#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

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Been an awful good girl

Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: Your roommate brings you along to a holiday gathering without much cheer.

Character: Steve Kemp

Day Sixteen of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - I'm your present.

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

“I don’t know about this. I don’t really know them as well as you,” you say as Lindy's thumb flicks on the steering wheel to hit the ‘next track’ button. 

“How so? We hang out all the time,” she snorts. 

“No, you hang out with them all the time. I’m just... a hanger on.” 

“Bull shit. Everyone loves you. Besides, what were young going to do? Sit home alone and mope.” 

“Yes,” you huff. “I really appreciate you inviting me but it seems very... intimate.” 

“Boo,” she rolls her eyes as she follows the subtle curve of the country road. “Really, it’s no big deal. Steve’s place is huge. Really, I told you to come in the summer.” 

“Some of us work.” 

“I work. Sometimes,” she giggles. 

“Sorry, I didn't mean...” 

“Oh, I know exactly how spoiled I am. Don't worry. It’ll be fine. Everyone’s going to be drinking anyway.” She sighs, “honestly, would you really rather be going home to face your stuffy family? Definitely not me.” 

“Yeah, you’re right,” you drone. “I don’t know. I was kind of looking forward to a Christmas alone.” 

“Pfft,” she blows a raspberry. “Well it’s too bad, because I know who drew you in the gift swap and it wouldn’t be very courteous to ghost.” 

“I’m here,” you whine. 

“Because you’re a good girl,” she sticks her tongue out as she peeks over at you. “You ever think that people like having you around because of that? You’re the perfect contrast to me. The Mufasa to my Scar, the Woody to my Buzz, the uh... Gandalf to my Saruman.” 

“Wow, a Tolkien reference, I’m impressed,” you snicker. 

“You remember that guy, Jensen. Aside from crying when he cums, he loves that shit,” she scoffs. “It was endearing but the tears weren’t.” 

“Ew, wow, uh, thanks for that information.” 

“Anytime, sweetie,” she trills. 

She drives on, into the dark sentinels and grim back roads. As the evening falls, the silver moon shines through the branches and needles. Despite the beaming saucer, the sky hangs like a dark sheet of satin. 

There are lights ahead. Windows aglow with life within. Other vehicles litter the large lot. You must be the last ones to get there. You’re not surprised. Lindy is always late. 

She parks without much concern for the other vehicles. You’re patient as she takes her time getting out. You don’t want to take the lead on this one. You follow her to the trunk to grab your bag and she takes hers, nearly shutting the lid on you. 

You head towards the cabin. You nearly trip up the steps as the only lights are those inside and the sole bulb beside the door. As you clatter up, you hear a strange creak. You wince and look over at the shadow that stands from the porch swing, the back knocking against the house siding. 

“Hey, was starting to think you weren’t coming,” Steve says as he steps into the yellow sheen of the porch light. The creases and angles of his face swallow the shadows perfectly.  

“Huh, oh, hey,” Lindy has one hand on the door. “Whatcha doin’ out here? Waiting for us?” 

“Sure,” he chuckles, “was getting a bit warm inside. Plus, Ransom’s been into the tequila.” 

“That sounds fun,” she giggles. 

“Maybe for you,” Steve sniffs.  

“Oh Steve, once I get some in me, I can be a whole lotta fun two,” she purrs. “And once I’m not standing out in the cold.” 

“Door’s open,” he says. “Hey, good to see you.” 

You meet his eyes, you think. His face is mostly hidden. You try to smile but it feels more like a grimace. “You too.” 

“You bring something for the gift swap?” 

“Course we did!” Lindy tosses over her should as she pushes down the lever of the door handle. 

“Uh, yeah,” you pat the strap of your bag. 

“Here, let me get those,” he offers. He grabs your napsack by the handle on top then slips between you and Lindy to take her D&G bag. “I’ll put them in your rooms. If you make it to yours, Lin.” 

“And we’ll see if you make it back to yours,” she snipes back. “Come on, sweetie,” she grabs your hand, “let’s go bug the others.” 

“Um, thanks, Steve,” you say. "Um, one second.” You reach for the zipper on your bag and undo it. You take out the paper gift bag then tug the tab back. “Thanks.” 

He smiles as he hooks your bag over his shoulder. He wears a deep blue sweater, his usual look, and his hair is floppy around his chiseled square face. You wonder about Lindy’s joke. Steve’s married to Ann, isn’t he? 

You Lindy her drag you away after you hang your coat. The rabble of voices beckons you into the front room where a fire crackles in the large fireplace. A table is draped in plaid and bowls and platters line the top. Ann is there, scooping sauce with a spoon onto a small saucer with crackers and cheese. 

“There they are,” she beams. “Girls. We’re finally balanced.” 

You tilt your head and look around. There’s three men in the room; Ransom, Charles, and Andrew. Four if you count Steve, and there’s one other woman besides Ann; Juliette. That would make four men and four women. Not that it really matters. 

“Don’t forget to put your gifts beneath the tree,” she points to the artificial fir. 

You put your bag underneath with the wrapped gifts and Lindy follows. She searches her pockets and pulls out a plastic gift card. Whoever she got will be drinking a lot of specialty coffees. She tosses it on the biggest box there. 

“Come, have some cider!” Juliet insists, “we added whiskey.” 

“Don’t get too wild, girls,” Andrew intones. 

It’s a bit awkward to refer to thirtysomethings as girls but you don’t pay it much mind. He doesn’t seem like he’s in a great mood. You wonder if it has anything to do with his wife Lori, being absent. 

Juliet hands you a crystal mug of cider. You sip it tentatively but Lindy eagerly guzzles it down. She leaves you without a word as she heads over to Ransom. He sits in a chair with a bottle of Tito’s in one hand and a cup of soda in the other. 

You peer around awkwardly and sway. Great. It’s not that you don’t get along with these people, you just find it hard to relate. Now that you’re here, that big question rings in your head. Why did you come? You’ve known these people as long as Lindy and yet, they are her friends, not yours. Still, you can’t name a single thing they’ve done that could justify you hating any of them. They more so inspire indifference, if not dejection. 

“You still working at the college?” Andrew startles you as he approaches with his short tumbler of dark liquor. You didn’t think he drank. He was always telling Lori to slow down. 

“Um, yeah,” you turn to him and run a finger nervously behind your ear. “How’s the, uh, attorney-ing going?” 

He shrugs, “thinking of starting a private practice. Maybe. Might have to relocate...” 

“Oh, that sounds like a big change.” 

“Lots of those,” he grumbles. You have a feeling you shouldn’t ask about his wife. 

“Yeah, I’ve been looking for a new gig. College is nice but a bit stagnant.” 

“Oh yeah? I could use an exec assistant if I do go to a firm,” he says. 

“Wow, really, uh, well, I guess that would be a big if,” you push your shoulders up. 

“Andy,” Steve appears, “don’t tell me you’re bringing her down with your sad sack schtick. We’ve all had enough.” 

“No, I was actually offering her a job. Possibly. What do you want? To annoy us with your slimy schtick? Go bug your wife.” 

“Woah, buddy, nothing meant by it. Just a joke. Thought maybe I could cheer you up. But I see why you went with this one,” Steve gestures to you. “She’s a sweetheart.” 

“Uh, oh, thanks,” you mutter into your cup. “Um, you know, we drove quite a ways. Could I use the bathroom?” 

“Sure thing,” Steve puts his hand on your shoulder and points back to the doorway, “down that hallway and to the right. Let me know if you get lost.” 

“Thanks, er, I’ll be back,” you sidle away and set your cup down on the table. You flee without looking back. You still can’t think of a good reason why you came. Not aside from the favour to Lindy. Sometimes, you think even she finds them too much. 

🎀

“I think all the gifts are under the tree so everyone can grab theirs whenever. You have to guess who got you by breakfast tomorrow!” Ann declares. 

The din doesn’t break. There are nods in her direction but most are unconcerned. Of course. You feel a bit dumb for spending so much time trying to find something for Ransom. He isn’t easy to buy for with his expensive tastes. He’s not even in the room... nor is Lindy. 

You don’t really care about yours. You really just want to go to bed. You wait and watch. No one else goes toward the tree. Sigh. You don’t want to seem like a vulture waiting to take your share of the carrion. 

After a while, Ann wanders over. She bends and moves around some of the presents. She picks up the gift card with sharpie on it. She rolls her eyes. She has that drunken wobble in her head as she stands and curls her lip at the gift. You feel bad for her. Lindy really didn’t try very hard. You even think she regifted that. 

Charles and Juliet go together. Both have more substantive prizes. They chatter as they return to the sofa. You get up and glance around. Everyone seems distracted; by each other or by their phones. You tiptoe over.  

You read each tag. You count the presents and tally up only seven total, including those already taken. You crane back and forth as you try to see if there’s a stray one around the back. You nod and back away, trying not to show your disappointment. 

You’re not surprised. You don’t know that whoever got you forgot so much as they didn’t both. You told Lindy, you’re the odd one out. You’re only invited because you’re roommates. To be honest, it’s mostly because she’s clingy. 

You yawn and check the time. You don’t care about a gift. You peek around. Steve is standing at the window, staring out at the moon. The eerie light gives his features an odd glow. 

You approach him, “uh, hey, can you show me what room is mine? I’m pretty beat.” 

He sets his glass on the window ledge and turns to you with a grin, “gladly.” 

He leads you away from the window, the darkness solid and thick. You walk out of the front room and he takes you around the staircase. 

“I hope you don’t mind. I gave you the room down here. The rest are upstairs...” he explains. 

“It’s fine. I appreciate you thinking of me.” 

“Oh yeah? Why’s that? You don’t think people do?” 

“No, I didn’t mean—I just... It was nice of you to invite me.” 

“Of course. You’re a nice girl. Lindy isn’t,” he chuckles, “you even her out.” 

“She’s not that bad,” you argue unconvincingly. 

“Sure. She can be... sweet when she wants something.” 

“Hm,” you hum. 

He stops outside a door and taps on it, “this is you.” He turns to face you, “I know what you’re thinking. Why are we friends if we don’t like each other? Sometimes, you just can’t get rid of people.” 

You nod awkwardly. You don’t want to be involved. You never really thought they hated each other, you just thought that was normal for them. That they were all a little bit abrasive. 

“So, the gift swap. You got Ransom, I see.” 

“How...” 

“I shouldn’t have been a snoop but I did see the tag when you took the bag out,” he smirks. “Oops.” 

“Uh, yeah, well, I don’t even think he’ll like it. It’s just socks. The only thing I could afford from the designer.” 

“Like he’d know the difference between a knock-off and the real thing. He’s new money,” he turns the knob and pushes the door open. “Bag’s on the bed for you.” 

“Thanks. Again,” you step past him as he flips on the light. “This is a really nice cabin. Must be nice in the summer.” 

“Maybe you’ll see next year,” he says. “So what about you? What do you think of your gift?” 

“Ummm,” you draw out as you shuffle into the room, “I...” 

The door clicks and you turn to face him. He’s just inside, standing in front of it, in almost a sinister way. Filling the frame so you couldn’t get past him if you tried. 

“Well,” he puts his hands on his hips. 

“What?” You blink. 

“Your present. I'm your present,” he tilts his head, “Merry Christmas.” 

“But... Ann?” You utter. 

“Ann what? You think she cares? She might if she wasn’t on her phone sexting the anesthesiologist from my office. Wonder if he puts her under before they... you know?” 

You shake your head, “oh, I’m sorry--” 

“Look, I don’t wanna worry about all that. I’m your secret santa,” he opens his arms as he comes closer, “guess I shoulda put a bow on me.” 

“I... Steve, I’m not... I’m sorry but I can’t--” 

He stops before you and presses his finger to your lips, hushing you. 

“It’s not polite to turn away a gift someone put a lot of thought into. You’re a good girl, aren’t you?” He drawls. You squeak as he drags his fingertips down and turns his hand to cradle your chin. “Plus, if Ann was so concerned and she came in to find you seducing her husband, well, I’m not sure she’d let you stay.” 

“Steve,” your eyes tinge hotly. “Why?” 

“Why what?” He bites his lip and hooks his arm around you, bringing you flush against him. “I’m giving you exactly what you need, honey.” 

[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.”

[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.

SHG for killers (1) - The first meeting

SHG for killers (2) - You (reader)

SHG for killers (3) - The second meeting

SHG for killers (4) - Lloyd Hansen

SHG for killers (5) - Steve Kemp

SHG for killers (6) - Andy Barber

SHG for killers (7) - Ransom Drysdale

SHG for killers (8) - Robert Pronge (Mr. Freezy)

SHG for killers (9) - God, the bounty hunter

SHG for killers (10) - 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]

📖"The Taste of You"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 4002

Tags: Fresh AU, dark rom-com, dark!Bucky, pre-serum Steve, kidnapping, cannibalism, yandere/basement wife, meet cute-ish, gay sex n' stuff, ignoring of sexual boundaries, dub-con bordering on non-con, (mostly humorous) gore, (mostly humorous) body horror

Summary: Steve is so tired of the meat market that modern dating has become. Just when he's deleted all the apps and given up on ever finding Mr. Right, he meets the perfect guy at the grocery store.

A dark, cute, funny, fucked up, and very tasty love story.

It's a Fresh AU. "If you can't handle the cannibalism, get out of the kitchen" ... or something like that

10. Acquired Taste

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

Bucky:

Bucky typically has two avenues, when it comes to acquiring new product.

1) Conduct recon, establish a relationship with her/him (though usually her), lure to a secluded location, incapacitate (usually via roofies)

2) Conduct recon, stab & grab on site (needle, not knife—jesus he’s not a monster)

Each avenue presents its own advantages and risks. Relationships and dates take more time and work, they don’t guarantee he’ll get the access he needs, and he runs the risk of someone else in the victim’s life learning about him before they’re disappeared. Stab & grab is by far his preferred method, but he has to be extremely mindful of security footage. Everything’s recorded these days, and in a city like New York, people live in each other’s pockets. Which method Bucky chooses usually comes down to how isolated the candidate’s life is. Carlo made his pick for who Bucky’s got to pay him with, so Bucky drives into the city early Monday to begin his reconnaissance process on Erica Buccanetti. He spends that Monday through Wednesday 7am-10pm, learning all about her.

Erica is twenty-nine. She’s a short, white, “curvy” woman of middling education who works at the DMV. Her job alone makes her deserving of what she’s going to get, Bucky thinks. Erica works Monday through Friday, gets in at 8:55, eats lunch at her desk, and clocks out no later than 4:50 every day. Erica goes to a gym after work and runs on the treadmill until she looks miserable and exhausted. Erica takes the train home to her duplex in Alphabet City, where she has a cat and drinks wine and…

Bucky tosses his binoculars aside, exasperated. “Dammit.”

Erica has three housemates. Fuck.

He can’t do a stab & grab when there are roommates, certainly not three. It’s too risky. Now he’ll have to put in the extra effort to try and run into her somehow, strike up a conversation, get a date or three.

He puts the car in gear and speeds down the block, eager to get on the highway and get home to Steve. He tunes the radio to an 80’s station he likes and taps out the beat as he navigates traffic.

This is the last time, he swears to himself, the absolute last time he lets a client pick their target. It’s too much pressure on Bucky, having to succeed with that one specific girl. Better to have a handful of potentials going, scoop up the one who makes herself the easiest victim. It’s not like most of them don’t do a bang up job of it.

Twenty-some years of “stranger danger” and true crime shows are usually enough to cement the “it won’t happen to me” mindset. Sometimes they’ll even find the right moment to throw out a lame, faux-suspicious “You’re not a serial killer, right?—haha just kidding!”

Bucky thinks it’s a hoot. Obviously these bitches don’t follow the eastern principle of karma.

Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday nights, he gets in very late, after midnight. But he still pops down to check on Steve. He brings them both a drink, hands Steve his, then slides down the far wall to sit. “Ugh.”

“How was your day, honey?” Steve asks. Sarcastically, but at least he’s making jokes.

“Long,” Bucky says, tipping back his old fashioned. They both like them. Maybe it’s become one of their things. “So for this payment, I let Carlo pick his girl,” he says, letting his eyes slip closed as he rolls out the tight muscles in his neck. “Stupid.” Steve is quiet for a long time, and Bucky suspects he’s staring at him. He doesn’t open his eyes to find out. “What?”

“Nothing,” Steve says. “Just … wondering about the logistics of it, I guess.” He’s quiet for another long moment, the ice clinking in his glass telling Bucky when he takes another sip, and then another. “So … are you bi?”

Bucky opens his eyes. “What?”

Steve shrugs. “You date them to get to them. Does that mean you’re into women?”

“Well …” Bucky is, but … “I prefer men,” he says. “By far. But the clients want women, so that’s what I supply. It’s pretend, Steve.”

“Mm.”

Bucky narrows his eyes, sensing Steve’s judgment and not liking it. “I pretend to date them. Briefly. If I have to.”

Steve shrugs and looks away dismissively. “Seems kind of mean, to me.”

“It’s not!” Bucky scowls, straightening up from where he’s been sitting slumped against the wall. “I’m totally nice to them!”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, until you start harvesting their parts for food.”

Bucky glares at him. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this.”

“Yeah maybe we shouldn’t.” Steve sniffs and looks away. “Not exactly great to hear all about how my boyfriend’s a serial killer.”

Bucky brightens up some at the word ‘boyfriend’. “I’m not, you know. A serial killer.”

Steve’s eyebrows raise sky high. “Oh really? So what would you call it when you kill people, ya know, serially?”

“I don’t get a thrill out of murdering them,” Bucky insists. “I keep them alive as long as I can.”

“I’m sure they appreciate that so much.”

“I keep them comfortable!” Bucky defends. “This is a nice place! I give them gourmet food, they’re on tons of pain meds. They don’t feel a thing.” Steve isn’t even looking at him now, and Bucky’s mood sinks. “... They’re not nice people, Steve,” he says darkly. "They deserve a hell of a lot less than what I afford them.” He watches Steve for a reaction, but doesn’t get one.

Steve just tosses back the end of his drink and fishes out the cherry. He pulls it off the stem with his teeth, chewing it while staring Bucky down. “Done,” he says, pushing the glass in Bucky’s direction.

It’s like he’s saying the conversation’s done too. Bucky sighs and shoves up to standing. He goes over and picks the glass up and gives Steve a long, rueful look. “Eileen,” he eventually says.

“What?”

“The woman in the other room." He nods out towards the hallway. “The one you saw. Her name was Eileen. And that’s whose kidney I had for dinner the other night.” Steve’s eyes widen a little, and Bucky smiles placidly. “Yeah. Good old Eileen. She was thirty two you know. Divorced but seeing someone new. She had a daughter. Cute kid: Tracy. She’s like, seven, eight? Has freckles and pigtails, likes Pokémon.” Bucky shrugs, then lets the mild expression slide right off his face. “Eileen was letting the new boyfriend rape her.” He gets satisfaction from the way that Steve’s eyes widen further and his lips part without a comeback. “Hm, yeah.” Bucky throws back the end of his drink and crunches down on the pieces of ice that float into his mouth. “So, Steve, when I tell you that you really shouldn’t feel bad for these people? You really shouldn’t.”

He turns and leaves before Steve can think of any other arguments. It’s good, Bucky thinks. It’ll give him time to think. Bucky didn’t come to grips with all of this overnight, after all. He can’t expect Steve to, either.

Steve:

In the basement, Steve has lots of time to think. In fact that’s all he does other than sleep. He thinks about the chances of anybody ever finding him here, figures they’re probably low. Bucky’s done this before, maybe dozens of times. He knows how to get away with it. Steve thinks a lot about that, about how there are a bunch of rich as fuck cannibals out in the world, just existing and merrily eating people. How Bucky eats people and thinks that it’s totally fine. How he likes the taste of eating people. It’s nuts.

Steve does wonder, sometimes. What’s it taste like? He feels halfway sick with himself when the thought occurs, but it does occur. It must taste good, he thinks, to warrant such effort and risk. It must taste really damned good. At least to Bucky and his rich friends it does. Steve is sure he’ll never find out for himself. He wouldn’t be able to stomach it.

He thinks about the women who came before him, about how they must’ve felt, trapped down here while Bucky slowly sold off their meat. How many have there been? Steve wonders. And what were their crimes that got them sentenced to this? How did Bucky know they were bad? Steve can’t figure it out, but he also can’t forget what Bucky told him so seriously about Eileen the other night. It sits in his mind, coloring his memory differently. Now when he thinks of Eileen lying on the floor of her cell, begging him for help, he doesn’t feel as much pity for her as he used to. He doesn’t feel as much horror when he remembers her limbless torso wriggling pathetically under the sheet.

Bucky could be lying of course, just making it up so that Steve will accept him more readily. But somehow Steve doesn’t think so. Bucky’d had this look in his eyes when he said it. He’d looked vindictive, and vindicated. Steve shivers as he remembers it. Bucky truly does not have any compunctions about what he does, and he expects Steve to come around to it. Steve doesn’t think he can do that. He’s just hoping against hope that he can pretend long enough to convince Bucky. Long enough until he can get his chance for escape and take it.

He thinks about Carlo, working on the cell down the hallway. Steve doesn’t see him much at all, just hears the sounds of his tools whirring, the smell of fresh wood being sawed, concrete being poured, him taking a piss in one of the other cells' toilets every few hours.

At first Steve does wonder what he might be able to say to try and entice the man to help him escape. But he settles on a big fat nothing. There’s nothing Steve could offer him to get him to take that risk, no way. And it’d be too big a gamble to try anyways. He doesn’t want Carlo to alert Bucky to his attempts at scheming, which Bucky warned Carlo would do if Steve acted up. So Steve keeps his mouth shut when the man arrives and departs each day.

Carlo doesn’t say anything to him. He probably figures that Steve’s dead meat anyway.

Steve considers that maybe he is, and Bucky’s just lying to him to keep him calm. Maybe Bucky tells all the women that they have a chance for survival, if only they’re good and don’t act up.

It’s fucked, but Steve imagines Bucky doing it—taking little pieces from him until there’s nothing left to do but put an end to him. He imagines Bucky kissing him lovingly, then injecting something into his veins and harvesting his internal organs. He imagines Bucky working in the attractive kitchen upstairs; humming a tune, cutting Steve up, pan searing his kidneys and eating them with a Beaujolais.

Steve wonders if he’d taste any different than everyone else Bucky’s ever eaten. Probably not.

Stringy, he thinks, looking down and assessing his arms and legs and torso with a novel sort of appreciation. Steve’s so thin and so tough, he’d probably make a horrible meal.

Bucky:

He plans it out meticulously, just like he always does. But even after all these years (fifteen, to be exact) he still gets that nervous feeling every time he makes his move. Stab & grabs don’t get to him nearly as much. Those are easy, impersonal. It’s the women he has to introduce himself to and flirt with and feign interest in and good intentions for that cause the nerves. He’d call them butterflies, but that seems cruel to compare his meet/capture/kill nerves to first date nerves. When he met Steve, it was a whole other feeling. What he’s about to do now isn’t the same, it’s not innocent like that, and he doesn’t need to pretend that it is.

Bucky knows he’s actually like, the perfect guy for this. He’s good looking and a natural flirt, excellent at making conversation and getting people to like him and to want to open up to him. Women tend to feel instinctively safe around him, so normally he’s guaranteed success in the “meet cute” department. It’s just that ... well …

He’s getting on in age these days, alright? He’s a—very damn handsome—37 years old now, and unfortunately for him, his clients’ tastes tend to stay the same, meaning the pervy old leches keep wanting their women rare at 20-ish. Bucky still has a very high success rate, but there’ve been a few college-aged girls who he approached wrong and they turned their noses up at him.

But he dyes his greys now, okay? He does the whole skincare regime, does Botox (conservatively—he’s got taste). And he’s learned to dumb himself down a bit when he’s going after the younger ones; talk a little smoother, a little less cultured, dress more age-appropriate. Turtlenecks apparently send off the wrong vibe. Unless the girl is into the whole Daddy thing, then it works in his favor.

Anyway, it’s not that big of an issue. All he has to do is flash his car or casually wear a Rolex on a date and even the most dimwitted or discerning potentials fall all over him. Bucky could give straight guys lessons, he swears.

He drives into the city wearing joggers and sneakers and a too-tight tee shirt, hair artfully tousled and earbuds draped around his neck in show. He goes into the gym, into the locker room, spritzes water around his hairline and the neck of his tee shirt, then bumps into her outside—when she’s on her way in, not out. No woman feels sexy after a workout (at least not the kind Erica is torturing herself with)—and exclaims in concern when she stumbles. Ohmygod, I’m so sorry! He grabs her forearm and lets the other hand brush over her waist as he “makes sure she doesn’t fall”. Are you okay?

Her eyes catch on his smile and his biceps right away, so Bucky's confidence is bolstered. He spends the next twelve minutes flirting with her, telling her his name (James), and how glad he is that he at least bumped into the prettiest girl at the gym (not true). Her eyes light up when he mentions that he’s a doctor, and shortly after that he’s typing his burner cell number into her phone. I put myself down as ‘handsome stranger whom you’re definitely gonna call’.

She titters at his joke and smiles, obviously tickled pink as they’re saying goodbye. “Yeah. I’ll um, I’ll call you. Maybe we could meet up for drinks or something?”

“Great!” Bucky shoots her a wink to seal the deal and jogs off down the block. He stops once he’s around the corner and starts walking at a normal pace back to his car. He hums a tune to himself, pleased at how easy that’d been. Now he can get home and probably not have to go out again until Saturday. If Erica’s as easy as he thinks she is, he shouldn’t have to go on many, if any, other dates.

Steve:

“Hey.” Bucky knocks on the doorframe as he slides it open. He steps in, head tilted, cautious smile playing at his lips.

Unfairly handsome, Steve thinks. Those women don’t stand a chance. “Hey.”

“I was hoping you’d still be awake. Wanted to say goodnight.”

“You get her number?” Steve asks. Because he knows that’s what today was—bump into Erica day.

Bucky seems wary, but he comes in and engages anyway. Steve almost feels bad for him. “Yeah,” Bucky says, toeing at the carpet. “Taking her out on Saturday.”

Steve rolls his eyes, scoffing. “‘Taking her out’, yeah.” He sees the hurt flash across Bucky’s face though, and feels bad about it. Ridiculous, but he still feels bad. “Sorry,” he mumbles, looking away. What else is he supposed to say? I understand? He can’t say that when Bucky’s holding him prisoner in his basement. Steve’s literally chained to the floor right now.

He sighs again, disappointed. He’s never been so disappointed in anything in his life. He fucking aches with it. Enough to cry, sometimes, if he thinks enough about Bucky’s smile over a martini glass, his bad dance moves in Steve’s apartment, his body in Steve’s bed. What they'd had together, how it'd felt like they were building something, something to look forward to. Steve bites his tongue so he doesn’t start tearing up when Bucky’s standing there. He doesn’t want to look like another weak victim, even though he knows he is. “You seemed like such a nice guy,” he murmurs, not looking at him.

Bucky comes over and kneels down in front of him. He looks so sad. “Hey,” he says softly, reaching out to palm the side of Steve’s face. He hums when Steve lets his eyes slip closed and leans into it.

Crazy, what a little bit of isolation will make you feel, Steve thinks.

“I miss you, Steve. I promise you this isn’t going to last forever.” When Steve just breathes silently, Bucky strokes his thumb over his cheek. Steve shivers. “Hey, would you want to go on a date with me?”

Steve’s eyes open. “What?”

Bucky smiles softly. “A date. You’ve been so good this whole time, and I miss you.” He leans forward and pecks a kiss to his lips. It’s brief, but it still makes Steve’s lips tingle. “I miss spending time with you.” Bucky’s eyes flick over his face. “So how about it, huh? You want to come up and just hang out one night? I can make us something. We’ll have drinks, maybe watch a movie?”

Steve blinks, feeling so odd at being asked a question like that. One of the things he thinks about to pass the time is what he and Bucky might be doing right now, in their new relationship, if Steve hadn’t opened the basement door. “A movie?” he repeats softly. The idea of getting to leave this boring room for anything is tempting. Steve wants to escape of course, but even if he knew he couldn’t, he still thinks it’d be nice to get to do something. Even if it’s with Bucky. “Yeah,” he breathes, hopeful. He hasn’t been allowed upstairs in days, not since he took a shower. “M-maybe I could …” he cuts himself off, remembering how Bucky had taken advantage of the last time, how he’d touched him. And Steve was weak. He’d let him do it.

“Maybe what?” Bucky asks, looking so kind. He always does, like he’s just a kind, caring guy who also happens to keep Steve chained in his basement. “Steve? What were you going to say?”

Steve smiles and shakes his head. “Mm, nevermind.” He doesn’t need a shower. “Nothing.”

Bucky seems unhappy about whatever Steve’s not saying, but he doesn’t press him any further. He takes a deep breath and stands back up. “I won’t be out so late anymore,” he tells him. “Just a trip or two more to the city. You can have your real meals back again, no more of this junk food.”

Steve nods. Bucky’s left him with plenty of snacks these past few days, but Steve has missed the hot meals. He’s missed seeing Bucky three times a day, even missed the attention Bucky gives him when he’s eating. “Okay,” he says.

Bucky stands there for a long minute, staring at him. Steve keeps his eyes on the carpet but he can feel the weight of Bucky’s gaze. Eventually he hears Bucky sigh, then leave through the door. Steve looks up to try and catch sight of him on the way out, but he’s already moved on down the hall.

That night Steve falls asleep thinking about what it’ll be like, once there’s another person in the basement with him.

Bucky:

Bucky meets her for the aforementioned drinks. He’s dressed nicely, in a black button down and slacks and nice shoes. He wears the Rolex, because Erica’s got three housemates so flashing his wealth at her can’t hurt. He greets her with a smile and a hug at the bar, and they both settle in and order their drinks. Bucky asks her about her life, quickly figures out that she’s body conscious and makes sneaky little comments about how he likes a woman that doesn’t slip right through his fingers. She eats that shit up, and before Bucky knows it, she’s excusing herself for the bathroom and leaving her third cocktail behind.

Too fucking easy.

Bucky picks up both their drinks and informs the bartender that they’ll be moving over to that table in the dark corner over there. The bartender gives him a nod, and Bucky nods back. He can’t have the guy seeing it, when he slips the roofie in her drink.

He’s learned to crush them up into a Splenda packet. It masks the bitterness and then if he does get caught, it just looks like he’s sweetening the drink. Erica returns from the restroom and he flags her down to their new spot. “More privacy,” he purrs at her, and she giggles and sits down next to him.

They continue to flirt and talk about pithy little topics until he can tell that she’s starting to feel the effects. “Hey,” he says, not wanting her to be stumbling before they leave the bar. “I know this is fast but… I dunno, I just really like you.” He says it all bashful, like he’s embarrassed of himself, and she eats that up, too. “Would you maybe wanna go back to my place? We could have another drink, talk and listen to some music, or…”

He trails off, and she gives him an enthusiastic, “Sure, okay!” sloppy at the edges from how the drugs are creeping into her system now. She hasn’t realized it yet. Bucky has to get her out of this public place before she does.

“Great,” he says, smiling. He offers her his arm like a gentleman (and to make sure she’s steady enough on her feet to not draw attention), and she simpers and holds onto him and they head out. Bucky sees her recognizing the type of car that he drives as he opens the door for her and she gets in. She tucks her lips in like she’s trying to keep herself from outright grinning, which makes Bucky chuckle as he slides into the driver’s side and shuts his door. “Buckle up,” he tells her sweetly. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

She giggles and obeys, and Bucky thinks about how she’ll probably be so easy, in the basement. Girls like her just want to be loved and approved of so badly. She’ll probably go from the Depression stage to Acceptance so fast, it’ll make his head spin. He’s glad. It’s always easiest for those girls. They suffer the least. And despite the fact that Bucky knows about Erica and her little brother who died under “suspicious circumstances” in 2009, he still doesn’t want to torture her. He’s not a sadist.

He’s karma.

She’s still conscious when they get on the highway, enough to look out the window and make a cute little confused noise. “Mm. You said your place’sin Tr’becca?” she slurs.

Bucky smiles and pats her hand. “Yeah. But I’m taking you somewhere else.”

It’s cute, how she pouts and tries to protest that. Bucky’s almost tempted to say something right then and there. But he doesn’t. He always likes to save the Big Reveal for when they’re settled in their rooms and fully sober. He likes to have a drink in hand, be relaxed in something comfortable. Really settle in for the show.

“Just close your eyes,” he soothes her, watching her fade out. “We’ll be there soon.” She passes out and Bucky smirks, thinking about how she’s about to get hers.

Because Karma’s not a bitch.

It’s a plastic surgeon who likes to cook.

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[sweetiebarnes]

The following content is intended for an adult audience only. 18+ only. Minor DNI. Please pay attention to all warnings. Dark elements ahead. You do not have permission to steal or copy my work.

Bucky Barnes

Carter Baizen

Charles Blackwood

God the Bounty Hunter

Lance Tucker

Lee Bodecker

Max Burnett

Mickey Henry

Nick Fowler

Steve Kemp

[buckythinker]

literally shaking. What the fuck

[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

[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. 

[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.

[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

[alpineforeverr]

SEBASTIAN AT MET GALA AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH