#i need to write more fics where hes just wildly unhinged | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

naromoreau · 5 years

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(sorry if i sent this twice) can you pls write a sharky/reader fic where reader isn’t the deputy but just some college student visiting hope county, and she really likes sharky but he turns her down because she’s just too young for him?

Thank you very much for sending his in and I hope it’s not too late, so here it is! Big thanks to @fluttyseed for giving it a read

Pairing: Sharky Boshaw & Reader (Not Deputy), side Sharky Boshaw / GN Deputy.

Raiting: SFW, just a lot of unrequited feelings :((( and Sharky being all sweet about them.

"Hop in, chica,gotta take you to this place that's like--like a strategic location for whatyou doin'."

The midday sun'sglare scorched your skin, making you squint and drag an arm across yourforehead to dry the fat drops of sweat sitting there. The air bristled witharomas, the surrounding fields giving off a hint of freshly mowed barley, thatnow mingled with a light note of propane and a touch of musk coming from him.It was intoxicating.

You haphazardly threwyourself on the passenger seat, cheeks bright red and throat in dire need of agulp of water.

"Where we going,Sharky?" There was a slight waver in your voice as you rifled in yourbackpack trying to count the vials to take water samples. You couldn't help butbite your lip at how much his proximity kept affecting you, how every time heflashed you that smile, the one that lingered in his eyes, quicksilver poolsglowing with a warmth, your heart fluttered wildly. Hopelessly.

"There's a--uh,a lake I think you should check." He cranked the engine, and steered hissight on the highway.

As someone whocould've got lost in her own home town, you were beyond grateful to Mary May tohave sent you to his metaphorical - until now - arms. He knew the ins and outsof trudging across wild Montana, as if he was just walking across his livingroom. Truth was you'd been worried when you realized your project about lakes'pollution needed a bigger sample than the one you already had, and needed toget them before the current semester at college finished.

It was a good twentyminute ride until finally Sharky slowed down, and the truck stopped near the bankof a pristine lake, tires grating over fine gravel.

"'Mkay now, youwant me to get them for ya?" He was already peeling off his hoodie, andshucking his jeans off with an enthusiasm that was utterly infectious.

He'd offered himselffor the task from day one, trying to alleviate any hard labor from yourshoulders, claiming it was a good opportunity to freshen up in the ungodlyheat. You squinted under the heavy brilliance, admiring not for the first timethe multicolor landscape of this side of the County.

"Sure," yousaid kneeling to take the vials out of your backpack, handing them to him,"just try not to collect too much mud this time, please?"

"Don't worry,amigo, I think I got the nuts and bolts of this shit."

You watched him enterthe lake in nothing but his boxers, your eyes taking in the sight of him,putting to good use the fact he was obviously focused in doing what you askedfor. The first time he'd taken his clothes off, your eyes had widened of theirown accord, sliding down the lean muscles of his back and chest, and you'dthanked your luck he wasn't paying attention because your face had gone throughseveral shades of red before it stuck in a soft pink that you were able to maskas just exertion.

He was so easy totalk to and funny to a point you couldn't keep a straight face every time hewas determined to make you smile. Which was often, not that you werecomplaining. And so, falling down that rabbit hole had been unexpected andinevitable, and now you were head over heels with his scrawny ass.

Everything would'vebeen easier if he wasn't so damn handsome, and you could've just shaken off theinconvenient crush. But when he turned and faced you, smiling as he shook oneof the newly filled vials, and your gaze slid down his abs following his happytrail, you knew you were sunk down in a pit too deep.

The sad part was thathe didn't seem to notice what he stirred in you, treating you like a friend andnothing more. Not that you haven't tried to move him to act, a little touchhere, and a hand lingering there, but a whole month and you were still empty handed.

A sudden sloshing ofwater brought you back to reality seeing him proudly showing you hiswork.

"Got everythingyou needed, chica."

You tried not to givea wide display of your throat, when you felt your jaw unhinge seeing himcloser, water beads lazily rolling down his body and stopping in the mostinconvenient places.

"Thanks, Sharkman."

Taking the preciouscargo of his hands, you focused on the task of putting them neatly away whilehe decided to sprawl next to you, like a taunt to your senses.

"Now I kindaneed to dry my underwear, cuz I lost the spare ones," he said stretchingon the yellow grass, skin glimmering under golden rays. "What you wanna donow? Any more uh, places you gotta look at?"

"Notreally," you replied, "but we could go and grab a cold one at theSpread Eagle if you want?" You shrugged trying to feign nonchalance butyour heart was hammering against your ribcage, its rhythm drumming in your earsas well.

"Gotta say Ilike how you think." He switched onto his belly, exposing his black-cladrear to the shining sun, "not gonna lie to you, chica, I uh, I alwaysthought college girls were all-all uptight and y'know, not nice, but you ain'tlike that."

A soft chuckleescaped you. "Well, thanks, man. You ain't that bad either." Therewas a quiver in your stomach at the downplay of your own feelings, regrettingthe shyness that prevent you to chase some other course of action, becauseyou'd be gone in less than a day, and all this would scatter into fond memories.You sighed. "So it's that a yes?"

"Fuck yeah,count me in," Sharky nodded, "just wait 'til I don't feel like Ipissed myself and we're good to go."

The almost faintnotes of a Diana Ross' song blasting from the car, wafted in the air, tanglingwith the stifling atmosphere, and everything was making you dizzy. You foughtthe urge to touch him, maybe brush two inches of his skin and finally find thecourage to voice the feeling you had been trying to disregard for the lastmonth.

"Y'know, chica?I'm gonna, uh, I'm gonna miss ya," he said covering his face with his capunder the blazing sun. "Had a good time doing all that science shit--- gofigure, a dumb dropout like me."

"You are notdumb, Sharky," you scolded him. It was something that ground your gears tono end, seeing how easily was for people disregard how smart he really was,throwing the same argument over and over again: dumb failure, you ain't morethan a school dropout. "If it wasn't for you I would've failed big time solet's just say this is also yours."

His chuckle rang inyour ears from beneath his cap, until he finally leaned on his elbows andlooked at you. "You're a real friend dude," he said, grinning.

The weight of hiswords sagged your shoulders a little and you lowered your eyes to the gravelsurrounding the blue lake. Not something you wanted to keep on dwelling.

"Aight,then." You stood up with a brisk movement, before the blushing had time tocreep up your cheeks. "Let's go get that beer."

----------

"... and lastthing I knew I was smooching it right in the fuckin nose, open mouth andall."

A gurgle of laughterrippled out of you, while images of his story flitted through your mind. An hourhad passed in the most perfect way, while you both shared stories over beers.But nothing had peaked this one yet.

"Yeah, yeah,laugh all you want, dude-- I'm tellin' ya, that skunk? Meaniest dink ass I'dever--"

"Kissed?"You offered, feeling tears welling up in your eyes. "I'm sorry-- I'msorry, that was rude."

"Bet your ass itwas," he said, without stop grinning, taking a swig from his bottle."Don't expect my dates to almost rip my lips off, which it did--motherfucker left a huge scar here, see?"

When Sharky leanedforward, your heart shivered in your chest, and you regretted you both weresitting side to side, without the table in between to dampen your stupidreactions.

He stopped a scantinch from your face, pouting, his lower lip on display so you could see a faintscar on it. It must've been the alcohol, and the fact it was round number fourand your stomach was as empty as a wallet before payday, and suddenly it wasimpossible to quash down your leaping heart, his closeness rattling the sundryfeelings revolting in you.

You pressed your lipsagainst his, hearing a surprised gasp dying in your mouth. It was soft and warmand your hands fell to his thighs, supporting you in your eagerness.

But as soon as thecomfort of the yearned place came, it swiftly vanished.

"Woah, woah,there," Sharky panted, clasping you gently by the shoulders, lips red andbreath stuttered, "what you doing, amigo?"

There was no anger inhis voice, just the soft frowning of bafflement, metal-grey gaze delving intoyou, deep enough to break your flimsy hopes.

"I'm--I'm sorry,Shark, I don't know what happened to me I just---" You tried not to showhim any tears, but it was harder than you thought. One drop, and then another,streaks ran down your cheeks, completely out of your control and the desire tojust bolt and run into the night churned in your stomach.

"Hey, hey, easythere," he said, signaling someone for a glass of water and hugging you ina way that made everything more painful. But you couldn't push him away.

When the glass ofwater came, he made you drink it in three short gulps, until your intake of airevened out.

"Hey, chica, I'msuper flattered y'know?" He cupped your cheek, lightly thumbing the rim ofyour jaw while you struggled not to run away fueled by embarrassment."Like, you're real cute, ok? And so fuckin' smart, but I mean, you're waytoo young--"

"I just turned20, I know what I want," you retaliated.

Sharky only chuckled,tilting his head back. "'Kay then, big you, still-- you got all that longass life to live and probably gonna end up with someone who's far better thanme-- I mean I'm pretty great, don't get me wrong," he said, and you huffeda short and hoarse laugh, "but y'know-- cherry, I ain't enough forya."

You were about totell him how wrong he was, how misdirected his guessings were, when you caughtmovement in your peripheral vision. It was one of Sheriff's Whitehorsedeputies. The newest one if your memory didn't fail you.

"Everything good'round here?" They placed a hand on Sharky’s shoulder, and you saw himpositively turn beet red under his cap. Your eyes were drawn to their face,white flashing through plump lips in an honest smile.

"Yeah, officer,uh-just, uh, just saying goodbye to a friend," Sharky said stumbling uponwords on a higher rate than normal.

"Ah, well, sorryto interrupt, then." They gave a slight nod, dimples coming to life on awarm face, and they were gone, boots tapping against the wooden floor.

You saw Sharkyfollowing them with starved sight, eyes almost swaying with the cadence oftheir walking and a hard knot formed in your stomach.

It was clear as day.After all, you'd seen his whole shenanigans for a month, time long enough soyou could realize he had a crush, the size of a wild moose, on the JuniorDeputy.

Not much you coulddo, as much as it hurt.

You found your voiceamidst the inner turbulence. "Y'know man? You should pursue that,"you said with an almost complicit smile, wiping your tears.

Watching Sharkyambushed by feelings was a whole show. "What? Nah, you got it wrong,sweets- I mean they're a fucking cop, we're like natural enemies--"

You scoffed."Sure, man, whatever helps you sleep at night, still," you added,"they're really cute."

"The fuck you'retalking about, chica?"

"Oh, c'mon,don't be such a liar."

He remained silent fora few seconds before finally springing up, giving you a hand.

"You reallythink so?" He almost whispered.

Your illusions anddesires scattered in the air. But he was your friend, and if that was the bondthat should remain, you were determined to honor it.

"Yeah, man. Whoknows? Maybe that's your destiny right there."

#far cry 5 #sharky boshaw x reader #implied sharky boshaw x deputy #far cry 5 fanfiction #my writing #naro writes #requests #thank you so much for trusting me with this idea!#thiswesternfeeling

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cadavercowboy · 3 years

Text

Out Of Control

Pairing: Steve Kemp x Reader

Summary: Fighting your own demons is one thing. What happens when someone else’s are the ones dragging you down?

Word Count: 9.5k+

Warnings: Explicit content (18+ only). Implied kidnapping/imprisonment. Violence. Graphic descriptions of gore. Blood & injury. Cannibalism. Forced cannibalism. Mutilation & dismemberment. Murder. Steve is really unhinged. Dub-con/non-con elements (as always, please heed this warning). Degradation/degrading language. Thigh fucking. Vaginal fingering. Unprotected vaginal penetration. Forced orgasm. Creampie. Overstimulation.

A/N: Who is more insane and deranged: Steve Kemp or me? You decide. I know I always say I’m not sorry for what I write, but....I am a little for this one. Kinda. It’s more scary than sexy, I just needed to get it out of my system. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ If gore, violence, murder, and graphic descriptions of mutilation & cannibalism are not your thing, feel free to skip this one. I promise I will not take any offense because this fic is definitely not for everyone. I’m simply just being a goblin again.

They say everyone has their share of troubles and nobody is perfect, but you can’t help feeling like you’d been dealt a particularly shitty hand in life. Popped out the womb and God said ‘fuck this person, specifically’. You’re a real smorgasbord of issues: traumatic childhood, emotionally damaging parents, mental illness, self-destructive coping mechanisms, general lack of purpose or motivation to exist as a productive member of society. Now you wouldn't exactly consider yourself a posterchild for the very definition of ‘fucked up’, but definitely ‘in need of therapy’, at the very least. Surely you could be much worse off. You could be an asshole, a criminal, a murderer even.

Better yet, you could be a Steve. Trolling dating apps in search of victims to seduce, drug, kidnap, eat, and then kill. At least your only victim is yourself. Your fucked up has nothing on Steve’s fucked up, that’s for sure. You’ve certainly never had someone chained up in your basement, waiting to be chopped up and sold like a tender little lamb sent for slaughter. A small source of consolation, you suppose.

In truth, you had never planned to escape Steve’s wicked clutches; didn’t imagine you could. You’d never even given the matter much thought considering your fate had already been sealed and you’d even come to accept it in a way. The man was too smart, too meticulous, and too careful to ever leave that window of opportunity open wide enough for you to sneak through. Until tonight. The window of opportunity hadn’t just been opened for you, it had been ripped from its framework and in its wake remained a gaping hole you’d be stupid not to take advantage of. You never considered fleeing from Steve before tonight, and now you never will again.

It’s stupid. It is so fucking stupid. And you know it. But it’s too late. There’s no going back now; it simply isn’t possible. When he’d released your sore wrists from the uncomfortable cuffs, he had clumsily dropped the key. How could you see his bent form as he retrieved it as anything but a chance to make your break? Your knee moved with a mind of its own, the hard bone of your patella colliding harshly with the side of Steve’s skull and sending him reeling. The blow had dazed him just long enough for you to snatch one of the cuffs and ensnare his thick wrist in a prison once reserved specifically for you. Your hands shook wildly, though still somehow you managed to engage the lock and ensnare him.

“No!” he yelps as he begins to recover from your jarring assault. “No, no, no, no, NO!”

By the end of the rapidly chanted repetition, he’s absolutely screaming. You stumble slightly as Steve stirs unsteadily and gets to his feet where he wobbles momentarily. His head must be spinning — you imagine — given how hard you smashed him in the skull, but you don’t have a second to waste figuring out how much damage you’ve done. As you back away towards the open door, Steve snarls viciously and lunges for you like a rabid fucking animal.

He almost manages to grab you, stopped only by the single cuff around his wrist that jerks him back with a grunt. He pulls and yanks violently, nearly dislocating his own shoulder as he endeavors to get his hands on you. You find yourself questioning the integrity of the chain links that serve as the single thing keeping you safe from him. Flailing wildly, he’s spitting mad and practically howling; the thick veins in his neck and along his temples bulge and shift under his skin when he screams, teeth bared and gnashing fiercely as fire rages in his hateful glare.

“No! Goddammit! You fucking bitch!” The words tear from his throat with a menacing growl that chills you down to the marrow of your bones. “I’m gonna cut your fucking heart out.”

The threat sends you fleeing; even knowing that Steve probably isn’t going anywhere any time soon could never be enough for it not to frighten you. Your socked feet slip on the wooden surface as you climb the staircase and you stop for a brief moment to rip the cotton garments from your limbs. The handle of the door at the top of the stairwell turns mercifully in your sweaty palm and you tumble to your knees with a cry when the blockade gives way easily.

Sprinting down the dark hallway, you consider heading for the kitchen in search of a weapon for protection, although you decide against it in favor of putting as much distance between yourself and the shrieking, cursing man downstairs. You’d also like to find some shoes and maybe something more substantial than the thin, scratchy hospital gown covering you, but there’s no time.

When you reach the front door, you’re horrified to find it locked. No matter how much you fiddle and flick the mechanism, it won’t fucking budge. You drop the socks you’re still holding onto — for whatever reason — and claw desperately at the immovable handle. The keypad above the handle lights up with an eerie blue glow and your fist connects with the rubber buttons as you screech in frustration. You don’t have time to figure out Steve’s code and any other exit requires you to descend back into the hellish house, which you will not be doing.

Spotting a carved concrete statue beside the doorway, you heave it into your arms with only a slight struggle. Once you have a decent grip on the small but surprisingly hefty sculpture, you swing your arms back then forwards, using the momentum to toss the ridiculously heavy object through the decorative panel of frosted glass beside the door. The stone statue destroys it easily, leaving a gaping hole of shattered glass behind. Reaching for your discarded socks, you wrap them snugly around your knuckles and set to work knocking away the sharp shards of glass to create an opening large enough for your body to fit through. The edges nick the back of your hand and blood soaks into the white cotton barrier.

A chilling yell echoes from the basement and the sound is so enraged and demonic that your stomach drops and your eyes well with tears. You work faster as you begin to panic, your hands shaking and your knees hurting when you drop right into the pile of broken glass. And then you hear it.

Footsteps.

Oh god, fucking footsteps. It can’t be. You have to be imagining this. Dread crushes your chest and wrings your stomach so hard you heave dryly. No longer punching carefully at the razored edges of your only avenue of survival, you smash haphazardly at the glass until your hands are shredded and pouring blood.

You begin to sob, screaming through the tears while you drag yourself through the opening, ignoring the sensation of gouging slices along your spine and shoulder as you toss your body out onto Steve’s doorstep. Blood seeps from your wounded hands and back while tears pour from your eyes, blurring your vision even further under the yellowed floodlights as you crawl swiftly until you can gather the composure to get to your feet. The instant your soles make contact with the chilly stone, you run. You run for your fucking life.

It’s the first taste of fresh air you’ve had in weeks and while the cool temperature of the air is biting, it has never felt so fulfilling for your lungs to be engulfed in flames. Throat burning with each panted breath and eyes stinging as the wind whips past you, you run blindly in no particular direction. You just want to get away. And as your bare feet pound themselves raw on the pavement, you think perhaps you have.

There’s no possible way Steve had seen which way you ran and even if he had, it’s much too dark for him to track you down. With everything you have left, you sprint frantically and follow the thickly painted yellow line you can make out in the center of the road. You bawl as you run, tears of terror and relief pouring down your face as you search desperately for a car driving past or a neighbor nearby or anyone who can help you.

When finally your lungs ache so badly that you’re forced to slow your pace, you do your best not to collapse. Stopping is not an option now. There’s nothing else to do except keep going until you’re safe. Your aching feet protest every step you take, no matter how carefully you tread; your legs are on fire with the burn of muscles you haven’t used quite so much since highschool gym class. You make a mental note to get in better shape after this…just in case you have to outrun a cannibal again someday.

Beneath the shocking sound of the unhinged and maniacal laughter that bursts unbidden from your wind-chapped lips, you hear something much more petrifying. The distant thumping of shoes connecting with pavement. Running. Slapping. Slamming.

It’s growing louder. And heading straight for you.

You take off again, no longer aware of the way your entire body fights against the exertion. A dim light shines through the trees like a homing beacon; illuminating the silhouette of a curtained window, calling out to you and promising safety. Though it’s still far off, you have nowhere else to go. Hoping the light means there will be someone home who can rescue you from the monster in pursuit, you begin screaming so loudly it hurts.

“Help! Help me!” you wail. “Please! Please help me! Somebody help me!”

The words are strained and anguished, most of your lung’s capacity being depleted by the steady, sucking inhalations you take as you run. Steve’s footfalls echo in the empty night and you know he’s not far behind. You can’t even turn around to look because you don’t want to know how close he is now. It’s as if you’re caught in a terrifying dream, but unfortunately this is very real.

In the distance, you can finally make out the house you saw through the woods. If the lights on inside weren’t a good enough indication of someone being home, the elderly woman who stands on the porch certainly is. Her graying hair flows in the cool breeze and she wraps a cardigan around her frail shoulders as she scans her surroundings. She won’t stand a chance against Steve — who’s psychotic and teeming with savagery, brute strength, and a general lack of human morals — but if you can get behind a locked door at least it will give you enough time to phone the police and get yourself out of this once and for all.

You keep calling for help, your throat so raw you can taste the metallic suffusing of blood with every hollered word. The woman turns in your direction, her expression shocked — frightened, even — as you begin to emerge from the darkness. The tailing footsteps are closer now, so close you can almost feel his phantom fingers wrapping around you and wrenching you back to your personal hell. He’s so close you can hear his labored breaths and a fresh wave of tears spill down your cheeks.

“Please, oh God…please, I need your help!” you sob as you make your rapid approach.

She takes a weary step towards her front door which she’s left slightly ajar, her crooked fingers reaching for the knob as she tries to process what she is seeing. With your salvation only yards away, your knees begin to give out. You stumble and trip, your palms scraping on the pavement as your body drags along and you fight to get back on your feet.

The sounds escaping you are nothing more than incoherent babbles as you try nonsensically to get her to understand the peril you’re in. You can only imagine what a sight you are as you careen towards this poor woman and her home: bloodied, weeping, and frantic; all while dressed in a wrinkled old hospital gown. You must look insane. In keeping up with this night’s theme of being a waking nightmare, the woman who holds your very life in her hands swiftly tucks herself behind the safety of her front door and promptly slams it in your face the moment you flop onto the decrepit steps of her porch.

“No, no, no…please,” you wail horrendously, clawing your way towards the threshold. “Please, he’s going to kill me! You have to help me, please! God, please…let me in!”

“I’m going to call the police!” she calls through the door, her voice clearly shaken.

But you beg. You beg and plead and beg again…as if your life depends on it, because it does. Your beseeching carries on for a long while and you’re sure Steve will be upon you any second now. Your heavy head falls to the porch with a thud and you let out one final cry as you wrap your arms over your skull and ready yourself for certain death. You aren’t sure if it was the genuine and sincere panic in your words or simply the kindness of her heart, but you hear the hinges creak as the woman opens her door to you once more.

She looks down on you with pity, though her expression is still fraught with fear as she battles with the idea of letting you inside. Her wrinkled brow deepens with a furrow and before her shaky lips can fully open to utter a single word, a resounding thud shakes the porch beneath you. The woman can barely manage more than a fraction of the startled scream that emits from her parted mouth before a flash of black comes down on her.

Steve’s long legs extend over you, bracing on either side of your sprawled form as he reaches for the innocent woman, yanks her forward, and smashes her face into the doorframe. She’s instantly unconscious and her weight topples down on top of you. In the bustle, you claw your way out from under the woman’s body and on your hands and knees, you scramble for the stairs. But Steve halts your movement immediately, pressing the sole of his shoe to the middle of your back and crushing you under him.

A rush of air is forced from your lungs, the burden of Steve’s weight refusing to let you refill them. You gasp and cry, dragging yourself until tiny wooden splinters dig into your flesh, though you make no real progress. Steve allows you to writhe pathetically under his foot, but as black dots caress the edges of your vision, you have no choice but to give up.

“Look what you made me do,” he hisses from above, leaning down to grasp your hair and yank you upright.

Your scalp tingles under his harsh grip and you suck in a much needed breath as tears continue streaming from your eyes. He shoves you towards the old woman, holding your face mere inches from hers as he forces you to observe the deep, bloody gash marring her pale forehead.

With a hand still holding you, Steve delves his fingers into the woman’s silvery locks and lifts her as if she weighs nothing. Toting each of you in either hand, he plants his feet and adjusts his grip before he begins dragging you into the stranger’s house. The woman’s limbs flop limply over your legs and you choke back a sob as you shove her away and begin scratching at Steve’s hand.

It seems to have no effect, no matter how ferociously you dig your nails into his knuckles or squeeze your fingers around his wrist. You’ve seen great displays of strength from him before, though nothing quite like this. Fueled entirely by seething rage, Steve manages to easily drag two fully grown women into the brightly lit kitchen where he deposits you both onto the cold tile floor. He drops the other woman with a discourteous thud and flings you forward in front of him so he can glare at you with a fierce disgust and distaste glowing in the empty depths of his eyes.

He steps over you for the second time tonight, on a course for the countertop across the room. For only a moment, you consider running again, but you know you don’t stand a chance. There is no escaping Steve. When he reaches for the handle of the chef’s knife protruding from the wooden block and removes it with a dramatic flair, you know you definitely don’t stand a chance. You are going to die here tonight.

Steve turns on his heel, his steps slow and sure as he admires the blade of the knife almost lovingly. He’s making his way towards you, forcing you to press your back up against the face of the cupboards in a poor attempt to escape the approaching man. Steve stops between your bare feet and looks down for a long, uncomfortable moment. And then he’s in your face, kneeling before you with one strong hand wrapped around the back of your neck and the other digging the knife frighteningly close to your jugular.

“It’s your turn, sweetheart,” he whispers, twisting the blade so that the very tip nicks your skin.

As blood trickles down your neck, so too do the tears that squeeze from your shut eyelids. You can’t look him in the eyes while he kills you. You deserve better than the frigid, eviscerating evil that lies deep within him being the last thing you see before you die.

“Kill her.”

Your eyelids fly open at that. Steve’s expression is amused, his own stare flickering with joy when he sees the horror and disbelief written all over your face. Your eyes scream ‘absolutely not’, but not Steve’s. Oh no, not Steve’s.

His sapphire eyes come to life then, blazing with unadulterated glee over what’s to come. You’re going to do this with him, for him…and you’re going to love it. He’ll make sure of that. He salivates at the very thought. His blood pumps fiercely with the anticipation of watching you reach your full potential all because of him. You’re going to be so good.

“Take this,” he murmurs, wrapping his fingers around your wrist and shoving the knife into your clammy palm. “And kill her.”

A distorted, pained mewl ekes from you and you force your lips shut around it. Your heart is in your throat as Steve presses the warm handle more firmly into your flesh. He watches you while his thumb rubs gently and soothingly along your wrist. It’s then you notice the way he cradles his other hand close to his chest and you spot the bluish hue of his swollen skin. He’d broken the joint of his own thumb to slip his binds and chase after you. The feral level of his desperation to not let you escape him astounds you.

When Steve notices you make no effort to take possession of the proffered weapon, he sighs and settles into his squatted stance. The knife slides out of your limp grasp and he holds it tightly in his fist, the blade angled towards the ground as he observes you with disapproval coloring his impatient stare.

“She saw you. She saw me,” Steve points out. “She can’t live now. She’ll go to the police.”

“No. No, she won’t,” you insist with a sniffle, shaking your head ardently. “We can just leave and she…she won’t even remember what happened. Please, she’s innocent, Steve.”

Steve’s mouth flattens into a saddened line as he shakes his head, too. You flinch when he lifts the knife and gestures towards the front door, the sharp blade swinging past your face and coming uncomfortably close to cutting you.

“There’s cameras.”

The succinct way he declares it puts an end to any desperate argument you might try to offer. His decision is final and there’s no way around it. The woman has to die. You don’t want any part of this and you begin to cry at the idea that you may be given no other choice.

“Hey, hey…look at me,” Steve bids, his hand pushing gently under your chin until you obey. “It’s okay. I know you’re sorry. We can fix this.”

You nod weakly, thinking perhaps Steve means that he isn’t going to force your hand and make you murder someone. But when he tries once more to place the godforsaken knife into your hand, you realize how naïve you are to think he’s going to let you get away with what you’ve done. With a shuddering inhale, your face twists in agony as you shake your head and cry even harder. Now Steve’s patience with you has really run out.

“Sweetheart,” he says coldly, teeth gritted with barely restrained fury. “Take…the fucking knife…and kill her.”

Peering around him at the unconscious woman, a wave of nausea rolls through you and your gut tightens with aversion. There’s no way you can do this. You’re not like Steve, you are utterly incapable of hurting someone like that. Aren’t you?

“No. Steve, please. I can’t,” you whimper.

“Get up,” he barks as he reaches for you. “Get the fuck up.”

You whimper in fear, curling up and trying to escape his hold while narrowly avoiding the blade of the knife he still holds. He’s too quick and far too strong for you to fight back and you’re yanked upwards and shoved harshly into the cold surface of the fridge. The frigid steel chills your skin through the separated back of your hospital gown and you gasp at the shocking sensation. Steve angles the knife against your throat as his hand tangles in the material of your gown and he traps you beneath his weight. At this point, you’re sobbing uncontrollably.

“Shut up. Stop crying,” he hisses with no other emotion but pure rage.

“Don’t do this.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

Your crying only serves to further piss him off and his anger is evidenced by the threatening way he digs the knife into your throat. Blood trickles from the small slice he creates with the force of the pressure he exerts. Mucus drips unimpeded from your nose and tears soak every inch of your face as you choke on the raucous howls that escape you. You’re crushed under the heft of the man pinning you in place and the heaviness of your current circumstance.

“Stop fucking crying!” he screams, his voice booming so loudly that it rattles your eardrums. “You did this. This is your fault! And now you’re gonna fuckin’ fix it!”

Steve gives you a jarring shake before pushing away and tossing the knife onto the countertop of the kitchen island; the blade clatters with an echo as it skids across the surface. You watch in horror as he gathers the old woman into his arms and lifts her flailing form briefly, then dumps her onto the counter with a sickening, meaty thud. Her head is positioned at the edge closest to you, the rest of her body sprawled haphazardly across the marbled top.

He grabs the knife again then rounds on you, snatching your wrist and jerking you in his direction. You’re shoved towards the island and the hard edge digs uncomfortably into your belly as you slap your hands down to stop your momentum; your fingers tangle in the woman’s long, white locks and the stringy hair feels repulsive against your digits.

Steve is behind you in an instant, the heat of his sweater-covered torso pressing warmly into the bare skin of your back as he boxes you in with his muscular arms. The curve of his strong biceps crush against your own arms, disallowing you any space to move or escape. This time his long fingers curl around your own, giving you no choice but to hold onto the knife.

“Go ahead,” he demands breathlessly. “You can do it.”

Your body shakes feverishly and bile riles in your throat, your own fear and disgust threatening to suffocate you. No matter how hard you push against him, Steve refuses to let you put any distance between yourself and the elderly woman. Wriggling in his hold, your fingers battle to extend and drop the blade, but Steve’s hands are much stronger than your own. He waits until you stop fighting him before he lets go, utilizing his free hands to roll up the soft sleeves of his sweater before he takes hold of your wrist and directs your hand so that you hold the knife just above the woman’s throat.

Her chest rises and falls gently, her breaths slow and shallow. Your hands quake so badly you almost can’t hold onto the handle of the knife. Steve pushes your arm lower and that’s when you tense, resisting his silent directions. A subtle gag ripples along your esophagus and you swallow hard to keep it at bay.

“I can't. Steve, I can’t do this,” you mumble. “Please, don’t make me do this.”

Steve’s fingers constrict around the delicate bones of your wrist and the tip of his sharp nose drags along the skin behind your ear, prompting a horrified chill to course through you. He exhales hotly against the side of your neck.

“You’re doing this. Because if you don’t, I will plunge that knife into your chest,” he promises darkly. “And then I’ll kill her, too. So either she dies or you both do.”

He senses your hesitation immediately and something in him snaps, he’s had enough of your disobedience. With your wrist still in his grasp, Steve wrenches your hand upwards towards your own chest and twists until the knife’s blade presses painfully right above your heart. His other hand twists into your hair and tilts your head back at an odd angle so you’re forced to meet his vacant, black eyes.

“Is that what you want?!” he shouts fiercely. “You want me to fucking kill you, huh?!”

Spit flings from his mouth as he screams at you, the droplets collecting across your cheek though you can barely feel it through the tears already moistening the flesh. The sharp tip of the knife digs uncomfortably between the ridges of two ribs and you can already feel the blood soaking into the gown you wear. Your body droops as your knees threaten to collapse, but Steve keeps you upright as he continues berating you for what you’ve done; insisting you face the consequences of your actions. All it would take is one swift, firm movement and Steve will end your life. Though it would be somewhat of a relief, you’re not ready to die. Not like this.

“Okay, I’ll do it!” you bleat, the words slicing like razors across your tongue.

If there were any other way out of this, you would take it. But Steve is relentless and — loathe as you are to admit it — apparently you are in fact capable of murdering someone to save your own ass. Mentally, you catalogue all the reasons that might somewhat justify you doing so.

Most importantly, the woman is out cold and she won’t feel a thing, though that barely eases your conscience. She’s significantly older and thus has lived more of her life than you have; it only seems fair that she be the one to perish when you still have so much left to experience. Though none of these things negate the fact that she’s only in this position because of you. She is paying the ultimate price for choices you’ve made. Still, the reality remains that she’s going to die no matter what and you see no reason why you should suffer the same fate. You have to do this.

With Steve’s hands directing yours, the edge of the blade lays gently across the woman’s throat. Her soft, warm exhales brush past your arm and you clench your eyes shut as you take a steadying breath. You can feel her slipping closer and closer to consciousness and you know time is running out; you certainly don’t want her to suffer so you must act fast. As you apply slight pressure to the knife, your stomach churns with the thoughts that fill your mind.

This is probably someone’s mother, sister, grandma, friend. Fuck that, she’s a person. You don’t believe you’re about to do this; you can’t. It’s not too late to turn the knife on Steve instead and save both of your lives from this evil, perverted animal.

“Like this,” Steve breathes down your neck. “Straight across.”

You whimper as he makes you press the knife more firmly and starts to drag it across the woman’s flesh. Blood blossoms from the shallow wound and begins to trickle down the sides of her neck where it eventually settles in a growing puddle beneath her. Steve adds more pressure as you approach the side of her throat where you know her jugular vein lurks just beneath the surface.

“Harder,” he practically gasps, fingers tightening around your trembling hands.

A quivering inhale races into your lungs as you gouge the blade through the woman’s skin and blood bubbles out in a sickening, thick stream. Steve tenses behind you, his body enveloping yours as you struggle to deepen the wound you’ve created.

“Just like that,” he praises, voice deep and raspy. “That’s good.”

As the dark ruby liquid flows out, it begins to spill over the edge of the counter where it hits the tiled floor with a barely audible splash. You feel tiny droplets starting to coat your shins as the stream leaks steadily. There’s so much blood that you’re starting to smell it in the air and it shows no signs of slowing or stopping. You weep silently as you watch on, your constricted throat tightened so ferociously with odium that not a single sound can sneak past. Before long, you notice the way the woman’s chest no longer swells with breaths and a stuttered breath finally escapes you.

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Steve states softly, nudging the arm that hangs limply at your side as he moves around to the other side of the island.

You wonder how he knows whether or not the woman is dead, but upon second thought you simply chalk it up to experience. Now that you’ve done as he asked and she’s dead, you begin to process exactly what you just did. The knife falls to the counter with a heavy clunk and you brace your hands on the blood-slicked edge as you grow dizzy. You sway unsteadily and though Steve speaks to you, you’re unable to make out the words he says. Your vision swims so badly you cannot see him nor can you see the bloodied corpse laid out before you. Nausea threatens to flip your stomach and you’re grateful that it’s mostly empty.

There’s a vague awareness of pressure against your face, something soft and warm, but you can’t even focus on it as you fight to stay conscious. You’re being shaken, though it has no effect on you. Not until you’re hit with a massive wave of something ice cold and wet do you finally come to. Frigid water sluices down your cheeks and drips from your eyelashes as you make your way back from a near-catatonic state. Before you stands Steve; an empty glass in one hand and a massive meat cleaver in the other.

“You’re gonna want to pay attention to this,” he utters blandly, beckoning you to stand beside him on the adjacent side of the island.

Your shuffling steps are awkward and heavy, but you do as he requests. He reaches around you for the knife you’d dropped earlier and hands it to you, pleased when you accept it with no opposition; you’re too stupefied to resist his vile supplications anyhow.

“It’s easier to cut through the skin and muscle around the joints before you separate them,” he begins, launching into a petrifying rant without even an ounce of concern towards your frazzled and frightened state. “If you go right through the joints, it’s less work than sawing through the bones. But you probably aren’t strong enough anyway, so I’ll do that part. Just need a good sharp knife.”

He offers his assistance with a teasing smile while brandishing the large cleaver, as if you’re holding a completely normal conversation with one another. You only wish your brain had refused to make sense of what he’s saying to you.

“Why would you…” you cannot even find the words to finish the detestable thought.

“We gotta do smaller pieces. Too hard to move ‘em when they’re still whole,” he explains, his tone casual and pleasant though his words are a stark contrast. “Here, like this. I’ll show you.”

He pries the knife from your clenched fist, ignoring the sheen of sweat that coats the handle. Adjusting the position of the woman’s arm, he frees it from the sleeve of her cardigan and aligns it next to her body, then flips her palm so her limb lies as flat as possible. With no hesitation, Steve stabs the knife into her wrist then brings the blade down at an angle. The motion brings about a childhood memory of the way your father would plunge knives into the heads of lobsters to kill them, though even that had been far less gruesome.

Blood leaks from the cut Steve creates along the woman's limb and he expertly carves between the bones; all of his experience has certainly honed his butchery skills. You nearly fall to your knees again when he slips his fingers into the wound and pries the skin apart, revealing the edges of her ulna and radius; you’re given a perfect view of the joint inside her wrist, but you have to look away after a few seconds. Though you can’t watch, you’re still forced to hear the sound of Steve slamming the cleaver through the joint and you flinch when the blade clashes loudly against the marble countertop.

“See what I mean? Easier when you aim for the joint,” he asserts proudly, not even realizing that you’re no longer watching him as he works.

The moist fingers around your elbow draw your attention back to Steve and you put on a brave face as you take his proffered knife for the umpteenth time tonight. You just tell yourself to shut your mind off and do as he tells you; over and over you attempt to convince yourself that it’s just an animal, just a piece of meat. An animal dressed in a cardigan. An animal with thick silver hair. An animal wearing expensive perfume and golden jewelry. You’re gagging again. Tears drip freely down your face even if there’s no point in crying.

“Start here,” Steve instructs as he steps behind you once more and guides your hands towards her elbow.

You refuse to look down at the bloody stump at the end of her arm; too absorbed in the way the knife is already splitting the first few layers of skin as Steve takes control of your movements. Blood still flows, but with the woman’s heart no longer pumping, it comes out like a thinned, crimson molasses now. He lets up slightly and allows you to work through the flesh on your own, although you begin to saw weakly at her arm so he stops you.

“Not like that. Apply more pressure,” he whispers sternly, his body bumping against yours as he reaches around you. “With a good knife, you don’t have to saw through it like that. Should go through like butter if it’s sharp enough.”

Suddenly, you can’t get your hands to move at all. You’re blubbering like an idiot as reality comes crashing down. You’ve killed someone…a completely innocent person. And now you’re cutting them up into pieces. There’s no way this is happening to you.

Steve takes a harsh grip of your upper arms in an attempt to redirect your focus to the task at hand, but his insistence only makes you cry more. You try to step back and your shoulders crash against his firm chest, though he’s still not letting you go. Even when you begin flailing and begging, he holds firm. Your head whips back and forth until he wraps a hand around your throat and you’re forced to plant your skull against his shoulder and heed his words if you intend to keep breathing.

“Calm down,” he insists, raising his voice to be heard over your ballistic babbling. “Take a deep breath.”

You do so, hiccupping loudly as you struggle to compose yourself. He allows you several minutes to get it all out of your system before he begins to grow impatient.

“That’s enough. Either you can do this, or I can,” he growls. “And you won’t like what happens if I have to do it. Do you understand?”

With a slight nod, you stifle the sobs that wrack your body and try to relax under Steve’s relentless hold. Once you’ve settled to an acceptable level and stand there a sniffling, shivering mess, you press harder on the knife and find that he’s right. The blade glides through with ease and you only have to carve back and forth a few times before you’ve hit the bone. Your face twists into a sickened grimace when you do, but Steve merely groans, his hips bumping yours from behind. He takes hold of your waist and steps to the side, taking you with him as he moves you both closer to the woman’s head. His hands lay overtop of yours as he instructs you to repeat your process with her shoulder joint.

“It’s harder when their skin is loose and elastic like this,” he purrs against your neck. “But it’s your first time, so it won’t be perfect anyway. You’re doing well.”

Ignoring the pang of fulfillment his words procure, you allow Steve’s hands to guide yours as you slice under the woman’s arm and up towards her collarbone. There’s more muscle here so it requires more strength to get through the thicker flesh. Your body twists with the exertion and as you turn you feel something pressing against your thigh. Steve’s breath hitches and he ruts against you, leaving no doubt in your mind about what you’re feeling.

“That’s it,” he pants, a subtle shiver rattling his body. “Yeah, you’re doing so good.”

As blood pours from the gaping lesion you leave behind, some of it washes over your joined hands. The wet warmth burns like fire as it soaks between your fingers, though Steve clearly does not share that notion. Instead, he lifts his blood-slicked hand to his lips and ventures a gentle lick before wrapping his tongue around the digits and sucking them clean. You gasp at the sight — absolutely mortified — and Steve releases a soft moan, pressing his growing erection more firmly against you. With his eyes closed in ecstasy, he licks his lips and tints them red with the sheen of blood he leaves behind. Your hands freeze, hovering just above the counter as the knife dangles loosely and your mind reels.

“Don’t stop,” Steve implores. “Keep going.”

At the sound of his jingling belt buckle, you whirl around again, half-facing Steve now but still trapped in the confines of the arms that bracket your body. You want to say something, though the threat of a glowering warning in those redolent eyes swiftly stops you. The other bloody hand lifts behind your head where you cannot see it and threads into your hair, wrenching you back around to look at the bleeding woman.

“I said keep going,” Steve bites out.

Your hands move with uncertainty as you continue carving around the oozing limb and the next thing you know, Steve’s lips are connecting warmly to the side of your neck. He peppers the skin with soft pecks and whispered words of encouragement, painting a faded trail of blood as he journeys towards your shoulder. You can’t help the instinctive way your neck cranes so that you can lean towards his exploring lips. A hand reaches around to palm the surface of your stomach as the other dives beneath the waistband of his underwear through the gaping zipper of his pants.

“Do you wanna taste her?” Steve wonders lowly.

Before you can consider answering the deplorable question, Steve is sweeping your lips into a ravenous, metallic kiss. A sound gurgles in the back of your throat and you try to pull away, however he latches his teeth into your lower lip and you dare not move lest you injure the sensitive flesh. You reciprocate Steve’s heady kiss only out of fear for what he may do otherwise; plus keeping your mouth occupied like this will prevent him from shoving those bloodied fingers between your lips. So you focus on this kiss itself and not the faint flavor of coppery undertones you detect in the taste of his saliva.

Your hips smash roughly against the sharp lip of the countertop as Steve gathers either side of your loose gown in his hands and lifts the bunched fabric until you’re bared to him; your plain and unappealing panties on full display. His damp lips trail from your mouth to your cheek when you turn away nervously and try to shift from under his touch. Your arms vibrate with the force you exert attempting to shove yourself further from the body only inches away as the heat of Steve’s erection bleeds into the flesh of your ass. He tilts his pelvis, pushing against the plush cushion of your backside with a strangled groan.

“Keep going,” he utters for the third time, his tone desperate as he thrusts your hands back towards the shoulder of the arm you’ve partially detached.

“Steve, what are you doing?”

“Shhh,” he placates.

The scent of blood surrounds you again as your senses are heightened by the adrenaline flooding your veins. Every touch of Steve’s hands is electrifying in the worst way, every rushed breath screaming past your ears like a thundering locomotive. As your stained knife makes contact with the squishy, bloody skin again, Steve angles his hips so that the length of his throbbing cock slots between your bare thighs. A sticky trail of pre-cum clings to your skin as he pushes along your flesh and pleasures himself to the sight of you mutilating someone under his command.

Every one of the bumps and ridges created by the prominent veins that decorate his member are evident against your sensitive thighs and you struggle to focus on what you’re doing. All you can think about is the hot, hard dick slipping in and out with slow, sensual friction and the obscene noises Steve is making behind you. You’re much too terrified and stunned to stop him or say anything, especially when this is a perfect indication of just how unhinged he truly is. A single glance down alerts you to just how large he is, as well; you spot the swollen, reddened head of his cock peeking out from between your legs.

Swallowing thickly, you keep your eyes firmly on your shaking hands and what little progress they make dragging the knife along the woman’s arm. You’re managing well enough with Steve’s sexual ministrations until he hooks two fingers into the gusset of your panties and pulls them viciously aside to glide the pads of his fingers over your folds. The sensation shocks you so much that you instinctually latch onto the first thing your hands can reach. Unfortunately, that happens to be the arm of the woman you’re currently mutilating. Her skin is unnaturally cool to the touch and you almost scream at the horrifying texture of her flesh.

Steve mistakes your cry for one of enjoyment and chooses to twist his wrist and shove two slender fingers into your unprepared channel. The more he works the long digits against your tender flesh, the wetter you become. You’re terrorized by your own body’s response though you remind yourself it’s just that: a response; a natural reaction to what he’s doing. There’s no way you could possibly accept any other explanation for the moisture that collects upon his exploring fingers. When you’re so worked up that you fear you’re about to embarrass yourself by doing something as shameful as having an orgasm, Steve’s fingers slide free from your slippery pussy.

You’re relieved only for a moment when the intrusion is swiftly replaced with something much thicker and far more insistent. The head of his cock presses hotly against your dripping entrance and you raise up onto your toes to ease the burn that blooms around the sheer size of Steve’s length. He allows you no reprieve however, and he’s soon splitting you open around his girth, pulling you down until every inch of him slips slowly into you.

It’s hopeless to keep up the charade of endeavoring to continue your mutilation and you finally drop the knife as Steve jostles you with a particularly rough thrust and causes you to whine loudly. With every harsh slam of his hips, he knocks another wanton sound from your lips until your throat begins to itch with soreness. Your eyes roll back and shame blankets you as your nerve endings sing with rapture. The plunging drag of Steve’s cock is almost painful with the way it pushes you to your absolute limit, imploring your body to accept every inch of him; your pussy has never felt so full and it steals the very breath from your lungs.

When Steve begins to fuck you savagely, you’re forced to brace yourself against the countertop with your face inches from the corpse of the woman you killed. You slam your eyes shut and block out the image of her lifeless expression as Steve hammers into your pliant body. He’s grunting and moaning above you, the sounds mingling with the wet sucking that emanates from your connected flesh as he pumps you until you’re full to the brim and your pussy stretches sorely around the thick base of his cock. Streams of fluid trail down your thighs and you’re shocked by how wet you are.

“You like getting fucked like this?” he snarls from over your shoulder as he drives his dick so deep and hard that your teeth clash together and you grimace at the intensity of it. “Yeah, you’re my good girl, huh? Hear how soaked you are for me? You did so good, I know you’re gonna be even better next time.”

His words rip you from your clouded thoughts of pleasure and your eyes whip open. God, you hope there is no next time. This isn’t who you are and certainly not who you’re going to be. It was just a punishment, just a one time thing. You aren’t a killer like him. Panic courses through you and you clench involuntarily around Steve’s pistoning cock. He grunts ferally and his hands grip your hip and your shoulder, holding you in place as he fucks you with all his might. Your hands clench into fists with nothing else to hold onto and the movement cracks the dried blood covering your cuts from earlier until droplets seep from the tiny wounds.

A garbled scream tears its way out of your throat and prompts Steve to silence your sounds as he mercilessly pounds your abused pussy. He shoves three fingers into your open mouth and depresses your tongue harshly. You can taste the slight tang of your own fluids, though it’s not quite strong enough to mask the distinct flavor of blood that still remains on his skin.

You’re still carrying on and whining and Steve has had enough of your sounds so he shoves his fingers further between your jaws. The tips of his slick digits are nearly touching the back of your throat and you gag violently. Drool drips freely from your mouth, streaming down Steve’s forearm and flinging across the counter as he pummels your body with reckless abandon. As he nears his release, Steve fits another finger into your mouth until you’re outright choking on them; you’re sure you're about to vomit all over his hand.

“Fuck...gonna cum,” he murmurs in warning. “Gonna fill that tight little pussy.”

He leans forward, crushing your chest to the hard surface before you. Your face is touching the woman’s chilled skin and you sob; both in disgust and in distress as Steve rips every ounce of pleasure he can from your body. With his fingers still nestled wetly in your mouth, he angles your head back at an uncomfortable angle and you meet his frenzied gaze before he’s leaning in to lick the deluge of saliva off of your face. He pumps his hips brutally only a few more times before a hellish yelp rings through the room and the warmth of his sticky cum splashes inside you.

Steve’s whole form vibrates with his release, his body curling over you and his strong thighs twitching with each wave of satisfaction that courses through him. He holds you tightly for a long while until his muscles finally relax and the last spurt of his seed flows from his pulsing cock. You pant weakly around the hand still shoved in your mouth as tears spring from your eyes, relieved that this is over and he’s done with you. Except he isn’t.

Saliva pours from your lips when Steve pulls his hand free and then his fingers are sliding between your soaked thighs and under the ruined material of your panties. His cock is still firmly seated within you and surprisingly hard; combined with the stimulation of his dripping fingers against your neglected clit, you’re already racing towards an intense orgasm.

“You gonna cum for me already?” he taunts, swirling achingly hard and fast over your bundle of nerves. “Gonna cum while I have you bent over the bitch you just killed, you sick fuck?”

You struggle in Steve’s hold, the sensation of his firm touch too much for you to bear. The gnawing burn is agonizing and you don’t want to cum from this; not in front of a fucking corpse and certainly not because of him. But you have no choice. Steve swivels his hips along with a particularly direct circling of his fingers and you all but explode around his drenched cock, your body releasing a flood of wetness over him that has him groaning against the shallow cut that trails along your shoulder. An alarming heat bursts between your weak legs and with a pathetic screech, you melt into Steve’s touch as you ride out your orgasm.

He doesn’t stop there though, and as his fingers continue working over your tingling flesh, you scream for an entirely different reason. The pressure is too much and it soon becomes painful. Your focus is pinpointed only on your overworked clit and more tears escape your eyes as Steve begins flicking his fingertips against you. You’re growing dizzy and moaning incoherently; you think you’re begging him to stop, but nothing that leaves your mouth means anything, you’re merely blathering stupidly.

Just when you think you could die from overstimulation, the pain gives way to pleasure and a cruel orgasm rips through every atom in your body. You’re wailing like a banshee as your muscles lock and cramp with the severity of your release and Steve’s softening cock is forced from your aching cunt with a disturbing flood of cum that dribbles down onto the floor between your feet.

“That’s what I thought,” Steve crows victoriously as he lets you go and allows you to collapse to the floor.

You’ve barely even caught your breath before he’s gripping your arm and tossing you aside, out of his way. He utters a dismissive command to stay put, but with the way you don’t expect to ever recover from what you just endured, he hadn’t needed to ask that of you.

Through the post-coital haze that surrounds you, there comes the sound of closets opening and closing. You’re too focused on the coolness that seeps from the hard tile floor and eases some of the hot ache in your spent muscles to wonder what he’s doing. Minute by minute, you claw your way out of the deep hole of exhaustion. When you hear the familiar sound of the cleaver smashing into the countertop again, you finally open your eyes.

The image of Steve is upside down from your fetal position on the floor, but you watch as he works with smooth and quick finesse to finish what you started. Every sick crunch of flesh and bone gnaws at your nerves and wriggles into your fatigued brain like nasty little worms. You don’t know how long you lay there watching and listening and denying everything you’ve been through tonight. How are you meant to cope with the things you’ve done, voluntarily or not?

“Well…not bad for your first time,” Steve admits suddenly with a tilt of his head as he glances down at you, holding up a portion of the woman’s dismembered arm. “Definitely not marketable, but practice makes perfect. Good thing I’m not very picky about my personal meats.”

He drops the chunk of flesh into a tupperware container with a dull thud and you realize what he means. The revelation has you rolling onto your back and observing him with a repulsed expression. Steve returns your stare, eyebrows raised in question and arms spread as if he can’t possibly fathom why you’re glaring at him like that.

“We can’t waste her,” he states with exasperation.

Your expression only grows more revolted when Steve slices a thin section of muscle from the woman’s body and pops it into his mouth like a bit of deli meat. He chews it thoughtfully as he watches you, jaw grinding against the morsel as he nods in begrudging approval. You watch him carving another slice, your mouth going dry when the flesh flops limply as he holds it between his fingers.

“Have you ever had steak tartare?” Steve wonders, turning towards you.

You know what’s happening even before he crouches over you. You’d been too wrung out to move earlier, but the way he approaches you so menacingly has you gathering all of your strength to sit up. Steve has grabbed the back of your head and pressed you firmly to a wall before you can crawl away, his eyes expectant as he waits for an answer. Your head is still shaking in denial when he places the sticky flesh to your mouth. You shake your head even harder, lips curled in and painfully clamped between your teeth.

“Open.”

The command is emotionless. Dark and unflinching. Leaving no room for your obstinance or disobedient stubbornness. Still, you can’t bring yourself to obey him; your lips remain firmly sealed.

“Open your fucking mouth,” Steve repeats, anger beginning to color the words.

He already knows you’re going to refuse, so he digs his thumb harshly into the pressure point hidden just below your earlobe and your mouth pops open beautifully. The gooey meat drags horribly over your lips as he lays it gently on your tongue and you flick your tongue to rid your mouth of the nauseating object. Steve shoves it further back, his fingers grazing your tongue as he shoves the chunk of flesh between your molars and forces your mouth shut around it. You whine out a desperate plea, wanting nothing more than to spit it out.

“Chew it,” he demands insistently, his hand still cupped under your chin just in case you decide to try something foolish.

You gag so hard your eyes water and saliva floods your mouth. When you bite into the muscle, a strange flavor fills your palate and it tastes slightly of blood. Bile burns your throat when you heave again, your body doing everything it can to fight you as your teeth mash the chewy, sinewy bit of meat. By the time you’ve pulverized the flesh, your body is shaking and your mouth is burdened with an excess of spit.

“Swallow it,” Steve instructs. “All of it. C’mon, you can do it. You’re gonna need all the strength you can get. We’ve gotta clean this place up before we head home.”

Something about the way he refers to it as ‘home’ really solidifies his level of insanity. It’s nothing but a prison, a real life hell. Paying no mind to his disturbing words, you do all you can to escape your own head. You’ll never get this down if all you keep thinking about is the way it feels — soft and stringy and fleshy. You have to think of anything else, but you’re too aware of what you’re eating.

Steve taps his fingers impatiently against your lips and you brace yourself. It takes a long time for your contracting throat to let up, but the moment it does, you force the wet hunk of meat down; it gets stuck halfway as your stomach heaves in protest but you swallow repeatedly until it’s gone and finally settles heavily in your gut. It hasn't gone down easy, but it’s nothing compared to the difficulty you have swallowing the reality of just how sadistic Steve is and the dawning realization that you’re now stuck with him and the aftermath of his depraved corruption. You only hope your crushing guilt eats you alive before he does.

Sebastian Stan Masterlist ✦ Writing Masterpost

#WHY DID I WRITE THIS AM I ACTUALLY LOSING IT LMAO #i also think it is important to note that i listened to the ymca on repeat for hours while i wrote this #so yes i think this is it for me besties….wave goodbye to my sanity!#ima need y’all the read the warning and then read them again bc this baby is kinda gnarly #literally do not even read this it's fine i promise #steve kemp #steve kemp x reader #steve kemp x reader fanfiction #steve kemp x reader smut #steve kemp smut #steve kemp fanfiction #fresh fanfiction #fresh spoilers #fresh #steve kemp x you #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan

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gemmassong · 7 years

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TLJ Thoughts

. Now that I’ve had a couple days to process, it’s time to put this down in writing and get everything I want said off my chest. I doubt anyone will read it since I’m not really a fandom known, but it will be good for me, so. :)

So I’m going to try and move in chronological order along with the movie. So first things first, the opening battle scene. I have so many issues with this scene. Not with the characters per se, but with the whole scene itself. The whole concept of dropping bombs on the dreadnought just bothers me so much, because bombs wouldn’t just fall on their own in the vacuum of space. They would reach the end of the ship’s presumable energy field, and then just float. They were very clearly not propelled downward by any force pressing them that way, and if they were designed to be magnetized to the metal of the dreadnought or something, that needed to be explained.

Also, the fact that there were three (THREE!) Star Destroyers just hanging out with the dreadnought doing absolutely nothing is absolutely nothing less than entirely shitty storytelling. We can figure one of those three Destroyers was likely the Finalizer, as Hux was manning the bridge of one in the beginning, before the Supremacy showed up. The Finalizer, which was established in TFA as absolutely loaded with guns and weaponry and not a ship to fuck with. And presumably, the two other Destroyers were of the same Resurgent class and armed similarly, since they were the same size and we know the Resurgent-class Destroyers are much larger than other classes. And yet, those massive warships did absolutely nothing to assist the dreadnought, they just sat there. This just serves to make, not just Hux, but the entire Order, look incompetent as fuck. And I don’t want my heroes to overcome incompetent villains. That’s just taking the easy way out in terms of writing.

One final point relating to the opening scene: the shield around the Resistance ship. Now I’m a fairly new sci-fi fan, so I could be wrong, but my experience with shields like that is that they often have refractory periods, though not always, but they do always require energy to maintain. And taking hits raises the amount of power they require to remain firm. Unless this is a shield that has no refractory period and takes no extra energy to maintain even when being bombarded by hits, then if all three Destroyers and the dreadnought, or later the Supremacy and all those Destroyers, had just concentrated fire on the Resistance ship they could have sapped the fueled reserves far more quickly and taken it out. Possibly me being nit-picky, but this wasn’t addressed at all and it irritated me.

Hyperspace travel. It seems fairly accepted among fans, and the laws of physics, that hyperspace travel takes more than a split second. The time you spend in hyperspace should be consistent with how far you want to travel. Thanks to the fuel reserve countdown we have a strict timeline for the movie: eighteen hours. Yet Rey is able to spend what seems to be roughly three days on the island with Luke, and then return to where the Resistance is, all within that eighteen-hour timeframe. And we know there are no possible skips around in time because of her scenes connecting with Kylo. So... I would really like that all explained, please.

Leia using the Force to draw herself back into the ship after being spaced bothers me. As a fan of her, of course I was happy to see her survive. As a logical human being, even with the Force it makes absolutely no sense when even a split second outside the safety of the ship would have killed her; this bothers me to no end. Surviving in space is not a matter of holding your breath and getting back to safety. Its effects on the unprotected human body are immediate and devastating.

Okay, I have mixed feelings about the casino scene. On the one hand, I absolutely loved it. I absolutely loved Rose and everything we got to see through her during this scene. Being a fan of the gray morality of war we get to see so well in The Clone Wars series, I was so happy to see that grayness brought into play within a movie, because we see that it was both the Order and the Resistance/New Republic that gave those war profiteers their wealth. I honestly thought, for a little while, that they were going to give us definite reasons for why we should be rooting for the Resistance and hating the First Order. Now, I haven’t read the novelizations (yet), and neither have most fans. So while I imagine those reasons exist within the novels, we don’t get them in the movies. From strictly the movies, it seems like we are rooting for the Resistance and against the Order purely based on ‘these are the good guys, and these are the bad guys, and they are characterized as such’. I know they’re technically movies for children, so it’s likely a moot point, but I want to know why the Order thinks the Republic needs to be taken down, why they seem to have so much support despite being the bad guys, and what makes the New Republic so wonderful. Because, quite honestly, I don’t see democracy as an inherently good thing anymore, just look at the current disaster that is America. I want to know if the Republic really is a good thing for the galay, or if the Order has some genuine reason to be trying to take it down. I foolish thought the casino scene was an opening into showing us just that.

But then we moved right back into showing good and evil by shining a good light on the actions of the good character and a bad light on the bad characters. Example: the troopers are seen as inherently bad because they trust their captain and follow orders, trusting that they are following the plan in motion. But we see Poe being chastised for not blindly following Holdo when she gave her people no indication of what the plan was, when she had no logical reason to withhold that information. The only reasoning given is that the troopers follow orders without question, while Poe needs to believe in hope and trust even when he doesn’t know what’s going on and what the plan is. Same thing, in essence, being shown as bad in one light and ideal in another. Pretty damn contradictory, if you ask me.

I have the same issue as a lot of people with what was done with Luke’s character. I don’t ever believe Luke would draw his saber, even for an instant, on his sleeping nephew because he believed him irredeemable. Not when that boy saw light in Darth fucking Vader and refused to let go of it. Especially since there has to be considerably more light present in young Ben Solo than there was in Vader at that time. If this was Snoke subtly controlling Luke as well: well that needed to be expressed. If it was Luke sensing Snoke’s irredeemable darkness instead of Ben’s: that was piss poor storytelling and did not come off as that at all. If it was that Luke actually sensed darkness in Ben and considered killing him for a moment, I refuse to accept that characterization because it is so wildly out of character and goes against everything Luke is.

And let’s touch on the story aspect of that as well: it’s just fucking lazy. We know Ben was a neglected kid, that Leia and Han didn’t have enough time for him and were very possibly unnerved by his power at times. Adam has told us that. JJ Abrams has told us that. Foisting his turn to the darkside off onto Luke’s moment of weakness instead of addressing that Han and Leia, two absolutely wonderful people, could possibly be shitty fucking parents, is absolutely nothing more than lazy storytelling and a desire to take the easy way out, ruining a well-established character in the process by going entirely against everything he is.

Now for the fun stuff! Most of my gripes are storytelling related and not character related.

I left the theater absolutely elated. They’re giving Kylo a revenge arc. And while I imagine we’re likely to somehow still get a redemption arc in ep IX just because that’s what SW does, I couldn’t be happier that he’s getting a revenge arc first. As someone who was incredibly emotionally neglected for much of my childhood and teenaged years, all I wanted for him was to kill Snoke and then still turn his back on the people who hurt him so much, remain Kylo instead of Ben. I didn’t think I would see that happen, and it did, and I couldn’t be happier. Whatever happens in ep IX, I’m happy that I got that and I’ll be content.

And the Kylux shipper in me is happy as well. The Force-choking and shoving doesn’t bother me. They have always been enemies, in canon. I figured Kylo would do awful things to Hux at some point. Hell, he does choke Hux out in a lot of fics already, where it is not shown as something pre-established and consensual. Now it’s just canon. The fact that Hux continues to come back snarking at Kylo because he knows how important he is and that Kylo can’t get rid of him because Kylo doesn’t and can’t hold the loyalty of the troops and the Order as a whole makes me so excited to see them forced to work together in ep IX. I think Kylo will figure out pretty damn quickly he is not cut out for the role of Supreme Leader, and while he’ll hold it in title, I expect to see a lot of that power go to Hux. It’s the evil duo wreaking havoc and bitching at each other I wanted to see and didn’t think I would get. I expect Kylo to be the one to kill Hux eventually, and I’m okay with that, too. That’s the only ending for Hux I think I can be content with. I’d rather it be that than something unglorious like Phasma’s death was. He deserves to go out fighting, when he goes out.

In terms of fandom, nothing has changed for me. I may write Hux as a little more unhinged when he hasn’t slept and is under immense stress, a little more manic, but that’s the only change. I look forward to seeing all the new fics and writing my own and seeing all the ways people find to let them fall into comfort, and then love, with each other. I’ll take a damaged, imperfect relationship because they are damaged, imperfect people who still, even after ep VIII, balance each other out. So while I’m super minor and doubt I crossed anyone’s mind, don’t expect me to be leaving the fandom any time soon.

#TLJ spoilers #TLJ #Kylux #My thoughts #Feel free to come discuss with me if you want!#I know I have a more positive overall opinion than a lot of people so #It wasn't perfect but I enjoyed it and left the theater happy #Still lots of little nitpicky bitchings under the cut #As a (hopefully soon to be published) writer so many storytelling aspects irritated me

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lowat-golden-tower · 7 years

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Embracing Darkness

Alright, so, here it is. Boy even though the outline came to me like breathing, actually writing the thing out was a little hard. I haven’t written much Dark or Yandere so it was an experience balancing out my personal interpretation with those that I’ve seen on Tumblr and AO3. Took a lot of inspiration from @alcordraws, of course.

Including the idea for the fic itself. So go give them some love! It's gonna revolve primarily around Yandere and Dark, with cameos from the other egos. Though third person, just a heads up that the POV will be switching from chapter to chapter between the two, just so we can get a clue as to what exactly is going on in their heads. ;)

Without further ado, let’s get this crazy train rolling!

AO3 Mirror

Chapter 1: Discovery

Dark liked to think of himself as astute. Observant. Well aware of not only his surroundings, but those occupying them. It was a key aspect of being a manipulator. If he didn't have a grasp on all the details, every last puzzle piece, then that left room for surprises. The unexpected. Things that could trip up his charm and psychological cues and alert his target to the truth.

Yet, it took him an exhorbitantly unusual amount of time to realize something was off about one of his own egos. The beings who lived and worked at Egos, Inc.; seeking to maintain their respective footholds in their creator's community and avoid simply fading out of existence.

Granted, the ego in question had always been difficult to read. He wasn't predictable like the rest of them. His emotions, personality and goals all tended fluctuate wildly from one given moment to the next. Just when Dark thought he had the ego figured out, he'd switch on a dime for seemingly no reason at all. Sometimes Dark wondered if the ego was even more unpredictable than Wilford Warfstache himself. Now that was a terrifying thought.

No, Yandereplier was certainly one of the more volatile, malleable egos. It wouldn't be such a big deal, were it not for just how unstable the ego was. Try as they might to understand his triggers and avoid them like the plague, something new would inevitably set Yandere off. Understandably, that meant most of the egos gave him a very wide berth. Not that he seemed to mind.

Dark was not one of those egos. Dangerous or not, Dark didn't fear any of his fellow creations. Fear was a form of control, and admitting to or showing the emotion would give that control to whoever dared cause it. Dark would never allow it. He was in control. He controlled himself, his aura, the building and all the egos within it. He'd worked far too hard to let anyone pry that iron grip from his icy hands. That included Yandere.

However, something seemed more and more "off" about the ego with every instance of their meeting. Yandere was never invited to the board room, but he occupied the same building as Dark. They were bound to cross paths even if Dark preferred the cool, shadowed sanctity of his office.

Most often, it was a quick exchange in the numerous hallways. Occasionally, they'd be taking a meal in the break room at the same time. Yandere never stopped by to visit Dark, and Dark reciprocated that decision.

Recently, however, some of the egos had been calling "family meetings," of a sort. Dark would always scoff at the term, seeing as they were about the farthest thing from a family that a group of people could get. Yet he attended the droll things anyway just to make certain they weren't plotting anything against him, and to be sure no one died. It always tended to be chaos when more than a few egos got together in the same room.

Apparently, during these meetings grievances and ideas were meant to be aired out for group opinion and approval or dismissal. It was supposed to help stop unnecessary conflicts and arguments which tore threw parts of the building and would leave it in shambles. Dark hardly cared; he only listened for the information.

These meetings were what truly tipped him off to Yandere's odd behavior.

They didn't use the board room for these. They would gather outside if the day was nice, or in the break room, or occasionally one of the nice sitting rooms that came with the building. Once or twice the meeting was even hosted in the studio. This meant the egos could lounge wherever they pleased, with whomever they pleased. There were no real rules and it became quite clear very quickly which egos got along with each other.

The Googs would always form their tight knit square in a corner. Bing would be nearby with Bop at his shoulder. Silver, Ed, Dr. Iplier and King would form an amalgamous sort of band and clump into pairs or one big group depending on their moods. Bim hovered near Wilford, always, with the Jims close behind. Host obediently sat at Dark's right wherever he happened to be. Artiplier and Yandere were the odd ones. Sometimes they'd be off on their own, sometimes they would be huddled together, and sometimes Artie would decide he wanted to be near the Host for a meeting.

Inexplicably, when this happened, Yandere would sit on Dark's other side. He wasn't sure if Yandere was simply protective of Artie or feeling left out, but so long as the ego left him alone he didn't mind.

Dark had to wonder if the subtlety of the changes were the reason it took him so long to catch on. Yandere had various ticks and warning signs to him, but it required paying severe attention to every little twitch and blink. Dark didn't have the patience for that sort of thing when he'd much rather be absorbing details about the egos he could control.

Yet when Yandere began to twitch and fidget anxiously beside him during a particularly long and boring meeting, Dark decided it was time to delve into this peculiarity. At least it would be entertaining. Calling upon his most soothing voice, Dark probed at the younger ego with his aura while he spoke at a low volume. No need to disturb the proceedings. "Are you alright?"

Yandere flinched, head jerking to the side in a manner that looked almost painful. When he glanced to Dark, his eyes were wide; pupils shrunk down to the point it was a wonder he could see anything at all. The smile on his mouth was beyond strained. "Oh! Yami. Yes, I'm fine. Just a little tired from studying for my exams, ha HA ha HA ha...."

Dark slowly quirked a brow. Yandere's voice, while still sugary sweet, was clearly as tense as the rest of him. The words sounded forced past his teeth and his laugh wasn't the "adorable" giggle it tended to be. No, everything about the young ego beside him screamed "unhinged." Dark prodded a bit harder, attempting to ascertain the cause. "I know you must study hard. Are you sure there isn't anything else? Anything that might be... bothering you? Making you uncomfortable?" His dark eyes settled on Yandere's hands; his fingers twisting and tugging at his pleated skirt. "You're fidgeting."

Yandere burst out an uncomfortable laugh at that, immediately removing his hands from the garment entirely. The sound drew a glance or two from the nearest egos but for the most part went ignored. Outbursts from Yandere were nothing new. "Am I? Oh. Maybe I had too much caffeine this morning. It always gets me so excited, ne!"

Dark wanted to grimace at the contrivity of it all. He understood what it was like to try containing emotions that eventually burst forth from a cracked shell, but Yandere was terrible at it. Host's muttered narrations at his back had changed tune, and in his peripheral he noticed Artie was no longer paying attention to the meeting. He seemed concerned. Dark made a mental note and pressed on. His understanding of the situation was deepening. "You don't seem excited. You appear nervous, Yandere. Am I... making you uncomfortable?"

He leaned further into the ego's space, pressing down with his aura. Yandere had never shown fear towards Dark before, but maybe something had changed. It felt like the power he pushed at Yandere just kept going. Rather than stopping and ensnaring or engulfing the ego, it simply... drained away. Disappeared somewhere. Dark didn't like it. "You can be honest. I'll move, if you like."

Yandere's muscles were growing more tense with each passing second. He was crumpling, slumping beneath Dark's looming posture but not leaning away from him. He wasn't showing apprehension, but the anxiety was still there. Dark's ego was doing its job- or at least, he believed it was. Yandere's next words were forced past gritted teeth. "Yami, you don't scare me. I'm fine. I just... I just think I need some air! It's too stuffy in here, ha HA ha...." The corner of his mouth dipped into a steep, nearly pained frown.

"Yandere..." Dark weedled just a bit more of his power forward. He needed to know where it was going. He could feel the Host at his back, debating an interruption. Artie was poised with feet flat on the ground and hands on his chair. Even Wilford, across the room, was beginning to shoot Dark squinty-eyed looks. He'd have to back off soon. His icy fingers touched Yandere's quivering arm. "I don't think-"

Abruptly and without warning, Yandere gave an ear-piercing wail. Immediately, any ongoing conversations ceased and all eyes whipped around towards the source. Several of the egos were cringing away or still covering their ears. Dark felt a rush of energy slam into him with enough force to push him back away from Yandere, giving him the space he needed to leap up. Behind him, Host folded over on himself and Artie toppled out of his chair. A quick glance at Wilford showed the ego resting twitching fingers on the gun at his belt.

Yandere stood, every last muscle in his body pulled taut like a rubber band. His arms stuck out to either side, fingers splayed and crooked into unsettling positions. As if they itched for a knife, or to wrap around someone's delicate neck. His head twitched ceaselessly to one side while he stared with wide, crazed eyes at the rest of the room. His mouth was pulled tight into an unreadable expression.

Dark could feel the power rolling off of Yandere in waves and for one of the few times in his existence, he was stunned. He could feel how his own aura tinged the energy flowing out of Yandere and his curiosity was instantly piqued. He stared with the rest of them, wondering what the snapped ego would do now.

Yandere heaved several ragged breaths through his teeth. The muscles in his face were all screwed up tight but he didn't seem to have a target for his sudden aggression. His eyes flicked among the egos present before he let loose a smaller scream, storming out of the room in a flurry of skirts. He'd ripped the door half off its hinges when he exited, and he didn't bother closing it behind him.

Various egos exchanged confused, wary glances as crashes and more screams echoed back from down the hall, but they eventually gave way to silence. Wherever Yandere had gone, no one was willing to follow. Hopefully he would take his destruction outside of the building.

Bim had come over the moment he felt it safe enough to help Artie back onto his feet. They both immediately turned their attentions to Host, who assured them he was just fine. Wilford, seeing how shaken the group was, called an end to the meeting and warned them all to give Yandere some space.

A lot of space.

Then he strolled over to where Dark was still sitting, contemplating everything he'd just witnessed. He rested his hands on his hips and shot the shadowy ego a suspicious, wary look. "And just what are you smiling about? You wouldn't have anything to do with whatever all that was now would you, Darky?"

Dark glanced to the ruined door. Slowly, he clenched his hand into a fist where it rested against his leg. He could still recall that surge of raw power; how his own aura had been funneled into it without his knowing. He understood, now. He'd put the pieces together and the possibilities set the gears to turning within his mind. He tried not to look too smug as he met Wilford's withering gaze. "Of course not. He was already tense. Something must have just made him snap. You know how teenagers are, Wilford."

Yandere could feed off his aura. Yandere could feed off his aura, and apparently he didn't even know. But Dark knew. And Dark didn't plan to let the possibilities slip through his fingers.

#markiplier #egoplier #markiplier egos #yandereplier #darkiplier #egos inc #manipulation #emotional manipulation #psychological abuse #emotional abuse #embracing darkness

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