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metalhoops · 1 year

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Steve’s party trick was appearing sober long past the point of inebriation.

It was an act he’d perfected through observation. He’d watched his mother down wine like water and waltz into a garden party looking sober as a saint. So when everything went down at the Starcourt Mall, with the drugs and the appearance of another burgeoning concussion-induced migraine fogging the edges of his vision, he’d pushed through with professional tact.

Steve couldn’t explain how it happened. One moment he was sitting on the kitchen counter, cradling a bag of frozen peas to his bare face, freezer burn nipping at the edges of his consciousness, and the next he was sprawled out on the carpet of a stranger’s house.

What happened in between, he’d never know.

Maybe it was for the best. Ignorance was bliss, in Steve’s opinion. His life was so much easier before the Upside Down. He would’ve been a worse person and lived a worse life. Yet his life would’ve been close to normal, not the mercurial mess it’d become. He wouldn’t have spent the night locked in a secret underground soviet bunker, his face doubling as a punching bag for a man he didn’t know, while monsters roamed about the town.

The mall had burned down, Steve remembered. After all was said and done, Mrs Byers dropped him and Robin off at their respective homes. Steve insisted he didn’t need to go to the hospital, that he was fine and, more importantly, that his parents were home. When Robin sobered up, she’d realise Steve had lied.

He’d told Robin a lot of things, and after the night in the mall, so had she. She knew Steve’s parents had been out of town for months, but she’d been flying too high to use any of her admittedly brilliant brain to put two and two together. Steve loved Robin. He loved her differently after that night, but he still loved her. He was human. He needed time to lick his wounds and some space. The quiet of the Harrington house had seemed like a blessing, so where the hell was he now?

“Hey, what did you take?” A vaguely familiar voice shook Steve from his stupor.

He rolled away from the sound, burying his face in the carpet. He cringed as a spark of pain shot through the veiled numbness that’d inhabited his body since the Russian drugs had hijacked his system.

“Ouch,” Steve grumbled miserably.

His head throbbed. One eye was entirely swollen shut. Even if Steve was sober, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to place the boy through his hazy vision. All he could make out were colours, pale skin, dark hair, and darker clothes.

“I know. I know. You’ve got a real shiner, Harrington. Come on, up,” the boy instructed.

Steve felt cool skin graze against the nape of his neck, pulling him up into a sitting position. Steve remained boneless, not making the task easy.

He felt separate from his body, not sure where he ended and the rest of the world began. Once pulled up, he kept falling forward, his face making contact with the dark fabric of the boy’s shirt. The boy was more comfortable than the floor, with less carpet burn and more smooth leather. He smelled of smoke, sweat and an earthy kind of cologne that hadn’t been refreshed in hours.

“Elevator up,” Steve chuckled, laughing too hard for his own good.

His ribs ached. He felt a laugh shudder through the boy’s body as he pulled Steve back, trying to get a better look at him. He held a finger in front of Steve’s face.

“Not sure what this is meant to do but I’ve seen it in movies,” the boy commented as he moved his finger right to left, inspecting Steve’s face for something, neither boy was quite sure of.

“Alright. You’ve gotta know I’m the least likely person to narc on you, Harrington. What did you take? Special K? Some Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds? Were you Chasing the Dragon? Gotta be something stronger than weed, man,” the boy insisted.

Steve screwed up his nose and moved away from the man.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” Steve complained, trying to untangle the string of words the guy had thrown his way.

Steve staggered to his feet, swaying before propping himself up, leaning against the wall, and feeling the whole thing tilt under his weight.

“Dude, your walls are broken,” Steve muttered, as his legs gave out and he slid down to the floor.

“We’re in a trailer, Steve,” the boy pointed out. Steve looked around the place, trying to make shapes from the blurs of colour and light.

“Oh yeah,” He noted before resting his chin on his knee.

The boy sat down in front of him, mirroring Steve’s posture, his chin resting on the bare knees of his ripped jeans.

“Do you know what you took?” He pushed on, this time taking a different approach.

“No,” Steve admitted, at last, sliding forward.

The boy’s rings had caught his attention. They were little halos of light. He curiously tugged at his hand, pulling him close to examine the shine. He ran his fingers over the rise and fall of the rings.

“Okay,” the dark-haired boy breathed, seemingly to himself.

“I think you need to go to the hospital, dude.”

“No hospitals,” Steve remarked eloquently as he returned to his previous position, face down on the carpet, taking the boy's hand with him.

“Yeah well, I’m not so sure I like the idea of you sleeping either, Stevie,” He reasoned, his voice sounding strangled.

“I’m tired,” Steve rebutted, his eyes sliding shut.

There the boy was again, taking Steve’s face into his palm and pulling him up. For a moment, the vision in his good eye cleared enough to make out brown eyes painted with concern.

“Look, I know we hated each other’s guts in high school but I don’t want you to O.D. on my carpet. It’s not good for the ambience,” the boy continued.

Steve squinted, trying to place the face. Sure, he’d been a jerk in high school, particularly before his senior year, but he didn’t remember hating anyone. Not really. Maybe Jonathan, for a time, but that had passed.

Munson. Steve’s brain supplied at last. The boy was Eddie Munson. He sold drugs and hung out on the fringes of Steve’s bigger parties back in the peak of his ‘King Steve’ era.

“You hated me?” Steve asked, hearing the hurt in his voice before he realised what he was feeling. Eddie’s eyes widened in alarm, Steve’s face still in his palm.

“What? No. I thought you hated me. I mean, you were a jock and I’ve got my whole ‘fuck the man shtick’, so it wasn’t like we ran in the same circles,” Eddie elaborated.

“Jocks are ‘the man’?” Steve questioned. He’d like to blame the drugs, but he’d probably ask the question sober.

“No. Yes. Kind of. Jocks are like... the grease for a cog in the wheel of the machine. All mass compliance to societal norms... or whatever.”

Steve blinked owlishly at Eddie, trying to make a lick of sense out of what he’d said before resigning himself to the fact that he was completely lost.

“I like Grease. It’s a cool movie,” he settled on, startling another laugh out of Eddie. He gently lowered Steve’s face onto the carpet and sighed.

“Yeah, it’s a cool movie,” he muttered, leaving Steve for a moment, tossing sheets and a pillow from the sofa to the floor beside him.

“Look, I’m going to stay up and make sure you don’t choke on your own tongue. You can stay here for the night, but I’m not letting you crash until my uncle gives you the thumbs up, weirdo.”

Eddie slid a cushion beneath Steve’s head and draped the sheet over him. Steve was bone tired. He wanted nothing more than to sleep, but the pain in his body was growing by the moment and less favourable memories were leaking back into the forefront of his mind. He watched as Eddie placed a tape into the VCR and sat down beside Steve. It took him too long to realise the film was Grease.

“Who’d you get into a fight with this time?” Eddie asked, seemingly aware of Steve’s sudden restlessness.

Steve didn’t answer. He didn’t know how to.

“Were the drugs before or after?” He pushed, searching for something Steve couldn’t work out.

Again, Steve didn’t know how to answer. Once more, Eddie let it slide.

“You want me to call anyone? A girlfriend... or?” He doesn’t mention Steve’s parents.

Maybe he was at more parties than Steve remembered, enough to know that the Harringtons being in Hawkins was rarer than a blue moon, less frequent than even Steve would admit to.

“No,” Steve grumbled, starting to feel the swelling in his lip.

Eddie nodded and let Steve have his silence. He half paid attention to the flashing lights on the screen, fading in and out of consciousness. Eddie would gently elbow his side each time Steve almost reached sleep. It was a long night, broken only by the opening of a door come sunrise.

The light was too bright, too sudden. Steve shrunk from it curling into the closest point of dark comfort. Steve realised too late he’d curled himself into a small ball, tucking his face into the familiar darkness provided by Eddie’s crossed legs.

“What in the Sam Hill have you gotten into, kid?” Steve heard a gruff voice ask in the doorway. Despite his words, the man didn’t sound angry, more amused.

Steve felt Eddie pull the sheets up to hide his broken face from the light.

“You know when I was fourteen, and I brought home that stray cat?” Eddie asked.

Steve heard a door shutting and the scrape of a dining chair sliding against the linoleum.

“The one that was sick as a dog?” The gruff voice replied. Probably Eddie’s uncle.

“Same situation,” Eddie spoke.

“You’re telling me you found a kid wanderin’ round the trailer park at night and thought you’d bring him home? You remember what happened to that cat, right?” His uncle asked.

“He went missing after a week. Then we found him half-kickin’ curled up in the back seat of the Johnsons’ cinder-blocked Austin,” Eddie muttered, stating the words as though it were a conversation Eddie and his uncle had before.

“And you didn’t leave your room for a week.”

“Your point, old man?” Eddie remarked.

“My point is, I love you, kid. But sometimes your bleeding heart is more trouble than it’s worth.”

To Steve’s surprise, the sheet was pulled off his head. The next thing he knew he was face to face with Eddie’s uncle. The man shone a torch in Steve’s eyes, echoing Eddie’s movements, placing a finger in front of his eyes. Eddie watched in silence at Steve’s side.

“He’s got a pretty bad concussion,” Eddie’s uncle supplied after a beat.

“He was on something when I found him,” Eddie said.

Steve was getting sick of people talking about him like he wasn’t there but in the same vein, he wanted to convalesce in peace. Eddie’s uncle shot him a sceptical look.

“Nothing I gave him, promise. He’s not letting me take him to the hospital.”

“He’s right here,” Steve interjected.

He watched as Eddie’s uncle levelled him under his intense gaze. For the first time since he’d entered the room, he wasn’t seeing symptoms, or a problem Eddie had dropped in his lap but a boy. A kid, in Wayne’s eyes, one that looked worse for wear. It was the goddamn cat all over again.

“I’m going to get you water and some aspirin. Eds, get some rest. No buts, kid you look like you haven’t slept a wink. Should also be safe enough for you to try to get some shut-eye, boy. I’m not Eddie, you can’t bat your eyes at me and get your way. I’m taking you to the hospital if anything happens, right?”

Steve looked at the man with narrowly masked surprise before giving him a weak nod. He couldn’t imagine his parents doing the same, not even for one of Steve’s friends, let alone a stranger.

“Come on, you can sleep in my room,” Eddie uttered, springing to his feet with a joviality that someone who’d gone twenty-four hours without sleep shouldn’t be able to muster.

Steve blinked, slowly standing and gathering the sheets around himself, acutely aware of how ridiculous he looked.

“Keep the door open,” Wayne called at their retreating backs.

That was how Steve spent the summer of ‘85 hauled up and healing at the Munsons’ trailer. A few months later, he’d return the favour. When Eddie went missing, Wayne knew where to look.

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nancypreggo · 1 year

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fill for an @imagineyourepregnant request tags/kinks: nb!reader/gender not specified, pregnant!reader, breeding, rapid pregnancy, pregnant kink

Imagine going out drinking and the drink gets spiked with fertility and milk producing drugs. You end up getting bent over the bar top and get taken right there by all the guys there. That seems to be the end of it until your breasts start swelling with milk and lactating. Next thing you know two men are breastfeeding off you and your belly is rapidly growing way beyond 9 months with triplets.

You just wanted to go out for a drink or two-- maybe possibly meet someone fun and hook up in the bathroom or at his apartment if he seemed nice enough. You didn't think that when you left the house on that random Friday night that you'd be in such a predicament.

But you'd met such a gorgeous man at the bar and he was incredibly affable and offered to buy you a drink. One drink turned into two, and then into five, and the bartender must've mixed the drink with the wrong proportions because one of those drinks didn't taste like the others. It didn't matter too much, though, because it was yummy and you liked the buzz it gave you.

When your mystery man kissed you, you didn't turn away and welcomed him into that passionate kiss. The way his grabby hands squeezed at your chest made a soft, needy whimper fall from your lips and before you knew it you were begging for more. But he didn't take you back to his apartment-- hell, he didn't even take you into a back room or bathroom. Instead, he was bending you over the bar and exposing your sex for practically the whole bar to see before very suddenly impaling you with his incredibly large cock.

The way he filled you up, the thick girth of his member pushing at your inner walls-- it barely even occurred to you that he was fucking you very publicly. It all felt so good that the embarrassment was a future-you's problem. Right now you just let out a loud, erotic moan and begged for more. You felt head of his cock punching the entrance of your womb over and over, and there wasn't a feeling quite like this. You felt like you were in a euphoric trance.

When he hit his climax, you felt thick and heavy ropes of come shooting into you and filing you up. There was so much inside of you that you actually felt bloated. In your brain fog you were turned over onto your back and you felt a large hand palming at your stomach, feeling the slight curvature he'd created from his spend inside of you.

Before you could even gather your thoughts and address what had happened, you felt another cock-- this one even bigger-- enter you. The sudden intrusion made you yelp out and squeeze around the girth. "F-fuck-- yes!" you all but screamed, reaching up with your hand to squeeze at your chest. Your nipples were especially erect and you must've been incredibly aroused because even your otherwise modest tits felt bigger somehow.

This man was even rougher and when he came, he came buckets. You peered down at your tummy and you swore you looked like you were actually carrying his baby. It was tantalizing and you wanted more. You could be the bar's cute little cumslut for the night and take everybody's load if it meant you got to feel this good all night. After one man had had his turn with you, they came around to the other side of the bar you were lying on and they massaged your tits while someone else fucked their load into you. You'd come so many times by the time half of the bar had been serviced-- you'd lost count and there was a sizable mess between your legs.

After coming around the twelfth or fifteenth time that night, all of the energy you had had been effectively fucked out of you and you had passed out wearing the most blissed-out expression. When you next woke up, the first thing you noticed was a tingling, almost prickling sensation in your tits-- right at the nipples.

When you blearily opened your eyes, two of your lovers from the your sex-filled night had their mouths latched onto each of your now-massive tits, their lips wet with a thin, milky-white substance. They each had a hand on your large dome of a belly, rubbing loving circles into the taut flesh to calm the apparently many lives within.

You looked over at a wall mirror to see your reflection and you looked like a vision of fertility. You looked around the bar and saw many smug, proud faces-- many men that were touching themselves just at the mere sight of you and some waiting for their turn at your breasts.

"What do you think? Maybe three? Four..?" One man said to another as they looked your form over with hungry eyes.

You cautiously placed a hand on the widest part of your belly and whined softly; it was like your belly was one large erogenous zone. You looked well overdue with at least triplets-- and that was a modest estimate.

"Dunno," another man answered, placing his hand next to yours on your belly. Everyone could see the vague shapes within kicking around inside.

You let out a whimper as you felt a pressure gripping your stomach, your fingertips digging into the tight flesh of your womb. Your belly surged a bit bigger with a growth spurt and very suddenly, liters and liters of fluid gushed out from between your legs.

"Well," the first man who'd spoken laughed, "Looks like we're gonna find out really soon..!"

#pregnant kink #impregnation kink #lactation kink #pregnancy fic #hyperpregnancy #rapid pregnancy #hyperbreeding #cinn writes preg

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deliciousangelfestival · 8 months

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Sweetest Dreams || B.Barnes - Part 4

Character: mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Finally, it's the right time with the right person. ❤️

Warning: Kidnapped, tortured (only a small part)

Part 1: Echoes Of Revenge

Part 2: Shattered Echoes

Part 3: All The Lies

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more.

"This is fucked up. Where am I?" Y/N's thoughts echoed in the disorienting haze surrounding her.

Ivan, the orchestrator of her current predicament, stood menacingly before her, a cruel grin etched across his face. "You should blame yourself for being in this condition," he sneered.

Y/N, still grappling with the fog in her mind, pressed for answers. "Where am I?"

Ivan, relishing in his control, delivered the chilling truth. "A hangout place for drug addicts. So if you don't listen to me, the next morning the police will find your body. Overdose."

‘Shit.’ Panic surged within Y/N as she scanned her surroundings, her eyes landing on a lone door – a potential lifeline out of this nightmare.

“Stop thinking about escaping.” Ivan's fingers dug into her chin, forcing her to meet his menacing gaze. “To be honest, I don't want to kill you. Because I need your brain to make money.”

Y/N, defiance burning in her eyes, said, “You think I will agree?”

Ivan leaned in, his breath sending a cold shiver down her spine. “You have to. After you make me bankrupt, I've gained a lot of enemies – elite people who invested their money in the company. And they want their money back.”

“So, you want to return the money to high-influence people rather than those with low income?” Y/N's disdain dripped from her words, her body language betraying a simmering anger.

Unfazed, Ivan smirked, reveling in the power dynamic. Y/N, unable to contain her disgust, spat on his face in an act of defiance. Undeterred, Ivan scoffed, “Those people are small fish. The most important thing is the big whale.”

Infuriated, Y/N spat on his face again, her eyes ablaze with defiance. “Work again with a mastermind who made thousands of families bankrupt? Fuck no.” She turned her attention to the door, silently calculating the risks and possibilities of escape.

Ivan wiped his face with a cloth, savoring the moment with a sinister satisfaction. "I knew you wouldn't agree, but I'll change your mind," he declared with a dark chuckle.

With a snap of his fingers, the dimly lit place transformed into blinding brightness. Y/N, still disoriented, realized she was tied to an electric chair. Someone approached from behind, forcing a mouthguard into her mouth.

Before she could react, her head was jolted by an electric shock, and a muffled scream escaped through the mouthguard, "Mrghh!" Tears streamed down her face as the searing pain coursed through her.

Ivan, reveling in the torment he was inflicting, taunted, "You've made my life hell for a year, Y/N. Now I want to torture you a bit."

Y/N, in the midst of the excruciating pain, wished for a chance to apologize to Bucky if today was to be her last.

"BAM!"

Ivan, caught off guard, exclaimed in surprise. He had been confident that no one knew about this hidden location. However, he was about to learn the extent of Bucky's knowledge of the town.

Bucky stormed in with a powerful kick to Ivan's face, sending him crashing.

“What the fuck?” Ivan spluttered, struggling to stand.

Bucky's eyes fell on Y/N, tied to the chair and seemingly lifeless. Panic and darkness consumed him for a moment as he approached her. "Y/N?"

He lifted her gently, holding her close. "You can't die. I don't know what to do without you."

“Urggh, I'm still alive, idiot,” Y/N weakly replied. Opening her eyes felt like a daunting task, and she couldn't quite believe that Bucky had come to her rescue.

Bucky, overwhelmed with relief, clenched his teeth. His gaze shifted to Ivan, who was still attempting to rise.

He turned to Steve, who had followed him to save Y/N. “Make sure he never sees the sun again.”

Steve nodded, advancing towards Ivan with a determined expression. He swiftly broke Ivan's arm, eliciting a pained cry. “You messed with the wrong person, pal,” Steve smirked, ensuring Ivan faced the consequences of his malevolent actions.

Bucky cradled Y/N, his eyes reflecting worry, anger, and relief. "I've got you," he whispered, vowing to protect her from any further harm.

Bucky, keeping a watchful eye on Y/N as she slept in the hospital bed, found himself reflecting on a similar moment from his recent past when he had visited her father.

Her father had looked at him and said, “What a small world.”

Indeed, it was a small world.

Fifteen years ago, Bucky was a teenage boy living alone in a desolate house. His mother had left, and no one bothered with the household chores. His father, Nicholas, was indifferent, unmoved by Bucky's struggles. School was a constant battleground for him, and life seemed monotonous and purposeless.

Then, one day, Bucky noticed his father bringing a guest home. His father never bothered with hospitality, a clue that this visitor wasn't just any guest. It was the first meeting with Y/N's father, a long-time friend of his own father.

Bucky calls him the kind uncle because he worries about Bucky more than his father.

This kind uncle regularly visited, bringing homemade food Bucky gratefully accepted. It was a lifeline in a home where food was scarce.

The kind uncle shared, "I have a daughter your age. I'll bring her next time." However, that promise remained unfulfilled, and it turned out to be the last visit. Bucky later learned that his father had lent the kind uncle money with exorbitant interest, severing their friendship.

It was pivotal for Bucky, revealing the depth of his father's greed and how money could destroy longstanding friendships. The realization left an indelible mark on him, shaping his future goals. Bucky vowed that if he ever became wealthy, he wouldn't burden his friends with the weight of borrowed money.

Then, when he entered university, he met her—the daughter of that kind uncle, Y/N. The revelation brought a sense of purpose to Bucky's life. He witnessed her being taken advantage of by classmates and seniors at the club, prompting him to take a stand and become her shield.

With him by her side, nobody dared to exploit Y/N anymore. Despite her initial annoyance towards him, Bucky saw a cute, angry kitten in her eyes, and teasing her became a daily amusement, injecting excitement into his otherwise mundane university days.

As they transitioned into adulthood, Y/N underwent a transformation. Her style matured, and she exuded newfound confidence, a far cry from her college days, where she often kept her head down.

Bucky enjoyed the challenge when she underestimated him, eventually giving her money because of her work in an investment company. Little did he know that this woman would swiftly elevate him to wealth.

Y/N's unexpected departure left Bucky in a state of confusion. He waited for a month, then three, and finally, six months passed, but she never returned.

The unanswered question lingered: What did he do wrong? His search for her took a year, but when he found her, she revealed that she had used him to rectify his father's mistake, the same father who had caused harm to her own.

Despite the revelation, Bucky didn't care about the past. He just wanted her back. However, Y/N, this stubborn and seemingly heartless woman, refused to yield.

As he watched her sleep, Bucky's hand cradled her cold cheeks. He joined her side, wrapping her in an embrace to ward off the chill. His fingers gently brushed her hair as he stared at the sleeping figure, who had inadvertently disrupted his life since the moment they met.

Bucky didn't harbor hatred; he found perfection in the chaos she brought into his life. The only thing he desired now was for her to wake up and ensure she could never leave him again.

Y/N blinked, momentarily blinded by the morning light streaming in from the window. The female nurse, noticing her awakening, hurried over to assist Y/N in sitting up.

"My dear, you've woken up? You've been asleep for two days," she informed a hint of concern in her voice. The dryness in Y/N's throat confirmed the duration of her unconsciousness.

Two days – no wonder everything felt hazy. Y/N's attention perked up when the nurse continued, "Rest assured, the bad guy has been taken to the police. Your fiancé has been keeping an eye on you for 24 hours."

'Fiancé?'

Y/N's eyes widened at the unexpected revelation. She hadn't realized she had a fiancé. The sliding door opened, revealing Bucky carrying a bucket of flowers. His face lit up with a warm smile upon seeing Y/N awake. "Babe, you're awake," he greeted cheerfully.

The female nurse couldn't help but giggle at the scene. "Yes, and she's healthy. Aww, so romantic, you bring new flowers today." She grinned at the young couple before making her exit.

Bucky chuckled as he placed the flowers in a vase. Y/N couldn't shake off her surprise. He took a seat beside her, brushing her hair gently. "It's the safest way. If everyone knows that you're my fiancée, no one will dare to kidnap you," he explained matter-of-factly.

He pulled her into a tight hug, their bodies sinking into the hospital bed. "Y/N, please don't go. I don't know what I would do without you," Bucky pleaded, his eyes reflecting the exhaustion from lack of sleep. Y/N's heart ached at the sight of the big man pleading.

She gets closer, kissing his forehead. "I won't go anywhere."

Bucky's eyes widened in surprise, a brilliant smile replacing his earlier plea. Finally, in that small hospital bed with the sterile scent of antiseptic lingering, it didn't matter. Bucky could have the sweetest dreams as long as she was beside him.

Author Note:

Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account. Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating. Only if you feel like it!

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miley1442111 · 6 months

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hi, this is so random but can you do a story for bucky barnes from marvel? Like something angsty with him and reader being separated and she's a hydra agent but it's kind of just before infinity war. Like she was frozen too because she was a scientist and seen as a threat but also an asset and now she's like 'the new winter soldier' since he escaped hydra and she doesn't remember him, but then she does?

Thank you! 💓💓💓💓💓

thank you for submitting this, this inspired me to open up a marvel category!

I'll always find you, doll.- b.barnes

a/n: this is a fem reader but as per usual, imagine what you like :)

summary: your mission to get a hard drive from the avengers compound can only go well, right?

pairing: buckybarnes x reader

warnings: general marvel topics, mind control, fighting, hospitals, reader being seen as 'dangerous', general angst.

Everything was so loud. The gunshots, the punches being thrown at you and the ones you were throwing back. You were fighting a teenager in a spider-suit. Somewhere in the back of your head, you knew that was wrong, but you couldn’t even access the memory of your name. Only your orders remained. Get the hard drive.

You had fought your way through Agent Romanoff, Spider-boy, Agent Rhodes, Bird-man, and Bug-man. Next up was Stark and Captain America. The others were either dead or unconscious.

“You don’t have to do this, let us help you,” the Captain spoke, his shield at the ready.

“And why would I do that?” You asked, taking your knife from the holster on your waist.

“Because we have Barnes,” Stark cut in.

“Who the hell is ‘Barnes’?” You spoke, then threw the knife. It hit the Captain before he could dodge and it lodged itself in his arm. He let out a groan of pain and pulled it out, ready to fight again. Stark relied on his suit and attempted blasting you, but you were too quick, jumping out of the way.

After a long back and forth between you and the two men, Stark got close enough to drug you, and everything went black.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You woke up in a hospital bed with no recollection on how you got there. You rattled against the chains that held your hands, screaming for anyone. After a few hours of yelling, you realised no one was coming, and your body let itself sleep again.

You woke up again, to someone outside your room.

“You have to let me see her!” A male voice.

“No way Barnes,” Stark sighed. “She’s too dangerous like this. You’ll either set her off or make her angry-”

“She knows me,” Barnes shot back, cutting Stark off.

“Oh, you mean the woman who flat out asked who the hell you were, that woman knows you?” Stark snarled. "we have bigger things to deal with, Thanos is coming!"

You stifled a groan at the throbbing pain in your muscles. You clearly had no medication, no IV, nothing.

“I'm well-aware of our current situation Tony. I'm also aware that some part of her knows me!” Barnes argued. “Just… let me see her, please. Even if she’s asleep. Please Tony, she’s my wife.”

Who the fuck was he talking about?

Reich, Händler, Kohle, Regel, Atmosphäre, Markieren, Strafverfolgung, Haltung, Überfall, allmählich.

Rich, dealer, coal, rule, atmosphere, mark, law enforcement, attitude, raid, gradually.

They played in your head like a pulsing mantra. You had never been one for speaking Russian, so you had German words. You hated the people that did this to you. The people that tortured you, the people that wiped your memories, the people that broke you.

“Bucky, you’re going to end up killing yourself over this, don’t bother with her.”

Bucky. Your Bucky.

Your Bucky was behind that door. Your husband. The man you loved so dearly before you were taken by Hydra.

“Buck?!” you shouted, clarity pushing the fog in your brain away. You broke through your chains, the strength of the serum making it easy. “Bucky!” You screamed again, trying to get the door open.

“Y/N?! Doll?!” He shouted back, opening the door. You launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms and legs around his torso in an all-consuming hug. “I thought you were dead,” he whispered into your neck as he hugged you.

“I thought you’d never find me,” you sobbed into his neck.

“I’ll always find you, doll,” he promised, holding you tighter. You pulled back a bit, tilting his head so you could kiss him. For the first time in 60 years, you kissed your husband. It felt good. His lips felt the same as they did on your wedding day. Yes, it was a quick wedding in a courthouse in 1942. Yes, most people thought that you were pregnant, or you were using him for army benefits. But none of it was true. You adored each other. You just couldn’t wait. You were so in love with each other.

“I love you,” you grinned against his lips, the kiss tasting of salty tears, though neither of you cared.

“I love you too.”

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tteokdoroki · 2 years

Text

OCTOBER 29TH. THE WINTER SOLDIER

“who the hell is bucky?”

♱ — eijirou kirishima + non-con/dub-con.

♱ — synopsis; he’s not a bad man, he promises you that. it doesn’t matter how many people he’s killed with his bare and metal hands…kirishima will make sure you know how sorry he is by the time he’s done with you.

♱ —length; 5.2K

♱ — warnings; please read for your own safety! mdni, smut 18+, heavy smut, dark content, mentions of murder, assasinations, stalking, non-con to. dub-con, drugging, phallophilia, begging, manipulation, virginity loss, cherry chasing, power dynamics, breath play, temperature play, fingering ( fem!receiving ), strength!kink, softt fem!reader, yandere!kirishima, winter soldier!kirishima. not beta read !

♱ — notes; happy saturday angels!! we’re so close to the end of kinktober waaah!! i kinda like this one, it’s a bit dark so please be careful when reading !! check the warnings as well… tbh ive had kiri brain rot all this week, so this makes sense !! as usual, hope you enjoy <3 - m.list ₊ kinktober m.list ₊ taglist 𓆩♡𓆪

people make mistakes every single day— they can be simple and mundane, like tiny little white lies when you forget something important to someone though it might hurt their feelings. the burn of embarrassment whenever you’d messed up in front of an entire class.

mistakes were common. everybody made them, eijirou kirishima made them— they were out of his control.

the winter soldier was a man lost in his own mind, watching his life go by behind vermillion eyes— taking others with hands that no longer loved or felt like his own. to them, hydra, his creators…kirishima was the ideal weapon, a blank canvas to turn into something sinister and evil. a good natured, strong man carved into the perfect shape to be a killer. behind his own soft, once expressive ruby eyes; eijirou was forced to watch the life drain from the corpses of others— people who had families waiting for them back home with home cooked meals they’d taken for granted, people with children they’d wished they’d raised right or friends that hadn’t quite forgiven them.

kirishima had heard it all, the pleas for him to let them live and do better right before they died by his hands in the most brutal way. each time he ended a life, a piece of his soul went with them, years internal torture following him like a dark fog— weighing down on him like heavy rainfall, soaking him to the bone with red. it’s caked against his skin, ingrained deep under his nails no matter how much he scrubs at them with a bar of soap and water.

death follows kirishima everywhere, aches in his bones and the creaking silver metal of the winter soldier’s arm. it was a curse, a burden that he couldn’t bare to carry on his shoulders— the serum in his veins like a poison that had stolen his memories, the happy soldier boy he used to be.

he hates the way people look at him now, breaking free from hydra— the sympathy shining in their eyes, he hates the way you look at him too. part of kirishima’s recovery, as suggested by his therapist, was to make amends with every person impacted by his crimes as the winter soldier, and you, the sweet girl next door were next.

kirishima killed your father years ago, before you could probably spell your own name without sounding it out— he had been a kind diplomat wanting nothing but peace. after his release from cyro, eijirou had tracked you down, only to discover he’d taken your mother’s life too, in a tampered car crash. you’d been alone ever since.

the winter soldier had taken a happy childhood from you, made you the cute little recluse next door who hid in her stuffy parchment scented apartment— with books stacked high, romance your favourite genre, what you found your fantasies in. kirishima couldn’t deny the way his heart fluttered, but guilt edged itself over the expanse of his brain whenever you pitied him in the coridoors between your tiny rented apartments ( though from his recent hero work and inheritance from captain america, he could probably afford to buy tha building out ). your shiny doe eyes would pity him, see the pain in the winter soldier’s own as well as that breaking in the vibranium laced in the arm that wasn’t really his.

in his one hundred plus years of living, kirishima had probably been on more dates than you had knowledge on boys and the reality of romance in general.

you’d been made that way because of eijirou.

because of the winter solider.

and he would make it up to you, he would. it was a promise and the least he could do.

years of training had made it easy for kirishima to slip into your apartment that night— silly you, poor little you for having left your window wide open, letting the bulky ex assassin slip through as if he was a silent Siamese cat being welcomed home. footsteps carrying no sound effortlessly slipped into your bedroom just for a peek at you.

kirishima could have watched you forever, drawn to the way your lips twitch as you sleep and your eyes screw shut even tighter as if you’re being drowned in your own worst nightmare. you’re adorable.

you have no idea what’s about to come next.

it makes the winter soldier’s cock twitch beneath his clothing, leaking fat globs of precum against his inner thighs. he aches to be inside of you, feel you blossom around him like a flower in the spring for the first time— ‘cause god you’re so innocent and inviting.

there’s an instinctual chill down your spine, one that breaks you from your heavy slumber and has your shooting up— doe eyes wide like a deer in headlights while you search for the figure that had been looming over you in the dark. “e-eiji?” your whisper sits hoarse in your throat, voice laced with cute little wisps of sleep, the nickname you’d given him shooting straight to his erection. “what are you doing here?”

“oh nothin’,” eijirou lies, “just the neighbourly thing and asking for a cup of sugar?” the smile that he gives you is quick, not quite reaching his eyes that usually hold such kindness… there’s something off about kirishima tonight, something that makes you feel sick to your stomach and makes you want to run.

you can’t scramble from the sheets fast enough, for the winter soldier has been trained to move faster— bulky arms swinging around your waist before your feet even hit the floor, throwing you back into feathery pillows of your bed despite your kicks and screams. it’s frightful how kirishima can just manhandle you any way that he wishes, using the bulk of his body to get you onto your stomach like it’s nothing, like the winter soldier would and not your soft, mellow companion who laughs with his gut and grins with the ruby in his eyes. the one who pulled you out of your house for walks to the library late at night.

this version of the man who lives next door, who told you he was recovering from war wounds long before your time, growls deeply as he grabs you by the back of you throat and tugs your head to rest on his shoulder— breathing deep from where you’ve put up a fight, hissing from where your trimmed nails scratch at his one good and fleshy arm. “don’t fight it, please,” he comments, nosing under your earlobe, breathing in the scent of vanilla and money milk from your body wash. “i just want to make it up to you, for what i did to your parents. for taking your childhood away from you.”

hairs on your neck stand on end, you don’t know if it’s from the mention of your dead relatives or from the way kirishima’s belt clinks as if he’s been undoing it— his metal hand, the perfect killing weapon, folds coolly against your neck and with one wrong move it could crush your windpipe in a second. “e-eijirou what are you—?” you stutter, voice spiking with fear, lodged in the dry ridges of your throat. “m-my parents—“ eyes widening, the realisation hits, you know exactly what he means.

you know that it’s him who murdered them.

“baby,” the winter soldier coos as you thrash dangerously in his grip, a second away from having your neck snapped. lunging forward, your hot and teary face is stuffed into the pillows to the point where you almost can't breathe, kirishima straddling your hips while simultaneously pushing more of his clothes away. “‘m sorry… s-sorry for what i did to you.” for what he’s doing to you— pushing your flimsy nightshirt up your back, over the curve of your fleshy ass.

a pleaful whimper lays on your sweet lips, tears welling in your eyes as you practically scream for the ‘hero’ to get off of you— let you go. you’re devastated, trust betrayed by a friend you thought you’d made, a friend now using your body for his own selfish gain. the red head squeezes at the flesh now exposed to his heated hungry stare, running his metal arm over your curves, precious thighs and cute ass—revelling in the way your entire body reacts just for him, goosebumps rising across your back like chicken skin.

“you’ll forgive me, right?” he goes on, words broken up by shuddered breaths as eijirou’s metal fingers slip between your thighs from behind— spreading apart pretty pussy lips that glimmer with slick, evidence to you of your body’s betrayal , but to him of anticipation, excitement. forgiveness. “just wanna make it up to you,” he murmurs almost empathetically, voice thick with lust— it feels like the war hero is making fun of you, pinning you down against your will between muscular thighs. “i’ll make it feel so good, baby. promise. i’ll make it worth your while, make you forgive me.”

tears are hot on your cheeks, burning down the apples of them in salty tracks— you don’t want this, you don’t want him, the man who supposedly gave his life to save Captain America, to take something so precious to you. your virginity— not after finding out he killed your parents in cold blood. you feel almost sick for having found kirishima attractive before, for dreaming of situations a little similar to now, where you’d cry out his name as he made love to you and made you feel seen. eijirou mistakes the wince of your body as he circles a cold digit around your tiny entrance for a twitch of pleasure, grinning to himself as he adds a thumb to your clit to draw slow, salacious circles around the swelling nub— the coldness sending shockwaves up your spine.

it feels nice, good— but that doesn’t make you resist it any less, make you want him anymore. small whispers of ‘p-please eiji—‘ hiccuped into the sheets soaked with both your arousal and tears. a fresh wave of unexpected slick gushes from your virgin cunt when kirishima slaps his bare cock against the length of your slit, as if he’s going to take you with little to no preparation. he’s big, throbbing and soaked with his own milky arousal, his veins fitting snug between your pussy lips, fat and blue while his tip blares an angry shade of red.

if this were any other time, you’d be happy to have your mouth water— filling with thick drool at the thought of having the winter soldier’s massive girth split you open and be your first. yet, as eijirou grinds his meaty cock into your filthy, embarrassingly soaked virgin mound, you remember that he’s not so nice. trapping you between strong thighs, a metal arm and a frightening snarl.

“eijirou please—“ you try again, wiggling your hips to get away from him as he ruts his achy tip through your sweet lips, bumping your clit, until he reaches right between your ass cheeks. “p-please don’t do this. i’ll…i’ll do anything you want! i’ll forgive you!”

“jus’ let me do this,” the winter soldier slurs over the spit pooling on his tongue, dazed by the way the clear strings of your juices cling to every vein of his cock— make it shine even in the dark. kirishima feels feverish, the scent of your innocent cunt driving him insane, on the brink of forgetting his mission— making it up to you. sweat drips from his hairline, even though he’s barely started, hitting the small of your back. “it’ll be okay, she’s… your pussy… she’s dripping for me.” he says like he’s in disbelief, grabbing hold of his dick and nuzzling it against your swollen pleasure nub to hear you whine like a pretty bird song. “she wants this, you want this. i’ll do what’s right, make it up to you.”

tiny fingers grip the blankets below as kirishima makes a move to push his precum loaded cockhead past your tight little entrance, moaning breathily while hunched over you. you’re sure you’ve bitten your lip to the point of bleeding, red and raw at the slightly painful intrusion of the winter soldier’s dick past your virgin entrance. “‘shima,” you shake your head, watery eyes stinging. “it hurts,” you add weakly.

pulling back with a deep groan, eijirou runs his human hand through his sweaty mane. the last thing he wants to do is hurt you more— add to the heartache of losing your parents. “fuck baby...didn’t mean to hurt ya, we’ll try something else okay?” it’s almost sick how kind he sounds, even if there’s a wobble to what he says. there’s a shift behind you, and you almost miss the heat of his cock against you, only for it to be replaced with the frozen temperatures of his vibranium fingers prodding against your spasming hole.

against your own will, your thighs twitch apart instinctively— making room for kirishima between them as he circles the rim of your entrance, living up his fingers with the salacious pool of your arousal before pushing against the resistance of your unclaimed walls. “stay still baby, s’gonna sting for a bit,” he comments, choking on a depraved, corrupt gasp at how warm you are inside. the redhead stuffs you full of two fingers, sliding them into you with the aid of your honeyed cunt, and immediately scissors them, curling them to map and get a feel of your velvet walls.

you’re untouched territory, an empty playground of innocence and purity and now…kirishima’s for the taking. he’ll teach you things, he thinks while stretching open your hot little cunt to prepare you for his cock. he’ll teach you real pleasure, real love, all the things you missed out on after he ruined your life.

“eiji—!“ your cry is needy, amorous as you claw at your pink pillow cases, hips jutting back clumsily at the first shocks of ecstasy to flitter into your blood stream. you’ve never felt like this before.

“how’s this, baby? better than before?” the winter soldier drawls, practically as needy as you with a pout on his lips, red brows furrowed in concentration for making amends with you and your pretty pussy. his gaze of blood rubies falls to how your creamy sex sucks in his two metal digits, pressing coldly against new spots inside of you, curled against spongey walls until you’re cross eyed and the room spins.

“s’oh my god,” comes your muffled, sweet grouse— the adorable sound tearing in your throat. “s’better… oh, eiji!”

he needs you to understand that this is all for you, every calculated drag of his thumb over your sticky swelling clit, every stroke of his vibranium fingers rapaciously pumping in and out of succulent unused mound is meant to bring you to the high heavens and help you forgive him. kirishima’s chest swells with pride knowing he’s the first to have you like this, seeing you clamp down on him as he pleasures you, thumb glued to your little nub, writing apologies into it. “i need you to know, baby,” he says in awe of how you take him, even if you squirm and pretend to resist. “that ‘m so sorry, that i��ll do my best t’take care of you like this…”

a weird feeling in your lower belly starts to build up, in slow stacks like building a house from the beginning— all of the new sensations that come with it having distracted you from the reality of the situation. you can’t trust the winter soldier anymore, not to protect you and not to look out for you— especially when he’s ravaging your puffy pussy while pinning you in place. you hate that it feels good, making your brain tingle and happy hormones crash across it in heavy waves but you can’t help it. your hips buck back onto eijirou’s fast paced fingers which move along your slippery walls at an impressive speed, collecting your juices in the seat of his silver palm.

somewhere, a voice in the back of your head tells you to scream and cry and kick eijirou off— but all you can do is whimper and whine for more as he whispers sinisterly sweet nothings into the shell of your ear. ‘is this enough, baby?’ he’d sigh. ‘can you take more?’ or ‘i hope this makes it up to you’, each candied word sending sparks of ecstasy down your spine and flutters through your darling cunt while eijirou moulds you to take his cock.

“need ya to cum for me sweetheart, you’ve taken me so well,” he chuckles from behind you, gentle as his fingertips brush against your g-spot. the praises are warm, familiar to the real eijirou kirishima you know lives next door. before you knew the harm he’d done to your family. “can you do that for me, please? then i can fill you up so good, make you truly forgive me. please baby— i fuckin’ need it.” there’s an air desperation about the big burly man finger fucking you to his hearts content, and you think that if you let him keep talking— if you give him this, he might leave you alone.

“i think—‘shima, it feels weird…t-think ‘m gonna c-cum?” you squeak, unsure despite the impending feeling of the rope twisting in your lower tummy that burns as thick metal digits curl against your gummy insides, doused in your syrupy juices. kirishima doesn’t let up, breathing ragged from behind you as he jackhammers his fingers deep inside of you until his palm smacks against your bubbly ass with every stroke.

he seems pleased as your thighs begin to shake violently, the grip your angel cunt has on him tightening while his shameless stare shoots down to where your limbs meet and you ooze onto him. “let it go baby, you’re gonna feel so good, lemme see, i wanna see you cum,” eijirou damn near begs in a delighted and devoir sigh. a scream rips through your body, dwarfed beneath the size of the super solider as the winding cord in your tummy finally breaks its tension— the pressure that had been building inside of you coming crashing down and your orgasm tearing through you, spilling in clear liquid from your sticky and squelching sex. your teary and dazzling doe eyes screw shut, rolling back into your skull while you release, tainting your folds with a sugar glaze shine— the sweetest treat in the world to kirishima being making you feel good.

he doesn’t relent on your poor pussy as you shake throughout your very first high, stealing the precious moment from you and any future partner who might really love you— who’s not obsessed with the idea of your forgiveness. eijirou thumbs fast and cruel shaped into your raw clit, overstimulating you until the stream of your release stops seeping through the bedsheets. “good girl, such a good girl,” he hums, slowly pulling out of you while you spasm through the aftershocks of cumming for the first time. “stay here, kay? ‘m gonna get something before we have you try ‘n take my cock.”

the weight of the winter soldier eases off of you, letting air fill your lungs and a clear conscious return to you.

you wait until his footsteps are no longer audible to make your move, shooting up from the bed with no time to think about how sick your favourite hero is— for thinking you’ll forgive the deaths of the people you love most in exchange for him taking away your precious purity.

but you don’t have time to make a run for it, tackled to the bed once more by the stronger, trained killer. “i thought i told you to stay put,” kirishima snarls at you like you’re meek prey to him, forgetting his manners and his mission. “don’t you listen, baby? this is all for you,”

“i don’t want you!” comes your bratty little yell ( at least to the winter soldier ), who only throws you back onto the bed in the same position you were before— sitting heavy on your waist with your face shoved into the sheets. “please eijirou, l-let me go! i won’t tell anyone what you did! i’ll keep quiet! i’ll—“ your words fall away as eijirou grabs you by the back of the neck and you feel a sharp pinprick to your side. “w-what was that?”

a wooziness takes over you, calming your brain like it did when eijirou was making you feel good. “‘m sorry, i didn’t want to have to use it,” he says with what feels like faux sympathy. “but you just wouldn’t listen!” the redhead eases you down onto the bed once more, it’s a little something that’ll make accepting my apology a little easier, baby. so you stop squirming, so it hurts a little less. now be good, yeah?”

“y-yeah, okay,” you reply, slow blinking as your body begins to accept its fate.

using the remnants of your previous orgasm, kirishima slicks himself up again, running the meat of his shaft along the length of your quivering pussy— sending hormones of lust dancing across your brain. you can’t see him; but kirishima’s cheeks are flushed with unadulterated desire, his gaze swimming each time he taps the head of his cock against your souse pulsating hole. “gonna fuck you so good, gorgeous, don’t you worry.” he says, words a little too rushed and too eager, and without warning, the war hero’s hips jump forward to drive his cock into the deepest parts of your sex, fully lubed up with all your piquant juices.

eijirou is bigger than you’d dreamed off before all of this, weighty against the stickiness lining your unclaimed, gummy walls. you can feel every brown wrapped pretty around his girth pressing into pleasure spots you’ve not even had a chance to discover for yourself. his breath is shaky and uneven, prickling at your ears despite the static that crackles across your brain— from lust or from the drug you can’t even tell.

“i wanna move, baby,” the winter soldier gasps, wavering and hips stilling just as he reaches the hilt. this is the least he could do for you, try to be gentle as he completes this last mission— takes your virginity. in all these years of training for hydra, kirishima has never exercised such restrained, barely keeping himself together with every flutter of your sex and ripple of heat from your body around his cream soaked dick. “so tight, you need to be fucked. you need me, s’gonna be okay baby…just lemme take you.”

against your better judgement, the voice in the back of your mind screaming at you to fight back— you roll your ass back to meet kirishima’s hips, pushing your searing cunt further onto his girth as if to coax him to move until eijirou is completely bottomed out and balls deep inside, oozing sweet nectar down his thighs and balls alike. “p-please,” you slur cutely, hating your body for wanting him so bad after everything he’s done to you. “w-wanna forgive you,”

that’s all the motivation the winter soldier needs to go through with it all, you yelp at the pure strength he possesses in manhandling you into the perfect arch— all of his weight dropping onto you with his caramel and sweaty chest pressing to your back. a pathetic hiccup escapes you when kirishima simultaneously latches onto your neck and pulls his cock from you, using teeth and tongue, lolling the pink muscle over your skin, decorating you with lovebites you won’t be able to hide from nosey onlookers. in one powerful thrust, he’s filling you back up to the brim— all the way up in your guts until you feel him in your tummy, making you feel dwarfed by the super soldier above you.

with what little energy you have left, still doped up from whatever he spiked you with— you rock your hips back onto eijirou, letting your cute and ravaged cunt suck more of him into your warmth and aiding him in building up a steady pace to his thrusts.

the bed starts to groan and creak beneath the force of the redhead now brutally ploughing into you— precum in fat drops smearing against your ripe and fertile walls that feel like home to his hardened length. your pussy blossoms for the man like a flower in a spring bloom, ready for the taking, ready for kirishima. only he could do this for you, teach you what seeing stars look like, drag you to cloud nine. it was the least he could do for you, and it made his dick twitch knowing that you were starting to accept him— clenching down on his mushroomed tip ever time it pulls out of you with a wet pop.

you stretch painfully over his creamy cock, though you feel like you’re on cloud nine— overwhelmed with a ravenous ecstasy that shoots from your brain to the tips of your toes, right through the heartbeat in your pussy. “feel amazin’ baby, oh that’s right, take me so fucking well,” eijirou whispers into the skin of your shoulder over sentimentally, the heat of his breath clinging to the sex in the air. his large palms drop to the globes of your ass— pulling them wide apart to spit between them and getting an enticing view of his dick lewdly plunging in and out of your perfect virgin hole. “that’s it…you like this don’t you, you like me doing this to you…”

your mind says no but you can’t help but hump back onto him, still growing used to the burning pleasure as eijirou pushes in and out of you. “y-yes eiji, i-i like it,” he barely leaves your tight heat, with the little proximity between your saltine sweat slicked bodies, prodding at that special spot inside of you that makes you gush sweet nectar.

you hope it’s the drug talking, every time you coo and cry out for the winter soldier— limp body taking the godspeed pace he moves at, filling you up each and every time. “‘h’baby, you really mean that?” metal fingers crawl up your spine, encapsulating your throat as if he can’t crush it within a second. he tugs your head back with a cool grip into a heated kiss, forcing his tongue over yours, mouths slotting together and sharing moans. “never meant for it to be like this, never gonna—fuck… cause you harm e’ver again, yeah?” kirishima’s voice rises in octave as it does in addiction, the handsome soldier succumbing to the mindbreak your gratifying, ichorous cunt had to offer him while he tucks into you.

“yeah…s’okay. o-oh! eijirou!” comes your brainless babble, your sanity falling into a cock-drunk state. eijirou’s own mind is as foggy as yours, plagued by thoughts of painting you white inside and relieving you of his burden— teaching you pleasure, teaching you sin. the slow roll of your hips back onto his mingle with the harsh slap of skin on skin, wet and crude, and hanging nastily in the air.

there’s barely any oxygen for you to breathe between it all— kirishima rhythmically squeezing at the bruised column of your throat in tune with surging hips, assaulting your poor g-spot. “jus relax baby, go’ta sleep,” you swear you think you hear him say when you grow even more light headed. “lemme take care of you.”

he had no idea your little meek mewls could drive him this far up the wall, or that he’d want you to himself even after taking your virginity. kirishima sucks on the pulse point under your ear to sedate himself, keeping you locked in place with his metal arm— licking the beads of sweat from the side of your face while his free hand wraps itself in the fabric of your sweat soaked night shirt and uses it to tug you back onto his aching, pulsating dick.

his sloppy groans echo throughout the lost purity of your bedroom, no longer a safe place— but now a reminder of how your body betrayed you, swaying in a taboo dance with the winter soldier as a crude mix of your arousals swing between both of your sore thighs. “i gotta cum baby, please lemme cum,” eijirou huffs breathily into your ear, grabbing you by the ass while he shifts to his knees and using the pure strength of the super soldier serum and his bionic arm to lift you up and down on his cock, forcing you to match his pace in frantic, hungry movements. “need to cum, need’a make it up to ya, please—oh fuckin’ fuck!”

“e-eiji!” you sob, reaching back to dick crescent moons into his fleisher arm that holds you up— letting the winter soldier fuck into you at his own will. “slow down! please!”

he shakes his head, red locks damp and sticking to his forehead as he tucks his face into the back of your shoulder. “c-can’t, need you close too. ‘m gonna cum,” he tells you, whining profligately— the ex assassin revelling in the way you drip thickly down his balls, heavy with cum, the lewd pap pap pap of your sexes moving together creating a song that echoes in the sex tainted air, matching up perfectly with your erotic choreographed routine against the sheets, tainted with your arousals. “gotta get’cha close, are you there gorgeous? that feeling in your tummy back?”

you nod, simpering out for more even though your brain is too misted to keep up with what’s happening— lust coursing through your veins with whatever drug the winter soldier has put in your system. but the feeling is barely there, and you writhe against kirishima for more…even if you hate it, even if you’re not so sure you hate it anymore.

sleeping with the man that murdered your parents.

however, you don’t need to ask for more, eijirou’s metal fingers releasing your throat and allowing you to breathe again— sliding over your clothed, pebbled nipples and down the softness of your stomach before they coldly reach your hot cunt. they toy with your swollen clit between your throbbing, puffy folds to guide you over the edge once more.

two orgasms for the two people you’d lost.

your second high of the night comes crashing over you in a sudden wave, rendering you even more weak and useless than before— you seize up, trapping kirishima inside your soaked cunt as you gush like a sweet flowing river once more. the red head follows suit, his cock pulsing while his cream lines your raw and abused walls. he doesn’t ever let up, pushing his seed further along your walls until both of you collapse into the bed with exhaustion. your hole burns, cum seeping from your entrance as you swear kirishima feels even bigger when his dick is swollen with his orgasm.

“i’m sorry,” he says hoarsely once you’ve both calmed down— but your mind is running a mile a minute, fuzzy and lagging with a combination of your high and the drugs in your system. “‘m so sorry baby,”

“it’s okay,” you whisper back, eyes fluttering with sleep again.

though you’re not sure what you’re forgiving the winter soldier for this time.

taking your parents, or taking your innocence.

1K notes · View notes

lady-ashfade · 1 year

Note

Hey! I’d love to see what you’d do with the Crows & a reader who comes off as just another dumb rich person, they act like a naive airhead and dress like a “princess” but in reality they’re incredibly smart and find it funny when people try to pull one over on them. Thank you :^)

Not so dumb

Platonic!Six of crows x Durast!Bimbo!reader. (Minus Matthias)

Notes: I added the reader being a Durast because for some reason I thought of it, I think it works. Hope this is okay! And you like it 🌸

Warnings: Drugging, a little bit of violence, idk what else to put.

It was just perfect when they saw you in their club, a woman who had a smile on her face. Little clumsy and seemed to be losing a lot, but you dressed so expensive. The necklace around your neck must have be heavy by the looks of it, golden earrings that shined so bright, and the dress that was huge.

That’s when they first met you because you seemed like a easy target. Of course they wouldn’t hurt you but making it seem like you lost your jewelry and coin purse wasn’t so bad. After all you should expect this on this side of time, it was overflowing with thieves.

Nina came over with a tray in her hand with a cup on it, smiling at you charmingly. “Someone at the bar ordered this for you.” She handed the drink you and you smiled at her, “Oh, thank you so much. I’ve been losing so much I do need a drink.” You thanked her as she walked away. As soon as her back was turned to you she smirked.

It had just a little concoction in it to make you pass out and feel drunk. Nothing harmful to kill you, but just right to do what they needed.

Idiots. You thought to yourself and set the drink down and continued playing, you knew how to play people. They will soon bet all their money and you’d do your part to win, you always do.

After a while your cup was almost empty and you stomped a bit, eyes closing and body moving without your knowing. But you did win the round, so you put the money in your pouch and got up. Your body was all over the place as your tried to walk around and to the door when a pair of arms landed around your waist.

“I’ve got you.” Looking up you saw the man who worked for the owner, Jesper you think is name was. “Thank you..” you slurred as he helped you out the door and you pushed your weight into him. I’ve finally got her

But little did he know he was so wrong, oh so very wrong. He stood on his knees in the alleyway holding his neck as the necklace that was once on yours now wrapped around his and choking him.

“I can’t believe you tried to steal from me, you see I’m not as dumb.” You smiled still so kinda and you bow down to him and released him. You picked up with ear rings and pouch he tried to steal from you, “Tell your boss when I come back I want free drinks- Without poison or anything.”

He catches his breath and tried to stay awake as you walked away, disappearing in the fog in the alley and into the darkness. He was very confused about what had just happened, how in the hell did you know and beat him?

Kaz was intrigued when he found out, he wasn’t impressed but he could give you props. And that’s exactly when his brain told him to see if you’d like to join his crew.

And of course, you did because come on. It was fun.

So, I think the team loves to have you on their side now. Because you are actually fun, and kind to them. But they love to watch you fool someone else.

I think you come in every day with something new you stole because all the drunk men are easy targets.

You can go with them on missions to distract the guards. And sometimes you work as a waitress, because you’re good at it.

Nina loves to watch you do your things, even has you teach her a few things but you’re both good at playing dumb.

Jesper is the same way, he is usually the flirt and uses that to fool people. I think you both would make a perfect team, I’m going to say this right now. You like to dress up and so does he, so “shopping sprees” without the paying part.

Jesper doesn’t hold a grudge because he was the one who tried to steal from you, and you didn’t kill him. So, he was easy to forgive.

But going on about how you’re actually really smart is the part that shocked them the most. Here they thought you were just a dumb rich girl but you’re just a smart girl who plays dumb.

Kaz even if he doesn’t admit it, runs the plans by you but in a subtle way. He’ll tell you the plan in full and listen to any comments you make, and it’s rare he makes mistakes but you give him pointers. You can make things a lot more easier and he’s glad he invited you to the team.

He’ll never tell you though.

Inej, she’s really interested in you. How you choose to acted dumb but are smart and can defend yourself well. She often wonders why you do that and why not just acted yourself.

“Well I act this way because it’s easy, one can’t trick someone they don’t really know. And plus it’s fun, and it’s not all fake. I actually do love to have fun…And sometimes I do stumble but don’t tell anyone.”

You and Inej spare sometimes.

But you are a Durast. You teach Jesper how to use his powers when he’s ready, also really handy when on jobs.

Wylan loves when you visit him while he makes things, because you listen to all his words and actually understand most of what he says. Or let’s say you don’t understand all of it, but can keep up with him. He’s glad to have someone who understands what he can do.

The way you two would be the cutest together- The cutest besties.

Over all you’re a pretty interesting mix to the group. Getting alone with everyone one of them for different things.

#six of crows x reader #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker #shadow and done #shadow and bone x reader #nina zenik x reader #nina zenik #Inej ghafa #Inej ghafa x reader #jesper fahey x reader #Jesper fahey #Wylan Van Eck #wylan van eck x reader

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tigertofu · 1 year

Text

ok i've been chipping away at this Thing for a long time and i think it's finally ready to be vomitted out into the internet. without further ado, here is my

Stupid-Long List of Trevor Headcanons

divided into chronological sections !

((the NSFW shit is hiding at the bottom))

CW's for: mentions of drugs/alcohol, addiction, cannibalism, violence, gross sex stuff. typical Trevor things

and heres a gif of him cuz ig thats the tumblr thing to do idk i never made one of these lists b4 :x

the past

• he's a scorpio and the reason he has a scorpion tat on his hand is bc he's like. very mildly into horoscopes. he was born some time in november

• he doesn't have a middle name cuz his mom didn't give enough of a shit to give him one

• despite playing hockey and golf as a kid, he was never really that into the sports themselves. he only did hockey because he saw it as a way to beat up other children and not get reprimanded for it, and he did both in the hopes of being good enough at something to earn his mother's praise for once (it did not work :()

• hates his dad bc of how he treated his mom and is glad he abandoned him at that shopping mall when he was a kid

• he (w/ Brad's help) would play "pranks" on (aka BULLY) poor Lester during the north yankton days. some fav pastimes included (but were not limited to): pantsing him, hiding his walking cane, and replacing his asthma medication with laughing gas

• was highkey jealous of how easy Michael could get girls during the north yankton days. when he actually was able to convince a girl to come back home with him, he would make sure to be loud as hell about it so that Mike would know he wasn't the only one getting chicks

• all of his hand tats and a lot of his other tats were done in prison, even tho he was only in for like 6 months

• prison was a mixed bag for him. on one hand, anal. on the other, having to restrain himself from arguments and physical altercations so he could get out early on good behavior

• went thru a breakdancing phase in the 90's (i THINK this one might be canon. idk. could've sworn i've heard him try to tell Lamar this in an attempt to impress him. pls feel free to prove me wrong or right)

• one of the scars on his eyebrows is actually the result of getting a fresh eyebrow piercing ripped tf out during a barfight in the 00's. prob for the best that it was cuz we all know that shit wouldve ended up getting infected and rejecting out of his face anyways

• he moved to Sandy Shores not just because it's nice and isolated, but because it was the place most opposite of north yankton he could think of. never any snow. he absolutely fucking hates cold weather and snow because it reminds him of a certain bank heist that happened in '04

• between Ron, Chef, and Wade, Chef was the first one he met after moving to Sandy Shores. they used to cook meth together in a trailer out in the desert (another one that i THINK is canon but im not sure idk. it all blurs together, idk whats canon and whats not anymore, my brain is too rotted from spinning Trevor around in it like the world's most dried out little shriveled husk of a rotisserie chicken for the past three years, the fog is coming, yk how it is)

• he acquired Liquor Ace the same way he "acquired" the Vanilla Unicorn. the previous owner just mysteriously disappeared one day. nobody in Sandy Shores cared tho once word got around that the new owner was gonna start cooking crystal in the upstairs and selling it

• yk how in the game he said that his heart momentarily stopped once cuz he put an axe thru a power cable? he did that cuz the power had gone out in the middle of him watching an Impotent Rage episode he hadn't seen yet. for some reason (was prob very high and very angry) he thought that he could bring the power back by hitting the sparking wire with an axe. it didnt work. he smelled like overcooked bacon for a week afterwards. he enjoyed that part tho

the present

• he makes Ron cut his hair with a pair of rusty kitchen scissors when he needs a trim. he used to go to the nice barber lady in Sandy Shores but got banned after loudly moaning about how good her nails felt on his scalp once

• once smoked an entire cigarette in one long inhale. Wade witnessed this and found it extremely impressive

• he'll eat pretty much anything but he especially likes foods with strong flavors. salty, sour, super sweet, spicy, etc cuz his taste buds are SHOT from the years of smoking/drug abuse. he abuses condiments, especially hot sauce

• thinks that any restaurant that doesn't have a drive-thru is a "fancy" restaurant

• LOVES candy cuz the meth has given him a major sweet tooth, but prefers anything with chocolate over fruity/gummy candies

• has a weird fascination with eating raw meat.....of any kind. except for sushi. he thinks sushi is "fancy prissy city people food"

• also has a weird fascination with making stews/soups similar to the eyelid one that he tries to feed Michael in that one cutscene. it's the only type of food he knows how to cook. may be a comfort thing for him because microwaving a bowl of canned soup was the most effort his mother ever put into making a meal for him when he was a kid. and she did it like, twice, maybe. he for sure remembers both times very clearly tho and considers them to be some of his fondest memories

• will go for days without eating anything solid before finally sitting down and consuming enough food to feed a family of 5. sometimes he just like. forgets that eating is necessary for survival

• can open beer bottles with his teeth. between that and the meth habit, its an absolute miracle he still has all his teeth

• go-to pizza order is a large meat lover's. he tries to make vaguely sexual passes about "loving large meat" at the poor pizza delivery guys every time he orders delivery. does not tip, but will say shit like "hey, if you come inside i've got a little tip for ya" while the delivery guy quickly vacates the premises

• honestly? i think there is a good 50/50 chance on whether or not he is ACTUALLY a cannibal. maybe he posters as one cuz he likes the reactions it incites, maybe he genuinely enjoys the psychosexual intimacy of consuming the flesh of another human being........ who knows !! not knowing is half the fun :)

• ok ok hear me out u know that stupid tiktok sound that was going around a couple years ago that goes "hi my name is carmen winstead -- HAAAAAHHHGGCHH" ??? look it up if u don't cuz that's what his snoring sounds like. the fucking "HAAAAAHHHGGCHH"

• once he's asleep he is out like a fucking light. guy could sleep thru nuclear war

• is not opposed to drinking hand sanitizer when out of other sources of alcohol. it tastes just like the shitty moonshine Ron makes in his backyard anyways and gets him even drunker so why not !

• hates horror films bc they make him angry. at least, any of the ones where somebody survives at the end. thinks the murderers in them are stupid. starts yelling shit at the TV like "HE'S GETTING AWAY YOU STUPID FUCK,, WHAT ARE YOU DOING !!!!"

• believes baby pink and orange are "his colors"

• will sit on his sofa or bed and try to shoot any cockroaches scurrying around his place with a pistol for funsies when bored sometimes

• enjoys playing darts at the Yellow Jack with anyone who'll play him but absolutely fucking sucks at it cuz of his shaky hands. accidentally threw a dart into another bar patron's head once. will rage and insist his opponent cheated when he loses. will then get physical if anyone tries to tell him its impossible to cheat at darts. is much less of a sore loser when playing with Mike, Frank, or Lamar tho he will still grumble about losing for up to hours on end afterwards

• is an illegal immigrant bc he never became a US citizen. does not own an actual ID, but has several fakes lying around, all with fake birth dates and fake names that are wildly varying levels of believable

• will absolutely flip his fucking lid if Wade comes around him while wearing Juggalo face paint

• speaking of Wade. yk how he has a shitty tattoo of his own name on his arm? (at least i think he does. i tried looking to see if he does and i couldnt tell so now im unsure if thats just yet another detail that my brain completely made up or smth that i actually saw). ANYWAYS, Trevor gave it to him (stick n poke. it was a longggg process but Wade didnt mind too much cuz he was high at the time and consented to it beforehands anyways) when Trevor first "took him in" cuz he kept forgetting his name and got tired of referring to him as "Hey, you" (which Wade did not respond to most of the time anyways)

• is an ugly crier. like, a butt-ugly crier. snot, drooling, wailing, red face, the whole nine yards and he is loud as hell about it too

• loves back rubs cuz ofc he does he's an old man. often makes Ron or Wade give him massages

• his boomer-ass super-zoomed-in LifeInvader profile pic was taken by Ron. it took them a dozen tries before they got it

nsfw

• he sucks at eating out.........kinda? but what he lacks in precision and consistency he makes up for with sheer (sloppy. slobbery) passion. and endurance. can stay down there (and will, if you let him) for hours

• is not much better at blowing. "accidentally" uses too much teeth every time

• ~4 inches. MAYBE 4.5. good girth tho. not cut

• has a thing for chubby/thicc ppl

• is a biter and won't ask before biting so uhh watch out ! part of the reason for the above is bc there's more to bite

• loooooves loves loves to suck on things. fingers, necks, tits, dicks, anything. also looooooves having it reciprocated. particularly likes shoving his fingers in your mouth

• loves to involve mouths as much as possible. spitting/being spat on, the aforementioned biting as well as being bitten, eating food off of your body or having food eaten off of him, the type of makeout sessions that involve shoving each other's tongues down each other's throats.. anything that involves mouths and/or the motions of eating drives him fucking wild

• will beg you even when not explicitly told to when he's not feeling dominant. will beg and beg and beg and beg and it's hot but can also quickly become incredibly annoying

• but he LOVES to be annoying on purpose too. via the begging, or by teasing/edging, mocking, etc. loves to get a rise out of you and loves the attention (even if negative.. ESPECIALLY if negative) it gets him

• occasionally cries after sex. will expect you to hold him while he does. will start to angry cry and say you don't actually love him if you refuse

• now ik this one is nothing groundbreaking and seems to already be the general consensus amongst the Trevor enjoyers but im gonna say it anyways. he def has a thing for public/semi-public sex. be careful about sitting next to him while in any public space. he WILL try to touch on you and it WILL be in a way that makes it obvious to everyone in the immediate vicinity what's going on. does he do it on purpose as an exhibition thing? maybe...... does he genuinely think he's being slick about it? also maybe. if ur with him, expect to be banned from multiple establishments

• lowkey has a breeding kink in the sense that he loves to finish inside (not just bc it feels nice but also bc of the intimacy of it) and thinks that pregnant women are hot as hell

• is most likely infertile due to the years of meth use tho

• loves to both overstimulate and be overstimulated. just bc you've both climaxed doesnt mean he wont keep going for god-knows-how-long

..................andd that's all she (i) wrote. ty for reading !! i've got more shit to say about Trevor cuz ofc i do but this is already like 2k words so if u wanna hear my headcanons on anything specific at all,, pls do throw it in my ask box ! <33

#trevor philips #trevor philips headcanons #gta v #trevor philips/reader #trevor philipsxreader #gtav #gta 5 #gta5 #gtav headcanons #gta headcanons #headcanons

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oliversrarebooks · 8 months

Text

Febuwhump Day 1: Helpless

tw: forced drugging, restraints, medical whump, forced brain surgery, implied mind control, stun weapon

It was like hitting a brick wall.

One minute, Toshiro was slamming into henchman after henchman, taking them out at a speed faster than the human mind could comprehend. The next minute, his face was rapidly meeting the floor.

His ears were ringing, his vision blurring as his eyes threatened to close on him. His muscles were weak, and it was if someone had pulled the plug on the nerves connecting his brain to his body. The tile floor was cold against his cheek as he fell to the floor with an embarrassing thump, as gracefully as a sack of potatoes, and equally able to move.

Some kind of stun gun. Stunning... thing. Vibrations. His newly fogged mind tried to reason through the situation. He was in the middle of Dr. Moon's lair, and although he'd cut a wide swath through her armored goons and lab interns, he hadn't spotted the good doctor herself yet.

Which meant that this was probably all a trap, and he had obligingly raced into it at top speed.

Fuck. Whatever that weapon was had rendered him helpless. Unless he could recover quickly, he'd be screwed.

He struggled to regain his bearings through the dizziness, managing to force his weakened arms to push him up off the floor, when the low, strong vibrations racked his body again and knocked his tenuous grasp on control far away.

"Well, now, I'd call that experiment a rousing success," said a familiar and infuriatingly smug voice.

Toshiro struggled to focus on the clean white sneakers that stepped in front of his face. Dr. Moon crouched down in front of him, grabbing his chin and directing his blurred gaze into hers.

"Did you enjoy it as well?"

"Fffff..." Toshiro tried to get his mouth to cooperate enough to at least tell her to fuck off.

"Fantastic? Fabulous? Is that what you're trying to say? I think that's what you're trying to say," she said, nonchalantly snapping thick metal restraints on Toshiro's wrists.

Oh, this situation was getting better and better, wasn't it? He could probably use his supersonic vibration to break these cuffs, but it would take some time, and that was at full power, which he most certainly was not. He was still stunned enough that he felt like he might pass out at any moment.

"Don't worry, you're in good hands now, my dear little hero," she said, running a hand through his hair. "Katie, can you get my guest his little party favor?"

A young woman in a lab coat looked confused by the request. "Party favor...?"

Dr. Moon sighed. "The IV. I'm talking about the IV I had you prepare."

"Oh, yes!" she said. "Right away, doctor."

"And let's make him more comfortable! Can two of you get him onto the surgical table?"

"Yes, doctor."

IV drugs? Surgical table? Toshiro's blood ran cold. What the hell was she planning? Her experiments had roughed him up many a time, but she'd never done anything like this.

"Whaaaa..." he slurred pathetically, flopping like a dead fish as a couple of henchmen lifted him onto a padded table. He was still too numb and dazed to fight, and his window of escape seemed to rapidly be coming to a close. As a couple of scrawny scientists effortlessly held him down on the table -- humiliating enough that his embarrassment fought with his growing fear -- Katie returned with a large bag of translucent blue liquid on an IV pole.

"Oh, you're going to just love this, Toshiro," Dr. Moon said, brandishing the IV line's needle with theatrical flair. "You never get enough breaks, do you? I'm about to give you a nice long one."

Toshiro couldn't help his composure breaking slightly. It was one thing to be injured while fighting, or even to be captured and tortured. It was another thing entirely to be rendered unconscious, completely defenseless against whatever the mad scientist wanted to do with him.

"No need to look so upset. This won't hurt at all. You're just going to get very, very sleepy. You'll be just a bit drowsy and slow for the next, oh, let's say the next while. I wouldn't operate any heavy machinery."

She was bringing that IV needle closer to his elbow. He summoned all of his strength to try and pull away, knowing that as soon as he had that drug pumping into his body, it'd all be over. Unfortunately, his muscles were still largely unresponsive from the double stun just a few minutes ago.

Damn it, he had to -- !

The doctor effortlessly got the IV into his vein with a practiced hand, taping it down securely. He looked on in horror as the light blue liquid snaked down the tube and into his arm, willing the drug to somehow stop before it reached him. His arm felt cold and heavy at the injection site as the sedative began to flow freely into his system.

"That should kick in long before you get your bearings from my wonderful stun weapon," she said, stroking his cheek and looking down at him with malicious glee. "And I want to drink every last drop of your fear as you go under."

Toshiro glared as best as he could, testing his powers. Maybe if he could get his supersonic speed working, he could dislodge the IV from his elbow before he absorbed too much of the drug. His fast metabolism meant it took a lot to put him down, anyway.

He was already so groggy from being stunned, and so focused on forcing his uncooperative body to move, that he didn't even notice the buzzing in the back of his skull until it was too late. In seconds, the buzzing transformed into a deep drowsiness, muffling his thoughts like a blanket of fresh-fallen snow, draining him of energy, making his eyelids droop.

"And there it is!" said Dr. Moon with a cackle. "Isn't that the most delicious feeling of helplessness? You look so tired already. Don't fight it, now. Just let my beautiful drugs sing you to sleep. A nice little lullaby..."

Toshiro's efforts to try to shake the IV off had turned into a desperate struggle against the urge to give in and go to sleep. He was so exhausted, and he could feel his mind zoning in and out, his eyelids threatening to close. But he couldn't give in.

"Don't worry, you'll be sedated, but not entirely unconscious. We can't have you fully under for brain surgery, you know."

The shock of adrenaline forced his eyes back open. Fuck. Anything but that.

"No need to panic, it's not a lobotomy. We don't use ugly words like that here. And my methods are far more precise," she said, as Toshiro's heart raced. "I'm just going to... slow you down. Make you more malleable. Easily influenced, let's say. And at only a small cost to your intelligence."

His half-asleep mind woke up enough to panic. Suddenly, he could move. He felt strength in his arm again, enough strength to try and shake free of the IV line that would be the end of him.

He had to get it out at any cost. If he didn't, when he next woke up, he might be some stupefied henchman to his archnemesis, his faculties cut out and left on the floor of her lair. A fate far worse than death -- at least in death, he'd be remembered as a hero. Not remembered as a drooling, dull-witted minion who used to be a hero, cut down by one of his former comrades.

No, he couldn't allow that.

His powers responded, and he willed his super speed to vibrate his arm hard enough to loosen the tape, to dislodge the needle. As soon as he got rid of the threat of the drug, he could break free of the bonds and escape.

"Oh, dear," said Dr. Moon. "Katie, be a dear and take the fight out of our guest again."

Toshiro's eyes widened just before he felt the stun weapon rumble through his body. His hold over his power slipped, his limbs sinking back onto the table. Disoriented and unable to move, the sedative quickly took hold of him once again.

"There, there." The doctor replaced the tape on the IV line. "Just relax, go to sleep, and it will all be over soon. Poor, helpless hero."

He groaned weakly, Dr. Moon's evil grin fading from sight as his vision tunneled.

"He's almost out. Finish preparation in the operating room," she said over her shoulder, before turning back to him. She leaned in close and whispered in his ear, running a hand through his hair. "If all goes well, you won't be waking up as yourself ever again," she cooed. "You're going to go to sleep, and I'm going to win."

Her voice sounded muffled, from far away, and his tongue was too thick and clumsy to respond back.

"Go to sleep. Just go to sleep..."

----

I've been struggling a bit with writing and the Febuwhump prompts looked delicious, so I decided to do a few of them!

New Bookseller chapter soon, promise.

#febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday1 #helpless #whump #whump writing #superhero whump #medical whump #laboratory whump #drugged #sedation #capture

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ckret2 · 1 year

Text

Time for chapter 7 of "Human Bill Attempts To Murder The Pines And Ends Up Their Prisoner/Involuntary House Guest," which will eventually get a title, I'm sure.

Featuring an explanatory flashback on how the hell Bill made it from reincarnation to an attempted murder at the Mystery Shack; his first full day as the shack's prisoner; and angst.

The masterpost for the full fic is available here! Chapter edited 9/23/2024 for TBOB compatibility!

The first thing the reincarnated Bill Cipher's new ears heard was a crack of thunder.

And then he felt the damp soil beneath him and the chill air above him, the position of his limbs, smelled the green forest life.

He was alive, he was... he inspected his teeth with his tongue (ooh, wisdom teeth)—he was an adult human, and he had his memories. It worked. His head felt clear, freed of the constant antipsychotic drug fog. He was still Bill Cipher. He could pick up where he left off.

Just as soon as he oriented himself.

It took a moment to remember how to peel open his two new eyeballs. He was half-laying half-sitting in a freshly dug hole too small for his whole body, limbs splayed out over the dirt. Had the Theraprism's reincarnation machine spontaneously generated his new body straight from dirt? How Pandoran.

He was in the center of a tiny clearing, surrounded on all sides by a ring of evergreen trees but with a view of the cold, clear sky above. His brain registered it as a hazy something-blueish—the color Earth's sky usually appeared when he was looking through human eyes. And that meant one thing:

Whenever and wherever he was, it wasn't Weirdmageddon.

No way had that dumb reincarnation machine actually accounted for Earth's uneven weirdness to randomize when and where he landed. It would ruin everything if it had!

He climbed unsteadily to his feet, searching the area for any identifiable features.

Through the trees, in the distance, he saw the cliffs that the Trilazzx Betians had flown their ship through. Okay! Great! Just as he'd hoped, Gravity Falls's Weirdness Attractor Zone had drawn in an ancient reincarnating alien soul like a flame drawing in a moth. He was exactly where he wanted to be.

He just wasn't when he wanted to be. Why hadn't he landed during Weirdmageddon? What moment in all of Earth's history could possibly be weirder?

The stone bridge over the hole left by the main body of the ship had collapsed, and human train tracks bridged the gap. That left a pretty narrow window he could have landed in, a little over 200 years around Weirdmageddon.

Maybe Weirdmageddon was too weird to hit. Bill had killed time itself. Maybe rather than falling into the weirdness barrier surrounding the town, he'd slingshotted around it like light around a weirdness black hole's event horizon and been flung somewhere else on the timeline. Did the barrier work like that? He wasn't sure, he'd have to ask—

No. Bill wasn't asking him. This time, he'd figure out how to bring down the barrier himself.

But if Bill was in Gravity Falls, there was a chance his backstabbing pawn was currently here, too. And if so, that meant he could personally show him just what happened to people who crossed Bill Cipher. Maybe he'd strangle him with his bare hands, just so he could look in his horrified eyes as the life left them—

His fingernails dug into his fleshy palms as he imagined wrapping his hands around Ford's throat. This body would never do, though; he'd have to shed it. If he were post-Weirdmageddon, his corpse had to be somewhere in the area; he could repossess it and pick up where he left off. If he were pre-Weirdmageddon, he wouldn't be able to obtain physical form, but he could just return to the Nightmare Realm and redo Weirdmageddon in a few years, no loss...

He shut the body's eyes and focused on degloving the expendable corpse from the immortal energy being within.

And nothing happened.

He tried again to peel off the body. Nothing. Trying to leave his body felt like sticking a car key in a plastic toddler car: not only did it fail to start the engine, but there wasn't an engine there to start.

Had the reincarnation process altered his soul? Was he no longer a triangle?! Had he been reshaped into a human spirit to match his body, was he gone, had Bill lost himself—?

He didn't realize until he broke skin that he'd started trying to claw his skin off. He forced himself to stop.

But no, that didn't make any sense. Humans could astral project their souls from their bodies. He'd personally taught humans how to do it, so he knew the process. Even if his soul was human, he should have been able to escape this body. So something else was keeping him in.

But what? Some magic? Something stitching his soul into this body?

The horror ripped raw all his fears, his doubts, his denials; for a moment, he couldn't lie to himself about his situation. So here was the truth:

During the entirety of timeless captivity, he had told himself that the rest of himself, his full self, with all his energy and all his power, had been locked outside the Theraprism; while only the little triangular avatar he used to interact with the world—his anglerfish's lure—was pinched inside, pinched tightly enough that the rest of his power couldn't flow in and could only thrash impotently outside.

But the truth was, he didn't know that. He hoped that, but he didn't know.

The truth was, he hadn't been able to feel his power since the Axolotl dropped him in the Theraprism. The truth was, he wasn't sure if he'd even felt them at all since the moment Stanley's mind began to burn.

It was true that Bill's little triangular avatar was just the little glowing lure dangling from the vast, vast anglerfish of his powers. It was true that Bill's power was contained externally. It was true that he'd been told clearly during admission to the Theraprism that he wouldn't have access to his power.

But he didn't know whether his power was sealed off—like squeezing the walls of a straw shut so no liquid could be sucked through it—or if he'd been cut off from it, like beheading a dragon.

He couldn't feel any of the metaphorical psychic "muscles" he typically used to climb in and out of puppets—as though they'd been amputated. He couldn't feel most of his powers. Why?

Was it because they'd been sealed off at his admittance to the Theraprism and he'd skipped a step during reincarnation that would have unsealed them?

Or because the Theraprism's reincarnation machine, as a therapeutic tool, was designed to prevent recovering patients from fleeing their bodies before they'd finished fully reintegrating into mortal society?

Because he couldn't reach the Nightmare Realm from here?

Because all his power had been destroyed?

Because the reincarnation had truly, irreversibly turned his soul human?

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried, at least, to feel the shape of the energy trapped inside the matter. Was he still a triangle? Or had he been remade human?

He couldn't feel anything. Just blackness and numbness and silence and cold. The space beneath his skin may as well have been a hollow void.

He didn't realize until the blood trickled down his wrists that he'd started clawing his skin again. He stuck his fingers in his mouth to prevent them from clawing again.

When his head bent forward, he spied a mass of golden yellow filaments dangling from the top of his head. Several internal organs automatically convulsed and spasmed at the sight; white lights and awful gory memories and the cold silent suffocating void and the room he'd died in flashed by his mind's eye; he accidentally bit down on his fingers and felt the flesh on the inside of his throat struggle to thrash around; he had to yank them out and seal a rubbery hand over his mouth to keep from regurgitating whatever was inside him. He closed his eyes to hide the awful filaments dangling down from his scalp but now he couldn't stop feeling them brush against his cheeks and shoulders and all he saw was the dark, the endless dark—

He was dizzy. He dropped to his knees, dug his fingers into the soft earth, and tried to remember how to breathe. For a long moment he was paralyzed in place, heavy breaths whistling through his ridiculous little nose tubes, mentally battling his own body's attempt to revolt against him in his moment of weakness.

Somebody would die for this. The Pines family, the zodiac, that backstabbing Axolotl, D-SM5 and all its condescending cronies, the Henchmaniacs who'd abandoned him to the Theraprism, the whole Earth, the whole universe—everyone who'd been responsible for Bill ending up like this. He'd kill and kill and kill until he stopped feeling like he'd been buried alive in hell.

His eyes burned, but he didn't cry.

####

There was a rustling behind him and a human grunt. He turned—and saw, behind him, the beforeimage of a fight a few seconds in the future: a short wide-hipped human female with curly gold hair and a tall narrow human male with straight black hair. There were both naked. Why were a couple of naked humans about to fight in front of him?

Wait—he grasped for a handful of the sickening yellow filaments peeling out of his flesh and pulled it into his peripheral vision. Curly gold. Oh, that was him fighting in the future. He shuddered and let go of the hair. So why was he about to fight a human?

He could figure that out later; he studied the near-future battle in the space in front of him, the blurry moments with several possible outcomes, squinting at the possible futures where he won to see how he did it. He seemed to win in most timelines. Opponent was pretty clumsy—

Even though Bill could see exactly when the human would stumble out from between the trees, the moment still arrived sooner than he would have liked. The human glared down at Bill, panting and sweating in the chill air; and then he asked, suspiciously, "Bill Cipher?" What?

But of course, the human hadn't actually said "Bill Cipher." That's just a convenient translation for a word that can't be rendered in any human orthography. Bill Cipher was one of several names Bill used on Earth, a couple of human words Bill gave to humans as his name because they could pronounce it; he handed out different names to different species. The name this human had said, although heavily accented, was still recognizable as one of the names Bill used in—

—the Theraprism.

His rib cage twitched as he laughed—a high, hissing titter, the first time he'd used this body's voice. "Heyyy, were you one of the guards? Did you get too close to the altar when—"

"You," the guard snarled. "You've gone too far this time. I'm taking you down, Cipher." He charged toward Bill, fist raised.

And Bill just grinned. He had a lot more experience being human than this joker did—and he knew all their weak spots. He'd already seen how this ended.

He let the guard get close enough to begin swinging his fist—then kneed him right in the human design flaw, rammed his head through the guard's nose, and knocked him on his back. The guard was out cold before he hit the ground. Bill stood on his throat until he was sure the guard was never getting up again. He could feel his lungs expanding and contracting and his blood pulsing through his neck; he could feel the adrenaline in his hands and brain like a drug.

He laughed.

It turned out he only needed to kill one person to stop feeling like he'd been buried alive in hell. Now he just felt like he was partially submerged in heck.

Bill was great! Everything was fine! He totally hadn't had a panic attack within five minutes of reincarnation, he definitely knew how to breathe, and he felt fantastic. In fact, he didn't mind being trapped inside a human body at all. It was funny! So, so funny! Funny little prank reality had played on him.

See? He was a good sport. He was the best sport.

Well, he'd get reality back.

####

As he walked in the direction of town, he took stock of his current body and what he could do with it.

He still had his first most important power—the one that even the Theraprism hadn't been able to take away without keeping him drugged out of his mind: his all-seeing eye.

He'd been born with a strange eye that let him see into one higher dimension than everyone else. From the second dimension, he'd been able to see into the third dimension: the starlight and sunbeams shining down on his world. From the third dimension, he could see into the fourth: the past and future superimposed onto the present like transparent ghosts showing him where everyone had been and would be, blurry around the moments where he saw multiple possible futures.

He looked at the sun. At full power, Bill could see days into the future and past—multiple white streaks across the sky tracing the sun's path as it rose and set—and further with a basic telescope; but now, based on the short streak of white light he saw before it trailed off into the blue, he suspected he could only see about fifteen minutes into the future and past if he squinted. And he couldn't see the brilliant ring of extraturquoise that should have haloed the sun. Human color vision was an embarrassment.

In the second dimension, his all-seeing eye had also been able to see through objects—or, rather, over objects, bent up slightly into the third dimension so it could look down upon the flat world. When he tried to bend an eye up into the fourth dimension, he could see through the nearby trees, but it felt like his eyelids were trying to pop his eyeball like a pimple. His eye hadn't started bleeding immediately, so it was easier than trying to peer into the fourth dimension with a puppet's eyes, but not by much. He'd have to use that sparingly. And he'd better not risk attempting pyrokinesis unless the fire was more important than his eyeball.

And finally, for the first time, he turned his full attention to his new prison. He'd gotten a glimpse of it when he'd been watching his future actions, enough to tell it wasn't bad looking for a human. Pretty triangular body shape. Neck was too narrow, though—he hated how goofy human necks looked.

Four limbs with five mini-limbs each, it was nice to have ten fingers again but he didn't see any interesting mutations or deformities, yawn. He'd hoped he might mutate fractal phalanges. And on top of looking disgusting, human skin came in such boring neutral tones; he'd have to redecorate. He flexed his finger joints experimentally, imagining his hand encased in gold rings and bangles. Maybe he could stab some graffiti into his dermis, too. He could live with that until he found his way back to his real body.

Aside from the expected patches of lighter and darker melanin, there was no variation in his skin tone except for a band of slate grey splotches stretching from his left shoulder down to his right hip. They looked like two-day-old bruises, the hemoglobin dull and blackish-blue—but why would an hour-old body be created with a two-day-old bruise?

It took a moment of inspection to recognize that the "bruises" were birth marks, and they took the same path across his torso as the fatal crack that had split his exoskeleton in half. Ugh. Moving on.

He hopped on one foot at a time to inspect the bottoms (and tripped and tumbled into the dirt twice in the process). All 20 toeprints and fingerprints were, unexpectedly, still triangular—Bill wondered if the Theraprism did that on purpose to make reincarnations easier to track—head line like a river, absolutely hideous heart line.

Skin was reasonably elastic. So-so melanoma resistance. Healthy-looking cellulite pattern. How was his design flaw looking?

While in the middle of trying to contort himself like a cat licking its butthole, from the corner of one of his eyeballs, Bill saw two time cops emerging from the trees and heading his way several minutes before they would arrive. Of all the rotten luck— He contemplated running, considered how far he'd get in a fresh, uncalloused, nude body before a sharp rock or broken branch ripped his bare feet open—he'd already had to slow down and adjust his footsteps to be more tentative just from walking toward town—and instead he to hide behind a cluster of trees.

As the officers drew closer to the moment Bill saw them pass his spot, he heard one say: "Would you put that stupid thing away and focus? We're suppose to be on the lookout for Cipher."

Bill's heart leaped into his throat. (He was pretty sure it wasn't actually his heart, but it sure felt like that. Huh. That's one baffling English idiom explained.) They'd found him already? How? Maybe it wasn't too late to run—

"But this is stupid," another voice grumbled. "The energy signal from Cipher's resurrection is already fading, he's got to be long gone by now! Assuming the signal wasn't just an instrument error caused by the dumb ship under town!"

"There's no way it was an instrument error."

"If Time Baby really thought he'd still be here, he'd have sent more than a handful of us! This is worse than hover car crosswalk duty—"

"Look," the first officer snapped, "the tantrum Time Baby threw after the Theraprism notified him that Cipher's at large and probably headed back toward Earth is the worst I've ever seen. Think about the lives lost, man! The cities leveled! How much angrier will he be if no one finds him—"

"I know, I know—"

"—and Time Intelligence is sure that if he's coming back to Earth, it will be here! Need I remind you we've got officers swarming Roadkill County for six months in both directions from Weirdmageddon, and checking the site yearly for the first century in either direction, centennially for the first millennium, millennially anniversary for the first—"

"—I know, I know—"

"—as well as checking out every suspicious energy reading on the whole timeline! I don't know about you, but I do not want to be transferred from 'check out suspicious energy reading' duty to 'six-month stakeout' duty! But if we return to Time Baby with nothing—"

"But what if there is nothing?! Think about it—if Cipher were still here, wouldn't he be, you know, conquering the world?"

(Oh, he wished.)

"It's not our job to make sense of the mind of an escaped alien madman. It's just to find him if he is here—Would you put that away!"

Of course the Theraprism had sent a warning to Time Baby! Time Baby and D-SM5 probably adored each other, pair of dictators that they were.

But: Time Baby and his goons didn't actually know Bill was here. He could still take them by surprise.

And that gave him an idea.

Bill peeked around the trees. The cops were so close to the moment they would emerge from the trees and pass Bill's hiding spot that he could see the irritation on one's face and the handheld game console in the other's hands; and he was also beginning to see the fuzzy shape of his own future self approaching them as a plan formed in his head. He hid again. Only one shot at this. Would a human think he looked harmless and vulnerable? Those uniformed slabs of muscle were two feet taller than him, and he was naked. Check and check.

He waited until they turned the corner, then stepped out from behind the rubble pile, waving. "Oh, thank goodness, the police!" Probably the first and last time he was ever saying that. "I'm terrified confused, and can't seem to find my clothes. Can you he—" He tripped on a root, yelped, and had to grab the officers for balance. "... help." Okay. That was good. Extra harmless-looking. He meant to do that. But he made a mental note to spend a few more minutes on walking practice once he got away.

Grumpy Officer was looking toward the sky. "Oh." Gamer Officer was hiding his face behind his game console. "Oh dear." Grumpy Officer cleared his throat and said, "Of—of course. We're happy to help, Miss...?"

Heck. Think of a human name fast. "Tomato."

Gamer Officer said, "What seems to be the problem, Ms. Tomato?"

Now think of a story. "I... I witnessed a murder!" He pointed back the direction he'd come from. "It's just that way! Hurry!"

Grumpy Officer said, "That's the direction of the signal from Cipher's resurrection! Show us!"

As Bill led them back toward the guard's body, Gamer Officer asked, "Do—do you need some clothing, ma'am?" He patted down his jumpsuit and found no removable clothes.

"It's fine, it's not that cold."

"Did you... lose your clothing during the murder?" Grumpy Officer asked.

"Yep! Sure did!"

"How?"

That was a good question. "I'm not sure, it's all such a blur!"

As they emerged into the small clearing, they stopped dead at the sight of the body. Gamer Officer took one look at its face, turned away, and covered his mouth. Grumpy Officer knelt by it, careful not to touch it as he examined the damage. "He's definitely dead. This doesn't look like Cipher's usual work, though."

Trying to shield his eyes from the body, Gamer Officer asked, "Did you see what did this?"

Did he want to confirm to Time Baby's agents that Bill Cipher had been in the area? Probably not—last thing he needed was more Time Police. "I'm not sure! It could have been a bear."

"Hmm." Grumpy Officer rubbed his chin. "Well—we'll get you to the contemporary authorities, ma'am. This looks like a case for them."

"You go," Gamer Officer said, voice strained. He pulled his time tape off his belt. "I'll report this to HQ."

"Good idea." Grumpy Officer paused. "Hold on. We don't look like contemporary authorities. How did you know we're cops?"

Both officers were desperately avoiding looking directly at Bill's naked body, one was kneeling by the corpse, the other was turned toward the woods and had his time tape extended inches in front of Bill—now. Bill flung his whole weight on Gamer Officer's arm to wrench the tape away from him, kicked Grumpy Officer's butt to knock him sprawling over the corpse, pulled out a random length of time tape, and snapped out of the year before the officers could registered what happened.

####

The first jump was just to escape. He popped open the time tape with his teeth and a sharp rock and packed it with dirt—it'd probably kill the tape after a jump or two but it would block Time Baby from being able to detect it, which was more important. The second jump took him to a ruined battlefield in the middle of the Time Baby War—Bill knew his human history—where Bill could dump this cheap police time tape riddled with temporal tracking technology and scavenge a military tape off a fallen rebel soldier. Rest in peace, brave rebel—Bill really wished they'd won the war against Time Baby. Maybe he could fix that for them once he was in charge.

By the time he found a tape in good condition, his abdomen, eyes, and head had developed an assortment of overlapping aches. Nothing he couldn't ignore. But it was worth the effort: the rebel military tape was less prone to overheating, more lax on permitting temporal doubles and time loops, and built to hide from Time Baby and his forces with paradox-cloaking stealth tech. Even if the time cops followed him this far, they'd never know where he went next.

He was continuing where he'd left off.

He'd love to return to the moment he died and murder the Pines on the spot—or, better yet, warn himself ten minutes before it happened. But even the best time tape would struggle to target a temporal paradox as complicated as Weirdmageddon—and if his reincarnation had taught him anything, it was that Weirdmageddon clearly sent travelers aimed toward it astray. The pigs had said Time Baby had them patrolling Gravity Falls for six months in either direction of Weirdmageddon; Bill could return to Gravity Falls before then, start the portal up earlier than Stanley managed to, invite himself through and give himself a few warnings about what to watch out for from the humans...

But that wasn't good enough.

Time moved wrong in the Theraprism. He felt like he'd experienced millennia surrounded by its grey tiles and fluorescent lights; but he also felt like time hadn't passed since his death.

His death was as fresh in his mind as if it had been an hour ago.

And the Pines family would pay for it.

First, he'd murder the Pines and anyone else in their stupid shack. He'd decide what to do next from there. Maybe he would jump a few years into the past and start Weirdmageddon early.

Or maybe he'd just continue where he'd left off. He'd find his corpse—he knew it was somewhere out in the woods—and keep it safe in the shack. He'd dig up the treasure Pine Tree and Shooting Star had buried during the summer and liquidate some of the gold. He'd fast-forward until the murder investigation was over and the shack was back on the market, buy it himself, repair the portal, and then, he'd shake his corpse's hand. He'd restart Weirdmageddon in his enemies' own home, wearing his true form—and as soon as that portal opened up, all his power would come rushing back to him from the Nightmare Realm. Maybe not the most efficient plan...

But so satisfying.

He could figure out how to pop the stupid weirdness barrier around the town as he went. Minor details. For now, all he cared about was killing the two-faced twins who'd dared try to stop him.

And he couldn't wait to see the look in Stanford's eyes.

He set his time tape for February 25, 2013—six months and a day after Weirdmageddon.

####

He appeared in a suburban backyard, snatched a bedsheet drying on a clothesline and a couple safety pins from a nearby laundry basket, and made himself a chiton.

Bill Cipher had billions upon billions of eyes on Earth. There were a million in Gravity Falls alone—stuffed into wallets, peering out of grocery store shelves, nestled into book pages, growing on the trees. He shut his flesh eyes to peer through the others, looking for his corpse...

And saw nothing. When he shut his eyes, his vision went completely black. That had never happened before.

It looked like the solitary dullness void.

He shivered and opened his eyes. He could find his body later. He didn't need it! He had his memory, he had his identity, and he had his all-seeing eye. Eyes. Once upon a time that was all he'd needed to liberate a dimension; and it was all he'd need now to liberate himself.

Provided he also had a portal. And that meant he needed to murder some enemies.

He headed for the Mystery Shack.

####

In retrospect, he probably should have planned the murders a little more thoroughly.

####

June 2, 2013

Bill was locked back in the cellar until the humans could Bill-proof the house—cutlery moved out of the kitchen, phones relocated where he couldn't reach them, dangerous chemicals locked away, etc. His cuffs and restraints were removed, he was handed a few granola bars and water bottles and awkwardly gifted a bucket that he received with an expression that suggested he wasn't quite sure what the humans expected him to use it for, and he was locked in.

And at last, everyone could get some sleep.

It was past five in the morning when Dipper and Mabel collapsed back in their beds. With time travel thrown in, they had been up for thirty hours with only an hour or two of napping. And yet, for all their exhaustion, when the first hint of morning grayness lightened the sky outside, both of them were still awake, staring at dust motes and the old wooden ceiling beams.

Mabel sighed heavily.

Dipper said, "You too?"

"Yeah. I guess it's the chocolate shake and pancakes. What's your excuse?"

"Bill ordered coffee for the table, and nobody told me I couldn't have it, so..."

Mabel laughed. "Evil chaos demon got you! You fell for his trap!"

"Oh nooo."

Neither of them needed to admit that it wasn't the caffeine keeping them awake.

"Hold on." Mabel got out of bed, scooted around Waddles—he took up more of the floor than he had last year—and trudged to her suitcase. She tossed half her clothes on the floor, and pulled out—

Dipper laughed weakly. "You brought those?"

"I thought we might need them. You know—being back here, reminded of everything."

Almost as soon as they'd gotten home last summer, Mabel had started knitting throw blankets depicting the anti-Bill zodiac that Ford had drawn. She gave the first to Dipper as his bar mitzvah gift. She kept the second herself. She mailed the other eight to the other members of the zodiac. (The family therapist their parents had started taking them to said self-expression through art was a great way to cope with difficult experiences.)

Ford had told them the zodiac drawing merely represented a list of people, like a chart with table seating arrangements. They knew the symbol itself didn't do anything. It held no magic, it couldn't protect them. Nevertheless, sleeping under his blanket had done more for Dipper's Bipper nightmares than any dream catcher ever could. Mabel thought wrapping up in it felt like a hug from their friends in Gravity Falls.

She handed Dipper his red blanket with the zodiac embroidered in dark green yarn, and pulled out her own rainbow blanket with black embroidery. Mabel wrapped hers around her head and shoulders like a huge hooded shawl and slid back in bed, her mind and dreams now properly shielded. Dipper stared at the face in the middle of the zodiac for a long moment, before he turned the blanket over so Bill's ever-watching eye could only see the dark surface of Dipper's bedsheet.

And then, at long last, they were safe enough to fall asleep.

####

"So then he said—" Bill put on his best impression of Stan's voice, "'Do you expect us to baby-proof the whole shack in five minutes? No! You're going in the cellar!'" It was actually a very good impression. "And now I've been here for hours. If they think they can trick me into staying down here..." A pinball fell between Bill's flipper bats. He sighed and launched another ball.

"It's downright disrespectful, is what it is," the cowboy skull in the pinball machine said. "Sounds like you've had a rough night, pardner."

"You don't know the half of it." Bill lost another ball in the gutter. "Gimme another three."

"That's supposed to be Game Over."

"Come on, I'm having a bad day. Just a friendly match! Look at my reflexes in this body, you and I both know I'm not high score material."

"Okay, okay. Here."

Ford cracked open the cellar door, flung a wad of fabric down the stairs, and shut the door again. "All right," Stan shouted through the door. "No tourists are around. Solitary confinement's over. Put on some normal clothes and knock when you're done."

"It's about time." Bill lost another ball between the flipper bats. "Sorry, 'partner.' Looks like we'll have to finish this game another time."

Stan, Ford, and Soos automatically took a few steps back as creaks and thuds drifted through the door from Bill climbing up the stairs, as though he were a monster they expected to break through the wood and attack them. He shouted, "Hey, how long does it really take to move a few knives to another room, anyway? I was starting to think you planned to leave me down here."

"We needed sleep! We were up all night!"

"How is that my problem? I never told you to sit up all night staring at me—"

After a few more minutes of back-and-forth grousing, Bill knocked on the cellar door to be unleashed. The shack household had scrounged together an XL yellow-beige pine tree t-shirt (surplus from the gift shop), a set of Soos's winter sweatpants (which Bill found too long and set aside), an elastic-waisted plain green skirt in case the sweats didn't fit (some old thing Abuelita never wore), a pair of old swim trunks (to compensate for the fact that nobody had the energy or motivation to go buy their prisoner underwear today), and mismatched flip-flops (from the Mystery Shack's lost-and-found).

The shack household had not scrounged together a broom to give to Bill, and yet when they opened the door, he was holding one, bristles pointed up, like a poorly-dressed witch waiting to go on an evening flight. The potential weapon was promptly confiscated, and Stan, Ford, and Soos escorted Bill around to the back of the shack. He stared out toward the woods as the door was opened for him, but it was impossible to tell whether he was looking for something specific or just getting one last glimpse of the sky before he was incarcerated indefinitely.

The moment Bill stepped inside, Abuelita was in front of him, shoving a hot plate of chicken and enchiladas in his chest. "Welcome. You are staying with us for a while, yes?"

Bill tried to take a step back, bumped into Soos, and automatically took the plate in both hands. He blinked at Abuelita, eyebrows raised in polite bafflement. "Yes?"

"Yes. Soos told me. You missed dinner." There was loose plastic wrap still half-covering the plate, which had been labeled in black marker: para Bill Cifra - NO TOCAR! "I saved you a plate."

"Oh yeah," Soos said, "Abuelita put that in the fridge for you before we ate last night. She's big on hospitality."

"Well!" Bill beamed. "At least you have some manners—unlike some people around here who apparently don't care if I miss dinner." He shot a sly look at Ford. "Say, didn't I tell you never to call me—"

"Watch it," Ford said warningly. Stan gave him a baffled look.

Bill chuckled. "So! Does this come with silverware, or—?"

"Here." Abuelita offered him a plastic orange baby spoon. "Soos says you do not get the good silverware. So you cannot kill people."

"Yeah, yeah, I know the routine." He tossed the plastic wrap on the floor and attempted to saw off a chunk of enchilada with the soft edge of the spoon. "Between you and me, I'd be more likely to stick a fork in the microwave than try to kill someone with it—but hey, I'm not the warden."

"You threatened to stab me with a fork this morning," Ford said.

"Nooo, I told you why I wasn't going to stab you with a fork. That's the opposite of a threat," Bill said. (Ford exchanged a sideways glance with Stan, who rolled his eyes.) "Anyway, show me what you've done with this place since I last saw it!" He wove past the humans to duck into the kitchen. "I see you finally got rid of that second stove! Really frees up the space in here, doesn't it! Too bad you kept the gas one. I didn't wanna say anything about this last year, but fix that slow gas leak, would you? If you want to get haunted by carbon monoxide demons, that's your business, but I owe a tokoloshe money."

Stan blinked. "The slow what?"

Ignoring them, Bill went on, "You're gonna have to do something about all this." He waved his baby spoon at the fridge and cabinet doors. "You don't want me to come ask for help every single time I need to eat."

"Actually, that might be preferable," Ford said. "It would ensure you can't tamper with our food when we aren't looking."

"You'll get sick of it," Bill said confidently.

He finally freed up a spoonful of enchilada, stuffed it in his mouth, and tore off a chunk of chicken with his teeth—and then stopped, staring down at the plate in amazement. With his mouth still full, Bill said, "Oh wow, this is delicious! You know, I haven't had a home cooked meal in centuries! And that nutty aftertaste? Mm! You're a daring chef, lady. I love it."

He spat his mouthful back onto the plate. "But unfortunately, I think I'm allergic to one of your ingredients!" He held the plate out to Abuelita, grinning widely. "Would you mind giving me a portion with less cyanide?"

Everyone stared at Abuelita.

She shrugged placidly. "It was worth a try." She took back the plate.

Bill licked the last of the poisoned food off his teeth and spat it on the kitchen floor. "Mil gracias, señorita Silloncito."

She gave the floor a displeased look as she passed to wash off the dish in the sink, but merely said, "Un placer." She gave Bill another dirty look as he shoved in front of her to wash his hands in the sink before she could get started on the plate.

Dubiously, Ford murmured, "Silloncito isn't Mrs. Ramirez's first name, is it?"

"Nope." Stan grinned. "While you were busy studying the Odyssey, I was in South America learning Spanish—you know, a language people actually speak."

"What does 'silloncito' mean?"

"I dunno."

Soos had been gaping at his grandmother since Bill said the word "cyanide." He finally managed to work his jaw enough to say, "Abuelita, what...?"

"Do not worry about it, mijo," Abuelita said sweetly, pulling out a mop.

"Did you just try to...?"

"We can talk later." Abuelita gestured to the door, where Bill was meandering out of the kitchen. "I'll clean now. You go with the others."

As Bill left, he called back, "Next time, I'm making my own plate! Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice..." He swept past the humans into the living room. "Hey, you finally got enough seating in here! This place is really starting to shed that 'lonely old bachelor' stench—ey, Stanley?"

"Watch it."

Where Stan's old recliner once sat, Abuelita had put her sofa with the pastel yellow floral print. Her blue armchair and Stan's recliner were lined up at a right angle to the sofa to form a seating area around the TV, which had been turned to face all the seats. Atop the decorative T-Rex skull sat a small vase with a few fresh flowers.

Soos dragged his distracted gaze away from the kitchen to point at the floral sofa. "You, uh... you can sleep on the sofa bed. It folds out. We're kind of out of other rooms. I'm in the master bedroom, Abuelita's in the study cuz she gets her own bathroom there and doesn't have to use the stairs, we made the parlor a guest room for the Pineses, the kids are in the attic... and that's pretty much all the bedrooms we've got, dude." Soos shrugged. "Me and Melody, we were talking about walling off the empty attic area to make a sick gaming room? I guess maybe we should think about making it another guest room instead—"

"Which Bill wouldn't be able to use," Ford said, "if it has a door. Besides, I doubt Bill will be here long enough for you to finish any large construction projects."

Airily, Bill said, "Think you'll figure out how to get rid of me that fast?" He didn't even look at Ford; he was busy taking off the sofa's cushions to inspect the foldout bed underneath. "Last time you tried it took you thirty years, and you're 0 for 4 murder attempts so far." Bill tried, unsuccessfully, to lift the folding bed out of the sofa. "Not—counting—all the times—" he grunted with exertion, "—you failed to burn my book."

Voice icy, Ford went on without acknowledging Bill. "And at any rate, I'd rather have him out in the open where we can all keep an eye on him."

Soos glanced back and forth between Ford and Bill as they shot verbal barbs at each other, his fingertips pressed together. "Oookay! So. Sofa bed it is. I like sofa beds! It feels kind of like camping, but without going outside."

"Bet I'm not allowed to start a campfire in the living room." Bill gave up on the sofa bed and looked around the room—and his face lit up like a child who'd just received a pirate ship-shaped birthday cake. "Hey! Is that me?" In his rush to cross the living room, he tripped over Abuelita's blue armchair, flopped flat on the floor, and got back up like nothing happened.

Where Ford had once hung his father's banner from the Royal Order of the Holy Mackerel, Soos had put up a new decoration: a knit tapestry depicting Bill Cipher, framed in apocalyptic lightning and hovering over a sea of fire...

... and encircled by the Ten Cosmic Symbols of the zodiac prophesied to witness his defeat.

Bill's smile dimmed. "Ah."

"Oh, hey! That's the blanket Mabel made me." Soos stood next to Bill, admiring the zodiac blanket. "Yeah, she made us all blankets to commemorate our epic battle and everything? She called us up to ask how we wanted them customized and stuff. I suggested the flames and the lightning bolts! Thought they'd look rad. Heh. It's—it's pretty cool, right?"

Bill's gaze slowly traced the confining ring of symbols; and then met the gaze of his own, true, proper face. And he turned away to face Soos and forced his smile wider. "Question Mark, I like your sense of decor."

"Ha—wait, seriously?"

"Heck, if I'd commissioned a portrait myself, I'd have requested the same! Remind me to show you some tapestries the Northwests have been keeping of me, I think you'd appreciate them!"

"Oh." Soos rubbed the back of his neck. "Huh. You know, I didn't think you'd think cool things are cool. Kinda."

"You kidding?! Fire and lightning! I love it! Like a party with natural pyrotechnics! It's nature's way of trying to unleash a bit of anarchy on an otherwise disappointing little world!"

"Uh..." Soos quickly glanced toward the Pines in a silent plea for help with this conversation, then looked back at Bill. "Yeah, totally dude! It's like... got that boom factor, you know?"

"Boom factor! Ha! You're all right, Questiony." Bill turned his back on the zodiac and swept across the room again. "So! What have you done with the rest of this dump!"

Soos stood rooted to the spot until Bill left the room.

He looked at Stan and Ford. "Do you think Bill, like... knows my name?"

Ford shrugged and made a so-so gesture.

Soos nodded. "Okay." He pulled out a chair at the living room table. "You guys wanna go ahead without me? I think I'm gonna... sit here. And process the fact that Abuelita is an attempted murderer."

As they followed Bill, Stan lowered his voice and asked Ford, "So, uh—what was with that thing about Bill telling you not to call him something?"

"Oh." Ford grimaced. "When we first met, and Bill had me convinced he was some muse of knowledge," (Stan snorted) "I asked if it was alright to just call him Bill. It... seemed too informal for a god." (Stan snorted again.) "Stop that." Ford spoke with great displeasure, as though he were repeating a particularly distasteful joke: "He said I could call him anything but don't call him late for dinner."

"Ah." And that was all they had time to say before they caught up with Bill, Ford had to rebury his memories of the years he'd thought Bill was his friend, and Stan had to force himself to stop wondering about them. It seemed inappropriate to think about Bill making friendly jokes.

####

On Bill's first proper night in the Mystery Shack, he woke in the middle of the night, gasping for air so loudly it sounded like a reverse scream.

Waking didn't improve things.

He was back in the room where he'd died, no light but the eerie blue of invisible flames licking up the walls, his vision framed by golden filaments spilling out of his head. He rolled over and heaved on the floor—and between his stomach's convulsions he made direct eye contact with an axolotl, cold, serene, staring dispassionately at him from an illuminated fish tank—and past the axolotl, he saw an image of himself trapped flat on the wall, surrounded by a ring of his enemies, fire lapping at his heels. And it was just like dying again, he was powerless, he could see his body coming apart in his peripheral vision, he couldn't even float, pinned to the ground by gravity—

He had to claw at his skin until this human body's uncomfortable alienness overrode the memory of his gold exoskeleton shattering.

His rebirthmark burned.

The next morning, the household found no signs of Bill in the living room except for a puddle of dried puke.

The sofa bed's mattress had been dragged halfway up the stairs, and then abandoned at the landing where the stairs turned a right angle.

They found Bill in the attic, laying on the floor atop a makeshift bed he'd assembled out of sofa cushions. He was curled up facing the wall beneath the seating alcove where, just a few months ago, there had been a window of his face.

####

(I hope y'all enjoyed!! I'd love to hear your thoughts. If you read the original and are back now to read the edited & updated version, I'd particularly love to hear your thoughts—even setting aside the TBOB edits, I think this new version of Bill's first moments alive is much stronger.

Plus he gets to kill a dude. Good for him.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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theszarrpalace · 5 months

Text

Acts Of Service - Masquerade

Summary: The dungeons underneath the Szarr palace had been bad but could this really be worse than being locked up in the dark?

Pairing: Cazador Szarr x afab!spawn!Reader x Sebastian

Word Count: -2.2k

Content Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat 18+!, It’s Non-Con Central In Here, Intoxication, Drugging, Memory Loss, Explicit Mentions Of An Orgy, Emotional Coercion, Implied Unprotected P In V, Implied Unprotected Anal, Implied Oral (F Receiving And Giving), Fingering, Hurt/A Cheap Excuse Of Comfort, Descriptions Of Physical Discomfort Due To Aforementioned Abuse, Everybody Around Reader Is Kinda Really Disgusting

A/N: No, seriously, heed the content warnings. This one is just vile.

Tagging: @vampiric-hunger

A shallow, still halfway asleep sigh slipped past your lips as your consciousness lazily settled back into your body. Out of habit, you stretched your limbs and arched your back but unlike feeling the unforgiving, cold, and hard stone floor underneath you, you sensed your skin being caressed by a heavy velvet blanket. It boggled your dizzy mind, causing your eyebrows to furrow into a crinkly arch, expectations not suiting the reality of finding yourself curled against a thick, feathery pillow. You had no recollection of getting even remotely close to an actual bed and before better judgment set in, you genuinely thought to still be fast asleep, your brain allowing you to escape from your place of misery for a few hours again.

No, something very vital was horrifically off. From the way you were barely able to open your eyes even if you really wanted to the looming soreness emitting from your lower abdomen, a sudden tinge of panic settling in your chest, forcing you to gasp for air. Eventually, you had to force your eyelids to open up. They felt terribly heavy and only revealed a set of eyes that were hardly able to recognize anything. With your vision only slowly coming back into focus, you blinked repeatedly to get rid of the milky sheen glazing over your retina.

“What…in the hells?” The voice whispering from between your lips sounded dry and raspy, words pressed from a sand-paper throat as you worked your upper body to rise from the mattress.

At first, the overworked and abused synapses in your brain refused to connect, however, as soon as the first spark flew, an entire wildfire followed accompanied by a silent cry that got stuck right behind your tongue causing a painful moment of muscle spasming. Random splinters of fogged memories clouded your thinking as they fought each other, each one of them trying to work its way to the forefront. You tried swallowing the lump that was threatening to gag you but it was a rather fruitless attempt. If at all possible, the inside of your mouth turned endlessly dry whilst burning eyes looked down at yourself, staring in horror and disbelief for they found clusters of bruises and bite marks painting a morbid work of gruesome art on your brutalized skin.

A gush of hot tears pricked and stung in the corners of your eyes as you started to remember; remember being passed around like a platter of appetizers for everybody to get their little piece. Men, women, spawn, high lords, and their ladies from all over Baldurs Gate feasting on your body until satisfied. In an absentminded gesture, your fingers snapped to your mouth, tracing dry and chapped lips in a moment of pure and utter shock. They’d used all of you, every orifice tainted with countless gushes of cum and discharge, leaving a salty aftertaste that threatened to make you gag. You’d cum, too, not only on bare cock but also on gently swirling, caressing tongues and fingers fucking into you for hours on end.

You wanted to cry out, you really -really- wanted to but every little sob got stuck in your gradually tightening throat, every cry making you choke on your own emotions. Every single thought led back to you hungrily raising a chalice to your lips. Gods, you drank that all up to the last drop of red with no second thought, not thinking that your Master would be monster enough to set you up like that, make you pliable with alchemistic powders and potions.

“Still tasting me on there, pet?” You turned your head with such vigor that it hurt, weary eyes darting at a pale face adorned by a vile grin.

You ached to leap right at the bastard, to scratch his fucking eyes out there and then but as your mind was busy murdering him your body froze.

“Oh.”, The Vampire lord cocked his head to the side, a shallow laugh escaping his lips, “You got fucked up good.”

You blinked. Nothing within was able to comprehend what was happening, neither the resurfacing memories of being the very centerpiece of an escalating orgy at the Szarr palace nor seeing him like that, black hair ruffled with the thick, velvet duvet covering him up to his hips…so disgustingly domestic and human.

“Cat got your tongue now, hm?” Cazador hummed, oh so well entertained by your display of misery.

“You drugged me.” Three words that felt like tearing your vocal cords out of your larynx.

“And then I fucked you. Your mouth, your ass, and lastly your cunt. Got you all to myself before everyone else did.” He filled you in, his glaring red eyes exploring your violated body with pleasure.

There was nothing adequate to respond to that with, no cuss nor swear loaded enough to really make a point so you just swallowed heavily in defeat.

“Get yourself cleaned up. I don’t like to play with dirty things.” He threw his demand at you before raising his voice to call for one of the other spawns, Sebastian.

You couldn’t help but flinch at the screeching volume of your captor's voice. It cut right through you, shushing you off the bed with your hands trying to cover yourself in a meager attempt.

“Master?” The spawn with beautifully long, white hair stepped into the bedroom moments later, his eyes jumping from your naked form to his superior.

“Get it washed, Sebastian.” The vampire lord barked at his servant.

“Of course.”, His gaze now rested upon you, nonverbally signing you to follow him, “Come on now.”

“Move!” Cazador pushed, effectively making you jump in Sebstians direction.

You didn’t utter a single word as you followed him down the corridor, golden-framed paintings adorning the walls, towering over you just like everything in this palace seemed to do. Everything was in pain, muscles, bones, joints, all of it hurting with every step you strode to keep up with the white-haired spawn. The pain prevailed even after the two of you reached your destination and Sebastian insisted on you sitting down in an oval wooden bathtub. Unlike you, the water was warm almost hot even and it stung as it touched your abused cunt.

“I’m sorry.”, Sebastian broke the heavy silence, he sounded sincere, “He does that to those he’s into.”

“What the hell…” It swapped out of your mouth just like a little gush of water over the brim of the tub after you’d sat down.

“I know. It’s…disgusting. He is.” The spawn lowered himself to find comfort in resting against the tub.

“Would you like me to help you?” He fished for the sopping wet sponge drifting afloat between pleasantly fragrant piles of bubbles.

For a moment you pondered, not wanting someone else to touch you yet again but being nearly incapacitated to do it yourself as well.

“Can’t you just drown me? I think I’d like that.” It shot from the tip of your tongue in dry cynicism.

“No can do. We both know I’d be next.” He was right about that and you sunk deeper into the water, allowing it to wash around the curves of your breasts, nipples pebbling up upon contact.

With slightly trembling fingertips, you pushed the soaked sponge towards Sebastian: “Please.”

“I’ll be gentle. I promise.” He fought with himself to manage a faint smile, trying to give you some sort of comfort at last.

“Not exactly that much left to mess up anyway.” Your own crude comment pulled the corners of your lips down.

For an instant it looked like Sebastian wanted to say something to counteract, however, his brows twitched in a way that told you that he silently agreed with you. Exhaling a low sigh, the spawn palmed the sponge, squishing it a few times with slender fingers, before getting to carefully work your bruised skin. He hadn’t been lying, his strokes and dabs came indeed gentle. Sebastian carefully wiped you clean, washing the assault from your skin but not from your thoughts. The shrapnels of broken memories cut through your mind like a butcher’s knife through bone; loud and gruesome.

You drifted off, eyes locked on the reflections sparkling back at you from the water’s surface, breaking light dancing, and jumping whilst being moved by Sebastian’s broad hand. Although you didn’t know much about him, you liked him. Compared to some of the other spawns, he appeared to you as rather calm and reasonable. The thirst inside hadn’t rendered him into an animal…yet.

“Sebastian?!” You snapped back into the reality of things as his fingers had crept amidst your thighs, the pad of this thumb unabashedly administering a languid stroke and a teasing flick.

“Does it hurt?” His gaze caught yours, he stared, and pinned you to the tub with flaming eyes.

“Stop.” You wanted to scoot back but you couldn’t, the curve of your spine already pressed against the wet planks of wood.

“I asked if it hurts.” Sebastian not only repeated the question but also the ministrations of this thumb, pulling an involuntary moan from your throat.

“No, now stop it!” You protested weakly, your body reacting to the gentle caresses on his own accord.

“Why stop when it obviously feels good, hm? I think you deserve it, to be washed and properly satisfied. It’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you.” Sebastian cooed in a tone that reminded you an awful lot of someone who had very much hurt you

“Just…let me do that for you, hm?” He started drawing circles, spoiling your sore clit with tender touches, drawing a slick wetness from you alongside a disarming, pathetic rush of arousal.

There was no way of denying that it felt good, pleasurable, a brief silver lining in this cesspit of a palace.

“See? There you go. Enjoy it.” With a sly smile that now came naturally, he leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead, eliciting a whimper as you arched your pelvis into his touch.

You let your eyes flutter shut, body awash not only with the soap on your skin but also wretched, wrong pleasure festering on the inside.

“Gods, you’re such a docile little thing. No wonder Master is all over you.” The spawn mouthed against your damp skin, thumb working your swollen clit whilst middle- and ring finger pushed inside, filling you up gingerly.

Your sense of reason wanted to scream out loud, to protest and to bite his hand right off, yet, those little moments of actual pleasure were all you had left in here. You’d be ripped apart by your very seams whether you wanted to or not, you’d get fucked, orgasms being pulled from you with violence again and again so why shouldn’t you… why not allow yourself to kill that very last bit of pride in your chest and enjoy what you were given without pain?

“Pretty thing. So wet and needy for someone to get you off properly. Can I tell you a little secret?” He curved his fingers, massaging you from the inside as you clenched around him gradually harder.

“I didn’t partake last night. Wouldn’t want to do you like that. But I watched and by the Gods did it make me blow a big fucking load,” His twisted words snaked into your mind, conjuring the image of him watching with hungry eyes.

It made you moan out aloud, nothing held back this time.

“Oh, that’s doing it for you, hm? Getting off on the thought of being watched. Such a dirty little vampling.”, Sebastian’s fingers pushed against your insides, eventually triggering you to go off, “Going to watch you fall apart just now, dear.”

The orgasm tore right through you. Your cunt spasmed around his fingers in heavy pumps, pulling them in a little further whilst your clit throbbed in unison. For a few fleeting seconds, you felt bliss. Brain and body-numbing pleasure that ascended you out of your body for the blink of an eye only to brutally slam you back into your cracked and bruised shell.

“Good girl.”, Sebastian hummed contently as he pulled out of you, fingers brushing through your labia to dissolve your slick with the bathwater, “Can’t tell on myself like that. Master wouldn’t approve.”

He raised his hand to shake the excess water off with a quick jerk of his wrist.

“Now you’re all good again. Rinse that pretty head of hair for me, would you?”You answered with a shy nod, face still flushed with the rush of your climax.

“How’d you like it if I taste you next time, hm?” Sebastian’s boldness got to you immediately.

“Next time?” The spawn nodded at that, laughing softly.

“You'll find me when you need someone to be gentle with you, dear.”

#posting from the crypt #cazador szarr x reader #cazador szarr #cazador fanfic #baldurs gate fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #sebastian bg3

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alltheirdamn · 3 months

Text

WIP WEDNESDAY

Thank you for the tags @yxtkiwiyxt @mermaidgirl30 xoxo

Here's two for you this fine Wednesday!

Western Nights (full disclosure, this isn't fully fleshed out but here's the bare bones of this scene)

“Just a pack of reds.”

Joel leaned against the counter, eyeing you as you danced through the aisle, the soft country music seeping into your bloodstream. Things had been so hazy lately that you’d forgotten what it was like to let go, to be carefree for just one moment. You caught his prideful stare, doing a little twirl with the Coke bottle still gripped between your fingers.

The man behind the counter was just as mesmerized. His lips parted as he watched your body move fluidly to the song. Joel glanced back toward the clerk, his jaw clenching tight once he realized how fixated he had become.

“Keep those perverted eyes off my fuckin’ girl,” Joel warned.

“Hey, no harm in lookin’, man.”

Wrong answer.

Joel’s reflex was far faster than the clerk anticipated, the barrel of his pistol sitting firmly at eye level.

“Say that again,” Joel dared.

“I was kidding! Look, I'll even give you your smokes for free. We’re good here, I promise!”

“Babygirl?” Joel hollered over his shoulder, his eyes never once leaving the clerks. “Who gets t’look at you like that?”

“Only you, Joel.”

“That’s right. Only me.”

You didn’t flinch as the gun went off. You didn’t flinch when the clerk’s body toppled to the ground.

*Unnamed one-shot*

In your peripheral, you see a figure emerge from the shadows, barreling toward your left side. You allow yourself a quick glance, much to your detriment. With arms outstretched, the man breaks through the fog and reaches for you. You hook a sharp right, steering away from his extended hands. The brush of his fingers against your waist jostles your nerves, yet you escape with inches to spare.

A second man races toward you on the right, this time quick enough to grasp at your calf and topple you onto the cold, wet earth. You let out a frustrated cry, the bones in your ankle twisting as your foot catches on an uprooted branch. Thick fingers probe your skin, rolling you onto your back and pinning you to the ground. Jagged rocks pierce into you, the thin flannel doing no good now that you lay uselessly on the ground.

How could you fight when you were outnumbered and unarmed?

Okay, for shits & giggles... and for anyone who's been around for ABFR... here's a glimpse at the coming chapter (I promise I'm gonna finish this fic one day)

Spice was coursing through your veins day and night. Bane had made sure they kept you heavily drugged until you were nothing but a heap of flesh and bones on the ground. You had no sense of time, no sense of anything. Your brain was swimming through fog-clouded memories, your consciousness slipping in and out. You couldn’t speak most of the time, only slurring helpless words and pleas until you finally gave up and succumbed to the hollowness of your own body.

Every muscle in your body was limp and unresponsive to any sense of movement. You lay on the floor, cheek pressed against the dirty ground, staring at a wall until you drowned in the haze of spice. You had no choice but to be compliant with anything they did. They painted your body in colors of black and blue, leaving you wordlessly crying against the ground. You couldn’t muster the strength to fight back when they climbed on top of you, taking and taking and taking. You were too drugged out and broken to try and stop them. If your past had been full of nightmares, then this was hell. Every time the veil of spice slipped away, you hungered for it again so that you could stay numb to it all.

NP tags!! @joelmillerisapunk @janaispunk @lotusbxtch @mountainsandmayhem

#wip wednesday

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masterqwertster · 1 year

Note

54-kidnapping. For the guy in a situation prompts. With a focus on Ashton. Could you please continue on from the presumed dead prompt you recently did? I really liked that one. Bells Hells would never let someone take their punk rock.

Continuing this prompt answer

Ashton is tending a field, a garden. Small animal-shaped eidolons gambol along in his wake, occasionally helping at his direction. Everything is green and growing and beautiful. He breathes in fresh air, appreciating the place he's carved out for himself in the world.

It’s so fucking peaceful.

–e u– –hton.

There's a sound on the breeze. Words they can’t quite make out.

Wa– up, –on.

Ashton quiets his small companions, trying to make out the message on the wind.

WAKE UP, ASHTON!

___

Ashton gasps awake.

Fucking fuck. He hates it when his stupid vivid dreams show him the nice shit he can never have.

Not that there’s really time to be upset about the random shit his brain throws at him. Imogen wouldn't poke into his head like that without a good reason.

Which is about the time it registers that this is not where they remember going to sleep. Because they sure as fuck hadn’t been chained up in a crate before they went to sleep.

So Ashton does the obvious thing: he rages and does his best to break the chains. Or crate. Whichever comes first.

The chains, unfortunately, are well-done. Even their raging strength isn't enough to make up for the lack of leverage from having their arms thoroughly pinned to their sides and legs bound together.

They are not, however, enough to restrain Ashton’s thrashing to a level that won’t break the crate. And wood splinters as Ashton’s feet and head slam into the planks.

The thing is, Ashton hadn’t really thought this through. Breaking the crate can get him out of it, but it doesn’t change that his ability to move is restricted to inchworming around because of the chains. Which means running or fighting is–

“Fucking hell! That should have been enough to keep a half-giant out for a whole day!”

–near impossible. Especially when his captors are still around.

Magic wraps around their body, stopping even what struggles Ashton can make chained up as they are. Someone opens the crate, though Ashton can only catch their silhouette from the corner of their bad eye thanks to the position they’ve been locked into.

“Right. Back to sleep with you,” the figure says.

And something pierces into Ashton’s neck. He can feel whatever poison or drug is on it– in it?– seeping through his system. Ashton does his best to hold onto consciousness, but that shit is still being put into him. More and more, until he loses the fight to remain awake.

___

Ashton has the helm.

Most need a compass, an enchanted one at that, in the Shattered Teeth, lest they get lost among the fog and shifting islands. But he is of Ka’Mort’s power, and the Empress of Earth’s power suffuses these isles. Ashton knows where the islands are, can feel them in his blood. Not to mention the eidolons here are the most eager and obedient to their requests over any other place they’ve sailed.

He breathes in the salty air. Blows out a whistle to the air and water eidolons to speed The Hellion along its course.

“There you are, Ashton. I’ve been searchin’ all over for you.”

“I don’t know why, Captain. It’s my shift at the helm,” Ashton says, leaning against the wheel as they eye the sorceress. Odd. She’s not wearing her captain’s coat. Imogen loves that thing, mostly because Laudna made it for her.

“The fuck are you talkin’ about, Ashton? This is a dream,” Imogen insists.

Everything freezes. Everything except him and Imogen.

“Ow,” Ashton says, hand going to their head as it sparks wildly. Realizing that this shit is a dream is a first. As is having Imogen poking in like this.

“Sorry about that,” Imogen apologizes. “Considering how wakin’ up didn’t go so great for you last time, we decided me jumpin’ into your dream to talk with you would be easier. I didn’t realize how much you got caught up in these dreams.”

“You’ve seen my dreams before?” Which probably isn’t the part they should be locking onto, but fuck it, this is, apparently, their dream.

“I go pokin’ around sometimes when I can’t sleep,” Imogen explains with a shrug. “And that’s besides the point. We’re comin’ to rescue you. We’re not gonna to leave you behind. So just hang on, alright? I promise, we’re comin’.

Her words echo through Ashton’s head, loosening a tension he hadn’t even realized was there. He’s alone, but not alone. Bells Hells isn’t going to abandon him to whoever fucking kidnapped him. And Ashton is kind of thankful he’s the only one these fuckers took. A rescue is probably more manageable than breaking out, and they’ll only be short him going in.

“Okay. But you better move fast, or I might get out on my own,” Ashton replies, challenging her, challenging them to come faster.

“...And thanks.” for coming at all, they don’t say. But they think she can catch that anyways.

“We’re comin’. Promise.”

Had some fun playing with Ashton's alternate life dreams and how the Grim Verity/Omen Archives study of Exaltants said that they could enter others' dreams.

#MQ&A #MQfic #ashton greymoore #imogen temult #guy in a situation prompt

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kylo-wrecked · 2 months

Text

{ cont'd from here }

An hour of staring at this next prize revealed behind Pinto Flare curtains: it's a fur coat with genuine white leather trim, a thirty-inch electric range, Connie jumping up and down because the third prize is a Vega notchback wagon, and the medical office pastels of radio-trained voices and tooth-drilling incidental music.

Phone buzz cuts through the fog and Ben slow blinks at 'Fair' after a fifty-three-minute break. At ‘Soldier.’ Oh boy, oh boy. Hell yes, that’s who you could count on to break you out of a hospital day stay. Ben’s almost giddy. And it’s not the drugs! They didn’t give him anything stronger than an IV. This is all

[Solo] him

A pause, then another violent tap tap tapping hailstorm over the sound of a background buzzsaw. His arms still feel heavy. His head swims, but he isn't drowning.

[Solo] fine [Solo] fucking thank you [Solo] seriously thought i had to block you [Solo] 100 E77 Street [Solo] they think im a danger to myself? [Solo] this is child’s play as far as im concerned [Solo] i cant just lie here all day haha

Bob Barker explains the four spaces to Connie on TV. A nurse glances nervously through the windowed door of reality. Ben bends his neck over the little window in his hands. Pins and needles bite his fingers as he types.

[Solo] refrigerators were so small [Solo] do you g et why i cant be here [Solo] itll be me and bob forever , my brain will explode [Solo] the # of doors ive watched open on brown schemed mid consumer goods [Solo] is like [Solo] indefensible

And there's a longing in his stomach, a hunger for something untenable, while the pastels berate him with things that have never mattered, and his fingers prickle, and his ear rings.

[Solo] im sitting in a dentist’s office while i decompose on a hospital bed [Solo] why not let me

He ignores the unfinished nature of that unfinished sentence.

[Solo] you know? [Solo] how soon can XxSoldieRxX get here

@silverjetsystm

#silverjetsystm #m. au | music!verse ben: nowhere man #queue de la k

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gellavonhamster · 6 months

Text

genre conventions

One Piece || Smoker/Tashigi || set during the timeskip ao3 link rus || ao3 link eng

“They’re not such idiots if they still haven’t got caught,” Tashigi points out tentatively as she wipes her glasses with a handkerchief. She can feel a drop of sweat roll down between her shoulder blades with agonizing slowness, as if it is making fun of her.

Of all islands she’s had the chance to visit after Loguetown, Anemone, the southernmost islet of the Coral Archipelago, is definitely making the top five of the worst despite not having, say, quicksand or human-sized carnivorous plants. Sweltering heat and the air that feels thick enough to cut through with a knife. On day three, Tashigi gave up, said goodbye to shirts – even the short-sleeved ones were hard to survive in – and since then she’s been wearing only tank tops. Her subordinates approved of her new look with such fervour that she had to threaten the loudest commentators with the katana. It must be for the best that she didn’t bring any shorts and, consequently, is not tempted to put them on.

And so they’ve been marinating in this little tropical hell, because they have an order to help the local Marine branch track down and apprehend a smuggling ring presumed to have picked the island as their base.

“Idiots,” Smoker repeats huffily and takes a drag on another pair of cigars. The smell hangs in the humid air like laundry on a line. “'Cause in their line of work, only idiots would voluntarily slap on identification signs. Pirates are another thing, there’s…” he gestures vaguely. “Nothing but panache, every other one’s a performer. Smugglers, if they’ve got any brains, should keep it low.”

“Well, it’s not like the tattoos are on their faces,” Tashigi puts the glasses back on, having made peace with the fact that soon they’ll fog up again. All she does on Anemone is make peace with something. With most of the clothes she’s brought with her on this voyage not being suited for the unbearable climate of the island. With having to pin her hair up in a way she doesn’t like, so that not a single strand touches her permanently damp neck. With not expecting the local Marines, whose captain greeted them drunk (on duty! on Tuesday afternoon!), to be of much help.

“Face or not, sooner or later someone would see.”

“Some of us wear clothes,” murmurs Tashigi. She has also made peace already with her commander dealing with such hot weather by walking around not even with his jacket open, as usual, but completely shirtless. The fact that it is high time she got used to the way he dresses – or rather, does not dress – but instead she finds it harder and harder not to stare at him with each passing day seems to be another thing she has no choice but to make peace with.

“Huh? What was that, Captain?”

She knows him well enough to distinguish a shade of a grin on his eternally stern face and know he’s not actually angry.

“Nothing, sir.”

Tashigi doesn’t know when it started. In retrospect, she is aware that generally speaking, she has always found him attractive, because she has eyes and can see, even if not so well. But that did not matter much back when neither of them had yet learned how the other takes their coffee, when neither of them had yet sat by the other’s bedside in the sick bay after the battle, when her hair hadn’t yet absorbed the smell of cigar smoke to the point that no shampoo could wash it off. Back when she didn’t yet find it exciting that his smell lingers on her as if he’s held her in his arms – which, of course, has never happened, and never will.

The smugglers may not be idiots, but she certainly is.

“We’ll cover the northern coast tomorrow,” Smoker says. “Judging by the map, it’s rockier than on the other sides, harder to approach. If there are no traces there either, we’ll return to the port. Perhaps the drugs are shipped right there under the guise of other cargo. Perhaps someone in the administration is involved. I wouldn’t be surprised.”

The little shabby bar across from them is finally open – the bartender and the waitress have brought out the chairs and thrown open the doors and a couple of patrons have already arrived, lured in by the music. Tashigi keeps swinging her leg to the tune until she recognizes it as the Soul King’s latest hit. Smoker puts his cigars on an empty tin can that someone has considerately left on the bench as an ashtray, and opens a bottle of water. Tashigi catches herself watching his Adam’s apple bob with each gulp, and digs her nails into her palm.

She’s going to lose her mind on this island.

“Can I have some? I’ve finished mine,” she hears her own voice say, and he passes her the water without a second thought, because normal people don’t think about the way drinking from the same bottle is kind of a little bit like a kiss.

Like many lonely children, Tashigi used to read a lot as a kid. Fairy tales, myths, legends, later – and still, when she has time on her hands – stories of great blades and the swordsmen who wielded them. Stories were not a passion like swordsmanship, not as integral to her life and soul. But she remembered: they could provide an escape, if only for a while. And an escape was precisely what she was seeking some time ago when she picked up the kind of books she had always looked down upon before. Someone else’s passions to distract her from her own; someone else’s affections being returned while for her it was not in the cards. She was hoping that would help.

It didn’t help one bit. Rather the opposite.

The main problem with romance novels, at least with the most popular ones, the kind sold on every newsstand of every island, was not even their quality, but the way in half of the cases heroines fell in love with pirates. Every time it outraged her like the first time. They are risking their lives in the Marines to protect civilians against these villains, yet the civilians in question keep on romanticizing them! In most other cases, the main male characters, while not pirates, were so clearly modelled after real-life pirates, Warlords, or even Emperors that it was probably even worse. In one book, a poor orphaned shepherdess was rescued by a golden-haired knight on a white horse. In another, a nightgown-clad ingénue with a candlestick in hand wandered the dark hallways of a grim castle belonging to an equally grim lord – haughty and cold, but with such wonderful eyes! In yet another one, a village beauty was protected from the landlord’s advances by a charming red-haired, one-armed bandit. And as recently as a month ago, she literally threw another masterpiece at the wall when she realized that the inspiration for the love interest was none other than Monkey D. Luffy. Obviously, Tashigi can’t boast that she knows him intimately (not if she could help it!), but based on the impression he made on her that was simply ridiculous. That was the last straw, after which she swore she wouldn’t touch such rubbish ever again.

But it was too late. Because another problem with romance novels was that while reading them, you could pick up certain… ideas. Ideas that settle in your head all by themselves, sit there quietly for some time, and then comes a point when they seize you in an iron grip – and you give in to an impulse and obey them.

She’s not planning to seduce him. It won’t work anyway, and thinking of potential consequences of such impertinence gives her the shivers. She just wants him to look at her. Really look at her just for once. The way she looks at him. She will bury this one moment deep in her heart to take it out occasionally, spend some time looking at it, and then replace it. Press the bottle to her lips not tightly enough; let a trickle of water run down her skin into the neckline of her tight tank top, into her cleavage. Her shoulders are too strong, her arms are too muscular, but at least she has breasts – even bigger than she would’ve preferred them to be every time she wears tight-fitting clothes. She doesn’t want everyone and their dog staring at her. Just him.

She puts her lips around the bottle neck, throws her head back a little, and…

…spills it all on herself. Of course. Naturally. She bursts into coughing because water has gone down the wrong way, even got into her nose, and then she glances down and sees that her top is all soaked and even her pants are wet here and there. At least it doesn’t look like she peed herself. Small mercies.

Smoker sighs crossly. That look on his face is also familiar enough to her – he must be doing his best not to snap at her. Like every time she drops one thing or bumps into another.

“Excuse-me-I’ll-be-back,” she blurts out, places the bottle on the bench, springs to her feet, and rushes to the bar.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Hey!” yells the bartender as soon as he sees the new customer dashing right for the door in the corner. “Bathroom’s for patrons only!”

“Okay, okay,” Tashigi replies without looking at him, and pulls on the door handle.

One of the stalls is occupied. Tashigi takes some toilet paper in the second one, pats her neck dry, presses it to her chest too but instantly throws it away – it will just stick to the fabric and won’t help much anyway. The clothes will dry on their own. That’s not what she’s here for. She’s here to try to calm down before the urge to break into disappointed tears takes over.

The dingy mirror above the sink is cracked in two and carelessly duct-taped. Tashigi leans on the sink with both hands and glares at her reflection in the mirror. Her lips are trembling against her will. Good job, well done. Then again, what else should she have expected?

That will teach her a lesson. There is no use trying to jump into a romance novel from a crime story.

Or a situation comedy.

The waitress that was putting out the chairs outside earlier comes out of the second stall, and Tashigi lets go of the sink, steps aside, and starts cleaning her glasses again. The woman – young, shapely, with long lilac hair – washes her hands and bends over the sink, almost pressing her face to the mirror – must be trying to see if something is stuck between her teeth. Tashigi puts the glasses back on, and her eye catches the tattoo on the small of the woman’s back, visible between the low-rise pants and the yanked-up T-shirt. A dagger wreathed in ivy.

The same as that of the two smugglers whose descriptions they were given.

Her face must be betraying her, because as soon as the waitress sees Tashigi’s reflection in the mirror, she turns around at lightning speed and takes a swing, aiming for Tashigi’s jaw.

It all happens swiftly and chaotically. Hand-to-hand combat is not her preferred type of fighting; it lacks the grace and dignity characteristic of a sword fight. But she doesn’t have Shigure with her – because this evening her and Smoker were meant to be not Marines but simple tourists simply strolling about and certainly not watching out for anything suspicious. Her adversary doesn’t seem to be in possession of weapons either, but she’s strong, twice as strong out of desperation. Tashigi dodges her first punch, but when they catch hold of each other, the waitress seizes the initiative, presses her against the sink and tries to smash the mirror with her head. Tashigi manages to wrench herself free, and when the supposed smuggler comes at her again, she grabs her, turns around, and slams both of them into the door. The door comes unhinged, and the two of them fall into the barroom; something’s crashing, someone’s screaming, but she’s not paying attention to anything around her until she finally pins the waitress to the floor.

When handcuffs are dropped on the floor next to her, she doesn’t question where they came from – just grabs them, puts them on the culprit, and only then raises her head. There are drinks spilled and broken bottles scattered all around and a couple of chairs knocked down close by. Two elderly patrons are making their way to the exit, having taken their glasses of beer with them. Smoker is looming over the bartender, whose arms are twisted behind his back and handcuffed and face is pressed to the counter. There is a dagger tattoo above the man’s left elbow.

“You alright?” Smoker asks, unfazed.

Tashigi gets up and clumsily helps the waitress sit up under the counter where they can see her. Another reason she doesn’t like fistfights – in the end she always feels like she acted dishonourably, even if that isn’t true. Her knees are hurting, her shoulder is burning, her glasses have cracked, but strangely she’s much more alright than several minutes ago, when she was trying her hardest not to burst out crying with shame.

“I’m alright. How did you get here?”

“I saw you through the window kick the door down with your body and that wench. Thought that was too extreme for you.”

Tashigi rolls her eyes.

“This guy here, instead of breaking up the fight, tried not to let me in,” Smoker continues.

“Let me guess: you punched him a couple of times and then just stood there watching me?”

“You had it all under control. Or am I wrong?”

Did she? All of it? Hard to tell at once. But she knows that if forces really were unequal, he would’ve come to her aid. More importantly, if he had thought her too weak from the start, she would’ve been mad at him and at herself.

She straightens her back.

“No, you’re right. I’m sorry, I…”

“Stop. Why are you apologizing again? Right now – what for?”

“I don’t know,” Tashigi says honestly.

Smoker opens his mouth to say something, but then the suspiciously cheerful Pike and Bomba barge in – so cheerful that Tashigi could have assumed their local comrades-in-arms are a bad influence on them. That is, if the personnel of G-5 wasn’t managing just fine without any outside influence.

“Helloooo, sir!”

“Hey there, sir!”

“I see you didn’t waste no time!”

“Ooh, Captain, what a scratch you’ve got! Gotta kiss it better…”

“I’ll kiss you worse!” snaps Tashigi. This is when pointedly unsheathing a sword would have been on point, except she doesn’t have a sword at hand. However, her countenance turns out to be enough for the jokers to back away.

“Take them to the base,” Smoker nods towards the bartender and the waitress. “Don’t let them out of your sight. We’re gonna interrogate them.”

Bomba flashes a wicked grin.

“Leave that to us, Vice Admiral, we’ll loosen their tongues in no time…”

“Don’t.” Smoker flicks his lighter, puffs at another pair of cigars, and looks the arrestees up and down with an even more sinister look on his face. “I’ll deal with them myself.”

The waitress, who doesn’t know that the Vice Admiral sticks to much more lawful interrogation methods than his crazy subordinates, blanches slightly.

“Ma’am,” Pike winks at her and places his hand on her shoulder. Bomba, a little disappointed, pushes the bartender to the exit.

Tashigi watches them leave.

“I called them as soon as I dealt with the bartender,” Smoker explains. Tashigi comes closer to him and leans against the bar counter. All of a sudden a terrible weariness descends on her; she doesn’t want to go back to the base, doesn’t want to interrogate anyone, doesn’t want to move at all. She just wants to stay where she is, elbows resting on the sticky counter top. “Guess they must’ve been in that tavern around the block.”

“Dutifully looking for the smugglers, no doubt.”

“In every glass.”

She giggles.

There is a mirror on the wall behind the counter too, cleaner than the one in the bathroom and not cracked, and in that mirror she sees herself – the too-strong shoulders, the too-muscular arms, the damned tight tank top, the fresh scrapes, the disheveled hair, the tired smile.

And on her right – Smoker, standing still, his eyes fixed on her.

She thought she had already learned all the expressions of his face, but she’s never seen a look like this before. Steadfast, heavy – but not with disapproval or displeasure, it’s just that it seems like she can physically feel its weight and heat on her body. Feel it flow down her skin like water before, but thicker, viscous. Like wax. Or honey.

She hasn’t seen the way she looks at him at times, lost in thought, but she suddenly realizes: this is how.

Tashigi’s breath hitches.

A moment later he glances at the mirror and notices that she’s noticed him. She feels caught red-handed – even though he started it first, even though he was the one secretly looking at her. Tashigi turns away hastily.

“Is everything okay, sir?” she asks, hoping that she sounds relaxed enough.

Smoker nods slowly. His face is inscrutable, but it seems to her like a vestige of that look is still smouldering in his eyes.

“Pike was right. Your shoulder’s royally scratched,” he says. “You’d better put something on it when get back to the base.”

Were the poor orphaned shepherdess from the knight novel in her place, she would’ve just cast down her eyes shyly. On the other hand, the heroine of that book she threw at the wall – a ruler of a small island country – might have echoed Pike’s recent joke.

How about you kiss it better then?

“There must be more of them,” she says instead. Maybe she shouldn’t bother trying to change the genre; nothing good will come out of it anyway. She is as far removed from romance novels as could be. She doesn’t belong there. “The sailors from the Ernestine saw two men, but neither was described to look like that one. And I don’t think that girl can be mistaken for a man even from afar.”

Smoker nods again and breathes out a lacework of white smoke.

“Yeah,” he says. “Well, let’s see what they tell us. They might like to have their sentence reduced. Let’s go.”

She belongs in a procedural about the daily life of law enforcers.

But so does he, so she finds she doesn’t really mind.

#girl that's not a procedural that's a narrative about realizing the system is broken & you can't serve it anymore. when will you understand #one piece #tashigi #white hunter smoker #op smoker #smoshigi #smotash #idk what their ship name is; i've seen both of these used #gella talks one piece #talk talk talk #my fic #y'all said to write self-indulgent fic. well here i am writing

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