#barely an x reader lmao

[nutsuya]

Wriothesley when asked “what are you doing tomorrow?” And he goes “the usual. Paperwork, make a couple of rounds, more paperwork, then hopefully you at… 3 pm, and again at 7 or 8. After I take you out to dinner, of course.”

[s-brant]

Make It Better

my masterlist (gif: @conradfiisher)

After getting into an argument with his brother, Conrad seeks out the comfort of a close friend.

8k (18+)

Warnings: smut, oral sex (fem receiving), p in v, strong language, and slight angst.

-

For every girl in Cousins, there was something about Conrad Fisher that made them go a little crazy. And for Y/N, a girl who grew up with the Fishers and Conklins next door every summer, it was the fact that he decided to choose her of all people to be with. Even if Belly had him first, it was all worth it to her.

With Conrad, it's all soft-spoken praises, feather light brushes off his fingertips against forbidden places, and sensual kisses. It's all she can see when she closes her eyes to sleep at night or merely blinks during the day. It's hard to keep it a secret when her mind refuses to stop recalling the memories at a constant rate. Still, she has to be on her best behavior seeing that it is the last night they have together before the house is officially sold by Aunt Julia. And to honor their summer house, they collectively decided to throw a goodbye party.

The vibration of the bass thumping within the walls of the house is strong enough to rattle her eardrums as she takes a shot with her arm interlinked with Cam Cameron's. He, of course, is drinking a can of soda, but she was quick to assuage his insecurity when he mentioned it. It was the thought that counted.

She and Cam have been friends since they were in middle school, so, when he joined their circle of friends through Belly last year, it made her happy to have him around in the way Jere, Steven, Conrad, and Belly always were. When he and Belly ended their fling, she was there for both of them. She hugged Cam for a minute straight before letting go and offering to cheer him up with ice cream. For Belly, she told her she did the right thing by not leading him on and told her to follow her heart, wherever it may lead her, as they swam in the pool.

How was Y/N supposed to know it would lead her straight into the arms of the boy she's always loved?

"Okay," Cam rips her from her thoughts as he speaks, shoving his hydroflask filled with ice water into her hands, "You are officially cut off for the night until I see you drink some of this. I think your blood may be fifty percent tequila at this point."

She frowns at him.

"You're no fun, but I appreciate you looking out," she says.

She stays with him to swallow a few generous mouthfuls of water before handing the bottle back to him with a quiet, "Thank you. M'gonna go find Connie and Steven."

The last she checked, the two of them were taking pictures with the Polaroid camera they bought at the store earlier. They called her and Belly over to take turns taking pictures together. One of them all together, one of Y/N and Steven, then Belly and Conrad, and, finally Y/N and Conrad.

It was hard to watch Belly pose with him considering their extensive history together, but he knew that, and when it was her turn to pose with him, he wrapped his hand around her waist and entwined his fingers in hers to give it a reassuring squeeze. This made it extremely difficult for her not to smile too hard as she looked at the camera lens.

After the flash went off, Steven, the only person to know the details of their recent, days-old affair, says, "Wait, one more! One more! You'll thank me later, I swear."

With Belly having skated off, Taylor doing God knows what, and Jere lingering not far from wherever Belly went, they didn't feel too worried when they were directed to hug for the camera. Her cheek squished against his, their chests rising and falling to meet one another like matching puzzle pieces, and the scent of his body wash—the proximity to him was intoxicating.

"Okay, smileee—"

The flash off went off, and they stayed together for a few seconds longer than necessary before reluctantly pulling apart.

Steven handed each of them one of the pictures with a wink before saying, "Alright, Taylor wants me to do shots with her. I'll probably be back soon."

Conrad got the first one and she got the second. They couldn't help how they smiled as they stood side by side to admire them. His was carefully placed in the back pocket of his pants, which then made her realize that she did not have any pockets herself.

"Can you keep it safe for me?" she asked with a bright, moony-eyed expression. Her hands then slid down the front of her dress to feel for any place to store the photograph only to come up empty. "It's my own fault. Shouldn't have worn a dress."

His eyes softened as they looked up and down the length of her body, then settled back on her eyes.

"No," he said before he could stop himself, "it's perfect."

Her breath hitched in her throat, and she was about to open her mouth to speak when Cam and Skye called her name from across the room.

After a second, he spoke again, "I'll catch up with you later, Padme."

When he turned to walk away, he heard her giggle from behind his back at the inside joke shared between the two of them.

As she searches through the house for him now, she smiles to herself at the thought of it. It originated when they were mere children. After finishing a marathon of the Star Wars franchise in release order—the only correct way to watch it according to Susannah and Laurel—one summer, they all became obsessed with playing pretend with sticks as lightsabers. A week later, once it became apparent that it wasn't a fleeting phase, Susannah surprised them with toy lightsabers.

Somehow, they decided amongst themselves who was who, and it just so happened that Y/N was Padme and Conrad was Anakin. Jere and Steven made a deal to take turns playing Obi-Wan Kenobi since they originally both wanted to be him, and Belly, the youngest of the bunch, was so happy to be included that she would play whatever character they wanted her to for the day. The only roles that never changed were Anakin and Padme. Even when they got to the main trilogy in their game of pretend, Conrad played Darth Vader, and Y/N let Belly be Princess Leia while she played as Darth Sidious. One way or another, they were always paired in some way. Fated.

They much preferred playing as the star-crossed lovers as opposed to the pair of evil Sith Lords. It pleased her more than she ever let on that she and Conrad were together, even if it was just pretend. They've always teasingly called each other by those names ever since.

She peeks into every entryway when she walks by in hopes that she'll spot Conrad or Steven, but neither of them appears. It isn't until she steps out onto the front porch after searching the whole lower level of the house that she finds one of them. Well, actually, she hears one of them. Conrad.

"Jere, you know for a fact that I came home every second I could—"

"But it wasn't every day!"

Jeremiah, she notes as she stands with her back against the front door. Neither of them sees her.

"Okay, okay," Conrad retorts. "What do you want? A medal?"

What Jere says next makes her have to look away in the direction of the neighbor's yard, not wanting to see the heartbreak written across his brother's face as he calls him a coward. Her jaw tightens with every vitriolic word spewed at him. It isn't her place to interrupt, but it kills her to stand by and listen.

"You're not someone to look up to. You're not even someone I wanna know."

The universe must have a cruel sense of humor, because the second these words are said, someone trying to swing the door open against her back sends her stumbling forward into their line of vision. The sound of her falling to her hands and knees brings their attention away from one another instantly.

Her eyes meet Jeremiah's first, then they immediately switch to lock eyes with Conrad, and the first thing out of her mouth is, "I wasn't trying to eavesdrop or anything. I just came out here cause I couldn't find you guys. I'll go back inside." Despite her anger at what she overheard, she makes sure to look at both of them when she says, "I'm sorry."

She's already on her feet and facing the front door, abandoned by the guy who tried to walk out only to be greeted with this shit-show, when Jeremiah says, his tone harsh, "Don't. I was already leaving."

This makes her stop in her tracks, her hand frozen in place where it grabs the door handle, and, after she listens to Jere's footsteps gradually disappear, she turns back around.

Conrad is closer now than he was a second ago. Rather than remain in the driveway where he and his brother argued, he stands on the porch with his hands in his pockets. The look on his face...it's heartbreaking. His eyes are glassy, his lips downturned into a slight frown he tries to keep at bay, and knows based on the look he gives her alone that he will never forget what Jere said to him tonight.

She says softly, "Connie," unsure of what else to say to him, but that's all it takes to open the floodgates.

Silent tears start to fall down his cheeks as she closes the distance between them to take him into her arms in a comforting embrace. He bends down a little to allow his head to rest on her shoulder. Her hand cups the back of it to cradle his face into the soft crook of her neck, giving him the shelter he needs from the rest of the party to cry it out. The arms wrapped around her waist squeeze tightly enough to push the air from her lungs, but she never complains. To be in his arms is a blessing regardless of the reason and circumstances behind it.

They remain this way for the better half of a minute before he has the courage to break the silence. The hand on the back of his head brushes through his hair in a repetitive motion in hopes that it will soothe him.

"Do you wanna get out of here?" he asks. "I just"—he shakes his head—"I can't think straight right now..."

She nods.

"We can go to my house."

The Fishers and Conklins aren't nearly as familiar with her family's summer house as she is with theirs, but they have been inside a few times. On days when he didn't feel like being around everyone last summer, Conrad would come over and sit in the chair in the corner of her room, blowing the smoke from his joint out of the window while she cleaned, folded laundry, or read whatever book Laurel had recommended to her at the time. It was domestic in a way that made her heart skip a beat. It made her imagine how it would be in the future if they were together. If they truly ended up getting married as they pretended to when they were children while playing as Anakin and Padme.

She reaches down and entwines their fingers in order to lead him away in the direction of the house next door. It's a short walk over the fence gate that connects their yards. That was Susannah's doing. Five years into her friendship with the kids in her house, she and Y/N's parents agreed to install a new fence with a gate between their two properties to allow their children to play without having to leave the yard.

With everyone busy partying, no one should come back to sleep until way later. It wasn't until after they arrived back from their night at the country club that she remembered where her mom kept the spare key, so the others may forget their plans to sleep there. If they do, she'll shoot them a text in the group chat to remind them rather than allow them to sleep on the floor.

The door is already unlocked from when she went inside to shower and get ready with Taylor and Belly before the party, so all it takes is her turning the handle to allow them access.

She drops his hand once the door is kicked shut behind them and looks over her shoulder to say, "I think there's frozen food in the garage freezer if you're hungry," as she walks toward the kitchen. "And there's still my mom's Diet Coke in the fridge. We could always mix it with my dad's whiskey if you wanna keep drinking."

From behind, she can hear his footsteps on the freaking hardwood floor, getting closer and closer until his hand wraps around her arm to spin her around to face him.

"What—"

The question is cut short by his lips crashing against hers.

Kissing Conrad is something she doesn't think she will ever get used to or grow tired of. No matter how many times it happens, which, so far, has been at least three times since the night they spent at the country club, it takes her breath away the same as it had the first time when they were just children playing pretend.

Her arms are thrown around his neck in less than a second to pull him closer, and she doesn't hesitate to kiss him back. Not even for a second. At first, she is too intoxicated with the thrill of having him touching her to remember why they came here in the first place. Every thought revolves around him—the taste of the alcohol on his tongue, the feeling of his chest pressing against hers, and how confidently his hands find their place on her waist.

A second later, the memory of the fight he and Jere had comes back to her, and she forces herself to push him away.

"Wait," she says with her hands flattened against his chest to create some distance between them. "Wait, Connie."

When he opens his eyes, they're overflowing with concern for her. She already knows that he is assuming he made a mistake or that she doesn't truly want to do this with him, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. In fact, she is the one who is concerned for him.

"Are you okay? You and Jere just..." Her expression softens a little. "I don't wanna do this unless I know you're sure you're alright."

The confusion evident on his face disappears by the time she's finished speaking. In his mind, he anticipated something much worse than her wanting to check in on him to make sure he was okay. As the seconds passed between her telling him to wait and him looking at her, he feared she'd take back everything they shared in the past few days. All the secret kisses, gentle touches, and giggles. He wasn't sure he could take losing another one of the girls he grew up with in that way.

He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and stares at her without saying a word. If it were anyone else, it would be uncomfortable, but it never is with them. That's part of what keeps bringing him back to her. Of course, it can't end well seeing that he dated Belly, she's friends with her, and they had such a messy break-up, but what is he supposed to do? Ignore his feelings? Pretend not to want her when he clearly does? He can't do it. He won't. Now that he's already had a taste of her, he can't resist any it longer.

His chest rises with a deep inhale, then—

"I fucked everything up, and I knew Jere must have resented me for it, but I didn't think it was that bad," Conrad says. "I'm sad and angry, of course, but that doesn't mean you'd be taking advantage." He lets the tip of his nose brush hers with how close he comes. His voice is hardly a push of air when he speaks again. "You make everything feel better. You always have."

She doesn't allow him to kiss her again. Instead, she plays with the hair at the nape of his neck and keeps her eyes on his, not giving in even when their noses bump together and the heat of his exhales cloud on her skin. The kitchen table he has her pressed up against digs into her back, keeping her pinned in place exactly where he needs her.

"So, that's what you want?" she asks in a hushed tone even though they have the house to themselves. Every breath they take is pulled from the little pocket of air between their faces, and they can both smell the liquor on each other's breath every time they exhale. The hands on her waist slowly descend until they settle on her hips. "You want me to make it better?"

The moment she says the words, Conrad seems to melt into her touch. That is all it takes to turn him to putty in her hands, and he nods in response with his face pressed against hers.

"Is that okay?"

In other words, is that what you want? Have you been dying to get your hands on me the way I have been dying to get mine on you? It feels like a lifetime since they first hooked up in a secluded room at the country club, but it hasn't been more than a day.

In lieu of a verbal answer, she closes the inch of distance between them and connects their lips in a tender kiss.

He reciprocates with a passion that ramps up the intensity in a matter of seconds, quickly turning it from its initially timid and gentle nature into something more desperate and needy.  Those hands on her hips squeeze hard to keep control and steady her body as he presses her further into the table, making her back arch a little. Her hands wander to explore every part of him now that she knows he wants this again, and she slips them up underneath his shirt to feel his bare skin beneath her palms. But when her hands make contact with his nipples, he shivers.

Their lips disconnect, shining from the saliva they share, for him to murmur, "Cold hands," as explanation before reaching down for the hem of her dress. She helps him shimmy the tight material up from where it gets stuck around her breasts until it is pulled free and tossed somewhere on the kitchen floor behind her, leaving her in only her undergarments. And he is quick to dispose of those too. Nimble fingers fumble with the clasp of her bra for a few seconds, then it finally comes loose around her back.

But, that's the last thing she lets him take off of her before she puts a hand on his chest to stop him.

Without saying a word, she grasps the bottom of his shirt and starts lifting it up to reveal his bare chest to her. He takes the hint without a second of confusion, pulling it the rest of the way off. It drops from his grasp the second it's off his head and abandoned in favor of aiding her in her attempt to undo his pants with those soft, trembling hands.

In a way, it feels similar to their first time. It was against a wall at the country club the other night after they became bored looking for a place to sleep. All they knew was that they needed to make it quick, so they did. His hand disappeared down the front of her panties to help her along, the pressure of his fingertips rubbing her clit bringing a wetness that soaked the cotton fabric concealing her from view, and that was all the preparation they took before it happened. He asked, voice quiet and low, if she'd done it before when she began tugging on his shirt as they made out, so once she said she had, all bets were off.

The thought of it slows him down for a second.

That time, they had to get it over with quickly. If they hadn't, the others likely would have gone looking for them and found out what was going on in the office room they snuck into. It was rough and quick and passionate, and he liked that, he truly did, but recalling that now makes him want to do it differently this time. Especially considering what happened before they came into this house.

"Slower, slower," he murmurs into her mouth.

The adjustment is made instantly, and she allows him to take back full control of the kiss. With his hands pulling her hips flush against his, he surrenders to the urge to rut against her to relieve the aching of his hard cock through the material of his boxer briefs and unzipped pants. He invades her open mouth with his tongue and kisses her slower, deeper than he had the last time. His teeth nip playfully at her lower lip in the second he takes to pull back for air.

His hands cup her face on either side to keep her in place as he dips down to kiss the underside of her jaw. He doesn't dare to leave any marks behind where anyone could see them, but he does take his time and suck gently on the sweet spot on the gentle slope where her shoulder and neck bridge together. Faintly, they can both hear the music from his house next door over the wet sound of his lips on her neck.

The other day, they didn't have the time to do everything he wanted to with her, but tonight they do. Tonight, he has her to himself for the first time in months, and he isn't going to take that opportunity for granted. Everything with her happened too fast for him to process. Last week, he'd been caught up on Belly, and part of him still is, but, then, Y/N came into the picture in a way he never expected. Despite the fear of ruining their lifelong friendship, to be with her felt as natural a process as breathing.

The hands on her face slip down the sides of her neck and down the front of her body until they find the band of the thin little thong she chose tonight for the sake of not having panty lines through her dress. Part of it also had to do with the possibility of this happening again, but she'd never give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

It appears, however, that he already knows when she finds the end of his mouth tipping upwards in a slight smirk as his fingers hook around the fabric. Seeing that they just hooked up yesterday and that these are a decent step up from the boy-short panties patterned with flowers he saw her in before, it isn't too difficult to put together.

Conrad sinks down onto his knees to tug it down her legs, and before her cheeks can begin to burn with embarrassment, she warns him, "Don't even."

This draws a giggle from him, his head tilting back to let him look up at her. Even in the midst of their playfulness and laughter, the sight of him kneeling before her makes her go weak in the knees. The strands of hair hanging in his eyes frame his face with an effortlessness she has envied him for her whole life. His beauty is classic, statuesque, even. He is the specific type of attractive that never falls out of trend or becomes less shocking over time. At least, not for her.

"I didn't say anything."

She counters, still laughing, "You didn't have to!"

At this point, she is grinning from ear to ear, and it's difficult to be self-conscious about being laid bare in his presence when he's looking at her like that. Her left leg is lifted off of the ground for her underwear to slide off of her ankle, but he doesn't put it back down. Instead, he turns his head to kiss her sensitive inner thigh, leaving her with nothing to do except watch while the anticipation of what he plans on doing eats her alive.

Unlike her neck, he has no qualms about marking up her thighs. It may be mildly uncomfortable to forgo wearing shorts in the summer heat, but it's doable. She can wear some of the bottoms she has stored in the dresser upstairs to keep the others from seeing if need be. His other hand grips her right hip to keep her steady while his other has her bent leg propped over his shoulder. Soon, his kisses have made a path up the length of her thigh, and she can't help but breathe heavier when she feels the heat of his exhales at the apex of her thighs.

"Connie..." she breathes out.

This brings his attention up, eyes fluttering open from where they'd been closed as he inched closer and closer to where she wants him most. And when she finds him looking up at her, pupils dilated and lips swollen from kissing, she can hardly breathe.

He asks, "You nervous?"

Words fail her. All she can do is nod.

"Don't be," Conrad whispers, the hand on her hip reaching to take hers in it for the sake of comforting her. "It's just me."

To this, she chuckles a little and tries not to shift in place with the sheer discomfort of the need she feels for him in this moment. No one has ever done this specific sexual act with her before, so the nerves are strong, but not quite as strong as her curiosity or desire.

"That's exactly why I'm nervous."

Her free hand comes down to brush the hair out of his face, and he leans into the touch like a cat brushing up between your legs. His eyes shut again for a second to appreciate the sweet gesture before looking up at her again, a slight grin begging to come to fruition on his face.

"Let me make it better, then," he says softly, in that charming, distinctly Conrad way that could take any girl's breath away with ease.

The first flick of his tongue against her is gentle, a mere glimpse of what's to come, but it stuns her all the same. Never having experienced this before, she is extremely sensitive to anything he does to her, and she finds that she's far more sensitive when it's his mouth pleasuring her as opposed to his fingers. Every soft brush of his lips against her in teasing kisses makes her hips press forward into his face in a silent command to continue without her noticing that she's doing it. He is quick to notice it, though, and he doesn't continue to tease her any longer.

This time, when he spread her open on his tongue, he gives her what she wants.

Sparks of pleasure shoot through her the second she feels him lapping at her aching clit, soft and gentle at first until he feels her grinding herself forward against his face for more. With her soft sighs and stifled moans as encouragement, he dips his head between her legs and eats her like a man starved. The remaining leg she stands on is quickly guided over his other shoulder, and his hand slips out of hers in favor of taking hold of her hips. The supple flesh of her ass is soft where it is squeezed beneath his fingertips and used as leverage to bring her as close as possible.

"Mm," she whines, "Fuck..."

The ability to speak evades her in the heat of the moment, but they both know how much she's enjoying this without her having to come out and say it. If the sounds she's making weren't enough, the hand she has gripping the back of his head to keep his mouth on her would prove it.

She knew from conversations overheard between the boys that Conrad was no stranger to this kind of thing. It may have made her heart sink into the pit of her stomach to hear it back then, but, right now, she's thankful for his experience. Every lick, kiss, and caress is placed exactly where she needs it as though he's able to read her body without having to open his eyes. The pleasure he's giving her far outweighs the jealousy she feels when she remembers that he's done this with other girls, one of them possibly being Belly.

The taste of her arousal, slick on his lips and tongue, has him humming in contentment into her as though he is the one being pleasured by this. In a way, he is. There's something intoxicating about being surrounded by her in every sense like this—her weight on his shoulders, her hands in his hair, and her thighs clamped shut on either side of his face. His dick strains against the fabric of his underwear as well as his unzipped pants, pulsing with the desire to sink into her and find his release.

She cants her hips to grind down on his face in pursuit of something closer, something deeper that they can't manage like this. And it isn't long before she starts to pull gently at his hair, reaching down and trying to pull on his arm to get the message across.

Conrad's lips part from her soaked pussy with a wet sound. When he looks up at her from between her thighs, she can see how his lips and chin are smeared with her arousal. It glistens under the moonlight coming in through the kitchen window. In seconds, the moment is already gone. The hands gripping her hips slide down to take hold of her thighs in order to guide them off of his shoulders, and when he sets her back down onto the ground, her muscles are trembling.

He's standing back up at his full height with his body slotted perfectly between her legs in the time it takes her to blink. Their next kiss is hungrier, much more aggressive in nature, than the last they shared, and she can taste herself on his lips.

In the gaps between their fervent kisses, she says, breathless, "I know you wanted to go slower this time, but I can't." His tongue invades her mouth again, pushing past her soft lips to allow the taste of her lip balm to blend with the semi-sweet taste of her pussy. It's only when his tongue retreats to give him the chance to bite down on her bottom lip that she can speak again. "Please," she whines and juts her hips out until she feels him hard against her. "We can go again after, I just want you now."

This sends him into a bit of a frenzy.

He has had his fair share of hook-ups—not nearly as many as Jere but plenty—yet there's something about her that thrills him in a way few others ever could. No girl has ever said anything like that to him. With Belly, it was her first time, so everything was tender and experimental due to the nature of the situation. With Y/N, it's different in the sense that they cannot be fairly compared. How could anyone compare a gentle, sweet first time with what may end up being the best fuck of his life, surpassing the quickie at the country club that left them both breathless and weary.

Conrad is panting for air when their lips part, their mouths hanging open and brushing as he hefts her up onto the table with little effort. Beneath her hands, she can feel his biceps flex with the quick lift. Taut muscle contracts and pushes back against her fingers before relaxing again once her ass is planted on the tabletop, but if it weren't for her hands gripping his arms for support, she wouldn't have noticed it had any effect on him. It's strangely arousing. She never gave his casual strength much thought until he utilized it in this context for the first time. A thin sheen of sweat coated his forehead when he had to keep her lifted against the wall at the country club as he thrust into her, but he didn't struggle.

Please. He hears her whining the word on a loop in his mind as he aids her in shoving his pants and underwear down his lean thighs. We can go again after. She wraps her hand around his length and pumps a few times despite the fact that he's already hard enough for it to ache. All the while, he's still stuck on the things she said. We can go again after. Not only does she want him now, she already knows she'll want him again. I just want you now. That crucial part gave him the answers he'd been seeking for the past twenty-four hours since he pinned her to the wall at the country club and fucked her hard enough to make the framed paintings shake on their hooks. I just want you now. It was life-altering for her too.

As he angles his hips just right to guide the broad tip of his cock into her, his fingers dig into her hips so hard, she'll be shocked if it doesn't bruise by tomorrow.

She uses the legs wrapped around his hips to push him further into her, and they both gasp at the sensation it brings them. Her heels press into the backs of his thighs, urging him to take whatever he wants from her whenever he wants it. It doesn't matter that the stretch she feels the further she urges him inside of her almost makes her have to bite down on her lip to contain a wince. Nothing matters to her except for getting as close to him as physically possible.

He lets out a low, drawn-out, "Oh fuckkk," under his breath as he sinks the rest of the way into her.

Their noses bump with every slight movement made or breath taken in, and she refuses to look away from his eyes. There's something inherently vulnerable about holding unwavering eye contact with him while he is buried in her to the hilt. The hands on his biceps slide up slowly until both of her arms are wrapped behind his neck to keep him from shying away from her at any point. This is the closeness she craved more than anything. Nothing else would do, not even having him on his knees for her.

It's a wonder that he doesn't come right away with how tightly the soft, warm walls of her pussy are squeezing around him. And when she bucks her hips up in a wordless request for him to move, he shakes his head.

Eyes clenched shut, Conrad murmurs, "I just need a second."

He feels her nod against his face, her nose nudging his cheek. For the next thirty or so seconds, he remains as still as possible. It's torture for him to stay this way and resist doing what comes naturally. Although it's for his sake, not hers, he struggles to keep a firm enough hold on his self-control. He keeps his eyes shut because he knows that if he looks at her, he won't stand a chance.

It isn't until the fire that blazed in the pit of his abdomen has calmed that he allows himself to look at her again. When he opens his eyes, she's already watching him. Her fingers twirl strands of his hair absentmindedly, and when she sees him open his eyes again, she closes the gap between their lips again.

This time, as his lips slot against hers, he draws away from her, pulling out until it's only his tip inside of her.

"You don't have to be gentle," she murmurs. "I can take it. I won't break."

His response comes in the form of him snapping his hips into her until he's gone as deep as she can take him. Despite her urging him to get rougher with her, she still gasps at the sudden intrusion and looks up at him with a wide-eyed stare of disbelief. Her past hook-ups were meaningless and unfulfilling. It happened during her freshman year at Trinity College while Conrad and Belly were dating. Considering what was going on at the time, she didn't plan to talk to either of them about it afterward, and, once it was as over, she didn't want to.

It was horrible.

It was the polar opposite of her first time with Conrad. Not only was it with an uncaring frat boy she met at a party her roommate dragged her to, it was uncomfortable. He didn't do anything other than get himself hard and stick it in, and with her nerves being so bad, it was already hard for her to get aroused. But it couldn't be any more different now. It couldn't be any more different with him.

It's rougher than it was initially, yet still slow and sensual. The hands on her hips guide her into a cadence to match his movements each time he thrusts into her, stifling the sound of his own low moans by smearing his mouth against hers. It's a messy, open-mouthed kiss. Their tongues brush, saliva coating their lips, and he makes sure there isn't a single part of her left un-worshiped tonight. Whether it be her neck, her collarbone, or her jaw, he pays every part of her the attention it deserves, partly for her sake and partly because he cannot help himself.

Their lips pull apart with a loud smacking sound, and he keeps his forehead pressed to hers as he looks into her eyes, head tilting just slightly to the side. One of his hands abandons its place at her hip to slide up the length of her torso. Her stomach flinches inward at the contact of his knuckles brushing her skin on the way past, but it's when he lets his hand flatten over her breast that she lets out a shaky exhale, He doesn't spend too much time there, though. After teasing her with a gentle squeeze, his hand wraps around the back of her neck for the sake of having control of where she looks, and, right now, he wants her to look at him as he admits something to her.

"I've dreamt about this," Conrad whispers.

He delights in her slack-mouthed expression when he ruts into her a touch faster and harder for the sake of seeing the expression on her face shift.

Somehow, she finds her voice and manages to stammer out, "I"—she is interrupted by the need to take in a sharp breath of air—"I thought..."

The hand on the back of her neck squeezes harder at the implication of her unfinished statement. It isn't necessary for her to continue the thought, he already knows what it means. I thought you dreamt about Belly. He did. He dreamt of Belly every night last summer, but it was Y/N who he dreamt of first.

She was the one who awakened these feelings within him for the first time. Being the oldest alongside him, she was the first to develop, and he didn't know what to do with the feelings that surfaced the summer she came back looking less like a girl and more like a woman. She was the first person he kissed, albeit for a game they played together, not Belly. Surely, he thought she had to know that it meant something to him too, but when he looks at her now, it's clear that he thought wrong.

His brows pinch together at the sensation of her tightening up around him, but his eyes are soft. Tender. Honest. He shakes his head. Just once.

"You were first," he says it so quickly, she almost misses it. "It was you."

That doesn't mean what he had with Belly meant nothing. In fact, it means the opposite. What he had with Belly was unlike anything he experienced before, but so is this. There is no way for Conrad to compare the two because what he feels for them is so solid yet different.

With Belly, he knew what he meant to her. He knew she put him on a pedestal her whole life and believed every word he said, so it was difficult not to feel an added pressure to live up to that standard. His heart broke when he ruined prom for her, but he did it because he thought he didn't deserve her.

With Y/N, they've always mirrored one another. Both the eldest in their respective families, gifted children, and sensitive in a way that troubled them more than most of their siblings and friends. Where everyone else misunderstood Conrad, she understood him. And it was never something that had to be acknowledged out loud or spoken of. It was a law of existence.

The summer before last, when Conrad got into reading as a result of Laurel gifting him a few of her favorite classics, he ended up insisting that Y/N read Wuthering Heights shortly after he finished it. Never having read for pleasure before, she thought she'd find it difficult to devote herself to it, but she should have known. She should have known that if he wanted her to read it, there were good reasons for it. Belly and the boys were having dinner with their moms when she finally got to his favorite line.

It was underlined in red ink, she noted, not pencil. Never to be erased or undone in any way. When she read it, she knew immediately that he'd done it for her. On the page, it read, "He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same," and that was the moment she knew she loved him.

Right now, as he kisses her and reaches down with the same hand that held her neck to rub her clit, it's all she can think of. So, she says it. She takes the vulnerable confession and offers one of her own in return.

"You were first for me too," she says breathlessly.

The contact of his fingertips brushing her most sensitive spot has her jolting against him in equal parts shock and pleasure. It instantly makes the feeling of him rocking into her at a steady pace all the more gratifying. What she said is fuel to the fire for him. It urges him on, chasing the weightless, stirring feeling inside of him with reckless abandon. He decides to trust what she said about being able to handle him not being gentle, because, truth be told, he can't control himself.

Conrad, lost in the haze, starts sucking at her neck after he leans down to kiss it. Everything outside of this house no longer exists to either of them, so it doesn't occur to them that they'll have to answer for the marks left behind on her come morning. No, all he can think of is what he feels for her and how he can possibly show her the full extent of it without telling her. This is the only way, he thinks. When he talks, he fucks everything up, but she has to know how he feels through this. After all, she's always had a sixth sense when it comes to him. Why should it be any different now?

Her fingers card through his hair and tug gently on the soft strands as she tips back her head and arches her body into him, gasping into the dark, empty kitchen. Even when he kisses his way back up to her lips, he remains trapped in the trance she put him under, taking every part of her for himself. It takes her crying out in bliss at the combined sensations of his fingers on her clit and the smooth, wet drag of his cock inside of her for him to meet her gaze again. This time, he doesn't dare look away. Neither does she.

Their eye contact never wavers as she murmurs, face twisted in pleasure, "Fuck, I think—"

Her sentence can't even be finished before she's coming undone from the next caress of his fingers against her.

The arms wrapped around the back of his neck pull him in as her body tenses up with the onset of her climax. Not only does he watch and listen as the euphoria washes over her, he feels it. He can feel her spasming around him, clenching and unclenching, through every powerful wave.

Her jaw has fallen open in a gape that allows every beautiful moan, gasp, and whine to escape into the space between their lips. And it's the sensation of her coming around him that threatens to send him over the edge, but he holds out for as long as he can. Both for the sake of helping her ride it out and prolonging his own orgasm.

He pulls out quickly out of fear of finishing inside and withdraws the fingers that were rubbing her clit to wrap them around his cock, stroking himself once, twice, three times until he comes with a breathy moan. Watching it drip down her trembling stomach heightens the swift pulses of pleasure, and when his body jerks involuntarily from how good it feels, the next rope of cum lands across the hickeys on her inner thighs. It's downright filthy, but he'll be damned if it isn't the most erotic thing he's ever seen in real life.

For a second, time is suspended to allow them both the chance to catch their breath and enjoy the comfort of each other's embrace. Her arms are still linked around him, trapping him in, and he lets his face fall forward onto her shoulder with a tired sigh. It's impossible for either of them to find words in the midst of their post-orgasmic bliss, so they don't bother trying. Much like how it has been for their lives preceding this moment, the silence is comfortable. There is no misunderstanding, awkwardness, or trying to fill the space with meaningless small talk.

Once the rapid rise and fall of their chests have evened out, Conrad pulls away from his cherished spot in the crook of her neck and kisses her one last time before coming back down to earth.

He's already pulling his pants back up before moving to get a few paper towels from the kitchen counter, telling her, "Stay there, I got it."

The sound of the tap turning on reaches her ears, then vanishes as quickly as it appeared, and it isn't long before Conrad is back in front of her. Every swipe of the damp wad of paper towel is gentle on his skin, carefully minding where she's particularly sensitive in the aftermath of what they did. As he wipes his release up from her stomach and thighs, he folds the towel in half to clean her again, then, once he's finished, he leans down with one hand cupped underneath her thigh and presses a kiss to one of the marks he left behind.

Her face burns hot at this, but she tries not to let it rattle her brave face.

"You're lucky I like you so much," she says, tilting her head to show him her neck, "cause this is gonna be impossible to hide."

He can't even stop the smirk from crossing his face at the sight of her freshly bruised skin. Yet, he doesn't answer right away. He simply continues to smile to himself and walks around the island she's perched on, digging in the freezer for something for the next moment or so. When he returns, he's holding up a bag of frozen peas as though it is a coveted trophy.

"This will help," he says and gently presses the cold bag over the spot on her neck. "Thank you, by the way."

She blinks at him.

"For what?"

His shoulders pull up in a shrug as he tries to find the right way to word it without it sounding like he's only talking about the sex.

"For everything." He says softly, rubbing the edge of her jaw with his thumb. "Sometimes, I feel like you don't know what you mean to me."

The room has been plunged into silence since they stopped moaning, panting, and joining their bodies together. All that can be heard over their voices is the music next door, as well as loud voices speaking in the back and front yard. In here, though, it's just them, and he can hear how her breath hitches in her throat at what he said.

"It was confusing last summer, but ever since you underlined that part in the book you gave me, I've known. At least to some extent," she admits. "I knew you did that for me."

He nods.

"I did."

There's a long pause, then—

She breaks her gaze with him and looks down at the floor, smiling like an idiot at the thought of what has transpired in the last forty-eight hours. Seeing her clothes in a pile on the floor prompts her to take the frozen peas from him and jump down from her seat on the counter.

As explanation, she says, holding the bag to her neck, "We should probably get back to the party before anyone notices we're gone."

He casts a quick glance to the counter where they fucked for a second before looking at her again.

"And probably clean that."

A giggle escapes her when he says this.

"Yeah, we definitely should."

-

Hello! Finally wrote a Conrad fic! If you enjoyed it, I'd love to hear your thoughts. If you want to be added to a tag list for future Conrad fics, let me know as well. Thank you.

[blindmagdalena]

The Undone and the Divine

18+ 2k lady homelander x f!reader. pwp, wlw, loss of virginity, fingering, cunnilingus, dirty talk, pet names. written for an anonymous requester. 🖤

To kiss, to taste, to devour. Homelander is as close as the world will ever come to knowing what it's like to walk among gods. She's powerful, petulant, all consuming, and she knows exactly how to show you the pearly white gates of heaven.

Touching Homelander is akin to holding fire in your palms. It’s something that should be impossible, and yet time and time again she returns to you, her every muscle thrumming with the barely contained power of a god. There’s a ceaseless wonder to it. 

Even so, nothing could have prepared you for this. For seeing all of her. She’s radiant in her beauty, her body lithe and free of blemish. The light behind her head gives her blonde hair an angel-like glow, and the press of her lips on yours is nothing short of divine.

You’re both stripped bare on her bed, your respective clothes shed in a trail from the bedroom to her couch, where kissing became heavy petting.

The mirrors surrounding you make this feel like a shrine dedicated to the woman over you, and you whisper her name like a prayer between kisses.

“Your heart’s pounding like a drum,” she murmurs, kissing the salty-sweet sheen of sweat from your neck. “You’re all full of adrenaline. Don’t tell me you’re scared,” she says, her voice a feline purr.

“A little,” you admit breathlessly. “I’m not good with pain.”

She knows you’re inexperienced, though you’ve been purposefully vague on how inexperienced. Just thinking the word “virgin” is enough to make you cringe inwardly.

Lifting herself up to meet your gaze, she tilts her head, flaxen hair falling over her shoulder. “It’s not supposed to hurt,” she tells you, touching your lips with the pad of her thumb. “That’s a stupid lie told by stupider men. I won’t hurt you.”

You press a kiss to her thumb. “Maybe not every time, but… What about the first time?”

Understanding dawns in her eyes. You flush, averting your gaze.

“Is that how it is? Well, I’ll be damned. My sweet, pretty girl,” she croons, somehow both warm and wicked in the way she nuzzles at you, laughing softly. “My little virgin.”

“Stop,” you groan, covering your face with both hands.

“Ah, ah, there’s no hiding from me.” Homelander easily pries your hands away. She dives in to kiss you, coaxing your lips until they move with hers. 

“No shame. No fear. No pain,” she says, her palms sliding slowly down the length of your body. She settles herself between your legs, your knees hiked up over her hips. 

“Well… Unless it turns out you like a little pain.”

You bite your lip, watching her with a mix of thrill and apprehension.

“Here’s the thing, sweetheart.” Her middle finger drags a slow line down between your breasts, over your stomach, her lips softly parted in focus.

“Your hymen? It’s not a seal. It’s a liiiittle arc of tissue,” she says, voice too light and casual for the way her fingers are now traipsing down between your legs. 

“It doesn’t need to tear. It doesn’t need to bleed. Not if we take our time,” she says, eyes flickering up to your face. Her lips curl into a devious smile. “Not if we get you nice and wet.”

Your breath catches as she slides two fingers down either side of your clit, rubbing so close to where you want her to touch you most.

“It’s not just about the clit. Not about what you can stuff inside it. No one without a pussy is going to understand, but all of this”—she follows the outer curves of you, skirting your quivering cunt—“is part of the show.”

She swallows up your shuddering breath with a hungry kiss. For as long as you’ve known the taste of her lips, Homelander has been hungry. She’s a devouring force, always eager to envelope you. To hoard you for herself. 

What’s new to you now is the urgency behind her fervor, how she moves with jagged impatience even as her fingers stroke with maddening slowness.

The juxtaposition of the two is enough to have you writhing under her.

She slips her tongue into your mouth, beckons yours to move with hers.

“Touch me,” she urges, words hot and quiet between your mouths.

Your hands move to obey before you even process her words. You cup her face, push your hands into her hair, nails scraping her scalp for the way it makes her sigh in pleasure. You let your hands roam without rhyme or reason, stroking and learning every part of her.

Though her skin is satiny, the flexing muscles beneath are as coiled steel under your hands.

There’s nothing as thrilling as so viscerally feeling the strength of her in her every movement, and knowing through that just how unbelievably gently she’s handling you.

It makes your clit throb even harder, aching to be touched.

She leans over you, bracing her hand on the headboard, and you seize the opportunity to kiss her neck as she had yours, peppering kisses down her throat to her clavicle. She hums sweetly, cupping the back of your head, encouraging you with the scrape of her nails.

You suck her petal-soft skin gently at first, and then harder. You’d leave a mark on any other, but not her.

“That’s it, baby,” she sighs. “Use your teeth.”

You bite. Hard. For as gentle as she needs to be with you, you must be rougher for her to really feel you. You imagine it must be little more than a tickle for the sweet way it makes her laugh, the sound of it throaty and full of need.

“Atta girl,” she moans, tracing circles, teasing you terribly. 

You feel yourself clench around nothing, hyper aware of how empty you feel. How much you want those fingers inside you. That pulse between your legs is radiating throughout your entire body, turning every inch of you into a live wire.

“Please,” you keen, shifting, trying to angle your hips so that you might feel her where you want her most. “I’m ready, please.”

“Fuck, sweetheart. You beg pretty,” she says, leaning back. 

Her cheeks are flushed a pretty shade of pink, her hair disheveled by your hands. A lance of pride moves through you; it’s not every day a mere mortal debauches a god.

With a wicked curve to her kiss-bitten lips, she presses her thumb to your sensitive clit.

“Do it again.”

“Please!” You gasp, bucking under her touch. “Please, please, it’s so–I’m so sensitive.” 

By the time just the tip of her middle finger presses into you, the wet squelch of it is audible, even with your shuddering gasps. However, much to your dismay, she lifts her hand away.

You make a confused, indignant noise, but any further protests die on your lips as you watch her suck her two first fingers into her mouth, her scorching blue eyes dark with thirst.

She wets them thoroughly before returning her hand between your thighs, dropping back over you to kiss the faint trace of your own tangy flavor into your mouth.

“Even better than I imagined,” she says between kisses. You wrap your arms around her neck, so taken by the press of her lips that the slip of her finger catches you by surprise.

You gasp, but she hushes you.

“Don’t tense up on me now, pretty girl,” she says, her voice little more than a rasp. “Let me in.”

You nod, letting out a calming breath, fighting to let go of the tension in your body.

She focuses her attention on your neck, kissing her way down to the swell of your breasts. She nips playfully at your left nipple before taking it properly into the heat of her mouth. She gives a pleasant hum, the vibrations of her voice making you shiver with pleasure.

You push your hands into her hair, down her neck, cupping the back of her head to cradle her there, squirming between the skill of her fingers and her tongue. Her first finger slips into you with such ease, the curve of her finger pressing on your inner walls actually surprises you.

She was right. There’s no pain, just the sweet fill of her inside you.

“More,” you gasp, grinding down on her finger. “I want more.”

Though she doesn’t succumb immediately to your demand, she does distract you with the faintest scrape of teeth over your nipple. She sucks, swirls her tongue and pulls off with a wet pop only to descend upon your other breast. 

Goosebumps erupt across your body at the sudden temperature shift. You’re focused on that when she does slip a second finger in, and this time you do feel a slight ache for the stretch of it. Still, it’s nothing compared to what you had built it up to be in your mind.

It feels amazing.

“You smell so fucking good,” she all but growls, kissing and nipping her way down your torso. “I need to taste your pussy.”

She manhandles you effortlessly into position, shouldering between your legs and sinking down onto the bed. It all happens so fast that you barely have a chance to process before that same hot, velvet plush tongue is pressing against your clit.

Your whole body jerks, but she holds you in place with just one hand. Her fingers rock in and out, curling in on every deep plunge. Her mouth had felt good elsewhere, but it’s unreal between your thighs.

She laps and sucks at you, swirling her tongue in nonsensical patterns, drinking you down with abandon. The sound of it is obscene, easily heard even as you moan aloud your pleasure.

“Oh god, oh my god, god, please, I’m–” you bite your tongue, pushing and pulling at her hair before you settle on pulling her closer, losing yourself to the building crescendo of pleasure overtaking your mind and your body.

The pressure of it is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before, an ache so intense that the pressure of it crawls all the way up your spine.

Your vision goes white. Your body locks up and your voice disappears somewhere far away, leaving you aware of nothing but the overwhelming release that crashes against you like the ocean against the shore.

The pleasure isn’t centralized to your clit the way it has been in the past: this orgasm spreads to the tips of your toes, your fingers, your scalp.

Homelander soothes you through it, her hand sliding up and down your inner thigh, her fingers fucking you slow and steady. She laps lazily at your clit while it throbs and throbs, nuzzling in with a pleased noise.

When you regain use of your fingers, you detangle them from her hair so that you can pet her head, the world around you still spinning.

“Oh my god,” you echo softly, the words slurred around the edge. “S’never… been like that.”

“That’s because you’ve never been fucked by me,” she says, head turned to kiss your inner thigh, her fingers motionless inside you as she savors the fading tremors of your orgasm. As if reticent to feel the loss of your warmth, she leaves her fingers where they are even as she settles next to you, slipping her other arm underneath you to pull you close.

When she kisses you now, there’s nothing faint about your flavor. It’s heady and salty-sweet, made all the better by how languidly she licks it into your mouth.

The two of you spend a long while tangled up like that, taking your time coming down from the high. When her fingers do slip free, you feel the loss of them as keenly as any other.

“Aren’t you lucky I got to you first?” She asks, smiling against your lips. “To think you could’ve had your virginity fumbled by some jackass jabbing your taint with his dry, sad–”

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, pressing your palm over her mouth. “Yes, yes, you’re right. And crude. Thank you.”

She takes hold of your hand and kisses your palm, nipping playfully at the meaty part just below your thumb. She nuzzles into your hand and sighs, looking every bit the proverbial cat that got the cream, her eyes falling shut.

A little sting of insecurity bites at you.

“I didn’t take care of you.”

Homelander’s eyes crack open, one of her arched brows lifting. “You want to?”

You nod eagerly.

She grins.

“Roll over.”

[stuffeddeer]

i just wanna hug dazai all the time randomly (i never get hugs at home) and if he were to hug me i would cry (a little)

i also feel likes his hugs would feel so so safe warm and comforting

(could i please be 🌹 anon?)

im collecting more anons like Pokémon omg YES you are in my Pokédex now hiiii 🌹anon sorry this took so long (like every rq oops!)

i included platonic hcs at the end as well bc why not

cw: dazai-standard suicide mention, i use the word vomit once ?

Hugging Dazai catches him off guard. Or it used to, you had found - randomly jumping on top of him throughout the day whenever you'd see him. It started sporadically and became more frequent, which led to Dazai becoming more prepared. He'd tense up as you entered a room, ready for you to pounce.

It started as a playful bit, knowing Dazai tended to short circuit when given affection. You'd seen it multiple times with Atsushi, the lovable boy having no clue why Dazai would panic a little when randomly given flowers that one time, or why he was so surprised when Atsushi spared a few kind words. It was little things, things Dazai clearly wasn't used to, and it always made you smile.

So of course, you wanted to do the same.

The first time he nearly pushed you off of him, choosing instead to hold his hands up like you were some cop trying to take him down. The second he'd merely frozen, breath baited as he waited for you to let go. By the third, he was able to brush it off with an awkward laugh, and the more it happened the more he was able to respond with a joke or the like. But you never missed the way his whole body seemed to pause for a moment.

Of course, once you noticed he was mentally and physically preparing before you even did it, you started to think you might've pushed too hard. Was he uncomfortable? Was he unsure of how to ask you to stop? It made you feel guilty, especially when he started flinching when you entered the room, knowing what was coming next.

You stopped.

It wasn't like it was hard, and the guilt eating at you was much worse. Dazai wasn't the only touch starved one, but you'd not-so happily give up the brief second of hug you got when seeing Dazai in favor of him feeling safe around you, as well as keeping your friendship alive.

It was hard at first, arms moving up slightly on instinct as you had to constantly remind yourself to stop. After maybe a week of no more hugging, you finally felt relieved - everything was back to normal. Dazai wouldn't freeze when you walked into a room, your hands wouldn't twitch as though trying to reach out for him.... Everything was normal.

Except Dazai, again.

Something was off, you could tell. While everyone gets confused sometimes, watching Dazai of all people furrow his brows and look away from you was almost scary. One of the greatest geniuses in Yokohama was confused by something - by you. Nothing had changed, had it? Maybe he was confused by why the hugs stopped, but you're sure he's smart enough to realize that on his own. You didn't want him to feel uncomfortable around you, that's all.

It didn't take long for the confusion to turn to veiled fear. He hid it well, you being none the wiser - but Dazai couldn't help the anxiety that grew around you. It wasn't like you were avoiding him, you still acted the exact same. You just kept your hands behind your back and made sure to maintain distance.

But that's what scared Dazai - the distance. The worry and fear he felt stemmed from the reason why; why had you stopped in the first place? All he could think of was that you finally figured out his secret. Dazai has a huge crush on you.

He’d always tensed up when you hugged him, feeling his heart rate far from his usual controlled pace and instead beating quicker than he could’ve imagined. Something so small and normal as a hug left him breathless when it came from you, and his greatest fear was that you felt the harsh thrumming of his heart and decided to stop. If you knew his secret, then this surely is you rejecting him.

The thought makes Dazai nervous. Being rejected is normal for him, never one to shy away from shooting his shot. Asking any person with a pulse to kill themselves with him left the brunet very accustomed to the response of “no.” Even being yelled at or hit by some unruly people was something he accepted with a smile, but the thought of you politely turning him down made his chest ache.

You stopped hugging him. Surely you didn’t feel the same.

Dazai understands he is an attractive person, both in looks and personality, and he’s more than used to leveraging these factors in his favor. Just a few weeks ago, he 100% was sure that you had a crush on him, a huge one at that, and he quite enjoyed toying with you every now and again when work days would drag on. But now, he couldn’t tell left from right. Daily hugs to quitting cold turkey made him so nervous, knowing you must be too uncomfortable to even touch him anymore let alone hug him.

That’s fine. He’s fine with that. People changing their minds about him, people leaving - Dazai is used to that. You deciding you don’t like him anymore (maybe just the attention he gave before rather than crushing on him specifically?) and moving on when you realized he likes you instead is fine. It’s fine.

Yet he still finds himself frowning in your direction when you aren’t looking. Nervousness is annoying, but he was hoping it’d lead him away from you. Still, however, Dazai finds himself following you with his eyes whenever you so much as re-situate yourself in a chair. He can’t help but silently beg for you to come over to him, even though he knows he’d nearly vomit if you did. How annoying.

Of course, sitting across from each other for lunch isn’t conducive for moving on and staying away from you, but you happened to stumble upon the brunet and his bespectacled coworker at the cafe and got an invitation from the latter. “I have to get back to work. Mind making sure Dazai doesn’t do anything too drastic again?” Kunikida had said to you, to which you kindly agreed - how could you have said no?

Dazai wishes you did, every brush of his knee against yours making him lose more and more of his appetite. With Kunikida gone, after a few beats of silence, you let out a sigh. “Sorry. I’ll leave you to it, okay? Good luck at work.” Just as you stand up to leave, Dazai - stupid, stupid Dazai - grabs your arm.

The action causes you to cock your head, confused as he grabs you. The face makes him quickly let go, grabbing his mug of tea instead so his hands don’t reach out again. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he starts, deciding to just get it out of his system. Maybe if you rejected him to his face, he could move on. “No more… hugs and stuff.”

Slowly, you slide back into the booth seat, a solemn look on your face. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs into the mug, not wanting to make eye contact. What does “yeah” even mean? Is this your way of saying you know? You know he knows?

“Um, well, I know you don’t really like affection. I know you aren’t used to it, I should say. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry for continuing for so long,” you finally apologize, the guilt that built up over time washing away finally.

“No, no,” he starts, turning to look at you rather than his mug. “Uncomfortable? You thought I didn’t like it?”

You deadpan, unamused. “Dazai, you used to tense up when I entered a room and I saw you flinch a few times when I got close.” Slowly, your expression turns, no longer unamused. “I’m not that stupid, man…” A small chuckle punctuates your last sentence.

Of course that’s what you took away from it. Dazai feels like an idiot, so worried that you might have realized his secret that he didn’t even pay attention to what was in front of him. You stopped for him, of course! Because you still like him. He’s sure of it, knowing you stopped something that clearly made you happy just for his comfort.

“Thank god,” he sighs in relief, causing you to raise an eyebrow.

“..? Did you actually think I was that stupid?”

“No, you idiot - I thought you were rejecting me. You still like me, that’s perfect.”

You fluster at Dazai’s words, eyes widening at the bluntness of it all. “Wh-what?! How is that what you got from what I said?”

He only grins in response, the bandaged man leaning forward over his teacup to reach you. Dazai was never one to explain what was in his mind, leaving you confused and flustered across from him. “It’s okay, pretty - I feel the same,” he whispers into your ear, only so he can watch as you shiver at the feeling of his breath against it. After pulling back, his smug grin only grows. “I thought you were avoiding me because you found out.”

Staring at him, you wonder why it is that you like him. At least now you can go back to hugging him all the time.

platonic hugging Dazai hcs 😽

like above, he's caught off guard at first

but then he decides to return the favor >:)

dazai will try and catch you off guard with a hug and it quickly turns into high stakes tag

the two of you immediately make eye contact when you're in the same room, and actively RUN from each other so the other can't hug first

high stakes tag. dazai jumped off a roof to catch you off guard one time. now he isn't allowed roof access at the ada 🙂‍↕️

he can still jump from the windows

it hits a point where everyone Around you is nervous. you two have vaulted over tables and everything it's scary

rooms will empty if the both of you are in one

dazai is definitely winning sorry! he feels it in his bones when you're about to arrive and hides behind doors to jump out at you 🙂‍↕️

[5iyoomi]

warnings: smut, incest (big brother!Childe x fem!Reader), pillow humping, masturbation, voyeurism, me being a degenerate tbh lol

Can't get big bro Childe out of my head... It practically becomes a normal occurrence for him to listen to you trying to get yourself off every single night. He doesn't even need to put his ear up against the wall because you're so loud, probably thinking he and your parents were asleep already. But he never was, instead he's holding onto every pathetic whimper you let out as you grind yourself against your pillow, hips rutting desperately against the soft fabric and muttered expletives ringing in his ears as he fists his cock to the sound of you.

The first time you say his name, he thinks he might finally be going crazy, because there was no way he was hearing you right. But he stands near your cracked open door (that couldn't have been left open on accident) and there's no mistake. He watches you throw your head back, soaked panties making a mess of your polka dotted pillow, and he swears nothing's ever gotten him harder than how breathlessly you call out for him.

And then he knows. He knows you want him just as much as he wants you, because when he finally snaps after days of telling himself that this was wrong, that he shouldn't be undressing you with his eyes when you're eating dinner cuz' he can't get the thought of you out of his mind, you don't stop even after you make yourself cum. He twists the knob to your room open in the middle of the night, and your eyes widen, chest heaving from your orgasm and a silent plea on your lips, but all that rolls off your tongue once he makes his way over to your bed is his fucking name.

He tuts when you try to hide from him, pushing your knees apart and spreading your wet pussy with his thick fingers. You turn your head with a whimper, still sensitive from the orgasm you managed to pull from yourself, pink dusting your cheeks as he collects your stringy essence on his digits. He draws it up to your clit, pressing down on the swollen nub to elicit a high-pitched moan from you.

"Look at me, sweetheart," Childe coos, gripping your chin with his free hand. He forces you to face him, something possessive and sadistic flashing in his eyes when you choke out a soft nii-san. It makes him twitch in his pants, and the urge to make you scream starts to outweigh the growing need to be inside you. So he slinks down, moving your legs up until they hit your fat tits, ignoring your weak protests as his tongue licks a long stripe from your hole to your throbbing clit. If you were gonna put on a show for him, then he was gonna give you exactly what you wanted.

"Shhh, just let me take care of my sweet little sis like she needs, m'kay?"

[hair-dice]

Do you think the stars are visible? Being stuck in the belly of AM, it is not, but outside? Above?

Do you think that if you were to frantically crawl your way through shredded metal, slicing your skin through to the bone, pushing against the cables restraining you back, you might get a glimpse?

The machine fights against you, pushing plates into your body that roughly saw into you-- they were too dull to cut smoothly. It wasn't a trap this time. It was an oversight. You feel yourself begin to be constricted, a sheet of rusted metal quickly slamming itself into your shoulder, snapping the clavicle like a twig.

It hurts. It hurts, you cried internally. But your opposite hand that reached far above you, blood pooling down the mangled limb into your face, touches something of a different texture. And above it, you feel nothing more.

You grip and pull. Pull as hard as your atrophied muscles could, like you were born for nothing more. The plate wedged in your shoulder pushes back, slicing further down your side with great resistance. It hurts. You've felt it before. You pull harder and harder, suddenly finding the intensity of the force restraining you lessened. This was a trap, but you didn't care.

You pull, and pull debris into your eyes. You keep them open. You pull more, feeling the plate make its way down to meet your ribcage. You pull. You pull. You pull more into your face, digging and digging with digits that you knew would never be able to perform fine movements again after this stunt. You pull. There's a hole. It's about as wide as your fist.

Through it, you can see nothing but darkness.

[mossmotif]

let them hear it (n.kento)

pushing away the angst i had in mind and prioritizing kissing nanami till he's on the verge of giggling while the two of you are outside in the snow.

What the two of you have is complicated; as complicated as something gets with someone as straightforward as Nanami Kento. 

You vaguely knew of each other because of work before you quit, and then you found yourself taking the same commute as him to get to your new building.The familiar face was a surprise; autumn was on the cusp of tipping over and you were looking over at a man already dawned in gloves and a suspiciously thick looking coat you swear you've seen hanging on the hooks of previous office walls. 

It’s what he’s wearing tonight, although it’s winter, so he’s also smothered in a wool scarf and stops to adjust his ear muffs every once in a while as the two of you walk. The action is somewhat unserious on its own; the idea of a man as serious looking as him so attentively dressed for the weather is already an easy thing to make you smile. But, you’re both a little more than tipsy. 

When Nanami stops for the third time to stop the thing from falling into his eyes, you burst out into laughter as he groans to mask his own slew of giggles. 

The reservation the two of you made this month was on the late side, so after too much wine and food, the streets are empty for the two of you to wander. These appointments have been something a little more than precious to you recently. You aren’t sure how it all started, but you and Nanami have both found ways to indulge in yourselves at least once a month without feeling too guilty about it for about a year now. Lately, it’s been something you look forward to more than anything else you have planned. 

This isn't the first time you found yourself testing your tolerance with Kento. You quickly noted how much of a heavy drinker he was once you found yourself slipping trying to keep up with him. Every month he’ll assure you there’s no need, but you’re rather adaptable yourself; and Nanami would never admit to liking a challenge. It might be wrongfully advantageous of you, but you liked the look of him loose like this. He lets himself lean on you a little more. 

It just helps that the sidewalks happen to be particularly icy tonight. 

“Hold it, hold—hold on,” he says breathlessly. There’s been the hint of a smile teasing the corner of his lips since the two of you have left the restaurant doors. It’s so contagious that you’re sure your lips will be split and bleeding by the end of the night. 

He’s doubled over now, earmuffs on the brink of falling once more. You snort before stepping in front of him, bending down to clumsily bring them up his forehead. He looks up to you as you do, looking a little unlike himself. His cheeks are pink, eyes are wide and nearly starry, his lips are wet because he keeps licking them to fight off the cold. It takes everything in you not to ruffle up his hair even more than it already has been. It would be different, you think; it would be your own hands doing the carnage. Maybe he wouldn't be so quick to try and fix it then. 

“What is it?” your breath comes out as fog in the air. A physical thing your sluggish brain finds beautiful when you watch it mingle with Nanami’s own breath. This close, you can spot tiny snowflakes melting into his lashes.

He hesitates, as if fighting himself for wanting to speak in the first place. There’s a strange expression on his face, too old and twisted to fit his features.

“My stomach feels like it’s about to burst,” he blurts, still clutching to his middle while hunched over. 

A silent beat passes before you explode into laughter loud enough to wake people, playfully slapping your hand on his shoulder. 

“How crude!” you exclaim, half scolding in your tone. “You’ve seriously got a foul mouth after a few drinks.”

“I would say that was more than a few,” he notes dazedly. 

You hum, trying to get him to match your pace once he straightens himself. His shoulders hunch up to his ears as he does, a slight shiver hidden in the sea of fabric he's practically being swallowed into. His chill, the same as his concealed smile, is infectious. Your body follows his, feeling every bit of the breeze that passes through your clothing. Crossing your arms over your chest, you try and steel off your body.

"Are you cold?" Nanami offers his arm for you to cling onto, giving you no time to answer him. 

The buzz radiating off your skin is silenced by the fabric he wears, squashed into his figure and sticking to him like scorching asphalt. You feel cemented this close to him, letting your arm fall and feeling him interlace your fingers while still keeping it close to his. His gloves keep you from feeling his skin. Your tease about him being the coldest between the two of you dies on your tongue. 

The two of you bump shoulders, a little too inebriated to be walking this close together. The surrounding snow swallows up all other sound, only leaving your heavy footsteps and gentle breathing to be heard. Nanami sighs. You feel the noise travel from the soles of your feet, tingling at the tips of your ears. 

“Comfortable?” you ask cheekily, feeling the pressing weight of him melding into your shoulder as time passes by. He hums in response, another vibration you can feel dancing on your skin.

“You’re warm,” he states, squeezing your hand firmly. Still painfully gloved. “Thank you.”

The sincerity in his voice knocks the wind out of your own, the only trace of it being the small cloud that leaves your lips. It takes everything in you to not dig your fingers into his hand, until you reached the skin, until he could really feel you, until he would be able toleach all the warmth he wanted from your blood. You think he would do it gently. 

Nanami stops walking first once the entrance of his apartment comes into view. The steps up to the door are covered in snow and ice, they haven't been salted yet. You’re about to tell him to be careful while walking up the steps before you feel something foreign being placed on your head. They’re his earmuffs, unbelievably warm. They smell like the shampoo he uses. 

He keeps his hands on the covers, an extra blanket on top of your ears. The weight makes any noise around you sound like it’s been drowned underwater. The feeling is as steady as his stare, half lidded and a little heavy, but balanced. The falling snow seems to still, as stagnant as the stars above your head. The warmth on his skin matches the mellow light seeping from people’s windows. 

Your skin seers when his hand drifts to your cheek, dragging his thumb across your skin. 

His face looks wind beaten and cold, cherry red at the tips of his ears, his nose, and his cheeks. The flush must run all over him, down to his knuckles and elbows, up his chest and shoulders. You wish you could see. 

“You look like you’re freezing, Kento.” You lean into his touch unsubtly.

This proximity should maybe feel odd, but it’s hard to ignore all those secret moments the two of you share between meals, on commutes to work, on tipsy walks back home, now that you’re both facing each other. 

And he shivers when you use his first name, when you raise your hands to fix his scarf and let the tips of your fingers graze the exposed skin of his neck. The cold teases at those that are cloaked the most, clawing at anything it can find. 

“I’m fine,” he sniffles; soft and trailing and good natured. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” you chuckle. He smiles at the noise. 

Something overtakes you, some kind of greed that can only be found in snow so pillowy that it wolfs down any noise, a force you can’t stop unless you step into it with your own shoes. There’s that crunch: where the only noise that life seems to need is your own. His. Yours. You’re both holding each other. The sound of his clothes are all you can hear. 

You hear his movement before seeing it, feel his cold lips on your cheek long after he’s pulled away from you. It’s innocent, modest—but his hands—they cup around your entire face, shifting across your neck. His gloves are still in the way, but you can’t muster any complaints when the feeling is so intoxicating. 

“Are you drunk?” he asks quietly. 

“The cold sobered me up,” you answer, voice thin with the slightest shock. “You?”

“Me too,” he replies. He’s hastily taking off his gloves and the action momentarily puts some distance between the two of you. 

“What—what are you doing?” you scoff confusedly. 

“I can’t feel you,” he explains simply, stuffing the gloves into the pocket of his coat. “I’d like to feel you.”

Laughter ebbs past your lips for the millionth time. The happiness you’ve felt today only feels real because your cheeks are beginning to hurt from all the strain. 

Kento has wrapped you in an embrace, easily picking you up from the ground by your waist. You gasp, smirking into his neck as you wrap your hands around him and try not to jostle the earmuffs too badly. 

You might never know a strength like his; his hands are gentle and firm. When you press a lingering kiss to the juncture of his jaw, one coasts across the curve of your ass before settling into the meat of your thigh. 

“Don’t be too quick just ‘cause you want to get out of the cold. The steps are icy.” You advise him while bombarding his face with light pecks similar to his first one, musing his hair and admiring the pliant looking smile on his face. It’s also the kind he holds when he’s holding back a laugh. 

He hums deeply. You feel it intensely this time, it echoes against your own chest. 

“I’m not being quick because of the weather,” he grumbles, barely hiding his urgency. 

His response has you looking down at him smugly, wishing you could take a picture just so he could see his own flushed face.

this post is the culprit !! everyone please point and laugh at it, it is so embarrassing how long i thought about it.

i hope yall dont mind being tagged, but @riaki @maeby-cursed @threadbaresweater are also enablers!!! wrote this with yall in mind hope u like it

[theloveinc]

Can't wear flavored lip product around Togame because he's absolutely going to eat it right off your face.

(It’s not enough that he already practically demands a lipstick stain somewhere on his face whenever you do your makeup in general—he’s also gotten used to the flavored glosses and balms you sometimes coat his lips with...wanting to let the flavor, sweet and fruity, linger in his mouth until he pops the marble of his next soda.

It’s practically every day you can catch him with dewy lips, half of the time even stained a flushed and rosy hue which matches your complexion, a little bit of tongue sticking out to keep the taste of you on his tongue for hours.)

[chocolate-floof]

So while I'm literally punching air over my menstrual pain I thought up a Vought reader scenario with a little real life inspo and would love to see other expand on this idea if they also find it interesting or funny. So, reader ofc works for Vought, they don't really ever work with supes in person as their still climbing the corporate ladder but they do their job well. The only time they've ever spoke to anybody even remotely close to the seven was when Ashley had come to them to ask for an update on homelanders points, as they work on the social media team at Vought, their job in the team was to basically scrub the internet for the publics opinion on vought. They've seen some SHIT from it, including the more... Vulgar displays of the publics opinion from homelander, but they have have to persevere to get that sweet paycheck every Thursday. Growing up in a area where people are normally on the more 'family friendly' with the way they speak had left them severely underprepared for the confidence that the anonymity of the Internet gave people, which allowed them to say basically anything, and they certainly did. Sometimes leading them to go to the bathroom to try and stave of the nausea. They themselves are more of a loner, staying to themselves often time felling awkward and scared of talking their everyday coworker. Sleep deprivation and overworking themselves to try and run from the imposter syndrome constantly eating at them. Your average corporate wage slave one might say. But one day, waking up with a rare dose of confidence that lasted through out the day, they decided they were going to go to a small office party they were going to be having later on that night. They decided to wear a very ~complimenting~ outfit/dress when they go. Homelander is there, he doesn't have anything better to do and he's bored so he sits in on the party, watching. No one comes to him, everybody knows how he can be to those he deems lesser than him. They don't really think about this as they look at him sitting alone in the corner with a far off look in his eyes, their sympathy genuinely clouding their better judgement. They walk up to him unannounced, nearly startling him as they said "hi." in a quiet tone with a small smile. He looks over, suddenly hearing them next to him, further away than he had thought, it sounded like you had spoken directly into his ear. "Hello?" He said, genuinely confused at why you had just walked up to him. "A-are you enjoying the party?" They ask, trying to start a small conversation. He almost immediately snaps into his 'work face' "oh yeah, it's nice that you guys have these... Little.. get-togethers. I, uh.. I like the work you guys do here, you guys do... alot for Vought, we'd be NOWHERE without.. you guys!" He gives a little chuckle afterwards. They, immediately felt like the entire sentence was nearly.. rehearsed? Fake? It just wasn't right but they tried not to let their anxiety and paranoia get the best of them and respond with a "thank you, that definitely means a lot coming from you." They were fighting their nerves suddenly feeling cold all over. "I'm glad that I can help Mister.homelander, sir" they imagine slamming their face against every surface possible as they they choke, suddenly feeling like a golf ball was in their throat, sweat collecting in their hair. Before they can manage to squeeze anything out another man walk up to them, tapping them on the shoulder. They turn to him and he asks them out. They immediately feel the ball in their throat get even bigger, thinking of a way to get out, to just go before they suddenly burst into tears. "N-No..." They say before just turning and walking out as fast as they could straight to the elevators and back home. homelander was very confused at what had just happened, how quick their emotions had just rose and fallen in quick succession suddenly feeling his curiosity peaked. The next day he comes to visit the office area, asking for you describing your appearance.

"Oh you mean y/n? Their fucking tweaking in the bathroom right now" answer one of them

"what?"

"Their freaking out." They supply

"Why?"

"read this."

"WHAT THE FUCK"

[00fairylights00]

I Guess You Just Don’t Love Me Anymore

GIF from @glowing-starlight on Tumblr

I was so taken by @ash-arts-but-sinful's post which mentions P being jealous of the cat and @oldworldghost’s post which contains the idea of him becoming more mischievous and sassy as he becomes human that I just had to write a little something, I hope it’s alright that I drew on your thoughts for some inspiration!

As a disclaimer, I haven’t finished my first play-through yet so this is more of a character study based off of what I’ve experienced in-game and what I’ve been seeing on Tumblr instead of delving heavily into the world-building and established story that exists within the game. So hopefully no spoilers and it’s very likely that this won’t at all line up with the in-game timeline.

Big thanks to @cupidsredcollar beloved for proofreading <3 

For as long you had known Pinocchio you had never known him to be a jealous individual, in fact, when you’d first met that bleak, overcast morning in Hotel Krat you had been almost unsettled by his uncanny nature. 

His features were perfectly human, aside from the metal prosthetic he’d been fitted with. He had freckles and soft hair, a face that looked fashioned from a real person instead of the smiling caricatures Krat’s puppets were usually fitted with. 

But despite his boyish features, his face barely moved, he nodded along to Sophia as she gave him the task of locating his father, Mr. Geppetto, and tilted his head in question as Lady Antonia explained the concept of lying but his brows didn’t so much as pinch, his lips didn’t quirk and his eyes looked straight through you as you had wished him safety on his travels.

So watching in real time as he came into his own was something you cherished greatly, you continued to watch him grow and change, become something new. Pinocchio chose to spend a lot of his down time with you, he said he found you interesting, that you had a way of explaining humanity that made sense to him and over the last couple of weeks something had started to shift in him.

No, Pinocchio had never been a jealous individual, for as long as you’d known him.

Until today.

Your morning had started normally, woken up by the cool feeling of P’s lips against your forehead, human hand smoothing back your hair. He mumbled something about needing to go out, you tried to convince him to come back to bed, he tried to convince you to get up (he always wins).

P drags you down to the kitchen, you eat and he watches, something that was initially a little awkward but you’ve come to really look forward to, then you farewell each other at the rear entrance of the hotel. 

He holds you close to his chest, resting his lips to your hairline and making you promise to look after yourself and your companions while he’s away, you make him promise to be careful though you know he’s not always able to, often catching glimpses of Sophia muttering blessings and incantations under her breath in the foyer.

“It’s just Ergo hunting today, I’ll be more than careful.” He whispers, human arm winding around your shoulder. You breathe him in, hands to his chest feeling the odd sensation of his heart, not quite a tick but not quite a beat. 

You lean up to kiss against the slant of his jaw, his mechanical pulse jumping in response. He looks down at you, you catch the fondness in his blue eyes without mistake, he captures your lips in his, holding on for a second longer than he knows is necessary (it’s not like you mind though).

Lounging against the doorway, watching him walk towards the entrance of Elysion Boulevard, he turns and gives a last longing look over his shoulder before stepping through the wrought iron gates and disappearing from view.

You sigh, making your way back inside to start on your usual round of chores, helping where you could to take the load off of Polendina who needed more time to focus on Lady Antonia and her illness. You had just returned to the puppet butler for more tasks when you noticed movement on the top of the shelf behind the front desk. 

Sitting tall and proud was Hotel Krat’s resident sweetheart, Spring, tail swishing steadily as she kept watch of the foyer from her perch. The white and orange cat jumped down to the desk as she noticed you, laying down across the dark wood and turning over in gesture for belly rubs; which you gave happily. 

“She’s been very noisy today,” Polendina explained, stroking the cat, “I wonder what she’s trying to tell us?”

“Probably trying to manipulate us into giving her more treats, isn’t that right?” You accused lightly, you were sure that if he could, Polendina would be smiling. 

“There is another load of laundry that needs folding, could I have a hand?” He asked politely.

“Of course Polendina.”

And it seemed you had found yourself a shadow, Spring making an unreasonable amount of noise as she followed you and Polendina around the hotel. She wound between your legs, chirruped in response to your voices and bumped her head against whatever part of your bodies were within her reach. 

It was no surprise that Spring was loved by the inhabitants of the hotel, and it was very apparent that she loved them back, well everyone except for P. Not for lack of trying of course, he followed your advice of trying to build trust between him and the animal but she wouldn’t so much as let P touch her, hissing her disapproval for all to hear.

You’d often watch as P would recoil from Spring, the feline swiping and spitting at the puppet. You couldn’t tell from his expressions if the cat’s dislike for him bummed him out but sometimes as he lay next to you in bed he would lament quietly that Spring hated him, which would award him a sound of humoured pity and a kiss for the cheek.

It wasn’t clear what it was about P that set Spring off so aggressively. In all the time you had spent at Hotel Krat she’d never behaved in such an unfriendly way, even complete strangers who would seek refuge for short periods of time were welcome to interact with Spring freely. 

She would bask in the attention. You hoped that she would eventually come around to the puppet, given it looked like he would be around for the long haul and you just knew the two would be the best of friends if she would stop being so nasty.

But P was patient, far more patient than you were and it showed as you folded and unfolded the same piece of linen for the third time without realising, Polendina placed a gloved hand over your own, silently relieving you of duty.

“Apologies, my mind seems to be elsewhere Polendina.”

“You worry for the boy, it’s only natural that your mind wanders.” You sometimes forget how long Polendina has been around, having been a close companion of Lady Antonia’s for decades. You had a feeling he knew more about human emotions than he let on, somehow he always knew what to say when it came to your thoughts surrounding Geppetto’s Puppet. 

“I just can’t help it, and with him figuring out who he is, I fear he’ll get himself hurt by being too kind.” You wring your hands in your lap, focusing hard on the lines in your skin as you try to keep yourself from thinking of anything too awful.

“He has met humans who have given him trouble before and he has a good head on his shoulders. I would wager that you have nothing to worry about, but I understand that may not put your mind at ease.” 

“It doesn’t but thank you.” Your hand went to Polendina’s shoulder with a smile. “I think I’m going to find something else to do, try and get my mind off of things.”

Polendina nodded once, going back to folding the linens, “I’ll send the boy your way when he returns.”

You smiled in earnest, appreciative of Polendina’s knowing kindness. 

Spring, who had been lounging between you and Polendina, got up, stretching herself out and scampering over to your side. She meowed frantically to grasp your attention. 

Her interruptions continued as you made your way around the kitchen. It wasn’t particularly dirty given how little it was being used now, however, the repetitive action of wiping down the countertops and sweeping the floor were just the distraction you were looking for. 

Your ears perked up at the heavy steps of boots on marble floors, the jingle of P’s belt was something you could identify in your sleep. He stood tall in the doorway, all sweet smiles and fidgeting hands. Happy to see you, always happy to see you.

He was shockingly clean as he approached, resting his forehead to yours as his hands found their place on your waist, all the scolding about tracking oil and muck through the hotel was finally paying off.

You ran your hands over the intricate designs embossed onto the lapel of his coat, smoothing the fabric down before hooking your hands behind his neck.

“Welcome home, pretty boy.” You cooed, brushing your nose against his. 

He liked the small intimacies you shared, bunny kisses you’d come to find were a favourite of his.

“You can go and relax if you want, I’m just cleaning.” You offered, but he shook his head. 

Spring had also gotten bored of waiting on you, brushing up against your legs. So there you stood, sandwiched between your two favourite beings. 

And two shadows wouldn’t be so bad if they would stop getting under foot, you laughed as Spring and P fought for your attention while you made your way around the kitchen.

P hovered close, slinging his arm around your waist as you tried to pass him. You stopped short as he pressed his face into your neck, leaning back against his chest and resting your hands over his wrist. You could feel him smile against your skin, a careful, small smile that only he could manage.

At that moment Spring took it upon herself to jump up onto the counter in front of you, hissing and swiping at P, he scowled and pulled you closer.

“Beast,” he scowled, you gaped at P, smacking the back of your hand at his chest.

“Don’t be horrible, she’s just protecting her territory,” you chided, 

“I haven’t done anything to her, yet she spits at me.” He complained, you thought your ears might be playing tricks on you at the distinct sound of a whine in his tone.

“You love her.” You reminded smugly, a truth he was unable to escape.

“Yeah, unfortunately,” he mumbled, you pushed against his hold, trying to signal your want to move and he hesitantly loosened his grip. Hand ghosting over your waist as he watched you go, you threw a smile over your shoulder which he returned in kind.

You gave Spring a kiss on the head, letting her nuzzle her face against yours before scooping her up and putting her down on the floor where she went back to curling around your legs.

“Ah, so the cat gets a kiss but I don’t?” P asked. You snorted, flinging the rag you’d been using to polish the countertops over your shoulder.

You lent your hip against the counter and crossed your arms over your chest, “you never asked for a kiss, how was I supposed to know that’s what you wanted?”

“I feel like it was obvious.” He placed both of his hands on the counter, stretching his arms out straight as he pushed against the granite. 

You rolled your eyes in jest, unable to keep the fond smile from creeping onto your face, playfully exasperated you closed the short distance between the two of you. Lifting up on your tip-toes to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, he was quick to move his head once you’d pulled back. Hands to your waist and pulling you against him, sealing his lips to yours so quickly it pulled a sound of shock from your throat.

“What’s up with you today, you’ve been awfully touchy.” You teased, twisting the ends of his hair between your fingers. “Not that I’m complaining of course.”

“Missed you,” he murmured, pressing his lips to your forehead tenderly. 

“I missed you too, always miss you when you’re gone.” You placed a hand on his cheek, thumb rubbing gently under his eye.

He pulled the rag from your shoulder and threw it behind you unceremoniously, taking your hand from his cheek to drag you out of the kitchen, a laugh bubbled out of your throat that P was happy to mischievously return.

He led you to the library, seating you at the piano and turning away to rifle through the sheet music stacked in a crate on the floor. He’d been getting better day by day. 

His body wasn’t exactly built to do delicate actions but that never seemed to stop him, in fact, he was inexplicably drawn to all the soft parts of being human even if initially he was afraid to get it wrong. The last thing he’d ever want to do is hurt anyone close to him and for that reason he was acutely aware of the raw strength he possessed.

Though his conscious effort to be gentle made all the difference.

Spring decided she’d had enough of being ignored, jumping up onto the piano bench and brushing up against you, pressing close and then curling down next to you. P turned around, the particular book of sheet music he was searching for held up in his hand, his expression dropped almost comically as he noticed Spring’s position next to you, taking up what was going to be his spot.

“Move her,” he says simply, you throw your head back with a hearty laugh but P’s serious expression doesn’t change.

“No,” you start with a laugh, “Spring got here first, you’ll have to pull up a chair.”

P continued to stand his ground, you wondered if he hoped his very presence would annoy Spring enough that she’d disappear of her own accord, but the cat only opened one eye. She regarded P from her curled up position before nestling her chin back down into her tail. 

It was like Spring knew she was in his spot and was smugly showing off to him, purring loudly.

“P, I’m not moving the cat. Just come and sit on the other side of me.” You insisted, watching as his unappreciated love for the animal won out and he stalked off to get a chair. You chuckled under your breath and passed your fingers through Spring’s soft fur.

“You are so mean to him, you know? He’s quite fond of you and I think you two would be very good friends if you gave him the chance.” You whispered to the cat who ignored you, continuing to purr unabashedly.

Unbeknownst to you, P watched your interaction with the feline from the doorway, his chest feeling warm in a way he wasn’t quite used to yet. Touched by your words that you thought were falling on deaf ears.

He gave in to your fondness for the cat, pulling his chair up next to you, fingers gently flitting across the keys as you hummed softly, head resting comfortably on his shoulder. He decided he didn’t mind this so much.

Late in the evening, however, he decided he did mind. 

You were curled up in your bed a book in hand and Spring dozing lazily in your lap, he entered the room and his shoulders physically dropped.

“What’s the matter?” You asked, thumb placed between the pages of your book as a makeshift bookmark. 

“Nothing,” he mumbled, sitting down unceremoniously on the edge of your bed to take off his shoes.

You placed the now forgotten book on your bedside cabinet, the act of sitting up a little difficult with the cat in your lap. You reached for his shoulder but he shrugged off your hand, trying to hide the action by stripping off his coat.

He stood and draped the coat over the back of your desk chair and moved to unbutton his waistcoat, all while staring down Spring with a scowl.

It clicked.

“Are you jealous of the cat?” You wanted deeply to believe that your Pinocchio was not jealous of a cat, but you couldn’t come up with a more sound explanation.

“I don’t know what that word means.” He lied, avoiding your gaze entirely, unbuckling his belt and dumping it on the desk, Gemini didn’t say anything so you assumed he mustn’t be awake.

“Yes you do,” you rolled your eyes, “I remember very clearly the conversation we had about it.” 

He didn’t respond, turning his back to you and focusing his attention on rifling through the dresser drawer full of his clothes. The sleep clothes he was looking for were folded at the end of the bed.

“It’s okay that you’re jealous of-”

“I am not jealous.” Quick, concise and with no room for argument, he spun back on you. His snapping didn’t phase you.

“Uh huh,” you teased with a smirk, turning all your attention back to Spring who’d been ignoring your exchange.

Perhaps what you were doing was a little mean, given that before you hadn’t been ignoring him on purpose, but it was too fun an opportunity to pass up. P let out a disgruntled huff, shuffling around in your peripheral.

“I guess you just don’t love me anymore.” He offered with his arms crossed over his chest, your jaw dropped and a shocked laugh fell out of your open mouth.

“You take that back, immediately!” You snapped playfully, sitting up fully and annoying the cat enough for her to get up and move.

“Make me.” The challenge he’d levied would mean conceding to his childish behaviour but after all he’d been through, you thought it only fair. 

You pulled the sheets back and stood from the bed, crossing the room to him. He tried to act as though he was uninterested, tried to pretend that your hands on his chest didn’t affect him, tried to ignore the speed of his heart as it hammered under your palm.

Your hands travelled the beaten path they always did, from his chest to his collarbone, then hooking behind his neck. Trying to pull him down was useless, like trying to topple a brick wall with bare hands, but you caught him staring out of the corner of his eye.

“Look at me.” Your whisper was a command, and he had always been faithful to a fault. “I love you.”

He tried to hide the oncoming smile, dropping his chin to his chest, but you were quick to guide his gaze back to yours. There was no way you’d be missing that careful grin. His eyes were soft and gentle when they met your own, there was hesitance in them that you didn’t want to see, so you kissed him.

He melted against you, arms winding around your back and pulling you against his chest, you hummed and he couldn’t stop the full blown grin from forming on his lips; breaking away to look at you like a giddy school boy.

“Are you going to take it back?” You asked, brushing your nose against his in a bunny kiss. 

“Will I still get to kiss you if I do?” He joked, you rolled your eyes albeit in good nature, hands cradling his cheeks as he continued to smile.

“I think that can be arranged,” you mused, leaning in to kiss him again, the two of you falling into familiar rhythm with one another.

Spring slinked out of the partially open door, tail held high, she had seen more than enough.

[robo-writing]

Captain price brings home a stray (kidnapping, implied petplay dynamics, John being your caretaker of sorts)

John Price was never an animal person.

Animals don’t scare him, but while growing up the neighborhood kids would always seem to find a stray, run home with it and beg their parents to keep their new friend—cat, dog, maybe even a squirrel they found running in the backyard. His parents had no such troubles to worry about.

This persisted through adulthood, and being a Captain he especially couldn’t afford to keep a pet. Too much time away, too much responsibility. He could have the most independent animal and the poor thing would die in a week.

It was a surprise to him that he soon adopted a little bird.

He found it one day, after the rest of his team had already left. Alone and afraid, it had barely made a noise as he came closer, suddenly intrigued in the pitiful creature. It didn’t even make a single noise as he picked it up off the curb, the softest little sniffles escaping it.

His heart broke at the sight, something he never thought would happen. He brushed a thumb along its head, then brought it back to his truck where he placed it in a faded red blanket, then drove away. He placed the little wrapped up bird on his couch, offered it some food before stowing away for bed.

Not once was he worried that the bird would destroy his house while he slept, he was certain of that.

When he woke up, the bird was still there.

It looked as if it hadn’t moved an inch from where he placed it, the morning light shining right on top of it as it slept. It’s now that he could see the pretty thing in all its glory, albeit a tad dirty.

He taps the bird, softly chirping before awaking fully. It looks up at him with wide eyes, looking around before trying to inch towards the front door.

A futile attempt, as the moment it tries to fly away John grabs it, soothing the scared animal into a somewhat relaxed state.

“You’re alright now, you’re safe,” he mutters, large body overtaking your own. “My name’s John, I’ll be taking care of you from now on.”

Confused, you simply nod in response.

[a-menagerie]

Everything Has Changed

Cause all I know is we said, "Hello"

And your eyes look like coming home

All I know is a simple name

And everything has changed

Molly didn’t know where he was, barely knew who he was. When he finally opened his eyes - eyes? eyes never shut - and was faced with a pink firbolg, Molly was more confused than ever. So he ran.

Empty empty empty. He’s lost in himself and in this terrifying cavern - of flesh? - and he doesn’t know anything. There’s words in his mouth and people around him and he doesn’t know who anyone is. They’re hugging him and saying things and he’s just lost.

Except you, back behind everyone and quiet, you catch his eye and he knows you, he’s sure he does. But his heart is beating out of his chest and he can’t catch his breath so he gives in, lays on the ground, lets himself fade out.

*

Molly had never seen the Blooming Grove before, but he quite liked it and the Clay family. Eccentricity appealed to him - he was eccentric, wasn’t he? - but the family was just kind. They almost reminded him of another group, people he couldn’t quite picture or name, but the lingering feeling of family made him wonder.

For a week or so, you watched as Molly wandered the Grove, slowly recovering memories. He was never far from Yasha. Jester had fixed up his coat for him and he looked nearly like he had before you’d lost him. Some missing eye tattoos and slightly underfed but that would change with time.

*

“Is there a reason you’re avoiding a particular tiefling?” Fjord asked you, joining you where you were weeding a section of the cemetery.

“I spoke to Jester like an hour ago.” You reply without looking up.

“Alright, smartass.” Fjord scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“I’m not avoiding Molly; I’m giving him space.” You say.

“Does he know that?” Fjord asks. You look up at him sharply, frowning.

“He doesn’t remember…us. Whatever we were. I don’t wanna add any extra pressure on him.”

“And when he does remember, what then?” Fjord asks.

“I’ll tell him what I just told you.” You stand, yanking off your gloves. “What’s this about Fjord?”

“Everyone’s worried about you.” Fjord admits, rubbing his neck. “All of this is…a lot. Molly’s back but you’ve hardly reacted, barely talked to him. I just wanted to check in.” You try not to bristle at Fjord, he’s just doing what he does, checking in on his friends. But hardly reacted?

You’ve cried yourself to sleep almost every night since you returned to the Grove.

What was worse? Losing Molly or having a Molly who didn’t remember you? Losing Molly or having him so close but out of reach? Your chest aches and you fought hard not to cry in front of Fjord.

“I’m fine.” You tell him.

“Bullshit.” You and Fjord both jump as Beau speaks up. Sometime during your conversation she’d wandered over and now she was facing you with crossed arms and a raised brow. “You look like shit.”

“Beau.” Fjord hissed. She just rolled her eyes, waving her hand at him.

“You gotta talk to him or something, just watching you is making me miserable.” She said, poking you lightly in the chest.

“I don’t want to pressure-“ Beau cuts you off.

“Yasha said he asks about you, can’t figure out why you’re avoiding him. Molly’s not remembering everything yet but - just go talk to him.”

*

Molly’s been watching you, keeping track of where you were throughout the day. He wasn’t sure why. He’d wanted to speak to you before now but you seemed to disappear anytime he got too close.

Until today. He was sitting against a tree outside the Clay home, reading through Beau’s journal. Well, more specifically, he was struggling to read the journal and was considering asking Beau to just read it aloud. Molly looked up at the sound of feet crunching grass.

“Hey.” You greeted him with a small smile.

“Hello.” Molly replied blankly, confused - and intrigued - by the way his pulse quickened in your presence.

“Can I join you?” Molly nods so you settle beside him on the ground. You can’t bring yourself to say anything else though. What do you say?

“Did I…do something to you?” Molly asks and you jolt back to the present, out of your head. “To make you avoid me?”

“Oh no, no, I wasn’t-“ You sigh. “I wasn’t trying to avoid you but I was. I wanted you to have space.”

Molly cocked his head, observing you through narrowed red eyes. He looked back to the journal then his gaze wandered to your lap, where you were wringing your hands together.

“Space from you?” You nodded and he hummed in thought. “Because…we were together?”

“…yes.” You answer. Molly blinked.

“Wait, really?” He asked, grin curling across his lips.

“Yes?” You reply, slightly confused.

“I didn’t think I’d be right.” Molly laughed, reaching and grabbing one of your hands. “I’d hoped, of course, and obviously something had happened between us but- it really was like this, the two of us?”

Molly was looking at you so openly and adoringly that you almost couldn’t think straight, couldn’t really fight the heat rising to your cheeks.

“Yeah, for a while before…” You trailed off but started again. “I didn’t want to make you feel like you had to be with me, remember me right away.”

“Trust me, I’m very unhappy to have forgotten anything about you.” A sweet sentiment but you’re pretty sure Molly’s enunciation was meant to be teasing too. “Thank you for treating me so kindly though I would have preferred you spoke to me earlier.”

“Sorry.” You say softly, glancing up from your hand in his to look at him. He leaned forward to rest his forehead against yours.

“We’ll just have to make up for lost time.” Molly said. He took a deep breath, just enjoying your presence when something tickled at the back of his mind.

“You used to call me your Tea-lightful Tealeaf when you were in a silly mood.” Molly says it as a statement but pulls away enough to see your face, to see if he’s right.

“Okay, you could’ve waited to remember that.” You groan, covering your face with your free hand. “I only did it because it made you laugh.”

“Don’t you hide from me.” Molly pulled your hand off your face, held both of your hands in his. “We have all the time in the world now to be silly and laugh together.”

“I’ve missed you. A lot.” You manage to say without crying. Molly gives you a small smile.

“I feel like I’m missing me still.” Molly admits. “But I have you and our very odd friends, so my memories can take their time. They’ll return, in time.”

“And in the meantime,” Molly says, leaning his forehead back against yours, “I will delight in learning about you all over again.”

[agentmarcuspike]

"Is there a reason you're naked in my bed?" part 2

cw: dbf!joel miller x f!reader, pre-outbreak, kinda... blackmailing? ig, no sarah here wc: 1.3k a/n: idek what this is, i'm just practicing, and hopefully someone likes it. working on my smut, don't feel quite confident enough with it yet. maybe in the next one...?

part 1 part 3 part 4

it’s been a week since your neighbor, Joel Miller, found you naked in his bed. you’ve been avoiding leaving the house since then, worried he'll decide to report you for breaking and entering. out of sight, out of mind, you hope, as if grown man Miller never developed a sense of object permanence.

admitting to yourself that not only being caught, but being caught fucking someone in your dad's friend's bed, had made you more excited than embarrassed was not gonna happen any time soon. although you had to acknowledge that the picture of Joel with your lacy panties in his big calloused hand, and the memory of his deep voice telling the younger man to get out of his house, had you chasing a high later that night, alone in your own bed, that you hadn't felt in a long time.

"earth to daughter, anyone home...?" your dad's hand waving in front of your face brings you back to the present. he's finishing a bagel, trying to cram a bunch of folders and loose papers into his work bag, which he only half-way manages without crumpling all of them. "you okay?"

he sends you a quick worried glance, and you nod as you swallow your coffee. "yeah, fine!" you give him a half-hearted smile, and he smiles back, grimacing as he takes a sip of his own now cold coffee.

you snicker at his usual urgency, and take another sip of your own, giggling into the mug. a knock on the door, and your dad yells for them to come in. the coffee doesn't make it all the way down your throat, and threatens to come back up when you see Mr. Miller in your kitchen.

"hey there, neighbor!" your dad says with a cheer in his voice, shaking Joel's hand. "to what do we owe the pleasure?"

Joel nods, quickly glancing at you, before looking back at your dad. "nothing good, i'm afraid." he places his hands on his hips, a confidence to his stance despite the news he's bringing. "my washing machine is broken, and i could use an extra pair of hands carrying it out in the garden to make room for the new one."

for a second you rest your gaze on his biceps, his t-shirt clinging to them for dear life, and you imagine how they would strain even more while he grunts and sweats to move the washing machine.

"i'm about to head out, i'm afraid," you hear your dad apologize, quickly moving your eyes to study the crumbs left on your plate before any of them can catch your keen eye. "but i'm sure my dutiful daughter will be more than happy to show off her strength. you've been working out a lot lotely, honey, haven't you?" your head snaps back up, as you look between the men, both looking at you.

you have. you've been doing a lot of pilates and yoga on the lawn, and you've caught your neighbor hungry stare from across the fence.

"please, no..." you mutter to yourself.

"what was that?" your dad asks, looking at you sternly, as if he didn't hear exactly what you said. "if you're gonna be living here rent free, the least you can do is give our neighbor a hand."

something playful, almost provocative in Joel's eyes renders you speechless long enough for him to say "great," and give your dad an appreciative nod.

"great!" your dad repeats, patting Joel's shoulder. "see you later, kid!" he waves at you, and disappears out the door.

you're alone with Joel.

"so..."

not a word has been spoken since Joel turned on his heel in your kitchen, expecting you to follow him, which you did. the silence feels awkward, but you don't want to break it, worried he'll bring up the other night, as you walk behind him through his house, and into his downstairs laundry room.

"grab that side," he says, pointing to the the back of the machine. it's a tight squeeze, but you manage to fit yourself between the wall and the washer, pushing it towards him.

"on three." he counts, and you lift together. it's almost too heavy, but even if you wanted to you couldn't have said anything, as you both grunt and pant your way out to his back garden.

Joel stops, and nods at you to put it down. you do. your arms feel long, and you lean forwards on your knees, catching your breath. Joel takes a second to breathe and wipe his brow before he breaks the silence.

"too early for a drink?" you look at him, still out of breath, and shake your head. not in this situation, you think to yourself.

"sit," he nods towards the sofa on the back porch and disappears back into the house again. you do as you're told.

Joel reappears with two beer bottles, extending his arm for you to grab one. he sits down next to you, a little too close for comfort. you can smell the sweat from the visible perspiration stains in the armpits of his grey shirt. you both take a couple of sips in silence, before you decide to break it.

"i can wash your sheets..." it's the only thing you can think of to make up for your sins, peeling at the label of the bottle as you say it.

to your surprise, he laughs.

you look at him, and he takes a big gulp of his beer.

"nah, that's okay," he snickers. "i kinda like it, to be honest"

Joel licks his lips before he looks at you, again with the mischievous grin of his. he gives you a quick up-and-down, sending butterflies to several parts of your body, and you swallow harshly.

"you--" you start, as he places a hand on your bare thigh, grin fading, but the mischief still very much present. he gives your leg a soft squeeze.

"i mean you can wash them if it clears your conscience... but it would be a disservice. i'd have to ask you to come mess them up again."

Joel's hand is moving up and down your leg, dangerously close to the hem of your pyjamas shorts you hadn't had time to change out of. you take a deep breath, and clutch your thighs a little tighter together around the beer bottle resting between them.

"you won't tell my dad?" you ask, knowing damn well that he wouldn't tolerate you breaking into your neighbor's house to get laid, and you'd have to find another place to stay.

Joel chuckles. "no, i won't tell your dad," he assures you. "as long as you don't bring that bonehead over again." that makes you smile. "s'he really your type? wouldn't have thought you'd be into guys like that." he takes a good sip of his beer, looking out at the neat-tended garden.

"excuse me?" you say accusatory. "what you mean, guys like that? he was really nice!" Joel looks back at you again, brows raised, before looking away again, shaking his head lightly. "whatever you say, hon." then under his breath: "if you can't see it, m'not gonna say it."

you roll your eyes, and let your legs relax a little. while lifting your bottle to your lips again, Joel's fingertips press a little harder into your inner thigh. you let them.

"so are we good, Miller? seeing as i nearly broke my back helping you move that thing?" you nod towards the washing machine, looking very out of place on the otherwise neat lawn. you had always been able to see parts of his backyard from your childhood bedroom window, and you'd seen him mow the lawn shirtless more than once, shamefully thirsting from afar.

"we're good..." his eyes meet yours, the tease in them ever present.

"for now."

[mylahrins]

forget-me-nots, 05.

hi y/n,

i've been telling my mom about our letters, she seems to look forward to your responses as much as i do! today she went grocery shopping and there happened to be a really big sale on flower seeds. i'm not actually sure what kinds of flowers she bought, but she bought a lot for you. she wants to meet you someday! my little brother does too. if there's ever a time you can or want to, please come over for dinner! the seed packets should be in the envelope. i hope you're able to make some use of them!

speaking of seeds, i had some poppyseed muffins for breakfast this morning. i remember you mentioning liking muffins. my little brother has really been into baking (not so much cooking). he made a lot so ill bring you a small basket on monday, hopefully you'll be able to share with some of the gardening club members. if you'd like, i can bring you whatever my brother ends up baking, he always makes big bunches.

i've also been meaning to tell you that my coach wants to talk to you. he's that one sketchy looking guy that works at the convenience store near our school (don't tell him i said that). he's been asking about the flowers you arranged for kiyoko and wants to order some as well. if you can, please come by during practice when you're not busy!

take care, sugawara

about the flowers!

➤ poppies: i wasn't originally gonna do one of these, but i mentioned poppyseeds so i thought that i might as well! poppies overall have a lot of war symbolism. though they also hold meaning to things like death and sleep and peace. red, white, and black poppies especially tend to represent the fallen soldiers from past war efforts, most notably ww1. i found that purple poppies actually represent the fallen and hurt animals from war (which was really sad to learn!!). BUT!!! poppies aren't all about death and war. colors like pink can symbolize platonic love and sympathy while orange symbolizes good health and regeneration!

masterlist | next | back

a/n: hi guys sorry it took so long to update!!! im on vacation and away from home rn so the format might be a little weird. ill fix it once it get back!! also im pretty sure this is the first chapter update since i edited the "theme" of my fic.. what do you guys think??? is it cute? hehe ANYWAYS thanks for patiently waiting, i think this'll be the last chapter i write until i get back home though... family vacations and writing fanfiction doesn't really mix well LMAO but no promises! if i get bored maybe ill write the next chapter too!! ALSO IM SO SORRY IF YOU WEREN'T TAGGED IN PAST CHAPTERS!!! i just learned how to fix my tag system 😭😭 so im making sure to tag everyone correctly now </333

taglist: @yenonnoff @softpia @ryeyeyer @shoyosh @wqnsho @wyrcan @hisfuture @guitarstringed-scars @froyaoya @fiannee @02shuuu @miyamoratsumuu @walllflowerrrsss @ellizasworld @dearneverland @19calicos

taglist form

[arienic]

When you blink awake, the first thing you notice is his light: on. Again.

It’s spilling from the cracks of his office door, and although it wouldn’t usually be so noticeable, it is now, especially because the golden warmth of his candlelight so contrasts the chill of silver moonlight that floods his room—your room. 

You’re already pulling the thin blanket off yourself as you wonder, How long has he been awake? Has he been drinking water? Has he eaten? How much work has he been given this time?

After a few moments of stumbling your way towards his door, you manage to clasp the brass handle. With a twist and push, there he is: your lover, nodding off over a stack of reports.

You’re squinting a little bit as you move towards him, a hand up in front of your eyes to ease the adjustment from near-total darkness to a well lit room. He hears you, you know, because the moment you’re within arm’s reach he twists in his chair to face the side.

You step forward one more time, now close enough to see the drooping eyelids of your barely-awake lover as he looks up at you, before you finally speak.

“Cyno,” you say softly, “come to bed. How long’ve you been working, lovely?”

“As soon as I finish this,” he mumbles, trying to blink the sleep from his eyes. He ignores your last question—well, ignores or he just hasn’t heard it at all. Your lips pull into a frown again.

“Your paperwork isn’t going anywhere, you know.” You reach forward and cup his face, thumb rubbing back and forth on his cheek. Cyno turns and presses a kiss to your palm, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion.

“The paperwork won’t, but they—the people that—the—”

“The rule breakers? The plagiarizers?”

“Yes.” He sighs, leaning further into your hand. You shake your head and watch as he tries to keep awake. “Them. Those people. Those… those scoundrels.”

Despite your best efforts, you huff a laugh. “Scoundrels? You’re sounding a lot like that old lady back at the market now, Cyno.” He sighs again when you brush the hair from his face; you tuck it behind his ear with a feather-light touch. “Look, see? Maybe you’re a changeling, lovely. You really are turning into her. You’ve got the hair to match, too.”

“M’not old,” he grumbles. “You are.”

“Never called you old.”

“Shuddup.”

Your grin fades into a small smile when he sinks even further into you; you’ve moved to stand between his legs so he doesn’t fall flat on his office floor. Hands having left their places on his cheeks, now they card through his hair, pushing it from his face as he rests his head against your stomach.

“Cyno,” you say gently, “come to bed.”

You just barely manage to make out the words he says into your stomach: “Jus’ one… one more. One last.”

“You can barely keep awake, lovely.” 

Cyno shakes his head weakly. You narrow your eyes. His actions don’t seem to match up with his words: even as he says he doesn’t want to, he nuzzles into the warmth of your body, fingers tracing circles on your knees.

When your hands still in his hair, he whines. 

“In the morning, who do you think’s gonna have to deal with all the little mistakes on your reports just because you chose to keep pushing yourself?” He mumbles something against you that, this time, you can’t quite make out. Either way, you say, “That’s right, lovely. It’ll be you.” 

You start running your fingers through his hair again, and now Cyno melts, giving in. His entire upper body’s slumped against you and so, afraid of him falling asleep on you completely, you push him back gently and pull a hand from his hair to cradle his jaw, tilting his head upwards a little so he can look at you properly. 

“So, what about now?” you hum. Your lover blinks up at you, sleepy-eyed. “You feel like coming to bed?”

A moment before Cyno murmurs, “M’kay.”

You smile, thumbing his cheek again. “M’kay. D’you mind standing up for me then, lovely? Just ’til we get to the bed.”

He answers with a push of his body away from yours, hands braced on the edge of his work desk so he can stand properly like you’ve asked him to. Your arms hover over his sides, at which he sends you a look.

“M’not that sleepy,” are the words that accompany said look, which make you raise your eyebrows.

“Sure, lovely,” you say, guiding him towards the door, hands hovering over his sides. Like you only a few minutes ago, he stumbles his way into your bedroom. Two or three times you have to steady him by the shoulders because he keeps tripping over his own feet.

Finally, you reach the bed. Cyno crashes into it, letting out a satisfied hum as the comfort wraps ’round his aching body. You smile, climb in after him, and pull the blanket over you both.

It’s immediate, the way he reaches for you. Cyno’s weight drapes over your body, and at last, your lover settles against you, face tucked into the crook of your neck, arms wrapped fast around your waist. Your own hands have returned to his hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. You sigh when you feel him press his lips to your skin: once, twice, and a third time. I love you, these sleepy kisses mean. He does it again. I love you.

“Love you too, Cyno,” you mumble into his hair. “Sweet dreams, lovely.”

[agent-cupcake]

Flashbang

Chapter 7 - Look Up, Look Up

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: While you're trying and failing to deal with everything that's happened, it becomes increasingly obvious that running away wasn't as simple as you hoped. Captain Buggy takes this personally.

Warnings: Explicit smut, discussions of pregnancy/fertility, dub/noncon, unhealthy relationship

Word Count: 10.8k

Notes: This story is now just full time horny and the mental health of those involved probably won't get much better. See you next Sunday~

“There's something deep inside of me

It lingers and it presses hard

A tidal wave that never catches breath

The end is just the start

And now I don't know what to do”

xxx

Groggy and sore, your head spinning and filled with uncomfortable fog from the drug last night, you stood in the bathroom off Captain Buggy’s cabin, shivering in the thin sheath of a blanket taken from his bed. You had cleaned yourself up as best as you could, but there was nothing to do about the marks littering your skin, the soreness between your legs, or the ugly little bruise on your cheek from where your would-be kidnapper hit you. You washed your face clean of makeup—Buggy’s and yours—leaving you with a pair of splotchy cheeks and a set of unappealing mismatched eyes. One of them was tired, rimmed in red with flakes of mascara clinging to the lashes. The other was… Well, it was what it was.

Dad told you that you should have been grateful for the injury, that you were lucky to be alive at all. Being mildly deformed was nothing compared to what might have happened if you were nearer to the explosion. But your luck was a scar that started about an inch above your left eyebrow and ended two or so inches below the eye. That had been a nasty gash on its own, but there was also the burn. Covering the top of your cheekbone up to right beneath your brow, the skin crackled in shades of sickly burgundy, damaged enough that only part of your eyebrow grew, very few lashes clinging to the ruined lids. The burn as well as the stitches dad had put into your eyelid limited your ability to close the eye, leaving the milky film of your cornea exposed. 

It wasn’t without reason that you were called a freak. People saw your eye and winced with phantom pain, thinking how grateful they were that it wasn’t their face that had been ruined. They had sympathy and pity, sure, but you understood the underlying emotions were relief and discomfort. Even dad insisted you cover your eye; he couldn’t stand looking at it. Nobody could.

Except for Buggy, but thinking about him didn’t do anything to help your miserable ruminations.  

Bracing one hand on the sink, your heavy head swung down and you stared at the faded porcelain instead. Last night, you vomited and screamed and cried and cried and cried, the grief and pain and self loathing and fear so strong that emotion threatened to overcome you like a tidal wave. Now, the tears didn’t come. You weren’t some sort of victim in all of this, you had to face the facts. 

Fact: Dad was still trying to get you back and the only way you could think to explain how he was doing that was to admit you lied to Captain Buggy. Fact: You were never never going to be free of him, not really. Fact: Last night you got high and threw yourself at the captain, and now you were the whore everybody thought you were. 

God. 

You peeked up at your face in the mirror, searching for the missing part of yourself that physically represented your virtue. That’s what people said. You lost your virginity. You were different now. You felt different, but you didn’t know what you were looking for. Or, rather, what you weren’t looking for. That made no sense, did it? 

Disgusted by your nudity beneath the blanket, you left the bathroom. Moving made you realize how heavy your head felt, how foggy. There was a pinched, sour feeling in your throat, like when you got sick. By now, sunshine formed a bright frame around the blinds covering his windows, but his room was freezing. 

Shivering, you looked around for your clothes, spotting your shorts and jacket on the floor. You had a feeling your shirt was tangled up somewhere amidst Buggy’s bedding. That was a bit of a problem considering Captain Buggy was also tangled up in the bedding. You didn’t want to wake him up. You weren’t sure you could handle facing him right then.

While you were deliberating what to do, cold and confused and miserable, Buggy opened one eye to give you a disgruntled look. “What’re you doing?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep. You hadn’t taken off his makeup last night, adding to his groggy, unkempt demeanor. 

You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, unable to look him in the face. “I’m sorry, Captain Buggy. I didn’t mean to wake you up.” 

He groaned, blinking over and over again in an attempt to orient himself. “Shit. You kept me up too late.”

“I’m sorry.” 

Buggy sighed, opening his eyes all the way to look you up and down. You didn’t see him detach his hand, although you spotted his little smile a second before the blanket was torn out of your hands, leaving you naked. You squealed in surprise, nearly falling over as you tried to cover yourself, prickling chills covering every inch of your skin.

He laughed, reattaching his hand and using it to prop up his head. “You know, if this was how you woke me up every morning, I might be more of an early riser.” 

“Cap-tain, it’sss c-cold,” you said, shivering hard enough to distort your voice. 

“Then get back in bed,” he said.

You frowned, hesitating. “I-I was going to-to go geh-get breakfast.”

Buggy groaned dramatically, rolling his eyes. “Aren’t we past this whole,” he gestured vaguely to you, “coy… schtick? Cut the bullshit and come here, it’s fuckin’ freezing.”

He was right about that at least. Although your hesitation held for a second more, the cold and unsteady dizziness was too potent for you to think of any argument, timidly approaching the bed with an awkward hunch to try and cover your nudity. Buggy obliged with a self-satisfied smile, raising the edge of the blanket for you to slip under the covers and rolling onto his back to make room. There was no graceful way you could think of to join him, but Buggy didn’t let you waste time trying to figure out a natural way to huddle beneath the blanket, pulling you against him regardless of your intentions to keep some space between you. Laying on your side, your head resting against his chest, allowed you some modesty, but every place where your bare flesh met his seared, practically sizzling. 

“Shit,” Buggy exclaimed, “you’re like a little ice cube.” 

“I’m always cold,” you muttered, trying not to shiver at the feeling of his warm hands smoothing over your chills. 

“Yeah, I noticed,” Buggy said with a little laugh. “The first night when you slept in here, you were like a little heat vampire. I couldn’t keep you off of me.”

“Really?” you asked, taken aback. “I don’t… don’t really remember.” 

“Of course you don’t, you were completely shitfaced. It was hilarious. Who’d’ve thunk that somebody so repressed and stiff would be such a horny drunk? You are so lucky I’m not some weirdo pervert who’d take advantage of a girl in such a precarious position.” He hesitated before adding, “Well, there was that one thing, but it’s not a big deal, especially now that I know you wanted it anyway.”

“What?”

“Before you get all upset, I didn’t actually touch you. I mean, I had to a little to get you in here and then to get you to settle down, but it wasn’t weird,” Buggy explained. “Trust me, you were begging for a lot more than what I was comfortable with. But then I needed to let out a little steam after all of your teasing, and, hey, if just looking at somebody was a crime, you would be the one with a massive bounty, not me. I bet you masturbate thinking about me every night after you leave.”

“I don’t,” you said, frowning. “I wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, yeah, got it,” Buggy said dryly, rolling his eyes. “Innocent little virgin. I bet you don’t know how to make yourself come.”

“I-I…” You forced yourself to not get tripped up by the heat of embarrassment, letting out a big breath. “It’s fine. Just… Did I do anything else that night?” 

“Nah, you passed out pretty quick.” 

“Do you know what I did with my dress? I’ve never been able to find it.”

“Dress?” Buggy repeated, his eyebrows furrowing. Realization hit him a moment later. “Oh! Yeah, right. To be clear, you wanted to take it off. It was ruined anyway ‘cause of the blood so I didn’t think it was a big deal if I used it to clean things up after. Barely any of it got on you anyway, but then I started to get a little worried you’d be embarrassed about what happened, especially if you couldn’t remember anything, so I ditched it out the window.” 

“Oh,” you said stupidly, your skin crawling. “I… Um…” You cleared your throat, hiding your face with your cheek against his chest, trying to stifle the discomfort you felt. 

It didn’t matter, it wasn’t as if you could remember, and you believed him when he said he didn’t do anything else. But it meant that you had instigated a sexual dynamic at the start. Compared to what you did willingly, knowingly, you didn’t think you could reasonably be upset, but the idea that anything like that happened when you couldn’t remember was still unsettling.

“I’m sorry I… For acting that way,” you finally said, looking up at him. 

“Don’t worry about it, babydoll. I’m not mad or anything. I guess I got a little irritated that you were being such a tease after showing me how you really felt that first night, but it worked out just fine, huh?” His eyes dragged down, lingering on the bite marks he’d left on your neck. He licked his lips. “Hey, come up here.” 

“What?” you asked. 

He huffed. “What do you mean ‘what’? Get up here,” Buggy said as he sat up, grabbing your waist to haul you up to him regardless of your nervous squirming. You choked out an objection when he wrapped his lips around your nipple, but that shuddered out into a breathy sigh. His mouth was warm and soft, a contrast to the rough sandpaper of his stubble. The sensation of his nose against your skin was odd, maybe because even still you didn’t expect the texture to be so human. 

You didn’t want to respond to his touch, you didn’t want to enjoy being touched—you weren’t allowed to enjoy that—but it was like trying not to feel pain. You were utterly unable to ignore the pleasure that made your sore pussy tighten anxiously, the muscles aching for more than one reason. When he bit you, gently, just enough for the threat of pain, you didn’t mean to whimper, but you did. Your body hadn’t recovered from whatever you took last night, still caught in the haze of that spinning sense of need and languid acceptance of his touch. 

Buggy pulled away with a wet pop, pushing you down onto the bed so he could lean over you and do the same thing to your other nipple, scattering all your thoughts of protest or nerves for what he intended because of how electrifyingly good it felt. 

Using that distraction, his hand delved between your legs, two fingers pushing between your folds to curl against your entrance. The surprising sensation—was it pleasure? You couldn’t tell, it was too sensitive, too raw, too sore—made your back arch up dramatically, Buggy had to release your nipple and sit up. 

“Fuck, babydoll,” Buggy said breathlessly, casually pulling his fingers up to rub against your clit. They slid easily over the sensitive flesh, coated in your own slick arousal. “Now you’ve got me all wound up.” You tried to squeeze your legs shut around his hand. All it did was trap him in place, casually rubbing against your clit in a way that had your hips jumping in spite of yourself.  

“I’m sorry,” you said hoarsely. 

“You should be. I won’t be able to get any work done today if I don’t take care of this now.”

“What d’you mean?” you asked, although you felt like you knew. 

Buggy pulled his hand out from between your legs, grabbing your wrist and dragging it beneath the blankets. You knew what he was doing, although you still felt an odd zing of surprise when he put your hand around his cock. His breath was hot on your ear when he let out a shaky groan, his hips shifting impatiently, pushing into your touch. Knowing that it had been inside of you was almost surreal. Somehow, it felt harder than you might have expected. Warmer too.

He closed your fingers around his cock before his hand pushed back between your legs, two fingers sliding knuckle deep into your pussy. Buggy ate your little whine, pulling you into a kiss that was all hot breath and tongue and distraction while his fingers pressed a little deeper, his hips pushing his dick into your hand for more friction. It surprised you to feel his cock twitch in your hand, it made your breath catch. Dread, of all things, crawled up your throat like acid. There was a raw ache inside of you, an uncomfortable and unnatural pinch when your pussy unconsciously squeezed his fingers.   

“Captain Buggy,” you said, breaking the kiss to catch your breath. “I’m… I’m really sore.”

“You’re really wet,” he said, chasing your lips with his own, drawing you into another kiss.

To prove his point, his fingers pressed deeper into your cunt, hooking and rubbing at your fluttery walls and you couldn’t help but writhe against him, pulling back with a whimper. “Please, Captain Buggy, I…” 

He groaned, leaning back. “Do you ever stop whining? It’s not like you have to do anything. Just lay down, hold on, and let Captain Buggy take care of you like I always do.”

Your heart sank. It wasn’t like you were whining for no reason, you were sore, surely he could understand that? Or be sympathetic to it? You wanted to try and explain, but the words weren’t there in your cloudy, dizzy head, at least not in any sensical arrangement. You couldn’t think hardly at all underneath the spotlight of his eyes.   

“I’m sorry,” you told him, your stomach twisting into knots. “I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry.”

Buggy looked at your pouty lower lip, his gaze rising to meet your wet eye, and his expression softened. “Aw, babydoll. It won’t hurt if you just relax a little,” he told you as he sat up, tossing away the blankets and raising your leg to duck underneath it. “You really gotta trust me about this shit. Unlike you, I know what I’m doing. Besides, I got you through your maiden voyage, didn’t I?”

“Yes, sir,” you said, not registering his playful tone until after your automatic response.

Last night, you had been completely under the influence during this part, but now you were stiff and overly aware of your breathing, of the crawling discomfort of being exposed, of what your body might have looked like to him. The surreal rush was no less intense, but now it was chased by the harsh bite of reality.  

You expected him to immediately start lining up his cock, but instead Buggy grabbed your legs and pushed them all the way to your chest, forcing your back to curl. You saw him gather the saliva in his mouth, but it wasn’t until he spat directly onto your pussy that you understood why. You winced with a disgusted sort of humiliation, trying to wriggle away when he pushed the saliva directly into you with two fingers, mixing it with your own arousal.

“Why did you do that?” you asked, your face hot.

Buggy lowered your legs, smirking instead of answering. You covered your flushing cheeks with both hands to hide your embarrassment. At least Buggy didn’t draw out your humiliation, pulling you down to line up the head of his dick with your pussy. You gasped at the feeling, bracing yourself before trying to relax, fighting your body’s instinct to protect itself. 

It took a few targeted thrusts to make it catch, and then some effort to force the head past the initial resistance, but as soon as the head popped in, he groaned, practically falling on top of you. “God, you’re tight. Frankly, it’s a little shocking I can get it in at all,” Buggy said in a strained voice, slowly pushing his cock into you with shallow, rocking thrusts. 

You were glad he pressed his face into the pillow rather than look at you because it did hurt, even if he rolled his hips in little bursts, slowly easing you into it. You made a little sound in the back of your throat, pulling your legs up to make it easier, trying to relax. Buggy’s breath hitched as he pulled out, and then back in. Slow and gentle.

There was still the part of your mind that wanted to play the martyr. To shut it all out, to take no pleasure in what you knew was wrong. The lapping tide of intoxication threatened to pull you back under into the heavy waves of misty bliss, your body too worn out and mind too frayed to properly fight your reaction. And if you weren’t turned on by the physical stimulation of his cock grinding into you, entering in a way that made your hips jump and pussy spasm around him, then it would be because of the feeling of Buggy’s body above yours. The way the muscles of his back worked and moved with each thrust, the sounds he made. His sounds of pleasure—pleasure because of you. 

Even if it hurt and it was wrong and even if you hated yourself for it, you couldn’t help but feel the tightening in your core, the trembling sort of heat that made you writhe beneath him, your hips restlessly tilting to meet each lazy, shallow thrust. 

Until you heard something from the other room. 

You stiffened up, your fingers curling into his shoulders. “Captain, I—I think… I think someone’s knocking,” you said. 

“Ignore it,” Buggy told you, his voice labored. 

But the knocking didn’t stop, and then you heard the door open. “Captain Buggy?” Cabaji called into the room. “Are you awake?” 

You tensed up at that interruption, your cunt unintentionally squeezing his cock. In response, Buggy’s fingers dug painfully into your thigh, his groan muffled into the pillow. You pushed at him, panicking, but he didn’t budge. Finally, he lifted his head and braced himself on his elbow, looking annoyed. 

“What do you want?” Buggy shouted, his grip on you just as tight, his cock remaining halfway inside of you.

“Mohji took command of the other ship, but it’s damaged.” Footsteps from the other room made you think Cabaji was coming closer, and you pushed more insistently at Buggy, disgusted fear of being seen like this seizing your chest. “He’s taking it to the nearest island, should we follow?” 

You tried again to push him off, unable to stand the constant pressure, the way your pussy kept spasming and squeezing him. Buggy made a sound of irritation, pinning you in place with a harsh thrust that buried his cock deep enough for his skin to slap against your own, eliciting a shrill yelp you didn’t muffle in time. The footsteps stopped. There was absolutely no way to misinterpret what just happened, but you didn’t care as much compared to the discomfort, to the weight of him inside of you.

“I need to finish this up first,” Buggy said, his voice hoarse with strain. “Get my breakfast, I’ll meet you up there…” He looked down at you, licking his lips. “As soon as I’m done.” 

“Yes, of course, sir,” Cabaji said, quickly retreating. 

The second the door closed, Buggy was laughing. “You did all this whining about how you’re sore, but got too impatient to even wait for Cabaji to leave.”

“That was you!”  

“Nuh-uh, that was aaaall your fault,” Buggy said, rolling his hips experimentally. Your body jerked anxiously, your pussy spasming around his dick. The raw ripping sort of sensation wasn’t made better by the fresh wave of arousal that smoothed out his movements. “Don’t get too upset, the sound you made was so squeaky and pathetic he might have mistaken it for something else.”

You whined helplessly, your back arching and nails digging into his shoulders. 

“That’s exactly my point. Squeaky hinges, rats in the walls… Ship stuff,” Buggy said, the last word coming out with a heavy grunt as he dragged you back into place, his hips meeting you halfway so he could slam his cock into you. Your fingernails dug into his shoulders, but all that did was make Buggy moan. 

“Captain Buggy, please, it hurts.”

“If you hadn’t wasted so much time earlier complaining, we’d already be done,” he told you. “Just hold on, honeybuns. I’ll make it up to you later.” 

Nothing. And then awareness. And then confusion as a million memories played out all at once, none of them quite right, none of them truly belonging to you. But the state of unconsciousness was familiar in its own way, recognition of its daze independent of your own understanding. That is to say that, at this point, you were familiar with what it felt like to wake up after passing out, unpleasant as it was.

“Don’t panic,” somebody said, the words slowly filtering through your brain until you could comprehend them, reality slotting into place. “You fainted, but you’re alright.”

Your eye fluttered open, slowly focusing on the face above you. 

“Crina?” 

“Good morning,” she said with a wry smile. 

You grunted, getting your elbows beneath yourself to sit up. It wasn’t surprising to realize that you were in her clinic. The smell would have given it away, followed up directly by the uncomfortable surface of the table bed you were laying on. 

“Do you remember what happened?” she asked.

Groaning, you laid back down. “I was…” You rubbed your eye, trying to shake your head clear of the fog. 

“You collapsed in the passageway,” she prompted. “You were nearly trampled.” 

That’s right, you had been looking for a quiet place to be alone because you were very upset. Very, very upset. After everything, every little awful thing, it was the realization that Pippa had left with the other ship that set you off fully. Already you could feel the rising tide of breathless despair as it all hit you again. 

“Rest,” Crina told you. 

“I’m okay,” you said, gritting your teeth and getting an arm beneath yourself. Moving immediately disproved your reassurance, the painful spinning of your head nearly knocking you right back down. Soreness throbbed between your legs, like you’d pulled a muscle you weren’t even aware of. The drug from last night lingered like smoke in your thoughts. In addition to the bruise on your cheek, your spine ached in several places from hitting the deck when the man dropped you. Separately, any one of those things would have left you weak. It was no wonder you fainted. “I just got really dizzy and…” You shook your head, although that did nothing to dislodge the cottony confusion that laid behind your temple, or to pierce the bubble of tumultuous emotion swelling in your chest. “I’m fine.”

“Did you drink last night?” 

“No, no I…” You breathed in, trying to sort your thoughts. “I was, um, upset and so Captain Buggy gave me… I think it-it was an opiate, like my dad used to give me. Just so I could calm down. He was helping me, and I wanted it, but today it feels like… Like having a hangover, but heavier. I didn’t sleep much either, so that’s probably why I… I’m tired is all.”

“This should still help,” Crina told you, holding out a cup of water. 

You eyed it warily, your stomach churning at the idea of accepting anything. “No, thank you.” 

Her lips pursed, but she set it aside, returning to her workbench. Various vials and herbs littered the surface. It looked like she was preparing something that smelled very strongly of antiseptic, but also other things. Crina’s medicine was never as astringently assaulting as the types your dad used. The water she had boiling—boiling bandages, perhaps?—had a comfortable sound, warming the room. 

“What are you doing?” you asked her, grasping for something to ground yourself.

“My job,” she responded wryly. “Pirates fight recklessly, even an overwhelming victory means wounds to tend.” 

You nodded.

“My first medical training was as a midwife,” Crina suddenly said, grabbing a fresh cutting board and quickly chopping up what you recognized as ginger. “My mother taught me, and her mother taught her. I helped deliver several babies before I was old enough to conceive one myself.” 

In so many ways, Crina was an enigma to you. Hearing her volunteer personal information so randomly, so abruptly caught you off guard. “A hospital hired you when you were a kid?” you asked, your eyebrows furrowing. 

“No hospital,” she said with a trace of amusement at the idea, setting aside the knife and sweeping the chopped spice into a kettle which quickly replaced the pot on the stove. “Our community was small and poor. Even if we could afford doctors, we couldn’t trust strangers to safely care for our mothers, daughters, and sisters—and we certainly couldn’t trust them with our babies.” 

“Why did you become a pirate?”

“I had few other options,” Crina said, crushing up an herb in a mortar and pestle. “I left my village and sought education as a surgeon when I was old enough to do so, but the medical community thought I was… difficult, to say the least.” She smiled to herself. “It was a mutual feeling. So stuck on the rigid path of modernity that they reject anything they deem to be outdated. I left school with the proper training and debt, but none of the credentials.”

“Why didn’t you go back to your village?” 

“There wasn’t much to go back to,” Crina said brusquely. “Poverty is as wicked as any plague.”

“I’m so sorry,” you told her. 

“I do not mourn what was, I can only be grateful for what I was given,” Crina said, washing the herbs with a liquid to continue mixing. By now, the smell of ginger was getting quite strong. Warm and spicy and alluring. “I believe my upbringing is why I can handle the brutality of this position better than most. I’ve known many men who will readily amputate a crushed limb or set a bone that has broken skin, but balk at the miracle of childbirth. So eager to impregnate, but unable to face the consequences. To them, a woman’s health is unsympathetic. They will never experience the things we must, so they do not care.”

“That’s not true,” you said. 

“Really? You more than anyone should know the truth of it. Your father was not interested in your health, only your dependence. Captain Buggy is not interested in your health, only your service.” Crina looked at you, her smokey dark eyes cutting past any defenses you might have been able to put up. “Can you deny that?”

“I…” You were saved from answering by the squealing kettle, your body jumping in panic at the sudden noise. 

Crina took the kettle off the heat, leaving it to sit. “Women must look out for one another. I think, so far, you’ve taken my questions as accusations and mistrust my aid for fear of mistreatment, but I do want to help you. If not for personal reasons, then because I would risk Captain Buggy’s ire if I were to allow anything to happen to you for my negligence. Do you understand?” 

You swallowed hard, nodding. 

“We need to talk about what happened last night.”

“Nothing,” you answered quickly, bristling. “Nothing happened.”

“I’ve been honest with you, I would appreciate it if you didn’t insult me by lying,” Crina said. 

You met her eye, guilt swelling in your chest. “Captain Buggy and I… We… We slept together.”

“Did he force you to have sex with him?”

“No! Captain Buggy would never, ever do that,” you told her quickly, shocked by the question. 

“Did he hurt you?”

“No, he wouldn’t.” You looked down, biting your lip. “It-it’s normal to be sore after, isn’t it?” 

Crina pursed her lips. “Did you notice any blood?”  

Last night—and even in the morning—you hadn’t been aware of any blood. Everything was so coated with other bodily fluids that you wouldn’t have noticed. But earlier, when you were changing your clothes, you dropped your shorts and saw the mess of cum that had slowly oozed out of you after you left Captain Buggy’s cabin. It wasn’t the normal milky color, but a sickly pink. Dyed by your blood. Since the color was so mild, you didn’t think it was a lot of blood, but the quantity didn’t matter. Pure, clean girls didn’t bleed. And there you stood with a man’s cum and your own blood staining your panties, the reality of what you had done setting in fully.

“Yeah,” you admitted, your voice choked.

“Was there enough to be worrisome? ” 

“No, there wasn’t that much.” But the amount didn’t matter. Pure, clean girls didn’t bleed.   

“What was happening before you fainted?” 

“I-I started to—to… I couldn’t breathe,” you said haltingly. “It’s hard to think and my head aches and I’m… tired.” 

Ruined, you were ruined. And although everybody was too busy to pay you any mind today—the ship was a flurry of activity after the raid—they would all know soon enough. It was easier to bear the whispers about you and Captain Buggy when you knew it was untrue, but now it wasn’t. Now you were exactly what they said you were. Then you had to think about what happened last night with the man, and your dad, and the entire mess only got worse. 

“I don’t know what to do,” you admitted, speaking softly to keep your voice from cracking. 

“Right now, you’re going to drink this,” Crina said. She poured two cups of ginger tea, filling the room with its spicy scent. She added a spoonful of powder and forced the cup into your hand. “It will help.” 

“What’s in it?” you asked weakly.

“Ginger, turmeric, and something to help your head.” 

The steam washed over your face, and that alone was a comfort. Although it was hot, you took a sip. And another. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. I-I just… I didn’t think,” you told her after a bit, your voice weak. “I don’t get why…”

Your statement was met with a solid block of silence. For a moment, you thought that she wouldn’t say anything at all. “Think about your situation,” Crina told you. “You have few skills, very little practical value to him other than what could be provided by any other member of the crew. You are here because Captain Buggy enjoys having a toy to play with. Do you think it’s a coincidence that he never uses your name? That he calls you his babydoll?” 

“He never said anything about…about any of that,” you argued. “I thought he wanted me to-to be like… like I was for-” You cut yourself off before finishing that thought. Saying it out loud now, after everything, made a plethora of disturbing implications, but it was the innocent truth, and something to cling to now that your ignorance had come back around to bite you. 

“Your father?” Crina finished for you. “Is that how you see the captain?” 

You wondered what she was thinking, what conclusions she might draw, but you were too afraid to look up and check her expression. You sniffled, taking another drink. The hot spicy mixture of flavors was a balm to your sour, cold insides. If only your mind was as easy to placate.

“I’m going to have to insist on a comprehensive physical exam,” Crina told you. “I need to know if he hurt you more than you’re letting on, and how your father interrupted your menstrual cycle. The methods of preventing it can significantly interfere with your sexual health.”

For a long time, you didn’t say anything. You knew what she meant, and your insides cringed at the very idea, but you didn’t see a way out of it either. Looking up at Crina, she met your eye openly. Stern, a little intimidating, but not cruel. There were so many reasons you were going to hate yourself anyway, what did this matter?

“Okay.”

The ship was the busiest you had ever seen. Most of the loot had been left on the other ship for Mohji to take it to the nearest island to sell, but there was enough left that needed to be cataloged, organized, cleaned, and repaired. Nobody was looking at you. You told yourself that over and over and over again as you looked for Captain Buggy. 

Although Pippa was gone, she’d given you enough to piece together an outfit without her assistance, and Crina had helped you style your hair after she finished her examination. She said that it would help. That it would feel better if you acted like nothing had changed. That you didn’t need to make a big deal out of it. The flowy dress didn’t help you feel much better. Of the things Pippa had lent you, it covered the most skin, but you couldn’t help but cringe at the excessively girlish frills and flow of the fabric as the breeze caught the hems, exposing the bloomers you wore underneath. 

“Hey there, girly,” somebody called, his voice raised above the wind. You squinted at the speaker, your shoulders untensing when you saw it was Marty. You trotted over to him, relieved to see a friendly face.

“I was worried you’d gone with Pippa,” you said. 

He shot you a smile, finishing tying the knot and moving the secure the next. “Nah, Captain Buggy can’t spare me.”

“What are you doing?” 

“Getting a boat ready. The captain mentioned sending a pair of guys to town. Guess there were some things Mr. Mohji forgot.” 

“Oh,” you hesitated, crossing one foot in front of the other. “Um… Marty?”

“Hm?” 

“I think I lost the knife you gave me last night. I’m so sorry.” 

“Did’ya stick someone with it?” 

“I… yes.” 

“Then I don’t want none of your ‘sorrys.’ There are plenty more knives in the world.” 

“Then, um… Thank you.”

“That’ll do,” he allowed, finishing the knot. “Oh, Captain Buggy’s at the helm, if you were lookin’ for him.”

“Thank you,” you said. “Thank you, Marty.” 

He grinned, touching two fingers to his brow in a jaunty send-off. 

You turned towards the quarterdeck, weaving your way around the chaotic crowd.

Buggy stood on the uppermost deck at the helm alongside the helmsman, issuing instructions in his usual manner. He wasn’t wearing his hat or jacket and opted to merely touch up yesterday's makeup rather than redo it entirely.

“Captain Buggy!” you called, but he didn’t hear you. Unsure of how else to get his attention, you ascended the stairs. 

Buggy happened glance in your direction, doing a double take. “What are you doing?” he barked.

“I just, um, I… I was wondering if you were going to break for lunch.” 

“What?” he asked, his face scrunching.

“I was wondering if you were going to take a break,” you repeated, raising your voice. He seemed to hear you this time, walking around the helmsman to approach. There was no shame to the way he looked you up and down. It felt hungrier than usual, or maybe that was just your discomfort.

“That’s cute,” Buggy told you, grabbing the skirt and pulling you closer. “Though I’m not sure white’s your color anymore.” 

Your heart dropped. “Yeah, I-I guess not,” you muttered.

“So what was this about a break? I’m awful busy, kiddo. Some of us have real jobs to do.”

“It’s lunchtime, Captain Buggy.”

“Really?” Buggy asked, raising his eyebrows in shock. “Okay, fine. Take it to my office and wait for me.” 

“Yes, sir.”

He turned away to issue orders to the helmsman, and you retraced your steps to go down to the galley. The soreness between your legs wasn’t as noticeable, but you could still sense it. A weight, an understanding. You knew now what it was like to have something inside of you. Fullness, and absence. 

The trip up from the kitchen was uneventful. You were getting used to navigating the ship. Everybody was busy, far too busy to bother with you.  

Buggy was not in his office when you set up his lunch. You didn’t dare eat without him, so you sat in your chair and folded your hands in your lap and waited.

You stared at the off-white fabric of your dress, rubbing it with your thumb. It reminded you of something you had nearly forgotten—a doll you once had. Her frilly pinafore was made of the same type of fabric. You could remember her perfect round cheeks, her bow-like mouth, and those beautiful, round blue glass eyes. She only had one pink dress, but three pinafores and two pairs of shoes. 

Crina said that the sex hadn’t hurt you, that it wasn’t uncommon for there to be some blood. She said that you weren’t fertile right now. She said that, based on her experience with women like you, even if you did become pregnant one day, you likely would not carry a healthy child to term. 

The doll’s name had been something silly. You couldn’t remember it. Blossom? Rose? Even though she was a baby, you always called her sister. Your little baby sister. In hindsight, maybe you already understood that you weren’t the motherly type.  

Having a child wasn’t a reality you’d ever seriously considered. When you thought of your own mother, you thought of her sitting at the window. Always turned away, always so sad, so sharp. You understood, although you hadn’t when you were a child, that she was an unhappy woman. Hysteria was one of the few things the two of you had in common. Such was the magnitude of her pain that it outlived her—it echoed within you, within her memory. And when you thought about that, it was hard to blame her. It was hard to feel anything other than grief. There were moments, little treasures you kept buried deep within yourself. Even as a young child, you had been sickly. If there was any sort of illness to be caught, you would be the one to catch it. You remembered a long, cold night all alone in your room. It was a cough. The thick, broken glass type that had you hacking up globs of blood and yellow phlegm. And then mom was there. She emerged from the dark like a beautiful angel, petting your sweaty hair and spooning medicine into your mouth and singing a lullaby. 

Had the doll been named Cherry? You couldn’t remember what became of her. In all likelihood, she was one of the many girlish things you gave up when dad began taking you along on his ship.

“There was a girl most fair whom I happened to meet

Late in my room one night trading tricks for a treat   

I almost turned down this girl so sweet 

Because, as you see, she was quite petite-”

The door into Buggy’s office opened behind you, his raucous singing getting louder. You were only half listening, coming out of your daze as if waking up. 

“Even with some spit                                

I worried that something might split

But it turned out to be a perfect fit—

“Oh, hey there, babydoll,” Buggy said as he passed you to sit down. “What’dya think of my new song?”

You blinked, sitting up and focusing on him. “It was good, Captain Buggy.”

“Yeah?” he asked, dropping into his chair. “Sing it back to me then.” You frowned, realizing he was calling your bluff. Buggy sighed dramatically. “You really need to get better at the whole listening thing.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I guess I got a little lost in thought.”

He pulled the lid off his tray to immediately start eating. “What were you thinkin’ about?” 

“I was… Um… Nothing important, sir,” you said. Although you weren’t very hungry—your stomach lingered on the verge of unsettled and outright angry—you started eating too. 

“It’s embarrassing, isn’t it,” Buggy said with a lopsided smile, an interesting expression when his cheeks were stuffed full. 

“No! Not… not really.”

“There’s no point in hiding it,” Buggy said. “There’s nothing I didn’t see last night.”

“It’s not like that,” you insisted, flushing hotly. “But it is silly, I was just thinking about stuff from when I was a kid.” You shrugged, shoving a spoonful of stew into your mouth.

Buggy pulled a face. “Why?” 

“I don’t know, I just remembered something.” 

You could read the disinterest on his face, so you dropped it, focusing on eating. You had to force yourself, methodically taking bites while you contemplated how you were going to tell him about last night, and how you would answer his questions. It was inevitable that you would have to reveal how you lied to him, and the thought alone was enough to make you queasy, your hands shaking and slick with a cold sweat. 

“Captain Buggy? I was wondering if-if we could talk?” you said when he was more or less finished. Almost immediately, you regretted speaking, backing down. “But, um, I know you’re busy today so if you can’t spare the time right now, that’s fine, I just-”

“Spit it out,” Buggy said impatiently, cutting you off. 

You looked up and met his eye and felt all of your fragile confidence shatter. 

“Why do you never use my name?” you asked instead. “My-my real name, I mean.” 

“Your real name?” Buggy repeated. “You mean the name your shitstain of a dad gave you?” He let that incredulous question linger as if baiting you to say yes. Eventually, you nodded timidly. “That’s not you. That’s the girl you used to be. She was pathetic and sad. I don’t want her.” His eyes tracked you up and down, softening his expression. “I want my babydoll. Besides, it suits you way better.” He considered that for a second. “Maybe that should be your thing—an animated doll who desperately longs to be a real girl.” 

“If that’s what you… what you think is best,” you said, the words somewhat distant. You weren’t sure what to think, how to feel about his explanation. 

“Come over here,” Buggy said after a moment, pushing out from his desk and motioning you towards him. You looked up, the question ‘why’ already formed on your lips, but that was the wrong response.  

So you dutifully stood up, smoothed your skirt, and circled his desk. It seemed so impossible that you had been in the same position yesterday, only twenty-four hours ago. Everything was different then, the entire world centered upon a different axis. 

Buggy grabbed your hips, tugging you closer. “Are you still sore?” he asked, smirking. 

“A little,” you said, squeezing your thighs together. “Crina said that’s not-not unusual.” 

“‘Cause you were a virgin?”

You swallowed hard, unable to meet his eye. “Captain Buggy, this is… really embarrassing.” 

“Or is it ‘cause you’re so small? That’d explain a lot. I’m still shocked I got it in.” His hand left your hip to press against your abdomen instead, dragging down. 

Your insides clenched hard in response, reminding you of the sharp ache and making you gasp. Buggy obviously caught the noise, his eyes flicking back up to your face.

“Shit, that’s hot.” 

You froze. “Sir?” 

“You’re wearing shorts?” Buggy asked. He didn’t wait for your response, lifting up your skirt to see the bloomers beneath. The sight of them made him scowl, immediately tugging them down to reveal your significantly less cute underwear. He didn’t seem to care, shoving the bloomers down to your ankles while you squirmed, wanting to push him away but knowing you couldn’t. 

“Sheesh, calm down,” he told you, letting your skirt fall. “I’m trying to help you out a little.”

“You don’t have to,” you said. “You’re busy and I-I wouldn’t want to, um...” 

“It’s not like it’s gonna take very long,” Buggy said. He leaned back into his chair, using his grip on your hips to turn you around and sit you on his lap. You nearly fell over, your ankles tangled in the bloomers. “I bet I can get you off over your panties.”  

“You really… You don’t have to,” you said again. Your breathing came out unsteadily and you couldn’t stop squirming around, unable to get comfortable.

“Pay attention, Professor Buggy’s gonna teach you how to make yourself come,” he said, looking at you over your shoulder, his nose brushing your cheek when he turned his head. You couldn’t meet his eyes, but you didn’t want to look down at his hands, so you just squeezed your eye shut. 

“Captain Buggy, I… I don’t need to know… I’m fine.”

“Your fingers are way too small to fuck yourself with, but that’s okay,” Buggy said, tightening his hold around your waist, keeping you in place while his other hand crawled beneath your dress, the fabric of his gloves rough against your skin. When you tried to press your thighs together to stop him, Buggy hooked your ankles with his own, prying your legs open. He laughed at your helpless whimper.

When his hand reached your clothed pussy, you jolted with the little strike of electricity. The way your inner walls squeezed around nothing hurt, but there was more to the feeling. You wanted to hide, to escape, but there was nowhere to go. 

“You know, it’s weird,” Buggy said, sliding his gloved fingers up and down, pushing the fabric of your panties between your folds, pushing his way in between to focus on your clit, “usually I wouldn’t go for this sort of thing, but the way you react is so funny. Most people have an instinctive take on how they’re supposed to act, but here you are. Somebody’d think I was torturing you even though it’s obvious you fuckin’ love it. You know what it reeks of, sweetheart? Other than fish, I mean.” 

You weren’t sure if he was looking for an answer or not, but even if you had one, it would have fled your mind the second he began to put more pressure against your clit. Blood rushed between your legs and the more your clit swelled beneath his touch, the more targeted he was.

“Damage,” Buggy supplied for you. “A whole lot of it.”

“Captain Buggy, please,” you begged. You didn’t know what you were asking for, just that those were the only words you could think to say when he had your body immobilized, when you couldn’t stop your hips from tilting up for him, your hands seeking purchase in the fabric of your skirt as the only anchor. 

“You’re so pathetic.” When Buggy pulled his hand out from between your legs, you mourned the loss, letting out a broken whimper. “Yeah, yeah, I know, I wouldn’t leave you hanging before the finale,” he reassured you, his voice dripping condescension. 

You opened your eye just in time to watch him spit onto his fingers, leaning forward a bit so he could wipe it on your panties—directly above your clit. Your groan of disgust became a helpless moan as he rubbed it in. The wetness added just the right amount of give to the friction, you could feel your thighs tremble, your entire body surging up into the pleasure.  

“‘m ss-sorry,” you said, embarrassed by your reaction. He needed to stop, you could only imagine how stupid you looked, writhing on his lap. But you couldn’t help it, not when he was touching you like this. 

“You are sorry,” Buggy told you, his voice a little lower, a little huskier. “What kind of girl gets off on this shit? It’s like you’re a masochist but backwards. The better it feels, the more you act like it hurts. I swear, honey buns, you’re a brand new type of freak.” 

“No, Captain Buggy,” you said, your voice mostly just breath. “That’s not… I’m not like… Please, it’s… I’m… pleasepleaseplease—I-I-” And then you couldn’t speak anymore, that required too much brain power, the only thing you could do was strain towards your approaching orgasm, towards the heat building in your core, that forbidden and intoxicating wind of tension.  

“Come on,” he urged. His stubble scraped against your cheek, and then your neck when your head fell back against his shoulder. You could smell him. The details changed, but there was the fundamental musky warm smell that you remembered so clearly from the first time he held you and it threaded through your entire body like poison.  

Coming with his fingers slamming into you had been a heavy, wet feeling. Something snapping, breaking, a little flood of heat that rushed through your body in waves. This was a dry spark, a flash and fizzle. You yelped abruptly, your body jerking forward, kept in place only by the iron bar of his arm across your waist. And then it diffused outwards, ending in your fingertips and toes, at the very top of your spine. 

“That was it, wasn’t it?” Buggy asked, his fingers slowing their torturous circles.

You swallowed against your dry throat, nodding, trying to catch your breath. The dizziness from that morning had returned in full force, the world rocked with it. Buggy stopped, pressing his entire palm against the seat of your panties instead, soothing you with the warm, generalized friction. 

“I figured. It’s pretty easy to tell with you. I mean, you’re so goddamn dramatic about it.”

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, awkward and spinning and sweaty and disgusted and a million other things that culminated in the bite of tears in the corner of your eye. 

“Aw, are you embarrassed?” Buggy asked, playfully pinching your cheek with the fingers he’d just used to get you off. You frowned, turning your face away so he couldn’t see your expression. 

He huffed, grabbing your chin to force your face towards his. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, you could barely bear to meet his eyes at all. Finally, Buggy released you, pushing you off of his lap. You nearly tripped, steadying yourself on the edge of his desk. 

“Go change your panties,” he said flippantly, waving his hand. “We’ll work on this,” he gestured vaguely to you, “later.” 

You didn’t really know what that meant, but you nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“What are you doing?” 

Those words drew you out of your tired daze. You had been sitting in an out of the way corner in a passageway to the officer’s mess. It was just a small break, you didn’t want to faint again. You blinked your eye clear, shaking your head of the gauze as you looked up at Cabaji. 

“Hm?” 

“What are you doing?” Cabaji asked again. 

“Oh, I… I got a little dizzy so I…” You frowned. “Sorry, I heard the bell, I was about to head up.” 

“The bell?” Cabaji repeated. “That was an hour ago.” 

“Oh.” 

“Captain Buggy needs you.” 

Those words made your heart drop. You had no idea how you had lost so much time, but you doubted Buggy would accept any excuse you could give. Not only that, but the idea of seeing Buggy after what happened at lunch filled you with an absurd amount of anxiety. It wasn’t him, it was you. There had to have been some other way for you to handle it, but instead you played the role of a whore. You were disgusting, and when you thought about it you simply didn’t understand why. The person you thought you were wouldn’t have done anything like that, and yet you did. 

But that was you.

Getting to your feet was a difficult process, especially when you were trying to hide your fatigue and pain from Cabaji. Which was stupid, you weren’t going to fool him. You were glad he didn’t make a point of your weakness by offering you a hand. 

“Where is he?” you asked. 

“I’ll go with you,” Cabaji said. 

“You-you don’t need to.” 

“Come on, Captain Buggy doesn’t like waiting.” 

You hesitated, nervous to be around him, but there was no reason you could think of to reject Cabaji’s company either. Embarrassment about what he may or may not have heard that morning wasn’t his fault. 

As the two of you traversed the narrow passageway to the ladder, you tried to peek at his face and determine what he was thinking. Which was kind of impossible. He let you go up the ladder first, probably because he was worried you would fall, and so you stood there for a moment in the blinding sunlight. Sitting in the dark had done nothing to help you handle the heavy, hangover-like dizziness. 

“Are you okay?” Cabaji asked. You hadn’t realized he was beside you. 

“Yeah, of course,” you said, squinting at him. He nodded. 

“He said to meet him in his office,” he said, motioning for you to go first. You didn’t fall, although you stumbled on the first step to the quarter deck. It was a relief to walk into the shaded map room, even if it rendered you blind all over again. The door into Buggy’s office was open, but the captain wasn’t there.

You didn’t want to think about what happened in the empty chair only hours before, so you focused on your stoic companion. He saved your life last night. He deserved at least a thank you. There wasn’t much else that you could offer him.  

“Cabaji?” you said. 

“Yes?” 

“I wanted to… to thank you.”

“What?” 

“For last night, you...” Taking a heavy breath, you reached out to grab his hand, holding it in both of yours. “Thank you, Cabaji.”

Cabaji looked more than a little bewildered, although not offended. “I was following Captain Buggy’s orders, there’s no need for you to be grateful.” 

“But I am. If there’s ever anything I can do for you, I-” The door opened. Startled, you dropped Cabaji’s hand, taking a step away. 

“There she is!” Buggy called as he stalked in. “Kept me waiting long enough.”

“I’m sorry, Captain Buggy,” you said, bowing your head. “What can I do for you?”

“I was hoping you could help me understand something,” Buggy said. You could immediately tell by his tone that something was wrong with the situation. All of the sudden, Cabaji’s inclusion felt more confrontational than comforting. 

“Sir?” you asked, tugging down your bandana and trying not to fidget.

“Earlier,” Buggy said, taking slow, measured steps in your direction, “Cabaji was telling me an interesting story. It involved a strange man attempting to make off with a very,” he stopped in front of you, dropping a heavy hand on your shoulder. The cold smile he fixed you with left you without any air in your lungs—you wanted to disappear. “Special member of my crew.” Squeezing your shoulder once, Buggy released you, turning to pace the length of the room. “The thing is, he only knows part of it. I was hoping you could fill in the blanks.”  

“Captain Buggy, I-I was going to tell you,” you said.

“Oh, were you?” Buggy asked, turning around to look at you with round eyes, his expression mockingly curious. “When was that, exactly?” 

“I just…  I didn’t know how to explain it.” 

Buggy wagged his finger at you. “That’s the problem, sweetheart. Truth is self-evident, there shouldn’t be any need for explanation if you’re being honest.” 

“No, that’s not what I meant,” you said, desperate to think of a way to smooth this over. “I just didn’t want you to think-”

“You wanna know what I think?” Buggy asked, cutting you off. “I think you’re hiding something.”

“No, I’m not, I swear,” you told him, clasping your hands together over your chest. “There was a man last night who… He tried to take me, but I managed to escape when he got to the upper deck, and Cabaji killed him.” 

“You’re gonna have to do better than that.” 

“My-my dad sent him to get me, that’s what he said,” you told him, the words smearing together from your nerves. “He said he was getting paid for it. He-he thought I was your prisoner.”

Buggy looked at you for a long moment, considering your words. And then he burst out laughing. “That’s what you’re going with?” he asked. “If you’re gonna lie, at least try to make it sound believable.” 

“That’s the truth,” you said, your voice rising into a whine with your desperation to make him believe you.

This time, Buggy didn’t laugh. “You expect me to believe that, by complete coincidence, we happened to attack the one ship that had a man who was hired to rescue you? Do you have any idea how big the East Blue is? No? You’re about to see for yourself when I toss you overboard and sail away.”

“I think it’s the map,” you said, your voice choked. “You’re following the stolen map, aren’t you? My dad was the one who charted the new trade route. That map is his.”

You could tell the exact moment that Buggy understood what you were saying, his gaze agonizingly intense when it fixed on you. “You said that map and the journal belong to a retired Marine.”

You nodded meekly. “That’s m-my dad.”

“So you lied to me. After everything I’ve done for you, you lied to me.” 

“I was scared you wouldn’t take me if you knew my dad was a Marine, and… He has a-a lot of enemies from back then, he was pretty well-known, and so I thought that maybe you’d see me as-as a liability. I was… I was afraid, Captain Buggy. I’m so sorry.” 

“You’re makin’ him sound like a big deal.” 

“He… I mean, he was… People knew who he was.”

Buggy rolled his eyes. “I bet I haven’t even heard of him.” 

“They used to call him the Surgeon.” 

The name caught both men’s attention, you could feel the zip of tension in the air, but neither said anything until, finally, “Bullshit,” Buggy said.  

“It’s the truth. When he retired, he stopped using that name and tried to-to distance himself from it. He said that if people knew, they would hurt me because of him. My mom and me… That happened because so many people hate him. That’s why I-I lied to you, and I’m so sorry. I was scared that if you knew, you wouldn’t let me join your crew.”

Buggy let out a bark-like laugh. “Sweetheart, if I knew you were the Surgeon’s daughter I would have dragged you onto this ship. I’d say you’re worth your weight in gold, but it’s more like double, no, triple that.” He shook his head. “What do you think someone would pay to get their hands on the Surgeon’s pretty little daughter? Shit, what would he pay to get back his daughter and keep his dope operation a secret? That is his, by the way, right?”

“The map and the journal are his, but I never-never knew about that… stuff.”

Buggy accepted that, nodding as he continued to pace. After a painfully long moment, he shook his head. “No, that still doesn’t explain the guy last night.”

“Captain Buggy?” Cabaji cut in.

“What?” 

“It’s possible that the Surgeon sent around a description of the girl to ships in the area. We can assume that he knows we were the ones to take her.”

“You’re saying there’s a merc on every ship in the area looking to rescue a one-eyed midget girl?” Buggy asked incredulously. “No way. How could he possibly know we’d follow his stupid map? Unless…” Buggy looked at you. “Unless his adoring daughter has been reporting back to him.”

“I wouldn’t, Captain Buggy. I-I swore myself to you. Just you.” 

“And assuming he knows we’re in the area,” Buggy continued, ignoring you, “why wouldn’t he call the Marines to rescue his precious princess? This place should be crawling with them.”

“Unless he was hoping to do this quietly,” Cabaji said. “Alerting the Marines would put his criminal endeavors at risk of being discovered.”

Buggy didn’t respond to that, staring hard at Cabaji for a second before returning to pacing. After one agonizingly slow lap, he turned on his heel towards you. “There’s no way you’re the Surgeon’s daughter. I saw the guy a couple of times, he looked like his mom fucked herself with the ugly stick while he was still hanging out in there. You’re…” he gestured to you, shrugging, “I mean, the eye thing aside, you’re cute.”

You shrunk away, looking at the floor. 

Buggy walked to his desk and leaned over it, his hands flat on the surface. For a second, there was quiet, and then he made a sound like a growl. “Get out.” 

“I’m so sorry, Captain Buggy,” you said, bowing your head in contrition before going to follow Cabaji out of his office.

“No, no, no. Not you, princess,” Buggy snapped. 

You stopped, your heart racing frantically as you watched Cabaji shut the door behind himself. 

“What was that with you and Cabaji before?” Buggy asked.

You slowly turned to face him, your apologies and explanations all fizzling out on your tongue at the abrupt lurch of topic. “Uhm… what?” 

“I asked,” Buggy said, speaking slowly, emphatically, “what was that with you and Cabaji when I walked in? It’s pretty shameless of you to throw yourself at him after he heard you moaning this morning. Do you think he’ll buy the whole innocent act if you bat your eyelashes enough? I don’t think it’ll work as good with just one eye.”

“I was thanking him,” you said, your voice faint. The anger Buggy had now was different than before, but you didn’t know how to qualify that. There was a petulant edge to it. Not as incendiary, but far more nasty. “He saved me last night.” 

“Oh, I get it,” Buggy said, nodding with a little smile. “You think he cares about you. That’s cute.” The smile dropped, his eyes cold. He pushed away from his desk to approach you. “Grow up. Cabaji is my subordinate.” He pointed to himself with the word, his voice slowly getting louder. “The only reason he saved you was because I wanted him to. The only person you should be grateful for is me.”

“I am grateful for you, Captain Buggy,” you told him, shying away with each of his heavy steps. Rather than placating Buggy, your words seemed to rile him further. 

“Liar,” he shouted in your face, loud enough to make you flinch back with a whimper, bracing yourself for a blow that didn’t come. “Do you really think that you can make a fool of me? On my ship, in my office. I know there’s something going on with you. You asked him to teach you to fight, and I’ve seen the way you watch his tricks. All wide eyed and ‘oh Cabaji you’re so cool, can you teach me to do that.’”

“I don’t mean it like that,” you insisted. 

“Are you trying to tell me that it's all in my head? Is that it?” 

“No, sir.”

“If anything, you’re the delusional one for thinking he’d actually care about you,” Buggy said, getting in your face to emphasize his point. “I get it now. Pops was right about you being crazy, wasn’t he?”

When you didn’t respond, Buggy shook his head and turned around again, muttering under his breath. The sound was drowned out by the thumping of your heart, the whir of blood rushing through your ears. You wanted to apologize, or argue, or try to defend yourself, or anything, but you didn’t. 

“Okay,” Buggy said after what felt like hours. When he turned around, his expression wasn’t nearly as animated. He pressed his hands together, tapping his index fingers to his lips as he thought. “I’m sending a boat to meet up with Mohji at the nearest island, and you’re,” he pointed at you, “gonna be on it.”

You were already shaking your head by the time you realized what he was saying. “Captain Buggy, please don’t make me go,” you begged, your chest clenching painfully at the thought of going anywhere without him. “I can still do my job. I’ll do anything, just please don’t make me go.”

He looked at you flatly, anger simmering in his eyes. “Not a chance. Consider this a demotion, kiddo. Right now, you’re worth a lot more as a hostage than you are here being a pain in the ass.”