#asa Emory x thick reader

[lace-coffin]

I really want asa with a hybrid puppy reader, just thinking being on his lap and wagging my tail while he scartches my ears softly ;333

Asa Emory x Puppy Hybrid!gn!Reader

Hi! Sorry I’ve been gone so long, I’m hoping to get some stuff written soon! Thank you so much for all the asks!

Thanks for the super cute ask! I have such a soft spot for anything puppy related so I was super excited to write this!

The lights flicker on with a snap, rudely rousing you out of your sleep. You blink once, twice, getting your bearings and groaning, hands balled to paw at your sleep crusted eyes. After a few seconds of collecting yourself, it hits you.

He’s home! He’s home and he’s coming to play with me!

Almost automatically your tail starts to thump wildly against the pile of cushy blankets lining your dog bed. You know by now to stay and sit pretty despite your excitement, wanting to make your owner proud at your display of restraint. Propping yourself onto your knees in your dog bed and puffing your chest out proudly, you wait…and wait..and wait. God he always takes so long, the tension is killing you. At this point you think he does it on purpose, taking joy in rilling you up and seeing how long it would take you to loose your composure, just so he can punish you for it later. (He absolutely does)

After methodically hanging his jacket, kicking off his clunky and probably gore stained boots and throwing his keys in the bowl, he finally makes his way over to you, a small fond smile hidden behind his thick mask. Despite how hard headed and seemingly emotionless Asa can seem, he still has a soft spot for his things, the yappy little mutt that resides at his house included.

Bending down with a slight groan he pats your head gently, ruffling the hair between your floppy ears and scratching behind them in a way that makes your leg kick behind you. hands slide down to cup your flushed cheek before giving one final pat to the squishy flesh and rising back to full height.

You watch as he stalks over to the kitchen, tail swishing behind you, kitchen usually means treat in your brain and now it does for Asa too, even if that wasn’t the original intention it’s practically criminal for him to not offer you one whenever he enters that room now, influenced by your insistence and sad puppy eyes.

“Come”

Master snaps his gloved fingers, pointing to the cold linoleum floor infront of him. Needless to say you basically sprint over to him, waiting for the next command and more importantly waiting for the treat that’s sitting in his balled up fist.

“Sit”

Your butt hits the floor before he can even finish the command, master smirking at how well trained he has you, you’re wrapped around his finger without question.

“Shake”

You slap your hand into his larger extended one, skin meeting leather.

Nodding in satisfaction at your little show, the treat is offered to you from the other hand, now unfurled and hovering infront of your face. You eagerly snatch it up into your jaws, canines hanging over either side of it.

plodding off to the warn down brown leather sofa and sitting next to it expectantly, you fix your eyes onto your master. big doe eyes practically staring into his soul.

“Oh, is it that time pup?”

He chuckles, knowing it’s not worth fighting the inevitable, he slumps into the chair with a grunt and a pop somewhere from his back. The years haven’t been kind on his body considering his ‘extracurricular’ activities of choice. despite this it’s still nice to come home to someone who’s excited to see him, comforting almost. Away from all the gut wrenching screams, pleas that fall on deaf ears and the body’s littering the halls, there’s you. A soft creature completely dependent on him and absolutely thrilled that he’s home. Sometimes seeing a wagging tail at his arrival instead of a paling face makes him feel appreciated.

Shuffling to get comfy, master kicks up his feet onto the recliner, patting his lap to call you up. You’ve done this so many times that words aren’t needed, the physical signal is pretty much a formality at this point too, you’re coming up there whether he likes it or not.

You wiggle your butt/tail and angle the jump, landing successfully into Asa’s lap with a grunt from him, twisting around for a moment to seat yourself comfily across his legs, letting out a content huff once you do. Asa’s reflective eyes flicker to you, catching your attention.

“Have you been well behaved for me today pup? Or is there anything you would like to confess?” He quirks a brow, testing you.

You smile brightly, letting out a cheery bark in response, knowing you were perfectly good in his absence. Pleased with your answer he shuffles you closer to him, reaching over to the side table and retrieving the book he’s currently been stuck into whenever he’s home. You take this as a sign to catch a quick nap as it seems you’re going to be here a while.

As he gets settled back into his book his unoccupied hand cards through your hair, rubbing over your flattened and relaxed ears. Your fluffy tail swings lazily off the end of the recliner at the attention, eyes drooping shut.

[thesightstoshowyou]

I....I want...period sexxx with the evil bug dilf...please... *offers a tribute*

Damn, I literally cannot believe I haven’t written this before now. Asa is perfect for period sex. Tribute accepted.

Also requested:

Let’s combine ‘em.

~~

Downpour

Asa Emory (The Collector) x AFAB Reader (NSFW)

Warnings: Dubcon elements, established “relationship,” period sex and blood obviously, cunnilingus, D/s dynamics, degradation, Asa doesn’t know what aftercare is, yes I’m obsessed with that jean jacket and work pants outfit he wears at the end of the Collection.

~~

The sky opens up a block from home. Ferocious rainfall soaks you to the bone in seconds and collects in the plastic grocery bag you carry. You jog up the sidewalk as fast as you dare in the torrent, your boots slapping through puddles that wet your jeans until they cling and chill your flesh.

You almost don’t see the truck through the downpour, but when you spot the old Ford parked in front of your house, you skid to a stop, rain all but forgotten. Heart now hammering frantically in your chest, you squint and find the cab empty. A glance at your porch does not reveal any hooded figures awaiting your arrival.

He’s already inside, then.

How he keeps getting in is beyond you. There are two deadbolts on your front door, you don’t keep a spare key hidden outside, and you are meticulous about locking all your windows before you leave for work. Still, this does nothing to deter him. If you asked how he does it, you’re certain he wouldn’t tell you. Your “relationship” does not involve this kind of conversation.

Swallowing thickly, you tentatively take the last few steps up your front walk. The old porch stairs creak under your feet and your palm slips on the dripping handle when you twist. The front door swings open with a squeal.

He left it unlocked for you.

The noisy deluge outside quiets when you shut the door behind you. The inside of your home is near silent, save for the rain pummeling the shingles and the clock ticking on the wall. What you can see of your living room is illuminated by the warm glow from a single lamp, its soft light shining directly on the chair beneath it.

As you strip off your soaked coat and shoes, thick water droplets audibly splattering to the floor, your eyes locate the dark hair of the motionless man resting in the chair, his back to you. The slither of paper—pages turning in a book—is audible in the relative silence.

“You’re late,” his gravelly voice announces. He still doesn’t turn to you.

“Had to stop by the store,” you murmur, doing your best to keep the annoyance out of your tone. If you had known he was here, you could have let him know you’d be late. But, you have yet to even learn his phone number.

You say none of this, however, your gaze instead falling to the little bag now dripping onto the floorboards. The corner of the package within glistens in the low light, having met a similar sopping fate as the rest of you. How are you going to break the news to him that he came all this way for nothing?

“Uh, Asa—

Abruptly, Asa clears his throat and stands, the book in his hand dropping to the side table with a quiet thud. Reading glasses follow with a clatter. Your eyes trace his back and you see he is wearing a jean jacket and tan work pants, like one would wear while working outdoors. Field work must be part of his job at the University.

Finally, he turns to face you. The look smoldering in his dark eyes forces all the air from your lungs. Any speculation of who he is beyond what you know of him vanishes, replaced by the prickling of your skin. Broad shoulders nearly fill your narrow entryway as Asa stalks toward you. It takes all your remaining willpower not to shrink back against the door like a frightened animal. Christ, he scares you, but….

Your heart leaps into your throat when he drops his glittering gaze to the bag at your feet. At least now you won’t have to tell him. He’ll spot the package of pads and work out for himself that your time of the month has arrived, and then he’ll leave, thoroughly repulsed.

Asa’s chest rapidly expands in a quick inhale. Slowly, his gaze creeps back to yours. The room seems to lurch and your stomach drops from the intensity in his stare. That’s not disappointment you find in his eyes.

All at once, he invades your space and this time you do stumble back against the door. Warm, calloused palms slip under your top to possessively grasp your waist and his lips are inches from your own when you utter a breathy, “Wait, I’m on my—

The words die on your tongue when Asa draws back slightly. His predatory expression freezes you in place and the fingers on your waist dig irritably into your skin. Deep in your belly, heat blossoms until your thighs ache with want.

Yes, he scares you, but his uncanny ability to drive you wild with need overrides all fear.

“Did I tell you to speak?” he asks, his tone colder than ice.

Hastily, you shake your head. You squeak out a “No, Sir,” when Asa raises a scarred eyebrow. You’re going to end up with some new marks if you keep fucking up.

His jaw tenses before he dives back in to claim your mouth in a bruising kiss. He swallows your surprised gasp as his fingers deftly work your rain-soaked pants open. Asa startles you when he kneels and rips your pants and underwear off your legs with one, quick yank.

His impatience is palpable as he lifts one of your thighs over his shoulder and immediately dives in to drag his tongue along your bleeding slit. You choke on a cry, your fingers flying to his crown. They hover there, centimeters from digging into his hair and you thank whatever deity is watching over you that you hadn’t touched him. The punishment that would have earned you….

Asa sucks your clit into his mouth, his hum of approval derailing all thought. Your hands raise over your head to grip the transom frame for balance while his own hand presses against your chest, fingers splaying out to keep you still. He laps at you with fervor, like the scarlet dribbling down your thighs is the first meal he’s had in days. Your hips roll in time with his tongue, your moans rising in pitch as you inch closer and closer to the edge.

Hearing it in your voice and feeling it in the way your thighs quiver, Asa snaps out a strained, “Cum. Now.” You can’t even respond, your tongue losing its ability to form words when your eyes roll back in your head. Pleasure rolls through your belly, tidal waves of ecstasy.

“Fffffuck-fuck-fuck-fuck—t-thank you, thank you Sir,” you whisper through the haze, barely remembering your manners. Asa instantly jumps to his feet, fingers now tearing open his own pants. Across his mouth violent red is smeared, like a lion who just tore into a fresh kill.

For a moment, you are bewildered. You’ve never been with anyone who was willing to eat you out on your period, let alone with such unbridled enthusiasm. Indeed, he seems more eager than usual to engage in his weekly habit of fucking you stupid. The thought makes your toes curl.

You are not given long to ponder before Asa lifts you clean off your feet to pin you to the door with his body weight. You wrap your arms around his neck and legs around his waist as he grips handfuls of your ass and lines his cock up with your slippery entrance.

He surges forward, instantly burying himself to the hilt in your cunt. The resulting shriek is muffled by his shoulder. Your overfilled, overstretched muscles spasm and ache, your back arching in an attempt to ease the hurt.

Asa grunts and his teeth find your ear to coo, “Oh, did that hurt?” You can hear the smile in his voice, but can only respond with a strangled whine. Asshole—

Your knuckles blanch, such is the grip on his shirt when he viciously snaps his hips. A groan slips from your gritted teeth because, god it hurts, but you’re also certain you’ll die if he stops. Your slick hole, wetted by blood and arousal squelches with every sharp thrust and fills the entryway with the debauched sound of your need.

In your ear, Asa pants. Your lips find bare skin at the place where his neck meets his shoulder. It’s difficult to kiss him with the wanton moans and mewls spilling unchecked from your mouth, so you just scream them into his flesh instead. Pain is a memory. Only mounting ecstasy remains.

“I think you like bleeding all over me,” Asa growls, his bared teeth set against your ear. His words send you barreling dangerously close to the precipice all at once, almost too fast to stop.

“Sir, p-please!” you cry, your voice tight, every muscle in your body seized to keep you from climaxing without permission.

A breathy chuckle greets your plea, followed by a snide, “Already?” When you squeal in desperation, he relents. “If you must.”

You careen off the peak, molten pleasure rippling through your gut and setting your skin ablaze. “Thank you, Sir,” leaves you as a relieved groan. Appreciation for his mercy takes top priority, after all.

Your blissful reprieve is short-lived; you realize too late that Asa is still rock hard within you. A yelp leaves your panting mouth when he rips his cock from your still twitching channel and all but drops you on the floor. You’re flipped onto your front, hips lifted, face smashed into wood by a wide palm on your cheek. He’s back inside you so quickly your dazed mind hardly registers the change.

Then, you’re screaming all over again as Asa hammers you into the floor. The wet slap of bloody skin reverberates off the narrow walls while your fingers scrabble for purchase along the floorboards. Your palms slip in puddles left behind by your drenched clothes, so Asa’s fingers dig into the meat of your hip to keep you in place.

He leans over you, his frame covering yours to growl near your ear, “We worked on this last week. Let’s see how much you retained. To whom to you belong?”

“Y-You, Sir!” you whimper.

“And what are you?”

“A-a—fuck—receptacle for S-Sir’s cum.”

He hums in response, his tone dripping with condescension. “So there is something going on in that empty little head.” You grit your teeth and whine, his words making you leak down your thighs despite their cruelty.

Much to your chagrin, Asa’s brand of mean is your drug of choice.

He straightens and begins to tense behind you, his pace never losing its ferocity. The twitching of his cock heralds the warmth that fills your cunt, but it’s the strained groan he utters that nearly makes you sob with appreciation. Asa’s vocalizations are so rare, each one seems like a gift from above.

You sigh and express your gratitude for his cum. When he slips from your battered slit, you slump into the sticky puddle of blood and spend that has formed on the floor. That’s a problem for the future, you decide. For now, you’ll catch your breath and bathe contentedly in the post-pleasure haze.

Silently, Asa stands and steps over you. Each boot fall rattles the wood on which your cheek still rests. You hear water running in the sink, then the rustling of clothing being righted. You wonder how much of a mess you made of those tan pants.

You roll on your side as he returns. Without a word, he strides past you and dons his raincoat, pulling the hood up over his head. Hinges squeal and the smell of rain billows into your entryway, carried on a cool breeze. He doesn’t so much as glance over his shoulder before slamming the door behind him.

With a groan, you let your head fall back against the floor with a quiet thunk. Outside, a truck engine rumbles to life and roars off down the street. Now, there is silence once more, save for the ticking clock on the wall and the downpour rattling the shutters.

[queendeeshorrorimagines]

October 29th: Double penetration

Asa Emory x reader x Arkin O'Brien

Female reader

Warnings: Anal (fem recieving), piv, Arkin and Asa competing with each other on who fucks you better, mentions of cannon typical violence, hair pulling (asa pulling readers hair)

[If I wanna be honest, Asa is growing on me more than i thought. Arkin is 10/10. Sorry, I'll stop simping 🤣]

You don't know how you ended up in your current situation of being trapped in an abandoned motel with a sadistic bug lover. You also didn't expect that there's another person that's in your situation inside the building as well.

That was until recently when he stumbled into the room you were in. A side of you was grateful that Arkin found you even though you didn't want anyone to go through the shit that both of you have been through.

It was obvious to both Arkin and Asa that you were more fond of Arkin than Asa, causing the two men to loathe each other even more than before. Both men were rather attracted to you for their own reasons.

Asa thought you might be the perfect house wife role for his cover story, quiet- yet will make small talk with his colleagues during work functions. Arkin on the other hand fancied how you can handle yourself and still able to be strong while trapped inside this hell, your beauty was just a bonus.

The next thing you know, Asa was starting to be a bit more nicer towards you, gifting you some new clothes and makeup or being less aggressive with you. A thick tension built up between the two men the longer they attempted to seduce you.

Asa and Arkin didn't know how the subject of them fucking you at the same time started but if it wasn't for the fact that you found both men rather attractive, you wouldn't currently be on fours as Asa was on top of you, thrusting into your ass as you were straddled on Arkin, riding his dick at the same time.

Moans sung from your mouth from feeling the fullness of both cocks deep inside you. Although Asa was on the girthier side- giving your tight anus a delicious stretch, Arkin was a bit longer, hitting deep into your walls.

Asa's gloved hands were on your breasts, pinching your erected nipples while one of Arkin's hands was on your hip, guiding you down his cock while his free hand rubbed your sensitive clit. Your hands gripped the edges of Asa's wooden desk to steady yourself from being fucked by both men.

Your lips met with Arkin's, kissing each other with vigorous lust before Asa grabbed you by the hair, pulling you away from the man below your. He leaned his mask covered face to you as you kissed him the best you could with the limited space on his mask.

Just as you kissed Asa, Arkin suddenly thrusted upwards harshly, causing his tip to scrape against your gspot. A loud moan escaped your lips as Asa moved even more faster. Causing you to cry out with an intoxicating pleasure from both men eagerly fucking you.

When you orgasmed, it was intense. Your eyes were rolled back as your body shook around the two men. Both men were amazed at how stunning you looked as you came around Arkin's dick. They kept thrusting into to, chasing their own releases while your body felt like jelly.

[bella-goths-wife]

Could u do asa Emory headcannons with a thick reader like I’m talking bout it jiggles 💀😭 how would he react or don?

Asa Emory with thick S/O

He chose you to be his pet because he wanted to try out a new mental torture technique

He wanted to test out bullying techniques to trigger childhood memories of bullying

He chose you because of your thickness and thought that this would effect you

That doesn’t stop the fact that he’s wildly attracted to you, it actually makes him want to kidnap you more

So he does, but because of this being psychological torture instead of physical torture, you are at least treated better

Once you are put through his psychological torture, and to his frustration, you weren’t effected by it

Because you had constantly had people commenting on your size, you decided to grow to love yourself and after years of therapy and appreciation, you were the picture of self confidence

Your ability to resist Asa’s torturous methods actually promotes you and gives you the title of favourite pet

Your taken from your dust filled box and given a clean room in the hotel with comfortable furniture and nice clothes

Asa finds you fascinating, your self appreciation was unbreakable

His priorities quickly change from breaking you to making you fall for him

He visits your room every single day and constantly compliments you

This confused you considering a few weeks before he was insulting you

You slowly develop Stockholm syndrome considering how much he worships your body and spoils you

When you begin a relationship your hesitant about how he views your thickness considering he had insulted it in the past but Asa quickly offers you reassuring words whispered between kisses all over your face

Asa wouldn’t normally be cuddly but on cold nights he grips onto you and doesn’t let go because your so soft and warm

At some points he’ll just drag you on top of him as have you sleep on top of him, and if your worried about squishing him he’ll just tell you that it would be a glorious way to die

He is in love with your ass

Now I do believe that Asa would be a massive pervert in a relationship so you’d have your back to him and turn to find him randomly staring at your ass

I do think he would grab it randomly to get your attention as well

During sex, if your insecure about your stretch marks, he’ll kiss all of them and tell you that they are beautiful

He loves your big hips and during sex he loves to grab them

[soupslashers]

The Heart Shaped Box Series

CH. 1 The Proposition

Pairing: Eventual Asa Emory/The Collector x Fem Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 4K

Summary: An infatuation has led you to him, and now you’re beginning to think it could become something more…

A/N: This was meant to be a one-shot, but it blossomed into a series. It’ll be a bit of a slow burn, depending on your definition, but still, I hope you all enjoy some professor Emory while he’s still in that persona ;)

Entomology was the only class you looked forward to.

Around you the black seats curved inwards, all aimed towards the chalkboard that was littered with drawings of various insects. Some had fat white shaded shells and were made to look as if they were crawling, while others were slim with outstretched wings. They were each created for extra credit; twenty points just to go up there before or after the class period to scribble down your favorite insect species.

You had yet to do so. The concept constantly lingered in the back of your mind on your drive to the campus. One day, you promised yourself, you would walk up there and scratch out your best impression of the Madagascar Hissing Cockroach—a forest dwelling invertebrate with a loud hum. Their unique alarm sound was something you had been infatuated with since your professor had first spoke about them. He said it was both a defense mechanism and a form of communication, one typically used for mating purposes.

The way he spoke is what had initially brought you to his class. Last semester you had been wondering the halls of the college campus, looking for ample distraction until your anatomy professor was free to speak with you about an exam you had missed, when a man’s voice had caught your attention.

It traveled through the quiet, cool air and to you. The noise was soft yet gruff. Not grating exactly but spoken low enough in his throat that it came out with a twinge of raspiness, almost like his voice was permanently coated with the thickness of just waking from an extended period of sleep.

To say it sounded nice would be an understatement. Most of your professors had clipped speech from years of burnt-out lectures to students who couldn’t care less. Their tones always carried a robotic weight to them, a drone akin to the humming of bees. But this voice was like fresh honey, dripping down in gobs of sun ridden gold to your eardrums.

Your feet had carried you to the source of the sound. The knotted walnut door was propped open with a stone butterfly, its wings and body cut to precision. It was just bigger than your fist, yet the weight of the rock enough to properly hold the door from closing. You hesitantly peeked through the gap, only allowing yourself to enter just enough that you could see despite the crack being lengthy enough to stick your shoulders partly through.

Inside was another lecture hall. The lights were bright saucers high above the small body of students who littered about the seats. Despite the vast seating, only about forty people lingered about, books open and heads trained forwards. Nobody glanced back towards you, and this you silently thanked. Bothering a professor and his students during a class was definitely something you wanted to avoid doing.

As your gaze made its rounds about the room, you found yourself lingering on the man who stood front and center.

Tawny brown pants hugged muscular thighs, the fabric moving and forming wrinkles as he gestured around the enormous chalkboard that hung on the wall in front of him. A pine green overcoat wrapped around him, falling to his mid upper thighs. Only as he turned around did you realize that this intoxicating voice extended to his physical features as well.

His chestnut brown hair was cut short, looping cleanly around his ears to connect with the stubble that gathered on his upper lip and around to his cheeks and chin. A broad forehead extended down to eyebrows that seemed permanently slightly furrowed, the skin inching over deep-set eyes that— your staring was halted as you peered closer at his eyes.

You were far enough away that you couldn’t make out distinct details, but there was something strange in the way his eyes seemed to almost reflect the light that shone around the room. He had been broadly speaking to the room, his stare shifting, and as it did, a white globe seemed to be sitting there, moving around as his eyes did.

It was a small oddity that had you enamored. You stayed hovering in the doorway for a full minute after initially noticing it, racking your brain for something that would explain it. But then those eyes had caught your own, which had you reeling back as if someone had harshly pulled you.

After that you had taken the route back to your anatomy professors’ doorway, mind stuck on the man like a scratched record. Even when you sat in front of Dr. Dunne, her speaking over when you could make up the exam, you still couldn’t move on from it to the point where you had even mentioned it to her before making your leave from her office.

She had been bemused, chuckling at the way the words had suddenly rushed out of your mouth, so very off topic from a test over bone structure. You remember the way heat had crawled up your neck and to your cheeks like it usually did when you spoke out of turn as she listed out numerous causes. However, just as you wanted to bolt from embarrassment, she paused, and then mentioned a professor on campus who had leukocoria—a condition in which blood vessels would leak into the hollow portions of the eye. Doctor Emory, she had called him. An entomology professor on campus.

You never got the chance to glance at the name plate by the propped open door, but you immediately knew it was the same man you had seen teaching just minutes before. It felt like some dirty secret that you had. Like she knew why you were asking and the thoughts you had as soon as you heard his voice. You were glad to be able to thank her then leave a moment later.

While you should’ve been focusing on the end of this semester, you instead incubated a growing crush on Dr. Emory. You’d linger around in the halls after your anatomy class, sometimes walking past the knotted walnut door to your car, other times staying there, listening to his teachings from behind the thin walls of the building.

Unlike the first time, you never risked peeking in again, nerves too heavy to even bear the thought of doing so. As well as that, you always made sure you were gone by the time the class ended. The idea of him suddenly walking out with the students, seeing you there, a student so captured by his voice that she stayed after her own class had already ended just to listen, was enough to cause your heart to hammer against your ribcage.

Still, you couldn’t help yourself. By the time the next semester’s enrollment period rolled out you were already there, putting his entomology class down despite it not matching with your major. At least now you’d have a reason to be hanging about.

Once Spring semester came around, you found yourself once again lingering in front of that door. You were allowed to venture in now, to pass that threshold you hadn’t dared to since that first day. Given the circumstances; you should’ve been elated. You were finally able see Dr. Emory in all his glory without having to hide just to hear him, but you couldn’t help the way your feet felt glued to the carpet of the hall.

It had been overwhelming. You wondered if he’d remember you peeking around his doorway, or if any of his past students had told him of the girl who would sit against the wall that existed just outside the classroom. The possibility of that, of him somehow knowing of this odd infatuation you possessed for him, had you buzzing with nerves.

For the first few week, you remained towards the back of the lecture hall, the safety of the door a necessity given that lingering thought that Dr. Emory somehow knew what you had been up to only a few weeks ago. Yet, as time proceeded on and your comfort in the room grew, you found yourself seating yourself closer and closer.

The number of people remained around forty, which meant there was no seating chart considering the numerous empty chairs that spanned around the area. This allowed you to slowly move forwards day by day, inching towards the front of the room where he spent most of the hour and a half.

Then he posed that silly prospect one day two weeks in by saying, “And if you’re curious about extra credit, you can always come to the board and draw me an insect of your liking.” It was simple, really. Just walk up there, take a stick of chalk and sketch out your favorite bug. That’s all it was, but like actually peering into the room, you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

It stuck around like his voice had last semester, plaguing your mind even when you weren’t in his class. Except now it was perfectly attainable.

You were a student, you reminded yourself today as the class neared its end, and it wasn’t out of the norm for a student to want extra credit. He wouldn’t bat an eye at the fact you were seeking it out, as many of your peers had before you. So why did you feel so trapped in your seat at the very thought of doing so?

Though you gained the confidence to sit just a row back from the front, you still felt like a deer caught in headlights every time he passed you. Dr. Emory liked to walk back and forth in slow, almost calculated movements. He’d near a kid speaking, stepping right in front of the seats, then back to stand in the middle of the room until something else caught his eye and called on him to approach it.

During your time spent in the class, you began to suspect it was due to his leukocoria. His case was unknown to you as he never spoke on it, but you knew it must’ve messed with his eyesight at least a little bit, if it wasn’t still an ongoing concern of his. This could be why he felt the need to walk close up to someone speaking, especially if said student was sat at the back of the room like you had been.

You remember the first time you had spoke during class. It was a simple question regarding your newfound favorite bug, the Madagascar hissing cockroach, when he had initially talked about it. He had walked up the rows and to just a few seats away from you. You had put it on your quiet speaking voice and what you guess was his lack of sight, but it still made your throat clench up every time you thought of speaking from then on, his focus on you almost unbearable with the crush you nurtured.

That’s probably why you get so flustered just thinking about walking up to the board, you ponder as Dr. Emory announces everyone is free to go. It made going to the chalkboard while he was still there a daunting task with the way his eyes found yours every so often. It meant you’d be truly up close and personal with him, no seats or doors to add as a distraction. Still, you decided no more hiding. Today was the day you’d venture pass yet another threshold and get that extra credit.

Your hands plucked your phone from your pocket, pulling it out and typing in your passcode. A detailed picture of the cockroach species was already there, ready to function as a reference. It was that last push that you needed, your backpack straps finding their way around your shoulders as you moved from your seat and out into the rows that separated the isles of chairs.

The walk was very quick. Way too quick, you realized as Dr. Emory stood behind the wooden desk that sat in the middle of the front area of the lecture room. Suddenly you were out in the open, way too close to act like these feelings you had towards him were just a figment of your imagination.

He was occupied with the papers in front of him, until you neared even further. You were to the right of him, closing up on the vast blackboard, when you saw him turn his head towards you in your peripheral.

Your heart quickened in its already fast pace, thrumming in your chest with pounding beats. Though you tried your best to ignore his attention, it was like walking through quicksand. It kept pulling at your thoughts, leaving nothing but him to make its place in your mind. To maintain your sanity, you silently hoped he would stay where he was and just turn back to whatever he was already doing.

Unfortunately, though, as you picked up a piece of still warm chalk, you felt his stare continue to penetrate your skin like the sun on a summertime day. It seemed physical; as if his gaze had hands that wrapped around you and kept you from fully raising the chalk up to the board. You moved your shoulders under the false guise of adjusting your shoulder straps in order to somehow shake it off you.

The Madagascar hissing cockroach was gigantic. Other students went for smaller, easier bugs to make. A ladybug with its spotted shell to a couple of ants that crawled along the lower part of the chalkboard. You decided to make it as accurate as you could, mostly because you knew Dr. Emory would not only see it later on but now as he watched you make the first circular motion of its oval body.

It wasn’t odd for him to closely watch a student. His lack of eyesight meant he’d have to be closer and look more intently for longer in order to gain the same information as most other people. Still, it felt like this was more than just an intrigue at your actions. Of course, he monitored the other students momentarily as they interacted with him and others, but he always went back to whatever he was doing quickly. This time, though, it seemed he found something more worth his time to watch.

A part of you didn’t mind at all. Having his attention, someone so attractive with voice akin to vocal alcohol, was something you had only dreamed about. It actually happening was truly a personal wish of yours come true. However, another part of yourself that was driven solely by insecurity was unnerved by this action.

Why did he feel the need to watch you so closely? Were you messing up your drawing so early in its process? Maybe the prospect of extra credit had already passed as you had waited so long to do this and now he was just watching you make a fool of yourself. That thought had a blaze of heat cascading its way through you, promptly causing you to shift in an attempt to lessen its affects.

By now the cockroach was mostly done. You had sketched an outstretched hand that held the bug, showing off its size to those who cared to peer at your drawing. The lines of its shell were carefully being drawn when you heard a honeyed voice speak to your left.

“Madagascar hissing cockroach, right?” You didn’t look at him, too focused on not messing up, but you swore you heard a smile in his tone.

You nodded, then stated a simple confirmation, too nervous to add anything else.

Now you heard him chuckle. It perfectly encompassed the softness of his voice, the rasp gone and replaced by the gentleness of a passing cloud, surprisingly quieter than his normal speaking voice. “Accurate to the size,” he noted now coming to stand so close that you could feel the heat radiating off of him. “This much diligence could earn you more than twenty points.”

The sudden appearance of praise caused your hand to twitch, the right antenna now crooked and longer than the other one. A wave of dizziness found its way to you as you hurriedly erased it. He smelled clean, like he had just gotten out of the shower despite your class period ending at 5:30PM. There was also a faint scent of something earthly but expensive. You couldn’t help but to inhale a bit heavier.

With the antenna fixed, you held the chalk in your hand, hesitant to move and ruin the moment. He was so warm next to you as if his entire being imitated a burning furnace. It was only the first week of March, which meant winter still mingled heavily with the air. Even in here you felt the familiar nip of coldness, but with him next to you like this, you finally felt at a comfortable temperature.

His face was a blur in the corner of your eye as you hadn’t turned to face him fully yet. Moving an inch seemed like a task you weren’t prepared to do. Even then, you’d prefer to stay like this; his face too out of focus to cause the anxiety it usually did and the way you could move over just a bit and be touching him, shoulder to, well, your head.

This sentiment progressed as he cocked his head, leaning in closer to see your drawing. Immediately, all functions that came naturally to you ceased. Your breath hitched in your throat midway through, and your hands dampened. He was so close now, his face coming into clarity right next to yours.

Your eyes roved over him, devouring every little detail that you could. Dark hairs that combined to form a long stubble, even more grown out than it had been the first time you saw him. His eyes that were clouded heavily in the middle, white extending out hazily into the deep brown of his natural eye color. The way his eyelashes brushed against the tops of his cheeks as he blinked, inspecting your creation.

Then he was facing you. It was just a swift turn of his head, a small motion that had somehow caused your eyes to widen into saucers. You couldn’t help but take a step back, suddenly burning up in the room that had been so cold just moments before. Now you were really looking at him, eyes interlocked, nearly face to face with the way he had leaned down to see your drawing.

“I’m glad you like the—the drawing, Dr. Emory,” you breathed out. It came out thickly, the words blurring together with how fast they flew from your mouth. This had to be the third, maybe fourth time you’ve spoken to him? The territory was so new and utterly terrifying. You couldn’t even remember if he preferred Doctor or professor.

His spine straightens out as he came to his full height, a towering 6’2 to your own, much smaller build. “Such a beautiful bug,” he says, voice low and oh-so-very personal as it was just you and him now in the lecture room. “Is it your favorite?”

Again, your head bobs up and down.

He smiles at this, as if he knows exactly why you aren’t trusting your words. “I’m taking that as a yes,” he replies, then turns around, but not before saying, “Come with me.”

Nearly dropping the chalk back on the tray that’s connected to the board, you scamper after him, steps small and  quick to match the pace in which he crosses back to his desk. Once there, you find yourself standing in front of him, the wooden work surface separating you from the entomologist.

“I have a proposition for you,” Dr. Emory announces, hands busying themselves with the sleek laptop he carries in with him every day. He opens it, tapping a few times before his eyes catch onto yours, already looking at him. There’s a glint of knowing within the white and brown haze of them when he says next, “A research paper. Strictly for you, if you’re interested, that is.”

“I am,” you blunder out all too quickly. The way he had stated that it was, in fact, just for you had something in you shifting. How could you say no, even if you had no idea why he even proposed it in the first place? Still, you attempted to redeem yourself from the embarrassingly rapid answer by asking, “Why a paper? If I may ask that.”

He chuckled again, revealing white teeth, before saying your first name. It rasped towards the end as the word came out, something that had your mouth going dry. “Why did you take this class?” Then, with slight amusement evident in his tone, “If I may ask that.”

Your mouth pulls back in confusion. The worry is apparently evident on your face as he goes to speak again. “You seem to be very…intrigued in what I have to say, but you’re always so hesitant to speak out directly to me, and in your group assignments.”

“Oh,” is all you can utter out, swallowing thickly before taking interest in the way the pattern of the hard floor changes in coloring. Dark and light browns mottled together being separated as planks by thin, black lines.

“I’m asking because participation is a crucial factor in my class. Our group is small if you haven’t noticed already. It’s important to stay connected with your peers when studying such a specific subgroup of zoology,” he continues on when you don’t give him more of a response. From where your gaze is, you can see one of his fingers twitch from its place on his desk. “Your grade has suffered an amount due to this. I figured I’d offer a way to make it up since you do seem interested in what I have to say.”

“I appreciate that, Dr. Emory,” you say, still not raising your eyes to him. It’s not like your grade was bad. A high B was something you were actually proud of considering this class pertained to a subject so entirely different to what you’re used to learning. Plus, zoology was interesting, but you hadn’t taken a particular interest in insects until now. As you look up to say what you want to next, you find his eyes already on you, his head shifting and following your nervous movements. “I’ll do the research paper.”

He seemed satisfied with your answer, the hand that was on the desk coming up to rub at the scruffy hair that made its home on his face while he looked over what was on his laptop screen. “That’s great to hear. It should be six pages over a subject pertaining to this class. I’ll email you the details and the rubric.”

That evening once you were home you took out your own computer from your bag, starting it up with the recent events heavy in your mind.

It wasn’t just the conversation you shared, but the way he stood so closely next to you. He didn’t do this with other students, or at least none that you’d noticed before. In fact, you hadn’t even seen when the others drew their insect of choice on the board. Maybe he watched them like he did earlier with you, smelling so heavenly and relaying praise like a second tongue.

Or could this really just be for you?

The proposal of a research paper, strictly for you, had you thinking that maybe, just maybe, this was an interaction not so commonly handed out. He had to have been watching you, noticing the way you kept to yourself to be able to bring it up with such specifics. Or perhaps he was just close with his students.

Your mind went back and forth on the subject, the torture so much that you decided to head to bed early without looking at the email he said he’d sent over the matter.

[slasherholic]

synopsis: hi this is a very indulgent self-care piece born out my desire to be held,, by evil handsome collector man,, so take some very mean “fluff” based on this gorgeous commission cause it lives rent free in my brain

written in 3rd person pov, but the protag’s name and features are left vague, so anyone who identifies with the descriptions in the warnings below can read this as a self insert :0

contains: female reader, language which describes the reader’s body as “small” and “petite”, depictions of murder and violence, kidnapping, nonconsensual touching / groping / cuddling, drugging, (my kink is getting a good fucking nights sleep srry,) restraints, mild fearplay, depictions of torture.

Asa Emory / The Collector x Small! Female Reader

--

When panic and confusion began to mount in the concert hall and the crowd fled for the exit, she scrambled forward on the dirty ground and huddled beneath the seat in front of her, for fear of being trampled.

Thirty seconds passed. Outside, in the main building, there was more screaming. She clutched her leg in a grip that turned her shins numb where her fingers dug in.

When the screams stopped, she clambered very hesitantly out.

The theater and all its levels were empty. On the stage lay the bodies of the cast, motionless islands in vast pools of spreading blood.

She should go now. Not out the front. There must be a side door, a fire exit, something.

When it happened it took the concert hall five whole seconds to rise into a panic. Nobody seemed to believe what they were seeing, and in the end, the shrieks coming from behind the curtains were what stoked the audience into a frenzy.

The curtains; likely her best chance.

She couldn’t stop herself from looking again as she clambered up on the stage, hugging the wall, gazing with huge eyes at the dead bodies speared into the wooden floor by volleys of long pikes with more prongs than she could count at a glance. It had been impeccable timing, right at the climax of the leading lady’s highest soprano note. 

She looked up. Past the bright stage lights, high in the rafters above, she saw two heavy-looking mechanisms that among the steel fixtures did not at first glance look out of place. She made her way very cautiously behind the dense red curtains.

There were more bodies backstage but what had killed them was not immediately apparent and she didn’t want to linger and find out. There was an open door on the opposite end of the room and as she crossed the dusty paneled floor her head was on a swivel, listening, for anything. The building had fallen to suffocating silence.

Through the door, there was a stairwell, and another body. A man in a ripped white button up and a stained blue tie lay face-down on the first and second steps. There was a terrible smell. She stepped over him very slowly, and then slipped on his blood.

She fell forward into razor wire. It caught on her lavender dress and cut her arms and legs. Somehow she held her shriek. The gleaming wires stretched like a web across the narrow corridor from wall to wall, and she went carefully, dipping in and out between the maze, finding she could just squeeze through it. Blood was streaming down her ankles and getting on the soles of her heels by the time she reached the top.

She almost got out. She would have made it, if only the anticipation of freedom hadn’t made her so hasty.

He discovered her snared in the labyrinth of dangling fish hooks fifteen feet from the rear fire exit, sobbing in pain, a delicate, pretty little creature, pulling uselessly at the lines as he got close to gather her up.

She didn’t put up much of a fight. She was a small woman, in shock, easy to handle.

Into the trunk she went.

--

The hooks would need to come out surgically. He had designed them to snag skin and embed deep into muscle and stay.

She tried to fight him for the first few minutes after he dragged her out by her nape and bent her face-down over the operating table, pinning her by her wrists while he unbuttoned the back of her dress, which he decided he quite liked; but when she lay naked on the table with her slender arms secured, as if realizing the futility of it all, she stopped struggling, and just cried while he tightened the straps over her legs. He stuck a thick piece of leather in her mouth so her teeth wouldn’t break and didn’t bother to sedate her. Waste of his resources for a procedure this short. Her huge eyes streamed endless tears as he worked on her and her face twisted beautifully at every incision. He set his scalpel down to wipe the crimson stains off her skin, and in his tray sat six bloody hooks, each as long as her index finger. 

She was smart enough to mind her volume after the excruciating part was over, sniffling and crying softly while he bandaged her limbs. She had expected never to see her airy lavender dress again, but when he finally unstrapped her, and flipped her on her stomach, he clothed her in it again. She stayed limp as he did the buttons back up her spine for fear of angering him. Her wrists and ankles went snuggly into pairs of sturdy leather cuffs.

He scooped her up, gripping her trembling body tightly, in case she decided to squirm. She didn’t.

Beyond the operating room there was a corridor, its walls and ceiling painted a maroon that had faded nearly to brown. She figured it was some sort of inn or hotel. A few of the doors lining the hall sat open a crack and one near the end sat wide-open. She looked inside it as he carried her past, and immediately wished she hadn’t.

The room he brought her to had a door that was open just a little. There, in the middle of the floor, fit with heavy brass bindings and three dangling padlocks, open as if expecting company, sat a sturdy red trunk.

She knew that she was going right down in it. She tried to cry again, but her energy was good and spent. 

He crouched on one knee in front of the trunk. Its walls didn’t quite touch her body as he lowered her inside, but when he closed the lid, the darkness was overwhelming. The padlocks clicked, one by one. The door swung shut, and she heard more locks turn—one, two, three, four. She wasn’t going anywhere.

For a whole day, he didn’t touch her. Not to feed her, not to give her water. She sat waiting for it to be her turn, trying very hard to turn her brain off and forget what she had seen through that door in the hallway. If she fell asleep, she felt there was a chance her body might shut down before he took her life in a manner that would have her screaming bloody murder on her way out.

Before she managed sleep, the locks on the door turned, and he was back.

His footsteps were measured as he entered, unhurried. The keys on his ring jangled as the heavy padlocks on her trunk clicked. The lid opened.

The man in all black squatted down. He stared at her for some time without moving. She regarded him with wide, wary, tear-filled eyes.

His thick arms darted into the trunk to catch her around the waist before she could struggle. She shrieked and flinched as he gathered up her legs, lifting her effortlessly out.

He sat her atop the lid of the trunk. Her eyes were fixed on the floor, on his boots.

His gloved hands had a way of lingering on her body when he touched her and as he let go of her waist he stroked her smooth thigh delicately, a bit past where her stained dress was riding up. She trembled and shook horribly, vision spotting over with erratic breathless dots.

The keys on his belt jangled again as he leaned for something on the ground, then lifted her chin to face him. She offered him no resistance.

To her dried lips, he pressed a metal cup; his black eyes considered her from behind his frightening mask, watching her expectantly.

She wasn’t certain the liquid in the cup was water but at the first sign of hesitation he squeezed her cheeks impatiently. He could force her to drink it very easily and she’d seen enough of him by now to know he wouldn’t make it very pleasant.

Down it went. It didn’t burn her throat, didn't make her cough up blood. It was only a drink of water.

The man in all black set the empty cup back on the floor, wiped at the thin spill dribbling down her chin, and gave her cheek a quick caress.

He forced her to sit with him, stiflingly close, one thick arm wrapped firmly around her middle to secure her. She would rather go back in the trunk than be held to his body like this.

He went for something on his belt. When his hand came back, her eyes grew huge. 

No. What’s in that? No, he can’t put that in her; but he’s far stronger than her, dangerously so, and if she tries to fight him he might break something or cut something off or just plain open her up again and let her bleed until she behaves.

Grabbing her jaw, his mouth came to settle gingerly against the side of her head, where she could feel his breaths fluttering on her hair.

“Hold very still.”

She didn’t think he was going to speak to her. His voice was nothing but a whisper, far softer than she would have imagined, which was somehow worse than shouting, because now she suspected he was making a very deliberate effort to frighten her to death. 

She did as he said. His fingers tightened around her cheeks as he aligned the needle between her neck and shoulder. Her face contorted at the pinch.

The empty syringe fell from his hand, clinking against the bottom of trunk, rolling away on the floor. He released her face, and she blinked away new tears as he led her cuffed wrists down by their thin tether to rest in her lap. He traced her collarbone out towards her arm and gripped the curve of her shoulder firmly over her sleeve.

The world was growing softer around the edges. The drug must have been some sort of sedative.

He started to touch her chest. She drew breath sharply as his large hand slipped beneath the ruffled hem of her dress, trying not to whimper and somehow disturb him as he cupped one goosebump-freckled breast, kneading her gently. He ran his thumb very deliberately over the bud of her nipple, which is all it took to stiffen it up. His hand was very warm. She wanted to sob at the violation, but her wet eyes were lingering shut between blinks, and every time they closed, they were harder to open.

He wasn’t being cruel about it. The sensation was pleasant through and through, and her groggy mind was easily tricked. Without realizing, she slumped a little into his chest. His arm relaxed a bit around her stomach and it’s weight felt good and right, warm. His sweater was very soft on her skin. He didn’t smell unpleasant.

Then she realized her actions, jolting upright, appalled by herself. He gave a light exhale into her hair as if he had found the whole thing very amusing, and opted to play along for a time—but now that the moment was over, his arm flexed tight around her petite waist, becoming a restraint again.

He turned his attention to her other breast and examined her there too, which, though certainly unwanted, felt almost clinical rather than sexual. Maybe it was the gloves. Perhaps this was his process. Perhaps she would be carefully studied all over, classified and catalogued, before he took her apart.

Her brain grew too fuzzy after that. Her thoughts weren’t making much sense. She didn’t quite know where she was anymore, only that there had been a lot of hurt not long ago, but not now. All she knew now was that she was being touched very gently, and it was nice.

A short time later, her little body crumpled into his torso, and she didn’t try to get up again.

He pet the top of her head as she went under and sat considering her unconscious face.

The piece he had in mind was delicate, elegant. He couldn’t have her jerking and struggling in it. He could go and stick her in the freezer, and she would be ready by the morning, but eyes never preserved well, and he didn’t much want to dull hers. He was already deciding on colors that would compliment them well.

Sedation was a possibility. A quarter dose of Novapryl between feedings would be sufficient to keep her suspended in a similar groggy, tranquil state. 

She shifted her cheek where she lay on his chest. He touched her face tenderly, stroking the cool skin with the flat of his hand, and in her stupor, she seemed to lean into his caress, which he found charming. Needy thing.

Sedation, then.

[deafsignifcantother]

fruit fly

♥ summary: you were the one left in the house - the one that wasn't supposed to be there. he had captured you, but his tenderness left you weak in the knees

♥ relationships: asa emory x deaf gender neutral reader

♥ word count: 1,491

♥ warnings: cat and mouse, albiest mentality from his part

The front door closes, and you feel it. The roommates must be home early, just as you were. It was supposed to be date night, though you decided in the middle of it that you didn't like the scene. So here you were, at home, sitting in the dark of your room listening to music and trying to sleep early. At the sound of the closing, you look over at the darkness peaking from underneath your door. A few seconds pass, and then many, and suddenly, a weird feeling corrupts your mentality. They haven't turned on the lights. Why?

.

Asa knew you were up there the moment he heard your unslick bedroom door open. It creaks louder than you would have realized, and it was something he was grateful for since otherwise, you could have gone untouched. Your roommates lay in another room, unconscious. The placement of their bodies, and the fact that they are alive, is a rarity.

He rushes up the stairs, something that you can feel, his thick footsteps offering no stealth. You hurry off of your bed, leaving the blankets askew, before shrinking into your hiding place.

In movies, you know that the killer consistently taunts: they always tell the victim to come out, telling lies about how they won't cause harm. Is this what he is saying now? You can see him from your place crouching inside of the closet. With both of your hands covering your mouth, you hold your breath.

He can see the blankets, knowing which direction you threw them in, following the invisible trail to the closet. But when he opens it, with the lack of light in the room, he can hardly see anything in the dark. So he closes it, knowing that you would eventually find yourself in one of his traps, and he leaves it at that, only after checking under the bed.

I got away. You blinked rapidly, wondering if this was true. There was no time to bask in your joy, however, because a question looms over you like a storm cloud. What next? Do you stay here forever? Do you get your phone, warning the girls not to come home, or do you try and text your police department? You have never seriously considered what the best action would be. You had never thought of yourself stuck in a situation like this.

Asa smiled to himself, crouching down in front of the other girls, picking out their phones from their bags and resting them all, in order, on the table. What are you going to do? When he hears the door creaking, he doesn't head up, instead of staying in his place, waiting to hear a snap or a crunch or any scream of yours.

But none of it comes. You step over each trap, your heart pounding in your chest, and you can see from your place on the stairs that the door has almost a million locks on it, which isn't good.

He probably has the key.

You'll have to get it by getting close to him. Detaining him first must be the easiest solution. So what? Get behind him, grab him by the shoulders and let out all of your inner anger on him? Would he take you down before you even try? For once, you are considering how much sound the world makes around you. What if you trigger the smoke alarm - or if you turn on the blender to hide your weakness.

You step over the spikes on the stairs, holding your breath again, only releasing it when you step onto the ground floor. There's the kitchen window that you always keep close, the one without the screen. You can crawl through that. With all the locks on the door, it's unlikely that the man will follow you outside.

A wire tugs at your ankle, and it catches your attention immediately. The man has the whole house rigged. From your kitchen view, you can see wires on the knives, practically a leash, waiting for you to pry.

You lower yourself to the floor, crawling, feeling the distant footsteps. The man is in the living room. He has to be. You crawl on all fours quicker until the footsteps stop, and you freeze.

You're going to die. That much is a certainty.

But you take the chance, hurrying into the kitchen, the adrenaline almost making you not care if he catches you or not. With no plan B, this attempt is your only. You reach the tile, going into a crouching position, looking behind you. There's nothing: no figure, no boogie man, and no killer. There is just silence, something that stabs into you like a knife. The kitchen has no sign of struggle, making you believe that he had not even been in here, especially since the window lacked wooden planks. So you climb up on the counter, opening it, watching it slide with ease before placing your hands on the window sill. But something is wrong. It feels hard - not like a wooden material, nothing metal nor plastic. When you try to pull your hand back, it sticks, and you notice the dark tape that seemed to be melted to the sill. It is sticky, unbelievably so, and when you pull back, it relents a bit, not before stretching your skin with a sharp sensation. Like a fly trap, you are stuck, in front of the light, obvious to anyone walking by.

You don't even have the chance to turn around before he grabs you from behind.

He uses his knife to cut you out, and not in the way you would like. Earlier, he wraps a rope around your legs, taking advantage of your position, putting handcuffs on you before even thinking about cutting you out. When he does, he takes layers of your skin off, leaving a print on the tape.

And that's how you end up in this place. It's cold, almost always, and the floors are constantly vibrating. It feels as if the man is depriving you of your senses. If he even realized you are deaf. You can't tell. His mouth never moves from behind that mask. He never talks - does he know that you wouldn't be able to listen?

From within your room, you don't realize that other people had it worse. They are in cages, piled together, filled with drugs, and cut up just for fun. You have a bed, a bookshelf, and a vanity.

He knows you are deaf. It wasn't something he figured out - instead, when he was dragging you into the living room, one of your friends had pleaded with him to let you live.

"They are deaf," they begged.

And it felt like faith. You have to be why he was having such trouble trying to decide who to keep.

In your room, now, whenever he visits, he has noticed that you stopped fighting. He gifts you food, things he's cooked up, food personal to him. And you eat, not ignoring him, but not speaking to him either. You often glance up at him when he watches you. And when you finish eating, he rubs your cheek, patting it before he leaves.

Sometimes he gives you things like coloring books or puzzles. And on the days where he is stressed out, too tired to carry on with his plights, he will sit down and do them with you. He never talks, never tries to communicate with you. The two of you sit side by side in peace.

Peace. That is soon how the both of you would describe it. Worry will lace your movements, often when you are with him. Is he planning something? Why is he keeping you here? But the longer things go on, and the longer between moments where he causes you harm, the more you begin to trust him.

And he knows this. It is palpable, your trust, and he finds himself looking down on you. You are helpless. Completely defenseless against him, and your disability makes you a bit cuter to him. You fell for the flytrap, and it amuses him because fruit flies cannot hear. Everything about this laid out perfectly for him. You seem to be his gift - and he treats you like a prized possession. Your trust means a lot to him, even with how you don't struggle, and it all has to indicate something. He is not spiritual nor superstitious, and the idea of soulmates is beyond him. But in humble moments, you make him believe it is all true.

So here he fulfills you, away from the others, making you oblivious to his sadistic side, beyond the murders of your roommates. Unlike the common fruit fly, you are an individual, a unique, beautiful thing. Drosophila melanogaster is what he would call you, but you make him feel something strange: the desire to learn your name.

[trashy-slashy]

Could you do a dub-con scenario with Asa Emory where he's calling the reader a good girl/boy/pet while 'rewarding' her for good behavior. 😊

Asa Emory x AFAB reader

Warnings: Dub/con, fingering, mild choking

Pitiful screams and pleas erupted from the cracked door ahead of you. “We gotta help them!” Your fellow captive urged, eyes frantically glancing between you and the direction of the sound. You sighed softly, plucking at pieces of decayed wallpaper. There was a subtle difference between fresh cries of terror and the mild static of a recording, the victim strung up on display in the halls of the hotel. She shook her head in disgust as you ignored them, pressing open the door. Your eyes slid shut as you pressed your temple against the wall.

Snap. The faint crank of gears, followed by the familiar whistle of metal soaring through the air. An unnatural crunch of bone and flesh parting, warm liquid splattering over you. Specks of debris fell from the rotting ceiling as the heavy thud of a lifeless body hit the wall opposite, impaled by the hidden projectile. You daren’t move. Listening to your own breathing in the silence, you waited for the tell-tale thud of boots behind you, long past resisting the urge to flinch when gloved fingers grasped your wrist.

The next time you opened your eyes, the familiarity of solitude swept over you; the same four walls that had become your prison for the past months, possibly years. Time seemed impossible to keep track of. “You did well today” The Collector mused, tracing the veins under his grip. Your pulse raced against him as he caged your body against his, his other hand splaying on your stomach. This was still a test; one wrong move and you’d be left to rot, brought to the edge of mortality before he’d nurse you back to life. Just to partake in his games again.

His head dipped to your neck, growling against your neck as his fingertips teased your waistband. “Such a good pet” Asa pressed his nose to your hair, inhaling as he sunk his fingers into your pants, teasing digits dragging over your slit. You took a steadying breath, silencing the whimpers in your throat as he ghosted over your clit, nuzzling softly against your ear. He smirked into your skin, relishing the way you were perfectly trained; he could feel the chemical reactions inside your body, but the way you kept perfectly still for him? It was quiet remarkable.

“Do you agree?” It took all of your mental fortitude to shut down a physical response as nitrile-covered fingers drummed impatiently against your cunt, pressing deliciously against the bundle of nerves. His head cocked to the side, hot breath ghosting against your neck. “Yes sir” Your voice was shaky; you hoped he wouldn’t notice. If he did, he didn’t seem to mind, a small reprieve from the merciless torment. A wandering digit probed at your entrance, your arm falling limp at your side as he released it. Thick muscles captured your throat, holding you flush against him as he pressed two fingers inside of you. “I want to hear you pet.”

The second the last syllable left his lips, you became a mess. Soft whines and whimpers escaped as he pumped inside of you, rewarding each sound with his teeth on your flesh. You steadied yourself on him; one hand on arm around your neck, reaching behind with the other to lace into his hair. He hummed appreciatively as you ran your fingers through his hair, resisting the urge to cling to him. Digits curled against the perfect spot inside of you, a few desperate gasps leaving you, searching for air. “Please...” You begged hopefully. A thumb pressed to your clit, unmoving, silent approval at your neediness. Heat coiled in your belly, your thighs twitching frantically. “Please can I come sir?” Asa purred approvingly, the hairs on the back of your neck standing to attention. His teeth sunk into your earlobe as he swirled his thumb over the bud, grinning against the flesh as you came undone for him.

You cried out, collapsing against him, his fingers burying to the knuckle as you climaxed around them. Asa watched every reaction, drinking in the way your muscles spasmed around his fingers, nails digging into his scalp unconsciously. You struggled for breath against the bicep pressed to your throat, pushing your shaking legs to sustain your weight. “T-thank you sir” He hummed appreciatively, tongue dragging over the pearls of blood forming on your neck. Asa gave you barely enough time to catch your breath before he flexed his arm, cutting off your air supply as he pushed a third finger into your pulsing cunt.

[goriestslasher]

Asa Emory x Jesse Cromeans x Reader

Jesse was pacing nervously, looking from his watch to Asa back to his watch. They were supposed to be home by now, nearly half an hour late. 

“Have you heard from them at all today?” Asa murmured, the barest hint of uncertainty worming into his cool, logical voice. Jesse shook his head, sneering and pacing. He pulled out his phone, typing something before shoving it in his pocket. 

With a heavy sigh he seated himself in an armchair, a big black leather thing that usually held your small, lithe body. Asa sat, eyes locked on the other man. 

Only a few minutes later, Spann walked in, laptop in hand. 

“Sir, I’ve brought the required-” 

‘Find them.’ Jesse stood, hovering over Spann as she opened the laptop. Asa walked over after a moment, looking over the device. 

“You bugged their phone?” Jesse shook his head, grinning cockily as he looked up at Asa. 

‘Tracker.’ Asa allowed a small smile on his lips, looking back at the screen. Jesse stood, grabbing his case. 

“They seem to be in an industrial area, an old abandoned-” 

“Hotel,” Asa snarled, turning and storming out. Jesse applied his mask slowly, unhurried. With a nod to Spann, he took his case and left. 

***

When they arrived, having rode together in Jesse’s car (much to Asa’s displeasure), neither expected an unfamiliar car sitting out front. They approached with caution, mask clad and ready to kill.  

Asa unlocked the door, breathing quiet but heavy.  With a flick of his hand, low lights turned on, revealing something that made both men pause.  A thick trail of blood, starting by the door and continuing out of sight, paused only by the whole human leg in the middle of the room. 

Asa strode forward, knife flipping in his hand. Familiar wails of mercy as the men walked past rooms, Asa steering Jesse from traps gently with an annoyed sigh. They followed the blood trail, expecting the worst. 

Jesse pulled Asa to a stop, making the latter man snarl out a- 

“What?” Jesse leaned down slowly, picking up a badge, covered in blood. There was a cop here somewhere. Asa turned, walking faster. 

They finally got to where the blood trail turned, into his dissection room. On the floor, in the far corner were two masses.

One was small and drenched in blood, crouching and shaking with near-silent giggles. The other was missing both of their legs, laying on the ground with one severed leg still inches from where it was cut off. The small thing’s back was turned to the men, hiding the near-dead man’s face. 

They reached over, cutting off a piece of meat from the man’s severed leg. With a stifled laugh, they leaned back over the man and- 

Asa walked forward silently, watching in fascination as their small spouse fed the cop his own leg. The man was sobbing but clearly near death, not able to muster up enough strength to fight off the sadist. 

Jesse walked forward, allowing his footsteps to make noise. The person's head shot up, turning to look at both of the men with a sweet and serene smile.

“Oh!” Their smile widened, eyes squinting slightly as they stood. They shoved the knife into their pocket, a sweet smile on their bloody face. “Hello, my loves.” They skipped forward, barely flinching as Asa gripped their upper arm with a snarl. 

“What are you doing?” he demanded, pressing the tip of his knife under their jaw. They tilted their head, boring into Asa’s beautiful and furious eyes with their own. 

“Now, now, is that any way to thank me for taking care of the police officer who came with questions about you?” Jesse rested a hand on Asa’s shoulder, shoving him back. Asa growled but did not interfere as Jesse overlooked their small pet. 

‘What happened?’ They smiled up at Jesse before jumping into his arms to kiss the much taller man’s mask. Jesse sighed happily before setting them down, crossing his arms. They smiled, holding their hands together and backing up so both Jesse and Asa could see them.

“Closest safe place to deal with him. Played the terrified spouse.” Their eyes darkened, something both men had seen in each other but never on their sweet little (Y/n). “It was the most fun chase I’ve had in a long time! Got his leg stuck in a bear trap-” both men’s eyes shot to the leg, obviously broken- “but still wouldn’t stop! Actually, he didn’t really slow down till I took his other leg!” An amused giggle as the man groaned weakly. 

They turned back to the man- only one eye present, the other one popped and smeared all over his face- grin softening as he whimpered and tried to push himself back on his arms. Blood pooled sluggishly under his legs, horrified sobbing growing louder as they walked to him. 

“Oh, you poor baby. Tell you what, I’ll give you a five minute head start, yeah?” They leaned forward, kissing his head as he sobbed and whimpered. “Would you like that, sweetheart?” They brushed back a blood-soaked piece of hair. 

The man nodded sluggishly, trying to escape on his arms. He flipped onto his belly, army crawling towards the door. 

They watched this with a sweet and amused smile. Turning to Asa- whose breathing had sped, skin slick with a thin sheet of sweat and pupils blown- they met his eyes. With a few teasing steps, they laid blood-slick lips on his dry lips, moaning lowly. 

Asa growled, pulling them closer and breaking the kiss.

“You’re in for quite a punishment when we get home, little thing,” he murmured against their lips. Jesse walked to them, standing behind their short body and  gripping their waist. 

He signed nothing, only grinding into their backside. They threw their head back, resting it against Jesse as their excited eyes met his sockets. 

“Hold that thought, dearest.” Taking Jesse’s knife from its holster on his thigh, they strode to the sobbing man once more. He was at the door now, a trail of blood following him. 

“No, no,” he slurred as they flipped him over. “Please-” A thick cough sent blood bubbling out of his mouth. They straddled him, pressing the knife to his chest. He sobbed, an agonized expression on his face. 

“It’s alright, sweetheart. Embrace it. I’m going to free you from your pain. Don’t you want that?” They murmured, trailing the knife down his face. He starts hyperventilating, sobs and whines and ‘no, please,’ coming from his mouth. “Do you want the pain to end?” The man slowed, nodding as tears rolled down his face. “Good boy,” They purred, plunging the knife behind his ear and into his head. 

He stopped moving as they wiggled the knife before pulling it out, shoving it in his chest a few times for good measure. 

Standing, pupils blown in lust, they turned to Jesse and Asa. Asa looked ready to eat them, and Jesse only clapped a few times. 

‘Amazing job on your first kill,’ he signed. 

They tilted their head, a curious and amused little smile gracing their innocent and blood covered face. 

“First?”

[little-lily-w]

A little cup of sugar

Asa Emory x Reader

A/N: This is smutty and also a bit twisted so 18+. Gif is made by me.

Words: 2.6 k

Warnings: Smut, possible dub-con, twisted thoughts.  

You rang the bell and waited; hands automatically coming to pull the top a bit down so that your breasts were popping, the little bubbly skirt being moved by the wind, threatening to reveal a pair of pink panties underneath. You were lucky you only had to walk a few meters living next to his house, otherwise you’d had been exposed to the whole neighborhood for sure. Your legs moved in place nervously, the cool breeze coming up your knees. You had tried anything. From elegant conservative clothes to almost cheerleader outfits, yet he hadn’t even given you the slightest hint of interest. You had even tried showing up with clothes from a past century with the lie of a false masquerade party occurring in a few hours. But the excuse was always the same. A cup of sugar. To bake a cake, to have coffee, to experiment with recipes. It didn’t matter. You certainly had a whole jar of sugar at home but you wanted to see him, and most important, you wanted him to invite you to come in but it was useless.

By the time the door was opened, you felt your toes curling inside the summer sandals. God, this man had such an alpha male presence that it always made your feminine energy meet sky levels. Your legs staggered, your voice became higher pitched, the inevitable giggling each time he spoke. But it also raised up your whore levels, to the point where you swore to yourself that this time he better invite you in or you’d jump onto him.

-Hi…! – you smiled at him – Sorry to bother you, I was wondering if you had…

“A little cup of sugar”. That phrase was stuck in Asa’s brain for the whole month.  He eyed you from your feet to your childish ponytails. He could smell the desperation, but it was always amusing to see a different outfit each time he opened the door. Partly, that was the reason why he never showed any emotion towards your presence, because yes, he was a loner, but he also enjoyed  you being so nervous. However, your persistence was often not welcome. It was distracting and he usually was not in the mood to hear you talk. He’d had been comfortable with a few show ups a month but not with you knocking at his door every other day.  

-Sorry, I just need it for some cupcakes. I hope you have some – you giggled and caressed one of the ponytails.

-No.

Oh? That was new. He always walked to the kitchen at your question and gave you what you required in hopes for you to leave as soon as possible.

-Oh, um… Then…

But as you rambled, he gave a pair of steps backwards allowing space and observing you. You looked at him in the eyes and smirked, trying luck with a step forwards, crossing what was considered the limit of the house. Since he didn’t say anything, you moved the other feet inside too and smiled, making an effort to seem friendly. Asa walked past you to close the door as you moved further in, looking around the place and touching the table to feel the texture.

-What a nice house you have. Oh, what is that? A vintage radio? – you laughed amused at the object, placing your hands all over it. Then you spotted the stairs, instantly concluding that his bedroom must be upstairs and that was the most important part of the house for you – You have more weird stuff nearby? – you asked resting against the creamy wall and pointing slightly to the steps with your head.

You expected to be subtle about your hormones but at this point Asa was jaded although clearly hiding it more effectively than you. Actually, you couldn’t even read his face because his expression was practically emotionless.

-You are not gonna talk to me? – you giggled again, battling your eyelashes.

Asa reacted by gesturing with his hand towards the stairs. Honestly, fuck him saying anything. The invitation was a more than welcome response. You started to go up, purposefully swinging your hips so that your mini skirt moved too, revealing some skin of your butt and, of course, the pink color of the thong too. Asa let you walked all the way, staying still in place while massaging his fingers with both thumbs, hesitating if to act upon what was crossing his mind or not. After all, you were a willing prey, not only entering the wolf’s cave but also going directly to his table.

He started to walk upstairs too only to find you lying across his bed, elbow pressing against the mattress and head resting on your palm, offering a nice view of your curves.

-Comfy old-style bed – you continued, sure by now that your intentions were obvious and about to get corresponded but you looked at your neighbor standing by the door. You were hoping he wasn’t the shy type. It didn’t seem to match him but if you had to do the work, you wouldn’t mind at this point – Still going to play silent? – you winked at him.

Asa went to the chest of drawers, opening one of them to take a rustic but simple thick rope, clearing his throat in the process.

-Mm, you got a lot of tricks under you sleeve, don’t you? – you asked teasingly once he turned around with the item in his hand – Why don’t you come closer? – you invited him but seeing he wasn’t change countenance, you let out a playful sigh – Okay, let me do so instead.

You came closer to him, looking into his black eyes, already wet at the proximity and his deep exhalations. Smirking, your index and middle fingers started to walk teasingly up the denim jacket.

-How long has it been? – you asked him, ready to hold his face in your hands and kiss him but Asa stopped you by abruptly grabbing a hold of your top moving you towards the center of the bedroom and throwing half of the rope over a roof beam, easy to access for his height. Then he secured your hands to it with the other half, arms extended all the way up.

You let out a tremble gasp, fingers fidgeting with the rope while you rubbed your knees together. Asa was circling you like a hunter who examines his prize.

-You are a bad guy, aren’t you? – you tried to play hot not realizing how innocent you actually sounded to his ears – You are going to play hard and not give me what I want?

Asa stopped by you to grab a hold on your nape while his other hand travelled to your mouth, fingertips pressing against your lips.

-Shhh – he shushed you directly into your ear, his breath giving you shivers.

You wanted to lick his fingers, to move them inside your cave with your tongue but something told you he was going to have it in his way but actually, that was even more arousing.

Asa released you, only to take his usual small knife out of his pocket, making you jump when the blade appeared suddenly. You could tell the air in the room had changed. His eyes were colder so much that it became dangerous. A little flash of survival instinct kicked in and you pulled slightly from the rope but, what a pity, it was extremely well secured. As he got closer, a tiny whimper escaped your nose. Your chest started to move up and down, confused at what his intentions were. The blade pressed flat and ice cold against the exposed skin of your belly. He could tell you were having second thoughts but oh, weren’t you the one looking for his attention all this time? Now you got it.

-Um… - you let out in a shaky whisper, feeling entirely vulnerable, but his gaze went up to meet yours for a second and you understood he was repeating his command. You better not dared to risk it once more.

Asa was fixed in your belly button, the shape of it was actually the most interesting thing about you because even though you would have never paid attention to it, Emory was a man of detail and he was noticing a skin pattern that was making him want to do a circular cut around the area to extract the piece.

He moved the blade in order for the sharp point to press painful against your belly but not hard enough to break the skin. He had to control himself, it wasn’t wise to have someone screaming in the neighborhood and, even if he gagged you, the fact of a torture or possibly killing occurring in his house which was nothing else than next you yours was not appealing either in regards of a later police investigation.

However, he started tracing circular patterns around the button and grabbed the bottom of your mini skirt to pull it down in order to reveal the area more. That was the moment when he heard your moaning. He looked up at your face again. Shit, he almost forgot you were there but that didn’t stop him from furrowing his brows slightly. Were you all of a sudden finding excitement in this? Well, judging by the way your knees were rubbing together, he was sure you thought this was some form of a kinky game. How innocent. How lovely. He chuckled dark in response and continued to move the knife around your torso but he remembered why you were there. You wanted to get fucked by him. It was as simple as that. His mind was full of sinister abnormal fantasies but it wasn’t stupid.  And he knew that if he didn’t comply, you were going to keep asking for more sugar.

God, he was already exasperated but you couldn’t tell. His face was still emotionless. Despite that, he was not in the mood to keep hearing your pathetic moans and gasps so he stopped for a second to take some duct tape from the same chest of drawers.

You looked at him as he put it all over your lips, your toes curling against the floor while you turned more and more helpless and he became more and more alpha. He could easily overpower you yet you trusted that if he didn’t hurt you, maybe you were going to be okay and, most likely, going to have a lot of fun with a kinky neighbor.

Asa placed the knife back in his pocket, groaning frustrated. You wanted sex? Okay. But he was going to make you pay for being so insistent about it and interrupting his peace so many times. It had been a long time since he last had sexual intercourse with someone, mostly because his urges weren’t the same ones of simple people, but he knew the anatomy of a human to perfection. Especially how sensitive some parts of the female body could be.

A loud whimper of surprise, muffled by the tape, left you when he ripped off your top in half and then did the same with the pink panties letting them run down your legs along with your skirt. He moved his hand to your ribs, travelling with it to the middle of your spine as he circled you once more but this time stopping at your back. The solely light touch of his fingers was getting you even more excited considering that by now you were merely a piece of meat hanging by the roof. Wasn’t that what you wanted when you offered a continuous delivery for a carnivore? Asa ran his hand down your back giving you a spank so harsh and so thunderous that your body jumped forwards. Was that a whimper of pain? Well, too bad. Grabbing a hold of your now red flesh, he moved you back in place while he palmed his own sex out of your sight, trying to find excitement in normal human activities. But what really put spice into his core was that suffocated sound you made. God, he wanted to hear you whimpering and crying all afternoon if it could have been possible but neighbors wouldn’t allow that. And most important, he wanted to pierce your belly button with one of his thick blades, that kind of penetration was even more appealing than any other to any rounded hole in your body. But coming to a citizen reality, he found something circular that could serve some purpose.

You heard the sound of the leather belt and then of the zip coming down, but you could have never been prepared for the sudden raw stretch in your ass. A hot, thick and for sure uncaring piece of intrusion making its way into you. And surprisingly, although it was on the big side, it managed to push entirely inside, till it was buried, till you could sense Asa’s low groan at the back of your neck, making your hairs stand up. Well, maybe it was because he didn’t even mind your initial squirming nor the pained growls leaving your throat. You tried to endure it, closing your eyes tightly while a few tears spilled from the corners as he started moving in and half way out with an unexpected slow pace for a sadist but sometimes deep slow stabs felt even nicer. You attempted to pull once more from the ropes or to tell him to take it easy through the tape but then a warm hand came to your clit while the other one released your butt to grab a hold on your ponytails pulling your head back. The pain became acceptable and it progressively changed into an uncomfortable but pleasurable sensation, especially because, dammit, Asa knew how to touch your bundle of nerves like he had spent years studying it. After all, he didn’t want to ruin his reputation for complying to the sugar burden.

You got on your tiptoes, moaning as he fastened his pace, each time still smacking his pelvis against you, trying to find his own satisfaction. But it wasn’t until you started moving your own hips and clenching around him that you felt him actually wet inside of you. Realizing the effect you were having on him, you kept going until he realized he was sort of letting you dominate him and his alpha persona snapped. In a second, he cut the rope with the pocket knife and moved you to the bed, butt up and head slammed against the mattress to keep fucking you as hard and fast as he could this time.

After a few minutes, your knees started to shake, letting yourself go in a boiling orgasm but Asa pulled out and, moving you flat on your back, he stroked his cock till his seed was falling traslucid and slightly creamy all over your belly button. He caressed it in a circular motion, purring a bit agitated but quickly moving away once you chuckled at the way he was spreading the sperm on your belly. He grabbed the three pieces of clothes from the floor and handled them to you not coming closer again, just extending his arm and looking away.

-They are useless now – you said in regards to the way the clothes were all torn – Maybe I can borrow a shirt of yours?

Asa replied doing the same thing with the first pair of pajamas that came to his sight. God, he really wanted to cut you.

-Thank you – you said once you were changed – For everything – you smiled “seductively” and kissed his cheek, getting out of the bedroom and going downstairs.

He followed you to open the door in order for you to leave as soon as possible.

-I’m very lucky to be your neighbor – you winked at him lastly before stepping out the house.

Asa closed the door slowly, locking it with key and leaving the key ring on the table.

-You really are – he whispered to himself.

[the-gory-gardner]

Asa and Jesse with a s/o who is texture sensitive and constantly cold so they have ton of soft thick blankets on their bed and around the house

Asa Emory x Jesse Cromeans x Reader Who is Texture Sensitive. 

- You tell them pretty up front about your sensitivities and such so they understand. 

- They’ll do plenty of research about ir besides what you already told them. 

- Jesse will buy you a ton of blankets, pillows and such of course letting you feel them first so you know if you like them or not first. 

- Asa buys you soft, warm clothes that doesn’t bother you so your always comfortable. 

- They make sure there are plenty of blankets for you in every room whenever you need some. 

- They want you to be warm and comfortable at all times so if something bothering you they’d prefer you tell them immediately. 

[lace-coffin]

Hii! I hope your having a good day/night so far, but I js now thought of this and I lowkey cannot stop having brain-rots over it… so yknow how like, men are sometimes called ‘bears’? I was wondering if you could write a fic abt Asa getting his hands on a so called ‘bear’ of a dude who’s much beefier and taller than him, but still submissive asf? 👀

How would Asa Emory feel about a gay bear s/o? (Nsfw)

Asa Emory x male!bear!reader

Tw for kidnapping, power exchange/power dynamics, general Asa Emory things

Requests are open!

I was literally about to go to bed when I saw this request and I was like I NEED TO DO THIS NOW OMG. Safe to say I absolutely love this idea and loved writing it💖 hope you enjoy!

Asa didn’t think he had a type until he met you..now he’s sure he couldn’t ever go back.

You were the lecturer in the classroom next door, sure Asa knew of you but he didn’t know you personally, never caring enough to go introduce himself to other lecturers like some kind of newly moved in house warming party, he was solely interested in teaching his classes, getting out, and tending to his collection, hopefully managing to cram a few hours sleep in until he has to wake up and repeat it again.

The class had finally began to pick up as all the students had settled and the lecture was underway, until a timid knock sounded on the door. Asa was pissed. If he has to sit through his students fussing again he’s going to lose it.

That was until he pulled open the heavy wood door and revealed you, looking professional but still boyishly handsome. Your tucked shirt pulling taught where the largest part of your belly settled, folding softly over your belt. Sleeves rolled up to reveal thick arms, spattered with an ample amount of dark hair, knuckles equally hairy to match. Asa’s face heats up and he curses in his head, only making matters worse as he drags his eyes over your ample chest subtly, well as subtly as you can when your practically eye fucking the bear of a lecturer that just interrupted your class.

“-came to ask if I can borrow some empty work books…excuse me..sir?” Asa’s head snaps back up to the stranger’s face, realising he hadn’t been listening to a word the man was saying, completely lost in eyeing him up. “Ah, my apologies, I’m a little out of it today, this way.” Asa tries to recover the interaction and guides him to the empty work books, picking up a load with a grunt and placing them in your hands, not missing the way your knuckles brush his during the exchange.

You take the books from him like it’s nothing, not even a strain or flinch, fuck, that was hotter than it should’ve been. You thank him and leave, presumably back to teach your class, whatever it is you actually teach, he’d been to caught off guard to ask anything of importance.

For the rest of the day Asa can’t forget the way “sir” sounded coming from your lips.

He wants to find out more about you and he does, under the guise of bumping into you in the teachers lounge or offering you a ride back to your house. he now knows you teach English, it’s not really what you wanted to do but it pays the bills. He knows you usually wear suits apart from on Fridays when you choose something more casual for the end of the week. He knows you live alone and your daily schedule, knows when the best time to strike is. He knows no one will look for you.

It’s Months later and everything has changed, Asa has more of a spring in his step as he returns home, the weight of the day not affecting him as harshly when he knows he’s coming home to his favourite pet.

It wasn’t hard to gain your trust, easy to believe in peoples kind words and actions, it was almost laughably easy to find out where and how you live, oblivious to the turtle neck clad figure trailing a few blocks behind. You hadn’t gone down easy into the box but that’s the way he likes it, likes a bit of a struggle.

Now Asa has you at his beck and call, only needing to snap his fingers or say one word to have you scrambling to follow, eager to impress. You would think due to your large structure that you would be in control, no questions asked but it was obvious to any onlooker that wasn’t the case. Asa had you wrapped around his finger, always following his heels like a well trained attack dog willing to do anything for his masters approval.

Now Asa had you where he wanted he wasted no time in admiring you, all soft curves and dark hair, masculine and sexy. Your daily wear now mostly consisted of leather harnesses, loving the way the straps wrapped around you, making your flesh spill over them but constricting you at the same time. He could stare at the way the harness pushed forward and presented your hairy tits to him for hours, now adorned with two shiny barbells to Asa’s liking. Tugging on your harness when he needed to move you was always a plus in the design, and always and excuse to run his hands over your warm skin.

Despite what anyone may presume you actually turned out to be naturally submissive once broken down, “the bigger they are the harder they fall” as they say, Asa’s not sure that applies to kidnapping grown men but he can’t find it in himself to care. Your doe eyes look to Asa for guidance in even the simplest things, loving the attention and not having to think for yourself. Just wanting to be a mutt for your master and nothing else.

Asa thought you were perfect, the way your eyes water as you drool dumbly behind the bone shaped gag tightly in your mouth. The way your hairy thighs wrap around him as he fucks into you obscenely. The way you sit at his feet obediently and keep his cock warm in the back of your throat as he works at his desk, only making small noises of complaint when you run out of air. Nothing asa can’t fix with a sharp slap on the cheek and a kiss on the forehead.

You take well to the cage, having just enough room to stretch out and sit up but that’s it. You crawl back in when ordered, letting sir lock you in with one last kiss on the lips and a request to be good and sleep well. You’re always excited to see him again in the morning, pressed against the cage needily and wiggling your behind in a cute imitation of a dogs wagging tail.

“Bark” you let out a sound similar to a woof, not completely the same as an actual dog but you’re not completely confident in it yet, still humiliated by the action. Asa’s lips thin out into a straight line, not completely satisfied with your effort.

“Again, put your voice into it” you let out a sigh of embarrassment and close your eyes, breathing in and letting out a more solid bark. Asa smiles this time, running his gloved hand over hair, abruptly grabbing a handful and wrenching your head back so you can meet his dark eyes. “Good boy, always so eager to please master, aren’t you my mutt?” You make a weak noise at being grabbed so harshly but reply “y-yes sir” Asa tugs your hair harder causing your scalp to sting in a way that makes your thighs rub together. “Again, louder.” He orders back, not making any room for excuses. “Yes sir! I love being a stupid mutt for you! Love following orders and making you proud!” You pant back, a lot louder and more desperate this time.

A satisfied smile slips onto Asa’s face as he releases your hair from his grasp, easing the pain in your scalp. Your master tugs the ring of your collar, pulling your chin up with it to look at him.

A moment passes and looks are exchanged, yours of need and Asa’s of smugness. Your lips meet in the middle for a searing kiss, lips and teeth clashing. “Good dog” Asa mutters in between kisses.

[thesightstoshowyou]

Timing is Everything

Jesse Cromeans x F Reader x Asa Emory (NSFW)

Summary: Trapped between a predator and a hard place.

Warnings: All the warnings! Dubcon/noncon, daddy kink, Dominant Asa, possessive Asa, creampie(s), anal play, heavy degradation, slapping, manipulation, knife use, blood, torture, “aftercare.” Safe word? What’s that?

 ~~

             When the penthouse elevator dings, you think it’s Asa. It’s after five, Asa’s typical time to return home and recharge before heading out into the night. Jesse’s been gone for days to who knows where, but this isn’t unusual.

             So, when you peek under the cabinets from your spot near the stove and see soft lights glinting off chrome, you’re surprised. He strips out of his black suit jacket, kicking off his boots as he goes. You frown at the blood that drips off the soles onto clean marble. Asa’s going to be pissed.

             But, maybe that’s the point.

             “Hey, you. Back already?” you ask casually as Jesse stalks behind the counter. He drags his fingers leisurely along the sleek granite as he strolls over to you. There’s promise in the way his hips sway as he approaches, a hint of impatience in his swagger. Immediately, you’re on edge.

             Uneasy, you meet his shadowed gaze as well as you can through the darkened eyeholes of his mask. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t pause, just keeps slowly pressuring you until you’re backed against the sink. You gulp when his arm slides around your waist, one huge hand grabbing a handful of your ass.

             “Asa’s not here—

             Jesse claps a hand over your mouth and shakes his head. He bends down to your level, nudges your cheek with the chilly teeth of his mask. The hand on your ass disappears, resurfaces clutching one of those heinous blades. Dried blood flecks off the handle as he twists it, brings cold steel under your chin.

             You’re afraid, yes, but not of the knife. Asa doesn’t like Jesse to touch you if he’s not there. The Collector is the sole orchestrater of your pleasure and pain, and Chromeskull is an extension of Asa’s knife. Usually, Jesse is more than happy to take instruction on how best to pull you apart and put you back together.

             Usually.

             Not tonight, apparently. The last time this had happened, you hadn’t been able to walk for a week. You wonder what Asa said to Jesse to set him off.

             “Daddy, please,” you mumble behind his hand, hoping the pet name will give him pause. Jesse’s gaze snaps back to yours. He brings the knife in front of your face and shakes it back and forth. ‘No, no, no, little girl,’ it says with its movement. You plead with your eyes and Jesse’s shoulders shake in silent laughter. He’s enjoying the way your lips tremble in trepidation.

             Jesse seizes you around the waist, tosses you over his shoulder, saunters to the bedroom. You let yourself be towed, racing mind wondering what the hell you’re going to tell Asa when he inevitably walks in on the both of you. You nearly scoff out loud; as if Asa’s going to let you speak. You’re so, so fucked.

             Literally.

             When Asa does finally return home, you don’t hear him enter. The only things you can hear are the rustling of bedsheets in your ear, the fervent slap of skin on skin, and your muffled groans and screams. Jesse has your cheek smashed into the mattress, drooling mouth stuffed with your panties, arms pinned behind your back, two, thick fingers speared into your ass, and your hips in the air as he pummels your sore cunt. No hole left unfilled.

             You’re dripping cum and your own fluids, the sheets a wet mess beneath you. Whatever Asa said to him, it really, really set him off. Deliriously, you wonder if you’ve ever seen him so pent up.

             You yelp around the underwear between your teeth when Jesse tugs his fingers from your ass. His hand flies to your hair, gripping your messy locks and turning your head the other direction so you’re looking at the bedroom doorway. Your eyes widen in horror when you see Asa leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, dark eyes intently focused on the arch of your back.

            Behind you, Jesse hisses and hilts himself, spilling another load of sticky cum into your abused cunt. You grunt and wriggle against the hand keeping your arms pinned. He’d timed that perfectly, hadn’t he?

            Deliberately, Asa pulls a pair of black, nitrile gloves from his back pocket. He snaps them on, one at a time, intertwining his fingers to achieve the snuggest fit. Your chest heaves, your limbs trembling at the methodical way he flicks open the sheath on his hip and produces a slim knife, the blade glinting maliciously in the low light.

            Jesse slips from your cunt with a sigh, releases your arms, crawls up beside you so he’s resting against the headboard. You flop over, yank the panties from your mouth, push to your knees with shaking arms, drop your chin to your chest submissively.

            What do you say? He’ll hurt you more if you talk out of turn. Fuck, this isn’t fair.

            Jesse will emerge from this ordeal unscathed. He’d never allow Asa to punish him, no, not without a bloody, vicious fight. That’s not what this twisted relationship is about, but Asa will have to punish someone.

            And that someone is you.

            A normal relationship would have a predetermined word, a phrase, a hand signal, something that would bring this nightmare to an end, but when you’re the obsession of both the Collector and Chromeskull, there is no safe word. There is pain and there is pleasure and no relief from either, ever.

            Gloved fingers brush your cheek, grip your chin and tilt your head so your eyes meet black. His face is blank, utterly expressionless, but this is when he is most dangerous. You don’t know what he’s planning. Again, you beg with your eyes, hope he’ll take pity on you. There was nothing you could do to stop Jesse, he must know this.

             Asa hums thoughtfully, pulls down your bottom lip with his thumb, “I know this wasn’t your idea, Cricket.” He shoots Jesse a petulant glare and the bed wobbles under you with what you can only assume is more unheard laugher. Your heart lifts slightly. Could you be this lucky…?

             His eyes return to yours and you blink until tears slips down your face. Instantly, your stomach plummets and you gasp in shock when he delivers a stinging slap to your cheek. You whimper, clutching your face and shuddering when he sighs heavily.

             “Unfortunately, that’s not enough to save you, silly girl. If you weren’t such a desperate whore, he wouldn’t have broken my rules, would he?” You visibly tremble, nod your head, because what else can you do now? Submit, take the punishment like an obedient pet, learn to run faster than Jesse.

             “On your back.” Instantly you fall back. You try not to glare up at Jesse when he pulls your head into his lap, fingers carding through your sweaty hair in mock sympathy.

             “Look at me.” You do, “How many times did he cum? Tell the truth, Cricket or I. Will. Hurt. You.”

             “F-Four, Sir,” you stammer, your heart fluttering in your chest like a panicked bird. Asa’s eyes flick to Jesse’s and the skull mask nods once in affirmation.

             “Four? Christ, Jesse,” Asa murmurs with a chuckle, that ominous rumble that never fails to send a thrill of fear through your bloodstream. Jesse shrugs and motions to your naked body as though that should explain everything. Asa shakes his head and addresses you, “Four cuts for the four times you let him defile my cunt. Understand? Speak.”

             “Y-Yes, Sir,” you whisper, bracing for the bite of steel. Asa spreads your thighs wide, pushes your knees to your chest. The point of the knife trails down the inside of your knee, comes to rest on the soft flesh of your inner thigh. Your gasping breaths are so loud they echo off the high ceiling. You grit your teeth, hiss when Asa drags the blade along your thigh, your dermis parting under steel and spilling crimson onto the bedsheets.

             “Count,” he orders.

             “One,” you snivel, hands fisting the sheets as blinding, brilliant agony sears through your leg. The second cut makes you groan through clenched teeth. Your muscles pull taut as you desperately try to remain still.

             “T-Two.” Asa moves to your other leg. These are going to scar so bad-no don’t think about it—

             “Three!” you scream, a high wail that Jesse immediately muffles with his fingers. One more, one more, you can do it, one—

             “F-F-Four,” you sob around the digits in your mouth. Spit drips past your lips as Jesse removes his fingers and smears the saliva across your quivering lips. The clink of a belt buckle and the drag of a zipper reaches your ears. You gasp, meet Asa’s heated gaze. His predatory gaze is fixed on the way your blood drips down your thighs and mixes with the cum leaking from your puffy slit.

             You speak without thinking, too desperate to be given a break, “P-Please—

             He’s lightning fast, shocking you with his speed more than how roughly he grips your jaw. He spits, “I don’t remember giving you permission to speak.” You scream again when he slams into your aching cunt, burying his cock into slick, cum drenched muscles. The pants that hang off his hips catch on your lacerations, agonizingly irritate your throbbing flesh

             “Anything going on in that empty head?” SLAP, “Answer me, slut.”

             “Y-Yes—

             SLAP

             “’No’ is the word you were looking for.”

             “N-No, Sir—

             SLAP

             “Shut. Up. If I wanted to hear your simpering voice, I would tell you to, ‘Speak.’ Did I say that?” Furiously you shake your head, anything to get him to stop smacking your burning cheeks. His voice drops to a low purr and he leans over you to murmur, “That’s right. I didn’t. Open your mouth.” Immediately your jaw falls open, “Jesse, give the little whore something to do with that disobedient tongue.”

            Three of Jesse’s fingers return to your mouth and languidly count your teeth. His other hand falls to his half hard cock, fist rolling up his girth until he’s fully erect. How he can have the stamina is beyond you, but that thought goes as quickly as it comes when Asa’s fingers find your swollen clit.

            You twitch and keen, bewildering pressure building in your gut with every stroke of his deft fingers. How? How does he have the uncanny ability to bring you to the edge even after everything he’s done?

            “Jesse, take your fingers out. Cricket, you are going to cum for me. Me. As it should always be. Speak.”

            “Ye-Yes, Sir, yes, yes, please, please, I want to—

            “I want to hear my name when you cum. Speak.”

            “Yes, Sir, yes, I-I will, I w-will, fuck, fuck, I-I-I—

            “Cum, now, do it, cum for me.”

            “ASA!” Despite the pain ravaging your inner thighs, you bring your hips up to meet his, muscles clenching, pressure in your belly releasing in a flurry of wet heat and rolling pleasure. Asa grunts, thrusts, exhales forcefully, buries his cock in your heat to paint your insides with his own release. Distantly, you hear Jesse hiss through his teeth, see him spill into his fist out of the corner of your eye.

            Asa’s body heat disappears from between your legs. You let them fall to the bed, boneless, useless, ready to let unconsciousness claim you then and there, but he returns a moment later with a warm, wet cloth, antibacterial ointment, gauze, and bandages. Meticulously, he cleans the wounds he inflicted, making sure the dressings are well secured before climbing into bed. You crawl into his open arms, turning away from Jesse and burying your face into the crook of Asa’s warm neck.

            Asa waits until your chest rises and falls rhythmically before signing to Jesse, ‘Four times? Seriously?’

            Jesse shrugs again, lifting his hands and signing, ‘Jealous?’ Asa snorts.

            ‘I’m not the one that’s going to be in the doghouse.’

            ‘She’ll get over it.’ Jesse motions to your bandaged thighs, ‘Those are going to scar up good and pretty.’ Asa lets a smirk pull at the corner of his mouth.

            ‘That was the intent. You timed that last one perfectly, by the way.’ Jesse’s shoulders shake again at that.

            ‘Honestly, I got lucky. I was so fucking close for a good ten minutes before you walked in. Took your sweet time.’

            ‘Had to be sure you wore her out. She doesn’t make mistakes when she’s alert.’ Asa winks and Jesse shakes his head, rolling onto his side.

            ‘Sadist.’

            ‘Pot, meet kettle.’

            ‘Touché.’

[red-doll-face]

Could you do one with The Collector stalking and later kidnapping the reader whose a crime writer known for writing very creative and gruesome kills. :)

Sorry I took so long with this one, wasn't quite sure what to do with it, but I hope you like it ! 😚

WC: 738

Warnings: kidnapping 🙄, stalking, no bugs this time

Asa 'The Collector' Emory x gn Reader

By Similar Methods

Fans of your books were perhaps some of the strangest people you had ever met. Well, the ones that came for the book signings were anyway. Some of them had to be normal, somewhere in your following of odd readers. You shook hands with the spindly woman named Rebecca, your pen ready in your hands for yet another personalized message. You had already done the initial reading, a snippet from your newest book in a line of fictional crime scenes and a hardy detective on the lookout for a wannabe zodiac killer. The gore and and the method of your writing however had attracted many a true crime fan and Saw movie enthusiast. The critics couldn't get enough of the realism in your scenes and you were flattered to know your research paid off. Another such fan approached, one of your thick plastic covered books laid out in front of you. It was old, that you could tell, one of your first stories, but it looked well cared for. Still well loved. You followed the nicked hands, smattered with little pale scars up to a man with icy blue eyes. He smirked and put his hand out for you to shake.

“I’m Asa. I’ve been a fan since your first story, but my favorite will always be this one.” He slid the book closer to you. The Blue Pearl, a slow burn about an unreliable narrator killing her husband. You smiled.

“It was one of my favorites to write.” You opened to the blank inside of the book, making it out to the man before you. You wrote a short and sweet message, shutting the book and handing it back to him. “Thanks for coming and for reading. I hope you enjoy the new book.” You noticed a copy of your newest book, Lower Waters in the flimsy bags the bookstore was using to get rid of as many copies of it as possible. He nodded, his expression dropping to a deadpan when he turned away. You thought he was strange but everyone in this place was.

-

Things began to disappear. Small things. Things you normally wouldn't have noticed. But you noticed everything. It was in your nature and your keen eye was what drew people to your stories. And the aftermath of your stories was never too good. Paranoia flooded your senses and you were sure someone was in your apartment. Or at least, had been there at some point. You looked around for your things. The little hair band, your favorite mug, a pair of underwear, and a loofa you used to shower. The apartment was only so big and you don’t take your loofa out of the bathroom anyway. You’d thought about going to the police but misplaced objects weren't quite on the list of emergencies and what if you found them later? They would think you were stupid.

At night, you stayed up late and in the morning you slept through phone calls from your manager, shaking yourself awake to the sound of your publishers repeating your name and asking if you were still even there. After a while, though, you noticed that you slept longer and longer in the night, despite trying your hardest to stay awake. It seemed that even the arabica coffee beans aren't doing their job anymore. Cup after cup of coffee made you just sleepier and sleepier and eventually, you fell into a dreamless sleep only to awake in an unfamiliar room. The fatigue wouldn't leave your tired body and you tried to rub the tiredness from your eyes. The room was fairly dark and the light was off. You threw the blanket off of you, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. Metal links rattled together and nearly tripped you and the light turned on to reveal a cuff attached to your ankle. The chain looped around the foot of the bed, bolted to the floor. A man sat in the corner next to the lamp post. A black mask covered almost his entire head, crude holes cut for the eyes and mouth. You blinked at him and he waited for a teary outburst but you sat staring at him from the mattress. You sighed. You knew you had strange fans.

Thanks for requesting !

[slash-em-up]

Collecting Canis Lupus Familiaris: The Collector x Reader Fluff

I wrote this one on a whim yesterday for anyone who needed a little silly fluff to end the year with. As @voorheehees would probably agree, fur babies help make everything better.

Also, kind and loving reminder to look at your local shelter before hitting up a pet store when you’re thinking about getting a dog or cat!!

———————————————————————

“We’re not going.”

You sighed deeply at the large man sitting across the table from you – looking thoroughly engrossed in the morning newspaper.

“Why? You want another dog, I want another dog. The shelter has dogs! And a lot cheaper than that stupid breeder you were looking into.”

Asa lowered his paper and gave you a non-plussed look.

“The breeder guarantees trainability and pedigree. I don’t want a mutt that couldn’t even behave for some suburban nuclear bores.”

You grit your teeth.

Was it worth it to yell at Asa about how much of an asshole he was being? Probably not. Were you going to anyway? Hell yes.

———————————————————————

The car pulled into the parking lot of the shelter and stopped abruptly. You jolted forward and winced at the tightening of the belt across your shoulder.

“That was petty.”

Asa glanced over at you, looking somewhere around your collarbone area rather than directly into your glaring eyes.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Now, lets get this over with.”

As soon as you entered the building you were deafened by the loud noises of the two dozen or so dogs housed inside, all barking and whining in one loud cacophony of sound.

The tall man next to you crossed his arms and raised one sandy brow as if to say ‘Well? What did you expect?’

You rolled your eyes and walked up to the front desk, where a middle-aged woman sat scrolling through something on her computer.

“Hello, how are you? I’m the person who called earlier about looking for a new dog?”

The woman blinked owlishly over the rim of her thick-framed glasses.

“Oh yeah! No problem, let me just have you both sign this waiver and then I’ll take you back… We’ve got some fuzzy buddies who’d love to meet you!”

You kicked Asa in the shin as he groaned quietly at the woman’s happy-go-lucky tone.

“Thanks. My boyfriend and I are really excited. Our two shepherd’s recently passed away and the house just isn’t the same without a dog!”

The woman nodded sympathetically.

“I hear you. It’s like losing a member of the family. Hopefully we can find someone you both click with today.”

—————————————————————

If he were anyone else, you’d swear Asa was pouting as he followed the woman and yourself down the hall of kennels.

Hands in his pockets and glasses-covered gaze firmly on the cement floor in front of him.

What a big baby. Ugh.

You huffed in annoyance as you were both led to a small room where visitors could interact with the animals uninterrupted.

Asa and you sat quietly on the plastic chairs as the woman left to retrieve the first dog.

Glancing at Asa, you pursed your lips, feeling angry that he wasn’t even going to give these dogs a chance.

You plastered on a smile as the door opened – expression becoming genuine as a pair of boisterous, brown-furred bodies barreled into the room.

Giggling as one of the pups immediately jumped up onto your leg, you reached out to scratch the dog behind it’s floppy ears.

The second puppy pushed it’s partner out of the way, competing for your petting hands and panting happily as the wrestling continued.

Out of the corner of your eyes you saw Asa’s head tilt towards you and the puppies with interest. No matter how much of a fuss he made, you knew he was a dog-lover at heart, and even the chilliest person would have a hard time resisting an affectionate canine.

You grasped one of the rambunctious pups and held it’s lanky body out to Asa, not waiting for his approval before plopping the furry figure into his lap.

The puppy was more than happy to shower it’s affection on whomever would take it, and soon Asa’s face was being smothered with loving licks as the puppies butt and clipped tail wiggled happily.

Smirking, you felt pretty damn smug when Asa’s hands rose from his lap to run over the puppies soft fur and scratch along it’s spine. When his fingers reached it’s tiny skull the pup practically melted into Asa’s hand – eyes closing in pure enjoyment of the affection it was being given.

Asa’s lips curled into a small smile.

Got him.

The shelter volunteer spoke up from her place in the opposite corner.

“These two are bonded, so they need to be adopted together… but if you had two dogs before, maybe they’d be a good fit?”

The puppy on Asa’s lap took this opportunity to jump up and place it’s comparatively huge paws on Asa’s shoulders.

Asa moved his face away from the continued licking in order to address the woman.

“They look like they’re going to get big…”

The woman grinned sheepishly.

“Yeeaaahhh, they’re Mastiff mixes… we’re pretty sure they’re gonna get huge. If that’s a problem I can take them back...”

You smiled softly at Asa as he met your gaze over the heads of your individual puppies.

“No, that’s not a problem. We prefer big dogs.”

And that was that.

The woman removed both puppies from the room to get them ready to go home with you, leaving the door to the visiting room open.

Sliding your hand playfully across the space separating you, you ran your pinky up and down the side of Asa’s hand.

Wiping the last remnants of puppy slobber off of his chin, he turned to look at you, glancing down at your hand and giving you his signature close-lipped smile.

“Fine, you were right. I’ll admit it.”

You nodded, humming in agreement.

“I know. And you even got two puppies out of it. Win-win.”

He rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to respond to your sass; but was interrupted by a white blur passing quickly through the door and hopping into his lap.

Your laughter rang out through the room as Asa looked down with a dumbfounded expression at the small dog sitting primly on his pants.

It looked like a very unkempt poodle, if you had to guess, and if there was one thing you knew about poodles, it was they they were smart as hell.

Asa blinked.

The dog blinked.

A large hand rose to pat the thick fur, which the dog approved of and gave a small lick to the tips of Asa’s fingers.

With a small ‘whuff’ it turned in a circle, making itself cozy on Asa before dropping down and immediately closing it’s eyes as if in sleep.

“Wooooowwww… I think it’s love.”

Asa looked contemplatively from the dog, to you, to the hallway.

You raised an eyebrow.

“It’s not like we don’t have the room…”

A deep sigh.

“Fine, go grab that woman before she finishes our paperwork.”

Squealing quietly, you jumped up and pressed a kiss to Asa’s cheek, interrupting his lap-mates ‘sleep’ in the process.

The dog let out a yip of annoyance as being disrupted from it’s rest, and Asa chuckled at it’s offended expression.

“Get used to it, they’re always like this.”

You cocked a hip, raising an eyebrow at the seated man.

“Don’t act like you don’t like it, Dr. Emory.”

Asa smirked up at you.

“Never.”

[slasherholic]

synopsis: you reflect on a few incidents in your relationship with asa that really should have tipped you off as red flags while you wait for him to come back and torture you some more.

contains: gender neutral reader, graphic depictions of violence and torture, psychological torture, death, kidnapping, rib trauma, referenced abuse, current abuse because it’s fucking asa, I’ll throw in manipulation and gaslighting just to be safe.

note: quite a few scenes and tidbits in this were heavily inspired by a chat I had with the brilliant and lovely @sanguine--honey, so thanks again for letting me include those in this fic c:

word count: 4k

(Part One, Part Two)

Asa Emory / The Collector x Reader | Loose Ends | Part Three

When he finally unchained you from the pole he dragged you violently up several flights of steep stairs. His strength seemed tireless no matter how much you struggled.

You were bruised and battered and smearing blood on the floor behind you when he got to where he was taking you. He ignored the desperate way you were still screaming at him and threw you violently in a black trunk in a room with bright white lights and steel lab tables. He had slammed the heavy door shut so hard the force of it knocked a painting off the wall. Many locks turned on the other side. You clutched your stomach with both hands and doubled over and began to dry heave.

You sat crying in the dark. When the tears wouldn’t come out anymore, you looked for a way out. Tried to feel around the edges. Your arms burned terribly and you could smell your own body fluids lingering among the overwhelming smell of disinfectant loitering in the air. Your face ached from where he’d held your mouth to silence you when he plunged the needle in. There was a perfectly round hole in the side of the trunk, the size of your pinky nail, that appeared to have been made with a drill. An airhole. Or a peephole.

But the trunk itself was locked up tight. There was no getting out.

 You studied the room through the peephole. There were four other trunks sitting upright on the floor to the left of you, at least that you could see, lined up one after the next to form a semicircle. Each was a different color—red, blue, green, brown, in that order.

You called out very softly and asked if anyone was there.

Silence.

Sniffling again, you sat with your knees curled tightly into your chest, and allowed your mind to romp.

There had been signs, red flags abound, and you had ignored them, made excuses for him in your head, filed every uncomfortable incident away to be rationalized at a later date. You might not have known until the very end that he was this. But you had known enough. Asa, beneath his carefully manufactured charm and suave, was the coldest man you had ever met.

So you arrived at the crushing conclusion that you had nobody to blame for this but yourself.

There had been one instance, close to the start of your relationship, or whatever it was you had with him, where you found yourself very inebriated in his expensively furnished living room.

Asa had implied over dinner that he would like to go upstairs and have sex after you were finished, and he’d cleared the plates off his dining table nearly twenty minutes ago. You challenged him to arm-wrestle first.

“Please?” You spread your legs out on his blue persian rug, intent on staying awhile. 

Asa sat across the room from you in the cushioned chair closest to the hall, his hands folded in his lap. The look on his face was growing rather unamused.

“I already said no. Can we move along?”

“Come on, have a little fun.”

His expression grew more dour still.

“You’re drunk. Very drunk. I thought I told you to go easy with the drinking.”

“You, Dr. Emory, are being a total stick in the mud.”

You pestered him about it until he humored you.

He took you by the hand and set your arm up on his nice coffee table which he had cleared delicately of a stag beetle specimen in a spotless glass display.

“Count of three.” You slurred, a smile growing in your eyes, one he didn’t care to return.

“One.”

He adjusted his grip dexterously around your fingers. His arm was bigger than yours by far.

“Two.”

The thick tendons in his wrist jumped out. It would be no contest. You wanted to try anyway. You thought it would be fun.

“Three.”

You fought against his hand with everything you had. You laughed. Asa let you struggle against him for a few moments, regarding you with an utter lack of concern on his face. For all your efforts you couldn’t budge his wrist by a centimeter. 

Then he smashed your hand so quick and hard into the coffee table your knuckles throbbed and you yelled.

The laughter fell from your face like a stone. You jerked in his grip. His hold moved down to your wrist where he held you tightly and didn’t let go. Suddenly, you didn’t like the way he was looking at you.

Asa, leaning forward, spoke to you very slowly, and made you linger on every syllable, as if you were stupid.

“Are you finished? Shall we move on? Or would you like to go again?”

He squeezed your wrist a bit harder. You could feel the pulse in your arm quickening, throbbing in his grip, which was getting tighter every second.

You let him take you upstairs without suggesting any more games.

In the morning, you hardly remembered the sex, but your hand was bruised. Asa didn’t mention anything to you about it as he got ready for work. It was the last time you had ever been drunk around him.

You jolted awake in the trunk. Your arms burned in a way that sent vicious chills through your extremities. There was a wet stain on the wall where you must have fallen asleep at some point. Resting a hand on the trunk, you stared cautiously through the peephole.

Asa wasn’t there. But the painting that had fallen was back in its place on the wall.

Your stomach sank. You thought some more to try and distract yourself from the pain in your arms and your aching body.

There had been that one night in the park. The night you stayed awake many sleepless hours trying and failing not to remember what you witnessed.

The sunset had dissipated and the only light remaining in the park was what filtered down from the black street lamps towering like spires all along the sidewalk. Asa had touched something on the bench he didn’t like, and had gotten up to wash his hands in the nearby bathroom. 

You watched a pair of moths fluttering around each other near the lamp across the path and noticed someone approaching from the corner of your eye. Assuming it was Asa, you turned to ask him what species he figured they were.

It wasn’t Asa. 

The mugger shoved you forcefully off the park bench. You spilled onto the cold sidewalk, knocking your head on the concrete.

“Give me the fucking wallet.”

The man must have thought you were alone. He wore black jeans and a grey t-shirt. He brandished a short switchblade at you which you stared at with wide terrified eyes. You were shocked to silence, frozen in place.

The mugger made a grab for the wallet in your shaking hands.

And Asa had tackled him from behind with such force that both men went spilling into the grass on the opposite side of the path.

He was back on his feet by the time the mugger was still clambering to his mud-stained knees. You watched Asa’s hand go somewhere beneath his olive jacket as he pulled out a knife you hadn’t known he carried. He flipped it in his grip and held it with the blade angled down toward the grass. His face had become profoundly unreadable. 

His movements dripped with practice and polish as he sized your mugger up. The muscles in his legs were spring-loaded as he stalked back and forth along the grass. Every step had a purpose.

He dove in for a slash across the man’s stomach. You saw blood spray in a wide arc and heard the man make a painful strangled sound. Asa ducked beneath a clumsy swipe for his face, stepping away again. He passed his knife from one hand to the other; now, he was circling the man. Not adjusting his stance. Circling him.

The man lunged at him with a grunt. The switchblade raced for his chest. Asa caught his wrist and slashed him deep across the thigh.

You’d always known his reflexes were astonishingly quick. Once, you dropped your expensive camera while photographing the exhibits at the museum, and he had grabbed it before it hit the ground, lecturing you in a more-or-less jesting manner about getting a lanyard for it as he stood to hand it back to you, an incident which at the time had made your cheeks warm.

Asa planted his shoe squarely in the man’s abdomen and kicked him away hard. The man made a guttural sound as he tumbled back on the grass, gasping for air, and Asa let him clamber to his feet again, still circling. The look on his face was no longer indifference. It was something far more intense.

The man turned, staggering, and tried to run.

Asa was faster. He tackled him again, wrestled him brutally to the sidewalk. The man swung blindly, got lucky in his desperation—and clipped him across the shoulder.

Asa snarled. Not a grunt, it had been a snarl, low and throaty, like an animal.

He slashed violently at the man and his knife flashed sharply in the lamp light. Blood erupted from the cut in a heavy mist. The man fell back on the ground, dropping his own blade, clutching his throat. Asa straddled him on his knees, and grabbed him by the face, wrenching his head up. You heard the crack of the man’s skull meeting the concrete from where you sat.

The man started shouting desperately for help.

You watched Asa raise his knife. His arms and shoulders flexed and strained the sleeves of his jacket. You knew by the look on his face alone that you were about to witness a murder. Before you knew what you were doing, you were yelling at him to stop.

Asa didn’t hear. Or he ignored you.

He drove the knife hard into the man’s stomach.

The man made a wet strangled sound, bringing up his arm to try and block the onslaught, because Asa was already raising his arm again.

He stabbed the same spot. Every stab that followed was faster. The man’s yelling became screaming and you saw Asa’s hand shift to cover his mouth. The man’s muffled screams fell to thin whining. Then ragged wheezing. Then, stopped. 

A cricket chirped beyond the reach of the street lamps. The moths fluttered near the bulb across the path.

Asa straightened up his posture. His nostrils flared heavily with breath. He seemed to take in the gored body on the concrete beneath him, which had gone motionless.

Five seconds hardly passed before he stood, slowly, rising to his full height, carefully side-stepping the body. The man’s blood trickled off the tip of his wet knife and dripped on the concrete next to his black dress shoes. His jacket sleeves and the sides of his charcoal pants across his thighs were stained with long dark swaths. He rolled his shoulders. The breeze tousled his disordered hair.

There had been a few moments you could recall when it really occurred to you how big Asa was.

He wore flattering clothes often, and your eyes were sometimes tempted towards the wide muscles in his chest, but the way he talked to you was very ensnaring, as he always seemed to have something interesting or intelligent or just plain sarcastic in a dry but not-to-be-taken-seriously way to say; so when he spoke, you found it difficult to look anywhere but at his handsome face. You only really witnessed the scope of his strength when you slept with him. The ways he was able to handle you when he wanted made you feel, at times, incredibly vulnerable around him.

Asa had turned his whole body toward you when he considered you where you sat huddled on the sidewalk, reigning in the hot breaths which broadened his chest and spiraled into the chilly night. The man’s blood had gotten on his cheek. You started to shiver. He regarded you with a look that read staggering disapproval, as though this, and what would inevitably follow, was not worth his time, as though it might as well have been your fault, as though he was currently considering very strongly doing something about it later in private.

“You should call the police.”

Before you knew what you were doing or why you were really doing it you scrambled for your phone in your pocket and tapped on the screen with very shaky fingers, “9-1-1.”

The ambulances pulled up to the street corner first followed shortly by two squad cars. Asa stood up slowly from the green park bench to meet them, and you stayed kneeling on the cold sidewalk.

He introduced himself to the officers as Dr. Asa Emory and dealt with their questions very professionally. At one point, he had pulled a neatly folded paper out of his wallet, which the questioning officer took, shined her flashlight at, and returned to him, nodding her head. The story was very apparent: a couple walking in the park had been assaulted at knife-point, and a registered concealed-carry weapon had been used to dispatch the aggressor.

The officers came over to question you. Asa, standing off to the side, removed his bloodied jacket, which he hung neatly over the park bench. He watched you closely. The look on his face was like the prick of a thorn.

You diverted your gaze away from him and nodded at the officer’s questions dumbly, staring at the medical workers as they bagged up the body on the sidewalk. An EMT was called over, who concluded that you were in moderate shock, and that you should go to the hospital.

“I won’t be riding along with you.” Asa was down to his tan sweater, rubbing his newly cleaned fingers together at his side, which he had been given bottles of water to wash off at his request. The indifference on his face didn’t lift as they strapped you down to the gurney.

“The officers have a few more questions, so I’ve agreed to go with them down to the station.”

His words were factual and rhetorical, as if your input on the matter wasn’t at all needed, so you didn’t say anything back to him.

It was the last you heard from him until he showed up in your hospital room several hours later. Your stomach lept a little when the door opened and he came in.

He was wearing a change of clothes, his hair groomed back into place, looking very much the part of respectable Dr. Emory again. He had brought you dinner from the lobby downstairs. 

He sat in the only chair in the room as you picked at the warm mashed potatoes in the black tray, and made conversation about how you were handling things, and if there was anything he could get you, and though it all felt very shallow and obligatory you found yourself playing along as best you could, because sitting in the room alone with him was giving you very obvious goosebumps.

Asa drove you home later that night. You got out of his car without a word, went to your door, and quickly did the lock behind you.

After falling into bed, you were afraid of him. You couldn’t bring yourself to admit it then; you tried to cling tightly to the parts of him you still thought you loved. But from then on, you were, genuinely, afraid of him.

What made it worse, you suspected he saw it, too.

His holds on your wrist when you turned away from him before he had quite finished lecturing you about something very irresponsible or just plain ignorant you had done were firmer. There was the way he moved his jacket occasionally when he shifted his posture, and you caught a glimpse of his holstered knife for a moment too long. And how, when he asked you a question—one to which you didn’t immediately have an answer—he turned all his attention on you, and began to approach you, boxing you in, cutting off your escape, slowly repeating the question. 

He’d known. Without a doubt, he had known.

Sobbing started in the trunk next to you and it jolted you harshly out of your thoughts.

It sounded like a man. A younger man. You tried to talk to him.

“Hello?”

Sudden silence fell. You repeated yourself.

“Is someone there?”

“-Yes.”

The voice came out very quietly. For a moment, you didn’t say anything. You didn’t know what there was to say.

“What’s your name?”

Silence for another moment.

“It’s Noah.”

There was rattling as Noah shifted in his trunk.

Noah told you he’d been taken on a Tuesday. A horrendous sinking feeling settled in your stomach at that.

Tuesday was six days ago. Asa had come back very late that night smelling strongly of disinfectant and nitrile, as he did sometimes. You figured he'd stayed past closing hours at work for something important but asked him about it anyway, in the name of making casual conversation, an occurrence which had been growing steadily more reclusive between the two of you. His response had been clipped and curt. You didn’t ask him any more about it.

Noah seemed to hear Asa coming down the hall before you did.

“Stop. Stop talking.” His voice was suddenly desperate, laced with terror. “He’s coming back. He’s coming back. Please don’t talk. Don’t say anything.”

But that wasn’t part of the plan.

The locks clicked open on the other side of the black door.

You started pleading at him with your raw hoarse voice the second he stepped into the room.

“Asa, please! You know I didn’t tell anyone! I’ll do anything you want, you know I will! Asa, please!”

You weren’t even sure what you were begging him for. Please let me out. Please clean my arms before they get infected. Please don’t hurt me anymore.

He shoved your trunk so violently as he walked past that your head knocked against the wood and everything went dizzy for a moment.

Through the airhole, through your fresh, blurry tears, you watched him squat down, and unlock the brown trunk next to yours, the one the young man was in.

Noah couldn’t have been older than his early twenties but his face was exhausted and gaunt. His shirt was gone and his red sweatpants were soaked through with sweat or something else. The shackles around his wrists and ankles rattled as Asa’s arm darted into the trunk.

He wrenched the young man out by his tangled brown hair. Noah made an anguished sound, but didn’t struggle much as Asa hauled him swiftly towards the operating table. 

It occurred to you then what Asa had drilled the peephole in your trunk for. 

The young man begged desperate things while Asa locked his shackled wrists and ankles down to the fixtures on the table. No. Not again. Stop. Please don’t do it again. You looked closer, noticing the long row of stitches running down his side, the skin around them still red and puffy, and thought you might be sick.

Asa grabbed him roughly by the face, and leaned in very close, settling his hand on his bare abdomen. He said something next to Noah’s head too quiet for you to overhear. Noah’s chest heaved rapidly. Asa stood again, and gave the side of his ribs a light stroke before he walked away.

The young man on the table had paled fast. He lay staring at the ceiling with huge unblinking eyes, trembling, looking very much in shock at what he had just heard.

Asa took his time choosing the surgical tools from his cabinets. You watched him prepare the room, too afraid to look away. Maybe it was all a bluff. Please god let it be a bluff. He laid out two separate trays on the stainless-steel countertops, putting his tools in one, and set an extra out near the sink.

It wasn’t a bluff.

Noah was very awake when Asa began to cut his chest open. 

His body obscured your view of the table but you knew the exact moment the scalpel sank in because the young man made a horrible screeching noise and began thrashing violently in his chains in a huge clamor. His body seized and his eyes rolled back in his head. He seemed to try to vomit; nothing came out. 

Asa did not carry out his work hastily. Finished with the bloodied scalpel, he set it in the tray adjacent to his clean tools. When he turned away from the counter, you glimpsed his face.

The look of steady concentration he wore was no different from the times he’d let you watch him process an important specimen or sketch or paint. He clamped Noah’s skin back with pairs of forceps, and peeled off his wet black gloves, beneath which he was already wearing a fresh pair.

You took in the sight on the table while Asa went to the corner of the room to discard the gloves. Noah’s wet red ribs glistened beneath the long hanging lights and you could smell the slippery viscera from where you sat. You watched them expand as his lungs inflated with tortured breath, which was no longer anything but a bloody gurgling deep in his throat.

Asa came back, going next for the surgical pliers, ghosting his hand along his options until he seemed to settle on the proper one. When he looked up, pliers in hand, he was deliberately, unmistakably, casting his gaze across the room at your trunk. As if to make sure you were still watching.

Your heart nearly stopped. Air wouldn’t come in.

Then he returned to his work and started clipping Noah’s ribs off.

You could hear the bone snapping every time. The young man passed out more than twice on the table and that was the only time there was silence in the room.

Asa deposited the rib clippings in a third tray, and went to wash them free of blood and tissue in the steel sink while the near-corpse on the table made awful rattling noises, struggling to breathe; Noah seemed to be watching Asa, too, trying at least, but the immensity of his struggle had burst capillaries in his eyes.

Asa laid the ribs out on a pristine white cloth, organizing them from shortest to longest, toweling them individually off, and went about measuring them lengthwise with a yellow tape, then again around their circumference. He placed them gently in a bin, sealed the lid tight, went for a pen, and wrote something in his neat handwriting on the label.

You watched him take a curved needle and load it carefully with fine black suturing thread pinched delicately between his finger and thumb. Noah screamed and squirmed weakly with all he had left as it went in, which wasn’t much at all. Asa pulled the needle in and out, bringing his skin back together until his gaping chest was shut again.

The young man was still alive when Asa hauled him back into the trunk, a fresh row of black knots holding his ruined flesh closed.

Or at least he was still twitching, blinking, drawing shuddering agonized breaths through his wide-open mouth from which there ran an endless trickle of saliva and blood. The bottom of his stitched-shut chest was concave where his lower ribs used to be. He didn���t look like he’d live another hour. You hoped he wouldn’t.

Asa shut the lid and did the latches.

He went back to the counter for the ribs, taking an indirect path around the table, which carried him right towards you. You scrambled back from him as fast you could. The trunk didn’t let you get very far. You felt his fingers rap along the lid from one side to the other and couldn’t choke back your broken sound.

He left through the heavy door, doing up all the locks, and this time, you heeded Noah’s advice. Your mouth stayed utterly, obediently, shut.

After a few minutes of hopeless wheezing, Noah fell silent in the brown trunk, and never made another sound after that.