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whumperofworlds · 2 years ago

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Decedents of Chaos, part 1

A/N: Special thanks to @thequestingbunny for this idea, even if the plot is completely different and consisting of... lord knows how many parts! 😆 Been playing with this idea for quite a while so decided to write it now! I know I still have a few other WIPs *glares at You're Mine* but I have FFI on the brain ATM. 😅

TWs: Kidnapping, beaten, tied up, blood, food mention.

Fandom: Final Fantasy I

TAGS: @painful-pooch

I don't own Chaos or Sarah. Drusus, Keme, and the Decedents of Chaos cult belong to me.

ENJOY!

_____

Keme hummed a familiar tune as he added more carrots into the pot he was stirring. It was another quiet day at home, and while Drusus was away for a mission, Keme took the chance to clean up a bit around their shared home and cook dinner for tonight. Tonight was veggie stew, Drusus' favorite, and Keme was currently at the final stages of finishing up his cooking.

Drusus would return home in an hour, so Keme took the time to take a small break and let the stew cook. He wiped off the sweat from his brow before he walked towards one of the kitchen chairs to sit down on. He sighed, wiping off the excessive ingredients from his messy cooking off of his hands with a cloth.

Who knew how hard it was to cook? Keme thought. Mom made it look so easy. Oh well, anything for my Drussy.

His mind drifted off to Drusus. His love. He sighed dreamily as he thought of the first time they had met. How powerful and swift Drusus was when he tried to capture the Thief. How he cornered him. When their eyes locked then, Keme knew he was the one. Even when he joined the Mercenary Group, it took a while for Drusus to open up to him. Keme understood why, though; due to losing so many people in his life, he was afraid of getting close and potentially losing him too. Thankfully, however, the two grew close as good friends and eventually lovers.

He was so into his daydreaming that he didn't hear the back door opening. In fact, he didn't notice anyone coming in until it was too late.

Something cold pressed against his throat, and Keme froze at the feeling. His breathing hitched, and he slowly raised his hands in surrender, his eyes widening. He didn't bother looking down to identify what it was--he knew what it was, and it could end his life if he even made one false move.

A dagger.

"Scream, and I'll kill you," a deep, gritty voice threatened in his ear.

Keme nodded slightly, trying to pinpoint who it was based on their voice. Was it someone that he or Drusus arrested? No. He didn't recognize anyone with such a gritty voice.

The person grabbed his shoulder, squeezing it so tight that Keme cringed. "Get up," the person growled.

Keme merely hesitated, his eyes darting back and forth for a moment. Trying to find a way to escape, to fight back. But alas, the dagger reminded him of his predicament as it was pressed onto his skin.

"I said," the person repeated, "get. Up." They squeezed his shoulder again, eliciting a whimper from the Thief.

Keme stood from the chair, the dagger not leaving his neck as his captor pushed the chair to the side. Keme could feel the grin appearing on their face.

"Keme, the Thief Warrior of Light," the person began, "one who holds the Fire Crystal. The one who slayed Master Chaos. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Keme froze, a small gasp escaping his throat. How... how did they know his name? His crystal? Granted, he was a famous Warrior of Light, but that was all many people knew of him. No one but him, the other Warriors of Light, and Queen Sarah knew of him holding the Fire Crystal.

Wait a minute... Master Chaos?

"You're coming with me, Light Warrior," the person chuckled. "You and the other Light Warriors will pay for slaying our Master."

Keme's heart pounded, the realization hitting him hard. Whoever this person was, they were working with Chaos, despite his death long ago.

He couldn't just let them take him away like this. He had to fight back.

He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself and his racing heart. His thoughts began to race, as he tried to remember everything Drusus had taught him on fighting back.

Stay calm. Fight back. Don't let your opponent win.

He opened his eyes, and without warning, he stomped his captor's booted foot, hard. The person cried out, releasing their hold for a moment, and Keme took the chance to shove them away from him. The captor fell to the ground, their dagger sliding to the side.

Keme faced them, unsheathing his own dagger. He studied them, trying to identify them. Their face was completely hidden; it was enshrouded in darkness thanks to the purple hood over their head, and they wore a purple cloak that covered their entire body from head to toe.

"Who are you?!" Keme demanded, pointing his dagger at his attacker. "How the hell did you know all that about me?!"

The person chuckled, slowly standing up, grabbing their dagger along the way. "Keme, Keme, Keme... didn't you know?" They got themself in a fighting stance, their dagger up and ready. "As one of the slayers of Chaos, you are needed for a ritual."

Keme raised a brow. "A ritual...?" Chaos and a ritual... what did it all mean?

No. He shook his head. Now was not the time to ask questions. "Like I give a shit. If you don't want to get hurt..." As quick as the wind, he rushed towards the cloaked figure, his dagger up to their neck. "Leave. Our. Home."

"'Our home?'" The person asked. They chuckled, as if the words were a funny joke. "So it was true. You and the one who holds the Water Crystal are living together. Are you two married, by any chance?"

"None of your business!" Keme yelled, pushing the dagger closer to them, to the point it was up to their neck.

The attacker laughed. "It's a shame that he's not here now. It would be like killing two birds with one stone. For now..."

They grinned, and before Keme could question it...

Swoosh

He felt a hand... no, multiple hands, grabbing his body from behind. One of them grabbed his weapon hand, twisting it until he dropped the dagger to the floor. The hands pulled him down to the ground, pinning him there as Keme struggled.

"Get off!" Keme screamed, thrashing against the hands as he growled.

The person who attacked him approached, sheathing their dagger. They held up a hand, a vicious smirk on their face.

"Don't resist, Light Warrior," they taunted. "You have already lost."

They chanted something under their breath, before holding out a hand to Keme's face. Keme suddenly couldn't keep his eyes open, no matter how much he tried. His struggles grew weaker and weaker until they stopped, and eventually, Keme fell asleep.

Damn. A Sleepra spell.

_____

Keme wasn't sure how long he was knocked out, but eventually, he began to regain consciousness.

He groaned, his head throbbing from the spell. Geez, how long was he asleep? From the blurred darkness, he could safely assume that it was nighttime by now.

The headache hit him again, and he reached his head to--

...Wait a second...

He realized he couldn't move his hands. Not only that, but they were above his head, likely tied up. He shook his head to rid of the blurriness that attacked his sight, before he glanced up to see that indeed, his hands were bound above his head. The rope that tied his hands together was tied to a small hook that was on the dark ceiling. His feet barely touched the ground thanks to how far up the rope held him.

He glanced around, realizing that he was in some sort of dungeon. A door stood in front of him, several feet away, and it had a small window covered up by small bars. The inside of the stony dungeon was surprisingly clean, as if someone had tidied up here before they brought Keme here. The stones also glowed a sickly green, sending a shiver down Keme's spine.

He realized his predicament now.

Not again...

He sighed, shaking his head. He was getting tired of getting himself into situations like this. Even with all the extra training he got thanks to Drusus, this still kept happening.

No, no, Keme thought, no time for that. Gotta escape. Gotta focus.

He glanced up at his bound hands, studying them for a second. They were tied together, the rope closer to his hands. Maybe if he used a Fire spell...

He closed his eyes, chanting under his breath. After a few seconds, he opened his hands and...

Nothing.

What?!

Had he run out of magic? No. He hadn't used his magic all week. Then how...?

He glanced at the glowing stone walls again.

...Ah.

A magic prevention dungeon. That was why.

Keme cursed under his breath over his total helplessness. Now what should he do? He didn't want to wait around until rescue like this. He was sure that Drusus was home now, and was likely worrying over Keme's sudden disappearance.

Probably freaking out by now.

Echoed footsteps broke his train of thought, and Keme stiffened. His eyes widened, but held back the urge to gasp in fear. His captors were coming.

He gulped, but changed his expression into a glare. He wasn't going to show fear to these fools. He was a Warrior of Light. They had no idea what they were dealing with.

The door opened, and a purple cloaked figure stepped in. Their smirk was unmistakable as they approached the bound Thief.

"Finally awake, are we?" They mocked.

"Who are you? What the hell do you want with me?" Keme growled, tugging at his bonds slightly.

"We are a group dedicated to reviving our Master Chaos," the figure explained. "The Decedents of Chaos. And you, slayer of Master Chaos, will help us revive him."

"Me? Revive Chaos?" Keme asked. Before his captor could say anything else, Keme laughed at the whole idea. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but Chaos is long dead now. He's not coming back anytime soon! And besides, even if there was a way to revive him, I'm not gonna help you!"

"Oh, but there is a way to revive him, Warrior of Light," they chuckled. "We have found a ritual where spilling the blood of all four of the Warriors of Light would revive our Master--"

"Oh. So you're batshit crazy then!" Keme interrupted despite his beating heart. These people were going to sacrifice him? No. Not like this. "There's no ritual that could revive him, idiot! You're better off--"

He didn't see the blow coming. Their fist made contact with his stomach, and he coughed from the blow.

"Do not interrupt me!" They growled, gripping Keme's chin. "We're not done yet. Once we get one of the other three, the ritual will begin."

"You're insa--"

A punch to the nose. Keme cried out blood spurting from his nose. His hands moved slightly to try to hold his nose to stop the bleeding. Alas, they were bound tightly and unable to do so.

"Quiet!" His captor hissed. "Or else I'll gag you."

Way to make it worse, Keme. Keme thought to himself, the blood continuing to leak out from his nose.

"But first," the captor continued, "Master Chaos needs to be satisfied with the torture of the Light Warriors." They forced Keme's face to get closer to theirs, their noses touching together. Keme could feel their hot breath to the point that a shiver went down his spine. "Starting with you, bearer of the Fire Crystal."

Keme opened his mouth again by instinct, to try to say something defiant, only to be met with another punch, this time to his left eye. A black eye began to form from the impact, and Keme whimpered in pain.

"I told you to stay quiet!" They growled.

Keme merely glared as best as he could, but worry began to etch into his mind. What if his fellow Warriors of Light were kidnapped by them too? What would happen to them if they were caught?

Drusus... oh Cosmos, no.

The mere idea of Drusus getting caught by these Decedents of Chaos made him shake his head. No. He couldn't think that. Drusus was the strongest out of the three. He would deal with them no problem.

Right?

His captor turned their back on him, approaching the opened door. "The torture will start soon, so you better be prepared, Keme, bearer of the Fire Crystal..."

With those chilling words, they left the dungeon, closing and locking the door as they left.

Keme sighed, tears beginning to form in his eyes. The helplessness and worry he was feeling hit him like a carriage, as he wiggled against his bonds slightly.

Oh Cosmos. Please be alright, everyone...

#my whump stories #warriors of light #decedents of chaos #chaos #keme #drusus #final fantasy #final fantasy 1 #kidnapping #tied up #hands above head #beaten up #gagging mention #whump #blood #broken nose #black eye #food mention #princess sarah

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slowandsteddie · 11 months ago

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Y’all think broken noses are hot???

Anyone want the story time of how my nose got broke and I reset it myself, or?

"Crooked, previously-broken nose" is such a hot trait to give your characters. Im begging you to fuck up your characters' noses

#cw: broken nose mention

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thrucrax · 4 days ago

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“Clean yourself up. You're getting blood all over the place,” said Rhun [ @unhirsch ]

“Doubt that's what makes you so pissy,” the words were harsher than the voice that delivered them. Bert felt the heat of embarrassment, of shame, flood from his toes to his cheeks for the mess he left in his path. Or maybe that was simply because blood dripped from his nose, even between carefully pinched fingers. “Is - is there a sink I can borrow?”

#bloody nose or broken nose...very on brand for a bertie smh #unhirsch #unhirsch: rhun #ANSWERED.#IC.#maybe fucked teeth who knows smh #blood mention

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sugoroo · 7 days ago

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# PUT ME IN A MOVIE!

ʚɞ summary. in which the jjk men decide to send a snippet of your fun in the sheets to a friend, so you better be ready to put on a good show. . . ft. gojo, geto, toji, choso + nanami.

warnings. fem!reader, exhibitionism, filming of sex, oral (m receiving), facial, fingering, pussy slaps, penetration (p in v), doggystyle, spanking + brief choking in toji's, squirting, handjob, 18+ minors dni.

SATORU GOJO

"yeahhh, stay just like that for me, baby," satoru croons as he peers down at your patiently waiting form, raising the phone slightly to get the best possible angle of your position knelt between his legs. "suguru's gonna dig this."

"isn't he gonna be pissed at you for sending him something like this while he's on a mission abroad?" you inquire curiously, raising an eyebrow as your boyfriend quickly dismisses your question with a simple wave of his hand.

"nah, i'm sure he'll appreciate having some... material to keep him sated during that boring ass assignment." the white-haired menace grins unapologetically, reaching down with his free hand to push some loose strands of hair out of your eyes. "—not to mention, he's always going on about how pretty he finds you. he should be honoured i'm willing to let him see this, honestly."

"if you say so, toru," you hum sceptically with a small shrug, earning yourself a fond head pat from the aforementioned man as he returns his attention to the view from behind the screen. "and what do you want me to do, exactly?"

"just do what you usually would before sucking me off," satoru instructs, before pausing to scratch the underside of his chin thoughtfully. "but add a little more teasing just to make him squirm when he watches it, heh."

"that's so mean! poor sugu." you tease lightly, running your hands over his toned thighs through the material of his sweatpants. there's already a visible tent growing at the crotch; no doubt from the mere idea that his bestfriend is going to be witnessing this exact moment in a few hours, too.

"oh yeah, he's just sooo mistreated by getting a video of my hot girlfriend putting her mouth on my dick." he gasps theatrically, before erupting into a small fit of laughter at his own antics, causing you to roll your eyes in response.

"now now, don't go getting ahead of yourself." you tut chidingly, punishing him with a sharp flick to his pelvis through his trousers and causing him to yelps dramatically in pain — however, the sound quickly morphs into a soft moan when you soothe the sting by nuzzling your nose against it.

purposefully teasing him just as you were told, you drag your face from the side of his hip to the unmistakeable bulge pressing against the fabric of his pants, brushing your lips over it and gazing up at the camera lens of the phone through your lashes.

"mmm. look at her, suguru," satoru groans deeply, using two fingers to zoom in on your expression as you start gently mouthing at his clothed erection. "bet you wish she was doing this to you right now, huhh?"

but his plans to utter mocking comments to his friend throughout the duration of the video quickly unravel once you've gotten his lower half bare, the only sounds leaving his lips being broken whines and moans of pleasure as you work him over with your mouth and tongue.

"f-fuck, baby, that's—" he attempts to speak, bright eyes rolling back so far in his head he swears he sees the pearly white gates of heaven when you start fondling his neglected balls in time with the practised bobs of your head. "so goood."

"yeah?" you murmur once you slide your mouth off the end of his saliva-coated cock with a lewd pop!, blinking up at both him and the camera with a mischievous smile. "or maybe you're just feeling even more sensitive than usual because you know suguru's gonna be watching this later, hmm?"

"h-hey!" satoru whisper-shouts in embarrassment, pale cheeks visibly staining a deep shade of pink behind the phone as a little trickle of gooey pre-cum oozes from his angered tip as a result of your words. "don't say stuff like that, he'll never let me live it down."

"oh, come on," you chuckle in amusement, slowly lolling your tongue out to lick a long, teasing stripe across the underside of his veiny shaft. "like he isn't gonna be jerking one out to this exact part of the video imagining what you looked like behind the camera while i did this to you."

"shit— y-you really think he'll do that?" he breathes out shakily, cock twitching from both the visual image you've conjured up in his head and the feeling of your pleasureful ministrations against him.

"oh, i know he will," you purr in a low, sultry caress of a tone as you flick the tip of your tongue over his leaking slit just the way he likes it. "he'll probably even cum at the same time you do, just from hearing your sounds."

"oh god... baby, ngh!, i'm g-gonna—" and satoru can't even finish his sentence before he's throwing his head back in ecstasy, thick ropes of milky cum spurting from his cockhead and splattering across your features.

"hm, i think you might've been right after all," you muse as you collect some of his release from your cheek, delving it into your mouth and making direct eye contact with the camera while sucking it from the digit. "suguru is gonna dig this."

SUGURU GETO

"ah ah, c'mon, pretty, none of that," suguru scolds as you try to snap your legs closed again, prying them right back open with his free hand while the other brings the phone closer to your dripping cunt. "gotta make sure satoru gets a good view, don't we?"

you whine in embarrassment, bringing your own hands up to cover your heated face as your boyfriend uses two of his slender fingers to separate your puffy pussy lips, a low groan leaving his throat as he does so.

"such a cute little pussy, aren't you?" he croons, seemingly having no reservations about talking to it as he trails the pad of one of his fingers down your leaking slit. "yeahh, i know you are. and so does satoru now, too."

"s-sugu, stop it!" you squeak quietly, peering down at him between the cracks of your fingers with an involuntary pout. he only chuckles at your display of shyness, the edges of his violet eyes crinkling with amusement as he reaches up to gently tug your hands away from your face.

"and why should i, baby?" suguru hums smoothly, trapping both of your wrists in the grip of one of his large hands while he props the phone up against your thigh so he can continue playing with your cunt. "i know you secretly like it, otherwise she wouldn't be so soaked."

"t-that's not—!" you huff in protest, quickly trailing off when he abruptly punishes you for lying in the form of a sharp smack! against your tacky folds.

"what have i told you about telling me fibs, hmm?" he tuts, soothing the sting of the slap by rubbing the heel of his palm over your twitching skin. "you're making me look bad in front of satoru. and you don't want that, do you, sweet girl?"

"...no." you mutter meekly, feeling your body once again betray you by oozing more webby arousal onto his fingers at the mere thought that satoru is going to be watching this video later tonight.

suguru releases yet another rich laugh as he carefully scoops up some of your translucent juices with a finger, waving it around in front of the camera lens before sinking it into his mouth with a satisfied hmph. "i bet he's gonna wish he was here get a taste of you too. you know how much he loves sweet things."

"y-yeah?" you mumble breathlessly, hips weakly bucking up in search of some friction as his words sink straight down into the already coiling spool of pleasure buried in the depths of your stomach. "and would you let him?"

he taps the bottom of his chin in thought for a few moments, a cat-like smile spreading across his lips as he leans over you to whisper in your ear, hot breaths brushing against the hairs on the side of your neck. "only if he took it from my fingers... i wouldn't let him drink from the source — no, that's for me only."

a small mewl of pleasure escapes you at his words, and that's when his eyes flicker down to notice that you've sneakily managed to wriggle one of your wrists from his grip and ease one of your own fingers into your fluttering hole while he was speaking.

oh, you're in for it now.

suguru rips your hand away from your cunt, pinning both above your head this time before lowering his own between your writhing thighs and making direct eye contact with the camera from beneath his dark lashes. "now you're gonna see what happens when my girl misbehaves, satoru. hope you're strapped in for a bumpy ride."

TOJI FUSHIGURO

"c'mon, mama, i know y'can do a better arch for me than that," toji huffs impatiently as he delivers a sharp slap to your raised ass, making your entire body jolt with a mix of surprise and arousal. "don't ya wanna impress shiu, hmm?"

his words fly straight past your brain, shooting directly down to your stuffed cunt as you bend the front of your body even further down into the mattress, pushing your rear back against him with renewed vigour.

"ohhh, look at that," your boyfriend chortles amusedly, soothing the red handprint where he'd slapped with a gentle pat as a form of reward for your obedience. "looks like my girl is gettin' off on putting on a good ol' show for for my handler, huh? cute."

"shut up, toji," you mutter in response, voice slightly muffled by the material of the pillow as he continues to pound into you in full view of the phone propped up on the bedside table. "like you're not enjoying this too."

"heh. never said i wasn't, baby," he grunts from behind you, rough hands spreading the globes of your ass apart further to give the camera a better picture of the way his thick girth disappears inside of you with each thrust. "i like the idea of showin' him somethin' he can never have."

"you— mmph! — you wouldn't consider letting him join in?" you squeak out through the haze of pleasure he's put you in, hips halting their wriggles backwards as you unsurprisingly fail to keep up with his vicious pace.

"nah," toji hums casually, the only sign of him tiring out being the small tremor in his voice when he feels your spongy walls tighten around him in response to him hitting a particularly deep spot. "wouldn't be opposed to havin' him sit and watch us, though."

he can tell how much you support the idea by the way a gush of arousal drips out of you as soon as the words leave his mouth, dripping down his cock and splattering lewdly against his heavy balls.

"ohh, you like that, dont'cha?" he rumbles, reaching a large hand around to wrap around the front of your throat, giving it a light squeeze. "like thinkin' about shiu sat right next to the bed and jerkin' one out to the sight of me fuckin' you good, huhh?"

a wanton moan spills from your lips at this, pussy almost cutting off the blood circulation in his cock with how tightly it squeezes him when you cum. his darkened eyes flicker down, groaning when he sees the way your translucent juices spray the sheets beneath the two of you.

"hot damn, baby," toji growls, swiping up the phone from the bedside table and bringing it closer to film the mess you've caused where your bodies are connected. "ya see this shit, shiu? think we might have'ta organize a little cucking session some time soon, don't you?"

CHOSO KAMO

"s-so who are you planning on showing this to again?" choso utters sheepishly from his position splayed out across the bed, cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink and twitching cock standing to attention between his legs as you aim the phone in his direction.

"just yuki," you hum casually, peering over the top of the device and giving him a small, reassuring smile. "are you sure you're okay with this? because we can always stop if—"

"—no! i-i mean, no thank you," he squeaks hurriedly, shy chestnut eyes darting to the side in embarrassment as he registers just how eager he sounded. "i'm fine."

you release a soft laugh at his shyness, reaching down to cup one of his rosy cheeks in your free hand give it a teasing squeeze. "aww, is thinking about yuki seeing you like this making you all flustered, baby?"

choso lets out a quiet whine at how easily you read him, bare body squirming slightly against the mattress in response to your words. "i-it's just... sometimes she can be so mean. what if she makes fun of me for this?"

"oh, she won't," you purr seductively, trailing your fingers down from his cheek to his plump pectorals that rise and fall with each heavy breath he takes. "she'll be too busy... taking care of herself after watching this video."

his mouth falls open into a comical little 'o' shape at the mental image your implication alights in his mind, the flushed tip of his cock spurting out a trail of translucent pre-cum as a result. "she'll really be doing that because o-of me?"

"of course, pretty boy," you hum amusedly, giving one of his pebbled nipples a soft tweak with your thumb and forefinger and relishing in the little yelp the action earns you. "you have no idea how delicious you look right now, do you?"

choso shakes his head meekly, back arching off the bed as he needily pushes his chiselled torso into your touch. "n-no. but... can you tell me? how d-delicious i look?"

"mhmm," you coo softly, propping the phone up against one of his thick thighs so both of your hands are free to play with his quivering cock. "you look good enough to eat, cho. such an obedient boy, all laid out for me like this."

your boyfriend whimpers pathetically at your praise, messy tresses of dark hair sticking to his forehead with sweat when you finally wrap a hand around his girthy base. "k-keep talking to me, pretty girl. please?"

"...and it's not just me who thinks you're perfect, either," you continue as you begin to stroke him languidly, other hand snaking down to gently fondle his heavy balls and making his legs tremble either side of you in response. "bet yuki's gonna be soaked just from watching this video."

"s-shit—! can't... gonna cum already," choso cries out, hips frantically bucking up into your fist like a teenager receiving his first handjob before his cock twitches violently beneath your hold, thick stripes of cum oozing from his reddened tip.

you quickly stop the recording so you can pull his shaky body into your arms, comforting him through the aftershocks of his intense orgasm as he buries his head into your clothed chest with a content mewl.

"...m-maybe we should do that more often." comes choso's soft, barely audible mumble as he peers up at you from between his messy bangs once a few minutes of comfortable silence have passed.

and oh, if that's how worked up a simple bit of filming is going to get him each time? you definitely agree.

KENTO NANAMI

"hopefully this video helps hiromi relax a little bit," nanami muses as he sets up the phone against the pillow next to your head, angling it so the lens of the camera has the perfect view of your sprawled out form waiting for him. "he's been ever so stressed lately."

"you're so considerate, ken," you hum affectionately as he settles himself between your legs, reaching up to caress his cheek with the pad of your thumb. "doing all of this for your friend."

"mmm," he hums warmly, leaning his angular face into your touch slightly as he places his large hands either side of your body. "and you're the perfect wife, agreeing to let me film such an intimate moment. i love you so much, honey, you know that?"

"i know," you respond with a gentle smile, eyes flickering down to watch as he aligns his leaky cock with your awaiting cunt. "i love you too, kento. always."

he returns your smile with a loving one of his own before slowly, with the utmost care, beginning to ease himself inside of you. he relishes in the way your arms fly to the back of his neck for support and your legs wind around his waist as each inch makes its way home — but most of all, the way the camera catches every moment as it happens.

the thought of hiromi watching this later and growing hard in his work slacks, paired with the heavenly feeling of bottoming out within the familiar coziness of your spongy walls, has nanami groaning in pleasure.

"you feel utterly divine, love," he whispers tenderly against the shell of your ear, quiet enough so the phone won't pick it up but loud enough that the words will send a shiver rippling down your spine. "taking me so well."

as the two of you move together in a well-practised dance of passion, nanami makes sure to cast his eyes towards the phone every now and again, picturing hiromi's dark eyes dilating with pleasure when he inevitably watches this video later tonight.

"close, sweetheart—" he rasps a few moments later, a few strands of blonde hair hanging over his glistening forehead as he returns his focus to you lying beneath him, holding himself up with one hand while the other reaches up to cup one of your breasts in his palm. "inside?"

"m-mhmm." is all you can manage to get out through your haze of pleasure, ankles digging into the muscles of his back to pull him in impossibly deeper as he twitches with need inside of you.

and when his heavy balls contract against your ass, thick cum spilling straight into your womb where his cockhead is buried, nanami can't help but wonder what hiromi will think when he sees his expression of bliss as he orgasms, head thrown back and jaw slack in ecstasy.

oh dear — he's starting to realize that just sending this video won't be enough... maybe he should invite hiromi into your bedroom next time so he can more efficiently help to remove the other man's stress.

LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED!

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elysianightsss · 2 months ago

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John, he’d been waiting for this moment, been waiting for you to come through the door with tired eyes, an ache in your bones and your head pounding so much you were disappointed that your instincts had kicked in when you slipped on some ice outside and caught yourself instead of letting yourself get knocked the fuck out. So disappointed.

And after a long train ride into the beautiful countryside, a taxi ride to the rustic cabin that always looked more like a cottage to you, you weren’t even bothered about special greetings anymore.

You practically collapsed on John’s lap, curling up there. Your sleeves pulled over your fists because you once again forgot a coat on the way out of your flat. Rubbing your tired eyes with said sleeve covered fist, you mumbled out a sleepy ‘hello’ to which he chuckled pulling your hand away from your now red eye.

“Hello to you too love.” You snuggled further into his neck, thankful that he had trimmed his mutton chops and beard down so they weren’t massively bushy and tickling at your nose like last time. “Long day?”

“The longest.” At this he grinned. John had been waiting for you to have a bad day at work so he could convince you to quit and live off of his money. He’d mentioned it so many times before but unfortunately you always thought he was joking and when he had rasped it into your ear while he was buried deep inside you, you thought that he was just being his usual possessive self.

Not fucking true. Okay it’s partly true, but John was serious. He wanted to put you up in his well polished cabin. Wanted to marry you so you couldn’t argue against him when he said ‘what’s mine is yours’. Wanted to come back from missions to find his cute little wife in his bed. He wanted to spend his free time gardening and baking with you. Going to the farmers market with you and he always wanted to try his hand at painting.

John Price wanted nothing more than to come home to you swollen with his child. Couldn’t wait to take leave so he could take care of you properly. Desperately wanted nothing more than to be there when you bore his child, holding your hand and telling you ‘you’re doing so well, my brave girl’. Wanted to see the sweet little baby that you made together on your hip while you told him all about the new curtain samples you got because ‘the ones in the den are ghastly’ as you so eloquently put it.

And now this was his chance to broach the subject seriously with you. If you agreed, which was a big chance because of how dishevelled you looked and how exhausted you must have been feeling. Then that was brilliant.

If you said no? Maybe he would have to resort to the old ways. Getting you fired. Getting you evicted. Taking all the fight out of you until you truly are broken and begging him for help. It’s not nice but it’s necessary.

“I have something I want to discuss with you sweet’art.” . . .

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4unnyr0se · 5 months ago

Note

Haikyuu characters catching you masterbating ?

❥ caught ya! | haikyuu guys catching you pleasuring yourself

warnings: timeskip! characters, fem! reader mentions of masturbation (duh), jealously, fingering, teasing, voyeurism, toy usage, lewd language

MDNI | 18+ content

word count -> 650

a/n: hopefully i assigned the characters correctly

got a request? my asks are open!

❥ They think it's cute

He walks in on you, knuckle-deep in your soaked pussy, panties hastily pushed aside as you plunge your fingers into your dripping heat over and over again. You were too preoccupied with fucking yourself on your fingers that you didn’t even notice how the door to your bedroom closed, your boyfriend crossing his arms in amusement as he leaned against your dresser. He observes how his name falls from your lips like a broken prayer, your nose sniffling pathetically as you try too hard to rip an orgasm out of you. But sadly, your fingers were no match for his own, and they never will be. You squealed in delight as you finally hit that sweet spot that you so craved, only to have your moment of bliss interrupted by your boyfriend's gentle cooing.

“Did my baby miss me while I was working, hm? Don’t worry, sweet thing. I’ll just stand here and watch. Go on, try to make yourself cum without my help. You’re so fucking adorable, my precious angel.”

SUGAWARA, kuroo, yaku, ennoshita, UKAI, semi, hanamaki, kenma, OSAMU, kita

❥ They think it's stupid

He hears your oh-so-familiar moans behind your shared bedroom and busts in without a second thought. Who the hell was ripping those perfect noises from your pretty lips without his permission? Why, was it you, of course! A bullet vibration practically danced on your throbbing clit while your legs were spread like a slut, your slit drenching the innermost part. Your perfectly manicured hand squeezed your breast, your thumb rolling over your nipple whilst your pearly whites bit down on your bottom lip, hips bucking into the air on occasion. His eyes filled with fury as he ripped the vibrator off your clit, earning an annoyed moan from your slutty mouth.

“What the fuck is this, hm? You seriously couldn’t wait for me to get back so I could fuck you? Who the hell needs this stupid toy when you have me? That’s it. Get on all fours. Right now, don’t fucking test me.”

kageyama, TSUKISHIMA, kyoutani, IWAIZUMI, atsumu, suna, sakusa, ushijima, daichi

❥ They're completely starstruck

Oh, fuck. They have absolutely no idea what to do. He’s fantasized about this so much, and it’s finally fucking happening. He caught you bouncing on a dildo you had bought yourself, whimpering as the silicone head hit every spot so perfectly deep inside your gummy walls. His eyes landed on your pretty fingers, desperately swirling your clit, beads of sweat flying off your forehead. You looked so fucking ethereal, he had to say something. He just had to let you know how fucking pretty you looked!

“Holy fuck, you look so fucking pretty. Can you keep going for me, please? I wanna see you cum over and over again, please, baby girl. I’ll fuck you as much as you want, just put on a good show for me. God, you’re perfect.”

HINATA, yamaguchi, asahi, GOSHIKI, oikawa, akaashi, takeda, TANAKA

❥ They join you

His ears perk up once he hears you mewling in pleasure from your bedroom, eagerly slamming the door open to reveal your hands fucking a vibrating bullet in and out of your weeping cunt, the sheets beneath you a filthy mess. He smirks and practically pounces on the bed, not even bothering to shut the door as he peppers your face in a million kisses. You always look so pretty when you wanna get yourself off. What if he fucked his fist in tandem with you? That's the best idea ever.

“Shit, don’t stop just for me, baby. Let’s cum at the same time, yeah? You wanna fuck yourself with that cute bullet I got you while I fuck my fist to the sight of your pretty tits? C’mon, don’t say no! It’ll be fun, I promise! Then I’ll fuck you nice and good afterward, okay? Thank you, pretty baby.”

nishinoya, BOKUTO, konoha, matsukawa, TENDOU, terushima, yamamoto, lev

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shmpxx · 1 year ago

Text

CURSED SPIRIT — y.o

⛤ curse! yuuta okkotsu x fem! reader

yuuta okkotsu being your one and only curse.

cw. smut. unprotected sex. creampies. multiple orgasms. groping. dry humping. public sex-ish. fingering. slight oral (f. receiving). overstimulation. thigh fucking. somnophilia. possessiveness. yandere tendencies. mentions of violence. +18!

wc: 1.2k

a/n: inspired by @deviants-forest work! etc. (go check it out) also happy kinktober! :)

Curse!yuuta who creeps up your back, his hands finding your waist and his lips tickle your ear as he’s whispering how much he needs you on a subway train to home. “Not now…” you whisper over your shoulder to him trying not to be noticeable by others who crowded you and payed no mind, too busy on their phones. You bit your bottom lip when he presses himself against your ass in one movement already having your blood rush like crazy. You try to keep your composure like nothings bothering you but yuuta’s hard on humping into you desperately, whining in your ear and his cold hands reaching under your shirt to grope your boob. “need you ‘s bad” he was always touchy, could never keep his hands off you.

Curse!yuuta who doesn’t mind your sorcerer friends as long as they don’t get too close. Your friends can sense the heavy weight of cursed energy from you, even if they got close it was too much to bare sense yuuta was around, the air would fill thick and negative. You could barely go out with them to eat without his fingers buried in your cunt and playing your clit. They would ask you if you were okay when your head is down on the table but you just excuse it as you were not feeling well for a second but yuuta is grinning ear to ear, amused how your well your taking his slender fingers, curling them inside and you can’t help but squirm in your seat acting like your stomach is just hurting though you were about to orgasm. “Please yuuta..” you whisper to him “Come on you can cum on my fingers..” his raspy tone sending you shivers down your back.

Curse!yuuta who watches an “old friend” hug you, his hands in places that shouldn’t be. After you would praise yuuta for staying calm but yuuta would give shake his head only because you would be upset if he did anything and simply gave you a warning “Next time I’ll break his arm” “You can’t be serious” you sigh, you always knew he was.

Curse!yuuta who clenches his fist watching some prick try to flirt with you in front of him knowing he can’t be seen. Even the second time you reject him you can feel yuuta’s anger grow by the second that in any moment he would take action. “I-i have a boyfriend-“ praying yuuta doesn’t get violent “I don’t see him?” His hand coming up to touch your shoulder now he’s on the floor shouting in pain, blood from his broken nose all over his hands, shaken up that he didn’t see anyone hit him? Was he going crazy? “Pathetic” Yuuta mutters luckily he held back a lot, he could do so much worse and this wasn’t the first time.

Curse!yuuta who gets anxious that you might hate him when you get into arguments. He feels like he can’t exist without you, he’s nothing without you and the thought of you hating him makes his heart sink and scared that he’ll be all alone. He didn’t care about anyone else he just needed you. The amount of times you got tired of telling him not to hurt people and you could handle the situation yourself. He’ll plead you not to hate him and apologized excessively. “We can talk about this tomorrow” his stomach sinking by the tone of your voice that it will all end up to you hating him. He couldn’t stand the feeling.

Curse!yuuta who wants to let you know how much he loves you and how much he needs you, praying you don’t leave him or hate him. He glares at you in your sleeping state though he can’t wait til tomorrow he needed you to know now. “Please don’t hate me” “i love you so much” as he’s softly kissing your neck on each side, peeling your panties off. The cold air makes your cunt clench at his sight. He’s kissing the inner of your thighs sweetly and his lips makes contact with your pussy and a small whimper emits from your mouth. “Yuuta” you utter half sleep thinking it was only a sex dream, you were a heavy sleeper at that. he’s burying his lips between your folds trying to get more like he was so starved. If he can just make you feel good you won’t be mad at him and you can forgive him.

Curse!yuuta who can’t wait any longer, his dick pulsating through his pants even how much he gets drunk off your pussy, he loves the taste of it every time but he’s rutting against the mattress. Brings your thighs together to slip his cock between, throwing his head back letting out quiet moans as his cock is rubbing against your clit between your thighs. Your eyelids almost twitching open. He spreads your legs apart and sinks his dick into you watching your pretty lashes flutter at the sudden pleasure of you being spread apart. “Yu..?” You begin to stir awake, he kisses your lips before you start to fully take consciousness. “I don’t want you to hate me” “forgive me please” as he’s thrusting harsh inside you and swallowing your lips. By the time your walls were the shape of him every time he used you so it was easy for him to slide right in, you were made for him and he was made for you was the thought that brought him comfort. His fingers entwines with yours, his cock continuously rubbing hard in your insides. “Yuuta!” You moaned beautifully in his ear, your hand clawing at his back, yuuta loved it, it didn’t hurt him because you could never hurt him he didn’t mind it.

Curse!yuuta not wanting to stop, he’ll never get tired of cumming and filling up your pussy. You’ll be overstimulated begging him to stop it was awfully much to handle, you couldn’t cum anymore but you did as he’s plunging his cock in your abused cunt. The choke sobs and sounds of squelching filled the room “Need you-need you tell me you love me…please f-forgive me..ah!” Rubbing your clit increasing more nerves. “I-i love you yuuta! Ah-I really do! I could never be mad at you” Your words lifting weight off his chest still pounding into you. Holding you in a warm embrace to finish inside you. When he did filling up your womb one last time with his string of cum, your nails dig into his back letting your last orgasms crash into you. You let out a cry into his shoulder, your body trembles.

Curse!yuuta who needs constant reassurance you’ll never leave him, placing gentle kisses on each part of his face. Even though he’s nothing but a curse to you, being invisible to the outside world, Has a hard time showing remorse it’s just what he does to protect you, he somewhat doesn’t know that but knows he can be a bit possessive he just can’t help the urges of anyone getting close to you or worse even laying a finger.

Curse!yuuta bending you over the counter in the morning as you were trying to make yourself breakfast, last night was rough you were a bit sore but yuuta still misses your pussy. “Just a quick one I promise! I miss you so much! I’m just displaying my love for you—“ he pushes himself inside your worn out cunt from last night once again, you whimper at the feeling each time he rolls his hips when his balls slap against you. His hands reaching to your tit, massaging it in his palms. You don’t think you could ever break the curse from yuuta okkotsu.

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yuta smut #yuuta smut #yuta okkotsu x reader #yuta okkotsu smut #jjk x you #jjk yuta #yuta x reader #yuta x y/n #kinktober #yuuta okkotsu smut

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love-toxin · 5 months ago

Text

MEAT - thomas hewitt (leatherface)

a/n: i had to be a little silly ehe <- delusional

(cws: fem!reader, DDDNE, extreme violence, blood, gore, broken bones, a whole array of weaponry, domestic abuse, forced relationship, evolution of victim -> perpetrator, psychological torture, mentions of very dubious consent, breeding, huge size difference, ownership marking, protective tommy, implied cannibalism, unnamed victims of the tcm.)

wc: 10.7k

Lungs burning in your chest with the humid Texas heat, you forced the corn stalks aside as you stumbled through them in a frantic sprint. Each leathery pod whacked against your shoulders, your hands, your chest, and your bruised-up legs, but you wouldn't stop for nothing.

You couldn't stop. The people you'd hitchhiked with were all dead, or at least very well on their way to being so–they had been hunted one by one, by bear traps and shotguns and hay hooks, and you were sure you were the only one the family were left hunting. It'd taken all night to spread you thin and weaken you all with sadistic tortures of every kind. Now your group was down to one. You. Hauling ass was not enough to describe how frantically you were tumbling through the crop field, practically hand-over-foot crawling with how dizzy you'd gotten. Blood loss and a few hits to the head would do that to you.

Finally, the maize parted one last time to spit you out into the dewy grass, the labyrinth of sameness finally coming to an end. But when you tilted your head up to the starry night sky, your heart dropped into your feet at what laid before you. The farmhouse. You'd run in the wrong direction. Warm light glowed from within the drapery behind the windows and you spotted the older woman standing on the porch, a rag tucked between her hands as she called out a name. Terrified and hoping for the blessing of going unseen you army crawled your way right back to the corn–

Thunk. Only halfway there, the grass split with the force of a sledgehammer dropping into it. A boot stepped into view right by your head; attached to it was an enormous calf, and your eyes trailed upwards slowly to reveal the whole of that crazed maniac you'd seen manhandling the others into that house of horrors across the lawn.

Greasy hair hung down in long tresses, wary eyes pierced into your skull, an apron sat snug around his midriff stained with dark blood. Up close, you could listen to the way he breathed heavy through the mask that obscured his lower jaw, only the bridge of his nose and his forehead visible through it. He stunk of sweat, rot, and fresh meat. His weighty hand tightened round the handle of the hammer he'd set down, veins popping out with the sheer size and strength of his enormous, hulking body.

“Tommy!” The woman's voice cracked out in the night, the name finally ringing clear enough for you to hear. His head whipped around to the source and he stared in her direction; you watched her turn a blind eye to your predicament in the grass and step back inside the house. It felt as though your heart might burst in that moment, the fear and tension running through you like a taut wire about to snap in two.

The giant grunted overhead. You looked back at him again and squeezed your fists against the dirt, expecting him to lift that hammer and crush your skull into the ground with it. But upon resting his palm on the blunt end of it, the monster instead used it to lower himself to one knee. With a hand outstretched, he slowly, carefully brushed your damp hair aside, and pressed his fingertips firmly into your cheek. You shuddered as they moved downwards, probing around the soft spot beneath your ear and the curve of your jaw. He tilted your chin back and slid his whole, grubby hand down your neck…and with the most tentative squeeze around your throat, you swallowed and he all but jumped back. Your skin ran cool again as his warm hand ripped away from you, but with just as much hesitation he grazed your lips with his knuckles and trailed them across your forehead, leaving smudges of wet blood behind.

“Tommy!” A harsher voice tore through the quiet night, yanking his attention away from you again. The sheriff–the fake sheriff, that is–came stomping up from around the back of the barn, the shotgun hanging at his side causing you enough panic to scramble to your knees. But you wouldn't get far. Not even a couple feet. Your body hit the earth within moments of you climbing to your feet, and you heaved out a pained moan at the mountain of weight that pinned you down and crushed you underneath him. The giant had thrown himself forward and taken you down without thinking twice; his beefy arm came around your neck and tightened, his muscles flexing under the coarse fabric of his shirt for him to hold you in place.

“Attaboy, Tommy.” The older man came around his side as you struggled, clawing at the bicep that was crushing your windpipe with barely any effort. The sheriff kicked your flailing leg with a holler, cackling at the way you squirmed under his nephew's brute strength. “Stupid bitch. Gonna learn your lesson now, aint'cha?”

Dying squeaks for mercy escaped your throat, your words barely tinged with any discernible syllables. Thomas’ grip only grew tighter. Your arms went slack, then your legs slowed to a trembling halt…and before long your head slumped forward as you passed into unconsciousness, hoping to god this would be the last time you woke up in this sweltering Texas hell.

Clink. Clink. Clink. The chatter of voices melted into the gentle clatter of silverware. It wasn't the sounds that stirred you from your sleep rife with nightmares, though–it was the sliver of a sunbeam cast through the window that shone gently on your face. You blinked blearily as your head lolled in a stuttered circle, slowly and quietly coming to. Clink. Clack. Eyelids cracked half-open, you raised your head up despite the weight of a pounding headache, and watched a pair of wrinkled hands set down a teacup on a saucer in front of you.

Although there was much to see, you instantly turned your gaze to the woman you'd seen on the porch. Your nerves jittered and you flinched as she reached out to touch you, but it passed with her gentle shushing as she tenderly caressed your cheek. The age showed in creases all across her face, her eyes soft but wet with something terribly uneasy behind them.

“Such a pretty girl,” She crooned, a smile like nothing had happened plastered across her face. The eagerness with which she watched you unsettled you to your very core, but it would be second to the nightmare that was waiting to explode on you across the table. “I always wanted a little girl. Never seen one so pretty.” Despite the sweetness of her words, a shift of your hand rattled the chair you'd been tied to; both wrists buckled under the tough ropes used to bind you, indented where you could see dry blood crusted over the fibers. Either you moved a lot in your sleep, or someone really wanted to punish you for trying to get away.

As tenderly as if she was your own mother, the lady brought your teacup up and tilted it for you to drink, which gave you a moment to let your eyes wander. With a glance around you took a mental sweep of the place. Your chair sat at the end of a dining table, and aside from the woman you spotted two other older men; the frightening man with the shotgun, and an elderly man in a wheelchair. Framed photos hung around the room against peeling wallpaper, and aside from a decent amount of clutter and antique decorations of a house long lived in, nothing struck you as out of the ordinary from the cutlery to the frayed rug that cushioned your bare feet.

The aging woman tottered around the table to pick up a plate and slid a few eggs on from a saucepan in the middle. That and a few strips of bacon made their way down to your placemat, still sizzling.

“Why're you givin’ this bitch special treatment, mama?” The fake sheriff glared you down from his seat at the head of the table, spitting off to the side with his hands still clasped in front of him. “Already got enough mouths to feed.”

“Hush.” She finally snapped, and gestured with the spatula still in hand. “This is your fault. You wanna play sheriff so bad, Charlie.”

“It's Hoyt, mama, for god's sake!”

“Don't you cuss at me!” The old woman warned, aiming the spatula right at his chest.

“U-Um,” You whimpered softly, and drew the attention of all three of the frightening strangers, who turned their heads in your direction. The focus on you made you falter, but the problem at hand was far more pressing than fear. “Th-The rope…please..” You managed to squeak out, and only then did they seem to notice your hands were changing colours. They were so tight the blood wasn't circulating, and you feared even a few moments more of the ache would result in something very unpleasant in the near future, especially when you knew there was a chainsaw floating around here somewhere.

Just then, the floorboards creaked at your back. Too afraid to turn your head you only shifted your gaze, and in your peripheral you saw it. Two thick, fat-fingered hands reaching downwards to tug at the binds round your wrist. For someone so huge, he made short work of untying you even without the aid of one of the knives scattered round the table settings. The rope loosened and dropped to the floor in a coil like a dead snake, but as he reached over you to undo the other–and you got a whiff of soap amidst his sweat in the process–the man naming himself Hoyt grumbled and slammed his fist down on the table, rattling the plates and silverware.

“Goddammit, boy–what'd I say? We ain't keepin’ her, for Christ sakes!”

“Watch your mouth!” The woman–mama–shrieked, and her fist shook as she dumped the spatula down on the table with a thunk. The other cuff came loose and you released a sigh of relief as you touched your wrists, wincing at the open cuts that had only half dried over. And while the two continued to bicker about one thing or another, a great shifting of clothes and a thump beside you caught your gaze. Thomas, the giant that you'd watched haul the others off to the slaughter, had knelt down by your chair like a dog and still came up to eye level. God, he was just massive. Somehow it made him less intimidating though, since he looked at you like he was waiting for scraps from your plate. It was somewhat pathetic, but…endearing? Was that a word you could even consider using for a maniac like him, or was it beyond all common logic to even think of him in such pleasant terms?

“A-Are you…hungry?” You whispered, only to be met with a slow shake of his head. Thomas raised a melon-sized arm and pushed the plate closer to you, as if to say ‘eat up, it's getting cold’. Emboldened by his tender gesture, you shakily plucked your fork off the placemat and leaned in to examine the bacon. It looked like…bacon. Hot, crunchy, cut in strips like you would see any day in the supermarket. Still, you tentatively went for the eggs first, and raised the tiniest bit to your mouth as the two older ones finally managed to settle down whatever argument they'd been having.

“Boys, time to say grace.” Suddenly flushed hot with embarrassment, you lowered your fork in an instant and followed their lead. You bowed your head with them, listened to mama say her standard prayers of thanks–and then, when everyone else began to eat, you cautiously lifted the bite to your lips and chewed thoughtfully. It felt like forever for you to discern whether or not it was normal, if it tasted like it should, but after a while of chewing you had to relent to the fact that it didn't taste abnormal, so it was about as fine as you could expect. You ate in silence alongside them, but just when you pondered whether the food might be drugged or other awful possibilities, the sheriff cleared his throat and drew your attention to him once again.

“Now,” Mama scowled at him, but he continued to speak nonetheless. “You got two options here, kid: eat, or be eaten. Them's the laws of life.” He reached up and scratched the back of his neck, readying himself to say more, but an interruption came with a grunt from your side. Hoyt raised a hand and waved the wordless concern off. “Don't you mouth off, boy. Gettin’ to it.”

You shifted your gaze to Thomas, who only nudged your plate closer to you to urge you into eating more. Something gnawed at the back of your mind. Their behavior was so strange, the looks exchanged even stranger–there was something that wasn't being said, like a plan was brewing right under your nose.

“See here, this is how it is. You got choices. Now, my nephew here happens to like you,” His honeyed southern drawl couldn't hope to mask the hopelessness that stirred in you at those words. “Ugly as sin, but he's a good enough boy, ain't that right?” He looked to Thomas, but the ‘boy’ in question stared right at you when he nodded. “So you choose. You wanna eat-”

“I'll eat,” The answer flew from your mouth without hesitation, so much so that even the most uninterested of folks around the table caught your gaze. Your breath hitched in your bruised throat. “I'll eat, I swear. I'll eat.”

“Mm-hm.” Hoyt eyed you and nodded. Something about the way he watched you made you feel overexposed, like your skin had been stripped raw from the bone and he was peering into every inch underneath. “Fine then. Whore's all yours, Tommy-boy.”

At those words, your world shifted with a violent blur of motion. Before you could even gasp there were huge, strong hands under your armpits, and you were lifted out of your seat like a child who weighed less than nothing. You'd be thanking yourself later that you at least polished off most of your plate, because aside from an accidental thump of your foot hitting the table on the way by, you wouldn't be touching the rest of your breakfast again. Thomas slung you over his shoulder and cradled your lower half in the crook of an enormous arm, and with a shriek you felt yourself being carried off by the giant and taken away into another world.

The basement.

It had been a month and a half since you'd been taken in, now. Life had gone on despite you vanishing from the world you knew, and regardless of whether or not you woke up each morning and wondered why you were still kept alive, the earth continued to turn. Time went on and you adjusted, albeit shakily, to the routine of a life in the backcountry of rural Texas. You learned to help on the farm and Luda Mae, or momma as you were taught to call her, passed on her generations-old knowledge of cookery and cleaning and caring for the household. Sometimes you'd get driven out with momma and one of the uncles to tend the store, but that was on the rare side since they didn't trust the locals not to mess with you. Pretty things like you didn't come by often and you had values to uphold, now.

Plus, you had a man at home. Tommy was the reason you survived that awful first night, but now it was expected that he was also the reason you kept on living.

The rest of the family kept out of your business together for the most part, but you'd long been perplexed by the dynamic that had ensued since you'd first arrived. For as hulking and strong of a beast he was, you came to find out that Tommy's appearance was a shell that sheltered a soft-natured, sensitive boy at heart. His penchant for murder was not so, rather it was a duty carried out regardless of will in the service of a family he was lucky to have, despite you certainly thinking otherwise. He liked to work, and eat, and make things. His rage could certainly be a problem, but it was a rare thing that only cropped up once in a great while. He would endure more than ten times a normal person before he finally snapped, and even then he wouldn't ever let you see it. The few times he got mad, he would stomp out to the barn or head to the now-abandoned slaughterhouse, and take out his aggression on the thing he knew best. Meat. And most of the time it was a beating from Hoyt or a few too many bouts of yelling before he felt the need to get away.

After all, it wasn't anger that led his interactions with you. It was odd; he'd pointed you out specifically as the one he wanted to keep, but he seldom showed any entitlement in taking whatever it was he wanted from you. He'd lean in for kisses but most of the time he missed anyways. You weren't exactly sure what you could call your one occasion of intimacy with him that you recalled, because he didn't ask if you wanted it, but you didn't really tell him outright that you didn't. Would it have even mattered? Maybe not. But he barely managed to find the hole he was looking for anyways, and by the time he did it was obvious he had no clue what he was doing. Fumbling hands and a bit of awkward thigh-humping later and he'd finally left you be, albeit soaked and sticky with sweat and the residue he'd clumsily left behind on your bare stomach. Since then, it'd been just a few fingers on your thighs and some tame through-the-mask kisses, nothing more.

Not that you should really be questioning the love of a serial chainsaw butcher, but as the days passed it grew harder to see him in that light alone. You witnessed too much of the deformed, mentally-disturbed man who refused to eat before you did, who wouldn't lay a hand on you like he'd had laid on him all his life. Thomas showed affection in odd ways but they were more endearing than you thought they would be, from picking you flowers off the side of the road to cleaning up the small room you shared so you'd feel more at home. Sometimes his arousal would grow against your back while you laid in his arms, but a bit of shuddered hip-rocking through your pajamas while he thought you were asleep and the moment would pass. He was pretty easy to please.

There came a time when new visitors drove through town, however, and you knew what was going to happen as soon as Hoyt came home and called for Tommy to come upstairs. You stood at the sink washing dishes while you peered through the window; out in front of the same cornfield you'd crawled out of nearly two months ago, a van sat parked next to Hoyt's stolen Dodge. You watched with your breath held tight in your throat as five people hopped out the sliding door one by one, all seemingly chipper for where they were. Three girls, two guys. Their sunbleached hair and fancy beach clothes said all you needed to know about what type of people they were. One of the girls had a pendant hanging round her neck that caught the light just right, and you found yourself staring at it as it jostled against her sweat-soaked collarbone.

Chnk, thuuunk. At the sound of the basement door sliding open you turned your head, and there stood Tommy in the kitchen. Quiet as ever he came walking up and placed his thick hand on your head. The look in his burning eyes said it all. “Everything's okay. Don't fret.” He touched your hair a moment until Hoyt's voice rang out again, and with a silent huff he stepped away and made his way out to the lawn.

The light in each and every one of their eyes left the moment they spotted him approaching. One of the girls even grabbed her friend’s arm, stepping behind him halfway out of fear of the hulking giant that couldn't sleep without cuddling you at night. A dish slipped from your hand into the sink and splashed you, but as you pulled a rag from your apron pocket to dry the counter a bang and a high-pitched scream cut through the peaceful din of your quiet afternoon. You hopped up to see what was happening, but struggled to piece together the aftermath of the last five seconds.

On the ground lay one of the girls with a cavernous opening in the back of her head, collapsed in a steadily-growing pool of her own blood. Her lifeless eyes stared through you from across the lawn, they pierced into your very soul as she choked listlessly on her own blood, and you dropped to your knees behind the counter. Hands clamped over your mouth, you heaved each breath and hoped not to puke all over the freshly-mopped floor. Momma would have a fit if you ruined your own hard work.

Blind to whatever senselessness resided in their screams, you held back the churning of your stomach on your own bruised knees while the two of them took care of the rest. Within a few minutes you'd managed to pull yourself back up on shaky feet and finish washing the dishes. Within the hour, Tommy and Uncle Hoyt had gathered up the remaining survivors and taken them in. Two in the barn, one in the guest bedroom…and one locked up in the basement.

“Momma?” You called out softly into the hallway, wiping your fingers on your apron. Your chores for the day were finished, and the sun was starting to set on the horizon. Now would usually be the time you headed out to the chicken coop to lock it up, but with new visitors around, you didn't know the protocol. The last time this happened was…well, you didn't like to think about it.

“Down here, darlin’.” Luda Mae popped her head out from the living room, and you hurried down the hall with your skirt fluttering around your legs. All your dresses were pretty modest and most of them were out of a trunk stored up in the attic, since momma had a whole collection of clothes she'd worn in her younger days that she figured would suit a young lady just fine. When you stepped in, you weren't expecting to see what you saw lying on the couch near uncle Monty's favourite spot.

It was one of the guys from the hippie van. His long hair had been soaked with blood and he was gagged, his face sporting bruises from an undoubtedly rough encounter with uncle Hoyt, who stood on the opposite side of the living room glaring at him.

“Fucker tried to escape.” He sniffed, nursing a bloody nose with a hanky as he spoke with momma. “Other one's putzin’ around somewhere. You two keep an eye out, you hear me?” He pointed in your direction and you nodded out of instinct. Your eyes flicked towards the bound man on the couch as he made muffled noises of panic, but he was soon silenced by Hoyt whacking him over the head with the butt of his shotgun before he left to continue the search. Meanwhile, uncle Monty sat in his wheelchair unbothered, listening to the radio as it played on the windowsill and reading without a care in the world.

“Momma-” You tried again, but she turned to you with gentle eyes and gripped your shoulders lightly.

“Go clean up the kitchen for me, sweetheart?” She asked in earnest, and the plea you had to beg her not to make you take part died on your lips.

“Yes, momma.”

“That's my good girl.” Your hands fell at your sides, while she petted your hair lovingly and turned you away from the scene, patting you on the back as she ushered you back towards the kitchen. Blowing your hair out of your eyes, you resigned yourself to at least being a bystander to the horrors that were about to come, and made your way down the hall with your arms crossed over your chest in contemplation. Was there nothing you could do? No way to get out of playing a part, or at least ensuring they wouldn't ask? You had no doubts that you didn't have the stomach to do anything to the visitors, but then again, momma didn't have to do much either. Maybe you'd be saved by the tradition that dictated the six generations-deep household, and be regulated to the homely chores you'd tended to since first becoming a part of the family.

As you pushed through the door that led into the kitchen, the sounds of pots and pans clattering already grabbed your attention. It would be too late to do anything, however–because before you could even take a breath, someone's chest hit your back and there was a knife pinned to your throat.

“Don't you fucking move!” An unfamiliar voice whispered harshly in your ear. Your fingers scrabbled for purchase on the hand he had at your neck, but he jolted and the blade sunk deeper into your skin, causing you to cry out–and immediately be hushed by the stranger now holding you hostage. The bruising grip he had on your wrist now moved to clamp over your mouth, his body moving with you as you struggled in a momentary panic. Despite his warning, you brought your elbow backwards and loosened his grip on the knife as he choked in pain, throwing his arms off you as you stumbled forward and tripped over one of the dining chairs. Your skirt ripped as he tried to grab ahold of you again, but in his scramble to pick his weapon back up you kicked it away; and that was when fear truly started to pulse through your limbs like a heartbeat, when he glared daggers into you with a murderous rage, and you cried out the one name through tears that came to mind.

“Tommy!” You sobbed, crawling away and trying to use the table to hoist yourself up, only to be kicked down again with a harsh shoe planted in the middle of your spine. Coughs ripped through your lungs as they seized in desperation, the wind having been knocked clean from your chest, and the sticky wetness of blood started pooling under your chin from hitting the floor face-first. Your nose wept with scarlet-red blood into your trembling palm, but that realization couldn't come close to the terror you felt at being grabbed by your hair and painfully lifted up off the ground.

“You fucking bitch!” He screamed, voice hoarse and frighteningly loud so close to your face. “I'll kill you–I'll kill all you psycho motherfuckers!” He brought the knife so close to your heart you felt it cutting through the air–but before he could bring it anywhere near your skin, a muffled thump from close by yanked him right to attention. He turned his head frantically towards the source, and you took the opportunity afforded to you. You brought your foot up hard into his groin, and released his grip on you for the second time for you to drop to the floor in a heap. Your dress smeared the blood you'd left on the pristine, freshly-mopped floorboards as you shuffled away from him, fearing the worst of retaliation from the panicked, indignant captive.

That is, until the thumping grew so loud you heard it clearly coming up the stairs, and without so much as a hint of ceremony your savior burst through the kitchen door; his eyes wild, his fists clenched with indomitable rage. His gaze swept over the scene to you, so small compared to him, huddled in the corner between the cabinets with a blood and tear-stained face. What could only be described as a growl erupted from his broad chest, and he grabbed the legs of your hunched-over assailant and dragged him closer between his feet.

“No!” He cried, but it was far past too late. Tommy grabbed him by the back of his head, yanked him upwards to the height of his shins, and slammed the guy's head so hard into the floor that you could hear the sickening crack of his skull. Dazed but still semi-conscious, he fumbled for the knife he dropped or for anything that could save him, but it wouldn't be enough even so. With his nose ten times as smashed up as he'd done to you and his eye sockets bruised, Tommy's grip trembled on his head like he was considering whether or not to end him right here, right now. Evidently he figured that would be too easy, and before your very eyes he hauled the man up and carried him screaming down into the basement, where you heard the thwacks of him being cuffed down to the workbench before footsteps came echoing back upstairs. He found you in the same spot, still shaking like a leaf, and pushed the table aside to waste as little time as possible getting to you.

“Tommy..” You winced, touching your own face for your fingers to come back bloody. He knelt down like a mountain sinking into the sea and felt around your neck, his concerns for the shallow slash you'd gotten in the struggle that you hadn't even noticed was bleeding. He grunted in reply; one hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, while two meaty fingers lightly pinched the sore bridge of your nose. Knowing what he was about to do wouldn't make it hurt any less, but you still gave him the go-ahead to do it anyways–he forced the bone back with a gut-churning twist, and you squealed out in pain, but it was momentary and the ache that followed was a dull one, thank god.

But still, you sat with a face full of blood and bruises and cried, half out of pain and half out of pure misery. This wasn't the life you wanted to lead, and you hated that you had no choice in the matter. You wanted to go but you knew it would mean the end, and you hated that whenever you thought of all the things you despised about this life, your mind would always wander to Tommy and you'd feel guilt over hurting him or leaving him behind. You hated it all, but somehow you couldn't really hate him, and it left you trapped in this cycle that you loathed to think would never, ever end.

While the tears continued to streak down your face, Tommy took to patting your cheeks gently. He held them and squeezed them carefully, so tender and cautious when it was you that was the meat between his destructive hands. He moved in close, his breathing hot and stifled beneath the mask he never took off in front of you. His head tilted, tongue wetting his lips in anticipation, and he-

“Boy!” Uncle Hoyt roared as he burst through the kitchen door, alerting you both and tearing Tommy's reverent gaze away from you. He stood fast and took you with him, your elbows cupped in his rough hands as he hauled you singlehandedly to your feet. “You find that fucker yet?!” He swung his shotgun around and you flinched at the way he aimed it so carelessly. The ‘boy’ in question tucked you under his arm out of habit and shielded you almost entirely with the sheer enormity of his titan-esque frame. Wordlessly, he gestured towards the direction of the basement door with your trembling self still pinned tightly to his chest. The pseudo-sherriff narrowed his eyes at the both of you, namely the blood caking your otherwise pretty face, and scoffed. “Hose her down, Jesus almighty..” He muttered that last blasphemy under his breath as he moved past out the back door, leaving the two of you wide-eyed and uncertain; his arm squeezing you tight against him, and your calloused fingers digging into his dirty sleeve as the crickets chirped outside the screen door.

“You..” You swallowed dryly. The words came to you when no others did the same justice. “You're a good boy, Tommy. You did a good job.”

Your praise hit his ears just right, as it always did. Tommy nuzzled his face into yours just so gently, barely grazing your skin with the damp leather as he tended to your wounds. With your broken nose already re-set, he rummaged through the drawers around you without taking his hand off your arm, sparing little time before his hand clasped around a roll of familiar gauze and he nudged the drawer closed. Though it was shallow enough to have stopped bleeding already, he wrapped some around your neck for the cut that would surely leave a scar, and used a clean rag to mop up your face with a bit of water from the tap. As he moved down your body to your waist, clearly concerned by the generous bloodstain marring your pretty, cotton dress, something caught his eye that froze him in place and sent a throbbing anger right into his dense fists. Worried, you set your hand on his shoulder, but it would do no good at comforting him after what he saw.

Your skirt. Torn like it had been yanked apart, desperately, and it had. Was he worried you'd be upset over the damage? You wondered for a passing moment, but as his fists shook with rage and your dresses’ hem balled within them you knew it to be a different reason entirely. He thought–

Oh. So that's what he thought. You sought to comfort his fears but he'd had enough. Your delicate hands tugging at his mammoth arms made barely a dent in his intense march towards the basement, your begging too saccharine to even reach his ears. He walked with purpose into the hallway, wrenched open the sliding door with a force that bent it slightly, and with a palm outstretched to ward you off from following, he slammed it shut with an enormous bang that rattled the whole house. Standing there in shock and horror, you listened to his footsteps pounding the stairs before turning away and heading back towards the kitchen.

You had quite the mess to clean up in there, and there was nothing better to distract yourself from the howling screams of agony that would persist until dinnertime.

Maybe this was exactly how awkward it was when you'd been sat in that familiar chair. You remembered little of your first meal, the very first breakfast of many you would share with the family that had adopted you in to their home.

This was a lot less…friendly, though. Out of the five people who had arrived, two of them were dead. The one that had attacked you in the kitchen had grown silent in the basement. The other two–the hippy with the long hair and a redheaded girl–had their wrists bound to two chairs diagonal from each other. The guy sat at the very end where you'd once been, and the girl to his right with tears streaming down her cheeks, sobbing softly as you filled everyone's bowls. Luckily for you, Monday was chicken soup night, so you had no worries over what kind of meat Hoyt would want to prepare for the special occasion. You'd been the only one to stir the pot, and the only one who made it at all for every Monday that rolled around. It had quickly become Tommy’s favourite, hence why he was only a few minutes late to arrive outside the dining room for dinner. Though you could tell that he'd barely cleaned up, his apron and his pants still soaked liberally with clotted blood.

“Hands?” You questioned, your ladle poised over the pot of hot soup, and waited until the hulking giant tentatively stepped in the doorway to hold out his massive hands for inspection. When it was your turn to cook, you learned that you held the authority over the table for that evening. So you rarely followed the lead of uncle Hoyt or the others, and wouldn't wait until after grace to invite Tommy into the room. You checked over his knuckles–bruised, but scrubbed clean–and only then did you nod towards the seat you saved for him and waited until he settled uncertainly into the chair to pour him a bowl and set it down in front of him.

If not for the whimpering captives at the table, it would be a better-than-average night. You'd improved on your recipe with a bit of creative seasoning, and the night had cooled off considerably to offer a bit of respite from the oppressive heat. You led grace, and smoothing out your fresh dress to fan out under your thighs as you sat, the table commenced with clinking spoons and bread being buttered that you thanked the stars hadn't gotten stale yet. Though of course, the unexpected visitors weren't so keen on your homemade cooking and didn't so much as look down at their bowls.

Tommy was too distracted to be frustrated by it, though. With his head dipped down to the table like a mutt, he slurped up his soup through the mask and chewed noisily on bits of chicken and corn. You'd saved the biggest roll for him and he tore into it like it was nothing, ripping chunks of bread off with his teeth and enthusiastically gulping down broth to wash it down. You hadn't even had time to butter his bread for him first like you usually did, but it pleased you to see him enjoying your cooking even more than usual.

“Please,” A wobbly voice pricked at the tense silence. The redheaded girl pulled at her restraints again, shaking the table in the process. “We didn't do anything…please, please, let us go!” She sobbed, wailing even louder as she thrashed against the stiff arms of the old chair.

“C'mon, man! We won't tell anyone, swear!” The hippie chimed in, only for Hoyt to slam his fist down on the table to silence the whining of his two captives.

“Shut the hell up!” He snarled, whipping out a revolver from his holster to point at each one of them. “Had enough of your shit today. Shut your mouths.” He motioned towards his still-bloodied nose, and endured yet another scolding from momma for cussing at the table as he tucked the gun back into its place. You peered over at the two of them, but regret came immediately when the hippie's green eyes locked on yours like he saw a glimmer of hope within them. You forced your gaze back down to your bowl. You couldn't be their saviour, no matter how much they wanted you to be.

“Lovely soup, sweetheart.” Momma smiled over at you, while uncle Monty nodded quietly in agreement.

“Mm-hm. Momma taught you all her secrets, eh?” Hoyt added with a slurp off his spoon, the irritation from earlier having vanished. You thanked them politely, keeping your pride to yourself at the coveted praise directed your way. In a household where anything could go wrong at any time, you had to hold the good things as tight to your chest as you possibly could.

From beside you, Tommy lifted his head from an empty bowl and sighed softly with satisfaction. The remnants of spilled soup dribbled down his mask and his grimy neck, so with your own cloth napkin you reached over and did the job that was normally momma's; you wiped his face clean with a gentle hand, and he sat still for one of the only people he didn't flinch away from when you touched him.

“Good, Tommy?” He wasn't used to being asked his opinion, much less on something as scarce as food, when you didn't have much choice on what you ate. He nodded slowly, looking at you like you held the world as you finished wiping up the mess he'd left on the table.

Just then, one of the captives–maybe both of them–kicked their legs out in frustration, and shifted the table with a jolt that sent hot soup splashing out of the pot. The redhead's bowl tipped over and dumped her untouched meal all over her lap, but the porcelain shattering as it hit the floor wasn't what had Tommy rising out of his seat.

Wasteful. That's what they were. Insulting your cooking. You saw it in Tommy's eyes as anger overwhelmed him again, and for the second time tonight your reassurances weren't enough to halt him in his tracks. His chair legs scraped the floor loudly as he got up and maneuvered around the table, the tense quiet peppered by the screams of the girl as he grabbed the back of her head and slammed it down into the slick tabletop. Not nearly as hard as he'd done to the other guy, but enough so that he brought her back up with a nose gushing blood and a harsher sob on her lips.

“You teach her a lesson, Tommy!” Hoyt eagerly encouraged the violence, but you reached your hand out over the table and pressed your palm flat against her forehead. At the resistance you gave her, Tommy's grip grew slack and a look of panic came over him at the distress etched clear on your face. He looked conflicted, peering over at Hoyt and then back at you. Was he being bad, or being good? Was what he was doing right, or was it wrong? Hoyt started shouting and cussing at you for stopping him, but Tommy skirted back around the table to your side and put himself between you and his furious uncle. A swat to the back of the head wasn't totally uncommon for you, even if it didn't happen often, but the punishments Tommy received were always far worse. The belt or a two-by-four were considered light work in Hoyt's sadistic mind, but after what you'd been through today you were certain Tommy wouldn't be keen on letting you endure any more pain. He would take punishments and beatings for you whenever he had the chance–sometimes Hoyt had even asked him what he preferred, and not once had he put you up for the chopping block if he could take it for you.

“Enough of this shit!” Hoyt finally roared. He jabbed his thumb in the direction of the basement and shoved both you and Tommy towards it. “Take these sons a’ bitches downstairs, and don't come up until they're meat!”

Both of the captives shrieked and flailed in their chairs at his demand, but you managed to undo their binds despite the struggling and let Tommy haul each one up in his arms; one over his shoulder, and one tucked up under his armpit. Your heartbeat thudded in your throat as you followed Tommy's lead towards the stairs, and when it came time to shut the door, you had to swallow your fear with a gulp as the metal scraped on metal and a heavy thunk pitched you into darkness.

The only times you'd watched Tommy work before was when he'd taken you to the slaughterhouse. It was an aging, now-abandoned building that had seen generations of hard workers come and go, and despite it no longer being in business he still came by to do some work when he wasn't needed for chores at the house. You weren't sure why he didn't usually take you along or why he decided to on those few occasions, but regardless of the stench, the blood, and the intensity of chopping and cleaning meat, it was easy to tell that Tommy was good at it. Real good.

It was a little different today. About a week had passed since the visitors came through town, and by now all five of them were taken care of. You'd barely eaten since you couldn't stomach the fresh meat, and with you excusing yourself to throw up that first dinner after you'd had guests, the rest of the family had been looking down on you. Momma was sad for you, and Monty was mostly indifferent when he wasn't straight up disappointed in you. But Hoyt was vindictive and angry. He thought you were turning your back on the family, judging them, acting “all high and mighty” and worst of all, risking your family's safety. You'd gotten caught leaving the locks loose on the two survivors' shackles, and they'd nearly escaped out the basement before Hoyt caught both of them in the cornfield and finally shot them dead.

You swore it was an accident. Hoyt thought otherwise. He would've killed you right then and there if Tommy hadn't stepped in for you, and even then the air had been strained in the house ever since, as uncle Hoyt demanded you be properly punished for your sins.

That's why you'd been dragged along with Tommy to accompany him to the slaughterhouse. By the end of the day, Hoyt wanted a proper apology–one in the form of a bloody limb, an organ, or maybe just your head on a platter as recompense for betraying your family. And worst of all, he wanted Tommy to be the one to do it, to decide what would be a fitting price for you to pay. To ‘grow some balls and be a man’, as Hoyt put it so delicately.

But since morning, he'd just been chopping meat. Tommy hadn't even looked at you the whole time you'd been here, not even on the walk down the side of the road to get here in the first place. He'd picked you up under your arms and sat you up on the table behind him, and then he'd turned his back to you as he brought down his cleaver on the piles and piles of dripping meat. Sometimes he would turn around and hand you chunks to wrap up in butcher's paper, but for the most part he indicated nothing towards the task he had primarily been sent here to do. Somehow it just made it all worse; you felt on the edge of snapping from the anxious terror that tightened up all your muscles, wondering what on earth Tommy would do to you before the day was done. Was he just procrastinating? Because if he arrived back home with nothing to show for it, it wouldn't save you in the end–it would just make it worse for both of you when he got punished too.

“Tommy.” You gnawed on your bottom lip. He brought the blade down on the chopping block with a thunk. With the bone separated, a squelch hit your ears as he slid the sections apart and dragged over another hunk to slice through. “I'm sorry.”

Thunk. Not even a passing glance over his shoulder. And it was hard to tell if he was mad when he wouldn't even look at you.

“I didn't want to get you in trouble…”

Thunk.

“I was just scared.”

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

“Tommy-”

The slow escalation of his measured cuts finally culminated into an uproarious clatter, his cleaver smacking down on the soaked table before he turned himself to face you. Blood marred the clothes you'd taken off the laundry line for him that morning, apron slick and sticky with viscera as it almost always was. Sweat poured down his arms and his hairy chest and beaded at his dense forehead. Every inch of him was dirty, and yet you didn't cringe away from it when he closed the distance between you and came up harrowingly close. The stench of blood and meat wafted off of him from barely an inch away. His hips edged in between your knees as you sat on the lip of the counter, keeping personal space far from his mind when he grabbed your arms and dwarfed them under his massive fingers. Each breath heaved beneath his mask like swallowing a bubble, ready to pop.

This time, Hoyt was nowhere around to interrupt him. Momma wasn't there to scold him. Nobody would hear for miles what he would do to you, and you had no idea what he'd had brewing in his mind since he'd choked you out in the cornfield that first meeting. That intense stare of his was like a bear honing in on a rabbit, and if you had the thought to run, it was already too late.

Thick fingers clamped down around your neck, dug into the scar that had formed from the asshole that had sliced you, and you felt your heart stutter as Tommy pulled you along the length of the table and slammed you down into it by the throat. This way you were laid out like a cow would to be butchered, plenty of room for him to work as he held you down and reached over to pull a leather strap over your midsection. He affixed the buckle tight to the opposite side and tightened it more when you squirmed against the pressure, but not quite enough to be as painful as the ropes that dug into your wrists at your first family meal. With that in place he didn't need to hold you down to keep you pinned against the table, and although you whimpered in fear and fought against the bindings he paid your resistance little mind, instead looking through his tools on the cutting table to find a decently-sized paring knife–drenched liberally in blood–for him to hook under the neckline of your dress and make a cut down the middle. Once he hit the tough leather over your stomach, the tool skittered across the table as he abandoned it in favour of ripping your skirt apart with his bare hands, the thin layer of cotton offering no resistance to his brute strength.

Why did it make you so wet? You couldn't shake the feeling of arousal from how animalistic he was behaving, nor the sheer, overwhelming musk of man and sweat and blood. Tommy was never rough with you but he was certainly making up for it now; you flinched at the firmness of his fingers digging into your skin, leaving trails of thin blood and dirt behind as he tore your cotton bra into loose pieces. His hands trembled at the sight of you exposed like this, too much skin to handle, and such soft flesh that filled out his palms when he cupped your breasts in each eager hand. A hitch of breath was enough to show him that you liked it, whether it was the attention itself or exclusively because it was him touching you. It didn't matter.

Tommy massaged each one with such eager reverence, his handwork clumsy compared to the ease with which he handled so many other forms of meat. He wasn't keen on ripping these off your body and eating them; although he did want to test how they would feel in his mouth, especially those plum, soft nubs of yours that perked when he brushed his thumbs over them. By now you weren't completely certain he wasn't going to butcher you, but you had a pretty good idea that this was his plan B–take out that inner aggression on you that would not make his god-fearing family proud.

A deep, weighty groan slipped out of him at the taste of sweat on your skin. Every bruise he left with his teeth would have to be covered up and powdered, but god, god it was so easy for him to undo every vestige of purity you'd put on for show. Your back arched and your worn shoes squeaked against the steel table as you wiggled, the globes of fat he held in his palms jiggling with a mesmerizing glow every time you moved. As much as you wanted to wrench yourself free in some moments, in most others you couldn't bear the breaks he took to catch his breath, leaving your chest prickling with goosebumps as a draft hit your spit-sticky skin. He squeezed and kneaded to his heart's content and took a twisted glee out of making you squirm, especially when you made those gurgly noises that were so traitorous to the pristine image you painted for momma. She'd made it clear that you weren't to go off messing with boys when they came strolling up to the store's counter, or return any of their flirtations no matter how many times they called you pretty.

Obviously she didn't think her son would be the one you had to keep from tempting, but that train had long left the station now. Thomas’ index finger tore through the thin fabric of your panties with a swipe, and there you laid bare and naked to his wandering eyes while he yanked the shreds of them down the rest of your legs. He probably didn't know what positions were which and how girls had their periods, but he knew enough to slide those thick fingers through your folds and to keep going when you moaned like a dying animal. “Tommy, Tommy, Tommy”, it was a mantra that hit his ears just right and urged him into clambering on top of the table with you with wild eyes. They drank in every inch of your sweltering body, the pulse of your heart through the hole he was jamming his fingers into, and on instinct he was guided to push down his waistband and throw off his apron as he knelt back on his haunches.

You might've thought he was nothing but hair if he wasn't so thick. Clearly he'd never shaved in his life with the erroneous bush he sported, curly hair matting down his thighs and his belly too once his shirt started riding up. But that fat, drooling knob of his swayed to hit his thigh, and you got an eyeful of pure, veiny, gut-smashing terror that you were sure would kill you if you didn't manage to relax. The further he leaned over your body, the more you felt like he was going to crush you as soon as he lined himself up with the hole he'd be stretching out like a little homemade cock sleeve. His hands slid under your knees to prop them up, but rather than sling them over his shoulders he bent them back and pinned them to your chest. An aching burn raced up your thighs but he paid no mind to your trembling; Tommy knelt over you and settled between your legs, and without warning, started sinking slowly into that hot opening he'd been dying to get deeper inside.

“H-Hold–wait, T-Tommy, hold oh-!”

Were you really so convinced he would play nice with you? Maybe you'd become complacent with the gentleness he showed you at his best, because when Tommy finally pressed in past the tip, he was gone. Forcing your knees back even further, he let out a groan and pushed himself up higher over you; all just to settle himself into your deepest pits and trap you in a violating mating press. After doing nothing but enjoying your heat, smushing his hips down against yours in a grinding motion, he soon seemed to realize he could move–and move he did, drawing back just to crush your hips with a deep, stomach-punching stroke.

“Unh,” What most resembled a moan fell from his scarred lips, and he fumbled around the back of his head to unclasp the leather from his face. This was the first and only time he'd ever felt safe enough to take it off since you'd met, and it was when he'd finally listened to his body and acted on his need to force every inch of him inside you. To be one. Now you finally were, and his synthetic face dropped on your chest before slowly sliding off to hit the floor.

If your jaw hadn't already gone slack from his violent thrusting, it would probably fall from the realization of what hid under that mask day after day. The sallow, sunken nose, the scars, the jagged skin and self-inflicted wounds…why wasn't it as scary as you thought? You figured, in the moment, you'd just gotten too used to him in personality, or maybe because you were just too distracted at the moment, but…

“Tommy-!” You squeaked out. The wet smack of his balls on your ass stuck in your ears, the strings of creamy slick linking you flesh-to-flesh as he went to town on your pussy. If he truly was losing his virginity to you, then all that pent-up frustration must be the source of him absolutely ruining any semblance of tightness you might've had. “A-Are you tryin’ to–you wanna gimme a baby? S'that it?” You slurred, slowly losing your good sense the longer he showed you your place.

Though you thought it would be to your horror, his slow nod only sparked something dark and tremulous within your loins. Something more than sweat and slick and the vile squelching of his seldom-washed dick rubbing up to your womb. It hit you then; this was your punishment. Every clap and sticky smack of flesh on flesh was a promise, an urge fulfilled to tear your meat from the bone and thrust a new purpose unto you. A homemaker. Tommy's little bride. A momma. Make his momma a grandmama like she was always praying for.

Shluck. Shluck. Shluck. Shluck. No doubt in your mind that was exactly what he was doing, and exactly why he brought you all the way out to the slaughterhouse to do it. The leather strap over your stomach kept you from wriggling away, but that would only be if you could somehow get him to pull out, and that for sure wasn't happening. He didn't bother with long strokes and leaving the tip in, your cunt was a home for him to bury himself in and he wasn't about to waste a second of this. His thick thighs trembled over yours, and he ground the swollen head of his cock deep against your cervix. So deep it was painful, but why would he care? He was doing a good thing. He was being a good boy, giving you what uncle Hoyt told him all women wanted, even if they didn't say it out loud.

Tommy's moans grew to a higher pitch once he affixed his hand like a necklace round your throat, swelling with the faster, faster, faster pace of his thrusts downward. He pressed his other meaty hand into your knees and shoved each one further apart, which made you whine but gave him easier access to pound you into greedy, delectable mush. Whereas it might've turned off weaker men, your nails digging deep, long scratches up his back made Tommy groan and tilt his head back in delirious pleasure. His knees kept you pinned at your sides and his weight–his stomach squishing into you from above–held you down where you belonged, where you'd be the most beautiful and of best use. Beneath him with a womb spilling over with cum, sown by his seed and his seed alone. His picturesque, pretty little wife. Hewitt property. He wouldn't stop, and you wouldn't beg him to even if you weren't being choked of any air you had left, and the world started to spin as the ecstasy took hold and Thomas was squeezing your moans out of you with trembling fervour. It felt as though your lower half exploded and left you with a warm, full, tingly sensation, marred by pearly-white globs of a load he'd had saved up since birth.

In contrast to the violent lovemaking he'd just shown you he was capable of, you were slowly brought back to life by small, soft little pecks. Kisses like the fuzz of a bumblebee brushing by your cheeks, pressing into your lips with a sweetness you weren't used to. This felt like Tommy again, like the gentle touch he used when nobody was around to laugh at him for being so sweet on you. He shuddered with bliss as his cock pulsed with your heartbeat and milked him of what little he had left, but with his chubby fingers rubbing at your jaw and brushing your sweaty locks aside he managed to drag himself off of you. Slowly, like molasses on a cold day, he brought himself back down off the table and let his feet hit the floor, having to brace himself against the table to keep from stumbling to the ground. Click-shuuunk. The leather belt snapped back into its holder as he released it, which left a sizeable indent across your abdomen that you'd have to hope would be covered enough not to show bruises. All you could do was watch as Tommy did up his pants on his way around the table, only to return to your side with the biggest, sharpest knife you swore you had ever seen. You flinched away and nearly cried out-

Shlip. With a strand pulled taut, Tommy made quick work of separating a lock of your hair from your head. Just a short one, so as not to make much difference–but he held it to his face and sniffed deeply, and it ashamed you to say that the gesture in itself just made your clit throb with need you thought you'd been completely overdosed on. Despite that, you laid still while Tommy reached over and retrieved his mask, tucking the tuft of hair inside it so he could smell it all the time. To calm him down, to cool him off, to just enjoy…all the things that you brought to him when no one else did, or could. From his pocket he produced something small and shiny, and dangled it over your face to show you before he set on fixing it around your neck. The pendant you'd seen that girl wearing a week ago now hung against your collar, the gleam of gold in it polished clean of the blood spilled to take it.

You barely let out a moan as he set on rearranging your limbs, turning you over, letting his cum spill down your thighs and all over the table like the blood from a fresh cut of beef. His calloused digits traced down your spine and up again til he found a sweet spot, and padded down your springy flesh that separated bone from his fingers. The carving knife had tinged when he'd sharpened it but he didn't show it to you–that would be too much for you, given what he was about to commit to.

Every arc, long and curved or short and straight, burned. The tip of the blade dug into your flesh like a red-hot needle, but Tommy's warm palm on the back of your neck kept you from moving out of his reach. He needed to start and to finish and his hand was already unsteady, mostly from the way his breath still hitched and his cock stirred all over again at the sight of your writhing body. Your blood turned him on. He hadn't touched any of the victims before you, not in that way, but you weren't really the same as them–no, you were special. If you weren't, Tommy wouldn't be carving those words into your back, and putting on display his ownership over the one and only thing he would ever see as more than meat.

If you didn't get pregnant this time, then this would surely be enough for the family to forgive. The letters scrawled in bloody ecstasy that would heal over, scar, wounds to be reopened over and over again.

Tommy's girl

forever

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