#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: 6420

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 ... that morphs into rape play? 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, 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

13. Hunger Pangs

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

Steve:

The new room is much nicer than the last one, there’s no denying it.

Bucky comes down and eats breakfast with Steve, and he’s obviously excited about something because he shovels his eggs in at an alarming pace. He gives Steve a kiss on the lips before he unchains him and announces that today’s the day: Steve is moving into his new room. “Come on,” Bucky beams, leading him out of the cell and down the hallway.

Erica is sitting in the far back corner of her cell when they pass. She locks eyes with Steve briefly through the slats of the door, but makes no move to do or say anything. The last cell in the spiral is where the construction work was going on, and that’s where Bucky stops outside of a door that is very much not slatted. It’s solid, and it unlocks with the press of Bucky’s key fob on the pad outside. Bucky slides it into the wall and urges Steve in first, then closes the door behind them and stands at the entryway while allowing Steve to look around first. “I hope you like it,” he says, sounding almost shy. “Tried to make it really nice for you.”

Steve can’t help it that his gut reaction is to be excited about the upgrade. The room isn’t creepily perfect and sterile like his last room. There are warm hardwood floors covered by soft rugs, velvet couch cushions, and a chevron patterned bedspread. The walls are painted a mellow green color that Steve instinctively likes. There’s a succulent plant in the corner—fake, Steve thinks, but can’t be sure without touching it. It looks nice, anyways. The room is cozy and stylish and almost feels like it could be a regular micro apartment. Hell, it’s almost three quarters the size of Steve’s place back in Brooklyn anyways (which is pathetic and really says more about the cost of New York rent than anything else.)

He steps further in, looking around. There’s a full-size mattress tucked into a wall nook to the right, drywall separating it from another room that’s got a pocket door halfway open. Steve peeks inside to see a small shower, sink, toilet and storage cabinet. It’s compact but functional. Steve doesn’t fail to note that the mirror above the bathroom sink is made from some sort of safety plastic, rather than glass. Oh well. How accurate of a reflection does he really need of himself when he's living as Bucky's basement wife? He quickly checks in the cabinet, finding towels and different toiletry items. He closes it and backs out of the little bathroom, grateful just to see that he'll be able to shower on his own now.

Bucky’s still watching cautiously from the doorway when Steve comes out of the bathroom. As promised, the room has a solid door this time. But there’s a plastic window in it. Steve is reminded that however nice this may be, it’s still a cell. Unless Steve hides in the bathroom, Bucky will always be able to peek inside and see what he’s doing. Even the bed niche in the wall isn’t completely hidden from sight of the door. And Steve sighs when he spots the metal mount on the wall just to the side of the pillows: There’s no cord attached to it right now, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be. It's all set up to tether him in place, if needed. The exact same way as before.

“Well? What do you think?” Bucky asks anxiously.

The left side of the room has just enough space to accommodate a small couch in front of a tv. The tv is inside of the wall and behind a layer of plexiglass. There’s a tiny little desk and a slim bookshelf next to the tv. Steve walks over and looks at all the different drawing utensils. He runs his fingers over a sheet of unblemished paper on top of a stack. “What’s this?” he says, and Bucky walks up behind him and pulls him back gently, encouraging him to lean against his body.

“I know you’re an artist,” he murmurs, bending to kiss Steve’s neck. “You must miss it.”

Steve swallows thickly, feeling inordinately emotional that Bucky remembered this about him. “Yeah,” he says, conflicted. “Yeah I do.” He eyeballs the cups of pens and pencils and thinks that Bucky isn’t totally on the ball—those could be used for self harm. Not that Steve has any plans of doing that. And he’d honestly prefer not to stab Bucky in the neck with a drawing utensil. That's just ... gruesome.

“I know it’s not a lot of space, but you can create here at least. And you can watch tv and have a real bathroom now.”

Steve nods, turning around in Bucky’s arms. He looks up at him and smiles. “It’s nice,” he says. “Thank you.”

Bucky beams. He seems genuinely proud to have provided Steve with his comfy new prison. “Here,” he says, tugging on Steve’s arm to get him following over to the bed. Bucky plops himself down on it, grinning. “It’s a memory foam mattress, and these cabinets up here,” he points to several overhead cabinets on the wall at the foot of the bed. “You can keep your clothes and your books in there.”

Steve nods, eyes flicking from Bucky reclining on the bed, to the empty mount on the wall over by the pillows. “... Are you going to keep me chained up in here?” he asks delicately.

Bucky stares at him for a long moment, looking sad. “C’mere,” he murmurs, beckoning Steve closer. Hesitantly, Steve crawls over to him on the bed. Bucky pulls him close, maneuvering him to lie on top of him. Steve sits up and straddles him to avoid being that close, and Bucky stares up at him with a tender look. “You know I don’t want to do that,” he says quietly, thumbs stroking under the hem of Steve’s tee shirt and brushing skin. “I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner here.”

Steve averts his eyes. “That’s a tall order, Buck,” he says. “The door still locks. I’m still not upstairs with you.” He takes a moment to pointedly look around the room with an appreciative look. It is a nice room. He can tell that Bucky’s made an effort to furnish it in the same style Steve had, back at his old apartment. Something about that really gets to Steve—more than he should let it. “They’re nice digs, but it’s still not where I want to be.”

Bucky sighs and pulls Steve back down over top of him, close enough to kiss, though he doesn’t right away. “One day,” he promises, eyes flicking all over Steve’s face like he’s trying to suss out how he really feels. “I want you with me too, Sweetheart. It’ll happen. We'll get there."

Steve gulps and says nothing, feeling unsure. This is all supposed to be an act, to get close to Bucky and gain his trust so that he can escape, but the memories from before all get muddled in, and Bucky still looks and acts like the guy Steve knew as James, the guy he was so excited to have as his new boyfriend. As much as he tells himself he's only pretending ... Steve’s feelings never feel as fake as he wants them too. It’s fucked.

His mind flashes to the other night, to how Bucky had undressed him and made love to him. It’d felt so good, such a relief after so long without pleasure. For just a little while, Steve had forgotten to feel worried or scared. Now he feels guilty for genuinely enjoying it the way he had. They’d showered together after the sex, too, bodies close and intimate in a way that Steve really regrets having enjoyed. Bucky had brought him back down to the basement for bed, despite Steve’s pleas to be allowed to stay upstairs. He'd kissed him goodnight, and left.

And then, just after the sounds of the upstairs locks beeping:

“Steeve?! Jesus you’ve been gone all day! What did he do to you?! What did he take?! Are you okay?!”

Never before had Steve wanted Erica to disappear so badly. Again, he thinks that it’s nice to have a solid door and a soundproofed room. He won’t ever have to talk to Erica or any of Bucky’s other "product" ever again. He feels gross as soon as he has the thought. Christ, he laments. What is he becoming?

“What are you thinking about?” Bucky whispers, lips skimming over Steve’s chin on the way up to his mouth. He kisses him in a soft, slow press, hands slipping underneath his shirt and up his back. “Hm?”

“Nothing,” Steve murmurs, kissing back. "Nothing."

Bucky's arms wrap securely around his waist, and he flips them over. Steve gasps at the sudden movement and his legs part on instinct. Bucky growls into his mouth, pleased.

“Wait,” Steve breathes, but Bucky’s already getting handsy, rolling his hips down and kissing at his neck as he gropes along Steve's waist and rucks his shirt up. Steve groans as their hips align just so, sending a jolt of pleasure to his cock. “Buck, oh, w-wait.” He’s ignored. Bucky’s open-mouthed kisses on his skin are like a firebrand, searing hot and just as filthy as the drag of his hips. Steve whimpers and tosses his head as he starts to get hard. "Nnnh, nuh ..."

Bucky notices, of course. “Honey,” he coos, one hand sliding down between them and cupping him through the soft material of his sweatpants. Steve’s not wearing underwear, and Bucky’s fingers easily curl over the shape of his erection. “Oh, there it is. You want me to make you feel good?”

“Fuck,” Steve chokes out, because he doesn’t, but he does, his body going pathetically pliant under Bucky once again as soon as he starts talking to him in that low, private voice; starts touching him over his clothes and covering him with his body, murmuring those intimate things into his skin. “Bucky,” he sighs, losing his train of thought when Bucky licks along the shell of his ear. Fuck, he can’t. He can’t think when Bucky does that thing with his tongue … Precum blurts out of his dick and is making a wet patch against his sweats, and Bucky hums and rubs his thumb right over the spot. Steve groans, hips jerking up in sensitivity. “Oh god ..."

“Mmhm.” Bucky starts to push his shirt up. “Come on, Stevie. Let me see this gorgeous body.”

Steve blinks, stupid as his shirt is suddenly being drawn over his head and then discarded. The word "no" runs through his mind over and over again, but it never makes it past his vocal cords. He gasps when Bucky dips down to suck on his nipples—likely to distract him from how he’s edging a hand down his pants at the same time. “Wait,” he breathes, though it comes out sounding weak and useless even to his own ears. He puts his hands up, intending to push him away, but his fingers wind up curling harshly into Bucky's strong shoulder muscles instead, grasping onto him when he drags his teeth across a nipple and wraps a hand around his cock. "Ohfuck," Steve whimpers.

Bucky’s eyes flash upwards, dark and focused and locked on Steve’s face while he sucks his chest. The hand around Steve’s cock tightens, stroking up and down at an excruciatingly tight, slow pace, not quite enough as he purposefully avoids the head.

Steve's guts clench and his balls throb at Bucky’s heated stare. Later, when he looks back on it, he'll pinpoint this as the exact second when he completely abandons the idea of pushing Bucky away, of trying to stop this from happening. “Buck,” he pleads, rolling his hips into Bucky’s hand and trying to pull him back up his body. At least if he's kissing him, he can't look at him like that. “Come on, come on.”

Bucky’s lips are swollen and pinked when he pulls away from Steve's chest. He licks them with that trademark flick of his tongue that has Steve’s cock giving a mighty pulse at how debauched and beautiful he looks. “You want more?” he asks, grinning. He’s gripping Steve’s dick hard at the base, denying him while he waits for an answer. “Tell me,” he orders, mouth sliding sideways in a smile. “Tell me you want it.”

Steve digs his skull back into the pillow and bares his teeth in frustration. “Fuck! Just ..." He's about to beg, he really is, but he grunts and slams his eyes shut, upset at himself. No! he thinks desperately. No no no, he can’t do this! It’s wrong, it's wrong, it's so wrong! He shouldn’t want this, he shouldn't, he shouldn't ...

"Steve?" Bucky stills, and then softens. “Oh, Steve," he chides sadly, his breath hitting against Steve's lips where he's come back up to his face, close and coaxing. “Hey, open your eyes, Sweetheart, c’mon. Look at me. Please?”

Slowly, Steve does. Bucky’s lost that fierceness, and instead is regarding him tenderly. One of his hands comes up and combs into Steve’s hair, holding his head still so that he can’t move away from where Bucky’s kissing him softly. “Don’t be afraid,” he murmurs. “Please, Baby. I don’t ever want you to be afraid of me.” On Steve's cock, he starts stroking gently again, and Steve releases a pathetic little moan despite his efforts not to. Bucky keeps murmuring sweet, reassuring things against his lips as he jerks him off. “Always want you to be happy, Stevie. Love you. Gonna take such good care of you, I promise. You don't ever have to be afraid again. Not ever. You're safe with me. So safe. So safe ...”

Steve’s not sure when the crying starts, but before he knows it, his eyes are wet and he can feel the hot slide of tears escaping. He whimpers in shame when Bucky notices and starts cooing even more at him, kissing the tears from his skin. “Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he soothes, and god but Steve really, really wishes that it was.

“Bucky!” he eventually gasps, when he feels close to coming but really doesn’t want to face the music yet. “Sstop, please. H-hang on. I-I want—”

On his cock, Bucky’s hand stills. “Yeah?” he asks searchingly, brushing a thumb along Steve’s temple where the tears have slid back into his hairline. “What do you want, Honey? You can tell me.”

He's looking at him so tenderly, and it just hurts. Steve whines and hides his face in Bucky's neck as he grabs at the back of his tee shirt, giving the fabric ineffective little yanks and whining angrily when it doesn't accomplish anything. He wants to feel him, goddammit! He just wants to feel his skin, and his body, and never have to acknowledge it, not ever, because he's weak, God, he's so weak ...

Bucky pets him and chuckles at his little huffs and grunts of frustration, but he doesn't let Steve hide against his neck with his eyes closed for long. He tuts softly and tells him to look at him, a quiet but firm order, and Steve reluctantly does. He's met with the sight of Bucky's handsome, pinched face, smiling sadly down at him. “Tell me,” he insists. “Tell me what you want, and then you can have it.”

Steve whines and shakes his head, starts struggling to get away rather than be forced to ask for it. But Bucky is easily able to trap his wrists against the pillow, and his hips pin Steve’s down. “Shhh sh sh,” he hushes, holding him still. “Don’t do that Stevie, come on.”

Steve struggles and twists against him furiously, but then the fight leaches out of him and he’s just left panting, dick hard and face red as he glares tearfully up at Bucky. “What do you care?! he cries, mad that Bucky’s trying to make this be his choice. He's a prisoner here. It’s not his choice. “We're already here, so just fuck me already!” He sobs, smacking angrily at him. "Come on, come on!”

"Hey, hey, stop. Steve—stop it." Bucky catches his wrists again easily and gives a harsh shake to settle him. “Don’t be that way,” he scolds, releasing his wrists and pulling away from him. He get back on his knees and starts shedding his clothes quickly, never fully climbing off of him the whole time as he strips naked. He curls his fingers over Steve's waistband and pulls his sweatpants off in one swift motion, too.

"Hey!"

He chucks them aside, then completely surprises Steve by grabbing him under the knees and yanking his lower half up high, right up off the mattress. Steve yelps as he’s practically inverted, and Bucky wraps both arms around his hips to hold him in the ludicrous position. Steve stammers and blusters, "What—what are you doing?"

Bucky glares down the length of his contorted body at him, then promptly shoves his face between his asscheeks and seals his mouth right over his hole.

“Fuck!” Steve cries out—both at the aggressive position and the tongue that's suddenly fluttering over his asshole. “Oh, fuck, Bucky!”

Bucky grunts stubbornly against him, burrowing in further and jabbing his tongue in filthy, pointed thrusts, trying to force his way past the muscle. Steve wails and twists in place, but Bucky is strong enough to hold him up in the position, arms wrapped around his waist, hugging him close and refusing to stop.

All the blood is rushing to Steve’s head and he can only gasp when one of Bucky’s hands fumbles to start squeezing and stroking his cock again while he eats him out. Steve looses a humiliating squeal of pleasure at that. "Ahnngh!"

Bucky’s lips leave his hole with a lewd ‘smack’ and he drops Steve back down to the mattress. “You need fucked?” he growls darkly, covering him with his body again. “Hm? That’s what you can’t ask me for?" Steve whines and squirms and shakes his head no, but Bucky peers at him knowingly. "You want it so bad, don't you? But you wish you didn't. So you want ... what? Want me to take it?" He narrows his eyes at Steve's desperate whimper and denial, then grabs his hair and pulls slowly, watching his reactions. "Oh," he says. "I see."

"Bucky ..."

"That's it, isn't it?" He scoffs when Steve says his name again pleadingly. He dips down and drags his lips across Steve's cheek and down to his ear, where he murmurs, "I see you, Baby. It's okay. Is that what you need?"

"Nnngh ..."

"Need me to make you? Need it to not be your choice?"

Steve whimpers and cringes, hating that Bucky can read him so easily. He whines and shakes his head in denial, but Bucky has him all figured out, and it's awful how calm and smug and knowing he is, as he hushes him and purrs in his ear,

"That's okay, Stevie. I can do that for you."

"Lemme go," Steve says miserably, tossing his head against the pillow. But he isn't really fighting. He tries to believe that it's because he knows he can't win, but that's not it. Deep down he knows that the truth is much, much worse.

"Just need to get dicked down into the sheets," Bucky gloats, not waiting for him to respond before reaching into one of the overhead cabinets, from which he retrieves a bottle of lube.

He'd had it stored right there, ready to go, Steve realizes, and he gulps at the implications of that. "Wait," he croaks, pushing ineffectively at Bucky's shoulders.

Bucky snickers at the weak protest, wetting up his hand and his dick. “S'okay, Sweetheart. We can play that game if it makes you feel better. You know how bad I want to put it in you?” He reaches down between Steve's legs to trail slick fingers over his taint and between his cheeks. He presses in with one finger, slow, humming in approval when Steve tips his head back into the pillow and groans.

“Oh god. Unh ... fuck.”

“Thaat’s right,” Bucky rumbles, encouraging him, curling his finger and dragging it out, only to push back in with two. "You might as well relax, ain't that right? This is happening whether you like it or not." There's an element of teasing to his words, as he purposefully plays the role he's figured out that Steve wants him to. His coy tone would be enough to ruin the illusion, except for that he holds Steve down with his full strength whenever he struggles, letting him feel helpless beneath his larger body. "There you go, Sweetheart, yeah. Just relax. Just accept it."

He takes his time, opening Steve up slowly, letting his body adapt. He starts up an easy, gentle pace and makes sure to drag against his walls just so to have liquid hot pleasure spilling up his spine. “Just let me make you feel good, now Honey. It’s gonna feel so nice.”

They kiss—or rather, Bucky kisses him—steadily finger fucking him while he slips him his tongue. Steve clings to him and moans as his prostate is stroked over and over again. He curls his hips to try and get more friction on his cock, humping up against Bucky’s abs shamelessly.

Bucky groans in approval and pushes down into it, giving him pressure to rut against. He keeps fingering him, keeps adding more and more lube until he’s sloppy from it, rim gone soft and yielding to the third finger that he pushes inside, and then the fourth. Steve cries out indignantly at the stretch, but Bucky just hums and keeps doing it. “Should work my whole fucking hand up in there,” he says. Steve tries to turn his face away, but Bucky grips his hair and pulls him back, forcing Steve to look at him. “Should fist all that fight right out of you, shouldn't I? Make you cry and beg. Fucking edge you until you admit how bad you need my cock.”

Steve absolutely sobs, terrified of the threat, of being made to admit anything; heat pooling so heavy and molten in his belly at all of Bucky’s filthy promises that he starts to get close again. “Buck,” he chokes out, desperate. “Unh—"

Bucky growls and surges down to kiss him. It's aggressive and demanding, and Steve can’t do anything but whimper and let it happen. Bucky bites his lower lip when he pulls away, panting into his face. “It makes it hard for you, doesn't it? That what we had was so real. That it's still there."

Steve whines and shakes his head. He squeezes his eyes shut, but that only lasts until Bucky growls and slaps his cheek. Steve's eyes fly back open with a gasp that's half due to the slap, half due to the cruel hook of Bucky's fingers inside of him.

"Admit it: You can't stand that it's still there, that you still feel something for me."

"Nngh." He moans at the rough drag of Bucky's fingers inside, and Bucky's eyes gleam with satisfaction. "No," Steve grits. "I don't." But Bucky's expression tells him that he doesn't believe it, not for a second, and the next pass over his prostate is brutally efficient. "Fuck!"

"You do want this. You want me. Despite everything. You still feel it. Admit it.” His fingers still inside Steve and pulse maddeningly over that exact spot. "Say it!"

"Yes!" Steve cries out, the dam inside finally breaking and leaving him gasping out, "Yes! Okay? I still feel it!"

His ears ring from the weight of such a horrible admission, pushed out by shame and every last bit of breath in his lungs. His eyes well up with tears, the horrible words leaving him like a poison flushed from his system. He feels wrung out once they're said, and he gasps when Bucky’s hand slips free of his body, leaving him totally empty. "Bucky, wha—"

Bucky pushes his cock in, not stopping until he's fully buried and his hips are kissing Steve’s ass. He holds still once he's there, eyes shining down at Steve's face with love. Steve gulps and trembles at that look. Fuck. What has he done?

Bucky moves gently against him, rolling his hips in a languid thrust. “Feel okay?” he checks. “Not sore?”

It takes Steve a full five seconds to realize that Bucky's asking because they'd made love less than twenty-four hours ago. Or at least, Bucky had made love to him. The memory of it hits Steve hard, piling up on top of the wreckage of what he's just admitted out loud. His eyes water and his lip trembles. "Fuck," he says, warbly, throat tightening at the tender concern that he can see in Bucky’s eyes. God, he wishes Bucky would stop. It's not supposed to be this way!

"Sweetheart," Bucky gushes. "It's gonna be okay."

Steve whimpers. No, it's not. Nothing about this is okay. It's fucked. The entire thing: Bucky, Steve, all of it. It's fucked. Steve hiccups, distressed, and Bucky kisses him gently, kindly. Which feels like the worst fucking thing he could be, right now. Steve is still teetering on the edge of tears. He kisses Bucky back almost desperately, moaning and whining needily.

"Baby," Bucky rasps against his mouth. "Stevie, can I move?"

Steve snivels and nods. It's a relief at least, when Bucky sets into fucking him. It’s deep and relentless, Bucky holds him close and rocks into him, their skin slapping quietly, second only to their panting breaths and Steve's helpless moans from how fucking good it feels as Bucky fills him, over and over again.

“Fuck, baby. You feel so good.” Bucky pants against his neck, rolling his hips softer and deeper, making it more like it'd been last night, more like making love. Steve starts to whimper and whine from how sweet it is, hurt little keening sounds leaving him without his permission.

Bucky groans and strokes a tender hand up his side, over his ribcage, kissing and sucking at his neck, at that spot just below his ear that always makes him fall apart. “No, no,” Steve gasps, feeling himself getting closer. He doesn’t want to come like this. Threading one hand up into Bucky’s hair, he yanks—hard enough to get Bucky gasping and pulling back to look at him. Steve grits his teeth and shoves at Bucky’s shoulder. “Fuck me,” he growls. “Hard.”

It works, in that Bucky's eyes darken with lust instead of love. He gets back on his knees and starts fucking him harder. Relief unspools in Steve’s chest and his eyes slip closed as he takes what Bucky gives him. In what feels like no time at all, he’s crying out, “Buck-ee!” the words jarred apart by harsh thrusts. “I’m c-lose!”

That drives Bucky on, his face contorting and his fingers digging in harder at Steve's waist as he fucks him more desperately, losing some of his rhythm—he's getting close too. “Come on, Honey," he grunts, knocking Steve’s hand away when he reaches down to touch himself. His mouth slides sideways at the outraged little sound Steve makes. “Nuh uh," he pants, grinning. "I want to see it. Wanna see you cum on nothin’ but my cock.”

Steve groans, tilting his hips more and working for that exact angle he needs, crying out sharply when he finds it and straining harder, arousal pooling tighter in his gut, more and more and more, until it’s threatening to spill over and destroy him. "Close!" he gasps, whining from how close he is, how badly he wants it. "Oh god, Bucky, oh god. Please please please ..."

Bucky growls, hooks his forearms under Steve's knees, and uses that to hoist him up into his thrusts at an even harsher angle. And there, right fucking there! Steve wails and starts to come, shooting hard up his stomach, his dick pulsing near painfully at the lack of stimulation where he’s throbbing and coming all over himself. And Fuck, the pleasure is so deep inside him, coming in fucking waves and seemingly never ending. It’s so sharp and good and overwhelming, makes him sob and break into hysterical tears as Bucky fucks him so good through it all.

Bucky blankets him with his hard, heavy body, “Hey ... s’okay, s'okay,” he says, trying to soothe Steve even as he's about to come, himself. "Shh-sh-sh, Stevie. God, oh baby." He threads his arms under Steve’s back and hugs him tightly to his body. He starts grinding deep and dirty, grunting and then moaning like he’s been sucker punched as he finally grinds out his own climax. Steve’s still sobbing when he feels the cum start to leak out, pushed out by Bucky’s slowing thrusts. “Shh sh sh,” Bucky hushes, still panting as he comes down from his orgasm. He kisses the side of Steve’s head and over his temple, his ear, nuzzling him and not pulling out. He keeps moving his hips against Steve’s ass, even as he softens inside. “Shh, Stevie, shh. You’re okay. It’s all gonna be okay.”

The crying is embarrassing. It takes a minute, but eventually Bucky’s soft words and his gentle caresses help to calm Steve down. He stops gasping and blubbering, feeling sheepish for such a pitiful reaction. When he tries to bury his face in Bucky’s neck and hide there, this time Bucky lets him.

Bucky’s fingers pet through his sweaty hair. “You okay?”

Steve nods, scrubbing his cheek against Bucky’s shoulder. “I don’t know why I did that,” he mumbles, embarrassed. He’s never cried through an orgasm like a freaking girl before. “Sorry.”

Bucky tuts and hushes him, rolling them onto their sides. He slips out of Steve’s body with the motion, but he makes up for it by tangling their legs together. “Don’t apologize,” he says softly. His hands are petting over the skin of Steve’s back now, up and down, soothing him. “Sometimes you just have to let it out.”

He doesn’t say anything else, just lets Steve hide against his body and avoid the conversation about what the fuck it is they’re doing. Steve can’t think about that right now. He just has to give his poor fucking brain a rest. It deserves that much, goddammit. Sniffling, he nuzzles into Bucky’s chest and inhales the scent of sweat and testosterone, taking comfort in the strong man holding him in his arms. The man who loves him, and treats him so nice, and fucks him so good, who wants to keep him and who … also happens to be a cannibal serial killer.

Just for right now, Steve lets himself ignore that last bit.

Bucky:

Bucky wakes with a gasped “Becca!” his eyes shooting open. He’s panting from fear and his heart is racing in a way that feels awful, but he quickly realizes where he is. Steve is in his arms. They’re in Steve’s room.

Bucky exhales hugely and closes his eyes and calms himself down. It’s okay. It was just a dream. He’s here. He's safe.

Steve doesn’t stir when he finagles himself off the bed and gets dressed. Bucky considers waking him to say goodbye, but Steve looks so peaceful lying there, and Bucky isn’t sure he’ll improve his mood by waking him just to announce that he’s leaving him alone in the room. Bucky knows Steve still sees it as a jail cell.

So instead he covers Steve up to the shoulders with the blanket and leaves the room as quietly as he can. He’ll be back down in an hour or two with late lunches for Steve and for Erica. Bucky takes good care of his girls. Pain meds and comfortable rooms aside, he’s always liked cooking them nice food. He’s not a sadist, despite what Steve seems to think. But if he’s being completely honest with himself, he’s definitely been putting more effort into Steve’s meals than he ever has for the girls before. Steve is better, and he deserves better.

Bucky has to pass by all the other rooms on his way out from the spiral and towards the stairs that lead upstairs.

“Hey!”

He stops and backtracks two steps, surprised. Erica is at the door to her cell, somehow hobbled over there and standing upright. She’s holding onto the wooden slats to keep her balance on her remaining leg. Bucky raises an eyebrow at her and steps closer, not missing how she flinches at the proximity. Normally she just trembles and stays completely silent whenever Bucky’s in the basement, so this is novel behavior. He peeks through the door at her. “Yes?”

She blinks at him, looking nervous but steadfast. “What’d you do to him?”

Bucky smirks. “Do?”

“You had him up there all day yesterday. I know you did something.”

Bucky almost laughs at her confrontational attitude. “Aw, did you and Steve make friends?”

She doesn’t say anything, just tightens her lips into a thin line. Bucky eyes up her body. She’s wearing one of the hospital gowns he gives all the girls once they’ve begun their surgeries. He wonders what cut will be next for her. Carlo’s already asked to meet her, but Bucky’s answer to that was and is a firm no. He’s not into psychologically torturing his girls any more than necessary, even though Carlo clearly is. The knowledge that you’re being slowly eaten and are going to die on an operating table is more than enough punishment, even for sins as bad as theirs.

“Lunch'll be ready in about an hour,” Bucky tells her sweetly, when she just scowls at him.

Upstairs, his phone is in the living room, screen lit up with a text message notification from Carlo. Speak of the devil, he thinks, swiping open the screen.

📱Carlo [Today 12:03 pm]: What do tits taste like?

Bucky makes a face at his phone and texts back.

📱Chef J. [Today 12:57 pm]: Lean cuts first, fatty cuts last, remember?

Erica’s definitely still too stressed to start hacking off the fatty parts. Two seconds later, Bucky’s phone buzzes with another text.

📱Carlo [Today 12:57 pm]: Well what’s lean?

Bucky sighs. Sometimes he forgets how damn ignorant people who didn’t go to medical school are. He sends a text with a short list of lean cuts he can provide while still keeping Erica alive. Carlo quickly responds that: fine, he’ll take the other leg.

📱Carlo [Today 12:59 pm]: And can I have a piece of her hair?

“Ugh.” Bucky’s least favorite part of his entire operation is how his customers want the freaky shit, too. Hair and lingerie are the most commonly requested items. Bucky thinks it’s gross, doesn’t like the reminder that he’s technically got something in common with these freaks. It’s about the food for Bucky, the intimacy of the experience, not the sick and twisted fantasies his fucked-up clients have.

📱Chef J. [Today 12:59 pm]: Sure

He flops down onto the couch with a sigh, feeling tired and bored. After spending the whole day with Steve yesterday, being alone in the house suddenly feels incredibly lonely. He turns on the television to try and distract himself, but it’s no use, he just winds up sitting there and ruminating on Steve and how to best win him over to seeing Bucky’s way of things.

He supposes he could talk to him more about it, just open up and be honest. Talk about his past, or dig around in his records and show Steve the variety of human scum that he actually sources for his business. Bucky doesn’t have confidence that any of those methods would improve the situation. They might just make Steve turn further away, and that’s the last thing Bucky wants. Grunting, he flicks the tv off and shoves up to go over and root through the kitchen to figure out what he’s making for lunch.

He needs to go shopping, he thinks. There’s hardly anything in the pantry to play around with. He grabs a box of bucatini noodles and puts them on the counter, then finds the cream and parmesan in the fridge. He idly wonders if the piddly local grocery store might have Chanterelle mushrooms. He’s got plenty of garlic and white cooking wine, is pretty sure there's a bag of peas in the freezer. If he were making it for himself, Bucky might go the carbonara route, but he’s got a strict policy of not serving any of the girls meat. It’s not worth the inevitable suspicion and stress. And Bucky knows that it’ll be hard for Steve to eat bacon with any sort of comfortability this soon, since he witnessed Bucky eating ‘other bacon’ just yesterday morning.

Bucky sighs and leans against the kitchen island, wondering if he’s hoping for too much to expect Steve to ever come around. Even if Steve never wants to try it himself, if he could just accept it as part of Bucky, that would be so wonderful. It’d be so freeing.

As for the ultimate intimacy of having Steve willingly offer some part of himself up for—

Bucky quickly shakes his head and pushes the thought away. That’s never going to happen. He definitely won’t win Steve over if he ever reveals that fantasy. Steve wouldn’t understand. Bucky would lose him. Sighing, he looks around the living room, feeling morose at his expensive house that he has nobody to share with, the gourmet kitchen he cooks in alone, all the architecture and art that nobody but him ever appreciates.

His eyes land on one of the pieces he’s got hanging in the foyer. It’s an unusual style that’s reminiscent of the medieval period. And unusual subject matter too, with a hand dangling a bit of parsley over the heads of two fish. Bucky has an affinity for oddball, slightly dark artwork. And it’s kind of hilarious to him that this one was painted by one of Natasha’s boys—who is now deceased and probably sitting on a shelf in some walk-in fridge right about n—

Bucky’s lips part as a novel idea occurs to him. Oh. 

Maybe explaining all of his own opinions and reasons for doing what he does isn’t the way to convince Steve to stay. Maybe he needs to provide Steve with some outside perspective.

Maybe ... he should host a dinner party.

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.”

[dynamitoriel]

Lack some motivation rn but W.I.P

[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

[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.

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[keferon]

So. Mecha pilot Jazz? Anyone?

Based on this post

I decided I don’t want to pull any aesthetic from Evangelion because I don’t really remember Evangelion haha I can’t navigate its world building.

[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…”

[bixels]

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

[gloppystar]

Box<3