"B-Beee." I slur, leaning against the ghoul, my vision swimming behind my drooping eyelids. The alcohol kicked in much quicker than I would've liked it too. This game was a dumb idea.
"Told ya," He chuckled, tucking some of my hair behind my ear with a delicate claw. "You cannot hold your liquor fer shit, tootsie pop."
I go to argue with him, but the bile that jumps into my throat beats me to it. I practically launch myself from the couch to stumble towards the bathroom. Beetlejuice cackles, triumphant that he'd won. I come back, sweatier and a couple shots lighter, to Beetlejuice sipping on another bottle of tequila. His hair a subtle purple hue.
"Damn, Beej, you goin' through something?" He jumps, a little startled, before he jerkily shrugs his shoulders, the purple retreating into his hair line, quickly replaced by his signature electric green.
"Nah, I like the burn," He takes another gulp, making a sour face as he set the bottle down. "Augh yep! That's the stuff."
"Come on, what's wrong? You're purple."
His eyes widen, hands jumping to his hair, attempting to cover it up. "N-Nothing's wrong. I just.. ughhh fuck okay okay." He sighs, gritting his teeth. My heart breaks as the purple comes back full force, it even bleeds past his hair. His tie and the white stripes of his suit a faded plum color.
Oh no.
"I miss you." He whispers, his voice strained. I sit next to him on the couch, scooting closer until our legs bump together.
"But I'm right here, Beej." I reach for his hand, but he smacks it away.
"No! No, you're not. Ever since you took that dumbass job you never have time for me!"
"How? We hang out every night."
He shakes his head, red sprouting into the purple, like splotches of blood.
"No. We really don't Y/n. This is the first time we've had an actual conversation in weeks, and it's only happening because we're both drunk!"
My head is swimming from this revelation. Was my new job really affecting him this much? I thought that things were good between us. I... I really fucked up, didn't I?
"I'm sorry, Beetlejuice, why didn't you say anything before?"
He shakes his head. "I didn't want... fuck.. this shit is really somethin' huh?" He gestures to the half empty bottle of tequila. "It really makes ya just say anything!" He laughs, but the joy doesn't reach his eyes, or his hair, or..anywhere really. A mirthless noise.
"Beej, you can be honest, I'm sorry we haven't hung out like we used to. I've been a terrible friend to you."
Beetlejuice mutters something angrily under his breath, crossing his arms and turning away from me. "What?" I lean towards him, grabbing a hold of his shoulder to balance myself.
"I don't want to be your friend." He says, punctuating each word with a pained hiss. I feel like complete shit. I took him for granted. "Beej, I'm so sorry! I wish I knew how to make all this better."
He's quiet for a while, seemingly contemplating, his hair changes from color to color. Red, blue, purple, orange, yellow....pink. I continue to watch in silence as he broods. A soft pink remains at the root of his hair as it fades through the entire rainbow. He pauses for a moment, noticing that I hadn't said anything to him. His eyes meet mine, the pink crawling through his hair slowly, the purple sliding into the forefront of his head. His gaze flickered down to my lips for a beat.
"Beetlejuice, I know I messed up, and if you don't want me-"
"Shut up for a second."
I clamp my mouth shut, watching him carefully as he scoots closer to me.
"I-"
He cuts himself off, turning away from me with a scoff. I hear him grumble, "Fuck it." but before I can comment on it at all, his hands are cupping my face, and his lips are pressed up against mine. My eyes fluttered closed as he presses into me, my hands wandering up into his hair to pull on the ever-changing strands. He groans into the kiss, the vibrations reverberating throughout me. It makes me shiver
He leans into me further, more hands groping, pinching, pulling. His tongue, cold and wet pressing against my teeth. His heavy breaths, and little groans are too much for me to handle. I push him off, panting and wiping at the slobbery residue of the kiss. Beetlejuice looks upset for a moment, but his eyes flick to my lips again and his hair goes bubblegum pink, strands of red settling in random patches. it makes him look like cinnamon candy.
"Bee-" He holds up a hand to my mouth, shushing me. He runs his free hand through his hair, a few mold spores falling out as he did so.
"Listen, Y/n, I.. I like you. A lot. Anytime I think about you and me it's like my heart's havin' an orgasm." His confession is rushed and stumbled through, but I quit listening to him once his hair started glowing. The pink shining so bright that it cast a soft light throughout the living room. I smiled at all my things being in Beej's light. I interrupt his ramble by kissing the hand that covered my mouth. He flinched, stopping mid sentence.
"You give my heart orgasms too, Beej." I laugh, holding on to his hand with both of mine. His shock quickly fades, replaced with that flirty cockiness that I've come to love.
"I bet I can make you feel like that all over~"
I lean forward into his space, grinning as his cheeks darken at my being so close. Liquid courage or love, I didn't care. I was going to see my ghoul pink for as long as possible.
Looking around is like trying to look through a fogged up window. The world is a blurry haze, but you can still make out the familiar messy, curly hair in front of you. There's an odd sound, you realize suddenly, and it's only after a long, sloooow blink that you realize it's Grey's voice. He must be gushing over you again.
He never seems to shut up about how much he loves you and your voice and interests and fashion sense and how he adores every little thing about you. Even the way you just... sit there, strapped down like a feral animal that would lash out the first chance it got.
(For once he's not wrong. Grey isn't particularly muscular, you could probably take him. What you'd give for the chance to try...)
He's literally crazy about you, and god it shows. He brings you anything you ask for, endlessly patient about your demands, and they're always delivered with that same ridiculously bashful grin. As if he's a hand wringing middle schooler talking to their first crush and not the bastard holding you hostage.
If it weren't for times like now, it would be hard to hate just how much he waits on you hand and foot. Hard. Not impossible.
But now, with.... something... running through your veins, that's one of the only thoughts that still manages to crawl through the mush that is your brain. You hate him. Right?
Every little thing seems to send your thoughts scattering. He plants a kiss on your forehead. You hate him!
It's... it's getting harder to remember why.
There's a weird feeling. A.... pressure? on your head. What.... oh. He's petting you. Running his fingers over your scalp and through your hair. He sounds closer now, right in your ear. His breath burns against your skin.
Something cold blooms from the crook of your arm, snaking its way through your veins and....
Ugh. A fresh wave of fog descends over your mind. Did he up the dose? Your vision is flashing a bit. The corners are darkening. Where...?
There's a gloved hand stroking your face. How long has it been there? A glacial blink later it's hovering over you, dripping.
Dripping?
What is he holding?
".............heart........ "
What did he say?
You're sick of being unable to process what's going on. Your brain
(He's peppering your face with kisses you can't quite feel.)
stutters like a broken engine, struggling
to hold on to the few bits and
".......comfortable?"
(You're being adjusted, the needle in your arm stings at even the slightest movement.)
pieces of lucidity that manage
to slip through the cracks.
You're aware of just enough to know
that for once,
(He's moving methodically. In your addled state it looks almost like a video edited by an overzealous wannabe influencer- filled with too many sudden cuts, and some portions speeding up while others are in slow motion. What is he holding? His hands are still dripping.
Edward's gaze fixated on the woman across the room.
Bella Swan was dead.
His eyes unmoving, unblinking, while his mind raced. Bella Swan was dead, and he had killed her.
It takes two... a voice inside him said, but he ignored it, shoved it back into the darkness. He already had too many voices intruding his mind. Instead, he stared at the woman and she stared back, eyes red.
He would never see Bella's beautiful brown eyes again; after a hundred years, eternity still felt incomprehensible, smoke scaping the grasp from his shadow. Her soft eyes, like calming pools, now stained red with blood, windows to her soullesness.
She smiled.
He mimicked her, for her sake.
Both Renesmee and Charlie had eyes like the ones Bella Swan used to have. But they were like hers, not hers. Edward was tired of things like her. They were mocking, taunting. An illusion, an allusion, nothing but a reminder to her likeness, not unlike a statue... it wasn't Bella. Not Bella Swan.
He blinked, not out of need but out of habit, and she was now in front of him. She was now faster than anything. She was now not one to trip nor fall. She was now graceful and flawless, perfection incarnate like the rest of them.
She was now a Cullen.
That's what was kissing him now. That's what he'll soon be making love to - because that's all they did now. Better than talking. Better than thinking. Better than confronting reality. Bella Swan was dead and Bella Cullen had stolen her face.
Cullen ripped their clothes, both more expensive than Bella's truck had been. She didn't hold back and neither did he. He could only mourn at the loss of her warmth, the loss of her taste, the loss of her soft skin, and mourn, most of all, the scent that drew him to her.
He was at peace, or a a cruel facsimile of the concept. A purgatory, for his thoughts and his thoughts alone. The other Cullens gave them space in times like this, so Edward was left to contemplate with no one worrying, no one watching.
Bella Swan now only existed in the memories of everyone that had known her. The times only Bella and he had shared, existed in him alone. To Cullen, her interactions were shaped by a hazy cloud, nothing had been real until she opened her eyes thirsty for blood. Her human life had been nothing but the time spent in a womb before she was born as a vampire.
He didn't know her, and yet she was one of them. For eternity, and after.
Perhaps, until death, had a been a warning. Because, beyond death, only a stranger awaits.
She slings her arms around his neck, and Travis freezes before he realizes what's happening. Lisa doesn't mean any of this, she's acting.
And Travis doesn't have any siblings, not after momma was put in the hospital, but he feels like this woman, this teenager, really, could be a younger sister.
"— see? I could be an actress!" Lisa says, spinning as she pulls away, and Travis laughs.
"Yeah, you could," he agrees, before springing forward and stopping her from leaving the theater. "Lisa..."
"Yes, Travis?" she asks, cocking her head to the side.
"Don't give up on that dream. Even when you're a nurse, don't give up." He smiles faintly, and she nods.
You asked and here u go-- the Soba bit! It’s got feelings and I made myself sad while writing it sO HAVE FUN
AO3 / Buy me a Snack / Part 1
“So, question.”
When Hanzo had woken, it hadn’t taken long for him to realize that Umi and Kawa were already up and out of the room. And it didn’t take long, once he sat at one of the tables outside the kitchen, for 76 and Hana to bring them over to him.
“Yes?” Hanzo looked up at Hana, holding tight to Umi so she didn’t try to go following after 76. “We’re still doing that video, correct?”
“Well, of course! But…that’s not what I wanted to ask.” Hana sat as well, biting her lip in an uncharacteristic show of nerves. “Lúcio mentioned something, so I wanted to ask about it, but now I’m not so sure…”
“Ah. Perhaps, once breakfast is finished?” What did Santos say? No doubt it was regarding Genji, or perhaps his past. But why would that interest Hana, when she repeatedly claimed to have no interest in any ‘old drama’?
While Hana hurried to finish eating, shouting out to the others that she was ‘kidnapping Hanzo for some vids!’, Hanzo took his time, trying to pretend that he wasn’t dreading the questions she would eventually ask.
The walk from the eating area to Hana's room wasn't a long one, but Hana made sure to fill it with chatter. If she was doing so to keep him at ease, or just because, Hanzo didn't know, but he appreciated it none the less.
Ever since Umi and Kawa had destroyed one of Hana’s streams, Hanzo had found himself to be a regular in her room. Most of the time it was to preform crowd control as the pair only seemed to want into Hana's space when she was streaming—she'd shown him the compilation someone had made of him in all her videos, usually reading, sometimes wrangling the “children,” as she called them. But he also did vlogs with her sometimes, ones about life on the watchpoint and ones about the dragons.
There were always a few comments about how he was a wanted killer, he had a bounty, but Hana made sure to nix those in the bud before they grew out of proportion.
“So—“ Hana took a seat on her desk chair as Hanzo made himself comfortable on her bed, as per usual. Umi and Kawa started to explore, the high shelf on the wall one of their favourite places to sit. The box on the desk was what Hanzo assumed would be the topic of the inevitable video, but thankfully this wasn’t a conversation she planned on recording. “—Lúcio said that he talked to you.”
Hanzo nodded. Talked to was one way to put it—Lúcio had poked and Hanzo had avoided. “Yes. Those two were in his bathtub, so I went to retrieve them.”
“Right. Well, he said that you said that Soba was like Umi and Kawa once, and I was just curious about what happened.” She put her hands up in front of her and waved them frantically once she said her bit. “No-no pressure though! I totes get it if you don't wanna talk about it.”
No, Hanzo didn't want to talk about it. To talk about what happened to Soba—what he did to Soba—was equal in measure to what he'd done to Genji. The thought of talking about it made him feel sick.
“I…will tell you some. Not a lot, though. I don't think—I can't—asking Genji might be a better plan, for the details,” he said, stumbling over his words, before sighing. “I can tell you about Soba, though.” But not—not Maru. He couldn't talk about Maru.
If Hana noticed that Umi and Kawa stopped nosing at the box on the desk to scuttled over and crawl on Hanzo, she didn't say anything. She just pulled her legs up onto her chair, holding her knees as Hanzo started to talk.
“I'd…at one point, people joked that Soba and—that Soba learned all her bad habits from Umi and Kawa. I couldn't blame their habits on her, after all—Umi and Kawa were already swimming in the toilets when Genji got Soba. The fo—the three of them were terrors, really. They’d get into everything if it wasn’t closed or locked, and even if it was, Soba was rather talented at getting past them.
“At one point, th—she’d gone missing for a good…I’d say six hours? Genji worked himself into a frenzy looking for her after two hours, and dragged me and the staff into it as well after three. We, heh, we found her finally, asleep in one of the garden’s water features. It was the air bubbles that gave her away, in the end.
“And she was always stealing things—Kawa and Umi like metal and textiles, but Soba loved…loves wood. Cooking spoons, chopsticks, little carvings…at one point she even pried one of the floor slats up and ran off with it. And it was harder to stop her when we—the family kept a lot of wood in the compound. They—Father wanted to keep the traditional look, and hid all the hard light and technology he could behind a wood veneer, so Soba was always picking at something.
“At one point the—she’d climbed onto the roof. The tiles were bad--slippery, but as a dragon, she slid wherever she wanted up there. Refused to come down too, just sat there and watched everyone fret. I think it was because someone had given them—her red onions instead of green. We had to change our eating habits as well, because she would eat out of our bowls when we were trying to. Genji and I had to develop a sudden taste for spicy things to keep her away.
“After a while, they just gave up trying to keep the fou—three out of things, and just adapted to their whims. It was easier to keep access to garden open for them than risk bathing and ending up with the dragons in there with you.”
Hana snorted as Hanzo talked, and if she noticed how often he slipped up or stumbled over his words, she didn’t say anything. She did notice, though, when he shifted, clearly uncomfortable.
“You know, you don’t have to keep telling me about Soba. We could do that unboxing video if you wanted instead? Or—or we could go get something to eat? I don’t usually keep many snacks in my room unless I’m streaming.” Hana said, moving to stand, but Hanzo shook his head.
“I’m…fine. There’s not much else to tell, really, so I may as while finish. Soba…changed after I—After Genji—Genji said that once he joined Overwatch, Soba trusted only him. She bit just about everyone once or twice, including every commanding officer he came in contact with, and apparently took a chunk out of McCree’s hand, the one he lost. The only person she tolerates is Zenyatta...and Umi and Kawa. Genji seemed…he seemed surprised once we dug out their hoard, to see that Soba was hiding things as well, so she must have stopped that too…”
Hanzo took a deep breath, more like he was trying to fight back a sob, and let himself fall back so he was laying on Hana’s bed. “When I k—After I dest—When I atta—“ God, it was easy for him to say it to himself—I tried to kill my brother, killed Maru, hurt Soba—but to say it out loud made his chest hurt. The idea of saying it made him feel sick. “I hurt Soba, when I hurt Genji. And she hasn’t forgiven me, or anyone else for it. And I don’t blame her.”
Umi moved so she was curled up on his chest, where it hurt the most, and Kawa positioned himself so he was close to Hanzo’s head, the pair of them making soft noises of concern. What did he do to deserve such wonderful dragons? Santos was right, they would suit his brother more, but he appreciated them for all they did to help him calm down.
“Hey…do you want some water?” He felt Hana’s hand touch his knee, and she took the wobble of his head to mean yes. “Kay, I’ll brb.”
With her gone, Hanzo maneuvered one hand free and placed it over his eyes, just as the tears started to slip out. He’d nearly killed his brother, nearly destroyed his dragons as well. Sure, he’d lost most of his legs, but what price was that for the life of a dragon? Any further thoughts on the matter were destroyed when Kawa nosed his way under Hanzo’s hand, chirping at him and when Hana returned.
She very pointedly was looking elsewhere when he sat up, dislodging Umi from his chest, and he appreciated it as he wiped his face with his sleeve, and took the bottle of water that was sitting on the bed with him.
“So, I figure we can get this unboxing done in a few—I kinda wanna grab a snack, and I bet they do too.” Hana motioned to Umi, who was sitting in Hanzo’s lap now, poking at the water bottle with her nose. “I think Angela got radishes the other day, so that’ll make Kawa happy, right?”
“No cheese,” he reminded her, a hiccup still in his voice, but he felt better, almost. “Umi will beg for it, but—“
Hana rolled her eyes. “Dude, I remember. Umi isn’t allowed cheese. Come on—maybe they’ll have some lunch left over too.”
Hanzo let himself be pulled to his feet, and almost smiled as he followed Hana out of her room, Kawa and Umi racing ahead to the kitchen. It was nice to have someone to talk to, and who didn’t push.
“Hana!” he called as she turned the corner. “I told you about Soba—you should tell me about MEKA next.”
He couldn’t see her face, but he imagined she was rolling her eyes at him. “Uhg, fiiiiine. Later though!”
tw: death/od, @solarchaotica gave me this idea and I needed to scribble this angsty thing out ft. their oc Milo
Up, down, up, down. Milo's eyes followed the path of their chest as they rested on his couch. Up, down, up..........down. A shaky hand ran through his long hair and his eyes darted to the clock. They'd been asleep for awhile now; how long was too long? Milo's phone vibrated, but he couldn't be bothered to answer it. It was probably Avery looking for some backup, but this was not the right day for him to drop everything just for work. She'd already approved him not coming in today, and besides, it was for true love! Someone needed to be here for them when they woke up.
Up... down.......... up, down, up.... down. Their breathing was becoming somewhat sporadic.
"You okay, hun?" He asked, voice barely a whisper. Of course there was no reply. He dug the bottle out of the trash and read the label again, pausing every few lines to check on the adorable figure passed out on his couch.
It was all pretty straightforward- a single dose was included and guaranteed to provide sleep for at least 8 hours. They'd been unconscious for nearly 15 now, that was probably normal, right? The silence of the apartment was broken every few moments by shuddery breaths, but it wasn't enough. Milo sat on the couch, pulling them into his lap.
Up, down...... up... down, up, down............ up. He cradled them, embracing the warmth between their bodies.
"You're going to be so happy here, we'll cuddle and watch TV and I can make you all your favorite foods. I remember that cake you were eyeing the other day but didn't get because it was expensive, and I've got the recipe and all the ingredients. You never have to worry about a thing again!" He placed a gentle kiss on their cheek. "Maybe we can even cook together! Won't that be fun?" A trail of drool poured down their chin lazily. Down............ up........................... down................
"You just need to wake up, and then we can start making memories!"
Panic was starting to seep into Milo's voice. Their chest lay still. Silence drew ice into the air. As the realization hit him, he froze as well.
"...hun?" A pale hand pressed to their neck in search of a pulse. Nothing. He finally allowed himself to get a bit more aggressive, sitting them up, shaking them, squeezing their hands in his. Tears freely flowed as reality grew harder and harder to ignore.
"Please, please, please wake up! It's okay, you're okay, you're safe here! I promised you I'd keep you safe!" Milo's voice cracked the harder he begged. Sobs turned his words to gibberish until all he could do was hold their cold body. Pressed against him, their flesh leeched the heat away from his skin. Warmer.... They were getting warmer! That was a good sign right? Right!?
"M-Maybe you're just cold because of the apartment, h-here let me grab you a blanket, hun." Covered in fleece, they really looked as though they were asleep. "Are you comfortable? Maybe it would be better if I stayed close to you, yeah? Here move over a little." Milo repositioned them so they could both fit under the blanket. He sighed.
"I know it's been a stressful day, but we're gonna get past this, I just know it." He picked at the already chipped polish on his nails. Black flakes littered the couch, but they didn't seem to mind. A few stray tears dribbled down his cheeks. They would wake up soon, he just knew it. He just needed to keep caring for them, and sure, it wasn't going to be easy.
"But you're worth it." Milo whispered to them. He cuddled up even closer and closed his eyes. Nothing better to pass the time than to sleep with the one he loved.
"Good night honey, maybe tomorrow we'll wake up together."
Sylvie belongs to @quiescentlunacy I'm sorry for using her as a squeaky toy it will happen again 😔
“Do you like it?” Kieren held up a lingerie set dangling from a hanger. He waved it a little, cheeks already flushing just from seeing the baby pink satin frills next to Sylvie. Her heart sank.
It really was a beautiful set. A modest lace trim that would leave just enough to the imagination to entice whoever gazed upon the wearer, multiple harness straps that, though complicated to get on, would emphasize each and every curve of her body, and a sheer outer layer that was so thin it would flow almost like magic from every subtle breeze that ran through it (and there was no scarcity down here in his cave).
Sylvie might have been happy with the gift, if not a bit embarrassed, had it been from someone she actually loved.
“It is lovely-” Sylvie gritted her teeth. Despite the circumstances, she couldn’t bring herself to tell him off.
Maybe it was how downright giddy Kieren had been all morning about a package that was coming today, rambling about how long he’d been waiting for something he'd bought for her- some fancy French brand that required a dozen different measurements to ensure each made-to-order set fit the wearer perfectly. Or maybe it was the “silly little suggestion” he’d given her the other day that forced her to feel more comfortable being honest, no matter how brutal her opinion might be.
Sylvie already had no problem telling him off when he crossed a boundary, and it was no secret how much she loathed being stuck here, but it still came as a surprise just how much she was keeping in up until now. Unfortunately it seemed a lot of the thoughts she’d much rather push away were now jumping out and adding fuel to the lovesick fire that led him to hold her hostage the last several months.
“-but you really shouldn’t have.” She finally finished. It was no doubt expensive, and now all those innocuous questions he'd been asking for weeks about her favorite color and flower and lace style finally made sense. It was thoughtful, in a way, but it was still not what she wanted. Kieren always insisted he would give her anything she asked for, but it was made clear from the beginning that that only applied to things he wanted as well.
“Why not? Is it so bad to pamper the one I care about?” Kieren sat himself onto the bed next to her, letting his hand land nonchalantly on her leg. “Should we try it on?”
“O-Oh! Right now?” Sylvie looked away, frantically searching for an excuse. A couple white feathers puffed out on her neck, covering the blush that had migrated down from her cheeks. “I mean, it literally just came, and you probably have work to get done," she eyed his pale, freckled hand as it crept higher, so slowly it could be argued he wasn't doing it on purpose. Those arguments never turned out well for her.
"You said your store is short handed as it is, and it’s the middle of the day, so peak customer time. Besides,” She picked his hand up as though it were a dead mouse and dropped it unceremoniously back onto his own lap. “I’d really rather not. Not for you, anyway.” Kieren pouted, sticking out his bottom lip and giving her his best puppy dog face.
“Aw c’mon, please? We both know you can’t put it off forever.”
“And whose fault is that?”
“Alright, alright, if not for me, then do it for yourself.” He picked up the lingerie, still on the hanger, and led her to the full length mirror on the other side of the room. He dangled it over her still clothed body, offering a poor approximation of what it would look like on. “You know you’re curious, too.”
“Of course I am, but that’s not the point!” Ugh, that damn suggestion. Kieren had a way of wrapping around her subconscious like a constrictor, squeezing and squeezing until the truth had nowhere to go but out. There was no winning with him, only delaying the inevitable.
“So please? For curiosity’s sake?”
“Fine, I’ll try on the damn lingerie,” she snatched the hanger from him. “But don’t try anything. Like you said, this is for 'curiosity's sake' and that’s it. Got it?”
“Mm, of course!” His smile told another story, but it was too late to back out now.
“And don’t watch while I’m changing.” Sylvie shooed him away. Though getting kicked out of the room, Kieren kept that stupid grin.
“Okay, okay, let me know if you need any help getting it on," he called from around the corner.
“Yeah, yeah, don’t hold your breath.”
She shed her clothes, folding them into a neat pile on the edge of the bed before turning her attention to the hanger.
The lingerie was tight. Holding it against her body in front of the mirror, it appeared far too small, but there was no way he’d believe that without seeing for himself. She resigned herself to at least try to make it fit. Sylvie pulled at the lacy fabric, careful not to rip the delicate material. It took a bit of manhandling herself to get everything into place, but slowly but surely she managed to squeeze into the top.
Each breast was cupped by a flower which then budded out into an intricate pattern of leaves and abstract waves which stretched up and over each shoulder, puffing out in loose pleated ruffles at the peak, and then hugging as they met again in the back. The design was punctuated by small, opalescent pearl beads- just enough to accentuate the design without distracting from the filigree. With it on, she glanced at herself in the mirror. As nice as it looked on the hanger, it looked even better on. She found her eyes following the flow of the lace, getting lost in it for a moment. Each time she tried to move on, another whorl caught her eye and she fell back in again. It was only when the hanger slipped off the smooth satin bedsheet and thumped against the ground that she remembered there were still multiple pieces left to try on.
The bottom complimented the top, donning a matching pink, flowering front just large enough to cover her intimates before wrapping around to the back via two thin strings on either side, each of them tightly pressing into her skin. Again, she found her gaze following the pattern, especially that of the pearls now. The way the light became trapped in them, swirling and whirling into a collage of endless pastel rainbows. Sylvie absently ran her hand along them, feeling the cool silk and lace now pressed against her skin. It was already a pretty piece, but now wearing it it was downright beautiful. Her hand paused suddenly.
Having traveled lower and lower, it hit a wet spot. Was it near that time already? No, no it couldn’t be, that was last week. This was just… how firmly the lingerie was grabbing her body. Feeling it snugly pressed against her was just a bit distracting, that was all.
Sylvie was almost done pulling the second thigh high stocking on- a semi-sheer white with little bows at the top- when she heard Kieren ask, “Are you almost ready?” Her mouth opened, but no words came out. She’d turned to speak in his direction, but her gaze met her reflection and sent her thoughts scattering.
It looked gorgeous on her. No, she looked gorgeous. Almost…unreal. She couldn’t place her finger on it, but something seemed off about the reflection.
“You okay?” His words snapped her back to reality.
“Y-Yeah, I’m uh,” words felt heavy in her head. Slow. “Just a few um… just a few more… pieces.” Sylvie shook her head, trying to force away the sudden fog. Kieren had messed with her head plenty of times, but he wasn’t even in the room right now! Something was very wrong, but what? She looked around, not entirely sure what she was looking for. Her hand bumped something made of leather. Right, the harness!
That was much tougher to figure out, even in the right state of mind. Without a second set of hands to hold things in place while she positioned and tightened the various buckles, it kept falling apart. It was a whole job in itself just to keep the thing from becoming a twisted, shapeless mess. But now, with a clouded mind, it may as well have been rocket science.
After fumbling multiple times, she recruited her mouth, holding the harness up in her teeth to get the damn thing to actually lay correctly. In a way, the effort required to get it on actually cleared away some of the fog covering her thoughts. At last, she pulled the final straps- a pair of garters connecting to the thigh highs- tight. Success!
There was no time to celebrate, however. Excitement fizzled away before she could properly feel it. The tight, leather straps only added to Sylvie's hyperawareness of her body. Each nerve was becoming warm and sensitive; meanwhile her burning pussy throbbed with need. No doubt this would need to be cleaned before she wore it again. She could only hope Kieren stayed true to his word when he saw her, because it was becoming increasingly obvious that saying “no” to his advances was not going to be easy.
Sylvie’s limbs felt heavy. With so much attention turned inward, it was hard to focus on what she still needed to do. Each thought felt half formed, like it was being dragged through molasses before inevitably succumbing to its thick captor and sinking away into a dark nothingness. Alarm bells tried to ring, but even they got caught in the hot, sticky mess her mind had become.
Distantly, Sylvie felt a gossamer touch trickle down her arms. The final piece- a transparent, sleeveless gown, thinner than paper- had been draped over the ensemble. Had she done that? Everything, even her own body, seemed far away. Everything, that is, save for the intense need that was growing in her pussy.
The lingerie was on now, that’s what mattered. The hard part was done. She turned her attention back to the mirror. Just a quick look for herself to appreciate before reluctantly allowing Kieren back in.
As predicted, the airy fabric bounced and waved with even the most subtle of movements. The rest of the pieces were snug, but not nearly as uncomfortable as they'd looked. It was a beautiful sight but her reflection looked… surreal. Too perfect, too beautiful, too…fake. Was that really her? Sylvie wanted to stand, to get a closer look, to get some sort of proof that the woman in the mirror was really her and not just a pretty doll. The word clicked inside her head like the final piece in a puzzle.
A doll. That’s what felt so wrong about her reflection. Yes, the figure in the mirror was too perfect to be a person. It had to be a doll.
“You look stunning, dear,” Kieren whispered right in her ear. She jumped. When had he come back? How long had he been there? Was he the reason for her mental state? With her eyes still trained on the mirror, the thoughts dissolved before she could ask about any of them. “Don't you think you look pretty?” She couldn’t help but agree. It wasn’t a matter of vanity, it simply lay in her mind as fact. She looked pretty. The lingerie was tailored for her alone, and every aspect of it clung to her body as though it were a part of her. Everything was picture perfect.
“Let me hear you say it,” Kieren said. His breath was hot against her skin. Quiet, barely a whisper, as though speaking too loudly would break the spell. “Say that you’re a pretty little doll.”
“I-I’m, I do look p-pretty b-but I’m not, I’m n-not a-” her head was swimming, and his words quickly filled the gaps in her thoughts, overtaking them and threatening to become the only way she could even emulate thinking. Trying to push them away only resulted in a pounding headache.
“Shh, there’s no need to worry about what anyone thinks, there’s no expectations, no judgements, it’s just you and me here, right?”
“But-”
“Right?”
“Yes,” Sylvie admitted. Chills ran down her spine.
“So relax, doll. You’ve got a special little outfit made just for you, and you have no worries or responsibilities, right?”
“I don’t, um, I mean, I…I…..” What he said was nonsense, she knew it was! but the reason eluded her. Everything he said was technically correct, and thinking too hard about it only brought awareness to just how painfully empty her head had become.
"Right?"
“I… I can't.. wh-what was the question?" Sylvie cringed at her own voice. It sounded so confused, so broken.
"Shh it's okay," Kieren cupped her face, gently turning it in his direction. "Dolls don't need to think, do they?"
"N-No I guess not..?" she conceded.
"Dolls just look pretty and let themselves be played with. You think you look pretty, don't you." It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
"And you want to be played with, don't you." His hands left her face, trailing down her body with unbearable patience. Her body pressed into him, desperate for more than his gentle touch could provide. He grabbed one of her breasts, pulling the fabric away to plant a couple kisses on her chest. The cool touch of his lips made each peck linger long after they'd moved on.
"You want to be played with," Kieren repeated before circling a nipple with his tongue. The soft forked area of his tongue positioned itself on either side of her nipple, squeezing the soft tissue between them. Sylvie shuddered as he replaced his tongue with a sharp toothed bite. The pain sobered her up just enough to find the strength to push him away. She didn't want this! She wanted… she wanted…
"Mmph waaait," her voice was practically a whine as Kieren actually honored her wish, backing off completely. If she didn't want this, then why was the absence of his touch so unbearable? Sylvie was too far gone, and they both knew it. Kieren narrowed his eyes.
"Go on, I wanna hear you admit it," his tail snaked its way up her legs, settling itself in between them. He rutted against her pussy, providing just enough pressure to drive her crazy with need. More feathers poofed from her skin with such fervor they were sent flying into the air like cherry blossoms. If only Sylvie could rub herself against him- get her body over the edge! but with her mind hollowed out, sending the correct signals was nigh impossible. Her face became increasingly flushed, first matching the light pink lingerie, then surpassing it and settling on a bright red.
"Tell me what you want.”
“I want…” No, something in her was still fighting it. A war raged between her mind and body. Lust fought against the few remaining reservations that found their way through the emptiness.
“Go on, or would you rather I left you all alone with no relief?” Kieren gently turned her head, forcing her to once again confront her reflection. Sylvie's eyes fluttered as they focused on the image in front of her. Her reflection was so pretty. She was so pretty. So empty. So needy. So perfect. So…so desperate to be played with like a.. like she was a….
“You know what you are,” the shift in tone was palpable; Kieren already knew he’d won before she finally gasped out,
“I’m a doll,”
“Gooood, my love, and what does my good doll need?”
“To be played with,” Sylvie’s admission smothered the final embers of her mind. It was so easy to respond, almost as though she was uttering a series of pre-recorded messages. The notion was almost enough to bring her back, offering a series of half formed memories about how getting dressed up was the signal to shut her mind off and let go. Memories of allowing Kieren to use her without worries or shame. Nothing but blank, obedient bliss since,
“Good dolls are rewarded when they let themselves be played with.” The words sounded far away, as though she was hearing them through a tunnel. Had he even asked a question, or was her consciousness simply scattered to the point that the only way to express a semblance of thought was through uttering phrases so deeply ingrained they felt as natural as breathing?
Everything felt dreamy. There was no true awareness, only sensations of pleasure tied to flashes of images and sounds.
“Mmm, that’s it,” Kieren led her across the room to the mirror, gently pressing her shoulders as he whispered, “You know what to do now.” She dropped to her knees and watched the doll’s reflection repeat mantras as her owner teased her body.
(Owner? There was a different word for him, something…negative? But why, when he was sending wave after wave of bliss through her body.)
“I am a good doll.” He fondled her breasts, making sure to give extra attention to the sensitive nipples. He couldn’t resist looking up into her glassy eyes as he painted a series of hickies over Sylvie's skin, turning her chest into a battleground of her submission. Even when his sucking turned from pleasure to pain she still leaned into him, desperate to feel any stimulation he was benevolent enough to provide.
“Aaa-ah! G-Good dolls crave to b- c-crave to be used.” The damp spot on the lingerie had become a torrential downpour. Kieren pulled them down to reveal her pussy, which pulsed even harder as the cool air met with her arousal.
“Good dolls are blank.” Each phrase further cemented Sylvie’s new reality into her head. She was a good, blank doll that craved to be used. If only she could will her body to seek out more the pleasure it desperately craved. As if answering her unspoken prayer, something warm pressed against her entrance, rubbing it in slow, controlled circles.
“G-Good d-d-dolls-,” He was underneath her, pressing his tongue inside her folds much deeper than any human tongue could go. The two ends roamed independently of each other, one focusing on her g-spot while the other danced along the inner walls. She saw stars. Even kneeling couldn’t stop her legs from buckling as an orgasm washed over her. Feathers flew every which way. Kieren was temporarily suffocated, caught with his face in her pussy and throat clenched between her thighs. He moaned loudly. His clear enjoyment only made Sylvie more desperate to please him.
“Good dolls love being used.” The almost robotic tone returned as her body relaxed once more and released him. Her thighs spread again, unable to stop arousal from once again coercing her into offering her needy body. Kieren wrapped his tail around her, deriving satisfaction from how quickly his cool, smooth scales warmed up as they tightened around her red hot skin.
Something new pressed against her entrance. The tip of his tail had worked its way inside the mass of coils and found her pussy, lubing itself up with her arousal before roughly shoving itself inside of her. It pumped in and out, using her like she was no more than a fleshlight.
“G-G-G-Go-” Sylvie wasn’t given a chance to even finish the word before he positioned her face over his dicks and commanded her to suck. Sylvie’s mouth accepted them without thought, her tongue working on them as best it could between his thrusting on both ends.
“Mmph! Such a good, good doll,” Kieren said between huffs. “You love this, love being used by me, it’s euphoric when I use you as nothing more than my obedient little doll, isn't it.” She moaned, the vibration against his dicks eliciting the same from him. Every word he spoke found its way into her head without question. She was just a doll. A thing to be filled. A thing to be used. A thing that loved being used by Him.
An orgasm ripped through Kieren, and this time it was his turn to press her face into his folds, still fucking her pussy as he cried out in ecstasy. Sylvie’s own body quickly mirrored him, more focused on the fact that she had pleased him than her own enjoyment. He held her there, still pistoning his tail effortlessly against her slick to draw out the pleasure for as long as possible. He only let her free when she began thrashing for air- a subconscious action of self preservation rather than of fear or discomfort.
He held her within his coils.
“You look so beautiful like this,” he whispered, leaning in close to her ear. "You're my perfect little doll, and you did so, so well." Even exhausted, her body trembled as another mini orgasm sent her pussy pulsing just at his praise. "You want more, don't you?"
She had no strength left to do anything but give a subtle twitch of her head. Kieren pressed his lips against hers, savoring the taste of his own musk.
“Mmmmgoood," he wiped some of the arousal from her face and offered the finger to her mouth. She accepted it, sleepily sucking his digit as he lovingly fixed her hair, brushing through it and removing stray feathers.
"So how about we go even deeper, hm? Look at me, doll.” He removed his finger and gently took her chin in between his hands, bringing her up to meet his gaze. His eyes spiraled, sending ripples of blues and purples straight into her sleepy head.
“Sssleep now for me, so I can help my favorite little doll feel even better.” What little awareness remained faded into pure nothingness, and Sylvie's mind opened itself to whatever he wanted her to be.
"No." A nitrile gloved hand (did he seriously custom order hot pink gloves or do they actually make them in that color?) grabs your face. Grey's scalpel had been mere inches away from your chest when a combination of nausea and fear forced your neck in the opposite direction, but the press of his blade never came.
You looked at him, eyes desperately searching his body language for a hint at what you did wrong this time. You tried to please him. You did! Everything was easier when he thought you were happy. Happy being with him. Still, no matter how well you played along with his little game, there came times when his easy going temperament felt more like a distant dream than reality.
But he stood still. A heavy lidded statue. Was he hoping you'd somehow figure out the final piece to another one of his impossible puzzles? His stone hand pressed in your cheeks, but you didn't dare pull away. You'd learned better. The rock around his face crumbled, allowing hoarse words to break free.
"I want you to watch. This isn't something I'm doing to you," with each word more of that stone mask fell away. He was growing too animated, leaving no time for relief that he was solving the puzzle for you. "This is something I'm doing for us. I've bared my soul completely to you, but you've been-" he froze, once again overtaken by a prison of stone, save for his eyes which fell up and to the right.
Over time you'd come to affectionately regard this as his "buffering gaze." Glassy eyed yet angry, as though he were shrinking within himself to personally force the sharp metal gears of his brain to work harder. It was almost laughable the way he walked on eggshells when he spoke about the abuse he was putting you through. Maybe those eggshells were for preserving his own delusions.
"-stubborn. And if you won't work with me, then it's up to someone who cares deeply for you to help speed up that process."
It took every ounce of your remaining willpower to bite your tongue; a lecture about the literal versus metaphorical implication of "opening yourself up" to someone would fall on deaf ears, even in the best of circumstances. There was no reasoning with Grey, not when he was so stuck in his own mind. Whatever he wanted to do to you, there was no doubt it'd be unfathomably worse if you tried to reject his advances.
His hand at last fell away- slowly, almost painfully so. That damned scalpel crept forward again, and along with it your nausea.
"Please," you managed to say. You sounded so weak, so pitiful. As sick as the notion made you, there was a hint of relief that it only made you sound more convincing. He paused, stare burning in the way a parent's does before doling out a punishment.
"I-I don't feel well. If you make me watch I'm going to be sick." Grey's gaze melted. A sharp CLANG as the scalpel clattered to the metal bedside tray made you jolt.
"I'm sorry sweetheart, I never meant to upset you like this," his tone was so soft, so wrong. He planted a kiss on your forehead, mentally noting that you'd broken into a cold sweat. It felt like he saw you more as a complicated list of symptoms, a problem to be solved, than an actual person.
"Here, this should help, okay?" He dribbled something into the IV that had been attached to your arm since day 1. A wave of panic drained into your veins. What was that!?
"Wh-what was that?"
"Shh, it's just an anti-emetic. Nothing dangerous, I promise. Remember, I'm not here to hurt you, love." His saccharine lies were quickly replacing your fear with rage.
"Thank you." The gratitude wasn't for show, you were genuinely feeling better, but that meant it was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain the facade of someone weak and in need of care. You could hear it in your own voice, and it was clear he could too. Shit.
"Now, where were we?" He ensured there was no more time for excuses; the scalpel seemed to leap directly from the tray into your flesh. Grey didn't truly care about your well-being, nothing could convince you of that anymore. Not his words, not the way he listened to you complain, not the way he doted on you hand and foot, not the way he always made your favorite foods, not the way he bought you anything he could feasibly afford, and not even the way he never hesitated to do literally anything in his power to brighten your day.
As he dug into your chest (what the hell kind of painkiller did he use that you can still move and think without feeling his touch?), plucking tendons and caressing bones while his cheeks warmed to match his now red spattered gloves, you knew that this disgusting creature was the real man who had kidnapped you.
"You're so beautiful, love." He muttered to the chasm he'd created. You could distantly feel the pressure of his hand on your heart, lingering, savouring the nervous thump tha-thump tha-thump. No, he didn't care about anything at all but breaking you down one. blood cell. at. a time.
