#marena polunochnaya

[thesightstoshowyou]

Into the Cricketverse

- Chapter Two -

Asa Emory (The Collector) x Cricket (OC) (NSFW)

Chapter One was written by the fabulously talented @slashhinginghasher and featured the first meeting between their OC Marena and my OC Cricket.

Below are the same events, but from Cricket’s POV.

Warnings: Violent oral, blood, and a not so polite reminder that Asa Emory is a terrible human being.

“Cricket.” Pausing mid-stitch, Cricket glances up from her spot on the floor, piles of half-folded laundry spread around her. Asa stands poised in the bedroom doorway, a spool of wire clutched in his hand.

“Yes, Sir?” The shank of the sewing needle dents her fingers with how tightly she pinches it between them. She hopes that wire isn’t for her….

“Pack a bag for yourself. Two weeks of clothes, a mix of casual and formal. It will be hot, so choose accordingly.”

Two weeks…a possible need for formal wear…hot weather…. Cricket perks up, eyebrows lifting in surprise.

“Clever little Cricket,” Asa murmurs. A smirk pulls at his lips as he stalks away. She waits until she can no longer hear his footsteps before jumping to her feet and returning the needle and thread to the sewing kit.

Halfway to the closet she slows, hands coming up to clasp one another. It’s been well over a year since she last saw Jesse and she would be lying if she said she wasn’t relieved. Life has been relatively peaceful, or as “peaceful” as it can get for someone in her situation.

Was this trip to be the end of that peace?

Carefully, she chooses outfits and lays them on the bed. What had Asa said?

‘Jesse has a new…distraction.’

She hadn’t asked what he meant, but if the fact they weren’t sleeping together anymore is anything to go by, that “distraction” is a new partner. Cricket wonders, briefly, if said partner is in a similar position as herself…or if they are even still alive. It had been over a year….

Is that why she and Asa have been summoned to Florida?

She shakes her head in an effort to clear her racing thoughts. There will be no answers to her questions, not until she happens upon them herself. Keeping her in the dark is Asa’s prerogative.

Cricket will keep her eyes on her feet as she always does until they’re forced to take in whatever horror lies directly in front of them.

**

Traffic had been terrible. Cricket’s nerves are already frayed, though not because of the seven vehicles that had cut them off. No, it was Asa’s iron grip on the steering wheel that had her fighting the trembling of her hands.

Every time she caught his shoulders tensing out of the corner of her eye, she would wince and when they finally pulled into the parking lot of Jesse’s penthouse, she could not get out of the car fast enough.

Cricket has no hope Asa’s mood will improve inside the building. She is not that naive. However, perhaps Jesse will draw the Collector’s ire instead and give her a chance to escape to the kitchen and make herself useful.

Cricket’s usefulness has always been her salvation.

It’s strange, walking into the penthouse after all this time like nothing has changed. Everything is as it was the last time she was here. Everything except—

“Marena.”

“Dr. Emory.”

Everything except the tiny, severe-looking woman on the far end of the room.

Her hair is dark and wild, unruly curls draped over half her face and concealing her other icy blue eye. Her clothes are modest and loose, but what Cricket can see of her skin is scarred. Her flesh tells the story of a brutal past…or of a relationship with Chromeskull.

The distraction.

The distraction’s name is Marena, and she is very much alive.

“Where is he?”

“Shower.”

Fearlessly, the woman—Marena—meets Asa’s frigid gaze with ice all her own. Cricket can feel the tension between them, can see it in the way Asa grips their bags like he’d crushed the steering wheel earlier. Her heart beats a furious tattoo against her ribs, the gears of her mind whirring as they work toward understanding.

Asa had seen Jesse more recently than she, had said he was “watching something” for Chromeskull. Cricket remembers the day clearly because Asa had made her stay overnight at the hotel. She does not look back upon that night with fondness.

The “something” must have been Marena. Whatever happened that night must have been heinous, based on their body language. The how and why, though tempting to investigate, will have to wait to be unpacked because if Cricket has to endure this growing hostility poisoning the air any longer she will scream.

She opens her mouth, but pauses. What will she say? Perhaps she’ll offer to make refreshments, or to unpack. Anything to flee to safer ground.

“As—

“Quiet,” Asa spits and Cricket recoils like she was struck. Her jaw pops with how quickly she closes her mouth.

Stupid mistake.

She’s trapped here now, stuck between a rock and hard place. Either Asa and Marena are going to lunge for each other’s throats, or….

Took your sweet time getting here.

Or Jesse will saunter in wearing nothing but silk boxers and make everything worse.

“You don’t get to lecture me about punctuality, Cromeans.” As unperturbed as always by Asa’s anger, Jesse’s shoulders shake as he meets Cricket’s timid gaze. She offers him a small smile, weirdly happy to see him despite everything, but she doesn’t dare move from her spot behind Asa.

Aw, don’t tell me you’re getting all shy on me now, Cricket.

She gives him a little wave, a quiet, “Hi,” but this greeting is apparently not good enough for the Collector.

“Manners, Cricket.” Her heart leaps into her throat. Another mistake.

“Sorry, Sir,” she murmurs, quickly scurrying around Asa to face Jesse fully. “It’s good to see you again, Daddy.”

There’s a horrible, hacking cough from across the room. Startled, Cricket whips her head to the side to see Marena coughing her lungs out. A quick glance at Jesse’s shit-eating grin makes her lower her gaze in dismay. The pet name must have upset her.

“There are so many things wrong with you,” Marena rasps. “What the fuck.”

It is abject horror that pulls the strangled gasp up and out of Cricket’s throat. Any second comes the bite, the knife, the discipline for such blatant disrespect—

“Don’t fucking touch me, god!” Cricket watches in silent shock as Marena tears herself out of Jesse’s grip and stomps away. She flinches when the bedroom door slams shut.

“You are far too lenient on her,” Asa comments irritably. Cricket catches herself wanting to agree, but quickly reminds herself normal relationships don’t include physical discipline.

Yeah, but she’s fun when she gets riled up like that, Jesse signs back, rolling his eyes when Asa undoubtably shoots him a withering look.

“You won’t be laughing when it’s your neck with a needle in it,” Asa snarls. He hoists the bags higher and strides away, muttering curses under his breath.

Marena stabbed him with a needle?! How is she still breathing? These next two weeks are going to be hell….

A warm finger on her chin makes her jump. Cricket looks up into Jesse’s scarred face, concern etched in her features. Her voice shakes when she asks, “Did I do something wrong?”

Not at all, doll. She’s just shy. Her worried expression briefly morphs into one of wry disbelief, which makes Jesse snort.

“And Sir is… okay? With that behavior?” Asa is most assuredly not “okay” with her behavior, but Cricket is more interested whatever agreement he and Jesse have reached regarding Marena.

Doesn’t matter if Asa likes it. She’s mine.

So…no agreement then. She supposes some tenuous truce has been reached, or maybe Asa wasn’t even aware Marena would be here….

“That time Sir left me at the hotel overnight, he said he had to watch something for you… that was her?” She is careful with this question, careful to keep her voice down, careful to address Asa properly. He wouldn’t like if she was asking questions, but there were so many that needed answers she couldn’t help herself.

With Jesse’s confirmation, she loses what little courage she’d managed to muster. Talking with Jesse had always been easier than talking with Asa, but even that had its limits. “Okay. Thank you, D—

Cricket pauses, the word poised on the edge of her tongue, awaiting clarification.

He signs, Just ‘Jesse’ to you now, doll. Unless you prefer it the other way, I won’t mind. Heat rises to her cheeks when he winks. She will not be making the mistake of calling him “Daddy” in front of Marena again.

“I should help Sir unpack,” Cricket announces, hurrying away before Jesse decides to get handsy. She would rather do anything else than be alone with Asa right now, but she doesn’t think he’d appreciate being left to do the unpacking by himself.

Bare feet pad quietly along chilly marble, the unease in her gut growing the closer she gets to the half-closed door ahead. Funny—she’s never stayed in the guest bedroom before….

Gently, Cricket eases the door open and pokes her head inside. A massive window runs along the far wall, offering a view of the setting sun and scantily-clad beach goers scurrying around below. Orange light pours through the curtains and Illuminates the ornate four poster. Next to it stands Asa, one of the duffels unzipped and already half unpacked.

“Can I help, Sir—

Asa cuts her off with a hand gesture: Arm outstretched, finger pointing at the ground. Cricket swallows thickly and hastily rushes to his side to kneel by his feet. He finishes what he was doing—hanging a shirt in the closet—before turning his attention to her.

Again, fingers—rough this time—find her chin to tip her head back. Cricket meets Asa’s dark, glittering gaze and she can almost hear what he’s thinking: You would never misbehave like that.

No, Sir, never. With wide, pleading eyes, she wills him to hear her thoughts. A calloused thumb ghosts across her cheek.

“Open your mouth, Cricket.” Ever obedient, she opens wide as Asa unbuckles his belt. Gentle fingers on the back of her head pull her closer while he guides his girth past her lips. She keeps her gaze locked devotedly on his.

Leisurely, Asa eases his cock deeper and deeper until it pushes into her throat. Cricket barely bats an eye when her nose comes to rest in the dark curls at his base, her gag reflex now all but trained away.

Unfortunately for Cricket, it is this ease that makes it possible for Asa to roughly grip both sides of her head, rear back, and savagely slam forward. The sickening crunch as her nose breaks against his pelvis is audible in the quiet room.

It is sheer will to live that stops Cricket from biting down when blinding agony explodes up through her skull. Her scream, muffled by the length seated in her throat, turns into a miserable gurgle when thick, viscous blood pours from her nostrils and into her throat. Tears blur her vision and streak down her face, mascara and eyeliner following soon after.

“Good girl, hang in there,” Asa coos, bucking his hips to fuck her throat. Cricket sobs and tenses and shakes, every movement jostling her nose and sending nauseating anguish ricocheting around in her aching skull. Sticky crimson and drool drip from her chin to stain her dress and block her airway. With no way to draw in oxygen, her lungs soon burn their protest while she fights the urge to thrash. In her lap, her nails dig bloody crescents into her palms.

Cricket’s head spins as her eyesight narrows. The wet squelching of her mouth sounds far away, as though it’s happening to someone else. Eyelids flutter….

Above her, Asa stills, a groan sticking in his throat when he finally spills into hers. Cricket’s head is released and she tips back, catching herself on her hands while gulping down air. She hacks and spits and cries, quivering fingers coming up to cradle her tender face.

Footsteps departing. He’s leaving…but then he returns not a minute later. A hand on her shoulder makes her jerk away, but Asa grips her tight and tugs her hands from her face. A cold, wet cloth dabs at the blood leaking from her nose. Cricket forces her teary eyes open.

Asa’s expression is blank. He assesses her injury with the same cool apathy he shows all his victims. He cleans her up like he would a specimen, his movements unhurried and deliberate.

Then, his gaze meets hers again. A shudder ripples up Cricket’s back. The message in that dark stare is as plain as day:

You would never misbehave like that because I could do so, so much worse.

[slashhinginghasher]

Into the Cricketverse - Audition Tape

Introduction: Marena POV Introduction: Cricket POV* Aftercare* Bread* Boundaries Movie Night Welcome to my Death Talk* Mess*

*asterisk denotes parts written by @thesightstoshowyou

(This is still part of the Spring Break series, I've just switched from part numbers to titles until Sights and I have worked out where everything fits in the timeline.)

~

Marena's back hit the wall hard enough to rattle the pictures in their frames, the blood in her hair leaving smudges of rust on the white paint. Jesse used the new leverage to thrust even harder, faster, deeper. Every part of his girl was clamped down on him like a vice: bare, blood-spattered legs wrapped around his waist; sharp little nails digging into his scalp and the nape of his neck; pussy gripping his cock like it never wanted him to leave.

About five more minutes, he figured, before the adrenaline rush began to die out and she became cognizant of the fact that he was fucking her out in the open when there were other people in the penthouse. He planned to make full use of that time.

From somewhere in the penthouse, the tinny recorded sounds of screaming and crunching bone looped again and again.

~ One hour earlier ~

Marena was reaching a breaking point much faster than Jesse had anticipated. Only a few days in, and he could already see the strain of Asa's presence taking a toll on her. He'd given Asa a brief overview of her history in the brothel as a way to justify his "hands mostly off" rule, and the clever bastard had quickly deduced that he could circumvent it by using Cricket's pain to torture Marena psychologically instead of physically. If she didn't get a way to work off some of that tension, she'd do something that would push Asa over the edge.

Which was why Jesse slapped down a little plastic baggie of pills in front of her.

Marena glanced at it and went very still. She knew what date rape drugs looked like, and she knew Jesse didn't use them on piggies. When she looked back up at his masked face, it was with the cold, dead eyes of a predator.

"He's in the basement."

Holding his gaze, she slowly rose to her feet, took a few steps backward. Then she took off for the master bedroom at a brisk pace. Jesse smiled behind the mask and fiddled with his camera while he waited for her. It was a digital model, the type he preferred for his personal projects when he didn't have to worry about the cops scraping metadata off a computer file. The sound and picture were crisper, the videos easier to edit after shooting.

And this one had broadcasting capabilities.

Marena emerged in a pair of heavy leather boots with metal plates embedded along the thick soles. With her asymmetric plaid skirt and haphazardly plaited hair, she looked ready to go to some punk show. It was hot. Even hotter was the way she plucked the meat tenderizer Cricket had used the previous night from the drying rack by the kitchen sink, weighing it in her hand and giving it a twirl before nodding at Jesse.

She was silent in the elevator on the way down, absentmindedly tapping the metal mallet against her thigh. Nearly a year ago, she had slaughtered a group of men in a Miami penthouse for drugging and raping girls from the shitty bar she'd worked at. Her subsequent flight from the police had placed her on a path that landed her directly in Jesse's bed - and the rest, as they said, was history.

Jesse mentally sent out a thank you to the four rotting corpses that had inadvertently sent him his Tiny Terror.

The college boy - bermuda shorts, boating shoes, and a button-down shirt that had ripped open in the acquisition scuffle - was tied to a chair, looking a little worse for wear. Various implements of pain were lined up along a metal table behind him and more were locked in a cage off to the side. The setup reminded Jesse of his first encounter with Marena, though she had maintained far more composure than this sniveling wreck. His red eyes and runny nose were shameful in comparison.

Boat Shoes' intended victim had been dosed with a heavier sedative and was snoring away the last peaceful moments of her life in a locked box in the adjoining room. Jesse and Asa would play with the little piggy later; right now her presence would just be a distraction to Marena.

Jesse checked that the camera was linked up to all the TVs in the penthouse, and Asa's phone for good measure. He had a feeling the other man would want to watch this, even if it meant pulling himself away from Cricket's pussy for a time.

Marena looked Boat Shoes up and down dispassionately, like something mildly disgusting viewed from a distance.

"W-what is this?" he whimpered, looking over her shoulder at Jesse. "Hey man! What the fuck is going on?!"

Jesse slowly circled the scene and Boat Shoes tried to follow, straining his neck as Jesse moved out of his line of sight. Marena kicked him in the shin hard enough that the chair scraped several inches across the floor. He yelped.

"OW, fuck!"

She hurled the baggie of pills at his face. He flinched when it smacked his cheek.

"If you're going to rape someone," she said, voice deceptively soft, "at least have the decency to take them down yourself."

"Oh fuck, is that what this is? Some kind of... feminazi intervention?"

Marena frowned slightly.

"I don't know that word."

"You're gonna stand there and act like I'm the bad guy when she's the one who was acting like a tease and giving me mixed signals all night?" His reedy voice rose until he was almost shouting. "If she didn't wanna fuck, then why was she up at my table with her tits out, y'know?"

It was almost comical, the way he tried to square his shoulders when he was still tied to a damn chair.

"It's not like I was gonna hurt her, I just wanted what she owed me without anymore fucking games. But you females gotta make such a huge deal out of everything now with your 'me too' or whatever the fuck."

Boat Shoes craned his head, looking for Jesse.

"How much's she paying you to do this, dude? Or did she just put out like a slut?"

He lost his nerve the second he made eye contact with the mask and quickly looked back to Marena, but his raised voice made it clear he was still trying to address Jesse.

"Fucking typical, females can't even do anything without men to do the dirty work for them, am I right? I wasn't even asking much from her, all she had to do was lie there and take it-"

Whip-quick, Marena backhanded him with the meat tenderizer. The meaty smack was immediately drowned out by his warbling shriek. Melodramatic. She hadn't even hit him hard enough to knock him over. He coughed up a mouthful of bloody spit, and Jesse heard the clink of at least one tooth hitting the ground.

While Boat Shoes whimpered, Marena set the meat tenderizer on the table and picked up a knife. It was a simple thing, less than six inches long with a smooth blade. When she circled back around to face the boy again, he started blubbering and hyperventilating.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck oh fuck." Blood sprayed off his quivering lips and dribbled down his chin. "Mel? Mel, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean it. I didn't mean- Oh, jesus fuck-"

He shut up the instant Marena touched the tip of the knife to his mouth. She trailed it downward, over his scrawny chest, until it hovered over his pubic bone.

"You don't want to be hurt, do you?" she asked in that same quiet, even tone. He shook his head frantically.

Marena cocked her head, eyes wide, unblinking.

"Then why are you so soft?"

She pushed the knife in, slowly.

Boat Shoes' wail echoed off the walls of the basement. When Marena stepped back, the hilt of the knife jutted up from his pelvis like a macabre erection. Probably bigger than anything he'd ever achieved with his limp little dick, too.

Marena slipped behind him to pick at the knots binding his hands. As soon as the ropes fell away, he slid to his knees. The knife handle bobbed up and down comically with each of his pathetic whimpers.

And, surprisingly, he wrapped his quivering hands around it and pulled the knife out a cry and a gush of blood. A stupid move - everyone knew removing the knife would just make you bleed out faster - but Jesse had to admit the kid had some guts. They were just a bit too perforated to do him any good now.

When Marena returned, meat tenderizer once again in hand, Boat Shoes brandished the knife at her, flicking lines of sticky crimson across her scarred calves. She didn't hesitate to bring the mallet down on his face again. More teeth went flying, and his jaw now sat at a horrific angle. Planting a boot on his solar plexus, she shoved him onto his back before stomping hard on the puncture wound in his gut.

Boat Shoes' scream could have shattered glass.

Marena knelt down and straddled his chest, heedless of the pooling blood soaking into her skirt. Keening miserably, Boat Shoes flailed at her with the knife, but didn't even land a scratch before she ripped it from his hand. Another swing of the mallet, and sobbing turned to gurgling. Gore spattered and threads of blood arced through the air as she brought the meat tenderizer down again.

And again.

And again.

A very small part of Jesse flinched with every wet crunch of metal against bone and flesh; he remembered all too well the sensation of his skull giving way under a baseball bat. But most of him was focused on capturing the rictus of fury on Marena's face as she reduced Boat Shoes' head to paste. An inhuman growl had bubbled up behind her bared teeth, rising in pitch and volume until it was a vicious banshee shriek. Her eyes were at once zeroed in and a million miles away, and Jesse felt certain she was not seeing an American college boy beneath her fists.

The meat tenderizer was clotted with blood and skin and other squishy bits that were never intended to see the outside of a skull by the time Marena brought it down a final time. It bounced off the concrete floor hard enough to ricochet it out of her hand, and she didn't bother to retrieve it. Chest heaving, she pushed her hair out of her face with bloody hands. She stood, located the baggie of drugs, then searched for the broken teeth scattered across the ground.

Instead of a human head, Boat Shoes' neck now terminated in a pile of chunky red pulp. Having retrieved all of his wayward teeth, Marena gathered them and the pills in her palm and poured them onto the gory mess, approximately where the boy's mouth had been. She cocked her head, considering, and drove her heel into his groin hard enough that something crunched. Then she wiped her hands on her skirt and walked back to the elevator.

Jesse, by this point, was practically vibrating with need. He could have fucked through steel with how hard his cock was. He took one last, lingering shot of the body before ending the broadcast and switching off the camera. He placed it carefully on the table, removed his mask, and bore down on Marena like a tsunami.

She was waiting for him in the elevator car, and he immediately swept her into his arms, her toes dangling a full foot off the ground as he sucked in mouthfuls of her salty skin like a starving man in the desert. Her face was speckled with blood and flecks of bone and brain matter, which turned to ruddy streaks under his tongue.

Marena was grabbing at him with equal fervor, grinding down on his bulge and tossing her head back wantonly. As the elevator door slid shut, Jesse hiked up her skirt, tore her underwear completely free from her body, and slammed home.

Hopefully, Asa had enjoyed the show.

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[horrorslashergirl]

ooh is it too late to throw OCs at you? Masha doesnt want to play but im making her anyway.

https://slashhinginghasher.tumblr.com/post/646152073568813056/marena-polunochnaya-midnight-star-sfw-alphabet

🖤 slashhinginghasher

Sadly, yes. It takes me a lot of energy and time to write each of my OCs opinion. 😵

Also I adore Marena! 😍 I re-read your Jesse x Marena stories over and over, and her interaction with him is simply GOLD.

If you want certain OCs opinion and reaction to Marena I can do that.

@slashhinginghasher

[thesightstoshowyou]

begging you to elaborate on the "Asa tells Marena that Jesse is into dead body stuff" idea from earlier

~@slashhinginghasher

Hehehehehe hoohoohahahaha 😈 For anyone that missed it, here’s what this ask is referencing.

~~

Into the Cricketverse - Welcome to my Death Talk

Part 1*, Part 2, Part 2.5, Part 2.75, Interlude*, Part 3*

(Asterisks denote the parts written by the fabulous @slashhinginghasher )

Warnings: Graphic discussions of necrophilia and torture, Marena and Cricket recieve a million hits of psychological damage

Needle pierces fabric and the pull of thread fills the relative silence of the penthouse living room. Late afternoon sun spills in through the windows and warms Cricket as she sits on the sofa, legs curled up under her. She still can’t decide if she should add a little cactus flower next to the embroidered scarab beetle or not.

At the kitchen counter, Marena fiddles with something, but only the woman’s wild mane of hair is visible from where Cricket rests. Asa and Jesse sit side by side at the table, reviewing some undoubtedly heinous footage on Jesse’s laptop.

Chromeskull’s shoulders shake, a quiet wheeze leaving him as points to something on screen. Asa scoffs, “Was that necessary?” His tone might sound petulant to the uninitiated, but Cricket can hear the sly smirk in his voice.

In the interest of preserving her mental state, she doesn’t look up to see what Jesse signs in response. When she finishes this next stitch, she will nonchalantly ask to be excused. However, what Asa says next has her slowly raising her gaze to the two men seated at the table.

“That reminds me of Jacksonville. Remember the one with that ridiculous tattoo? What was it you put down her throat…?”

‘A fucking fluorescent lightbulb,’ Jesse signs with a silent chortle and a shake of his head.

“Broke halfway in, if I recall.”

‘Bitch wouldn’t stop flailing. It was her own damn fault.’

A quick glance toward the kitchen shows Cricket that Marena has frozen in her seat as she listens and watches out of the corner of her eye. In her own chest, her heart hammers. Time to leave, she must get away before hears any more—

“The way you had her bent back over the edge of the casket wasn’t doing her any favors,” Asa chides as though he’s teasing Jesse about a faux pas and not the brutal torture of some poor, nameless woman. “Though I believe it was the rutting that did her in.”

As though forced by an unseen hand, Marena stiffly twists around to turn her icy gaze on the conversation. Cricket wishes she could shout at her to flee, that nothing good will come from hearing what will be said next. Instead, she tightens her grip on the embroidery frame until it creaks.

‘Hey, dead pussy’s still pussy. And you’re one to talk. I’m pretty sure I remember you mentioning some similar proclivities before your little Cricket showed up.’

Asa chuckles and shakes his head. “Perhaps, but when it comes down to quantity of occurrences, there is only one clear winner, Cromeans.”

“Shut. Up.” Guffaws cease and the two men turn to look at Marena. With how she’s shifted, Cricket can now see she’s holding a knife in her white-knuckled grip. Her words are as sharp as its blade, but in her eyes is the unspoken plea: ‘Please tell me you are joking.’

If only.

Cricket clenches her jaw and looks down at her trembling hands. She lets her gaze go out of focus. Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it….

“I thought you would know better by now than to speak to me that way,” comes Asa’s frigid reply. All levity has left his voice. Cricket snaps her eyes closed.

There’s silence—Jesse signing maybe—and Cricket peeks up to see Marena shaking her head like she’s trying to rid herself of the visual he undoubtedly just painted in her brain.

Cricket wishes she was telepathic. She would scream into Marena’s head and tell her she would understand if the other woman went ballistic on the both of them, no matter what consequences it incurred. She tries to convey the sentiment with her eyes, but Marena’s are firmly locked on Jesse’s grinning face.

“Come here, Cricket.” Asa says it lightly, but the intention behind his words drops her heart into her stomach. The sewing supplies clatter when she hastily places them on the coffee table. Bare feet pad quietly across marble as she comes to stand before the Collector, hands wringing, eyes on the floor.

Asa wraps his arms around her waist and eases Cricket into his lap. He positions her back to his chest so she’s facing Marena. One warm hand comes up to rest on her throat, rough fingers tracing each of her scares reverently. She tries to ignore the way her skin crawls due to the newly revealed depravity

“Look at her,” he commands, lips brushing the shell of her ear. Mismatched eyes find cold blue. Marena’s face is expressionless, but it’s forced, like she’s put every fiber of her being into remaining impassive. Asa’s next words are hushed, meant only for Cricket, “Do you think that, because you are my favorite, your corpse will not suffer a similar fate?”

Her throat dries and nausea churns in her gut. Laboriously, lips part to release a tremulous exhale as she gives a single shake of her head. Marena watches blankly, but Cricket can see the tense set of her shoulders.

And if Cricket sees it, Asa can see it too.

Then, Marena turns and stalks away. Her pace is not hurried, but neither is it slow. She is measured, deliberate in her movement, her control barely maintained. The master bedroom door closes with a soft click.

The Collector hums thoughtfully. The hand lifts from Cricket’s throat and she flinches, prepared for the hurt, but Asa only murmurs, “You may start dinner.”

She scrambles from his lap and utters a shaky, “Yes, Sir,” in acknowledgement. As she retreats to the sanctity of the kitchen, she doesn’t listen to what Asa says to Jesse.

[slashhinginghasher]

Short followup to Audition Tape

~

Boar bristles glided through damp hair with a soft whisper. Each stroke of the antique brush left the wavy tresses in its wake twice as voluminous as before. It would be a soft, black cloud around Marena's head by the time Jesse was done, like a blow dried kitten.

Predictably, his little kitten was crashing hard. Scrubbed clean and dressed in nothing but one of his cotton undershirts - which swam on her tiny frame - she had put up no fuss when he plunked her down on the sofa with a bowl of fruit salad and began the long, soothing process of brushing out her wild hair.

Jesse's plan to defuse some of her building tension had worked. So well, in fact, that she didn't even seem to notice Asa watching them from the doorway, arms folded and eyes glimmering in the low light. She just kept eating her fruit one piece at a time with a toothpick, looking at nothing in particular and letting Jesse move her head however he wanted.

"How did Cricket like the show?" Jesse signed, a little awkwardly around the brush in his hand.

"She didn't," Asa replied simply. Jesse chuckled. For a person who had spent so much time around the Collector and the Collection, Cricket still had a remarkably delicate constitution. He suspected Asa preferred it that way.

Sensing the other man's growing impatience, Jesse set the brush aside and burrowed a hand into Marena's hair. Thumb on the soft spot at the base of her skull, the other four fingers gently scratching her scalp. It was like hitting an off switch: shoulders drooped, head lolled, and she slumped back into him with a little huff, leaving him barely enough time to catch the bowl of fruit as it slipped from her insensate fingers.

"Cute trick."

"Thanks." Jesse shifted the sleeping girl into a better position in his lap. "It only works under very specific conditions."

"The college girl?"

Always straight to business with this one. (Unless that business interfered with him fucking Cricket.)

"All boxed up and ready to play."

"Good. And the boy?"

Still lying in a puddle of his own skull where he and Marena had left him.

"I've been busy." Jesse dragged a thumb over Marena's lips, still kiss-swollen and bitten red.

Asa snorted.

"Do I need to disinfect anywhere before sitting down?"

"Might wanna give the island a once-over," Jesse replied with a grin.

After finishing in the hallway, he'd laid Marena out on the marble surface and licked the cum from her pussy until her spine arched like a strung bow, then spat it into her mouth before dragging her off to the shower to have his way with her again. By the time she'd been rinsed of blood, hair washed and conditioned, Jesse had cum twice more and Marena had been given three for each of his one. She hadn't even been able to properly wrap her shaking legs around him by the end, the pressure of his hips and the deep, filthy grind of his cock in her pulsing cunt the only thing keeping her off the shower floor. Body quivering and little toes curling under the onslaught of pleasure, she'd only made the smallest sound of protest when he'd slipped a soaped up finger in her ass to the last knuckle.

Fuck, he was hard just thinking about it again, waxing nostalgic about the debauchery he'd waged not thirty minutes earlier. He'd been hoping to get another round in before unboxing "Mel" down in the basement, but clearly that wasn't going to happen with Mr. Punctuality tapping his foot impatiently.

They were on vacation, for fuck's sake. There wasn't even a schedule to be punctual for.

Asa had one hand spread on the kitchen island, brow furrowed as it always did when he was deep in thought. He could have been envisioning Cricket; god knew the two of them had had her bent over that very counter more times that Jesse had bothered to count. But the sidelong glance at Marena's bare legs as Jesse swept past to deposit her in the bedroom had him suspecting there might be a new player in Asa's depraved little mental circus.

A chink in the armor that Jesse would take great pleasure in chipping away at.

"Sleep deep," he signed against Marena's skin as he settled her sleeping form on the bed. "I am FAR from done with you tonight."

[slashhinginghasher]

Midnight Star - Chapter 10: Exploration

Midnight Star masterlist

[Ao3]

It's been 3 years since I last updated this fic so I really recommend going back and reading it from the beginning whoops

TW: noncon, knifeplay, bloodplay, blood as lube

Summary: Jesse indulges in his new captive a little more thoroughly

~

Jesse leaned back in his chair, luxuriating in the full-body warmth that came from a good fuck. The glass of whiskey sat untouched in his hand; he was unwilling to wash the taste of her, of them, out of his mouth just yet. He’d bury his face in that cunt someday soon and drag a real scream out of her. Just the memory of that little gasp was nearly enough to make him hunt her down for another round or three, but he didn’t. He needed to plan first, to prepare.

Things had, once again, not quite gone the way he’d expected. He’d spent much longer than necessary with his back turned at the bar, waiting for her to move so he could turn around and catch her mid-ambush or mid-flight. Instead, it was only decades of finely honed reflexes that kept him from getting a knife to the throat. He should have heard her move. He should have felt her at his back. It was the third time in as many days that he’d had cause to doubt himself, and he’d been angry. Scratch that, he’d been enraged. He was furious beyond reason at this scrawny little nobody bitch who had upended his life, exposing weakness after weakness. He wanted to gut her at his table and mount her corpse over the fireplace.

Then he’d seen her eyes, that I fucked up fear he’d been trying to get out of her from the beginning, and he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off or her clothes on her any longer.

The floor around the table was a mess: shattered plates, scraps of food, spilled wine soaking into the rug like a puddle of blood. Smears of actual blood were streaked around the gouge left in the wood by the knife. It would be expensive as hell to fix; maybe he would install a cuff ring instead so he could have the girl for dessert whenever he wanted. Worth it. Jesse grinned as he remembered the way her spine had arched as she came all over his cock. That was one thing that remained unchallenged, at least. He’d always been proud of his sexual prowess, his ability to pull reactions from his victims’ bodies whether they wanted it or not, and it was good to see that edge was still as sharp as ever.

Fuck, he was hard again.

He switched his glass to his injured hand, watching the trickles of blood blossom into red clouds where they met the amber liquid. At the rate things were progressing, he wasn’t going to have any damn fingers left by the time this little song and dance reached its conclusion. The thought didn’t bother him as much as it should. He finally took a sip, scotch and copper bursting across his tongue. Swallowing, letting the liquor slowly burn its way down to his stomach, he thought of knives and bullets and pink-silver scars, of hot blood and a crimson halo spreading across the floor around a small, pale body.

Truth be told, he hadn’t expected her to answer him. Definitely hadn’t expected more than a few words. That was, of course, assuming she wasn’t lying through her teeth. He’d have to press her more, later, and see if she’d contradict herself. But the idea of her as a skin trade escapee seemed to fit; explained the skittishness, the black box of her past, the… Russian-ness. (In Jesse’s mind, all of Eastern Europe was an amorphous mass of vodka, fur coats, and hookers.) It kindled a perverse little fire of jealousy in his chest. He didn’t like the thought of so many hands on her, of so many others tasting what was his before he’d ever had the chance. That’s all it was, really: sheer possessiveness. The way she told it, it didn’t sound like she’d been there on purpose; she hadn’t used her cunt to string men along because it was the only thing she knew how to do. She was still very much not a Piggy. The whoring was just an unfortunate hurdle she’d had to clear before arriving at her rightful place in his house and his bed, and that was all easily remedied, as Jesse had both the time and the inclination to fuck the memory of any other man right out of her. He’d imprint himself on her so thoroughly, fill her with his smell and taste and touch, that she’d forget how she could even breathe before him.

The only thing that rankled, that really bothered him, was the age. Jesse Cromeans was a fucked up person who’d done a lot of fucked up things to people who maaaaaybe, by general standards, didn’t entirely deserve all of it. But one thing he’d never done, and never would do, was kids. Didn’t touch ‘em, didn’t look at ‘em, didn’t think about ‘em, unless they got directly in his way, in which case he dispatched them cleanly and efficiently. He’d been called a lot of nasty things in his life (and agreed with quite a few of them), but “pedophile” had never been on that list, and in his opinion, those who fell in that category deserved to be fed their own balls after watching them get cut off. Slowly. With a blunt knife. If nothing else, for their cowardice in choosing such weak and easy prey.

Jesse knocked back the rest of the whiskey and pushed himself to his feet. He swiped a finger through the congealing blood on the table before pinging a member of the staff to clean up the mess before the wine stain had a chance to set. The girl’s door was a siren call as he passed by it, but he pushed down the urge through supreme force of will. He pressed the bloodied fingertip to his tongue and imagined it welling up, hot and fresh and sweet, following the path of his blade.

***

He spent the next three days planning, preparing, and clearing his calendar. Meetings canceled, rescheduled, or delegated to employees; shipments confirmed; necessary communications answered and unnecessary ones told to fuck off. Knives sharpened; chains, cuffs, and frameworks arranged. He kept half an eye on the cameras in the girl’s room to make sure she didn’t do anything drastic. The first night, she had stripped the duvet from the bed and cocooned herself in the corner farthest from the door. After that, she lapsed into a despondent stillness, hardly moving except to eat the meals delivered to her room a few mouthfuls at a time.

On the fourth day, he unlocked her door and waited for her to approach it, mask on, two knives holstered at his hips and a third at his back. The moment she reached for the doorknob, he moved to intercept her in the corridor. Despite the clear skies outside, the hallway was nearly pitch black, two long branches of shadow stretching away from the pool of light at the wide stairwell that led to the first floor. He’d turned off the hall lights and shut all the doors specifically for that effect. Between his customary black wardrobe and the soft-soled shoes he wore for jobs that required stealth, he was practically invisible, and he wanted to see if he could make the girl jump.

She reached the stairs first, materializing from the gloom like an old-timey ghost in one of the most modest dresses he’d provided: black, with long sleeves and a high collar. She’d ripped all the lace off the hem and cuffs, leaving loose black threads hanging around her knees. Her eyes were unfocused, but not in the “lights on, nobody home” way they’d been before. It was more like she was channeling all her concentration into her other senses. Chromeskull shifted his weight experimentally, and her head snapped unerringly in his direction. Hiding place now effectively spoiled, he stepped up to the edge of the light.

He’d had standoffs like this before, a tableau of predator and prey like the ones that had played out across countless species, echoing down countless millennia. The prey would crumble, would plead or flee, and he would silence them or run them down, but he would catch them in the end.

He always caught them. When he wasn’t interfered with.

The girl bolted for the steps when Chromeskull reached for her, his fingertips brushing the ends of her hair as she ran. Halfway down, she vaulted herself over the railing. She landed with a painful sounding thwack, throwing her momentum into an awkward roll before scrambling back to her feet and disappearing around a corner.

Chromeskull laughed. She was so quick, like a little bunny. The short ones were often easy to catch with his much longer legs, but this one might give him a run for his money in an open space. He pulled up the home security system on his phone, making sure all the doors and windows were shut tight. He left one side door unlocked, just to see if she’d find it.

Then he gave chase.

***

He cornered her in one of the side rooms, one of those useless spaces that were little more than an oddly-shaped bit of hallway between the actual functional rooms. Exertion had put some color in her cheeks and disheveled her hair. One ankle was starting to swell - probably twisted it in her leap from the stairs. Every line of her pretty little body, from her clenched jaw to her rigid shoulders to her curled fists, was tense enough to shatter with a touch.

Oh, how Chromeskull wanted to break her.

I HAVE A GAME FOR YOU.

The girl flinched as the shriek of his phone echoed off the walls, but rallied quickly.

“We already have a game,” she said. “The question game.”

Several times over the past few days, he’d had questions delivered to her along with her food. She’d stew over them for an hour or two, then monologue her replies to the empty room. Monotone, blank-faced, but with that odd sing-songy cadence like she was recounting a story she’d heard a dozen times before and was tired of. They were enlightening, but still raised more questions than they answered.

SO WE HAVE! AND YOU PLAY VERY WELL.

He sighed dramatically and pressed a hand to his cheek.

ALAS I GET BORED.

Her eyebrows pulled together slightly as she shifted on her feet, confused and unimpressed by his theatrics. Maybe she didn’t know what “alas” meant.

MAKE IT TO THE FRONT DOOR AND YOU CAN SLEEP ALONE TONIGHT.

She was running before the sentence even finished. By the time he’d stuffed his phone back in his pocket, she was already out of sight.

The front doors were unmistakable, twin slabs of wood and metal detailing that stood nearly twice as high as all the other doors on the property. They were also on the opposite side of the house. He could have chased after her, or tried to predict her route so he could blindside her from another room. Instead, he unlocked the nearest sliding glass door and cut across the interior courtyard, enjoying the faint breeze against his scalp portending an afternoon thunderstorm.

No one ever said he had to play fair.

Leaning against the wall in the foyer, he checked the adhesive on his mask. It was a new model, one with a button cam installed in the socket over his missing eye. The added hardware made it slightly heavier than his standard model and so required some testing before he brought it out in the field. It would never replace his beloved tapes, but it was always good to have a more streamlined option available. Especially for days like today when he planned on stripping down and didn’t want to deal with the harness.

There was no patter of bare feet on tile to herald the girl’s arrival. She just appeared in a blur of black rounding the corner. She screeched to a halt when she saw Chromeskull, an unspoken GOD FUCKING DAMN IT clear as day on her face. He waggled his fingers at her in a playful wave. Her only response was to hunch over, hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath.

She didn’t retreat as Chromeskull sauntered over to her. He noticed her favoring the swollen ankle; it must be too painful for her to run anymore. She glared at him balefully through the curtain of her hair. He was near grabbing distance when she twitched right, as though to duck around him. When he moved to block her, she dove straight between his legs, sliding briefly on her stomach, handskneesfeet towards the door. In his haste to course correct, spin around, and lunge for her, his own feet tangled with each other and he went down hard. He managed to snag her leg on the way down, bringing her to the floor with him.

Bare toes and fingers scrabbled against the tile as she fought to gain even an inch of distance. It was too late; he already had a handful of dress and hair and was pulling himself up to straddle her waist. She put up a good struggle as he wrangled her arms behind her back, but she was hopelessly outmatched. He adjusted his hold, easily gripping both of her wrists in one hand as the other went to his belt. The girl tried to lurch forward at the clink of the buckle, squirming as he wrapped the black leather tightly around her wrists.

The front door was merely feet away.

Satisfied with the bindings, Chromeskull let a little more of his weight settle onto her thighs, grinning at the way she immediately went stock-still when she felt his bulge press against her back. As if that would make his cock any less hard. Her head dropped to the floor in defeat. He brushed the hair out of her face, petting her like he was soothing a dog, and pulled out his phone again.

I WIN!

The little huff of air she gave could’ve meant anything: resignation, irritation, exhaustion, any number of other -tion’s. As Chromeskull hauled her over his shoulder, he decided to go with whichever one stroked his ego the most at the moment and in hindsight. He gripped her leg as high up as he could - thumb rubbing against her ass cheek and index finger tucked snugly against her pussy. Her thighs tensed at that, but she made no other move to throw him off. From what he could tell so far, she was an at least somewhat intelligent girl; she had to have realized that if she wriggled free, she’d just land on her head and Chromeskull would scoop her right back up.

Didn’t stop him from wishing she’d rub against him just a little in the elevator on the way to the basement, though.

***

The framework was something he’d had custom-made when he got sick of having to find things for Veronica to stand on so he didn’t have to crouch to fuck her when she was strung up from the ceiling. A stainless steel arc formed an almost-complete circle over a pedestal of adjustable height. Attachments at regular intervals along the arc allowed the subject’s arms to be cuffed in nearly any position while still giving Chromeskull - and the cameras set up around the room - unfettered access to all sides of her body.

The girl was upright, her arms stretched outward and slightly up, like a crucifix. She had to stand slightly on her toes to ease some of the strain on her shoulders.

Chromeskull had given a lot of thought to the lighting and layout of the room. The ring frame stood in the center  and could be removed and broken down, the pedestal recessed to be flush with the floor, if he wanted to use the space. Certain lighting configurations were saved as presets that could be accessed with a press of a button. The amount and quality of camera equipment down here was probably comparable to some professional film productions.

Unsheathing the knife from his back, he trailed it slowly along the row of buttons down the dress’s front, teasing each one with the point of the blade. When he reached the bottom, he gripped the hem, pulling the fabric taut, and slipped the knife underneath the last button. A flick of the wrist, and it popped free, landing somewhere out of sight with a soft plink.

Plink.

Plink.

Plink.

Plink.

The final button rested at the girl’s throat. He took a moment to caress her there with thumb and forefinger, feeling the frantic jump of her pulse underneath the thin skin. She was, once again, steadfastly refusing to look him in the face, gaze unwaveringly fixed at some unknown point over his shoulder as he liberated the last button. He made quick work of the sleeves - two long, clean slices from shoulder to wrist - and tossed the ruined dress away.

The gauzy fabric of her bralette and panties was designed to accentuate rather than cover. Honestly, he was surprised she was wearing them at all, given her apparent aversion to lace. Not that he was complaining, though.

No, definitely not complaining, he thought as he hooked a finger through the center of the bralette. But they were still getting in the way of the places he wanted to touch the most, and the flimsy material tore so easily under his hands that he didn’t need the knife. Almost as if the garments themselves were as eager to leap free as he was.

Chromeskull backed away, admiring the view. A pool of light illuminated the central display, casting the rest of the room into shadow. To the camera’s eye, the girl and the metal frame were the only things in the universe.

And fuck, did she look delicious up there.

He’d seen her naked before, of course. But he hadn’t really looked, too eager to get his cock inside her at the time. Now that he was more level-headed and the girl was secured with leather cuffs that wouldn’t rip her wrists open, he could take the time to really drink in his latest acquisition.

She was still too skinny; a few good meals weren’t enough to change that yet. The shape of her ribs under taut skin flowed with the dark lines of the scars across her chest and stomach. He’d been ready to dismiss the thing with the bear as bullshit, but the marks really were undeniable. He tried to match up some of the other scars with the stories she’d told so far, but the bullet marks were hidden by her curls. The way she’d ducked her head and shaken the hair over her shoulders seemed practiced, the actions of a person who’d often found themselves in a state of undress when they didn’t want to be.

Bruises were already forming on her knees from being dragged to the floor, and the injured ankle was noticeably red. The blooms of color excited him. He couldn’t wait to mark her over and over and over, with knives and teeth and unrelenting fingers, reds and purples and blues and yellows like abstract art on a ragged white canvas.

Still hidden beyond the edge of the light, he began to circle her, slowly. He stripped off his shirt as he prowled, tossing it to the ground next to the remains of the dress. His pants and shoes followed, leaving him in his increasingly tight boxers with a single knife strapped to his thigh. She didn’t crane her head to try to follow him, but her fingers twitched against the chains and he could see goosebumps starting to prick along her skin.

He re-entered the spotlight directly behind her, close enough for her to feel his heat but not close enough to touch. Slowly, deliberately, he gathered up her hair in his hands, brushing his fingertips over her face as he did. When the whole mass was pulled back, he wound it tightly around his fist like a soft black rope until his knuckles rested against her scalp. He gave an experimental tug, tilting the girl’s head up and down. Then he tied the hair back in a loose knot with the shredded remains of her panties.

Her back was a tracery of thin, fine scars like the nearly invisible cracks in a piece of ceramic just before it shatters. One shoulder had a little pink exit wound scar matching the entry wound on the front; the other round must have lodged itself in her body when she was shot.

Hell of a thing, having to dig a bullet out of a little girl’s shoulder.

The knife was like an extension of his hand, and he swore he could feel it when he pressed the tip in at the nape of the girl’s neck. Skin parted and mouth-watering crimson welled up in the knife’s wake as he cut a perfectly straight line down the length of her spine from neck to tailbone. He moved with careful restraint; the blade could easily carve down to the bone with a little added pressure, and that wasn’t on the menu tonight.

Planting the other hand between her shoulder blades, he spread the edges of the incision with his ring and index fingers and ran the knuckle of his middle finger over it, teasing the wound the same way he’d teased her cunt a few nights prior. Blood coated his hand like slick and his cock throbbed in response.

Muscle and bone shifted visibly under the girl’s skin as she fought to tamp down her pained reaction. Inspired, Chromeskull carved two more lines parallel to the first, from shoulder blade to the lowest rib. The streams of blood pooled at the crack of her ass, trickling down her cheeks and thighs to pool on the floor. His mouth watered and he briefly regretted his decision to wear the mask this time. He could imagine dropping to his knees and running his tongue up the bleeding slit, working her with his mouth like he was eating her pussy, blood dripping down his chin and throat.

Another time.

He holstered the knife and unholstered his cock before running both hands down her back. The smears of red across her skin sent a frisson of need up his own spine. When he was coated in blood from wrist to fingertip, he reached around and grabbed her tits, engulfing them easily in his hands. Her nipples had hardened at some point, little pebbles against his palms. He kneaded the soft flesh, then stepped forward to press himself against her, chest to back and not an inch of space between them. It was the most skin-on-skin contact he’d had with her yet, and he couldn’t help rutting against her like a horny teenager. His erection was a living, pulsing thing trapped between them, leaking spurts of precum that probably hurt like fuck when they dribbled into her open cuts. With another squeeze of her tits, he leaned down and pressed the teeth of his mask against the scar on her neck.

She jolted so hard her bad leg gave out, jerking awkwardly in her restraints like a marionette on tangled strings. The iron grip Chromeskull had on her chest kept her from dropping too far, and he hauled her back into him with a silent chuckle. He could feel the twitches as her body tried to fold in on itself protectively. Tendons stood out along her arms and her fingers curled into claws in the air as she pulled uselessly against the cuffs, all animal instinct.

One hand slid down to cup her pussy, leaving behind a trail of sticky scarlet across her belly. She was dry when he fondled her, but that wouldn’t be an issue with such an abundance of natural lubrication at his disposal. He wetted his other hand with fresh blood and gave his cock a few firm pumps until it was slick and red and winking like a ruby in the light. Then he spread her folds and pushed into her tight little hole.

A small, agonized wheeze escaped the girl when the head breached her tight walls. She clenched her teeth against any other sounds, trembling in silent pain as Chromeskull forced his way deeper. When the final inch slid home, balls resting against her bloodied ass, he took a moment to just breathe, nuzzling her sweat-damp temple and pressing a hand to her abdomen where he swore he could feel himself pulsing in her guts. Her inner muscles clenched down on him rhythmically as her body fought against the girthy intrusion. He probably could’ve cum from that alone, if he were inclined to wait.

However, Chromeskull was not a man who was inclined to wait for anything, so he pulled out part way and gave a short, hard thrust.

He would have stuck his fingers in the girl’s mouth for her to suck so he could toy with her clit, were it not for the very real threat that she would bite the damn things all the way off. Her stray dog proclivities meant she would have to deal with the consequences of her behavior and take his cock in her cunt unaided. She was doing a stellar job of it so far; every thrust glided a little smoother and his pleasure was rapidly reaching a crescendo.

With a hand on her thigh, he pulled her leg up and back, opening her up to the camera and leaving her to balance precariously on her swollen ankle. The other hand pressed the knife flat to her neck, forcing her to lean back into him lest she slit her own throat. Every point of contact felt alive. Thighs, stomach, chest, arms slippery with blood and sweat; cock soaked with juices from the most perfect pussy he’d ever fucked.

His balls began to tighten with his impending climax, and his grip on her body tightened, too. Fingers digging into the meat of her thigh, forearm an iron bar across her chest, he lifted the girl completely off the ground as he came: an earth-shattering, vision-obliterating orgasm that nearly made his knees buckle.

For a moment, he worried he might’ve broken her neck in his paroxysm of pleasure; she was so quiet and still in his arms. But then the buzzing started to recede from his head and he could feel her breathing, softer and more even than he’d expected. He set her down carefully, unsurprised when her legs completely folded. His cock was still outrageously hard, but he needed to get her back taken care of before she lost too much blood. He kicked off his boxers - no sense trying to put them back on in his current state - and strode over to switch off the camera and retrieve the key for the cuffs.

Cum dripped from the girl’s cunt to mix with the puddle of blood on the floor. A perfect bloody handprint marked each breast; more red streaked across her legs and torso and a hand-shaped bruise was already darkening on her thigh. Tendrils of hair were plastered to her face and neck, and her head drooped listlessly. When Chromeskull lifted her head by the hair, her face was slack, eyes blank. He pulled out the knife and smacked her cheek with the flat of the blade - nothing.

Oh well, he figured as he undid the cuffs and bundled her unresponsive body back into his arms. There was nothing for it down here in the basement. He had a bottle of lube in the ensuite up in his bedroom; he’d get her cleaned up and bandaged and then see about fucking some life back into her.

[slashhinginghasher]

Jesse, with his mask covered in glitter: ...

Asa: 🤨

Jesse: SHE GOT INTO ALL OF THEM. EVEN MY RESERVES.

Asa: Huh

Jesse: IF I AKNOWLEDGE IT, SHE WINS.

Jesse: SHE NEVER LEAVES THE HOUSE, I DON'T KNOW WHERE SHE KEEPS GETTING IT ALL

[slashhinginghasher]

Into the Cricketverse - Spring Break

Cricket and Marena first meeting let's goooooo

This was supposed to be a "miscommunication teehee" piece but it turned into angst at the end whoops

As always, Cricket belongs to the phenomenal @thesightstoshowyou

~

Spring break meant a month spent in Jesse’s penthouse in the Florida Keys. Having never been to college, or any school really, the concept held no weight in Marena’s mind, but apparently it was like Christmas for Chromeskull. The massive influx of visitors from all across the country made for a bounty of easy prey, and the cops’ attempts to control the chaos of the drunken partiers kept them too busy to worry about some pesky murders - at least until the tapes started rolling in a few weeks later. For Marena’s part, it meant people in brightly colored clothes making a lot of noise on the beach below while she watched from the security of the penthouse’s lofty patio, getting her brains fucked out multiple times a day as the excitement of the hunt cranked Jesse’s libido up to nearly unmanageable levels, and a lingering worry that the Miami homicide department would somehow sense she was back in the area.

She would never understand how Jesse returned to the same murder spots again and again with such confidence. The mask helped, she supposed.

Marena was curled up with a book on one of the sitting room sofas while Jesse showered off the sweat from his morning workout (mercifully, one involving his private gym and not her today). She’d started reading a lot more, in both English and Russian, after being acquired by Jesse, and what had once been a laborious task was now something she actually enjoyed. The novel before her, though, was dense and confusing enough that she felt like she was twelve years old and just learning to read all over again. She’d had to start making notes on a scrap of paper just to keep track of what the hell was going on.

The lock on the front door clicked open. Her head jerked up at the sound. The maintenance staff for all of Jesse’s properties were strictly on-call - no regularly scheduled visits, lest someone walk in on something they shouldn’t see. Was it the cops? The FBI? She’d have expected a battering ram in that case, although it wouldn’t work on the reinforced door.

Setting her book down on the coffee table, Marena slipped her hand into her pocket to grab her knife and listened as hard as she could. There were a few muffled shuffles and thumps, a brief murmur of voices. The shower was no longer running, but Jesse had a skincare routine that rivaled that of a high-class hooker, so it would be some time before he emerged. (She had mentioned the hooker thing to Jesse exactly once, and he’d choked her so hard she blacked out the next time they had sex, which was approximately two minutes after she made the comment.) She would have to be the frontline against whatever intruder was coming down the hall.

Asa fucking Emory walked in, carrying several duffel bags, trailed by a pretty brunette woman in a sage green sundress.

Marena’s spine stiffened as she locked eyes with the predator on the other side of the room. Asa’s face was an impassive mask, but she could tell by the flashing of his eyes that he was hardly thrilled by her presence. To say their first and only meeting had been… fraught would be an understatement. Much of it felt like a fever dream to her, being of neither sound mind or body at the time. Jesse had later told her that it was only his direct and insistent interference that kept her from being turned into one of the mutilated creations that Asa crafted at his torturemurder hotel.

But none of that explained what Asa was doing here now. Did he have some sort of timeshare on the apartment? Had Jesse invited him to join in on the spring break slaughter party? And who the hell was the woman clasping her hands nervously behind him?

“Marena,” Asa said icily.

“Dr. Emory,” Marena replied, equally glacial.

He glanced around the room.

“Where is he?”

“Shower.”

Asa sighed heavily through his nose, as though Jesse’s inconvenient hygiene schedule was Marena’s fault. The mystery woman bit her lip. She opened her mouth. Reconsidered, closed it again. Her eyes bounced between Asa and Marena. Beautiful eyes: one warm brown, the other mossy green. She took a small, fortifying breath and spoke up in a timid whisper.

“As-”

“Quiet,” Asa snapped, and she immediately shut her mouth again with an audible click, shrinking back into herself.

Marena felt a pit forming in her stomach. A phantom smell of perfume, sweat, and blood on the back of her tongue. She was gripping the knife so tightly she could feel the filigreed pattern of the handle imprinting itself on her skin. This was so, so not good.

Asa’s gaze was lingering on her bare neck. She’d had a thick leather collar the last time they saw each other. What did he make of its absence now?

The stalemate was broken when Jesse sauntered in, clad in nothing but his silk boxers and a towel around his neck. He grinned broadly, so clearly he was expecting the company and had conveniently neglected to tell Marena.

“Took your sweet time getting here.”

“You don’t get to lecture me about punctuality, Cromeans,” Asa growled.

Jesse chuckled, then looked over at the woman, who had straightened fractionally when he walked into the room but was still half hidden behind Asa’s broad shoulders.

“Aw, don’t tell me you’re getting all shy on me now,” he said, followed by an unfamiliar sign that must have been the woman’s name. She gave him a little wave and a quiet “hi”.

“Manners, Cricket.”

“Sorry, Sir.” The woman, Cricket, stepped fully into view and folded her hands in front of her. “It’s good to see you again, Daddy.”

Marena choked, on air or spit or her own incredulity. All eyes turned on her when she started to cough: Cricket’s quickly dropping to the floor, Asa’s as cold as ever, and Jesse’s dancing with mirth. The latter was smirking, that smug, shit-stirring grin he wore whenever he did something he knew would get under Marena’s skin. She glared at him while she tried to get her breathing under control, knowing he could read her face as easily as she could read his.

Fucking really?!

Fucking really, baby. C’mon, don’t you wanna try it out?

“There are so many things wrong with you,” she croaked. “What the fuck.”

There was a soft, terrified gasp from Cricket but Marena was already walking away. Jesse grabbed her arm as she passed and she tried to recoil - “don’t fucking touch me, god” - but of course he didn’t listen, reeling her in and planting a kiss square on her mouth before releasing her and sending her on her way with a swat on the ass.

Her shudder of disgust was almost entirely unfaked.

***

“You are far too lenient on her,” Asa groused after the door to the master bedroom slammed shut.

“Yeah, but she’s fun when she gets riled up like that.” Asa fixed him with a glare that had brought many a grown man to tears and Jesse rolled his eyes, knowing it would piss the other man off even more.

“You won’t be laughing when it’s your neck with a needle in it,” Asa snarled. He grabbed the duffel bags and stalked off to the guest bedroom, muttering uncomplimentary things under his breath. Cricket remained frozen in place, anxiously clutching at her locket. Jesse could see her brain working overtime trying to process what had just happened. She jumped when he tipped her face up with a finger under her chin.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked tremulously.

“Not at all, doll. She’s just shy.”

Cricket gave him a dubious look that made him laugh before schooling her face into neutrality.

“And Sir is… okay? With that behavior?” Oh, she was stressed stressed if she was referring to Asa as “Sir” when he wasn’t even in the room. Poor little thing.

“Doesn’t matter if Asa likes it. She’s mine.”

She mulled that over.

“That time Sir left me at the hotel overnight, he said he had to watch something for you… that was her?”

Jesse nodded. Cricket bit at her lip. He could tell she wanted to ask about what had happened that night, but she was a good girl. She didn’t survive as long as she had by prying.

“Okay. Thank you, D-” she cut herself off, indecisive.

“Just ‘Jesse’ to you now, doll. Unless you prefer it the other way, I won’t mind.” He winked. She blushed.

“I should help Sir unpack,” she murmured, and scurried off.

***

Two of Marena’s fingernails were chewed bloody and she was going to work on finger number three when Jesse crouched down in front of her perch on the window seat.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

What was wrong? What was wrong was that someone had ripped a figure straight out of her adolescence and plunked it down in front of her like some kind of sick threat. She had known so many girls who made themselves small and sweet, the only way they knew how to survive the men who led them away every night and gave them pain, and even then it was rarely enough to save them.

“Her name is just Cricket?”

“She doesn’t need any other name.”

Dehumanizing. Reducing woman to insect.

“She wasn’t with Asa that night.”

“I asked him to keep her out of the way. He can be rather… single-minded when it comes to Cricket, and I needed his full attention on you.” Jesse shook his head indulgently. “Not that it made much of a difference in the end, huh?”

The Marena of now was already far more domesticated than the Marena of eighteen months ago, but maybe that wasn’t enough for Jesse anymore. Maybe this was his subtle way of telling her what was in store, even though he was hardly a subtle man.

“How long has she been Cricket?”

“Asa’s had her for years. Since before I met him. She was actually part of my welcoming committee.”

Was that nostalgia on his face? Marena felt sick. Jesse noticed her expression and frowned.

“I haven’t touched her since we met, baby. That part of our arrangement ended the moment I laid eyes on you.”

Arrangement? Jesse tried to take her hands in his, but she snatched them away.

“I don’t care who you fuck, Jesse! That’s not the goddamn issue!”

“Then TELL ME WHAT IS.”

The issue was that the woman in the other room had given up her entire self just to be able to keep breathing, and Jesse expected Marena to do something as petty as hate her. The issue was that the fate she had railed so hard against, had been willing to die to escape, was coming for her no matter what. The issue was that he wanted to turn her back into a doll, and whether he succeeded or killed her, she lost either way. The issue was that he had always been on the other end of the knife, had never had to fight against being made into something lesser than himself. The issue was that all of her pain and fear and heartbreak meant nothing because he decided it didn’t. Her life wasn’t hers, it never had been and it never would be, and the latest reminder of that was cupping her cheek in his hand and staring at her like she was a silly little girl.

Please understand, she begged him with her eyes. I need you to understand.

He didn’t. He thought he did, but he was wrong. He thought she was jealous and lying about it for the sake of her pride. He would go out tonight and turn some other girl she didn’t have the bandwidth to care about into a carcass, and then he would come back and kiss her and fuck her and make her cum and she would like it and hate herself for liking it. They would fall asleep and she would have nightmares that left her chest and throat aching with unvoiced screams.

She let him kiss her without complaint before he got dressed, and again before he left the room. She slumped against the window and watched all the scurrying little ants on the beach below. She felt numb. Doll-like.

[slashhinginghasher]

woe Marena picrew be upon ye

[slashhinginghasher]

Jesse to Marena:

~

Marena: Fuck your evil clone to piss you off, kill you (to piss you off), summon a demon to kick your ghost out and repossess your corpse and marry it. To piss you off.

[slashhinginghasher]

Midnight Star - Chapter 11: Interlude - Blood and Honey

Fun with rats and infidelity.

[Masterlist] [Ao3]

~

The House Master’s wife is a good wife.

The Mistress, as the girls call her, lords over the kitchens and the housekeeping with an iron fist. She does not tolerate a single stain or speck of dust or overcooked dish.

A good wife knows how to run a tidy household.

The Mistress does not scold or nag. She does not turn up her nose at the uncouth Guests who tramp through the House or complain about the loud noises that echo through the night.

A good wife does not interfere with her husband’s business.

The Mistress does not strike the working girls across the face. Her discipline does not leave scabs or bruises.

A good wife takes care of her husband’s property.

The Mistress knows that her husband takes favorites. She knows he lies with the girls under his roof, and does not say a word.

A good wife knows a man can only be expected to resist so much temptation.

When the Mistress finds her husband with the wild girl from the forest in their marriage bed, she does not direct her anger at him. When her fingers pull savagely at dark hair, when her nails break skin, it is not his.

A good wife does not raise a hand to her husband.

When the Mistress beats the wild girl insensate, the House Master does not try to stop her.

A good wife can be forgiven her trespasses, just the once.

***

The Mistress is a heartless fucking bitch.

She knows full well that her husband has had his way with nearly every girl in the House of Roses. To the stranger’s eye, she is unbothered by her husband’s straying. There are no shrieks of betrayal or poisonous glares, no slaps from raised hands or wooden spoons. But the Flowers know her weapons are the pain of an empty belly, of overworked muscles and too little sleep until the rooms begin to sway and blur at the edges. So long as the House Master keeps his dalliances away from the Mistress’s chambers and allows her her petty vengeances, she is content to play the role of gracious Wife.

***

The girl is seventeen, or maybe eighteen, and she does not know where she is. She was in the House Master’s bed, and now she is somewhere cold and dark and alone.

The girl did not want to end up in the House Master’s bed. The House Master had called her into the study - the one where she learned her letters and how to use her mouth, where she and Hana would sit like good pets and entertain him with her clumsy attempts at conversation - and given her a glass of wine.

She has not had wine before, only sips of vodka stolen from the kitchens with the other girls. She did not know wine is not supposed to taste chalky.

The drugs did not send her fully to sleep. Just made her loose and pliant, any thoughts of resistance becoming confused and losing their way before they could leave her throat or reach her hands. She still feels everything the House Master does to her when he takes her to bed like a wife, hears him whisper in her ear even though the words slide together like melting snow.

The Mistress screams in rage when she finds them. She drags the girl to the floor by the hair and the House Master only laughs as his wife spits curses and bloodies the girl’s nose with her fist.

Now she is alone in an airless dark that smells of damp and shifting things, and her face is stinging and sticky. She licks her lips with her swollen tongue.

Honey, she remembers. The Mistress smeared her face with honey after she beat her. Blood mixes with it now, metallic saltiness that curdles the sweetness of the sugar.

The lean cellar rat does not seem to care as it takes another bite out of the girl’s cheek.

[slashhinginghasher]

Marena: I wish somebody loved me

Her mom: God, you're extremely fucking selfish die

Marena: I am 11 years old

honestly 😭😭😭

~

Jesse, hearing about all this shit years later: hey that's kind of extremely fucked up Marena: you sew living people to dead people's corpses for fun Jesse: yeah but they're all at least 18

[slashhinginghasher]

Is Kseniya living a good life? Does she ever wonder about the "demon"?

Feel like she followed the marry and have kids young lifestyle and that can be pretty hit or miss.

Kseniya actually pulled the "move away to a big city as soon as she hit 18" move. Her father got cancer when she was around 16 and confessed everything to her in his last days, all the guilt he carried over the twin sister they tortured and, they believed, killed. This was 5 years after Marena had been driven out of the village for good and Kseniya had no way of tracking her down. She couldn't look at her mother the same way anymore and left as soon as she could.

I have some things tentatively planned (an interlude in Midnight Star and a one or two chapter separate fic) that would go into more detail about Kseniya and Marena's interactions growing up and Kseniya's life after the fact, so I won't go into any more detail for now. >:)

[slashhinginghasher]

Marena hair inspo from tiktok

[slashhinginghasher]

Marena: only time i miss a man is when i swing and he ducks

Marena: