#steve kemp fics

[sweetiebarnes]

Last Christmas

Pairing: Steve Kemp x fem!reader 

Word Count: 1,041

Warnings: Mentions of kidnapping & being held captive, mention of non-main character’s death, Steve Kemp (he’s a warning)

A/N: This is my submission for the tis the season to be thot-y writing challenge. This is written for @onceuponastory. I know Christmas was last month, but life got in the way. I hope you all still enjoy it! 

You weren’t sure why he kept you alive for so long. By now, you had lost count of how many girls had come and gone since you first arrived. There had been; Lydia, Simone, and Melissa. You knew there were more, but; at some point, the names began to blur together. After the third time losing one of them. You told yourself to stop getting attached. It was clear he had other plans for you. 

Holidays with Steve were different for you compared to the other girls. They got nothing. It felt as if he didn’t even visit their cells unless it was to collect ‘product’. He, however, loved to visit you. Every day he’d make it a priority to stop by. It had been this way since the very beginning. 

You still remember Lydia telling you, “He sounds different with you. Kinder and gentler… it’s a bit unsettling.”  

At the time, you tried not to think anything of it. Mentally you told yourself that she didn’t know what she was talking about. You now knew she was right. You had been here for what felt like ages now, and he still hadn’t sold any part of you.  

The only thing that helped you keep track of time, was Steve’s insistence on celebrating holidays with you. At first, you refused to act happy about it. But after being cooped up in the cell for so long, you began to look forward to the holidays. 

It is early one morning when you are awoken by the sound of music coming from upstairs. You knew Steve loved to dance. He had you dance with him on multiple occasions. You also knew he loved doing it while working. The thing that caught your attention this time though was the song choice. Last Christmas could be heard even from your bed. A small smile appeared on your face when you heard the tune. This must mean it was around Christmas time. Your heart raced at thinking about this time last year. It was last December when you first met Steve Kemp. 

Flash Back

God, you hated your job. Everything about your job you despised. Whoever convinced you that working at a jewelry store would be a good idea could die for all you cared. Every customer reminded you just how single you were. Whether it was a husband shopping for his fiancé, or someone buying an engagement ring. You hated it. 

Then you saw him. You were convinced you had never seen anyone so attractive before in your life. He walked past the first display, not paying any mind to the store. No way he’s single, you thought to yourself. 

As if he heard you, the angel himself looked up and smiled. He then glanced down at the necklaces in front of him and began to look. Fuck. Not single. Taking a deep breath, you made your way over to him. “Hi there, is there something, in particular, I can help you find?” Was your voice always this high-pitched? You desperately wanted to cringe and hide away, and you had barely said anything to him. “Depends, could you show me what your favorite item in the store is?” This was not a question you were expecting. In fact, in all your time working at this store, no one had asked you this. But you could hear your manager Mark telling you to always do what the customer wants. “Of course, uh… that would be this necklace over here.” You take a crescent moon necklace out of the case to show him. “It’s simple but has an elegance to it. Perfect for every day.” 

His eyes peered down at the delicate chain and smiled softly. “It’s perfect, I’ll take it.” 

Men who looked like him were never single. They always came in shopping for their significant other. A part of you hoped though that this could be for his mother. You knew this was wishful thinking though. “Your girlfriend is going to love this.” 

He raised his brow and stared at you curiously. A small chuckle left his lips. “What makes you think I’m buying for a girlfriend?” There was a playfulness in his voice that caused your stomach to flutter. 

“Oh, I just assumed…” You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed as you walked over to the registers. “Well, whomever you’re buying this for is lucky.” 

The rest of the exchange went like any other. You honestly didn’t expect to see him again after that. But then you began to see him at random places. Your brain didn’t think anything of it back then. You naively thought it was the universe trying to push the two of you together. Now? Now you know he was following you. He was making it his mission to show up where you were so you’d be forced to interact. You had no clue that Steve Kemp had been watching you from afar for months.   No, you didn’t know any of this. So, when you ran into him in the produce section and he finally asked you out. You didn’t see the red flags and couldn’t see any reason to say no. 

So there you two were four dates later on Christmas Eve sipping on a glass of champagne. “I’ve got something for you.”

When he pulled the package out from behind him, you couldn’t but laugh.”Did you wrap that yourself? Because it looks like squirrels nested in it.” Steve rolls his eyes as he hands the package over to you. “Hush, and open it.” With a small smile, you do exactly as he says. You didn’t expect to find the necklace you’d helped him find on the first day you two met. Was that why he wanted to know your favorite? Did he plan this?

So many questions ran through your mind as he took the necklace out from the box and helped clasp it around your neck. The cool metal sends a shiver down your spine. Little did you know that your life would be changing completely that night. It would be your last night in over a year since you’d last seen the outside world. Looking back you still couldn’t believe everything changed all because of that necklace. 

[buckythinker]

Oh my fucking god i have NEVER wanted a man so bad. Fuck me

[imyourbratzdoll]

𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏’𝒕 𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒑𝒊𝒅 𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕

🕊️a whore's fairytale masterlist🕊️

summary - being the granddaughter of the witch that tried to eat hansel and gretel wasn't fun, especially when they come back to seek revenge.

warning - smut, dubcon, swearing, spitting kink, spit roasted, threesome, kidnapping, mentions of death and eating children, mentions of attempted abandonment, oral sex, creampie.

18+ only please, the gif and headers I use aren't mine.

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

Steve Hansel and Nick Gretel (their parents were hoping for a girl) made a pact years ago to never enter the woods again, not after that fateful day of crossing paths with the witch. When they were kids, their mother had unfortunately passed away, causing their father to find solace in the arms of another. They remembered the wedding clearly, how their hearts nearly beat out of their small chests as their father remarried the woman who would bring hell to their small family.

The hatred that leaked from their stepmother’s flesh could only be noticed by them; their father too blind with heartbreak to even notice. At their age, they were too young to understand why their father would remarry if he wasn’t in love with the woman. But as they grew older, bypassing the trauma they experienced. They began to realise their father was trying to fill a void with the first woman that passed. 

The one thing you should never do in a fairytale is trust the stepmother, the boys learnt this the hard way. Their family wasn’t the wealthiest, having to survive off the small crumbs that they could find or gather. They trusted the woman when she had said that she found some food they could harvest not too far from their home. Steve being the smartest out of the two, made sure to fill his pockets with some rocks, nodding toward his brother Nick before they followed, creating a small path along the way so they wouldn’t get lost. Their stepmother left after distracting them long enough, ensuring that she could finally get rid of the two extra mouths to feed. 

But the boys didn’t worry as the older of the two, gripped his brother’s hand and led him back home. Following the small rocks, and once they stepped foot out of the dreadful woods, they were greeted by their father who had been worried sick. As a small child, you’d think nothing of this, but as their father wrapped the two into a warm, loving hug. Steve looked over his shoulder, resting his chin on his father and smirked at the fuming woman, her lip sneered upwards as she realised her plan had failed. 

Her second attempt had somewhat succeeded; she lured the boys back out with the promise of more food. Steve having not collected any rocks that week, grabbed his leftover bread and decided to use that as their way back home. Yet, he had forgotten that they were not the only hungry creatures living in the woods. As a child when you get lost, you become scared and you don’t know what to do, you expect for an adult to come and save you because how could a child do that for themselves? They weren’t built to protect themselves, they had adults for that, adults to learn from so that they could carry on protecting when they got older. The boys were terrified, but Steve wouldn’t show it because it was then that he realised he would be the one protecting his brother from now. 

Hands gripped tight, they wondered through the woods hoping to find their way back home until a small shout came from Nick’s mouth, Steve’s head whips around and his eyes widen when he sees a house made completely of gingerbread, decorated with the finest lollies, he could feel his mouth water and before he could stop his brother. Nick dropped his hand and took off running toward the delicious looking house. His mouth already opened as he began to nibble on a pillar, his stomach filling immediately. Steve caught up with him and slowly begin to eat as well, what harm could this do? They were kids, living in a poor home with barely any food to keep their stomach from rumbling every five seconds. 

This was where the real horror began, an ugly old woman slammed open the door, screaming at them before she dragged the boys inside. Again, another promises them food, as if there were a giant sign on their head signalling, they needed it. Steve’s eyes darted around the home, connecting with those of a girl’s, her eyes wide and lips pouted. He wondered if the two were related or if she was also kept prisoner as the wicked old witch shoved the boys inside a small cell. She kept mumbling on about filling them up and eating them, causing the boys to try, and come up with a plan to get out of there. 

The witch called upon the youngest, telling him to help her with the oven door. The young girl watched from the corner, observing, and ignoring as the eldest boy tried to get her attention. Her grandmother wouldn’t like that, she wanted the young girl to continue studying their witchcraft, wanting her to continue their legacy if anything ever happened to her. She watched as the oven door managed to open, and her grandmother turned toward her, something that she shouldn’t have done as it distracted her from the boy beside her. 

“Y/–” The witch is cut off, a scream leaving her as Nick pushes her fat body into the oven. The girl too shocked to move, she felt her body freezing up instead of rushing over to help. Nick stumbles towards his older brother, yanking the cell open and running with him as they escape. Steve turns his head, eyes connecting with the young girls, he gulped as her face slowly morphed into an evil look, her eyes narrowed and dark, with a promise that she will one day become strong enough and find those that killed her grandmother. 

As the boys ran for their lives, twists, and turns, narrowly missing the trees and bushes. They somehow managed to exit the woods and head toward their home where their father was, again worried sick for them. He pulled the boys into his arms, holding them tight and listened as they went on about their stepmother and then the witch. None of the boys noticed that the stepmother never made it back, getting lost herself and the father was glad that his boys were home again. Steve and Nick looked at each other and that day they made a pact to never step foot in those woods again. 

That pact was broken as the now men wandered into the woods. “I thought we agreed that we wouldn’t step foot into these woods again?” Nick sneered, not being able to ignore the chills that spread through his body at the thought. He gripped the sword tight, one that matched his brothers. 

“Father is old, Nick. We are barely passing by as it is, and we need the food. You know that for us to be here again, it is our last resort.” Steve tried getting his brother to understand, he didn’t want to be in these woods either. Not after the look that young girl gave him, after that day he had managed to get the town in on searching for her, of course some believed there was a witch in the woods as their own children have gone missing. But they had all come up empty, which left him to think that they were related. It would explain the look she gave him as they ran out of there. 

After that day, the brothers became a bit darker, smarter. Their minds had twisted, no longer sweet and innocent. Nick grunted, kicking a rock that got in his way and watched as it flew across the ground. “I know, but. It feels…” He paused, not knowing what word to use to describe the feeling. 

“I feel it too.” Nick felt somewhat relieved that his brother could feel what he felt too, but he didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. “Come on, we better get going before dark.” Steve ushered his brother forward, heading in a direction opposite the one that caused their trauma. They took cautious steps as they wandered through the woods, managing to gather some food and kill some animals.

Nick hit his brother’s arm; eyes wide as he gestures to a house in the middle of nowhere. A replica to the one many years ago. Steve can feel rage build inside him as he stares, wishing the place would burn down. “That can’t be the same one. We went another way!” Nick exclaims, horror filling his bones. 

Steve launches forward, his feet stomping against the dirt and leaves as he heads toward the house. Nick stumbles along, trying to stop his brother even though he feels the same rage deep inside. They both release a breath as they stop in front of the door, the sweet scent of gingerbread filling their senses. Before Steve can knock, the door flings open, and their mouth falls open.

You stand there, your hair perfectly wild and your long black dress falls gracefully while hugging your figure. Your eyes are sharp as you glare at the two men, it was as though they couldn’t breathe. You were so beautiful, practically glowing as you stared them down. “Who do you think you are trespassing onto my property?!” You growl, starring up at the men as they tower over you. You could feel it in your bones, they felt familiar, as if you knew them from somewhere. 

Steve’s eyes widen more than before, your eyes. He had seen those eyes before, his brows furrowed, and the rage continued to build as he connected the dots. You had grown, it wasn’t hard for him to remember those eyes. They had haunted him for years, striking fear deep inside him and his brother. “You! You’re the little girl!” He fumed, only to be held back by his brother as he tries to step forward. 

Your eyes widen slightly as you begin to remember who they are. The men that made you an orphan, causing you to watch as your grandmother cooked. “Oh!” And like that, ever so subtly. Your demeanour changes, a soft smile replacing the frown, your eyes lighten and your back straightens. “You’re the boys that saved me! Come in! Come in!” You usher them in, sneering and coiling on the inside as those words slip from your lips. This was the only way you could get revenge, a life for a life. “I’m just preparing myself some dinner if you two would like to join!” 

Steve and Nick cautiously follow you inside, looking around. “It’s not children, is it?” Nick lets out a small ‘ow’ while rubbing his head when Steve whacks him, giving him a ‘what the hell’ look. Your soft laugh causes them to slightly relax, thinking you might be different.

On the inside, your laugh is cruel, wicked. You couldn’t wait to watch the brothers burn, finally getting the satisfaction after all these years. “Of course not, why would I eat children?” You bat your lashes innocently at him, smirking inside as he blushes. It was now or never, you needed this. “Could you please help me?” You pout, knowing you have the youngest brother in your palm. “I–I’m too weak to open the door… And I usually end up hurting myself.” It was a long shot, maybe they’d connect the dots, maybe they wouldn’t but you were so close.

Nick nods, beginning to head over. A sense of Deja-vu hits him but he ignores it, you seemed so cute and innocent. What harm could someone as tiny as you do? Steve watches, his stomach twists, trying to tell him something and out of the two brothers he listens. You seemed distracted, only watching Nick so he decides to move slow, sneaking behind you. 

You noticed too late, a gasp falls from your lips as Steve grabs hold of you, locking your arms behind your back, pressing against his front. “Let go of me!” You struggle against his hold, sneering at them. “I swear to god if you don’t let me go, I’ll make you regret this!” You yelp as Steve tugs on your arms harshly, pushing you toward your large wooden table. 

Nick blinks, looking between you and the oven before letting out a gasp. “Oh my god! It was going to happen again?!” Steve rolls his eyes, gesturing his brother to come help. Nick quickly stumbles forward, taking over for his brother while Steve walks into your line of vision. He crouches down, looking into your eyes while he reaches forward and tucks a fall piece of hair behind your ear. 

“Did you really think we’d be stupid enough to fall for that a second time…” Steve looks at Nick before shaking his head, looking back down at you. “Okay, maybe one of us wasn’t stupid enough.” He ignores the small ‘hey’ as he gives you a smirk. “What should we do with you, huh?” 

“Let me go!” You sneer, glaring daggers at the man. Nick groans as you push back against him, accidentally grinding against his bulge. You gasp, eyes widening. “You pervert!” You thrash around, your movements not helping the man behind you. 

Steve grins as he realises what he’s going to do to you. He reaches forward and grips your chin, tilting your head back enough that it begins to strain your neck. He leans forward, keeping eye contact. “We’re going to have some fun with you, little witch.” The force of his hand causes your mouth to open slightly and your walls clench around nothing as Steve spits into it. Never once has a mere human made you react like this.

You must have zoned out because when you blink, the brothers had swapped positions. Maybe you could taunt one, distract him long enough. You breathe, focusing on the one before you, letting your magic swirl around and enter him. You let out a giggle, “Nick Gretel… Oh, your parents must have–” Your cut off and your eyes widen as a hard but soft object enters your mouth, causing you to choke and gag as it hits the back of your throat. Your eyes move down and widen more as you realise what has entered, you can feel yourself dampen at how big and thick he is. 

“Oops, what was that, little witch?” Nick groans, feeling your lips tighten around his throbbing member, your tongue flicking instinctively around his swollen tip. “Shit, I think she’s enjoying this, brother.” 

Steve hums, having rolled your dress above your hips while you were distracted and swiping a finger through your glistening folds. “Of course, she is, she’s a slut. Isn’t that right, little witch? You were just desperate for attention.” You whimper around Nick, causing him to let out a groan and jerk his hips. Thrusting deeper into your warm, wet mouth. “You just want to be stuffed, huh? Have us use both your holes, fuck you until you’re dumb. Fill you with our cum, making you want and beg for more.” His words cause your eyes to roll back, your thighs becoming slicker at the thought. Steve smiles, nodding. “Just like I thought.” 

He stands, palming his throbbing cock before he releases it. A groan falls from his lips and shoots through to your core as his strokes the thick base. The older brother guides his mushroom tip through your lips, gathering your juices before he pushes in. “Oh fuck… She’s so tight.” Steve grunts, his eyes fluttering as he thrusts deeper, his cock being hugged by your delicious walls. His hands grip your hips as you squeeze him, your moans vibrate around Nick’s cock, and he shouts.

“Fuck! I’m not going to last if she keeps doing that!” Nick holds the back of your head; his head falls forward as he slowly fucks your face. He watches as his cock slides in and out of your mouth, drool slipping out the sides of your mouth, only the whites of your eyes visible. “Such a good little witch, taking me so well.” 

Steve thrusts into you hard and fast, holding you down. He groans as his hands move from your hips to your plump cheeks that jiggle with each thrust, he grips them, pulling them apart and squeezing them. “Fuck, who knew a witch could be so pretty. Not like the other one we met.” Steve makes a dig at your dead grandmother, causing anger to build inside of you only to be replaced with pleasure. You tense before slowly relaxing in their hold, sucking desperately on Nick’s cock while his older brother splits you open. 

The feel of their pulsing veins, sliding in and out of your holes, their scents invading your senses cause you to become dizzy. You have never felt something so intense before and in response your walls clench and unclench around Steve like crazy, sucking him in deeper, allowing him to hit the spots that are far out of your reach. You moan, tingles erupt throughout your body as Nick buries his cock into the back of your throat and releases, filling your mouth with his cum. 

You swallow as he pulls out, slouching into the chair behind him as he watches his brother destroy you with hazy eyes. “O–oh!” You bury your face into the wooden table, hands flying forward and gripping the edge tightly, causing your knuckles to whiten. 

Steve growls, leaning forward and towering over you. His hand moves from your arse to the back of your head and pushes it harder into the surface. “You like that, slut? Such a weak fucking witch.” You whimper, tightening around him as your vision becomes white and your juices coat his thick member. Steve groans, continuing to thrust before coating your walls with his cum. Like his brother, he gently pulls out and sinks into the chair behind him, half-lidded eyes watch as your cunt clenches and unclenches around nothing and his cum leaks from your tight hole.

Your chest moves up and down as you breathe, trying to push away the left-over pleasure that runs through your body, you slowly move and fix your dress before lifting your hands. As magic begins to swirl around you and the room, you prepare to get rid of these men once and for all. “This is for my grandmother.” 

The brothers ignore the shivers that roll through their body at how chilling your voice is, they look at each other knowing that they will have to do something and fast before the magic can hit them completely. 

Steve being the closet decides to distract you while his brother grabs something from his pocket, while your attention remains on Steve, you don’t seem to notice the other sneaking up behind you. You’d think you would learn after last time, but of course, you thought you were strong enough. Your eyes widen when you are suddenly grabbed and before you can even think of using your magic, a cloth is placed on your mouth causing your eyes to become droopy. “You should’ve just been a good little witch…” You hear one of them before you go completely limp.

As they head back in the direction of their home, with you in their arms. You would later learn when you awoke that you should never wait to strike revenge, especially as a witch.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[shadeysprings]

YOU

—Art Collector!Steve Kemp x F!Reader

Summary — Your unexpected meeting with the famous art collector takes a dark turn when you learn the secret of his private collection.

Warnings — oral (female receiving), dismembered bodies, disrespect to the dead, entrapment, plots of killing, serial killer vibes, Steve being a calm psycho. There may be more I haven't mentioned but please read with caution.

Word Count — 5.4K

A/N — Story #1 for my FREAKtober Fest. The fic was heavily inspired by the movie itself and House of Wax. I'm happy to finally explore Steve's character in writing and I must say, I enjoyed every bit of it. The title was taken from the song You.

Gif by the amazing @steve-kemp

Shout out to @vellicore and @sgt-seabass for bouncing ideas with me and being my beta.

As always, your feedback is highly appreciated and your reblogs would be amazing. And of course, I hope y'all enjoy! ❤️

They didn’t come.

It was all you could think about as almost 2 hours had passed since your grad show started. Despite your parents’ — mostly your mom’s — disapproval of pursuing an arts program, you still invited them to the show. You hoped that if they saw what you were truly doing, they would understand your passion for paints and charcoal.

But it was a long shot, and you knew that. Though at least you tried…right?

You envy your classmates who carry bouquets while they present their artwork to their families and strangers alike. You were lucky enough to have a few come by your cubicle, delighted to explain the medium and process of your work. Some seemed genuinely intrigued while others, you can tell, only came by and endured your talk for the free stickers you offered at the end of your spiels.

Another hour passes by and you look up front when you hear an announcement being made by your instructor; a class photo. You’re reluctant to join, seeing no value in such a thing to be done as it’s obvious that once the day ends, they will be strangers once again. But another adamant call from your instructor has you heading to the front, a frown forming on your face when you’re pushed at the back, towered by your classmates—unseen once more. 

As parents and several others grab the opportunity to take a photo, your eyes suddenly divert back to your cubicle when you see someone looking over at your main art piece. You can’t put a pin on his face but you know you’ve seen him before. 

Once the group photo has ended, you immediately head back to your spot, catching the familiar stranger taking one of your stickers as well as a business card that sits beside it. It’s when you finally recognize him—and you’re in utter shock that he would be looking at your work. He finally notices you, a smile on his face as he holds out his hand. 

“Hi.” He begins, “I’m—”

“You’re Steve Kemp.” You finish for him, the confidence you suddenly displayed startling the both of you. But you push on when you see a smile of amusement on his face, taking his hand to shake. “You’re the famous art collector.” You wouldn’t have known it was him with how dressed down he looked with the corduroy jacket and navy jeans, but you’ve seen his face several times in art articles that you wouldn’t miss it.

“I wouldn’t say I’m famous.” He humbles himself but he lacks the conviction to make it believable. “I think I’m just skilled in finding pretty things—like this one.” He gestures towards your charcoal painting, the look of interest evident on his face. “What compelled you to incorporate a whale and an astronaut? What’s the story behind it?”

His question makes you smile. Maybe he is interested, you think to yourself and look towards your artwork before diving deep into your answer. 

“The artwork was inspired by the 52 Hertz Whale.” You begin. “Just to give you a little background; out of all the whale species, it’s the only one that makes a call with such a distinct pitch. Researchers had guessed that it could be a hybrid of two whale species but any attempts to search for the creature for further study have failed. Though some have been saying that it’s not a whale but an entirely different animal.

“Loneliness was the main theme of the piece—just like the whale, if it truly exists, it is alone in the vast sea; with no family to call its own and with it being different from the others, no one would listen or understand their cries. Akin to the lonely astronaut floating in the endless void of space. Though the flowers and the seagull represent hope and freedom—that one day, everything they thought to be true would change, that someone is there to listen and welcome them in their arms.”

You feel yourself shiver and your heart race as you end your interpretation. How the art piece truly mirrors your life and your cry for recognition from the people who truly matter. You try your best not to shed the tears that well in your eyes, presenting the collector with a smile and hoping he sees it as passion and confidence. 

But the look on his face startles you; there’s no judgment but you see a hint of amusement in his sapphire eyes. You think he’s about to say something, to comment on what you said, instead, he looks back at the artwork, seemingly appraising it. 

“How much?” The question stuns you. Did you hear correctly?

“I’m sorry?” 

“I want to buy your art piece.” He expounds. “How much are you selling it for?”

That’s the last thing you expected to be asked in a college grad show. Was he seriously wanting to purchase it? You try to answer, to tell him that you’re not really looking for buyers nor expecting to sell any of your work but no words come out of your mouth, still taken aback by his surprising inquiry.

“I don’t—” You stutter. “I’m not really—”

The chuckle he makes has you pulling on the cuffs of your oversized flannel, feeling slightly anxious at the thought that he’s making fun of your state of shock. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He says with a smile, one that you mimic if only to ease the tension building within you. “But I am serious. I do want to buy it.”

Still, you don’t know what to say. Do you just give him an amount and call it a day?

“Why don’t you sit on it? Let’s say two days and I can give you a call for your price.” He holds up your business card between two fingers, the smile on his face turning into a playful smirk. “What do you say?”

Under-dressed.

Not that it was a concern you realistically should have but the patrons of the bar made you feel as such with the men clad in suit jackets and the women, either in dresses or whatever you call the style of attire that was classier than your hoodie-jeans-sneakers combo. At least you brought a coat—that’s fancy enough, right?

You nurse your Bellini cocktail and thumb through your phone while waiting for Steve, popping your conversation thread with him every second or two just to assure yourself that he confirmed, or rather, planned the night of drinks to discuss your “Lonely Whale” piece as he coined it. It seemed odd at first but his determination was what compelled you to agree to meet him. 

The hiss of the straw fills your ears as you suck the last dregs of your drink. You shouldn’t have come early, you tell yourself, then you wouldn’t need to order another glass to accompany you on your wait. 

“Need a top-up?” A familiar voice from behind startles you and you look up to see Steve, decorated in a maroon wool sweater and that tantalizing smile he seems to always have. “I’m sorry I’m late. Traffic was bad coming here to this part of town.” He says as he takes a seat beside you in the booth. 

You scoot over to give him room, surprised that he didn’t take the one across from you. “Please, don’t be sorry. I wasn’t waiting long.” You assure him with a soft smile, tapping a finger on the rim of your glass. “The drink kept me company.”

“Are they any good?” He asks but he’s already called the attention of a server before you can even reply. He orders a Bloody Mary—quite peculiar, you think, but you’re not one to judge someone's preference. “And the lady will have another, please.” 

Silence envelops the both of you as you wait for the drinks to arrive, feeling shy and anxious when he rests his arm against the back of the booth and turns in his seat to face you. You’re not used to being seen yet here’s this man, well-known in the field you didn’t think to excel in giving you such unwarranted attention. 

“Uhmm, so I asked my instructor about the painting,” you begin as you try to break the ice, “and he said that—” but stop when he shakes his head and lets out a gentle laugh. 

You think he’s playing at your lack of knowledge of these types of transactions that it makes you second-guess your words. Maybe you should have come off more confident and prevented showing him an inkling of your cluelessness. But the smile he sends your way speaks of something different. There is no presence of ill-intent yet you still keep your guard up. 

“We can talk business later. I’d like to get to know the artist more first.” He says and for some reason, it could be how comfortable he seems to be around you, that you nod at his request, a soft smile forming on your lips. 

“Well, what do you want to know?”

Giggling. 

It’s been a while since you’ve done it but you guess after 4 glasses of the Bellini and a sip of his Bloody Mary, anyone would be in a lighter and more carefree mood. Just like how you are. 

The anxiety that filled you when you first walked into the bar seems non-existent with how well Steve carries a conversation. He listened to you complain and laughed at your sarcastic comments, throwing back another to keep the exchange alive. There was no dull moment to be recorded, only understanding when you shared the struggle of an art student living in a fast-paced environment. He’s probably the first person in your life who knows almost everything there is to know about you and even if he is a total stranger, he feels more familiar than any other. 

The night rolls by quicker than you’d hoped and the next thing you know you’re in his car, the alcohol messing with you as you begin belting out garbled lyrics to an Adele song. You’ve never felt so free and relaxed, and who would have thought you’d find it in someone who simply wants to buy your art project? 

You arrive shortly at your apartment building, a curious thought passing through your head as you don’t recall typing in your address in the GPS. But it goes just as quickly as it came when the passenger door is opened and Steve holds out a hand to help you out. 

He says your name, the syllables rolling like honey on his tongue and you don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the way the moon shines against his face, but you truly notice how his sapphire eyes glow brighter with how close he stands to you, his cologne permeating your senses and his warmth mixing with yours, keeping away the cold autumn breeze of the night that surrounds the both of you. 

“I had a lovely evening.” He breathes, allowing him to take your hand in his. “And I don’t want it to end just yet.”

And it doesn’t. 

You invite Steve into your apartment for coffee, something to help completely sober him up and drive home safe. But as soon as you close the door and toe off your shoes, his hands are on your face and his lips capture yours, a soft grunt escaping you when he presses you against the door. You’re too stunned to process that he’s kissing you, only finally realizing it when he breaks the kiss and looks at you with his eyes so blue. 

You think he’s about to speak, to apologize for his forwardness, but instead he smiles while his thumb caresses the apple of your cheek. You don’t understand what he sees in you to warrant such soft affection, or to even consider you as someone to kiss. 

He leans closer once more, this time you sense the apprehension in his movements and with the way his eyes linger on your face. You shut your brain off completely, not wanting reason and rationality to stop whatever force that was pulling you together. So you meet him halfway, hands resting against his chest when you press your lips against his, a moan escaping you as when you feel him pull you further into the kiss. 

To say he was a good kisser was an understatement with the way his wet muscle caressed your own and how his lips wrestle you into a passionate exchange. He chuckles when he bumps against a side table while walking backwards, blindly into the living room, hands pawing at each other, groping, touching, and you lift up his sweater as the desire to feel his skin blooms in your head. 

But he doesn’t give you that chance as you drop back onto your loveseat couch, Steve’s hands pushing up your hoodie to expose the tank top hidden within. His fingers tickle your skin, teasing, taunting, and in one swift move he pulls down the cups of your bra having your tits spill out from them. 

Mewls and moans are the only sounds that leave your lips, coherent words nonexistent with how his lips wrap around a mound, sucking, licking, and dampening the fabric to expose your stiff nipples which he gives his undivided attention to. You try to reach for him, to at least make sure that this is all real and not a dream, but his hands take yours, preventing you from even running your finger through his dark hair, the act only heightening your senses further. 

But his venture to your breasts eventually stops and you look down at him when he trails butterfly kisses against your stomach, hands releasing yours only to undo the button and fly of your jeans. The garment flies but your panties stay, and you swear you could almost combust just from the way he looks at you—his eyes swirling with hunger, eagerness, and desperation for a taste. 

Slowly, he trails kisses against your inner thighs, lips, and teeth meeting skin, not hard enough to hurt but enough to feel. The nervousness swirls around you like twine, making your heart beat loudly against your chest as everything feels too new, too alien, despite this no longer being your first. But you’ve never encountered anyone as captivating as Steve and you feel as if he would run away once he sees you completely. 

“You’re so beautiful,” He whispers into the air, his warm breath grazing against your heated core. 

It’s only then you comprehend what he’s done, your panties pushed to the side to expose you completely before him and all at once you feel your body burn when he laves his tongue against your pussy lips, gentle at first, testing the waters which shift to intent as he pushes them apart with his fingers, your sacred bud caressed by his expert tongue. 

You whisper his name as he begins delving into your pussy, strong hands keeping your thighs apart and pushing them down against the couch with his groans of pleasure filling your ears and fueling your desire for him. You reach down to run your fingers through his hair which you end up grabbing as a gasp is pulled from your lungs when he begins to suck your clit. 

The room feels like it's spinning with the ecstasy that climbs higher within your body, your senses no longer feeling like your own as Steve pushes on with his pursuit, his mouth dancing beautifully against your clit, his fingers digging into the meat of your thigh. But he stops, and a small wave of panic arises in your chest. Though it washes away like footprints on the sand when he ventures lower, his thumb taking purchase of your clit, rolling and adding pressure while his mouth ventures lower, teasing your slit at first before slowly pushing inside. 

Oh, how your body sings. Your back arches from the coach and you call out his name, louder this time, turning into a moaning mess as his regard to your cunt never wavers. You then feel the dam filling up at the pit of your stomach and all you can do is buck your hips against his mouth, encouraging—no—pushing him to pull you over the edge. 

“Steve—” It’s all you manage to say, your breath catching in your throat. 

His actions then become erratic, as if he can feel you teetering towards your peak, pulling you more to his mouth and devouring you whole. Sloppy, wet sounds of his mouth echo from below your waist, Steve letting out a low and guttural growl which only sets you ablaze. His thumb pushes more onto your clit, the pressure digging into your pelvis and finally having the dam at the pit of your abdomen burst.

Your body shakes and you grab onto Steve as your pussy walls flutter from your release, choking a sob as your sweet essence flows out of you. His awaiting mouth then laps each and every drop you offer, the sensation making you shiver yet at the same time cocoons you in euphoric bliss. 

The alcohol in your system then appears, mixing with the pleasure that continues to loom around you, and your eyes begin to droop, a smile forming on your lips. Your limbs ache deliciously, cunt buzzing from the orgasm that has taken over. You feel tired all of a sudden but happy at the same time and you forget all, even Steve, as you’re ready to end the night with such a good note. 

But a tap on your thigh pulls you from the serene moment, startling slightly to see Steve looking down at you with a grin painted on his face. “Stay awake, Baby.” He says, his hand running up your side and grabbing the hem of your hoodie. “I’m not yet done with you.”

Nervous.

It’s all you feel as you stand outside of Steve’s home—if you could even call it that. With the modern exterior and floor-to-ceiling windows of the one-story home, you’d think you’re about to enter a museum. But it’s only reasonable for him to have such a lavish abode; he is an art collector after all. 

“You okay?” You turn your head to the side to face him when he stands beside you, his warmth brushing against your skin as he wraps an arm around your waist, holding you close.

“A bit—but more excited really.” You tell him, the giddiness of seeing his private collection dominating the restlessness you felt earlier. 

“Only the people who matter have seen it.” The smile he gives you is so contagious that you give one back and follow him inside his home.

After the night spent at your apartment, your life slowly revolved around Steve. Mornings begin and nights end with him and his attentiveness—one that you found more endearing than suffocating, as what some people you assume would say if they knew of your relationship. 

You don’t even know if you both have a relationship as neither of you discussed anything about labels, simply enjoying each other’s company. But you know that Steve has rooted himself deep in you, and you know that no matter how hard you try if anything comes that would sever you both, you’d have a hard time letting him go. Steve is the only one who has truly seen you and accepted you as you are.

A chill brushes your skin when you pass through the threshold of his home which has you pulling your knitted jacket more around your frame for warmth, and the first thing you see are the gallery lights mounted on the wall, with each one shining down on art pieces of different forms. The ones that stand by the door are wax figures of a woman’s pair of legs, one on each side. You look at it closely, the craftsmanship so intricate that you’d think it was real. The ones that come after it are different sets of arms and hands of women, again, each one posed differently and elegantly, as if welcoming you further down the hall.

It gives you pause with how unusual of a collection it is—women’s body parts—but you suppose that the world of art is filled with oddities. There was even one you heard who collects glass eyeballs, not caring if it was worn or not.

What greets you next are several paintings—if you can even call it as such—that litter the wall just the same, though you’ve never seen anything like it; one is of a canvas that houses different strands of hair that form into waves. You’re in awe with how they mimic the raging seas and how detailed and time consuming it must have been to complete. There’s even an image of a boat topped over it, as you inspect closely, you assume is made of leather. 

There’s another like it, though this seemed more like a showcase of all types of tresses, spaced out perfectly in rows of five. Each one portrayed a distinct person, with colors ranging from blonde to black and textures from curly to the straightest you’ve seen. The urge to touch it grows strong, wanting to check if they’re real or not.

“They’re real,” Steve answers your unspoken question, and you turn back to face him, feeling shy all of a sudden when you see him staring at you. “I call it live art.”

“You made this?”

“Oh, no.” He smiles as he nears the artwork, Steve’s hands tucked inside his pockets while he looks up at it. “I had it made. Though I did provide the materials—volunteers donated the hair.” His explanation has you thinking; you never knew people would donate something so personal for art. “I’m hoping to add more to the collection—a prized one that can be my center of attention.” He says and you catch him looking at you from your periphery. 

“What kind of prized piece?” You ask, curiosity nipping at the back of your head. 

“Something I could never get tired of looking at.” The smile he gives you sends a chill up your spine but your mind flows out into a daze when he steps forward and takes your face between his hands, his lips meeting yours in a soft kiss. “Like you.” He whispers and you can’t help but feel your face heat up with how beautiful he makes you feel. 

“Come on. There’s more in the living room and I wanted to show you where I would place your painting.” He says, giving you one last kiss before taking your hand and leading further inside. But you don’t miss the piece that sits just at the end of the hall; a torso of a woman, the composition almost similar to Alexndros’ Venus de Milo, except this one was missing its head. 

The living room is a sunken living room and it’s just as exquisite as the front of the house with paintings and figurines scattered in an organized fashion. Two couches sit on either side of a low table with a small cart that holds an array of spirits. You look around, mesmerized at the beauty he keeps within but stop when you notice a small greek style column sitting in the corner of the room. 

“What’s that?” You ask, pointing at the unusual fixture. 

“That’s just a chair a friend of mine made.” He responds while pouring the both of you some drinks. “It’s pretty cozy even if it’s made out of stone. Why don’t you try it out? Pretend you’re an art piece.” He urges and the giddiness you feel allows you to humor him. 

Soft jazz music then begins to play as you run your hand against the top, having a feel of the material before you take a seat, grabbing onto the sides to properly set yourself on top of it. The smile you catch on Steve’s face is wide as he approaches you and hands you your drink, his hand reaching up to caress your face. 

“You look perfect on it.” He sips on his drink and so do you. 

You can’t help but look at his eyes, how soft they look yet full of amidst the muted lighting that surrounds the both of you. You feel his hands continue to linger on your skin, resting gently on your shoulder with his thumb caressing the expanse of your neck. 

“Dance with me.” 

It’s all he says and you don’t have time to respond when he takes the glass from your grasp, setting both of them on the shelf that stands nearby and he reaches for you, his hands taking yours and placing them over his shoulders while his own finds purchase around your waist.

It feels like you’re walking on clouds with how he sways the both of you, his movements in sync with the music that fills the air. He holds you close, feeling his fingers drumming lightly on your back and how your feet follow him aimlessly, blindly with each step he makes. You’re suddenly aware of the intimacy that slowly winds the both of you, much different from the times he’s slept on your bed, and you feel shy, eyes casting down to stare at the edge of his navy turtleneck.

“Don’t hide from me, Baby,” He breathes softly, tilting your head back when he pinches your chin and feeling the warmth of his breath ghost against your lips. “I want to see you.”

Giddy.

It’s the only feeling you describe as soon as you wake up, your body sore but in a good way and the sheets atop the mattress warm, not just because of you but from the man that sleeps soundly at your side. You turn to face Steve and examine his face, his beautiful pointed nose and his dark hair askew from the pillow underneath his head. 

You couldn’t believe your luck that someone like him would find interest in someone like you. You must have done something good in your previous life to feel such happiness that the neglect and disapproval you once received from the people you expected to love you is being provided by someone you’ve barely known for a week. 

Good things come to an end, you hear the pessimist in you say but you push it down, deep down where you cannot hear its cry. You’re going to enjoy this, whatever this is, and if time comes that it should indeed come to a stop—well, you’ll cross the bridge when you get there. 

You move to cuddle closer to Steve, wanting to feel more of his warmth but it’s interrupted by your need for relief that you settle on placing a kiss on his forehead before turning to leave the bed and find the restroom.

Washing your hands when you finish, you find a robe hanging at the back of the door and boldly take it, putting it around you to shield you from the cold that continues to circulate within the house and venture back to his room—back to Steve’s arms. Except the lone light that shines in the darkness catches your eyes and you glance towards the bedroom. You don’t want to be caught snooping but the call of the void is too strong for you to ignore. 

Silently, you pad down the hall and find yourself face to face with a staircase that leads to a closed door. Must be the basement, you think to yourself, taking one step at a time, you descend to your destination. You hesitate to hold the knob, not wanting to spoil your welcome but you soldier on, pushing through the barrier. 

A row of yellow muted light illuminates the entryway, and you see nothing but several black barrels neatly pushed against the wall and a few scrubs hanging from mounted hooks. You thought you would see more artwork but are left disappointed, deciding to turn back but the white light at the end of the room stops you, curiosity once more taking over your senses.

Fear then grips you tight when you step into the light, hands flying to your mouth and a gasp unwillingly escaping you when you see a woman laid down on a metal table with her lower half missing and her head free of her scalp. What hangs on the wall makes your stomach turn even further, body parts—arms, legs and a severed head coated in something you can only assume to be wax.

You run. Your heart beats hard against your chest as you make it back again to the door and close it as quietly as you can, not wanting to awaken your host—a monster you never thought him to be. Carefully, though quickly, you climb the steps and the only thing you could think of is to leave and run as far as you can where he cannot find you. 

Relief slowly washes over you when you get to the last step. Now all you have to do is go—call the authorities and—your thoughts take a dive when you feel someone grab you by the waist, trapping your arms along with it and a hand covering over your mouth as well as your nose.

“Where were you, Baby?” Steve’s calm voice forms from behind and your panic only rises further. You struggle against his hold, flailing as much as you can for him to let you go but he’s too strong and you feel the tears spill from your eyes as you think that this is the end. He’s caught you. You’re going to die. 

“You never should have seen that.” He simply says and you grunt when a stabbing pain forms on your neck, a cool sensation flowing through your veins. 

It’s then that he lets you go, your hand flying to where you felt the sting before turning to look at him. What did he do to you? You notice the syringe in his hand. Is it poison? Your vision almost instantly goes blurry, your limbs heavy and you drop to the floor, eyes cast to the ceiling as you try to make out your current state. The last thing you see is Steve, a sinister smile on his face and incoherent words coming from his lips before everything goes dark. 

You’re dead.

It’s the first thing that comes to your mind when you come to. Everything slowly comes into clarity; the room you’re in is somewhere you’ve not been and the cool metal you feel around your ankle only solidifies the fact that he’s successfully trapped you in the hell he dwells in.

A door opens and closes and you curl up small on the bed you lay in to hide yourself from him. You’re crying once again a multitude of emotions surge from within—is it fear? Hopelessness? Anger? Towards him for lying to you or to yourself for believing him. 

“I never wanted you to find out this way.” He sighs. “I never wanted you to find out at all.”

“Are you going to kill me?” You can’t help but ask, even though you know what the answer is.

“Not yet.” His calm in his voice brings a chill to your spine. “Despite what you believe, I meant what I said; you matter to—”

“Stop lying to me!” You shout and sit up from the bed, grabbing the pillow on the bed and throwing it at him. “Why are you doing this?! What did I do to deserve this?! Why me?!” You shout, the anger that was settling in your bones turns into a raging fire. You go to lunge for him, wanting to rip his skin with your bare hands but the cuff on your foot stops you, making you fall to the ground in front of him. 

He tuts and you see his leather shoes in front of you. A groan then leaves your tongue when he grabs you by your face, your hand taking hold of his wrist as you try to pull away from him. But he only pinches tighter, making you shout in pain that fades all too quickly when he shakes you and makes you face him dead in the eyes.

“The more you fight, the harder it’ll be.” He snips. “I enjoy you a lot—don’t make me kill you so soon.”

“Just fucking do it!” You spit. “Do it! Kill me now!”

The laugh he gives you is menacing. He shakes his head, his other hand moving to run his finger on the side of your face. You see the darkness swirling around the sapphires of his eyes and you question yourself why, for the many times he’s stared at you, you’ve never seen it before. 

“Soon.” He promises. “For now, I’ll keep you. I don’t mind that column being empty just a little longer.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Don't Speak 50

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber, Steve Kemp

Note: getting close.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me 

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You hate the smell of hospitals. It clings in your nose even after you leave. You can taste it. It dries out the mouth. It stains like the blinding lights against the sterile walls. Your vision is washed out in the hangover of your outing. 

The doctor took your blood. He asked questions too but you didn’t answer them. Ann did. Even if you had tried, you wouldn’t have gotten a word in. 

You left with another appointment scheduled and an endless list of rules. No caffeine, no lunch meat, no hot baths, only sleep on your side... Your body is a prison. It always has been but now, it’s like solitary confinement. Dark and isolating. You can’t see the way out. 

You sit in the back of the car, staring at the seat in front of you. Like a child. She didn’t stop you from sitting back there but you can’t sit beside her. Maybe she prefers it too. Her touch has always said more than her words. She despises you. 

The colours of the city blur. Pallid and dull with the late dregs of winter. You hug yourself and a new tide of nausea overwhelms you as you touch your stomach. You try not to. It’s a reminder. You’re not showing yet, not there, but in other ways. You can feel it even if you can’t see it. 

Ann sighs as she rolls slowly down the suburban street. You recognise the brick house. You rarely see the outside of it. She hits the button below the rear view mirror and the garage door opens. You know what they do. They don’t let you out of the car outside, only in the garage. They’re hiding you. 

As she pulls in, you slump against the door. She unlocks the doors and clicks the button on her belt. You unhook your own seat belt and follow her at a delay. It’s easier to just do everything she wants. 

She hums as she stands, “oof, I’m sore,” she complains, “will you get the door.” 

You nod and go to the button mounted on the wall. Before you can hit it, a grizzly voice wafts through the frigid air, blowing in with the wind under the open garage door. Your hand lingers before the close button but doesn’t hit it. 

A man ducks to see through, “hi, excuse me,” he says as he raises a hand above him to grip the metal, “I’m looking to deliver a package...” 

“Oh, a package?” Ann echoes, “I’m not expecting anything.” 

“Uh, yeah, it’s for... Dr. Steve Kemp?” He shifts the flat box under his arm to read it. “It’s pretty cold out here. Think you can take it off my hands?” 

“Why, of course,” she strides along the length of the car, “I’m his wife.” 

The man nods as she approaches and his grey blue eyes wander over to you. His dark stubble refines the angle of his jaw as a tuque covers his hair. You squint. He’s familiar but you don’t know how. He stares for a moment then hands over the package, “just sign here.” 

He takes out his phone and presents it to her. She drags her finger over the screen then pulls back to examine the box, “thank you, sir. Bit late for a delivery.” 

“Got backed up with the ice up on the freeway. Everyone’s taking the back roads today.” 

“Ah, makes sense,” she says, “well, you have a good day.” 

“You as well, ma’am.” 

He backs up and marches off without another look or word in your direction. She looks down at the box and rolls her eyes. She backs up.  

“Close the door. It’s freezing.” 

You tap the button and the door descends with the thrum of the motor above. You wait for her to go inside first before you follow. You hear the kids and Steve’s low timbre. You wonder why the courier didn’t knock on the front door. Maybe he did but couldn’t be heard. The TV is blaring as the kids giggle and holler. 

“Steve,” Ann calls out as you leave your shoes on the mat, “you got a delivery.” 

He doesn’t answer. She keeps on down the hall and drops the package on the side table against the wall. She stops to peer into the front room. 

“Honey,” she says curtly, “package.” 

“Alright,” he says, slightly agitated as he helps Harper build blocks into a castle. “Thanks. Any idea what it is?” 

“I don’t know. Looked like more of those magazines. Aren’t those supposed to go to your office?” 

“Could be an old subscription,” he shrugs. You stand back in the shadows but he finds you, “how’d it go?” 

“Fine. She’s on track. She’ll have a scan next week,” she sniffs. “You made a mess in here.” 

“The kids are bored. It’s too cold to go outside,” he grumbles. 

“As long as I’m not the one cleaning it up,” she tuts. 

“Love you too, honey,” Steve says dryly.  

“Got enough to worry about with the baby...” she mutters, “I’m thinking of sending out a card as an announcement.” 

“Ann, really? No one cares about a third kid,” he chuckles. 

“I care,” she snips. “Aren’t you excited?” 

“Of course I am. I just don’t see why it needs to be a whole broadcast.” 

You shrink away from their argument as the children give pause at their parents’ tones. They might be young but there’s an obvious tension there. You don’t dare interrupt. 

“It’s a big deal,” she growls. “It’s almost dinner time. Did you take out the chicken like I asked?” 

“I promised the kids pizza. Figured we’d order.” 

“Pizza? It’s so expensive these day--” 

A knock cuts her off and she winces. She huffs and shakes her head. “Busy day.” 

“Could be Jeff. He borrowed my drill.” 

“Tell him to keep it,” she ignores the door and struts back down the hall. “You never use it anyway.” 

You flatten yourself against the wall to let her pass. You stare up the stairs, wondering if you should just go and hide. When they need you, they’ll find you. 

“Get the door, will ya, sweetie?” Steve says. 

You hesitate. That’s all you are these days. A thing to be used. You’re not a person to them. Just a means to an end. You nod. 

You go down the hall to the door. You’re nervous. You don’t like strangers. You’ve had enough of them for the day. All those nurses poking and prodding and preening over that thing inside of you. 

Just get it over with. You make yourself open the door. 

Before you can say a word, you’re name whispers with the wind. You’re seized and pulled into a hug. You barely catch a glimpse before the woman has you in her arms. You can smell her. She always smells of cinnamon. 

“You’re alive,” she says. “Oh my god, you’re alive.” 

“Huh?” You wriggle in confusion, “Amber?” 

“I’ve been...” she loosens her hold but keeps her hands on your arms. “I’ve been looking for you. All these months. I’ve been...” her eyes gleam with tears. “I’ve been so afraid.” 

You’re frozen by more than the chill creeping in around her. Something cracks. Like a toothpick between your fingers, you feel it. All those weeks of hiding behind a wall, of telling yourself not to feel, to just get through it. It’s more than her being there, it’s the care and gentleness in her touch. That’s different. 

She lets you go and holds you at arm’s length, “hey, bub, what’s... you okay? Come on, let’s go home.” 

You blink at her. You look around at your eyes burn with a glimmer of tears, “what?” 

“Home, bubba. Please.” 

“Why?” You breathe. 

“Why? Because...” her voice trails off as you sense a shadow behind you. 

You turn as Steve stands in the doorway, his hands on his childrens’ shoulders. His eyes narrow and his jaw squares, “kids, go find your mother.” 

“Daddy?” Avery says. 

He hushes her and nudges them both down the hall. They run up the stairs and he turns to face you. And Amber. You don’t like the way he looks at her. 

“Ah, took you long enough,” he steps up next to her. “Right, dove? She really took her time. Almost like she doesn’t care at all.” 

You look between them, a sinking sensation rising in your chest. “What?” 

You can’t understand any of it. That wall is slowly crumbling. The only protection you have from any of this. The only thing keeping you from destroying yourself. 

“As if you do, doctor!” Amber snaps.  

He snorts, “as far as I have it, I’m the only one who ever tried to help you find her. Thanksgiving wasn’t that long ago, was it? You can’t blame me for your lack of follow up--” 

“Bullshit,” Amber snarls, her tone and words frightening you. “I’ve been searching for months. I’ve been tearing my hair out and you’ve had her all this time. Do you understand what that man’s been doing? He just sits outside my house and--” She throws her hands up, “you’re just like him.” 

“I’m helping this poor woman escape years of abuse and neglect. Neglect of her mental wellbeing, narcissistic abuse, using her to prop yourself up--” 

“I never—she's my sister. I take care of her.” 

“You do, Amber? So where have you been?” Steve chuckles. 

She lunges forward but doesn’t reach Steve as he steps back and she’s caught from behind. Another man stands behind her, his arm hooked around her middle as he restrains her. It’s him, the delivery man. You recognise him now. He was on her Insta. 

“Amb, please, calm down,” he holds onto her, “shhh, come on. Everyone, let’s be calm.” 

His voice alone puts his words into effect. You feel calm. He slowly releases Amber and squeezes her sleeve. He looks between you and Steve.  

Steve grabs your wrist and pulls you behind him, “I should call the police. You’re disturbing my family--” 

“She’s my family,” Amber growls. “Bub, please, come home.” 

“This doesn’t have to be hostile,” the other man says. “We came here to bring her sister home. That’s all.” 

“She is home--” 

“Ask her,” Amber cries out. “Look at her. I know she wants to come home. Right, bubba? Ask her. Ask. Her.” Amber’s close to tears as she begs, “please. Listen to her. Why does no one listen to her?” 

The words hit you like a punch in the gut. She’s right. No one listens, not if you don’t say what they want. No one but her. Your sister. The only person you ever had. The one who kept you behind her when your mother was having one of her fits, the one who told you to lock the door when the screaming got loud, the one who held you even when it hurt too much to be touched. 

The one who loves you.  

“Home. I want to go home,” you say and try to push past Steve. He turns and holds you, an arm across your chest. “No, home. With her. Amber--” 

You reach for her but he keeps you from getting to her. Amber extends her arm as you wriggle against the restraint. You stomp your feet and thrash. 

“This isn’t my home!” You holler. “This isn’t--” You’re breathless and dizzy. “Amber, help! Amber!” 

“Let her go, man,” the other man says. He’s taller than Steve. He steps up, filling the doorway. 

“Curtis,” Amber whines. 

“She’s not fit. She’s manic. Having an episode. You don’t understand. She’s in treatment. I’m a doctor--” 

“She says she wants to go.” That man, Curtis, grits through his teeth. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Ann snarls sourly as she comes down the stairs, “there are children in this house.” 

“Shouldn’t be,” Curtis sneers. “The meaning is simple. We came for her, we’re not leaving without her.” 

“And who the fuck are you, pal?” Steve puts himself between you and the door. Ann latches onto your wrist and tugs you back. 

“Let her go!” Amber cries out. 

You twist your wrist free as the room tilts and spins around you. Your head bobbles as you look around at the hazy figures. You back up and turn, racing away from the chaos. You hear your sister wail and that man she’s with snarls. There’s footsteps and a clamour. A mess all around. 

You hurl yourself upwards and stumble over the top step. You’re not thinking, just doing. You burst into the guest room and tear open the drawer in the nightstand. You grab your sweater and your journal and a few random pieces of clothing. You bundle it all up and charge back out. 

“Fuck off of her!” Curtis barks. 

“She’s trespassing,” Steve snarls. 

“Oh, stop it! Stop it!” Ann shrieks, “would you stress a pregnant woman like this? Oh my, oh my!” 

You barrel back down the stairs and stop at the bottom. You look at Ann as she touches her stomach. You curl your lip and the realisation startles on you. Locking you up in the room, not letting you out front, keeping you inside all day long... 

“What is all that?” She turns on you. “You’re not going anywhere.” 

“Come on, bub,” Amber shouts as Ann grabs your ear. “Let her go, you bitch!” 

Steve slips in his socks as he tries to hold her back. He flies back as Curtis throws him into the wall and stomps forward. Ann cries out and cowers away as the sting of her pinch throbs in the shell of your ear. 

“Shoes,” Curtis snarls, “go get em.” 

You look down as he glances at your feet. He turns back and grabs Steve by the back of his sweater and drags him away from Amber. He spins him by the shoulder and pins him to the wall. He snaps his fingers. 

“Amb, help her find her shoes.” 

Amber squeezes by and Ann moves toward you. Your sister puts her arm across you and steps up to the other woman. 

“Touch her again and I’ll rip your pretty hair out,” Amber lurches as if she might actually do it. Ann shies away with a screech. 

“Please, please, don’t hurt me,” she keeps her hand on her stomach, “you wouldn’t hurt a pregnant woman.” 

You shrink away and scuttle down the hall to the mat by the garage. You bend down the back of your sneakers as you step into them. You come back as Ann sobs. 

“Oh, please, we were only helping her,” she rocks against the wall. “Please, don’t hurt my husband. Steve, baby, are you okay?” 

“Fucking take her,” Steve shoves Curtis off of him as he kicks his foot into the wall. “She’s broken anyway. Can’t fix that.” 

Curtis staggers a single step and tilts his head dangerously. His hand balls to a fist. “That’s fucked up, doctor.” 

“Curt,” Amber puts her arm around your shoulders and ushers you forward, “let’s just go.” 

“Yeah, fucking run like you do from everything, Dove. Isn’t that how it goes?” Steve snarls. 

You stop beside him and waver. Amber stops too. You look at her and nod. You pull away and she lets you go. You face Steve with watery eyes. 

“You’re evil. I hate you.” You say. “You don’t deserve those children. Or mine.” 

His eyes flare and he stands straight. Curtis looms and you turn away. You walk forward and Amber follows. You don’t look back. You can’t. You’re going home. 

[holylulusworld]

Self-help group for killers masterlist

Summary: 6 men meet up to talk about their problems. They soon realize they need someone to help them solve their problems. This person is you. Whether you like it or not.

Pairing: Steve Kemp x fem!Reader, Lloyd Hansen x fem!Reader, Robert Pronge (Mr. Freezy) x fem!Reader, Andy Barber x fem!Reader, God, the bounty hunter x fem!Reader, Ransom Drysdale x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, hostage situation, mentions of murder/killing for money, serial killers/hitmen, mentions of blood/gore, kidnapping, scared reader, talk about crimes, possible smut in future chapters

A/N: Please consider Steve Kemp is not a cannibal in my story. This is an AU. All men are serial killers, killers, or hitmen.

DROPPING FALL 2024

SHG for killers (1) - The first meeting

SHG for killers (2) - Lloyd Hansen

SHG for killers (3) - Steve Kemp

SHG for killers (4) - Andy Barber

SHG for killers (5) - Ransom Drysdale

SHG for killers (6) - Robert Pronge (Mr. Freezy)

SHG for killers (7) - God, the bounty hunter

SHG for killers (8) - Between heaven and hell

[lilacevans]

meet some of the pete's place regulars!

˚ ♡ ✧.* : ̗̀➛ requests by: two anons, @welight-theway, @crokitheloki, @hansensgirl, @buggy14, @leaderofthebadbitchbrigade.

✧.*ೃ⁀➷ pete's place | the intro | opening night | the playlist ༊*·˚

this is a dark au/verse. minors need not interact. happy endings don't happen here.

𝐀𝐧𝐝𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐞𝐫 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐋𝐚𝐰𝐲𝐞𝐫

41 years old.

6’2’’.

Suburban dad with a dark side. 

Likes flashing the cash for a look as he doesn’t get much attention back home.

Never misses stopping by when he’s in town.

Has a type and it just so happens to be you.

Brings you gifts; new outfits, new shoes, gold chains, etc, every single time he visits the club.

Will spend the whole night promising you the world– and his wallet, if you just go home with him.

Top Three: Daddy Kink, Overstimulation, Praise Kink. 

𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐫 𝐕𝐞𝐭

45 years old.

6’4’’.

Oh, what a nice man–

Warning sirens sound in the distance.

Danger! Danger! 

The man will make you beg, make you cry, rearrange your insides, make you fall in love and break you down all within a night.

The man is all kinds of fucked up. But knows how to hide it well.

Under Lloyds employement so like, you can guess the kinds of fucked up. 

Did awful things while serving in the army, brought some of that back home with him.

Protect you? More like slaughter anyone who gives you a momentary glance. 

Top Three: Rough (Violent) Sex, Service Kink, Corruption Kink.

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐛𝐨𝐲

28 years old.

6’1’’.

Cocky motherfucker, hot and he knows it.

The embodiment of a hyper puppy. 

Acts like he’s always got the zoomies whenever he’s in the club.

Annoys the absolute shit out of all the girls but he’s hot, so they deal with it.

Secretly a sweetheart but never shuts his mouth.

Gets a little too handsy when he’s had a drink– or five. 

Always asking Pete to loan him one of his girls for the night.

Don’t get him twisted, the guy FUCKS. and he's NASTY about it

Top Three: Dirty Talk, Deepthroating, Body Worship (receiving). 

𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐟

43 years old.

6’0’’.

Corrupt little wank, like’s to make Pete nervous when he comes around, but he’d never spill on the shady things as he likes the club’s views. 

Talks big shit but you’ll find him in the VIP rooms on a Saturday night. 

A little wrong in the head, but treat him right and he’ll make you scream. 

Can get a little rough with the girls when he's had a few.

Tight with money so always tries it on for a discount for not opening his mouth.

Has a big cock and is smug about it.

Likes 'em on their knees with an wide open mouth.

Top Three: Daddy Kink, Corruption Kink, Choking. 

𝐌𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐢𝐬𝐬 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐲𝐬𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐋𝐚𝐰𝐲𝐞𝐫

32 years old

6’0’’.

Troubled addict that’s in the club; Every. Single. Night.

Likes just to watch, girls kinda hate him in the club because he won’t even throw a dollar bill but will spend a paycheck on drinks and other things.

Spends money he doesn’t have, does the odd job for Pete when he’s in a little legal trouble which gets him the odd night in the VIP rooms.

Don’t underestimate him though.

Will have you crawling back for seconds.

While not the roughest by any means, get him high enough and annoyed enough, he’ll make sure you’re not walking for the next two weeks.

Top Three: High Sex, Overstimulation, Throat-Fucking. 

𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐊𝐞𝐦𝐩 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞

35 years old

6’1’’.

Idk, fam, somethings off about this one but we're gonna ignore it, okay?

Stares a little too long, kinda like he’s hunting.

Makes your heart race a little being around him– fuck or fight i guess. I know which I’m doing. 

Tips nicely but never wants a private dance, likes to watch and drop cash at your feet after.

Weirdo tbh. It’s not like he ain’t got the money. 

Sucks to be you if you decide to go home with him.

You ain't coming back, honey.

Top Three: Blood Play, Knife Play, Bondage/Rope.

*** if by chance, i have missed your req and you know you sent it before reqs were closed, please let me know asap so i can add it to this list!! thank u all sm for u patience. i love u all<33

[darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor]

𝐈𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐀𝐔 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: 𝔸 𝕔𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕠𝕗 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕒 𝕤𝕞𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕠𝕨𝕟 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕒 𝕕𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕤 𝕤𝕖𝕔𝕣𝕖𝕥.

October 2nd Every Breath Like Smoke from a Cigarette

October 9th Filth in my Bones

October 16 Never Really Mine

October 23 You sang it like Hallelujah

October 30th Fate dealt you a trick hand

．．．🌑🌒🌓🌔𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕖🌖🌗🌘🌑．．．

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"First Taste"

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Kemp x reader

Tags: doctor/patient, medical kink, body image issues, oral sex (f!rec), fingering, dub-con, pussy worship, (inference of background cannibalism (b/c it's Fresh), but nothing to do with the plot or reader)

Summary: Steve Kemp sees a new patient for a consult about a rather ... intimate procedure.

Steve gets into the office at his usual time, coffee cup in hand as he catches the elevator. He sees Cassie jogging in from across the lobby in her colorful scrubs and holds the door for her. They greet one another amicably and ask how each other’s weekend was. She tells him about her new kickboxing class, he tells her about the pâté he made on Saturday.

“Liver?” She says dubiously as the two of them enter the office. She’s wrinkling her nose and laughing at him. “You’re some kind of Chef, Kemp.”

“I prefer the term gourmand. By the way is that Barbie on your—”

“Yep.” She goes behind the nurse’s station and hands him a clipboard. “Your morning appointments. Dr. Hickory went into early labor at like four am, so you’ve got some of hers.”

Steve’s eyebrows raise as he takes the clipboard and gives it a look. “What is she, thirty-eight weeks?”

“Thirty-seven.”

“Should be fine,” he mumbles. He frowns at one of the patient slots on his clipboard. “I see I have an FGM consult at eleven,” he says, eyes flicking peevishly back up to Cassie.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” she says, checking on her computer. “Yeah, Ms. Moreau. Be nice, she’s new.”

Steve narrows his eyes at the info. “You know I’ve tried to get away from doing those anymore,” he says, giving Cassie a look. Everybody in the office knows how he has a problem with the fact that Hickory’s turned their office into such a chop shop. Steve would’ve thought a woman would know better. Female solidarity, progressiveness, autonomy, kumbaya, whatever.

Cassie rolls her eyes at him. “Yeah yeah. Dr. Brendan the activist.”

“Hey, I told you, it’s—”

“‘Pathologizing the pussy’,” she recites with finger quotes. “We know.”

“Mm,” Steve grunts, assumes the ‘we’ is in reference to all the nurses at the practice. Those girls share a level of groupthink that is frankly eerie.

Steve works in plastics. He’s a vain man himself, so he knows he shouldn’t have gotten involved in a career field like this if he wasn’t prepared to be surrounded by other people’s body insecurities 24/7. It’s just… not how he pictured it.

Good thing he’s got this new side business venture going. He’s hopeful about it. Just last month he’d been able to send in the final payment for his student loans. Pretty soon he’ll have enough to get a house. He's entertaining the idea of a custom build, still scouting properties south of Portland. “I’ll see you later,” he tells Cassie. “Send my nine o’clock to exam three when they get here.”

“You got it.”

You arrive early for your appointment, plunking yourself down in the waiting room chair after the long walk from the train. You feel unpleasantly sticky underneath the cotton of your sundress. The office is cool, but it’d been hot outside. The near-boiling summer temperatures made you work up a sweat as you made your way across the city for this appointment.

Now, sitting in the chair, you can feel the sweat that’s formed on your body. It’s at your hairline, between your breasts and at the creases of your inner thighs. You worry about it, because soon you’ll be baring yourself to the doctor and you had specifically showered right before leaving for your apartment, used a pH balanced feminine hygiene product, just in case you were somehow scent blind to your own body. You didn’t want to be sweaty and gross when Dr. Hickory was going to be looking down there.

“Miss?” The receptionist smiles at you, holding out a clipboard from over the desk. “You need to fill this out, please.”

You stand, hurrying to go get it and the pen that she offers you as well. “Sorry,” you murmur. They’d told you that you would need to be there fifteen minutes early for paperwork. You return to your chair, feeling like such a hot sweaty mess, whereas the receptionist lady is so pretty and poised. You tuck some of your blonde hair back behind your ears and cross your ankles in an attempt to be even a fraction as put together as she is, you powder blue espadrilles knocking together as you prop the clipboard on your lap.

The office’s air conditioning is making the perspiration cool to your skin now, clammy and unpleasant. You read over the intake forms and fill them out. The second page has a line drawing of a naked woman’s body, front and back. It asks you to circle the areas you’re there to address. You bite your lip and circle the drawing’s pelvis. The anxiety you tend to get creeps back up on you, but you take a deep breath and let it out. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Dr. Hickory does this all the time. It’s her speciality. She will have seen it all, and you’ll be nothing new to her.

The door to the waiting room opens and a younger woman in hot pink scrubs peeks her head through. “Ms. Moreau?” she says brightly. She has café au lait skin, wild curly hair, and a genuine smile that helps put you at ease.

“That’s me.” You stand up, the only person in the waiting room. “Obviously,” you chuckle, grabbing your purse and following after her.

“I’m Cassie,” she introduces herself. “Hop on up here and let’s get your weight.” You step on the scale backwards and open your mouth to tell her that you don’t need to know the number, but Cassie cuts you off with a wry look. “Don’t worry,” she says, thumbing at her own chest. “I know how it is, girl.”

You flush and nod, glad that you don’t have to veer into that explanation. She records your weight on her clipboard and tells you to follow her to an exam room. Inside, she hands you a painfully thin paper gown and tells you that you can change. You fidget uncomfortably. “Um, actually I wore a dress so that she could just…” you make a gesture, “ah, dive right in. Is it alright if I just stay like this?”

Cassie nods and doesn’t try to foist the paper gown on you any further. “Have a seat,” she tells you. “The doctor is just finishing up with another patient.”

“Okay,” you whisper, getting up onto the exam table. After Cassie leaves, you look around the room, taking everything in. You’ve never been in a plastic surgeon’s office before. Everything looks just like any other doctor’s office would, except that instead of posters talking about BMI and heart disease, there are advertisements for laser therapies and Botox.

You spot a tray of breast implants over on a counter and can’t stop yourself from going over to look. You pick one up and poke at it, feeling it wobble in your hand. You giggle a little, before bringing it up to hold in front of your chest. Your own breasts haven’t ever bothered you much. They’re small-ish but have a good shape. One of your exes had complimented them excessively (though other parts had received thinly-veiled criticism). You pick up another of the implants, this one bigger and more viscous, and hold the two shapes up to each of your breasts, trying to imagine what it would look like…

“I wouldn’t recommend either of those for you,” a male voice cuts in, and you nearly jump out of your skin.

You spin around. You’re still holding the implants near your chest, startled as you blink at the man who’s entered the room. He’s wearing a doctor’s coat over scrubs, and his nametag says Brendan Kemp, MD. The bigger of the two implants rolls out of your lax hand, landing with a comical ‘plop’ right by your shoe. “Oh jeez. I’m sorry!” you say in a hurry, feeling like a child who’s gotten caught doing something bad. You rush to bend down and collect the implant from the floor. “Sorry I was just—”

The man steps closer with a smirk on his lips and gleaming eyes. He seems amused at you. “Everybody wants to grab the boobies,” he says, gently taking the implants out of your hands and setting them back onto the tray on the counter. “You’re fine, Ms. Moreau.”

You blink at him, stuck in place. He knows your name. “Oh,” you say, voice hushed, still embarrassed. This doctor is very good looking. He has a commanding presence, too. Something about his eyes draws you in, makes you want to be the object of his attention. He smiles warmly at you, perfect teeth flashing for a second, and you huff at yourself and try to laugh off your foolishness. “Yeah,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “Guess I was just curious.”

“Hey, at least you weren’t juggling them. I walked in on that, once.” He winks. “What’s your accent? French Canadian?”

“Ah, y-yeah. I’m from—” You watch as he barely listens to your answer, his eyes sliding down to the level of your chest and staying there, assessing. You flush under the scrutiny. But you don’t feel like you can move away without being rudely dismissive. You squirm, uncomfortable. “Um, I’m not—”

“I’m Dr. Kemp,” he murmurs offhandedly, still staring at your chest. You see his hands twitch, as if he’s thinking of touching, but stopping himself. “A woman with your frame wouldn’t look right with ones that big,” he says, meaning the implants you’d just been holding.

You feel the need to defend your own taste. “Oh I know that. I wasn’t—”

“These,” he says softly, taking one of the more modestly sized implants from the tray and holding it up in front of you to see. You’re caught looking more at the sight of his strong, elegant fingers than you are the implant. “These would suit you better. Though I honestly wouldn’t recommend augmentation for you.” His eyes finally return to your face. “Your breasts are lovely.”

You feel your lips part in shock. “Um…” you feel an odd combination of flattery and confusion. Is it normal for a doctor to talk to a patient like this? Maybe it’s different with plastic surgeons, you think. They are paid to focus on their patients’ looks, after all. Comments on what is and isn’t aesthetically pleasing must be par for the course, here. “Thank you?”

But then there’s his gaze, the way he stares at you. It feels like he’s not just looking at your body for his job, but also looking for himself, as well. There’s too much interest there to be purely professional. Your breath catches when you feel your nipples starting to tighten beneath your dress, and sure enough, when you glance down they’re very visible through the fabric. Shit. You see Kemp’s eyes look back down.

“Sorry,” you say in a rush, turning away from his assessing gaze. You should’ve worn a bra, you chide yourself. You try to take a deep, stabilizing breath while you have your back to him. “I’m here for… for something else.” You look down at your pebbled nipples, which aren’t softening as much as you’d like, and you sigh in defeat. No doubt Dr. Kemp has seen plenty of nipples in his day. You need to just get over it. You turn around and climb back up to sit on the exam table, the paper crinkling under your butt as you settle. “I’m just waiting for Doctor Hickory,” you explain. “For a consult. They said she’s with another patient.”

Dr. Kemp sighs and holds up his clipboard. “Actually, that’s why I’m here. I’ll be seeing you today.”

“What?” You sit up straighter, alarmed. “But…” You’d specifically sought out a woman doctor for this. The idea of a man looking critically at you, there, is mortifying. “But, but Dr. Hickory—”

“Is having a baby,” Kemp says. “She went into preterm labor this morning. But we hear everything’s going well.” He smiles at you, as if this is good news. “She’ll be out on maternity leave for at least six months.”

“...Six months,” you repeat weakly. You hadn’t even known she was pregnant. They hadn’t said a thing to you when you made the appointment. You’d been counting on her being your doctor. And now this guy, this Dr. Kemp, was stepping in? You swallow nervously, uncomfortable with a man (let alone a very, very handsome man) being your doctor. Not for this. “Um, well I…”

Dr. Kemp is already looking over your chart on his clipboard. He’s going to see what you circled, you realize, mortified. You watch helplessly as he reads all of your private details. “Dr. Kemp…” you say meekly,

“You're here for a consult for…” he reads, eyes scanning further down the page. “Oh. You’re the Labiaplasty.”

You flush bright red at the word coming from his perfect mouth. You squirm uncomfortably. “Um, well… yes.”

“Don’t worry,” he tells you, placing a hand on your knee as if in comfort. He pulls it away before you can process it. “I’m more than familiar with the procedure. I trained down in L.A.” He says this like it’s supposed to explain something, and he winks at you again. It’s… upsetting.

You swallow thickly. “The thing is, I’d been hoping for a female doctor.”

Kemp’s eyes fly to your face as he realizes how uncomfortable you are. “Oh, Honey. I see.” You blush and he gives you a tender look. “You’re shy? That’s understandable.”

“Thank you, I—”

“But I’m sorry to tell you, Sweetheart, there aren’t any other women doctors in our practice.”

“Oh.” Your heart sinks. Getting this consult appointment had taken months, and you’d wanted to go to a place where you knew they were very good, very experienced. This place had been recommended as the best. “I see.”

Dr. Kemp looks pityingly at you. “Did you want to reschedule your appointment?” he asks gently. “Dr. Hickory won’t be taking new patients until after her leave, but I can have the receptionist take a look at next year’s calendar.”

You look at him with wide eyes, disappointed. “Next… next year?”

He makes an apologetic face. “Yeah, sorry.”

Sighing, you try to put on a brave face. You’re an adult, you tell yourself. Buck the fuck up. You’ve put up with male gynos before, after all. None of them ever looked like Dr. Kemp, but you shouldn’t hold the man’s good looks against him. He’s just here to do his job, to help you. “It’s okay,” you say, trying to approximate a friendly smile. “It’s fine. You can… you can be my doctor.”

Dr. Kemp’s eyes flash in satisfaction, but there’s something about it that’s more than just professional. “Good girl,” he says, and he says it all chipper and like it’s a normal thing to say to a patient, like it isn’t supposed to make your panties feel a little bit damp (and honestly, the sweetheart’s and the honey’s and the your breasts are lovely’s has probably contributed to the situation in your panties, too). “So,” Kemp says, sitting down onto the physician’s stool and rolling over. “Why don’t you tell me what makes you want this procedure.”

He’s giving you his full attention. He’s not even holding the clipboard anymore, and you find that it’s nearly impossible to meet his gaze for long. You look down at your lap instead, at your clasped hands against the white fabric of your sundress as you tell him, “Um, well I guess I just don’t, ah, don’t really like how I look… down there.” You nearly whisper the last words, ashamed.

“What don’t you like about it?” he asks softly.

“It just doesn’t look right,” you say, echoing the things your boyfriend had told you, things that you couldn’t help but to come to see as true. “It’s too much. Too big. It looks like…” you can’t even bring yourself to say the words that he’d used. “It’s just not pretty,” you whisper, cheeks burning in shame. “I want it to be prettier. Like other girls.”

“Other girls,” he repeats. “What other girls are we talking about?”

You scoff quietly and frown at your lap. “Like… you know. Like what you see in, in—”

“Porn?” Kemp says, voice tight. When you look up you’re struck by his darkening expression. He looks pissed off. “Let me guess,” he says, jaw working. “Boyfriend?”

You gape at him. “Ahm… no. Ex-boyfriend,” you murmur. Dr. Kemp looks very displeased, and you shrink back into yourself. “Is it… isn’t this like, a common procedure?” you ask meekly, wary of the man’s expression. “I looked at the website. There were lots of before and after pictures.” When you don’t get a response, you prod, “Doctor?”

“Steve,” he says, his expression lightening up somewhat. “You can call me Steve.”

You glance at his name tag that says Brendan Kemp, MD. “But—”

He scoots forward and puts his hands on your knees, rubbing over them. It pushes the hem of your dress up by the barest degree, but you ignore it. He’s looking you closely in the eyes. He looks sweet, and kind. And because of how handsome he is, how sure of himself too, it’s intimidating as hell. “Why don’t I have a look first, hm?” he says. “Give you my professional opinion, before you go deciding what needs fixing.”

You gulp and manage a tiny nod. “O-okay.” This is the part you’ve dreaded. Dr. Kemp (Steve, he’d told you to call him, but that just makes this whole experience feel more uncomfortable, more personal) scrutinizing your most private place.

He pulls out the stirrups from the end of the table and instructs you to put your legs up. “Take your shoes and underwear off and get comfy,” he says, smiling nicely at you as he says it, as if “comfy” is something you could possibly be while doing this.

He scoots away on his rolling stool to go over to the room’s counter and don latex gloves, giving you an illusion of privacy as you untie the laces of your shoes and slip them off your feet. They land on the floor with a muted ‘clunk’, and you slide your panties down your legs and tuck them under your lower back. They have a little wet spot on them that you don’t want Dr. Kemp to see. You slide down the table and put your feet into the stirrups, getting into the familiar, yet never-not-humiliating, position. You feel impossibly exposed, the cool air hitting between your legs and making you want to close them. As a useless, last-ditch effort, you straighten out the fabric of your dress so that it covers you to your knees, serving as a sort of barrier between you and him. “...Ready,” you say quietly, when it seems that he’s not going to return without your say-so.

He sits on the stool and rolls up close between your legs. You start trembling a little and you shut your eyes to try and calm down. “...Hey,” Kemp says, getting your attention. When you open your eyes again you see him standing over you, looking at your face instead of between your legs. “Honey,” he says gently. “You seem really nervous.”

You wince. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He looks kindly at you. “I just wanted to double check. You didn’t indicate any history of sexual assault on your intake form.”

You blanch. “Oh! N-no I— nothing like that.”

“Okay,” he says gently, patting your knee again. “Just wanted to make sure.”

You’re struck by how sweet that is of him, and you try to relax to show him you’re grateful for his care. “It’s okay, it’s fine,” you tell him as he sits back down on the stool. “This just… sucks, you know?”

“Mm.” You gasp as his gloved hands appear on your ankles and give an indicative tug. “Scoot down closer to the end of the table, Sweetheart.”

Heat floods you as you do as you’re told, putting your ass right to the edge of the table like he wants. It’s so humiliating. You want to cover your face with your hands, only refraining by gripping the edges of the padded table instead.

“Shh. Good girl,” he praises you, and you feel your belly clench at the words. Below you, he chuckles and self consciousness floods you as you think of what he must be seeing. You’re suddenly, horribly curious if you’re at all wet. Good God, you hope not. But your panties had been damp, that one little wet spot on the crotch… You tense again as Kemp’s hands appear on the inside edges of your knees, pushing them apart. “Open up for me now.”

You realize you’d been closing your legs together somewhat. “S-sorry,” you whisper.

He rubs your inner thigh—close to the knee but still shocking. “It’s okay. I know this is hard. I can tell you’re a woman who doesn’t spread her legs for many men.”

Your lips part as your mind reels, offended and horrified that he’d say that. Nevermind that it’s true, or that it sounds like he’s praising you, like he’s just calling you a ‘good girl’ in a different way. You seal your lips shut to keep yourself from scolding him.

The next thing you feel is him leaning closer. You swear you can feel his breath down there, but surely he wouldn’t be getting so close. You grit your teeth and try not to let your mind run away with itself. “So,” you say to try and make conversation, to try and prove to him and yourself that you’re a mature woman who can handle this. “So y-you can see. See what I mean.”

“Mm, still looking,” he says thoughtfully. You inhale sharply when he touches you, but you quickly slam your eyes shut and try to take calming breaths. You knew going into this that you’d need to be examined. He drags his fingers over your mons and down the puffy outer lips of your pussy. It’s extra sensitive to you because you’d shaved yourself completely bare before this appointment. Silly, maybe, but you’ve always thought that hair down there was unsightly, gross, and you didn’t want Dr. Hickory to have to deal with it.

Not that she’s dealing with you at all, now.

You bite your lip as you feel him exploring you slowly, with the barest of touches. He’s touching you in a way that feels more like a lover than a doctor. His thumbs gently dip into the crease of your outer lips and pull them apart, baring everything between. “Look at that,” he whispers, and you nearly cry out in mortification. You must whimper or something, because Dr. Kemp pauses and checks, “Still okay?”

You nod, eyes squeezed shut tightly. “Fine,” you say breathily. Deep breaths. He does this all the time. It’s no big deal to him. Just take deep— “Oh!”

He’s stroking the hood of your clit with the pad of a finger, just the barest, gliding touch. It’s slippery with something, and you feel halfway sick as you have to wonder if it’s a medical lubricant he’s somehow fetched, or your own arousal that he’s gathered up and is using to explore you. No, you think, it couldn’t be. He wouldn’t…

“You have a gorgeous pussy,” he breathes from between your legs.

“I… ex-excuse me?” you stutter. This time you can feel it when you clench and slick comes out of you. Dr. Kemp groans as if he’s seen it happen, and you feel your face flame. “I’m sorry,” you apologize, humiliated that you’re getting wet from this. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Shh sh sh,” he hushes you, one of his gloved hands smoothing over your inner thigh, this time much further up. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Your body’s just reacting naturally to being stimulated.” His gentle explanation does absolutely nothing to help with your situation, and you feel your belly tighten again in arousal. You whimper helplessly, somehow wanting him to comfort you. And he does. “Honey,” he breathes, going back to tracing the hood of your clit. His fingers move down, following the line of your inner lips, spreading them out and gliding over the thickest parts of them. Shame curls in your gut as you remember the words you ex had used:

“Fucking luscious,”

You blink at the ceiling tiles, shocked. Those had most certainly not been the words he’d used. “Um,” you start to say, but he interrupts you in a firm tone,

“Baby, listen to me, okay?” You’re frozen, unable to respond so he takes your silence for compliance. Between your legs, his fingers trace up and down the wet folds of your cunt. There’s no interpreting it any other way now—he’s caressing you. “This?” he says, whispering the words what feels like only inches from your skin. “This is your labia minora.”

You exhale shakily. “I—I know that.”

“Mm.” He keeps tracing them, keeps gliding around in the wetness that’s now becoming obscene. “It’s natural for you to look like this.”

“I just…” you stammer, still trying to bring this examination back into the realm of productive. “I th-think they’re too big. There’s too much…” you tense up at another wet stroke over your clit. “Too much...meat,” you grit out.

Between your legs, Steve makes a displeased sound. “That’s what the ex told you, huh?” He doesn't wait for you to answer, one of his thumbs sliding down, down, until it starts rubbing down at your taint, pushing right up against the edge of your pussy. You gasp and he shushes you. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong, here,” he murmurs, his breath a hot whoosh against you.

You whimper at the realization of how close he is to you now. “Please,” you whisper, “Dr. Kemp—”

“Steve,” he corrects gently, still thumbing circles of pressure into the thin skin at the edge of your hole, almost teasing, almost threatening with how close it is and how with only a little bit more pressure, a different angle, he could slide it right in. “I told you to call me Steve.” His other hand splays out over your mons, the thumb dipping down to swipe up and down over the hood of your clit. It’s a slick, gliding, barely-there touch. He’s hardly applying any pressure but that’s how you like it. You’re so sensitive there, and you can’t hold in the pitiful little moan that leaves your lips. Steve hums in approval. “Yeah,” he says, voice low and quiet. “You’ve got a prominent clitoral hood.”

You toss your head on the table, a whine building in your throat at his bold, clinical language. It doesn’t match his tone of voice or the way he’s touching you. This is so wrong. But you can’t stop it. You like it. He intimidates you horribly, and you like that, too.

He’s still stroking you there as he says, “What was that word you used, hm? ‘Meat’?”

You cringe.

“Well it is,” Steve says lowly. “Very meaty.” He traces your folds again, this time holding your labia delicately between his fingertips and rubbing the sensitive flesh. You just about die.

“St-steve, please,”

“And these lips,” he says, ignoring your pleas. “These gorgeous …juicy fucking folds.” he says, nearly growling the words. “Makes a man wanna lick, and suck…”

You go rigid at the first touch of his tongue. “Ohmygod,” you whisper, hips jolting up against his mouth without your permission. You’re about to apologize, but before you can, Dr. Kemp is loosing the filthiest, most appreciative groan, the tail end of the sound becoming muffled as he mashes his whole mouth against your pussy. “Holy—” Shit, you finish in your mind, unable to force words past your throat anymore. Steve mouths at you like he can’t wait, like he’s desperate, and you feel it as his tongue swipes broadly over your entire cunt. Your fingers spasm, digging painfully into the edges of the exam table as your whole body tenses up. “Oh, god,” you moan, hips jerking against his mouth.

He makes a muffled sound of pleasure and sucks everything he can into his mouth; your clit, your lips. He sucks, hard and sloppy, releasing it all with a loud, wet sound. “Fuck, honey,” he pants. “Never wanted to suck on a pussy so bad.” His hand returns to your mound, his thumb taking up the same swiping motion over your clit, only now you’re drenched and swollen, throbbing with sensitivity.

“Shit,” you whine, pressing up against his hand without realizing it at first.

He holds you down easily and flicks his thumb a little rougher, a little faster. “Yeah? He breathes, kissing at the edge of your sex, near your thigh in a move that is surprisingly sweet. “That feel good for you, Sweetheart?” You make an unplanned noise of assent, and he hums darkly. He’s pleased. “Good girl,” he says again, and flicks his thumb. “Such a big fat clit, and these pretty pink lips. Mmhm, so fucking plump. I could play with it all day, looove it.”

You toss your head, unable to take the words he’s saying. And he’s growling it all at you like it’s a good thing, like your pussy’s the best thing he’s ever seen. You can’t doubt for a second that he means it, but you’re just so overwhelmed by what he’s saying…

You make an embarrassingly high pitched sound when he presses a finger into you. “Oh!”

“Shsh,” he warns you, smoothing his other hand up the apex of your thigh, up under the fabric of your dress, over your belly. “Shh, honey. Don’t want the nurse to walk in, do you?”

You gasp, suddenly afraid of that possibility. He feels you get still and silent and soothes you with a heavy lick over your lips, the finger that’s inside of you curling. “You’re okay,” he promises, kissing your clit, sucking it and letting it pop from his mouth. You sob. “Shh. You’re okay.” He moves his finger shallowly, stroking you from the inside. It feels nice, and you exhale shakily, trying to calm yourself down.

“Steve,” you breathe. “You shouldn’t. We… I shouldn’t….”

All of a sudden he rises from the stool, standing to his full height and moving to the side of the table as he keeps his hand on you, in you. He stares down at you, his expression rapt but tender. It’s so much worse with him looking at you like this. It’s almost harder than when he had his face mashed against you and half your sex inside his mouth. It’s even more serious like this, you think as you blink up at him with parted lips. It’s more personal. He looks you right in the eyes, unfaltering, as he slips in another finger. You keen, and your hips press up into it, seeking. His lips curl, pleased. He moves his hand in such a firm, practiced way. He’s not pulling out very much at all. Not thrusting so much as he is rocking, grinding.

Inside, something starts to feel tight and desperate. You watch him watching you, watching it happen. He’s smiling, smug, he knows what he’s making you feel. “You’re soaking my hand, honey,” he murmurs, and you feel your cheeks flood hot with shame. “Uh uh,” he corrects you, stern. “No, it’s beautiful.”

He changes it, starts rocking deeper, curling against your walls and jabbing harder at that spot. It’s not an orgasm you feel so much as an urgency, and you squeak as the pressure builds. “S-something,” you try to say, try to tell him that something’s going to happen. But his eyes gleam in pleasure, like he already knows. Above your clit, the thumb of his hand starts rubbing in downward strokes: down down down. Holy fuck does it feel good. Your eyes slam shut as you feel it building, building and tightening. Oh—

“I want you to promise me,” Kemp says, and you’re shocked at how close his voice is. You open your eyes. He’s bent over, his face mere inches from yours as his hand keeps working. “Before I make you cum, I want you to promise me,” he growls. “Promise me that you’ll never let anybody cut on this fucking perfect pussy.”

You gasp, his words jabbing at the core of you almost as much as his fingers inside do, “Ahh-oh!”

“Promise me, Angel,” he says, rocking his hand harder, faster, harder. “Promise me now.”

“I… I…ha-oh! I pra–hom–mi–ssss!” Your eyes slam shut and your hips jerk against him as it happens. You cum, you cum hard. You hear him curse and know that he’s moving back down between your legs to look at your clenching cunt. He never stops jerking his hand into you, drawing the pleasure out. You’re loud. You squeal and shriek and jerk wildly through the whole thing, unable to control your body. It’s never felt this; this urgent, this out of control. You buck against his hand, feeling the wetness soaking everything beneath you, until finally it comes to an end.

He pulls out of you and uses both hands to spread your lips apart, staring. You whine and squirm, and then you really feel the extent of the wetness down there, and you blanch. “I—Oh no.” You try to sit up, try to pull away from him and get his hands off you, panicking. “I… I peed.” You struggle, mortified, pulling your feet from the stirrups and swinging them to the side of the table, trying to close yourself to him, trying to get off the table and—

“Heyheyhey, no. Hang on baby, calm down.” Steve stops you, his hands at your waist, keeping you seated on the table. He crowds you, holding you in place. “You didn’t honey, you didn’t. You’re okay.” He laughs. He’s laughing. You can’t believe it as you watch him. You begin to scowl, ready to be hurt and mad, but he hushes you with a kiss to your mouth.

You gasp and go silent, somehow more taken aback by this than anything he’s done yet. His mouth is so sure and confident over yours, his lips pillow soft but commanding. He pulls back from the kiss and looks at you. “You squirted, honey,” he explains, amusement still clear in his eyes, only now you’re calm enough that you can see the affection there, too. The satisfaction, the desire. He’s not making fun of you.

“What?” You look down to the end of the table, where you’d been splayed open for him. The paper covering and the vinyl padding of the table are soaked with a clear liquid. You look down to your lap, which is barely covered by the material of your bunched up sundress now. Between your thighs, it feels wet too. “I… I did?” you nearly whisper, astounded.

He laughs affectionately and leans in to kiss your forehead. “Yeah, Angel, you did. It was amazing.”

You flush and tuck your head down, feeling tingly from his obvious approval. The things he’d said about your body… “You really meant it?” you ask. “All the—”

“Yes,” he says firmly. He tips your chin up, forcing you to look at him. “Hey,” he says gently. “Remember what you promised me.”

You squirm uncomfortably. Maybe he finds you attractive, but you can’t help but to worry about other guys, about the future partners you’ll have. Steve might like it, but he’s just one man. The fact remains that down between your legs, you still look like most of the before halves of the before and after pictures. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, apologetic to dismiss his opinion of you. “But I just… I want my next boyfriend to think I’m pretty, there,” you say reluctantly, glancing up at him.

He has a fierce gleam in his eyes as he boldly tells you, “He already does,” and then surges down to kiss you again.

It’s been a long day. With both his own patients and a bunch of Hickory’s to see to as well, Steve is pretty tired by the time 5:00 rolls around and the office staff is closing up. He changes out of his scrubs and lab coat, back into his gym shorts and sneakers that he’ll jog home in. That’s how Cassie finds him. “Brendan, check it out!” She holds up her phone for him to see the picture of a wet, vaguely purple-colored newborn. “Boy,” she tells him. “Five pounds, whatever ounces. Small but healthy. She says they’re naming him Grady Harrison.”

Steve grins. “Awww.” What a horrible name.

Cassie puts her phone away and tilts her head at him. “A bunch of us are going for drinks. You want to come?”

Steve shakes his head. “I’m beat. Gonna head home soon.”

“Mm. You know your nickname is Boring Brendan,” she teases, grabbing up her purse and heading for the exit.

“It is not,” he laughs, waving her out the door. “I’m just gonna finish up with a few notes. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She waves goodbye and the office door falls shut, locking behind her because he’s the last one there and the office manager already left. Steve walks behind the partition of the nurse’s station and sits down, booting up one of the computers. He clicks the mouse over a few folders, typing in his password when it prompts him for entry into the patient data files. There’s one in particular whom he wants to learn everything he can about.

He finds the folder marked with her name:

Moreau, Ann J.

The corner of his mouth ticks up and he clicks to open the file. “Ann,” he murmurs the name, remembering the taste of her cunt against his tongue, filling his mouth, his senses. Mmm. She’d been delicious, exquisite. Not taking his eyes away from the computer screen, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the tiny scrap of lace she'd left behind in her hurry to escape him. He holds the panties under his nose, inhaling. Fuck, he thinks, remembering her delicate body in that delicate cotton dress, how she'd cried out and creamed herself for him. So sweet.

He wants to learn more about her, fully plans on tracking her down and taking her on a date. On many dates, if he can.

Because he’s never been the type to be satisfied by just one taste.

Masterlist

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[buckythinker]

academy award winner sebastian stan has a nice ring to it

[sgt-seabass]

I heard you escaped Steve's home!

But is the man you bump into in the woods a friend or foe?

𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒏

✧˚ · . 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘒𝘦𝘮𝘱. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦.

pairing — werewolf!bucky x reader w/c — 1.8k this is a dark fic. 18+ only. listening to — ♫ dark side of the moon, suisside warnings — general dark elements, allusion to steve kemp being a cannibal and holding women captive, reader is missing her left arm, non-major character death, reference to violence, reference to stabbing injury, werewolves lol, smut, non-con turned dub-con (p in v sex), breeding kink, knotting, tongue play kinda, possessiveness, monsterfucking, a kinda nice ending lol a/n — written on my phone. not beta read. navy you fucking menace look what you made me do 😌 thank you to @rookthorne for letting me scream at you about this.

You’d done it.

Steve was dead.

After the locking mechanism to your cell had failed due to a storm overhead, you’d managed to get hold of a butcher's knife in the kitchen.

Steve hadn’t seen it coming when you plunged the knife into his chest while he napped on the couch. He didn’t die immediately. There was a struggle, and you sustained a stab wound to your side when Steve almost overpowered you.

It was hard as Steve had already given you a disadvantage. Several days ago, he had taken your left arm for his sick purpose.

But he was too weak from your sneak attack, and he collapsed on top of you with his dying wheeze.

You’d tried to free other girls, but you were the only one left. And when you’d found Steve’s phone, you were unsurprised to find there was no reception because of the heavy rain that battered down on the roof.

You dressed in one of Steve’s warm sweaters and sweatpants, tucking his phone into your pocket to keep it safe from the rain.

The left sleeve of the sweatshirt swinging empty, covered in his blood and your own, you stumbled out into the night.

The rain was pouring down, lightning flashing across the sky before the thunder rumbled. It was the kind of weather that made you want to snuggle into bed with a book and a cup of tea. Instead, you were stuck trying to find a neighbouring property.

Your bare feet sunk into the muddy earth as you dragged yourself into the woods surrounding Steve’s property.

Asshole. Living in the middle of nowhere.

You cursed Steve’s decrepit soul as you wandered into the forest. The flashes of light helped you make your way through the darkened trees, but it felt as if you were walking in circles, with no sense of direction to guide you.

After some time, you stopped for a break, your legs tired, and your body fatigued. You leant against the trunk of a tree, breaths coming out in short pants. Finally, the rain began to ease, the storm passing. The clouds opened up, allowing the moon to be revealed.

You marvelled at it for a moment—a beautiful full moon.

If this is where you were destined to die, it was pretty at least.

The sounds of wolf cries into the night sounded, but they fell on deaf ears as you focused on keeping yourself conscious.

Your hand clutched at your left side where Steve had stabbed you, the wound throbbing and making you woozy. Maybe you could rest a little. Just sit and close your eyes for a while.

You slumped against the bark, your legs beginning to give way as your vision blurred with a vignette at the edges. Was this your final curtain call?

The wind howled through the trees as you fell to your side, your blood mixing with the mud. You were just so tired.

Another cacophony of animals sounded, growls and barks nearby. But it didn’t matter, not when your body was ready to bid the moon an eternal goodnight.

With a grunt, you rolled onto your back, tears swelling as you gazed at the glowing full moon.

I’m not ready to die. Mr Moon, won’t you grant me a second chance?

Your eyes closed, and everything went dark and silent.

It was hard to discern what you noticed first as you came to.

Was it the snarling and panting? The wet slobber of a large tongue across your skin? The fur that tickled you? Or the cock that was nestled at your entrance?

Definitely the last one.

You opened your eyes with a gasp, and you screamed at the sight of the thing on top of you.

A monster. Pearly white sharp teeth, a large imposing figure, and dark fur that covered its whole body.

You were pinned down on your back by a werewolf. Like a picture book come to life.

The wolf-man didn’t seem perturbed by your screams. He was feral enough as it was. His drool dripped from his snout onto your chest, your clothes already torn away while you were unconscious.

Shit, the phone. You tried to sit up to find it, but large claws dug into your skin as a warning not to move.

“Are you going to kill me?” It was a bold move asking the beast a question, but he didn’t answer, instead licking a long stripe up your neck and over your cheek.

The werewolf licked at your side where your wound was, and you gasped when you glanced down to see it healed. Did he save you?

“What—? I— I don’t understand—“ You were silenced when the wolf brought his tongue to your lips, invading your mouth with his wet muscle.

You tried to squirm, but the beast held tight as he fucked your mouth with his tongue, his huffs getting deeper as growls rumbled from him.

His inhumanly large cock prodded at your entrance, your eyes going wide when you felt the way his natural lubricant gave him an easy slide in.

The werewolf pulled back with a howl as he sunk himself into your waiting heat, his fur puffing up and tail going rigid.

It was all too much. You’d expected death, and yet, you were at the mercy of a beast instead. The pleasure that came the deeper he got, and the more he stretched you was enough to have you howling too.

You felt full to the brim, and he was just over halfway. “Ah! Stop! You’re not going to fit!”

But the beast kept going. He curled his arms around you, cradling you against the forest floor before biting into your collarbone to stabilise himself.

He ignored your cries as he rutted deeper, rocking your body with his as he made you take his entire length.

You felt a little ridge when he reached the fuzzy fur at the base of his cock, and it was enough to have your nerves alight with arousal.

The scent of this mysterious man had your head swirling as if you had inhaled an aphrodisiac. His very being was turning your body into what he needed. A fleshlight to fuck his seed into.

He kept you close, sweat beginning to sheen across your skin with the heat radiating from him. When the beast started to thrust deep and hard, your fingers dug into his fur to hold on.

The beast whimpered when you touched him, and you properly got a look at him. Hulking and massive with red eyes that shone like a bright ruby. He was breathtakingly beautiful in a morbid way. A beautiful horror you couldn’t look away from.

You ran your hands down his arms, only then noticing that one arm wasn’t furry at all. It was metal, but the appendage had taken a beastly form too, so it suited the rest of him. It was his left arm, just like yours.

When your eyes met, the wolf thrust particularly deep, causing you to moan out. And you could swear there was almost a smile on his snout.

Resuming his brutal pace, the werewolf began fucking without resolve, like nothing more than an animal desperate for its primal release.

You had no choice but to hold on as he bit into your shoulder, holding you still like his prey as he panted and groaned, cock swelling bigger as he started getting rougher.

“Fuck! I can’t—“ A large paw covered your mouth, silencing any further words.

You were ready to keep protesting until the beast changed his angle, his sharp nailed feet digging into the dirt, and the bulbous tip of his cock pounding against your g-spot.

Stars burst behind your eyes, and your body began to shake uncontrollably from the absolute bliss that took over.

He didn’t stop. And before long, your toes began to curl as an orgasm approached.

Sensing your tensing body, the werewolf growled in your ear as if he was beckoning you to cum for him.

You let go, allowing the intense orgasm to wash over you.

Your sounds were muffled behind the man-beast’s paw as you came, your feet kicking at his back and ass as you shook. It was like nothing you’d ever felt before.

The wolf watched it all, drinking in the sight of you.

You felt the ridge at the end of his cock begin to get bigger, the ring of muscle catching at your entrance. It was a little painful as the knot pulled at your entrance with each feral thrust, but luckily the werewolf buried himself deep.

His pelvis ground against you as he whimpered and yipped.

An odd barked growl was the only warning you got before the knot swelled fully and plugged you.

The first shoot of cum entered you, and you moaned at how warm it was. Just like the rest of him. You closed your eyes, allowing yourself just to feel as you were filled with the seemingly never-ending stream of release.

The wolf moved his paw from your mouth, placing it on your belly where his seed was planted deep.

It gave you tingles, how his nails raked across your skin, not enough to cut but enough to leave marks.

He massaged your belly, causing some of the cum to seep around his knot, the pressure too much. You cried out, placing a hand over his to stop him. It felt odd.

The wolf looked at you, his head quirking and blood-red eyes narrowing. Was he insulted you tried to stop him?

“Mine.”

You were shocked at the deep timbre and surprisingly sultry tone of the werewolf. It was the first word he’d spoken, and it was enough to have your thighs clenching against his hips.

“It’s too much when you—“

“Mine.”

Alright. So he wasn’t a conversationalist. “Y-Yes. I got that bit. Uhm. Please don’t push on my—“

“Mine. Home.”

“Stop cutting me off— Wait. Home?” You asked incredulously, confused by the new word in the wolf’s vocabulary. But it started to make more sense when the man-beast picked you up, holding you to his chest as his knot kept you connected. He was taking you home.

He began walking, and you sighed at the sight of your clothes and Steve’s phone discarded in the mud.

So much for an escape.

“Do you have a name?” You conceded. If the beast was taking you home, the least you could do was know his name. Although, maybe he’d turn human again? What would he look like?

“Bucky.”

“Thanks for healing me, Bucky.” You murmured awkwardly, and the beast huffed in response. His knot finally let you go, so he moved you to his hip, carrying you like precious cargo even when his fur began to get wet with the cum that seeped from your core. “Do you know more than three words?”

“Mine. Home. Bucky. Mine.”

An amused snort left you. “That’s… not what I meant.”

You curled yourself into the werewolf’s fur. Despite the circumstances, he saved you. He made you feel good when all you’d experienced was pain and suffering.

For the first time in a long while, a smile graced your lips. This was undoubtedly a fate better than death.

“Pretty girl. Pretty smile.”

You glanced down, embarrassed from the compliment, just in time to see Bucky’s tail begin to wag. “So you do know more than three words.”

To be updated on when I post please follow @sgt-seabass-library and turn on post notifications.

[imyourbratzdoll]

Hi!! I’m in love with your writing, could I request a fic for Steve Kemp that he kidnaps Y/N because he obsessed with them not knowing the’re the same like him.

hi honey! thank you!

summary - steve becomes obsessed with you, and because he's too blinded by your beauty, he doesn't know you are just like him, maybe even better.

warning - stalking, slightly dark, kidnapping, hints of cannibalism, talks of men and women.

the gif I use isn't mine, divider by @newlips

You were so beautiful, and Steve couldn’t just not have you. You were so soft and perfect the first time he saw you, better than any of the women he met up with and killed. His mouth watered at the thought of what you’d taste like. Would you taste sweet? Or would you taste salty? These thoughts corrupted him, nearly causing him to go insane, leaving him to now. Your goddess-like self was knocked out and tied to a bed in his basement. But not just any bed, no. You deserved the best quality, the finest of things. Steve had gone out and purchased a frame, a new mattress, silk sheets and soft pillows. He felt giddy as he sat in the chair in the corner, watching you. You looked perfect, even asleep. How was that possible?

He watches you wake with wide eyes, wondering if you’ll scream and cry like the other women. Maybe he’ll get to taste your sweet tears. Would you look as beautiful crying? His head tilts as you look around, unbothered as if you are bored, as if you’ve been through this before. “You’re not afraid?” His breath caught in his throat as you looked at him with those captivating eyes. You blink once and then again before tilting your head. Your gaze then moves to the bed, hands slowly moving through the silk and feeling it, your brows furrow.

“Hmm, I personally wouldn’t have given such nice things to my victims, but I guess men are different.” Steve’s mouth falls open, and his brows furrow as you turn and look at him with an emotionless look. You raise your own brow, questioning him silently. “I’m guessing this is your first time?” He slowly shakes his head, still confused because the times he has watched and stalked you, he never once saw you being like him. “Huh. This is all new.” You look at him with a slightly dark smile. “Did you do all this for me? Wanted to impress me more than the stalking you were doing?” Steve’s eyes widen even more, and you lick your lips, eyes moving up and down his form. 

“You knew?” As those words passed his lips, your eyes rolled, scoffing.

“Of course, I knew. A woman knows, Steve.” If it were possible, Steve’s eyes would’ve widened more. “It’s not safe for a woman to not know her surroundings. Men have proven that constantly.” 

“So… You’re like me?” He scoots closer, dripping with interest.

You hum, playing with the fabric between your fingers. “Sort of.”

He tilts his head, “What do you mean sort of?” 

You squint your eyes, nibbling on your bottom lip as you think. “I don’t go after women as you do. I like preying on the predator. It’s always fun and exhilarating when the men realise a woman has beaten them.” You play with the chain connected to your wrist. “See, that’s where you and I are different. You pray on women because they have been proven weaker against the male species, and I pray on the men because they are the stupider of the species.” Steve blinks in wonder, “It’s so easy getting a man to follow you home and do whatever you want with the promise of sex. No dates need to be planned because they’ve never needed to worry.” You smirk, giggling at the gobsmacked look on your captor's face.

“But, I caught you? You are locked in my basement because I beat you.” His head tilts again, confused.

“That’s what you think, my love. But, really. This was my plan all along.” The sound of the chains being undone cause Steve’s eyes to widen even more, watching as you stand from the bed, and fix your dress. “You’re lucky you didn’t ruin this. I just bought it.” You pout, looking at the man through your lashes. “Shall we play a game?”

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[nickfowlerrr]

keep your heart open, i’ll keep mine open, too.

part one / part two

pairing: steve kemp x curvy!reader

warnings: 18+ only. this is a dark fic. smut. normal steve kemp warnings.

words: 4.4k

notes: month late valentines “drabble”. one down, three to go 🥴. anyway, hope you enjoy. thanks in advance for reading 🖤 as always, comments and reblogs are always welcome and so appreciated!

“See, this is fun, isn’t it?” Steve smiled at you, the crinkles by his eyes deepening as he beamed.

You swallowed and gave him a small smile, nodding softly as you looked back down at the pizza dough he’d helped you knead. “Yeah, it is,” you agreed.

The counter was covered in flour as your formed and stretched dough sat waiting to be topped. Steve brought over the bowl of his homemade pizza sauce and offered you a spoon as he stood next to you.

“Just plop it on and spread it,” he smiled as he did just that to his own dough, looking over to you as you watched him smear the sauce around.

Taking a scoop onto your spoon, you mimicked him, spreading the sauce evenly. Just like frosting a cake, you smiled to yourself at the familiar action you hadn’t been able to do since Steve had gotten you here.

You’d missed this, baking, decorating, being able to lose yourself in the work. The simplicity, familiarity of it all. It was nice having a distraction. You didn’t have many of those here. You were always acutely aware of everything that was going on. Everything.

“Sweetheart?” Steve's voice cut through your train of thought, pulling you out of your head.

“Hm?” you hummed, having missed his previous question.

“Cheese?” he asked again, a smile playing on his lips but you could tell by the hard look in his eye he was concerned, wary of where your thoughts were trailing off to. Your eyes widened as you took a breath before forcing a smile on your face with a slight nod.

“Right, yeah,” you said, grabbing a handful of the shredded cheese from the bowl he set down. You sprinkled the shreds evenly over the sauce before grabbing a bit more for the bare spots.

“Okay, now for our toppings,” Steve announced as he turned to the small bowls of topping options he’d set out, sliding them down the counter closer to the both of you. You were glad to find he hadn’t set out any meat options in the bowls as you considered the choices. “Oh, I almost forgot,” Steve walked to the fridge, pulling out a small store bought bag of mini pepperoni slices, tossing it in his hand as he strode back to your side, “I bought these, too. Just for you.”

It was comical, really, his dedication to his “vegetarian” eating habits. No animals, just people.

He opened the bag as he looked at you, offering it for you to take. You stared at his hand a moment before he spoke again. “Come on, I know you like pepperoni,” he goaded.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, grabbing the bag from his hand. You placed only a few pieces on your pizza before discarding the baggy to the side. You went back to the plethora of veggie options laid out before you and continued topping your pizza until you were satisfied.

“Done,” you smiled, turning to see Steve’s. His pizza was much the same as your own, sans the pepperoni. “Oven?” you asked.

“Would you open it for me,” he said as he took hold of the peel your pizza was on, walking behind you as you went to open the door of the oven. The heat that greeted you as you pulled it open was a welcomed warmth. You used to hate the feeling, but in this moment, you bathed in the warmth the oven offered you, the warmth you had sorely missed. Moving aside, you watched as he slid your personal size pizza onto the rectangular pizza stone before he walked his own pizza over, placing it next to yours and then shutting the oven himself. He exhaled as he turned to look at you where you were now leaning against the counter.

“Now we wait,” he announced, walking closer to you before caging you in where you stood, his arms on either side of you as he gazed down. Your eyes met his and when they did he leaned down to place a gentle kiss against your lips. His hands went from the counter to around you as he pulled you against him. Your own hands came up to his chest, not exactly pushing him away, just touching him. When he finally parted from your lips, you were able to breathe again as you let your head drop, resting against him as your hands dropped in turn.

You felt his lips press against your head softly, his arms hugging you as you let yourself relax against him. “I love you,” he murmured. You squeezed your eyes shut at that, still not used to hearing it. Even after six months, it was jarring. Though you couldn’t deny you were getting more and more used to it with each day that passed.. “We’ll have pizza, you can pick a movie, and then I have a few more things planned for tonight,” he simpered, “a few gifts for you, too.”

You pulled away from him, grimacing. “Steve, you-”

“Ah ah,” he cut you off. “No objections. It’s Valentine’s Day. You’re my valentine, I want to show you how much I care for you. Besides, you’re gonna love them, I know you will,” he smirked, leaning down closer to kiss you once again. “In fact, I’ll show you your first gift now, since we’re already here.”

Your brows furrowed at that, but you followed him as he led you around the island to where the lower cupboards opened. He pulled the doors open and gestured for you to look. You eyed him warily before slowly squatting down to look inside. Your eyes rounded as you were met with a box labeled as a 15 piece bakeware set. Williams Sonoma, you breathed a soft laugh through your nose, nice. Your gaze flicked from the box, up to Steve as he smiled down at you.

“I have most tools you’d need already, but if you need anything specific, just tell me. I figured,” he offered his hand to you and you took it as you stood, “you could get back to baking. You’ve been so good, and I trust you. I want you to feel more at home here, I don’t want to have to keep you downstairs all the time. It’d be good for you to have more space, and ya know, get back to doing the things you love to do,” his hands were on your arms as he stared down at you adoringly, “I want you to be happier… You smile, but that glimmer in your eye is missing. I want it back,” he told you as he pulled you closer, bringing one hand up to caress your cheek. You blinked up at him, your hands coming up to touch his arm gently. Your lips were slightly parted as you nodded before you looked away.

“Thank you,” you breathed. “I do miss baking,” you admitted as you took a step closer to him, warily moving to wrap your arms around him, resting your head on his chest as you hugged him, lightly and cautiously at first before you melted into his warmth as he hugged you in return. “I think you’re right. It’ll be good, to be out here more. Be around you more,” you trailed off, hoping you said the right thing.

You could try and tell yourself it was just to make him happy, but there was some truth to it. You couldn’t deny that you did want to see him more. He had been around less and less the past few weeks and the solitude was going to drive you stir crazy. You hated being downstairs. Hated all the noises you couldn’t drown out no matter how hard you tried. It was quiet up here. Spacious, peaceful. And Steve was up here.

Missing someone and being dependent on someone are two different things. You tried to remind yourself of that when you’d get scared or lonely down in your room and would find yourself wanting Steve around, but the two ideas seemed to be blending into one another more and more lately. But you couldn’t try and hold onto that distinction. It made everything so much more difficult, harder to bear. Sometimes you had to drown yourself out, allow yourself to be comforted by him, to relax in this home with him. What other option did you have? Either way you were gonna go crazy and if you had to choose, you’d rather delude yourself than fall further into the sinking pit of despair that awaited you back downstairs.

“You’ve missed me?” he asked, simpering, his hands running up and down your back soothingly.

“Yes,” you murmured in response.

He pulled away from you then, his hand coming to your chin, tilting your face up to his as he smiled brightly. “Good,” his voice was deep, gravely as his eyes flitted from your own down to your lips. You leaned in before he did, your hands finding his hair, fingers threading through the brown locks as you pulled him closer, your lips pressing against his tenderly.

His hold on you was firm until you broke the kiss, taking a step back to breathe while lightly grabbing his hands in yours.

“I could.. I could bake something?” you offered, though you both knew it was more of a question, asking his permission while you worried your lip, looking up at him hopefully.

He squeezed your hand as he considered you for less than a second, “Tomorrow.”

You blinked and flitted your eyes away from his, “Okay,” you responded, giving a tight lipped smile and trying not to look so let down as you glanced back up at him. He brought up a hand to caress your cheek, “Tomorrow,” he reiterated, holding your eye as he spoke, “Now go make yourself comfortable, I’ll check the food and we can…” he trailed off as his eyes narrowed ever so slightly at you. You didn’t mean to but you stiffened a bit at the idea of him being around your food without you seeing him and what he was doing.

He huffed a laugh as he watched you, “Come on, you trust me, don’t you?”

You said nothing, just kept your eyes on him.

“Trust is a two way street, sweetheart. You still can’t trust me to bring you your food but you expect me to trust you to have free reign of the house?” Your eyes widened subtly at his words…free reign? “I thought we were finally getting past all of this,” he continued.

“We are,” you interjected, “I am,” you nodded. “I trust you. I do, I trust you,” you tried to assure him, though he only stared back in response as he assessed your reaction. “Steve,” you said more calmly, gentler as you worked to keep your voice even, “if you trust me,” you grabbed his hand and took a step closer to him, “I trust you.” A smile made its way to your lips as you now caressed his cheek in your soft palm, you pulled him a bit closer as you reached up to peck him on his other cheek. Without another word you turned around and made your way into the entertainment room. You glanced over your shoulder as Steve finally turned around and walked further into the kitchen to check on the pizzas.

You realized as you sat on the couch, Steve entirely out of view, that you’d do just about anything to not have to go back downstairs again. Other parts of your brain might disagree with your thought process, but you just couldn’t take it alone down there anymore. So if all you had to do, if all he wanted from you was trust, then that’s exactly what you’d give him.

—

You sighed as you let your head rest against the feather filled pillows on Steve’s bed. The king sized mattress was like heaven beneath you. The weight of the down comforter atop you was relaxing and the feeling of the warm material against your clean, soft skin was silky and soothing.

But it wasn’t just the bed that had you feeling so good, it was the fact that you felt just a bit more free. Less of a prisoner. The shadows and haunting sounds that crept into the room downstairs at night were nowhere to be found up here. Your eyes fell shut at the peace that encompassed you for the time being.

Steve’s second gift of the night, after you’d eaten your pizza and let him hold you while you watched a movie neither of you were truly interested in, was found upstairs. He led you up the steps and then into his bedroom where a small black bag was waiting for you on the bed.

“Open it,” he gestured to the bag with a turn of his head as he pulled you further into the room. You walked to the bed and the baby blue lingerie you found staring back at you after you’d looked into the bag had you swallowing hard.

Steve’s arms came around you from behind, his chin on your shoulder before he placed a lingering kiss on the delicate skin of your neck. “Can I take a shower?” you asked delicately.

“Yeah,” he answered, “yeah, of course. Just wanna show you one more thing.”

He led you to the closet, your brows furrowed in confusion until he pulled the doors open. You turned your eyes from the clothes to Steve as he smiled. “My clothes…” you said, throat tight. “How did you, uhm,” you stopped yourself from asking the question you surely knew the answer to. He’d taken your keys, purse, everything off of you, of course he had access to your apartment. “How long have you had them?”

“A while. I’ve just been waiting until I knew you were ready to bring you up here. This is where I want you to be, it’s where you belong. With me.”

-

There was a lot you could currently be losing it about, but you had decided earlier, under the heavy stream of warm water, that you just didn’t want to think about any of it. You were tired. You didn’t have the energy to be anything but accepting. Or maybe the better word was complacent.. You laughed a bit at yourself. It didn’t matter anymore. Who cares?

At the end of the day you were stuck here, simple as that. And Steve had said it himself, he wants you to be happier. You could do that, you tried to believe it though the pit in your stomach felt otherwise.

You startled as the blanket moved from around you, your eyes shooting open in surprise.

“Just me,” Steve soothed with a gentle touch to your arm.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you,” you tried to explain away the flash of fear you knew he’d seen in your eyes.

“Lost in thought again, pretty girl?” he purred as he got on the bed and moved closer.

You covered yourself with your arms, trying to shrink in on yourself. He grabbed your arms and pulled them away from your body, pinning them by your head as he got on top of you. He tsked, clicking his tongue as he shook his head, “Don’t hide from me, baby. Don’t ever hide from me.”

He leaned down, taking your lips in his, kissing you fervently. He pulled away, letting his eyes drag down your body, smiling as he took in the blue lingerie. The embroidered lace and Italian silk looked just as beautiful on you as he had imagined it would. He slid his hands from your arms, letting his touch glide down your sides as he moved down your supine form. Your breath hitched, goosebumps rising under his attention. Smoothing his touch back up your waist, tickling you with his feather light graze, he kept on until he met your chest. He squeezed your breasts through the silk material of the bra, your nipples pebbling as he fondled you, before dragging his hands back down your stomach and finally hooking his fingers in the strings of the waistband of the matching panties.

Your hips raised without instruction as he slid them down, tossing them to the other side of the bed before he pulled your legs apart, his eyes dark and his gaze lecherous, but his touch still deceptively soft as his fingertips brushed up and down your thighs.

You watched him through heavy lids, your breathing a bit harder than normal as you waited in anticipation. Slowly he brought himself closer to where you both wanted him to be. You whimpered pathetically when you felt his warm breath on your glistening folds, and gasped again as his tongue dragged up your slit, moaning as he flicked it against your clit, playing you so perfectly. You couldn’t say you didn’t want it. In fact, you longed for it. Just to be able to revel in the pleasure he’d give you and forget about all the bad, forget where you were and why. To be completely uninhibited, at least for the time being.

Steve’s tongue was firm against your cunt as he continued lapping at you while you writhed under him. So much so that he had to grip your hip to keep you still while he worked on you. You exhaled sharply and made a strangled noise when he decided to delve into your slick entrance, working his tongue in and out of you as your fingers wound in his hair, urging him on.

He growled against you as he ate you out hungrily. His free hand came from around your thigh to your dripping entrance as he moved his mouth back to your clit. Two of his fingers played with your wetness before sinking knuckle deep inside of you, massaging you teasingly until he found your g-spot, rubbing repeatedly over the spongy spot in a come hither motion, coaxing you closer and closer to your high. You felt that ever familiar tightening in your lower belly, your walls clenching around Steve’s fingers greedily. Your eyes squeezed shut and you swore you saw stars as he sucked on your clit, your hand mindlessly pulling on his hair as you finally shattered. His name left your mouth repeatedly amidst your moans and hushed curses while you dissolved into pleasure beneath him.

He worked you through your orgasm before pulling away, licking his lips wolfishly as he leaned over you. “Good girl,” he purred, brushing his lips against yours. “Taste fucking amazing,” he continued before taking your lips in his hungrily, letting his tongue dip inside your mouth as you moaned.

Your eyes were closed again when he pulled away from you as you caught your breath, letting your body relax until you felt prodding against your folds. Your hazy eyes opened to find Steve between your legs again, his erect cock in his hand as he ran the tip of himself up and down your slit teasingly. You mewled as he rubbed at your puffy clit with the head of his dick, he was breathing heavily as he stared down at your already messy sex, a smug smirk on his lips before he lined himself up with your hole, pressing into you slowly, a shaky mewl leaving you on an exhale as Steve moaned at the feeling of your warm, wet walls taking him in. He leaned over you then, sliding deeper inside of you as he brought himself face to face with you, his eyes never leaving your own. He held himself up above you on one arm, the other holding your hip as he watched your face, loving the way your lips parted in a gentle “o” as he nestled himself inside of you. When his hips were flush against yours, his cock filling your pussy full, he rolled his hips against you expertly, earning a deep moan from you as he continued stoking the fire within you, sending sparks through you as he stimulated your clit with each roll of his hips, slow and deep strokes as you took every inch. You grabbed onto him, one arm around his back and the other finding his hair, pulling him closer to you as you hitched one leg around him, grinding up against him to meet his movements. “Yes,” your voice rose unbidden in a breathless moan. His face was in your neck, nipping and sucking bruises into the soft flesh as he fucked you. You babbled as he began pounding into you, the pressure compounding in your core. You were so close already. Steve moaned in your ear, praises grunted through grit teeth as he ground himself against you. You groaned, murmuring in pleasure as your foot flexed against his ass, urging him deeper. He was hitting all your sweet spots and you knew he knew what he was doing as he smiled against your skin when you mewled.

“Steve,” you moaned pathetically, “please, please, please,” you cried as your face screwed up in pleasure from his relentless thrusts. Your nails sunk into his back as your walls were snug around him.

“I know, baby, I know,” he cooed. “Feels good, huh. Always take me so well, sweetheart. Fuck, you’re squeezin me so tight,” he huffed, “Know you wanna come, baby, I know what you need. I’ll give it to you,” he promised with another roll of his hips as you arched into him with a strangled whimper.

His presence was suffocating you, his being nearly swallowing you entirely as you lost yourself to him - and you couldn’t bring yourself to care in the slightest. The sinful fullness in your core and the sparks that flew inside and all over you as he fucked you, playing your body perfectly, his whimpers and moans and curses sounding in your ear and floating along your skin, the feeling of his strong body against yours had you tumbling head first into your second orgasm as you held onto him for dear life, trying to keep him as close to you as you could in your euphoria. A high pitched gasp escaping you as your walls constricted around him, moans spilling from your lips as you milked his cock and he once again brought you over the edge. Electricity surged through you, you felt your nerve endings light up in pure delight as he kept his pace, only faltering for a moment but determined to prolong your pleasure for as long as he could manage.

“Ahh fuck,” he hissed as you clenched down on his cock, your legs twitching around him and heavy breaths falling from his lips as he puffed, trying not to lose himself just yet. “God, you’re so good,” he grunted, “so fucking good,” he praised as he rode you through your high, his thumb stroking your skin gently as he braced your hip. The stark contrast in his touch stirring something in you even as his hips began losing their rhythm as he chased his own high.

“‘M close, baby,” he whined. “Fuck, I’m gonna give it to you, gonna fill you so fuckin full of me.

Tell me you want it.

Tell me you fuckin want it,” he husked darkly.

“Want it,” you murmured. A low growl and a tight squeeze on your hip had you speaking up again.

“Please, Steve, I want it,” you keened.

The feeling of you squeezing him, holding onto him so tightly, your soft body pressed to his, your whines of pleasure filling the air and mingling with the obscene sounds of him fucking you, the way you moaned his name, all of it suddenly had his eyes screwed shut as he tensed, grunting and puffing as he shot his load, his spend filling you up as his cock pulsed inside of you. The deep, throaty growl he unleashed as he came sent an unexpected wave of arousal through you as he thrust into you once, twice more before he finally collapsed on top of you. Rolling over and taking you with him, you both worked to catch your breath as you came down. You laid your head on his chest as his hands ran soothingly up and down your skin. No words were exchanged from either of you as you laid there, only a content, satisfied sigh coming from Steve. When he finally pulled out of you, you could feel his spend sticky on your skin and grimaced at the feeling, gingerly moving to climb off the bed as you spoke.

“Is it okay if I use the bathroom?”

“Yeah,” he answered, getting up after you, “I’m gonna shower, actually.”

You didn’t say anything as he followed you into the bathroom, coming up behind you and letting his hand graze from your hip, along your back as he made his way further in to the shower. You stood in front of the mirror, just out of his sight, as you stared at the reflection you found there. It was you, but it wasn’t.. You found yourself tracing your figure, lingering on the imperfections that made you you, and then on the marks that were left on your body tonight. The light scratches, the soft bite marks, the subtle bruises you could feel forming even now.. Everything that made you his.

“Why don’t you join me,” Steve’s voice broke through your trance as you blinked away from the reflection. You knew it wasn’t so much an invitation as it was his way of telling you to join him. There was no room for argument so you made your way over to him. Stepping into the already steaming shower, the warmth was just as nice as the first time, the steady stream just as soothing. It was so easy to stop worrying - to not have to think. And as Steve’s arms wrapped around you and his head fell to the crook of your neck, peppering kisses along your skin, your lashes fluttered shut as you relaxed against him.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart,” he murmured against your skin before whispering a gentle “I love you,” against your temple, his lips pressing against you.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Steve,” you breathed.

Nearly an hour later, you found yourself back in his bed, being held in his embrace, nestled under the covers as you mindlessly nuzzled into his bare chest. It wasn’t long before you felt your eyelids begin to grow heavier and heavier, eventually fluttering shut.

Vaguely, you were aware that you were slipping completely, but it was too late to stop the fall. Not that you’d even dare to try. Not anymore.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Don't Speak 46

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber, Steve Kemp

Note: yeah.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me 

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You stay in the room for much of the day. You’re not sure what else to do. The house is empty. You feel small. Lonely. 

As you think about the way things were before, you feel woozy. Not Andy, but Amber. When she went to work, the house was quiet but you didn’t feel so desolate. You knew she would come home and when she did, everything would be okay. 

Even if you could go home, you shouldn’t. Steve says you’re not ready. You don’t feel ready. You don’t have anything. In fact, you have even less than when you left. You think you might even be even more broken than before. 

As the day wears on, so do your nerves. You take out the tablet, your stomach mulching nervously, and you turn it on. You try to draw but your hand is shaky. Then you just stare at the screen, anxious as a thought needles in your head. 

You tap the icon for the camera app. Andy moved the camera but it’s still on. It’s in his bedroom. You shudder. He’s not there but the bed is a mess and your things are strewn over the floor. At least, from what you can see. 

A notification pops up at the top of the application; you have unreviewed footage, tap to review. You hesitate before you press your finger down. A page full of frames pops up and you scroll down, squinting. You see Andy, sitting on the bed, laying down, and even looking into the camera. 

You hit play on a frame. He’s snarling into the lens, “come back, Dove! Please. Why are you doing this? You’re hurting me--” you drag your finger to skip through then let go. “If you don’t, I might just do something. I have to make sure you’re okay, Dove. I love you, honey. You know I can’t do nothing. I will do anything to make sure you’re safe.” 

You hit the back button several times and throw the tablet to the end of the bed. That was a mistake. The blaze in his blue eyes clings to you. You don’t know what he meant but his threats crawl over your skin like insects. You shudder and scratch your neck restlessly. 

After some time, you find the strength to get up and put the tablet away. It’s all you have now. It’s not just a window into what you ran away from, but to Amber. When you’re ready, you’ll message her. You’ll tell her you got free and that you’re better. Just not right now. Not yet. But you’ll get there. 

🕊️

When Ann gets home, she comes into your room without knocking. She treats you like a child as she tells you to make your bed. You do it as she struts out. When she returns, she throws something onto the foot of the mattress. 

“Put that on, sweetheart. You want to look nice for dinner.” 

She smiles, her lips a perfect shade of candy apple red. You reach for the dress but as you do, she nears. She cups your chin and makes you look at her. Her eyes skim your face and she pokes her lips out. 

“You are so delicate and young...” she says. Closer, you see how her foundation cakes in her wrinkles. She looks older as shadows pool around her eyes. “Aren’t you, dear? So gentle and soft and...” she shoves you back and you stumble, “easy.” 

“Ann?” You squeak. 

“What’s the matter, baby? Last night was delicious, wasn’t it,” he grabs you by the shoulders and angles you against the bed, “you taste so good.” She urges you back until you’re forced to sit. “A good girl,” she grins and pushes until you lay back. You quiver, helpless. “Yes, you stay like that.” 

She drags her hands down your body and squeezes your chest. She purrs and kneads through the shirt. She teethes her lips and steps back, running her hands up and down her torso as she shimmies. She trails down to the skirt of her dress and slowly tugs it upward. 

You push yourself up on your elbows, “I can help cook--” 

She hushes you and a rocky giggle rolls in her throat. He bunches her skirt above her hips, revealing a pair of black panties, and she rubs the fabric with a hum. She drones and lets out a gasp. 

“I’m so wet, baby,” she slithers, “you want to taste?” 

“Ann, I... please...” 

You sit up completely and she rips her hands from between her thighs. She shoves you and you bounce onto your back again. 

“This is my house, you are my little slut, so be quiet,” she hisses. 

“I... I’m not--” 

“What do you call a girl who seduces her therapist, hm? And a married man at that?” She snarls as she steps closer. “You’re lucky I’m not a vindictive woman.” 

You look at her in horror, “no, I didn’t--” 

She hushes you again and tuts as pushes her panties to the side. She touches herself again and drones as her eyes roll up. She pulls her fingers away and shows you the glisten. 

“You’re a cute little thing. I like it,” she steps up and bends over you as she grabs your chin and pokes her fingers against your lips. You open as her painted nails poke against you and she rams in until you gag. “Mmm, see how wet I am for you. You made a mess of me and now you have to clean it up.” 

She moves to straddle you, climbing over you as you lay paralysed in shock. What is she doing? You squeak and clasp onto the bedspread as you close her eyes. 

“Come on, baby,” she hovers over your face, “have a taste.” 

She lowers her cunt until it meets your lips. You whimper and tweaks your ear, “don’t be a bad girl. Open up.” 

You whine and obey. The sickly sweat taste of her flesh stains your lips and seeps into your mouth. She clutches a wad of your hair and pulls your head up into her. 

“Get your tongue out,” she demands as she tilts your head and her hips. You push your tongue through your lips as you cling to the blankets. Your eyes sting as she smothers you, grinding into your face. “That’s it, baby, oooh, so soft. Move your tongue—yeah, like that.” 

The noise of your mouth and the smear of her arousal sickens you. Worse than anything, is your helplessness. Yet, you can’t hate her for this. She’s right. Steve is her husband and you’re here, distracting him, doing those things with him. 

“Mmm, yes, oh, I see why he likes you so much. Oh, baby, I want to see you suck his cock just like this.” She bucks faster, until you’re suffocated in her. You shake as she uses you, rolling her hips harder until your head is spinning. “Mmm, here I--” 

She bites down on a grunt and spasms, rocking into your face until she stills. She stops, breathless, dripping onto you as you pant breathlessly. She curls her shoulders as she leans on her hands and snickers. 

“Wow, that was...” 

“Ann,” Steve’s voice rumbles through the open door. 

“Ah, there you are,” she wiggles, spreading the mess across your face before she climbs off of you, “wanna join?” 

“The kids are home,” he hisses and steps inside, closing the door. “They’re watching Bluey.” 

You can hear the TV blaring. You turn your face away from him as he stomps toward the bed. You’re mortified as Ann’s scent wafts in your nose. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Enjoying our little toy,” Ann snips. “I’m sorry I didn’t wait for you.” 

“Get out,” he snarls. 

“Oh, don’t be like that--” 

“Out,” he repeats. 

She huffs and taps away on her heels, grumbling before she sweeps through the door with a creak and a snap. The bed dips and you flinch as Steve touches your arm. You squeak and try to roll away. He holds onto you. 

“Dove, hey, I’m sorry about that. Are you okay?” 

You sniff and wipe your face. You swallow and turn your head straight. It’s just new. That’s all. It’s like he said. You’re all together. And if you get to be with him, then it’s not so bad. 

You grab onto his forearm and pull yourself to sit up. You look at him through glittering tears. You hook your arm around his neck and bury your face in his shoulder. He coos and rubs your back. 

“Oh, sweetie, it's okay, I'm here now,” he hugs you back. “It’s alright.”

His hand trails down your back as you cling to him. Slowly he follows the curve of your bottom and traces along your leg. A shiver flutters through you. You pull back and look him in the face. 

“Dinner...” 

“I’ll let the kids know you’re not feeling well,” he lowers himself down on his side, taking you with him. Your chest pumps wildly. “Let’s just stay like this, huh?” 

He tickles along the back of your thigh and you moan. His touch feels so nice. Not like Andy’s. No, you don’t feel afraid. You drags your hand back and touch his chest. He’s strong. You believe him when he says he wants to take care of you. 

“I wanna try it again,” you whisper. 

“Hmm?” He arches a brow. 

You look down at his pants then at his face. You giggle and pet his sweater. You move closer and bend your leg around him. 

“I want to have sex. With just you.” 

His forehead creases and his throat bobs. His eyes search you and he nods.  

“Alright, sweetie, but we gotta be quiet, right?” 

You nod and a smile blooms in your cheeks. He brushes his hand along your bent leg then lurches all at once. He pins you under him as he turns you onto your back. You gasp and he shakes his head. You seal your lips to keep your voice inside. 

He feels along your thigh and beneath the hem of your shirt. You never put on any panties. You’re in the same shirt he gave you that morning. 

As he delves along your folds, you’re already wet. It’s a surprise. Was it Ann or him? You don’t know and you don’t care. His touch feels so good. He plays with you gently, flicking you clit, twirling around it, pressing down until you’re squirming. 

He growls and dips his fingers into you. He rocks his hand as he pushes down on your clit, tension clustering in his palm. He moves his arm steadily as you groan and push your head back. 

“Sweetie, shhhh,” he warns as he pulls his hand free, “you’re being a bad girl.” 

He shifts his weight, holding his pelvis up, and pushes heavy on one knees. His zipper whispers down and his belt clinks open. You reach down to help shove down his pants. A swell of desperation surges inside you.  

He holds himself over you as he guides his tip along your cunt. You feel along his back and he sinks into you. You squeak and he catches your voice in his hand as he covers your mouth. You clench around him as he bottoms out. 

He nuzzles your neck and sighs as he wiggles his pelvis. Your moans are muffled in his hand, muted by his weight on your chest. He teethes at your throat as he starts to thrust. Slow, long, strokes that tickle your insides.  

Friction burns between you. Fire seethes in your veins as you arch into him. He snakes his hand up your shirt and fondles your chest as he ruts harder and harder. He keeps your mouth trapped, his knuckles blocking your breath as he shakes the bed. The clap of his flesh echoes louder and louder. 

Your lashes droop and your drift beneath them, carried away by a tide of dazed delight. He bites your neck as he grunts and groans, growling as he pinches your flesh. You twitch and cum around him, swathing him in your arms. 

He keeps going. Harder and faster. He sucks and nips at your flesh, until it hurts, until you’re eyes are wet with tears. The delight gives way to terror as your bones ache with each thrust and his teeth threaten to cut through your skin. You can’t breath as his large hand smothers you. 

“Oh, oh, sweetie, I'm going to cum,” he rasps against your shoulder, “yeah, I’m gonna... inside... oh, you’re so warm, so good.” He chuffs as his body tenses, the fabric of his sweater rough against your lower stomach, his pants chafing your thighs, the buckle snapping and clinking. “Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna fill you up. Mm, yes, sweetie.” 

You clasp onto his wrist as you peek out from under your heavy eyelids. You vision speckles with flashes of his snarling face. Your head pulses and your lungs burn. You try to move his hand so you can get air but he’s too strong. He’s too caught up to notice as he fucks through his climax and you feel him spill into you. 

The world ripples as drops onto you, puffing and panting, droning in his afterglow. You cough as finally he drags his hand away. He cups your cheek and kisses the other as his balmy breath dampens your skin. 

“Is that what you wanted?” He sneers, “you bad, bad girl.” 

You wince as your body tingles from hot to cold, “bad? I’m not bad.” 

“No, baby, you’re good,” he pushes deep into you. “You’re so good taking all of me.” 

[bluehourbucky]

MAIN MASTER LIST

-------------☆~☆~☆welcome☆~☆~☆-------------

hello! welcome to my masterlist, where there are links to all my fics I've written so far.

I mostly write for Bucky Barnes, but there are a few more marvel characters i sometimes write for.

I try to keep the reader without description so anyone could read it <3

content:

❤️‍🔥- smut

🩷-fluff

💥- angst

🖤- dark

•••••••••••••••

BUCKY BARNES

•••••••••••••••

MOON KNIGHT 🌙

STEVE KEMP

YELENA BELOVA

Spencer Reid

Nightmare

[sunshinebuckybarnes]

Spooky szn is over 🎃 hello November ✨ I tried my best to keep up with kinktober reading but you lot are too talented! Anyway, enjoy perusing everything I read throughout October. As always please give these gorgeous fics and their even more gorgeous authors the love they deserve by reblogging 🖤 the majority of fics contain adult themes and are 18+ only and you are responsible for your own media consumption.

Happy reading angels 💐

Eddie Munson ✨

But what goes down by @sexyprise

Eddie Munson x Cheerleader!Reader

The girl at the rock show by @jobean12-blog

Eddie Munson x reader

High for this by @succubusmunson

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Bucky Barnes ✨

Feelin' gourd by @jobean12-blog

Mob!Bucky Barnes x reader

Within' you by @navybrat817

Soft!Dark Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fear and degradation by @groubee

rockstar!bucky barnes x innocent!female reader

Yes chef! by @sunshine-on-my-mind

Chef!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Though I have never read it by @tuiccim

Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Hopelessly devoted by @firefly-in-darkness

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Insatiable by @jobean12-blog

Bucky Barnes x reader (Vampire AU)

Joel Miller ✨

Thrills by @moonlight-prose

joel miller x f!reader

Can't keep my hands to myself by @jobean12-blog

Pre!Outbreak Joel Miller x reader

Ari Levinson ✨

Beauty brought of rapture and desire by @the-iceni-bitch

demon!Ari Levinson x virgin witch fem!reader

Biker!Ari by @angrythingstarlight

Biker!Ari x Reader

Lee Bodecker ✨

Out of line by @dreamlessinparis

Serial!Killer!Lee Bodecker x F!Reader

Devil devil by @sgt-seabass

vampire!Lee Bodecker x reader

Save your tears by @flordeamatista

lee bodecker x reader

Andy Barber ✨

Easy as pie by @navybrat817

Andy Barber x Female Reader

Joaquin Torres ✨

Drunk on you by @moonlight-prose

joaquín torres x f!reader

Steve Kemp ✨

You by @shadeysprings

Art Collector!Steve Kemp x F!Reader

Steve Rogers ✨

The red woods by @navybrat817

Lumberjack!Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Ransom Drysdale ✨

Meet your match by @dreamlessinparis

Dark!Serial!Killer!Ransom Drysdale x F!Reader

Kinktober ✨

Mob!Bucky's kinktober honeymoon by @writing-for-marvel

Kinktober 2023 by @lunarbuck

The witching hour by @flordeamatista