled.

“Aaliyah,” my head tilted to the side.

“So if you’re cool with it I’m gonna grab the guitar from Jack’s room and bring it out here. More space, and I don’t really want to work in a teenage boy’s cave. I was one once. Not too safe to just sit on surfaces and shit, ya know,” he stated pointedly while traveling up the stairs.

A well timed snort left my body and I shook my head while traveling back into the kitchen. I grabbed a bottle of water and I threw some cherries in a bowl before I plopped down in an armchair. I was going to eat my breakfast come hell or highwater … in this case, hell or the hot dude that was currently padding around the upstairs of my house.

Soon enough Nick could be heard jogging back down with the instrument in hand. He paused as he walked in front of me, and my eyes met his. His eyebrows were completely furrowed yet quirked, and his mouth was drawn into a tight line.

It was the face one makes when they know that the handle of a door is sticky, but they watch others open it anyway after instructed not to. A smidge of disappointment, an awkward silence, and the strong urge to laugh when only they know why.

“What,” I questioned through a mouthful of cherries.

“You been uh … blowing the Kool Aid man or something? You have cherry juice all down your shirt,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I’m here to tell you it was not.

“I also shut your door on my way down,” he said under his breath as he got to work taking the strings out of the guitar and wrapping them up into rings around his fingers.

A ball of lead filled my stomach, and a burn took over my face. Blame it on my routine being fucked up, blame it on being home and getting too comfortable, or blame it on hormones - I instantly knew exactly what it was that made that man explicitly tell me that he shut my door. It was the light pink vibrator, my previously soaked panties, and the clear glass toy that I accidentally left on the floor next to the laundry hamper where I usually hid them. I always shut my door, but again. I’m playing the blame game.

Nicholas cleared his throat as he turned his head towards me. He went back and forth on his feet while staring at my reddened cheeks.

“I’m so sorry. It’s been tough coming back and moving all my shit and then -,” he cut me off by holding both hands up in the air.

“Hey. I’m just letting you know I shut it. It’s fine dude - you and I, we’re adults. Everyone needs a little stress reliever every blue moon. Or ya know, everyday, or whatever,” his eyes went back to the guitar on the couch as he cracked his knuckles for emphasis “and I don’t know what the fuck Jackson did to these pickups but I feel like I might need a stress reliever myself after this,” he chuckled as his eyes lingered on my face before he opened his bag again.

His words hit me directly in my core as I stared off in the direction of the kitchen. The thought of Nick laying back and working himself over bounced around in my head like the DVD logo on the corner of a forgotten television.

Did he tilt his head back and let his eyes flutter shut? Did his lips part when his fingers ran through the dark hairs he had on his lower stomach? Was he going to collect the precum at the tip and take his time dragging it up and down his shaft?

I instinctively squeezed my thighs together in an attempt to quell the pulsing that had started. Nicks words brought me back to the moment.

“Okay so … I changed out the three strings that needed it, I can’t do anything with these pickups because the owner of the shop said they won’t get the new ones in until tomorrow, and changing this pickguard will take 5 seconds flat. I’m not tuning that bitch because he needs the practice. Bad,” he sighed while he sank onto the couch. He paused for a second before looking up at me and patting the cushion next to him.

I stood up and walked over to him, pulling my legs underneath me as i got comfortable.

“I really like this. My band played with Motionless at a festival like two years ago. Funny dudes,” he said as he played with the hem of my shirt.

“You’re in a band? That’s fuckin’ sick,” I laughed although my eyes never left the hand that was still playing with the hem of my shirt.

“Yeah man. I love it, but it’s … stressful at times,” he whispered as his hand let my shirt go. He let his fingers fall down to my thigh, brushing it as they went back to the couch. “I can kinda tell you know what that feels like,” he said.

“Mhmm,” I nodded. “This degree is whopping my ass and sometimes I think like … is it worth it? I have very little social flings even though I’m away from home. I don’t meet people like people think I do. It’s all very stress inducing and even though you uhm … y-you saw what you saw I uh - … it’s still hard,” I let out in a few exasperated breaths.

I could feel Nick getting closer as he sunk down just a little further.

“Poor thing,” he clicked as his hands went to my hips to pull me onto his lap and straddle him. “I’m technically getting paid to use my skill set and my hands to fix things … but does it really have to stop with guitars,” he questioned as my forehead rested on his. “Like I said. Two adults. Two stressed out adults that need fixing,” his breath panned over my lips as I dove down to meet his.

I let out a small moan as our mouths connected. Who the fuck was he trying to convince? Nick’s hands began to roam away from my hips and travel up my waist as our tongues played. I could feel my folds grow slicker as I tried to grind down into him, but he stopped me.

He reached around and to the side of me with a grunt and threw a pillow and a throw from the back of the couch to the ground. He tapped my thigh to get me up and off of him before he stood up and grabbed my hand to lead me down onto the living room carpet.

Nick took his time stripping all of my clothes off. Years of sports and locker rooms took away any inhibitions I had about my body, but I still felt the weight of his eyes as they bore into me.

“We could … I mean there are beds here,” I pointed at the stairs.

“Lay back,” he told me with a gentle gesturing finger. “Let me do this,” he said as he hovered over me. “Here’s how this is going to go,” he kissed my nose, “I’m going to make myself feel better by making you feel better. I’m a tinkerer. I love figuring out what keeps things together,” he pecked my cheek, “and what takes them apart,” he quickly licked the shell of my ear before he sat up to strip himself of his shirt.

I had no words for him, but my head nodding against the pillow must have been enough. I could feel him suck my bottom lip into a searing kiss before he worked his way down.

“You got messier than I thought,” he laughed against my skin as he licked at the bright red cherry juice that ran a path between my tits.

“Oh,” I let out as I held his head into my chest. Goosebumps rose to the surface as my foot locked over his leg in an effort to pin him to me.

His eyes held moss and stone as his mouth found a nipple and he latched onto it. He brought his hand up to cup my breast as he sucked and lapped at the hardening bud, moaning softly as he felt the skin grow taught on his tongue.

“That’s -,” my back arched and my hips rolled as Nick pulled off of my chest.

He was all blown pupils, bright red juice pricked mouth, and panting breaths. If there was one thing he clearly wanted, it was all of what I had to give. The sight was enough to set fire down my thighs.

“Come here,” I all but growled as I yanked his frame back on top of me in a fierce kiss. This was never a battle for dominance, but I’ll be damned if I didn’t wage war with my lips.

Nick held my face in his hands and ran the tip of his tongue over my parted mouth before he spoke. “Slow it down, cowgirl. We’re taking our time”. He was completely straddling me at this point, and I couldn’t help but let my eyes wander over his body as his fingers left trails of static down my stomach. His heavily tattooed arms flexed as he pushed himself back up and moved lower. Nick’s head came to rest at my side as he bit and kissed at the crease where my thigh met my hip. “You know I can smell you right,” he whispered as he pushed my legs apart. “See, I was scrolling through a website the other day and I read something. Something about how women carry stress in their hips or some shit,” he said.

I could feel his fingers start to massage the muscles there, and a low groan of relief left my chest. “Nick please. I need you to - to touch”. My hips rolled into the carpet slowly as he settled over my core. If there was a god, he wasn’t merciful. There was an air of bittersweet misery surrounding the moment, and I needed him to clear it out.

Without another word Nicholas took his index and middle fingers and spread my folds open. The cool air of the room smacked into my warmth and I couldn’t help but jump.

“She’s sensitive,” he laughed as he puckered his lips and let a string of spit fall down onto my exposed clit. Nick leaned down and pressed a kiss to my folds before licking up the mess he’d made. The speed at which his hands flew up and caught my shaking thighs before they caged his head was unmatched by light and sound. He knew what he’d done. The moan that escaped his throat told me that he was getting lost, and he might not have minded.

I peered down at him over the hills of my breasts and found him down in a valley of soft curls and wet heat. His eyes had begun to roll as he licked into my cunt, and I could see that he was beginning to rut into the floor. Those adept fingers traced gentle patterns and lines on my thigh, and every so often a thumb would circle my clit. “Jesus fuck,” I groaned as I turned my head to the side.

Nick stopped to line his eyes up with mine before popping that same thumb into his mouth and sucking deeply. He caught his breath and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before speaking. “Watching you sit in that chair and act like you didn’t want to rub this pussy made my dick twitch,” he stated as plainly as you would the weather. Like he was talking about the sunshine. Like he hadn’t made me clench around nothing just by nonchalantly speaking.

I stared down at him with a tight jaw and pints of restless need in my blood. The urge to wrench him up and flip us over was overwhelming, but I settled for running my hands through his hair as he sat up.

Nick leaned back and ran his fingers over his torso reveling in the feeling of his own callouses. His hand found his belt and he slowly pulled it off. The promise of taking it slowly filtered through my vision as I watched him reach down and put pressure on the growing bulge in his jeans. “Oh my god,” he muttered under his breath as his hips came up to meet his palms before he pulled the jeans off of his body completely. He crawled back over me and pressed his body into mine.

I held the back of his neck and brought our lips together once more. “I - I really want you,” I murmured against his neck as I kissed the skin there.

“You want … this? Use your words hun,” he grabs his dick by the base and runs it up the length of my dripping pussy before tapping the head against my clit.

“I want you to fuck me Nick,” I whimpered as I let my eyes shut and brought my legs up and around his waist.

He made a noise of approval as he thumbed the tip of his dick inside of me. His breath hitched as he held himself back from giving me everything he had to give. Nick brought a hand up and moved the stray hairs from my forehead. “Look at me,” he said as I opened my eyes, “you feel so good”.

My neck felt warm as Nick's panting mouth found a home there. His fingers moved to interlock with mine as he pinned my hands above my head. His full weight spread over me like a blanket in midwinter, and I could feel his hips start to tick. Nick set a slow and dirty pace as he fucked into me.

“Oh god,” I choked out as he began to grind into my clit. I could feel a swell of warmth begin to form low in my belly as Nick moved.

“Feels nice?” he questioned as he groaned into my collar. “I don’t know how long I’m gonna last Aaliyah,” he warned as his dick kicked within my walls.

I used my heels to press against his lower back, delivering a silent plea for a faster pace.

He gave it to me. Nick fucked up into me harder as his fingers began to flex and squeeze mine.

“Keep going. Oh shit you’re gonna -,” I was cut off as Nick broke his hands free from my grasp and held my hips down.

“Do it. Cum on my cock sweetheart, that’s it,” he encouraged as I pulled my knees up as high as my body could bring them. I came with a wail as his speed never faltered. Nick bit into the air as I clenched down around him.

“Nick,” I gulped as my lungs expanded to take in much needed air, “I want you to fucking cum”.

My words were his downfall. One hand pushed beaten knuckles into soft carpet as the other held on to my hip as if he would fall to pieces if he was not grounded. “Fuck,” he drew out as he pounded his cum deep into my core.

Nick came to a slow grinding halt.

“You’re … you’re pretty good at stress relieving dude,” I smiled as I unwound myself from him.

“Ditto,” he muttered as he held up a thumb at me. Nick pulled out and rolled over before throwing his forearm over his eyes. “Now,” he breathed out, “that stupid fucking pickguard”.

“I would say don’t worry about it and I’ll cover for you … but I almost wish you’d build that stress back up,” I said as I kissed his temple.

He smiled softly and blew me a kiss back before going on to do exactly that.

#bad omens fic #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #Nick ruffilo fic #auntievwroteit

[pinkrelish]

You have nothing to be sorry about. You are giving us so much with this story. You infused TYP&its characters with so much beauty, love, and hope. Your writing is truly so incredibly special, and special things are worth waiting for.

thank you, i really appreciate this. i love seeing you in my notifs, btw. i'm proud that the typ universe is as fleshed out as it is, even if it's squeezed me of all my Big Brain Juice to get there. and i'm glad people are interested in the story, still.

i'm very bad at knowing how to reply to sweet messages, so here's a snippet of ch 12 (first scene of thursday's section) as a sign of affection. i just added some things, so the grammar will probably change and be tidied up, but:

Nothing made Eddie feel further away than the graywash walls surrounding you; lights too bright, droning vending machines too loud, stale brewing grounds smelling of one scent too much. Too everything—grating. His solid shoulders bowed weak from unyielding tasks. Body tired, brain stuck in problem-solving mode, watching cranky customers like a hawk, never getting a break when he goes home; making food, washing dishes, cleaning spills, changing laundry, vacuuming dirt, providing entertainment, being the source of a thousand answers, drying tears, saying he’s sorry he can’t find the missing Barbie brush, worrying about everything, forgetting nothing, trying his best, falling short, perceiving himself as inadequate, disregarding himself as worthy of nothing more. Never getting the validation he needed after a long day. Poor man.

You bent over and loosened the only button on his pinstripe coveralls, below his throat. Slipped the sky blue plastic from its cotton vice, threaded it through the hole in a languid beat, and kept things slow. You crawled your fingers to the sturdy metal zipper—dull gold—and ground the teeth three stretches down his chest, parting the halves to expose his black tee underneath. Your nails scratched the union of his pecs on the way to pull the collar off his neck, warranting a comforting sound of approval from him, inspiring your own hum tickling your lips.

Switching from your thumbs to your knuckles, you dipped under his coveralls, and prodded the chain of stiffness on either side of his spine. Coarse cotton grazed friction on your skin. Mmm—His breath hitched, cheeks puffing at the sore knot you encountered, exhaling hard through the pain of your digging. Working him. Relaxing him. Worshiping him between the bones. It was so reminiscent of your second date when you were straddling him on his shit replacement for a bed not fit for a grown man, it hurt. The relief you wished to give him, the restless ache to hold him for hours growing more visceral every day. It was appeased, though, when he rested his head on your belly, washed curls swaying from his crown, frizzy strands clinging to the static on your blouse; leaning backwards so the meat between his neck and shoulder rolled under your handiwork. Closed eyes, fanning lashes. Mellow sounds of contentment sung through his nose. Beautiful man.

“Feeling better?” you asked, squeezing his traps in hard pinches, collecting his woes and turning them into sighs.

Mhmm, he said.

Perfect, you thought.

Better meant there’s still room for improvement.

[avvail-whumps]

‘guns for hire’ — pretty lips #12

previous · masterlist · next

content warnings: captivity, intimate whumper, non-con touching (not sexual), mentions of sexual content (not explicit), non-con kiss (non-con for both whumper and whumpee really), mentioned punishments, mentioned whipping

Leo was scared.

That wasn’t anything new since he’d been held captive by Roy, but he hadn’t felt fear this intense since being caught.

The mercenary was uncharacteristically quiet, and he hated that. At least with his taunting voice and sarcastic notes, he could have something to cling on, something to fill the silence and keep his brain occupied.

The silence was scary.

It was even scarier when Roy was leading him in the direction of the basement, and those stairs came into his line of sight. He immediately began struggling, digging his heels into the ground to try and stop them from descending down there. His back pressed into Roy’s chest, almost tempted to whirl around and throw himself into his arms to convince him to stop.

Tears were already steadily streaming down his cheeks, shaking his head frantically.

“I don’t want to go back down there, please,” he sobbed, letting out a quiet gasp when Roy gripped him by the wrists, twisting them forward. Leo sniffled quietly, and he felt it was a miracle his legs hadn’t given out under him when he was urged down the stairs.

The familiar sliding of the lock grated against his very bones, and Roy shoved him hard enough to make him crumble to the ground. He stifled a painful cry, scrambling back as he watched the mercenary push the door closed, locking it.

His shoulders seemed to relax an inch, and he began rubbing a hand over his face.

“Christ, lion,” he sighed, sounding heavily exhausted. Leo gripped his jacket, tugging it around his body as he grovelled pathetically on the ground.

“Please don’t hurt my dad,” he blurted, his shoulders shaking with his tears. “Please.”

“I’m not going to hurt your dad,” he scoffed, lip quirking into somewhat of an amused smirk. He stepped forward, and Leo shrank in on himself in fear, ducking further into the jacket surrounding his shaking limbs. “What were you thinking?”

Leo’s choked on a breath, almost on the verge of hyperventilating.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked, flinching when Roy bent down to his level. A hand gently wiped away the tears wetting his skin, only to be replaced by fresh ones not a moment later. The mercenary didn’t seem to care, his icy eyes gazing at him.

“You would’ve been running for hours,” he wryly pointed out, shaking his head. “What really was the plan, lion? I thought I made it clear we’re out in the middle of nowhere.”

Leo frantically nodded his head, not sure what else to do.

Roy clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth, rising to his feet. The secretary watched him with wide, frightened eyes, his chest bouncing with his shallow breaths. He swallowed the horrible thickness in his throat as Roy sank down into the chair, hand sweeping under his chin.

He was glancing at the assortment of tools on the wall, and Leo pathetically began crying again, unable to help himself.

He didn’t want to get hurt anymore.

He remembered the misery he’d felt being down here, waiting for his brain to shut off just to reward him with a slither of bliss from this horrible situation. The way the same walls, same mattress, same room had almost driven him crazy.

And worst of all, Leo recalled when Roy had told him he could make him hurt a lot worse than he was. How he was ‘going easy’ on him.

“I was pretty fucking pissed off,” the mercenary hummed, still eyeing the tools as if he was meticulously deciding which one he wanted. “Even if you’d got out, it wouldn’t have taken me long to catch you. But in front of them lot?”

He whistled.

“They’re going to think I can’t keep you on a tight enough leash. I have to really prove them wrong now, don’t I?”

Cold dread settled in the pits of his stomach.

Leo’s eyes darted towards the tools, lingering on the shock collar he’d had the displeasure of being on the receiving end before, and he almost burst into fresh tears there and then. He didn’t think he could stand on his legs, and Roy liked it when he crawled, didn’t he?

So he did that, crawling clumsily until he was inbetween his legs, his shoulders shaking with sobs.

“Please, I’m so sorry,” he sobbed, his bottom lip quivering. He could hardly form coherent words through his shaking breaths, trying to stop the horrible thoughts plaguing his mind. He didn’t care what he did, as long as it stopped Roy from hurting him.

His fingers gripped the fabric on his pants, and he tried to ignore the way the mercenary’s eyes were burning into the top of his skull.

“I’ll do anything,” he begged, leaning his head down and pressing it against the inside of his thigh. “I’ll be good for you this time, I-I promise. Please, please don’t hurt me...”

Leo didn’t even know what he was saying, and he barely had the strength the lift his head when Roy tapped two fingers under his chin. He blinked blearily through soaked eyelashes, trying not to flinch when he realised how close the mercenary was.

“Anything?” He mused, lips pulling into a smirk.

Leo’s stomach grew cold, but he couldn’t control the desperate nodding of his head. Roy hummed, his fingers combing through his blond locks as his eyes wandered lazily over his face. The secretary hiccuped, his fingers trembling as they dug into the fabric of his pants.

Roy was so close, and Leo leaned up to kiss him.

The mercenary’s eyes hardened the moment their lips connected, and he instantly shoved him back. The secretary fell on his heels harshly, eyes widening in fear.

“What are you doing?” The man scowled, his voice sharpening. Leo’s mouth quivered open, panic slamming into him.

“I-I thought that was what...” He dissolved into silent tears, tripping unpleasantly over his words. His lips were still tingling, a hot sensation spreading through the flesh, despite it being for a only a split second. He shrunk back. “I thought you were...I thought, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

The anger in Roy’s eyes seemed to melt away, a huff slipping past his lips. He shifted in the chair, that calm expression befalling his features once more.

“I’m going to have you when you’re willing, if I do,” he murmured quietly, shaking his head. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that just yet.”

Leo shuddered in disgust, quietly reminding himself that he would never submit to Roy even if he was the last person on Earth. He needed to keep that locked in a box in his mind; it didn’t matter how much he liked his jacket, and how much he loved the smell surrounding him, he had no desire to let his mind wander into that territory.

It was dangerous. Also incredibly foolish.

It was hard to keep his wits about him, but Leo needed to do it. Even if he was realising this was all a lost cause. Even if he was realising he was never going to get out of here.

“Now.”

Roy’s voice ripped him from his thoughts, swollen eyes stinging when he blinked away the tears in the crease of his eyelids. The man gently cradled his wrist, thumb stroking the initial he’d carved on the inside of the skin. Leo’s breath hitched, feeling the tears slide down his cheeks once more. His heart squeezed painfully, throat to tight to beg anymore.

“I can’t let this go unpunished, lion.”

“No,” Leo croaked.

“Yes,” the mercenary countered in a voice just as soft, and just as mocking. “You knew the consequences, and you still ran. Fuck, if you were going to take the keys, you should’ve gone for the car instead.”

Leo inwardly hated himself for his stupidness. A car would have been the better option, wouldn’t it? Maybe he really was hopeless, after all. Maybe he was never going to get out of here.

Roy’s eyes slid back to the tools. He’d only really been looking at one, anyway.

“How do you feel about whips, lion?”

tag list – @unorganisedalienrubbish @d-cs @rabidrabidme @sordayciega @burningkittypoet @whumpawink @mannerofwhump @suspicious-whumping-egg @welcome-to-the-whumpfest @whatwasmyprevioususername @crilex29 @firefly017 @dutifullykrispyland @wibbly-wobbly-whump @there-will-always-be-blood @anonintrovert @justawhumpjunkie @whumptastic-world

#so uh #hi #been a while huh #whump #whump fic #whump writing #whumpblr #whumper #whumpee #guns for hire #leo and roy #my babies #writing #my writing #whump scenario #avvail whump

[razputin-vodello-au-archive]

Insomnia made me hurt my little brother

Timeline: This takes place somewhere before the start of "The lives and Times of Razputin Vodello". Or somewhere between the chapters, but before chapter 12.

Mornings in the Intern Dormitory were usually chaotic, despite attempts by Norma to get things organized. Today was no different. Some of the Interns were rushing to get to the showers before another would use up all the hot water. Others were stuffing their backpacks with the books they would need that day. Others – Sam – were just lounging on the couch, waiting until everyone was ready, so they could go to the cafeteria to have their breakfast.

Norma was working a brush on Razputin’s hair, being one of the few he allowed to touch his precious hairdo. At that moment, a frazzled looking Lizzie slouched out of her room, stretching loudly.

Raz perked up and gave his surrogate sister a cheery wave. “Bom dia, Lizzie.”

Lizzie just huffed and kept on walking.

Raz, who has raised to always return a ‘good morning’ with a clear and loud response, repeated his greeting, a bit louder this time. “Good morning, Lizzie.”

He got a series of grumbles and an apathic wave in return, but was pretty much ignored otherwise.

Raz blinked in confusion, feeling slightly hurt by the curt interaction, something Norma had picked up on...

Norma cleared her throat loudly. “Excuse me, didn’t you hear him?”

Lizzie stopped dead in her tracks, her shoulders tensing up, her hands balling up to fists.

“Aren’t you gonna say something back?” Norma questioned.

Lizzie abruptly spun around with a scowl and snapped at her sister. “No!”  She spat with a raised voice, her nose flaring and pupils narrowed. “You want some chipper little sunflower who greets you like an idiot, find someone else!”

Raz, startled by her unusual hostility, yelped softly and pressed himself against Norma, a fearful expression on his face. The other Interns had stopped in their tracks when Lizzie shouted, and were now looking at the trio, unsure of what they had to do.

Lizzie’s face instantly went from angry to shocked to regretful, and she quickly took a few paces back, holding up her hands, showing her palms in a de-escalating manner. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t …I wasn’t…” She let out a groan and buried her face in her hands. “I didn’t mean to yell.”

“Could’ve fooled me, the way you were gonna bite my head off.” Norma remarked, as she touched the sides of her face, like she was checking something. “Yep, still there.”

“What the heck, Lizzie?” Gisu called out.

Sam peeked over from her spot on the couch. “Yeah, that seemed uncalled for.”

Lizzie groaned again. “Sorry, I just …” She rubbed her eyes again. “I hardly slept tonight. I think I only got an hour or two at most…”

“Was something bothering you?” Adam asked carefully.

Lizzie sighed. “Nah, just …couldn’t fall asleep for some reason.” She looked over to Raz, who flinched and shrunk slightly into himself, increasing her guilt even more. She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, but seemed to decide against it and just turned to the door leading out of the dorms. “I’m gonna go grab a coffee …or several.”, and promptly strode out of the room.

Raz took a step, like he wanted to run after her, but got yanked back by Norma.

“Better leave her, Pooter.”

“But…”

“Razputin, speaking from experience: when she’s like this, you better give some space to thaw out – no pun intended.” Norma stated. When his worried expression didn’t fade, she knelt down, gently placing her hand on the side of his head. “Hey, you know she didn’t mean it, right?” She asked, gently caressing his cheek. “She wasn’t angry at you or anything.”

“Then why did she yell like that?” Raz asked, nervously playing with his spiked bracelet – a gift from Lizzie.

Adam walked up to them. “Ah, don’t think too much of it.” He stated, giving Raz a sympathetic smirk. “Sometimes people just let their mouth run before their brain can decide whether it was the right thing to say.”

“Even more so if they haven’t slept too well.” Morris added.

Raz looked down to his feet for a few moments before he peeked up again. “Will she be alright?”

“She’ll be fine.” Norma reassured, pinching his cheek. “You’ll see, by noon she’ll be her old self again – as little of an improvement that’ll be.” She smiled as Raz giggled softly at her little joke.

The rest of the morning passed without much further incidents, besides Lizzie being grumpy and silent for most of it. She hadn’t said a word to Raz yet and Raz himself had felt a bit apprehensive about approaching her, not wanting to set her off again – despite Norma reassuring that she probably wouldn’t do that.

But soon enough, it was time for PE – Psychic Exercise – with Coach Oleander, with the training of today being –

“Fighting against overwhelming odds.”, Coach Oleander proclaimed loudly. “Just try to hold out as long as possible, privates!” He chuckled as he watched – with rather smug gleefulness – as the three remaining Interns – those being Norma, Lizzie and Razputin - were fighting against the seemingly endless hordes of Censors that kept pouring on the arena-styled Mental World they were in. The remaining Inters were sitting next to the coach, having been overwhelmed by the Censors earlier.

“Kick their asses, Raz!” Gisu yelled out, while the other Interns cheered as well. She yelped when a Censor took a shot at her, dodging it just in time. “Oh, very funny, Censor.”

Meanwhile, Raz and the two sisters were not having a laugh. The young Psychic let out a grunt as he managed to put up his shield, blocking two Censor Blasts from hitting him. “I don’t see the point of this exercise!”

Norma ducked to dodge a blast. “I think the purpose is testing our endurance.”

Lizzie let out a load groan. “You know what I think of the purpose? It’s Fu-!“ She yelped as a blast hit her in the side, making her nearly lose her balance, but she managed to keep from falling. “It’s-!”

Another blast hit her in her back, knocking her on her knees. She let out a growl, her eyes briefly flashing icy blue. She balled up her fists and scrambled up. “Okay, I got one word for you Censors.”

“ENOUGH!” She violently threw her arms around his in a wide arch, letting out a scream. A cold wave violently whirled around the arena, gust of icy wind and snow blocking most of the view. A few moments later, the storm died down. All of the Censors were frozen solid. Lizzie let out a huff and smirked proudly. “And that …is how you overcome overwhelming odds.”

She heard Gisu cough from the sideline. “Give us some warning next time, Liz.”

She heard Sam pipe up. “Uh, is he gonna be alright?”

Lizzie turned her attention to the others, and let out a chuckle. Coach Oleander was frozen solid, like the Censors. The Interns had managed to bring up their shield before the Cold Wave hit them, unlike the coach.

“Meh, I’m sure he’ll thaw out so-“

“RAZ!” It was Norma who had yelled out their surrogate brother’s name, and the fright and panic in her voice made Lizzie’s heart twist. She snapped toward Norma and Raz, and she gasped when she saw the latter laying motionless on the ground. Immediately, Lizzie and the other Interns ran up to them.

“What’s wrong!” Gisu asked, fear in her eyes as they gazed at the youngest Intern. “Did he trip and trigger his basophobia? Is he having an attack?”

Norma shook the boy a few times. “I don’t know, I think he got hit by Lizzie’s wave and now he’s not responding!”

Lizzie wanted to reach out to Raz, but Norma quickly slapped her hand away, throwing an extremely angry look towards her. “You did this!” Before Lizzie could say anything to her sister, the latter turned to the others, already searching in her pockets for her smelling salts. “Gisu, see if you can thaw out the coach. I’m going back and see what’s wrong with Raz.”

Gisu nodded and quickly ran over to Oleander, taking out her smelling salts as well. Lizzie didn’t even have time to say anything before Norma brought the salts to Raz’s nose, taking a whiff herself a moment later. They both poofed away, leaving Lizzie stunned and shocked at what happened.

“I …I didn’t mean to do this.” She said quietly to herself. She felt someone shake her shoulder, making her turn around. Adam was standing in front of her, giving her a sympathetic look, but not saying a word. Lizzie, understanding the words unspoken, nodded and took out her own batch of smelling salts. A poof later, she found herself standing back in Coach’s classroom, and she just managed to see Norma ran out the door, Razputin in her arms. The coach was still standing in the middle of the room, a thin layer of ice around him, eyes darting around.

Lizzie felt her knees give out, and she dropped to the floor. Her voice was nothing but a whisper filled with regret. “What did I do?”

About an hour after that botched debacle, Lizzie found herself walking towards the Infirmary, Norma in tow. The latter had returned to the Dorms, informed that she had taken Raz to Hollis and that she was now taking care of him.

Lizzie had immediately started to apologize, but Norma had just counted saying she shouldn’t have snapped like that as well. Lizzie found the whole situation rather ironic, considering what had happened that very morning. An hour later they got a telepathic message from Hollis, saying they could come over now – only them, as not to crowd the young boy.

Lizzie hadn’t said a word the entire way, just looking at the floor as they walked.

“I’m sure he’s fine.” Norma remarked, a soft smile on her face. “It’s our Raz, he’s tough.”

Lizzie just hummed in response.

Norma opened her mouth to say something, but then they saw Hollis coming towards them.

The Cryokinetic Specialist found her voice again, and ran up to the Second Head. “Agent Forsythe, how is Raz?”

A hint of a smile tugged on Hollis’ lips. “Young Vodello is going to be fine, Intern Natividad.” She reassured them. “But I am going to send him home for a day or two, so he can recuperate a bit.”

“What happened exactly?” Norma asked. “After Lizzie’s Storm hit him, he just …collapsed.”

“What Razputin experienced was a case of Thermo-Psychic feedback.”

Those were big words that flew right over Lizzie’s head. “Thermo-what?”

“It’s similar to Psycho-Kinetic feedback. We’ve discussed this in class a while ago, Lizzie.” Hollis rolled her eyes, shaking her dismissively. “But to recap: you know after exiting a Mental World, you sometimes still can feel any sort of injuries or damage you acquired there?”

Lizzie nodded. She once had a Bulb bomb from a Bad Idea explode in her face, and her ears were still ringing hours after returning to the physical world.

“Same concept.”  Hollis continued. “When your ice storm – amplified by your emotions – hit him, Razputin’s experience was so severe that it made his body react in the real world. In other words, his mind thought he was going into hypothermic shock, so his body reacted accordingly.”

“But …he’s alright now?” Norma asked.

“That’s the thing with this type of Psychic feedback -thermic or otherwise. It can fade as fast as it can happen.” Hollis smiled softly. “Razputin was back on his feet now long after Norma brought him to me, but I still wanted to run some tests, to be sure.” She sighed. “But since it seems he won’t have any sort of major lingering effect, besides some fatigue, I have send him to his parents for a few days.”

“Milla isn’t going to kill me, isn’t she?” Lizzie asked, a hint of fear in her voice. She had faced the anger of the Brazilian Mental Minx once after accidentally hurting Raz, she wasn’t too keen on a repeat.

Hollis let out a long sigh. “She wasn’t too thrilled to hear that her son got injured during what should have been a rather harmless exercise.” She let out a scoff. “I told Oleander that it was a bit too ambitious to try out on you this soon.” She rolled her eyes with a shake of her head. “But after Razputin told me what transpired this morning, she was more than happy to accept that this was nothing more than an unfortunate accident. She did imply she wanted to speak to you about the importance of a good night’s sleep, though. Speaking of which …”

Hollis reached into her pockets and handed a small pill bottle over to Lizzie. “Melatonin gummies, to help you fall asleep a bit better. Take one – only one! - before going to bed tonight, and, to be sure it works, no sugar or caffeine after 7PM. You should have a full night’s sleep.”

 Lizzie nodded, bouncing the pill bottle in her hand a few times before stowing it away. “Can we see Raz?”

Hollis nodded and moved to the side, gesturing that the Natividad sisters could move on. Lizzie already had taken a few steps down the hall, when she noticed that Norma wasn’t following her. She turned around and saw her sister standing by Hollis. “You not coming”

Norma shook her head. “Later. I figured that you wanted to speak to Raz first.”

Lizzie wasn’t dumb, despite how she acted. She could hear the warning/suggestion in her sister’s voice. She nodded, spun around and made her way towards the infirmary. She quickly reached the room where Raz was resting and fist her hand to knock. She let it hover over the wooden frame a few moments before she knocked three times.

“Entre!” Hearing Raz’s voice sounding so strong brought a sense of relief to Lizzie. She opened the door and peeked inside. Raz was sitting on the bed, True Psychic Tales Magazine in hand, and not slightly surprised at seeing his surrogate older sister.

“Hey Pooter, how you feeling?” She asked as she walked in.

A big mischievous grin spread on Razputin’s lips. “I’m keeping it chill. Takes more than a cold snap like that to put a cool dude like myself on ice.”

Relief washed over Lizzie when she heard that pathetic attempt at jokes, and a big smile spread on her face. “Man, making ice puns already? Yeah, you’re gonna be alright.” She walked over to Raz, grabbing a chair on the go and took a seat next to his bed. She reached over and caressed his cheek. “You gave us quite the scare, Poots.”

Raz shot her an apologetic look. “I’m sor-”

Lizzie planted a finger on his lips. “Nuh-uh, you don’t get to say that. Not when it was my fault.”

“But- “

“No buts.” Lizzie took his hands and squeezed them. “It was me who did that to you, so …I’m sorry, Raz. I really am. And not just for what happened during PE, but for also for snapping at you this morning. What I said ….” She chewed on her lip as she thought of the right words to say. “I didn’t mean a thing I said, okay? I just …”

“-haven’t slept well this night, I know.” Raz said, completing the sentence.

“Sure, but it’s not an excuse for acting like that.” Lizzie commented. “Or for giving you the cold shoulder most of the morning – no pun intended.”

“I know, but it’s a reason.” Raz explained, a soft smile on his face. “I know you didn’t mean it like that this morning. You were just …cranky.”

“Sure, but I still acted like a jerk, and during practice I got so angry and I just …” Lizzie took a deep breath, before presenting Raz with a small smile. “Can you forgive me?”

Raz practically lunged at his sister, wrapping his arms around her. “I already did.”

Lizzie tightened the hug, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. “You’re the best little brother a girl can wish for, maninho.”

Raz giggled, a soft blush spreading on his cheek. “And you’re a pretty good big sister.”

“Oh, just ‘pretty good’?” Lizzie asked with a chuckle, breaking away from the hug.

“Well, you did put me in the Infirmary, so …” He yelped as Lizzie grabbed him in a headlock and started to ruffle up his hair. He laughed loudly, trying to wriggle away from the assault on his precious hair, but Lizzie wasn’t giving in.

“Yeah, not so tough now, aren’t you, Poots?” Lizzie laughed, digging her fingers in Razputin’s side, tickling him right where he was most sensitive.

Raz managed to free an arm and telekinetically flung a pillow in Lizzie’s face, which made her loose her grip, which Raz used to escape. He quickly jumped over the bed, managing to dodge Lizzie’s flailing arms.

A wicked grin spread over Lizzie’s face, and she cracked her knuckles, throwing Raz a daring look. “Oh, now you’re gonna get it, Pooter.”

Raz returned the grin, daring Lizzie to come closer. “Bring it!”

Outside the door, Norma smiled as she heard the commotion inside the room. She was happy those two had managed to patch things up. She leaned against the wall and folded her arms, listening to brother and sister playing around. She would wait a few moments, and then she would join in.

Couldn’t have Lizzie have all the fun, now could she?

#psychonauts #psychonauts 2 #razputin vodello au #razputin vodello #lizzie natividad #norma natividad #the author speaks #gisu nerumen #sam boole #adam joseph gette #morris martinez

[paleneckauthorcowboy]

This is the next fic in the timeline, c!Kestin is in a new invirment and he's not doing great. TW!! Discussion of a toxic relationship, HABIT just being HABIT, brief implication of death.

I'm alive, I don't know how or why but I am. It's been a few weeks since I woke up here in New Jersey. I was found in the middle of the woods by a kind man, his name is Evan. He brought me back to his place, which is where I am staying now. Evan said that I could stay as long as I need, at least until I can get back up on my feet.

He's a total sweetheart; I mean, he checks up on me a lot and asks me about my day. He's one of the kindest men I've ever met, not to mention that he's kind of a goofball. He seems to go out of his way to try and make me laugh. It just feels like I could talk to him for hours and never get tired of it. 

He seemed very curious about my past, rightfully so; I mean I am technically just some guy that he found passed out in the middle of the woods. Despite all of his questions about my life before, I always just gave generic answers, never daring to go into any detail, out of fear that if he knew that he'd just think I was crazy and make me leave. But, things can change so fast; whether I like it or not.

I had been feeling pretty awful almost all day, not due to anything Evan had done. I just couldn't get out of my own head and just kept thinking about the past. I could get HIM out of my mind, the him in question being Alex. My now Ex-fiance, it hurt a lot to look back on his actions with my rose colored glasses removed, I could see every little thing I missed. Did he truly love me or was what he did just a clever ploy to stop further infection of the operator sickness? Would he have actually killed me if I hadn't done it myself? 

I'm fairly certain that anyone within a 12 mile radius could tell that I was upset, especially Evan or at least who I thought was Evan. He playfully nudged me, trying to get me to look at him or look at something that he was doing. "Evan... please I'm really tired, so could you please stop it." I spoke in a slightly serious tone, as much as I love his antics; I just don't have the energy for it right now. 

I feel his fingers on my cheeks and his palm under my chin, I tense very noticeably at the sudden touch but do nothing. I then feel him abruptly squeeze my face and yank it towards him, essentially forcing me to look at him. "I'm not Evan... also, don't you think it's a bit rude to lie, sweetheart?"  He asked what felt like a condescending tone, or like he was trying to scare me. Unfortunately, panic responded before I could think. I pushed him off of me with a rough shove. He fell off of the couch with a loud thud.

I felt instant regret as my mind raced, "Oh my gosh... I'm so- I didn't- sorry I just- I'm sorry.." I couldn't seem to string together a fully comprehensive sentence, my own distress causing anything I say to come out faster than my brain could process. I was trying to reach out for him, but I only got about half way until I pulled back; planting my hands into my lap, as if to stop myself from causing any additional damage. 

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to do that... I just- didn't think before I acted." I did my best to explain, I felt my hands shaking, but I wasn't scared of him hurting me, I could handle that. What I'm really scared of is him hating me or even just simply being mad at me. "I'm sorry.." I apologized again, my throat burned as I swallowed hard; doing everything in my power to not let the hot tears pricking at the corners of my eyes fall. "Woah, come on don't get you boxers in a bunch. It's fine, I'm not mad." He broke the awkward silence, trying to lighten the mood.

"Okay, I'm sorr-'' before I could finish my sentence he put his finger up to my mouth and shushed me. "Hun, you apologize way too much." He smirked at me, although his tone sounded a little bit annoyed. When he called me hun, it almost made my heart skip a beat, but at the same time it... hurt. "Please don't call me 'hun', I only really let people I'm close to call me pet names." I very gently pushed his hand away, looking him in the eyes with a semi serious look. 'His eyes are really pretty.' I thought to myself. 

Then I internally panicked at 'no no fuck why?' Do I like him? I think I do but I'm not sure. I looked away from him, focusing my gaze on the floor. "Well, then we need to get to know each other and get close. I'm Habit, I'm the demon who possesses your little boyfriend, and you don't need to introduce yourself, I already know who you are." He replied still with that smirk on his face, he leaned in close to me. I instinctively lean back and put my hands up, ready to push him back again.

"What- he not my boyfriend! We're not- I mean that's not to say I don't like him- like he's cute- I mean... uhh I don't know, I just know we're not dating!" I felt my stomach tighten, words once again fell out of my mouth before I really thought about what I was saying. "What I'm hearing is that you like him. Why not just go for it?" Habit asked, leaning in closer. I put my hands on his chest and pushed him back, just hard enough for him to get that I was uncomfortable.

"Because- I don't know I'm just... not ready to enter another relationship." I didn't even realize what I said until I heard Habit chuckle. "Another relationship? What? did you just have a bad breakup?" He seemed just be joking around but it was enough to push me over the edge. The dam broke and I felt warm tears stain my cheeks. He stopped laughing, just staring at me with a look that said 'oh shit, I didn't mean to do that.' 

"Oh, I'll take that as a yes. Uh, sorry. Do you want to talk about it?" He asked, awkwardly patting my shoulder. I just broke, I couldn't hide how I felt, or the things that I went through anymore. "I just got out of a pretty unhealthy relationship just before Evan found me.. it wasn't always bad. It was just the time around the end of the relationship that was... not great." I spoke crossing my arms over my chest, Habit looked at me, waiting for me to continue. 

"He... my Ex-fiance... was kind of extremely manipulative and ended up isolating me from any other support system other than him... and then he kind of walked away for a bit, leaving me completely isolated. He also kind of was insane..." I explained Habit didn't look happy, understandably so. "So, he cut you off from everyone you loved and just left you alone? He sounds like a real piece of shit." He said through gritted teeth. I just looked down. "Yeah, I guess. He wasn't alway like that though, he used to be kind of sweet." I mumbled to myself, Habit shook his head. 

"The reason I can't just 'go for it' is because I know that I'm not over my ex, it wouldn't be right to start a new relationship when I'm still thinking of someone else. I'd only possibly hurt him and myself in the process." I explained further, Habit nodded. "That's understandable." He shrugs and stands up before plopping back down on the couch. "I... I do like him. I just need time to process what I feel and what I've gone through before I try to do anything." I got up and sat on the couch as well. Calming myself down.

 "I understand that and so does he. We are more than willing to wait for you for as long is needed. I promise you." He put a hand on my shoulder and I tensed up, he noticed almost immediately and tried to retract his hand. I grabbed it and gave it a nice squeeze. "Thank you, I don't think you understand how much that means to me." He squeezed my hand back, "my pleasure." We just sat there holding each other's hand for a little while.

They kept true to their promise and stayed right by my side for my entire journey of healing. And, when I was finally ready. I asked both Evan and Habit out, but that's a story for another day. For now I'll just enjoy my own version of happily ever after.

#slenderverse #emh #emh evan #emh evan x reader #emh habit #emh habit x reader #i am cringe but i am free #self insert #oc x canon #habit everymanhybrid #everyman hybrid #evan myers #habit emh #light angst #angst comfort #hurt/comfort #alex kralie is mentioned #c!kestin slightly trying to justify Alexs' actions again :/

[phoenix-downer]

A Steady Wish Chapter 5

~2040 words. Sora/Kairi. Set during KH4. Memory Loss, Angst, Romance, Fluff, Longing, Pining, Hurt/Comfort. Updates Weekly on Fridays.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13

Summary: Sora pulls Riku aside to grill him about what he knows, and Riku is torn between helping Sora and keeping his word to Kairi.

Sora couldn’t stop looking at Kairi the rest of the evening. Every so often, she’d shyly meet his gaze and then smile, and this really nice warmth filled his heart every time she did. He couldn’t help but smile back, and the urge to be close to her just got stronger and stronger.

Strelitzia dropped off some spare clothes for her, and Sora smiled at how easily the two girls got along. He was glad that his friends were becoming friends too. Before long another hour had passed, and then Strelitzia went back to her place. When Kairi was showering, Sora figured this was his chance. He grabbed Riku by the jacket and pulled him aside.

Riku raised an eyebrow. “Is there a reason you’re—”

“Who is she?” Sora begged as he glanced towards the bathroom. “Tell me everything about her, I need to know.”

Riku just stared blankly at Sora, his mouth in a taut line, and Sora frowned. He knew his best friend better than anyone. Riku was hiding something, that much was obvious.

“Riku,” he said, and Riku winced. “What are you not telling me?” he asked, searching his friend’s face for clues. “Why are you helping her hide from me?”

Riku sighed deeply. “No one ever said anything about hiding—”

“You don’t have to break whatever promise you’ve made to her. Just tell me something, anything. I can’t get her out of my mind, my heart speeds up when I see her, and being near her just feels so right. I’ve never felt that way about anybody before. Please, you’ve gotta help me here.”

Riku was silent for a few moments, then at last he spoke. “She really likes thoughtful gifts. Pink, purple, and blue are her favorite colors. She’s sassy and likes teasing y-other people.”

It was Sora’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Yother people?”

Riku cleared his throat. “Her favorite flowers are hibiscus, but if you get her some, she'll think your memory is back.” He blanched. “Or she’ll figure out I’m helping you, so don’t do that."

“Then how should I show her I like her?” Sora thought back to all the happy couples he’d seen, the flirting and teasing and smiles. But he wanted to make this personal. He wanted to tailor it to what Kairi would like. It would be no good if he put on Flynn-like airs if that kind of thing repulsed her.

Riku smirked. "No need to do that. You’re an open book already."

“But I wanna do something special for her!” Sora said, flinging his arms out. Kairi deserved something nice. Something good. That much felt true, and he was trying to follow his heart here.

Riku opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. “Um, I think she’d just be happy if you spent time with her,” he said at last, and his eyes had a hint of melancholy in them.

"Then… what does she like to do?" Sora crossed his arms and wracked his brains for ideas. Shopping? Maybe? Fighting Heartless? Maybe not…

"C'mon Sora, you're in a realm none of us has ever seen,” Riku said. “Go to an arcade, take her shopping, grab dinner at a restaurant. Visit a park and walk around and have a nice time.”

“Right. I can do that.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Can I?”

“Yes, you idiot, and don’t worry about hiding your crush because it’s pointless anyway. The bigger a fool you make of yourself the more she—”

“The more she what?”

Riku hesitated for a moment. “The more she laughs and thinks you’re charming and sincere in that bumbling, goofy way of yours.”

Sora’s heart leapt in his chest. “So she does know me, we aren’t just acquaintances! I knew it! But then…  why won’t she say anything?”

His head drooped and his heart ached. This amazing girl knew him and liked him, and yet she wouldn’t admit to any of that? Why not? 

"Kairi’s very down to earth,” Riku said. “She might be a little spitfire and overestimate her abilities in the heat of the moment, but overall she knows her limitations pretty well. She's trying to be realistic about this whole situation. And by realistic, I mean she’s making herself come to terms with the possibility you’ll never remember her. And that's why she doesn't want to tell you. To make this whole thing easier on you."

Sora was very quiet for a few moments. He’d lost his memories of her, that much was clear. Why and how, he wasn’t sure, but even though she was hurt by his memory loss, she was so patient with him and kind to him. So gentle and understanding. Her words echoed through his mind: Whatever you need me to be.

“She’s a very selfless person, isn’t she?” he said at last, his voice breaking a little.

Riku smiled. "You have no idea."

“But I want to,” Sora said softly.

"Then take her out on a date tomorrow."

"A d-d-d-date?” Sora sputtered.  

"What date? Does Sora have an appointment?"

Of course Kairi had rejoined them at the worst possible moment. She tilted her head, and she was wearing a cute pair of pj’s with her hair carefully wrapped in a towel. Sora just stared at her, his face all red, and Riku rolled his eyes.

“Sora’s an idiot and wants to ask you out on a date, but puberty finally hit him, and he gets flustered by anything pretty with legs now.”

Kairi frowned. “Anything pretty with legs?”

Sora glared daggers at Riku. This was not how this was supposed to go. He had to say something, and quick. “Ignore him. I know I have lots of friends, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice a lot of girls seem to have crushes on me, but—”

Something flickered through her eyes, but she quickly masked it with a false smile and waved her hand. “Oh, it’s fine, we don’t have to go on a date. Um, it’s getting late. Thank you for dinner, it was good but I should be going now. Goodbye."

She strolled towards the door, and Riku exchanged a panicked look with Sora. “What the—Kairi?!” he called. “You don't have another place to stay!"

“I’ll stay with Strelitzia. She’s in the apartment next door, right?”

Sora chased after her and grabbed her hand. “Kairi, wait! I know I’m not myself, I know my memories are missing, but I still want to spend time with you. I want to get to know you.”

“So I can join all the other girls who have a crush on you?” she said, and he hated the hurt look in her eyes.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that! You’re the only one who makes me feel—Hold on a sec, do you have a crush on me?”

She looked away and said nothing for several moments. “No,” she said at last.

His heart sank, and he felt himself deflating. “Oh. Did I do something wrong?”

She was silent, and he panicked and started talking again. “I’m sorry about that comment, what I meant to say is that you’re the only one who makes me feel like this.” He thought of his words about her to Riku earlier and smiled. “The only one who makes my heart speed up when I see you. I can’t get you out of my mind, and being near you just feels so right. I’ve never felt this way about anybody before.”

“But you have.”

His lips parted. “I have? Was it you?”

She said nothing.

“Then… are you upset because I forgot about you?”

"Do you really think my feelings for you would change just because you forgot about me?"

He searched her eyes. "I don't know, but I’m dying to. My heart aches when I’m around you and I don’t know why, I want to know what you mean to me but my memories aren’t there, and you won’t tell me what I mean to you. So I. don’t. know."

Kairi just stared at him, something like sorrow and pity flickering through her eyes. Why wouldn’t she tell him why he felt like this? Wasn’t she hurting too? Then why—

She smiled a little and held up a finger. “One date, then. Let’s go out on one date.”

“R-Really?” He felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest. Was all of this gonna work out after all?

“Really really,” she said, her lips twitching, and a mischievous glint shone in her eyes as she put her hands on her hips. “And I’d better be the only one you’re going on a date with tomorrow, mister, or—”

“Of course you are. I've never even been on a date before!”

Kairi smiled sadly. “Now that's not true.”

“No, I'm telling you,” he said, his hand over his heart. “I really haven’t been on a date before, ever.”

“And I'm telling you." She turned around and put her hands behind her back. "Tomorrow at four."

“It’s a date,” he said softly.

"It's a date," Kairi echoed, then walked out the door without looking at him again. Presumably to go stay with Strelitzia like she’d said. 

He just stared after her until Riku nudged him. “Quit gawking and get ready for bed, we have an early morning tomorrow.”

Sora groaned and rubbed his face. “I’ll never be able to fall asleep like this!” Not when he had a date to plan and Kairi on his mind and—

“You need to go to bed.”

“I need to take a shower!”

Riku rolled his eyes. “I thought you said you showered before we came over.”

“Trust me, I need another one after mentioning other girls around Kairi.” Lesson learned. While Kairi was more playful in the end than anything, he could tell she felt insecure about the whole thing. Was that normal for her, or was his memory loss making things worse?

He hadn’t made her more insecure with his antics, had he?

“You walked right into that one,” Riku said.

“You led me there!” Sora protested. Sheesh, Riku had set him up for failure. It was a miracle Kairi had agreed to the date in the end after all.

Riku smirked. “I didn’t put your foot in your mouth.”

“You made me stumble over my feet so I ended up with my foot in my mouth!”

Riku shrugged. “You got the date anyway, so I’d say you salvaged the situation.”

“Yeah.” He froze as sheer panic and nerves hit him. “I have my first date tomorrow. With a girl I obviously have feelings for, but I can't remember her and I upset her and did I mention this is my first date?”

Riku rolled his eyes and ruffled Sora’s hair. “Relax, Sora, you’ll be fine. Just be yourself.”

“But—”

“Consider this: Kairi likes you the way you are.”

“But she said she didn’t have a crush on me.”

“Did she?” Riku said, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I asked her, and she denied it.”

“Did she though? What did she say exactly?”

“No.” Even repeating the word made him deflate again. He wanted her to have feelings for him, that much was clear.

Riku gave Sora a knowing look. “And you thought it meant she doesn’t have feelings for you.”

Sora just tilted his head. “Isn’t that what that normally means?” All of this was so confusing. Why wouldn’t anyone just be honest with him?

“Normally, yeah,” Riku said. “But this situation isn’t normal. What she means is, no, she doesn't have a crush on you. But there is more to feelings than just a crush."

“What do you mean?”

Riku went silent again, his mouth pulling into a taut line.

“Riku?” Sora pleaded.

“A crush starts out as a shallow thing, and Kairi’s way past a crush. Now stop badgering me for more information, or she really will kill me.”

“Way past a crush?” Sora echoed, but Riku had already escaped to the bathroom, leaving Sora alone with his thoughts.

Was it possible that… But no, didn’t dare hope. And yet everything tonight was telling him he was right.

Kairi was in love with him, wasn’t she?

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Had a lot of fun with this one and all the character dynamics! Sora’s emotional intelligence is something I always enjoy exploring too, and I figured he’d figures things out about Kairi pretty quickly even without his memories. 

Thank you for reading and see you next week!

#kingdom hearts #sokai #sora #kairi #kh4 #kingdom hearts 4 #sora x kairi #sora/kairi #kh fanfiction #phoenix writes #phoenix-downer #long post #memory loss #angst #romance #fluff #hurt/comfort #longing #pining #a steady wish #chapter 5

[seriouslysnape]

A little bit of a personal note….

I have written about heartbreak so many times. I’ve written multiple oneshots and various other works with the general theme of a broken heart. I think that it’s safe to say that every writer has written or made an attempt at writing some kind of heartbreak scene or series or what have you.

But I will wholeheartedly admit that until recently, I’ve had no real personal experience with being heartbroken.

Experiencing heartbreak and writing about heartbreak are vastly different. I’m learning the hard way just how real heartbreak is. It’s so rattling to see other people’s worlds still spinning when mine feels like it’s stopped cold and falling to bits.

I’ve never understood the term “worried sick” until now. I’ve never been so afraid of my future because so much of my future has been envisioned with him in it. I shared so much with him. I gave him so much of my time, energy, and effort — and now it’s all disappearing into nothing.

I never knew that the human mind and body could take so much.

I never realized how loud my head could scream at itself. The last three days, my AirPods have literally only left my ears when they need to charge — and that hour that they’re charging is absolute hell. I have them shoved into my ears as far as they can go with noise cancellation turned on with a 12 hour (ad free, thank God) version of nothing but straight brown noise because it’s the absolute only thing that I’ve found to at least somewhat quiet my brain down.

I’ve never had my conscience be so fixated on one thing to the point where every single part of my day is now somehow related to him. Literally today I was washing my hands with Dawn dish soap (I was out of hand soap, don’t judge me) and the familiar scent suddenly made me say to myself, “I wonder if he ever uses Dawn dish soap.” Then there’s a sting in my chest, and I’m reduced to a puddle of tears. This happens multiple times a day on different occasions with different scenarios.

I never knew that my heart could physically hurt so badly. That’s the part that is so unbearable. The pressure in my chest makes me nauseous. The tears in my eyes are nearly on command if I think about it too much. I’m swallowing the heat in my throat and I’m constantly sighing to attempt to release the tension in my chest. It doesn’t work.

I’m hungry, but I can’t eat. I’m only drinking water because I have to. For the first time in my life, I didn’t take a shower when I felt like I needed to because I physically couldn’t carry myself to do it.

I’m distracting myself in any way that I can. Watching Markiplier’s Red Dead Redemption 2 playlist has been my backbone this week. I had forgotten how much I like him and his channel. I’ve downloaded 3 new games on my PS4. Stardew Valley is adorable. Highly recommend. The distractions, though, only do so much.

My bed has become a pit of misery and sorrow. I have four blankets and all my pillows on the bed with me because I like feeling surrounded in a hug. My bedside table looks like a nightmare when I normally keep it spotless. Melatonin gummies and a box of tissues have been my saving grace for falling asleep. Sleep offers some recharge, but he’s even in my dreams.

I could go on. I really could….but we’d be here a while.

I’ve learned more about heartbreak in the last 3 days than I’ve ever learned from reading stories. But let me tell you — it is real.

I’ve written about it as “devastating” or “shattering” or “unimaginable”. It’s all of those things and so, so, so much more. I never realized how heartbreak touches every single part of a person’s life.

I’m hoping I can find ways to make the healing process easier. In the back of my mind, I know that (realistically) I could find somebody else. But that seems like an impossible task for now.

I’m blaming myself for things not working. I’m mad at myself for falling in love. Is that the reality of heartbreak? Maybe it is a person’s own fault when they get their heart broken?

This isn’t a sympathy fishing post. If anything, it’s both for me to get this off of my chest and for others to feel seen. I’m not the first nor the last person to go through this, but oh do I relate to those who have and to those who will.

#sorry I know this is so cheesy and kinda weird #but I’ve never felt anything like this #my angst fics are gonna be BADDDDD now #I love you all #seriouslysnape

[casspurrjoybell-24]

My Unwanted Mate - Chapter 12 - Part 2

*Warning Adult Content*

Tatum Briar

Our Alpha found me alone in our room.

Anxiously, I have been looking for Nathan for a little over an hour now.

I had already been distracted while Momma was trying to talk to me.

The moment I had lost sight of my twin amongst the crowd outside and the minutes stretched out for too long, I knew something was not right.

Nathan and I never separated, not willingly and I realized that something had to be wrong... I could feel it. 

I had looked everywhere outside and our room had been my last hope.

There was nowhere else we had been allowed to explore in the mansion.

He was not here and I had just looked through the empty bathroom when the room door opened.

I had sighed, relived, thinking that it was Nathan.

I came to an abrupt halt in my rush from the bathroom.

The Alpha was on the phone when he entered, his dark eyes catching mine.

I dropped my eyes obediently, my palms becoming sweaty.

The male continued his conversation on the phone but motioned for me to come closer.

I knew better than to disobey.

Willing my heart to stay calm, I did not flinch away from the male when a large hand gripped the back of my neck possessively.

It hurt but I would never complain aloud.

All I could think of were excuses, easy lies so that he would not question where Nathan was, lies for if he did question his absence.

"I'll be contacting you again, shortly," the Alpha said, ending his call, slipping his phone in his pocket before pulling me by my neck until I was pressed against his firm chest.

I could feel his eyes on me, knew by his sour scent that he was unhappy.

Whoever had been on the phone had put him in a mood and seeing me here probably worsened it.

His hand moved to the front of my neck, squeezing enough to be a threat but not enough to cut off my air.

I kept my eyes down and reminded myself to be pliant, to obey, to submit.

If I was good, there was less pain.

If I did what he wanted, I was rewarded.

'Nathan, where are you?'

My head tilted to the side as much as it could with his grip on my neck.

"Don't you have something you're supposed to be doing?" his words brushed against my ear, his hand tightening slightly.

He felt my swallow against his palm.

"Yes, Alpha."

He hummed and I knew that he was unhappy with my response.

Panic fluttered in my chest and I tried to control it as best as I could, tried to keep the fear from tainting my scent and my breathing to remain steady.

He wanted more... my brain searched for anything, for any distraction.

"I was looking for you, Alpha."

My fingers twitched where my arms hung useless beside me.

Truth and lies, truth and lies, crafted the best lie.

Looking for Nathan, not him, never him.

"Oh, really?"

He was smiling now... not happy, not pleased, teasing.

Think, think, think.

"Alpha Surez has been meeting with the Killian Alpha," the words fell out of my mouth.

A truth... I had seen them, had seen the Alphas walk away together before we passed by Calvin and I had met the male's eyes for the first time in years.

I had seen the Alphas again without the Killian Luna, talking only amongst themselves, low enough so no one could overhear.

Alpha Robert had been who the Surez Alpha had left to greet after breakfast only days ago and I had seen the look our Alpha wore when he had seen this.

I had studied his expressions enough to know that he had not been happy about it.

The hand around my throat tightened and all hope that had gathered in my belly plummeted.

Miscalculated, I had misunderstood something... I had said something wrong.

Okay, it's okay, he was not concerned with Nathan's lack of presence in the room, still distracted.

The Alpha jerked me even closer, lifting me until I was on my toes and struggling to breathe.

Submit, I reminded myself, reminded myself to be limp in his hold, to follow his lead.

"You're going to get close with his Omega," he growled close to my ear, the feeling of his warm breath making me shiver.

"And you're going to find out what that bitch is trying to get out of my brother."

"Yes, Alpha," was my immediate response.

"Anything for you."

That pleased him, more than I had expected.

He growled before his lips pressed against my own, harsh like everything else about him.

The hand around my throat slid up to cup my cheek before slipping into my hair.

I gasped when he pulled the strands roughly, jerking my head back so he could mouth at the scars that littered my neck and his freshest bite mark.

He disgusted me, his taste, his smell, everything.

It was revolting and I wanted it to be my hands that wrapped around his throat, that stole his air until he begged for it back but that would not ever happen.

I knew I would never be strong enough to fight this Alpha in that way.

The only thing that I could do was accept it, accept it while I fought in another way.

So, when the male let go of my hair, I dropped down to my knees and distracted him with my mouth.

As long as he was hurting me, Nathan was safe.

There was nothing I would not do to keep my twin safe, no matter how he pleaded for me not to protect him.

It was impossible not to, he was all I had left and I refused to lose him too.

It was only fair, I had hidden behind Nathan for so long.

No more.

I'll find a way, any way to make this better, easier for us, until we can get away.

[walkingoneggshellss]

No matter how long I ponder at the thought, I cannot settle on which part of him being gone hurts the most.

I can’t tell if it’s the simple fact that the love of my life fell out of love with me while I was most in love with him. You left me over text less than 12 hours after you were holding me in your arms telling me how much you loved me.

Or if it is the fact that in the end, even though he said he was leaving so he wouldn’t hurt me more, he blocked me on everything and didn’t even let the conversation be finished. He left me wondering why I wasn’t even worth a goodbye for the rest of my life.

I don’t know if it’s the fact that I trusted him enough to be so many of my firsts, yet it was all just another day to him. I shared with him parts of me that I’d never shared with any other soul and he wasn’t even willing to share what he did on his phone with me. I can never get those parts of me back.

I feel like I can’t ever live again. Every aspect of my life reminds me of him, because I was with him almost every second. I can’t watch tv because we watched so many shows together. I can’t wash my hair with the products I have because they remind me of showering with him. I can’t sleep in my bed because I slept with him in it. I’m completely stuck between never wanting to shower or wash my sheets again so that my skin will forever be skin that he touched, or scrubbing every inch of my skin raw so that I don’t have to live with the thought of him with another woman’s DNA on him being stuck to my body for eternity.

I can’t tell if it is the complete and utter betrayal of laying with me while lusting after another, or the constant lies as he looked straight into my eyes and told me I was the love of his life and that there would be no future of his without me in it.

He was the first person I got to ever introduce to my whole family. I had to go to my family dinner today and have my dad tell everyone that you weren’t coming anymore because you left me. I wouldn’t have been able to say it myself without breaking down.

I don’t know if it’s the fact that I would’ve given my life for him. And I know that even after everything he did to me, if he came back I would be there. I didn’t deserve it. I don’t deserve any of this. The amount of love I gave him is something that I doubt many people ever experience in their lifetimes. But I still love him, and i don’t know if I ever won’t. I don’t know if I would have ever been able to leave him, and that hurts.

What I think honestly hurts the most, is the actual pain. My heart hurts, physically. Ever since you sent that text, it feels like there are hands wrapped around it squeezing it as tightly as possible. It feels like there is a lump in the back of my throat that will never go away. I have had the worst migraine ever since you left. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve been crying so much or because my brain is genuinely in so much pain. When I cry now, I can’t breathe. It feels like something is stealing my breath. And nothing can fix this pain, no amount of distractions, Tylenol, or sleep can fix this. It is always here. The second I fall asleep, and the second I wake up. All I want is for you to come back but you aren’t the person you said you were. Nothing will ever be the same.

#heartbreak #breakup #love #betrayal #the end

[softly-potter]

Still Friends | Chapter 15: Pain Reliever

Summary: After a chance encounter at a party, Wanda and Bucky find they have more in common than they realized.

This fic is heavily inspired by 'Friends' by my lovely friend Poppy. She is aware of this fic and I've been given permission for this marvel-version retelling! If you haven't read her dramione fic 'Friends', I HIGHLY suggest it. I fell in love with the story and couldn't help but wonder, what if it was Wanda and Bucky instead of Hermione and Draco? Thus "Still Friends" was born. Enjoy!

Pairing: Bucky X Wanda

Word Count: 33,068

Warning: smut, drug use, depression

A/N: Find the rest of the chapters here; Chapter 1: Greetings | Chapter 2: Unloading | Chapter 3: Cherries | Chapter 4: Worth the Wait | Chapter 5: Books | Chapter 6: Grief | Chapter 7: Unlikely | Chapter 8: Happy Birthday, Solider | Chapter 9: A Christmas Moment | Chapter 10: The Best Holiday | Chapter 11: Permission | Chapter 12: Revitalize | Chapter 13: Backstabber | Chapter 14: Luck of the Dead| Chapter 16: Apologize | Chapter 17: Specially Gifted | Chapter 18: New Day

-

March 10th, 2028

He’s lost count of how many days have passed since he found out. Clint and Laura keep ticking off dates on a calendar they taped to his fridge, but he doesn’t look at it. Can’t be bothered to.

Many of those days he’s spent curled on his couch. It’s his makeshift bed, his makeshift table, his makeshift solace, because he cannot be in the places where all those beautiful moments had been born.

The Bartons try their best to help him, taking turns to stop by his apartment, bring him food, and encourage him to shower. He barely acknowledges them when they enter; he half wonders how they have a key.

“The door was locked.” Bucky grunts, not moving from his spot on the couch. Laura was in the middle of sweeping the panel flooring when she paused, clearing her throat.

“She offered hers,” she says, quickly adding. “after she asked how you were doing.”

How was he doing? Not that it was any of Wanda's business, not anymore.

Bucky realizes he is being absolutely pathetic, hiding himself away like a child. He hates how he’s acting, wishes he could change it but he can’t help how his body reacts to this change.

Make it stop. Please.

March 28th, 2028

Working out has always been a place he can lose himself, and he finds he does it more and more. His workouts last nearly four hours now, but when a persons day starts at three in the morning, finishing his makeshift routine at seven am doesn’t really eat much of his time.

He’s grateful for the emptiness the early morning provides. Headphones blasting, he rides his bike to the gym, doesn’t bother to turn the headlight on. Not like anyones awake anyways.

It’s still chilly, and it only intensifies the loneliness. His apartment has become suffocating, he can’t stand to be in it. He finally convinced Clint he didn’t need round-the-clock care, so their visits had dropped to once a week; but now, the silence was choking him.

Kick stand up, he hauls his duffle onto his back, shuffling inside the SWORD operated gym. There’s low music playing, and a singular person is in the gym, mid-squat; aside from the lone squatter, it's deserted.

Bucky drops his duffle, wipes at his eyes as he stretches. He hadn’t realized he’d been crying; that seemed to be a common occurrence noweredays. Bending, his fingers scratch the ends of his toes. His headphones are nearly vibrating; they're so loud, and soon he loses himself in the movement.

Working out is easy; you push or pull weight, move your ligaments and joints until they nearly collapse under the pressure, and keep even, keep based. Working out can’t hurt your head. Your brain can’t hurt as your leg muscles scream.

He doesn’t realize he’s being spoken to until a hand smacks his shoulder. He drops his dumbbells, whirling around as he pulls his headphones off.

“You snapped too, right?”

He’s taken aback by the stranger's question. She’s large, for a woman; her black hair is tied high on her head, large thighs constricted in dark leggings. There are silver bands on her wrists, and her eyes are trained on him.

“Uh,” Bucky replies, still breathing hard. Who interrupts a man in the middle of his set?

“You don’t know me, I’m Sif.” She says, hands on hips. “I think…you’re Steve Rogers bitch right?”

Her terminology throws him. “And you are?”

She laughs, her arms dropping. “Guess you could say I’m Thor’s bitch. Or I was.”

Bucky stabs the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “You’re from Asgard?”

“Yep,” Sif nods, back peddling her legs to her rack. “I’m stuck here now. Wanna workout tomorrow?”

Bucky isn’t sure why he says yes.

They settle into an odd routine; meeting at ungodly times in the morning, pushing their bodies to the physical limit for a few hours and barely speaking to one another. He enjoys it, the companionship is not a terrible thing. It keeps his mind busy for a few hours at least.

When Sif doesn’t show up one morning, he hates to say he’s a bit disappointed. He could’ve really used her for his set. He makes due, wondering halfheartedly what color t-shirt Wanda was currently sleeping in. He stretches, arms high in the air, before dropping his limbs to his toes, and repeating. It’s easy, it’s grounding, and he momentarily forgets the color of her eyes.

The next morning, Sif is there before him, running on the treadmill. She’s sweating, most of her hair falling from its band and he drops his bag beside her machine.

“Overslept yesterday?” He asks, crossing his arm over his chest to warm up. She doesn’t answer, instead speeds up the machine, arms swinging as she runs. Bucky shrugs; they aren’t friends. She doesn’t owe him a conversation.

He begins his ritual. His heart is hammering, and for once it’s not from hurt. His limbs ache as he commits to his shoulder press, his metal arm whining in resistance. Reaching the top, he gives out, dropping the weights. They come slamming down, knocking his headphones from his ears. The device shatters, hitting the floor with a crunch and Bucky swears. The sound of the treadmill is still vibrating, and he glances at the rows of machines.

Sifs face is bright red as she runs, and she’s gasping, pressing the button faster and faster. Looking down at his broken headphones, Bucky swears again, kneeling down to glare at them. Work out officially ruined.

The sound of skin hitting rubber rings through the gym, a thump echoing, and Bucky stands straight, peering around. Sif is no longer on the treadmill, she’s sprawled next to it.

“You alright?” Bucky asks, striding to her and kneeling. Her eyes are closed, red cheeks puffing out.

“Lost my damn footing.” She huffs, hand pressed to her forehead. Bucky stands, holding a hand out to her. Sif looks at it in annoyance, but takes it, and as he pulls her up she wobbles, falling back to the floor.

“Fuck!” She shouts, resting her elbows on her knees. Bucky kneels back down so they’re eye level, looking at her. She glares, nostrils flared. “What’re you staring at?”

He stares harder, not able to put his finger on it. Sif blinks once, twice.

Aha.

“You fell because you’re drunk.” He gives her an incredulous look. Sif narrows her eyes.

“What's it to you.”

“Nothing,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Just stating the fucking obvious.”

“You gotta mouth on you.” She retorts.

His nostrils flare. “So do you. And you people are supposed to be etherall.”

“No one gives a shit what we do,” she laughs, but it's humorousless. “Why do you think I’m stuck here?”

The last sentence isn’t a question, it's a commentary. Filler to help him understand why a once asgardian knight is spending her early mornings drunk at a gym. He gets it, and opts not to judge. He’s pretty much doing the same thing.

“Well next time don’t crack your fucking skull open.” Bucky muses, raising to the balls of his feet with his elbows placed on his knees.

Sif raises her brow, her mouth twisted and they both feel it. He breathes out slowly, his mouth dry, and he doesn’t know which one kisses the other first.

Teeth click, skin burns as they grab for one another, Sif pulling him atop her on the gym floor. His heart elates, chest fills and he didn’t realize how much sorrow was on him until he felt it rise.

He knew this feeling was fleeting, he knew it wouldn’t last. But it was a moment of ease, a moment to bury himself in something that wasn’t her agony, and he took it swiftly.

Their lips are bruising, hips pushing as he presses her into the floor. He isn’t holding back as his metal arms grips her top, ripping it from her shoulders. Sif gasps in his mouth, her fingers in his hair as her tongue swipes at him, pulling harshly.

His hips are snapping into hers painfully, head dipped to the crook of her neck, biting her salty skin. Scrunching his eyes closed, movements erratic, the feeling of relief subsiding, and the colorless world is inching its way back.

He has to bite his tongue to keep from saying her name into this other woman’s hair.

#winterwitch #bucky barnes x wanda maximoff #cross posted on ao3

[hazbinbargainbin]

I posted 982 times in 2022

That's 789 more posts than 2021!

392 posts created (40%)

590 posts reblogged (60%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@arachn0philia

@hazbinbargainbin

@hellizens-a

@poisoncandyhearts

@smiledotdeer-a

I tagged 975 of my posts in 2022

Only 1% of my posts had no tags

#i feel the heat; i see the light (angel dust) - 314 posts

#the radio demon (alastor) - 162 posts

#pun mun - 138 posts

#the audience (answered ask) - 124 posts

#lets try something new! (ask memes) - 121 posts

#wait - there's a script? (ooc) - 112 posts

#shady spectators (anonymous) - 89 posts

#not for the kiddins (nsfw) - 84 posts

#prince of hell; father of one (stolas) - 82 posts

#oh the dashboard melted but we've still got the radio (dashboard) - 78 posts

Longest Tag: 129 characters

#(hi hello i haven't been able to write for a few days. i'm keeping the event up for a little longer to deal with my stupid brain)

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Silk and pennies

Closed starter for @poisoncandyhearts

"We gave you plenty of fuckin' chances, Valentino. Really would have thought this slut was worth more to ya then a few bucks..."

With the sound of a struggle and a short scream, a video ends before picking up into a fresh loop of threats, demands, and consequences for ignoring their previous attempts in a torturous choir of screams and cries. It's hard to say how many times it's played now, how many times Val's actually payed attention to it, but it's the last lead in a week long scramble to find his most profitable lover whore.

Well, until.

A text comes from his eyes and ears through all things tech, simple yet all too foreboding.

[Txt: Vox] Found him. You're not gonna be happy, though. Come meet us. [Address attached]

12 notes - Posted April 13, 2022

#4

How Many People Are Simping For You?

“Are we...surprised? It’s a wise thing, not placing your affection in my hands. They’re far too bloodied to be gentle anymore.”

13 notes - Posted January 13, 2022

#3

One more day. One more night, really.

It’s all come to a terrible, awful, nasty sort of head.

No warning nor context, Angel merely sends out a mass text to any and all contacts he can remember through the haze of his heat - the fact that he can properly type them in a miracle. 

[txt] “Don’t care who comes. Someone’s gotta fuck me through this stupid fucking heat or I’m gonna croak. Please.”

24 notes - Posted April 3, 2022

#2

Trust no one, not even-

One more hour...just one. more. hour.

It wasn’t an exaggeration, the day seemingly crawling on just to prolong the prince’s work. Exorcists have come from all over just to attack his humble home, to slay the many cowering souls inside. It’s been a nightmare trying to keep the barrier in tact.

His head hurts terribly. A fresh throb running through his nerves with each strike of a heavenly body against the shimmering veil.

It’s almost over though...enough so that he considers dropping said veil, allowing the souls inside to fend for themselves for the last minutes of the ‘holiday’. To hole up with his daughter in the safe space of their rooms - it’s far less area to protect, afterall. It’s not like they’re unarmed...despite his pleading that weapons be kept away from the place of peace. He’s not stupid enough to have tried to take them.

A brief break is taken from the crowd so Stolas can return to his room - several older radios set in a line all lit up. He kneads his feathers as he takes a seat on the bed, listening in. Calastor...Mr.Dan...Dubois...god, even Angel Dust is among them! There’s so many voices of pain that only add to the ache in Stolas’s skull, but he needs to listen. Ensure they’re alive so he might help them once the Angels take their leave. Click.

Stolas’s head whips behind him at the sound, startled that someone has followed him. He takes a breath to scold them, remind them that anything beyond the kitchen is off limits...but the breath stays in his throat as he turns to face his visitor, red eyes rounding with realization.  “...What are you-”

See the full post

27 notes - Posted December 31, 2021

My #1 post of 2022

Meme tag | Available muses

Semi-selective RP/Ask blog for multiple characters from Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss

Multi Fandom and OC Friendly 7+ years rp experience Mun and muse 20+  NSFW themes present, preferably 18+ only. Canon + Fanon divergent Run by Avian

There is no expiration on any meme, just make it clear which meme it is so I can find it again! Also, if you are a personal main, please have SOME indication of a roleplay blog. Otherwise you might end up blocked by accident.

                     //PERSONALS DO NOT REBLOG//

61 notes - Posted January 10, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

[embrassemoi]

Calling to Join

Away for a press tour for his latest film, Sirius finds another way to be with his fiancé at the Met Gala.

PAIRING: Actor!Sirius Black x F!Reader

WORD COUNT: 1k

CONTENT: good old fashioned fluff

NOTES: I was editing my Remus Met Gala fic when I thought of this idea so :) ! I hope you like it

“Next question please.”

Low chatter spread amongst the crowd, the journalist and representatives moving onto another co-star on the panel, finally giving Sirius a break.

Slumping into his chair, Sirius rolled his shoulders back as he felt a few joints click and pop. He blinked languidly, eyes lidded with exhaustion as he reached out to sip on his now lukewarm tea. His nose wrinkled at the bitter taste; the leaves had been steeped for too long.

Panning up to the clock near the exit sign, Sirius’ head subconsciously shook. 9:12 pm. He’d been working for more than eleven hours at that point.

He felt like whining, which was nothing unusual. But for Christ's sake — all he wanted to do was sleep.

It had been a little over two months now that Sirius had been away from his house in London; flown across the world, busy with a worldwide press conference tour for the latest movie he starred in.

The flurry of questions he worked through was, at most, bland — nearly all of them he had heard a thousand times previously, and answered similarly. They varied from the standard set questions of the behind the scenes, favourite memories with co-stars, who they want to work with next and so on. The only thing that saved Sirius from boredom was being able to talk to the eager fans.

“— Sirius, unsurprisingly, took the longest,” James announced into the microphone. “We were constantly late to set because he couldn’t stop fussing about his hair.”

He blinked out of his sleepy daze, forcing out a dry chuckle. “You can’t rush the makeup process!”

Sirius was about to speak again, only to pull back from the mic and force the yawn that crept up his throat down.

Professionalism, he thought. Yes, because he was known for his pristine image.

James noticed, immediately patting his back before the journalists took control of the questioning.

“This one is for Sirius, again,” the young reporter said. “But it isn’t regarding the film.”

He perked up a little at this, but his shoulders remained slumped, preparing to be asked another generic inquiry.

“Really? Well, I’m curious.”

“The Met Gala in New York just began less than an hour ago.”

Sirius felt his entire body straighten, eyes widening and a smirk splitting into a large smile; elated for the turn in conversation. “No! It just started?”

“Yes! There were rumours that you were supposed to attend this year, no?”

He hummed in response. “I was until the tour was scheduled,” he rushed out, brain sparking and heart fluttering just at the mere thought of her. “Anway, did you know my fiance is hosting this year?”

Fiance… what a word.

“I do! Everyone is talking about her. I’m assuming you’ve seen her outfit already?”

If it was possible, Sirius’ smile stretched even wider across his face — hurting his cheeks as the flashing of a few cameras went off. Even James chortled, no doubt at his excitement.

His head shook. “Because of the time differences, it’s hard to find a time to properly talk. But last I heard there were a few changes. I didn’t get to see the final look. Have pictures already been released?”

“Yeah, just wait a moment,” the reporter said, fishing his phone out from his pocket. Sirius pushed his hair out of his face, leaning over the table, eager for a glimpse of his fiance. The rest of his co-stars, various journalists and the crowd giggled.

With a swipe of the man’s thumb, his phone unlocked with an article still open on the screen as he scrolled to the top. He handed him the phone.

Muttering ‘thank you,’ Sirius took it, knuckles cracking as the proud simper on his face was permanently craved on. His eyes flickered around the screen, staring at the images of her. “She looks bloody incredible…”

His eyes never wavered from the screen, only scratching his beard as he mumbled into the microphone. “I miss her so much.”

Mocking cooing from James flooded the room as he kicked him under the table, only for the room to erupt in laughter.

“Wait!” Sirius said, placing the man’s phone on the table and slipping his out. “Let me just —”

Sliding it open, he hovered his finger above her contact, taping to FaceTime and waited for her to pick up. He held the phone to his face, positing the microphone close so it would pick up the audio as they watched him with anticipation.

The screen flashed from black to her face, brow scrunched in confusion and Sirius could see just a peek of the red carpet behind her.

“Hi, angel,” he drawled, immense pride swelling in his chest.

“Erm — hello!” She said, the sound of chattering and camera shutters going off made it harder to hear her voice. “I thought you were in the middle of an interview? Did it end early?”

The crowd laughed.

“No,” he said, flipping his phone and showing her to the audience. They cheered, some even whistled as they clapped, bombarding her with compliments. Eventually, he put his face back into camera view. “Saw some photos of you, just wanted to say you look gorgeous tonight! I know you’ll do amazing — you know I miss you and love you!”

Her eyes lit up, smiling so widely that it made his heart ache.

“Thank you so much. I miss you too. I’ll make sure to send you some pics l  —” “I like the sound of that.”

“... Sirius!”

“Bye, darling!”

Cheekily, before she was able to get another word in, Sirius hung up the call as the crowd erupted into a fit of laughter. Quickly, he sent a series of little texts.

“Can you believe I’m engaged to that stunner?” He blurted.

“Black is what the kids like to say these days, whipped,” James added.

Sirius ignored him. Any trace of boredom or sleep was wiped away completely, filled with a new sense of buoyancy. He lent back over the table, handing the phone back to the report and shook his hand. “You just made my day. Thank you.”

S.B M.LIST | MARAUDERS M.LIST | MAIN M.POST

Follow @mavawrites and turn on notifications (this acts as my general taglist).

GOTKINDABORED © 2021. Do not repost or modify.

#sirius black x reader #Sirius Black fluff #sirius black x reader fluff #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black one shot #sirius black imagine #Sirius Black fanfic #sirius black #Sirius Black x y/n #Sirius Black x you #hp marauders #harry potter fanfiction #marauders fanfiction #the marauders #harry potter marauders #hp imagine #hp one shot #hp fluff #Harry Potter x reader #Harry Potter fluff #young marauders #young!sirius black x reader #harry potter au #young!sirius black #marauders era #james potter #harry potter x reader #marauders x reader #the marauders imagine #queue and i

[devilyn]

leave a message at the tone | kuroo tetsurou

— alexa, play: stay by kid laroi ft. justin bieber

I do the same thing I told you that I never would I told you I'd change, even when I knew I never could I know that I can't find nobody else as good as you I need you to stay, need you to stay, hey

— synopsis: kuroo can't stop drinking, and only realizes what he cares about most when you're gone. — genre: angst, happy endings, sad kuroo — word count: 1.6k

He knew he shouldn’t have done this again. Drinking late at night and stumbling home in the dark. He knew you’d give him that look again. That same look you gave him each night you’d gently rub his back while he threw up, and each morning while begging him to stop going out so often.

He knew, but it was like he couldn’t control himself. He could escape daily life when he drank--pretend like he was satisfied with himself and didn’t have an ounce of responsibility. Yet, when he sobered up, you’d always be right there, laying in bed next to him and fast asleep. With your presence always came the overwhelming guilt of being a burden to you, and dragging you down with him.

As he kicked his shoes off, he heard you shuffling around on the couch. When he looked up, you were already standing in front of him and rubbing the sleep from your eyes. His vision blurred, and he couldn’t help but drunkenly smile at the sight of you.

“I’m leaving.”

It took his inebriated brain a few seconds to process your words, but when he did, his smile dropped instantly.

“What do you--”

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve asked you to stop this,” you cut off his slurred words. Now that he was looking closer, through his blurred vision, he could see the redness in your eyes and the familiar swelling in your lower lip where you bit down to try and suppress your cries.

“I’ve had enough, that’s all I can really say now,” you continued, voice shaky and hands trembling. Kuroo swayed a bit on his feet, still trying to process what was happening right in front of his eyes.

“Wait--” he struggled to grab your hands, fumbling a bit, even though you didn’t bother to resist. “Please, I’ll be better. I’ll--I’ll drink less often, I’ll come home earlier--”

“You say that all the time,” you told him calmly, “but nothing ever changes, does it?”

He was afraid. He’d rather you yell and scream at him, call him a piece of trash and abandon him fully. Tell him he ruined your life and you never wanted to see him again.

But you didn’t. You never would.

“I really loved you,” you said instead through tears, “I’m sorry.”

Loved. Loved. Loved...?

He stood still, unable to say anything more as you pulled your hands out of his own and flashed him a watery smile. You grabbed your packed suitcase that he didn’t even realize was sitting right by the door, and slipped past him.

Out of his apartment with you, and out of his life.

Kuroo couldn’t remember how the rest of the night went. When he woke up the next morning, he felt the familiar urge to vomit and quickly stumbled to the toilet.

A nightmare, he thought while washing his face after throwing up anything he might’ve consumed in the last 12 hours. It must’ve been a nightmare. He’d walk back to his bedroom, and you’d be lying there on your side of the bed, half awake and waiting for him to come back to sleep.

But when he trudged back to the bedroom, his heart sank to his feet when he saw it was empty.

He must not have noticed the night before--must’ve passed out before he could even register what had happened--but every semblance of you was gone. Your clothes, your familiar knick knacks, your favorite pillow, even polaroids and pictures you’d set up of you and him--they were all gone.

How cruel of you. You didn’t leave anything behind for him to remember you by.

His hand weakly smoothed over your side of the bed, where he remembered you were just yesterday morning. His head throbbed as he recalled the way you gently kissed his forehead while murmuring something about making him a cup of coffee.

Kuroo laid in bed for the rest of the day, eyes closed, and not bothering to drink water to soothe his dry throat or take any painkillers for the pounding in his head.

Maybe it was his way of repenting for his mistakes in your relationship. For hurting you, and for chasing you away because he couldn’t give up the numbness that came from alcohol.

Now, it seemed he didn’t need it anymore. The next day, when he monotonously went through the motions of going to his classes, eating lunch, completing his assignments, and studying for his exams, he no longer felt anything.

There was something missing inside of him. Something that left him feeling empty. His pen moved over the paper as he took notes, but something didn’t feel right. His fingers flew over the keys as he typed up a report for his professors, but something was off. His lips parted, and he chewed his food as he usually did, but something was different.

When he glanced at his phone for the first time later that night in his empty apartment just to check the time, he realized.

Tears pricked at his eyes at the sight of his lock screen. Your bright smile, right next to his own.

Maybe that was when it finally hit him. You were gone. You had left him.

Kuroo buried his face in his hands, the dinner he bought left abandoned on the dining room table as he sobbed into his palms.

You gave him what he wanted. That numbness he was chasing after was here to stay, because you took a piece of his heart with him when you left.

“I’m sorry--” he mumbled to your voicemail later that night, just hours before his next class would begin at 8am. “I should’ve listened to you. Running away from my problems really doesn’t help.”

He could picture you scolding him over lunch, telling him that drinking would only help him hide from his life for so long. Telling him you were there for him, and you could get through this together.

Together.

God, he wished so badly the two of you could be together right now.

“I just wanted to apologize,” he told your voicemail again the next night, “...for taking advantage of you being by my side, and not cherishing you while I could.”

Everyday was the same without you. Eat, study, sleep, eat, repeat. Sometimes, his eyes would instinctively search for you in places he knew you two used to frequent together. Sometimes, he’d see you sitting next to him at the dining table at home. You’d look up from your phone and smile at him, and when he blinked, you’d be gone.

“That night, you apologized,” he murmured over the phone on another night to someone he wasn’t even sure was listening. He lost track of how many messages he’d left you. “It was never your fault. I just want you to know that. You did...everything you could.”

A few weeks after you left, he finally spotted you on campus. Your back was to him, but he recognized you regardless. The sight of you for the first time in such a long time warmed his heart. For a second, Kuroo contemplated calling out to you.

But you quickly disappeared in the crowd of busy students who could care less about the brokenhearted man standing in the center of campus.

And he clutched at his chest.

“I stopped drinking,” he admitted quietly in another message while laying in bed, “I have you to thank for that. I know it’ll never make up for anything, and I know it won’t bring you back, but...I like to think you’d be proud of me.”

He threw out every half-empty bottle of vodka that he’d hidden from you a few nights after you left. Somehow, it felt good to let go of something he was dependent on for so long.

He hoped that even if you weren’t here with him, you’d hear his message and you’d be happy for him.

“I love you,” he finally confessed in what he told himself would be his last voicemail, “I know you said you loved me, but I--I still love you. I’m sorry...you won’t hear from me again. I’m sorry for everything.”

He was sleeping better now. Before, there were nights where he’d stay up the whole night imagining what life could be like if you had stayed by his side.

Now, he’d close his eyes, and tell himself you were happier without him.

“I’m coming over. I hope your schedule hasn’t changed.”

He never expected to get a text from you. He also never expected for you to actually show up with an expression filled with relief when he opened the door.

For a second, Kuroo just took you in. It felt like years since he last saw your face, but you looked as beautiful as ever. You still used the same body wash he had contemplated buying just to smell like you when you first left, and you still had that familiar habit of fumbling with your fingers when you were nervous.

“...hi,” he greeted you quietly, and you smiled softly up at him.

“Hey,” you responded, reaching up to gently cup his cheek.

He instinctively leaned into your touch, relishing in the feeling of your skin against his own as his eyes closed.

“You still love me?” you asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Kuroo responded, eyes still closed, “I do.”

He heard you sigh, and he opened his eyes to see your weak smile as you took his hands into your own.

“...alright. Then let’s start over.”

He squeezed your hands, the coldness in his heart quickly washing away as tears started to well up in his eyes.

“...you’ll stay?” he asked tearfully as you reached up to gently wipe his tears away.

“I’ll stay.”

He wrapped his arms tight around you, his face buried in your hair as he cried.

Your hands gently rubbed his back, and quietly to himself, Kuroo hoped that you’d stay forever.

#haikyuu angst #kuroo tetsurou angst #kuroo angst #haikyuu scenarios #kuroo tetsurou scenarios #kuroo tetsurou imagines #haikyuu imagines #hurt/comfort #kuroo imagines #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagine #kuroo scenarios #kuroo tetsurou #haikyuu