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agent-cupcake · 14 days

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Flashbang

Chapter 12 - Stripped Back to Beautiful

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: The opening night of Buggy's show.

Warnings: Explicit smut, drugged sex, dubious consent, violence/blood, angst

Word Count: 11.8k

Notes: Well, here's the last one. It's been fun, I hope you've enjoyed the ride <3

Your eyes Behind the mask you wear Old thoughts you'd wish you'd shared You're afraid of what they might do But in our eyes, we know What you could be If you were only free To live a life with all you need And when you do The world will let you breathe Your fears will fold When you're stripped back to beautiful When you're stripped back to beautiful

It's time for you to be All that you can be

xxx

When you were thirteen you hurt your leg falling as you tried to climb down from a building northside. Gravity caught like a hook behind your belly button in that second of terrifying weightlessness, and then you hit the ground. You remembered very keenly the abrupt impact of it, the sound of your leg giving way with a crunch.

There was no way to explain your injury without admitting to what you had been doing. That was a rough night. You hurt yourself, and were punished for it. That was Dad’s love.

This whole time, you thought of your actions and choices as an inevitable descent down a rusty ladder, but maybe it wasn’t. Maybe, on that day, the day you decided to try and sneak into Captain Buggy’s lair to join his crew, it was nothing more than a blind jump. With a dramatic leap, you threw yourself into the open air with the delusion that gravity wouldn’t manage to get hold of you. For a moment, a terrifying and exhilarating moment of greatness, you flew.

So, uh, babydoll. I’m real sorry it had to come to this.

It was always going to come to this. As surely as you would hit the ground, this too had been inevitable.

And the things you did along the way, the horrible choices you made over and over again, those had always been your fault. The lie of innocence you clung to as absolution of the crimes and sins you accumulated in your moments of weightless ignorance was only a lie.

“Are you listening to me?” Dad asked sternly, drawing you out of your darkening thoughts. You blinked, realizing that he had been trying to get your attention. “I told you to drink this.”

Numbly, you accepted the metal cup. “What is it?” you asked, your voice husky from crying.

“Medicine,” he said flatly.

You drank all of it, wincing at the bitter taste, before offering the cup back to Dad. He took it, holding it up to look at the reddish smears you’d left behind.

“What is that?” he asked you.

Before you could think of an answer, he grabbed your arm, pushing back the cuff of Buggy’s coat to look at your blood coated hands. The cup hit the floor, bouncing at your feet. Blood had dried in a burgundy paste into the creases of your palms, crusting over the skin and coming off in little rusty flakes.

You stared at your hands with a hollow sense of surprise. The sight of blood made Dad’s lip curl in disgust. His eyes flicked up to your face and back again, disgust traded for resolve.

“Come,” Dad said, exchanging your arm for your wrist and dragging you to the corner of the warehouse where the lab was being pieced together.

Most of the supplies from the aviary warehouse had been looted, leaving behind pristine countertops with shiny fixtures that didn’t at all match the poverty of Saline. Dad turned the water on before rifling through the things the pirates hadn’t taken, cursing them under his breath. You watched him blankly, distantly. Like it was all going on somewhere else, happening to someone else.

“Roll up your sleeves,” he ordered.

Realizing you weren’t going to comply, unsure if he was actually talking to you, Dad grabbed your arms and roughly pushed the cuffs of Buggy’s coat out of the way. He didn’t bother asking you to wash your own hands, pinning you to the counter's edge and forcing your hands beneath the faucet. The water was hot enough to burn, steam coating your face.

“Hurts,” you whined, trying to pull away.

“You’re fine,” Dad said through his teeth, squeezing a generous amount of soap into his hands and lathering it up into a foam. All you could do was endure it, it was easier if you didn’t fight. With meticulous efficiency Dad scrubbed your hands clean until the water ran clear of both soap and blood, dying your skin a different kind of red.

Blood was unsightly, dirty. Pure, clean girls didn’t bleed.

Finally, he ended the torture and shut the water off, stepping away from the sink. You wilted there, staring at your bright red hands. The fingers trembled weakly. You didn’t move when Dad cut the ties binding your hair in messy tails, letting it flop down. You didn’t move when he wrapped a bandage around your head, covering your left eye and the unsightly scar. Moving would disrupt the quiet, and you didn’t want to start crying again. You didn’t have the energy. So you let him dry your hands and followed his prompting to return to the crate by the aviary. The too-long cuffs of Buggy’s coat fell back to cover your stinging hands.

In their lovely cage, the Lacrimosa cried a mournful chorus, fluttering around the vibrant greenery in their glossy black funeral suits.

“Stay here,” Dad ordered. You nodded dully, staring at the Lacrimosa. He barked an order to one of the mercenaries nearby, setting him as your guard.

A distant part of your mind marveled at that. What did it matter if you were guarded or not? What was the point in running when there was nowhere to run to? Nobody in the world wanted you, not as you were.

You sat there, waiting for nothing, thinking of nothing. It was difficult to find the coherence to even try to think, your mind unable to make sense of an increasingly distant world.

Something tickled your neck, breaking your inside quiet. You winced, scratching it absently.

A uniformed man threw the door into the warehouse open with a loud bang, startling you. The reaction was delayed, confused. It took you a second to connect the action with the sound. The man rushed over to Dad and issued as sharp a salute as you had ever seen. The door remained open, although it wasn’t any brighter outside than it was in the warehouse, all it did was swirl in cold humidity.

“Sir!” he said. “Reports are coming in that the pirates are getting ready to attack.”

“Any sign of the hostages?”

Another tickling at your neck made you frown, squirming with discomfort. It wasn’t the fur from the coat’s collar. You scratched it again.

“No sir, we suspect they’re all being held in the tent.”

“Well then, let them come. Not one pirate will live to see the sun go down, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Whatever it was tickled you again and, anxiously thinking it was a bug of some kind, you slapped your sleeve-covered palm against your neck. There was something. Long and solid and moving. Stiff with nerves, you pinched it to get a look at whatever it was, and then stared in disbelief because it was not a bug. It was a finger. A cleanly detached finger covered by the little sleeve of a white glove. It curled twice, like a wave, before jumping out of your hand and back into the fur collar of Buggy’s coat.

There was no way. You freed your hand from the long sleeve, feeling along the fur collar. It was impossible. You were crazy. Hallucinating things. Wishful, fanciful things. You had to be, because your searching fingers didn’t come upon a finger, but you did feel something. It felt like a piece of paper tucked into a ripped seam between the fur and fabric of the coat. You pinched the corner and pulled it out, unfolding it with shaking hands.

In all capital letters were the words:

GET OUT OF AVIARY

BUGGY BALL INCOMING

And, limited capacity for reading aside, you knew Buggy’s handwriting. Large letters with high hooks and seemingly random loops and flourishes.

You blinked fast to make sure the words didn’t change, or disappear, running your finger over the dried ink as if you’d be able to feel the lines. Something tickled your neck again, and you curled your chin down to stop it, trapping the shape of a familiar finger.

If it wasn’t real, if you were crazy, if this was a trick, what did it matter? Hope already flickered in your heart, no matter how ridiculous you knew it to be. Buggy had abandoned you. Rightfully so. You were useless to him, all you had ever done was disappoint him. It was insanity causing you to imagine what you wanted to happen. Dad always said to never feed the delusions, or encourage the fantasy. That was dangerous.

Across the warehouse, Dad was issuing orders in a booming voice. It bounced against the walls and into your head.

What was one more leap? One more misguided and painful jump into the abyss. There was no decision. No choice. There only ever was the inevitable, and you had descended too far to stop now. You stood up, your heart racing.

“What are you doing?” your guard asked. His voice was hazy, distant. You’d forgotten he was there.

“I want to look at the birds,” you lied in a weak voice, going up to the cage. It brought you closer to the door, albeit not by much. How far? Twelve or fifteen feet? It was already open, practically inviting you out into the miserable fog. A quick dash, mere seconds of running for your life. You saw the destruction caused by a Buggy Ball firsthand yesterday morning, if the note was real, you needed to get as far away as possible.

Alas, I am so sad! Lamented one of the Lacrimosa in its pure voice. You wicked, cursed girl! Another cried.

“-immediately rush to rescue the hostages,” Dad told his men, “these savages might be planning on-”

Murderer! Killer! The bird called, its voice seeming to raise in pitch to counter the loud ringing in your ears, the deafening rush of blood.

“I’m not,” you whispered to the birds, casting a furtive glance towards the door and back again. You could do it. You had to at least try. One final act of defiance.

You’ll let us die! Abandon and betray us just like you did with Mom!

“That wasn’t my fault,” you whispered, pleading with the birds to stop taunting you.

Randall!

“No,” you said, a little louder. “That was-”

Crina!

You closed your eye, your chest clenching painfully. “Please, stop,” you begged them.

“What was that?” your guard asked. You gasped sharply. Somehow, you had forgotten he was there again. Reality kept slipping through your fingers like water and you wavered, swaying on your feet.

No. Now was not the time to get lost in your head. Breathe in, a big breath. Breath out, collapsing your chest. Focus.

The guard was standing further away from the door than you, although he looked wary now. You had wasted too much time, drawn too much attention.

“Let’s go,” Dad said from across the warehouse.

“Yes, sir!” his squad responded in unison.

You were out of time.

With shaking hands, you opened the cage. “Come on,” you hissed, motioning for the Lacrimosa to leave. “Come on, we have to get out right now.”

“Hey, what are you doing!?” the guard called. The question caught Dad’s attention. You looked up just in time to meet his eye across the warehouse and you knew, knew absolutely, that he realized what you were about to do. You looked back at the birds, who were less than interested in the open cage. Only one of them had been curious enough to perch on a branch near the door, curiously cocking its head. Its shiny black eyes glistened with innocence.

It trilled inquisitively.

“Stop her!” Dad shouted.

The world darkened to a pin’s head in scope, all that was internal and external drowned out by the oppressive rush of blood through your ears. You grabbed the bird and bolted.

Shaky, violent adrenaline dumped by the bucketful into your blood, propelled through your body by your fluttering heart. There was nothing else other than running. Panting, puffing, crying, your feet pounding on the ground.

“Grab her!” Dad bellowed.

You didn’t stop when you made it outside, hurdling forward with the singular thought of away. Escape. Run.

You could feel that your guard wasn’t far behind, and there was another man standing at the edge of the clearing. He turned towards you, meeting your eye. Just then, at almost the same second your eyes met, an alarm sounded. The man looked up, his expression melting into fear.

Somebody was screaming: “Incoming… INCOMING!”

The man ran, and you followed, sprinting as fast as you ever had with screaming lungs and a body barely strong enough to keep you upright, your hands cupped around your rescued hostage as the bird cried and cried in distress.

Feeling the disturbance rippling in the humid air, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder. The promised Buggy Ball ripped through the sky in a red streak. You closed your eye.

It hit the aviary, exploding on impact.

Flashing as bright as a second sun, blinding radiance burned through the red membrane of your eyelid. The shock of the Buggy Ball landing on the building caused the earth to quake. It breathed in a giant breath, creating a huge static bubble. You turned your head, your shoulders hunched with a split-second survival instinct.

Bang.

Slamming against your chest with a great, agonizing thump, the devil’s own wind flooded the newly vacant space with the furious might of a world-ending gale, tossing you onto the ground like a doll. The sheer power punched the air out of your lungs, the force vibrating through your body like you were a tuning fork. Coming loose from its stem, your brain pounded against your skull with a pain so vivid you could have sworn you were being stabbed in the eye with a cauterizing knife.

The ringing in your ears wailed over everything else, but you could feel the ground trembling with the force and noise of a world devolved into utter chaos. You rolled onto your side, groaning brokenly. It hurt. Everything hurt. The kind of hurting that was beyond reason. All you could do was cry, curling up in an attempt to protect yourself as pain and fear overloaded your system.

But you had to get up.

Mom was in there, you had to get to her.

Letting out a pained grunt you could only feel rather than hear, you opened your eye and blinked it free of tears, forcing yourself to focus on the world. Your vision spun in a confusing slush of dark colors, light and imagery that meant nothing to you swirling around.

When things cleared up enough for you to comprehend them, you were staring into the inky dark eyes of a little bird. Its beak opened and closed, but you couldn’t hear anything, let alone its dying words. One of its taupe wings was partially extended, bent at a terrible angle. The other was still tucked against its round breast. Its downy white belly was covered with gore because its chest was caved in. You must have done that when you fell. Your fault. With a final twitch of its long black tail feathers, a little shudder, a spasm of its damaged wing, the sole surviving lady of sorrows went still.

Mom was dead, you remembered, blown to pieces in a place far, far away from here.

A painful, hitching sob caught in your chest, the ragged breath filling your lungs with the taste of explosive powder and metal and blood. You coughed, your body convulsing with its instinctual need to clear your lungs of the poisonous air. And then you coughed again, and you couldn’t stop it. The agonizing, wheezing fit nearly caused you to black out, your brain buzzing and vision narrowing to dark before you managed to calm down. With shaking hands, you felt your face for blood, checking your ears too. The amount of pain dictated a flood of blood, but you found none.

You cleared your raw throat, swallowing over and over to pop your ears, and sat up. The clearing was filled with colorful, sweet smelling smoke and the acrid gray haze of gunpowder. Costumed pirates easily overtook the stunned Marines and mercenaries, giving them no time to recover from the explosion. As your hearing returned little by little, still tinny, you could hear them whooping and shouting. From far away, you heard another explosion, felt that familiar thump against your chest.

You whimpered again, crying in confused ignorance. You could perceive what was going on, but lacked the capacity to interpret the information.

All you knew was that you were scared.

You wanted your mommy, you wanted to go home.

An uncomfortable tickling on your neck made you wince, your hand jumping to catch whatever was causing it. You managed to snatch the disembodied finger and hold it in your palm for a second before it flipped from your grasp, flying through the air before returning to its rightful place.

You looked up, your heart racing so fast it hurt, every beat reminding you of the explosion thumping against your chest.

There was no way. You were dreaming, or dead. You were imagining what you wished would happen.

He was there all the same. Captain Buggy approached you, holding up his hand now that his finger had reattached. You couldn’t hear him, only see his mouth move as he said something to you with a big grin.

You blinked up at him over and over, letting out another weak cough. “Captain Buggy?” you finally asked, although you could only barely hear the rough croak of your voice.

Buggy crouched down in front of you. The world was so hazy and indistinct, you couldn’t believe this was real, but there was no way you had a vivid enough imagination to hallucinate Buggy with such clear detail. The sparkle in his beautiful eyes, his dimpled chin, the faded crease—an old scar, perhaps?—between his brows, the smile lines fanning around his eyes as he grinned at you, the pores on his nose, all of it was so real.

“There’s my little actress,” he said, tapping your chin affectionately with the side of his hand. “You did so good, babydoll! I admit, I was worried you wouldn’t be able to sell the performance, but even I believed it. I’m so proud of you.”

You just looked at him, searching for an imperfection, an aspect of his face that wasn’t quite right. At your continued silence, his smile fell into a look of concern. Or irritation.

“You doin’ alright, champ?” he asked.

It hurt. Your head, your body, your heart. You weren’t okay, you were scared, and you didn’t know if he was real, and you didn’t understand what was going on, and you wanted it to be over. Another painful cough ripped up the inside of your throat when you tried to say that, your shoulders shaking with it.

“Captain Buggy?” you asked, blinking tears, raising a hand to touch his cheek. Your fingers grazed flesh, his prickly stubble rough against them. “I don’t understand?” The statement, coming out as a question, sounded more like the frightful plea of a child than your own voice. Maybe it wasn’t you. It didn’t really feel like it. This couldn’t possibly be you. “You… you left me. You said you wouldn’t, but you…”

“That was all just pretend, babydoll,” Buggy said, talking to you like you were a child. He reached out to pull off the bandage Dad had wrapped around your head, tossing it to the side. He cradled your face, running his thumb over your scar. “I wasn’t gonna go through all the trouble of shining you up like this just to let some crusty halfwit like that reap the reward. Speaking of which…” He looked to the side, his hand dropping. You followed his gaze to the pirates gathering up the survivors. “Let’s go take our bow.” Buggy said, standing up.

It took all of your remaining strength, but you managed to get on your feet, your dizzy head swimming and every muscle in your body protesting against the movement. You staggered and, for a second, you thought you were going to vomit, but instead you just spit out a mouthful of metallic-tasting spit, doubled over with your hands on your knees. When you were sure you wouldn’t fall or throw up, you stumbled along behind Buggy as he approached the pirates and their new captives. One of the Marines caught the hilt of a sword to his head when he tried to fight. Another laid flat on the ground, his head pinned beneath a boot.

The sensation of disconnect from reality confused you, the violence and smoke and confusion and fear and pain and everything, everything, overloading your system to the point that you couldn’t sort out any of it. It was more than you could take.

Dad was easy to find. The huge, pierced man called Pin had him on his knees. Despite that, Dad held his head up with imperious, unshakable pride. His thinning hair was a mess and he was covered in dust and soot, a streak of bright blue powder smeared across his wrinkled cheek, and he looked every bit the frightening idol you knew him to be.

“Captain Buggy, what should we do with them?” Marty asked. Marty? You hadn’t even noticed him. He looked more serious than you had ever seen. More cruel. He had one of the mercenaries cuffed. The man was bleeding from the head, staring daggers at his captor.

“Take our guests to the tent and get them ready for the show,” Buggy ordered, smiling.

“And him?” Pin asked in a growling voice.

“Ah, yes. Our guest of honor!” Buggy exclaimed, holding his arms out in a showman’s welcome. “Glad to see you made it out in one piece, doc. I know you weren’t expecting to see me again so soon, but I couldn’t just blow you off before you got to see the explosive grand finale. It’s been such a blast getting to know you.”

Dad said nothing, his expression unchanging.

“Hey, lighten up, pops,” Buggy cajoled.

Some of the surviving mercenaries and Marines struggled against the pirates as they were dragged away from the wreckage of the aviary, but most of them were either injured or seemed to know it was useless. You stayed where you were, refusing to leave Buggy’s side. You stared and stared at him, waiting for a detail to slip, for your madness to lapse and reveal this all to be an elaborate trick of your broken mind.

“Surprise is the essence of comedy and, you gotta admit, this was pretty funny. I mean, you really thought you won. As if you could get one over on me with your shitty plans and lame ass monologues.” Buggy lowered his voice, raising his hand to shield his mouth conspiratorially. “Between you and me, the whole penetration thing was a little weird. I knew you two were close, but yeesh. At least wait until after you’ve scrambled her brains.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dad told him stiffly, his eyes flicking to you for a second, blaming you. You averted your gaze, pulling Buggy’s coat tighter around yourself to hide.

“No?” Buggy asked. “I didn’t realize your memory was getting that bad. Maybe you oughta stop drinking so much. Unfortunately I don’t think I’ll be lucky enough to forget the shit I heard.” Something flew out of Dad’s coat, looking like a little fleshy disk before it reattached to Buggy’s head. It was his ear, you realized. He shook his head, pressing it into place. “Whew, so glad that’s over. It’s no wonder babydoll’s so crazy after listening to you her whole life.”

“Devil,” Dad hissed in horror.

“Buggy,” Buggy said sharply. “Buggy the Clown. You’ll wanna remember that.”

Dad grit his teeth. “I’ve known men like you.”

Buggy gave him a flat look. “Trust me—you haven’t.”

“You’ve eaten a Devil Fruit.”

That seemed to surprise Buggy. “Oh, wow. Yeah, I guess you’ve still got a brain cell or two kickin’ around in there. Hey, two for two, doc, can you guess which one?”

“It doesn’t matter, anyone who eats a Devil Fruit is damned.”

“The Chop Chop Fruit,” Buggy said with a condescending nod, as if correcting him. “No matter what you do to cut me down, or how hard you try to slice me up, I’ll always put myself together again.” He paused, his expression splitting into a smile. “Now that I think of it, it's kinda funny. Cutting people up was your thing, wasn’t it?” Dad didn’t answer, so Buggy looked at you instead. “Did you know that, babydoll? Daddy dearest and his scalpel were pretty famous back in the day. He knew exactly where to cut—you could say he attacked with surgical precision.”

He paused for a laugh that didn’t come, just the simmering crackling smoldering remains of the aviary and the far off hollering and whooping from the pirates.

“What d’you think the universe’d say about that, pops?” Buggy asked, pushing past the lackluster reaction. “It’s like you were destined to lose to me.”

“This is no victory, freak. Kill me, and I will die a virtuous man. You are stained with sin. It will consume you.”

“Kill you?” Buggy repeated, his eyebrows shooting up and his smile growing. “C’mon, doc. You don’t wanna miss the show, do you? Your sweet little girl is gonna make her debut on the stage, doncha wanna be a supportive father?”

“I would have saved you from this, from him,” Dad told you, ignoring Buggy. “With my help, you might have earned a sliver of salvation. Now you will burn.”

Buggy threw an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close against him. “What’d’ya think about that, babydoll?” Buggy asked you. “You wanna go back home with daddy to be saved? Or d’ya wanna be a star in Captain Buggy’s show?”

You looked up to meet his eyes. They winked red with the fire, their color otherwise taking on the blue sparkle of his makeup. You clung to Buggy as tightly as you could. “You,” you said, your voice rough from all the coughing. “I want you, Captain Buggy.”

“Well there ya have it, doc,” Buggy said smugly, looking at Dad. You didn’t, holding onto him out of fear he’d push you away again. “Now, I’ve got my shit back and a show to put on. Kindly show our guest of honor to his special seat. Curtains open the minute the sun is down.” He looked down at you. “Is there anything else you wanna tell daddy, babydoll?”

You didn’t look at Dad.

“No, sir.”

Reality didn’t take hold even when your ears had more or less stopped ringing. You still felt fuzzy and confused, half scared that the fantasy would be ripped away from you if you dared to blink. Buggy had to hold your hand to get you to follow him through the truly destroyed remains of Saline, and you were glad for the tether.

“I had to get close to the old bastard to throw an ear out for his plans,” Buggy explained as he dragged you to the circus tent, getting more annoyed as he continued, “and I needed a way to get to the ship so I could blow up his shit. I never would have left you with him, I didn’t even want to let you go with him. But when daddy showed up with a few too many friends, I had no choice but to play a little dirty. Showbiz is real cutthroat, sometimes you gotta make sacrifices.”

You nodded, following Buggy through the painted clown’s mouth and into the tent. It was alive with action and movement and light and color, ballooning with vibrance and violence as civilian and hostile hostages were arranged in the crowd and the stage was set for the show to begin. Somehow, you felt even more disconnected from the vivacious energy than you had the cold, foggy afternoon.

Buggy dropped your hand to stalk forward, shouting orders and directing the chaos in his usual flamboyant manner. You stood in place, swaying on your feet, your mind swimming.

It was too much for you to engage with, you couldn’t bridge the gap between yourself—the one that was stifled beneath layers of flesh and meat and bone and your many, many mistakes—and the world around you.

Your head hurt.

Eventually, Buggy returned, scowling as he grabbed your hand and tugged you to one of the backstage tents. It was more intimate, warm red and soft, lit by the fairy lights you had strung up and filled with a surprising amount of clutter considering how little time it had to accumulate. Props, mostly, and building materials, and costumes, and just about anything else circus performing pirates might have need of. At a single barked order, the few crew members within scurried out, leaving you and Buggy alone.

He released your hand again, taking off his hat and tossing it onto a dressing table, fixing his hair with practiced movements.

“Look, babydoll, if I told you about the plan, you wouldn’t have given such a great performance,” Buggy said. You couldn’t tell if he was continuing a conversation you had been having or not.

He grabbed a crystal decanter from the dressing table and sniffed its contents before pouring two glasses. The splash of liquid made you aware of how painfully dry your throat felt, coated with blood and the acrid smoke of the explosion. When Buggy offered you one of the glasses, you eagerly accepted it, downing the whole thing fast enough that you barely noticed the bite of alcohol.

“If daddy didn’t believe you, the whole plan would’ve blown up in my face.”

You swallowed hard, your head spinning with the sudden influx of tipsy dizziness. Drinking that had been a mistake. You set your glass on the nearest table, worried you might be sick. A tug of cloying nausea squeezed your stomach and your legs felt ready to give out, your knees weak. The ground looked very far away.

Buggy threw back his own drink and set the glass aside before approaching you.

He had said something before, but you’d forgotten what it was. Did he want an answer?

“Listen,” Buggy said, clearly getting frustrated with your lack of response. He put his hands on your shoulders. “I know how it feels to be betrayed. Obviously it’s way worse for me because I didn’t actually betray you, but I understand that feeling. It sucks, I know. It makes you feel alone and unwanted. But you can’t feel that because I do want you.” He looked you up and down, pulling a face. “I mean, okay, right now you’re all dusty and red and gross, but generally, I want you.” Buggy paused, his eyes flicking up to check your expression. “So you’re not mad, are you?”

You shook your head.

“Alright, fine,” Buggy said with a huff of frustration, releasing your shoulders.

As soon as he wasn’t steadying you, you nearly fell over, stumbling forward dizzily.

“I need to… sit,” you muttered, staggering towards the mattress that had been left on the floor. It was gross and stained, meant to be put out for performers doing stunts, in case they fell. The springs protested loudly when you sat.

“Okay,” Buggy said. “Blondies gonna pretty you up and I’ll swing by in a bit to make sure you’re ready, okay?”

The cold, numb wall keeping you still and silent broke. It was difficult, more than you could express, to force yourself to act, but you didn’t have any other choice. You didn’t want him to leave you. You didn’t ever want to leave Buggy’s side again. You couldn’t bear it.

“Captain Buggy?” you called, your lower lip wobbling as you looked up at him.

He tried to hide it, but you saw the way he winced when he turned back to you. “What?”

“I opened the cage before I ran,” you told him. “For the-the birds. I begged them to escape, but they wouldn’t leave the cage. They can fly, they could go anywhere, but they just… They stayed in the cage. So then I tried to—I wanted to save one of them. I thought, if I could just save one, then…” You cupped your hands, remembering the soft feathers, the frail body. “But in the explosion, I fell and…” You closed your hands together, crushing the imagined bird. “They’re so fragile.”

“That’s not your fault,” Buggy said.

“It is,” you told him, blinking another tear. Did they ever end? You dug your fingers into your sternum, desperate to find a way to release the painful pressure within your chest. “All of this is my fault. My-my curse.”

“Your curse? Don’t be an idiot, that’s all just shit that doughy bastard put in your head. It’s not true,” Buggy said, sitting next to you. The mattress squeaked even louder. “He’s a complete wack-job. Frankly, I’m surprised you turned out as well as you did with a dad like that.”

“No, Captain Buggy,” you said, shaking your head. “I think... No. This is... It's too much, I ca-can't-” You didn't finish that statement, knowing your voice would break if you did.

“No, no, no,” Buggy said, grabbing your head to pull your face up towards his. “You remember what I told you yesterday? This pain means we’re getting somewhere. It means you’re just about ready to move on from your old life. D’you know what happens if you break a bone and it heals wrong?”

You blinked, the question sending a phantom pain up your arm. “He has to break it again to set it right,” you answered, your voice almost inaudibly soft.

“Uh-huh.” Buggy nodded, looking at you with a sweet, reassuring smile, his thumb rubbing gentle circles over your cheek. “And people are the same way. Don’t hide from what you’re feeling right now. Embrace the pain. Use it to become the best, most beautiful version of you—the you that I see. The you that I love.”

Your breath caught at hearing that word from Buggy’s mouth, your body going still.

“Yes, sir,” you said, nodding.

“Good girl. I know you can do it.” He stroked your cheek and you leaned into it, needing more. You needed him. But all too soon, Buggy pulled away and shifted to stand up. “Anyway, I really need to-”

Realizing he meant to go, you did the only thing you thought would keep him there, grabbing onto the front of his shirt to kiss him. It cut off whatever reason he meant to give, and you hoped it would cut off the reason itself.

You had nothing to give him, not really, but you knew how to kiss, and you threw all of your desperation, all of your need, into it. Buggy met your pitiful passion with fervor, groaning when you ran your tongue across his lower lip, inviting him to do the same. He didn’t stop you from pressing yourself against him, throwing your leg over his to sit in his lap. The mattress complained again. You just needed to get closer, to express your need and your pain in a way he would never understand through your words.

In the loopy, painful headspace of tipsy punch-drunk need, you couldn’t tell if you were aroused or not, or if you really wanted anything other than the physical closeness of sex. All you felt, the driving mania fueling your sudden confidence, was the desperation to make Buggy want you. To prove, to yourself as much as him, that he had some reason, no matter how disgusting or unseemly or shameful, to keep you around. To that end, you were more than happy to let him devour you. You ground against his lap shamelessly, focusing on the stirrings of pleasure caused by the intimate friction. It was easier to convince your body of something than it was your mind.

When you pulled away to breathe, Buggy was watching you.

“Not that I mind this sudden streak of confidence,” he said, “but I’m curious to know where you’re going with it.”

“I,” you said, unable to meet his eye, messing with his cravat instead. “I want to, um…”

“Right now?” he asked, his painted eyebrows shooting upward. “On this dingy mattress where anyone could walk in?”

You nodded eagerly.

“You’re such a horny little shit.” He sighed. “Fine. I’ll give you a little preshow pick-me-up. But you gotta promise that you’ll stop being so upset, okay? I need you to focus tonight.”

You nodded again, your breathing quick and shallow.

Buggy pushed you onto your back with a grunt and a very unhappy squeal from the mattress’s springs, rolling onto his knees to loom above you. His makeup smile was smeared and faded. You were probably wearing at least half of it.

“That’s cute,” Buggy said, licking his lips. “You should try wearing a little more red, babydoll. It suits you.”

You reached up, wanting to pull him down against you, but Buggy swatted your hands off. “Captain Buggy, please,” you whined, sitting up on your elbows, terrified that he intended to leave.

“Lay down,” Buggy said impatiently, using his teeth to pull off his gloves.

You did as you were told, knowing better than to argue. Gloveless, Buggy undid the buttons on your shorts, tracing the ruffles on their hem before pinching the fabric to pull them down your legs. When he realized he couldn’t get them off over your boots, he pulled those off and tossed them aside with two very loud thumps.

The time he was taking to undress you when you wanted fast passion made you squirm in discomfort.

“Patience,” Buggy reminded you with a smirk, “is a virtue.”

He hooked his thumbs beneath your shirt to pull it up, catching your bra along the way to expose your chest fully. The cold air made you shiver, pulling his coat closer around your bare torso.

“Fuck, that’s…” Buggy muttered, dragging his eyes over your body with open hunger. “You should play dress up in captain’s clothes more often.”

That was embarrassing, but you didn’t have the time to tell him that before he leaned down to take one of your nipples into his mouth. It was still sore, but he was gentle. Warm, soft, even with the coarseness of his stubble against your breast. You whimpered, your back arching up. Buggy swirled his tongue, his hand sliding up the inside of your thigh to press against your pussy through your panties, sliding up from the dip of your entrance to find your clit through the fabric.

The heady hot drunken red burned so quickly and potently that it twisted like nausea in your throat all the way into your head, lustful need scorching your shot system. Buggy pulled off your nipple with a wet slurp, grinning. “You’re sensitive today.”

You whimpered, pressing your hands to your feverish face.

“Captain Buggy,” you said, your voice thick like you were going to cry, “I… I need… Please.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” he said, turning his attention to your other nipple while rubbing tight circles over your clit, using the extra friction of the fabric to make you writhe beneath him. It was good, but it wasn’t enough.

A tear slid down your temple from your closed eye, your hips grinding against his fingers for a little more, your hands restlessly sliding over his head, his shoulders, his back, fisting in the fur of his coat before restarting the senseless loop of confused, restless pleasure.

Finally, Buggy slipped his hand beneath your panties, pushing them down to make room. At the same time, he released your nipple, sitting up to watch your reaction as he pushed two fingers into you. Your eye went wide, your mouth falling open with silent surprise, your pussy fluttering and squeezing his fingers. He pulled them out with a curl, thrusting them back in.

“What would you even do if you didn’t have me to take care of you?” Buggy asked, amused.

Die. You would die without him. You didn’t say that, you didn’t have the capacity to say anything as he continued to thrust his fingers into you.

“You look so stupid right now,” Buggy said, his voice almost indulgently gleeful. “Might as well call me Doctor Buggy. I don’t even need to scramble your brains to cure you, all it takes is two fingers and you’re a drooling idiot.”

You whimpered, nodding gratefully, your breathing quick and hips rolling into his hand. “Thank you, Buggy,” you said weakly, adoringly, needfully.

He pulled in a very sharp breath through his teeth before swearing softly. “Okay, fine.”

You whined unhappily when he suddenly pulled his fingers out of you, but that quickly became a yelp when he grabbed you by the hips, forcing you further up the mattress to make more room for him.

Buggy stopped, propping himself up on his elbow to laugh. “That’s a new one,” he said. “You’re almost squeaky as these shitty springs.”

Still smiling in amusement, Buggy tugged your panties down, curling your legs to get them all the way off. Instead of settling your thighs around his waist like usual, he put them on his shoulders. He’d seen you in practically every state of undress, but having his pretty eyes fixed directly on your pussy made you squirm in embarrassment. There was no way to close your legs with him wedging them open, so you tried to cover yourself with your hands.

He didn’t even look up, simply smacking your hands away.

“‘s embarrassing,” you muttered, although you did stop trying to cover yourself.

Buggy rolled his eyes. “I don’t give a shit.” His breath was hot on your thigh, the light brush of air making you shudder before he kissed the spot instead. It was odd to feel the three sensations, the press of his nose, the softness of his kiss, and the scrape of his stubble scratching the sensitive skin in a way that made you squirm as he chained kisses up your inner thigh.

“Captain…” you whined, your fingers finding no purchase on his headscarf, having to settle for grabbing the fur trim on the coat you were still wearing for some sort of anchor.

“Stop squirming around so much,” Buggy admonished you, pressing on your hips. He looked up at you from between your legs, and the sultry gaze was enough to make your insides clench. Even in the dim room, his eyes found a way to sparkle. “You’re gonna love this.”

That was the only warning you got before he lowered his head between your legs. The first touch of his tongue between your folds made you yelp in surprise, your body bucking up against him. You could feel the vibrations of Buggy laughing as he repeated the movement, slipping two fingers back into your pussy in the same moment.

You moaned, openly moaned, your head falling back. It was embarrassing and left you feeling horribly exposed and dirty but the unfamiliar soft and wet touch of his mouth shorted you out like water shocked with electricity.

Buggy pushed your legs further apart, opening his mouth more to draw patterns over your clit with his tongue. You peeked down at him, realizing he’d detached his hand to keep fingering you so he could use his arms to prop your legs open. His fingers dexterously ground against your g-spot while he ate you out. His nose rested on the rise of your pubic bone and you wondered if it was very uncomfortable, but then his lips closed around your clit to suck and you didn’t have the capacity to wonder anything. All you could do was throw your head back with a whine, your hips curling to press against his face.

Buggy grunted, pressing your hips back down to the mattress. “Settle down, would ya?”

“‘m sorry,” you said, your words slurring like you were drunk, pitched high and breathless and unrecognizable. “I’m sorry, you don’t… You don’t have to…” You couldn’t even finish that thought, your mind scattering into a million pieces when he lowered his head, slowly shaking it side to side to grind his tongue against your clit.

You whimpered, trembled, your hands fisting in the fur trim of the coat for some semblance of stability.

You knew, on some level, that there was a chance—a reasonably high chance, that somebody would hear you like this. Everything was loud and disgusting and obvious. Your whining, the rhythmic squeaking of the old mattress, the squelching, wet sounds of his fingers slamming into you. And those noises, all of those obscene noises, were nothing in comparison to the wet sucking and slurping of his mouth between your legs. How many times had you remarked upon Buggy’s messy eating? He had to be doing it on purpose, to be making the act as filthy as possible.

You knew all of that, and you couldn’t do anything about it. You wouldn’t want to anyway, not when you were already getting so close. Your body was an easy thing to trick. You wanted to come for him, that was the thing that would make you stop hurting, if only for a few seconds.

Groaning, whining, sobbing, your muscles drew tense, your thighs trying to close around his head, that tension of release teasing you cruelly with each harsh thrust, with every little movement of his tongue.

“Can’t,” you whispered. “Captain Buggy, I… I…”

Your arms flailed up instinctively to cover your mouth as you came because there was no way for you to internally stifle the way you cried out. It might have been his name, but any coherence within you was lost as the sweet break of release unbound you from your pain. That crystal clear moment of comprehension and unity was the only thing that existed, your physical connection with Buggy as he worked you through your orgasm, like he was reading you, like he was a part of you almost.

It felt good.

And then it was over. You whined, wishing for more. But the ebbing tide was too far gone for you to cling to.

Breathing fast, you pushed on Buggy’s head with a little whine, prompting him to stop. He looked up at you. His red smile was almost entirely gone, smeared across your face and thighs and pussy.

“That was it?” he asked.

You nodded, wiping a hand across your sweaty brow and trying to calm your breathing.

He let out a little laugh, pulling his fingers out of you with a slick squish. You gasped at the feeling, your hips raising to try and follow the fingers. “Usually I can tell through pussy-feel, but you’re so dramatic about everything,” Buggy said, sitting up and wiping his mouth, smearing even more red makeup onto his pale arm. “It would help if you could just moan like a real girl once in a while.”

You blinked up at him, frowning.

“I’m kidding,” Buggy said, crawling up your body until he was braced above you. The mattress complained again as he shoved his pants out of the way. “You’re my favorite defective little freak, kiddo. You know that.”

He was too distracted to see if that got a reaction, looking down to line up his cock with your entrance. You made a weak sound, opening your legs a little more, lifting your hips to make sure it caught on the first thrust. And it did, the thick head popping past the initial muscle and settling in your pussy. He drew in a sharp breath through his teeth.

Your eye fluttered shut, the sense of fulfillment intoxicatingly potent in a way that transcended sexual impulses, soothing the soul-deep empty ache of needing to be as close to Buggy as possible. You needed him, loved him so desperately that it hurt.

“Look at me,” Buggy told you, his voice gruff, less controlled.

You obeyed, meeting his eye. He looked from your pleasure-glazed right to the ruined left, his tongue flicking out to lick the faded red of his lips. When he was sure he had your undivided attention, he rocked his hips forward. The mattress squeaked obnoxiously. Buggy groaned, pushing deeper, and deeper, watching your face the whole time. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, hiking your legs up around his waist.

Buggy kissed you, licking his way into your mouth. You could taste yourself on him, taste the greasepaint and the liquor from earlier. He started slow, easing you into it maybe, but he quickly lost control.

This was the frenzied display of carnal need you wanted earlier. Of course Buggy wouldn’t let you have it on your own terms, of course he would deny it until he was the one who could control the pace, tossing you into the violent waves head first.

All you could do was hold on.

The whole world could probably hear the way the mattress squeaked. And if they couldn’t, they’d hear the pornographic slapping of skin as he fucked you hard and fast.

Too much, too hard, too deep all at once. It was what you wanted, but it also wasn’t because the splitting intensity was almost scary. It hurt. He was being mean and selfish. Buggy was using you for nothing more than his own pleasure. But for every part of yourself that couldn’t handle it, that wanted him to stop being so rough, there was the equal pushback of relief and suffocating pleasure in being used by him. It didn’t matter how you felt if Buggy was getting off on it.

He groaned, his open mouth pressed against yours in the ghost of a kiss, and you shuddered hard, your pussy squeezing his cock to take him deeper even though you were already aching from the splitting pressure.

“Fuck, babydoll,” he said, holding you tighter, his voice low and gravely and as broken as you felt.

You whimpered and sobbed when you came, the pressure of stimulation coiling up fast and snapping in a helpless, ruined way because you weren’t able to hold onto it or savor it, just take in the twisted reflection of his pleasure, returning it to him as a sort of reverence, of respect. True and genuine sickly sweet adoration.

“Buggy,” you whimpered, your voice wavering pathetically.

He gasped, pulling back to look you in the eye. He looked surprised, his eyebrows raised and lips parted. A red flush crept up his neck to his cheeks. You hoped he was close, you wanted him to be close, to reward your endurance by sharing his pleasure, by filling you with evidence that you were useful to him.

“Puh-please, Captain Buggy,” you begged, although you weren’t sure how much of it he was able to make out with the way you were panting, the way his hard pace cut up your words.

He swore under his breath and held you tighter, and tighter still.

Amidst all of the other profane sounds filling the small tent, the helpless way Buggy choked when he came was nearly lost. If you weren’t so close, you might have missed it, but he pressed his prickly cheek against yours, thrusting his cock as deep as physically possible. It really did hurt, a pinching, splitting ache you didn’t often feel anymore. Your squeaky cry was almost as high pitched as the springs. Buggy squeezed you tighter, grinding his hips forward as he came rather than thrusting. It wasn’t mean, you could feel his need, hear it in the helpless moan he wasn’t able to stifle.

When he stilled, and there was only the harsh, heavy breathing and fever flush of sex, you closed your eye. Whatever happened next would be uncomfortable.

Buggy groaned, rolling off of you onto his back. The springs complained, and you hissed in pain at the feeling of him pulling out so suddenly.

He breathed out hard, sitting up and shaking his head as he fixed his pants. “Wow, okay, that was…” He looked sideways at you, frowning. “You okay, babydoll?”

You made a little sound of discomfort, closing your eye. Buggy awkwardly pulled your shirt and bra down to cover your chest and helped you put your panties back on. You wondered if he felt bad for you, or if it was some sort of affection that kept him from complaining that he had to redress you.

“Okay, babydoll, I’ve really gotta split,” Buggy said, tucking his coat around you like a blanket. You opened your eye to watch him. “Why don’t you just…” He winced as he gave you a final check. You couldn’t even imagine how wrecked you looked. Buggy forced a smile, patting your head. “You can rest for a while. I’m saving your act for the end of the show.”

You nodded.

Buggy hesitated, and you thought he was going to say more, but instead he just stood up, his joints popping. He stretched his arms up, groaning as he rolled his head, and then he left. Your body jerked once, wanting to follow, but you lacked the energy.

So you just laid there.

Time passed. You rolled onto your side to curl up at some point, wrapped in Buggy’s coat like a cocoon. Sometimes you felt as if you were asleep, your eye closed and the world distant. Sometimes you watched people come and go in and out of the room, feeling much like a little ghost observing them through a hazy veil.

Things kept slipping through the cracks, leaving you confused about where you were, or with the vague impression that you were meant to be doing something, or that you needed to go find Mom or Dad or Crina or Buggy. Every time you thought you remembered what you were meant to do, you found yourself too tired to move, and then you forgot again.

Until, “are you awake?” someone asked.

You weren’t sure if you were awake or not, but you blinked at the speaker to try and figure it out, your vision eventually clearing to look at Pippa kneeling at your side.

“Get up, I have to get you ready,” she said.

Hearing her words was easy, even with the faint ringing that lingered in your ears. Interpreting them was more difficult.

“Yoo hoo,” Pippa called, waving her hand in front of your face. “Come on, we don’t have a lot of time.”

With her prompting, you managed to sit up, and then stand up, standing on your legs with all the grace of a toddler only just learning to walk.

She gave you water, which helped. You didn’t do much when she set your hair into curlers. Getting on the dress—a familiar garment from what felt like years ago, when the two of you had been shopping—was a bit of a struggle, but Pippa helped you handle your clumsy limbs. She had you put on Buggy’s coat again to do your makeup, flipping it around to protect the white dress.

Pippa tried to strike up conversation while she did your makeup, but you couldn’t scrape together the coherence to keep up with it. The quiet daze wasn’t a comfortable trance, shivery and feverish and sweaty and sore and painful, but it kept your mind suitably blank. The only thing more uncomfortable than the state of vague unreality was to be forced to exist in a state of lucid unreality.

After minutes, or hours, or maybe even days, Pippa stood back, looking at you with pursed lips. She added a final powdery layer over your face and nodded, pulling off your coat. You stood up and she fluffed the skirt, helping you step into a pair of ankle-strap shoes. Other than the platform heel, they looked like the type a doll might wear.

“There,” she said, straightening out to admire her fine work. “You’re perfect.”

Slowly, you turned to look into the mirror.

Babydoll stared back at you. She wore a fluffy white dress with voluminous sleeves and a big skirt, a borderline garish recreation of the decadent confections that an expensive doll would be wrapped in. Her face was framed by fluffy twintails tied with big bows, and her makeup was perfect. Heavy eyelashes underscored her right eye, white liner giving the impression that it was wider than it was. A coat of makeup erased every imperfection of her skin to give the impression of porcelain, faintly dusted with pink on the apples of her cheeks. The scar carved into your left cheek, on Babydoll, was painted to be a crack in the smooth glass of her skin, the milky white eye a discolored marble.

You stared and stared and stared, and saw nothing of yourself. No trembling, no fear, no sadness, no discomfort. Nothing at all.

From the main tent, you heard cheering, and screaming, and shouting, and laughter.

“Do you like it?” Pippa asked.

“I do,” you said, but the voice wasn’t your own, and it came out of Babydoll’s perfectly painted, pouting lips.

“Are you okay?” Pippa asked, her eyebrows furrowing.

You nodded blandly, an automatic response to the question.

She frowned. “Maybe I should go find Crina, something’s up.”

Crina couldn’t help you, but you didn’t say that. You didn’t want to think about that. “I’m just nervous,” Babydoll said. Your smile was pinched and forced, but hers was gentle and sweet.

In the mirror, you saw Buggy duck past the curtain. He had fixed his makeup and costume before going on stage, even hunted down another coat to wear. It was more formal than the one he’d put on you with its tasseled epaulets and vivid orange color, sitting on his shoulders like a cape with the sleeves hanging limp. You finally felt something within you stir at the sight.

“Is she ready?” Buggy asked, strolling into the dressing room.

Intrusively heavy in contrast to your state of numbness, the feelings he invoked battered your insides like frantic bird wings, confused affection and fear and desire and nerves.

When Buggy’s gaze finally landed on you, he froze, his mouth falling open and eyes going wide. That surprise quickly became a big smile. “What the shit!” he exclaimed excitedly, walking towards you. “You look great, kiddo!”

“I think she’s… nervous,” Pippa said, uncharacteristically uncertain.

Buggy’s smile fell a little, giving way to irritation.

“Don’t be nervous, Babydoll,” he said, grabbing your hand. “I’m the only one you need to impress out there. You’ve done it before.”

You nodded.

“Hey,” Buggy said. “You promised you wouldn’t be upset anymore. I don’t have time to fix it again.”

“I’m not upset, Captain Buggy,” you said, willing it to be true. Babydoll wouldn’t be upset, she would be excited. Maybe she’d have a little stage fright, that was expected, but she wanted to please her captain.

And so did you.

“Good girl,” Buggy said, tapping your nose playfully. “It’s showtime. You ready?”

“Yes, sir,” Babydoll said.

He led you out of the dressing room and towards the curtains that opened onto the stage. Rather than open them up for you, he guided you towards a narrow wooden box. It looked like a coffin. The lid was stamped with the word FRAGILE.

“Dolls come in boxes,” Buggy told you offhandedly, motioning you to stand in it.

You did all that you could to stay quiet, feeling like you were going to burst with emotions that you had no name for as you were shut inside the small box. Your breathing reflected back to you as the curtain opened. Lifted by an unseen force, the box was lifted and brought onto the stage. Light poured in between the cracks, the muffled noise and music reaching through the wood to vibrate in your aching head.

“The final act of tonight’s show is special,” Buggy called, his voice muffled. The box was set down upright on the stage and you steadied yourself, your entire body shaking. “Ladies and gentleman, put your hands together for the Living Doll!”

All four sides of the box fell away with a theatrical reveal, leaving you standing on your own little platform. The assault of sensory overload nearly knocked you over. If only you could move. The stage was littered with props and carnage. It seemed that many of the mercenaries and Marines had volunteered to take part in the pirate’s acts. The scent of blood and suffering choked you. Your ears rang as the audience you couldn’t see clapped and cheered. Buggy made a gesture to silence them.

“You’re about to witness a spectacular act, one that has been a long time in the making. Tonight, this sad little doll will finally become a real girl,” Buggy announced, holding his hand out for you to take. With a frightening sense of numbness, you raised your hand. It was small and covered in a dainty lace glove. It was Babydoll’s hand. Buggy held it gently, guiding you to step off your platform and stand next to him.

Mirrors surrounded you. You didn’t know if they were set up for your sake, or leftovers from previous acts. From every angle, you saw Babydoll standing beside Buggy, a beautiful, hollow doll in white. She stood in stark contrast to the violence around her. The remains of sadistic punishment meted out by especially performative pirates to men who were only there because of you.

But the violence, as any audience member would recognize, was not Babydoll’s. She was clean. She was innocent. Dolls were blameless, vessels for the desires of others. To be used, cared for, and loved.

That’s what Buggy meant, wasn’t it? That was the beautiful thing he saw beneath the viscous goopy tar of misery and pain and the weight of your pathetic little life, that was the part of you that was worth loving, worth keeping.

Squinting through the blinding light, your head aching agonizingly, you finally saw what was hidden beyond the glare. They stood in front of the chained hostages, unresponsive to the prompted reactions given by Mohji’s sign or the pirate’s prompting. They were here as witnesses, not as an audience.

Even nursing a black eye and split lip, Mom was the most beautiful woman in the world. The front of her dress was soaked through with blood, her face pale as she watched you with eyes that had long been dulled of light or life. She cupped the broken body of a little bird in her hands. It looked at you with those inky, innocent eyes, struggling to get out its whistled song through a crushed chest.

“Here is the man responsible for her creation—the puppetmaster!” Buggy called, sweeping his arm out to announce Dad as he was dragged onto the stage. He was obviously hurt, his arms bound and feet shackled and a gag keeping him silent. He watched Buggy with genuine, terrifying hatred, although he didn’t fight the pirate holding him still. “You may recognize him as the leading man performing in countless operating theaters, he joins us today for his final bow.”

At the behest of Mohji’s sign, the audience booed.

Silently standing at Mom’s side, Randall watched Dad come onto the stage with a shadowed look of pain undercut by the jagged red smile carved into his neck. You blinked, and he was no longer a man, but the boy you once loved so desperately. He choked on his own blood, looking at you with the confused agony of betrayal.

“He’s the one thing standing between her and her destiny of being a real girl,” Buggy explained. “Now, finally, she’ll cut her strings and be free!”

At Randall’s side stood Crina. Lovely, kind Crina. She had come to see your debut after all, her bloodied hands cradling her wounds and her dark eyes glistening with tears. Clinging to Crina’s leg, a little girl with messy hair and wrinkled pajamas watched the show with horror and a trembling lower lip, holding fast to a cracked doll named Peach.

Buggy put a knife in your trembling hand, curling your fingers around the hilt.

“Just like we practiced, Babydoll,” Buggy said, winking.

You looked into the mirror on your right. Even holding a knife, Babydoll looked harmless. Perfectly still inside. Her soft expression didn’t betray any of the things you felt. Because that wasn’t you.

Buggy guided Babydoll to face Dad like he was initiating a dance, raising her arms theatrically.

The warmth and solid strength of Buggy standing at your back reminded you of that day. It was a different knife and you wore a different white dress and the only spotlight was the late afternoon yawn of dusty sunshine peeking into the crumbling, filthy warehouse, but Buggy was the same. He told you that you had a choice between killing Randall to join his crew and being left behind with Randall’s corpse in that miserable old warehouse. What you were thinking or feeling beyond that request, you couldn’t remember. You didn’t want to remember. What you knew was that it was an act of desperation. Back then, you had been so desperate to escape, to be saved, to live a new life, to be somebody else.

Dad’s eyes burned with hatred, but they were also wet with pain and tears. Perhaps he, finally, realized what was happening. Buggy said he would take everything from him. Barley Village, Randall, his drug operation, Saline, and now you. Until that moment, Buggy had failed to really steal you because you were still you. Fundamentally, you had been Dad’s sweet little girl. Not anymore. With a tremulous gaze, your vision blurring in a dizzying spray of color, you looked behind Dad into another mirror, and all you saw was Buggy’s Babydoll.

There was no more you. Buggy had done what he said he would.

The desperation you felt on that day was gone, that desperation belonged to a girl burdened with shame and disgust and an unhappy life.

This was an act of devotion. Cut your strings, sever the faulty connection in your brain and unburden yourself, your real self, of all that pain. Be beautiful.

Shaky and cold, you breathed in a lungful of red, it was all red. Red blood, red pain, red misery, red rage. The intensity of it made your aching head spin, and you could feel the judgemental eyes of your witnesses. They blamed you, and hated you. Wicked, cursed, horrible girl that you were.

“This is the only way you’ll ever be free,” Buggy said into your ear. You met his eyes in the mirror, and felt a little less lost. You loved him. You trusted him. “As long as he’s alive, you’ll never be able to love me completely—to love me in the way that I love you. I love you, Babydoll.”

That melted a little more of your natural resistance. He would love you. If you did this, he would take care of you. He wouldn’t leave you. There was nothing else, you had nothing else. You wrapped your trembling left hand around the knife as well, steadying yourself. Buggy helped, guiding the point to the place you needed to cut to sever the strings.

“I love you too, Captain Buggy,” Babydoll replied, breathing out red. Red love, red lust, red passion.

You looked into Dad’s eyes for a moment, but immediately looked away. A lifetime of loving and hating the man settled on your shoulders, a million memories and heartaches and smiles and so much love you could burst, weakening your resolve. But you didn’t have a choice.

You had to.

With a broken whimper, you pushed the knife forward with all of your pathetic might, aided by Buggy’s supporting strength to get it past all of the bony, muscley, gooey bits that tried to force the knife out.

You immediately knew you had made the worst mistake of your entire life.

Dad fought the pirate holding him still, his bestial sound of pain coming out loud even through the gag. Whatever evil you ever saw in his eyes was gone, only betrayal and fear and pain.

He loved you. You loved him. No matter what he had done, he didn’t deserve this cruelty.

As if hovering above your body, you saw the stage with complete and utter disturbing clarity, saw it cluttered with childish violence and petty, senseless torture. You saw yourself and Buggy as nothing more than children playing make believe to soothe their guilt and shame, doing unspeakable things for the sake of delusion. The force of your profound disgust for it all was almost enough to make you scream, every animal instinct within you compelled you to end it, to undo this obscene act, to kiss Dad’s cheek and apologize over and over and over and-

Babydoll, guided by Buggy, twisted the knife, pushing it even deeper before wrenching it out of Dad’s chest.

The pirate that had been holding him upright let go and Dad’s body fell, hitting the ground with a thump you felt just as viscerally as the explosion from earlier.

Your breathing was fast and shallow, your vision darkening on the edges as it got more and more difficult to calm yourself. All of the clarity you felt for those few seconds faded like the intangible tendrils of a dream until even their impression was gone and confusing.

The knife slipped from your fingers, you couldn’t hold onto it anymore.

In the mirror, your view now unobstructed by Dad’s body, you saw Babydoll. The pain and horror that you had been choking on was invisible, shoved down so deep that it hardly even existed. There was only a doll. A pretty, albeit broken, doll with a wide eye and parted, petal-like lips.

Beautiful.

Buggy turned you to face the crowd as they cheered and screamed. Mom and her bird were gone. Randall was gone. Crina and You and Peach were gone. Your eye was blurry with tears and blinded by the white radiance of the spotlight. The light and the noise filled you up and you weren’t breathing at all. Dolls didn’t breathe anyway.

“Congratulations,” Buggy said into Babydoll’s ear. You could see him in the mirrors, smiling, his arm around her, his eyes wide and excited. And you loved him. As everything else was snuffed out, that was what remained. It was the only thing you and Babydoll had in common. Devotion, adoration so physical and pressing that it consumed everything else. True, genuine, terrible love. The only kind of love that mattered. “You’re finally free, Babydoll. Why don’t you take a bow?”

#opla buggy #opla buggy x reader #buggy x reader #one piece live action #buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #my writing #flashbang #tw.dubcon #not sfw #i am desperately in love with him

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agent-cupcake · 21 days

Text

Flashbang

Chapter 11 - This is Love

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: The Buggy Pirates take the small island of Saline and begin final preparations for opening night. Unfortunately, certain parties refuse to follow the script and Captain Buggy has to improvise.

Warnings: Explicit smut, drugged sex, light bondage, dubious consent, violence/blood, angst

Word Count: 18.4k

Notes: Many things changed during the course of writing Flashbang, but, for good or ill, the events of chapters 11 & 12 were locked in all the way back in October or whenever I began this project. I hope you enjoy <3

You must like being the victim You've done nothing to get out

Of this pattern of pain Washed away by the rain You'll forgive me if I promise And do nothing but the same

It's pathetic, I know A jealous fool who won't let go If I was sorry for my actions Would I ever stoop so low?

Got no reason to live And I've got nothing left to give you But my love, love, fuck it, this is love

xxx

Saline’s misty orange-tinged gray sunrise had only begun to peek over the horizon when the world split into pieces with a huge boom. It blew open the curtains for the Buggy Pirates to descend en masse upon the small island village.

You stayed on the ship, as per Captain Buggy’s orders, but you knew the speech he would give upon making land. He’d practiced it for you.

“Ladies and gentlemen—boys and girls of all ages, may I have your attention!” Buggy said theatrically. “I am Buggy the Clown, you may recognize me from the poster. The eagle-eared fans among you may also have recognized that the loud cannonball sound you just heard was, in fact, not a cannonball, but something much bigger, scarier, and flashier: a Buggy Ball! Should you wish to spare yourselves and your fine village any further exploding, you’ll be good hosts to me and my crew.”

Buggy turned to you.

“Pause here,” he said, his tone returning to its normal timbre. “These island bumpkins are dumb as rocks, you gotta give ‘em time to understand what you’re telling them.”

He cleared his throat, opening his arms to address the non-existent audience.

“You lucky few have been given the opportunity of a lifetime! Tomorrow is the opening night of my show—the greatest, flashiest show in all of the East Blue. Not only will you get to witness history, all of you will have the chance to take part. Don’t worry, I’ve got enough parts for everyone. Participation is mandatory. Please line up right outside to get your tickets. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

It wasn’t until a little past noon that you actually left Buggy’s ship, loading up into a utility boat with Mohji and Richie after he anchored the ship in a somewhat hidden spot on the northwest part of Saline. Time hadn’t really mended your relationship with the man, but giving Richie the second half of your sandwich earned his temporary approval. He seemed a little worn out after the morning excitement, but he perked right up at the offer of food.

As the cool sunlight burned away the lurking morning mist, it had revealed a shabby chunk of land covered with scraggly foliage and a handful of broken down homes and buildings. It didn’t give the impression of a settlement or village so much as it looked like the type of place people got shipwrecked and stranded.

Of course, the arrival of pirates hadn’t done Saline any favors. In the few short hours that the Buggy Pirates had been there, all of the boats that had been anchored or docked were cannibalized and carted inland. The black powder smoke still drifting from the crater left by the Buggy Ball mixed with the aggressive scent of fishy water, creating a truly vile concoction. Locals who had been recruited to help loaded up wagons with more salvage at the direction of a handful of pirates. Pairs of men had been chained together as they pulled cartfulls of supplies.

You watched fear ripple through them as Richie strutted across the ruined beach, and then as that fear was redirected upon hearing barked threats from the pirates.

Mohji whistled to have a cart brought over which he immediately began loading up with supplies the two of you had brought from the ship. You helped to the best of your ability, although that was admittedly lacking. Everything was so heavy.

“That’s Captain Buggy’s stuff?” Mohji asked as you picked up the final trunk, the only thing you had really taken responsibility for packing and taking along.

“It is.”

“Take it to the mayor’s place,” Mohji said. “If you follow that road,” he pointed directly forward, “you can’t miss it.”

“Is it very far?” you asked nervously. The trunk was decently heavy. Mohji gave you a look, clearly annoyed. “Um, nevermind. I understand, sir.”

He nodded.

Taking a deep breath, you hefted the trunk. You could do this. It was fine. Everybody else was doing far more strenuous work, you could do this tiny little thing. Slowly, you crossed the sandy, trash littered beach towards the road Mohji indicated. Wagon imprints all crossed northeast. The dirt road you followed passed a few houses and a larger shack you assumed was a schoolhouse of some kind. Saline truly was a dumpy, dismal place.

Frequently, you had to take breaks and set the trunk down. It had things Buggy asked for. The basics. Makeup, clothes, other various things you really didn’t see the use for but knew he would complain if you didn’t bring along. The crew was going to spend the night on Saline rather than returning to the ship.

After a very long, sweaty, difficult walk, you arrived at the mayor’s house. It was impossible to mistake for anything else. It wouldn’t have looked like much in Lafitte, or even Barley, but the comparison to what amounted to little more than metal roofed wooden shacks was stark. Just as apparent was that it seemed like the pirates had left it relatively intact. Gritting your teeth, you hefted the trunk up three steps onto the covered deck before setting it down, collapsing next to it.

Weak. You were glad there was nobody around to see how thoroughly exhausted the simple task had left you.

Eventually, you found the strength to stand up and brush yourself off, stretching your sore arms and back. The door was open when you turned the handle so you resigned yourself with a big breath for the final push. Picking up the trunk, you hauled it into the main room of the house. By all standards save for the dismally poor ones set by Saline, the place was unremarkable. But it was clean, nicely furnished, and had multiple rooms. You trudged into the bedroom, appraising the large bed and overstuffed chairs. Somebody had been paying the mayor above his station, and you were certain you knew who.

Finally depositing the trunk on the floor, you sat on one of the chairs to catch your breath. The little walk left you lightheaded. Would that ever fade? Would you ever stop being so embarrassingly wimpy?

Kicking yourself for adding self pity to your physical weakness, you stood up and shook out your arms. It was fine. You would only ever get stronger by pushing yourself to be strong.

Leaving the mayor’s house, you made your way to the eastern part of Saline, passing more metal-roofed shacks. As you got closer to the place where they were setting up the tent, you saw lots of busy pirates as well as more haggard volunteers. Everyone had more important things to worry about than you, it wasn’t until you had reached the big painted entrance to the tent that you heard somebody calling for you.

Perking up, you looked around, catching sight of Pippa walking out of the literal mouth of the tent—a huge painted clown’s mouth, to be exact. Even in the dismal ruins of Saline and after a hard day of fighting and working, she was beautiful. Her sweat merely sparkled on her perfect skin, her smudged makeup coming across as seductive rather than messy. Stray hairs had come loose from the blond tail swinging behind her as she walked, curling over her forehead and cheeks like a frame for her lovely face.

“Look at you,” she said with a grin, giving your outfit an approving look. “Did you put this together all by yourself?”

You smiled, relieved to see a familiar face and flattered by the praise. Your outfit was a mixture of old and new, a loose red sweater you tucked into the fitted waist of a skirt, a buttoned shirt’s collar peeking out for a white tie you’d done up in a bow. “I did.”

“You’re learning so fast,” Pippa said with a self-satisfied, airy sigh. “Captain Buggy owes me a raise for what I’ve done with you.”

You laughed, a little embarrassed. “Captain Buggy… Is he in there?”

“You can’t hear him?” she asked, raising a brow. She waited for a moment, her head tilted as if listening intently. Not that you had to listen hard to hear Buggy shouting directions. The sound made your stomach twist up into nervous knots.

“Is he angry?” you asked.

“He’s… stressed,” Pippa said. “Unless he calls for you specifically, it’s best to stay out of his way.” You nodded, wincing as you heard more of his shouting from within. “If you’re looking for something to do, you can come with me,” she offered. “I’m sure we’ll find you something to keep you busy. Come on.”

She walked past you, her long legged strides forcing you to rush to keep up. “Where are you going?” you asked.

“The aviary. You wouldn’t believe the sort of stuff they’ve got locked up in there.”

“The aviary?” you repeated, confused. “Isn’t that a place for birds?”

“Yeah. That’s the lab they’re building, they’ve got a bunch of birds in there. I guess they use them for something, although I don’t care to know what.” She pursed her lips. “It’s unsettling. They all sound so sad, I’ve never heard a bird call like that. Anyway, you don’t have to hang around in there, we’re just taking the shit he’s got stored away.”

A bit of an awkward silence caught there, your thoughts trending towards the grim, stuck on aviary. Dad liked birds, didn’t he? Especially the rare ones. That thought hurt more than it should, which led you to thinking about other things that hurt, and then about what happened yesterday.

Pippa seemed so upbeat and blase. It was hard to imagine anything affecting her the way it did you. Still.

“Pippa?” you said hesitantly. “About yesterday, I… I wanted to thank you.”

Pippa looked straight ahead, frowning. “I don’t want to be thanked for ratting out one of my own, no matter how justified it was,” she said, her voice uncharacteristically hard.

“Yeah,” you agreed, guilt squeezing your heart. “I… I, um… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that you would, only that… Thank you. I’m sorry you had to get involved.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“I’m really sorry,” you told her. “I… I wish it were different.”

“Me too.” She shrugged it off glibly. “But that’s the business, filthy pirates that we are.”

You nodded. Everybody had warned you about that, ever since the beginning. You weren’t cut out to be a pirate. Physically, mentally, you couldn’t handle it.

Crina did first on the day you showed up to Buggy’s hideout, and then Cabaji tried on your first day on the ship. You shut down any thoughts of Crina before they could develop. After last night, you weren’t sure you could handle even thinking of the woman. But thinking of Cabaji made your stomach turn for other, though no less unpleasant, reasons.

“May I ask you something?”

“What is it?” Pippa asked.

“It’s not… I mean, it’s stupid.”

“Is it more boy trouble?”

“Kind of.”

“If he wants anal, just make sure to use lots and lots of lube. And, no, spit is not lube.”

Your head snapped towards her, your mouth agape in genuine shock. Pippa kept a straight face for a second, but burst out laughing at your expression.

“What are you even… Why would he…or-or… I…”

“Calm down, I’m just messing with you.”

“Do you… Is that something he might… Do you do that?”

Pippa shrugged. “If he wants to stick it in my ass, he better be ready to get something in his.” That made you laugh, more out of scandalized surprise than because it was funny, although it was a little funny. She laughed too before shaking her head, waving a hand as if to dispel your shock. “Okay, okay, I’m done. What’s your question?”

You collected yourself enough to focus back on the topic at hand. “It’s… it’s about, I mean, do you know Mr. Cabaji very well?”

“Not well,” Pippa said. Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“It’s nothing weird!” you said quickly, defensively. “I, um… I thought he and I were… He helped me a lot when I first joined the crew, so I thought we were… I don’t know. Friends? But last night he was very…” It hurt to think about that awkward conversation in the rain. “I don’t know what I did.”

“Oh, I see,” Pippa said, nodding slowly. “If I had to guess, you didn’t do anything. Think about it. Cabaji might be a cold fish, but he’s handsome and talented. If somebody sees the two of you together, it’d be easy to assume the worst.”

“But I would… I would never, ever… I mean, he’s handsome, but I don’t feel that way, and Cabaji would never betray Captain Buggy like that.”

Pippa shrugged. “How do you feel when Captain Buggy gets too friendly with other girls?” That made you wince, and Pippa nodded, her point made. “Jealousy’s a bitch.”

You couldn’t argue with that out of pocket, but it still didn’t add up. You were, well, you. And Buggy was Buggy. There were reasons people would want him, but none that you could think of for a man like Cabaji to want you.

Sighing, you pushed all of that out of your head. You could deal with those feelings later, when this whole mess was settled.

“That’s it,” Pippa said, pointing at a rather unassuming building up ahead. Other than being much bigger than the houses, even the schoolhouse, it didn’t look like much.

“That’s the aviary?” you asked.

“Yeah. Now let’s see…” She looked around at the various pirates roaming around before focusing on one in particular. “Hey, Pogo!” Pippa shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth. “What are you doing?”

Pogo raised her bat. “Captain said finders keepers. ‘Cept for the bird house.”

“Take babydoll with you,” Pippa said, pushing you forward.

You looked nervously at the other woman, hesitant. Your most notable interaction with Pogo had been a grave misunderstanding of what ‘handjob’ meant. She shrugged.

“Fine.” She pointed her bat at you. “But you better keep up, I’m not treating you special.”

“That’s fine!” you said, nodding quickly with a forced smile. “I’ll see you later, Pippa.”

“Be good,” she said dryly.

You hurried to follow Pogo towards what passed for a neighborhood in a place like Saline. A line of metal roofed shanties built with planks and scrap. The entire island had a population of, charitably, a little over a hundred people.

“What are we doing?” you asked Pogo nervously.

“Firstly, you need a hittin’ stick,” she said, eyeing you up before looking around the trash strewn road. She found whatever she was looking for in a chair that had been tossed onto its side, kicking one of the legs until it splintered off and she could pick it up. “This’ll do.”

“Why do I need it?” you asked, accepting the table leg.

She rolled her eyes. “We’re on the smash and grab. Take what you want, break everything else. Oh, and if you find a straggler, just holler. We’re gettin’ them alive if we can, Captain Buggy wants as big an audience as possible.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you said, nodding resolutely despite your nerves. This was pirate stuff. You could do that. You were a pirate, after all.

“Start in there, we’ll work our way down. Gotta go fast before all the nice shit’s gone,” Pogo said. When you didn’t immediately act, she rolled her eyes and stooped down to pick up a loose brick. “Like this,” she instructed, throwing the brick through the front window and shattering it into a mess of broken glass. The sound made you wince.

“Understood,” you said, gripping the table leg in both hands as you approached the open door. With any hope, everybody had already turned themselves in. You didn’t know what you would do if it came to a confrontation. Bracing yourself for anything, you went inside. The house, if you could even call it that, had three rooms. The only door inside was to a bedroom, but something was burning in the kitchen, so you started there.

A pot of unsalvageable porridge sat on the stove, the source of the smell. Most of it had boiled over, dripping down the sides in drying, goopy chunks and onto the floor, the remains congealed into thick, blackened paste in the bottom of the pot. You turned the stove off, opening the window above to let out the foul smelling smoke.

The kitchen itself was a snapshot of people living a very regular, though impoverished, life. Small and sparsely furnished, but not without charm, There were three rickety old chairs. One of them had been repaired with a leg that didn’t match its original wood, another had been tipped onto the floor when the family made a hasty exit. The table, draped with a patched tablecloth, had been set with bowls and spoons that all belonged to different sets. Wilting daisies arranged in a yellowed porcelain vase sat in the middle beside a tin of sugar and a sweating bottle of milk.

There was a fierce, tragic pride in the scrubbed floors and neat table setting. Poor or not, the people living here lived with self respect, holding fast to the etiquette of civilization even when that civilization excluded them. A pang of sharp, painful melancholy struck your chest. There was more love and comfort here than had ever been found in your big, richly furnished house.

You picked one of the wilting daisies out of the vase and tucked it into your hair. There was nothing else you wanted to take, and no place for anyone to hide, so you went into the bedroom. It was much the same as the kitchen. Two beds—one only barely big enough for two people and the other child-sized. The smaller bed had a colorful knitted blanket thrown over the top to distract from the threadbare sheets. Yellowed lace curtains hung in the window, fluttering as the wind caught them. Another array of flowers were on the bed side table, as well as a picture drawn by a child’s clumsy hand depicting a family of three. Mom, dad, and daughter. They were surrounded by hearts and flowers.

Nobody was hiding in here either, there was no place to do so. You took the picture, folding it up and hiding it in your waistband.

From the other room, you heard a huge crash. Rushing out of the bedroom, you saw it was just Pogo kicking over the chairs. The sound was, evidently, from when she knocked the table over.

“What were you doing?” she asked. “Smash and grab.”

“But they… they have a child,” you said, feeling sick at seeing their things destroyed when they already had so little.

“How do you know?” Pogo asked, standing up straight. “Is it in there?”

“No, nobody’s here,” you told her. “It’s just, after we leave, what will they do?”

“Who cares?” Pogo asked.

“Right,” you agreed, nodding. “You’re right.”

A novel could be filled with all the things you couldn’t do, and an entire series of them could easily document the many, many more things you couldn’t do well.

When smashing a single window was enough to make you shake with guilt, you realized that it would be better to tell Pogo you needed to help Captain Buggy and excuse yourself from the mob slowly tearing through Saline village.

Your walk to the tent was spent trying to fight back tears at the swirling whirlpool of guilt in your stomach. You passed by some of the other hostages on your way to the tent, the ones that were too young or weak to perform hard labor. They were chained together and given less strenuous jobs, mending and cooking and painting and decorating. You didn’t linger near them, too afraid that if you looked long enough you would find the child whose drawing you had taken.

More than anything, you couldn’t get over the sense of profound wrongness in trashing other people’s lives and stealing their things. It made sense to recruit them for free labor, you could even understand petty street theft, but this was different. Intimate. You kept thinking of the mismatched dishes that had been so meticulously cleaned and set out for breakfast. Anyone could agree that maintaining a set of fine dishes was the only proper thing to do, but to have such reverence for what many people would consider to be cheap spoke of a fundamental respect for the few things they did have. They didn’t even have that anymore.

But the conflict came in two parts—the disgust you had for the action itself, and the loathing you had for how weak you were to balk at performing such an easy task.

Everybody knew that pirates raided and stole and destroyed. That was what you signed up for. As a pirate, you were meant to look out only for Captain Buggy, yourself, and your crew. In that order. A random family shouldn’t have mattered.

You found a dark spot in the corner of the tent, sitting on the dusty ground to observe the rehearsal. It seemed like they were practicing acts while setting things up. Rather, the pirates practiced while intimidating the locals into doing the labor.

“Can you count?” You heard Buggy shout from the stage, berating one of the performers. “No, I’m asking if you can. One, two, three, four. You know what those are? Numbers. Come on, count ‘em with me. One, two-”

You tuned that out and, biting your lip, pulled the drawing out of your waistband. Mom, dad, and daughter depicted as potato people in crayon scribbles. The little girl had drawn herself with twintails and a big smile, her stick arms connected to the stick arms of her parents.

What would that little girl think of you, the person who saw fit to destroy her home for no other reason than because it was the one she was directed to?

A third conflict lurked in that question, the insidious one you tried very hard to ignore. You yourself were in conflict. You looked at the picture and thought that the little girl was a far more relatable figure than the person you saw in the mirror, you knew very well what she would think of you. That little girl would look at you with pained eyes and a wobbling lip. She wouldn’t understand why you had done what you did. She would probably hate you, that was more than deserved.

You understood her very well.

“Hey, babydoll!” Buggy called. Lost in your own thoughts, you didn’t wake up to the fact that he was talking to you until Buggy called again, louder. You blinked, startled as you looked up at him. How long had he known you were there? “Come over here. We’ve got shit to go over for your act.”

You sniffled, wiping your eye to try and hide the fact that you had been crying. Slowly, you did as you were told, standing up and tucking the picture back into your waistband. Trying to shake off your miserable feelings and put on a brave face, you walked to the edge of the stage.

“Come on, don’t be shy,” Buggy said, inviting you forward.

It wasn’t shyness that made you stop on the very edge, it was that you were tired, and sensitive, and you knew he would be able to tell you were crying when the lights hit your face, and you couldn’t put on an act. You couldn’t possibly perform. You couldn’t do much of anything at all.

“Captain Buggy,” you said. “I don’t think I can-”

“No, no, no. First of all,” he said, waving his hand as he approached you, “dolls don’t talk. They smile or pout, your choice.” You frowned at him, your chest clenching at his dismissive tone. “Pout, that’s good. Second of all, dolls do what they’re told.”

You took a few halting steps onto the stage, squinting in the light.

“Okay, well the walk’s right. But keep your head up. Dolls don’t slouch.”

“Captain Buggy,” you said, scrambling internally to find a way to express yourself to him in a way he might accept.

“Hey,” Buggy said irritably, reaching out to tug on one of your twintails to force you towards him. You yelped, grabbing his hand. “What’s with the attitude?”

“I don’t have…” You grimaced, shaking your head. “It’s nothing, Captain Buggy.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Buggy told you, exchanging your hair to grab your chin instead. “Were you… crying?”

“It’s…” you said, shaking your head. “It’s nothing, I’m fine.”

Buggy thought about that for a second before releasing your chin and grabbing your shoulder with a painfully tight grip, smiling that rictus grin that meant danger.

“Ah, babydoll.” He gave you a light little shake. “Sometimes I wonder what I’m going to do with you. This whole routine where you keep secrets and I have to force them out of you and then you get all mopey about it is real fuckin’ stale. Is it Crina? Cabaji?” His eyes narrowed further. “Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet.”

“No! Nothing like that,” you told him. “It’s just… I don’t know how to… Explain.”

“Hows about you try anyway?”

“I…” You swallowed hard, your face scrunching up in discomfort. There was no way out of this except for muddling your way through some explanation. Stupid. It was your own fault for not just sucking it up in the first place. “I’m… I don’t… feel like…” you explained haltingly. “Like… me, I guess? I don’t… I don’t understand why I do the things I do, or the way I feel. It’s like there’s somebody else. Then I get these… these flashes of… I can’t take it. I don’t know how to make it stop hurting so-so much.” You shook your head. “I know that makes no sense, it-it's stupid.”

Buggy didn’t say anything, and you couldn’t bear to look at him as you waited for him to laugh, or to get angry, or to brush you off.

“No. Actually, I get it,” Buggy told you, his tone softening a bit. He released the tight grip on your shoulder to pat it instead. "You’re still holding onto the pathetic life you begged me to save you from.”

“What?” you asked, your eyebrows furrowing. “No, I’m not. I promise I’m not, Captain Buggy. ”

“Yeah, you are. Even though I’ve shared with you the splendor of a truly free, happy life, you haven’t fully accepted it. This doubt, this guilt, is eating you alive because you’re still thinking like the rest of those small-minded nobodies who tried to break you down. The pain you feel right now will only go away when you give up who you were before. That’s not you. You,” he poked your chest, “are my babydoll. You’re a pirate. And you know what else? You're special. You belong to Captain Buggy. So if you just listen to me, if you just trust me, you won’t have to second guess yourself, or doubt what you’re doing. When you let go of everything that isn’t, well... me, you’ll feel much better.”

He finished the speech with a big smile. A smile you wanted to embrace, to believe with your whole heart. So why couldn’t you? Everything he said made sense, everything he said sounded wonderful, but it didn’t stop the pain in your chest.

“I don’t know what to do to… I’m trying,” you said, talking softly to keep your voice from breaking. “But it still… I’m still… I don’t know.”

In an instant, the smile fell. Buggy grit his teeth, taking a step back. When he raised his fist, you thought for a second that he was going to hit you, but instead he just turned away, shaking his fist as if to work out some of the frustration. When he faced you again, you could see the emotions on his face as they bled into one another, the various forms of irritation and anger before, eventually, he exhaled a huge breath and fixed that huge, tight smile back into place.

“No, this is good. We can use this. What you’ve got now is a case of growing pains. That means we’re making progress. You don’t feel like you? That’s because you’re not you, not yet. You’re still a doll, still thinking and feeling all the things daddy put into that empty head of yours.” He nodded, his smile became more natural as he faced the edge of the stage. “I need a volunteer!” he called. “Anyone will do. Anyone at all!”

You squinted past the bright lights, watching a scuffle as one of the pirates pushed an older man, one of the locals, forward onto the stage.

“Step right up, don’t be shy,” Buggy said, walking in an arc to pick something up off of one of the tables strewn with props and decorations. The man’s feet were cuffed together, and it was a near thing that he didn’t fall over. “Come on, old man. She doesn’t bite.”

Buggy came up behind you to push you towards the ‘volunteer’. He brushed one of your twintails behind your shoulder, smoothing it back, before he held out a gun. “Shoot him.”

Your head whipped around to look over your shoulder at him with a wide eye, your heart dropping hard into your stomach.

“Come on, it’s easy,” Buggy insisted, forcing the gun into your hand, “you just point the shooty end at him, put your finger on the trigger, and pull it.”

“Please,” the man begged. “Don’t do this, please.”

“Captain Buggy…” you whispered, unable to talk any louder. “Why?”

“I-I don’t deserve this,” the man said, his hands clasped together.

“No, no, no, babydoll,” Buggy scolded you, his irritation spilling over. “What did I say? Dolls don’t talk. And you don’t ask me why. It doesn’t matter why. If you trusted me, if you really trusted me, if you honestly want to feel better, you wouldn’t ask me why.”

You looked at the man begging for his life. He was older, but he could reasonably have been the dad in the picture you’d stolen. He could have a family that loved him, a life he enjoyed despite the pitiful circumstances of Saline.

You couldn’t think about that. It didn’t matter who he was. You had already done worse. If you didn’t listen to Captain Buggy, if you weren’t good for him, he would get rid of you. If you were going to disappoint him, you were better off turning the gun on yourself.

It was you or the old man. That was the choice Buggy wanted you to make, the choice he’d been asking you to make over and over from that very first day he hired you on the crew, the one you didn’t even see as a choice.

Because it wasn’t, not really.

Aiming the gun at the man, you breathed in, and out. You had to use both hands to steady your shaking. You focused, ignoring everything else in the world, and pulled the trigger. The shot cracked through the small space, stunning you for a moment. It seemed like everybody screamed, the sound ringing even as the initial shot settled.

You opened your eye—when had you closed it?—to watch the man straighten out, feeling at his chest to check that he was alive. No bullet, no blood. You looked at the gun. The only thing that came out of it was sweet, brightly colored smoke and confetti.

“Aw, honey buns, you really were gonna shoot him,” Buggy said, laughing as he threw an arm around your shoulders. “You really had me worried for a second.”

You looked up at Buggy, confused, a hollowed out sick feeling in your stomach. “It’s… not real?”

“Did you really think I was gonna give you a loaded gun?” he asked, taking the fake gun out of your hand. “You’ve only got one eye, you could seriously hurt someone.”

“Then why would you-”

“Lights,” Buggy suddenly shouted, pulling away from you to shout at the people operating the lighting from above. The metallic squeak of the spotlight being shifted back towards Buggy hit him with a harsh beam, illuminating his sudden anger. “Are you blind? Drunk? As long as I’m on stage, the spotlight stays on me.” Buggy scowled, looking at you. “Sorry, babydoll, I’ve got work to do. Your act is gonna go fine, as long as you remember to do everything just the way I said.”

Smoke drifted up into the darkening night sky as the Buggy Pirates settled around various campfires for supper, unwinding in the traditional pirate fashion after a very eventful day. That meant lots of eating, a bit of drinking, and a chorus of loud conversation and singing.

After such an exhausting day, you didn’t even have to be prompted to eat every bite of your meal. It was just stew, but since the pirates had looted the town’s foodstores, it was good stew. Fresh meat and vegetables with soft bread.

Some people sat on logs or chairs they’d taken from nearby homes. You and Buggy sat on a blanket spread across the grass. He leaned with his back against a tree and you sat criss-cross, inching closer and closer to the fire as the night got cooler.

Everyone seemed to be in high enough spirits, even Buggy. That was good. You wished you felt some of that, but the day had left you sapped of any and all enthusiasm. It didn’t matter how you felt anyway. The world, as always, was perfectly capable of sustaining itself without your involvement. So you watched the flames dance and let the sounds of the night wash over you and waited until it was time to go to bed.

“What’s that?” Buggy asked, nudging you to catch your attention.

You looked where he was pointing, realizing that the little girl’s drawing had fallen out of your waistband. He picked it up before you could grab it, unfolding it to look.

“No, Captain Buggy, that’s-” you said, reaching out to take it back. He gave you a sharp look when you tried to take it out of his hands directly, so you backed off.

“Oh, wow. This is…” he said, staring at the picture. “It’s rough, I gotta say. But you always have room to grow. You know, improve your skills. And if you squint, it kinda…” He burst out laughing, unable to maintain a straight face any longer. “No, seriously, what is this? Is that you in the middle? Who's this lump supposed to be?”

“It’s not my drawing,” you said. “I found it.”

“Why? Are you hoping to get the artist’s autograph?”

“No, I just… I don’t know,” you said, shaking your head. “It’s silly.”

“Hey, Captain Buggy, has she told you about her pillaging adventures yet?” Pogo called. “Only one house in and she gets all weepy worrying about the family that lives there.”

Buggy gave you a derisive look. “Is that true?”

You nodded.

He looked at the drawing again before flicking it into the fire, scooting closer to you to throw his arm around your shoulders.

“Babydoll, we’re doing the people who live here a favor,” he said as the paper curled up and disappeared in the flames. “A kid’s shitty drawing isn’t worth worrying about. What we’re creating here is special. Yeah, there’s gonna be some collateral damage, but it’s necessary. Sacrifice is the lifeblood of truly great art. One day, the people here will agree with me. They’re gonna go back to their boring lives and think every day about the time they got to take part in my show, how much they miss it. See, I’m giving them what they actually want, what they need. Nobody wants to be happy—it’s not like they’re happy living in a dump like this anyway. What people truly want is to be entertained. You know that better than anyone.”

You nodded, hanging your head. “I guess.”

Buggy sighed, rolling his eyes. “I’m gonna go get us something to drink. It’s cute, but you’re so much more fun when you’re not all mopey and pathetic.”

He released you to stand up. You drew your knees up to your chest and stared at the fire. Nothing remained of the girl’s drawing, the fire had eaten it up whole. That was for the best, Buggy was right. You didn’t need to worry about things like that, it was better if you didn’t.

Buggy came back soon, holding a bottle and a glass filled with red liquid.

“It might be a little strong for you,” he said, offering you the shot, “but I promise it’ll help. You just gotta toss it all back in one go.”

You accepted it with a wary look. “Okay.”

“Alright,” Buggy said. “Ready? Three, two—”

You threw the drink back fast, like he said. As soon as the first drop of the liquid hit your throat, you regretted it, sputtering and coughing against the horrible bite of bitterness and alcohol. It wouldn’t matter how much of something sweet you put into a drink that caustic, it couldn’t hide the taste. You did manage to keep it down, however badly your body wanted to reject it.

Buggy laughed at your reaction. “Hey, that went better than last time. You’ll be a real pirate in no time.”

You nodded, your eye and nose streaming before you wiped your face. Awful. Truly awful. “What was that?” you asked him.

“Captain Buggy’s cure all,” he said, returning to an animated conversation with some of the pirates who had stuck around the fire. You listened with half an ear to the story about the time he saved a village from another drug-peddling criminal and how grateful they were to their hero, Buggy the Clown. He humbly rejected their praise and gifts, of course, taking only half of everything they had.

You didn’t really think about how you felt at all until it slammed into you all at once.

Warm. Lightheaded like being drunk, but not quite. You didn’t feel the same unsteady world-spinning dizziness like when you drank alcohol. Besides, such a tiny amount wouldn’t have been enough to get drunk. This was something else, you thought, but you weren’t sure what. Hot, mostly. You wanted to take off your clothes, which were suddenly far too heavy and tight.

You breathed out hard through your nostrils, looking around at the other pirates. Most of them had drifted away or around, off doing their own thing. Nobody was paying you any attention.

There was a disquieting sensation of disconnect, of unreality. Like you were aware of the people and the fire and everything else, but for some reason you couldn’t believe that it was real. It all made perfect sense, but it also didn’t.

“Captain Buggy, can we go?” you asked, tugging on his sleeve. You needed to get inside before gravity shifted and you fell into the sky, which suddenly seemed like a very likely possibility.

“Not yet, I’m telling a story,” he said, waving you off. “After I did that, they were so grateful that I got rid of those idiots that they asked me to lead them. Flattering, but-”

You huffed, scooting closer to him as you waited for his story to finish. It ended in laughter, which you belatedly joined in on.

“Captain Buggy,” you said again when that died out. “I… I feel… Can we go, please?”

He rolled his eyes. “Come here, ya lush.” Buggy adjusted himself so you could sit on his lap, your thighs astride his. The position was awfully intimate considering the circumstances, but he pulled your head down to his shoulder and maybe it was alright.

From the deepest depths of your brain emerged a memory. Buggy told you, “It’s not like there’s anything wrong with sitting together. I bet you sat on your dad’s lap all the time.”

It was fine.

Until he moved his leg, his thigh inadvertently grinding right between your legs. You tensed up, clutching at the front of his coat. Although lust hadn’t been much of a preoccupation before, it jumped up to the very forefront of your mind as soon as you felt that bit of stimulation, like your body had been waiting for it.

Buggy smelled so good too. Or, he smelled like he always did. But that was good. Familiar and distinct and him. You buried your face against his neck, nosing past the scarf to reach his skin. The warmth and solid feeling of his body beneath yours had you melting against him. He would keep you from falling into the sky.

He moved his leg again and you gasped hard, tensing up. For a second, you had been distracted by his scent enough to forget the frenzied buzz of need between your legs, but the pressure stoked it to a blaze once again. You had to bite your lip to keep from reacting, pressing your face even closer to his chest. He didn’t react. Maybe he didn’t notice. Maybe he wasn’t as horribly, incredibly, dangerously hyper-aware of the heat burning between your legs as you were.

As surreptitiously as possible, you rolled your hips forward, trying to be as unobtrusive as you could, hoping very much that he was too distracted to notice.

Buggy’s body went rigid. And then he laughed.

“Are you in heat or something?” he asked, soft enough so only you could hear him.

“No, I… I’m just…” You wanted to kiss him. And touch him. There were people nearby, but that mattered less and less as the seconds ticked on and the only thing you could think of was how hot you were, the electric pulse underneath your skin.

Holding your head up, he purposefully drew his leg up to grind it directly between your thighs. Your fingers grasped helplessly at the front of his coat, your teeth close to breaking the skin of your lip with how hard you were fighting your body’s natural reaction to moan or whimper. Buggy watched you with an open mouthed smile, his eyes dancing in the firelight.

“Captain Buggy, please,” you whispered, unable to keep your hips from helplessly rolling against his thigh.

“Okay, fine,” he said, grinning. “But I gotta wipe your fuckin’ snail trail off my pants before I stand up.”

“Don’t say that,” you told him, although there was no bite behind the words.

Buggy laughed again and pushed you off of his lap to stand up. He went first before helping—practically scooping—you off the ground.

“I gotta get this one tucked in before it gets too late,” he announced. “She gets all cranky if I skip the bedtime story. Say goodnight, babydoll.”

You laughed in an attempt to hide your embarrassment, waving to the group of unimpressed pirates. And then Buggy was dragging you away, supporting most of your weight.

“Captain Buggy, why did you say that?” you asked when you were an appropriate distance away.

“I thought that if I made it seem like you were tired, they wouldn’t immediately guess that you were humping my leg out there in front of everybody like the little freak you are.”

You nearly tripped, making a very sharp sound of indignance. Buggy cackled, keeping you from falling. It wasn’t a long walk to the mayor’s house, but it still felt like a million miles of stumbling, swerving, rushing through the dark until you were safely enclosed behind the door. There weren’t any lights on, but Buggy didn’t hesitate as he dragged you to the bedroom.

In the quiet house, the sensation of being utterly untethered and confused became even more noticeable. But it wasn’t incoherent confusion, you were capable of acknowledging the wrongness of the thought process, just that you couldn’t unthink it. “I think… the… what I drank,” you got out in stammered bursts, trying to understand why you felt the way you did. “I think it was… like, um… did you, um…”

“It’s like I said, babydoll, just a little something to make you relax,” Buggy told you. “And wouldja look at that! You’re relaxed and happy and I’m having a great time.”

That wasn’t really funny, but you laughed anyway.

He left you standing in the middle of the bedroom to go to the trunk you had brought in earlier. The big windows let in enough diffused light that you could see him, but not too much to ruin the veil of darkness. You giggled to yourself, looking up at the moon high in the sky. It was a little more than half full, but very bright.

Buggy dug through the trunk, emerging with what looked like a decently long length of looped rope. You didn’t remember packing that.

“What’s that for?” you asked, your words slurring despite how perfectly controlled they felt when you spoke them. You swayed back and forth when you tried to walk towards him. Realistically, you knew you were not on a ship, but you could almost feel the way the ocean rocked beneath you. Or maybe the world was just that unsteady.

“What, rope?” Buggy asked, incredulous that you would ask. “You can use it for all sortsa things. A good pirate never goes anywhere without it. How else are you s’posed to secure your treasure?”

You giggled. There was enough awareness in your brain that you knew you sounded stupid and vapid, but you couldn’t stop yourself. “That’s it?” you asked.

“There are other things you can use it for too,” Buggy allowed, tossing it on the bed and shrugging off his coat. “I could show you, if you want.”

“Uhm…” You smiled shyly, taking an uncoordinated step back. “Okay.”

“You mean it?” Buggy asked, smirking in a way that made you think he was making fun of you.

“I do!”

“Alright, but remember that you asked for it,” Buggy said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Take off your clothes.”

“Okay… but don’t look,” you said very seriously, pointing at him. Buggy raised his eyebrows in disbelief, unraveling your attempt at being serious into another fit of giggles.

He rolled his eyes at your antics, shaking his head. “You are so lucky you’re hot.”

You smiled, heat rolling through you at the praise. “Captain Buggy, can I kiss you?”

“I thought you were gonna get undressed,” he said, taking off his boots.

“Oh yeah!” you exclaimed, your hands jumping up to the bow tied around your neck to undo it. “Then, um, after?”

“One thing at a time, babydoll,” he said.

You huffed, letting the tie drop, pulling your sweater off. Your fingers stumbled along the line of buttons to get your shirt off, clumsy and heavy.

It was only when your shirt was off that you remembered not putting on a bra that morning, and your reasoning for the lapse. The sensation of cold air hitting your nipples and making them stiff was painful, aggravating the bite marks from yesterday. You winced, undoing the ties at the side of your skirt so it could fall too. Stepping out of your boots took some coordination, you leaned against the side of the chair to get them and your socks off.

“That’s enough. Get over here,” Buggy said, impatiently motioning you towards him.

You stumbled over, shivering in the open air and swaying drunkenly on your feet. He caught you by the hips, steadying you there.

“‘M dizzy,” you mumbled.

He ignored that, staring unabashedly at your tits. “Sheesh, I really did a number on you yesterday, didn’t I? Looks like it hurts,” he said, reaching up to trace the bruise his teeth had left around your nipple.

You shivered, covering your chest. “Don’t,” you said, although you were too bubbly inside to fight down your smile so it probably didn’t sound very genuine.

“Aw, are you embawassed,” he asked, squishing your cheeks to match the baby voice he was using.

“Stop,” you complained, batting his hand away.

He laughed, but let it go a second later to focus on the rope. It wasn’t very bright in the room, but there was enough light for you to know that he was so pretty. It was adorable how round his nose made his profile, deceptively cute. And the way his face scrunched up when he was focusing on something was also very cute.

“Turn around,” he said, looking up at you.

“Why?” you asked.

“Because I told you to.”

You nodded, relenting to the irrefutable logic, and turned around.

“The way you were humping my leg earlier gave me an idea,” he said as he grabbed your arms to pull them behind your back, quickly securing your wrists in rope cuffs.

“I wasn’t… doing that,” you said, squirming nervously.

“I knew a girl who was really into this shit, the ropes and chains and everything. She was a fun ride, sure, but god did it get repetitive. Didn’t help that she was a total nutcase.”

He paused, grabbing more rope. You watched over your shoulder, curious. And nervous.

“You know what a chastity belt is, sweetheart?” he asked, wrapping the doubled up length of rope around your waist and threading it through itself to wrap around again. He reached his arms around you to knot it at your belly button. He let the rest fall as if measuring it against you before tying a few knots.

“It’s, um, to keep you from being able to, um…”

“Well this is an unchastity belt,” he said, pulling the long tail of rope between your legs until it was firmly wedged between your folds, the knots he’d tied pressing against your clit through your silky panties. You yelped, your body jerking forward. “And that’s why you tie the hands first,” Buggy said, laughing as he secured the rope with a looped knot against your lower back. You didn’t fight him when he turned you back around to face him. This time, you couldn’t cover your chest at all, bare and vulnerable to his eyes.

“Captain,” you whined. “It’s… I…”

“They call those the happy knots,” he said, tapping the knot pressed against your clit. “Pretty fitting, doncha think?”

You squirmed, and then hissed at the way it caused you to grind against the knot, which made you squirm even more, which—

“What’s wrong, babydoll?” Buggy asked oh-so innocently, rubbing his hands down your waist and over your hips, across your thighs.

“I-I want…” you frowned, overwhelmed by the feeling of need and the abrasive fear of complete helplessness. “Please, Captain Buggy, I really want to… It’s…”

“If you want something, spit it out.” He curled two fingers beneath the rope between your legs, pulling it taut. You gasped, your entire body tensing up hard at the unyielding pressure against your clit. “Use your big girl words.”

“I wanna come,” you said breathlessly. “Please.”

“Only if you’re a good girl,” he told you, letting go of the rope to tap your nose playfully.

Your face scrunched up in displeasure, your eyebrows furrowing. “That’s not fair.”

“I could always tell you no. What would you do then? It’s not like you can take care of the problem yourself.”

“No,” you said faintly, horrified.

“That’s what I thought. Get on your knees, babydoll.”

“But it… It’ll hurt if I do,” you said.

Buggy rolled his eyes, but grabbed your waist to help lower you onto your knees. You weren’t exactly stable, listing heavily to the side. Buggy caught you, pulling you upright. The knots between your legs rubbed hard against your clit every time you moved. It wasn’t going to be enough but the teasing friction scattered your thoughts.

“This is kind of a… thought experiment. Usually you choke when I push your head too far,” Buggy said, unzipping his pants and shoving them out of the way along with his underwear, “but maybe it’ll be different when you’re all loose and stupid like this. You know, no thoughts to get in the way.”

“I don’t know if I…” your words trailed off, you were too focused on the sight of him fisting his cock, the head bobbing right in front of your face.

“I’m the one who’s gonna have to do all the work. All you have to do is open your mouth.”

Looking up at him, you licked your lips once before parting them.

“More,” he said, stroking himself more intently, the head of his cock brushing your lips. “Nice’n wide, kiddo.”

Squeezing your eye shut, you let your jaw drop open so he could push his cock into your mouth. You twitched, your arms straining against the ropes before remembering that struggling only caused the knots to grind against your clit.

“Just like that,” Buggy muttered softly, his voice encouraging you. This part, at least, was familiar enough. You closed your lips around him, sucking as he casually thrust his hips, his dick pressing against the inside of your cheek. Buggy hissed in relief when your tongue pushed up.

You could feel him harden even more, his dick insistently pressing into your mouth, demanding space. Men’s bodies, you thought, were very, very weird.

Buggy didn’t push you too much at first, his hand working the base of his cock while you bobbed back and forth along the rest. He was right, it was better now that you were so relaxed. Your body felt fluid, it was so much easier to just go along with the pace he wanted to set. More than that, you wanted to be good for him. You needed to make him feel as good as you did.

The first time Buggy pushed a little too deep, you choked. You couldn’t help it. When you choked, your body jerked, and when your body jerked, the knots rubbed against your clit, and that made you whimper. Every little reaction fed into another, and you couldn’t sort it all out when your brain was jelly.

“Hey, shh, was that too rough?” Buggy asked sweetly, pulling his cock out of your mouth so you could get in a full breath. You happily gulped down lungfuls of air, surprised at how desperate your body had been to breathe. He petted your hair with one hand, the other stroking his cock in front of your face. It glistened and dripped with your saliva. “You’re being so good for me, babydoll, I know you can do it.”

You shivered, whimpering at the pressure of the knots. Buggy never spoke that gently. The mere idea of disappointing him now, when he was being so sweet, sent a hot strike of guilt through your stomach. You had to do this for him, you had to.

So, rather than answer, you raised your chin and looked up at him, opening your mouth wide with your tongue hanging out. It felt icky, especially since you couldn’t wipe all of the dripping saliva off of your chin, but it seemed like the best choice because Buggy’s expression went lax, his throat working as he swallowed hard. He regained a bit of composure a moment later, managing a smile and hoarse laugh.

“How do you look so innocent while staring at me like that?” Buggy asked, pushing his cock into your mouth. This time, he didn’t thrust his hips, taking a twintail in either hand to pull your head down. “You’ve gotta be the sluttiest ingénue in the biz. You’re so lucky you’re with me and not some creep who’d take advantage of you.”

You weren’t really listening to him, too busy sucking as he bobbed you up and down. The loud slurping sucking sounds were gross, but compared to the little noises Buggy couldn’t contain, they were nothing. You sucked harder, using your tongue as much as you were able, desperate to hear more.

“Fuck, babydoll,” Buggy groaned, pulling harder on your hair. You moaned around his cock, your hips purposefully grinding into the happy knots, glad for even the teasing pressure.

The more he pulled you down, the less you were able to care about anything other than the sounds of Buggy’s pleasure and the sparking heat drawing up tight in your core. Just like yesterday, the lack of air created a loop of your body convulsing with the need to breathe and the overwhelming rush of pleasure whenever you could get a breath. And then you writhed, causing the knots to rub into your clit, and he fucked the air right out of you, and then you couldn’t think, the lack of oxygen making your drug fogged brain that much more confused, and your body that much more pliant.

So you just let it happen, your throat relaxing so Buggy could push his cock so deep into your throat that your nose met the curls at the base. Right past your gag reflex, far beyond reasonable. He used your twintails like handlebars to pull you off with a flood of saliva spilling around the seams of your lips, dragging you up and down his cock like a toy.

It was rough and mean and he was out and out using you like somebody would use an object. The only thing you could do was endure it. For him. You could. You did. You wanted to.

He dragged you all the way down, his cock lodged in your throat. You jerked and choked a little, but your brain and body weren’t working well enough to properly panic. Buggy moaned loudly, grinding his cock into the back of your throat.

“Look at you,” Buggy said. “So fuckin’ perfect, babydoll. God, you’re-” He groaned, letting you pull off to get a breath. The sudden influx of oxygen set your body on fire, your hips anxiously jerking to get some relief from the knots. Buggy didn’t push as deep as he picked up the pace, focusing more on faster strokes. You could practically feel him getting closer, and you did everything you could to help, sucking and licking and desperately trying to urge him over the edge.

His body lurched forward, his cock jumping your mouth, and Buggy swore loudly. You felt the first spurt of cum coat your throat, and then your tongue as he pulled his dick out of your mouth, finishing himself off with his fist so he could cum on your chest too. You pulled a face at the flavor, swallowing over and over to make it go away. That hurt a little bit, your throat sore from his rough treatment.

Finished, Buggy’s posture went limp and he laughed breathlessly, patting your head. Saliva and cum dripped from your chin onto your sweat-slicked chest and down to the floor. Your arms jerked to try and wipe it off, but they were still tied up. The movement did, however, effectively remind you of the knots against your clit. You whimpered, trying not to struggle too much.

“Was that good enough?” you asked Buggy hopefully, desperate for relief.

“That was fantastic, babydoll. Who’d’ve thought my little virgin would learn how to deepthroat with the best of ‘em, hm?” He laughed to himself, pushing his pants and underwear all the way off before standing up.

“Captain Buggy?” you asked, distressed as he walked away, tugging off his shirt and tossing it aside. You couldn’t do anything other than watch as he went into the bathroom. You heard running water and then he came out holding a cup. The gritty sandpaper of your cum-coated tongue was suddenly the most uncomfortable thing in the entire world, and you focused entirely on the water as he brought it to you.

“Yeah, atta girl,” he encouraged as he put the cup to your lips, pouring it into your mouth. You happily gulped down the entire thing, not caring about the soreness of your throat or jaw.

“Thank you, Captain Buggy,” you said when you were done, looking up at him with an acute pang of adoration. He always took care of you. You loved him so much.

“You’re gonna need it for act two,” he teased before grabbing you up off the floor, turning you around so you could fall onto the bed.

Your head swayed, impossibly dizzy, the world moving so disorientingly fast that you were only barely aware of him cutting the rope between your legs. As soon as it was out of the way, he dragged your panties down, pushing your legs apart to look at your exposed pussy. With your hands still firmly bound behind your back, there was nothing you could do to hide yourself, simply whining at the humiliating exposure.

“I gotta know,” he said, licking his lips. “When it gets all red and puffy like that, does it hurt?”

You blinked at him, not understanding the question. Buggy rubbed his thumb against your clit and you convulsed, practically mewling in response to the slightest bit of direct stimulation.

“Guess not,” he said, pushing you further up the bed so he could settle between your open legs. You tossed back and forth as you shook your head, pulling desperately to free your arms.

“Captain, please, I really…” You just wanted to come. It was the only thing that mattered. Not your need for pleasure, but for release.

“Yeah?” he taunted you, easily thrusting two fingers into your dripping pussy. When they curled, your back arched in a painfully taut curve, your thighs trembling. “Do you hear that?” Buggy asked, thrusting his fingers into you as loudly as possible. You pressed your face to the side in an attempt to hide. He laughed. “If you really hate this as much as you pretend you do, why are you squeezing me so tight, huh?”

“Stop,” you begged. “Please, jus’-”

He added a third finger and your words broke off with a helpless cry. Buggy didn’t slam them into you the way you wanted, thrusting and curling and teasing without any actual intention to let you come. You sobbed, your hips trying to meet his hand halfway, to get more. You just wanted to come. Couldn’t he feel it? Couldn’t he tell how desperate you were?

Squinting up through a teary eye, you saw the manic glee in his round eyes as he watched the way you twitched and writhed with each little movement of his fingers. Noticing you were watching him, Buggy smiled at you, his other hand dropping between your legs to tease over your clit.

You wailed, digging your heels into the bed and arching against him, but he didn’t stop, and he didn’t give you more. His fingers continued to thrust and curl aimlessly, his other hand brushing over your clit without any pressure.

“Buggy, please,” you begged, writhing desperately against the ropes keeping your arms bound. “I can’t take this, I really, really, really need—”

“From my perspective, sweetheart,” Buggy said, pushing his fingers back into you roughly. “It doesn’t seem like you’ve got much of a choice, now does it? All of this whining and struggling and begging doesn’t mean jack shit because all you can do is take what I give you.”

You whimpered and he laughed again.

“Since you were so good for me earlier, I’ll let you come,” he said. “But you gotta ask me real nice.”

“Please, Buggy.”

“I was thinking something more like ‘You’re the best, Buggy, please make me come all over your hand.’ Y’know, really sell it.”

“You are the best, Buggy,” you said, your brain too fried to consider refusing. “Please, please make me come all over your hand, I’ll do anything.”

“Fine, but make it quick so we can get on to act three,” he said, pumping his fingers into you roughly. Hard and fast and with deep strokes. You wailed, your body arching up, your head thrown back in genuine ecstasy.

So close, so close, so close—you were chanting that, or maybe it was his name, or please, and it didn’t matter, nothing mattered except for the pressure building in your core, that coil he was winding and winding and winding.

It snapped hard, broke in two, and pleasure flooded your body, your hips rolling to meet his hand with each wave, your mouth hanging open and silent. Relief was so sweet and potent you couldn’t care about anything else, just chasing more and more as you whimpered and cried and came.

“You’re such a drama queen,” Buggy teased as his hand slowed and stopped, pulling out of you with a slick sound.

You wilted into the bed, looking up at him with a flushed, vacant smile. The room was glowing and warm and good and nothing in the entire world could touch you when you were floating so high.

Making sure he had your attention, Buggy stuck the fingers that were covered in evidence of your pleasure into his mouth, pulling them out with a pop. Even though you had just gotten off, the sight sent a heavy, hot flush right to your core, your pussy tightening around the memory of his fingers. But all you could do about it was giggle stupidly. It took you a moment to remember the reason you couldn’t use your hands was because they were tied behind your back.

“What do we say, babydoll?” Buggy asked, his wet hand dropping to stroke his cock. He was hard again which was great because you didn’t think you had ever been so desperate to feel him inside of you. You squirmed restlessly, forgetting again that your hands were tied.

“I love you,” you said mindlessly.

He laughed. “Close enough.”

Buggy pressed his lips briefly to your thigh, chaining kisses up your body as he crawled up the bed, gathering your legs so that, by the time he was above you, they were loosely wrapped around his waist. He reached down to guide his cock into you, and both of you moaned as he pushed all the way in.

He didn’t hesitate before rolling his hips forward, fucking you deep, like he was claiming every part of you for himself. You wanted to hang onto his shoulders, but you couldn’t. Because your hands were tied. Instead you whined restlessly, curling your hips up to meet each thrust, desperate to take him deeper, to take everything he gave you.

He moaned openly, loudly, slowing for a second. The touch of his detached fingers on your clit drove you wild, your brain shorting out completely. Rather than tell you, or order you, to settle down, Buggy’s thrusts became harder, each one driving you into the bed. It didn’t take more than a few of those for you to tense up, your mouth falling open with a helpless whimper and your pussy fluttering around his cock as you came again.

“Buggy,” you whined. “Buggy, please, I want-” Your shaking legs readjusted, your thighs squeezing his hips. You wanted to feel him come inside of you, to be that much closer to him. He groaned right into your ear.

If you weren’t full to the point of splitting each time he pushed into you, you would have thought you were entirely hollow—empty of self or thought or anything other than the gooey desperate need to come again. The fingers on your clit continued to rub dirty circles and Buggy kept fucking you deeper than you’d have thought possible and you came again, sobbing and giggling and chanting his name like a prayer.

Buggy wasn’t far behind, his entire body rocking against you until his hips stuttered and he pushed as deep as possible, all of his weight on you. His moan was high and choked and helpless and the most sexual thing you had ever heard, it made your pussy clamp down tight around his dick, desperate for more, for him. Both of you were drenched in sweat and saliva and his cum still coated your chest and the way he ground his cock as deep into your pussy as was physically possible while he rode out his orgasm skated the line of pain and it was all disgusting and you reveled in it, steeped completely in the syrupy red medicine of hedonistic bliss.

Buggy recovered before you did and, with a groan, he rolled off of you. The feeling of his dick pulling out made you shudder, and you winced at the emptiness. You had no idea when he had reattached his fingers, but they were all accounted for when he stretched his arms out, linking them together to make the knuckles pop.

You turned your head to the side, nuzzling his sweaty shoulder, pressing a kiss there. He reached over to pat your head affectionately.

“That reminded me of that time when I was with this girl,” Buggy said, his voice low and a little gravely, “she kept yelling ‘Give it to me, give it to me now, I’m so wet!’ and I had to be real firm and tell her no.” You looked up at Buggy with a frown, but he had an innocent, wide-eyed expression. “It didn’t matter how wet she got! It was my umbrella.”

It took a moment for his joke to set in, but then you giggled. A little at first, and then a lot. Buggy smiled too, petting your head again.

When your fit of giggles subsided, he sat up with a huge groan, rolling his shoulders and neck. You watched with a half-lidded eye as he searched the loose sheets for something, finally emerging triumphantly with his knife. He cut the ones around your waist first, pulling the rope free and tossing it off the bed.

“You’re gonna have to sit up,” Buggy said.

“‘m okay,” you told him, fairly certain that you weren’t even capable of sitting up. Your body was heavier than it had ever been, you couldn’t even really care about how messy you were, or thirsty, or the fact that you could feel his cum oozing out of your pussy. It was like those things were happening somewhere else, and you were content in the hot blue dark. Content to look up at Buggy because all you could think was that you loved him. Adored him so absolutely that it was the only thing you could feel, an endless river of affection gushing out your heart.

Buggy blinked slowly, sighing dramatically before sliding an arm under your torso, peeling you off of the sweaty imprint you’d left on the sheets. You whined, your head falling forward onto his shoulder. Buggy had to hold you as he cut the rope cuffs off of your wrists, but as soon as your hands were free, you used them to hold onto him.

“All worn out?” he asked. You nodded, mumbling something not even you understood. “Aw, poor little thing.” It barely registered in your head that he was making fun of you, just that the saccharine sweet tone made you feel warm inside.

“I love you, Captain Buggy.”

He rubbed your back, letting you cling to him despite how sweaty and gross you were. “I know, babydoll.”

The only thing that kept you going through the next day was the fact that it began with taking a bath in the mayor’s huge tub. After you let him dump in the whole bottle of bubbling soap, Buggy even agreed to join you. It resulted in a disastrous mess in the bathroom, sheets soaked with bubbles and water when things escalated into the bedroom, and the two of you showing up late to breakfast, but a bit of property destruction and cold food was a small price to pay for the rare moment of normalcy.

If that Buggy was the man at his softest, at his most loving and fun, then director Buggy was him at his most strict and hardened. He wasn’t bothering with jokes, humor, or theatrics. In some ways, both versions were Buggy at his most human, but this aspect of his humanity was strung out with stress and dangerously sensitive to the slightest bit of provocation to trigger an explosive bout of rage. He stalked around the tent shouting orders and directions, spewing abuse at anybody unfortunate enough to get within range of his critical gaze.

It was easy for you to stay out of his way, at least. Being small meant you could more easily shimmy up and down the ladder to string up lights along the edges of the tent. That gummed up hangover feeling lingered in your head after the previous night’s fun, but you chugged water and powered your way through it. Everyone else was putting in their all, you had no right to do anything less.

Your boots had only just returned to the dusty floor after hanging up the final string when you heard a commotion from the tent’s entrance. You exchanged a nervous glance with Marty, who had been holding the ladder for you. He responded to your curious look with a shrug, looking as confused as you.

The joke went like this: the Surgeon, the Marines, and some mercenaries sailed into a tiny little island village called who cares off the coast of no one that had been commandeered by a crew of circus freak pirates to reclaim the stolen one-eyed midget from the devil-cursed clown that took her. The punchline, which really wasn’t funny at all, came in the form of bad news from an uncharacteristically ruffled-looking Cabaji and his equally disheveled squad. They looked like they’d been in a fight. A bad, losing fight.

A hushed rumble of conversation rippled through the room as everybody turned their attention to the stage where Cabaji approached Buggy, a whispered warning that impressed an understanding that something very bad had happened before it settled into an oppressive hush.

“What happened to you?” Buggy asked after a long, long moment, breaking the silence. “You look like shit.”

“We were attacked,” Cabaji said, his voice careful to not betray too much emotion.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Buggy responded, his voice slow and condescending. “What happened?”

“It was an ambush,” Cabaji said. “Captain Buggy, we’re outnumbered by twenty men. At least.”

“At least?” Buggy asked, his impatient anger slipping through. “How many men does that shithead have?”

“We don’t know, sir.”

“Why the hell not? What happened to the scouts?”

“Dead,” Cabaji said through a tight jaw. “The Surgeon set up a perimeter around the docks and aviary. Attempting to take either is impossible now.”

Buggy shook his head, shrugging dramatically. “Okay? I don’t see the problem. That was the plan, wasn’t it?”

Silence greeted his question, a hush settling down the lineup of men with bowed heads and closed mouths.

“Hello? Anybody?” Buggy asked, looking up and down the line for the unlucky man who was going to tell him something he didn’t want to hear.

“They cut the line,” one of the pirates, Fuse, finally said.

Buggy froze, his head slowly turning towards him. “What was that?”

“They’ve cut the line. I can’t detonate it.”

“You said,” Buggy said slowly, “that they wouldn’t notice it was rigged.”

Fuse shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know how they did, or maybe it’s a fluke.”

“A fluke, huh?” Buggy asked, getting in the man’s face.

He backed off a second later when Fuse didn’t give him any sort of reaction, growling as he began to pace. Nobody moved, or breathed, or did anything other than watch Buggy like he was a wild animal seconds away from breaking out of a cage.

After what felt like hours, he planted his feet with a hard sigh. You couldn’t see his face, only the line of his shoulders as his posture went from tense to open, the man giving way to the performer.

“This is fine,” Buggy said, turning around with a big smile. “There’s no way that moron is gonna upstage me on my special night. The show will go on. Make sure our audience is ready, and be prepared to put on the best performance of your miserable lives.”

Given permission to move again by that order, the crew began talking amongst themselves, movement returning to the tent. You weren’t listening to any of it, your ears were ringing too loudly. Heat burned your face, but your body shivered with a sour chill. You gave Marty some sort of excuse before slipping out of the tent, looking for a place to take a break. You just needed a break for a second, and then you would be fine.

It was going to be fine.

Outnumbered.

Of course Dad wouldn’t allow for half measures.

Losing hadn’t occurred to you until right then. Captain Buggy’s unshakable confidence had an infectious spread, and you wholeheartedly believed that he would do what he said he would.

But maybe not.

Maybe it wasn’t possible.

Maybe the fantasy was only a fantasy, fleeting and silly and childish.

Maybe you were mad after all, and this had always been a delusion.

“There you are,” somebody said, dragging you out of your head. You blinked fast, scrambling up to your feet on instinct. You weren’t entirely sure how long you had been sitting in a little corner amidst the ruins of houses. You intended to make it quick, but the stiffness of your body made you think it had been longer than you intended. As usual.

“Marty,” you said, kicking yourself for getting lost in your own head at a time like this. “Is something… is there… Are we going?”

“No, not yet. Captain Buggy’s cookin’ up his new plan.” He hesitated, frowning at you. “You don’t look so good, girly. Maybe you should take a break. You and the captain were staying in the mayor’s house, right? I could walk you over.”

You opened your mouth to tell him you were fine, but the words didn’t come. Standing up had left your head spinning, the goopy, confused disorientation slowing your thoughts into a sluggish swirl. As if to match the darkening prospects of the Buggy Pirates, the weather was turning fast, the clouds descending as an uncomfortably chilly mist. It made you shiver despite yourself, your mind finally catching up with your body’s discomfort.

“I can go,” you said softly, feeling a little hollow. “Thank you, Marty.”

“‘Course, girly. You sure you don’t need me to go along?”

“No, I’m… it’s okay,” you said, giving him a weak smile. It would be okay.

And even if it wasn’t.

Your trek to the mayor’s house was short and uneventful, passing by in a blur. Even if something did happen, you might not have noticed, disconnected as you were from the world.

The mayor’s house smelled like old wood and musty spices, something akin to patchouli. It was, if nothing else, extremely unique. Last night, you had drunk it in gladly, high on lust and desire. Now the scent triggered a sickening flush of syrupy red shame. Your insides clenched with disgust, your skin crawling in a way that no amount of soap would ever make clean.

In your desperation to push down those feelings, you didn’t think to listen for danger until you were nearly into the bedroom. Somebody was rustling around. You froze, your mind immediately drawing the worst conclusions.

Slowly, very slowly, holding your breath, you snuck towards the door. It was Dad, and he was going to take you back, and he would see your shame, and he would know all of your sins, and he would punish you. You peeked around the frame.

“Crina?” you asked, stunned. She was throwing your things into a bag, her hair swept into a messy braid and her face ashy. Her clothes were covered with grime, a sooty streak across her cheek. She looked like she’d been in a fight. “What are you doing?” You put a hand on your heart to steady its racing beat.

“Is he with you?” she asked, glancing nervously at the doorway and stooping down to get her hand around the handle of a reddish-yellow glass pitcher.

“Who?” you asked, confused.

“Buggy,” she said, as if it should have been obvious.

“No, he’s… I came back so I could…” You didn’t finish that statement, unable to remember what you were doing in the first place. “Where were you?” you asked instead. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I was with the scouts earlier. I saw the Surgeon, and he’s got more men than we thought he did. Things are going to get ugly,” Crina told you, standing up and pulling the drawstring on the bag she’d filled with your clothes. “You and I are going to leave before then.”

“What? Why?” you asked.

“When Captain Buggy realizes he’s out of any other options, he’s going to use you to bargain.”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed. There was no other rational answer. You laughed, and she didn’t. “No,” you told her, your amusement lapsing. “No, there’s no way. He wouldn’t. Captain Buggy said he wouldn’t.”

“I told you about having backup plans,” she said. “Do you really think you were never a part of his? You’re his best bargaining chip.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why would I lie to you?” Crina asked, raising her voice. “He’s got you under his thumb, but I know you’re not that stupid. I have never lied to you. I’m putting everything on the line to help you right now. So come with me. I know a place we can hide to wait this out. Let them do what they will, you don’t need to be involved.”

“I can’t,” you said, shaking your head slowly. “I… Captain Buggy said he wouldn’t. He loves me.”

“No he doesn’t!” Crina said. “He doesn’t love you any more than your dad does. He’s using your love for him, but he doesn’t love you.”

You wanted to argue, to tell her that she was wrong. Buggy loved you, that had to be true, but she said it with so much conviction. You couldn’t argue, the words didn’t come. Instead, you swallowed hard, choking back tears. “Then who does?”

Crina exhaled, approaching you to grab your shoulders. “Please, listen to me. Please, trust me.”

You looked into her dark eyes, shaking your head. “I-I can’t just… I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Please, I-”

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Buggy said, ducking around the doorway. Crina released you to take a few steps back. You turned around, startled stiff. He came into the room with slow, measured steps, his hands behind his back.

“Captain Buggy,” you said, clasping a hand over your heart. “What’re you… I don’t… Crina and I were just…”

“Just… What?” Buggy asked. By now, you could see past his casual affect. It had to do with the look in his eyes, the way the smile stopped with his mouth, his eyes hard and empty. “Thought so. You’d think that the lady with a crystal ball would have enough foresight to know this was a bad idea.” He looked up at Crina. “Maybe it’s good you’re leaving, I wouldn’t want a fraud on my crew.”

Crina said nothing.

Buggy pressed his hands together as he approached her, his pointer fingers on his chin like he was thinking. Crina watched him warily. “I had the strangest feeling this might happen. Maybe I should take up fortune telling. I’ll start with yours.” He closed his eyes, putting two fingers to his temple. “I’m getting something… It’s… Oh, oof, this is not pretty. Hey, babydoll, do you remember the punishment for mutiny?”

“That’s not… Crina was just worried about me,” you said quickly, fear swelling up in your chest. “But if you tell her that it’s not true, then… It’s not, is it? You’re not gonna-”

“You know what he did to her, don’t you?” Crina asked him, cutting you off. “I know you like having a little doll who can’t get knocked up, but don’t you ever think about what he must have done to make her like that? You’ll be sending her to a fate worse than death.”

Buggy laughed. “Do you really think I’d let some old man steal away my babydoll? That’s funny. Nobody takes my stuff. Not even you, Crina.”

“Maybe you can fool her, but I know you, Buggy. You’ll do anything to save your own ass. And I don’t blame you, but I won’t let you hand her over to him.”

“The only person you should be concerned about right now is yourself.”

“No, Captain Buggy,” you said, rushing towards him to grab his arm. “No, Crina just… She’s just worried, please. Crina, you know that Captain Buggy won’t let Dad take me back.”

“Of course he will!” she snapped, turning her glare to you.

You shrank back in the fierceness of that look, the sheer conviction of it, whimpering instead of responding.

“Oh look,” Buggy said, “now you’ve upset her.”

“Wake up and see him for the insecure manchild he is,” Crina told you, her voice harder than you’d ever heard it.

“What was that?” Buggy asked, his voice soft, cutting enough to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Crina didn’t cower away from him, meeting his eyes with her chin up.

“All the bravado and makeup in the world can’t hide the fact that you never grew past your nose.”

In the span of several seconds, you realized what was going to happen. You saw her stoop to pick up the reddish-yellow pitcher by her feet, and you knew Buggy was going to rush her with his knife in hand.

“Stop!” you shouted, jumping between them to knock the jug out of her hands and shield her with your own body. You weren’t sure what you expected—toxic acid, perhaps. It was just water. Sticky, stinky salty water straight from the everlasting watery grave surrounding the rock called Saline. It hit the rug with a heavy thump, splashing onto your feet.

“Seawater, really?” Buggy asked, his voice hard with a heavy, hoarse amused disbelief. The anger and horror had wrapped right back around into the heart of dark comedy. It was funny, wasn’t it? The clown with the devil’s own curse granting him inhuman power defeated by a little splash of water. “Move, babydoll.”

You turned away to plead with him, but he detached his arm to push you out of the way. It caught you in the middle with the force of a lead pipe, knocking all of the air out of your lungs. You went down hard. Down onto the rug, your butt squishing down into the spongy wet pile. Even the cushion didn’t spare you from landing badly on your tailbone, and then your elbows.

Your cry of pain was louder than hers. Crina just grunted like Buggy had punched her very hard, her body curling around his in a strange embrace. One wasn’t enough. Rage came in multiples. Three, and four, and five, and then he stopped. The walls breathed with him, harsh and hard. Buggy jerked his arm and Crina made another noise, something primal, the animal sound of pain, choking and rattling and terrible.

Suffocating on the sour bile in your throat, you pushed yourself upright, but it was too little, too late. Buggy stumbled back, his knife coming out of her abdomen with a sickeningly slick squish. For a moment, Crina managed to stay on her feet, clutching her stomach and taking a step to follow him.

Then she dropped. Onto her knees first, and then face down onto the rug.

Buggy looked like he was going to be sick, his mouth open and eyes round.

“Crina?” you asked, crawling towards her.

“I had to,” Buggy said loudly. “She didn’t give me any other choice.”

“Crina?” You reached out to touch her shoulder, but she didn’t move. “Are you… You’re okay, aren’t you?”

“Babydoll, stop,” Buggy demanded.

“Crina, please, don’t…” You pushed her shoulder to roll her onto her side, and her head lolled, her dark eyes wide open and searching. Blood gushed from her wounds. She pressed her hands there, and blood oozed out between her fingers. Her dry lips gaped and fluttered, but all that came out were little choking, gurgling sounds. “Cr-Crina, you’re bleeding, you have to… We have to do something, we have to…” Pressure on the wound. That’s what Dad said. You pressed your hands on top of hers, trying to stop any more blood from coming out. Make the bleeding stop, and then she would be okay. “It’s okay, Crina, it’s okay,” you told her softly. “You’re okay, right?”

Her eyes looked at you, wet and red and desperate and scared. For once, she looked vulnerable. She couldn’t speak, letting out these terrible grunting, gurgling noises. You shook your head fast, pressing even harder.

“Get up,” Buggy demanded.

“No,” you whispered, begging. “Don’t do this. You… you can’t… you can’t leave me, please? We can… we can all go together, and…”

Her hands went limp, and she looked without seeing, and she stopped making any more of those noises.

“No. No… No no no. Stay, please,” you begged her, your voice getting louder. “Don’t go to sleep, please Crina, please you have to—you have to… Please.” You just kept repeating that, hunching over her and pressing even harder against her wounds. If you could stop the bleeding, if you could keep her with you, then she would be fine, and you could fix all of this.

“Get up!” Buggy shouted, picking you up by the back of your dress and dragging you onto your feet. “Come on, you and I are going for a walk.”

“No!” you yelled, fighting him, thrashing enough to escape his grip to return to her side. Your hands were slick with her blood, but you didn’t care. You tapped on her cheek, leaving behind a bloody smear. “Mommy, please get up! You… Please, you’re really scaring me! Please, please just—just get up!”

“She’s not getting up,” Buggy said, grabbing you around the middle to drag you away from her.

“Shut up!” you shouted shrilly, turning around to hit him. Violently, like an animal, thrashing desperately. “Shut up, shut up, shut up! We have to help her!”

“She’s dead,” Buggy said, grabbing your wrists in a painfully tight hold, his eyes aflame. In the cool iron light, you saw his face, saw the makeup settling into the creases around his eyes and the big red nose and you hated him. You saw the weak, pathetic monster masquerading as a man and a profound wave of disgust washed through you. “You and I have to go now.”

You shook your head, struggling to get free of him. At this point, you were sobbing too hard for your denial to be coherent.

“It’s your fault,” Buggy said. “You’re the reason I had to do that. You turned her against me.”

There was nothing to say to that, you just screamed. Screamed at the top of your lungs right in his face, fighting to get free of him.

Buggy released one of your wrists to slap your face. Not hard. With the live wire pulse of your blood and breath thrumming pure electricity through your body, you didn’t even feel it, but it shut you up.

“Come on,” he said. Those words knifed past the ringing in your ears. He dragged you out of the room. Stumbling over your own feet, you didn’t get a last glance back.

The weather had taken a hard turn. A cold snap. Thick, heavy fog settled all the way down on the ground. In the darkening afternoon, it obscured everything, turning objects as benign as trees and metal rooftops into towering monsters. Buggy pulled you down the uneven road, your feet dragging through the ragged terrain as you tried to keep up.

Tears continued to leak out of your eye, but you didn’t fight Buggy anymore. There was no point in it.

It didn’t matter, you couldn’t escape him anyway.

When you stumbled, your arm came free of his grasp. You fell onto your knees, scraping them in the rocky dirt, your bloody hands getting caked with it. Tears and snot dripped onto the ground, leaving big, dark drops of mud in the lighter brown. You couldn’t breathe. There was no air, it was too thick with salty humidity and you were worn out and sobbing and gasping with the same ugly sounds as the dead and dying. The world trembled.

It was too much.

There had never been any point to it all. Your days in school with Miss Frizzy, your time on ships with Dad, climbing around northside, your first kiss with Randall, getting locked in the cellar, running away, swearing yourself to Captain Buggy—there was no meaning to any of it. All you had ever done was hurt and hurt others, gorging yourself on the thick, sticky goop called pain and disappointing the people you loved. And you knew, knew absolutely, how pointless it was. If you were just going to wind up here, a pathetic husk crying like a baby in the dirt, what did it matter?

He dragged you onto your feet, and you didn’t fight it, your blind eye swirling with meaningless visual noise of a cold, foggy world. The only thing you could hear was your ragged breaths and the thump thump thump of your heart.

Buggy said something, taking off his coat and putting it on your shoulders. It was big on you. Really big. When you didn’t respond to his prompting, he grit his teeth and pushed your arms through the sleeves. The fur tickled your jaw and the entirety of the sleeve cuff hung past your hand. He pulled it in around you, encasing you in the cocoon of fabric saturated with his warmth, with the smell of him.

You blinked, looking at Buggy again, and something in you broke with a helpless little sob because you loved him. Loved him desperately, loved him so much that it pressed against your insides, full to bursting, your bones creaking and threatening to give way to the force of it, all the bloody bits of viscera getting squished aside to make room for the feeling. Those thoughts of hate, you realized, were your own. You were the one to blame, the hideous monster.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice breaking.

“I know, babydoll,” he said, brushing your sweaty bangs off your forehead. “C’mon, we gotta hurry.”

He stood up, returning to his brisk walk down the road with you in tow. The bottom of his coat was long enough to drag on the ground. Wasn’t he cold without it? His shirt didn’t have any sleeves.

You were focusing on your own feet rather than the world around you when Buggy grabbed you, pushing you in front of himself. Given the difference in height, it led to an awkward shamble sort of walk. It wasn’t until the gritty sand became the old planks of the dock that you realized where he was taking you.

“Don’t move!” somebody barked. You looked up in panic, staring at the pointed weapons of two uniformed men.

“Woah there, fellas,” Buggy said loudly, pushing you in front of himself as he continued to walk along the dock. “You wouldn’t shoot an innocent little girl, would you? Especially the Surgeon’s daughter.”

“Let her go, clown.”

Buggy made a sound of disgust. “Spare me the cliches. We all know how this goes, so let’s skip to the end where you lower your weapons and ask me what I want.”

They looked at each other before complying, lowering their weapons. “What do you want?” the first guy asked.

“Me? Oh, I don’t want anything,” Buggy said. “This one, though… Poor thing just couldn’t wait any longer, she’s so excited to say hi to daddy. Would you mind getting him?”

“Captain Buggy, what are you doing?” you asked.

“Shut up,” Buggy said, soft enough so only you could hear him.

The men looked at each other and then back to Buggy. “If you want to speak to the Surgeon,” the second man said, “you have to let her go and come with us.”

“Don’t you shitheads have any idea how leverage works?” Buggy asked, irritated. “Babydoll’n I are gonna stay right here while you call him over, or you’re gonna have a hell of a time explaining to the old man why you let his precious daughter get gutted on your watch.”

Your breath caught and you jerked in a halfhearted attempt to get out of Buggy’s hold. When you looked up at him, he wasn’t paying you any attention, staring at the two men with a strained expression of fierce determination that belied his casual tone.

“Okay,” the first man said. He nudged his partner. “Call it in.”

The other man raised his hand to his ear. “Sir?” He said, softer. “It’s the captain—the clown… He wants to see you… I know…. He has the girl…”

“Tell him to make it quick,” Buggy called. “She’s been dying to see him again.”

“He’s on his way. Let her go.”

Buggy released you. “Babydoll, do you wanna go over there with them?” he asked, brushing one of your twintails back.

“No, Captain Buggy,” you said, clinging onto him. “Please, no.”

“There ya have it, boys,” Buggy said, throwing his hands up in a helpless shrug. “She’s a little shy around strangers.”

“Captain Buggy, you’re scaring me,” you said, talking soft enough to keep your voice from breaking. “Can’t we just… I think we should go back. Crina… We need to…”

“I get that you’re a little upset right now,” Buggy told you, effectively shutting you up, “but you have to calm down, okay?”

You shook your head. There was no way this was happening.

“Captain Buggy, please—Please, can we go back? If you say sorry, I know Crina won’t be mad. I know she didn’t… Didn’t mean it.”

Buggy winced, but that pained expression dropped as soon as he looked up. You turned around, knowing what was coming. From the mist emerged a familiar figure, flanked on either side by even more men. They weren’t wearing uniforms. Mercenaries. Dad looked the same as he had on the day you saw him off on the docks, walking with a heavy, stiff gait and looking at you with hard eyes.

“Ah, there he is!” Buggy exclaimed. “Just the man I was hoping to see.”

“What is this?” Dad asked.

“I’m here to make good on that deal, doc. As much fun as it was to put together this little show, it turns out I’m not ready to take the stage just yet. Here’s the deal—I hand her over, and you let me take one of these boats on out of here.”

“Captain Buggy, no!” You cried, turning around to cling to him desperately, afraid you would be torn away. “You promised you wouldn’t-wouldn’t… You said—you promised.”

“Pipe down, wouldja? The adults are talking.”

“The negotiations are over,” Dad said, his voice hard. “Give me the girl.”

“The thing is, she doesn’t wanna go back with you pops,” Buggy said. “The only reason she would even consider it is if I let her.”

“Captain Buggy, no. No, please… Please no!”

“Shut up,” he snapped, his smile dropping for a moment when he looked down at you.

“Please, I’ll be better! I promise, I will. I’m sorry for… I know I disappoint you a lot and-and-and I’m sorry, but I’ll… I’ll be better, I-I’ll work harder, please. I’ll do anything.”

“Look at it this way, doc. Yeah, you could take me in, but who am I compared to your own flesh and blood? I’m just one measly little pirate. She’s your beloved little girl. And, believe me, I know you put a lot of work into her. From one artist to another, I applaud the effort. It’d be a shame to lose it all over a small fry like me.”

Dad considered that, his expression unchanging. “Does this… deal account for the rest of your crew?”

“I have every confidence my freaks can take on an old man like you,” Buggy said. “And if they can’t, they’re no good to me anyway.”

“You’re a coward.”

“C’mon, doc, aren’t we beyond name calling? I mean, at this point, we’re practically family. Whaddya say?”

Dad didn’t say anything, staring at you so intensely that you wanted to climb out of your skin.

“Fine,” he said, his voice clipped. “Take one of those utility boats and get out of this place. But know that I will find you. I’ll erase you from existence.”

“There’s no need to be so dramatic. You’re doing the right thing, pops.” Buggy pried you off of him, holding you at arm’s length by the shoulders to look you in the eye. “So, uh, babydoll. I’m real sorry it had to come to this. I swear, if there was any other way, but…” He shrugged. “I know you can’t read and all, but I promise to write, okay?”

He flipped you around, pushing you forward. You couldn’t help but fall, going down hard onto your hands and knees. The thick cuffs of his coat spared your hands, but your knees caught the brunt of the old wooden planks. You flipped around onto your butt, watching Buggy cut the rope tying up one of the utility boats and push away from the dock.

One of the uniformed men dragged you onto your feet, pulling you back. The other stepped forward with a hand on his weapon, watching Buggy.

“Should we go after him, sir?” he asked Dad.

Dad grit his teeth. “Let him run, he won’t get far. For now, our priority is saving the hostages.”

“And her?”

He looked at you, his eyes cold and dark. “She’s mine.”

The men let you go as Dad came closer. You shied away from him, broken between fear and sadness.

“I have to check you for weapons,” he said. “Turn around and hold your arms out.” It occurred to you to say no, but a lifetime of instinct kicked in and you did what he said. Buggy was already gone into the mist that hung low over the water. How he intended to make it far with the weather like this, you didn’t know. But you hoped he did. He abandoned you, and you hoped he didn’t get caught.

Wasn’t that funny? He would probably laugh.

Dad patted you down for weapons. Down around your hips and then up. He paused on your chest in a way that made you cringe, maybe because of the wiring and padding of your bra. He didn’t comment on it, releasing you.

“Alright, come along now,” he said, letting you turn around to follow him. You pulled Buggy’s coat closer around yourself and did the only thing you ever really did. Obey.

Just like Cabaji said, Dad and his crew had set up in and around the aviary. You hadn’t seen the inside of the warehouse and lab yesterday, but you remembered Pippa talking about the birds.

What you had imagined was a sort of shack made of metal wiring with a handful of birds fluttering about. But of course Dad wouldn’t be content with something so mundane. In the center of an otherwise unremarkable warehouse was a beautiful aviary of glass, metal scrollwork, and mesh, filled with flourishing greenery.

“I was hoping I could show you this place,” Dad said as he led you closer, “under better circumstances. Saline used to be home to a very wealthy man. He was responsible for the selective breeding of songbirds. A rare treasure, one your captain tried to destroy. Have you heard them sing?”

You shook your head no. Listless tears continued to slip down your face, but there was no passion behind it, your body in conflict with your mind and your mind in conflict with your heart. Unsurprisingly, none of the pieces of what made up your singular self worked synergistically, almost comically antagonistic.

“Let’s sit for a moment and listen,” Dad said, gesturing to a wooden crate. You sat down, and he sat next to you. “They were named as a derivative sparrow, but I’ve come to think of them as Lacrimosa aves. They are sad little things.”

Within the huge, beautiful cage, the birds fluttered, their dark feathers standing out amidst the greenery.

One began its mournful cry, a high, clear note held for a beat too long before sliding down once, twice, and a little trill.

Oh, woe is me, the lady of tears.

Another bird answered with its own tragedy. Oh, how sad I am.

My pain, another cried, is worse than any others.

Dad smiled fondly.

Your chin wobbled no matter how hard you tried to stop it, and then a sob broke out of your chest. Pulling Buggy’s coat as close as possible like a hug, you crumpled into yourself, unable to stop crying. You wished for the hollow quiet to save you from the swell of emotion, but your despair was too loud to be drowned out.

“In the time you’ve been gone, I have found a great deal of clarity,” Dad said, catching your focus.

As always, he spoke in a way that demanded attention. He spoke in a way that made you think his words were the most important ones you had ever heard. You sniffled, wiping your nose and eye off on the floppy cuff of Buggy’s coat and sitting up to look at him.

“All these years, I have shielded you from the truth of what happened to your mother. That was a mistake. If you knew, you might have known better than to follow the same path of sin. Or…” he looked at you, his sneer of disgust softening into something worse. Disappointment. “Perhaps not. Perhaps this was inevitable. Now that I see you like this, I cannot help but wonder if it is the fate of every father to know that his daughter cannot be saved. I did everything I could to teach you what is right, to keep you good and clean. What more should I have done to eradicate the impurities within you? I hoped that medicine would cure the physical symptoms, and that proper training would bring you to heel, but in the end you are no different from her.”

“I… I don’t… What are you talking about?” you asked through hitching breaths.

“When she died, your mother was attempting to run from me,” Dad said, looking you in the eye very intently. “She thought to steal you—to take you from me, from your very own father. And for that, she was burned. Not one piece of her cursed flesh remained after that explosion, did you know that? It was as if the hand of justice had reached out and eradicated her sin from this world. You, born of her flesh and my seed and therefore only half culpable, were merely…” He raised his hand to trace the scar beneath your eye with his calloused thumb. “Cracked.”

You shook your head, shaking off his touch as well as denying his words. “No,” you told him. “She-she said we were going to you… She-”

“She was a liar. Deceit is the natural tongue of a woman,” he said, his voice harsh and scornful. “And what became of those lies, that betrayal, though regrettable, was right. Now you, abandoned by a man you trusted over your own father, that too is right.”

Within their beautiful cage, the Lacrimosa aves began another round of mournful song. Sweeping whistles and little trills, their tragedy filling the warehouse. Dad closed his eyes to listen, a faint smile curling his lips.

“No one can question the virtue of my beliefs when the universe itself endorses them so thoroughly,” he said without opening his eyes. “The wicked will be punished.”

The wicked?

If he was telling the truth, then Mom had been trying to protect you. To save you. She, the original lady of sorrows, wanted to spare you all that she endured, to save you from the pain she suffered. Mom wasn’t allowed wickedness. All she had was blood and tears and she tried her best only to be punished for it because of you.

Because of your wickedness.

And Crina—beautiful and kind Crina who warned you of the lurking dangers in the life you ignorantly chose, who cared for mothers and sisters and daughters so fiercely, who protected you from your own mistakes, who tried again to save you from the man you called father—she was punished not for any sin of her own, but because of you.

Your fault, your wickedness.

“I will make a case to the court that you are not entirely responsible for your actions, that your insanity and hysteria are what drove you to criminality,” Dad told you. He patted your back with a heavy hand, like a hammer driving a stake into the ground. “With any hope, they will agree that you should be spared execution. Of course, you will need intensive, potentially invasive treatment.”

The Lacrimosa aves sang, and it was echoed back by the others.

My pain, they cried in a discordant song, is your fault, you wicked, cursed girl.

“For many years, I have been following the research of a relatively experimental procedure. Rather than merely treating the symptoms of patients who suffer severe hysteria and insanity, it cures the mental disease altogether. Unfortunately, the physical trauma of the earlier trials was too much of a risk to your sensitive health, but many advancements have been made since then. Doctors have found a way to sever the faulty connection within the brain without drilling into the skull. Instead, they penetrate the skull through the corner of the patient’s eye with a thin instrument. It won’t hurt for long, and then you won’t be burdened with any more pain.”

Unburdened by pain.

You closed your eye, too worn out to muster a proper reaction to the disgusting brutality of the procedure he was proposing.

If it cured you, maybe that was better. At least then you couldn’t hurt anyone else.

“Perhaps, after a time,” Dad mused. “You’ll be clean again. My sweet girl.”

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

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