Eden’s Library

I'm on Fire

biker!Eddie x fem!artist!Reader

90's au

MDNI, 18+ ONLY

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 2.5 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15 - Part 16 -Part 17 - Part 18 - Epilogue

Summary: it's the mid-late 1990's and Eddie owns a mechanic garage/tow truck service with his Uncle Wayne. Reader is an artist who gets a flat tire on the freeway, and the rest is kismet. Lots of sexual tension, biker bad boy Eddie with a soft heart, both not sure how to navigate this adult crush they have on each other, amidst other complications. No Vecna, and they all met when they were young, but as very different people. Eddie and Steve are heavily tattooed and grew up in the MC life. Although Steve and Eddie's characters verge on OOC, I really try my best to keep them canon at their core. There will be dark themes later in this fic: cheating (not on reader), violence, allusions to domestic abuse, etc, so please continue with caution. Appearances by uncle Wayne, and eventually some other ST characters. Plenty of references for SOA fans to enjoy, though I don't go into detail about their ranks and whatnot. Eddie is in his early 30’s and reader is late 20’s to early 30’s.

A/N: This was the very first reader insert series I ever wrote for fandom. I adore those of you who have taken the time to show love for this! It's so nice to be able to share these stories with others and not just watch it rot away on my computer. Inspired by the song and video I'm on Fire by Bruce Springsteen

playlist

Series One Shots

AO3

Eddie & Wayne artwork Steve & Astrid artwork

biker!Eddie sitting for a painting

The Velvet Hammer Steve & Robin's house Eddie's apartment above the garage

A while ago I received a request about how the Arcana LIs would react to their familiars walking in on them during sexytimes, and I couldn’t not write it. Each headcanon will be posted separately due to length. Under the cut we’ll get the ball rolling with everyone’s favorite Count. Here it is @megustacat ! Sorry about the wait!

I’m eventually going to make Masterposts for my stories that have chapters and sequels. It’s gonna be a lot of work but I’m excited for it!

There’s also a new OC and story coming soon! I’m currently writing for him and Walker while also trying to edit for stories if already written but haven’t posted.

I haven’t been very good at posting on my AO3 account or my Wattpad so I also gotta get on top of that.

I've seen many wives talk about their husbands getting drunk and making mistakes. Maybe MC and Damon's marriage could face this problem too?

uhm... correct me if I'm wrong, but if he's drunk and unconscious, that means somebody raped this poor guy 😦

which is something that could happen too, not sure how your MC would react to this, but it's possible they could misunderstand this and see it as cheating, if you want to add some angst and drama~

canonically, Damon isn't much of a drinker, so he gets drunk quickly. but even then, he wouldn't cheat on MC. he'd react pretty aggressively if someone else tried to touch him or drag him to their home.

eh? trust? relationship? are we talking about the same character here? a literal serial killer? 😂

like… I totally get where you’re coming from if you’re thinking in terms of a normal romance story, but this isn’t that kind of game at all. it’s horror first and foremost, and it deliberately plays with themes that are meant to be disturbing, taboo, or uncomfortable.

the appeal comes more from the intensity, the danger, and that whole ‘this is wrong but intriguing’ feeling. it leans into a very specific horror/kink niche where fear and attraction blur together.

hallo~ 👋 so this is only about DG (in later chapters). I’m honestly not sure how to answer your question, since I assume you’re asking to figure out whether you’d be able to handle that scene. the thing is, everyone has different limits when it comes to this kind of stuff, so I can’t really reassure you one way or another ^^" it’s not a brief mention, it’s a full scene, and it’s very much designed to be arousing. think a mix of sex and horror, not meant to be super realistic. as MC, you can either be into it or try to resist, but DG won’t stop either way. so in the end, you’ll have to decide for yourself whether that kind of content is something that would upset you or if you’re okay with it.

welcome! here, have a cookie, you may need it now 🍪

I fear all non-con enjoyers (myself included) won’t be eating with this one 😞

Damon values consent (which is great), so he won't ever force himself on you under any circumstances. the closest thing you could get would be him masturbating while standing next to your bed and watching you sleep.

so yeah, not sure if this makes you less crazy about him, anon, or if you can live with that :"D

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summary: When Zander is brought to the abandoned house Avon and his friends call their own, he expects nothing more than another uneasy hangout. Instead, he’s confronted with something far more disturbing.

characters: Zander Valdez, Avon Lockehart and friends.

warnings: Graphic Violence, Animal Cruelty, Death of an Animal described

word count: ≈500

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The late afternoon sun shone through the windows of Avon’s hangout house, air dutsy with old cracked paint and long-neglected floorboards, casting golden streaks across the cluttered countertops. The air was thick with laughter—his friends’ laughter, not Zander’s. He shouldn’t have come. He knew it the second he walked in, but now it was too late.

"Avon, DON’T you dare fucking turn on that blender..!"

Zander lunged, but hands grabbed him, holding him back as Avon hovered his finger over the button, grinning like this was all some big joke. His red eyes, though blurry with threatening tears, focused on the small animal trapped, confused, and scared in the mechanical contraption; the sight itself was enough to make Zander's chest ache, a deep, familiar pang that he tried to swallow down. It was a small stray kitten, soft with matted and unkept fur; it was clear that this life had been unkind to it one too many times already, only to be met with that same evil again.

Zander’s breath was unsteady, but he forced himself to keep his voice level. "Avon. Please… step away from the blender."

He hated this. Hated the way the words felt in his mouth, hated that he was standing here in this house surrounded by them—people Avon called friends but who felt more like accomplices to something cruel. Part of him wished West was here. Wished Tursk was here. Someone who would actually step in before this spiraled further. ‘Could they, even?’ Zander clenched his jaw, fighting back the sting in his eyes. He wouldn’t cry. Wouldn’t give Avon the satisfaction of seeing a single tear roll down his cheek. But the knot in his throat was rising, and the sick feeling in his stomach wouldn’t go away. Avon still had that hold over him, and it made bile burn the back of his throat.

He watched Avon's eyes twist into a greedy glee he'd seen before, dark and delighted like a predator, and the smile that followed thinned to the edge of a knife, all wrong.Then Avon laughed, flipping his hand in the air like this was all just harmless fun. "Haha, fine, fine…. I was only kidding. Wasn’t like I was actually gonna do it."

Zander let out a shaky breath, his muscles loosening for only half a second—until a movement of encouragement was felt around him, the room filling with a sudden, gut-wrenching scream, mewls, and shrieks only an animal could make. The blender whirred to life. His head snapped up. His pulse hammered. Shoving past the hands restraining him, he rushed forward, heart pounding in terror as he slammed the blender off, though much too late. His hands trembled. His breath came in short, ragged bursts.

Behind him, Avon cackled. "Holy shit, sorry! My hands slipped."

Zander barely heard him. His ears were ringing, his vision blurred with tears he had fought so hard to keep in, spilling, flooding. His voice cracked when he finally spoke.

"No, no, no… what the fuck is wrong with you!?"

Tears poured, hot tracks cutting his face as his fingers curled into trembling fists by the blender. He had a hundred things to say, but the words knotted in his throat, raw and stuck; all he could think was, ‘How did it ever come to this?’

This a longer version of this one that was already posted. I decided I didn’t wanna just leave it there and wanted to go all the way for this. So here’s the result of that! Enjoy!

MDNI 18+ || CW: Throat Grabbing, Choking, Knifes, Hair Pulling, Rough Sex, Spanking, Begging.

The rapid thumping of feet echoed through the forest as a pair of red all stars quickly became covered in wet grass and mud. Finding a tree that was tall and thin, Walker stopped to catch his breath as he pressed his forehead onto it’s trunk, heavily breathing as tears pricked his eyes. His lungs burned as he swallowed, mouth dry from breathing so hard. Managing to slow his breath to a steady pace, he looked around the dark forest. All the trees looked the same, especially at night. How long had he been running? Was he close to home? He lightly sniffed the air, searching for the familiar sweet scent of peach trees, but got nothing. He must have been far. Far enough that no one would hear him if he were to call out for help. A shiver ran down his spine as he leaned into the tree, shoulder pressing against the wet bark. For a while, all he could hear was the forest around him. The scitter of squirrels, the light water droplets falling in the leaves, plopping onto the wet grass, a snapping of a twig, the caw of a crow. Wait…what?

CW: Blackmail/Human Trafficking/Mentions Of Pedophilia

MDNI 18+

Authors note: If any of the mentioned themes make you uncomfortable, please take care of yourself.

“I wouldn’t get too handsy with me, if I were you.”

Gripping their shirt, the elder man in front of them had an angry, crazed look on his face. The person whose shirt he had in a vice grip showed no signs of fear or even slight anxiety. They only had that sly grin and a playful, mischievous glint in their eyes.

“You wouldn’t want these to end up somewhere they shouldn’t be, would you?”

The elder man’s eyes flickered over to the photos in his blackmailer’s hands. There he was, clear as day. Walking into a restaurant with a young girl, who looked no older than sixteen and another photo of him walking into a motel with said sixteen. Room number on full display. Looking back to his blackmailer, he begrudgingly let go of their shirt, which they smoothed out with a laugh.

“Wow! That really got you to calm down, huh? Such a high temper.” They chirped.

“Honestly, you were basically asking to be followed, walking about with a sixteen year old on your arm like that. Oh, what was it you promised her? Help with bills or something like that? Classic ‘sugar daddy’ing.”

The elder man’s body shook with rage and humiliation. He knew he had no power. He couldn’t do anything. His whole empire would come crashing down if he tried anything that this…boy? Girl? He didn’t fucking know. And that’s why he was so pissed. How could he let a freak who didn’t even know what gender they were blackmail him into submission. This was ridiculous!

“Tell me Mr. Emerson,” the freak said, with a fox-like grin.

“What would you be willing to give up for your own reputation?” It asked with its arms behind its back.

The elder man, who is called Mr. Emerson, scoffed. “There’s nothing here that I would give a freak who doesn’t even know what gender they are.” He spat.

“Oh, so we’re being transphobic now? How funny! I’ll be sure to add that to the list.” The freak giggled.

“Also my name isn’t ‘freak’. It’s Erik. With a ‘K’!”

They explained with a charming smile. Emerson couldn’t care any less than he already did.

“What the fuck do you want from me?” He hissed.

“Fine, fine. Straight to the point I see.” Erik huffed grumpily, upset that the old fart won’t play along.

“I want to make an exchange. You give me something I want, and I don’t release these lovely photos to the public news station!”

Emerson’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What the fuck could possibly want from me, you little freak?”

“I told you, my name is Erik!” They corrected, with a hand on their hip. “And that depends on how…badly you don’t want these released.”

Erik fanned themself with photos, teasing the man in front of them with that same sickening fox grin. Emerson thought for a moment. If he didn’t give this…Erik person what they wanted, the photos get released, but if he does he gets to go another day without the truth coming out. Did he really want to give up money for this…?

“I’m waiting.” Erik chimed, mimicking an old cartoon hedgehog character that Emerson used to love as a child.

Letting out a defeated sigh, his shoulders slumped.

“How much do you want?”

Erik paused. “Excuse me?”

“How much fucking money don’t want, you scrawny little freak!” Emerson's voice boomed throughout the house, but Erik wasn’t phased.

In fact, he laughed. He straight up cackled. Clutching his belly as his laughter bellowed through the very walls. After a few more moments, Erik finally calmed down enough to speak.

“You…think I want—HA!”

Erik gasped as his stomach started to hurt from how hard he was laughing. Emerson just started in confusion and a little bit of fear.

“I never said I wanted money, Harold Emerson.”

Hearing his full name made the elder man’s stomach sink. But before he could ask how he even knew that information, Erik spoke.

“I want…your wife and daughter!”

He said it with such a large grin, as if it were the simplest thing in the world to ask for. Emerson’s heart rate rose as he could hear the screams of his wife and daughter in the back of his home, they were getting closer. He turned his head to see his wife and child, struggling against two men all covered in black, as they gripped their arms in place, preventing them from wriggling free.

“You must choose Mr. Bond. Give up your wife and child or perish at the hands of your new cell mates! What will it be, Mr. Bond?” Erik asked, gleefully bouncing in his heels.

“You’re fucking insane! You’re fucking freak!” Emerson shouted over the screams of his wife and child.

“Maybe!” Erik said, walking towards the elder man.

“How badly do you want to keep it secret that you fuck girls that are the same age as your daughter, Mr. Bond?”

That seemed to stop the screaming.

“Oops!” Erik said in fake shock. “Did I say that out loud?”

Emerson dared not turn around as he heard his daughter empty the contents of her stomach while his wife could only let out incomplete sentences of why, how and what he could possibly be thinking.

“They know now, Mr. Bond! Make a choice! Make a choice!” Erik urged, giddy with excitement.

“Choose. Choose! Choose!”

They began to chant along with the shouting of the elder man’s wife and child, screaming at him to get these men to let them go. They didn’t care! They just wanted to be set free! They could cover it up and never speak of it again, all they wanted was to be—

“Take them away.”

Erik, who wasn’t surprised at all, put his hands on both his cheeks with a gasp. He moved his hands to cover his wide grin as he watched the wife and daughter get dragged away into the back of their home, where a car door shuts before speeding off.

Erik could only giggle as the elder man fell to his knees, sobbing into hands.

“Oh come on, don’t cry!” Erik chirped.

“Look on the bright side! Now you have nothing holding you back from all those sixteen year olds you like so much!”

Emerson glared up at Erik, eyes full of hate and sorrow all at once. Erik loved it.

“Oh, and one more thing…”

Erik positioned himself in front of the elder man, before kicking him across the face, knocking him to the ground and making him lose some blood and a tooth.

“My name is Erik.”

The elder man screamed and sobbed, tears streaming down his face as he weighed on his hard tile floor, watching as Erik happily skipped out the door. He got a notification on his phone, from an unknown number before getting another notification from his bank account. The money had been deposited in from his client and Erik was very happy.

I wanted to try a hand at writing something than what I’m used to. I wanted to get out of my comfort zone so it’s easier for me to write for my dark OCs!

Chapter One: Feeding Crows

This is a rewrite of the introductory story for Walker.

Formally known as “ToothKiller!Wally” He is now known as “Cavities Of Hysteria! Wally” or just “Cavity!Wally”.

He also doubles as an OC, so you can choose to see him as a puppet or a human. Either way the story is the same! Nothing changes.

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summary: West can’t shake the feeling that something is going on between Avon and Zander,something closer, more intimate than it should be. Tursk brushes it off… until one night, beneath shared blankets and the illusion of privacy, West’s suspicions are quietly confirmed as Avon draws Zander further into their twisted “friendship”.

characters: Zander Valdez, Avon Lockehart, West García, Tursk Hensley

warnings: Gaslighting, grooming, coercion, dubious consensual intimacy

word count: ≈700

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As the two settled into the comfort of the blankets, it was time to sleep over at Tursk's house this weekend. It was a common habit in the group to sleep over at each other's houses every now and again—usually every other weekend.

As the months passed and they neared the final stretch of high school, Avon and Zander seemed closer than ever.

West noticed it.

Tursk usually brushed their behavior off, calling them just friends—a duo, even. But West knew that wasn’t the case. It wasn’t just a "vibe" or some unspoken feeling. He saw it with his own two eyes.

There were moments.

Like the way Avon would run his fingers through Zander’s hair. The way they always seemed a little too close. Breathless in the bathroom. Once, West even caught them in the broom closet.

But no matter how many times he rambled, pleaded, or tried to explain it to Turks, he was always dismissed. Brushed aside.

—

That afternoon, the four of them stood in the city park. The sun beamed down overhead, warm against the shifting leaves that scattered in the breeze.

“West, you’re imagining things,” Tursk huffed, arms crossed as he looked down at the tanned, blond boy.

“I am not! You—they—They were just kissing! At the bench!” West tripped over his words, flustered.

“They were not,” Tursk said flatly, pointing toward the pair. “They’re just sitting there. Look.”

Sure enough, Avon and Zander sat quietly on the bench, glancing toward them before looking away, calm and composed.

West’s voice grew more frantic. “No, I promise, I swear they’re into each other. Or gay. Or something. Something is going on between them, I—”

Tursk rolled his eyes and placed a hand on West’s shoulder. “West, you worry me sometimes. No one is gay. Hell, if anyone here is gay, it’s probably you.”

“WHAT?!” West exploded.

__

The constant denial had soured West’s mood—not toward Tursk necessarily, but toward Avon and Zander.

For some reason, whenever he tried to point it out, whenever Tursk looked, Avon and Zander would just stop. Like nothing had happened.

It was starting to make West feel crazy. Like maybe Tursk thought he was losing it. Like maybe it was schizophrenia or something.

That night, curled under the covers in Tursk’ living room, West closed his eyes, trying to push the thoughts aside. But minutes later, he heard two giggles from under a different set of blankets.

***

Avon flicked on the flashlight of his phone. Under the blanket, Zander watched him, eyes wide and curious.

“Do you wanna practice before we watch videos?” Avon asked, voice soft and casual.

Zander hesitated, laughing nervously as something twisted in his stomach. Not love—no, it wasn’t that. It was fluster, anxiety. That itchy kind of feeling that made his skin crawl and his throat tighten.

“Uh… practice what?” he asked.

Avon snickered, leaning in a little closer. “You know… the thing we do.”

“Kissing?” Zander asked, brows furrowed.

Avon groaned. “God, stop calling it that. It’s not like we’re doing it for real. It’s just practice. For when you get in a relationship or whatever. Same for me.”

Zander looked around the blankets nervously. “But… you’ve been in a relationship. And what if Tursk or West sees? Will they—”

Avon cut him off, gently placing a hand over his mouth.

“Shh. You’re loud,” he whispered. “Kissing’s like anything else—it takes practice. You don’t wanna get rusty. And you can only get better, right? It’s not a big deal. Relax.”

Zander fell silent. As Avon’s hand pulled away, so did some of the panic in his chest. “My... my bad,” he mumbled. “Then, sure.”

He gave a small laugh as Avon leaned in closer, their faces just inches apart. But as they began, Zander couldn’t stop the thought creeping into the back of his mind.

Was this really no big deal?

Kissing was supposed to be intimate. Loving. And no matter how often Avon brushed it off as something casual, just “practice”, it felt off. Logically, it made sense. Technically, sure. But emotionally… something about it clawed at Zander.

It stuck in his stomach like slime—suffocating and cold.

He hated feeling like that.

But he didn’t know why.

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summary: You’re a captive, locked in the basement of America’s top actor, Devon Darling. But what happens when you step out of line… or try to escape?

characters: Devon Darling

warning: kidnapping, neglect, general violence, implied forced medical procedures

word count: ≈1K

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As a light in the corner buzzed with a continuous wave of sound within the darkness, you lifted yourself up on your elbows, your body sinking slightly into the dirty, grim mattress below you. The same mattress that had seen many people just like you.

As your eyes opened and vision focused on the dim room surrounded by concrete walls and grimy floors, a pain shot throughout your legs. It was a sharp reminder of the pain that was forced upon you by your captor, your ankles pulsing in mind-fogging pain. However, the pain didn’t take away your ability to be alert completely. As you shifted your body weight to the side and against the caged wall, you heard footsteps coming down the stone steps that always felt so far from your reach. You used to tense and shiver at the mere echoes of the expensive clacking boots of your captor, but now it was simply routine. A month of isolation with one person would do that to you…

The idea of escaping felt far, and even further with your injuries. It’s been two weeks since the man had broken your ankles, and yet there were no signs of you getting better. Though, you weren’t surprised. You’ve been forced to stand, to walk, and sometimes move your food in less than comfortable movements to properly heal.

You wondered how a man like Devon Darling—America’s darling, idol, sweetheart—could be so evil. So sadistic.

He’d try to help you walk, to help you move—but the way he grinned at you with smug satisfaction told you all you needed to know. He didn’t want you to get better; he simply enjoyed the sliver of torture he was able to pull from your weakened state. You stayed awake at nights believing it somehow fueled some sick, power-hungry part of him—or maybe it was deeper.

As the footsteps closed in, a shadowy figure loomed over your disabled state. Then finally, a click. There was that same charming face, and usually you were met with a state of distance or disgust—but instead you were flashed a warm and sympathetic smile.

“Hi there, cherry… holding up okay?” He tilted his head as his eyebrows raised and twisted together in false concern. Humming at your silence, he knelt down and held his hand on the exterior of the cold, soulless cage between you both. “Are you… behaving?”

His tone teased at you, a pout in his voice. He knew you had no other choice than to behave in a state like this. And still, too irritated, too pained, too exhausted—you stayed silent. He wasn’t angry, though, just content.

Devon stood up and walked toward a locked crate. “You know, you silly little thing, you aren’t speaking much.” He continued, retrieving a set of keys, “if you hadn’t pulled that awfully stupid — idiotic — stunt a few weeks ago, you’d still have two perfectly working ankles.”

You remembered two weeks ago. You had thought you had an opening—so desperate to leave. You don’t know what you were thinking. You’d snapped. Thrown a plate of untouched food at him. A pathetic attempt to buy yourself seconds. A distraction. But within minutes, you were on the floor, screaming, your ankles torn open by the barbed metal crown of a baseball bat.

He was right. You would have still had two well-working ankles, and yet here you were. He used to visit you every other day. Since then, it had been less. Less attention. Less food. Less pretending.

But now, here he was again. And smiling.

“That’s okay,” he cooed. “Today’s a special day. An occasion, if you will.”

Your head lifted.

He chuckled. “Wow. That got your attention, hm?”

With surprising ease, he unlocked your cage and lifted you into his arms. Your weight didn’t seem to bother him. He carried you like a doll to the medical table near the far side of the room — the one beside the tripod. The one with the blinking red light.

“I’ve got something that’ll help with your little ankle problem,” he whispered, setting you down like he cared. “I’m awfully sorry about leaving for so… long.”

He brushed a strand of hair from your face. His touch was soft. Reverent.

“You must be hungry, hm?” he said, voice hushed and affectionate. “Don’t worry. We’ll eat… after we’re done.”

His fingers curled under your chin.

And then he smiled again.

Turning away from your face, he focused his attention back on a metal cabinet bolted into the wall. He hummed softly to himself as he shifted through the supplies — some medical, others… not. You couldn’t see all of it from your angle, but the distinct sound of glass clinking and something metallic scraping together sent a fresh wave of unease through your chest.

None of it was standard. None of it was safe. And yet here he was, pulling them out like toys and party favors. You figured someone like him didn’t suffer from a lack of access to anything. Celebrity. Money. Status. Charm.

How deeply unfortunate for you.

Then came the soft hiss of a cap being pulled, the rubbery squeak of a syringe being primed. Devon turned, holding up a vial filled with a cloudy anesthetic fluid and a long syringe in one hand, followed by something heavier in the other. Your eyes barely had time to process the strange smile on his face before you saw it — the bone saw.

He waved both in your direction like he was some game show host. “Surprise~” he sang, the smile widening just enough to make your stomach twist.

Your breath stopped. No grin should look that proud with tools like those in hand. He stepped closer, the dim lights glinting off the metal of the bone saw.

“And before you ask,” he added with a laugh , tapping the syringe lightly against his palm, “Of course I’ll numb you first. I’m not a complete monster, cherry.”

Though he spoke quickly under his breath, “Most times anyways.”

He tilted his head and pouted, mock-offended by your trembling state and silence. Then he laughed—quietly, warmly before setting his things down and buckling you to the table. You struggled of course, scared, terrified of what was to come. You screamed at the idea, the possibilities all leading to one thing.

Amputation.

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summary: Avon comes over for “quality time,” expecting Zander’s claimed twisted habits…only to catch him e-dating instead. Not exactly what he imagined… until one folder proves he hadn’t been wrong after all.

characters: Zander Valdez , Avon Lockehart

warnings: Self-harm, Mutilation, Manipulation

word count: ≈500

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Zander sat in the chair as Avon hovered over him, the older male’s hand snaking around his shoulder. He’d gotten used to the unasked-for physical contact over the years, so it didn’t bother him much. But this time… he was being judged—and god, was it awful.

“Wow, wait,” Avon adjusted his glasses as he peered into the screen on Zander’s desk in his dim bedroom. “Are these, like, your… online girlfriends or something?” he asked, eyeing the list of people in Zander’s DMs—recently opened ones, too.

It wasn’t just delusional fans or friends who were just as hopeless as he was—no… these people were different.

Zander stammered, “W-What?! No! It’s not like that…” He tried to clear his name, desperate to kill any assumptions Avon might have—but it was much too late for that.

Avon grinned and let out a short laugh. “Ah… I’d say otherwise.” Glancing to the side, he thought for just a moment before snickering to himself. “Open them up. I wanna see.”

Zander looked up at Avon; his eyes were glued, determined, unwavering. He knew better than to say no, so he simply sighed and opened one up, too flustered to even choose properly.

Avon snatched the mouse from his hand, mouth hanging open in shock. “Oh—oh wow… WOW!… ‘I’ll send you Nitro if you—’”

Zander abruptly cut him off. “SHUT UP! Don’t act like you haven’t done dumb shit like that too…”

Avon let go of the mouse and hummed into Zander’s ear. “Maybe once or twice. You’re really playing into the whole Discord moderator thing, huh? Though I’m surprised there isn’t worse. You talked a big game, Zandi~”

Zander turned around to properly face Avon. He was cornered in his chair, but it wasn’t anything he wasn’t used to. That didn’t mean it wasn’t… uncomfortable… in one way or another.

Zander rolled his eyes and smiled. “Of course there’s worse. Look.”

He turned to his screen and opened up a secluded folder. Inside was a subfolder labeled “cvts.”

After a few clicks… there it was. A gallery full of different people with different parts of their bodies cut in various ways. Some cuts were small, others much larger. Some of the victims even said Zander’s name. All the files were labeled with what Avon could only assume were usernames, legal names, and dates.

The rings in Avon’s eyes widened with interest and excitement. “That’s more like it! Wow…” He stared in wonder for a moment before glancing back down at Zander. “See? I was about to say… I knew I taught you better than that. But this—this is definitely more my style.”

Avon watched Zander as he thought. Then, with a breathy sigh, he turned Zander toward him again.

“Don’t worry, Zander…” his voice dipped low as he brought his legs to either side of Zander’s, sitting comfortably in his lap. “I won’t tell anyone about your other little e-kitten hobbies.” He purred teasingly.

Zander jolted. “E-e-kitten!?” He looked around in a frenzy and pushed Avon off his lap. “Fuck off!”

Avon couldn’t even be mad. Annoying Zander with his torment was probably the most entertaining thing he’d done all week.