#fresh au

[fantasblog]

FRESH au TRIO.

(Dippy fresh,fresh sans and Billy fresh)

Billy fresh/billfresh belongs to me

Fresh sans belongs to loverofpiggies/Crayonqueen

Dippy fresh from gravity falls belongs to Alex hirisch

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"The Taste of You"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 3061

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

Summary: Steve is so tired of the meat market that modern dating has become. Just when he's deleted all the apps and given up on ever finding Mr. Right, he meets the perfect guy at the grocery store.

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

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

12. Tenderize

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

Steve:

Bucky spends the afternoon doing what he calls "meat prep." Steve tries not to look, he really does, but the House Hunters show he puts on the television doesn’t really hold a candle to the morbidly fascinating process that is Bucky, "prepping" Melissa’s leg.

Bucky sends it up in the dumbwaiter after taking Erica her lunch. He washes his hands meticulously at the sink and dries them, picks the leg up and plops it down onto the counter with a flourish. It’s the lower leg. Left or right, Steve doesn’t take note, he just sees the painted toenails, the tattoo on the ankle that he can’t quite make out. He sits on the couch and peers over the back of it, watching Bucky work.

Bucky moves with a sort of glee, almost like a dance, as if he can hear music that Steve can’t. He looks very in his element, and very handsome and capable as he works. Steve would probably spend more time admiring that, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s also watching the man slicing pieces off of a woman’s calf.

“I usually take the non-dominant forearm, first,” Bucky tells him as he’s working. “This was Melissa’s … third cut? Anyway, it’s all I’ve got left of her now. I defrosted it a couple days ago. There’s this Italian guy who always orders shank, specifically.”

Jesus fuck, Steve thinks. "Shank." He actually calls it that.

“I send it with everything he needs for my grandma’s osso buco,” Bucky declares. “Herbs, wine, specifically-curated olive oil. All that and like, some hair or some panties or something. Because, you know: perverts.” He rolls his eyes and Steve has to suppress a horrible urge to laugh. Bucky looks up and catches sight of his twitching mouth, and he smiles back. “Yeah, I know. Good ol’ Gammy made hers with beef. But trust me,” he points his knife at Steve. “This way is so much better.”

Steve chews his lip. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“You-don’t-have-to,” Bucky sing-songs from the kitchen, in his element, happy. “You’re welcome to try any cut you want, anytime.” He produces a meat tenderizer and starts pounding away at the slices of meat he’s produced.

Steve winces as the hammer comes down hard, and then lighter in a series of almost loving taps. Christ. “I’ll pass for now,” he murmurs, unsure if Bucky’s heard him or not. He continues to watch the macabre display for a bit, but goes back to the television once Bucky is vacuum packing the meat with the herbs and spices.

He's very surprised (and honestly a bit grossed out with himself) that he doesn’t get more upset from watching the actual process. He doesn’t even get nauseous. Oh, it’s weird for sure. Downright shocking when he very first sees the leg lifted out of the dumbwaiter and plopped onto the countertop, the pedicured foot still attached, Bucky slicing away and hacking through bone. But Steve doesn’t retch and get sick like he thought he would. His stomach doesn’t once roil or threaten to turn. It’s like he’s already been desensitized to it, just from the sheer amount of stuff he’s imagined, from what Bucky’s told him and shown him so far, eating kidneys and ‘other-bacon’ right in front of him.

He thinks of Clint and watching Midsommar with him, asking him how he could stomach all the gore.

“It’s not real. Just movie magic, dude.”

His own lack of a physical reaction to this actual gore is what disturbs Steve the most, so he forces himself to sit back on the couch facing the tv, and actually pay attention to the show. The young married couple is searching for a house in Toronto. They need to upsize because they’re having another baby. Steve watches the show. He hopes they pick the middle house. They wind up picking the last one.

Absently, Steve wonders what osso buco is.

Bucky:

“What’s osso buco?” Steve asks.

Bucky’s just finished with his meat prep and woken Steve up from his nap on the couch. He’d been so sweet lying there, looking so peaceful. Bucky hadn’t wanted to wake him, but it's getting late, and he’s already started chilling the wines for dinner.

He smiles at Steve and sits at the opposite end of the couch from him, tangling their feet together in the middle. He describes what osso buco is. “I was surprised you watched,” he tells him gently, honestly. He rubs his socked foot against Steve’s bare one. “What’d you think?”

Steve is quiet for a long time. When he finally answers, he simply says, “You were right. We do look a lot like beef.”

Bucky busts out in a laugh and leans forward to slap him on the thigh. “Told ya!” He gets up to go and finish the final elements of their dinner. “You ready for date night, my dear?”

Steve watches him from over the back of the couch again. “Mmhm. What’re we doing?”

Bucky beams at him. He’s been looking forward to this all day. “First, we have our appetizer: La Pissaladiere.” He’s begun speaking in a very fake French accent, and Steve scoffs.

"That's terrible."

"Yeah it was kinda terrible, huh?”

Steve laughs, and then Bucky laughs with him, and for a second it feels just like one of those genuine, laughing stupidly together moments that they used to have. And it makes Bucky’s heart squeeze painfully as the brief moment fizzles out. He can see it in Steve’s face too, how it hurts.

Bucky looks down, clearing his throat. “Um, yeah. And then we’ve got this salad, pretty simple. And the main, which is …” he does a drumroll on the countertop. “Osso Buco!” He does that one in an equally terrible Italian accent, but Steve is not amused.

"What?! No! No fucking way!" he cries, tiny and furious and kneeling up higher on the couch cushions. Bucky marvels at him and has such a strong urge to tackle him into submission and sex right then and there, that he has to look away. “Bucky,” Steve growls. “You promised you wouldn’t make me—”

“Calm down, babe,” Bucky hurries, not wanting Steve’s temper to ruin their date night. “It’s the two version meal again, don’t worry. Yours is 'vegetarian'.”

Steve deflates some, but Bucky can see that he’s still wary. “Prove it,” he says, and Bucky sighs dramatically to cover up the disappointment he feels at Steve not being able to trust him yet.

“Okay, come here.” He unlocks Steve’s tether at the couch and brings him over to the island countertop, locks him there. “Look.” He points to each crockpot that’s been braising the meat for hours. He’d put tape on each one to label them. The right one reads “Vegetarian,” the left one reads “Melissa.”

He's pleased as punch when Steve rolls his eyes and even laughs a little. “This is so crazy,” he mutters. “Why can’t you just enjoy cow like everybody else?” He’s asking in a good enough natured way, so Bucky indulges him,

“I told you, Honey. We’re just better.”

“Yeah yeah, I remember. ‘Tastes like roadkill in comparison’.”

“It does,” Bucky insists, though he can see Steve rolling his eyes. “Only one way to prove me wrong,” he challenges, leaning over the counter with a smirk. Steve scowls and says no way, and Bucky backs off. Instead, he tries to explain it to him, musing, “And you know, it also just makes the whole meal more of a … a spiritual experience.” He meets Steve’s eyes, and they’re riveted on him. Bucky licks his bottom lip slowly, eager to explain, to make Steve see. “When it’s not just an animal? When it's us? Well then you’re not just eating. It's so much more than that. You’re taking someone else inside yourself. You’re consuming them. It’s …” he inhales deeply. “It’s heady. It’s meaningful.” He sees Steve gulp and knows he’s playing with fire here, but he pushes onwards, taking Steve’s small hand from over the counter and covering it with his own. “No matter what they did in their life, they’re still a person. And a person matters. In a way an animal never can.” He watches the movement of Steve's closed lips, the nervous rise and fall of his Adam's apple. Bucky shivers and breathes, “It’s a very powerful thing.”

Steve pulls his hand back slowly, never looking away from Bucky’s eyes. Bucky can’t tell if he’s terrified, or fascinated, or both. He’d take both.

He breaks the tension of the moment by pulling back and standing up straight again, giving Steve some breathing room after that—admittedly impassioned—speech. “And then of course, we have Dessert: le tarte tatìn—with fennel ice cream, though I think the French would arrest me for serving it à la mode.” He moves away to go check on the crock pots and then the oven where the Pissaladiere is baking. “Almost ready,” he says brightly, clapping his hands together. “Let’s go set the table!”

Steve:

After dinner, they decide to finish watching The Hunger Games. They’ve only got the last movie to go. Bucky puts it on and they snuggle up close together on the couch. Steve is left untethered to any cord or chain, and he spends at least the first ten minutes of the movie eyeing up every solid object in the near vicinity, imagining what would or would not be suitable for bludgeoning Bucky with.

It’s a dreadful train of thought, and when Bucky pulls him in cozily against his side and kisses his hair and whispers that he’s so happy to have Steve back with him like this, Steve almost feels guilty for his scheming. He knows he has to stay strong, though. He just sat through an entire—admittedly delicious—dinner service where he watched the other man consume wine and salad and human shank.

Excuse him, he means osso buco.

Steve’s "vegetarian" version had been delicious. Bucky is an excellent cook and Steve really, really wishes he was just a normal boyfriend. Because cute little cooking-at-home-together dinner dates are so much fun with him. If only, if only. It’s so horrible that it’s laughable, and that’s what Steve’s found himself doing more often than not. Laughing about the absurdity of the situation in which he finds himself. He tells himself that it’s okay, that it’s a coping mechanism, and not him becoming used to anything. God forbid.

In the end, Steve concedes that Bucky was right: Peeta is a much better match for Katniss. “But only due to their circumstances,” he argues, as they’re eating their dessert on the couch, the credits and soundtrack music still rolling up the tv screen. “I mean, they’re just bonded through PTSD, basically. If things had gone differently, Gale would’ve been the one to know her better, deeper.” He shrugs. “Plus, he’s cuter. And taller.”

Bucky counters by pointing out that it’s always about your circumstances. “You can’t play that ‘what if’ game,” he says. “We live through what we live through. And it changes us, and that’s okay. Life doesn't always turn out the way we planned. Happiness comes from acceptance of that.”

He’s staring straight at Steve as he says it, and Steve finds his next mouthful of tarte tatìn going down with some difficulty. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I guess so." Does Bucky really expect him to accept all of this? He shifts uncomfortably and holds out his bowl. "I ah, I think I'm done with mine.”

Bucky takes it with gentle fingers and a soft expression. “I hope you liked everything,” he says. “I wanted to make this special for you. A real treat.”

"Oh." Steve flounders with his heart in his throat. “It ... it was.”

“Mm.” Bucky sets both of their bowls on the coffee table, then he comes back and crawls over to Steve on the couch, crowding him back, and back, until Steve is lying down and Bucky's over top of him. Steve shudders, parts his lips to say something in protest, but Bucky kisses him before he can.

It’s not just the kiss, is the thing. It’s the way that Bucky’s elbows and forearms box him in. It’s the way his hands slide up Steve’s shoulders, how they trace his neck and his jaw. It’s how his full body lies atop him, how his weight pushes down, sinking Steve into the cushions as good as any restraint could. It’s how he fits so perfectly between Steve’s legs, and how his hips roll, slow and purposeful, while he kisses him.

Without meaning to, Steve moans, and the moment his hands come up to hold Bucky’s shoulders, he knows it’s game over: He's lost, tonight.

He still protests the loss, of course. Tries to stop it on the couch, and then in the hallway, and in the bedroom. But Bucky hushes him endlessly, kisses away his whimpers and licks his moans into existence, taking them as permission, as Steve conceding his loss.

Steve really, really doesn’t mean it that way, but there’s only so much he can do, and so much he can take. He’s been alone and scared for weeks now, and every time Bucky touches him it’s like a dagger in his guts, a sharp and painful reminder of how they used to make love before all this happened. How good Bucky used to make him feel, how well he’d played his body and taken him apart and made him come and cry. Steve wants that again, god damn him. He wants to feel good again.

So, somewhere in-between the leather couch and the luxury bedcovers, he really does give in.

The second he stops squirming and starts really kissing back—not just accepting it, but participating—Bucky moans louder. He bites Steve’s lip and says, “Yes, baby. Come on. Let me make you feel good.”

And isn’t that just what Steve wants? It’s certainly the best he can have, in his present situation. He shivers full-body as Bucky undresses them both, then lies out over him, warm and naked. They’re both hard, and Steve pants when Bucky slots one of those thick, firm thighs between his legs and pushes, rocks his hips so his own cock drags against Steve’s belly. “Fuck, Honey,” he breathes, kissing him. Hot kiss after hot kiss, that dominating tongue rolling in and keeping Steve’s thoughts short and disjointed.

Steve keens sharply at a particularly good roll of their hips. “Oh, oh, yeah …”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, nipping his chin. “What do you want, baby? You want my fingers? Want Daddy to make love to you?”

Steve groans and turns his cheek into the pillow to escape it, the kisses and the words, both. Bucky just hums knowingly and takes up residence at his throat instead, sucking and licking and biting at the skin. Even after all that’s happened between them, he’s still remembered that one slip Steve had, when he'd let the word tumble out of his mouth: Daddy. He squeezes his eyes shut and writhes against Bucky’s larger body, dick blurting out precum at the way Bucky touches him and treats him and talks to him. He’s so fucking perfect. ... Well, except for the whole cannibalism th—

Bucky wraps a hand around his cock and starts stroking just in time to put an end to that train of thought, and Steve gasps, his belly tightening in such sharp pleasure that he thinks he might come. “Sl-slow down!” he gasps, unable to stop his hips from jolting up. “I-I can’t. Wait, wait ..."

Bucky listens, cooing apologies and praise at him and petting his dick back down against his belly. His hand is slick. Where the hell did he get lube? Steve stops wondering when the hand ventures further back. “Tilt up for me, Honey,” Bucky murmurs, kissing his collarbone, humming an approving sound when Steve listens. “There you go. Good boy.”

Steve squirms harder at his embarrassing reaction to being praised. But it’s something he’s always gone for, and hearing Bucky say it in his gorgeous voice, from his gorgeous lips, makes it hit even harder. He feels a finger go in, and Bucky finds it easily, just like he always had before. He strokes over his prostate, never too rough, always gentle, letting the pleasure and pressure build inside Steve at his own pace.

“Shit,” Steve curses, gritting his teeth and rolling his hips against Bucky’s hand. Another finger joins the first, so easy, and Steve humps down harder against it. “Bucky,” he chokes, gasping. “W-wait, wait.”

“So sensitive, baby.” Bucky eases his fingers out and kisses at the corner of Steve's mouth, speaking smugly against his lips. “So wound up. What’s the matter, Stevie? Haven’t you been getting laid?” Steve grits his teeth and snarls a half-hearted “fuck you” at him, but it only makes Bucky laugh and slick his cock up and fit the head right to Steve’s entrance. “Don’t worry,” he whispers, propping himself up with his other arm, pushing in just a little, so slow, letting Steve’s body suck him in. “I’ll be gentle.”

He is. He pushes in so incredibly slow. So slow that it becomes torturous, makes Steve wrap his arms around his shoulders and hook his feet over the backs of his thighs, pulling him in closer. “Fuck,” he exhales against Bucky’s ear, dragging his lips over it. “Oh, Bucky.”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck me.”

Bucky starts rolling his hips, rocking into him and pulling out just a little, just enough. It’s like he doesn’t want to get too far away from Steve, doesn’t want to separate from him long enough to make their sex anything but close and deep. Steve cries out and moans and makes all sorts of shameful noises, because it feels amazing. Grinding down against Bucky and slipping a hand between their bodies to stroke himself off, it feels so goddamn good that he cries.

He tells himself that they’re tears of pleasure, of ecstasy. But that’s not entirely true. Bucky seems to know that by the tender way he kisses them off his cheeks, by the way he whispers "it’s okay, it’s okay" to him as he fucks him, and by the way he holds him so tightly once it’s over and they’ve both spent all over Steve’s stomach. “Shh sh sh,” he calms him, forcing him still once he starts to panic and cry out and pull. “Shhh. It’s okay.” He kisses his hair and holds fast until Steve collapses, giving up the struggle, exhausted. Steve cries sluggish tears, and Bucky hugs him and says quiet things into his hair for a long time. One of them might be "I love you," but Steve isn’t sure.

Story Masterlist

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[zenpai-senpai]

Meet minty fresh!

A Fresh Sans varient, minty was found a lonely young parasite housed in a female sans body by fresh when she was a child. ( Her story starts before that but that will be revealed later :) )Being a parasite, it was rough for minty and she had a tough time finding a place to call home and friends. Seeing a bit of himself in minty, fresh adopted her as a little sister of sorts, raising her and showing her how to properly parasize. Minty remains in the body of a singular sans Instead of jumping from body to body, able to maintain its form without dusting due to her parasite's odd ice powers.

As a result of her time roaming the multiverse, minty is cautious of people she doesn't know, hiding her fear of abandonment and violence under a facade of excitement, bubbilyness and friendly jokeing. However, shes very curious and, to her brother's chagrin, very interested in pushing the mold he put her in of moral ambiguity. Though he himself is morally grey and tends to roll closer to the star sanses and "the good guys", minty seems more interested in the bad Sanses, Nightmare's crew and thus, more prone to selfish actions. Her kindness and feelings are not a facade but she won't hesitate to go to any measure if you get in the way of her curiousity and loves to see what makes others tick.

She takes " it was just a joke" to the very crumbling edge of good-faithedness. She wants to see the extent of everything from how much sadness dose it takes for you to feel numb to how far you can twist your arm till it breaks. Her dark curiosity knows no bounds and that certainly interests the type of nightmares and errors than dreams and inks. It doesn't help she seems to have a thing for bad boys thou 👀

While fresh is 90s fashion and greaser is 50s fashion, Minty is pure Y2k/2000s. She was mostly inspired, as are some of her other outfits (not pictured) by winter/Christmas outfits give to the Bratz dolls, in this case, Sasha's. She's a lot more stylish than this I swear lol this is her utility gear

Please don't ship her or draw her romantically/sexually with fresh (greaser and other fresh variants are fine), he may not be her blood brother/clutchmate but he raised her so they have a very close sibling relationship and i don't want my characters involved in incest ships. Just about every other ship is fine though. I obviously can't stop you but I will block you :)

Alittle sketch/personality page

Here's her head!

(one with her hat and glasses and one with her ecto hair. I love box braids so much 🥺. Bonus her goggles and her ecto hair)

Info beneath the cut!

Name: "Minty" Fresh

Gender: Demi-Girl

Pronouns: She/They

Orientation: Bi

Species: Skeleton

Age: ??? (Adult)

Birthday: 04/24

Personality:

Excitable

Cautious

Nervous

Magic Color: Lilac

Parents:

???

[abbatoirablaze]

Welcome To The Dollhouse, Same Tastes

Word Count:   2k

Warnings: mentions of being drugged, violence, mentions of cannibalism, manipulation, mentions of smut, dubcon relationship, secrets, angst, threats of murder,

“Ohhh, fuck…you’re so beautiful like this, baby,” he growled, his hands trailing over her breasts and the swell of her stomach until they were in line with his face, which was inches from her core. His breath fanned across the warmth radiating off of her petals as his hands reached forward and spread them, revealing the glistening of her lips, “god, I want to eat you…”

“I’m not on the menu, Brendan,” she giggled softly as she reached forward and her hands began to play with his hair, “you know that…”

“Mmm, you know in what way I meant,” he growled playfully as she tugged on his tresses.  Their eyes met, and she saw a sensual danger to them before his eyes flickered hungrily back to her cunt, “I want to devour every morsel of your arousal.”

She shifted, the words affecting her in a specific way, “Brendan…”

His own erection pressed against the bed frame as he pulled her forward until he could drape her thighs over his shoulders.  She moaned as he pressed a delicate kiss to her mound.

“I love seeing you like this,” he growled, his hands trailing back up to her stomach where he cradled her bump, “love seeing you pregnant with my child…breasts swelling…pussy always sopping wet for me when I come…I love the way your body reacts to me, goddess…”

“Brendan…”

“Shh,” he cooed, trying to dissuade her from thinking about their own lives outside of what was in the room, “I want to enjoy the moment with you, goddess.  I want to relish in my partner’s sweet, perfect form…her immaculate beauty.  How we create perfect, gorgeous babies…how well that tight cunt milks me dry…”

“I wanna come home,” she whimpered softly, eyes meeting his as she begged him, “I-I want to be home…with you…with the boys…I want to know them….I want them to know me as mommy…not her.”

“They do,” he promised gently, kissing her thigh, “the boys know that you are their mommy…they know that Ann is just a facade…they-“

“Then let me come home…I want to be home…with you…”

His jaw twitched, “Goddess-“

“I’m not just a toy,” she said quickly, cutting him off as her lip began to quiver.  She hurriedly pushed herself away from him and up the bed, “I don’t want to do this anymore, Brendan…aren’t you tired of this?”

He sucked in on his cheeks and looked away from her, defeat coating the air, “of course I’m tired of it, goddess…don’t you think I wish it was you in my bed every night?  Don’t you think I wish that when the boys have nightmares and ask for mommy in the middle of the night, you were there and not Ann?  They won’t let her touch them.  They won’t allow her to be part of their lives because they know that all she is to me is live-in cattle.  But Ann doesn’t want you home, Lindsey, we’ve gone over this.”

“In nine years all you’ve taken is an arm and a leg, Brendan,” she spat, “nine years.  I’ve given you our sons.  I-we’re going to have a daughter in two month-“

“Don’t you think I know that?” he growled, cutting her off as he stood, “don’t you think I know how messed up this all is, Lindsey?  I want you home.  I do.  The boys want you home.  I DON’T WANT TO RAISE ANOTHER CHILD WITHOUT YOU!”

“If you really felt that way then you would have told Ann to go to hell.”

“She knows too much,” he hissed, “she knows all about my operations…she could make sure that I never saw life outside of a prison, Lindsey.  She could make sure the kids were taken away and that I never saw them again.”

“Then put her on the menu…”

“I-I can’t…”

“Then get out of my room…” she growled, “I don’t know why I thought you would have changed after my fling with Lee…but you haven’t.  Tell Barnes and Rogers you’re done…I’ll go back to the floor.  There are plenty of men with this kind of kink…”

“If another man touches you, I’ll kill them!” he promised.

“No, you won’t,” she spat, “just like you won’t touch Lee…because this is what I want…and you promised that you would always listen to me…remember?”

“Lindsey!”

“Get out, Brendan…”

“You’re taking her!”

Her arms crossed protectively over her chest, and she rolled her eyes, “I don’t want him here.”

“Well, you are no longer welcome at the dollhouse, Lindsey!” Bucky growled from his spot at his desk, “we don’t put up with those sorts of things.”

“I don’t want to be alone,” he mumbled sadly as his eyes fluttered shut.  Goddess watched as the lawyer’s eyes fought against the powder she’d mixed in with his own party favors.  His hand slid down her frame and stopped over her stomach.  The baby kicked against his hand, “y-you’re pregnant…it’s so hot, goddess…”

“You’re tired, Mike!” she whispered softly, petting his short hair.  The lawyer looked up at her through thick lashes, confusion crossing his features if only for a moment until she stroked his warm cheek, “get some sleep…”

“You’re su-such a good woman,” he muttered, “if-if this was my baby, I’d treat you so good.  Y-you wouldn’t even be in a place like this…”

“But it’s not!”

She barely recognized how hollow her own voice had sounded. 

“I know,” he frowned, eyes trailing back down to her stomach, “but we could pretend…right?  I-I know that you would take Bodecker up here and that weirdo has a kink of playing cops and robbers…di-did you roleplay with him?  Or-or is that why the two of you stopped?  Got too frisky and tried to rail you while he pretended to arrest you.”

“Go to sleep, Mike.”

“I-I’m not tired,” he lied, fighting against his own exhausted eyes once more, “I-I wanna stay up with you…play house…we-we can pretend that-“

“No…”

His brow furrowed as he looked back up at her, “No?  Y-you girls don’t say no.  Why are you being mean to me Goddess?”

Her jaw twitched as she fought back the urges she’d felt in her first two pregnancies…urges that had normally made her stomach turn, but when she was pregnant, was like her own personal high.  It was the reason Brendan had two identical bite marks; one on his ass and one on his inner thigh. 

Her eyes focused in on the lean muscle on the lawyer’s thigh. 

His cum was already drying against it, and that would make his lightly sheened skin taste all the more salty, but she didn’t mind. 

“Mike…”

“Yeah goddess?”

“Do you think that maybe…I could make it up to you?”

“Hmm?”

She shifted until she was out of his reach, and she pushed him onto his back, before sliding down his chest, “let me make it up to you then, Mike…me being mean…”

“Y-you wanna make it up to me?”

“Mhmm…”

He smiled as her hands trailed down his chest.  His cock started to twitch once more, already hardening again as she placed herself between his thighs. 

One hand gripped his length and began pumping him, while the other searched along his thigh for just a plump enough piece of flesh. 

She started kissing along the lean frame of the lawyer, and he frowned, watching her sink lower on his body until her lips were just a few inches above and to the outside of his knee. 

“Wh-what are you doing baby?”

“Just playing…” she offered, pressing another kiss to the skin that was made up of just enough muscle and the slightest bit of fat.  She watched as his eyes fluttered shut once more when her other hand reached up and started playing with his balls.  His hands went down into her hair and when he moaned again, his eyes fluttering shut once more, she took her chance.

“She took a chunk out of his thigh, Kemp,” Steve Rogers growled at the doctor.  When he didn’t react, Steve slammed his hand down heavily on the desk, causing Goddess to jump, “God DAMN IT, KEMP!”

“I didn’t ask that you call him!”

“Well, we can’t get ahold of your sister,” Bucky grunted, “ever since Steve called Hansen out and he beat the shit out of the magician then bought Angel out they’ve been off the grid.”

Her eyes snapped to his, “you tried calling Jen?”

“Don’t worry, she doesn’t know of you and the cannibal corpse’s similar tastes,” Bucky grumbled, instinctively looking away from the couple, “but Steve and I are in agreement with this…either he takes you or we’re turning you over to the authorities…as of now, we have our asses covered.  Bodecker has a soft spot for you so he’s making sure Weiss doesn’t file a report.  Cho took care of it to make him think that he just took too much drugs and stumbled out of the dollhouse then got attacked by a dog…she already altered the bite so that it doesn’t look human.”

“Then problem solved,” Brendan began, his hand running through his hair, “I mean-“

“We know that she had this taste because of you, Kemp!”

“Bunny-“

“No,” she said firmly, pushing away from the wall where she stood to go towards Goddess, “she wasn’t like this before you, Kemp….but I know what happened on those little getaway trips to your workshop when you found out she was pregnant.  I know how you conditioned her to crave what you do…just like I know about how you let her do something to you that no one else ever has.”

He paled before looking at his Goddess, “L-Lindsey…”

“What is she talking about?” Bucky asked, shooting daggers at Kemp.

“What are you keeping from us, Bunny?”

“You promised-“

“And you promised me that you had it under control,” Bunny replied as she pulled her younger counterpart into her arms, ignoring how the bits of blood stained her clothes, “you told me that you were okay…that you could contain it…”

“I-I thought I could,” she whimpered, shaking her head, “Bunny, I-“

“Tammy told me you got GHB from her…that’s why he wasn’t able to fight you off completely…” she told her softly, “you broke too many rules, Linds….I can’t let you put Steve and James in that position…he’s done this to you…he’s continued to knock you up and condition you to crave it…he needs to own up to the responsibility he has…”

“What the hell is going on here?” Steve growled, suddenly realizing there was much more going on beneath his nose that he’d ever imagined.

“The house upstate…my workshop…th-that’s the only place I could take you,” He admitted nervously as he looked at the woman that he really had trained to be the perfect woman for him, “I-I can’t stay there all the time with you, Goddess…but that-that’s the only place I have…”

“I want the kids there with me.”

“But Ann-“

“Fuck Ann,” Goddess spat, “if you want me to leave with you then you tell me right now you put her in that basement the second you get the chance…I-I’ll let them do what they want with me otherwise…but I’m not playing second fiddle anymore, Brendan…it’s me or Ann.”

“Okay…” he replied after a moment, “I get it…”

“No…I don’t think you do,” she said firmly, “I want you to take me home…and then tonight when you go back to her, I want you to tell her that you are taking her on a surprise vacation…then drug her.  After she’s out, you tell the boys that we’re finally going to be a family and you have them pack a bag.  And you drive them to me.  If she’s not in the basement, her auction started by the time sunrise hits…if I’m not hugging my sons by the time the sun peaks over the tree line, if the first thing I don’t hear about on the news is you burning down the life you had with her, and that house engulfed in flames, then I’m disappearing, Brendan.  And then, I’ll do what I always told you…I’ll hunt her down, and kill her.  And then I’ll come after you.  You taught me all of your tricks, Brendan…I love you…but I’m done pretending that we aren’t the same.  You made me…now you choose how this ends.”

[gloppystar]

REDRAW 3!!!!!! FRESHINK😍

[timarsonist]

I draw Fresh as a Scarlet Macaw

(I am new here sorry-)

[clover-simp]

What goes on in My Melvin Aus household

Melvin Aus(18) in the video:

Barista!Melvin(Adult)

Angry!Borg

Sad!Borg

Gloom(Sad!Melvin)

Injured!Melvin

Sleepy!Melvin

Babyborg (Melvinborg)

Fresh!Melvin

Little MB(Melvinborg)

Fear!Melvin

Neo!Melvin

Melvin as Chara

MusicTone!Melvin

Mel(My design Melvin)

Angry!Melvin

Vampire!Melvin

Soft!Melvin

Twister(Robot TV Head!Melvin)

[zenpai-sinpai]

Now that she's posted, I can pop out her lingerie post lol here's her in nerdy lingerie

[schoolgore-au]

Чтож, вот и Фреш!

Фреш один из самых высоких. Он учится в 10 а классе.

Немного о паразите. Паразит живёт в грудной клетке скелета. Он питается магией и со временем растёт. Паразит ненавидит воду, от этого он начинает сжимать грудную клетку и душу, причиняю много боли. Фрешу выписали специальное лекарство чтоб паразит сильно не иссушал его душу. Так же Фреш боится у кого-то ночевать ведь есть вероятность, что паразит перелезет на другова обладатель, по этому Фреш спит в отдельной комнате и запирает дверь.

В дополнение скетч на бумаге с паразитом. Скетч старый как стилистика

Созданием вселенной занимаются я и @error-ha :³

[americanoddysey]

this is a spider's world and we're just living in it

spider names:

and no Jon cannot actually tell them apart

[bixels]

She hates robots. She fucking hates robots and she's coming to kill you.

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"The Taste of You"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 3792

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

Summary: Steve is so tired of the meat market that modern dating has become. Just when he's deleted all the apps and given up on ever finding Mr. Right, he meets the perfect guy at the grocery store.

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

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

A.N.: The embedded music is a fond suggestion from the author: it fits the mood of the chapter sooo perfectly (... and I'm a nerd for some Duran Duran)

6. Main Course

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

Steve takes the steps downward, nervous though he’s not sure why. “James?” he says quietly, but receives no answer.

James had said the basement was a dank storage space, but it’s not.

Steve, barefoot, goes down the curved staircase, running his hand along the rough hewn rock walls. It’s reminiscent of a dungeon, only prettier, more like a spa. A spa-dungeon, Steve thinks, lips quirking. He knows he shouldn’t be in the basement, knows it’s rude to go walking around James’ house uninvited. But he’s already down here so he might as well have a look. It’s pretty clear by now that the basement is meticulously designed. The materials are dark but beautiful, the dim uplighting along the walls making it feel kind of spooky.

There’s a hallway that curves, and Steve walks, eyes flicking around. “Hello?” he says again, but receives no answer. Abruptly, he comes upon a room on the right that’s brightly lit. Steve blinks, shocked. It’s… it’s an operating room. He doesn’t know why, but something about seeing it there makes dread well in his gut. Why would James have a surgery room set up in his basement?

Why did he lie about it?

Everything looks perfectly clean and sanitized, new and shiny like it’s never been used. There’s a bare operating table and big surgical lamps shining down on it. Steve swallows as his eyes land on one of the rolling metal trays, lined with pristine rows of surgical tools that look downright menacing. He tears his eyes away, feeling uneasy.

Maybe James takes patients at home—people who want privacy away from a public hospital? Celebrities maybe? Or maybe James does facial surgeries on people in the witness protection program, he thinks wildly.

Steve knows how absurd that sounds. He really can’t think of a realistic reason why James would have an operating room set up in his basement. And he can’t make sense of why he’d lie about it. “...James?” he says again, only this time he’s whispered it, unsure if he wants to run into James down here after all.

Scared, he keeps walking down the hall, which keeps curving. There’s a metal panel on the wall that he comes to, and after a brief inspection he sees that it’s the other end of the dumbwaiter that goes up to the kitchen. Steve shuts the panel and walks further. His heart rate picks up when he sees the first of the rooms. They’re on the outer wall of the circle. They’re cells, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that much. Steve stands at the entrance to one and starts breathing rapidly as he takes in the bare room, the mattress, the prison-grade toilet-sink in the corner.

The chain and leather shackle bolted into the floor.

He backs out of the room, terrified. “What the fuck,” he exhales shakily. He starts walking down the hallway faster, eager to get out of there. He passes four more cells, identical to the first. Multiple cells in the basement. Lies. James lied to him!

It’s terrifying, but Steve’s mind is still trying to offer something up, trying to rationalize it. Maybe it’s a kink thing, he thinks desperately. Maybe people pay money for James to lock them up and dominate them. Maybe James shoots porn down here or maybe—

He comes to the last cell and, unlike the others, this one’s sliding door is closed. And there’s someone, or something, in there. “Oh my god,” he whispers, looking through the wooden slats of the door. He knows it’s horribly wrong, even before his mind makes sense of what he’s seeing. It’s a woman, Steve can see her face. She’s laying on the mattress on her back, body under a thin blanket. But something’s wrong. Steve blinks. The lump under the blanket is too small, he realizes. It should be … it should be bigger. There should be more, where her arms and legs are.

A wave of nausea overcomes him and he slaps his hand over his mouth, gasping. The woman in the cell whips her head towards Steve. The too-small lump under the blanket moves. Steve whimpers, his vision tunneling. “No,” he squeaks. “No, no.”

“Help me,” the woman says, staring right at him. “Please. Kill me.”

Steve thinks he might vomit.

Bucky hoses the debris off his tools at the barn’s spigot, then hangs them neatly back in their places. He sighs, feeling tired. Harvesting is a workout all on its own, but he’s not going to use that as an excuse to skip his run. That’d just be lazy.

So he puts the product in a Cambro with a lid and sends it down in the barn’s dumbwaiter to freeze. He hangs up his apron and face shield, takes off the rubber coveralls and gloves and slips his sneakers back on. Outside the barn, he starts into a series of high knees and plank jacks to get his muscles warming up.

His usual path takes him around the edge of the forest that lines his property. He jogs, inhaling the wet, crisp air of the early morning. His feet pound against the grass and patches of packed earth. Running has always been relaxing for Bucky, and as he jogs he finds himself reflecting on the last two weeks; how well things have been going, both with Steve and with the business. He grins as he jogs, happier than he can remember being in a long time.

Two weeks earlier:

Bucky purchases the package of venison, then walks out of the store and chucks it in one of the parking lot trash cans. He waits in a dark corner alongside the building until he sees the guy—Steve—leave with his bag of groceries. Bucky watches fondly as he disappears from sight.

Bucky makes a mental note to text him.

Then he remembers his mission and he goes back into the store. Eileen is still on aisle six, muttering at the junk food options, trying to talk herself down from a potato chip cliff, apparently. She winds up putting three different types in the cart. Bucky rolls his eyes at her lack of self-control. Pathetic.

He follows her out to the parking lot, where she gets into her car. Bucky knows the routine by now. This is the Ex’s weekend with the kid, so Bucky knows she’ll be alone. She’ll stop at the liquor store, then drive home to her shitty walk-up in Vinegar Hill, get drunk watching The Real HouseWives of Somewhere-or-other, passing out sometime around one am.

“Good girl,” he mutters through the binoculars, when her eyes close right on schedule. Bucky watches from his spot across the street, waiting until she’s been out for a full forty minutes before he goes to get her. He stares at her where she’s slumped on the couch, mouth open as she snores, potato chip crumbs on her shirt. Slob.

She’s his preferred stock—heavyset but short. Plenty of product in a compact package. And already unconscious for him as well? Talk about a sitting duck. It means she’s easy to chloroform, and not too hard to manage with the hand truck and plastic storage bin he puts her in. He takes a moment to find a few items worth pilfering: lingerie, some cheap jewelry, an old photo album—things the clients will appreciate in their care packages. After all, Bucky isn’t just some vulgar meat man. He’s a cuisinier; he sells the whole experience. The various accessories get chucked on top of Eileen in the bin. He clips the lid on securely with a giddy spring to his step, thinking of the cute guy he’d met at the grocery store. Steve. Bucky’s lips twitch as he remembers the guy’s pink rainboots. “Cute,” he murmurs, hefting the hand truck onto its wheels and pushing out the door.

Eileen’s apartment is barely furnished, let alone equipped with any sort of a security system. And the neighborhood outside is equally as rough. Last week’s reconnaissance had revealed cameras at the corner ATM, but nowhere else. Nobody bothers him as he loads the bin into his car and drives off.

It’s a long drive out to the house, and she starts making noises from the back after the first hour or so. Bucky pulls into a rest stop and grabs another drugged gauze. He opens the car’s rear door and removes the lid to the bin. Puffy, confused eyes blink up at him. “Wassit?!” she squeals, squirming around like a big fish in a little bucket.

“Comfy?” Bucky asks. Eileen frowns and cries out, and Bucky sighs. He leans over and holds the cloth over her mouth and nose until she goes limp again. “Don’t worry,” he tells her, clipping the lid back onto the bin and returning to the driver’s seat. “We’ll be there soon.”

He imagines her ex coming by for the custody swap on Sunday evening, imagines the face of Eileen’s seven year old daughter as she realizes that she won’t have to go back into that filthy apartment again, with her filthy mother and her mother’s filthy boyfriend. The thought of how happy he’s about to make that little girl makes Bucky feel like a million bucks.

Eileen, chunky monkey that she is, makes him feel like a mil point two.

💬James: Hey you. I’ve got a red eye out tonight. Doing some consulting work outta state. I might not be very reachable for a few days. But I’ll text you when I get back, maybe we can grab lunch or something.

🗨️Steve: Okay! Sounds good. Have a fun trip!

The kid’s enthusiasm makes Bucky smile. He texts back that it’s just work, but he’ll try to enjoy it where he can.

He closes out the screen and sets his phone onto the kitchen counter. He sends one lunch tray down in the dumbwaiter and carries the other himself. It’s Eileen’s sixth day, Melissa’s fifty-sixth.

Melissa’s gone kind of nuts, now, which Bucky finds vaguely amusing, vaguely sad, and probably in the poor girl’s best interest. It’s her mind protecting her from what she can’t handle. It’s merciful.

And Melissa’s a walk in the park compared to Eileen, who is progressing rather typically, and is still in the Anger stage. But Bucky expects she’ll make the transition to Bargaining soon, promising Bucky her silence, her cooperation, money, sex; anything if he’ll let her go. Bucky understands. He doesn’t judge them for it, pathetic as it is.

The first surgery tends to be the hardest for them, psychologically, no matter which part he chooses to harvest. He prefers to start with a leaner cut like the forearm, since they’re still pretty stressed out at that point and he’s found that fear seeps into and taints the fatty cuts of meat the most. Better to save those for once they’ve calmed down and accepted their fate.

“Meh-liss-aah,” he sing-songs to her as he passes her room, hearing her answering giggle. “How you doing, silly goose?”

Melissa babbles out some sort of answer, and he tells her she’s a good girl, he’ll come feed her her lunch in a bit (she’s 0 for 2 in the arms department these days). Bucky didn’t used to be so nice to her. Like all of his girls, she’d fallen into his hands because he’d found some very damning public records. Melissa used to like to do drugs, and it didn’t matter to her whether she was pregnant at the time or not. She’d given birth to multiple babies—disabled and addicted to crack or whatever other drug of choice she was on at that time.

Bucky’s relationship with her has only gotten friendly since she started talking to the walls, hearing colors and smelling shapes and all that shit. Bucky can’t bring himself to pick on an insane person.

Eileen is in the farthest of the six cells. Bucky’s never had more than four people in stock at once, but he’d been feeling very entrepreneurial when he was designing the basement. The rooms are meticulous, designed to prevent any possibility of escape or self harm. They’re spacious, plain, easy to clean. The only difference between them is that each room has a large feature wall depicting some sort of scenery. One’s a fish tank, one’s a forest. Melissa is in the sunset room and Eileen has the beach.

He finds her sitting on her mattress, leaning against the wall and staring towards the beach, but her gaze sharpens when he slides the door open. “Hi,” he says, taking a few steps into the room. He’s standing outside of her reach, having long ago memorized the radius that the restraints allow his captives. He sets the tray of food down in the safety zone and watches her look at it. “Fettucini alfredo, broccolini, side salad, tiramisu,” he says calmly. He never tries to feed them meat, that’s too much of a mindfuck, even for him. “And your pills,” he adds, seeing her eyes fixating on the little cup of capsules and tablets next to the water cup. Eileen sneers and turns her head away. “No.”

Bucky hums. “If you don’t eat and take your pills, I cut off your pain meds.” She inhales sharply and whips her head back to gape at him. Bucky nods. “You must be hurting by now. You didn’t take your afternoon dose.”

“I don’t need it,” she says.

“Liar.” Bucky toes the tray further across the carpet, into the range where Eileen can reach it, if she wants to. “Take your pills.” There are antibiotics, blood thinners and vitamins that he needs her to take. “And eat. Then I’ll give you your morphine.”

It’s rare that a captive doesn’t press the button every chance they get; like a little, addicted rat in a cage. The button triggers a dispenser to drop their pain pills down into a receptacle in the wall. Bucky’s got the system rigged to allow a customizable amount for each individual, depending on where they are in their process. Right now he’s allowing Eileen a decent dose every three to four hours—she’s only two days out from her first surgery, after all.

Bucky eyes the dressings on the stump at her left elbow. It looks clean enough, but he’ll have to change it soon. It’s just good practice. “Do you need anything?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she mutters darkly, and Bucky knows she’s imagining a multitude of ways to murder him.

Not to Bargaining quite yet, then. He sighs, watching her and thinking that he really wants to get back to New York to see Steve. He doesn’t mind his work here, enjoys it even, depending on the personalities of who he’s got in rotation. But the excitement of a new relationship is headier than he remembers it ever being before. He likes Steve, and he feels giddy whenever he thinks about the possibility of this maybe going somewhere, maybe going all the way. Steve has made him realize how lonely he’s been these past few years. Bucky thinks of maybe telling Steve, someday; of getting to share that with him. It’s Bucky’s ultimate fantasy.

His attention returns to Eileen. He looks her over critically, thinking that maybe he’ll just do a chop and freeze, make a bunch of meatballs. It’s not his preference, of course. He can usually take his time, lovingly harvesting half a limb every three weeks or so and mailing it off: expertly prepped and with gourmet recipes and serving suggestions. The clients pay almost double for fresh meat, and they like knowing that the woman they’re eating is still alive, that the woman they’re eating knows that they’re eating her. And Bucky’s a damn good surgeon. He prides himself in being able to take all the limbs, plus either the ass or the breasts, before the final harvest is required. But if he’s going to be starting a relationship—a real one, this time—then he’d prefer not to have to drive out here to the house every other day. What a pain in the butt.

He watches as Eileen gets to the tray and starts eating the pasta. She tosses back the pills and Bucky hums, pleased. “Good girl.”

“Fuck you.” She skips the veggies and starts eating the tiramisu. “You can eat shit and die,” she mutters.

Bucky’s lips quirk. He moves for the door, thinking that he might just do an accelerated slaughter, after all. Most of the meat will have to be kept frozen, and the clients won’t pay as much. But Bucky will eat the loss. He doesn’t mind meatballs.

And besides, Steve’s worth it.

Bucky doesn’t usually keep live product for long; not once the final limb is harvested. It’s cruel, he thinks, to leave a stump of a person laying on a mattress, stewing in their own misery and unable to scratch a damn itch on their nose. Often, he even gives them a choice when they’re being put under for that last thigh or upper arm: Do they want him to just finish them on the table this time? Many of them say yes please, and if Bucky’s at all pitying, he honors their wishes and they never wake up again.

Bucky’s got no such sympathy for a woman who turns a blind eye to her disgusting boyfriend raping her seven-year-old daughter. He’d discovered her special case in the public records database a few months ago. So no, he hadn’t done a quick chop and freeze on her, but he had taken all her limbs in one fell swoop. Watching the look on her face when she came to in her cell and realized what he’d done was priceless. Bucky almost regrets not taping it. He thinks that maybe Eileen’s daughter might’ve liked to see it, one day. Eileen can stew a little longer, he decides vindictively. She’s currently a legless, armless, breastless stump, dwindling away in her room until Bucky gets an order in for organ meat or short ribs.

Bucky is a very thorough person. The basement is meticulously designed to conceal everything that goes on down there, so Bucky’s not really worried at all about bringing Steve to the house for the weekend. The door will be locked and Steve and he will have a great time.

Bucky doesn’t make mistakes like leaving the door unlocked. He just doesn’t.

Until he does, and it makes everything come crumbling down.

It’s the second morning of their trip. Bucky’s already harvested Melissa, but he gets up early to take Eileen her food and meds. He finishes up with her and then heads out for the run that he told a barely-awake Steve he was going for. The dew on the grass outside soaks his sneakers, and he feels invigorated by the time he returns through the front door. He toes his sneakers off and pads into the kitchen in his socks. The tea kettle is rattling and whistling on the stovetop. He frowns, grabbing a potholder and moving it off the flame. He looks around for Steve, confused.

And then his eyes land on the basement door. It’s halfway open. No. Oh please, God, no.

His heart feels like it stops in his chest and he could almost cry, because he knows Steve is down there, and he’d really wanted to keep Steve. …He’s kind of been falling for him. “Fuck,” he hisses, wanting to punch the wall. Wanting to punch himself. “Fuck, God, fuck!”

He knows what he has to do, but it’s heartbreaking. It enrages him. He doesn’t want to lose someone else he cares about to this. How could he have left that fucking door open! He yanks angrily at his own hair, then makes up his mind. He has to fix this. He has no choice. Inhaling deeply, he goes and retrieves a syringe from his med kit. He draws up enough of a sedative and caps it. Trying to gather his courage, Bucky steps through the basement doorway, shutting and locking the door behind him. He walks down the stairs, guts crawling with regret and sorrow and dread.

It’s quiet downstairs. Bucky had just finished cycling through two chop and freezes in preparation for Steve’s visit. He’d intended to finish Eileen next week, after his and Steve’s weekend trip was over. Bucky inhales deeply, steeling himself for what he knows he’s going to find. The basement is laid out in a pattern like a conch shell: the hallway spiraling in and in until finishing at a dead end.

His footsteps are silent in his socks, and he passes the operating room, the walk-in freezer and three of the newly-sanitized cells. Steve is standing at the last cell, peering in through the wooden slats. Bucky sighs, so incredibly disappointed. “Oh, Steve,” he bemoans, and Steve nearly jumps out of his skin as he cries out and whirls around. Bucky shakes his head sadly. “Why’d you have to come down here, honey? I had such high hopes for us.”

Steve makes an animal sound, desperate and panicked, and he runs away from Bucky. He’s running in the direction of the center of the spiral, unaware that it’s a dead end he’s headed for. Bucky sighs and uncaps the syringe he’s brought. “Stevie? C’mere, baby.” He walks in the direction Steve went. He finds him at the wall, trapped and crouching down low. Bucky’s heart clenches. “I’m sorry, Steve,” he says. “I didn’t want it to go like this. I wanted to—”

Steve screams and charges him, wild and fast. He breaks past Bucky, surprising him so much that he actually laughs in disbelief. He starts off in the direction Steve ran. “Steve,” he warns calmly. “There’s no way out of here, honey. Why don’t you stop running and we can talk? I’m not going to hurt you.”

He finds him at the very top of the stairs, yanking and jiggling the doorknob in frantic desperation. Bucky hates to see him so terrified. “Steve, I’m not gonna hurt you. C’mere.”

Steve has nowhere to go, and Bucky is able to close in on him. He doesn’t let him see the needle, just pulls him in against his body and hugs him tightly. “Baby, I’m so sorry,” he whispers into his hair. Steve is whining and fighting, but it dies down quickly once Bucky jabs him with the needle. “Shh sh sh,” Bucky hushes him, holding more and more of his slight weight as he loses lucidity.

“James?” he asks weakly, sounding so confused that it just feels like a punch to Bucky’s heart. There are tears in Steve’s eyes, and Bucky starts to cry, too. He didn’t want it to be like this. Not again.

Story Masterlist

Masterlist

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Tags: @scottishrosefury, @not-that-syndrigast, @lolitsbuckybarnes, @kathy-2005, @stuckysgal, @thenewmissescullen, @sapphirebarnes, @Yoruse, @autumnrose40, @alexakeyloveloki

[abbatoirablaze]

Brick By Brick, Steve Kemp

Word Count:  1.3k

“Sweetheart…where are you?”

Your blood ran cold as you thought of the man who called you his wife.  Your heart began to beat so loud that you felt your pulse thumping in your ears.  Ironically enough, you noticed your pulse matching the light footfalls coming towards you from down the hall.

The slight beeping of the key pad made your heart sink as the door slid open.

You had known that he was coming for you when he called out for his ‘sweetheart.’

He didn’t call any of the other girls that.

“You didn’t answer,” he said firmly from the entryway.  You tried to bite back your anxiety as his form stayed in the shadow.  It made his already dark and imposing nature feel much larger than his six foot tall frame.  He stepped in, your soft lighting illuminating the side of his face.  Your heart raced even more when you noticed that he was frowning, “is everything okay, sweetheart?”

“Y-yeah…” you lied, stuttering as he continued to step into your room.  The door closed behind him and you jumped when the latch caught. 

You never got used to that noise. 

His frown deepened and the lines in his brow became more prominent, “don’t lie to me, sweetheart…you know I don’t like liars…”

“I-I’m not…I just…this morning…I heard something…I-I thought something happened.”

His frown lessened and it turned into a look of concern.  He made his way further into the room before placing himself on the edge of the bed, “sweetheart…did you think that Ann was going to show up again?”

Your anxiety spiked at the mention of the other woman that Dr. Kemp had kept as a ‘wife.’  He must have noticed your features shift because he reached out and stroked your bare thigh, his thumb grazing over the scar, “she’s not ever going to hurt you, sweetheart…she learned her lesson when I took up to her knee…she knows her place.”

“D-Dr. Kemp…I-“

“Brendan, sweetheart,” he murmured softly, staring intensely at you, “I’m not your surgeon anymore…we fixed that pretty little heart of yours…remember?”

You swallowed and looked down at your chest, your ‘zipper,’ clearly visible where your camisole dipped.  You closed your eyes.

He saved your life once upon a time when he performed the surgery.

And because of it, he believed that meant that he owned you.

“Sweetheart.”

Your eyes snapped up to his and he frowned.  His hand left your thigh and he reached up to your cheek.  His thumbs brushed softly along the apple of your cheek and this time you frowned when you felt the wetness making it’s way across the side of your face.

Shit.

“You know how I feel when you cry…”

You could hear the dark undertones.  Your heart began to race yet again as you looked away from him, “I-I don’t like remembering life before you saved me…”

You allowed yourself to look up at him.

To read his reactions. 

Blank.

“I was alone then…b-before you…”

The smallest of smiles tugged at his lips.

“B-Brendan…I-I don’t have to go back…do I?”

“No…of course not,” he said quickly, his other hand reaching out so that he was cupping your face in his hands, “you don’t ever have to go back to that lonely apartment of yours…”

“I-It’s lonely down here,” you tried, softly pushing him in your favor by hinting that your lonely apartment was like the one he’d set up for you down here in his basement, “I-I don’t like it when you’re not here.  I get stuck in those thoughts…”

He sighed, his own eyes closing as he pulled your face towards his.  He rested his forehead against yours, and you saw it.

The vulnerability he showed you when he let you come upstairs last time and made you dinner.

But instead you decided to push the boundary. 

Leaning in, you pressed your lips to his. 

You didn’t dare keep your eyes open as your hands reached up and you held his face just as he held yours. 

But you could feel the way that he clung to you.

The way that his tongue pushed into your mouth. 

You gave up the dominance. 

Crawled into his lap. 

Let him think that he won.

He broke the kiss when you crawled into his lap, wanting him to think that you were in the palm of his hand. 

Your eyes snapped open and you gave him an owlish look, “Sweetheart…I think…I think this is going to far.”

You felt your heart stop beating.  You looked at him with wide eyes.

He was on to you.

“B-Brendan, I-“

His hands clung to your face, and he shook his head, “we can’t consummate our marriage down here, sweetheart.  I won’t let us.”

“Wh-what?”

“God, I’ve been hoping you would come to your senses,” he smiled, rambling about you, “and it’s happening…right around Christmas  time too…”

“I-It’s around Christmas?”

He smiled stupidly, still clutching you, “sweetheart…I think it’s time that we go upstairs…for good…but I need to know that I can trust you.”

Holy shit.

He was falling for it.

“Anything.”

The simple word had fallen from your lips before you could contest it.  It, however, caused his smile to grow.

“Anything?”

“Name it, Brendan…” you added, your hands reaching up desperately to hold his face once more.  You held him still as you searched his eyes for any inkling of what he wanted, “I-I’ll do anything to be with you!”

“I want you to have a piece of me!”

Your eyes widened, the shock of what he said obvious on your features.  You gasped, shaking your head, “B-Brendan…I couldn’t…I’m not like that…I-I couldn’t take a part of you…you’re a surgeon.  You’re far to valuable to lose anyth-“

He seemed angry when you had started, but you stopped yourself when you saw his expression go from angry to amused.

“W-why do you look amused?”

He chuckled, “while I’m honored that you think I’m far too valuable to be tasted…I’m talking about taking a part of me in a more…traditional sense of the word.”

“W-what?”

“Think, my sweet little dummy,” he chuckled sarcastically, “I told you that I want to consummate our marriage once and for all…I want to give you a part of me.”

You frowned at the insult, but gasped when your brain caught up.  His chuckle turned into a deep laugh as he stroked your cheeks, “did you get it?”

“W-we-we can’t…What about Ann?” you asked nervously, shaking your head, “and what abo-“

“Ann means nothing in comparison to you…but if she worries you that much, I’ll keep you here…upstairs, but here.  Think of it…I’ll come home to you every night.  We can really be together.  And when you give birth…I’ll take care of Ann. You won’t ever have to worry about her.”

You felt nauseated at the thought.

Sure, you didn’t like Ann. 

But she and Brendan had been together since he was in medical school. 

They had two sons together.

They were legally married. 

“W-what do you mean, you’ll take care of her?”

His brow rose, before another amused chuckle tore itself from his throat, “you really have to ask…after all this time, sweetheart?”

“Wh-what happens to me when you find another girl you like more?” you asked softly, “Will I-will she have the same option to have me be ‘taken care of?’  W-will I be replaceable.”

“Sweetheart, no,” he said quickly, shaking his head, “you’re irreplaceable to me.  I cut off Ann’s leg because she put that scar on your body…I apologized to you for months because I had to give you your zipper even though it saved your life.”

His hands trailed down your face, and the column of your throat, only to stop above your breasts.  His thumbs grazed over the top of your scar, “I just want to give you what I felt you might not have otherwise have, sweetheart…”

“W-what’s that?”

“A future,” he smiled sweetly, “even if it means I build it, brick by brick.”

He was gentle in how he let you off his lap, before standing and holding his hands out to you, “now come on…come upstairs and lets start building…”

[gloppystar]

Box<3

[yeehawpim]

a comic about my weird irreverence for canon

go write a bad ending AU! ship your self-insert oc with your favourite villain!! the world's your oyster!!!

[proxycrit]

LINKTOBER DAY 22, SEABED INN

Nothing like ending the adventure with a weird dream and manifesting a new spooky ring! Link’s too tired to wake Zelda for this one.

(That zora is a strange one, choosing to live near the sky. Have you heard? Rumors have it she even took one of the last zonai as a student.

I heard she taught it healing arts!

I heard she let it near the Sky Princess.

Oh no!

Didn’t she know the Zonai are cursed? Nothing ever goes right with their magic. That’s why they were taken by the malice.)

Interested in more of this au? Check out this masterpost (it all started when Zelda didn’t time travel back in time)

Want to see wips and character faces without Rauru’s brainfog getting in the way? Mayhaps you should check out my patreon :0