#i made all those little lines and circles in the red blades and then the glow effect made it impossible to see so whooops

[thefaeriecreek]

Xeiya, Yiga Clan's favorite ancient tech researcher! When he isn't getting distracted by trying to make sentient bananas or constructing banana mechs, she's experimenting with ancient Sheikah technology and building weapons.

She speaks like an instruction manual a lot of the time, and repeats words like 'fascinating' and 'intriguing' in response to very standard human behaviors. Generally, he's pretty harmless. Perhaps eccentric. Makes decisions one may consider unwise.

Change pronouns as often as possible. Mid-sentence sometimes, that's Xeiya's favorite.

[steddieasitgoes]

@steddiemas Day 6 Prompt: Baking & Cookie Decorating

Tags: Gingerbread Competitions, Banter, Holiday Fun, Steve Harrington Is A Little Shit, Eddie Munson Is A Menace, Competitiveness, Dustin Henderson Is A Little Shit, Established Relationship, Secret Relationship

wc: 2062 | Rating: G

Read on ao3 | ao3 collection

When Eddie first brought up the annual Forest Hills Gingerbread Competition, Steve thought he was exaggerating. Hawkins is a small town and he’s pretty sure he would have heard of such an event if it existed.

It also doesn’t help that Eddie has a tendency to exaggerate just about everything. Steve still hasn’t forgiven him for the time he walked in on him distraught on the floor because  Bradley’s Big Buy was out of Honeycomb Cereal for the second week in the row. The urge to call his own Code Red and ring Eddie’s neck had never been stronger.

The Forest Hills Gingerbread Competition is a big deal though, judging by the bustling activity he finds when he turns into the trailer park. It’s not unusual to see so many people out and about — no matter the hour Steve drops by, there’s always someone out smoking or playing with a dog or sometimes even doing laundry. What is unusual though is the sight of nearly every resident out and about.

The picnic tables that are usually scattered around the park have all been pulled together in the hub. Even with them all pulled together, there’s not enough space. Steve spots at least four or five fold-out tables in the mix. An assortment of chairs circle the tables which are all stockpiled with various gingerbread pieces and frostings.

Steve whistles, shaking his head as he b-lines for Wayne in the crowd. “Eddie wasn’t exaggerating about this event.”

“Not one bit,” Wayne says, offering Steve his version of a smile. “Braggin’ rights are on the line.”

“Screw bragging rights. I’m here for the $200!” Max chimes in from across the yard.

“$200? You said it was only $100!” Dustin squawks beside her. “If it’s $200, you owe us more than $25!”

“I didn’t know you four would be here,” Steve deadpans, crossing the short distance to their table. His delivery may be dry, but he can’t deny the warmth blossoming in his chest seeing Max, Lucas, Dustin, and El gathered around a table for something fun for once. He’s not going to tell them that though.

“Boyfriend duties,” Lucas smiles as Max rolls her eyes.

“Are you here to help us too?” El asks.

“Oh, uh, not I’m here to—“

“Steve! You made it!” Eddie shouts appearing behind Steve like some sort of magician. He slaps a hand on his shoulder and leaves it there. To the kids its innocent — one they’re used to thanks to Eddie’s affinity for touch. What they don’t see is Eddie’s thumb massaging soothing circles into Steve’s shoulder blade.

“I’m sorry, you asked Steve to be on your team? He can’t even build legos and those stick together!” Dustin scoffs, shaking his head in that judgmental way of his. “I would have been a better teammate.”

“Hey,” Max scolds, elbowing Dustin in the ribs. “Don’t make me regret choosing you.”

“Yeah, Dustin,” Eddie says, sticking his tongue out. “Don’t upset the team captain who picked you. Besides, building a team is all about balance. Sure, Steve can’t build for shit—“

“I’m right here,” he whines.

Eddie’s thumb digs deeper into Steve’s shoulder blame, soothing a knot he didn’t even know existed as he resumes his lecture. “But he’s going to make up for that in other ways. Like decorating! Right, Steve?”

“Uh…”

The only time he remembers decorating cookies was when he was eight and his grandparents came down to visit for the last time. His Nonna had sat him on the kitchen counter, handing him freshly cooled cookies and a bottle of icing, telling him to go wild. And go wild he did. So much so that a blue food coloring stain was permanently inked onto the wood table for three months until his parents finally replaced it.

He’s not sure that’s what Eddie is looking for when it comes to decorating, but he’s in too deep to back down now.

“Yeah, I’m a great decorator.”

“Now if you’ll excuse us, we have some gingerbread houses to build,” Eddie says before steering Steve away from the kids and back to the table where Wayne is.

Since they’ve been gone, Wayne’s organized the pre-cooked gingerbread pieces. They’re stacked by size and kind. A giant bowl of white frosting sits in the middle, two pipping bags are already filled, and a dozen smaller colored icing bags line the table along with copious amounts of candy.

“So, what’s the verdict?” Wayne asks, snubbing his cigarette out in the red ashtray at the very end of the table.

“Mr. Moore brought in another ringer,” Eddie seethes, collapsing onto the bench next to Wayne. “You know Flora? She works at the bakery on Main. Well, apparently she’s close friends with Moore all of a sudden.” Eddie rolls his eyes. “She’s practically a professional! It should be illegal!”

“Well, that ain’t seem fair, but nothin’ we can do ‘bout it,” Wayne says, patting Eddie on the shoulder. “‘Less you wanna get disqualified again.”

“Again?” Steve asks, brow raised.

“It was one time four years ago and it was a bad call, okay!”

Unfortunately, Steve doesn’t have time to ask Wayne for the details because an older lady is shouting into a megaphone she doesn’t need judging by her shrill voice. “You have two hours to execute your build,” she hollers before sounding an alarm.

As soon as the alarm sounds Eddie and Wayne are off. They work in total tandem, a practice duo who clearly have done this before. Eddie hands Wayne pieces of the gingerbread and he coats them in icing with all the careful, practiced ease of a construction worker assembling a real-life house.

They’ve got a real rhythm going, one that Steve’s hesitant to interrupt as they start assembling the second level based on Eddie’s blueprint castle he sketched out days ago.

“Can you pass me the 2x5?”

Instead of asking questions and distracting Eddie from the moat he’s assembling, he blindly reaches for one of the pieces in front of him.

“No!” Eddie scolds, glaring at Steve. “That’s a 2x3. I need that one.”

Caught off guard, Steve drops the 2x3 on the table causing it to break in half. If Steve thought the glare he got from Eddie a second ago was bad, this one is even worse. The apologies fall from his lips faster than he can comprehend as he gently hands Eddie the proper gingerbread piece.

“Why don’t ya let your boy handle fillin’ the moat,” Wayne suggests, glancing up from the angled roof he’s currently assembling.

Eddie hums in agreement and hands Steve a pastry bag full of icing, instructing him to fill in the moat and make it look like moving water. It sounds easy enough, but Steve quickly learns that everything is challenging when it comes to gingerbread construction.

He manages to get the front proportion filled before an air bubble forms in the bag and a giant blob of blue shoots out onto the moat. A second later the entire bag explodes with a loud pop that has Dustin and the rest of the kids snickering.

“Dammit, Steve,” Eddie groans, reaching for napkins to clean up the mess. “Don’t make me kick you off the team!”

“I’m sorry, Eds,” Steve says, trying his best to help mop up the mess he’s made while still salvaging the blue icing. “Maybe the kids were right. You should have picked a better teammate.”

“Hey, now,” Wayne scolds. “None of that. S’your first gingerbread build. S’hard thing to do. Eddie’s first year was a disaster.”

Wayne mumbles something else after, but Steve can’t hear him over Eddie’s interruption.

“Wayne’s right,” Eddie says, turning to give Steve an apologetic gaze. “M’sorry. I just really don’t want to lose again this year.”

Steve may not know a thing about gingerbread houses, but he does know a thing or two about wanting to win. That one little sentence is all he needs to hear to tap into his competitive side. If winning is what Eddie wants, then dammit he’s going to help them to victory.

With thirty minutes left, things are tense. Teams are bickering, gingerbread houses are starting to fall, and the wind is picking up sending candy bits all over the place. Steve can tell the pressure is getting to Eddie who alternates between crafting his detailed gingerbread villagers and shouting orders at Wayne and Steve. His complaints over Steve’s candy placement are background noise at this point.

The roof is barely holding it together and Eddie’s shouting about how Ms. Sanders clearly sabotaged them by giving them a broken icing recipe. A bit of quick thinking on Wayne’s part and a slight change to Eddie’s original design keeps the thing together.

With the structure saved, Steve lets his attention drift away from the cobblestone street he’s assembling with rock candy and glances up at Max’s table. El’s arms have turned a shade of green he didn’t even know existed. Dustin’s face is more frosting than skin. And he’s pretty sure Lucas’s arm is stuck in the middle of the gingerbread house Max is shoveling frosting onto. It’s obvious they’re struggling, but Steve can’t bring himself to care. Serves them right for being assholes to him earlier.

He’s considering taking a page out of Dustin’s playbook and going over there to gloat but decides against it. There’ll be plenty of time for all that when they get crowned the winner in a few short minutes. Turning back around, he finds Eddie kneeling on the bench, tongue sticking out and trapped between his lips. He’s the picture of concentration as he slowly lifts a gingerbread flag to the top spire of the castle.

It’s almost completely secure when a gust of wind rips through Forest Hills, sending a round peppermint soaring into the air. Steve watches as it glides in the breeze until a second gust picks up whirling it straight at Eddie until it smacks into his eye. He wobbles on the bench, hands searching for purchase but there’s no use. His body lurches forward and in an instant, he falls directly onto the castle.

Steve doesn’t think he’s ever going to forget the sound of a hundred pieces of gingerbread crumbling at one time. 

“No, no, no, no, no,” Eddie groans, burying his head in the crumbled remains of the castle.

“Christ,” Wayne swears, reaching for his pack of cigarettes. He lights one with ease, exhaling smoke into the air before reaching his free hand out to pat Eddie’s back. “S’okay boy. Least we got closer than ever before.”

“Wait,” Steve says, tearing his concerned gaze away from Eddie’s crumpled form. “This happens every year?”

Wayne nods, a gruff laugh escaping his lips. “Your boy always comes up with great ideas, but tends to crack in the final moments.”

“I don’t crack,” Eddie whines, pulling himself from the wreckage. His eye is already turning a light purple shade from wear the candy collided and the rest of his face is littered with icing and cookie crumbs. “It was the wind's fault.”

“This year, but last year you started celebratin’ too soon and—“

“We don’t need to relive the details!”

Before they can argue, an alarm blares and the older woman from earlier is shouting to put the gingerbread down. There’s a round of applause and lots of moaning and then everyone is up and moving.

“Come on, gotta check out our competition,” Wayne says, peeling himself up from the bench.

“What’s the point? We’re clearly not winning.”

“Definitely not,” Steve agrees, gazing around the structures on some of the other tables. He’s two seconds away from joining Eddie in embarrassed shame when he lands on the disaster mound of gingerbread on Max’s table. Maybe it’s mean, but he really can’t help but laugh. “Look on the bright side, Eds. At least ours isn’t the worst one.”

“Steve,” Eddie sighs, yanking his head up from the table. “Have you seen our wreckage? We clearly are the biggest losers. I mean look at—“

Before Eddie can finish, Steve grabs his chin and forces his head to turn in the direction of Max’s table. It takes a second for Eddie to recognize what he’s staring at, but when he does, his beautiful laughter spills out of him until he’s doubled over on the table again.

“You know what,” he wheezes, gripping his eyes. “You’re right. At least we’re not losers like that.”

“Want to go make fun of them?” Steve asks through his own laughter.

“Absolutely!”

[poppy-crowned]

Stranger Calls Me On The Phone

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Pair: Jeff The Killer x AFAB Reader with she/her pronouns

Content: Masturbation // stalking // phone sex (kind of) // degradation // dominance/submission // humiliation kink // fingering // edging // overstimulation // mind break // multiple orgasm // creampie

Notes: Reader is a useless little horndog sorry. There's a few paragraphs that could be interpreted as dubcon but I make it expressly clear that she consents. I watched Scream again a couple days ago and this was the result eheheh. Also I didn't edit this so like, sorry if it's rough.

Wordcount: 3.8k

Minors DNI! (I'm serious, ageless blogs will be blocked)

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You were home alone. At least, you thought you were.

An old horror movie was playing on your T.V. The killer had just been unmasked, his white shirt drenched in his own blood, dark hair falling over his eyes. He cleaned the red fluid from his hand, slowly sliding his finger out from between his lips. 

Your own fingers brushed against the space between your legs, over your pajama pants, lightly pressing into the soft, covered flesh. You were teasing out a growing heat with every push against your sensitive nerves.

The killer on your screen dragged the blade of his knife down the heroine’s chest. The flat metal glinted as it slowly made its way down her sternum, threatening to split her flesh. He barked orders at the girl with a wide, cocky grin.

You slipped two fingers under your waistband. The sensation of skin on your lower abdomen sent a shudder through your stomach and down to your pussy, which pulsed impatiently. Your hand trailed down and parted your lips, gently placing two fingers right above your clit. “Mmph~” You bit back a moan at the zap of pleasure. 

The killer on your screen was raving, storming from room to room, tearing up cushions and knocking over tables. The girl had escaped, and he was after her like a hungry dog chasing its prey. You fantasized that this fictional man would bring that same ferocity to your bed, shoving your face into the pillows, slamming into you without regard for anything but his own animalistic desires.

Your two fingers rubbed the slick skin above your hole in circles, rolling the warm nub of sparks between them. You hitched your legs up and allowed your fingers further down, coating them in the warm fluid that escaped your entrance.

The killer outside your window was watching this, cock in hand. Hidden in the moonless night, you couldn’t see him if you looked right out your window, but he could see every inch of you bathed in the glow of your bedside lamp. He saw the flutter of your hand beneath the flannel, thumping up and down, and tried to match his own strokes with it. He saw what you were getting yourself off to; knives, blood, and murder. It took all of his self-control not to climb through that window and fulfill all of these fantasies you clearly had.

The movie killer had found his victim, slamming her into a wall with a grip on her neck. Your own hand floated up to your throat, wrapping around it. A soft gasp escaped your lips and your eyes rolled back into your head. Jeff wanted to show you what it really felt like when it was someone else’s hand; when there was real force behind it. You made a soft, whining sound in your desperation, that almost sounded like a plea, and the last of his restraint chipped away.

Your phone rang.

You paused your movie with a groan and pulled your hand out of your pants, wiping it on the fabric quickly. “Hello?” You answered as you picked up.

“Hiya, sunshine.” The man’s voice was husky and low.

“What can I do for you?”

A raspy chuckle came through the line. “What can you do for me, huh? You seem eager to please.” Those last words came out in a slow, mocking hiss, and you could hear the grin in his voice.

A blush spread across your cheeks and you fumbled over your words. “Wh- Ah, no, I meant-”

“Well, you could start by telling me what you’re wearing.”

“Um…” Flustered, you couldn’t even manage a sentence. Silence filled the call for a moment.

“What’s wrong, sunshine, don’t want to play?” His rumbling voice caused a wave of heat to sweep across your neck and ears. Your neglected clit was buzzing for attention.

“P-pajama pants… And a T-shirt.” You squeaked out. You felt humiliated having admitted this to a stranger on the phone, but your heart was racing.

“Good girl,” the man purred, and your pussy clenched. Your lip trembled as you closed your eyes and tilted your head back. “Why don’t you take those pants off, though.”

You considered what you were doing for a moment; following perverted orders from a strange man on the phone. Waves of heat and desire washed over your body, clouding your brain, begging you to be obedient. You ached to plunge your hand back in between your thighs and give your sore cunt some friction. There’s no harm in playing along, you thought. You shimmied your pants down and off your legs, tossing them to your floor. “Ok,” you breathed, “I did it.”

“Hmm,” a pleased hum. “Now, are you in the mood for another game?”

Your breath hitched in anticipation. “What is it?”

“If I guess what color underwear you’re wearing correctly, you have to give me a reward,” Jeff said into the phone, staring right at you.

You pulled your now-bare legs up to your chest nervously. “What kind of reward?”

“Nuh-uh, sunshine. I’ll tell you the reward after I earn it.”

I could always just say no if it’s something freaky, you rationalized. But you decided to make it harder on him. You slid your panties off and dropped them next to your pants. The cool rush of air against your exposed skin caused goosebumps to rise across your thighs. Have fun guessing colors, you thought. “Ok.”

Jeff had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing. What was that, he thought, an attempt to outsmart me? He almost felt bad for having you play a game that was so clearly rigged against you. Almost, but not quite, because he knew that deep down, you wanted to lose; to be at a stranger’s mercy. “Hmm,” he grinned. “Someone like you? Someone who would actually spend their time talking to some creep on the phone, desperate for something to get off to? You’re such a dirty little slut, I bet you’re not wearing any at all.”

A pang of shame shot through you, and your hand flew down to your pussy, unable to wait another minute. “Aahn~” An embarrassing whine escaped your throat, and a whole new wave of humiliation hit you as soon as you realized he heard it.

“God, are you masturbating right now?” A broken laugh rang over the phone. “How pathetic are you? I was right. You are just a filthy, needy whore.”

“Mm… Stop…” you whimpered, face red and tears pricking your eyes. But the fingers pumping in and out of your hole told him that you were drinking up every remark. The pad of your palm rubbed against your clit with every thrust as your fingers hooked into the soft, fleshy wall inside of you, pressing against your g-spot. You knew that your breaths were coming in shallow and fast, reverberating through the phone, but you were beyond being self-conscious now.

“No, you stop.” The man’s voice suddenly became urgent. “Remove your hand.”

You froze and did as you were told with a squeak, mourning the pressure you had built up that was now dissipating. Your clitoris throbbed at the lack of promised release. “P-please,” you stuttered pathetically.

“I got the question right, didn’t I? So it’s time for my reward.”

“Anything,” you said. You rubbed your thighs together, desperately grasping at any ounce of friction.

“Open your window.”

Your heart shot up to your throat and your head snapped to your window. “What?”

“Open. Your. Window.” He slowly enunciated every word.

“Who are you?” You sat up. It was hard to think. His words gave you a jolt, but it still felt like there was a condensed ball of flames in your lower stomach.

“Oh no, sunshine” he laughed, “you’ll never get to know that. You see your sleeping mask on your nightstand?”

You tore your eyes from the window for a moment to grab the mask off your table before returning your gaze to it. “Mhmm.”

Jeff spoke with as much honey as his damaged voice could manage. “You are either going to put that on and come open the window, or I’m going to hang up and end this whole game.”

You stared at the crumpled mask in your fist, heart hammering against your ribcage. What could happen? The thought of a stranger climbing through your window and pinning you down, filling you up and speaking in his low, gruff voice right into your ear… A cord wound itself in your abdomen and tugged you out of your bed. Feeling almost as if you weren’t in control of your own body, you pulled the mask over your eyes and shuffled to your window by memory alone, unlocking it and pushing it open before taking a few steps back.

You stood there for a few agonizing seconds as nothing happened. No sound, no movement, just the cool night breeze gliding across your tingling skin. You dipped your head for a moment as you realized that this could have been a prank. How likely was it that some stranger would have your address and phone number? Then, there was a shuffle of denim and a thud of feet dropping onto the floor. You could feel his presence in front of you. You reached your arms out blindly, trying to find him, but were only met with air before his own hand caught your chin. He tilted your head up and spoke. “You look so much prettier without that pane of glass between us.” His low, gravelly voice was even more alluring without the haze of static on your phone.

The floor beneath you felt like it was falling away and your legs wobbled. You opened your mouth, searching for words, but couldn’t find any. His scent filled the space between the two of you; whiskey, cigarettes and… copper? You longed to pull off your blindfold and get a look at the man in front of you, but you didn’t know what would happen if you disobeyed him. His thumb traced the line of your jaw before retreating from you altogether. Without intending to, you leaned forward in an effort to keep his hand on you.

“Horror movies, huh?” You felt the air stir as the stranger whisked past you. There was the soft squeak of springs as he took his seat on the edge of your bed.

“What?” You turned, trying to face him despite not being able to see.

“You’re watching horror movies to get off,” he laughed. “You must really be a freak.” You lowered your head and hugged your torso. A gust blew in from the open window behind you, sending cold air between your legs and reminding you that you were standing half naked. You suddenly felt very small, imagining his eyes on your flesh, like a mouse backed into a corner. “Come here.” His low voice interrupted your thoughts.

With weak legs, you took a few steps to your bed, bumping your knee into his. You gingerly reached out again, your fingers brushing against long, sleek hair. His hand grabbed your wrist and pulled it down onto his shoulder. “Straddle me.”

You obeyed, climbing onto him the best you could, going by feeling alone. His rough jeans rubbed against your thighs. The sensation of your legs being spread apart by his own sent a shiver up your spine. You hovered slightly above his lap, conscious of the mess between your legs.

Without warning, his fingers slid between your lips. You let out a shocked yelp at the sudden touch. Your head lolled forward, falling into the crook of his neck as your body folded. “Jesus, sunshine. Look at how fucking wet you are,” he hissed into your ear. His fingers slid into your hole with ease, rough and thick. Your arms fell from his shoulders, wrapping around his neck, and another embarrassing moan rang from your throat. He hooked his fingers, pressing them into the warm wall of flesh inside of you. Your mind was blank and fuzzy, all of your senses numb except for the pleasure building at his fingertips. Your clit felt like a live wire, every brush of his palm against it sending shocks through your stomach. You were panting and mewling into his ear, your hips grinding down into his hand, trying to match his thrusts.

“Are you close?” He asked.

“Mhmm.” You nodded your head yes, unable to form any actual words.

“How close?”

“I-I’m about to-” Your words were cut short as he quickly removed his fingers from you. You hissed at the sudden lack of touch, teetering on the brink of an orgasm. Your hips bucked down reflexively, frantic for anything to rub against. Jeff opened his legs so that you couldn’t use them, spreading yours further apart and causing you to lose your balance, your upper body crashing against his completely. You rutted against the air to no avail, curses spilling from your lips and tears welling in your eyes.

“Aw, sweetheart, did you think you were the only one getting any attention tonight?” There was the sound of a zipper and a rustle of fabric beneath your shaking body. You understood immediately, and it only spurred you on more. You were flooded with shame, unable to stop your hips spastically and pitifully humping against nothing at all, melting atop this cool and collected stranger. The urge to cry in embarrassment was overshadowed only by the urge for release.

“Stop moving,” the man commanded. “You look like a fucking dog with no self control.” You tensed your body, trying to be still, but tremors still reverberated throughout you. “Are you a dog?” He grabbed a fist of your hair and pulled your face up to his, firm but not yanking. “Are you just a horny little bitch?” You wailed in response, mouth hanging open, unable to even think of forming a sentence. This was almost too much. There was a beat, your legs quivering and on fire, but no longer moving, before he spoke again, voice low. “I asked you a question.”

Oh my god. He actually expected you to answer him. You felt so vulnerable, not even knowing what he looked like. You heard the sound of a drop hitting the floor beneath you and your face crumpled into a pout. You were literally dripping. “Y-yes.” You eeked out.

“Yes what?”

You groaned. This was mortifying, but you needed him to keep touching you. “Yes I’m just a… h-horny little bitch…” You whispered.

“What? I can’t hear you if you whisper, sunshine.”

The tears spilled from your eyes and you swallowed a lump in your throat. “I’m just a horny little bitch,” you stated clearly.

You were rewarded with something stiff and thick smacking against your pubic bone. You gasped as Jeff pulled you closer to him, closing his legs. “That’s my good girl,” he said, leaning back. He took his cock and ran the tip of it between your lips, teasing it back and forth slowly. Once again, you were accumulating pressure, and after two incomplete attempts in the last hour, it only took seconds to bring your sensitive cunt back to the precipice. “Do you know what good girls get?” He positioned himself right at your entrance, pressing in slightly, threatening to breach into you.

“Hahh~?” Your voice came out in a thin, shrill tone. It took all of your restraint not to grind down and plunge him into you.

He whipped his cock up and out of your heat, grazing against your engorged clit. You grit your teeth and sucked in air. “You get to rub yourself against me.” He pulled you down so that your pussy was pressed against the shaft of his cock. You shuddered.

“I-I thought-” you mumbled.

“Hmm?” His cock twitched against you.

“I thought…”

“Oh, did you think I was going to fuck you?” He let out a cruel, hoarse cackle. “Oh, you really are a little slut, aren’t you?” You flushed, and your body jerked against his, relishing in the friction. “I’ll tell you what, sunshine. Since you’ve been such a good girl for me, if you keep rubbing against me like a needy, mindless little fucktoy, and making those cute little noises, and begging me to put my cock in you, I’ll think about it.”

Your body responded to his words, rocking against him desperately. “P-please,” you sputtered. The slick flesh of your cunt slid against him, over and over, covering his dick in the warm, messy fluids you were secreting. A tiny amount of it pooled in the dips of his hip bones as his cock periodically pulsed up onto you. You swore you could hear him let out a sigh as you rubbed up and down the length of him.

“Is that all? I’m gonna need more than that, sunshine,” he encouraged. His hands gripped your waist, fingers digging into your soft flesh.

“P-p-please f-fuck me…” Your clit was on fire but your pussy was aching to be filled. “P-please put your c-cock in me.” Your hands tangled into his hair as your body rolled back and forth like an angry tide. “Please… Please fill m-me up.” Something snapped in your stomach and you realized with a jolt that you were beyond the point of return. Your pleas shifted. “Please let me cum. Please. Please. Please I need- Please!” You begged with urgency.

“Cum,” the man ordered, and the knot of heat in your stomach shattered. Waves of pleasure and relief washed over your body, down to the tips of your toes. Your head fell back and you released a long, faltering note. You collapsed against the man, your body trembling with aftershocks as your sensitive clit still pressed against his throbbing cock.

Jeff pushed you to the side and onto your bed with a growl, his cocky facade slipping. In a moment he was on top of you, pinning your legs up, again pressing his cock against your tender entrance. “Do you still want me to fill you up?”

You didn’t know if you could handle more after that, but god, did you want to try. “Mhmm,” you nodded, blindly reaching to wrap your arms around him. You wheezed as he slammed into you, his sheer girth stretching you open, giving you no time to get accustomed to him. There wasn’t a moment to catch your breath as he craned over you, pounding into you again and again, rubbing the sore walls of your cunt. The glow of your last orgasm had barely begun to fade before the same heat was building in your stomach. Your clit began to sting with any brush against it, the amount of stimulation morphing the pleasure into a sharp, dizzying pain. You cried out, more tears slipping down your face, but despite this, your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, demanding more.

You clung to him with all of your limbs while your headboard repeatedly smacked against the wall behind you. Your face was buried into the crook of his neck, eyes rolling back into your head. He muttered curses into your ear. You could do nothing but wail against the unrelenting barrage of sensation you were receiving.

Jeff lifted himself up slightly, and you looked up, realizing the mask had been pushed up and off of your eyes. You could see him, his white hoodie, his black hair, and that ghoulish cut-up smile of his. You recognized him instantly, fear shooting through your body and mixing in your stomach with the orgasm that was building.

His eyes were glazed with lust, but snapped up when he realized you were looking at him. He didn’t hesitate at the look of horror on your face, plastering a grin on his own as he continued fucking you into the bed.

“What’s wrong, sunshine? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He cooed, pinning your arms above your head with one hand.

Despite your understanding, you were barely able to form a thought, pain and pleasure clouding over any rational part of your brain. The heat in your stomach was threatening to burst. “You-... You’re…”

“I’m what?” With his other hand, he stroked the side of your face, laughing at how you flinched and leaned into it at the same time. “I’m the best lay you’ve ever had?”

“Jeff,” you mumbled. “I’ve seen… on the news…” You felt like a puppet, unable to think or protest against the man whose cock was pumping in and out of you, stirring your insides and turning you into a useless, mindless doll. There was no strength in your limbs, except for your legs which refused to loosen their grip around the man’s hips, pulling him deeper into you.

“Aw, and I thought we were having so much fun… Do you want me to stop?” With that, he suddenly pulled out of you and sat completely still.

Your body responded before your mind could, desperately trying to reel him back in. “No~” you moaned involuntarily. Your legs struggled to pull him towards you, your pussy clamping down on nothing at the sudden emptiness. Your pinned arms struggled weakly against his own, trying to reach for him, grab him, anything. 

He looked down at you with cold, smiling eyes. “Tell me you want it.”

“I need it,” you breathed.

“That’s all I want to hear, baby.” At once he was back inside of you, immersing your entire body in a blanket of ecstasy. Your hips ground upwards against him, not wanting to give him a chance to leave again. After a few more thrusts, you came.

This time, there was no breaking, just ripples of euphoria that rolled through you. You let out a whining sigh. The walls of your cunt squeezed around his throbbing cock and he groaned. With one last push, he laid his head against yours and his hips stuttered. A hoarse moan escaped from his own throat as he spilled into you.

You laid like that for a moment, both of you utterly spent. His cock occasionally twitched in you, keeping his seed from leaking out. You could barely open your heavy eyelids, and your limbs felt like jelly. You took deep breaths, inhaling the scent of cigarettes and shampoo that clung to his hair.

Finally, he pulled out of you. You barely held on to consciousness as he shuffled around your room, pulling his pants back on. He leaned in close to your ear and purred, “whenever you want to see me again, just leave your window open.” With that, he pulled your sleeping mask back down, over your eyes, and left you unmoving on your bed, his cum dripping between your legs. You considered it while drifting off to sleep. In fact, you thought, I’ll probably rarely ever close it again.

[mlmxreader]

My Best Ally | Aragorn x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ “You will never age for me, nor fade, nor die.”With Aragorn please ❞

: ̗̀➛ Aragorn has an alliance with the general of an army, although it isn't just politics

: ̗̀➛ blood, injury, war, violence

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

There was no surrender, and there was no way that withdrawal would work either; the flap of the coat of arms flew high above you, displaying a great red dragon with claws as big as mountains and teeth as harsh as sunlight. There was only one thing to do - drive them through the hills, and out of your lands.

Just as your ancestors had done for years, it was now down to you to follow in their footsteps; it was down to you to ensure that the white flag with a red cross never took over. You would die before seeing your countrymen perish to those dogs.

Drawing your sword, you turned to your men, and took a harsh breath.

"This is the killing field!" You bellowed. "This is where we show them no mercy! Ride with the wind!"

They cheered, although you clenched your jaw in a vain attempt to stop your heart from hammering in your chest; with an absent hand, you reached up and touched the small chunk of metal around your neck.

The small necklace that Aragorn had given you, inscribed with an old elven saying, was always around your neck when you went to battle.

The men fell into line in their respective battle positions; cavalry at the front, archers at the back. All wearing bright red armour made from dense dragon scales.

They were never fearful of what may come, knowing that if the battle was lost then those bearing the white and red flag would take over everything; they would flood villages and ban the language, outlaw and violently suppress the culture and traditions. They would not allow the land of the dragon to flourish and thrive.

Your men could not afford to be scared.

"Ride them down!" You called out, getting up on your horse with a huff. "Hunt them until the last man!"

It was true that your battle tactics were always less than merciful; you always left one man alive to go back and warn his countrymen, and he was always on the brink of death.

If he refused, his horse would be sent back, dragging his body as his shoulder blades were forcibly pushed up and out of his skin, and they would always find rats feasting inside his stomach.

You were very good at breaking the enemy's will.

You charged with the cavalry, herding the enemy lines into a small circle so that they were completely rounded up with no escape; you liked to watch them beg for their lives with fear in their eyes as they dropped to their knees.

As they surrendered, you gave the order, and they perished.

But while the rest of your men stood tall as they marched home, you did not; you gave word to your right-hand, telling him to look after the group, before heading towards the woods.

You left your horse at the edge, and felt relief wash over you the second you stepped onto the mossy ground.

"Aragorn!" You called as you wandered down to the little bridge, taking a seat and letting your legs dangle over the edge as you waited.

He was never very long, always running out of some of the bushes before smiling and letting out a quiet laugh. "You lived."

"As always," you nodded, waiting for him to sit down before you rested your head on his shoulder. "Good thing about dragonscale armour - you don't get killed."

Aragorn laughed softly, although his eyes soon caught the spatters on your armour. "Did you get hurt?"

"It isn't my blood," you whispered. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come to see you before-"

"It's alright," he murmured. "You seem tired."

"It seems the more they try to take our lands, the more tired I become," you started, "it's difficult, disgusting work... slaughtering them like cattle... but we are only trying to stop them from destroying our land."

"I know," Aragorn nodded slowly, letting his hand rest on your thigh as he cleared his throat. "One day, they will sings of you."

"I sure hope not," you laughed quietly. "I do not want to be remembered."

"You have no choice," he mused. "You will never age for me, nor fade, nor die. I will never let you be forgotten."

"Now you're just rubbing it in," you joked.

He gave your thigh a little shake as he hummed. "You know, the woods are whispering again."

"Really?" You asked. "What is it this time?"

"They say that there is a war coming," he explained, "and that your lands will have to unite with the rest of Men in order to save the world."

"I would do it on one condition," you admitted.

"Which is?"

"It would be under your banner," you told him plainly. "You have my alliance, Aragorn, just as you have my heart. If you want my men, you will have them - but only under your banner."

He nodded slowly. "I hope it does not come to it."

"As do I," you breathed out. "But you know as well as I do that the woods are not wrong. Can't you feel it? Something... brewing."

He nodded slowly, chewing at the inside of his lip. "I feel it. But where there is anxiety, there is hope."

You extended your hand to him. "If you shall ever need an ally, promise you will call upon me."

He held your hand tightly, kissing your knuckles. "Always. You are my ally in every way, General."

You nodded curtly, daring to smile at him. "And you are mine, Ranger."

He smiled back, licking his lips. "Shall we walk?"

Slowly, you stood up with him, and linked your arm with his. "I might be a little slow, today..."

"I'm aware," he whispered. "You are fresh from battle, I wouldn't expect differently."

"Thank you," you told him softly. "Really, Aragorn, thank you."

"Anything," Aragorn insisted. "Anything that I can do for you, I will, always. You are, after all, my best and favourite ally."

[yanderes-galore]

(romantic) yandere death/wolf from puss in boots? perhaps hes forcing (with his sickels ‘n all) reader to sit quietly and ‘cuddle’ him? ofc it wouldnt actually be sweet enough to consider it cuddling since reader is sitting uncomfortably while death is threatening with sickels, but oh well?

Well! I just saw Puss In Boots: The Last Wish and I can finally do the requests for it! I'd love to give you a short with this plot :) Was originally put in as a concept but I felt this format was better.

Edit: Honestly you could find a second meaning in this fic the more I read it for editing.

Deadly Embrace

Yandere! Death Short

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Stalking, Forced cuddling, Sadism mention, Manipulation, Blood mention, Implied Darling is meant to die and Death is hesitant, Not entirely an intense yandere it just became really sad angst at the end-

Death finds everyone eventually. Every one tries and fails to escape death. It is a force that no one can escape from.

Well, less a force, and more of a wolf.

Death always finds his target. He punishes the arrogant and takes the souls of those who have to die. He hunts with sadistic desire... a force of nature meant for one job only.

But Death has found a new source of pleasure other than his job.

Blades slam beside your quivering head. You thought you had more time than this! Unfortunately, Death still follows your path....

"Poor dear, end of the line for you isn't it?"

The red eyes of the wolf stare down into your soul. Your body presses against the wall of your home. You're nothing but prey, unable to escape your fate.

"Been following you for awhile. You know how it goes, death trails after you until it's your time. You must be so scared...!"

The wolf laughs at your misery, the sound like a rattle against your ears.

"I'll have you know it's not just your life that I want, dear."

Your face shifts to confusion, the wolf slipping one of his blades away to cup your face with a clawed hand. You flinch away, the wolf doesn't seem to mind. In fact he enjoys your fear.

"I thought my time was up? That you'd simply take my soul like all the others?"

"But it doesn't have to end just like that! We can have a bit of fun before your time. One parting gift before you lose your grip on life."

"A gift? Like flowers for my grave?"

You spat out the answer, face grim. You think you've angered him when his eyes glimmer, claws moving to your sides before pulling you away.

"How humorous. No, I prefer something a bit more... physical. You surely want something more comforting, don't you?"

Claws dig into your flesh which leads to blood seeping from the wound. His nose twitches at the smell of your liquid life draining. He grins before tugging you along, sitting on one of your living room chairs.

"What?"

"To be honest, I don't quite want to see you gone yet. Let's prolong this a bit more, shall we? I simply wish to offer you an embrace. From yours truly."

"Why would I do such a thing-?"

You're pulled into the lap of death incarnate with a curved blade to your neck. The wolf's gaze is cold and no longer teasing. Did you hit a nerve?

"I could always end your life now if you wanted. I was just trying to make you more comfortable before you eventually die."

His reasoning made little sense to you. Why would you accepting Death's embrace calm you? It did nothing of the sort.

Not having a choice you lean into the deadly embrace of the wolf. The wolf stares at you as if he was deciding your fate. Slowly... an arm wraps around your waist while a curved blade circles your neck like threat.

One wrong move and you would really be in a deadly embrace.

The situation was strange and foreign. Death did not feel cold. You felt warmth... a strange comfort for a disturbing situation. You did not bother to struggle.

The wolf himself could not believe his own hesitance. Your life was meant to be taken by his claws and yet... he's not ready. Death himself holds a life he must snuff out in his arms... only to cuddle you.

His maw rests on his head while he tries to push all other thoughts out of his mind. He tries to enjoy the moment. A moment that shouldn't have ever happened... but he likes you.

He feels weak around you. His tail, who's moved for nothing but hunts, sways when you're in sight. You have grown on him...

He's liked the life sitting in his arms ever since he began his hunt.

He could have a little fun with you and harvest your fear like many before you... yet for now Death decides he only wishes to hold you while you come to accept your fate.

[ambrosethedarling]

I would love to hear your thoughts behind the new tattoo you gave Jason! (I also wasn't a fan of the other one)

You 🤝🏼 Me

Hating that old design

But yes absolutely I can! It’ll all be under the cut because I’ve got a LOT to say about the design and lore of the swords

To start with the thought behind my original design was that the tattoos would disappear when the swords were summoned meaning that the tattoos weren’t just tattoo but the actual swords. A cool concept but my execution was NOT it and it’s just not my vibe.

I went back after that first design and looked through everything we know about the All-Blades for my redesign and this is all the information we get.

The blades are mystical and made of copper

Designed to kill magical beings and cannot harm anything else

Can only be summoned in the presence of absolute evil

Are powered by the wielder’s soul and blood

Can be summoned at will

Multiple swords and blades can be summoned depending on how much soul the wielder has

Some of this I liked, such as being powered by the user’s life essence, and some not so much, like only being summoned in ‘Absolute Evil’. Boringgggg and also limiting. So I made my own lore for a new design.

I wanted to lean heavy into the soul and blood aspect so the tattoos are a deep red brown like dried blood, and wrap around both wrists and his left arm in organic flowing lines. There are points on his finger, wrist, and chest that are highlighted with a little circle target design and those are actually acupuncture points that link directly back to the heart.

The only inorganic element are the solid bars that wrap around both wrists and they’re to represent the fact that the Blades are tied to Jason and him to them. They’re quite literally cuffs he cannot remove.

The cross guards are copper and the stone used as the pommel is a Bloodstone, also known as Heliotrope, which aside from being pretty are said to increase courage and motivation and benefit endurance along with physical strength.

My own lore of the Blades is this:

The All-Blades are powered by his soul and blood [and can be directly pulled from his own blood] though summoning too frequently will leave Jason weak and light headed as the blades draw the copper from his blood.

The blade portion of the sword is a solid manifestation of his soul [similar to Lantern constructs] and are warm to the touch. Depending on how much ‘soul’ he’s got, the sharper the blades will be.

Both the Blades and tattoos will glow when used or Jason is using magic, and hum and pulse softly to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

The Blades are able to harm magical and non-magical beings alike, though cannot harm Jason.

They can be ‘broken’ and will disappear when shattered. This hurts Jason and, depending on the severity, can manifest as a physical wound on his body.

It takes concentration and magical energy for him to maintain the Blades in physical form for extended periods of time and will get smaller as his energy tires out before disappearing.

He only has two Blades, they can change shape, design, and size and can be summoned together or individually.

[lucifers-horror-harem]

I'll Do Anything

WOAH Look at me I actually finished something!!! Insane right? This time around, I managed to kick my ass into gear and write something for @the-slasher-files Blood Fest! I decided to do something with my OC Alan, and while it doesn't get into smut territory, I think you'll all agree that a tad bit of murder can be erotic.

Warnings: Murder, knives, stabbing, allusions to noncon Word Count: 1.2k Prompts: Found Footage. Gore. Keywords: Nightmare. Ravenous.

She looked so small on his phone screen. Even smaller than she was right now, tied up on the floor, tears streaking down her cheeks, whining pitifully. He was silent as he circled her, getting her from every angle. He wanted to make sure this moment was captured forever. Considering the mess she had made for him, he wasn’t going to let this go without some sort of consolation prize on his end. 

Alan crouched down to the woman, who was struggling to sit up with her hands tied behind her. Feeling oh so generous, his free hand gripped her hair, yanking her up as she yelped sharply, her eyes meeting his. He could never get over the frantic look in a person’s eyes when they realized they’d fucked up royally. They were looking at the person who controlled their future. And that future was incredibly bleak.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Sharpe-”

He yanked harder, causing her to cry out. “Oh, I’m sure you are. Considering you got caught.” He clicked his tongue. “How stupid to think I wouldn’t find out.” He couldn’t fault her too much though. They’re called hidden cameras for a reason, after all. He wouldn’t have put those other gaudy obnoxious security cameras in his own home. Even he would feel a bit uneasy with that.

The woman wouldn’t meet his eye, so he dragged her harshly until she laid back on the kitchen floor. She looked up at him and cried out as he knelt over her body, the phone still capturing this moment. Her wails were pitiful, and he might have cared if she were a halfway decent cleaner to begin with. He thought he’d vetted her properly, but apparently not. Perhaps he’d gotten a bit lax. That was his fault.

“You’ve seen things you shouldn’t have. Been in rooms I told you were expressly forbidden.” He snorted. “Are you really that dense not to realize there might have been a reason for that?” When she didn’t answer, merely continuing to cry, he continued. “Well, sadly for you, it wasn’t valuables I was hiding in my office for you to pawn.”

“I won’t tell-”

“You’re goddamn right you won’t tell,” Alan’s voice dropped low, venomous. “We’re going to make sure of that.”

Deft fingers slid to his pant leg, lifting it up just enough to reveal the knife holster. For times like these. She struggled beneath him, but he held firm, keeping her still between his knees as he brought the blade to her face, the camera capturing the stillness of her expression as he traced the sharp tip over her features. He flicked a lock of hair back, nicking her in the process. She flinched, bottom lip sucked between her teeth as she closed her eyes and tried to escape this nightmare. How foolish of her.  It wouldn’t be that easy.

Alan traced the cut on her cheek with his thumb, collecting the little red line before sticking it in his mouth to taste the metallic tang. Her fear was palpable, and he couldn’t deny that everything he did now was explicitly to prolong the inevitable. But she didn’t know that. Perhaps she thought there was still some sort of way out of this. Some little glimmer of hope. He’d have to snuff it out. 

“Tell me, what exactly did you see?” Alan asked, leaning forward to force her to look him in the eye. “I’ve got quite a few files in that desk. Could’ve been anything.” But there were more in the safe behind the wall. There wasn’t a chance in Hell she could’ve sniffed that one out. “Maybe we can work something out. Depending on what you saw.”

It was a lie. He knew there was a good chance she’d lie. It didn’t matter what exactly she saw, but that she saw any of it. He supposed she’s regretting not just minding her own business and doing her job now. Considering how much he was paying her to clean an already tidy penthouse. 

“Bank statements for overseas accounts, that’s all! I swear!”

The knife twirls dangerously close to her throat. “Are you certain?”

She blubbers some sort of affirmative. He doesn’t really care. He’s growing a bit tired of the game. 

“I’ll do anything you want just please, don’t kill me!” 

And there it is. Words he’s heard so many times before. He chuckles darkly, cocking his head as he taps the flat of the knife against her cheek. “Whatever I want, hmm? People say that all the time. But they never really realize what that truly means.

“First,” Alan’s voice lowers as he grabs her throat, breath hot against her cheeks. “I’d use you however I see fit, considering you’re a bit tied up at the moment.” His knife trails down her throat, skimming her exposed clavicle. He toys the tip of it around the top button of her blouse before trailing back up. “Then, I’d have to spend a few days making sure no one would be looking for you. Send some emails, texts, doctor some images on Instagram, all of that good stuff. That’s the hardest part.” His thumb presses into her throat, enough to make her breathing stutter. “Only after all that is settled, will I keep you for myself until you either break down completely or amuse me enough to keep you around.” He smirks as he looks into her frightened eyes. “Doesn’t that sound like a lovely time?”

She says nothing and simply continues to cry. Alan looks down at her, this pathetic woman who can barely hold herself together. He’s given her an out, of course, but it seems she doesn’t want to live badly enough. Not many do when he explicitly lays it out for them what he wants.

“I thought so.”

Before she can even realize what’s happening, the blade comes down hard on her sternum, a wet crunch filling the air as she desperately gasps for air. The phone is dropped and forgotten by now. He wants both hands for this. His grin widens as he briefly removes the blade and plunges it down again, her breath wet and ragged. With his other hand, he smacks it down on the holt, pushing it even deeper with a sickening crunch as blood stains his hands. Weak hands try to push him away, but he pulls the blade down with both hands, tearing into the viscera and hitting bone. He twists the blade, the notches catching whatever hasn’t already been shredded.

There are cleaner ways to have killed her. But something within him keeps craving that warmth spilling out of her, staining his suit and hands and face as he pierces her flesh over and over. His arms feel like lead each and every time it comes down onto her torso, but it doesn’t matter to him. This insatiable and ravenous need to tear her apart, make a mess, and take his stress out, was the only thing he could care about.

Finally, at long last, he let the knife clatter to the floor beside her. Her eyes had been long since void of life. He pushes himself off her, sitting on the linoleum with his legs still thrown over her body, catching his breath. Bloodied hands run over his face and through his hair, a low groan as he looks over the carnage. It already feels tacky on his skin, like a face mask that has overstayed its welcome. Ice blue eyes narrow at the sight before him, fingers tangled in his black curls before his shaky hands fall back beside him.

How ironic that the cleaner was the one who’d make such a goddamn mess?

[fairytales-and-folklore]

Huntlow Christmas Snippets

So the original plan was to have this human realm series finished and posted in time for Christmas, but then a whole bunch of stressful life stuff got in the way, so for now, please enjoy this little Christmas themed huntlow snippet! Happy Christmas, Huntlow Fam! 💛💚

Sneak Peek from Being Human | Chapter Eight: Winter's Waltz

The living room is a war zone of ribbons and wrapping paper as everyone tears into their presents, getting distracted halfway through when Camila puts on her favorite Christmas music and Luz endeavors to turn the evening into Grom Part 2, sweeping into a low bow and asking a giggling, blushing Amity to dance. Hunter is so swept up in the mayhem of watching the two of them laugh and spin one another in the glimmer of the Christmas lights, he almost doesn't register the Willow-shaped silhouette hovering next to him, offering him her hand.  "May I have this dance?" she asks, fairy lights glinting off the lenses of her glasses, igniting them in a golden glow. "Oh, uh— yeah. Yes. Absolutely," he stutters, barely a moment to stagger to his feet before he's swept away in Willow's arms.  Hunter has never danced in his entire life, but Willow is a marvelous lead, the comforting weight of her hand pressed between his shoulder blades, soft plush fingers curling over the palm of his hand, heat hotter than the flames in the fireplace as she draws him closer and instructs him to place his other hand on the small of her waist. Just when he thinks he's finally got the moves down, Willow surprises him by twirling him around in a circle and then dipping him backward on the catch, safe in her strong, gentle hands as his whole world spins upside down in a blur of green and gold.  And then she's pulling him back up toward her, lips parted in a wide smile, breathless laughter rushing out of the both of them as their chests heave from the exertion, and all Hunter can think as he gazes into her bright green eyes are three simple words. Oh. Wow. Dancing. Well. Maybe those aren't the only three words he's thinking.

It's nearing midnight by the time everyone heads off to bed, shuffling off to their respective rooms with barely stifled yawns and sleepy smiles, leaving Hunter and Willow alone in the living room, sitting side by side, curled up by the fire.  Evidently they'd both had the same idea, not wanting to give the gifts they'd gotten each other in front of everyone else. Without a word, the two of them reach behind opposite sides of the tree and withdraw two packages — one wrapped up pristinely in red and gold striped paper, the other a mess of ripped green wrapping paper and far too much tape. Ever since their lessons, Hunter has developed a love for sewing, but Willow had no idea he'd gotten this good. When Willow unwraps her gift, a neatly-folded letterman jacket with the words captain stitched across the back in bold white lettering spills out onto her lap, handmade from the coziest green and gold fabric she's ever felt beneath her fingers.  Little swatches of embroidery line the lapels and the arms of the jacket — wildflowers, bumblebees, cardinals, hearts, and stars — and in the very center right over the heart, a miniature rendering of a flyer derby field complete with goals posts and green and purple flags. Willow spreads her hands over it, amazed by all the carefully crafted details. This must have taken him weeks to complete. "This is amazing, Hunter. Thank you so much, I love—" she says, slipping the jacket over her shoulders and marveling at how perfectly it fits her, gazing up at him with a radiant smile on her face, only to find him staring back at her, looking awestruck. Clutched in his hands are two different gifts she couldn't decide between — one, a hand-knitted sweater made from that same cozy yellow yarn he'd fallen in love with the first time they'd gone to the craft store together, complete with a little breast pocket for Flapjack to nap in — and two, a brand new pair of handsome leather gloves, similar enough to his old pair to provide that same level of comfort and safety to a set of scarred, sensitive hands, but different enough so that he no longer has to be reminded of Belos, of being the golden guard every time he looks down at his own hands. "I hope you like them," she says in a small voice, suddenly feeling nervous. "The cardinals along the sides there are hand-stitched. I tried to make them look as much like Flapjack as I could, but—" "They're perfect. You're perfect," he says, rushing forward to wrap her up in a hug, tucking his chin against the curve of her shoulder and breathing her in in a series of slow, steady breaths. "Merry Christmas, Hunter," she says, voice muffled as she melts into the hug, face buried in the cozy fabric of his sweater. "Merry Christmas, Willow," he says, voice almost too soft to catch over the steady crackling of the fireplace.

[thefanciestborrower]

Haha lol Ice Emperor goes Brrrr part 10

Wind snapped at his face like blades, cutting in its chill, yet familiar in the ways it swept between his metal plating. At his back, Boreal’s wingbeats hit the air like drums, rattling the sky with the force of each downstroke. Below, trees blurred into indistinguishable stripes that raced Boreal’s shadow as they soared.

It was an hour, maybe two, that Lloyd spoke up. “I thought you sent the palace guards.”

Julien, who had thus far been doing little but staring blankly at the white landscape, blinked back to himself before answering. “I did.”

“And we’re flying out, too?” A hand against the inner lining of his stomach. Minuscule compared to him as it lightly brushed along the ripples, and folds, and scars. “Not that I want to turn around, but…?”

When he considered it, it was acid on his tongue. Burning and tearing as it dripped from his teeth in tar-like strings. As he made into words what had only been impulse and thought. As form took from shadow. And, in the end, he swallowed the fire and let only the steam rise from between his lips. “Something came up. It will be faster to resolve it now.”

While the warmth of implications drowned in his throat, he steered Boreal off the face of a cliff, keeping the cloud-muffled sun to his back and letting their combined shadow fall across the frozen fields below. A herald to his arrival in shades of blues and blacks, even as storm swept up behind him in a swirling mass that howled like the ghosts of those grieving. Flecks of ice gathered on his shoulders.

When the sun fell too low to travel, the group set down, and a simple wave was all he needed to raise a dome of ice. Vex, for all his muttered complaints, slept quickly that night as Julien listened to the woods. The hum of… something. A presence, almost.

Come daybreak, they were back in the air again.

It was early dawn when Vex spoke again. Lloyd was still inside, though the puff of his breathing against Julien’s nerves soothed his fears of hypothermia.

“M’lord, are you entirely sure you know where these… ninja are?”

Boreal passed low over trees, the thick rumble rolling from his chest shaking the snow from most. The powder that fell bloomed into the air in plumes, dusting what it touched in a fine white.

“I am sure.” He wasn’t. He wasn’t, but the snow stretched below in wide swaths broken only by sparse forest. He wasn’t, but Boreal hummed whispers of knowledge. Of something so quiet and subtle that it ran undetected through the air. A taste in the wind.

A taste that only grew stronger as his familiar dipped, brushing the snow with a wingtip, and skimming along a ridge with ice so fine, it barely glimmered. Such that there was not a point to gather light, nor a facet to reflect it. There, atop the claws of the world, the song of metal rang and danced to smile in their face and beckon them down. The sound of battle rose in a cry for blood, and the thump of ice samurai boots. In the smell of blood and the corroding metal. In the crumbling snow and reddening ice.

A beat of Boreal’s wings, and Julien’s eyes caught on the black-blue-red of dyed clothing. Backs pressed against each other, thin, blurry figures darted in a practiced pattern. Like a lotus unfolding, each struck individually, fanning out in ever-widening circles. Their movements spiraled in graceful loops, like a dance, pushing back the armored forces trying to press in on them with blades of ice.

His forces.

Boreal landed like a cataclysm, his claws coming down with a sound like cracking rock. Vex was nearly thrown from his back simply from the force of the jolt, and Lloyd woke with a startled movement inside.

The Emperor slid from his dragon’s neck, ice crackling in his footsteps as he raised his voice to be heard over the clashing of swords, and cracking of steel. “Enough!”

His army stilled as if they’d been struck, hundreds of wide, enchanted blue eyes turning to look at him. “What is the meaning of this?” The question spilled from his chest without any command from him, echoing against his teeth.

The army fell to one knee, a general appearing from the ranks with his hands folded at his back. He dipped into a deep bow at the waist, voice carrying a rasp as—

“Zane?”

His attention drifted lazily to the ninja despite the rattle in his chest as his systems stalled. A shudder as his breath came in a puff of blue frost that seeped past his mouthguard and crystalized against his face. The ice keeping his hand bound to his staff flaked even as black bled into it. Even as a thickness rose in his throat like tar. Even as Vex’s protests fell into the blank buzz that had taken place of his thoughts.

When his voice rose to the backs of his teeth—when the ice cleared to let a breath pass—when his eyes blinked in and out of functionality—when he managed to speak, it was little more than a whisper. As if they may fade away if he spoke too loudly. “I… I could be called that.”

The last piece moved on Zane’s mental chessboard, trapping the memories of The Falcon. Whispering the names of what he once may have known. Pushing the guilt, and loss, and grief  into his eyes as silence reigned between them. As his mind remained quiet, and blank, and empty.

“Zane!” They were coming toward him. Running. Weapons in hand, yet they only smiled at him even as Vex shouted. Even as he slipped out of their way with a step, the ninja turned just as quickly, gesturing, and talking, and cheering.

And yet, as he turned to face Vex, his voice, no more than a whisper, carried to his advisor.

“Did you know?”

Silence fell on the mountain. Boreal flaked away one shard of ice at a time, head lowered and rumbling quietly in the back of his throat. Something that Zane thought may be a sound of mourning.

“My—my lord. You must understand—”

“Did. You. Know?”

“No, my lord. I didn’t.” And the Emperor smiled at him. A soft, sad sort of smile as the words of the formling he’d imprisoned hissed a symphony.

“But you still lied to me.” Lloyd was active again. He was moving, and shouting, and pushing at the synthetic walls. Zane did not hear him. “Why did you lie to me, Vex?” The ninjas’ presence behind him was like a rock wall. As if he could back up and be pinned between them and Vex. As if he could not simply fly away.

Then again, as Boreal’s eyes shattered upon hitting the ground, Zane supposed he couldn’t.

“Zane…” From behind. Quiet, pleading, he would say if he considered it. A raised hand was enough to silence them.

“Why did you lie to me?”

“I—I recall no such thing, m’lord! I have been your loyal advisor for decades—”

A tilt of his head. Just slightly. He did not blink. “I was not the original emperor, Vex. Grimfax usurped no throne, for the throne was never mine to begin with, was it?”

His advisor’s face turned hard. A dark scowl twisting into something like a snarl as white teeth flashed at him in the light. “You seem to have made up your mind.”

“I have.” He could not have been the emperor before Grimfax. He lived with his fellow ninja… brothers. He could not have been usurped by formlings, for he had no throne to usurp. “What else was a falsity?” A step forward. “Who else have you misled?” His space encroached on Vex’s.

“You never really loved me, did you?”

Vex’s eyebrows raised. Two black streaks that grew clouded in Zane’s wavering vision. “No—no, my lord—I promise—”

The knot in his throat unraveled into something hot. Like lava had been poured down his throat and into his core. Like everything he’d never said tied him at the wrists and forced his mouth open. “Your promises mean nothing!” It was a roar more than a shout. Such that it rattled his plating and he loomed over Vex. Such that he found a hand ripping Vex’s helmet off in a single movement before he could even think about it. “What do your words mean to me when you have fed me nothing but lies? Did you—” a crackle in his voice. Like his modulator failed. “—did you lie about the formlings, too?” A breath. Inhaled sharply through his teeth as he raised a hand to unclip his mouthguard. To tear it from his face in a crackle of shattered ice.

His voice gave rise to the thought even as it spilled something warm and wet down his eyes. “What… what have I done? What—what have you asked of me?”

Hurt. Hurt and grief and emptiness settled in his frame. Weighed down his metal even as Vex’s face shifted from something unreadable to… to angry. To rage and anguish.

Lloyd’s voice. Echoing in the depths of the dungeons. The barest sound before he changed his mind.

“It was you who ordered the attack on the ninja, wasn’t it?”

Vex’s back straightened, and acid rode his voice as he pressed himself into Zane’s space. “You question my motives? After all these years? My Emperor—”

“I. Am not. YOUR EMPEROR!”

Like a wave, ice rose behind him, arching up in nothing but solid black ice. It cut out the sun, swallowing the sky and parting Vex and Zane from the world. An unbreakable dome, it surrounded them in cold darkness.

“And you will die for what you have done.”

He was across the makeshift arena in a heartbeat, ice coalescing into a blade-sharp shuriken in the same instant he pushed off.

Vex’s blood steamed as it hit the air.

It was barely a scratch, really, dripping crimson lazily into the snow and melting spots in the ground. “Tell me the truth, Vex. Tell me what happened. Tell me or let your spirit rest in ice forever.” Zane touched down at the adjacent point from Vex, his steps ghosting against the snow. Vex’s snarl dripped of malice as he looked up at Zane.

“They banished me!” Vex’s shout rattled the air in the dome, but Zane’s scowl bared his own ice-tipped teeth. “The formlings left me for dead in the ice for not having a form. They mocked me! Whispered about me!” He lashed out, and Zane danced out of the way, one of his shurikens shattering against the opposite wall where it missed. “I did what I had to do!”

When Vex lunged again, Zane caught him around the neck, claws made of black ice digging into his ex-advisor’s neck as he pushed Vex’s face into the blood-dappled snow. “And what—” a push against his stomach. Lloyd’s voice, yet muffled by Zane’s own shouting—“did you do?”

Vex’s spittle poked more holes in the snow when he tried to spit at Zane. “I convinced you that you were the emperor. That you ruled this realm. That Grimfax stole your throne from you.” The slightest slice of flesh. Warm red ran down Zane’s fingers. “When the formlings took ill to your encroaching onto their territory, I commissioned one of them to try to assassinate you. The little eagle woman—do you remember her? She screamed for hours after you impaled her. The formling healing factor is impressive.” His ice spire had pierced flesh and bone. At the time, he hadn’t realized he could do that. “And when the formlings organized to figure out what to do about you, I made plans. Sketched up scores of them for your guards to find.” Etchings carved onto beast hide. Plans. He suspected spies at the time. The castle diagrams were too… perfect.

“And you fell for it hook, line, and sinker. Every formling frozen solid or imprisoned.”

The warm, wet dripped down Zane’s faceplate, splattering against Vex’s armor. His ex-advisor’s face softened. His smile was sad.

“I really was just doing what was best for you, you know. With your powers, they would have come after you a—” His hand clenched, cutting off Vex’s breath. As he clawed at Zane’s hands—ripping his gloves and tearing his sleeves—Zane peeled him off the floor, snow falling in clumps.

When Vex hit the ice wall the first time, it cracked.

A second, and the structure creaked.

When he was thrown—bloody, broken, and trailing red—his body shattered the dome, sending Vex’s limp body into the snowdrift Boreal had originally landed in.

When he moved, it was the gait of a predator. A low stance laced with blood and trailing a carpet of red. His eyes fixed on the still figure of his former advisor.

It was only when hands—cloying. Clinging. Familiar—snagged onto his clothing and dug into his shoulders that he heard it.

Shouting. Yelling. Begging.

Lloyd’s voice in his ear. Over, and over, and over. “Don’t do it,” he screamed, voice raw and hoarse from something Zane didn’t remember. “Don’t do it, don’t do itdontdoitdont—”

His hesitation was just enough for the hands around his shoulders to drag him back, his dorsal column hitting something warm and firm, and steady, even as arms wrapped around his shoulders and a head buried itself into his neck. As people dressed in odd colors gathered around him and pressed their hands—foreheads—faces into his sides. As the liquid in his eyes spilled over properly and he buried his own head into a security he didn’t remember.

======================================== The close of arc 1 Fun facts: >Total word-count: 12882 words. >Total page-count: 36 pages >Each part was made the day it was posted save for part 4. >My favorite scene is the one with Kataru in it (read; bear boy)

[brooklynislandgirl]

Long gone are the days when he’d get twitchy about Beth handling his gear and personal items— it was never about her specifically anyway. It’s one part military-ingrained compulsion and two parts animal brained territorial possessiveness swirled into a stupid cocktail spiced with a dashes of concern, worry, and fretting. Those were a wanted killer’s weapons she was putting dainty little fingerprints on, after all. Nevermind that he’d never allow them to stay, it used to make him pace circles around Beth until he couldn’t help himself any longer and ended up plucking the shit out of her hands and putting it away.

These days, catching Beth with his best knife in her hands tickles and makes twitch his other head instead.

“They call it a Marine’s best friend,” it’s a soft rumble from awfully close behind her; close enough to kiss or kill though he does neither. Frank just embraces her like a parody of all those romantic films, one soul teaching another how to do something, how to hold, how to stand— only he doesn’t have anything to teach her. She’s already reverent enough with his blade. He just guides her one hand over the flat length of it to feel cold steel. “but to some of us it’s just an extension of our own arm. Another hand. Hell, Billy liked his so much you ought'a see him work with that shiv he keeps up his sleeve.”

And while the battles Frank waged on New York’s many criminal organizations often called for guns, grenades, and beyond, he too preferred the use of his ka-bar. It was like he’d told Zach Lieberman, not a wide spray of bullets to thin out herds of cannon fodder but an intentional plunging in and guiding that honed edge into the parts of a man that made him dead.

He’s a man who values the control of that moment. Or a moment like this one, when he reverses their hold on that knife’s grip and ends up guiding it up up up through the soft linen of her shirt, parting it right up the middle to expose her bra and a plethora of skin he’ll soon worship with his lips and teeth and tongue.

“You can see why I like it, can’t ya?” ~*~

The callouses of his fingers rasp almost inaudibly against the smooth expanse of Beth's skin from elbow to wrist sowing goose-flesh in his wake. Between the caress and the low thunder of his voice, other parts of her react accordingly. The smooth of the metal begs her to run an thumb along its edge. To draw a thread thin red line along the pad of her thumb and christen it in a way she can imagine she might some day share in a far different way. She nods as he speaks, imparting the air with a hint of tropical fruit, some vanilla. Without his face for context, without the little hearing aids she uses at work, it takes a minute to sort out some of the words but when they seed images in her brain, her shoulders roll forward in a shudder. “...'Leven-point-eight an' t'ree quarter inch over all, seven inch blade. Point one-sixy-five inch t'ickness, one point one-eighty eight inches wide. Weighin' almost exactly point seven pounds. Flat grind, carbon steel, fixed blade. Designed for military use wi' input from a combat surgeon. Slides in real smooth, in an' out." She talks about his KaBar the same way a love struck girl talks about their first significant other. Her husky voice is soft and sweet and she drags some of those words across her teeth in a sigh. Her back arches just slightly so that her shoulders press into his ches, but the firm roundness of her backside aligns and brushes the cradle of his hips. She can feel the outline and heat of him against her skirt ~he has mentioned this being tissue paper thin, has asked her how her brother allows her out of the house in it, and looks pleased when she tells him it's not really Panda's problem. Her eyes half shut and her head tilts to the side, exposing the long line of her throat. She doesn't flinch when she helps him cut the teeshirt away. She only wore it for painting anyway. "Of course. Hard. Sharp. Must cut t'rough skin an' flesh as easy as...dis. It's a beautiful t'ing, every bit art as it is a tool. Sometimes dream about it."

She slides her empty hand, the not one held, behind her back. Across his midsection and makes a fist in his shirt. "What are you doin',  Frank?" He has to know how she feels about him. She hasn't made it a secret and while he's teased and he's taunted, he leaves only an unquenchable ache inside of her. "Wha' is it ya wan me to say? Cause right now? Only kine come to mind is... try an' mahalo."

[tnc-n3cl]

Final Fantasy Inspired Spear!

So um, I made a Final Fantasy themed spear...

The little side blades move!

Trident mode! There's a button in those two brown sections which control the direction blades point, while the brown sections rotate to twist the blade around.

Half trident mode?

Now I'm just showing off. (Side note, This is actually more or less how I was picturing the side blade positions before going with the rotating blades.)

Some finer details. Why all the bird imagery? Cause this thing's wielded by a bird guy (more on that later)!

It was even longer...

Check below the cut for a little fic blurb! (Yes, I've got a Final Fantasy fic idea brewing, but at least 75% of my creative energy is still focused on my LoZ fic, which should be getting some updates before the end of the year if all goes well.) [Content warning: fantasy violence, non-specific level of graphicness]

In a large interior space made of stone, a man in pure white magitek armor welding a sword faces off against an avian humanoid wielding a large, elaborate spear.  The man is a Templar of the Glabados Church, the avian is a warrior of the Agixyl (Ah-geese-ill) people.

The Agixyl’s large crest, fully extended much like a cockatoo’s, clearly indicates that this warrior is male.  His plumage, mostly obscured by his predominantly leather armor with metal plates in vital areas, is reddish-brown and white with heavy banding on his wings.  His arms and legs are covered in yellow scales past the elbows and knees, respectively.  His sharply hooked, yellow beak gives away his people’s predatory nature.

His eyes are green, and his breathing is heavy, indicating that he’s on the ropes.  He grips his spear in both hands.  The weapon is mostly a golden color, strongly contrasting the deadly silver blades.  The main tip of the spear is wide and roughly triangular, joined to the shaft by roughly diamond shaped component.  On either side of this are single edged blades, joined to the connector by rounded pins.

These side blades edges are strangely pointed towards the wielder, and stick out straight from the connector.  Just below that are two brown segments of the handle with small red triangular decorations visible.  There’s a groove in these segments, with a small, rounded, orange colored protrusion.

The middle of the shaft is oddly misshapen and a darker color, more goldenrod than gold.  The buttcap of the weapon is shaped much like a bird, with the wings and tail containing razor sharp blades.  The decorative, alternating goldenrod and white lines mimic the plumage of a bird as well.  So does the fact that the “top” of the buttcap is dark with a lighter underside.

“I’ve got you now, fiend!” The Templar shouts, his voice distorted and almost mechanical sounding by his magitek armor.

The Agixyl warrior parries the Templar’s attacks with both the side blades and the shaft of his spear.  The impact of the sword against spear generates the distinct sound of metal striking metal.  The warrior’s spear is made entirely from metal!

The warrior is pushed back and squawks before muttering, “Guess I’ve got no choice.”

The warrior holds up his left hand, revealing a ring on his middle finger.  The ring has a large dark gem in the center surrounded by a circle of 12 smaller gems of varying colors.  The gem in the center suddenly glows with brilliant white light as the warrior flaps his wings and becomes airborne.

The Templar mutters, “A fragment of the Crystal?!”  His reverence and confusion understandable in spite of the distortion caused by his armor.

As the warrior hovers over him, he quickly flicks the protrusion of both brown segments of his spear forward.  The side blades rapidly fold towards the spear tip and it almost looks like a trident now.

Then the ring’s magic is activated and the warrior is surrounded by an array of ghostly weapons of different types.  As he grips his spear with both hands he taunts, “Now you’re done for!”

Suddenly several of the ghostly weapons point towards the Templar and rush him, followed quickly by the warrior.

The Templar tries in vain to follow the warrior’s movements as he’s struck from all sides by the sacred power of the Armiger.

Within seconds its over and the Templar is on his knees.  The warrior dismisses the Armiger and stands before the Templar.

Breathlessly the Templar asks, “Who are you?  What are you?”

The warrior’s crest folds against his head as he replies, “My name is Faros Tylas, and I am the one who will end your corrupt organization’s tyranny once and for all!” And with that Faros runs the Templar through.

[contrarywiseizybel]

Kinktober 2022

Day 6: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter +Bellatrix Lestrange (Torture)

“Today’s the day!”

Bellatrix Lestrange, formerly Bellatrix Black, was one of the most terrifying witches to ever grace the British Isles. She had ruled over her minions while in Slytherin, had pureblood heirs falling over themselves when she made her debut, and faithfully served one of the most powerful Dark Lords in all of history. Even after her lord’s, temporary, fall she had been a thing of nightmares.

And now that same mad witch was skipping down the halls of Malfoy manor, giggling like a school girl.

It was, somehow, as terrifying as anything else she’d ever done.

“Dracoooo!” She sang, popping her head into rooms at random. “Auntie Bella has a pressie for yooooou.”

She turned a corner, catching sight of blond hair quickly disappearing, and raced to catch the boy. Or his father. She’d catch someone.

Luckily for her, and unluckily for him, it was Draco. She gathered him up in her twig thin arms, swinging in circles on the tips of her pointed heels. She had done the same when he had first been born, much to her sister’s irritation. At least now she didn’t have to worry about some silly soft spot.

“Happy birthday my dearest darling nephew!” She cried out. “Seventeen! A full wizard, ready to lay waste to those who would dare challenge you or your family or your lord! I’m so proud!”

Draco, still trapped in her tight embrace, just wheezed.

“Oh, oh, oh! Our lord and I got you a present! Well, Roddy helped to. Okay it was Roddy’s idea but our lord signed off on it and I’m delivering it so really it’s from the three of us.”

“Thank...you…” Draco said, more focused on gasping for air than anything else.

Unfortunately that made it easy for Bellatrix to spin on one of her dangerously high heels and drag Draco off towards the dungeons. If he had just a bit more oxygen he would have been terrified of whatever present could possibly be down there. Luckily, he did not have that much oxygen.

Down and down they went, Bellatrix humming a little song to herself, until they arrived at a heavy wooden door with far more wards on it than any other. There was also a balloon tied to the heavy padlock.

“Happy birthday!” Bellatrix sang, throwing the door open.

The room was full of terrifying apparatuses, all made of wicked black iron and heavy leather restraints. Display shelves held a variety of torture devices, some so heavy it made the magically reinforced shelves groan. Whips and floggers and even some blades lined one wall. The ambiance was enforced by a mess of candles, their flickering red glow giving the room a haunting appearance.

And there, strung up in the middle of the room, was Harry Potter.

Draco gaped at his schoolyard rival. Potter’s arms were tied together, held over his head by a chain attacked to exposed wooden beams above. The chain was just long enough for the balls of his feet to touch the cold, stone floor, stretching him out as though on display. He must have been taken from the muggles, still dressed in over sized jeans and a tattered shirt. Besides the state of his clothes and a bruise on his cheek, he actually looked in good health, all things considered.

“Malfoy.” Potter hissed, having lost none of his fire.

Bellatrix pouted, slipping past her nephew to angrily tap Potter on the nose. “No, bad present.”

“Potter can’t be a birthday present!” Draco yelled.

Both Bellatrix and Potter turned their heads towards him, Bellatrix looking confused and Potter looking incredulous.

“But...you’re an adult wizard now, Drakky. And as an adult you finally get to do all the fun adult things.”

Draco went shockingly pale at the announcement and beside her Potter made a strangled noise that frankly should have waited just a bit. Better to save those noises for the actual torture, silly Potter. Ah prisoners, no sense of decorum.

“What could you possible mean?” Draco yelped.

“You’re finally old enough to torture someone, silly.”

Draco and Potter let out a relieved sigh, which went completely unnoticed by the crazed witch. Seeing that her precious nephew was finally understanding hurried over to the display of torture devices that she had been collecting over the last few weeks.

“I thought since he’s such a filthy muggle lover, we’ll use muggle torture on him.” She cheered, clapping like an excited child.

Draco looked over her little collection and somehow managed to get even paler. “You’re not serious.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

The Malfoy heir looked back at Potter, who was trying to spy on the devices with absolutely no subtly. From where he was the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-A-Pain wouldn’t be able to see her haul of strange muggle knives, all intimidating but weirdly dull at the tip. One looked like a unicorn horn though, and was in a pretty iridescent color, so she had to get it. Others were intimidatingly massive, maybe more for bludgeoning than for stabbing. There were also clamps to pinch at Draco’s new victim, and bizarre rings with nubby bits on the inside. Maybe to hurt the fingers? She actually wasn’t completely sure.

He continued to scan the items displayed, from the tiny rods of metal that Bellatrix was pretty sure would stab Potter’s eyes or maybe into his ears, to the weird plastic bulbs that she frankly had no idea what to do with. But the muggle at the shop had thrown it in for free along with the extra restraints and handcuffs she bought, so she figured Draco would find some use for it.

Draco’s face, which had turned from pale to bright red in record time, seemed to cycle through about fifteen different emotions before landing on determined. There, she knew her little nephew would be made of stern enough stuff. Not a wimp like his useless father.

Not that she’d say that anywhere Narcissa. Her sister had a mean repertoire of hexes and for some bizarre reason actually seemed to like her husband.

“I, uh, I suppose I should just start then?” Draco asked, nervously running a finger over the various whips. They were all brightly colored, which Bellatrix had been delighted to find. As much as muggles were worthless filth, they were awfully inventive with their torture tools. And that there had been whole shops of them. Barbaric creatures, muggles were, but almost inspiring in at least this art.

“Go ahead, dear, I’ll just make sure you have the way of it before popping off. Your mum wants me to help set up for your party.” Because of course Narcissa would be more interested in a silly little gala instead of being there when her son got his first taste of true power. A boy only had his first torture session with a nemesis once, but sure Cissa, plan your little party.

Draco gulped, turning to Potter with a riding crop that Bellatrix had been hoping he’d pick. After all, the tress at the end was shaped like a skull. Absolutely precious!

Potter finally seemed to realize he was in danger, face graying when Draco moved into his line of sight. He began biting at his lower lip, worrying the flesh into a deep red. Good, Potter was right to be scared. Soon he would only know pain, and Bellatrix’s darling little nephew would know the power that comes with having such control over another.

They each seemed to be trying to stare the other down, green eyes battling gray. She missed some of their expressions, couldn’t tell if Potter’s small nod was in response to something or just trying to steel his nerves. But whatever little contest they were holding, Draco appeared to be the winner.

Of course, being that he wasn’t cuffed to the ceiling, he had the advantage.

In a flash Draco had ripped off Potter’s pathetic excuse for a shirt throwing it to the side like the rag it was. Potter gasped, perhaps from the chill of the dungeon. Or maybe because his soft, savior skin was unguarded.

“Show him, Draco! Tear him apart and leave him crying!” She cackled, while Draco startled from his staring, as though he forgot she was there.

“Of course, Aunt Bellatrix.” Draco lifted a brow, as though insulted she would ever imply he wouldn’t be able to break someone as pathetic as the Potter boy. He turned that same sneer towards Potter, making him recoil as much as his restrained form could. “Scared, Potter?”

The defiant little thing just jutted out his chin. “You wish, Malfoy.”

Quick as the viper he was, Draco snapped his hand out, twisted Potter’s dusty brown nipple in a painful grasp. The Boy-Who-Lived groaned, even more when Draco applied a clamp to the abused flesh. He repeated the process on the other nipple, Potter’s groans becoming pained whimpers. A good attack, though Bellatrix rolled her eyes at the teardrop gems attached to the clamps. Of course Lucius’ spoiled heir would pick the shiniest ones.

Potter, who had regained the color in his face though was now swinging to the other extreme of looking quite flushed, sneered at her nephew. Like he wasn’t the one chained up. Oh, she couldn’t wait for Draco to break that stubborn boy.

A sentiment Draco seemed to share, as he began tugging at one of the clamps. “Whatever shall I do with you next, Potter?”

“Dra-Malfoy,” Potter gasped, lithe form wiggling as though to get away from the torment. His bright green eyes turned briefly to where Bellatrix was watching and she laughed mockingly at the idea he might try her for help. Draco followed his vision, forehead scrunching up as though plotting. Narcissa’s forehead did the same when she was planning, something that Bellatrix loved to point out.

“I’m sure anything I would do that would actually hurt you…” Draco said musingly.

“I wouldn’t be afraid of.” Potter replied, eyes finally turning back towards Draco, realizing that he had no escape. Oh, how delightful to see their anguish when they realized that they were truly trapped.

Draco nodded, though he didn’t seem to be responding to Potter so much as still thinking. “You must be very upset about these then.”

A startled gasp escaped Potter when Draco pulled at the clamps trapping his nipples, and she almost thought she could see tears gathering in his eyes. “Oh yes, that’s actually rather...frightening.”

“I can certainly see how frightened you are.” Draco preened, stepping away from his captive. “What else is it you fear, perhaps...whips?”

Potter recoiled, making a pained gasp when the chain around his arms pulled reached the end of it’s length. “You think I’m afraid of a whip?”

“Of course not, what was I thinking. You’re much more afraid of something like this delightful crop I have.”

The leather skull made a pleasant snapping sound when Draco flicked his wrist, and Potter actually moved closer. The pathetic boy must have already been tired from just a few seconds on the tips of his toes. How pathetic!

“No, wait,” Potter gasped, “I don’t think I could handle that.”

Potter’s voice had gotten breathy, perhaps the strain of the chains finally getting to his lungs? He had even started nervously licking at his lip, finally showing some submission as he stared pleadingly up at Draco.

“Beg me not to use it.”

“Please, Malfoy, please don’t hit me with your delightful crop.” She thought for a second she saw him grinning, but when she blinked it was to the chosen one actually pouting. Bellatrix felt her laughter bubbling up her throat, how far the boy hero had fallen and so quickly at that!

Draco laughed, a pale mimicry of Bellatrix’s cackle but he was still learning. The crop snapped against Potter’s chest, not hitting the clamps but smacking all around his pectorals until the whole front of him was a bright red.

Both boys were panting for air when done, and Bellatrix made a mental note to have Draco work on his endurance. Getting tired so fast in a torture setting was a liability he couldn’t afford.

But she would save the feedback for later. After all, it was the boy’s birthday!

“Oh bollocks,” She hissed, “I forgot about the party.”

Draco slicked back his hair, which had gotten disheveled just so, and nodded primly. “I’ll keep up here then. Thank you, Aunt Bellatrix, for this excellent present.”

Bellatrix preened, spinning around and leaving the boys with a jolly wave and a promise to send a house elf when it was time for the party. Ah, how proud she was! Soon her little nephew would be the most feared of their lord’s army! And maybe he’d be able to get Potter to tell him how to work those odd muggle devices. They certainly seemed terrifying, if only she knew what they were. But she was still very much of the mind that while muggles had a few fun novelties, they were ultimately rather useless creatures.

Probably why she didn’t recognize the sound of a muggle zipper being lowered for what is was.

[slasherbaby]

Call Me [read on ao3 or under the cut! ♡]

Pairing: Danny Johnson x Trans Masc reader (he/him pronouns)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: smut, very mild breeding kink, knifeplay, cock/cunt used to describe the reader’s junk

Length: 4676 words

“Fuck,” Danny grunted into the phone, his voice low and forced. From sound alone, you can tell how he’s holding himself. It doesn’t take much imagination to envision the way his jaw strained, his eyebrows pulled down in the middle. “Wanna slide right into that cunt, fuck. Know you’d be so wet, such a fucking slut for me.”

Historically speaking, you’ve never been into dirty talk. It always sounded stiff, the guy talking to you usually too unsure of himself to sound even remotely sexy. But god, did it feel different with Danny. His deep voice, the rough edge around each syllable, and the naturally monotone way he spoke has always been enough to drive you crazy, ever since the first ‘hello.’

“Maybe I’d suck on that pretty fucking cock too, gotta make sure my baby’s nice and hard before I fuck him, right?”

It’s easy to picture how he’d look, looking up at you with his dark, dilated eyes. Holding your gaze as he worked your cock in his mouth. You bite down on your lower lip, stifling a groan at the sparks of pain that follow.

The laugh that comes through the receiver is rough and hoarse, sending a shiver of delight up your spine. “Don’t hide from me, angel. I already know how much of a whore you are,” Another laugh rasps through. “Everyone knows how you act at the bar after a few drinks, fucking brat. Drooling for attention, dancing around like you’re asking for it. Giving a show to everyone.”

“Yours,” You gasp, your voice just a touch away from sounding desperate. It’s the truth, afterall, but Danny already knows it. You both know that he’s the only one you’d let touch you, the only one you want to touch you. “Just yours.”

“And don’t fucking forget it.” Danny’s voice drops into a growl, making you whimper. “I’m the only one who gets you like this. You’re fucking mine, baby. Mine and mine alone.”

Another gasp falls from your lips, nodding your head even though you know he can’t see. Your cock is hard and aching, but you move your fingers away from where you’ve been circling it, going lower and lower until you reach your entrance.

“Danny…” You groan, squeezing your eyes shut as you wait for him to keep talking, to keep bringing you closer to the edge.

“You’ve got no idea how crazy it makes me to see how people look at you. Makes me wanna put a collar on you, fucking let everyone know who you belong to.” There’s a grunt from the other side of the phone, slick noises punctuating every breath Danny takes. “Or maybe the next time you wanna act like a whore, I’ll make you wear that little red dress in your closet. You know the one, don’t you?”

You groan out a noise of confirmation, chest swelling up when he hums in approval.

“I’ll bring you out to Walleyes with me after work, and I’ll fuck you in the bathroom. I know how dirty sluts like you want it, don’t worry. I’ll make sure to fill you up real good before sending you off to dance. Without your panties, of course. Gotta see if you can keep my come in without it dripping out. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I know I would. Letting everyone know how fucking good I breed my baby.”

Your hole clenches around nothing, desperately seeking out something to fill it as Danny spews filth into your ear. Pretending it’s Danny, you slowly push in a single digit. It’s not nearly enough to satisfy, but that’s nothing you aren’t used to.

Adding another finger gives you a bit of a stretch, but it pales in comparison to how Danny’s fingers would feel. His hand dwarfs yours, his fingers long and thick and perfect for curling up at just the right angle.

“S’not enough.” You groan as you thrust into yourself, but it’s hardly a groan of pleasure.

“What’s not enough?”

“My fingers, it’s-” Another groan comes from your lips, but this time it’s filled with frustration. You’ve been pent up all day, even though you just saw Danny the night before. And yet you still can’t satisfy yourself. Not by yourself, anyway.

You know you could come in a matter of minutes if you really wanted to. From your fingers pressed against your cock. It’s how you usually get off, rubbing one out quickly. Rarely do you try and fuck yourself, only dipping down to collect some of your wet and use it to make your cock nice and slick to finish yourself off.

But those orgasms are bland. Fun, of course, but not what you really want. You want the thigh shaking, eye rolling, screaming orgasm that you know can only come from being properly fucked.

Little tears of frustration well up in your eyes as you adjust your hips, trying and failing to find a better angle. “It’s just not enough.”

“Baby,” Danny coos mockingly, his deep voice vibrating through the phone. “You don’t have anything else to fill you up? No toys?”

Your first instinct is to snap back at him, but you refrain, biting down on your tongue instead. It’s embarrassing, how needy you feel. But your desire’s rolling off of you in waves of heat, and it’s a thirst you can’t quench on your own.

“Don’t make fun of me,” You mumble, pressing the side of your face into your pillow. “S’not my fault…”

“Are you pouting?” Danny’s voice is a shade away from being more condescending than you can bear, his tone unlawfully sweet. You can tell he’s talking through a grin. “Fucking yourself while pouting? Fuck, angel. You’re too much.”

“You’re so mean to me,” Your voice cracks halfway through the sentence, but it’s not from the way you're grinding your hips. The lump in your throat and the tears in your eyes don’t do anything but make you feel stupid, so fucking stupid that a part of you wants to hang up right then and there. As delicious as his voice is, you crave your boyfriend’s touch more than phone sex.

“Darling, are you crying?”

You sniffle, shaking your head. You’re too far gone, too lost in your head to realize he won’t be able to see you. After a moment, you hear Danny chuckle. It’s too much, your face is burning something fierce and you can’t handle anymore embarrassment. With a click, you hang up the phone, pulling your fingers out of yourself and cramming your face properly into the pillow.

A minute passes in silence, before you hear the sound of your phone trilling next to you. You pick it up before it can get to the second ring, fully ready to apologize for acting like such a baby. It was supposed to be a sexy thing, not something so dramatic.

“Danny?”

“You’re a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

You roll over, facing the ceiling with a pinched expression. “I-“

“I’ll be over in thirty.”

“Minutes?” You sit completely upright, clutching onto your phone like a vice.

“Be ready for me, Angel. ”

Your heart jolts in your chest when the line cuts out, and you immediately drop your phone back onto the receiver. You slap your hand over your face, covering up the grin that’s started to grow.

You didn’t expect Danny to be so… down? Especially so late at night, when he has work in the morning, nonetheless. Jumping off the bed, you rush to your dresser, grabbing the folded robe on top of it.

You slip your arms through the sleeves before turning to face the mirror, eyes darting across your body. It’s a simple little thing, something vintage and pretty that caught your eye when you were shopping for clothes a while back. It’s light blue, made from silky satin that hardly reaches your upper thighs and delicate white lace that kisses the hem of the fabric. You tie the robe shut at the small of your waist, looping the sash into a messy bow at the front.

There’s a knock at your door the second you finish looking yourself over, making you nearly jump out of your skin in surprise. You leave your bedroom in a rush, but as you pass by the living room to get to the front door, you pause. Licking your lips, you shoot a glance towards the grandfather clock. Hardly five minutes had passed since he called you.

There was no way Danny could’ve gotten to your place that fast. The excitement in your chest pops, deflating like a sad balloon as you approach the front door, leaning forward with your hands against the wood. When you look through the keyhole, you frown. There’s no one in sight.

“Probably just kids messing around…” You murmur, fiddling with sash at your waist.

But before you can turn away from the door, something leather slams over your mouth, and your cheek is being shoved up against the wood. You try to kick back at whoever grabbed you, but it’s no use. They have an iron grip, and all fighting back gets you is their front shoved against your back, holding you tight against the front door.

You can’t move your hands with the way they’ve been trapped between your body and the door, no matter how hard you struggle against it. They release your mouth, but you’re still too stunned to speak. It’s only then, when you feel the sharp end of a blade press against your thigh, that you realize how vulnerable you are.

“My boyfriend’s gonna be home any minute now.” You grit out as they put the tip of their knife against your sensitive inner thigh. They press hard, hard enough to break skin if you don’t open your legs wider, so you’re forced to move with it. “He’s big and tall and he’ll-“ You’re breath hitches as the person behind you trails the knife up, getting closer and closer to the space between your legs. “He’s a scary motherfucker and he’ll fucking kill you if you touch me!” Your voice breaks as you shout, and to your surprise, the person actually pulls the knife away.

The chuckle that comes next, low and familiar, surprises you as well.

“A ‘scary motherfucker’?” It’s Danny’s voice that greets you, his lips kissing the shell of your ear as he speaks. “Hmm. I guess I am.”

“Danny,” You breathe out, the fear leaving your body like a tidal wave. “What the fuck are you-“

One of his gloved hands cuts you off again before you can finish your sentence, pressing tight against your mouth. His other hand slides eagerly between your legs, slipping inside you without warning.

“You know I don’t like being hung up on.” His voice was far from what you were familiar with, low and grating in your ear. The laugh that follows it equally as foreign. “Ha… should’ve know that you’d get wet from that, fucking slut.”

Like you’re any better, you try to growl, but the leather trapping your mouth makes it impossible to speak, your words coming out in muffled irritation instead.

He laughs, kicking your legs further apart with one of his heavy boots. With a slick sound that makes you blush, he removes his fingers from your slit.

The zipper on his pants hardly makes a noise as he frees himself, but it’s enough to make you press back against him by instinct alone. He moves his hand away from your mouth, pressing his palm against your upper back instead, keeping you pinned to the wall.

You gasp out- something warm and hard pressing up against your entrance. He laughs as he slots his cock between your thighs, right up against your sex, dragging the head along your hardness.

“Danny,” You moan, arching your back and wiggling your hips, hoping to angle it just enough so that he slips inside of you. He’s never taken you like this before, even though you know he’s wanted to, and the rush of it nearly makes your head spin.

“Hmm?” He asks, voice terribly calm for the situation. “What is it? Do you wanna stop?” And just as easily as he started, he pulls back. Grunting a bit before the zipper on his pants is pulled back up. “C’mere.”

You want to cry all over again, so desperately close to getting what you need and yet so far all the same.

“I didn’t mean sto-“

You cut yourself off with a noise of surprise as he grabs you by the hair, pulling you around harshly and forcing you to face him. After he lets go, he takes a few steps back, leather boots thudding heavy against the wooden floor.

You open your mouth, but whatever words you want to say die on your tongue as he reaches out, touching your cheek. The back of his knuckles brush delicately against your cheekbone.

Your stomach does somersaults as he looks you over, taking your body in full. His hand moves down, tracing the outline of your waist through the robe. You can hardly feel his touch, but it makes you shiver all the same.

“I must be the luckiest guy,” Danny murmurs as he takes hold of the end of the bow tying your robe together, slowly pulling it until it comes undone. He lets your robe fall open, the night air cool on your front, and slips his hand inside the fabric to stroke your hip. “To have such a pretty baby.”

Your eyes flutter shut at the praise, but Danny doesn’t let it slide. He takes you by the chin, the pad of his gloved thumb stroking the skin under your lower lip.

“You know that, right?” He nods your head for you, gently tilting your head up and down. You open your eyes, brows slightly furrowed, only to meet his smile. “There we go, pretty thing. Always so ready for me… Always so good…”

You push up on your tiptoes, pressing yourself further into Danny’s touch. You don’t say a word as you slip your hands under his leather jacket, running along the fabric of his shirt before going under it as well. Your lips quirk up when you feel his abdomen tighten, straining with the muscle you already know is there. You trail one of your hands down, letting a stray finger hook into his belt loop.

“Rode all this way,” You murmur, ignoring the way your gut squirms with confusion. There’s no way Danny could’ve gotten to your place so fast, not even if he was speeding the whole way. “And you won’t even kiss me…”

Danny snorts, his hand turning tight on your hip, gripping you hard. “That’s all you want?” He leans down to press his lips against yours, so soft it makes your heart ache.

It’s the contrast with him. The push and pull. So hot and eager one minute, yet so cold and distant the next. But his lips are sweet and kind against yours, and you can’t bring yourself to pick at the scabs of question that litter your relationship with him.

When he pulls back, his voice is rough against your mouth, lips moving like butterfly kisses against yours. “Just one kiss?”

You unzip his jeans in response, nipping at his lower lip when he chuckles.

“Mmhm. That’s what I thought.”

In a quick motion, Danny wraps one arm under your thigh and the other tight around your waist, hoisting you up like you weigh nothing. You nearly yelp at him, your hands slipping out from under his shirt. Before you have the chance to respond, he has your back pressed up against the door once again.

He kisses you with ferocity you’ve never felt from another. Licking into your open mouth, he waits for you to moan before biting down on your lower lip. You grab a fistful of his hair, yanking down when he sinks his teeth down into it again.

Danny works his way down from your lips, sucking dark bruises on your neck and jawline. You gasp and let go of his hair, grabbing onto the back of his neck instead.

“Danny,” You try to speak but the second you start, he’s biting down hard. Right under your jawline, where he knows you’re most sensitive, making you melt into a gasping mess.

He pulls back by a fraction, leaving his lips to rest against the mark he’s made. You can feel the smile on his lips when he speaks, low and so gravely that you swear you can feel it thrumming through your throat. “What was that?”

You laugh, something that starts out soft but turns breathless once he replaces his lips with his tongue. “Choke me,” You rush, as if you’re worried you might forget if he keeps going. The tongue on your neck disappears, and doubt flashes in your mind. “If you want.” You clarify, just as fast. “You can if you want, I mean. I… I don’t mind.”

“Is that right, baby? You don’t mind?”

You nod your head as he adjusts his hips, keeping you stable against the wall so he can pull away from your neck. The look on his face is diabolical, and if you weren’t being held up you’re sure it would be enough to send you to your knees.

“Wanna know what I think?”

You lick over your kiss-bitten lips and nod.

“I think my baby’s a fucking freak.” His hand goes around your throat, applying the slightest bit of pressure. You press into the touch, exhaling through your nose. Your cheeks are on fire, butterflies batting their wings in your stomach.

“I just... I-” Your stammer is cut off by the hand on your throat tightening, stopping the words before they can fall from your tongue.

Your eyes widen as Danny leans in, propping up his thigh to keep you up against the wall. His hand slides down then, squeezing the inner of your upper thigh. You know where he’s going, and let out a shaky exhale, wrapping your legs tighter around him in anticipation. When he touches you, you bite your lower lip.

“You’re still dripping,” Danny sing-songs, dragging two fingers through your folds. He avoids your cock, but just him touching you is enough for you to groan. “I’d say you’re even more wet now.”

Your eyes bulge as he flexes his arm muscles, the veins on his forearm straining from the pressure. The ease at which he can cut off your breath should scare you, but all you can process is the heavy, humid heat that’s filling up your mind. You don’t struggle for breath, you don’t need to yet, but you do open your mouth when he squeezes even tighter.

“It’s so hot,” He groans, pressing forward until his arm is trapped between both of your chests, and his mouth is panting against your ear. “Feeling how bad you need me,”

If his fist wasn’t wrapped around your throat, you would’ve whined. You can feel his heavy puffs of air on the side of your face, and how his chest moves with every ragged breath. You tilt your hips up, trying to get him to move his fingers down. You’ve been waiting so long, and all you want is to feel him inside you. But he just chuckles, presses closer, stilling your hips.

“Desperate,” Danny rasps. “Fucking slut, can’t come unless I’m inside you?”

Your cheeks burn, mouth opening and closing like a fish. You’re nearly spaced out, your head beginning to spin from the lack of oxygen.

“So fucking wet for it, so wet for me,” He inhales shakily, like he’s trying to pull himself together, before letting you breathe again.

You suck in a deep breath, head spinning from the sudden rush of oxygen. He keeps his hand on your throat, not tight enough to choke, but just enough to serve as a reminder of what he could do. Danny presses further up against you, crushing you into the door as he slips a digit inside your heat.

“Oh,” You groan as he adds another, curling them upwards as his thumb starts to massage your cock. “Danny,”

He doesn’t respond, too far gone to speak as he watches you. His eyes are dark and open wide, with an unfamiliar, wild glint in them. The way he works you feels the same, rough and fast, almost in time with his heavy pants.

“You’re driving me crazy,” He grunts, squeezing your neck. “Having you like this-” he cuts himself off with a deep inhale before pulling out completely.

Before you have the time to complain, he’s grabbing you by the hips again, walking a few feet over to the kitchen table, and slamming you down onto it. Your back thuds when it hits the old wood, your eyes wide with shock. He shoves your legs apart, grabbing you by the thighs so he can drag you closer to him.

The skillful way he unbuckles and unzips his pants could almost seem calm if it wasn’t betrayed by the near frantic look in his eyes. He only gets his jeans undone enough to pull his cock out before grabbing you again, pulling until your ass is almost hanging over the table, and thrusting into you.

You can’t be embarrassed by the noise he drags from your throat, something high and strangled and fuck, you know that if it wasn’t for him stretching you out before, he’s big enough that it would’ve hurt. He doesn’t speak as he thrusts, fucking you as you’ve never been fucked before. He’s like a man on the brink, his hands gripping you hard enough to leave bruises.

There’s a moan stuck in your throat, some words too. An assortment of garbled sentences, but each thrust punches them right out until you’re being pounded into a whining, half-crying mess. He’s hitting all the right places, angling his hips just right, and slamming into you until you see stars.

It’s only after you get close, your thighs shaking and straining with the effort, that Danny grabs your throat, squeezing hard as he slows down his thrusts. “If I had my way, I’d keep you like this all the time.”

You swallow back another moan, your eyes still wide when they meet his.

“So wet and open, like you were fucking made for me.” Each word is punctuated by a thrust, hard and slow. His hand turns to a fist, cutting off your airflow. “Gonna give you what you need, gonna take good care of my baby,” Danny moves his hand from your thigh to your waist, ghosting over your stomach. “And if you’re good, I might even fuck one into you.”

Your back arches as you come, his words are all you need to go right over the edge. Black ebbs away at your vision as Danny fucks you through it, hard and fast, choking you as you writhe on his cock. He’s set the pace now, and keeps it steady even as you come back down into your body. It’s nearly too much, but you can’t find the strength to articulate your words.

His hand leaves your throat, but only to trail down your chest, moving to your navel. His fingers find your cock easily, and you yelp in some sort of mix between pain and pleasure. It’s too much, and you arch your back off the table, shimming your hips, doing anything to escape his touch. It’s fire, his touch. Blinding, painful, but so damn hot you can’t help but crave more.

It lasts for years, the constant mix between pain and pleasure. The digit on your cock only lets up once Danny’s breathing turns to pants, sweat beading on his forehead. His hips stutter, slowing down for a moment before gripping your hips with a sudden, newfound intensity. Your skin pales where he’s applied pressure, slamming you down hard onto his cock.

“Angel,” Danny groans, fucking into you once, twice, three times. He comes with a growl, his eyes never shutting as he rides out his pleasure.

There’s a whine in your throat, spilling from your lips just as he fills you up. You’ve never done this without a condom before, but now that you have, you don’t know how you could ever go back to wrapping it up. He leans back, still inside you, catching his breath. Sucking in greedy lungfuls as you watch, your chest heaving with the same intensity.

When he moves to pull out, you grab both of his wrists, not giving him the option of letting go of your hips.

“Wait,” You murmur, pulling him in closer. There’s no real strength behind it, but Danny humors you all the same. You bring one of his hands up to your cheek and nuzzle into it, peppering a few light kisses on his knuckles.

He leans forward, and you kiss him softly, both of you smiling into it. You free his hands, having gotten what you wanted, and he moves them to trail down your chest, caressing your sides. He leaves one to rest on your belly, the other one moving to the side of your neck.

“You really liked that, huh?” Danny asks quietly, his voice a low whisper against your skin.

“Shut up.”

He huffs, kissing the side of your head in what you can tell is exasperation.

A part of you wishes you could stay like this forever. It makes you feel safe, having Danny surrounding you so fully. It makes you feel loved. But the smarter part of you knows that he has to be up at six tomorrow morning, and you don’t know if he’ll stay once you fall asleep. If you’re already in the bedroom, clinging to him under the covers, he’ll stay the night. But if you doze off on the kitchen table, you know he’ll only tuck you into bed before leaving.

“Bed?” You ask, looking up at Danny with half lidded eyes. You can feel the fondness in his gaze as he stares down at you, waiting a few seconds before nodding.

“Yeah baby. C’mere.”

His hands are gentle as they slide over your body, and you have to stop him before he can try and carry you himself.

“I can walk, you know. I’m not gonna break.” You try to chastise, but a smile breaks through your facade. He grins back, lips spreading to reveal teeth, sharp and as deadly as ever. But his lips are soft, plush against your skin and gentle in a way that is too hard for your muddled mind to try and describe. “You know that first hand.”

Danny slips his arms around you once more, chuckling softly against your skin. “I sure do.” He leans up, taking you into his arms as he straightens out his body. “It’ll take a lot more to break you, darling. I know that first hand.”

He carries you to bed with your face tucked into the crook of his neck and your arms slung loosely around his shoulders, and he only needs one arm to pull back the sheets, keeping the other around your waist, before laying you down and tucking you in.

“Stay?” The space between your thighs is sore, and your voice is hoarse from his hand wrapped around your neck. But you amplify it just a bit, making your voice a bit more gravely than it ought to. You have to stay. you’re trying to convey. Look what you’ve done to me, you can’t just leave me like this.

He shucks off his jeans and jacket before slipping in beside you. Warming your bed like he has all the times before, with his arms around you and his face buried in your hair.

You shut your eyes to the sound of him murmuring, and even though you can’t quite hear what he’s saying, you repeat the words back on instinct.

“Love you too, Danny. Love you forever.”

[the-broken-truth]

The dimitrescus, Donna and Mother Miranda x 👨 reader. Reaction when reader is working out shirtless? (Love your works by the way, can't stop reading all of it!💕)

Broken Truth (Looks at Ask): This is interesting...LET'S GO!!!

- Alcina Dimitrescu -

Alcina was walking around the castle, looking for her lover.

When she woke up - he was not in bed.

When she went to the kitchen - he was not there either.

She searched the garden (He loved tending to the flowers), the library (He would read there with Bela), the armory (Daniela loved showing her father figure all the weapons she had), and the study (He would pat with Cassandra) - he was not in any of those places and none of the girls had seen him.

Then she remembered that her lover had been having a hard time lately when Mother Miranda commented that he didn't look like much and wasn't worthy of being by Alcina's Side.

He spent most of his money on him - none of Alcina's - to purchase metal contraptions to 'become worthy of his wife'.

He had been in that room for hours on end for about 5 months now.

'He might be in there.' Alcina wondered as continued down the hall to her Husband's Workout Room.

The closer she got to the room - the door was open and the light was on the room - the sound of grunting and metal clanking together got louder and louder.

She ducked her head a bit and walked into the room - holding her hat to make sure it didn't fall off - and rose to her full height. She opened her mouth the speak but once her sight was no longer obscured by the brim of her hat, her jaw dropped, her face began to warm up, and her body tingled.

Before her - her husband stood: his back was to her and he was wearing nothing except his boxers - his very tight boxes; she would see his defined butt and it was amazing.

In his hands were large weights that he lifted and flexed his muscles - Alcina could see every muscle flex.

His skin was shining with sweat and the smell of his musk was driving Alcina crazy - she wanted to jump his bones. So very bad.

What she didn't know was that her beloved had developed a sense to detect her and knew she was watching him...so he decided to tease his Lady and Mistress.

He dropped the weights in his hands and raised one of them opened palmed to the sky before summer suiting forward and landing on that hand to where his feet were pointing to the ceiling before beginning his set of one-handed push-ups. This time - facing her.

Alcina's eyes widened at her lover's chiseled body - the drops of sweat flowing through the cracks of his abs and biceps...then she made the mistake of looking up and saw the large bulge in his tight underwear.

That's it - she had enough.

"Beloved." She called out, making the man look at her with a smirk - her face was bright red and she was biting her bottom lip.

"Alcina, My Love. When did you arrive?" He asked faking confusion.

"That doesn't matter. I need you to accompany me to our bed chambers. Now."

"Our Bed Chambers?" The man asked as he flipped him to stand upright. "It is breakfast time, is it not?" He raised an eyebrow as he walked closer to the tall woman - his scent flooding her nose.

"Well..." Her eyes glowed dangerously, "I'm having Blood Sausage for breakfast."

She grabbed his wrist and marched to their room with him in tow, locking the door, and refused to leave that room until she was pregnant with the Latest Dimitrescu Spawn.

- Bela Dimitrescu -

Bela was bored and in need of some cuddles so she went looking for her lover - the only man-thing her mother and sisters approved of.

She looked at the grandfather clock and saw it as around 9:45 - her lover would be in his workout room to burn off any extra energy before showering and going to bed.

She floated down the hall to her husband's workout room and walked into the room without knocking - it was her man and she could do whatever she wanted regarding him.

What she wasn't prepared for was the sight on the other side of that door.

Her Husband was boxing with the sandbag.

In nothing but his boxers.

She could see everything - from the singular drops of sweat that ran down his sculpted body to every single flex of muscle with every move he made.

If the sight didn't have her done it - it was his smell.

The room was filled with the smell of musk that he was giving off and it was intoxicating - it radiated power and it was making her hungry.

"Darling?" His deep voice returned her from her fantasies of all the ways she wanted him to rock her world but the fact she could see his imprint from his shorts sent her mind back into the gutter. "Bela, is there something wrong?"

"Do you always...working out like this at night?" She questioned as she walked slowly to her man.

"Yes, it's hard to move in clothes; I keep my boxers on just make sure I don't scar any maids."

"Scar Them?" Bela tilted her head with a dangerous gleam in her eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well...the one time I worked out naked, a maid came in without knocking and she looked like she saw a ghost."

Bela was pissed.

"A maid saw you naked?!" She hissed. "Where is that harlot?!"

"Your Mother turned her into wine 3 nights ago."

'Good, I won't have to kill her myself. As for you..."

"NGH!" He clenched his teeth as Bela's hand wrapped around his throbbing manhood.

"You're going to learn to lock your door when in this room...and punishment for failing to inform me about that whore."

The Next Morning - Bela & [Y/N] weren't at breakfast.

- Cassandra Dimitrescu -

Cassandra would already be with her beloved because they were each others' sparring partners.

Cassandra would be doing push-ups while her beloved would be jumping rope.

She would look at him and smirk - she loved the way his body moved during intense workouts and the smell he gave off was perfect; it made her hungrier and hungrier with each passing moment.

When it would be time for the spar - her lover would use one arm to test himself more than he needs to for he wanted to be worthy of dating a Dimitrescu Daughter.

While sparring - Cassandra would try to pin him and have her ay with him - whether that would be drinking his blood or having him devour her like a full course meal.

This time - it was different.

She threw a punch at him but it was grabbed by his free arm and used against her to wrap around her neck, once he was behind her, he used his knees to the back of hers to make her fall to them and then lay on the mat.

Once his other hand was free, it snaked around her body and into her shirt, where it grabbed and twisted one of her nipples - making the girl squirm under him.

"D...Darling? What are you...?" She began but was cut off when his teeth locked into her neck.

"Every time we train, you make me submit to you. This time - you're mine, Cassandra Dimitrescu."

And his was exactly what he made her.

Daniela walked down the hall looking for her sister when she heard moaning coming from behind the door leading to the training room - she leaned in to listen and went to find her mother.

"Mother?"

"Yes, Dear?" Alcina asked as she looked up from the book she was reading.

"Why didn't you tell us Daddy was coming to visit & he brought presents?"

"Darling, you don't have a father."

"Then why did I hear Cassandra saying "More, Daddy! More!" in the training room?"

Alcina went wide-eyed as the glass in her hand shattered and the one thing she thought was...

'I'm too young for grandkids...'

- Daniela Dimitrescu -

CHOMP!!

"OW!!!"

She smelled something delicious and followed that smell to her lover's training room and found him completely naked with the exception of his undergarments, shadow boxing himself.

He looked like a full snack with the sweat making his body glaze and his muscles looking like beefcakes - he was just begging to be bitten and that's exactly what she did.

"Daniela? What was that for?" He asked her as he looked over his shoulder at his wife - who was clinging to his back like a koala with her fangs in his shoulder blade.

"I couldn't help it, love. Your scent was driving me crazy and I was in the mood for a snack." Daniela tried to say but her fangs were still in his skin.

"Dani, I was training, and as much as I would move to be your mid-morning meal; I need to get back at it if I want to keep the form you love so much."

"I love you for who you are - the body is just a plus. I don't want you to train, I want you to take me to bed and cuddle me."

"But..."

"Do you love me?" Dani asked.

"Yes, without a doubt." He answered.

"Would you do anything for me?" She asked again.

"Without question." He said.

"Then I want you to stop training and take me to our bedroom so that we can cuddle and make little vamp-babies."

"...Okay."

- Donna Beneviento -

Donna would be walking around Beneviento Manor - looking for the man who stole her heart. Who accepted her and her dolls and loved them all equally.

He wasn't in his normal spots but she did remember that he recently got interested in getting in better shape and asked her if there was anywhere in Beneviento Manor she would be alright with him making it into a workout room - she gave him one of the rooms on one of the floors under the house floor.

Donna walked down the hall without Angie as she followed the sounds of something grunting in effort echoing down the hall's walls.

She reached the opened room but didn't want to just walk in and disturb her love so she peeked around the corner and her eye widened while she let a gaspy moan escape her lips,

Her lover was laying on the weight bench with a long metal bar in his large hands - giant iron circles on each end.

She looked closer at the circles - 500 Pounds. That made her shiver - she knew he was strong but to be able to bench that much was...alluring.

She looked at his shining skin.

Listening to her man's grunts with each lift of the bar.

The define lines in his muscles with each movement he made.

It made her hot. She rubbed her legs together before she hid behind the wall completely and pressed her forehead against the cold wall.

She needed to get a hold of herself - she was like she had no control of herself but when she was around him, it was like she forgot all she was and wanted nothing more than her man.

She was so focused on keeping herself from relieving herself right then and there that she didn't notice she was no longer alone until a familiar weight pressed against her back and she was completely pressed against the wall.

"It looks like you have a very serious itch, My Love." his voice growled as his hand moved closer and closer to her throbbing organ.

"I...I can explain..." She blushed in her weak, gasping voice; she was embarrassed but having her lover so close with his body radiating power made her weak.

"Let me...help you with that, My Lady." He growled before one hand reached the buttons on the top of her dress and the other was cupping her womanhood while she bit her lip in hopes of being silent.

A few moments later - he had her on that same bench that was still drenched in his sweat and scent, her hands gripping the metal poles that held the long rod over her head' sweat dripping from her body as she was stretched apart.

She was pleading for him to continue to Beneviento Bloodline with her.

Begging him to make her family's bloodline stronger than it ever was before.

Crying for him to make her a mother.

Who was he to deny his lady what she wished?

- Mother Miranda -

Miranda stood n her lab, looking at the results from the latest experiment and possible host for Eva but once again - it wasn't good enough and it makes her angry.

Once again - so close but so far away.

"Miranda? Love?" A familiar male voice called out to her.

She looked up at was met with the shirtless, bare-chested, sweaty body that was the man she entrusted her heart to.

He stood there in the doorway with a towel around his neck while one hand used an edge of the towel to wipe the sweat from his face.

The Village Leader blushed but then looked away from him to keep from looking upon her face.

"[Y/N]. Darling. I thought we talked about you walking around the lair like that. It's rather...distracting." She said.

"I do hope you'll forgive me but I sensed that something was bothering you and I wanted to make sure you were alright." The man said as he walked over to her, wrapping his arms around her stomach and pulling her back into his bare chest.

"Your...concern for me is welcomed, Darling, but I must return to work. Please, do prepare yourself for dinner; I shall be down in a moment." Miranda said as she reached for a book, only to her lover's hand to stop her.

"Miranda." He turned her to face him - worry and compassion in his eyes. "You've been working on this for over a week straight; you haven't taken any time for yourself...or for me." He was sad - afraid his lover had forgotten about him.

"My Love, I'm sorry I have made you feel this way but...I'm so close, Darling. I can return her to us and...MPH!" She was cut off by a deep kiss. She melted into it before he pulled away from her.

"Enough of this for one night, My Love. Let me take care of you...and make you see you don't need to Cadou for a child. Just...me" He kissed her again and she wrapped her arms around him; submitting to his command and desire.

It would be a year later that Miranda would invite the Lords to meet Eva and Ethan Winters arrived in the village - only for his wife and child to be given back to him and escorted out of the village; never to be seen again.

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

The Perfect Life

Part Five 

Summary- 5.1k Dark!Steve x You x Dark!Bucky. You took your chances out in the sunflowers and Bucky still managed to find you. Now your caught in the super soldiers grasp and the barn is his destination to break you. Your sweet pleads can not dissuade him. 

Warnings- Non Con Theme, Orgasm Denial and Knife Use, Mentions of blood. This is an 18+ Blog.

Part 4 

“Bucky, I will behave. Whatever you want.” You cried into his shoulder as you felt the barn's darkness swallow you whole. The last memories of this place where they broke you made you quake and shiver. Steve wrapping you in the ropes, Bucky running the blade over you while they both took their time breaking you in. 

No it can't happen again. 

“I- I can do what I did for Steve.” You offered as he swung you down onto a pile of straw on the barns floor. You twisted to pull yourself away, but he was quick to drag you back and shoved you onto your back, his weight holding you down, ignoring the pleading. 

“I know what you did for Steve.” Bucky said, his eyes cold as he snatched your wrists to yank above your head and lash a coil of rope around one, pulling it tight around them so you couldn't wriggle out of the bindings, but loose enough he could roll you from your back to your stomach. “And one day, I will see you on your knees swallowing my cock.” He sat back and gripped your chin, making you blink teary eyed up at him. “But when that happens it's because you want to. Not because you have to.” 

“Bucky I will never want to.” 

He studied you, again his touch gentle on your face as his face was a thunderous anger brimming in his greyish blue, resembling a summer storm just about to release. “You will be eating those words one day.” He shifted off your body and unbuttoned your jeans to yank them off, your flailing legs trying to kick at him but he was quicker to dodge flying feet and tossed your jeans away. Monsters didn’t care.

“Fuck you Bucky, you know this shit is wrong. What you two are doing to me.” Anger welling through you, knowing that your pleading wasn't going to make him stop. Nothing was going to make them stop. 

Bucky stretched one leg to the corner of the mattress and tilted your hip enough when you caught him in the chest, right where you had stabbed him with the tip of the knife. It made him hiss at the sting, bright white teeth snapping together as his mouth turned to a sneer while he bound one ankle hurriedly. His palm smacked harshly against your ass, digging his fingers in the flesh. “Same argument every time Doll. We’re mistreating you...” he let you flip back into place and wrapped the rope around your ankle. Making you spread eagle now on the mattress as he rose above you, admiring you all spread out for him. “... This is what you think of us, or me? Fine. Then that is how I will treat you.” He reached down to give a yank on your ropes to make sure you weren't going anywhere before he strode away, leaving you all alone. 

“Bucky... ? “ You called after him with a shaky voice, but he left you all alone in the dark barn. The soft coo of disturbed birds trilled above you in the hay loft and slivers of moonlight sliced through busted beams above, putting the whole place in shadows. 

And the shadows played with your mind, waiting for one of them to come out and claim you as before, this was a living nightmare, so if Steve showed back up suddenly, it really wouldn't surprise you. 

Just as helpless as before, your mind created devastating scenarios. Brutally being destroyed made you squirm more, the ropes rubbing wickedly in your wrists but never loosening. Of course you should have known better, Bucky would be an efficient knot maker. 

Your mouth felt dry, your body hyper aware of the slightest breeze going through the barn, the straw underneath you, the prickle of the old ropes in your wrists and ankles as well as the angle Bucky left you in. You did your best to calm yourself, whatever was coming you could handle. You hoped. 

He didn't leave you alone for too long, soon the door creaked and a twist of your head showed him striding back in. Having changed into a pair of loose grey sweats, bare chested and in his hand a silver flash of the kitchen knife you had brought with you. He must have gone back to retrieve it. 

“What are you going to do with that?” You asked, looking at him warily and trying to shift away from him as much as the ropes allowed. 

Bucky spared you a glance wriggling in distress on the hay pile , twisting your hands to tug at the ropes, panting slightly as your eyes glazed in fear and mistrust. “Whatever I want Y/N, because I’m a monster who just takes what I want without caring about others.” 

You rolled your body as he sank to his knees next to you, trying to avoid him, but he crowded into your space and felt the suffocation of his much larger body smothering yours into the scratchy straw. It prickled down your back and along the back of your thighs, making your skin crawl in the process. It would have been maddening if you weren't so focused on the man above you or the cold silver knife that you stupidly thought would keep you safe before. 

Now he was going to use it on you. 

Bucky twisted the flat of the blade to trail along your quivering stomach, your chest rising rapidly in your panic thinking that you were going to feel the knife press sharply to split you open. The blade was cool on your heated skin, ice cold to you that the steel of it felt like it was burning you. “Bucky don’t.” 

“Don’t what Doll? According to you, this is what I am.” He moved to straddle you, his heavier weight making you sink into the hay, trapping your thighs flat beneath him. His palm fell forward while he leaned forward, his eyes roving up your naked body, a storm cloud grey swirling pattern in his eyes while his pupils widened like a dark moon. “Monster, say it again.” The tip of the blade dragged between your cleavage to scrape your collarbone and up your neck, the tip pressing against your fluttering pulse below your neck. 

Your voice stuttered in your throat, cursing yourself for your attempt. Tears strained at the corner of your eyes as you arched your head back to strain away from the knife tip, but Bucky followed, always close enough for you to feel the pressure. 

But never close enough to actually split your skin apart, to feel the warm gush of your blood racing away. The threat was there though, a flick of his wrist could split you open. 

“Say it Doll, remind me of what I am.” He demanded again and that is when the words stuttered from you in defeat. 

“A monster Bucky, a monster. You and Steve both.” you sobbed out and he smirked cooly while dropping his head to drag his tongue over a taunt nipple, the blade threatening to press into your jugular so you couldn't move, couldn't even jolt in surprise. 

“A monster that is going to consume you.” He nipped at your nipple, making it sting enough so you let yourself choke on a sob. Sliding further down, his knife started to drag back down your chest, the tip welting your skin enough to scratch a faint line down your body. The only relief of that was the knife wasn’t pressed to your jugular, able to twist your head in just the tiniest big of freedom once more 

“Please don't Bucky…” 

“You don't get to ask for any favors Y/N.” He snapped with a slight bite to the flesh of your belly below your belly button. “You're mine to do what I want with.” His other hand, the whirl of mechanics gears cut through your harsh breathing whimpers and his grunts as he pressed his nose into the curls on your mound, inhaling your intimate scent deep into his lungs. The cool hand pressed your thighs open wider than they already were, dragging fingers through folds that were dry for now. 

You were too scared to be aroused at the way Bucky treated your body, his promising threats making you distracted. But he wasn't having that, the feel of his digits hurt as he chased that bud. 

“Can’t even get wet for me Doll? Make it easier on yourself?” He taunted as he arched his brow at you. You shook your head a moment to answer and shuddered when he spread your pussy folds apart, admiring the pink flesh for a moment before he spat on you, spreading through your warm core to lube you. 

“Shouldn't matter to me, your comfort.” He informed you while he went back to pressing his mouth close to your core, tendrils of his hair falling forward to pool against the top of your mound, tangling in the curls there. “I should just fuck you raw, right?” Pink tip of his tongue circled your clit, and this time the tiny little bud was starting to throb tenderly, your body did arch on its own accord and he let the knife follow your body's movements, not letting it cut at you.

“Bucky…” You gritted your teeth, hating that you even let it escape. He hummed against your clit, sending a jolt through your system while he suckled and kissed your clit, the sharp tip of the knife sinking slightly into your skin near your hip, dragging down to make a red welt, tiny beads of blood welling up. 

You didn't even notice the slight sting as he flattened his tongue, lapping at your clit in quick flicks. His eyes lifted knowing, watching the heave of your breasts as you tried breathing in deep enough to keep your calm. “Taste so good, I might just stay here all day Doll. Eat you out as long as I want.” Another drag of his tongue through your folds was followed by two quick nicks of the knife tip to your hip, slightly deeper than before, the pleasure of his tongue lapping through your cunt was matched with the stinging sharpness on your hip, both distracting as to what was going on.  

“Wh-what are you doing to me Bucky?” You asked with a watery quiver and he buried his face into your cunt, tossing the knife far enough away that you couldn't reach it and grabbing your hips to stop your squirming, which made you go mindless. 

The sound was downright filthy, his grunts and groans followed with messy sucks and kisses fucking you on his tongue till you were so close, his nose bumping against your clit to keep you rubbing your cunt into his face, wanting more, needing more. 

You were SO CLOSE. 

Clenching on his tongue and your mindless pleases uttered above him, he quickly yanked away just before you crested. Lifting your head with arousal blown pupils, you rocked your hip, trying to get him to put his mouth on you again. But he sat back, the lower half of his face glistening with you. 

His gaze still cold seeing you withering in the hay. “Bucky, please.” 

“You tried to leave Y/N, you don’t deserve to cum. You have to earn that.” He leaned over and was sure to kiss you, full of tongue and teeth so he could spread your taste through your mouth while you were left not reaching any satisfaction, still trying to find your release and wanting to cry for not getting it. 

“Are you leaving me here Bucky?” you whined out when he pulled away, spreading your folds to tease you just a little, the slightest touch making your lids flutter but he yet again never let it get further than that. “That's what heartless fuckers do Y/N, you can stay in the barn.” He pushed to a stand. “My mark though… looks good on you.” Your gaze dropped to your hip, that was really stinging now. You saw streaks of blood welting around a B. 

“You cut me?” You cried out, struggling in your bindings. Bucky gave a nod while going to collect the knife. 

“I marked you Doll. A reminder of who owns you.” He softly said over his shoulder as he headed for the door and left you to lay there, body aching in more ways than one. 

You were back to being helpless and you screamed in absolute frantic frustration, cursing them with everything you could think of and sobbing uncontrollably until you felt like your body was drained of every last drop you had left to offer. 

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Bucky went back into the house. The cold house, it felt empty without your presence in there. His hand shook slightly holding the knife you took from the butcher's block and he tossed it loudly into the sink, little droplets of your blood whisking along the steel harshness and down the drain. 

“A few days out there will remind her.” He muttered to himself, trying to justify his actions. Still he could taste your sweetness on his lips with a dart of his tongue collecting, and a raging hard on in his sweats. It was hard not to fuck you in the hay, to keep you clenching there in heated agony with denial. 

This wasn't what he nor Steve wanted, hell he wanted more of what you two had the day before, lazy days of reading and then cooking for one another. Tiredly he climbed the stairs, heading for a cool shower and jerked off in the shower. Steve had told him that it might take a while till they could convince you that you were right where you belonged. 

Bucky hated this, hated having to break you. But he was good at it. He could be patient. It would be worth it in the end. 

Cold water streamed over his steaming body as he fisted his erection, palm slapping against the shower wall as he pictured you so willingly on your knees, smiling up at him with want. 

One day. 

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How much can a person take till they break? It was a question you were going to find out, as Bucky was set on edging you over and over for days, every time you thought you were able to control that one thing, he proved you wrong. Your body responded to him, each and every time he descended on you, betraying you in the most mindless way. Your muscles screamed in the restraints, wanting to fold on yourself till you were small as possible to combat the fluttering flame that made your lower belly clench now at just the sight of him. 

Your tears, your pleas, did nothing to stop him. Every time he would end it with a clashing kiss and whispered reminder that you were there to do as they wanted, you had no choice. The sooner you submit to that, the better your life would be.  

“You said it yourself Doll, we do what we want, we are monsters.” and he would fit a vibrator against your cunt, taking out a small remote. Even when he wasn't there, he could be in control of you. 

“No, no Bucky, I was wrong.” You tried apologizing to him, dreading the added torture of the vibrator. Bucky just seemed to know you had relaxed and the vibrations would start like a gentle lull in your core, to edge it up slowly, hours of it till your body gave out. 

He knew you were lying to him, trying to find mercy. 

After you felt like you really couldn't take it anymore, you tried to bargain with him. Eyes pleading as you looked up at him. “I promise I can be good, your good girl. You will be so proud of me, please Bucky.” Your voice was so timid, so sweet, so soft. You were giving in to him. 

It almost broke the man, his hands lingering at the ties holding you in place, but his forehead dipped to yours and pressed his lips to yours. He felt you surge, so accepting of it that it gave him hope. 

“Soon Doll… you are almost there.” his fingers curled in you, stroking your fluttering walls till he once more pulled away. 

You were close, so close, so close you thought as your tired wrung out body tensed once more, wanting to crash and held on the edge, denied of pleasure and drained of the will to fight.

Now and then you would fall into fitful sleep, when your body gave out and you sunk into nothing. But it never lasted all that long, always being on edge. You were jerked awake once more by the creak of the door and you expected to see Bucky come back for the sweet torture of your body. 

But it wasn't your dark Bucky coming, no it was golden hair and blue eyed storm, massive as his boots thudded against the old dusty boards of the floor stalking towards you. 

Steve must have just come home because his suit was looking worn for days, his beard a bit more rugged, grown out. He squatted next to you, tracing a finger down your quivering belly where you rolled slightly under his touch, panting slightly as the vibrations started humming through you, Bucky had turned the vibrator back on.

“Oh Sweetheart, do you know how disappointed I am to hear you misbehaved?” Steve tutted as he circled your belly button, pressing a hand against your mound to make the vibrations more intense. 

“I was bad, but I learned, I swear Steve. Let me show Bucky I can be good.” You squirm with a whine. “Just make it stop.” 

He tilted his head, his eyes roving up and down your sweat streaked body, quivering in your restraints. His gaze stopped at the B that had now scarred into your hip, his hand sliding to cover it, his thumb tracing the loops that made up the letter. His jaw clenched slightly, fingers digging into your hip possessively before he pushed to a stand

A sob broke when you thought he was going to leave you laying there but he leaned over you with taunting sush, his fingers worked on the ties. “Hush now Sweetheart, I just came back, you really think I’m leaving you here all alone.” he directed and the ties fell loose, your arms dropping that made you scream at the sudden release. Your muscles having been long stretched in your restraints were burning in relief at being loose, you curled into a fetal position to get rid of the vibrating toy, gasping in relief when you were finally free from it all. Soon your ankles were released and Steve reached down to scoop you into his arms. 

“Promise to behave right Sweetheart?” 

“Yes, please Steve just take me out of here.” You pulled in closer to him, your arms circling his neck and closing your eyes to hide your face against his shoulder. While carrying you out, Steve gave a pleased smile. 

Maybe they finally have you where they want you. Compliant, the perfect housewife. 

Steve brought you into the quiet house and right up the stairs towards your yellow sunflower bedroom. He set you down in front of the bathroom door, nodding towards the over sized shower. “Go start the water and I will be right there.” You give a nod, immediately obeying what he told you to do. 

Steve watched as you carefully walked away from him, sure you were steady on your feet and started to undress from his midnight blue stealth suit. The rush of water sounded off the porcelain tub and a whisk of the curtain told him you were waiting for him. Fisting his hand on his cock a moment to control the throbbing, seeing you all subdued spread eagle in the hay had gotten him worked up, but even more was Bucky's mark on you. You belonged to both of them, seeing you with Bucky's signature, well that made a part of him feral. Needing to lay a claim on you. 

Following you into the tub, he found you standing under the hot spray, head tilted back as it ran rivers down your body, swirling at your feet to escape down the drain. Your skin was turning pink from the heat and Steve reached for your hips, pulling you back into him where he rutted slightly against your plump ass while he brushed his chin against your shoulder. 

The scratch made you inhale sharply, a slight whine rising from the back of your throat. You were so sensitive that your body still ached. “Steve…” 

“Mmhh, you are going to be a good girl for me, I have been gone a long time.” His hands roamed up your body to cover your breasts, kneading and rolling his fingers against your nipples, pulling expertly. “And I know Bucky left you so close, but never quite able to cum, right Sweetheart?” His tone gruff in that way that made you take notice, your body tensing for him; thighs clenching, pussy weeping, breathing coming in pants. He pulled a bit harder when you didn't answer right away. 

“Y-yes Steve.” 

He hummed a bit, turning you to face him, backing you to the wall and pining you between him and the cool tiles. “I’ve missed you, a lot. Missed that sweet mouth of yours.” A kiss pressed to your lips, a swipe of tongue insisting to claim you. Steve didn't give you a choice, he never did. He deepened the kiss and crushed himself into you as his hands grasped your hips and pushed you roughly up to wrap your legs around him, his cock hard between you, pressing heated into your belly. “That image of you on your knees with your lips spread on my cock got me through the nights I was away. I know that sweet cunt is ready for me.” He growled into your mouth as he spread your ass cheeks apart and rutted his hips. “I can just smell how aroused you are.” Steve didn't even try to take it easy when he filled you with a jarring thrust. 

As on edge as you had been for days, the stretch of him burned, made you cry out in a yelp but he bit your lip, sucking the air from you to swallow your cry while he thrusted into you, bottoming himself. “Don't fight this Baby, be my good girl.” 

You nodded harshly in agreement, already your swollen aroused walls squeezing around him, seeking that long denied satisfaction, you grabbed at his back, digging in your nails to hold on as his thrusts pounded into you, each one a powerful breaking force that left you going mindless. Burying your head into his shoulder with sobs of his name, Steve was efficient.

He had fucked you enough times to know what spots made you really break apart. You used to fight against it, prevent that cresting moment that gave him the satisfaction in knowing he owned your ass. 

You didn't even try this time. You squeezed around his driving cock, clawed at his upper back and mixed tears with the water raining down from above you, making your bodies sticky and slippery all at once, hair plastered to your heads. One hand to your hip, his other wrenched your head back, baring his teeth as he grunted with each movement, drops of water catching in his lashes, drizzling down to escape into his darker beard. 

Your own eyes rolled back in your head, your voice breaking with a cry of his name as you creamed around him, your body locking and he smirked with a kiss, fierce, dominating. 

No way he was done with you. 

Pulling out, he dropped you to your feet, easily holding onto you to keep you from falling when he twisted you, your face twisted against the shower tiles and his broad hairy chest pressing into your back as he smacked your ass with his palm, hard enough for you to plead out. 

“Fuck Steve, finish it.” 

“I will when I'm good and ready. Your body is so fucking ready that it will take me however many times I want you, drip my cum from your sweet little pussy all fucking night, because you. are. mine.” he was sure to make his point, his palm tapping against your ass sharply with each word, leaving your skin stinging fiercly. 

You groaned, but did not fight him. They made it clear, you were theirs. His hands wrapped around your hips, his fingers so easily finding that B that was carved into you and digging in harshly. Dropping his head close. “Bucky might have marked you, but you will never forget me once you swell up with my child.” 

And he pulled your hips out, thrusting his cock back into you. You arched your back at the impact with a fatal moan, the moan that made Steve lose it. 

He fucked into you like a man desperate, hips slamming into your ass and his body caged around yours, keeping you pressed into his chest as his mouth worked on your neck and shoulders. One hand kept a hold on your hip, holding you in place while the other roamed your chest, squeezing your tits and pressing onto your stomach. When a hand found a way between your thighs, you broke. 

You felt yourself sag as you came crashing again, and Steve filled you with his seed this time. Sure to pump himself in you over and over even after the hot spurts deep in your clenching core stopped and he panted against your shoulder, finally going still. “Can’t have you lose any Sweetheart.” 

Your eyes squeezed shut as you did your best from losing it entirely, this was your life. You could either fight it and live in some form of torture, or accept it for what it has become. 

Pulling out, he grabbed some soap and suds his hand to run over your body. Compliant, you moved the way he wanted you to, holding onto him to keep your balance. Turning you around to do your back, he mentioned out loud. “You are awful quiet Sweetheart.” 

You tilted your head into the water and stepped away to rinse off, moving aside so he could finish himself. 

“Sorry Steve, what would you like me to say?” 

He hummed as he scrubbed at himself in the shower before he tilted his head. “How about you are happy to see me? I might actually have a surprise for you. Bucky and I both do.” He cranked off the water and stepped out, drying himself rather quickly and wrapped a towel around his hips. As you climbed out, he held out an over sized towel for you to step into, moving down your back and he knelt in front of you, rubbing the back of your thighs and along the inside. 

His fingers followed droplets paths to catch, his lips pressing against your belly, while looking up. “You are beautiful, and will be more so when you are all swollen.” 

It was something you certainly could wait for. Your hands braced back against the sink to keep your balance once more, still feeling weak. In an attempt to change the subject, you looked down at him. 

“You said you had a surprise for me?” He grinned up at you before giving one last kiss to your belly before going to a stand and wrapping you in the towel. 

“It's in my bedroom with Bucky waiting for you.” he directed, gently making you continue when you paused to get dressed in your room. Clutching the towel tighter, you padded down the couple doors towards his bedroom. His door was shut so you waited in front of it while Steve’s oversized palm pressed against it, swinging it open. 

You first saw Bucky, sitting cross legged in the center of the bed. Loud purrs emitted from his lap and your eyes dropped to your curled up cat, sleeping on him with loud purrs, flicks of her tail showing her content. 

“You… you went and got my girl?” Your eyes welled up in surprise, Steve bracing his hands gently against your shoulders to lead you to the bed. 

Bucky looked up from under strands of his hair having fallen forward as he was looking down at your Suga, his fingers grazing through her fur so gently. 

You rushed to kneel on the bed, your hand quivering to reach out and pet her, but then yanked it away, looking between Bucky and Steve for permission. “Go ahead Doll.” Bucky reached out to grasp your chin and make you look at him with a smile. “You earned it.” 

You took this gift, reaching forward to wrap your hands around your cat and lifted her into your arms, pressing your face into her familiar soft fur as she squirmed a bit to get comfortable and then started head butting you with happy meows and kitten licks on your nose and forehead. 

“Where, when... How did you guys get her?” you asked incredulously at this gift. You eased her down onto the bed, while she started to clean herself and settled back down between you and Bucky. 

Bucky nodded over towards Steve who had made his way to his closet and was getting dressed. “Steve picked her up.” 

“On my way back, I swung by your apartment complex. We had all your stuff packed Y/N and put in storage. Your cat was being taken care of till I was able to go collect her.” 

You couldn't help the soft smile at seeing your baby, your fingers scratching just under her chin, taking a shuddering breath. 

“Thank you Steve, Thank you Bucky.” and both the men rumbled a ‘You’re welcome’ back. 

Part of you was so happy to see your cat, but part of you, the part that was desperate, felt your situation just get that much more desolate. 

🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻

It was hours later when Steve checked in on you back in your room, you were curled with your cat on your bedspread, sound asleep for probably the first time in several days. Carefully he closed the door so you could continue sleeping, turning away to go back downstairs where Bucky was to fill him in on his mission. 

As Steve heavily made his way down the stairs, he couldn't hold himself back. “So thought you should just mark our girl?” 

Bucky, who was sprawled on a corner of the couch, book wedged in his hand, he never bothered pausing from his reading. “Can’t be letting her forget who owns her. My method worked didn't it? She was compliant for you, and gave you just what you wanted without a fight. In fact, wasn’t she a bit happy to see you Steve?” 

“She did-” 

“Then you are welcome.” The soldier cut off his friend, flipping the page. Steve’s brows furrowed a bit but let it drop, making his way to the office he had set up in the back of the house, behind a locked door. 

Upstairs your eyes sprang open as soon as Steve shut your door, letting out a relieved whoosh that you were being left along, your body still so sensitive to touch of any kind. Suga shifted closer with a soft meow, head butting you. You scooped her closer, once more burying your face into your cat's soft fur and letting it keep you quiet while a sob broke in your chest, muffling the sound. 

You can’t live like this and you were running out of time before they actually did make you pregnant. 

[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.