#.fresh movie

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"The Taste of You"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 6250

Tags: Fresh AU, dark rom-com, dark!Bucky, pre-serum Steve, kidnapping, cannibalism, yandere/basement wife, meet cute-ish, gay sex n' stuff, ignoring of sexual boundaries, dub-con bordering on non-con, (mostly humorous) gore, (mostly humorous) body horror

Summary: Just when he's given up on ever finding Mr. Right, Steve meets the (seemingly) perfect guy at the grocery store.

A dark, cute, funny, fucked up, and very tasty love story.

It's a Fresh AU. "If you can't handle the cannibalism, get out of the kitchen" ... or something like that

8. Mouthfeel

Wait! I haven't read a previous chapter. Story Masterlist

Bucky

Bucky wakes up at five o’clock and goes for his run. He gets home, glances at the bed that only he slept in last night, and sighs. He misses the sight of Steve’s blond head peeking out from the covers. He misses kissing him awake, trading lazy blowjobs, protectively spooning him from behind. It’s going to be a long time until Bucky gets to have all that again. He knows it’s important to be patient, but he still mourns the loss.

He makes quick work of his shower that morning, eager to prepare Steve’s breakfast and see how he slept. He fixes a tray and goes downstairs cautiously, still not confident of which state he’ll find him in. Most of Bucky’s guests take a week or more to really settle down, and he knows that Steve still doesn’t fully believe him when he says he has no intentions of killing him. But Steve is sitting placidly on the mattress when Bucky opens the door. He offers him a smile. “Morning, Handsome.”

Steve’s eyes flick to the tray instead of Bucky’s face. “Morning.”

Bucky tries not to be offended. He knows Steve still feels betrayed by what’s happened. Bucky has a lot of work to do, to show him that this is all out of love and that he doesn’t want to hurt him. “Here,” he says gently, setting the tray down and sliding it into Steve’s reach. “Brought you breakfast.”

Steve nods, still looking at it and not Bucky. “S’it vegetarian?” he asks, voice glum.

“Steve,” Bucky sighs. “You know it is.” It’s clearly just a bowl of oatmeal and jelly toast, a banana still in its peel. Hot tea. “I’m not trying to trick you,” he says. “I never will. You need to trust that.”

Steve’s eyes finally come up and meet his. “Oh. I need to trust that?” he says waspishly.

Bucky sighs. Steve’s woken up in a bad mood. “Eat your breakfast,” he says sadly, turning to leave. “I’ll be back to get the tray.”

When he returns, Steve seems better. Bucky feels encouraged and thinks that maybe Steve’s just not a morning person in general. Maybe he only brightens up once he’s gotten some food in him, some caffeine. Or maybe, just maybe, he’s getting the idea that he gets better results if he behaves himself.

Bucky takes the tray and sets it aside, then returns to sit in front of Steve. “How 'bout you let me check on that?” He takes Steve’s hand in his, and though Steve seems surprised, he doesn’t try to pull away when he realizes that Bucky’s going for the bandaid on his finger. There’s blood on the bandage itself, which isn’t surprising considering how bad of a cut it’d been. But Bucky gapes as he sees Steve’s finger, almost completely healed. “Wow,” he says. “That’s really good.” He’d been halfway worried that he’d made the wrong call by not insisting on stitches. “Guess it wasn’t as bad as it looked,” he says.

Steve doesn’t seem too impressed. He just nods and pulls his hand back to himself. “You put it in your mouth,” he says. “Licked the blood. Were you thinking of it then? Of eating me?”

He says it like it’s something despicable, and Bucky’s heart sinks in disappointment and hurt. “No,” he says softly, looking away. “No I wasn’t.”

He’s lying. This is the first outright lie he’s ever told Steve. He pulls back and stands up, feeling unhappy at having lied. He wishes it wasn’t like this. He wishes he could be open with Steve about this part of himself, but he knows it’s too soon. Steve won’t understand. Bucky’ll scare him away. He sighs and picks up the tray of dishes and goes to the door. “Do you need anything?” he asks, not much heart to it. Steve says he’s fine, and Bucky leaves him to sulk.

Upstairs, He hears Steve’s phone buzzing from over in the living room. The ringtone is the theme song from The Golden Girls, and it makes Bucky smile. He’ll have to remember to tease Steve about that later, when he’s in a better mood.

The missed call is from Steve’s friend, Clint. There are two other missed calls, a voicemail, and a slew of texts:

📱Clint [Friday 8:12 pm]: Where’s my text? ~Safety Officer C. Barton 📱Clint [Saturday 12:17 pm] : Hope you’re having fun. Send me his address when you get a second free from fucking his brains out. 📱Clint [Sunday 6:44 pm]: Jesus, Steve. Check your phone. 📱Clint [Sunday 9:57 pm]: call me i’m actually worried now 📱Clint [Today 8:26 am]: hey if you don’t answer me i’m seriously calling the cops dude

Bucky frowns. The most recent text was from that morning, and it’s approaching dinnertime. Today’s the day Steve was supposed to be back from their trip. Bucky listens to the voicemail for posterity, then turns the phone off and removes the SIM card. He throws it in the incinerator, secure in the knowledge that no cop would try to ping a phone before the standard "wait and see" period of forty-eight hours.

He goes through Steve’s weekend bag. It’s filled with toiletries, a few changes of clothes, and lube. Bucky smiles fondly when he finds that last, thinking that Steve definitely had the same plans for their weekend together as Bucky did. Plans that are now ruined. Bucky tries not to let it put him in a bad mood, reminding himself that this is actually going to turn out to be for the best. He learned his lesson with Ian that withholding secrets for too long isn’t in anybody’s best interest.

Minus a belt and a razor that he removes from the toiletries kit, he takes Steve’s bag downstairs and gives it to him. Steve accepts it with a grateful expression. He seems less glum now, and Bucky’s not sure if it’s because he’s accepted his situation (not likely), or because he’s committed himself to a plan of murder and escape (more likely). In the long run it won’t matter. Bucky’s just glad to see him in a better mood.

“Thought you might want your things,” he tells him kindly, and then leaves.

He avoids going downstairs for most of the day. Of course he wants to spend time with Steve just like before, but he knows that it’s important to instill in Steve that, without Bucky, he doesn’t get much of anything. So for most of the day Bucky stays upstairs and sticks to the plan.

Being with Bucky = Steve gets nice things. Once Steve learns that, they’ll go back to normal.

Bucky’s aware that it might take months, if not a year or more, but he cares about Steve and he’s in this for the long run. He’s going to make this work.

With that in mind, he calls up Carlo and asks if he has time for a remodel on one of the bedrooms in the basement. Bucky wants to afford Steve a more comfortable living space, given the circumstances. He doesn’t elaborate to Carlo about who the room is for, just tells him of the work he wants done.

Carlo says he can get started that week, if Bucky will supply a repeat of what he bartered before.

“Three months, max,” Bucky bargains. “One girl. It’s only the one room this time.”

Carlo is the contractor who built the house. He’d outfitted everything to Bucky’s express specifications, taking an especially personal approach when handling the more … compromising details of the basement. He’d done the work in exchange for a year’s worth of free meals, plus the guarantee of no sharing. He didn’t want anybody else snacking off his girls, and Bucky had obliged. For twelve months, the sunset room had held only Carlo’s girls. And Bucky was nothing if not thrifty: He’d managed to make three women stretch the entire twelve months (and had been rather proud of himself for that).

Carlo agrees to begin the work that Friday, but Bucky will also need to begin fulfilling his end of the bargain within the month. He grumbles a bit about this, as it'll mean more time spent working. He hadn’t planned on acquiring new product in the near future, not when he’s got Steve to focus on. But it can’t be avoided, so he makes a mental note to start searching soon.

But back to Steve. Bucky wants to show him that life can be good here with him, so long as he behaves himself. Steve hasn’t acted up in almost twenty-four hours, so Bucky decides to make him an extra special dinner. He cooks a sirloin with truffle potatoes and garlic green beans, puts it on a tray along with a cup of quality wine. There’s even a real fork and steak knife.

Steve’s eyebrows raise sky high when the tray is set in front of him—whether at the meat or the cutlery, Bucky can’t know.

“It’s ‘vegetarian’,” he tells him, using the term they seem to have developed for it. He watches Steve’s face carefully, interested to see how he’ll react. This is the first time Bucky’s served him a straight up slab of meat.

Steve is prodding at the steak with his fork, as if he can get answers out of it if he pokes it hard enough. “Would I be able to tell the difference, if it wasn’t?” he asks, eyes flicking up to Bucky.

Bucky tries not to respond too eagerly, though his heart does flip a little at Steve showing an interest. He takes a seat on the floor—within the danger zone of where Steve can reach with his chain, but still a few good feet from the tray and its steak knife. “Well,” he says, thinking carefully about how much he should venture into this right now. “Yeah.” He watches Steve, who’s still poking his steak dubiously. “Maybe not by sight. We tend to look very similar to beef, even more so once cooked.”

Steve gives him a withering look. “You’re really inspiring confidence in me here.”

Bucky chuckles. “Yeah well, don’t worry. I have zero interest in watching you take a first bite unwillingly.” Steve seems to pale a bit at that, and Bucky regrets having said it. Too soon, he scolds himself. Steve may never want to share in it with him, and now isn’t the time to scare him off with that additional burden. “Anyway,” he hurries to move on, “Taste is an entirely different matter. You’d know right away what you were eating by the taste.”

“Oh?” Steve says, breathless.

Bucky nods. “Yeah. Compared to us? Everything else tastes like roadkill.”

“... Is that why you don’t eat meat?”

“Uh, yeah actually.” He blinks, surprised to have been asked the question. “I don’t, ah, partake, as often as my clients. It’s different for me. I’m pickier.”

Steve nods, looking back down to his plate. He takes a deep breath and lets it out, picks up the knife and fork. Bucky sees it the moment that he re-realizes what he’s been given. His little hands freeze on the utensils, fine-boned fingers tightening around the handle of the steak knife. He doesn’t say anything, just pauses for a few tense seconds, then starts cutting his steak.

Bucky tries not to be offended by it. He knows Steve will be thinking of murdering him for quite awhile. It’s to be expected. He reevaluates the distance he’s put between himself and Steve’s dinner, but decides he’s safe enough to avoid an attack.

Steve has speared a cube of steak onto his fork. Bucky watches as he lifts it in front of his face, turning it this way and that, staring at it. “Sorry,” Bucky apologizes. “I didn’t know how you like it cooked. I always err on the side of caution. Nothing worse than an overcooked piece of meat.”

Steve’s eyes slide over to him, narrowed to slivers, and Bucky gets the distinct impression that he’s trying hard not to laugh. “I like it medium-rare,” he says, not complaining because they can both see that the steak is cooked to a perfect medium-rare. Still looking Bucky straight in the eye, he pops the bite into his mouth. He stares him down and chews.

Bucky grins when Steve is forced to concede that he isn’t a liar: he’s fed him regular old beef. “I told you,” he says softly, almost lovingly, watching Steve take another bite. “You’re totally safe with me.” Steve doesn’t say anything to that, but Bucky doesn’t mind. He just sits there and watches in contentment as Steve enjoys the meal.

Steve

It’s very awkward, eating an entire meal with someone else right there who’s not eating, only watching. Bucky stares at Steve the whole time he eats his steak and potatoes, never looking away for more than a few seconds. It’s as if it’s fascinating to him. It’s creepy.

Despite the fact that everything is seasoned and cooked perfectly, and despite the fact that Steve is 99.9% sure it’s beef he’s eating, the food still turns thick and unpleasant in his mouth as he chews with an audience. He forces himself to get through it, eating every bite of what’s on the plate in front of him. Bucky seems immensely pleased with him for it, at least. And there’s no sick gleam of delight in his eyes or anything like that, which makes Steve even more sure that he hasn’t been tricked into joining club cannibal.

When he's finished, he sets the silverware back down. He sees the relief and happiness flash through Bucky's expression, at Steve having given back what would’ve been a useful weapon. It’s hard to let it go, for sure, but Steve knows he’s better off playing along for now. Bucky will trust him more down the line, and that’s what really matters. It's important to be patient.

“Thank you,” he says primly. “That was … that was actually really good.” He picks up the plastic cup that’s filled with wine and sips it, thinking that it tastes expensive. He’s suddenly thrust back into the memory of their first date. He remembers how nervous he’d been, how excited, how he’d drank the vintage wine that Bucky had purchased for them, and how handsome he’d thought Bucky was. Steve scoffs. He’d thought Bucky was too good to be true.

He was.

“You should let me know what your favorite meals are,” Bucky is saying, enthusiastic now that Steve’s shown receptiveness to his cooking. “I’ll make them.”

Steve hums, fighting not to let his eyes trail back to the steak knife that Bucky still hasn’t taken away. “That’d be nice,” he says. A moment later and Bucky is indeed taking the tray and sliding it towards the room’s door. It’s too far away. With his wrist chained, Steve can’t reach it now. He frowns, disappointed even though he’d known he’d lose that opportunity.

“Steve?”

His eyes shoot up. “Hm?”

“I said: can I sit with you for a bit? Can I hold you?”

He freezes up, surprised. This is the first time Bucky’s tried to initiate any kind of intimacy between them since Steve first came to, chained and imprisoned in the basement. “Um,” he says, slightly panicked at the idea of Bucky touching him. He fights not to shrink back. Bucky is already moving toward him. “Uh, I—”

Bucky sits beside him, pulling him in against his body. He’s warm and firm and smells good. He’s just the same as Steve remembers from days ago. Only now it’s so different. Steve fights not to pull away.

“Relax,” Bucky says softly, giving him a squeeze. Steve’s breath shudders out of him in a little whimper and Bucky rubs his back. His face is above Steve’s head, kissing at his hair. “It’s still me,” he reminds him. “It’s still us.”

It’s not, but Steve knows he can’t say so. He’s able to relax a little bit as the minutes tick by and Bucky keeps doing nothing but cuddling him. It’s soothing, and for a very short while, he starts to feel like he used to when Bucky would hold him close. For a second or two, he closes his eyes and enjoys the feeling of being held.

It ends quickly, though. Bucky starts talking to him again and Steve loses that elusive feeling, remembering that he’s in the arms of a murderer. Bucky’s voice rumbles through the buzzing of Steve’s harried thoughts, “—though I don’t know how long it’ll be till he’s finished. I forgot to ask him that.”

“What?” Steve looks up. “Till what’s finished? Who?”

Bucky’s lips quirk. “You zoned out on me.”

Steve flushes and averts his eyes again, accepts the affectionate squeeze Bucky gives him. “Sorry,” he mutters, embarrassed.

“I was just saying how I’m going to get you some nicer digs,” Bucky says.

Steve’s heart leaps. “Upstairs?” He pulls back from Bucky, excited. “Really?!”

But Bucky is looking peeved. He shakes his head. “No. I told you: I’m having one of the bedrooms down here remodeled. So you can have more stuff.” He looks put out, like Steve has ruined the specialness of his surprise. “It’ll be a lot nicer for you.”

Steve stares at him, open-mouthed. “Oh,” he eventually says. He can see that Bucky was hoping for more. He must’ve thought Steve would be grateful, maybe even excited. But the news that Bucky is renovating one of the cells to better accommodate a long-term stay only drives home the reality of Steve’s situation. Bucky doesn’t plan to let him leave the basement for a long time. “But … I was hoping we could be together like before. Ya know … upstairs,” he says meekly, already seeing the growing discontent on Bucky’s face. Bucky pulls away and stands, agitated, and Steve regrets having spoken at all. “I’m sorry,” he tries to amend in a hurry, reaching out across the carpet. “Bucky. I’m sorry. It’s a great surprise, really.”

Bucky sighs in frustration, but he does come back over to stand near Steve. He palms his face. “I know it’s hard,” he tells him. “Being here, like this. You know it wasn’t the plan.”

“I know,” Steve says quietly, trying to show he can be docile. He pushes his cheek against Bucky’s palm, and Bucky’s features pinch.

“Aw, Honey. It's not gonna be like this forever. I want you to know that.” He kneels down and pulls Steve in for a kiss. "I already miss you so much."

Steve is taken aback, but he only freezes for a second before reminding himself to loosen up. He lets Bucky kiss him, even moving his mouth and kissing back. It feels nice, but then again it always has. Bucky was a good kisser right from their very first date.

Bucky’s the one who ends the kiss. He pecks Steve’s forehead and gets back up. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says fondly. He picks up the tray and leaves, locking the door behind him.

Steve sits in place, unmoving, listening to the sounds of Bucky going up the stairs, unlocking and opening the door, closing it and resetting the lock. Then he’s left in silence. He brings his unchained hand up to touch lightly at his lips, thinking of the kiss and how it’d felt almost good. It had almost been just like before.

If only anything else was.

Bucky

Once again, Bucky starts up his process of scouting new product.

People would probably be shocked to know that most of Bucky’s intel comes straight from legit public records. What he can’t get there, he gets through illicit channels (cannibals come in all walks of life, including certain government officials who are more than willing to provide Bucky with a few, very useful database passwords). He sifts through page after page of information, by now familiar with all of the red flags that indicate a potential target. He combs through police reports and social service records, clocking drug busts and DUIs, custody hearings and notes jotted down by social workers and beat cops.

He finds a potential, her address in Harlem. But she’s black, and he can’t remember if Carlo is race-selective or not. Many of his clients are, and Bucky long ago learned never to lie to them about what (and who) exactly it is he’s serving them. Sighing, he jots down a reminder to double check the race thing, but he keeps the woman on the list. There’s a note in the social worker’s paperwork about cigarette burns that makes him silently hope that Carlo isn’t race-selective.

It’s always amazed Bucky, the kind of shit that slips through the system. He’s been doing this for going on fifteen years, and he’s never had to once worry about harvesting an innocent. Plenty of scumbags walking the streets, getting away with everything short of murder. For a select few of them, Bucky becomes their justice. And that’s something he’s always relished.

He spends the week scoping out a handful of potentials, silently cursing the fact that he’s going to have to make the drive back into the city to accomplish this mission. Not that Steve has any chance of escaping, but Bucky does feel guilty leaving him alone so much. Oh well, there’s no avoiding it. He’s doing all of this for Steve, anyhow, so that he can have nicer accommodations. Bucky’s already got plans for a safe and secure way to include a flatscreen television in Steve’s new room. He’ll have cable and even a slew of streaming services.

He gets the word from Carlo that “only white chicks or Asians” will do, and two of the six candidates get scratched off his list. They’ll never know how lucky they are. Undeserving, but really damn lucky.

He harvests the remainder of Eileen. He has a guy in Toronto who favors the organs, so a lot goes to him, the rest to one of his Russian buyers who always wants the woman’s hair included in the care package. Bucky thinks it’s stupid, but whatever. He gives Eileen her very last haircut, then tosses her severed head in the incinerator.

The only thing that doesn’t sell are the kidneys, which isn’t unusual. Nobody realizes that they’re actually really fucking amazing if you cook them right. Bucky soaks them in milk for a few hours, eyeing them and thinking of his mom while he chops vegetables. She hadn’t been as horrible as Eileen, he supposes. Nobody ever actually raped Bucky as a kid.

Unlike many of his clients, Bucky’s not an impulse killer. He doesn’t, as a rule, get off on the fact that he’s killing people. That’s not the point of it for him. But he does regret not having had the chance to kill his mother. Bucky’s not an idiot; he realizes that his victim pool is largely influenced by the actions of Harriet Barnes. Every time an Eileen comes through his kitchen, he gets a tiny fraction of the kind of satisfaction he thinks he'd have gotten if he'd done away with dear old Harriet himself.

Oh well. Can’t have everything. Bucky’s dad remarried years ago—a perfectly nice woman named Winnifred whom Bucky has zero interest in eating.

He stares at Eileen’s kidneys where they’re soaking in the milk bath, and has a sudden bit of inspiration. He’ll need to call up a specialty butcher, but Bucky’s got the number of every meat man within a fifty mile radius saved to his contacts. He dials one up.

“Hey Fred: you have any kidneys laying around?”

Steve’s eyes get wide and full of hope when Bucky tells him they’re going to eat dinner together; upstairs. “Hang on, Honey,” Bucky stops him gently at the foot of the stairs before they go up. He produces another wrist restraint and sees Steve’s face fall.

“I’ll be good,” he promises. “You don’t have to.”

Bucky smiles softly at the promise that he knows is a lie. “Just a precaution,” he tells him gently, putting the leather around Steve’s other wrist, then hooking them together. “This way you won’t be tempted to try anything. Don’t want to spoil our nice night, right?”

Steve mumbles sadly in agreement and Bucky hugs him. Poor thing. He’s still scared, Bucky can tell. Maybe not of imminent death like he’d been before, but still worried. Bucky hopes that he’ll feel safe again soon.

He takes him upstairs, leading him gently with a hand at the back of his neck. He guides him over to the dining table and has him sit, unhooks his hands and locks the left cuff to the arm of the chair, while the right remains free. “There,” he says, pecking a kiss to his mouth. Steve inhales sharply, but he doesn’t tense or pull away like he was doing before, so Bucky is pleased. They’re making some progress. “I’m cooking us dinner,” he says, standing up and going back into the kitchen. He knows Steve can see him from his seat at the table. “Something a little different, but I think you’ll like it.”

“What?"

Bucky shoots him a grin from over the countertop. “Before I tell you, you have to promise to at least try a bite.”

Steve's lip curls. “Is it 'vegetarian'?”

“Yes.” Steve makes a doubtful noise and Bucky promises, “It is!” He indicates the two soaking containers on the countertop. “See? Mine,” he points. “And yours.” He goes to grab a skillet for the stove. “Yours is vegetarian.”

Steve is quiet for a long moment. Bucky can practically hear the cogs whirring in his brain. “But yours isn’t,” he says, voice a near whisper.

Bucky chose this meal purposefully, is the thing.

“No.” He looks up to see Steve’s reaction to the truthful answer. “I’m having a slightly more expensive version.” Forty thousand dollars more, to be exact. He watches as Steve swallows thickly. “You’ll be able to see the difference,” he reassures him. “It’s obvious in this case. I’m not trying to trick you.”

Steve nods, looking tiny and scared in his dining chair. Bucky’s heart throbs sympathetically. “Here.” He abandons the preheating skillet and pours Steve a generous glass of wine. “It’s a Beaujolais,” he tells him gently as he hands it over. “Notes of cherry.” He’s pleased when Steve takes the glass without hesitation and takes a sip. Bucky smiles at him and returns to the kitchen. “It pairs excellently with what we’re having.”

“Which is?”

“The thing with kidneys,” Bucky says, fishing Steve’s out first and plopping it onto a cutting board, “is that they taste excellent, unless you overcook them, which is what everybody tends to do."

“Oh my god,” Steve whines.

“You promised to at least try a bite!” Bucky reminds him gleefully, pointing at him with the chef’s knife. “You have to try it.”

Steve grumbles something discontent over at the table, Bucky can’t hear what. He chops Steve’s kidney and sets it aside, prepares his own—much smaller and smoother—version and puts it in a second skillet. “See?” he calls out, knowing that Steve is watching his every move. “Separate pans and everything. No cross contamination. Yours won’t touch mine at all.”

“It better not,” Steve grumbles.

Bucky makes sure to have them off the flame after two minutes on each side. Perfect. “Bon appétit,” he says, when he slides their plates onto the table. He sits at the head of the table, just catty corner from Steve. He reaches out and takes Steve’s hand in his, giving it a light squeeze. “I really think you’ll like it, Sweetheart." He waits it out as Steve's eyes flick from one plate to the other, critical. “See?” he prompts. “Totally different.”

Steve nods slowly, because the difference is indeed unmistakable. They're eating different species. “... What’s mine?”

Bucky grins. “Calves’ kidney. The gold standard.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “If you say so.” He picks up his fork and begins to poke at the meat, much like he'd with the sirloin, only this time with a far more distasteful expression on his face. “Just one bite?” he checks.

“Yes.” Bucky watches him with baited breath, very aware of how much trust Steve is placing in him right now. It’s a delicate moment, and an important one. “Go on,” he coaxes. “Try it.”

Steve takes a piece on his fork. He stares at it for another second, then seems to make up his mind. He raises it to his mouth, then his eyes lock on Bucky’s, and Bucky’s heart stops. Steve holds Bucky’s gaze as his lips part and he puts it in. He closes his mouth, draws the fork out slowly. His mouth works around the bite of food as he chews.

Bucky feels borderline aroused. “How is is it?” he asks, voice coming out breathier than he intends.

Steve swallows. “Good,” he says, almost timid. “Different, but really good, actually.”

Bucky smiles, satisfied and also thrilled that Steve has let him feed him like this. That he’s trusted him yet again. “Knew you’d like it,” he says, and he cuts into his own, taking a bite. It isn’t until he hears Steve’s gasp that he remembers that this is a first for Steve—he’s never seen Bucky eating before.

Bucky watches him cautiously as he finishes chewing his bite. When he swallows, Steve gulps. Bucky reaches out and puts his hand palm up. “Hey, gimme your hand,” he commands softly. Steve does, and Bucky gives him a reassuring squeeze. “Yours is vegetarian. You know that.”

“I know.” Steve’s voice is tiny and timid, and Bucky sees him eye the plate again. “It’s just … intimidating, to see it.” He looks back at Bucky, and there’s something in his eyes that Bucky doesn’t like. It’s not disgust, not quite, but something related to it. “Who … who is it?”

Bucky releases his hand and goes to take another piece onto his fork. He eats it, unashamed. “It doesn’t matter,” he excuses, knowing that it won’t be good for Steve to hear names put to the food. “You know,” he says conversationally, “medically speaking, there’s no health difference between eating animal meat and eating ours.” He watches Steve for his reaction. “There’s not,” he insists. “I’m a doctor. You think I didn’t look into it before I started this?” Steve puts his fork down and reaches for his wine glass. He takes a very large gulp, then another. Bucky takes another bite of his kidney, this one larger and more obvious in his mouth as he chews and Steve watches. “Compared to animal meat, you’re actually less likely to contract a number of diseases, and your risk of getting a tapeworm or other parasite drops to almost nothing.”

“Ew,” Steve mutters.

“Yup.”

“Well, now that the conversation’s veered in that appetizing direction." He resumes eating from his own plate.

Bucky watches with interest, pleased once again at how Steve clearly enjoys the prime piece of meat that Bucky’s prepared for him. “The only issue is the brain,” he says. That gets Steve’s attention fast, and he chuckles. “You know how people eat veal brains and stuff?”

Steve makes a face. “I guess. Ew.”

Bucky laughs. “Those crazy French, right? Anyways, humans are different. The brain is the one part you don’t want to eat. It’s dangerous. Causes prion diseases and shit. It can be deadly.”

Steve sighs. “Duly noted. Got any other lovely dinner topics?”

Bucky switches to talking about the improvements he’s planning for Steve’s room, and for the rest of the meal they discuss that, Steve hardly paying attention to Bucky’s plate from then on.

Carlo comes over to begin the work. Bucky tries to prepare Steve for it, gently reminding him that Carlo is like him. He’s a client who knows exactly what goes on in Bucky’s basement.

Steve still calls out when he arrives, tries to appeal to a nature that Bucky tried to warn him Carlo doesn’t have.

“Please!” he calls out from the center of his room, unable to make it all the way to the slatted door with his wrist chained. “Please help me!”

Bucky shoots him a withering glare as he guides Carlo down toward the beach room. It’s at the end of the spiral, the last of the six bedrooms. Bucky thinks it’s the best choice because Steve won’t ever have to see him transporting in anybody new, taking them their meals, bringing them to or from surgeries, that sort of thing. It’s for the best.

He walks Carlo through the revisions he wants done. Bucky has sketches and pictures to show him. He’d researched the architecture of jails and other such institutions, mental hospitals and the like, for inspiration on how to keep things safe. He's annoyed to hear Steve yell out a few additional times as he talks with Carlo, but the man takes it in stride and acts like he doesn’t hear Steve’s cries for help at all.

“Didn’t know you trafficked in men,” he eventually says, when they’ve concluded their business and Bucky’s seeing him to the front door.

“No,” Bucky agrees demurely. He’s got zero desire to tell Carlo any more about Steve than strictly necessary. Steve is for himself, not the animals Bucky does business with. “But everyone has their requests.”

“Right.” Carlo asks him if he’s got somebody lined up for the payment they agreed on.

“A few.” Bucky sends him off with the basic profiles of the women he’s narrowed it down to, allowing him the final pick. He never tells the clients about his own private criteria for product selection. He’s sure they’d protest, claim that the women’s actions or personalities tainted the meat, or some such. Utter bullshit of course, but Bucky knows his clients down to a tee. Most of them like to believe they’re feasting on scared and innocent little virgins.

Give him a break.

When he returns to the basement it's late. He comes armed with an Old Fashioned. Steve pouts for several minutes before he finally accepts it.

Bucky sighs and collapses down to the floor at the opposite wall. He slumps back, watching Steve. “I know that was hard for you.”

Steve is drinking the alcohol. He shrugs, swallowing heavily. “Don’t know why I was surprised. You warned me.”

“I did.”

He shakes his head, upset. “I just hate to believe that they’re out there, ya know? Just … living normal lives. Doing this.” He shivers, clearly disturbed.

Bucky doesn’t like where he’s taking the conversation. “They’re not normal,” he tells him curtly. “Most of them are rich and entitled as fuck. The one percent of the one percent. You have any idea how much a meal costs these guys? Fifty grand is nothing to them.”

Steve’s eyes bug out of his head. “Fifty … fifty grand?” he gapes. “No.”

Bucky shrugs and leans back against the wall. “It depends, but yeah. Thirty to seventy.”

“Fuck.”

He watches as Steve drains his glass to half full. “Should I make you another?” he asks, only half serious. He’s tired after the visit from Carlo, wants to go to sleep, wishes it could be with Steve but knows it’ll have to be alone.

“What about me?” Steve asks abruptly, startling him out of his thoughts.

“What?”

“What about me? How much would I go for?”

He’s deadly serious, Bucky realizes. He also knows this is a game they shouldn’t play. “No,” he says gruffly. “Steve, no.”

“Come on, just tell me,” Steve cajoles. It’s a taunt, less friendly and more of a challenge. He sticks his chin out, defiant. “I can handle it. What would one of your clients pay for me?”

Bucky swallows, feeling doubt still roiling in him as he says, “Well … usually it wouldn’t be just one person. People pay for … specific parts.”

Steve scowls. “Christ.”

“You asked.” Bucky doesn’t bother mentioning that almost nobody wants a male. It’s just not where the market is. “Don’t get pissy at me for answering.”

Steve seems to take that in stride. He takes another big swig from his glass. It’s almost empty now. “Fine then, what’s the sum of my parts?”

Bucky sighs and looks him over, does an honest assessment without factoring in Steve’s gender. “You’re small,” he says, “So that’s less right off the bat.”

Steve laughs bitterly. “Right.”

Bucky grits his teeth and does some rough mental math. “Somewhere between seven and eight hundred,” he eventually says. “Depending on how long I could keep you alive, and then however much I could get for the organ meat. That tends to be hit or miss.”

Steve stares, shocked. “Eight hundred … thousand?”

Bucky glowers at him. “Don’t you hold it against me, now. You’re the one who asked.”

“Yeah, but …” Steve lifts his drink, drains the last of it and sets the glass down heavily. He swallows. “I didn’t expect it to be so much. That’s ridiculous.”

“What’s ridiculous is this conversation,” Bucky snaps, already regretting having played into Steve’s hands. “Nobody’s ever going to eat you.”

Steve’s eyes fix on him. “Not even you?”

Bucky growls and shoves up to standing. He collects Steve’s empty glass and leaves him there to make what he will of the information.

Story Masterlist

Masterlist

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Tags: @scottishrosefury, @not-that-syndrigast, @lolitsbuckybarnes, @kathy-2005, @stuckysgal, @thenewmissescullen, @sapphirebarnes, @Yoruse, @autumnrose40, @alexakeyloveloki, @gretasimp, @kandismom, @ivoryangel1290, @mrs-rogers-barnes1, @iloveshawnieboi, @m0k0k0, @sousydive, @juicyfruit-22, @bloodrosefuryao3

[goryhorroor]

horror sub-genres: cannibal

[closetofcuriosities]

Videodrome - 1983 - Dir. David Cronenberg

First it controlled her mind, then it destroyed her body... LONG LIVE THE NEW FLESH!

[minyicho]

[unearthlydust]

SEBASTIAN STAN FRESH (2022)

[chainmotif]

who up thinking how Adam died with Lawrence's handprint still on his cheek

[taylornation]

We’ll be spending next week watching something we’re very thankful for: Taylor Swift | The Eras Tour concert film!

New showtimes for this ✨ certified fresh ✨ cinematic experience were just added. Check your local theaters for tickets! 🎟️

[nvyah]

This scene>>>>>>>>>

ep 3 is my most favourite!

[barneswilsonrogers]

Good morning. Coffee? — FRESH (2022) dir. Mimi Cave

[lancelotslair]

"Was that a nuke?" - Galvatron

THAT'S RIGHT BITCH, SUPER SEVERE SUNSTORM BLAST 9000!!! TASTE THE POWER OF PRIMUS BITCH!!!!

the scars on Galvatrons face have numerous causes but they're all from when he was oool Megs, the big one on the cheek specifically is from Starscream kicking him once thrusters ON

[rainbowkisses31]

Repost from @darkroomlament on IG

I got the honor last week of photographing the amazing @imsebastianstan and honestly… he was so kind, and funny, and absolutely willing to just be a great sport for our shots. Thank you to @vidiots for the opportunity and for hosting FRESH, and they have posted even more photos from the event on their page - please go leave them some love.

[philosophical]

[buckys-wintersoldier]

His name, his property | Steve Kemp

// Pairing //

-> Dark!Steve Kemp x Female!Reader

// Summary //

-> After letting you out of the basement Steve makes sure that you and everyone else knows who you belong to. His name written on your skin is a good option, isn't it?

// Wordcount //

-> 4.085 Words

// Warnings // Explicit Content

-> 18+, Minors DNI, dark content, kidnapping, hint of stalking, non-con tattoo, mention of cannibalism, Stockholm syndrome, non-con kissing, choking, finger sucking, masturbation, handjob, mention of oral (fem!receiving) and unprotected p in v

// Request //

-> I’ve really been craving a marking kink piece lately and I love your writing. Can you write a Steve kemp smut where he kidnaps the reader and wants to claim her as his so he tattoos his name on her lower back (tramp stamp) and when he sees the finished product he can’t help but cum all over her face

// Authors Note //

-> First of all thank you for the request and the feedback. Hope you like the request and it’s what you thought about.

-> I want to thank @bucks-babe for encouraging me and the comments, proofreading.🩷🩷

// Events //

-> Fandom-Free Bingo: Book Night Edition | G3 | “BEG for it!” | @fandom-free-bingo

// Masterlist | Steve Kemp Masterlist //

You don’t know what happened last night, the only thing you can remember is the party you were at last night. Usually you don’t drink much, so you really wonder why you can’t remember how you came to this place and got undressed. The warm blanket covering your body stops the cold from the room to surround you and you sigh softly, frowning when you turn your head to find out where you are. Maybe you hooked up with one of these guys at the party? But why is the room so cold and dark, and where is whoever you hooked up with?

The creaking sound of the door lets your gaze wander, and a moment later you have to shut your eyes. A bright light is shining into the dark room, and a big, broad man walks into the room. He closes the door and turns on the light, letting himself fall down on a chair opposite you.

“Glad you’re finally awake; I thought you would sleep a day more. Maybe I gave you a bit too many drugs; aren't you used to them, huh?” The man chuckles darkly, and you don't feel comfortable anymore. You open your eyes slowly to get used to the light before you turn your head to face him, and your jaw drops. “Looks like you remember me, love?”

You nod your head, closing your mouth, and try to sit up when you feel something around your arm. Your gaze immediately shoots to the chains that are around your arm, and you gasp. “W—Please let me go. I can give you money; do you want money?”

“Babe, does that basement look like I need money? You have your very own toilet and look at the beautiful sunrise, or do you want to call it a sunset? However, doesn’t it look pretty?” He asks, smirking at you, and you shake your head. Panic is growing in your body, and you inhale deeply, covering your face with your hands before you look back at the man.

“C—Can you please take these handcuffs off and we can talk?” You ask, and you breathe, shaking while you feel tears building up in your eyes.

“We can talk, but I won't take them off. Maybe when you're good, are you good?” The man smirks at you; his legs are spread, and he leans forward, placing his forearms on top of his thighs while he stares at you with such an intense gaze.

“What do you want then? Can you please let me go?” With every passing second, your breathing gets heavier, and your body starts to tremble. You definitely haven't planned to go to a party and be drugged to get kidnapped by such a psycho guy.

“I'm gonna tell you, but you will freak out. Just please don't freak out, oke?” The brown-haired man says with a nice smirk, and you’re not sure if you should be even more scared or less now, but something inside of you is enough to just scream and run — even though that isn't working with handcuffs around your wrist. "Remember, I told you I'm a doctor-”

And suddenly, you remember what happened in the evening. This nice guy, Steve, sat next to you at the bar, asking you if you wanted a drink as well. Since you two had a lot of fun then — laughing and talking about everything and nothing — he asked you to come with him to a more private corner of the bar. When you agreed, you had another drink, and then everything was dizzy. The next thing you can remember is waking up in the dark room — obviously his basement.

“Usually I would sell your meat; it brings a lot of money, and it is delicious— Calm down, love, I said usually. But I love you, babe,” he says, grinning while he gets up from the chair. His hands slide down his sweater, and he takes a step closer. “So when you do what I say, we are going to have a family, and I will give you my kids. Oh, they will be wonderful, won’t they? And we will be happy. When you don’t do what I say, I’m gonna punish you.”

“You’re fucking insane! I don’t want to have your kids, and I won't do what you want!” You shoot, crawling backwards, when he takes another step forward. “Stay there! Steve, please! Stay where you are! Don’t dare to step closer— please. Steve, please don’t come closer!” You say it through gritted teeth, but he only chuckles at your attempt to crawl away until you crash against the wall behind you.

Steve gets on his knees when he is just a few inches away from you. You already plan how to bite or kick him when he is taking another step closer, but he stays where he is and just looks at you with a soft smile.

“Listen, I’m the one who is in charge, so you better accept it. Like I said, when you don’t do what I say, I’m gonna punish you. Do you want me to punish you, babe? Sore, red ass, huh?” Even though he kind of scares you, when he reaches out to brush a strand of hair out of your face, you feel like there is no fear left in your body.

“I will cut off your dick or—" You get interrupted when your head flies to the side and your cheek burns. Steve just grasps your chin, stopping you from turning your face away while tears form in your eyes and fall slowly down your cheeks. His smile is so soft, and his beautiful blue eyes show nothing but comfort, but he just hit you. Your feelings go crazy, and the way he looks at you and the way his soft fingers hold your chin don’t help with your feelings.

You sob quietly, while he captures your cheeks with both of his hands and wipes your tears softly with his thumbs away. “It’s oke, babe. I love you, and you will love me too,” he mumbles, leaning closer to kiss your forehead before he pulls away and looks deep into your eyes.

“Steve—“ you get interrupted once again when he pushes his thumb into your mouth, pushing your tongue down. You gag around his thumb, and it causes more tears to fall down your cheeks. He then pulls his thumb out of your mouth and smirks.

“Shut your mouth unless you beg for my cock or want to tell me that you love me, love,” he says, leaning forward, and this time he captures your lips with his. They are so soft and warm, and he moves them so perfectly against yours that you just want to give in, leaning more into his touch. Steve will get what he wants, even when it takes a bit to tell you that you love him, but you will be his beautiful, cute wife.

He pulls his thumb out of your mouth, smirking when you immediately close your mouth and crawl further back. You whimper, leaning your back against the wall and looking down at your hands. With your fingers, you play with the handcuffs, moving them around your wrist. Steve looks at you the whole time, smiling softly before he gets up.

“Will you always keep me in the basement?” You ask shyly, not looking at him. A low chuckle leaves his lips. Steve turns around and looks at you once again.

“When you tell me you’re good, I will take you upstairs. Are you good?” His voice sounds soft, and when you look up, you see nothing but comfort in his eyes. Steve’s hands are in his pants pockets while he waits for you to answer. You nod, flicking when his eyes darken, and he looks suddenly at you with an angry expression. “Use your words, love.”

“Sorry,” you mumble, wanting to look back down on your hands, but his intense blue eyes hold yours. You just can’t look away; even though he just looked angry, when his gaze softens, you feel a comfortable warmth rushing through your body. “I’ll be good.”

He grins, walking closer to you and getting down on his knees once again. Steve’s blue eyes brighten when you hold your hands up for him to open the handcuffs. He then gets up and holds his hand out for you to place your smaller one in his big one. When you do so, you smile slightly; his hand is so warm and soft.

“Let’s get upstairs and get some food into your belly, huh?” You nod your head, getting up as well. Your legs feel like jelly, and Steve has to catch you so you won’t fall forward. He immediately wraps his hands around your waist, pulling you tight against him, and you can feel his broad chest against your back. You sigh softly until you feel something poking into your lower back, gasping when he thrusts his hips slowly forward to press his growing bulge more against you.

“S—Sorry,” you mumble, not wanting to make the situation awkward, but Steve doesn’t look ashamed at all. He grinds his bulge against you while his grip on your hips tightens. Steve’s fingers dig into your soft skin, and you moan quietly, your cunt dripping when his cock slides up and down your lower back and your ass. He leans down, his lips grazing over your skin. Steve kisses and sucks at your skin before he lets go and takes your hand to lead you upstairs.

Steve made lunch for the two of you; his eyes were roaming the whole time over your face, and he smirked when you ate the food with a satisfied smile on your face. “You’re pretty when you smile. Know why I feel for you,” he said, causing you to look up at him and blush slightly.

His tongue slid out and across his lips while his eyes suddenly darkened, and he groaned with a huge smirk on his plump lips. “Should make you mine, but first finish lunch, babe.”

Not long after you are placed on your belly on the bed, Steve doesn’t allow you to turn around, and afraid of punishment, you listen to him and just lay there while you listen to him walk through the room.

“Are you gonna be good, babe? Or do I need to handcuff you?” He asks; you can hear him smirking, and your stomach feels like it’s turning around. You inhale deeply, trying to calm yourself down. Maybe he just wants to joke around or something.

“I—I will be good,” you mumble, placing your hands underneath your head so he can’t reach them immediately.

Steve chuckles darkly before he makes his way to the bed. His footsteps are heavy, and your body starts to tremble when his hand slides along your leg, causing goosebumps on your skin. “Gonna show everyone that you belong to me, babe.”

Steve places whatever he has in his hands next to you on the bed and lets himself fall down next to you on the mattress.

“What are you doing?” You ask, turning your head slightly, but Steve is fast and snaps his hand forward, pressing it on the back of your head to turn your head back, pressing it down on the mattress.

“Told you, gonna show everyone that you belong to me,” he says again before he moves and sits on your thighs, causing you to groan. “I’m not that heavy, love.”

You squirm a bit while Steve grasps the hem of your shirt and pushes it up. He reveals your back, his fingers grazing slightly over your skin. “Steve, please—"

“Shut your mouth!” His voice sounds harsh, and you immediately obey, closing your eyes and trying to think of something better than Steve sitting on your thighs.

A cold liquid drops on your warm skin, and you yelp, trying to turn your head around once again, but he still pushes your face into the mattress, so you’re not able to see whatever he is doing right now. He then waves the liquid away, and you’re really not sure what he is doing there.

“Could hurt a bit but will be fine.” Steve mumbles, and your eyes widen. His hand on the back of your hand lets go of you, but you don’t dare turn your head. You inhale deeply; your breath is shaking, especially when you hear him turning on a machine.

He brings it closer to your back, and before you can say something or move away, you feel a sharp pain in your back. You scream and gasp, your skin burns, but he brings the machine over and over again to your skin. “Steve, please. That hurts; don’t do that, please.”

For a brief moment, you just want to turn around and try to get him off of you, but since he sat down on your thighs, you’re kind of frozen, and now, with him making a tattoo on your back, even more.

Tears are building up in your eyes, rolling down your cheeks, and causing a wet spot on the sheets underneath you. Quiet sobs leave your lips while Steve holds you in place and continues with the tattoo. A smirk crosses his lips when the first letter is written down on your lower back. He groans, his dick growing in his pants, when he makes the next letter.

“Gonna cum in my pants when you have my name written on your back, fucking gorgerous,” he moans, thrusting his hips forward for you to feel his bulge pressing against your ass. “Or maybe I jerk off and come all over your face, or your tattoo, fuck, I can’t decide it’s all so hot. My dick is so hard, and my balls are so fucking heavy, filled with so much cum, and I will pump you full with it at some point.”

“Steve, please,” you try, but a sob interrupts you, and Steve just ignores you, continuing to finish the tattoo on your lower back. He groans every now and then, his tongue wetting his lips while his hand is pressing down on your back, and you feel his hips rutting against yours every now and then.

You don’t know how much time passes until he finally turns off the machine. Tears are still falling down your cheeks, but unless you get a few sniffles, you’re quiet. You thought Steve could be soft, and he can, but right now you just feel scared and hurt. Steve places the machine and color to the side and wipes a cold washcloth over your lower back, causing you to flinch.

“Do you want a nice bath with me or do you want to watch a movie? He asks, leaning down to kiss your neck softly. Steve’s lips are so warm and soft against your neck that you want to sigh, but the burning pain in your lower back makes you wiggle to try and move away from him.

“You’re fucking insane! I don’t want a bath with you!” You say it with a shaking voice while he sighs. He then lets go of you and lets you crawl from the bed, pushing your shirt down before you look for the nearest corner.

He looks at you when you sit with your back pressed against the wall, your legs pulled up, and against your chest while you rest your head on your knees and stare at the wall.

“Babe, come here. I’m sorry, oke. But seeing you so often go out with your friends makes me go crazy. And when someone comes over here, they can see that you’re mine. I love you, babe,” he says, his voice soft.

You turn a bit to face him; his steel blue eyes look so soft, and his lips are curled up into the sweetest smile. “How about I make it up to you?”

You narrow; what does he understand when he says he is making it up to you? You shake your head; he just made you a tattoo with his name. But with his question, the anger inside of you grows, and the pain on your skin turns into anger too. With a clenched jaw, you let a small chuckle escape your lips. “Wanna make it up to me?”

He nods his head, getting up from the bed and walking a few steps closer. You immediately press yourself more into the corner. Steve sighs before he gets on his knees and reaches his hand out for you to grab or for him to touch you. “Yes, let me make you feel good.”

“Making me feel good — maybe with another tattoo? Or do you want to make it up, and I can make a tattoo on your fucking dick?” You ask with a low chuckle.

Steve’s jaw clenches, and he grasps your arm harshly, pulling you off the floor and back to the bed. “Can’t fucking appreciate it, can you? Just made you mine, or else someone else would have fucked you. Are you such a whore that you want someone else to fuck you?”

“I would prefer everyone in that city instead of letting you fuck me!” You shoot at him, trying to wiggle out of his tight grip, but he turns the two of you around and takes a seat on the bed while he pushes you onto the ground in front of him.

“Would you?” Steve’s voice is calm, and it causes you to shiver. His blue eyes are darkened; he grips your neck and squeezes lightly. You nod your head, trying to ignore the tight grip of his hand around your throat. “Then you can start to show me that you can be a good girl.”

“Thought you wanna make me feel good?” You ask, looking through your lashes and trying to grin. But his hand is squeezing even more, and you feel yourself panicking when he just doesn’t want to let go of your neck. “I’m sorry, p—please.”

“Good girl, beg Daddy to let go of your neck. Fuck— could look at you sitting between my legs all the time, begging for me. Sit still!” He demands, his fingers letting go of your neck, and he brings them to your cheek, his thumb slipping over your lips before he pushes his digit into your mouth. Steve groans before he removes his thumb.

Steve lets go of you and brings his hand to his belt, unbuckling it before his hand disappears in his pants. He is freeing his weeping cock. You whimper, your eyes widen when you see his huge length, the tip read, and pre-cum is leaking down his thick, veiny shaft. His hand is wrapped around his cock while he gives himself a few strokes, smirking at you.

“Like that, love? Knew you would love seeing me jerk off and come all over your face,” he says, grinning when you slowly move away from him. His free hand immediately snaps out to grasp your neck again, and he pulls you closer. “Sit still! Wanna give you all of my cum.”

His thumb moves over his tip, and he groans while bucked his hips forward, thrusting into his hand. You can’t move away; his grip is too tight around your neck, and you swallow harshly, trying to look at something else at least. Steve pushes your head even further toward his cock, grinning. His dick is the only thing you are able to look at unless you look up. Then you would look at his lower belly, covered with his shirt.

“Look at my cock when I come all over your face, babe,” he groans, his cock twitching in his hand. He pumps his length at a steady pace, his thumb brushing every now and then across his tip, and he smears his pre-cum all over his cock.

Even though you didn’t want to see it, you kind of like it. Steve's dick is beautiful, and you can’t help the growing wetness between your legs, soaking your panties slowly. “C—Can I do that?”

For a moment, he is narrowing his eyes and tilting his head to the side before he recognizes the way you press your thighs together. Steve loves that his action of jerking himself off in front of you has such an effect on you, and he lets you gladly help him with his hard cock. “You can wrap your hand around my length and pump it.”

You nod, lifting your hand, and wrap your fingers softly around them. The brown-haired man immediately groans loudly when your soft and warm hand is wrapped around him, moving up and down. Your eyes are focused on the leaking tip, and then you let them wander down his shaft. Using your fingertips to slide them along his vein before you wrap your fingers around his cock again.

Steve smirks at you. He looks at you for a while — addicted to your hand around his cock, your soft touches, and the way you clench your thighs to get some friction between your legs. He then looks behind you, and a big mirror shows your back and ass. Steve lifts your shirt and smirks; he can see his name written down over your ass.

A pornographic moan leaves his lips when he thrusts into your hand, almost hitting your face since he still holds you close to his dick. The sight of his name on your lower back and the steady movements of your hand around his cock bring him closer to his orgasm. His balls are heavy, and his dick twitches.

The man grasps your hand, removing it from his cock, and causes you to whine. “Don’t whine; you can get my cock. But I said I would come all over your face. You look so fucking gorgeous with my name on your back; you belong to me, babe.”

You whimper, staring at his cock while he thrusts into his hand. His eyes are focused on your back; Steve is going feral with that sight; his moans and groans get louder, and he is about to come, giving you his cum and painting your face white with it.

With a few more strokes and a loud groan, he comes all over your face, shooting his seeds all over it and smirks satisfied. He could come once again just from you having his cum across your face and looking through your lashes at him. Your tongue is sliding over your lips, licking the cum off of them, and a desperate moan is leaving your lips when you taste him.

“Yeah, like my cum, huh? Pump you full with it; you’re so sexy with my cum all over your face, making me go feral for you,” he groans, leaning down, pushing you away before he presses his lips for a passionate kiss against yours.

It’s rough, and he immediately asks for access when he glides his tongue over your lips, getting it when you part your lips and let him explore your mouth with his tongue. The tingling feeling in your lower stomach grows; your pussy is dripping.

“Let’s clean your face,” he says after pulling away from the kiss. His fingers swipe over your face, grazing his cum. Steve holds them in front of your mouth, waiting for you to twirl your tongue around them and clean his fingers. You moan softly, sucking on his digits, before he repeats his actions and lets you lick off his cum until your face is clean. “Good girl, deserving a reward for helping me to jerk off and eating all of my cum, huh?”

You immediately look up into his beautiful steel-blue eyes, nodding your head. Steve chuckles, letting go of your neck and getting off the bed, starting to strip. “Take off your clothes; I’m hungry, and I want a meal before I pump you full with my cum.” His voice sounds so rough and sexy that you obey, smirking while you do what he asks you for.

He may be a dick, but he is a hot dick, and you’re pretty sure he can help your tingling and dripping cunt perfectly. Maybe he isn’t that bad; he loves you, so you can learn to love him too, right? You definitely can, especially when you see those pretty blue eyes roaming over your naked body like he looks at his prey, ready to eat your pussy.

// Taglist //

@kandis-mom @sergeantbarnessdoll @identity2212 @km-ffluv @lunaalovesyouu @blackhawkfanatic @armystay89 @suz7days @etherealdisneyvillainness @pono-pura-vida @randomawesomeperson102 @rogersbarber @sebastianstanisahotmf @jiyascepter @princesscore-angel

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

Close enough, welcome back, Steve Kemp

[vellicore]

Fresh (2022) as Letterboxd reviews

[unearthlydust]

SEBASTIAN STAN FRESH (2022) ONCE UPON A TIME