#hand in bloody hand au

[sinnabee]

art from the stream tonight, featuring my gf @merrydearest 's oc josie, and moon! they're going to make each other worse <3 i love them

[bruciemilf]

Hm. Gladiator! Jason thoughts

[chiptrillino]

Not gonna lie. I miss your Jee. I don't suppose you have any incomplete sketches you'd be willing to share with us? 🥹

tbh i miss jee too... okay may i offer... me trying to figure out how he could have looked younger?

[ID: digital illustration of three different busts of Lt. jee from avatar the last aribender. wearing a red cape and black undershirt. frowning, looking to the left side. on the left its Jee in senior age. in the middle jee as teen and on the right jee as baby. text on the right side above the head indicates the age stage. End ID.]

[kaistrashbin]

Messy, but i'd still kiss her

[imagoddamnonionmason]

Frank Woods, a soldier from the future, searches for one woman who is the key to humanity’s survival against the machines.

Time taken: 22 hours Layer Count: far too many Tagging: @efingart @alypink @buckaroovice @walder-138 @justasmolbard (I think I said I would, if not, I apologise--)

Do not repost.

[jazzy-a]

AU where Hermes really IS the one who fights for Odysseus and is not the one who shows up for "Dangerous."

In this version- it turns out that when Athena said goodbye, she meant it. She can't (or won't) help Odysseus after the cyclops incident, leaving him to fend for himself.

But Athena isn't the only divine being whose gifts Odysseus partakes in. During the Circe Saga, Hermes fills the void of Athena, choosing to aid his great-grandson by fostering his unique skills of wit and trickery. (It's like wisdom-- just faster, darling! And don't be afraid to have a bit of fun with it.)

After the Thunder Saga, Hermes loses track of Odysseus, however, and spends time intermittently searching for him. When he finds him with Calypso, he decides he'll steal him away from the island, but is stopped by a barrier created by Zeus that prevents anyone (even a god) from entering, forcing him to confront his father directly. Hermes uses his cleverness to convince the other gods during "God Games"-- but, this time, he'll also have to convince Athena. (She would possibly take Ares' place in the song or Aphrodite, so that Hermes would have to face both gods of war). (Instead of tell your "lover" something, the line would change to tell your "brother" most likely.)

While successful with the others, Hermes, unfortunately, isn't quick enough to avoid getting thunderbolted by his father, though. The saga ends with bloody feathers floating to the ground...

Cut to the Vengeance saga where Athena takes Hermes' place to release Odysseus and sings "Dangerous" with a few obvious changes that cater to her teachings of strategy, etc. Odysseus is grateful, but confused about why Athena has come back to help him after leaving so many years ago. She tells him she didn't come back for him, however....

[wheneverfeasible]

Bloody Hands, Broken Hearts: a Mafia AU

Chapter 1

chapter wc: 4.6k || rating: M (for now) || cw: blood, violence, reference to death of a minor original character, sex trafficking, past rape/non-con, homophobic language, derogatory language towards sex workers, sexualized use of “Daddy”, mean dom!Eddie, feminized!Steve || ao3

summary: No UD. Years after being sold through a sex trafficking ring to a member of the mafia, Steve’s former master is deposed by one of the most feared men in organized crime, Don Kas the Bloody-Handed. Except, much to Steve’s surprise and horror, he knows him by another name: Eddie Munson.

~

An annoyed tsk left pale lips as the man picked at the drying blood on his thick, silver rings with his thumb from where he was leaning back against the sturdy mahogany desk. His legs were crossed before him in his repose, one bloody hand pressed against the disordered papers on the desk, uncaring that they were being marked by the deep red splattered across his palm and knuckles, already drying a dark hue not unlike the color of the desk itself.

After a tense, silent moment of the man examining his rings and nail beds, dark eyes flashed up to take in his captive audience. Quite literally. Though they were unbound where they were made to kneel on the floor, the men holding guns on either side of them and on the other side of the door let them know that escape was futile.

Steve was fucked.

The thing was, everyone knew of Kas. Kas the Bloody-Handed. That’s what people called him, at least, and looking at the glint of his silver rings smeared with the umber of dried blood, Steve could acknowledge that it was a fitting name. However, that was not his real name, and it was with mounting horror that Steve realized that that was not the name Steve knew him by.

No, to Steve, the man before him was none other than the boy Steve’s former best friend had taken the most sick delight in tormenting: Eddie Munson.

Munson looked different now, but there was no denying that it was him. He had more tattoos nowadays, including one curling up his neck to brush against his jaw and both his forearms covered in them as seen with his fancy dress shirt’s sleeves rolled up, exposing the dark ink. He also had close-cut facial hair now that was a slightly lighter color than the still long and curly dark brown hair he now had tied back into a low and loose ponytail with a piece of cord. There was a coldness to his dark eyes now too, his once more wiry frame now a little more filled out with compact muscle.

In another lifetime, Steve might have been able to acknowledge that the man was attractive, might have had another reason than fear making his mouth go dry and needing to thickly swallow. However, as it was, Steve could only flinch and duck his head further when those flint hardened eyes passed over him.

He was luckily not at the front of the group kneeling on the rug before their former master’s desk, in front of their former master’s fireplace in their former master’s bookshelf lined study. There were a little more than a half-dozen of them, all trembling with fear at the knowledge that whatever horror they had been living through before, it was about to get a whole lot worse.

Munson, or Kas, was notorious, infamous even. He had been a nobody once, until suddenly he was a Somebody with a capital S. He swiftly moved up the ranks of his clan, earning respect borne of fear for his ruthlessness, until suddenly he was sitting on the metaphorical throne. He was not happy there, however, and all too soon he was making a name for himself amongst the other families too.

All too soon the other families began falling before him like dominos, one right after the other, bending the knee or—if they refused or otherwise displeased him—being eliminated entirely.

Which was what had occurred here to Steve’s former…employer. Not that Steve or the others got paid for what they did. Or had done to them. Steve couldn’t even say that behaving well and pleasing whoever they were sent to had them being treated better, since more often than not pain was part of their client’s pleasure.

As for their master—or Daddy, as they were instructed to call him—he was the worst of the worst. The way he showed his favor was through far more than just simple pain. Pain was something Steve could handle. It was the attention that was the terrifying part. Yet, Steve bore that attention willingly, for it kept it off of all the others.

“Tell me,” the voice of their new master softly intoned, his voice like thunder in the tense silence of the room, despite being little more than a murmur. Munson’s voice was a little raspier than Steve remembered it being, but then it had been years since Steve had last seen much less heard the other man. The man had dropped out of school during his own senior year, Steve’s junior, and no one knew what had become of him. Now Steve knew, at least.

Every ear was straining to hear what their new master would say next, though every eye was trained on the ground before their master’s feet. Steve was suddenly thankful his hair was a little longer than he personally liked, grown to be easier to grab and manipulate the head to which it was attached. It also allowed him now to obscure his face ever so slightly as he swiftly lowered his head and his gaze when Munson’s eyes scanned over them.

“Tell me,” Munson said again, and even with his eyes on the man’s blood splattered shoes, Steve could tell that Munson had a sardonic smile on his lips. “Which one of you was Porzio’s favorite?”

Steve barely withheld a flinch. Of course Munson would want to know that. Unlike his former owner, Munson wasn’t an idiot. He couldn’t be to get to where he was now. An idiot would only get themselves killed. Case in point: Carmine “the Uber Dead Asshole” Porzio, gone and soon to be forgotten in the year of our father…Christ, whatever year it was nowadays.

It was hard to keep track of time when you spent the majority of it on your knees or with your face shoved into a mattress.

But Munson wanted to know Porzio’s favorite. The one who he kept with him the majority of the time, the one used for his own personal pleasure, the pleasure of his most loyal lieutenants. The one who was treated like nothing more than decoration, as though their ears suddenly stopped working just because their mouth was filled.

It was a smart move, really. An excellent way to obtain secret gossip or information that might not be in the books. The favorite was a fount of information, but also a great liability. Sometimes it was better to cut the head off a snake before it could bite. Munson obviously knew what he was doing, which should be evident by now. The only problem?

Steve had been Porzio’s favorite.

He knew what he looked like nowadays. He hardly looked like the King Steve he had once been before everything, hardly looked like the rich and privileged jock Munson would have known him as. His own muscle mass was no longer what it had once been, the loss of weight only natural after everything he’d been through, and bruises littered his body where he’d either been punished or been used for pleasure. Sometimes those were interchangeable.

Not only that, but his clothing was far from what Munson would have last seen him in. No polos, no jeans, no letterman jacket. Instead, Steve wore what the others wore, his body hair waxed away in an attempt to add to his feminization. Aided, of course, by the short black skirt that exposed the majority of his thighs through the fishnets, and the red lace bustier top that only just covered nipples but left his midriff exposed. Matching red strappy heels laced up his calves, with a thick black collar completing the ensemble around his neck, a dainty little silver ‘V’ dangling from it like a license.

It was entirely possible that Munson wouldn’t recognize him. After all, they both might have made a name for themselves in school, but Munson hadn’t been there for the disaster of Steve’s senior year, and it wasn’t like they had ever directly interacted before. Tommy always did the majority of his bullying when Steve wasn’t around, knowing Steve didn’t approve of it, so it wasn’t like Munson and him had spent any great amount of time together.

It helped that the makeup he wore was smudged too, which would hopefully act as a camouflage. Perhaps, if he answered things in a way that pleased Munson, if Munson could look past the fact that he was a guy in this role he’d been forced into, perhaps he’d live to see another day.

His lip was already split and his cheek already bruised by Porzio’s earlier slap, so he wasn’t looking forward to having the rest of his face caved in by Kas the Bloody-Handed.

Swallowing back his nausea, Steve drew in a breath and began to lift his head to call attention to himself and away from the others, when another voice stopped him in his tracks.

“I am, sir,” Janice called out, standing from her kneeling position at the front of the huddle. Steve’s head jerked to look at her with wide eyes and an open mouth. Her fingers twitched at her side, swiping horizontal to the floor ever so slightly, though she didn’t look at him. Stay quiet, that action said. Stay safe.

Steve’s stomach clenched painfully, and all the affection he felt for his girls surged through his bloodstream. He had tried, hard as he could, to protect them from the worst of things. He couldn’t do much, but he had made certain Porzio was focused entirely on him and none of the others. They worked as well, but Porzio was the most sadistic, the most vile; he would happily take it all on to save his girls from that.

To think that now, in the face of one of the most feared men in organized crime, they would try to protect him…it was beyond anything he’d ever known. No one had ever sought to protect him before.

Munson’s brow ticked up, his gaze sliding like oil over Janice’s trembling body, but she held firm with her head up. His sardonic smile only grew. “Are you now?”

He appreciated her help, he did, but he couldn’t let Janice risk everything for him. Before he could stand, before he could come clean with the truth, a firm hand was pressing down on his shoulder as Mona stood up from behind him, forcing him to stay kneeling.

“I was also a favorite, sir,” Mona says, making Steve wonder what in the I-am-Spartacus hell was going on. Still, warmth and fondness for his girls spread through him quickly as he looked around and noticed every last one of them had bunched muscles indicating preparation for movement. For him.

Munson looked a whole lot less amused, however, his brow dropping into a deep furrow as his gaze settled on the new apparent favorite. Kas was well-known for not taking fondly to liars and cheats. If he suspected that they were trying to pull a fast one on him…

Just as Munson was opening his mouth to say something, looking far less than pleased, Steve hurriedly shot to his feet. “It’s me,” he said quickly, almost breathlessly, wanting to say it before someone else decided to shout out Spartacus in a misguided attempt to help him. He moved to take a step forward and away from the others when he froze in place by the sound of a gun being cocked and levelled behind him.

Another tense hush fell as Munson stared at him, his eyes dragging over Steve’s form with both brows raised this time, an almost startled air to his mean smile. He waited a few moments more before flicking his wrist, the sound of the gun and man holding it returning to standby mode. Two fingers were then crooked at Steve to indicate for him to finish stepping forward.

Steve glanced at Janice and Mona, giving their beseeching looks a small shake of his head, and then they were slowly and reluctantly returning to their kneeled positions. Taking a deep breath, Steve crossed the distance and moved to take his place in front of Munson, kneeling at his feet without hesitation. “It was me, sir,” he murmured, keeping his gaze down. “I was Master Porzio’s favorite.”

It took all of his willpower (and training) not to flinch when Munson’s chunky rings came into view, his calloused fingers touching Steve’s chin to lift his face to meet his gaze. Steve couldn’t suppress the tremble at finally meeting Munson’s eyes for the first time, terrified of seeing recognition there.

Instead, Munson’s eyes stayed hard and flat, though with a touch of curiosity. A small smirk curled his lips. “Well now. Who would have guessed Porzio was a fudge packer,” he lightly sneered. His gaze moved over to the kneeling women before back to Steve. “And this is why they lied to me, to protect the fairy amongst them?” He snorted. “Who knew there was honor amongst whores.”

Munson’s thumb slid lightly against the edge of Steve’s bottom lip, and well familiar with the gesture, Steve parted his lips obediently. Something dark but pleased flashed behind Munson’s eyes, and praying he was doing the right thing, Steve let the tip of his tongue flick ever so softly against the pad of Munson’s thumb.

Almost immediately after, Munson pressed the rest of his thumb into Steve’s mouth, pressing down on Steve’s tongue enough to make him briefly gag. “Suck,” he ordered harshly, and Steve obeyed.

The familiar taste of sweat and blood filled his mouth as Steve’s lips wrapped around Munson, but he paid it no mind as he worked at fellating the man’s thumb. He kept eye contact the entire time, his hands curled in his lap, as he worked his mouth over the digit. He swirled his tongue over the thumb like it was a cock head, bobbing his head ever so slightly. Munson’s dark eyes watched him the entire time.

Just as Steve was beginning to wonder if he should start faking some moans, Munson pulled his thumb from Steve’s mouth with a slick wet sound, leaving a small trail of spit over Steve’s lips. Munson lightly snorted, lifting his gaze to look at his men. With silent communication, the men nodded and motioned for the kneeling women to stand, ushering them out of the room.

Steve could feel the eyes on him, knew his girls were looking at him, but he knew better than to return the look. Instead, he kept his eyes firmly on Munson who now leaned back against the deck with his arms crossed watching Steve.

Once the thick doors clicked closed behind the others, leaving Steve and Munson alone, a wry grin curled over Munson’s lips. “I can see why you were the favorite, if you suck cock half as good as you suck thumb.” Munson shrugged, pushing off the desk with a small snort to walk around it, settling in the leather chair behind the massive thing. He reached forward and tapped the desk beside him.

Once more obeying wordlessly, Steve swiftly stood and moved around the desk, settling his ass just to the side of where Munson sat as had been indicated. A derisive laugh left Munson then, but he didn’t look like he was about to punish Steve for being what he was. Or who he was. Instead, he looked mildly contemplative as he rested his elbow on the armrest of his chair, propping his chin up with his fist.

“Tell me, sweetheart, you got a name?”

Relief coursed through Steve so quickly he lost his breath for a moment, as though lightning had struck him down. Munson didn’t know his name, meaning he didn’t recognize Steve. Even better, Steve hadn’t gone by Steve in a while. He needn’t worry about someone slipping up and revealing that information when none of them knew it either.

“I’m Vee,” he answered, fingers moving up to lightly graze against the charm hanging from his collar. “But you can call me anything you want…” Steve swallowed quickly, glancing down before peeking up demurely through his lashes, “Daddy,” he finished on a soft breath.

A grin spread across Munson’s lips, and though it wasn’t quite as manic as the ones he used to smile back in high school, a spark of something like genuine amusement flashed behind his eyes. He leaned forward then, sliding his hand over Steve’s fishnet covered thigh until his fingers brushed ever so slightly under the bottom hem of his tight skirt.

“I’ll keep that in mind, precious,” he smirked. “And maybe you can keep your status as favorite, if you’re a good little boy.” His eyes traveled once more over Steve’s body, his smirk growing. “Though I bet there’s nothing small about you, Vee.”

Steve swallowed, feeling oddly flushed at being on the receiving end of Munson’s gaze. Of Kas’s gaze. He had to remind himself that this was more than just his former schoolmate; this man was perhaps one of the most dangerous men alive. His vast network spread far and wide, spies hiding everywhere.

“I’ll be good for you, Daddy. Promise,” he said softly.

“Oh, I’m sure you will, precious. I don’t tolerate failure.”

What was expected of him now? Should he slide into Munson’s lap? Move underneath the desk? Bend over the top? Wouldn’t be the first time he was in any of those positions in this very room. Munson simply continued watching him, however, indicating nothing.

Just when Steve was ready to beg for an order, Munson sighed and removed his hand from Steve’s thigh, settling back further into the expensive rolling leather chair, pressing his fingertips together into a steeple before him.

“We will be remaining here for several days as we go over Porzio’s records,” Munson stated, startling Steve slightly. He was unused to being addressed about any affairs other than what happened in the bedroom. Or anywhere else his master wanted him. Having Munson tell him what was going to happen now was thus unprecedented.

“You and the other whores will have your room guarded at all times and you will require, let’s say, a chaperone of sorts to move around the manor, at least until I can trust you,” Munson said with another small smirk. “Once I am satisfied with my acquisition of the estate, we will be moving to my main residence. Should you and the others please me during this transition, we can negotiate a reward for behaving so well. Do you understand?”

Though Steve’s insides always pinched at being called a whore, seeing as how neither he nor the others ever chose that particular career path, he had enough practice now to ignore such things. It wasn’t like someone of Kas’s reputation would care overly much about their sob stories. No, Steve gave such things only a passing thought, his mind caught on the end of his new master’s sentence.

“A reward?” he couldn’t help but ask, the words slipping out before he could stop them. Luckily for him, Munson did not seem to be particularly annoyed at his wagging tongue.

“The exact circumstance of which will depend entirely on you,” Munson agreed. “Consider it a quid pro quo situation. You scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours. I can guarantee that this is a far better deal than you had with Porzio. However,” he cautioned, holding up a single finger. “Any failure to comply or please me will make whatever Porzio did to you seem like a shy lover’s kiss.”

Steve swallowed down a grimace. That he understood perfectly well.

“I will also have a doctor visit to ascertain your health,” Munson added with a small shrug, clasping his hands before himself. “I have no use for spoiled goods.”

“Master Por—”

A loud smack of hand meeting wood startled Steve greatly enough that a small noise left him as he jumped, leaning away with wide eyes. Munson stared hard at him, leaning in with a small growl of warning.

“Porzio is not your master now, Miss Vee,” the man sneered mockingly. “You will no longer refer to him as such. You may call him either ‘Porzio’ or ‘that pig’ and nothing else, do I make myself clear?”

Steve swallowed, hastily nodding his head. “Yes, Daddy. I’m sorry, Daddy,” he rushed to say, dropping his gaze and trying not to tremble too greatly. His—Porzio was never consistent. Whether he liked you timid or not could change at the drop of a hat, moving from one extreme to the other at a moment’s notice. He didn’t know if Munson would appreciate a fearful display, or become annoyed with it. Only time would tell.

“I-I merely wished to assure you that we receive regular checkups to ensure our optimum health,” he murmured quietly. “But we will gladly submit to any examination or procedure you wish of us.”

Munson sat back in the chair as he studied Steve with an unreadable expression now. He glanced down at his still bloodied hand and the rings there. He gave a small snort, moving to slowly and carefully pull the stained items off his fingers and settling them in a small pile on the messy desk.

“Clean those,” he ordered. “And then bring them to my room tonight.” He smirked then, his eyes sliding over Steve’s figure once more. “We have much to…discuss,” he murmured, his brows raising slightly. “And Vee,” he added when Steve nodded and moved to stand up, causing Steve to pause.

Munson’s smirk seemed colder then, causing Steve to shiver as though physically chilled. “While I appreciate your immediate acceptance in the change of leadership around here, know that how quickly you switched your loyalties has not been unnoticed. Should you ever attempt to switch them again…you will not find the outcome favorable. Do I make myself clear?”

Dread settled low in Steve’s belly as he stared at Munson with wide eyes. He was standing on the edge of a precipice he hadn’t known existed until too late. He should have realized things would not be as easy as he had hoped they would be, should not have grown complacent when Munson didn’t recognize him.

Licking his lips, Steve swallowed back the threatening rise of bile. He dropped his head, chewing lightly on his bottom lip before glancing at Munson through his lashes once more. “I had no genuine loyalty to…to that pig, Daddy,” he murmured. “He was not a respectable man. Unlike you, sir.”

Had it been Porzio, he would have attempted a coy smile. He had a feeling Munson would be able to see right through it, however, so he instead tried to look as earnest as possible without actively begging. He slowly slid off the desk, catching Munson’s eyes.

“We know who you are, Daddy. None of us would ever dare to oppose you. I know the loyalty of a whore means nothing, Don Kas, but I was the favorite. The other girls will follow my example, and I pledge my loyalty wholly unto you.”

Munson snorted, looking for all the world like Steve amused him. Like Steve was some insignificant insect with delusions of grandeur. The man rubbed at his facial hair with a wry smile that did not meet his eyes. “And what of your body, darling? What if I told you that your dear Mr. Porzio and I shared…similar predilections.”

Steve squared his shoulders, a more genuine smile on his own lips because he had already been expecting this, had known his career on his knees was far from over. One hand on the desk as he leaned over to grasp the waiting rings and the other on his hip, he offered a small shrug of a shoulder.

“My body already belonged to you the second Porzio thought to move against you,” he replied easily. “He was not my dear anything. Not when I was already yours, Master.”

Munson studied him for a moment, but something almost pleased curled at the corners of his lips. “I think I much prefer you calling me ‘Daddy,’” he replied, reaching out to grasp Steve’s chin again for the briefest moment. He withdrew almost immediately. “Go now. And wash your face of that makeup while you’re at it. Make yourself presentable for me tonight.”

It was as he expected. He could not be bitter or regretful when he’d known this was coming all along. It was, after all, much better than his own blood staining the rings he now held in his palm.

“Yes, Daddy. Should I prepare myself for you?” he asked easily as he straightened. He would play his own part well. He was used to this role he’d been thrust into ever since he put his trust in the wrong person. He had seen it enough with his own parents, making him wish that little high school Steve Harrington had known what he knew now:

Love is just a fairytale.

Standing from the chair, Munson let out a soft huff of laughter, amused by Steve’s words. “You really do have your lines down, don’t you?” he scoffed as though reading Steve’s mind. “No matter. We’ll see how well you play your part tonight,” he said in a tone that was almost teasing, his hand moving to settle over Steve’s lower back to guide him around the desk and towards the carved double doors.

He paused then with a hand on the doorknob, eyes almost black as he grinned a shark’s grin, and let his voice drop to an almost conspiratorial whisper. “Trust me when I say that nothing you could do would prepare you for what I have planned tonight, sweetheart.”

Munson opened the door then, ushering Steve out with a slap to his ass, though the soldiers guarding the door didn’t react at all. However, Steve could not spare them even a passing thought as his blood turned to ice in his veins when Munson’s grin grew, uttering the words that sealed Steve’s doom.

“See you tonight, Harrington.”

As the door clicked closed, as his prison guard stepped forward to take him by the bicep to drag him away back to his gilded cage with the others, Steve felt that blade of ice pierce his chest with extreme certainty.

There was no escape for him. His fate had been sealed the day he had defied his parents, had fled town with the boy he had thought loved him, and he had only brought it all upon himself. Munson was going to kill him. Maybe not today, maybe not even tomorrow, but one day. Perhaps even one day soon.

Thrust into the room he shared with the others, he felt the door close and lock behind him, heard the worried voices and careful touches of his girls as they frantically tried to make certain he was all right, but it was like hearing them underwater, like he was wading upstream through a deadly current. He was shaking, he realized, fat tears sliding down his cheeks.

Only belatedly did he realize his hand was hurting where he had curled his fist around the chunky rings. With an almost detached curiosity he glanced down as he released his clenched fist and stared at the rings he may very well be cleaning in preparation for his own blood and skull and brains to stain their surface.

Absently, he reached out with his free hand to pluck a strand of hair caught in the snarled teeth of a silver monster. There was a clump of bloody scalp still attached to the end of the follicle.

Steve laughed.

~

Next chapter…

~

This scene comes from an idea that would not leave me alone until I wrote it down. I don’t know if I’ll ever continue it as it is quite different from my usual stuff, but I do have some ideas for possible continuation and further backstory for our two leading men

Yeah nvm I’m gonna continue this, it won’t leave my thoughts

~

Fun fact: I almost named the second OFC Monica but then I realized that with the first one being named Janice that I was unintentionally writing it as a Friends crossover and I had to change her name before I named the next one Phoebe or something 😂 oops my bad

Also, Porzio means “hog”, while Carmine means “vivid red” lol

~

Hostage hotties: @derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump

[mars-ipan]

Mars i fear i may be dying of the plague. I have coughed blood into my sink twice now and my throat feels like I gave really aggressive oral to a scrubdaddy spongue.

Do you have any priest au thoughts/scenarios/rambles to sooth a troublde lad such as mysrlf🙏🙏

hemo. as a guy who has also coughed up blood somewhat recently. it may be time to go to an urgent care and make sure it’s nothing serious. there’s a pretty nasty pneumonia going around rn and if that IS what it is the sooner you get those antibiotics the faster you’ll recover.

as for priest au stuffs: the election kinda killed my creative flow (we’re ballin but we’re stressed) BUT i’ve been trying to flesh out hajime’s backstory a bit for the the past few days so here’s some bullet point brainstorming on that :D

check under the cut for the goods, as per usual ^_^ tw for mentions of child abuse, and also a general warning for priest au-typical horny talk and homophobia

i’ve been thinking abt hajime’s childhood/past a lot, partially bc i don’t feel fully confident writing him until i have the details of his backstory fleshed out. i think his dad was more of the aggressive “no son of mine” type of homophobic, where his mom was more of the “hate the sin love the sinner” type of homophobic. it’s cliché maybe but like. traditional catholic family values yanno. his family does differ from traditional catholicism in one way though: hajime is an only child.

i don’t think hajime was ever The Manliest Man growing up. yeah he was strong from helping on the farm, but he never felt the need to flaunt his masculine attributes. he never wanted to impress girls, he never initiated an arm-wrestling contest, and once he hit teenagerhood he quit wrestling with his friends altogether. when his friends asked him why he never roughhouses with them anymore, he tensed up and mumbled something about it being “weird” and “immature.”

he showed a lot of delicacy towards nature as well, a trait he carries into adulthood! rescuing turtles from roads, gently rehoming bugs, taking care not to step on wildflowers, that sort of thing. he was teased for this growing up :( he’d be compared to a disney princess and the like or just be called a pussy for Caring About The World Around Him. while he still loves nature and knows there’s nothing wrong with that, he does get embarrassed if his gentleness is pointed out— he’s anticipating some sort of reprimand.

been trying to think about hajime’s gay awakening. i imagine once he hit puberty he started having vague… thoughts. they weren’t attached to anyone but he kept it secret anyways since Lust Is A Sin and Masturbation Is A Sin Too and he’s not interested in growing hair on his palms or going blind (he later finds out that those are myths, but for now he heeds the tales), nor is he interested in the scolding he would get from his parents if they found out. from there we have two main options as i see it.

option A: in a parallel of the magazine he finds in Jabberwock, teen!hajime comes across some sort of gay porn. it’s completely accidental— he finds a mag or some other paraphernalia in a log or something, opens it, Realizes what is is, looks around for witnesses, and quickly stuffs it into his jacket. he’s not even sure why, but he knows he’s curious. as soon as he gets home he hides it between his mattress and his bedframe, and that night, when he’s sure his parents are asleep, he grabs a flashlight and starts to look through it. he doesn’t understand why he’s so fascinated until he realizes: he’s breathing heavily, hot in the face, absentmindedly rubbing his thighs together, and, most incriminatingly of all, he’s the hardest he’s ever been in his life. mortified, he shoves the magazine back under his mattress and tries his best to forget about what he saw, tossing and turning as he tries to calm down and go to sleep.

option B: hajime is really close with one of his peers. they’re childhood friends, and they’ve gotten along great forever. at some point, though, hajime starts feeling weird around him. not BAD weird, but… he’s nervous, and his skin seems to buzz whenever they touch, and his heart flutters when he makes his friend laugh, and… he can’t make sense of it all. not until he wakes up one night from a particularly vivid dream, chest heaving, skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and his sheets soiled with the evidence of his subconscious sin. he realizes what’s going on, and his heart sinks into his stomach. he does his best to ignore it, but it haunts him.

we could also combine these options and say both of these things happen, but idk yet. i like the loneliness of the porn but i also like the guilt of having to talk to your close friend and pretend you aren’t feeling confusing and frightening things for them.

hajime lives at home until his early adulthood, when he is Caught. if we went with option A for his awakening, then he comes home one day to find The Porn sitting on the kitchen table, its pages now crinkled from years of viewing, and his heart sinks into his stomach. he’s not sure how they found it— maybe his mom was cleaning his room and lifted his mattress? but it doesn’t matter— they Know now, and he has no way to explain himself.

if we go with option B, hajime is caught with that “good friend” of his. he had snuck in via hajime’s bedroom window, at a time they both were sure hajime’s parents would be asleep. unfortunately, hajime’s dad comes up to his room (hajime never learns the original intent of this visit) and opens the door to find his son, hair and clothes a mess, with the neighbor boy straddling his thighs, hands clearly paused in the middle of lifting up his son’s shirt. it’s silent for a bit, and the tension in the air is so heavy hajime feels like he can barely breathe. still, he breaks out of the stupor first, muttering a quiet “you need to go” to his friend without breaking eye contact with his father. the friend gets the message and bolts, leaving via the same window he came from. hajime is now alone with his father, so guilty and scared that he feels nauseous.

regardless of which of these events occurs, the outcome is the same. hajime’s father responds first, yelling and berating. hajime is terrified— he’s seen his dad mad, but never like this. never shouting obscenities and vile words at him. when told to explain himself hajime stumbles over his words, eventually landing on some variant of “i don’t know.” eventually, his father decides words aren’t punishment enough, and hajime gets the shit beat out of him for the first time in his life. he tries to defend himself, but he’s never been much of a fighter, and he doesn’t want to hit his dad, self defense or not. when his father finally storms off, his mother comes near, her eyes brimming with tears. she holds her arms out to hajime, tells her baby to come here. hajime, aching and bruised and perhaps with a freshly broken nose, collapses into his mother’s arms, silently crying into her shoulder as she pets his hair. she holds him close, rocking them from side to side, before she speaks. “oh, hajime, darling,” she starts, voice thick with tears and love, “i’m sorry. we’ve failed you, haven’t we? that’s why you’re doing this to us.” hajime’s stomach curdles at those words, and he quickly excuses himself, washing the blood off his face in the bathroom sink before he locks himself in his room.

regardless of the guilt he carries— he knew he was sinning, after all— hajime knows he is no longer safe at home. his father had never beat him like that before, and he doesn’t know that he would be able to walk away if it happened again. he doesn’t want to leave his mother, but he could tell that she was disgusted by him, too, her words still echoing in his mind. so, hajime packs as many of his things as he can fit into his suitcase, and the next day he leaves town, never letting himself look back. he job hops for a bit before he manages to get his house in Jabberwock— he got really, really lucky with the price of the property.

hajime hasn’t talked to anyone from his hometown since he left, and while he still has his parents’ landline number memorized, he doesn’t dare call. his dad’s probably disowned him, anyhow. sometimes he wonders how the people he grew up with are doing, but he can’t bring himself to go back. it’s not home anymore.

[bioluminesced]

we are gay knights together leone

[rat-creates]

Explaining the base road-trip au! (Finally!)

The nuke drops

XD forces himself down Dream's throat as a desperate attempt to keep anything alive

Dream survives, but he's too unstable to exist basically

Callahan also forces himself down Dream's throat to stable him

Dream is left alone everyone he has ever known gone

All that is left of them is the little apocalypses they had all started

**jump to about 1500-ish years later**

Dream has spend his entire immortality keeping all the supernatural shit the dsmp habitants had caused in check

The dsmp has become a parallel reality of sorts, keeping everything in

Everyone from he dsmp has been reincarnated into modern era, with no memories of their past life

Quackity, after a pretty rough fight with his brother, decides that he needs to get away for a bit

A road trip sounds good. He'll drive away and cry and go to the beach and when he comes back everything will feel better

Quackity drives straight into the dsmp.

Dream sees him entering and slips into the back of the car

The fact that its... Quackity. And it's the first person Dream has seen in thousands of years forces him back to his prison era body, wounds, missing fingers and all

Yeah... so when you force down the power of two gods into a mortal they don't end up being the most stable

But if Dream leaves Quackity will die. And he cant- he'd better. He's better then that

From Quackity's POV there's something on his backseat ordering him not to turn around

But it knows how to navigate this hell he's in, so he has no choise

And so starts the worst road-trip in existence

Yipppe!!!

[magicalmysteries777]

magicalmysteries777 - masterlist.

Multi-chapter

The Bloody-Handed and The Anguish of Loving Them - (Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson) - 39.5k - 10/10 chapters.

"Almost a year has passed since Eddie Munson died and it feels like the only person that isn't moving on is Steve. After spending the night studying a Dungeons and Dragons handbook, Steve is convinced he's figured out how to bring Eddie back. Not only that, but defeat Vecna once and for all too. Now he just has to prove it."

Tumblr // AO3

One Shots

Lay ons. - (Eddie Munson x F!Reader) - 2.3k

"Popular female reader with a secret crush on Eddie goes to buy drugs but ends up getting more than she paid for."

Tumblr // AO3

"You're clueless, you know that?" - (Eddie Munson x Reader) & (Reader x Steve Harrington!Fake) - 2.3k

"You agree to accompany Steve to Enzo’s for Valentine’s Day with only one shared goal in mind - to make Eddie so jealous he has no choice but to have the one conversation he’s being avoiding."

Tumblr // AO3

[xenon-demon]

Something something steddie role swap AU. Steve and Eddie swap places for the final fight against Vecna (because you don’t really need to be able to play the guitar to make a distraction with one, and Steve is already injured while Eddie is Not), things proceed as in canon - the bats get in, Steve is self-sacrificial because that’s the Steve Harrington Agenda™, Steve gets himself killed.

Dustin has to watch his older brother die in his arms. Robin has to come back from a fight that she’s pretty sure they lost to find the other half of her soul is gone. Lucas finds out that not only has he lost Max, but he’s also lost his role model, one of his biggest supporters. Eddie is stuck in a town that’s falling apart, filled with people that hate him, and the only people who will understand are mourning someone Eddie barely knew. Someone whose shoes Eddie is never going to be able to fill, even when he feels like he has to try because that’s what he does; protect his people. And no matter how fucked the circumstances that got them here are, he’s decided these are his people now.

(They have to be, now that not even Uncle Wayne can calm him down when he has the nightmares, seeing Chrissy’s lifeless eyes staring down at him as he hears her bones crunch and twist-)

Eddie can’t breathe with how the gaping absence of Steve Harrington is threatening to swallow him whole. It’s always there, in the way Robin is isolating herself, sleeping over in Steve’s empty house whenever she can, and no one can get her to talk about it. It’s in the way Dustin, overcome with grief, keeps oscillating between blaming Eddie for agreeing to switch places and blaming himself for suggesting it in the first place. It’s in the way Eddie wonders sometimes, as he turns the events of Spring Break over in his mind, if maybe there was something there, or could have been something - and then he’s immediately overcome with guilt, because he’s lusting after a ghost. A ghost of someone he didn’t even know, really, as he’s learning more and more every day about the ways Steve has changed since high school.

So after a few weeks of this, especially with the added stress of Hawkins falling apart at the seams and being constantly invaded by hellbeasts from the gaping portals all over town, Eddie does what he does best.

He runs away.

He doesn’t even think about where he’s going, just puts one foot in front of the other - even as he crosses over a portal into the Upside Down, one near the trailer park, he doesn’t let himself stop and think. If he does that, he’s going to have a panic attack, and having one of those here in Hell is absolutely going to get him killed, the otherworldly hisses and screams echoing around him amongst the trees are a pretty potent reminder-

There’s a snap behind him, sounding way too close for comfort. Eddie spins around, heart racing in his chest, tensed and ready to run if he has to.

There’s nothing there. Nothing living, at least, because Eddie can see a broken branch just dangling down from one of the trees he just walked past. From this far away, it looks like something has pulled down on it, snapping the top part of the branch and leaving it attached at the bottom by just a thin layer of wood. It’s such a tenuous connection that the branch is bobbing slightly under the weight of gravity, and it looks like at some point it might just break under its own weight.

The main problem with this is that it was definitely a whole, intact branch when he first walked past it.

Eddie finds himself taking a few steps forward without really thinking about it. As he gets closer, his heartbeat gets louder and louder until he can hear it pounding in his ears. He feels a deep sense of wrongness here, like something - someone, maybe - is watching him, waiting for some kind of trigger. It crawls up his spine like a spider, making his skin crawl, his shoulders twitching involuntarily.

The feeling only intensifies when he’s within arms reach of the broken branch. It’s like a block of ice gets dropped into his chest, the way he suddenly goes cold; from this distance, he can see the branch is thicker than his upper arm. Whatever it was that did this, it’s stronger than a human, that’s for sure. Eddie feels the sharp buzz of panic begin to settle over his body, is dimly aware of a hysterical noise starting to bubble up within him-

The breath is slammed out of his lungs, too quickly to even scream. At the same time, he feels pain bloom across his upper body from being grabbed by the shoulder and shoved up against the tree. Eddie feels pinpricks of pain all up his back, his thin Iron Maiden t-shirt doing little to protect his skin from the tree bark.

Eddie’s eyes are screwed tight as he waits for the inevitable; he’s seen enough of this place to know he doesn’t want to see whatever it is that’s about to kill him. He feels something sharp scrape against his neck, followed by a pressure along the underside of his jaw, and his last coherent thought is, Jesus Christ, can’t believe I’m leaving Henderson fatherless.

Except... he doesn’t die. Eddie Munson keeps breathing, quick and shallow gasps with his eyes still tightly shut. It doesn’t make any sense, his brain can’t even begin to process what’s happening to him, so after a few seconds - when he’s sure he’s actually still alive, and not just having a delayed reaction to being eaten - Eddie opens his eyes. Immediately he feels like throwing up.

Because there in front of him, mere inches away from his face, face twisted into an utterly chilling smile, is Steve Harrington.

Or at least - something that was Steve Harrington, once upon a time. The creature now in front of Eddie has- christ, where does Eddie even begin. He doesn’t know where to look first, his brain overloading trying to take it all in - Steve has fangs now, that Eddie’s certain of, sharpened canines that jut out under Steve’s top lip and glint whenever lightning crackles overhead. He can see streaks of what looks like dried blood trailing down Steve’s chin from the fangs, following his neck downwards until they’re lost in the ring of scar tissue and dried blood at the base of his neck where he got choked by the demobats.

Most captivating of all, though, are Steve’s eyes. Once he makes eye contact, Eddie can’t bring himself to tear his eyes away. Steve’s eyes have always looked pretty to Eddie, in that strange middle ground where they look brown in some lights and almost green in others, but now they shine with a soft golden glow in the darkness. He’s not quite sure, it’s hard to focus enough to be sure, but Eddie thinks his pupils are no longer human-like, instead vertical slits like a cat’s eye.

Now that Eddie’s made eye contact, out his peripheral vision he sees Steve’s grin grow impossibly wider. At the same time, that pressure around his neck gets worse momentarily as Steve squeezes, oh fuck, he has his hand around Eddie’s throat. That sharp prickling sensation is back again, too, and Christ Almighty he’s pretty sure Steve has fucking claws.

Steve leans in even closer, and Eddie feels his breath fan across his face as he drawls, “Did you miss me too, baby?”

[averlym]

" just...come here. just sit here with me" (...that one scene from princess momonoke, click for better resolution)

[camellcat]

thinking about angel!Liam just absolutely fucking decking demon!Theo

Liam is, at first, completely horrified, right? like, oh, dear heavens, he just punched someone! that's not very holy of him! ...but also, Theo is a demon... surely he's just... acting within his angelic duties... to thwart demon wiles... yeah...?

and Theo cannot decide whether to laugh his ass off because he just got an angel to punch someone or start panicking that maybe he's pushed Liam too far and he'll be discoperated or smth. which ofc he won't be bc Liam (as much as he loath to admit it) does not hate Theo, but they are not at the stage in which Theo is certain of that!!

but once Theo gets him back it (dreadfully, in Liam's opinion, and cruelly giddily in Theo's) becomes a Thing.

[oobbbear]

The concept of spending months or even years on a project scares me I can’t even sit through an afternoon working on this one thing

[wheneverfeasible]

Bloody Hands, Broken Hearts: a Mafia AU

Chapter 2

chapter wc: 5.9k || rating: M (for now) || tags: sex trafficking, past rape/non-con, mean dom!Eddie, feminized!Steve, see ao3 for full tag list || ao3

<<prev

~

Once, when he was drunk and stupid, Steve had dressed up in his mother’s clothing. It had been a dare, of course, a bet sparked by boredom and too many shotgunned beers by the poolside. The others had already gone for the night, or were passed out downstairs somewhere, and it was just him and his two best friends, Carol and Tommy.

It had been a joke, and Carol and Tommy had laughed, and after putting on lipstick of his mother’s, Steve pouted at them just like that blonde actress his dad really liked, though he sometimes ranted about the indecency and depravity in her films. Steve wondered briefly how his father would feel seeing his son being the one crossdressing now.

Though he’d wobbled in them, Steve chased Carol and Tommy around his parents’ room in a pair of his mother’s more sensible heels, their combined laughter like a melody. His mother’s red dress confined his movements a little, but eventually he caught them and, first one and then the other, he left a dramatic lipstick mark on their cheeks where he kissed them.

It was nice. Back then.

Tommy had mocked him, but his eyes had lingered a little longer on Steve, and even Carol’s gaze held something like appreciation in them. When Steve looked at himself in the mirror, there wasn’t any sense of wrongness to it at all. He wasn’t a woman, that much was clear, but he didn’t mind the way he looked wearing his mother’s things, even if he had put it all on a little cartoonishly.

Staring at himself in the mirror now, Steve missed those simpler times. He missed how he and Tommy and Carol had been inseparable for a time, how Carol always had a juice box or banana or something waiting for him after practice when he needed the post-workout pick-me-up, or how Tommy always had his window unlocked when Steve needed an escape after family dinner.

How Tommy always had arnica cream waiting in case Steve came over with new bruises, or how Carol helped teach him makeup techniques to cover what wouldn’t fade easily.

When Carol and Tommy first got together back in seventh grade, it shifted dynamics a little, but their little trio had remained strong. Steve had thought then they would remain as they always had been, a united front. Instead, when Steve trusted them with his secret, everything imploded.

“Are you going to be okay, Vee?”

Steve glanced at the reflection of the woman standing behind him in the mirror, feeling her comfort a balm to soothe old aches he didn’t know he still had the capacity to hold. After everything else that had been done to him, the betrayal of childhood best friends still shouldn’t hurt as much as it did.

“I’m fine, Tiffy,” he murmured, making himself smile to reassure her as he turned away from the mirror to take her hands in his. “This isn’t anything new,” he said with a wry chuckle.

“At least Daddy Kas isn’t fat like Cerdo was,” Selena snorted from where she reposed on her bunk, head propped up on her hand as she lay stretched out on her side. “I don’t know how you survived being his favorite when it always felt like I was going to be squished to death under him!” She shuddered slightly. “And hopefully Kas doesn’t make me call him ‘Papi’ like that pendejo did. Ugh, even I felt racist saying it.”

Rolling his eyes as the others laughed, Steve couldn’t keep his lips from quirking ever so slightly into a more genuine smile. He had told the girls everything—or almost everything—that had occurred during his time with Munson, much to Selena’s amusement, who had for some time called Porzio “Piggy” or some variation behind his back because of his unfortunate weight and tendency to make a sound that was almost a squeal when he came.

He hadn’t told them that he knew Munson from his past, however, that they had gone to high school together even, but everything else had been fair game. Besides one other thing…

They didn’t know that, if Steve failed to please Munson that night, this might very well be the last time they saw each other.

“It helped that Porzio was a lazy bastard and liked to make me do all the work,” he said with a sly grin, bringing Tiffany’s hands up to his lips to give them a small kiss before releasing her. He turned back to the mirror briefly to touch up his hair, fiddling with the small clips that pulled it back and curved to the side.

“No wonder your thighs always look fit to burst from your tights,” Zuri mumbled loud enough for them all to hear.

Steve mocked-gasped, picking up one of the clips he hadn’t used to toss at her. “Never had any complaints yet. Don’t act like you’re not jealous.”

Zuri dodged the small clip Steve threw at her and stuck her tongue out at him, though she cast a small smile to Mona when the other woman picked up the clip to clasp to one of Zuri’s space buns that she had her tight coils styled into still. Mona returned the smile with one of her own, her fingers lingering slightly before dropping to her side.

“I bet Daddy Kas won’t complain tonight either,” Selena added with a scrunched nose in tease, causing Isabel in the bunk below her to swat at her other hand dangling over the edge. “He looked like he wanted to gobble you up when he made you suck off his thumb!”

“Vee’s always been very good with his mouth,” Fen said with a throaty laugh and a suggestive wiggle to her brows, splayed across Janice’s lap who was braiding her fine black hair. “There’s a reason he’s the favorite.”

Steve felt his face flush with embarrassment, though it wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before. Fen had a filthy mouth, though she always played at being sweet and innocent among their wardens.

About a month after Steve had been bought by Porzio, when Steve had been ordered for the first time to fuck her while Porzio and his associates watched, she had just shrugged and informed him that she hadn’t even been a backdoor virgin when she was first brought into this life, so he needn’t worry about hurting her as it wasn’t her first time. He had blushed even more back then, especially since she was even younger than he was.

“You’re all going to hell, I hope you know this,” he deadpanned, fixing the tight fuschia dress he’d picked for that night. It was thin strapped with a plunging v neck that went nearly to his navel, the bottom hem going to about mid thigh though one side was slit high, only held together by equally thin criss crossed straps. A soft pink lace thong barely kept his bits contained.

A Steve from a long time ago might have relished the fact that he was wearing something like this, might have laughed at the absurdity of it all, but now it just felt like any other uniform he was forced to wear. He wondered, idly, what Tommy and Carol would have thought about this one too.

“Knock ‘em dead, Vee,” Janice murmured, catching Steve’s eye with a seriousness that both caused anxiety and relief to course through him. He might very well be going to the gallows here, but at least he had never been alone.

Steve gave each one of them—Janice, Mona, Tiffany, Selena, Fen, Zuri, and Isabel—a small smile and a small wave of his fingers. “Don’t wait up, kids,” he teased back, scooping up the most important part of tonight: Kas’s rings, cleaned and polished and waiting to be used again. Just…hopefully not tonight.

He moved towards the door and knocked on it, alerting the guard on the other side that he was ready. Honestly, having their room guarded wasn’t anything new for them, but what was new was that their privacy was more or less respected. Though Steve didn’t have it as bad as the others with general day-to-day grunts working for Porzio, since the majority of the soldiers were predominantly heterosexual, the girls almost always had an audience when they bathed or changed for their duties. They had all expected that to remain the same.

Except, after being manhandled to their shared room, no guard lingered on the inside. Their room had obviously been searched, but it wasn’t ransacked or overly molested like Porzio’s people might have done. The only real disappointment was the wine Fen had secreted away after stealing it from one of Porzio’s parties was missing, but even then there hadn’t been a punishment waiting for them for the thievery.

Now, though they were still imprisoned in their room, Munson’s men waited outside and did not open the door to harass them whenever they wanted. At least, not yet. There was no telling how things might change, of course, as it hadn’t even been a full twelve hours since Munson and his men invaded Porzio’s mansion. And who was to say what would happen once they returned to Munson’s own domain.

Whether or not Steve was with them.

The guard set to act as his chaperone gave him a once over, something darkly amused but without the vitriol he was used to seeing in Porzio’s men who didn’t want to fuck him, and mockingly held out his hand for Steve to lead the way.

Were it Porzio’s men, he would have played it up, would have walked with a sway to his hips and played his role, but he couldn’t now. Not when he didn’t know what would be waiting for him on the other side of the doors he was far too familiar with. There had been days, weeks even, that he saw those doors and what was within more than he saw his own bed.

Steve knew the way well. He clenched the silver rings in his fist tightly, knowing that beyond being psychological warfare, his custodianship of them was also a test. These rings were a large part of Kas’s persona. Were Steve to lose or damage one now, he could only imagine the retaliation.

Swallowing the ball in his throat, Steve stepped up to the large double doors that led to Porzio’s room—now Munson’s. He ignored the soldiers on either side of the door, and the one at his back, and the way all three pairs of eyes seemed to burn a hole in his skull. The one on Steve’s left did have a look of distaste on his face, evident even in Steve’s peripheral, though oddly enough it seemed more to do with what he was wearing than what he was doing there.

Porzio made it no secret what he did, or that he would fuck anyone. Not everyone that worked for or with him agreed with his sexual liberation, but they kept their mouths shut around Porzio. Around Steve, on the other hand…well, Steve learned a fair few new swear words, and not all of them in English.

Munson’s men, however, didn’t seem to bat a single lash at the thought of Munson being some sort of queer. It was bizarre but not unwelcome, especially in regards to Steve’s (potential) continued existence amongst them.

Steve knocked on the door.

It was only a few moments’ wait, and then one side of the double doors cracked open, Munson appearing in the empty space to lean against the wood with a sharp grin. His dark eyes scanned over Steve, taking their time, which allowed Steve to do the same.

Munson had changed out of his blood splattered clothing, at least, though he wore more black slacks with a white wifebeater—Steve tried not to think of the significance of that terminology—with pale feet sticking out. Steve did his best not to stare, though his eyes tracked over the various pieces of ink and scarring now on display over Munson’s bare arms and peeking out from under his shirt, though not least of all his bare feet.

“Wonderful to see you again, my dear,” Munson all but purred from where he was draped against the door, one forearm pressed to the wood above his head. His eyes snapped to the soldiers and with a barest twitch of his brow indicated his orders. A mere split second later, all three men were walking away, causing Munson to return his grin to Steve, stepping back to allow him entrance into the room.

Determined to keep his legs beneath him—for however long Munson allowed that—Steve pushed his nerves away to stride into the room with his head held high. At least until a hand ghosted along his lower back and ass as he walked by, causing him to stumble slightly with a quickly drawn in breath.

Munson laughed at his reaction as he closed and locked the door behind him. “Rather skittish for an experienced whore,” he remarked, though the words were not quite as mocking as they could have been.

Steve felt a twinge of anger at Munson’s words, but he was good at keeping it off his expression now, his voice only slightly tighter than normal as he turned around to try to smile at the man who held his life in his hands.

“I am…merely surprised at seeing you, Daddy,” he replied, the part of him that adapted to survive wondering what sort of role Munson wanted him to play. The experienced whore, was it? Or did he like the skittishness? Should Steve sit on the bed, give him those come-hither eyes with smirking lips and teasing legs? Should he fumble and stutter and bashfully look at Munson through his lashes?

Instead, Steve did none of that, merely holding out his hand, palm up, rings nestled together for his new master to take his weapons back. Munson was going to do whatever the hell he wanted to Steve anyways, so what was the point? It was only delaying the inevitable.

Munson’s brow only quirked a little, then he was moving towards the bed himself, settling on the edge with spread legs. He pointed a finger down at the spot between his knees. “Kneel.”

Easier said than done, asshole, Steve wanted to snark back, but he merely swallowed back his sigh and moved to stand before the other man and, despite his annoyed thoughts, swiftly moved to kneel as instructed. Though his knees weren’t quite what they used to be after the abuse done to them, he had enough experience to move in his clothes easily, even when they otherwise restricted his movements.

He didn’t touch Munson, not yet, not until he was instructed to do so. He hadn’t lasted this long because he made things difficult for himself. And sure, maybe that meant he had been well and truly broken, but at least he was alive. At least…that’s what he told himself. Sometimes he wondered if he should have just fought fought fought until the end, but he had been broken already before he had driven the final nail in his coffin.

Firmly shoving all thoughts of that man to the back of his mind, Steve merely sat back on his heels and looked up at Munson expectantly. Nothing would ever change, and while some of the girls had wondered if this change in leadership would allow them a chance to escape, he knew better than that. Kas would never allow that to happen. If even just half the rumors of the Don was true, it was a miracle Steve’s brains hadn’t been bashed in as soon as Munson recognized him.

Munson’s fingers reached out, lightly trailing along Steve’s jaw where the bruising was, his thumb brushing over Steve’s bottom lip to slide over the healing cut there, courtesy of one of Porzio’s own rings. They had been gaudy things, more about flaunting his wealth than being weapons, but they still hurt when he backhanded Steve for whatever transgression he had made in that moment. He wasn’t looking forward to how cutting Munson’s would be.

As though hearing his thoughts, Munson released Steve’s jaw to hold out his hand. “Put them on.”

Steve clenched his fingers around the rings still in his hand for a brief moment to still their trembling, and then slowly he began slotting the rings onto the correct fingers, tensing whenever Munson cleared his throat when he’d start putting them on the incorrect ones until every ring was back in its proper place. Steve then dropped his hands back down to his own lap, clasping his fingers together as he waited for what came next.

Munson, for his part, leaned back with one hand while he examined the other, taking in the rings and how they glinted in the low lighting. The thick velvet curtains were drawn over the near floor to ceiling windows keeping the last vestiges of sunlight out, only the ornate torchères in the corners and the equally ornate table lamps on the bedside tables on either side of the massive bed casting a muted glow around the room.

Porzio had a tendency to overspend, to buy the most gaudy of decorations as though he were some rich lord on high, with far more culture and grace than he actually had. From the plush rugs to the thickly carved wooden furniture—including the four poster bed with heavy red brocade drapings—screamed at wanting to be seen as more important than he really was.

“You’re nothing like I remember, Harrington.”

Steve’s shoulders twitched in a small flinch when Munson said his name, a name he hadn’t heard spoken out loud in years, though he kept the grimace off his lips at least. His gaze remained on the other man’s hand, waiting for the strike he was certain was coming in one form or another.

“Neither are you,” escaped Steve’s lips in a snap without his consent, causing his eyes to widen slightly. “Sir,” he hastily tacked on, softening his tone to his gentler Vee voice he had thought he’d perfected. Having a face from his past thrown at him was causing no end of trouble, it seemed.

Before Steve could even babble further apology, Munson’s hand shot out to fiercely grab Steve by the jaw, his now beringed fingers digging into his bruises as the man leaned forward with a small snarl.

“Still a massive bitch though, I see,” Munson sneered, harshly squeezing Steve’s face between his fingers until a small whimper left him unbidden. With a scoffing roll of his eyes, Munson flung Steve’s face away from him and leaned back once more on the bed, this time with both hands.

Knowing better than to rub his smarting jaw, Steve drew in a shuddering breath after he was flung away, catching himself on the floor with one hand so he didn’t get sent sprawling to the side. He lowered his head in submission as he straightened back up into his kneel, trying not to let the heat of shame burn him alive.

“Forgive me, Daddy,” he whispered, fingers curling in his lap. “Please let me make it up to you.”

The silence that lingered after his request felt charged, heavy, making Steve’s muscles tense in anticipation of pain, even though he knew that that always made it worse. Kas was not known for being mild mannered. Though Steve had obviously never met Kas before, he had heard the stories. Knew that Kas would be smiling one moment and by the next you were swallowing your own teeth. He earned his nickname.

The rustle of the bedding and the creak of wood as Munson sat forward had Steve’s shoulders hitching slightly for whatever retaliation came his way, unable to suppress a flinch when he felt Munson’s fingers lightly play over the small clips in his hair. A softly exhaled breath left Munson, ghosting over Steve’s ear.

“Take your hair down, sweetheart. I can’t take you seriously when you have butterflies in your hair. And then we’ll put that bitchy little mouth of yours to good use.”

Oh.

Steve’s hands moved immediately to the clips and pins holding his hair up and curved to the side. It wasn’t quite as long as Munson’s—which was now roughly just past his shoulder blades—but it grazed the top of his shoulders in a more uniform length as opposed to the styled layers he’d once had. He greatly missed his Beloved Farrah Fawcett spray sometimes.

He worked swiftly, releasing the small clips and pins until his hair was free to fall loosely around him. The adornments were then set aside by the thick square post of the bed, making a mental note to remember them once he was dismissed. If he was dismissed. It wouldn’t do for Munson to somehow accidentally step on one.

Once his hair was free, Steve figured Munson’s words were permission enough. He raised up on his knees slightly to settle his hands just above Munson’s knees, sliding them up his thighs, but froze when he felt the muscles beneath his palms tense up. Looking up through his lashes, Steve tried his best to hide how nervous he was, especially when Munson just stared at him with that blank expression of his. Should he have waited for a more blatant command to suck the guy’s dick?

A smirk suddenly tugged at one corner of Munson’s lips however, a mocking little laugh leaving him. “I’m almost tempted to let you continue, to see just how well Porzio had you trained, but we have other matters to discuss tonight, sweetheart.”

Unable to hold his frown of confusion back, Steve stared up at Munson with a head tilted in question and furrowed brows. He knew better than to speak out of turn, however, especially when he was already traversing over incredibly thin ice. He kept his hands where he held them pressed into Munson’s thighs, not wanting to risk his ire one way or another.

“You know, you look like a dog when you do that, with your big dumb brown eyes. Did you howl like a bitch too when Porzio mounted you from behind?” Munson sat forward, bringing his hands to cover Steve’s, pressing them harder into his thighs. “Would you howl if I bent you over right now and bred you like the whore you are?” he asked in what was almost a crude bastardization of a lover’s whisper.

Nausea roiled in Steve’s stomach as he did his best not to flinch back as Munson’s face got closer to his own. He thickly swallowed, trying not to let his annoyance show when Munson took obvious enjoyment in his discomfort. He wondered if Munson would be this much of an asshole if he hadn’t recognized Steve, or if this was some form of revenge for being one of the popular kids when they were in high school.

If Munson had stuck around in Hawkins, had been there for Steve’s senior year, he would have seen just how Steve’s popularity had deserted him. Just like everyone else.

“If you want me to, Daddy,” he forced himself to softly murmur, instead of whatever else he might have told the former Freak of Hawkins High. “Say the word and I’ll howl, bark, and beg.”

Munson studied him for a moment, contemplative, before lifting a hand to lightly take the ‘V’ charm hanging from his collar between his fingers. “Well,” he replied. “You are already wearing a collar. Maybe I should put a leash on you, take you for a walk for everyone to see.” He smirked then, wiggling a finger under the strap of the collar until Steve felt a sharp pain as his knuckle dug into his throat, tugging Steve forward. “Maybe I ought to see just how well you can roll over.”

Steve did his best not to wince, to keep the grimace he wanted to spit at Munson solidly hidden beneath his Vee mask, but even so he couldn’t stop the wrinkle to his brow at the pain of the man’s knuckle digging into his throat or the sharp tug forward. He swallowed as best he could, looking up at the man who quite literally held his life in his hands.

“Tell me what you want from me, Daddy,” he breathed against the pressure to his throat, shifting slightly as though eager for whatever order Munson would give him.

It was fake, all of it, but what else could Munson expect? It wasn’t like Steve—or any of his girls—had chosen to be here. Just like the guns and the drugs and everything else, they were nothing but merchandise. Steve might have, once upon a time, thought about wearing dresses and makeup simply because he wanted to, but that brief moment in time was long gone. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten to wear something simply because he wanted to.

Christ, what he wouldn’t give for some fucking sweatpants.

A reward.

Munson had said, hours earlier, that if Steve and the others behaved, they might get a reward. He had initially (though secretly) scoffed at the idea, figuring that by ‘reward’, Munson really meant some new act of depravity acted out upon their person. Those were the sorts of rewards Porzio always left them with.

Or the promised reward would be snatched out from under them for whatever minuscule infraction they caused, which was more probable. Even if Steve performed his services well, chances were that Munson would find some fault and taunt him with the loss of something he would never have to begin with.

But…but what if he did? He doubted the reward would be anything grand. Not unless it was something for Munson. Some shiny new toy to use against them, something to give Munson more pleasure than them. But maybe, if Steve behaved exceptionally well and stopped fighting against the thought of it being Munson instead of Kas…

Steve closed his eyes for a brief moment, taking in a steadying breath, and then pushed everything that made him Steve into a deep, dark corner of his mind and slammed the door closed. He would be Vee, and Munson would be Kas, and maybe he could actually survive this new horror.

Opening his eyes once more, Steve offered Munson an almost pouty smile, moving his free hand up Munson’s thigh once more to press his palm to where he could feel Munson’s interest growing. He wasn’t fully hard yet, which wasn’t ideal, but he certainly wasn’t flaccid either. It was a start, and he could feel the twitch of Munson beneath his palm that spoke of further interest.

Except Munson moved his hands from Steve to grab his wrist and pull his hand away, though Steve did not let the brief pain pull him away from the persona he had to be. Munson wasn’t even gripping him too hard, certainly not hard enough to bruise, just something firm and demanding.

“Jesus, Harrington,” Munson hissed. His dark eyes narrowed as he studied Steve, fingers still tight but not quite biting around his wrist. “You really do know your role well. With that dumb expression on your face, I could almost believe you’re not plotting my demise at any given second, thinking about the best way to kill me.”

Steve paled. He knew Munson would never consider him a genuine threat, but he knew what Don Kas did to anyone who didn’t fall in line, who threatened his rule. Steve’s eyes darted to the thick, brutal rings adorning Munson’s fingers, the icy prickling of fear clawing its way through his gut and to his chest.

“Please, Daddy, I’m not, I swear,” he whispered, almost a whimper, verbally prostrating himself as he shoved himself further into the persona he had to be. Became more of the pitiful, obedient whore. “I would never. I’ll be such a good girl for you, I promise. I-I’m not Harrington anymore. I’m Vee. Only Vee. Only yours, Daddy, please.”

The fingers wrapped around his wrist finally tightened, the blunt edges of Munson’s nails biting into the tender flesh of his inner wrist, and then he was being moved. A gasp left Steve unbidden as he was yanked off his knees and spun, suddenly finding himself on his back with the familiar canopy of Porzio’s—Munson’s bed above him. At least until it was blocked out by Munson’s face staring at him with eyes like black ice.

Munson’s weight settled over him, thighs on either side of his hips to keep him bracketed in, one wrist pinned above his head while Munson twisted his other to expose his inner wrist to Steve’s eyes, though he knew what was there. He’d been there, after all, when it had been inked into his flesh: Porzio’s crest.

Steve, and the rest of the girls Porzio bought to keep, were tattooed and branded like a fucking pig, Porzio claiming ownership over their flesh. The only one who had yet to be branded was Isabel, the newest and youngest of the girls, though it was just an inevitability. Or at least, it had been. Now with Munson owning them, he had no idea what to expect.

Munson sneered from above Steve, and whatever Steve had thought of his grip before, it was certainly bruising now. Steve let out a small whimper of pain and fear, eyes flickering between the dark ink marked on his right wrist and Munson’s darker eyes above.

“Mine, you say? Yet here you are, wearing the brand of another man. What am I supposed to do about that, Vee,” Munson mocked. “You’ve been with Porzio for a while now. Do you really expect me to trust your loyalty?”

Despite himself, despite his fear, a scowl twisted Steve’s expression in a very Steve way; Vee didn’t make facial expressions like that. “I had zero loyalty to that cerdo,” he snapped, feeling like Selena’s term was appropriate in that moment. “I’m glad you killed him.”

“Yeah?” Munson’s fingers tightened their hold on Steve’s wrists, causing another pained gasp to escape him. “You gonna feel the same way when someone comes to kill me? You gonna drop to your knees for my killer too? Gonna spread your legs and beg your new Daddy to fuck you?”

Steve knew he was in danger, also knew that if he said anything but an agreement that Munson wouldn’t believe him. And hell, it was the truth. Steve would do whatever it took to protect himself, but more than that, whatever it took to protect his girls. If that meant letting Munson kill him now…

“Yes,” he whispered, which Munson had apparently not been expecting at all given the way his eyes widened slightly and his hold relaxed enough that Steve didn’t feel like his bones were being ground together.

Steve sucked in a breath to get the rest out before Munson’s rings took away his ability to form sentences. “Yes,” he repeated, “if it kept my girls alive. If I knew it would keep them safe. I am the bitch of anyone who holds my leash and I will do my job well, whoever it is. But…” Steve breathed, his gaze tracking over Munson’s blank expression, dark eyes unfathomable, but the Don made no move towards retaliation yet.

“But when Porzio decided to move against you, I knew from the start that it would not end well for him. He was an idiot for trying. Everyone knows who Kas is. Maybe that means you have a lot of enemies who would like to kill you, but…you haven’t fallen yet. So if I’m going to throw my genuine lot in with anyone, the smartest play would be to get behind the strongest player. You. So no, Porzio didn’t have my loyalty because he couldn’t protect us.”

Steve nervously licked his lips, trying to put all his sincerity into his next words, trying to straddle that line between Vee and Steve. “It’s like you said, sir. Quid pro quo. If you can keep my girls safe, if you continue to tear down your enemies, I swear to you that I’ll do whatever you want. I swear that you’ll have my loyalty, and my girls’ loyalty. If someone moves against you, we’ll stand with you.”

Steve drew in a shuddering breath then, willing away his fear-induced nausea, and let his muscles go completely lax beneath Munson who still had yet to react. He had to make this count.

“I’m yours, Daddy. However you want me. However long you want me. Whatever you want to do to me, I’ll gladly accept. Burn this mark off of me and brand me with your own. Carve it out of my flesh. Why would I ever want to belong to anyone other than Don Kas the Bloody-Handed?”

It was a risk, he knew.

After all, this wasn’t just the mobster that had been growing a name for himself for years; this was Edward Munson, the boy whose school life Steve’s friends had made a living hell. It didn’t matter if Steve joined in with them or not. It didn't matter if Steve gave the occasional protest when he saw it go too far. Steve was the perfect scapegoat for any old resentment Munson might be harboring.

And more or less telling him that, yeah, if someone did manage to best him, Steve would be the pliant whore for them as well? It might not matter that Steve was choosing him over anyone who might try, all that mattered was how Munson would take Steve’s promise of current loyalty, if he would believe him.

Steve had been doing this for years already, however. Porzio might have been his longest owner, but he wasn’t Steve’s first. The life expectancy of someone like him? It wasn’t looking good, nevermind the fact that Steve was now closer to thirty than he was twenty like when he first got trapped in this life. He knew his time was running out no matter what.

All Steve could hope to do was protect his girls for a little while longer.

Munson’s expression shifted finally, a sneer returning to his lips as his fingers tightened once more. He pressed Steve’s other wrist to the mattress above his head as well and leaned down to breathe his next words into Steve’s ear, causing Steve to shiver.

“I don’t think I trust you, sweetheart,” Munson growled against him. “Not yet at least. Who knows what deceit you’re hiding under that pretty little dress of yours.” Munson’s tone turned mockingly sweet then, and Steve could hear the smirk in his voice even if he couldn’t quite see it. “So why don’t you do Daddy a favor and…take it off.”

And then Munson was off of him, the air chilled where he had once been. Steve sucked in a shaky lungful of air as he processed Munson’s words. Processed what they must mean. With great difficulty he lifted his head to see Munson standing at the foot of the bed, arms crossed lazily and expression expectant, his gaze traveling over Steve’s form and lingering where the bottom of his dress had risen almost entirely to his hips, a flash of pale pink lace peeking out.

Dread filled Steve once more, but this he understood. This was familiar. Munson was giving him a chance to prove himself. If he could make this good for Munson, could please him, then Steve might just be able to live to see another day.

Carefully, slowly, Steve slid off the bed. Then, taking a deep breath, Steve began to undress.

~

Hostage hotties: @derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump

Let me know if you would like to be added to a tag list!