#the con crunch is real now

[cottagecryptic]

I 👏 AM 👏 SO 👏 TIRED 👏

[emmaspolaroid]

it is alreayd Friday I want to CRY

[dirtytomatoedwrites]

INDEBTED

Summary: When your father's scandal threatens your family's legacy, Rafe makes you an offer you can't refuse.

Paring: Rafe Cameron x KookFem!Reader

Strictly 18+ No Minors to Interact

Warnings: Dark!Rafe, Dub-Con/Non-Con, Coercive Behaviour, Choking, Graphic Scenes / Smut.  

Word Count: 4.8k words

Author's Note: 1000 followers! Wow, I never thought I'd reach 1000 followers. A part of me believes that half of these are bots, but regardless, to those who are real and have decided to join me in my little corner of the Tumblr woods, thank you. Your love and support, especially during these trying times, means a lot. I had this one shot sitting in my drafts for a while and thought I'd finish the damn thing and share it as a thank you. But heed those warnings : it's a dark one. Much love to you all ❤️

Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Please don’t steal or copy bits of my writing or any writing from other writers cause karma will get ya.

Embezzlement.

What a weird word.

It rolls off the tongue with an unfamiliar bitterness. It's the kind of term you'd see in a crossword puzzle, nestled between "clandestine" and "malevolent." You never imagined it would be splashed across news headlines with your family's name and the face of your father in the centre.

For years, your family was among the shining stars of Figure 8, leaders in hospitality, prestige, and wealth. Your home was the epicenter of elegance, the heartbeat of social galas. But now, news vans line the perimeter of your estate, their cameras hungry for a glimpse of the fallen dynasty. While online vultures, under the guise of investigative websites, sift through every chapter of your family's history.

Naturally, it caused a ripple, and as the waves of the scandal crashed onto the shores of Figure 8 with relentless force, family friends who once sought your company now wrestled with their association to yours. The 'friends' who once envied your galas and soirées now whisper behind closed doors.

It was the talk of every gathering. At lunches, tennis courts, even the marina; your family’s name was whispered with a mix of pity and sensationalism. Every disclosed detail, every leaked piece of evidence, threatens to shatter the glass pedestal upon which your family once stood unchallenged.

Yet, amidst the tempest of rumors and glares, your mother remains the eye of the storm. Resolute and graceful, she doesn't waver. The titan of Figure 8's social scene, she's always known how to command a room, and this scandal won't rob her of that gift.

Tonight, at the Midsummer ball, she's an emblem of defiance against the rising tide of whispers. And she does it so effortlessly. She glides through the crowd with that same charismatic charm. She smiles warmly, asking about children and recent vacations, pets, and passion projects, extending olive branches even when met with frosty receptions and curt replies.

You, however, are not as composed. The weight of judgmental gazes is too suffocating, the murmurs too piercing. The confines of the ball, with its glittering chandeliers and faux smiles, become a prison. With each passing moment, the walls seem to close in further. You need air. A moment of solitude. An escape from the suffocating pretense.

Whispering a quick excuse to your mother about needing the powder room, you slip away. The soft hum of the party fades behind you as you venture down a paved stone path, leading to the beach. The cool breeze and rhythmic waves provide solace, a stark contrast to the stifling ambiance of the party.

You had taken off the flower crown your mother had insisted you wear and were about to remove your shoes when you heard it: the soft crunch of footsteps on sand, drawing closer.

Hesitantly, you turned, finding him. The one whose eyes often sought yours in a crowd. Whose lingering gazes you'd always felt but habitually ignored. The same person who continually asked you out, oftentimes rudely and crudely. The one you had rejected, rebuffed, and shut down more times than you could count.

Rafe Cameron.

"Came to rub salt in my wounds?" you asked, unable to mask the bitterness in your voice.

"Now why would I want to do such a thing?" Rafe murmured. He pulled a joint from his pocket, placing it between his lips. The soft flicker of the lighter momentarily illuminated his face, revealing a brief smirk before the darkness cloaked him again. "I thought you might appreciate some company instead."

The word 'appreciate' ricocheted around your mind, sounding almost absurd in this situation. Company? From Rafe Cameron? The notorious Kook King of Figure 8, a classic case book narcissist who, you were certain, had probably raised a toast to the scandal engulfing your family. At this moment, you'd rather eat glass than accept his sympathy. Rolling your eyes, you turned back to the sea, barely acknowledging his presence.

“I'm not in the mood to talk, Rafe," your voice steady but seething with restrained frustration. Your eyes remained locked onto the undulating waves before you. The smell of sea-salt filled your nostrils, and for a fleeting moment, you felt at peace. It lasts all of two seconds before Rafe opens his mouth again.

"Fine, I'll talk. You listen," he asserts, as he settles against a rock. He leisurely inhales from his joint before blowing out a plume of smoke into the night air. You can feel his contemplative gaze on you; it becomes evident in the softened timbre of his voice when he speaks again. “You know, it's downright shitty what they're doing to your dad. To your family. To you... I can't stand by and watch."

A scornful laugh escapes you as you finally meet his gaze. "Well, life's not exactly handing out fairness certificates, is it?"

He shook his head, "No, it isn’t. But, it still doesn't make it right. It doesn’t make it fair when your dad claims he’s innocent—”

“My dad is innocent,” you assert fiercely, standing tall, arms crossed defiantly over your chest.

“Oh, I believe he is. But the world? Not so much. Your dad’s always been good to my family. My old man took it hard when he heard. I mean, of all the people on Figure 8 to be arrested for embezzlement, your dad was the last person anyone would suspect—”

“What's your point, Rafe?” You snapped, clearly about to lose the last shred of patience you had.

"I’ve been thinking about it alot, and maybe my family can help.”

Skepticism etched itself clear as day on your face. It seemed ironic that Rafe felt his family could help when Rose and Ward shunned your parents the moment the news broke.

“And how do you propose to do that?" you asked, your voice tinged with mistrust.

Rafe shrugged, a casual gesture that contradicted the gravity of the situation. "My dad, he's got connections—”

“So do mine,” you shot back.

“But did yours play golf with Senator Whitfield every Saturday? Rain or shine? Nah, didn’t think so.”

You felt a moment of silence envelop you both, the distant murmurs of the sea a constant reminder of the world moving around you.

"Alright, I'll bite," you said with a lick of your lips. "What do you want in return? You're clearly not doing this out of the goodness of your heart."

Rafe flicked his joint onto the sand, extinguishing it with a deliberate twist of his shoe. As he stepped closer, moonlight illuminated his eyes, giving them an almost predatory glow.

“You've got me," he admitted, his smirk devoid of warmth. “I do want something in return. Something that has been on my mind. Something I’ve wanted for a long time now. You."

A shiver raced down your spine, a cocktail of revulsion and trepidation. Retreating a step, your voice quivered but remained defiant.

"So, you're after a date?" You clarified, eyes narrowing. The same date he'd pestered you for, relentlessly, over the past year. The same date you'd denied him repeatedly, because despite being handsome, Rafe Cameron's moral compass seemed nonexistent.

Rafe scratched his ear as he moved slowly toward you, his expression pained as though what he was about to reveal would hurt him far more than it would hurt you.

"Yeah, see, a date won't begin to cover what I'm risking for your old man, given his rap sheet is longer than my arm. No, what I want is far more... rewarding," his voice sank to a sultry whisper as he towered over you.

"And what would that be?" you asked, tension crackling in the air between you.

"I want to be able to fuck you whenever and however I want—for a month, maybe two, perhaps even a year..." he shrugged slowly, "The specifics are negotiable, but doesn't that sound fair? A little pussy in exchange for your dad's freedom?”

The slap was instinctual. Swift. The sting on your palm matched only by the shock on Rafe's face. For a split second, everything was still.

Rafe's eyes turned to steel, his demeanor shifting chillingly in a heartbeat. He closed in, his voice a venomous whisper slicing through the salty sea air. "You must have a death wish" he hissed, an unmistakable dangerous edge to his words. His hand gingerly brushed his reddening jaw, his piercing gaze never leaving yours. "Your dad's freedom? It's dangling by the thinnest thread... The right words from a senator could decide whether he walks free or becomes someone's bitch behind bars."

He paused, his gaze falling to the flower crown in your hand. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out to touch it, his fingers lightly tracing the delicate petals, an almost gentle gesture that was jarringly at odds with the tension of the moment.

"If you want to help your dad, having a friend like me might be your best bet." he murmured. "Think it over, yeah?" His gaze lifted back to yours, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Fuck you, Rafe," you whispered, disgust fueled your retreat as you stormed away, his chilling laugh echoing ominously in the night air.

"You will, princess. When you come to your senses, you will."

Rafe's lingering words pressed on you, growing heavier with each breath. The looming possibility of your father's life behind bars became ever more ominous as Rafe presented a potential solution—a solution with an inconceivable price tag.

How could he even insinuate such a thing? The mere suggestion repulsed you, igniting a fury at Rafe's audacity. Yet the unease gnawing at your belly made you question: to what lengths would you go to save your dad? With your family facing disgrace and teetering on the brink of bankruptcy, Rafe's proposal offered a faint glimmer of hope, even if it took the ugliest of forms.

In the solitude of your bedroom, the pristine walls seemed to close in, just like the midsummer ball. Picking up your phone, you stared at the screen, the bright white light harsh against the dim setting. The contacts list stared back, an overwhelming list of names, none of whom had reached out during your family's time of need.

You scrolled, hesitating briefly before landing on Rafe's name. A whirlwind of emotions — from anger to desperation — consumed you as you pressed on it. Trembling fingers typed, deleted, and retyped a message multiple times, finally settling on the simplest of words.

"We need to talk."

Almost immediately, three dots danced on the screen.

"Tomorrow 7pm, Tannyhill.”

Was Rafe’s curt response.

You could barely sleep that night, as your mind raced, forming what you hoped was a semblance of a plan. You needed to negotiate on your terms, to retain some shred of dignity. It wasn't a detailed strategy, but it was enough to at least get through Rafe's offer with your sanity.

The next day as you approached Tannyhill, you whispered silent affirmations to yourself, reaffirming your resolve, your worth, and the necessity of your mission.

And then, there he was. Rafe Cameron, leaning casually against the frame of the ornate door, a picture of wealth and arrogance, a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within you. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you in the impending darkness of the evening.

Rafe opened the door for you, his face betraying a flicker of something you couldn't quite read, but there was no turning back now. You stepped in, ready to negotiate with the devil himself if it meant saving your family.

"Where's everyone?" you asked, there was no point in exchanging pleasantries. Nothing about the situation was remotely pleasant.

"Movies. You know, I hadn't expected a text from you so soon." his voice dripped with condescension, "I was betting on at least a week or two."

"Yeah well, it is my dad's life on the line," your footsteps echoed with purpose as you followed him into the living room, eyes steeling for the battle ahead. "The sooner we finalize our agreement, the quicker you can pull whatever strings you have, right?"

Rafe spun around, his gaze locking onto yours. The sly curve of his lips unsettling. "Sure, I’ll make a few calls,” he stated, voice dark and sardonic, "but it'll depend on the terms we agree to."

"Alright…” you braced yourself, your arms folded trying to regain control. "Let's start with how lon--"

“A year,” Rafe cut in, not breaking eye contact.

"That's out of the question. A month," you shot back.

His chuckle resonated with an underlying seriousness, his eyes narrowing in focus "Sure, we can say a month. You willing to fuck me at least twice a day? No? Then eleven."

You straightened your back, your resolve hardening. "Two months, tops."

His eyes gleamed as he considered your counteroffer. "How about this, we keep our little arrangement going until your dad's free. It could be a month, maybe two…” he shrugged nonchalantly “It might even be a year. It depends on how soon he’s out. What do you think?"

You hesitated, visibly weighing the implications of such an open-ended commitment. Your dad’s charges were serious. The chances of those charges disappearing and him being released in a month seemed like a miracle. "What if it drags on for years?" you whispered.

Rafe’s grin grew more pronounced, relishing your distress. "Well, princess, that's for you to decide. You can always walk away whenever you think it’s unbearable. Does that seem fair?"

"Okay, fine. Now about condoms--”

“Not using them--”

“Oh, we’re using them. I’m not interested in having your kid, Rafe, and I’m certainly not interested in catching anything from you.”

“While I should be fucking insulted” he said dryly “I always glove up and get tested regularly too.”

“Okay, so why are you suddenly against using condoms with me, then?”

“Because I promised myself…” he said slowly, his voice lowering as he made his way towards you, “If I ever got the chance to fuck you, I'd do it raw.”

Your jaw clicked, your hands itching to slap him again. “Weren’t you fooling around with Letizia a couple of weeks back?”

“Yeah, so? I was gloved up.”

“I don't care. You've slept with half the girls on figure 8. I want you fully tested before we even think about doing anything. Condoms every time, no excuses.”

“Alright. I’ll get tested. Condoms while fucking, no condoms for blowjobs.”

"Yeah, about that, I'm not doing oral.'” you said folding your arms in resignation.

Rafe's eyes bore into yours, annoyance coloring his features.

"No. No. You don’t get to dictate how I fuck you." he snapped, his voice taking on edge of authority. "Look, i’m willing to let you negotiate a few terms, give you some semblance of control but it’s got to be worth my while, and for it to be worth it, I get to fuck you how I want, when I want.”

You swallowed, feeling your resolve waver.

"Now, here's what I want to make this deal work: when I call, you answer. No matter the place, no matter the time. You show up. Clear?" Rafe said.

You paused before giving a hesitant nod, the magnitude of your agreement dawning on you.

"And if I ask you to wear something specific, you will. No questions. We have a deal?"

Your throat tightened as his demands began to overwhelm you, but you managed a brief nod in response.

"Remember, fail to meet my terms, and our deal ends. Understood?"

Another nod.

"Anything else?"

“When will you make the call?” you asked quickly.

“After our first session,” he proposed, his smile revealing a hint of anticipation. “After that I’ll do whatever I can to make sure your dad’s free”

" I want proof. I want proof that you’d stick to your part of the deal.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get it.”

“Good." you said as you took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Get tested and send me the results," you responded, you're tone neutral, treating it as a standard business transaction. "I'll do the same. We can then choose a time and date."

Rafe nodded in agreement, his gaze intense and piercing.

You extended your hand towards him.

"What's that for?" he chuckled lowly.

"A handshake. To seal the deal."

Rafe reached out, his arms enveloping you in a firm yet tender grasp, pulling you against him. It took everything within you to not push him away.

"How about we seal this deal with a kiss, hmm?" he murmured, "Especially since we'll be doing a lot more than kissing very soon."

Rafe leaned in, letting his lips graze yours. But you stiffened, instinctively tilting your head so that his lips met your cheek instead. A soft chuckle escaped him as he retreated just a fraction.

“Ah ah” he chided. With his fingers gently but firmly cradling your jaw, he directed your face back to his, an unsettling tension growing palpable between you.

"Play. Nice.” he whispered, his voice considerably smug. "Kiss me. Like you mean it." It wasn't a mere request; it was a command that left you feeling completely cornered.

A battle of wills ensued; neither of you making the first move, both of you waiting for the other to blink first. Rafe's eyes never left your own as he leaned in once again, his determination clear.

His tongue gently pushed past your parted lips, and you allowed it, setting off a delicate yet conflicting dance between your tongues and lips.

Groaning into your mouth, his eyes shut as the kiss deepened, carrying an undeniable intensity. He sucked on your bottom lip, nipping at your tender flesh until his tongue lashed hungrily against yours sending a peculiar mix of tingles and dread coursing through you.

Finally, you pulled away from the kiss, catching your breath while your chest heaved. Rafe remained close, his lips just a whisper away from yours, his breathing matching your intensity.

"I'll get tested first thing tomorrow," he whispered, his voice thick with urgency and desire. "Make sure you do, too."

"All clear."

That was the message Rafe sent you two days after your heated conversation, accompanied by a screengrab of his test results. Without hesitation, you replied, sending him your own results in return.

As your fingers tapped across the screen, a surge of disgust washed over you. The very idea of being intimate with Rafe was anything but appealing; it fact, it made you feel sick.

You'd never choose Rafe of your own volition. Sure he was handsome but his excessive drinking and drug habits were repellant, and his disdain and bullying nature towards the Pogues was disturbing. None of his qualities were remotely attractive, let alone fuckable.

But then, the stern, resilient part of you asserted itself, urging you to focus on the goal at hand.

This was not about you or Rafe; it was about orchestrating your father's release from prison, a critical mission where failure wasn't an option. With this clear objective ingrained in your mind, you steeled your resolve, preparing yourself for what lay ahead.

When he proposed meeting up that same night, you didn't find it strange given Rafe's impulsive nature. However, the location he suggested did catch you off guard.

It wasn't Tannyhill, the somewhat familiar and comfortable place you had anticipated, but instead, an unfamiliar address. The randomness of the location set off tiny alarms in the back of your mind, making you wary but you took a deep breath, quickly typing out your response-

"I'll be there."

It wasn't just any random address, as you initially thought.

At the front of a gated tree-lined drive stood a prominent sign declaring, “Cameron Developments.” The freshly poured concrete and stacks of lumber clearly indicated that it was a home under renovation.

As you made your way along the winding path, unease gripped you, but the sight of Rafe’s truck haphazardly parked near the entrance reassured you that you had indeed reached the right place.

The estate was draped in an unsettling darkness, punctuated only by the soft chirping of crickets, the distant hoot of an owl, and the sporadic glow of work lights from inside, hinting at the ongoing renovations.

Exiting your car, you took a moment to absorb the scene before approaching the house. With each step towards the porch, your heart rate quickened. But before you could even announce your presence, the heavy door groaned open, revealing the looming presence of Rafe.

His expression, obscured by the shadows and dim work lights from within, gave away nothing. Without a word, he stepped aside, allowing you to enter, then closed the door and locked it.

A knot formed in your throat, a cocktail of dread and adrenaline. Pushing the mounting fear aside, you gathered your voice, attempting to sound braver than you felt. "Alright, let's get this over with," you said.

A wicked grin tugged at the corner of Rafe's lips. You felt an icy dread settle in your chest. "Oh, we will," he murmured, "But first, I want to play a game... to make things... interesting." The atmosphere grew heavy, oppressive.

"One minute" he said, as he cracked his neck from side to side, his eyes boring into you. "You get a one-minute head start and after that, after that--" he sighed happily "I'm coming for you. Run."

Panic gripped you. "Run? What? What the hell are you talking about? What do you mean run?" you stammered, your voice edged with rising panic.

But his eyes were cold, devoid of humor or empathy. He leaned closer, his voice a menacing hiss that left no room for interpretation. "Run."

A rush of adrenaline hit you, and without another word, you sprinted past him as if your very life depended on it.

You had no clear destination in mind, only the primal instinct to run and hide. Every fiber of your being was attuned to survival. Heart pounding in your chest, you sprinted up the grand staircase, taking the steps three at a time, feeling the weight of your own desperation in every leap.

At the top, a maze of doors and hallways stretched out before you. You lunged for the nearest one, finding yourself in a dimly lit bedroom freshly painted in white. Shadows danced on the walls from the solitary work light, and your gaze immediately snapped to a closet on your right.

Without hesitation, you slipped inside, gently closing the door behind you. The smell of paint and cedar filled your nostrils. Placing a trembling hand over your mouth, you tried to muffle the sound of your heavy, ragged breathing.

Gently, so as not to make a sound, you nudged the slatted shutter doors of the closet closed, leaving only thin slivers of the room visible – distorted, but enough to keep watch.

The ominous sound of footsteps reached your ears; they were methodical, unhurried. Rafe was searching, savoring the hunt. You watched in horror as his elongated shadow, cast by the work light, drifted across the closet. A cold sweat formed on your forehead, and you had to fight back the urge to gasp as the shadow paused momentarily by the closet doors.

After what felt like an eternity, the shadow moved away, and you heard his footsteps retreating. Letting out a silent sigh of relief, you gave yourself a moment to gather your bearings. But you knew all too well you couldn't remain hidden for long; he would inevitably retrace his steps and find you.

Gathering your courage, you carefully eased the closet doors open and quickly scanned the room for an escape route. Your heart pounded violently in your chest as you made your move. Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you tiptoed across the room, avoiding the creaky floorboards that might betray your presence. But the moment you stepped out of the bedroom, you collided with a solid mass.

Rafe's eyes pierced through to your soul, pure hunger reflected in them as he stared down at you. His hand clamped around your throat, pulling you close as the smell of your fear and his cologne filled your nostrils in a nauseating mix. His lips crushed against yours, ravaging your mouth with an intensity that nearly made you faint.

As your fight-or-flight instincts kicked in, you frantically writhed in his grip. Your fists relentlessly pounded against his arm, trying to get him to relinquish his hold on you, but it was no use. In one swift motion, Rafe backed you into the bedroom and forcefully dragged you to the floor, your fingers wildly clawing at his arm as you searched for any type of leverage you could find.

Rafe ravished your neck with unbridled hunger, his other hand violently tugged at your skirt and panties, scraping the skin of your thighs until finding your moist center—the slippery wetness signifying your surrender to pleasure. Rafe groaned as his fingertips slid through your slick folds and into you causing you to gasp at the white-hot jolts of pleasure.

"For someone who's only doing this to save their dad, you're soaked..." Rafe laughed breathlessly, trailing a line of wet kisses up your throat. "All that sanctimonious bullshit about what you will and won't do and look at you, fucking dripping for my cock—”

"Fuck you!" you screeched, a potent mixture of embarrassment and venomous rage coursing through you has you writhing beneath him, your determination to push him off almost frantic.

"That's it—fight back," he jeered, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "Fight back. It'll make this all the more satisfying."

You kicked and screamed, only for Rafe to capture your lips in a bruising kiss. His hands connected your wrists together over your head. In a single move, he flipped you onto your stomach and straddled you from behind, his erection pressing against your ass.

One of Rafe's hands tears off your panties, your screams in protest seize immediately as Rafe stuffed the flimsy cotton into your mouth.

"There" he taunted with a sinister chuckle, pressing you down further as you desperately attempted to wriggle free. You strained to let out a scream, your voice stifled by the makeshift gag.

That same hand worked feverishly to free himself from his pants. You could feel the throbbing heat of his erection at the cleft of your ass. Could hear him tearing open the condom packet with his teeth, the necessary prelude to satiating his ever-growing hunger.

Not too long after he was grinding the head of his cock against your wetness while you fought to express your protests through the gag.

"No, no, this is what we've agreed to. What you agreed to..." Rafe's breath hitched as his cock slid over your weeping slit. With one hard, raw thrust, barely allowing you time to adjust to his girth, he plunged himself deep inside you.

He wasted no time, immediately beginning his relentless thrusts, utterly indifferent to your muffled struggles behind the gag. Your body writhed beneath his weight, your movements punctuated by desperate grunts, the hardwood floor beneath you offering no mercy.

After a brief moment, Rafe released your wrists and drew you closer, his grip on your hips unwavering as he continued to drive into you with unrelenting force. Your head spun as you gradually surrendered to the powerful cadence of his movements. His hands clung to you possessively, guiding both of you in a desperate, synchronized dance. Every nerve in your body ignited, primal heat surging from deep within.

Your eyelids fluttered shut as your body succumbed to his unyielding force. Despite the freedom of your hands, you found yourself paralyzed, incapable of resisting or offering any form of resistance. Instead, you relinquished control, allowing Rafe to claim you entirely.

"I'm gonna fucking cum. I'm gonna cum. Cum with me," he growled through gritted teeth, his tempo increasing to a punishing pace.

You weakly shook your head, 'no,' your determination unwavering as you fought to maintain control over your desires. The mere thought of your pleasure becoming entangled with his, sullied and exploited for his depraved fantasies, was something you could not bear.

"Oh, you'll cum-" he sneered.

In a sudden, ominous gesture, he swiftly removed his leather belt from its loop around his pants and coiled it around your neck, pulling and winding it tightly around his fist.

"If you want to breathe, you'll cum," he snarled, pounding you with relentless force. The room was filled only with the sound of your choked gasps for air, Rafe's ragged breaths, the creak of the leather as he tightened his grip, and the rhythmic punishing slap of his hips against your flesh. You fought with every ounce of your being not to succumb to your impending orgasm, tears streaming uncontrollably from your eyes as you waged a futile battle.

The room reverberated with your agonised screams as your orgasm consumed you. Your muscles tensed and quivered beneath you, each wave of pleasure crashed over you like a violent tsunami drowning you. Your fingers clawed at the belt constricting your throat, the leather biting into your skin and to your abject horror, you were gushing around his cock as you climaxed.

Rafe fucked you harder, burying his face in the back of your neck. With a triumphant roar, Rafe's orgasm struck, and he shuddered against you, muffling his moans of pleasure into your skin as he stuffed his cock deep.

Sated and content, he collapsed on top of you, his breathing heavy and laboured, the condom filled with his cum. After a moment, he withdrew and shifted to lie beside you.

Summoning every ounce of strength you had left, you managed to free yourself from the tight confines of the belt and the stifling gag that had cruelly silenced you. Every fiber of your being, every muscle in your body, screamed with raw pain as you gulped in fresh air, each breath feeling like a hard-won victory. Tears of relief and anguish streamed down your face, and with a shaky hand, you hastily brushed them away.

The room seemed to sway, a disorienting blend of fear, relief, and vertigo threatening to drag you into terrifying darkness.

Yet, slicing through the fog of your distress was the haunting sound of Rafe's laughter. His voice was breathless, yet unmistakably gleeful. His fingers, dampened with sweat, raked through his messy hair, highlighting his heightened state of manic exhilaration.

"Next time," he grinned, a chilling promise lacing his words, "Next time, we'll use rope."

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Thanks for reading x If you enjoyed it please like/reblog/drop a comment would love to know what you think. Until next time ❤️

[ghoulbrain]

mmm can we do: “Open your mouth,” before spitting into it. With ghoul x reader?

18+ ghoul x reader. you have a mighty bounty on your head with an order to be returned alive, but that doesn't mean your captor can't have a little fun with you along the way. kidnapping, deprivation, bribery, folks getting horny over water.

Fucked.

You're so completely fucked.

The worst of it all was that you'd been so close to making it out. You'd gotten far enough that you'd paid your weight in stolen caps to get safe passage away from your dead end life. You didn't have a cent left to your name when he found you.

The Ghoul.

Running didn't get you far. You couldn't bribe him. Begging only made him laugh.

He's got you bound thoroughly in coarse lithe rope. Your hands are clasped over your chest as if in prayer, and your elbows are tucked snugly to your ribs. The rope job makes for an excellent harness, and he hasn't been shy about yanking you by it.

It's been almost two days of this slog back towards the shithole you fled from. You fought hard at first, mouthing off at every opportunity, but the heat has worn you ragged, and this son of a bitch hasn't given you so much as a drop of water.

You collapse to your knees. Your throat is so dry, even breathing hurts.

"Trust me when I say you do not want me t'drag you the rest of the way, darlin'," he tells you, giving the rope a jerk. You barely manage not to fall flat on your face.

"At this rate you'll be dragging a corpse," you hiss, voice hoarse. "I need water."

The earth crunches beneath his boots as he approaches, crouching down near you. Roughly, he grabs hold of your chin, tilting your head up to look you over. He pinches your cheek with a thoughtful hum.

"Yeah, y'might just be right. Awfully dehydrated," he muses. You could swear he's enjoying your slow decline.

"Water," you repeat tersely.

"Y'know, for such a sweet face, you're a real sourpuss," he says, drawing his canteen from his satchel. You swallow dryly, too thirsty to even salivate. "I haven't heard a single 'please' outta that mouth of yours."

"I'm not going to beg for the life you're selling," you spit right back. This is the closest he's been to you since your capture. If you could gather wetness enough on your tongue, you'd be weighing the pros and cons of spitting that in his face instead.

He chuckles, unscrewing the lid. You can already smell the wetness of it. Your jaw aches. "Y'got chutzpah, I'll give y'that."

You lean forward, opening your mouth instinctively when he lifts the canteen. Please, please, please, please...

The Ghoul brings the canteen to his own gnarled lips, holding your gaze as he gulps once, twice, three times before drawing away with a satisfied aahh, humming like it's the sweetest thing he's ever tasted. Your heart falls into your stomach.

"Oh," he says, looking from your dejected expressing to the canteen and back. "I'm sorry, did you want some?"

"You son of a-" you start, but he interrupts you with a sharp yank of the rope.

"Ah, ah. I've had just about enough of hearin' your gutter mouth," he says, but he doesn't sound it. His smile is downright chuffed. "Now, if you want so much as a drop of this, y'gonna say please."

You grit your teeth. Your pride is all you have left in this world, and apparently this motherfucker is determined to take that away, too. Your gaze drops to his mouth, where a rivulet of water rolls out from the corner. You're so desperate you almost lurch forward to lick the drop before it drips from his chin.

Steeling yourself, you drag your eyes back up to his. "Please," you say tightly.

The corner of his smile tics upwards. "Please what?"

You inhale a steadying breath. "Can I please have water?"

"That's much better," he says, lifting the canteen once more. "Open your mouth."

With a flood of tentative relief, still wary of his sincerity, you tip your head back and do as you're told, ignoring the wicked flicker of pleasure you see light in his black eyes.

"Now, if y'want a sip, keep that mouth open," he says, taking a long swig from the canteen. You stare in disbelief, beginning to protest, but he holds up a single gloved finger to silence you, humming sharply.

He swishes the water loudly in his mouth, and understanding dawns on you. Heat that rivals the arid desert sweeps through you in a hot rush of humiliation, but you refuse to let him see it. You refuse to back down.

Steadily, you open your mouth once again, chin jutting out defiantly.

He quirks a hairless brow beneath his hat, rolling the water from one side of his mouth to the other, as if daring you.

You push your tongue out, expression expectant.

He grabs hold of your chin and yanks you forward, fountaining the water into your open mouth, spitting to finish it off. You choke it down, trying not to cough for the amount of it that hit the back of your throat, your head hanging forward.

It feels like bliss on your tongue, soothing the burning dryness, but the relief of it is gone far too soon. You could easily guzzle a full bottle to yourself.

It's not enough.

After a beat, you lift your head, mouth once again open, tongue pushed forward.

The Ghoul laughs. You can feel his breath on what little moisture is left on your lips.

"Well now, don't you paint a pretty picture," he says, catching your chin in his grip again, pulling you forward. Resolutely, you keep your mouth open, waiting. His eyes flicker down to the sight of it, darkening. He licks his own lips as if he's the one deprived.

"Maybe you're worth the caps they're payin' for you after all," he says, drinking from the canteen. He moves even closer this time, tilting your head all the way back. His lips nearly brush yours while the water spills into your mouth.

You swallow it back greedily, little noises leaving your throat unbidden for the sheer relief of it. You swear you can feel the water rushing to your temples, soothing your pounding headache.

His thumb moves up your chin, collecting water you'd dribbled in your haste. He pushes it up over your bottom lip and into your mouth. Without thinking, you close your lips around the intrusion and suck, greedy for every last drop. His hold on you tenses.

You meet his gaze and in it you see dark prowling hunger. How much of his predator nature is he holding back right now? Would he sacrifice the caps if he thought you looked good enough to eat?

"Thanks," you say, voice little more than a rasp.

His jaw shifts like he's biting his tongue, and then he screws the lid back onto his canteen, hauling you up with him as he stands. He's rough with you, but not overly so.

If beggin' and cussin' don't work on the big bad Ghoul, you suppose you've got nothing to lose in trying to use good ol' fashioned manners to wriggle your way out of this.

Ghoul or not, what you just witnessed was a man's hunger, and that's something you can work with.

[signedaiko]

begging- BEGGING PLEASSEE!!

for a Bumblee Bee x Decepticon reader who’s short like him but more timid than their comrades. Like they mess up on missions, but they can be snappy too and fast like Bumblebee! I imagine him chasing them in a fun cat and mouse and accidentally takes it like a fun game. all scaring the heck out of them as he catches up with a smile. He would start crushing on them and just says things like it’s a fun idea “you should totally switch sides! Join us!” And the reader is all bewildered but wary.

Bumblebee [Animated]

In which the small bot finds a con just about his size that he wants to spend more time with.

Reader is: Gender Neutral | Cybertronian | Decepticon. Romantic.

Bee has a fair few con encounters now that he is fighting for Earth

Usually they were against the likes of Blitzwing, Lugnut, and the odd Starscream

But you were new; you were something that paled in size but made up for in interest

You were mostly known for your ability to distract; that's right, the cons used you as a lure on purpose

You were small, nimble, decently fast, and as Random had once told you;

"You have the face of an Autobot!"

Autobots thought you were an easy target, easy to manipulate, perhaps less smart

But you were dedicated to the cause, and while you hated being bait and preferred your spot on intelligence collection, you were happy to do whatever Megatron wished of you

Usually, it was fine

But recently, the yellow one had gotten too close, and he was only getting better at catching up to you

Telling the cons you were scared was out of the question, but it was seriously concerning how obsessive it had become

Every time you made yourself visible to the Bots, he was racing towards you with a smile and a hand extended, like he expected you to reach out and accept him just like that

More recently, you were worried he'd actually catch you

Racing down a frozen-over river as thick snow slowly fell from the sky, leafless trees whizzing past your vision as your peds left compacted snow marks behind you

He had special wheels made for snow, but you didn't, and he was fast behind you, yelling some more of his pleas

"Aren't you tired of running? I just wanna talk!"

He sounded so young, certainly near your age, someone you could get along with had it not been for the war

But what if it was only a trick? What if he only played this game for his own amusement?

You'd long since called Blitzwing to help get you, since you couldn't fly, and he was on his way, but visibility was low with all the snow, fog, and your distant location

You had to keep running, but Bee was only a few meters behind by now; you could hear the snow crunching beneath his tires

"C'mon! Join the bots! We can race like this more often on real roads!"

He offered again, but you refused

"You make it sound easy; how about you just join the cons?"

You were just as snappy, though

Just as he got on your heels and transformed, digits inches away from grabbing your arm, you jumped up and grabbed onto the wing of the purple and tan jet that swooped down, dragged away from his reach in seconds

He stopped in his tracks and groaned, but his smile never left

"Next time, then!"

Authors Note - This prompt is so cute!!! It honestly reminds me of a Blitzwing fic I read by @vhaos-chaotic-writing that was him being yandere and kinda doing the same!

[oizysian]

Part II: Daddy Issues

I Set the World on Fire masterlist

Warnings: non-con touching, talk of sex, slapping

Word count: 2.3k

My breath was shaky as we exited the car, my hearing and smell the only senses I could rely on. The blindfold that covered my eyes soaked up my tears, my hands were tied behind my back and my footsteps were tentative as I walked with the woman who had kidnapped me. She had a tight grip on my arm as she led me along and I tried my damndest to pick up some sort of clues with my remaining senses.

Leaves crunched beneath my feet as we walked and the air smelt crisp. The only sound to be heard was birds chirping and our footsteps, so I had nothing to go on to identify where I was.

We stopped and I heard the sound of a large door opening, creaking with effort and age.

“Let’s go.” The woman said and gave me a nudge, and I started walking again.

The crunching of leaves changed to clicking of heels as we entered. There were multiple people now and it felt as though we were walking forever when I heard another door open and then close behind us after we entered.

“Now what do we have here?” The voice was smooth and sensual and it sent a tingling down my spine.

“Surprise! How’d I do, Natasha? Delivered with no damage.” The woman next to me said and I scoffed, inching away from her. “Don’t worry, she’s friendly - not trained, but friendly.”

“Fuck you.” I spat and I heard the women laughing.

“She’s a real charmer,” the other woman commented, a hint of amusement in her voice. “Take the blindfold off of her.”

The blonde woman sighed and did as she was told, removing the blindfold and stuffing it in her back pocket. I squinted at the sudden brightness of the room, trying to make out the image in front of me.

A woman - a very beautiful woman - sat on a very expensive looking couch, lounging in a pencil skirt and a button up shirt that showed way too much cleavage. My heart sped up at the sight of her, fear overtaking me for the most part, but I couldn’t lie and say she wasn’t attractive.

“You’re even prettier in person.” She said softly, getting up from where she was sitting and approaching us.

She ran one of her long fingers down the side of my face, then grabbed my chin gently and tilted my head from side to side so she could see all of me.

“Exquisite.”

“What do you want?” I finally voiced, trembling in her powerful presence.

“Leave us.” She looked at the blonde from over my shoulder and when she didn’t move, the woman spoke again. “Yelena. I’ll call for you when I’m done. Go.”

I heard her huff from behind me and she walked out with whoever else accompanied us. Once the door slammed shut, the redheaded woman looked me over once more, a hunger in her gaze.

“Just beautiful.”

“What do you want from me?” My voice wavered, my breath getting caught in my throat.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

I shook my head.

“Revenge.”

I backed away from her, almost losing my footing as I attempted to escape. I made it to the door and banged on it with my shoulder, feebly trying to break it down. I could hear her laughing and I did my best not to cry as I realized I was completely trapped - there was no escape.

“Maybe it would help if I untied you.” She teased and I grunted, slumping against the door as she approached me. “I’m not going to hurt you.” I looked up at her, my bottom lip trembling as I accepted my defeat.

She helped me to my feet and smiled.

“Let me start again. I’m Natasha Romanoff.”

I stayed silent. This woman had me kidnapped and was now trying to be my friend?

“And you’re Y/N.”

I panted softly as she spoke, my eyes hard with defiance.

“Lena was right. Not trained at all.”

“I’m not a dog.” I snapped and she laughed.

“No, but that’s how you’ve been treated, isn’t it?”

Her words hurt and I’m sure it was very visible on my face that she had hit a sore spot. She cupped my cheek, lifting my head up to look her in her eyes.

“I won’t treat you like she did.” She stroked my cheek with her thumb. “I’ll give you the world.”

“You’re a monster.” I said, trembling.

She blinked at me, her breathing heavy.

“You want to see a monster?”

Fear shined in my eyes at her words.

“I can show you a monster.” She said, turning me around so my face was pressed against the door. “Let me demonstrate,” she said, pausing to grab at my hips and tug down my pants. “How a monster gets what they want.”

I screamed, wriggling under her weight as she held me down, her hand threading through my hair, grabbing a fistful and tugging on it.

“Monsters just take.” She hissed in my ear, giving my ass a slap before running her hand along the swell of it. “If I want this,” she grabbed at me and I cried out in pain. “I’ll just take it. That’s what a monster does.”

“Please!” I squirmed under her, unable to control my body’s reaction to her. “Stop!”

“A monster,” she continued. “Wouldn’t ask for your consent. A monster doesn’t listen to ‘stop’.” She brought her lips to my ear and panted softly against it, her breasts pressed up against my back. “A monster would rip your panties off and stuff three fingers inside your cunt whether you wanted it or not.”

She brought her hand around to cup my sex, undoubtedly feeling the heat through my panties.

“You like monsters, don’t you?”

I shook my head, tears still cascading down my cheeks.

“Oh no?” She pressed her hand against me and I jerked back into her, my ass grinding into her crotch. “You’re telling me no, but your body is screaming yes.”

I thrashed underneath her, no matter how I moved I was pressing myself against her. I couldn’t escape and I couldn’t control myself. I bit my lip and tried to control my breathing as her hand released my hair, but trailed down to the nape of my neck, grabbing me and holding me against the door.

“You’re wet for me. How would Wanda feel seeing you like this?”

“Fuck you!” I screamed and she let out a soft chuckle.

“Take a look over there, printsessa.” She directed my gaze over to a video camera that was set up in the corner of the room, watching us, following our every move. “I’m gonna send Wanda this video and she’s gonna hear you cumming for me over and over and -”

“You bitch! Wanda!” I sobbed, still struggling against her.

“I’m not a bitch. I’m a monster, remember?”

I could feel the ropes burning my skin as I struggled, my legs spread apart and shaking as I tried to keep myself standing.

“And if I can do this to you,” she snarled. “Imagine what I can do to Wanda.”

“No, please!” I cried. “Don’t hurt her!”

I stopped moving against her, and she let me go. I slid down the door and fell in a heap at her feet, still crying softly.

“What do you want me to do?”

She knelt down next to me, brushing the hair from my face gently.

“Give in to me. That’s all you need to do.”

•

Several Days Later

“You bitch! Wanda!”

Wanda gritted her teeth as she watched the video sent to her of Y/N, visibly shaking with rage.

“No, please! Don’t hurt her!”

Her heart broke as she listened to her plead for her safety. She had been such a bitch to her and here she was sacrificing herself to protect her.

“Find that Romanoff bitch.” Wanda said to Dimitri, her voice low and dangerous. “I’m going to kill her.”

“Do you think that’s wise, Wanda?” He spoke to her softly, gently.

“She has Y/N!” She yelled as she stood from her desk, barely holding back from the temptation of destroying everything in the room out of white hot rage.

“Exactly, she has Y/N. We’re at a disadvantage. We should see what she wants.” Leo suggested and Wanda stared daggers at him.

“She wouldn’t have gotten to Y/N if you were doing your goddamn job!”

Dimitri gave Leo a look, one that Wanda did not fail to miss, and sat back down in her chair, rubbing her face with her hands.

“I don’t care what she wants - whatever she wants she can have it.” Her breath hitched. “I just need Y/N back.”

“We’ll get her back.” Dimitri spoke with determination in his voice.

“Go.” She said softly, not even bothering to raise her head. “I don’t want to see either of you again until you have some news for me.”

Leo turned and left without a word, but Dimitri lingered, clearly having something on his mind.

“I said go, Dimitri.” She said as she finally looked up at him and she saw the odd look on his face, nearly causing her to go pale.

“Wanda …” he started and she interrupted him before he could finish.

“You know something, don’t you?”

•

“No more tears, printsessa,” she cooed softly, stroking her thumb along my lower lip. “She’s not coming for you.”

I jerked my head away from her, still unable to believe that.

“That’s not true.” I whimpered softly, sniffling as she grabbed hold of my face again so I would look at her.

“She’s not coming. So open that pretty mouth for daddy. Just like before.”

Defeated, I opened my mouth and she slid her fingers inside. I wrapped my lips around the intrusive digits, my tongue swirling along the length of them, just like she showed me.

“That’s my good girl.” She purred, stroking my hair with her free hand. “Get them nice and wet.”

Tears trailed down my cheeks as I sucked on her fingers, my mind wandering as I did as I was told. What if Wanda wasn’t coming for me? What if she didn’t care and did leave me here with Natasha?

She pulled her fingers out of my mouth and before I could react, she slapped me across the face, knocking me back onto the bed.

“Stay with me, printsessa. I want you here with me.”

“Yes, daddy.” I cried, scrambling to my knees so I could ask for her forgiveness.

I hated giving into her, but I didn’t have a choice. It was either me or Wanda and I didn’t want to imagine what she’d do if she got her hands on her.

I would daydream that Wanda would come for me, get me out of this hell and we could be together again. But, she hasn’t come yet, and I’ve lost count of how many days I’ve been trapped here with Natasha.

Days blended with nights and now I wasn’t sure what time or what day it was. She kept me in a darkened bedroom with no windows, and I wasn’t allowed to leave the room under any circumstances. I was a prisoner and she made sure I knew it when I acted out of line. But when I was good, she treated me more like an equal; letting me feed myself, not being tied to the bed, and being allowed to go to the bathroom by myself.

So, more often than not, I obeyed her, let her have me in all the ways she wanted me just to hurt Wanda. It wasn’t always entirely unpleasant. Some nights she was gentle with me, and some nights she just wanted me to cum to hurt Wanda. I fought her so many times, struggling against my body to not cum for her, but I couldn’t control myself and every night she won.

Natasha was an incredibly powerful woman, and everyone she surrounded herself with knew it and respected her. To me, she was just a monster. She didn’t feel, she didn’t love, she just wanted and took. I didn’t know what she wanted from Wanda, and I couldn’t imagine what she could’ve done to this woman to have her go to these lengths to torture her.

Was she even suffering? Did she even care about what was happening to me?

She reached behind me and slapped my ass hard, causing me to fall face first into her, her other hand steadying me before I toppled us both over.

“This will be easier for you once you stop thinking about her. She doesn’t care about you.”

“Stop.” I cried, rubbing my face against the softness of her shirt.

“She doesn’t care like I do. I’ve taken care of you - fed you, bathed you - I’ve even made you cum.”

“Stop it.” I sobbed against her.

She stroked my hair gently, almost soothingly.

“She gave you to me. You’re mine now. She doesn’t care about you.”

I knew she was saying these things to test me, to see if I’ll disobey her and be defiant, but I didn’t have the strength. I was completely drained of everything. It was beginning to seem real, the fact that Wanda gave me to Natasha. The reality that I would have to live like this forever and that this was my life now began to sink in.

I cried, my tears soaking into the fabric of her expensive shirt. She shushed me softly, brushing the hair back from my flushed face.

“Once you give in to me completely, things will get easier for you here, I promise.”

She knew I would give in, it was only a matter of time. I didn’t know what she wanted from Wanda, but it was clear that Wanda wasn’t willing to trade it away for me, and I belonged to Natasha.

“Yes, daddy,” I whispered, taking her hand in mine and bringing it up to my face, rubbing my cheek against her palm. “I’m yours.”

“Say it once more for daddy.”

I looked up into her darkened eyes, swallowing roughly as I pushed back the tears that threatened to fall once again.

“I’m yours.”

•

@marvelogic @casquinhaa @mathxa @oh-thats-cute @ornorr @milkeeteaa @souanick @nothanksbye07 @romanoff101 @dracarys8287

[daenysthedreamersblog]

STRANGERS

Don't talk to strangers or you might fall in love

Freezer bride, your sweet divine

You devour like smoked bovine hide

How funny, I never considered myself tough

summary: you've won the hunger games, and ready to return home in peace, but president snow has other plans for you, and he won't take no for an answer.

pairings: president!coriolanus snow x district6!reader

warnings: MDNI!, blood, violence, murder, manipulation, power imbalance, coercion, heavy drinking, non-con male masturbation, non-con oral sex (m receiving), roses ( pls let me know if i forgot any!)

notes: im new at publishing on tumblr so pls be patient with me! also new at writing in second person POV so sorry for any mistakes! hope u enjoy! there will be more parts coming soon!

Blood splatters onto your face.

"Please," He mouthed underneath you, but the knife was plunging down anyways. You couldn’t hear it.

The crunch of a sternum bone.

Silence. Cold silence rang in your ears and you blinked climbing off of the body a distant boom rupturing around the arena, but you only felt to shake of it, the sudden vibrational change in the air. You looked around the sun blaring down onto you as you turned away from the dead boy, you stumble forward, knee giving out from under you before you collapsed to the ground rolling onto your back staring upward. The blood oozed from the wound on your leg, it stung, it stung harshly, but it was welcomed.

It was over. Everything. It was over and all you were met with was blood stained hands and silence. You could smell the rot forming in your soul.

Boots were pounding into the ground, surrounding you, guns pointing at your body. Hands wrapped around your biceps pulling you, dragging you out of purgatory and into the looming light ahead.

~

"Congratulations." He whispered placing the small crown on your head, a dainty gold thing, his hands lingering too long on a wisp of your hair. The games had cut off your tongue it seems words never rising to the surface. His hand was under you chin, "Smile. You've won." It felt like a command so the corners of your mouth tugged up as the camera flashed upon you, shaking hands with your esteemed president.

"Thank you." His jaw ticked at your slip, the lack of his title, but he shook your hand anyways as Lucky Flickerman’s crew zoomed in for their close up. The motions were clear, set into place as you read the prepared words off the telecom. If you could get through this then you could return home where it was simple and safe. You would be okay once the Capitol train dropped you off in District 6 where you can happily watch it all disappear forever.

A hand slid to the small of your back, your spine locking up as another photo flashed of the two of you. Your smile stumbled as his shoulder pressed into yours heat pouring off of him where your bodies collided.

You met his eyes, face half turned towards each other, and your cheeks burned with a flush.

The only good thing about winning was finally eating and drinking real food again.

You downed cups and flutes of any alcohol you could find shoved into your hands drowning out the sound of people talking, congratulating you. It was cruel really how when the film of a camera was replaced it sounded like small bones cracking, so your drank more. Why were they so thankful? They arranged for you to be there...they sent you to either die or kill for them. Because some great-great grand-whatever rebelled, so now you had to live with the consequences of someone else actions.

Your brain was beyond heavy, mouth no doubt stained red from the wine. One more day, one more day and you would be going home to die of hopefully natural causes some other time. One more day and you would be out of this hateful city, away from theses entitled, hateful people. You felt it then, the dryness in your throat, the angry water welling in your eyes. You set the empty cup down, stumbling away from the party silent tears beginning to unwarrantedly roll down your cheeks. You gripped the railing as you climbed the stairs towards the mansion doors needing to hide away from the world, and when you reached the top you pushed it open harshly. The heels of your shoes clicked on marble floor in an empty hallway, a door slamming shut behind you as you kept moving. The hallway was spinning like you were stuck in a concrete mixer turning and turning and turning.

You tripped over your foot catching yourself by throwing a hand out to the wall, collapsing onto a small cushioned bench. The groan left your mouth as you slid out of your shoes feet aching, you felt the long gash of the scar the District 2 tribute had given you. It was taking a while to fully close, the wound on you soul would never heal either it seemed.

More tears. More anger.

"You should be celebrating." The cold, calculating voice cut through the air.

You could only roll your head upward, too drunk, too ashamed to be afraid at the surprise. Fresh tears rolled down your cheek. "I did."

Footsteps were coming towards you, slow, like the wolf hunting a doe, and that was when your body alerted, when he had stepped into your space, head snapping towards him. He looked as calm and collected as his tone, a rich black suit fitted to his lean body, a hand lazily in his pocket as his legs bracketed in your knee. "Then why are you in here? I have a whole party out there for you and you hide away in my home.”

"Too noisy." You stared up at him with red rimmed eyes as he towered over, your vision fuzzy at the corners.

His knuckle came up to your cheek collecting the tear freshly traveling down makeup covered skin. "You should be celebrating." He repeated the moisture glistening on his bone. "Not crying."

You sniffed, your voice cracking from crying, "Sorry sir."

"Mr. President." He corrected.

"Sorry, Mr. President sir." You cleared your throat offering him a fake smile.

His hand came under your chin, a pinky resting on your jaw his thumb tracing puffy, wine stained lips, "That's a good girl. Too much wine I suspect hmm?" You only nodded as he held you face, held your life with it too. You might have won his games, but he could still ruin everything, ruin the little family left back home. He had always made that clear to everyone; it wasn’t a shock people started dying soon after they crossed him.

"Yes. Mr. President, sir.” For some reason another tear slipped out with a wide eyed blink.

"You look so pretty when you cry." He traced over your lip one more time gently pushing in until the pad of his thumb pressed against your tongue. You heard the wet noise of his lips parting, as he took a quiet deep breath your teeth grazing his skin. Then he popped it out, bought it to his mouth, sucking gently on your leftover wine. "Come." He wrapped his arm around your bicep pulling you to your feet in front of him. "Let's get you some food, introduce you to some more friends of mine, and then bed." Two hands stroked down your hair holding your head between his palms. "How does that sounds my little victor?"

A dark gaze lingered in his eyes that there was no way around what he wanted, no telling him no. So you let him bend down and slip your shoes back on keeping your face towards the opposite wall. ”Yes Mr. President, sir.” His hand lingered too long on your bare ankle before he rose.

He smiled, a snake like gleam in it, like he had finished wrapping his body around his victim to suffocate it. One more day, and then you were done. He could introduce you to whoever he liked, feed you whatever he wanted, but come tomorrow on that beautiful train ride home the Capitol, the games would be a distant traumatizing memory, and he would just be a face on a screen come next year.

He plucked the white rose off the front of his suit jacket, took the pin out, and tucked it behind your ear to sit prettily in your hair.

His hand wrapped around your waist causing you to grip his forearm to stumble out into the party once more. Your eyes scanned the party, catching on a young girl, the winner from District 4. Her name started with an M, but you couldn’t find the rest of it in you hazy brain. The only thing you could focus on was the sad frown etched upon her pretty face as President Snow dragged you through his party.

6 months later

You wiped dirt off on your pants standing up to admire the blooming garden spread out in front of you. A smile flittered onto your face for only a moment before it fell staring at the wilting leaves on top of wet soil. They had fallen no doubt during a weeding or pruning or plain decay, but they were there ready for the earth to absorb them for nutrients.

Did the arena absorb their decaying bodies too or were they flown away somewhere else? Did they go back to their families so they could rest in peace?

You shook the thought grabbing gardening tools and the water can heading back to the house. Time was helping, the white noise of the district was helping, the trains going by were helping. The only reminder you had ever been carted away...well that and the large sum you had been gifted upon winning. You decided to ration it, save it but comfortably. It was the only thing truly stopping you from drowning yourself in alcohol or morphling, and the disappointed look your father had given you when they had carried you off the train, too wasted to walk. You took up gardening soon after the initial withdrawing, rotting period needing to keep you hands, your mind busy.

The scent of vanilla hit you as soon as you entered the house your body freezing on the threshold. It was a warm vanilla scent, which meant your mother had made tea, which meant there was company. You set your tools down, peeling off you mud stained boots. Your mother laughed as you slowly continued down the hall, the sound muffled by the kitchen wall you had yet to curve around to enter the kitchen. Alarms shot off in your head, the hair on your neck standing up knowing it wasn't anyone from District 6.

"Mother." You called seeing the outline of her at the table.

"Darling." Your mother smiled as you turned the corner, eyes flitting over to the man across the table from her sipping on his tea. A fresh bouquet of white roses sat in a new vase at the center of the table. "We have a guest."

"Mr. President." Your mouth dried out, feet heavy, gluing you to the middle of the kitchen. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Your mother only stood up rushing towards you, taking your hands to sweetly drag you to the table. "Come sit, my darling bluebell." She forced you into an empty chair around the modest circular table, a plaid green table cloth covering it. You kept eyes on him as she poured tea into the only empty cup. Once the kettle was down she discreetly tried to wipe dirt off your face, "Always covered in something from your little garden."

President Snow mouth quirked up. "Garden?"

You only managed a nod. ”It was a small little thing, something to help…” Her eyes dropped, “Something to keep her busy, and well before you knew it it had taken up most of the lawn." Another discreet pat on the cheek. "I have never been more proud than when I see her out there working on it." She chuckled, "Well besides when you put the tiara on her head." You inwardly cringed at the word tiara, at the reminded of what had been done to earn it.

"My grandmother grew roses." He motioned to the red one he worse pinned to his blue suit. His eyes met yours, "Do you?" A small nod as steam swirled up from the tea that would never be drank, "May I see them?"

Your mother stood up answering, "Of course." Her hands came upon you shoulders, "Go change and show our lovely President." You pushed the chair back using it as an escape for the moment, "Wash your face, and put on that pretty blue sun dress." You didn't answer, only walked back down the hall to your room finally able to breath normally away from his suffocating presence. What was he doing all the way out here? You had figured, had clung, to the fact you would never have to see him, or the Capitol again, and now he was here invading your home.

After washing your shaking hands and face, digging the dirt out of your nails, and braiding your hair back did you put that stupid sundress on and walk back out. Your mother was standing by the door a forced smile on her lips, "Yes sir, no sir." She reminded you, pulling small tendrils of hair loose around your face. "Don't speak unless spoken to."

"I know." You told her, forcing her hands away from your face reciting what your father and mother had both instilled in you. "I am grateful for what you've done for us President Snow."

"Mr. President Snow, sir." She pinched your cheeks to give them color then let you step around her and out of the house.

He was standing near the edge of the garden just before the walkway split separating each sections. "It truly does take up most of the lawn." He smiled holding out his arm for you. You slowly allowed him to hook it under his elbow to lead down the walkway. "It smells divine."

"Thank you." You swallowed, "Mr. President, sir."

He only smirked, "Your mother raised a well mannered woman."

You offered him a shy smile, ”My father and mother always instilled proper etiquette as best as they could. They emphasized respect and dutifulness."

"Important traits to have." He agreed. He was Capitol, he was the president, no doubt relishing in the fact district folks weren't born with those traits, they had to have it beat into them.

His hand clamped around yours, trapping it in his arm. Your breaths shook, don’t stutter. "My roses are just this way." You motioned up the path for him to lead in that direction.

The rose bush could have looked better, but it had always been a work in progress, a difficult flower to manage, and your heart had never truly been fond of roses. Red and yellow seeds were the only color you could acquire so the colors sometimes missed their mark or died all together. “Troublesome for you?” There was no hiding the disappointment in his tone.

“Yes.” An embarrassed response. "I'm tempted to rid myself of them."

"Hmm," He stepped forward fingers running along the soft petals. "I have a garden full of white roses, I brought some for you today."

You gave him a small smile. "Thank you. I'm sure my mother adores them."

"They're for you, not her." He flatly told you a sneer on his face. "A gift of sorts to my favorite little victor." He smirked down at the bush plucking a perky red rose from its stem. "Or what did she call you?" He turned back towards you, "Her darling bluebell?"

The blush bit at your cheeks, "Thank you. Mr. President sir." He smiled deeply tucking the stem of the rose behind your ear rooting it into the braid. "They are lovely." I lied. The scent of roses overtook the air to the point you felt dizzy with it, felt them swallowing you whole like he did.

"I do hope your mother won’t mind looking after it all.” He sighed his hand running down your arm as blood drained out of you, the question sitting leaden in your mouth. "We're trying something new, something Dr. Gaul believed would bring good publicity to the games." You chewed on your cheek, biting the refusal back. You remembered hearing about her death a year or two ago. "A victory tour of sorts." Both hands were on your arms holding you in front of him, "You'll go district to district letting them celebrate you and then finish at the Capitol. I'm going to throw you another party."

Oh

His hand came under your chin tilting your face up to him, "How does that sound my little bluebell?"

"Okay." You whispered because it was what was supposed to be said to him.

He beamed, "Such a good girl." His smile fell, "Since this is the first time we're doing it I'll be going with you of course to make sure everything goes smoothly."

Ice coated you. How long would this be? Would he ever let you remain in peace? Would the garden wither and die in the time you would be gone? Why did he stare like that?

You only nodded the obedience in your spine locking into place.

It wasn't horrible. The train was comfy and reminded you of home, the rumbling sound it made, the smell of the smoke and gasoline, the horn blaring through the night. They had written words, of course, to say at every district, reciting from a script how sorry you were for their losses and how thankful you are for the Capitol and their generosity. President Snow talked the most which was ironically a godsend since you didn't want to speak at all.

Mostly, there was food, tons of food...and wine.

You more self-indulgent habit to make the time go by smoother. Even more so now because you could, because it was free, because your parents weren't here to shame you. You would stop once you got home; you had done it before. When the tour was over, you would stop, you would go back home, relish in the normalcy, the garden, where it was safe. Where no one could find you.

Snow wouldn't be on the train ride home.

It unnerved you that he was here simply a few train cars down, eating, sleeping, plotting murder no doubt, planning more games. It only made you swig from the bottle more to shove the anxiety down.

You had crawled in the train car window, a comfy seat under it, curling you feet under you to watch the night blur past. Each bump comforted you, like you were in the older train cars carting people around the district. The moon wasn't out making any outline impossible to see, so you closed your eyes, pretending to hear the bustling square at home. You took another drink of wine savoring the lazy feeling coating your body.

The door slid open no doubt an Avox coming to do some chore, so you didn’t even bother to look. "You didn't come to dinner." Your head snapped up seeing Snow standing in the door a tray of food in his hands, "They said you only grabbed a bottle of wine and left."

"I wasn't hungry." Not a lie, you had felt ill since leaving District 9 the tributes faces beginning to gnaw at you once more. You had survived, and they hadn’t, and it felt wrong. "Mr. President, sir."

He wasn't wearing his normal suit instead a pair of dress pants, and a starched white button up, the top two buttons undone. His immaculate blonde hair was slightly mused a stray curling piece falling onto his forehead. "Come eat with me." You weighed the options before unfolding your legs out and turning to slid off the sill. You tugged at the nightgown they had shoved in the closet for sleep, a soft thin robe covering your shoulders over it. They hadn’t allowed you to bring any clothes from home. His eyes glanced up your body as you pulled it tighter around you.

"Excuse my appearance Mr. President, sir." You sat down across from him.

"No need." He only smiled as he pushed the tray. "Do you like the train?"

You nodded picking at the food, "It reminds me of home. We used to live by the test track before it moved, and it used to rumble the house. I used to hate it growing up, but now it seems to have grown on me."

"I bet it has." You should enjoy the food more, shovel it down until it was nothing. Your family had never suffered too much within the district not like the others, like 10,11,12... but it wasn't exactly always easy. The Capitol was always cramming food down your throat before and after the games, before you had reveled in it, the after...it tasted like dust in my mouth sometimes. You set the fork down pushing the half eaten tray away, but he only pushed it back. "Eat, please." You began to open your mouth in protest, but his jaw ticked. "Eat." A command, "All of it."

You watched his face, bottom lip trembling at the new tone he was using. It was bound to come out, but you had been so kind, always listened. You slowly began eating again forcing each bite until nothing remained, until your chest was tight with a full stomach. You took a sip of water. Always thank him, your mother had whispered on your way out of the door, Even if you are not thankful.’ “Thank you, Mr. President sir."

"You are so good to me, my little bluebell." He leaned forward the darkness engulfing the blue in his eyes. "Can you do something for me?" You made yourself nod even-though fear was trickling down your skin. He motioned with his head, "Go lie down on the bed."

The color drained from your face, "Wh-What?"

Don't stutter.

You cursed inwardly for the slip. ”Be my good girl and go lie down on the bed." His grin widened, “I won’t say it again.”

By the time your knee hit the bed tears had slipped over, you tried to stop them, but they welled anyways as you turned to look at him. He stalked towards you unbuttoning his pants, unzipping them, so you forced your gaze upward taking in the sounds of rustling. His hands pushed the robe down your shoulders letting it pool onto the bed. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t find the words to stop him as his fingers trailed along your bare shoulders, along your collarbones, up your neck. "Spit." He held out his hand. You swallowed, pulling the liquid back up and spit into his palm watching him bring it between his legs. You forced yourself to not look down, not look at what his hand was doing with a large length, to not look as he slid his hand along it. His other hand came up to your face, once again dragging across your bottom lip, pushing his finger further in, hooking it onto your bottom teeth. "Suck on it." He growled. You blinked fresh tears out before letting your tongue poke and lick up his finger, swirling around his knuckle listening to his pants. A cry of protest sat in your lungs, but would it matter? Were you always bound to be at his mercy, cursed to obey his whims to exert his power. “You listen so good." His head fell back a little the small groan hiding the sounds of him stroking himself. “Will you take my cock good too?”

"Please." You whimpered against his hand finding the smallest resistance in yourself at his words. "Please sir...I'm a virgin. I-I don't-!"

He shoved you back onto the bed with a growl his knees straddling your thigh as he pumped his hand faster and faster groaning into the air as two fingers invaded your mouth thrusting along your tongue. You felt violated, but all you could do was lie there and take it, let him do whatever he was doing because you were good, because he was the president and you had to obey. You closed your eyes tears burning your skin on the way his movements shook your body, until finally he stilled warmth shooting over your skin.

You finally breathed as he removed his fingers and stepped away. You lied there, listening to him straighten his clothes back on. "Don't change. Sleep in that." You glanced down at the white clumps running down your nightgown, some even drying to your exposed chest.

He stared at you expectantly. Thank him, even when you're not thankful. "Thank you Mr. President, sir.”

His grin was haunting as he left.

The rest of the tour went unbothered. He only occasionally came back to repeat those events, but each time it got a little easier as you began to know what to expect, each time you dared to look a little bit more. Sometimes even getting lost in the way his hand glided across his glistening cock covered in your spit. On the rare nights, you even gazed upward at him, at his hooded eyes, sweat dripping down his forehead, tongue between his teeth. You even began to listen to the noises he made, the heavy grunts, the soft groans and grit of his jaw, his vulgar words at you when his eyes suddenly met yours making you look away with heat in your cheeks.

And then he would cum over your body.

You threw up after the first night only forcing it to stay on your body because he had said so. After that it became easier to withstand the feeling, the warmth, the smell. You realized after a few times it gave off a scent you had only attributed to him, you only knew that because he often stood so close to you. It was so mild and hidden that you could only tell when you brought some close to your nose, and since it was already there you tasted it and you figured his skin might taste like that too.

It was fine, until you finished the tour of District 2. The boy's face stared down at you, and you remembered how it looked covered in blood.

Please!

The crunch of bone.

You could barely get through the reading, crying halfway through before someone had to usher you to the side. Snow was angry; you could see it in his dark eyes but maybe he could find pity. You had been so kind, so good.

It didn't matter by the time he found you curled into the corner of my room you were covered in smeared make up and tears. You couldn't even take off the stupid pink dress they had given you. He stood there for a moment taking you in then he grabbed you by the hair yanking you up onto the bed. Then he reeled back and slapped you across the face so hard your head snapped to the side. "You were very bad today bluebell."

"I-I..."

Another slap the other way. "Don't stutter."

Your cheek was stinging, "I'm sorry." A pause, and then another hard slap stars split your vision. "I'm sorry Mr. President, sir." You closed your eyes waiting for more but then you heard the familiar noise of his pants unbuttoning and your body began to lay itself back like it had registered before you did. He only darkly chuckled as he pulled you back up and shoved you to your knees in front of him, "I know you didn't mean to break the rules. Right?” You nodded, “And why do I know that?”

"Because I'm your good girl, Mr. President, sir." You stared up at him with red cheeks and pouting lips.

He groaned, his hard length pressing against your mouth. You glanced up at him with furrowed brows not knowing how to do what he was asking. “Open your mouth,” You did. “Don’t bite. I'll do the rest." He pushed past your lips, taking ahold off your face and began rocking his hips into you, his cock sliding along your tongue. "Oh fuck," He shivered shoving himself deeper the tip of him touching the back of your throat. You swallowed the gag as he pulled out to slam back into you bring your throat more tears spilling out, spit running down your chin. You squeezed your eyes as he used your mouth for whatever he wanted as he thrusted his cock into your mouth viciously. "Swirl your tongue around it." He hissed and you obeyed running it along the shaft, around the head feeling him stutter his movements, but pick up speed. His hand was rooted in your scalp yanking your face up, pain bubbling up with each abusing stroke, but something else was there too, and you realized his skin didn't taste bad. "You like that? You like when I fuck your mouth?"

You mumbled out incoherently not even sure what your answer was.

He shoved your head back, neck craned against the mattress his hips pinning you as he blatantly fucked into your mouth. ”I wonder what pretty sounds you would make if I fucked you hmm?” His hand bobbed your head against him as you gripped his thighs to hold yourself up as saliva dripped across your chest. "I can't though...too many others want it."

Your eyes shot open just as his thrust turned sporadic and warm liquid shot down your throat. Your face was covered in fluids, covered in drool and cum, dribbling down your chin as he slowly removed himself. ”What?" Your throat was raw and torn.

"I was going to wait to tell you." He sighed tucking himself back in. "But you are very desirable as a Victor, and once you told me you were a virgin...well it made you a lot more desirable." He patted your tears and cum stained cheek, "But you have been so good to me despite this slip up, so I will try to pick someone you will like. Hmm?” You were too stunned to respond. He was selling you to people, selling you to the highest bidder because you had killed a boy. You weren’t even supposed to win everyone had let you know how the tribute from 10 was slated to win, but he got taken out while you were hiding, and they had lost money. Because your life was a bet for them.

"I want to go home." You cried softly his hand cradling your face.

He cocked his head to the side, "Oh bluebell. You can't leave me yet." He stood up and began to walk to the door, "I might just have to keep you."

He left you there on your knees. No he didn't quite taste bad, in fact, you thought maybe you enjoyed the pool of him on your tongue. You cried even harder.

PART TWO here!

(if you care)

[jokeringcutio]

Otis breeding you as part of the family Halloween ritual 🖤

Otis B. Driftwood x Reader - (WARNINGS)

Halloween Breeding Ritual

Please read ALL warnings. Pairing: Otis B. Driftwood x Reader Rating: Explicit Summary: When you and your friends ask for help, you end up as part of a horrific ritual. Warnings: Killer Family, murder, death of a friend, Sexual content, Non-con, Breeding. AN: Follow me for more Halloween Reader Inserts. There'll be less dark ones as well ;) 1.

The car, a useless hunk of metal now, stood desolate on the empty road. You stared at the flat tire, cursing your luck. What a way to celebrate Stacey's bachelorette party, lost and stranded miles away from civilization. Connor, Stacey's friend, shot you a mocking glance. "Nice going," he sneered.

"Shut up, Connor," you muttered, gripping your camera tightly. It was your solace in moments like these, capturing the world's beauty amidst the chaos. Stacey, oblivious to the tension, stood next to the car and held her pink plush bunny ears in her hands. They had been part of the fun costume you and the others had made her wear earlier on, but she had taken them off when you had all piled into the car.

You wished you were trapped on this trip with her alone. Stacey had always been your best friend. It was just unfortunate that you had to share the car with three of her other friends that you barely knew. There was Carrie, Connor and Heather. All people you had never really seen except on Stacey’s birthday.

"Hey, I remember seeing a house not too far back," Heather suggested, trying to break the tense silence. "Maybe we could ask for help?"

The group agreed, and with no other choice, you all began walking towards the supposed house. Connor walked beside Carrie, his girlfriend, whispering something in her ear as they laughed. He annoyed you, mostly because he was ever so present. His voice was loud, his smile dazzling, his physique one for the magazines. But he hadn’t been very kind to you during the trip. Carrie never really said anything to you either. This left Heather and Stacey, but they had been too busy talking about the upcoming wedding, how amazing Brad – Stacey’s fiancé – was, and Stacey’s dress.

Your footsteps crunched on the gravel with each step, the sun setting behind the trees, casting eerie shadows across the path.

As you came closer to the house, your heart raced. Junk littered the ground around it, a creaky wooden gate barely standing guard. The house itself looked like something straight out of a horror movie. Fitting, you thought, reminding yourself it was Halloween.

"Creepy place," Stacey said with a nervous giggle. “Looks like it came out of a horror movie.”

“I’m going to get you,” Heather shouted, crawling up behind Stacey while running her hand up Stacey’s back.

Stacey yelped while the others laughed. “Kill me gently,” Stacey teased. Her laughter was contagious, and soon, everyone joined in, making jokes about the ominous house. You bit your tongue though, and silently stared up at the house that you and the group now approached.

In horror movies the group of stranded young friends always made jokes before the killing started, you thought. No. You had to shake such evil thoughts off of you. This wasn’t a movie. This house was real, and the people who lived in it surely would have a working phone or a spare tire for you.

"Hey, since it is Halloween, we need a kid to collect the candy for us,” Heather said, grabbing the bunny ears from Stacey and placing them on your head. “Trick or treat,” she said laughingly. You frowned, displeased with the mockery, and instantly tried to take them off, but Heather tusked at you and you halted.

“Keep them on,” she simply said. But the grin on her face was anything but kind. “Yeah, don’t be a spoilsport,” Stacey added, sticking out her tongue before she stepped onto the porch. You lowered your hands and your shoulders sagged in defeat.

Let them mock you, you thought. If this brought them joy, then let them laugh and taunt you. After all, you needed to keep up the spirits of the group and God only knew how long you’d be stuck with them until you finally arrived at your destination.

"All right, let's get this over with," Connor said, striding towards the door. With a deep breath, he rang the doorbell.

As the chime echoed through the house, you couldn't shake the feeling that something dark awaited behind that door. The haunting tone of the bell reverberated through your chest, and your grip on the camera tightened. You tried to focus on the present moment, but it was difficult to ignore the lurking dread that threatened to consume you.

The door creaked open, revealing a blonde, matronly woman with kind eyes. "Oh, my! What happened to y'all?" she asked, her voice dripping with concern.

"Uh, we had a flat tire, and we're kinda lost," Connor explained hesitantly. He put on his most charming smile. It had an effect instantly, you could tell, for the woman’s eyes lit up at the display.

"Well, you poor things. Come on in, come on in," the woman insisted, ushering everyone inside. The warmth of the house was a welcome reprieve from the chilly night air.

As soon as the door closed, your heart pounded in your chest, but you tried to shake the feeling of unease. You were led into a cozy kitchen where a blonde young woman sat at the table. Opposite her, a man with long white hair stood leaning against the kitchen wall, a hand in his pocket.

“Well, I’m Mother Firefly,” the woman said, introducing herself. “And this here is Baby,” she said, gesturing at the young woman who was seated at the table. Baby looked up at you all with an excited and bright smile, and waved eagerly. Her cheerful greeting seemed to put some of your friends at ease. She seemed friendly. And she was gorgeous, you thought. She had that cheerleader vibe that many girls craved to have.

Then your gaze shifted to a brooding man leaning against the wall. His white tank shirt seemed messy, covered with spots of grease. His hair seemed unkempt and hung around his frame loosely. Mother Firefly continued, "And this is Otis."

At first, you thought the man to be old because of the grey long hair that fell around his face. But then you realized with a start he must be around your age. Because his grey hair was, in fact, white - as if all the pigment had been lost from it. And his face was much younger than you had expected. But when you saw the odd color of his eyes that only confirmed it. Otis was an albino man. Pale skin, pale hair. Eyes that seemed almost red.

Otis's eyes locked onto yours the moment he saw you, his intense gaze sending shivers down your spine. Something was unnerving about the way he seemed to study you. Suddenly, you remembered the ridiculous bunny ears on your head. Of course, that must explain it. You hastily removed them, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. What a foolish entrance you had made…

"Please, sit down and have some tea," Mother Firefly offered, gesturing to the chairs around the table. “We’ll get your car fixed in a jiffy. Let me call my son Rufus. He’s very good with tires,” she said, rummaging around to pour you some tea.

"Thank you," Stacey replied gratefully, and everyone took their seats.  

“So, what brought you all out here?” Mother Firefly asked curiously while she pulled out a chair to sit down with you.

“Well, it’s Stacey’s Bachelorette party and we’re going to have a little holiday over the weekend,” Heather answered for the whole group. Here she took the time to introduce each member of the group., hesitating when she came to you because she had obviously forgotten your name. You quickly whispered it and glanced down shyly at your tea, not wanting to be involved in this whole conversation. Especially when Baby started to ask about all the juicy details.

It felt odd to hear the others tell about their romances and sexual exploits. It felt even weirder because you felt Otis’s eyes upon you the entire time the others spoke. Shouldn’t he be looking at them? Was there something wrong with you that he kept his sole attention fixed on you?

You shifted in your seat uncomfortably. “So, our lucky bride-to-be ain’t no blushin’ virgin,” Baby recapped, pulling you out of your worried thoughts. You already knew Stacey and Brad had been it at like rabbits – hence Stacey’s cute bunny outfit – but you had not expected her to share all the details with a group of strangers. It somehow seemed disrespectful to you. Even if Baby seemed eager to know every little detail and even if her mother didn’t seem to be bothered by where the conversation was headed.

“How about you?” Baby suddenly turned to you and nudged you with her elbow. She waited, but you only glanced up at her with a frown.

“Not quite a talker, eh?” Baby asked, curiously cocking her head and faking a pout as she did so.

You felt your cheeks flush. “N-Not really into all of that,” you admitted hoarsely.

Luckily, the answer was enough, for Baby seemed to catch your distress and flashed you a comforting smile. “That’s all right, love. Nothing to be ashamed of,” and then, to your great relief, she turned her attention back to the group.

As you sipped the warm tea, conversation flowed around you. Despite the unsettling atmosphere of the house, the family seemed hospitable. During the conversation, you couldn't help but notice how Mother Firefly kept throwing you glances every now and then. It was making you worry that there was something weird about you. Was there something on your face? You felt your hair again but you had taken the bunny ears off. Mother Firefly seemed to have caught the gesture and flashed you a smile as if to say it was all right, but you didn’t feel as if it was.

And to add to your worry, Otis was growing increasingly moody. He grumbled under his breath and abruptly left the table, frustration evident in his tense body language.

"Please excuse him," Mother Firefly said with a sigh. "He's not used to company."

"Is everything okay?" you inquired softly, concern lacing your voice despite the churning unease within you.

"Everything's fine, dear,” she said, eyes gently upon you. “He's been working on one of his new art projects and your arrival just got him inspired. Just enjoy your tea," she reassured, her eyes flicking briefly to where Otis had disappeared.

"All right," you murmured, continuing to drink the tea. While the others kept talking, you felt a sudden drowsiness wash over you, making it difficult to keep your eyes open. Your fingers rested loosely around your cup as you fought to stay awake. What were they talking about now? Your friends' voices seemed to grow distant, and before you knew it, darkness enveloped you as you succumbed to sleep.

2.

The sound of Otis's voice pulled you from the depths of slumber, his words seeping into your consciousness. "Those bunny ears... Oh man….they were a sign, I tell you."

Your heart raced as you realized he was standing somewhere near you, probably talking about you. Slowly, your eyes fluttered open to find yourself in the middle of a demonic circle, surrounded by flickering candles and eerie symbols etched onto the floor. The air was thick with a sense of malevolence as if you had stumbled upon some sort of twisted, witch-like offering.

What the hell had happened? Were you having a nightmare? Why then did your head hurt so?

"Wh-what's going on?" you stammered, fear gripping your throat as the dull pounding in your head slowly started to fade.

"Welcome back," Otis sneered, his pale face looming over you, a bit too close for comfort. Black makeup traced lines on his pale skin, making him seem more like a cheaply painted skeleton. “You're just in time for our family Halloween ritual."

Otis sat hunched over you, his white hair tickling your skin, and you flinched. The foul stench of his breath, mixed with sweat and other undefined smells reached your nose. You closed your eyes and turned your head to the side, earning you a deep laugh from him.

“Seems my Bunny is eager to get started,” you heard him say, and tried not to think of the denigrating nickname he had thought up for you.

The sound of fabric crackling indicated he stood up. Faintly, you heard Baby’s voice in the background, saying something about it being time to have some fun. Muffled voices of your friends echoed somewhere in the distance. Where were they?

You slowly opened your eyes. To your relief, Otis had indeed moved away and stood at the edge of the circle. He was now wearing a large black cape, but his normal clothes were still underneath: the dirty tank shirt and the jeans with holes in them.

Your gaze darted around the room, searching for your friends. They were huddled together at one end, and to your shock, they seemed to be gagged and tied together. You saw the traces of blood on their skin and their clothes. Connor seemed to be missing part of his face, an ugly hole revealed the bone of his skull. It made your eyes turn wide in fear. Carrie, next to Connor, stood at such an angle that you couldn’t quite see her face, but you could hear her muttered pleas through the gag. Was she trying to tell Connor to stay alive? Or was she pleading for her own?

The group was bound by ropes that dug cruelly into their flesh. Despite their wounds, they were alive – but their eyes held a terror that mirrored your own. Especially when your eyes met those of Stacey. Your gorgeous friend. Ugly deep lacerations marred her perfect skin. You quickly tore your eyes away from her.

Footsteps signaled the approach of someone. By the sight of the shoes that came into your vision, you knew it had to be Otis again. But there was snickering from the edge of the circle and when you glanced up you realized there were more people gathered there. Not just Baby, but Mother Firefly stood at the side, watching you calmly. There were a few other men who stood there, making themselves comfortable. One, with the weird makeup of a clown smudged on his face, had taken his meat into his hand and was already battering it before the show had even started. What the heck was going on, you thought in alarm.

"Please, don't hurt them," you begged, tears streaming down your cheeks. "We didn't do anything to you."

Otis ignored your pleas, his fingers digging painfully into your arm as he dragged you into the center of the circle. You tried to resist, but your limbs felt weak, still heavy with sleep.

"Tonight, you become part of our family," he whispered menacingly, his breath hot against your ear. "I'm going to breed you, make you carry my child."

"Please, no!" you cried out, struggling futilely against his grip. You could feel your sanity unraveling, your mind consumed by terror. This man, this monster, could not mean to defile you in such a way. You were not ready for any of this. Not ready to be a mom, to have a child, to carry the offspring of someone as vile as him.

Someone who was hurting your friends…

"Shut up!" Otis snarled, silencing your protest. He towered over you, his presence both commanding and ominous. It was clear that your fate was sealed, and there was nothing you could do to stop him.

A chant erupted from Baby and some of the other spectators. Wonderfully melodic, considering the foul ritual that was about to take place. You tried to cover yourself up with your arms, but Otis tore them away from your chest, revealing yourself to him.

While you’d been out, someone appeared to have swapped your clothes for something far scarcer. You’d noticed it when you’d felt the cold air brush past your naked arms and shins. You were donned up. Glittering panties and a revealing contraption that did little to hide your breasts, as if it were some kind of holster rather than a bra. Your breasts peaked out and must have been on display all along. But the worst of all was when Otis flipped you over and made you sit on hands and knees, and you realized there was a slight weight on your head.

The pink bunny ears. He’d put them back on, you realized with a sob.

A tear, and whatever flimsy panties you had on were gone. With his hands firmly on your hips, Otis shouted out a few inexplicable words, either in a language you’d never heard or some kind of made-up song. As the ritual commenced, the air crackled with dark energy, and you couldn't help but wonder if you would make it out of this nightmare alive.

"Welcome to the family," Otis hissed, his voice dripping with malevolence as he entered you in one firm thrust.

The world came to a standstill.

His cock was stretching you open, throbbing deep inside your core. You gritted your teeth and tried to keep from crying out loud, but it was hard. Your hands curled into fists. You felt Otis stare down at you, his gaze burning while he remained motionless.

Your spectators cheered. “For the family,” you heard one of them shout. You felt Otis’s cock pulse deep inside. Then, he moved. His body pressed heavily against yours, a dark shadow overwhelming your senses. His breath was hot and ragged, punctuating each thrust as he forced himself inside you. You couldn't help but let out quiet whimpers of pain, feeling utterly humiliated and helpless.

"Silence," Otis growled, his fingers pressing into your throat – just enough to make you gasp for air.

You were starting to see stars when his grip finally faltered and you could breathe again. Taking deep gulps of breath, you tried not to focus on the salacious wet sounds that came from between your legs. You tried not to think of what his man was doing to you, or how his cock was battering your insides mercilessly.

His low groans filled your ears, and you winced when he pulled your hair, forcing your head back up and your back to arch awkwardly. Your breasts swung with each thrust, up and down, delighting the viewers. You heard coarse curses and increasingly wet sounds as some of the other family members were coming to a climax. Spunk was shot through the air, landing a few feet away from you, tainting the satanic circle.

You were relieved it hadn’t landed upon you, but the relief was only short-lived when a particularly hard thrust made it hard to think, reminding you of Otis’s promise.

“That’s right, Buny,” you heard his voice rasp behind you. A slap against your hips before he gripped them tight again and forced you to move along his cock. “Let me put a little Firefly in that pretty little tummy of yours.”

You felt the burning of his gaze leave your back when he addressed your bound and gagged friends at the other side. “Hear that? Your friend loves to milk my cock.” A low chuckle escaped him. You were vaguely aware of Baby and some of the others laughing.

“Gotta milk my cock, aren’t ya, Bunny?” This one was directed at you, but it was hard to focus. His hand had slipped from your hip to your breast, kneading it hard. You gasped, unable to bite back your reaction. Your walls clamped down on him hard, earning you another pleased groan.

“That’s it, girl. Take every drop,” his hips slammed against your own, wet sounds mingling. It was an evil betrayal, but your body responded well to him. The pain between your legs ebbed away and was replaced by something more passionate; a sensation of warmth and pleasure. Your walls pulsed around his shaft, eager to cum.

“Fuck,” Otis cursed in your ear. “Gotta milk my cock so baby can milk your tits, eh? Gotta grow nice and full for us, aren’t ya?”

You wanted to say no, wanted to protest or push him away from you. But his thrusts grew more desperate, more erratic, and his weight was still forcing you down on your hands and knees. You couldn’t help but slump over once his hand left your breast to guide your hips again, and you rested your forehead on your hands, gasping with each deep thrust of the devilish cock inside of your core.

You felt him hit the end of you; felt how his cockhead pushed against your cervix as if he wanted to open you up completely.

A few more harsh thrusts brought back the pain through the building pleasure, and Otis came. He made sure to bury his cock deep inside, groaning as his cum shot forth. You gasped, tears rolling down your cheeks at the feel of warmth flooding your womb. Your body trembled, and though you knew it was physically impossible, your breasts started to feel tense and full. Your stomach ached and your pussy pulsed around Otis’s cock. You hadn’t come yet. Dammit. You’d been so close.

Having reached his climax, a twisted grin spread across Otis’s face. He pulled out slowly, a trail of cum and blood dripping down your cunt and onto the dirt floor below. Your pussy twitched, eager for release. Instead, all it did was push the cum forth for everyone to see. And as you rolled over to your back, you could tell through the hazy spell you were in that his family was still watching. How their eyes were primed on your opened legs.

Without missing a beat, Otis began chanting in an ancient, guttural language. The ritualistic words echoed around the room, reverberating through your very core – chilling you to the bone. You had felt empty and violated, but upon hearing his words, your body started to heat up again. Your pussy pulsed wildly, clamping down on something that wasn’t there. But it was enough. You came, shrieking in surprise as your body reacted violently to his chant.

Otis stood between your legs once more, pushing his already hardening cock inside you in one go. You could see his face now as he took you, see his discolored teeth and his lips curled in a snarl while he started to pick up a quick pace. You felt his heavy balls slapping against your ass. How had they refilled this quickly, you wondered in shock?

But another ripple shook your body as another orgasm washed over you. You cried out, loudly this time, not caring if anyone would see or hear. This was pleasure. Absolute, horrific pleasure. Your pussy pulsed around his shaft, begging him, milking him. Again. And Again. You felt as if there had been no end to your orgasm.

Candles flickered wildly, casting eerie shadows on the walls. Your friends whimpered in their bonds, their eyes wide with terror as they watched the horrifying scene unfold before them. With a final, triumphant shout, Otis finished his incantation, and with it, he came inside of you once more. The room seemed to shudder under the weight of his dark power, and you struggled to keep from collapsing beneath him.

Then, the room grew silent.

You lay twitching underneath Otis’s larger frame, body pulsing in the aftermath of your orgasm. His cum had oozed from your joined bodies, your pussy lips felt raw as they enveloped his softening shaft. He pushed inside a few times for good measure as if to remind you of your duty to bear his child. The devil’s spawn.

With lips parted in a silent gasp, you looked up at him and saw how he opened his dark red eyes. Slowly, a grin crawled upon his lips. He reached out a hand and tapped something above your head. The bunny ears, you thought with a shock.

“I think it caught,” he murmured only for you to hear. “But for good measure, we shall have to do this a few more times. Hope you're not allergic to my cock. You’re gonna be ridin’ it for a good while to come.”  He chuckled at his own joke, but you felt no joy to join him.

Instead, your eyes went wide at the promise, realizing that Otis did not intend to lock you away until you’d given birth to a child. No. He was going to keep you as a little sex toy. A woman he could use for his own deprived pleasure. You’d have to do this again and again. The thought chilled you to the bone.

But Otis was already pushing himself up, grabbing your legs to pull them up while he studied the mess he’d made inside. Sticky sperm combined with your own juices were covering up your entrance. Your pussy pulsed, weaker now, but still enough to make it seem like it was gobbling up the mixture of cum.

The demonic man between your legs grinned at the sight and then shook his head before he let go of you. Your knees fell to either side, leaving your abused pussy on display. But you no longer cared for modesty. They had seen it all, hadn’t they?

As he turned away from you, Otis’s malicious gaze fixed upon your friends. “Well, thank ya’ll for coming to see our yearly Halloween ritual,” he said, although you wondered if any of your friends were listening to him. Most of them were jabbering nonsense behind their gags, squirming beneath their bonds in an attempt to either get away or plead for mercy.

Mercy, you thought sardonically. As if that existed in a place like this.

You rolled your head to the side and brought a hand up to your head. You ran your fingers past the soft fur of Stacey’s pink bunny ears. Cursed, you thought, as the afterglow of the sex finally left your body, and your senses started to return to you.

“As this is a yearly show,” you heard Baby’s excited voice but did not feel as if you had the energy to turn your head and watch them. “We have a little sacrifice to make to the Gods. Well, our God, anyway.” She sounded like a cheerleader all right. Especially when she excitedly shouted “Satan!”

You heard the desperate gasps from your friends at this revelation. They must know that their end was in sight.

“Now, usually, we only have the sacrifice part to look forward to. But I think your friend over there, provided that she’ll live long enough to bear Otis’s children, might be in for a treat each year, starting now.”

Wait the fuck. You held your breath. Did they just say you had to endure this sadistic ritual every Halloween from now on? You felt panic seize your heart at the thought that you would not only be subjected to this disgraceful treatment again each year, as long as you stayed alive, but that you would also be used as a cock sleeve by Otis the whole year round from now on.

You closed your eyes and tried to block out all sounds. Otis’s breeding Bunny. That’s all you were reduced to now. How could a small fun trip have gone this wrong?

"But as you guessed, your lives end here," Baby declared cheerfully to your friends. You heard them howl behind their gags in response. “Ah, don’t worry,” she cooed at them, almost lovingly. “Otis will make sure we get you all nicely prepped so you can stay with us in our museum forever.”

Her laughter pierced through the darkness of the night. Stalking towards them like a predator closing in on its prey, Otis and Baby made their way over to your friends. You did not see it. Did not deign to watch their suffering as their lives came to an end one by one.

Instead, you lay on the floor, in the middle of the circle, breathing heavily. You felt the cooling sticky goo between your legs and prayed it would not take. That you could escape this twisted house and make your way home. Start a new life there.

But as silence filled the area, the Firefly family crowded around you, smiling and cooing as if welcoming a newborn into their twisted fold. It was a sign that your friends were gone. Dead.

"Such a precious addition to our family," Mother Firefly crooned, gently stroking your hair.

You felt hands grasp your arms, helping you up.

"Otis's child will be strong," Tiny rumbled, his monstrous form looming above you.

"Congratulations, darling," Baby giggled, her eyes gleaming with a perverse excitement. "You'll learn to love it here."

You noticed that Otis stood quietly in front of you, staring down at you with an expression you couldn’t decipher. Fresh blood stained his hands and colored his shirt a deep crimson. He leaned down, his lips brushing against yours in a forceful, possessive kiss that left you breathless and shivering. The hands of the other Firefly members forced you in place so that you were unable to pull away.

The taste of him was vile, like blood and smoke and mold. Nonetheless, he deepened the kiss. His tongue surprised you, brushing past yours until it hit the back of your throat, nearly making you gag. You tried hard to breathe, to cooperate with this demanding kiss. But once it finally broke, you panted heavily, bare breasts heaving up and down. Otis didn’t even look down at them. You felt his hand run through the back of your hair while his lust-craven eyes sought to meet yours. The darkness in them frightened you.

 “Take my little Bunny to my room,” he commanded. The men who held your arms hoisted you up to your feet. A sickening quelch could be heard from your legs as globs of cum released from your core and dripped onto the floor.

“Might have to do it again, son,” you heard Mother Firefly say to Otis. It sounded so matter-of-factly… as if you were a cow that needed to be bred. Do it again? Your body flushed warm at the thought of Otis inside of you again. A physical betrayal. This wasn’t you.

Had his demonic ritual caused that effect?

You heard Otis laugh. “Yeah, that one won’t get away,” you heard him tell Mother Firefly. And as the men guided you away, you heard his ominous whisper follow you like a ghost.

“Welcome to our family, little Firefly. Enjoy your stay. I know I will…”

His words were a dark promise that echoed in the deepest recesses of your soul. The Firefly family's twisted games had only just begun. And as the night wore on, you knew one thing for certain: there would be no escaping the Firefly family. Not now.

Not ever.

~ Fin ~

AN: Liked my work? :) ♡ Support me on Ko-Fi ♡ Love you all

[misseandc]

Good morning tumblr! I say good morning but I'm actually heading to bed now- I've been up con crunching 😂 I thought I was so cool and smart for wanting to make my new Deku belt and Pouches out of real leather...

Now I'm just tired and my wrist and forearm hurt from punching so many goddamn tiny holes 💀

I'm currently working on a black and white manga cosplay of Deku's hero suit! Here's a pic of some of the accessories I've done so far. It's letting me experiment with some things for my All Might gown and also it gives me something else to focus on other than that cosplay.

I love cosplaying Deku so much and we are so similar- right down to the muttering 😂 I'm excited to have a fun new cosplay for him again too! 💚

[hyena-honeybadger]

This is my first post, I will mostly do cod smut and fics, if you have any suggestions I’d greatly appreciate it.

{I very much recommend listening to change by deftones during reading this as that was a huge inspo to my writing style}

CW: Smut, angst, mean/abusive price, child abuse, blood, manipulation, kinda dub-con, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, torture, mental torture.

Katz und Maus

- Every day seemed the same when you’re were a ghost, it blended together, not living but merely haunting. You’ve never been off base, you live the life of a soldier but never go on missions… price wouldn’t allow it, your his daughter but barely, your no t related, and he never treats you like one. You believed at some point he loved you, you thought that at some point he actually like the idea of having a little girl, a princess he could spoil, somebody he could dress up, raise. Now he doesn’t know how he could ever think that, he had a job and nobody to look after you, he soon saw his ‘daughter’ as a pest in his own home. He’d be gone for weeks on missions, he’d come back hands bloodied, the lingering scent of blood and the cigar he’d smoke. He’d just sit on the couch in silence. You never knew when was the turning point of the house becoming oh so quiet, as years past and you grew up you both had had the mutual understanding of just living with each other. He now never talked of you, it was never “my daughter.” It was “Y/N.” The most you’d usually talked was when he’d make a cutting comment, and as much as he tried to care, try to find the dream of having a daughter you were never that. So he’d just say things, with well honesty “you should workout more.” “Your really gonna eat that?” “Have a great time dressing like that with a base full of men.” You hated it, but all do did was nod in hopes that one time one of his comments would be one of praise… but honestly all you’ve ever wanted was a father …or somebody… anybody… yet you didn’t try to talk to anyone on base, they have gotten used to you not talking that it would be odd if you did… you didn’t find much of a point of anything, your mind constantly tormented by imagery you had wished your sorry mind had repressed and forgotten about but was instead instead another tool used by life to torture you. Break your will. How did I get here… why am I here…

- Blood dripped down your nose as a reminder of your existence, that your not yet a ghost. It was so quiet… so cold… the night was almost a void you wandered in lost in your own empty sorrowful mind, not knowing how far you’ve gone from base. Things that you knew didn’t exist stung in your mind, it festered… it got worse, blood, the knife… your mothers scream… and something new… leaves crunched behind you. “Schatz~” your whole body stings in shook, legs buckle yet you don’t fall. It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real. You echo in your mind and yet the footsteps get louder, to frozen to move, you let this entity approach. “Your ways away from your base aren’t you maus?” You shudder not being able to wander haunted by this voice, your body refuses to turn around, not wanting to know what horrible imagery your mind would come up with to torment you, you tightly close your eyes…drip... Once again that blood reminds you your alive… I’m real… the thing behind me isn’t… yet your were so utterly mistaken. Your eyes flash open and you feel a tight hand over your mouth, you try to scream out but your voice is trapped in your throat, you thrash around, but he was stronger. Your eyes immediately glaze over in fear. Something pricked you and your neck stung but only for a minute before collapsing, your weak body caught by him. Your consciousness slipping, you tasted blood in your mouth from your nose… this is real… he is real…you slump unto the ground gradually your body lying against his legs, a quiet laugh echos and your in the void…

KONIG POV…

I had been watching the 141 base for a while, I was staked out on the outskirts of the base I had access to there cameras and just waited, if there were an opportunity I wouldn’t be shy to seize it. As a watched over i saw the court yard,few soldiers grouped up, smoking, laughing… i flipped around the other cameras nothing notable. eventually I circled back around to the one of the courtyard… the group seemed to be looking at something out of the vision of the camera, one tall guy points to it and seemingly waved it over, yet there expression wasn’t one of humour or playfulness instead, a darker look, a glare to whoever this was. They said something. A girl wearily walked into sight of the camera shakily, she sharply glanced around if as she didn’t know what was going on and how she got there, confusion and innocent fear plastered on her face. The group radiated aggression, one walked up to her and grabbed her wrist to which she pulled away. Poor maus… His hand whipped across her face, she fell, face darkened on the camera with blood… she was then collapsed on the ground, shaking like a cold kitten, the man standing menacingly above her yelling something. The rest of the group laughing behind them. I watched this go on for a few minutes, yelling, laughing, shaking. At some point the group must’ve gotten bored and had left the poor maus alone, to which she sat, hands covering her face, shaking.

I hope you enjoyed this, I'm fully new to posting, so I might be inconsistent at first. I know it's not that much smut, but stay tuned!

Stay tuned for part. two !

- By Hyena -

[devils-dares]

I really think Joel deserves some comfort, so please #3 and/or #14 from the Grumpy x Sunshine prompts with Joel x male reader, maybe? Perhaps something with him overhearing some conversations between the reader and Ellie...?

#3 - sunshine is babbling happily & grumpy is listening

#14 - grumpy is realizing what a different (and much more pleasant) life it would be if sunshine was by their side all the time

wordcount: 528

-----

“...and so when Outbreak Day happened, I think he got turned as well, but he never got to finish the run and I think that is so upsetting. Plus, I had to leave my collections at home! At home, El, where a clicker is probably eating the pages. I spent so much money on that damn collection.”

“So where was it supposed to lead?”

“I’ll never know! I think he was supposed to get married but I’m not sure.”

“Thought you said he had a girlfriend.”

“Who died, Ellie.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot.”

Joel sat on the far side of the camp, listening to your voices carry over the air. He loved listening to you talk. You could talk his ear off all day and all night and he wouldn’t care because he loved the sound of you.

You’d been a recent partner, after Tess’s demise. He’d come to hate you, stuck in a mindset that you were here to replace her. He quickly realized he was wrong, with how much you moved around and talked. He’d get every single fact about your favorite comics wrong just so your voice could fill the silence. God, he felt like he could pass a trivia game on your favorite character, the way you’d talk about the comics whenever there was nothing else to talk about.

This was really only the second longer trip the two of you were on, after about eight months of joining. You were refreshing to be around, he noticed. It was like you were an extra ray of sunshine outside and in the QZ.

He was leaning up against a tree, arms crossed in front of him with his eyes closed when he heard you and Ellie start talking in hushed voices.

“So you and Joel, huh?”

“What are you thinking about?”

“What?”

“Me and Joel what?”

“You two look at each other like how I imagine people in love look at each other. It’s disgusting.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“You’re telling me you don’t have the slightest crush on grumps?”

“We’re calling him grumps now?”

“Don’t change the subject!”

“Shh!” you say, glancing at Joel, who’s still trying his best to stay awake while looking asleep, “Maybe? I dunno, I guess so.”

“I knew it!” Your hand slaps over her mouth.

“Shut up and go to bed.”

—--

“You got that look on your face, eyebrows scrunched. Can’t tell if you’re thinking or constipated.”

“I’m not con- Jesus, you’re just like the kid.” Joel says.

“My main character trait.”

“Flaw, I’d say.”

“Yet you continue to ask me to accompany you.”

“And if I’d ask you to keep doing so?” He heard your footsteps stop crunching in the gravel.

“Continue? With you? You’re not gonna shoot me to shut up?”

“Nice to have some blab on like you to fill the quiet.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have a little crush on me, Miller,” you elbow him in the side, “I’m just kidding.”

He hums, but he knows you’re not wrong. He promises to himself that as soon as this thing blows over, he’s taking you back to Tommy’s place for a real date.

[sarahowritesostucky]

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: Fresh AU, dark rom-com, dark!Bucky, pre-serum Steve, cannibalism, kidnapping, yandere/basement wife, meet cute-ish, gay sex n' stuff, dub-con

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

3. Hors D'oeuvre

Wait! I haven't read the previous chapter(s)

James winds up apologizing profusely for the insanely bad bite.

Steve’s a little disturbed that the guy would do something that rough on their first time together, but he chalks it up to the heat of the moment and forgives him,` telling James that: it's okay, he’s always been a freaky-fast healer anyway.

“S’my superpower,” he quips, making light of it when it's obvious James feels terrible.

“I’m still sorry,” he insists, thumbing carefully over the mostly-healed skin two days later. He stares at it like he stares at everything else—intensely. “I got carried away. Won’t do it again.”

Steve believes him.

Within a week, it’s pretty obvious that they’re dating. Steve kind of feels like the other shoe has got to drop at any moment, but that just keeps not happening. James is like, the perfect guy.

“He’s a doctor?” Clint says, on the third day after Bite Night. It’s movie night and he and Steve are rewatching Midsommar, because Clint’s a movie nerd and is convinced there are still hidden themes he can pick apart in the freaky-ass film. Right now the screen is paused at the exact second where they hammer the old guy’s head into paste. Clint really is a savant with a remote control.

Steve looks the gore over critically and stuffs more chips in his mouth, crunching. “Um, yeah,” he says distractedly.

He wonders how movie people make it look so real. How would they even know what to make it look like? Did one of the movie people see somebody’s head collapse in real life?”

“Earth to STEVE,” Clint waves a hand in front of his face and Steve blinks.

“What?”

“I said: what kind of doctor is he?”

“A surgeon,” Steve says, feeling warm and tingly even as he remembers it. He’s not only met a smart, sexy and funny older guy— he’s met a surgeon. Which automatically means he’s rich, too. Nobody is that fucking lucky in love, certainly not Steve.

“Of what?” Clint prods. “Like, hearts and brains? or boob jobs?”

Steve pauses with another handful of chips. Hm. That’s a good question. “I don’t know,” he says. “What’s it matter?”

“It matters because it’ll determine how much I esteem the guy,” Clint insists.

Steve snorts. “What? If he's a plastic surgeon he doesn’t deserve your respect?”

“Are you kidding? I’d respect him more if that’s what he was.” Clint grimaces. “I respect the hell out of anybody who can pull people’s skin off and rearrange it and unnatural shit like that. S’way more horrible than operating on a regular old heart or whatever.”

Steve makes a face as he considers that. “Yeah, I guess so. I heard once that when they do a nose job they literally like, pull the nose up off the face first.”

Clint gags. “Dude! No. My brain can’t unknow this now!”

“And yet you can watch shit like this.”

Clint presses play and the film resumes, the frame shifting from pasted-guy's head, to Florence Pugh's horrified face. “That's different," he says. "It’s movie magic, dumbass.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “You’re a dumbass.”

James tasks Steve with picking an actual date activity for them to do next. “No pressure,” he teases him over the phone, “but I hate stereotypes.”

Well. So much for mini golfing or the movies.

The place is called Bad Axes, their logo is a butt with an ax lodged in it, and the only two things to do there are drink beer and throw axes. Steve doesn’t reveal what they’re headed for when they meet at the subway, so James doesn’t know what's in store until they’re standing right outside the business' doors with the logo on them.

He stares for a long, long moment, and then busts out with the loudest, most sudden laugh. He looks over at Steve with a pained, almost hysterical expression.

Steve laughs. “What?”

“Nothing!” James squeaks. “This’ll be fun!”

Steve spends the rest of the date preening over the fact that he’s impressed his boyfriend.

(He only calls him that in his head, so far. He knows they’re not ‘boyfriends’ yet. They’re still feeling each other out, trying on the idea of being boyfriends. It’s just hard for Steve to remember that, when everything feels so natural between them.)

They grab drinks and get the safety and throwing tutorial from the unimpressed girl whose job it is to supervise drunk businessmen throwing sharp objects after work. It’s an over-the-head kind of deal, and Steve is prepared to nurture his manly pride and leave feeling a little bit like a Viking.

“Want to bet on who wins?” James asks, where he stands beside Steve in their little throwing area, a devilish gleam in his eye.

Steve considers it. The Axe Girl had told them it’s not so much a strength thing as a technique thing, so he’s not worried about being at a disadvantage. “Sure," he decides. "What are we betting on?”

“Hmm, how about … loser has to tell a secret about themselves,” James says. “First to stick the target twenty times wins.”

Steve’s stomach jumps at the look in James' eye. He grins. “You’re on.” Steve doesn’t have any good secrets anyway, so losing won't be a big deal (even though he fully intends to win).

They throw.

There’s a certain amount of body memory to it, Steve discovers after about fifteen minutes of fruitless throwing, his axe cracking off the plywood and thunking pathetically to the ground each time. He winds up getting the hang of it, but not in time to win the bet. James’ axe sticks on the first throw, and the second, and most of the times after.

Steve sulks about it as they take a break at one of the high-top tables, drinking their second round. “You’ve done this before,” he pouts, accusing. “Admit it.. You're a secret lumberjack.”

James looks at him fondly, like he thinks Steve’s reaction is cute. “Not exactly. But I've chopped enough to know my way around an axe.”

Steve grumps playfully at him. “Fine, cheater. I’ll think of a secret to tell you.” Bucky chuckles while Steve sips his beer and tries to come up with something juicy enough to be a ‘secret’ but not so juicy that it reflects badly on him. “I used to get in fights a lot."

James rolls his eyes. “Like as a kid? That doesn’t count.” He shoots him a sly look. “Adult secrets, Steven.”

Steve flushes at the use of his given name. There’s something oddly domineering about it that he likes. “Um, well … I've been arrested?”

James’ eyes light up. “Oh, do tell.”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

“Of course not.”

“It wasn’t!” Steve laughs, shoving James’ shoulder. “It was a bar fight, basically. Some asshole bothering this woman he didn’t know, not taking no for an answer.”

James’ smile softens to something fond. “Aw, Steve. I should'a known. That's you then? Always trying to be a white knight?”

Steve scowls at the term but doesn’t try to deny it. “Well somebody had to do something,” he mutters. “I wasn’t the one who threw the first punch.”

“Why the arrest, then?”

“The charges were dropped. But I guess the jerk had some friends backing him up when the cops came, so I got rounded up too.”

James hums in understanding. “Well, I suppose that’s sort of a secret. But I have to say, I was really hoping for something a little more intriguing from you, Steve. A little more naughty.”

Steve snorts. “Why? You planning to blackmail me?”

“No.”

“You just like bad boys, then,” he jokes. He’s about the farthest thing there is from a bad boy. “Sorry. You’re outta luck with that one.”

“I’m not,” James says quietly, looking him in the eyes. “I actually like the sweet ones.”

Steve colors, he knows he does. “Oh.” He’s a sweet one. He chuckles and looks down at his beer bottle, turning it in little circles. “Thanks. I guess.”

James hums. “Hey, why don’t I apologize for my non-disclosure of my axing abilities, huh? I’ll tell you one of my secrets, too.”

“I’m all ears. What’s your secret?” In his head, Steve sarcastically imagines James saying something like, “I’m actually married and have two point five kids,” or, “I’m addicted to piss and shit porn.”

That’s not what he says.

“I’ve eaten human flesh.”

Steve blinks. “What.” He waits for the punchline, the second part of that confession that’ll make it funny, but there isn’t one. James just sits there and nods somberly. Steve laughs. “No, you haven’t. You have not.”

“I was just out of med school and interning at a center for pediatric reconstructive surgery in Shanghai.”

The smile drops right off Steve’s face. So he is a plastic surgeon, he thinks. He'll have to tell Clint. "The fuck?" he breathes.

James' mouth twists. “Yeah. That's what I said, when I realized."

"You're making this up," Steve says weakly, even though he can tell he's not, because James is sitting there looking completely serious and nodding grimly.

"We'd gone out to a rural village, to assess a few kids for cleft palate correction. There was a mud slide on the only road out of the valley, and we wound up stuck there for a few days."

“What—” Steve realizes he’s nearly whispering. He firms up his voice. “What happened?”

“I was served a meal from a local family, already cooked.”

“Oh." Steve exhales in relief. "So then, you didn’t actually see—”

“No.” James cants his head. “But it wasn’t any meat I’d ever had before. It was …” He trails off, eyes going distant as he thinks about it. “It was so different.”

Steve stares at him, shocked. “But … but that's a big leap. I mean it could’ve been anything. Dog or ... or tiger. Don’t they have tigers in China?”

“Not in that part of the country.” James watches Steve closely for a moment, gauging his reaction. Eventually he looks away, frowning. “And you could tell there was something going on. There was ... At the time, I didn't understand, but it was the way the villagers acted. There was something off about them, something about the way they skulked around, the way they looked at us. How gaunt they all were ..." He shakes his head, deep in thought. "I did some research once I got back. There are some recorded accounts; those soccer players that crashed in the Andes, the Donner party. An anthropologist in the thirties who ate with a tribe in Africa. He wrote a very detailed account of how the different cuts of the meat tasted, what it looked like, what it smelled like.” He inhales deeply, as though pulling himself out of the memory. When his gaze lands back on Steve, it's dead serious and shockingly nonchalant. “It all matched up to what I’d eaten.”

Steve gapes, horrified. He can’t believe that it was a … a human that James had been served. It was too awful. People wouldn’t do that. ... Would they? “It wasn’t,” he says, as if he can make it so by saying it. “They wouldn’t have.”

James still doesn’t seem bothered, though he has pity in his eyes for Steve, apparently able to see how shaken he is by it. “You gotta understand, it was a bad situation. A dead, closed off valley where nothing ever grew. The Chinese government had banished these people out there for some slight, blocked off their access to food. It was like a gulag. These people were living in extreme poverty: cold, sick, and halfway starving. Animals'll do anything when they’re starving."

"Animals ..."

He shrugs and sits back in his chair. "At the end of the day, that’s all we really are. Some very big, overly-clever animals.”

Steve swallows thickly, his throat suddenly dry. He reaches for his beer and takes a hasty swig. “How do you, um, how do you deal with it, then?” he asks. “If you really think that’s what it was?” He’s a little bit stunned by how calm James has remained through telling the whole story.

“It doesn’t bother me,” James says easily. “There’s no way I can know for sure that’s what I ate that day, and I didn’t do it on purpose.” He shrugs and waves it off. “It was so long ago. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Wow,” Steve says, stunned. “I mean, just … no. And wow.”

“Pretty big secret, huh?”

“Yeah,” Steve mutters, trying to lighten up. James isn’t dwelling on it and he probably doesn’t want Steve to, either. “Yeah, you have, um. Much juicier secrets than me.”

James tips his bottle back for the last dregs of his beer, then clacks it firmly down onto the table. “So,” he says, eyes regaining their challenging, sly glint. “Now that you know my deepest, darkest secret; want to throw another round?”

A few days later, at precisely 11:30 am, Steve receives a text:

Weird Meat Guy: Hey you. I’m starving. Want to grab lunch with me?”

Steve looks down at his dirty work clothes. Yikes. Knowing himself, he figures there's a good chance he also has paint in his hair or on his face, or both.

Steve: yeah sounds good. In 30 or so? Gotta wash up.

Weird Meat Guy: see you soon, handsome.

James texts him an address that's in Park Slope, followed by a cartoon ‘nom-nom’ eating GIF. Steve holds his phone with gesso-crusted fingers and beams at the screen. James must like Steve just as much as Steve likes him, because he’s thinking about him during the week. He’s texting him and sending stupid GIFs and asking him out on lunch dates.

This is going incredibly well.

It's nothing fancy, which Steve appreciates. They meet inside a Panera by Prospect Park. They order drinks and find chairs to sit in by the windows while their sandwiches are made. “Don't you work in Midtown though?” Steve asks, confused. “This is a bit of a hike for a lunch break.”

James stares at him for a long few seconds, blinking repeatedly. “... Oh! Well … I had a big gap between clients today.” He smiles winningly and covers Steve’s hand with his own on the tabletop, giving it a squeeze. “There’s nobody I’d rather make the hike for.”

Steve tries not to let his smile overtake his face, but it’s hard.

Their food arrives, and they eat while trading stories about themselves. Steve tells James how he lives and works alone, but doesn’t mind it one bit. He tells him about his family, or at least, what family he used to have.

“So, nobody?” James asks. “You’re all alone?”

“It’s okay,” Steve says, thinking that James might be feeling pity for him. “I miss my mom, but it’s been a long time. And I’ve made a couple friends. They help.”

“Oh yeah? Who're your friends?”

“Oh. Well there's Clint. We met back in college. And Natalie. She’s the one I told you about.”

“Your patron.” James nods. “I remember.” He leans forward. “So do they know about me?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you tell them about me?”

Steve smirks. “Oh I dunno. Just that I met a really good looking weirdo at the grocery store. Haven’t called the police on him yet.”

James laughs. “That’s all?”

“Pretty much.” Steve shrugs and takes another bite of his sandwich, unconcerned with it. “Clint says he respects you for being able to—and I quote—‘pull people’s skin off and rearrange their outsides’.”

James’ lips quirk. “Well, it is a skill.”

Steve shivers theatrically. “Uck. Power to you. I guess somebody’s gotta do it."

"Alas, yes. The meat market. Demand is only ever growing."

Steve snorts. "Well hey, at least it means you’re, ah … intimately familiar with anatomy.” He winces before he's even finished saying it. Ew, what a lame joke.

But James’s eyes crinkle in amusement anyway. “Yes," he says, reaching for his sandwich again. "I certainly am.”

Steve has James over to Netflix and Chill. He’s not sure if this counts as their sixth date or seventh, but they’ve been seeing each other steadily for the past three weeks, calling and texting daily, so it’s definitely not too soon to start thinking about the “R” word. That’s where it feels like this is headed, but Steve is too chickenshit to speak up and ask if they’re officially in a relationship.

He researches how to make eggplant parmesan and mostly doesn’t screw it up, and James seems touched that he went through the trouble of cooking something vegetarian for him.

“It’s delicious,” he reassures Steve. “I even like the crusty black bits.”

He asks Steve what he does for fun, and Steve is once again left feeling like a boring dolt when he can only answer, “I mean, I really just paint or draw, or watch tv. Clint tries to drag me out for bowling or karaoke once in a while.” He fights not to wince at himself. Jesus god is he boring. He thinks again about joining a gym, maybe getting into boxing or Krav Maga or something. “What about you?” he asks. “What do you do when you’re not carving people up?”

“Hardy har.” James thinks about it. “Well, I do love to do stuff outdoors. I work out ...”

“Yeah you do,” Steve teases, leering a little. James laughs him off.

“I read some, usually have two books going concurrently.”

Steve imagines James having a big, expensive library, complete with those nifty rolling ladders.

“And I’m a pretty good cook,” he adds. “I enjoy it. Working on being an amateur cuisinier, as I said.”

Steve pointedly looks at both of their plates of semi-burnt eggplant slop. “Then why am I the one making us dinner?”

James chuckles, leans across the table to kiss him on the cheek, and promises he’ll cook for Steve sometime soon.

After dinner, Steve pulls up his Netflix queue and scrolls through for something that looks good but not too good, since they’ll probably start fooling around partway through and miss half of it.

They watch a documentary about Richard Ramirez, which Steve apologizes for. (“I know, I know. Me and every other basic white girl likes the true crime stuff.”)

Halfway into Ramirez’s fucked up childhood, Steve says, “Man, what would you do if your kid turned out like that, huh?”

“Question my parenting choices, that’s for sure.”

“I know, right?" Steve shudders. "I feel so bad for Jeffry Dahmer’s mom.”

“Why? She’s alive and kicking. Feel bad for Ed Gein’s mom: pretty sure she’s a lampshade now.”

“Christ.”

James looks over at Steve. “Do you want kids?”

Steve freezes, the unexpected change in topic throwing him for a loop. “Um …” Not ones that'll turn me into a lampshade, he doesn't say.

This is something they haven’t done yet; asked each other what they want for their lives long-term. Because such questions naturally infer that they might be considering each other for a starring role in said life.

Steve swallows heavily and works up the courage to softly admit, “Yeah, one day I do.” He dares to meet James’ eyes, and is relieved when he doesn’t see any rejection there. “I want what most people do, I guess. Get married, have kids.” He shrugs. “The American dream, right?”

“What? No white picket fence and a dog named Fido?”

Steve deflates a little. “Don’t make fun.”

“I wasn’t.” James scoots closer and puts his arm around him. “Hey. No, Honey. I wasn’t making fun of you. I want that stuff too.”

“You do?”

“Mmhm.” He kisses Steve's cheek. “I’m glad you told me,” he says. “Makes you even more of the perfect catch.”

Steve snorts. "Yeah. Sure."

James is the perfect catch, Steve is just incredibly lucky.

James has to go on a sudden work trip, and it's a solid week that they're apart.

The next time he comes over to Steve's place, he’s barely in the door before Steve is slamming it shut and pushing him up against the wall. He sinks to his knees and looks up at James, whose eyes have gone from widened to heavy-lidded in seconds. "Hey."

James smiles lazily and cups his cheek. “Hey there.”

Steve touches him over his jeans, starts rubbing slow and purposeful. After a moment or two, James gets hard enough that he can feel it through the denim. He knees in closer, pushes his face into his groin and rubs his cheek along the bulge of his dick.

James’ hands migrate to his head, running through his hair, over his scalp. “Mm,” he hums, amused. “Did you miss me, Sweetheart?”

It’s been little more than a week apart, but Steve has missed him embarrassingly much. He makes a plaintive noise against James’ crotch and nods. “Yeah.” He’s barely heard from the other man. He doesn’t want to complain though, because it’s still early for them and he doesn’t want to seem too needy.

James had warned him he’d be very busy working and mostly unreachable. He'd had to take a flight out for a surgery consult somewhere—Steve can’t remember where. It doesn’t matter. He’s just glad James is back. He looks up from his spot on the floor, batting his eyelashes and reaching for the front of James’ pants. “Can I?”

James grins and relaxes back against the wall. “All yours,” he says, watching Steve like he’s ready for a show. Steve flushes in a heady mix of arousal and shyness. He tucks his lips in as his fingers find the button at James’ fly, pop it open and pull down the zipper. He curls his fingers over the waistband at James’ hips and pulls, until the jeans are halfway down his thighs. He stops.

James is wearing briefs today—white, and with a waistband that has black lettering: Calvin Klein. Steve grins as arousal hits him harder, his own dick stirring in his sweats. “Tighty-whities, huh?” he teases, and when he looks up, he sees James looking down at him, amused.

“What? You don’t approve?”

“Oh, I approve.” He presses his face against the front, against the hardening line of James’ dick beneath the fabric. What he really likes is to see it get hard from the very start, and he's already making a plan to have James naked for this from the get-go, next time. He palms the soft weight of James’ balls through the fabric while placing kisses along the length of his stirring dick. “Been wanting to do this since that first night,” he murmurs. He rubs his other hand over him, circling the wet spot just by the head. “You've got such a nice cock.”

James makes a pleased noise. “Why don’t you get it out, then?” he says softly, one hand cupping Steve’s chin. His thumb pulls down on Steve’s bottom lip. “I want to see your pretty mouth stretchin' around it.”

Steve moans quietly and nods, fingers hurrying to pull his underwear down. James’ cock bobs obscenely in the air once it’s released, still angled downward from the weight of it and from only being half hard. Steve licks his lips, excited at finally getting to really appreciate it up close. He hasn’t had much chance yet, but he’s seen it, knows that it's beautiful.

James is big—as big a top can get before it becomes counterproductive, in Steve's opinion. A respectable length, with a truly mouth watering girth. His balls are soft and warm in Steve’s palm where he holds them. James is shaved there, while everything else is trimmed down short. "Sir," Steve teases, fondling the smooth weight of his balls. "I may just have to wind up sucking on these."

Above him, James chuckles lowly. "Gotta do what you gotta do, Steven. I won't hold it against ya."

Fuck. What is it about James saying his given name like that? It's so hot, feels almost dirty. Steve can't hold back anymore. He takes his cock in hand and explores it with the gentlest of touches, tracing a prominent vein that runs underneath and up along the side, circling his finger on the wet head that’s peeking out, just barely pressing the tip of his thumb into the slit. He bites his lip as it twitches and jerks. Fuck. It’s fucking beautiful.

Above, James makes a sound in his throat, and when Steve looks up he sees him looking darkly amused. “You sure are taking your sweet time with that, Princess.”

Ooh, Princess. That’s a new one. Steve smirks. “I can take all the time I want.”

He says that, but in the next few seconds he’s already lost his patience, too eager for more. He wants to feel it on his tongue, wants to taste it. He sucks the head into his mouth and is rewarded by James’ quiet groan.

“That’s it,” he praises. “Mm.”

Steve sucks him, swirling his tongue over the head and pulling gently with his hand, jerking him off a little while he sucks. He keeps it up, feeling James twitch and grow in his mouth, until he’s fully erect, and Steve just has to pop off to see. His own hand looks tiny and pale on James' dick. He jerks him softly and groans at the sight of the foreskin sliding over the weeping, fat tip. God, Steve loves uncut guys.

James is watching him with heavy eyes, his lips slightly parted, enthralled at the sight of Steve exploring down between his legs. Steve smirks up at him and looks him in the eye as he kisses along his thigh, hipbone, pelvis; all the way up to his stomach and belly button and back down. He rubs his cheek on the hot juncture of his groin and returns to stroking his cock at a languorous pace. “You’re so pretty,” he murmurs. “Could do this all day.”

“Oh yeah?” James cards a hand through Steve’s hair—a hand that Steve is very smug to note is trembling the tiniest bit—and leaves it there, caressing his scalp. “Can you go deeper?” he asks quietly, offering it up rather than demanding it.

Steve appreciates the concern, but he’s eager to show off. “‘Can I go deeper’,” he mutters, scoffing. “Hold onto your dick, Honey. This is gonna feel really good.” He sucks James’ cock back into his mouth, only this time he keeps going, taking it all the way until it's in his throat and his nose is buried in the short hair at the base.

Above him, James finally loses his composure, his breath stuttering out in a stifled, “Oh, fuck.”

Steve hums eagerly. He grabs onto the back of James’ thighs and squeezes, uses the grip to yank him even closer. He slides his hands up and grabs at his ass, able to feel the muscles tensing and relaxing as James tries so hard not to thrust into his mouth. Steve pulls off and meets his eyes. “You want to fuck my face?” he asks, eager to give James whatever he wants. “You can.”

James looks utterly smitten. He hooks his thumb in at the corner of Steve’s mouth and pulls gently. “Sweet boy,” he murmurs. Steve’s about to take that as a ‘yes’, but then James tells him otherwise. “Another time,” he says. “Right now I just want to watch you work for it.”

Steve’s belly flips in arousal. Fucking hell. He reaches down to squeeze his own dick, which is painfully constricted in his sweatpants by now. He mostly ignores it though, wanting to put all his focus into pleasing James and pulling more wrecked sounds of pleasure from him. This is a relationship Steve really wants to go the distance in, okay? So he shoots James his best sultry look while wettings his lips, and then sinks right back down with eye contact, prepared to give this man the best head of his life.

They shower together, after coming from each other’s hands and mouths. It’s an intimate experience, standing naked and sated together under the spray of the water, touching each other’s bodies without intent. It’s almost more intimate than the sex they’ve just had.

Steve shivers and luxuriates in it as James stands behind him and runs water-slicked hands over his body, not speaking, just enjoying what he’s touching. He kneads the meat of Steve’s ass, his thighs, draws soapy-slick circles down his ribs and across his belly. He kisses and mouths at his neck as he touches him all over. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, and that’s the only word uttered between them for the entirety of the shower.

Later, when they’re sitting together on the couch, drinking wine and talking lazily with nothing but towels wrapped around their waists, James describes his apartment in Manhattan. It’s centrally located but small, because “real estate in the city is sickening.”

“Tell me about it,” Steve murmurs, giving his own shoebox of an apartment a onceover.

James insists that he spends as little time in the city as possible. His preferred residence (because of course he has multiple) is “in the wilderness.”

“Jersey?” Steve asks, lip curled in a sneer.

“Oh no! A little more wild than that,” James laughs, pouring more wine into the glass Steve’s holding out. “It’s out in the Catskills," he confides. "My secret cabin."

"The Catskills?" Steve frowns, trying to think of how long of a drive that must be. “I’ve never been."

“Oh you’d love it,” James insists. “It’s gorgeous out there. Miles and miles of trees. Peace and quiet, no neighbors to bother you.” He smiles wistfully. “It’s the one place I can really let go and relax, be myself. It’s my retreat.”

“It sounds wonderful,” Steve says. James looks so happy when he talks about it, it makes Steve want to go there with him. “Will you take me there someday?” he asks. He’s very aware that the question implies that they’ll still be together down the line. That this thing they have, whatever it is, will continue.

James considers him thoughtfully, though, eyes soft and mysterious, not seeming to mind that Steve is envisioning them in the future. He peers at him in that intense, evaluating way that he has. “Well,” he says. "I mean why not? That'd be fun. Let’s do it.”

“Wait, what? Do it?” Steve repeats, surprised. “You mean like a trip? Like, now?"

“Yeah!" James laughs. “We can go for a few days. I’ll drive us out there and we can just relax together. Cook, watch movies. There’s hiking around the area. And I have a hot tub.”

Steve gasps. “I love hot tubs!”

James laughs and holds out his arms for Steve to climb into his lap. He wraps his arms around him and kisses him. “Okay then, it’s settled. When do you want to go?”

Steve tries to remember his work schedule for that next week, but his thoughts are a little slowed by the warm and gooey feelings he’s got filling him up. James wants to spend a weekend with him. He wants to take him away, show him his favorite place. Steve squirms happily in the other man's lap and tucks his face into his neck, inhaling the rich, clean scent of him and pleased as punch, because this means that James really likes him, and maybe even wants to make him a part of his life.

Jesus Christ, maybe Steve's actually, finally done it. Maybe he really has managed to scoop up the last remaining, non-married, high-value homosexual who actually wants to be in a serious relationship.

It's too good to be true!

Story Masterlist

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[acim-ed-ortsac]

Time on the Oro Jackson: 2

You blocked a swing from Rayleigh before parrying a jab of his blade, your feet moving around the swordsman as you blocked and attacked your mentor. The training sessions started when you were practicing your stances on the deck, focused on your form and swings and you didn’t notice anyone watching you until Rayleigh shouted tips on improving. You supposed that was how you found yourself being trained by the Dark King himself. You gritted your teeth when an attack from the man had you skid your feet.

“You’re getting better, kid,” Rayleigh said with a grin as he clashed swords with you.

You didn’t say anything but let a small smile on your lips as you twisted your wrist to push the blade away from you. You dodged a jab and blacked a thrust. Your observation haki lets you know the next few moves in the next few seconds, allowing you prepare and counter these attacks. It’s been a good while since you joined the Roger Pirates and you’ve learned a lot from them.

First of all, they’re very jolly. And loud.

But you should’ve expected that from a captain known to have smiled at his execution and started the new generation of pirates.

At times you found yourself wincing at the volume, but it was easy to get accustomed to them. Shanks likes to cling to you, demanding a spar despite your refusal, yet is not deterred or angry at your dismissal. If anything, he seemed to cling on to you more. When you’re practicing your stances, he’s there, practicing beside you or watching you instead. You take it as childish admiration.

Buggy, on the other hand, is more weary of you. Anytime you’re around him, you would notice a bead of sweat and his nervous glances at you before skedaddling out of your sight. You take no offense to this. Scared children are nothing new to you.

However, Buggy seemed to have gained courage from Shanks.

As you were wiping the sweat off your brow with a towel handed to you by Gaban, now you remember his name, Buggy approached you nervously. He approached you like you were a predator. You were amused and slightly confused as he stopped in front of you. “What is it?”

The clown sweat, eyes averting before mustering to look into your own. “Could…could you teach me how to use a knife?”

You raised a brow, “You want to learn how to wield a dagger?”

Buggy nodded, uncertain.

Hmm, if I remember correctly, the clown primarily uses daggers with his devil fruit. But he doesn’t have it yet, and he’s still too young to be holding weapons…Although, if I were to help him in the near future, perhaps he would make an interesting pirate. And maybe I’ll respect him more when Cross Guild is formed, which won’t be a good while.

After your internal debate, you sheathe your sword. “When you’re older, you can’t hold one without cutting yourself.”

“But Shanks is already learning!”

“I’m not teaching him, he’s learning by watching me. Also, he’s using a stick, not a real blade.”

Buggy pouted in anger, face turning almost as red as his nose. You rolled your eyes before ruffling his head, messing his hat much to his protest. “You have time so don’t rush, there are other ways to fight without full-on confrontation.”

“Con-frantotion?” Buggy scrunched his face at trying to pronounce the word. You forgot he’s six.  You combed your hair with your fingers, “Never mind.” you dismissed before walking away.

“Hey! Tell me what that means!”

“When you know more words.”

“I can read!”

“That’s not what I asked.”

_*_

This would be the third marine base you would enter. The third marine base you would destroy. Perhaps a normal nine year old wouldn’t be able to, but you were armed with knowledge of haki, the swords skills that you learned from your previous masters, and a bloodthirst that rivalled the devil.

The sand under your shoes crunched as yout rugged through the desert, sheathe and sword on your back, and sweat poured down your forehead like a river. Even with your light clothes and shorts, it was unbearably hot under the scorching heat of the sun. The knife in your pocket and the satchel over your shoulder were reminders on why you’re trekking this damned desert.

Up ahead, a desert city where water filled the rivers and canals, people of Alabasta descent milled around as marine soldiers march for patrol. The cloth you used as a blindfold and headwrap covered your hair and eyes while the loose long sleeve shirt hid your skin from the sun. With the observation haki you have, you walked through the city with no interruption, heading straight to the base. You hear the fearful chatter as marine soldiers marched past, you hear the pleading of citizens as a marine taunts and ppose his authority over them, you hear the bugging from a man as he’s dragged away for something he hadn’t done.

Corrupt. It’s a coincidence that you’re about to destroy the marines here when the city needed it. 

Later, you learned that marines here were all talk; all bark and no bite. They fell way to a mere nine year old with a sword, not standing a chance. You wonder if this what it meant to find it boring when other can’t challenge you anymore…

You destroyed crates and raided chests in hopes to find any resources you could use. At one point you found a devil fruit in a chest, it’s texture sandy. You regarded it with half-lidded eyes before putting it in your satchel. You then headed down in the dungeon, where the admiral might be. When you entered the admiral’s office, it was empty sans the guards there.

Your footsteps echoed throughout the dark and dry dungeon, the door creaking as you moved it. And with your knife, you blocked bullet that was shot your way. Its other half grazed your head yet you remained composed. You then moved–in the dark with only torches that almost dimmed, you dodged frantic bullets and with a lunge, you embbededth knife deep into his chest, right where his heart is. You pulled back and heard him fall to the ground with a thud.

Seeing as you have no need for the clothe, you undid the knot at the back and it fell away letting light shine on your eyes. Your hair came free, curls running wild as you ran a hand through your strands. You then scoured the cells, landing on civilians who were either poor or orphaned kids. 

You were then reminded of your island before the buster call…

You rummaged through the man’s clothes before finding the key to the cells. You hummed in satisfaction before going to free the people here, one by one. All shouted joyously at their freedom, kids clinging to your clothes as they say their thanks and cried while the adults expressed their gratitude to you. You say nothing to this.

The last cell held a boy  bit older than you. His hair was shoulder-length and eyes were narrow, a scar that bled across his nose, and ragged clothes not unlike your own. He was the only one who glared at you even as you unlocked his cell. 

A tingle at the back of your skull, a feeling of recognition yet it was vague. You ignored it before turning to leave–

“Wait.”

You paused glancing back at the boy in the cell.

“Have you seen a devil fruit in this shithole?”

Suddenly, it clicked for you.

Wordlessly, you took out the devil fruit in your satchel and threw it in the hands of Crocodile. “Take it, I have no use of it.”

You leave before the soon to be Sand-man could reply.

_*_

You felt a large hand ruffle your hair, making you glare at the old man for the umpteenth time. “Stop that.”

Rayleigh smiles back at you, “Oh, why not?”

“It’s annoying.”

“Well I can’t help it, your curls are so cute!”

You kicked his shins. “Old man.”

“Respect your elders, kid.”

“Old man.”

“Brat.”

< > Masterlist

[metatronhateblog]

Little bit of progress on the angelic language

I have several drafts of 'theories' and various things I've noticed in the show, but I thought I would share a little about this before I share any of those cause I know I mentioned it in my last post.

The Angelic Language...or whatever you wanna call it.

A week or two ago (I cannot remember how long it's been...probably only a week) my sister @lady-of-the-puddle and I printed off a shit ton of screenshots I took (I'll share my doc if anyone is super interested but there's nothing important in it as I've been doing all my work on paper.) From there we sat down, did a little matching of characters with real languages but frankly didn't bother spending too long with that cause frankly we're here to do more trial and error. But also it takes a long time to hand write in tons of different possible letter combinations on sheets of paper that we had to print out in black and white.

I previously took a screenshot from the scene where Michael is discussing the plan for Armageddon 2 Electric Boogaloo. I had a few thoughts on it and I'm wondering if it's quite possibly a key of sorts.

Here's a couple images of it. The first being the screenshot, the second being me adjusting the lighting so you can make out the symbols a little better.

As you can see there's two sets of symbols here and I have a couple theories as to what they mean but nothing quite lines up?? So there's that.

Here's my kinda half-assed notes on it that probably don't mean too much?

My theory here is maybe that it says something like 'The Earth' but if it does the characters don't match up where the 'H's would be soooo. My other thoughts on this were why on earth would Michael's bullet points be in English but everything else not? They're angels that clearly have their own language. Also why is the title on the document folder written in English and not this language? (I ask too many questions.)

My sister and I have tried a series of different letter combinations there and wrote them down in my screenshots of the giant ass text walls they show in the replay footage.

So far, nothing much has turned up (but also we've been super busy and haven't been able to try much.)

That being said, another thing I've found that...I find weird but I'm not sure what it means is that certain text walls seem to match other text walls for lack of better phrasing.

For example...

And I have closer images where Uriel and Saraquael's text change and match each other and you can make out symbols that the other cuts off, but to be honest I'm not sure how to show that too well without sending my photos through an editor. (I think my favorite thing about working with my sister on this is for whatever reason we both keep thinking these characters look like something we've seen in Nancy Drew games before.)

That's...really all I have for now. I haven't had much time to work on this and won't as I'm recently full-time and also in the middle of con-crunching. I just thought I'd share what my sister and I found a week ago (or however long it was as time has no meaning to me) because I'd mentioned it in my previous post about the all the scenes in the opening with Jim.

There will be more to come soon (maybe not with the language right now because that takes a lot of time and con-crunching is...well con-crunching) but I have several more posts drafted. Plenty talking about the opening sequence. A few about other things because my sister and I are losing our minds over this shit.

But soon enough you'll get to here lots about...typos and recurring things and out of place things. But for now, here's what little I have with this. I'll be back with more observations and speculation soon.

[whosyourcreepyunclenow]

alright, for some reason this exists. not quite aware about your boundaries, so I'm obligated to warn: this content may not be suitable for some readers

warnings: smut, ust, non-conish dub-con(?), toxic crap, sad silly nonsense, probably weird english

was written to a nice song though

(it's pov Michael but I can only write in second person, so imagine yourself a depressed middle-aged man and go ahead)

It’s supposed to be a fucking jinx, doesn’t it? Just how you missed the old times few crazy weeks ago, so much you hate ‘em now. And of course, hate yourself for missing ‘em, like it somehow brought back that wild crap right into your present day. What a joke.

Memories should remain memories. To indulge yourself in a good old shitty nostalgia, to dive headlong into that abyss again and get off scot-free. Your personal paradise of fun where the heart trembles, the night's still young, and the bullet in your shoulder doesn’t bother like a real one. No bruises from recoil, no shortness of breath. You’re the sharpest shooter, Mikey, the clearest mind, you always make the right decisions.

Such a calming little lie to fool yourself you could be better than this. Not just a drunk old loser, feeling sorry for himself, but a drunk old loser with history, which you wisely choose to left behind and move forward. You were a terrible person, you still are. However even a terrible person needs something to be proud of.

And there must be no way for that special something to become more than just a back door to escape reality. No fucking way.

The old days taste like nauseating warm beer and smell like piss. Stained with blood, sweat and cum, sound like annoyingly loud swearing and crunch of broken glass. It was a lot easier to forget their true colors, so you gladly forgot, leaving the only ones suitable for a proper melancholic reminiscence. You know, ain’t nothing wrong with romanticizing the past. The trouble begins when you're starting regret things. Oh man, you should never trust your memories, they’re such fabulists…

Another bottle became a pile of trash for Patricia to clean up. Not sure how obvious but you kinda hate her for no reason, just along for the ride. She could tidy up this rubbish dump for days, it’ll never get clean. She could call him good, kind, mature or whatever, he’ll never stop being himself. And neither will you.

Trying to steady the swaying room, you stabilize its dirty walls with your hands, occasionally grabbing a poster girl’s ass, she doesn’t get offended. The next one even deserved a slight slap, as if you weren’t already horny enough – to even feel the seductive warmth of skin through the faded paper and sincerely enjoy that little illusion of touch. Same 'bout an illusion of privacy behind the flimsy folding door you keep closed anyway.

At least he doesn’t mind. Being asleep and completely wasted, the only thing his doped body’s still capable of is snoring. Lying on his back, with his arms and legs spread out, in that smelly stretched briefs, he’s utterly disgusting and sexy at the same time.

Well, in the old days you wouldn’t think twice. But it ain’t the old days.

So you just carelessly shoved him aside and fell down with your face in the pillow, warm and wet from his oily hair. Took a deep breath. Fucking awful as always. He murmured something unintelligible, then turned on his stomach too, but faced to the other side. You don’t look at him either.

“Forget any idea ‘bout molesting me, pork chop. Or I’ll get sober and shove a grenade into your butt, you hear me?”

Feels like you’d blow up his butt right now, without any other tools except your own. Why the hell.

“You really flatter yourself, T. Like… greatly.”

Still somehow managed to keep your voice smooth, though the stupid nervous smirk makes it a bit softer. You swallowed hard, throwing the fuck out of your mind that nostalgic bullshit ‘bout using your saliva in a more efficient way. There was times when your fingers woulda been doing their job already, now they simply clenched into a fist, crumpling a checkered blanket. Those times have passed long ago.

“We both know you ain’t too picky.”

Is he taunting or just mocking you? Any mistake could be unreasonably costly in a lot of senses.

“Yeah, maybe.”

The catch is you ain’t even confident about yourself anymore, face it. Desire is enormous, the foretaste drives you crazy – hey, when was the last time you felt so aroused by someone? Or just aroused without any fucking reason, like in your twenties, but still aroused as fuck? Though it doesn’t mean that need can be satisfied, since any little bullshit’s enough to ruin the feeling and turn you off like a broken switch. So you hate yourself again and hate your body, hate your deceptive mind, hate your everything.

Guess getting old is a great excuse for losing interest, yeah? At least it works for Amanda and your other whores who demand from you much more than you're capable of. But the truth is you haven’t ever lost interest, you’ve just become more… picky? Or egoistic. Or less randomly horny for pretty things or simply tired from imitating it – that’s what they usually call sexual problems.

Resumed snoring let you know that T’s asleep again. So alright, you can continue feeling pity for yourself until the morning. The only thing you can do as long as you want.

Or there’s another option. Weirdly compromise, still crazy. Hence exciting.

You cautiously turned on your back and glanced at him to check, as if the obvious sound was not enough. Part of you treacherously want him to wake up at the worst moment possible, but clearly not yet. Man, what the fuck are you doing…

Quietly unbuckled your belt and unzipped your pants, suddenly worrying. Years ago it was his thing to masturbate on you sleeping, what always felt confusing when you caught him doing that. As if you were jealous of him to himself and somehow got offended, what a dumbass. Didn’t realize that every opportunity to touch someone you wanna touch is a treasure.

And now you’re casually squeezing your cock, remembering his. You jerked him half-ass mechanically, roughly, without giving a single fuck about his pleasure, the only one that really mattered was your own. Of course you tried to make it less obvious, but it was obvious – you were awful. And he loved you awful. More than anyone.

“Fuck, Trevor…”

Can’t help but whispering, not expecting to be heard. Your handjob is a lot better when you’re staring at his sweaty back, fighting the urge to remove these shitty briefs. Ain’t no even need to screw, you may climax just from looking at his naked ass.

It's almost perfect time for him to wake up and punch you. Almost.

Luckily, he doesn’t. Even when you’ve finally lost your damn mind and pull off his underwear, then predicably realized you need more than looking. And holy fuck… this was your last meaningful conclusion.

Quite unable to mess around, you got to the point, eagerly lubing up your cock with saliva and pushing apart his buttocks, barely maintaining a sense of reality… With all these toys he regularly shoves in himself, you thought it would be easier, but his hole just doesn’t let you in. So you spat on your fingers once more and smeared on his tight entrance, then tried again. He’s already disturbed enough to start moaning and lazily fidget, but not fully awake yet.

“Hey, T… You wanted the old me? You’ll get him.”

Finally, he howled when you pushed yourself inside, probably too fast. Ain’t exactly how things should be done, you was merely trying to avoid that awkward pause between “I wanna fuck you” and “I’m actually fucking you” stages. Just can’t deal with that clarifying relationships shit, not fucking now…

“FUCK!”

Alright, he woke up. And he’s trying to shove you out, if only you hadn’t held his bottom like a fucking lifeline.

“Am I shitting? Feels like a big turd’s stuck in my butt… Not so big, actually.”

“Hi to you too, Trevor.”

It’s so tense here like he’s trying to bit off your manhood with his anus and chew it. And maybe a little dry, yet not enough for him to lament.

“Remember what I said ‘bout molesting me, sugar?”

You spread out his cheeks slightly, conciliatory massaging them to appease, but he keeps struggling. It’s easier to lay down and put your weight upon him, bury yourself even deeper, softly mutter into his neck.

“C'mon, T, let me love you…”

He smells attractively horrible, alluring your lips to fondle his skin with short kisses. He tastes salty.

“It’s not fucking LOVE, you dick! It’s taking advantage!”

“Call it whatever you like.”

You thrust in him slowly, knead his hips with all tender affection you can muster, what the fuck else does he want? Alright, it ain’t really convenient now but lift him a bit to play with his boy too, and this time do it right… Oh please, just make sure to do it right.

God, he’s hard. He’s hard and hot like hell, goddammit…

“No! Just, NO I said! And pull your junk outta me!”

So this moron just slapped your hand, shoved it away and wriggled out from under your body, making you both highly unpleasant. Fucking great!

He got up, swaying and shaking, put up his briefs back on and somehow fixed his boner. Still doesn’t look at your face, though he’s not the only who hesitates. After all, you have no damn idea what went wrong or what he wanted you to do. From your perspective it felt as good as it could be, unspeakably good.

“Oh seriously, what’s the problem?”

Crap, he clearly didn’t like the question.

“What’s the problem?! WHAT’S THE FUCKING PROBLEM you asking?!”

“Yes, what’s the fucking problem!”

Fuck it. He finally turned and faced you, with so much desperate hate in his eyes that you went numb. Like everything what happened was so terribly wrong he could never forgive. Like you hurt him in ways you can’t even imagine.

“Listen… Right now, I’m making incredible efforts to not kill you, Michael,” his voice got menacingly quiet, yet notes of deeply rising anger strive to break through. “If that ain’t A PROBLEM to you, guess what I’d be doing with your corpse!”

Shit, he’s so fucking fine when he’s mad. Scary to realize, you’d probably rape him, if only he wasn’t a lot stronger, even with a such hangover. Or perhaps what you’ve already done can be as well considered as a sexual violence – of course, how else. So you’re a rapist now. Congratulations, pal.

“A-right, I got it,” but you’re still a human, who has his goddamn feelings too. “Go fuck yourself then.”

That treacherous, suicidal part of you expected him to react – in any way. He could punch you, slam you against the wall, chock you, shove a fucking grenade into your ass, rape you in revenge. You want him to do fucking anything, you just want him. Desperately.

Hastily zipping up your pants, slide open the door and leave. Patricia’s asleep on the coach or pretending being asleep. Who cares.

When harrowing horniness finally let you go, thirst hit. So bad you’d dry up the Alamo Sea despite its saltiness and ask for more. You bursted into a bathroom, opened the tap at full and drunk greedily from your palms until you felt sick, but couldn’t bring yourself to vomit. The water was muddy, rusty and smelled like sewer, lovely taste of a childhood. Lastly, you washed your face and turned to the broken mirror.

Of course, you’re miserable. Fat old fool with shadows under his eyes, saggy skin and smoky teeth. So what goddamn hopes you had for yourself? He might like that perfect old you, young and handsome, everyone’s blue-eyed boy. Oh, you were hot back in the day, admit it.

You were something to jerk on. Now you ain’t even someone to drunkenly fuck.

So go outside, get in the car. Find yourself the ugliest, the dopest hooker and blow your load into her stretched ass to chill out. Kill some strangers, if doesn’t help, trash someone’s car, rob a store. No other entertainment in this fucking nowhere.

[poisonedspider]

Jokes on me every time I think I will stay up late and write, I end up getting tired way earlier than I expected to. Honestly, the burn out is real right now. Mercury is in gatorade and everything is miserable. I have four days before the next con so I'm in con crunch mode and just....yeah. Woo. I'm honestly NEVER going to be fully caught up with drafts (because drafts keep coming in), but I love writing so it doesn't bother me. I mostly feel bad keeping you all waiting. ;; Once I have surgery I'll have nothing else to do BUT sit on my laptop soooo.