#but ohhh my back. and my face that has literally no blood in it so my mom thought I was going to pass out. I need to lie down. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sister-lucifer · 8 months ago

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A COLLAB WITH @cryptidcircuswrites ! PLEASE CHECK OUT HIS VERSION HERE!

Genre: Gore smut

Summary: A mission goes awry and Toby is shot straight through the skull. Tim decides to take the new hole for a spin, and Toby is more than happy to let him have it.

Content/warnings: OHHH MY GOOOOD DONT FUCKING READ THIS IF YOU HAVE A WEAK STOMACH, Toby literally gets his brain fucked, bullet hole wound fucking, explicit gore, I cannot emphasize this enough STRAIGHT UP PENIS IN BRAIN SEX, brain creampie, guns/shooting/etc, age gap but everyone is a consenting adult, fake out death, Toby vomits a little at the end, cum leaking out of face holes it should never be in, mirror sex, rough dom top Tim, Tim bullies Toby for his trauma regarding his physically abusive father, use of homophobic language/slurs, degradation, just general nastiness, very mean spirited. NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART. THIS IS AS DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT AS IT GETS.

A/N: if you skipped the warnings on this one or didn’t read them all the way, go back and fucking look at all of them, otherwise don’t read.

Breaking and entering.

It��s a routine for Tim and Toby at this point.

Tim can brute force open any door, Toby can pick any lock, and both of them have long since shaken off any qualms about taking a life. They’re skilled at it now, neither of them ever leaving the cabin without their weapon of choice. In a line of work like this one, after all, you can never be too prepared.

This was supposed to be easy.

Three people in the house, a couple and their third wheel squatting in an abandoned vacation home. Bare bones interior, probably no weapons.

Probably.

A lot of good ‘probably’ had done them.

Toby had gone in while Tim stood watch in the doorway, just in case one of their targets tried to run out. His revolver fit into his palm like a glove, his grip confident and ready. He’s done this a million times before.

Tim can only hear the altercation going on in the back rooms of the house, but he has a good idea of what’s happening.

The sound of a hatchet coming down onto a throat.

One down.

A woman screams. Something knocks over, a shelf or a table. A splatter. Silence.

Two down.

A man cries out. Something hits the wall. Rogers swears. There’s a struggle. A gunshot rings out.

…A gunshot.

A gunshot?!

Footsteps.

Fast, frantic footsteps coming down the hallway.

Tim readies himself, aiming towards the dark hall with a hand that is far too steady. He’s holding his breath. The steps are getting closer.

In a split second’s time the last target emerges from the shadows, Tim’s gaze zeroes in on the whites of his eyes and the trigger of his revolver is pulled by a swift finger one, two, then three times.

The shots ring in his ears as the body falls limply to the floor, devoid of life in an instant.

Three down.

But still one bullet unaccounted for.

“Rogers?” Tim calls into the hallway, stepping over the body without looking down.

No answer.

“Rogers!” He says again, with more authority this time.

Nothing.

That little fucker runs his mouth like an engine at all hours of the day, but now he’s quiet?

A stabbing pain of fear twists in Tim’s gut.

Their ‘boss’ won’t let them die, he knows that. The pseudo immortality they’ve been given keeps their bodies functioning and regenerating even after some of the worst injuries one could imagine; he knows that, he’s felt it, and yet…

This silence is sickening.

He can’t stop himself from rushing into the makeshift bedroom, heavy boots on the creaky wood floor announcing his presence before he calls for his partner again.

“Answer me, dammit, Rogers!”

He looks around the room, scanning the blood splattered walls. Two bodies are slumped against them, opposite to each other, one with its neck severed and the head hanging on by a thread of viscera, and the other with half of its innards thrown to the floor. Neither are Toby, he knows that in an instant.

Then his gaze trails to the center of the floor.

The cold washes over him so suddenly he feels faint. He can feel the color draining from his face as he lays eyes on his partner, face down on the ground, a thick splatter of blood painting a moonlit halo around his head.

Or what’s left of it, anyways.

A hastily fired bullet has carved a path through the boy’s skull and out the other side.

Clean through.

Tim’s body seizes with shock, disgust, grief, and everything in between, tensing so suddenly and so harshly he nearly passes out. A hand clamps over his mouth as it opens in a silent scream, a gasp that can’t escape because he can’t breathe. He rushes to the body before he can stop himself.

“Rogers?! Rogers, get up!” He demands, but the way his voice cracks and trembles shows his true fear. He shakes his partner’s still body harshly, desperate to jar him into consciousness.

There’s no movement.

Not a sound.

Tim’s eyes start to wet behind his mask. He shakes harder, even bringing a fist down on his shoulder blade.

Nothing.

“This isn’t fucking funny, Toby!” Tim screams, landing a few more punches on his back, “I’ve seen you take worse than this, get up!”

Not even a twitch.

The realization settles in like splinters under Tim’s skin.

He backs away from the body, the room spinning around him. He grasps at his face under his mask, his lungs starting to expand and restrict so fast it’s painful. There’s a searing panic burning the back of his skull and threatening to engulf his entire body. He stumbles back and falls onto one of the now bloodied mattresses their targets had been sleeping on.

This isn’t happening.

He’s not really gone.

He’s not really gone he’s not really gone he’s not really gone he’s not really gone he’s not really gone—

A sudden noise makes Tim jump out of his skin, his eyes shooting up to find the source of the sound.

Was that a…cough?

He looks down at Toby’s body.

It hasn’t moved.

Maybe it was just air escaping, or some other weird thing bodies do after death. If he didn’t get up already, then he must be…

Tim nearly screams when Toby suddenly splutters and hacks, his body jerking as he fights for air. Tim is frozen in place as he watches the partner he thought was dead slowly struggle to get up, managing to get on his hands and knees. He coughs again, spitting onto the ground and groaning at the unpleasant but not unfamiliar sight of blood.

“Yeugh…god, it’s in m-my nose,” Toby mumbles with a sniffle, wiping his face with his sleeve. He doesn’t notice Tim as he sits up on his knees, inspecting himself in a way that is far too casual.

…He has no idea what just happened.

Tim can feel his eye twitching as he stands up slowly, his frenzied gaze trained on the younger man as he approaches. Toby looks up at the sound of the footsteps, and Tim has to stop himself from reacting to the sight. His body trembles as he forces himself to stay still.

Toby’s right eye is completely gone. There’s not even a shred of the eyeball left, only a pulsing, bloody cavity he instantly recognizes as the entry hole of a bullet.

Toby blinks up at Tim with his remaining eye.

“S-Shit, I must’ve passed out when—bitch!—when h-he hit me, heh. What, you-you thought I was—grrrk!—d-dead for real?” Toby asks with a head tilt and an amused giggle. Tim’s eyes narrow.

Slowly Tim turns his head, following the imaginary trail the bullet would have made based on where Toby fell.

Right there, lodged into the decrepit wall right next to the doorway.

The first bullet.

Clean through, and out the back.

Toby follows his gaze, squinting in the dark to see whatever it is his senior partner is seeing.

“…O-Oh shit,” He mutters, “Talk about a-a close—don’t listen!—a close call—c-call—call me!—hehe…”

Tim stares back at him with a look in his eyes that says ‘You have no fucking idea.’

“…W-Why are you looking at me— a-at me like that?”

Tim looks around. For some reason, he’s not sure how to answer that.

That is, until he lays eyes on a conspicuously mirror shaped object draped in a sheet and pushed into the corner.

Yeah, it’s easier to just show him.

Tim shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he walks over to the mirror, trying not to rush. He’s annoyed with Toby for scaring him like that and nearly bringing him to tears, even if it’s not really his fault. Maybe startling him a bit will take the edge off that embarrassment.

Toby’s eye follows him closely as he walks, then watches as his hand slowly raises to grasp the sheet obscuring the mirror. His brow raises, curiosity piqued.

The sheet is pulled away in an instant. The cloud of dust that results makes Toby cough, trying to wave it away from his face. He squints through the grimy mist, struggling to make out his own reflection in the mirror.

“L-Look, Tim, I don’t know what it-it is that you n-need me to—suck it! fuck you!—see, but I-I don’t— Oh my fucking God?!”

There it is.

Toby crawls closer to the mirror, his remaining eye wider than Tim had ever seen it and the hole where the matching one would’ve been stretching gruesomely.

Tim winces. Toby can’t feel it, even if he could feel pain normally all that nerve damage would make it numb, but Tim can’t stop imagining what it would feel like.

“…Jesus Christ…” Is all Toby can manage as he looks at what remains of his face. He feels around the wound, getting far too close to touching the exposed insides for Tim’s comfort. Toby stares at himself for a long few moments. Tim can’t tell what he’s thinking.

Then Toby turns to his partner, and to Tim’s surprise, he’s sporting the widest, most lopsided grin he’s ever seen, his crooked teeth stained with blood on one side where it runs down his cheek from the wound. Tim holds back a shudder.

“The fuck you cheesin’ for?” Tim growls, walking around behind Toby to see him in the mirror, “You nearly got half your damn face blown off!”

“Relax, o-old man!” Toby replies without missing a beat, “In a-a few days there won’t e-even be a— b-be a mark…”

Tim rolls his eyes behind his mask. That’s true, yes. An injury this extensive will take a bit to regenerate, but it’ll grow back like nothing happened. Still, Toby doesn’t even seem mildly disturbed. He practically saw himself die, and here he is giggling to himself and moving his face in odd ways just to see the horrid wound contort in the mirror. The quiet squelching noises it makes nearly bring Tim to vomit.

“…You’re not even a little put off by the fact that…you know. You’re missing half your fuckin’ face?!”

Toby lets out a sharp laugh at Tim’s outburst, amused by his clear discomfort.

“Don’t be s-such a—bitch! bastard!— baby, I-I think it’s—asshole!—I think it’s k-kinda cool. Besides…”

He turns to look up at Tim, yellow teeth glowing in the moonlight that leaks in through the busted windows.

“…I-I got a brand new hole f-for you to try out.”

Tim gasps in disgust. Before he can think a hand comes up to smack Toby upside the head, though he immediately regrets it when a splatter of blood is thrown to the floor as Toby rocks forward.

“Don’t say shit like that, you dirty fuckin’ pervert!”

Toby nearly breaks out into hysterics at that, grabbing his sides as he laughs like a maniac. His tics increase tenfold at the sudden rush of energy, his fingers flexing unnaturally and tearing at his sweatshirt.

“H-How can I not?! You m-make it so f-fucking—fuck! funny!— fun, haha!” Toby replies, his voice cracking as his head jerks involuntarily in all directions.

Tim crosses his arms, huffing in annoyance but not sure what to say. He can feel his cheeks getting warm under his mask. He hates when Toby laughs at him. It pisses him off like nothing else.

He stares daggers into Toby’s restless reflection as he leans into the mirror to inspect his wound again, mumbling to himself endlessly and doing his best to stay still.

Toby’s rambling starts to fade out as Tim glares at his mirror image. He can feel something dark bubbling up inside of him, its vines sprawling out and over his body as he marinates in his thoughts.

He thought he was gone.

For a second there, he really thought he’d lost Toby for good.

And now here he is, without a care in the world, looking at his own fucking gunshot wound like it’s a new tattoo.

Someone oughta teach this kid a lesson.

Tim’s not sure what comes over him, but something, a nagging little thought has settled into his brain and taken root there. It thumps in the back of his skull like a heartbeat under the floorboards. He pulls one of his hands from its glove, looking down at his bare palm.

“…You think this is all some joke, don’t you?” Tim mutters, forcing the words through gritted teeth. Toby doesn’t even turn to look at him.

“W-Why are so damn u-uptight, old man? It’s not—grrrk!—it’s not like I d-died. Psuedo-immortality, r-remember?”

“But you could’ve. You know at the end of the day you can’t really trust anything that monster gives you. It would kill you in an instant if it felt threatened or betrayed.”

“T-The fuck is your— i-is your problem?!”

Suddenly Toby isn’t all smiles anymore. His head jerks to the side violently, pulling a sickening pop from his neck. Tim is used to these mood swings, but that doesn’t stop the heavy tension that settles over the room.

“Y-You’re always on my back about something, a-aren’t you old man?!” Toby hisses. Tim’s ungloved hand squeezes and flexes at his side.

“You a-always got something to say about m-me, or what I—fucker! shit!—what I-I think, you can never j-just let me—“

Toby is cut off as a high pitched cry is violently forced from his throat, making his body spasm as it dissolves into an animalistic moan like neither of them have ever heard. It feels like every nerve in his body is seizing, splitting apart and contorting under his skin. He almost screams at the feeling, but he can’t manage it. He’s choking on nothing.

There’s a sickening squelch as something is ripped from the back of his skull, and he falls forward onto his hands, dizzy and struggling to breathe.

“W-What…what the f-fuck…was…”

He can’t even finish the sentence between his inability to process the unnatural sensation that just overtook him and the indescribable feeling still rippling through his body.

Slowly he cranes his neck to look back up into the mirror. Instantly his eye is locked onto Tim’s, but he isn’t looking back. He’s staring at something else.

He follows Tim’s gaze down slowly, swallowing thickly with a sudden nervousness. His eye widens as it falls on the thing that has captivated Tim‘s gaze:

His ungloved hand, the middle and ring fingers now dripping with blood and viscera not his own.

No. Fucking. Way.

“Did…d-did you just…”

Tim doesn’t answer.

He doesn’t have to.

For the first time in a long time, Toby is still. His twitching and jerking ceases, his face halts its uncomfortable wrenching; He’s still, and soundless.

There’s a beat of silence where they both just stare at Tim’s bloodied hand, neither of them moving an inch. It’s like time has stopped in this instant. Toby can feel his heartbeat throbbing in his brain. Something in his chest is twisting and turning with a burning emotion he can’t quite place yet.

He doesn’t even have time to process the sudden movement before Tim has plunged his fingers into the wound once again.

This time Toby is forced to watch his reflection in the mirror as Tim violates the gorey cavity, thick digits rooting around inside his head and shooting a new sensation through him with every touch. His entire body stiffens, his mouth falling open involuntarily as he loses control of it. He can feel his senses being reduced to mush as he groans, the endless sound falling from his lips in unintelligible waves. It’s mindless, desperate babbling, but he can’t do anything else.

Toby watches the depraved scene in the mirror until his eye starts to roll back in his head, further than it should be able to. Tim watches the hazel iris recede until only white is left. Only then does he finally give some reprieve, yanking his hand back and shaking off the chunks that come with it.

Toby’s head bows towards the ground as he catches his breath, his entire body rocking as he heaves desperately for air. He’s too preoccupied to notice the way Tim is leering down at him, his breathing now hot and labored.

“…How did that feel?”

Toby sneers at the question, not looking up.

“H-How did it feel?! You’re d-digging around—shhhh!— in m-my fucking brain, d-dipshit, how do you— d-do you think it f-feels?!”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking. I know it doesn’t hurt, so how does it feel?”

For some reason, Toby doesn’t have an answer to that. He wants to snap back with something witty and biting, to tell him it feels like Hell and back and if he doesn’t stop he’ll scatter his brains next, but…

That wouldn’t be the total truth.

“…It…I-It feels…” He stammers, unable to find the words. He sits back up on his knees, locking eyes with his partner in the mirror. Tim is silent. He’s anticipating the rest of that sentence. Toby thinks for a moment, a series of tongue clicks in an odd rhythm sounding as he pauses.

“…It…I-It wasn’t bad, if that’s w-what you’re looking for.”

Tim’s breath hitches.

Only Toby could hear a sound so small, yet so telling.

He has to push this further.

“A-Actually it was kind of…k-kind of good, y-you know? I-I don’t know—rrrngh!—how to explain it, but i-it just…it’s like n-nothing I’ve ever f-felt or imagined, I-I—“

Toby cuts himself off with a gasp as Tim grasps his hair tightly. His other hand moves to his belt. The sound of the metal buckle makes Toby shiver.

Tim leans down a bit, speaking lowly to his partner.

“Keep talking.”

Toby’s stomach flips.

Tim’s not giving him a choice.

“I-It’s like…fuck, it’s l-like every muscle in my— in my b-body is spasming like c-crazy,” Toby continues, watching with crazed eyes as Tim slides the belt from its loops. He grits his teeth as it clatters to the ground.

He doesn’t want this to stop.

He has to keep going.

“I-It’s like f-fire under my skin, b-but I can’t feel t-the burn…”

Tim’s hand moves to the fly of his jeans.

“…I-I lose all control of m-my body, I can’t—fuck off!—I-I can’t even think, i-it just all turns i-into gibberish…”

Tim tugs down his zipper, and Toby can see his twitching bulge straining against his boxers.

“…It’s l-like I can feel myself l-losing my mind, and I c-can’t do anything— d-do anything about it, I c-can’t even p-put—put it back! put it back!—put together a sentence…”

Tim hooks a thumb under the waistband of his boxers. He starts to push them down.

“…F-Fuck, Tim, I-I wanna feel it again.”

Toby clamps a hand over his mouth to stifle the moan that threatens to break free as he watches Tim’s erection spring free from the confines of his clothes. He’s thick and uncut, throbbing with rabid need. Toby shudders as his partner lets out a relieved groan, breathing hard under his mask.

“S-Shit, Tim…y-your—your cock! your cock!—n-no! I mean you’re—your cock! your cock! fat cock!—dammit! I-I didn’t mean to s-say that—!”

“I’m taking you up on your offer, Rogers…” Tim growls, cutting off Toby’s attempt to explain himself. He grabs Toby’s head with both hands, fingers digging into the front of his wound on one side and the gash in his cheek on the other. This time Toby doesn’t bother to stop the moan that crawls up his throat as he feels Tim’s cock rut against the back of his head.

“…I wanna give this new hole of yours a proper fucking. What do you say?”

Toby can’t see Tim’s mouth, but he can tell he’s smiling from the way his eyes crinkle at the corners behind his mask. Toby groans at the thought. He can’t stop the crooked grin that spreads across his pale face like butter on a hot pan.

“P…P-Please, Tim,” He whispers, and he knows he’s hit a nerve when he feels Tim‘s grip tighten for a moment.

“…Please what, Rogers?”

He figured he wouldn’t get it that easy.

“Please, Tim,” Toby continues, sucking in a breath and swallowing his pride, “I-I want you t-to fuck me, please—“

Tim ruts against the back of his head again, barely brushing his wound. He wants more.

“P-Please, fuck, I-I’m—need! give it!—I’m begging you! I need it, I-I need you to fuck m-my brains out, please!”

Tim shifts his hips. He’s lining up at the opening.

It’s working.

“Please, please, p-please, Tim, I-I want you to f-fuck my brain! I n-need to—fffuck! fuck! fuck!—I need t-to feel it! Please, dammit, j-just fucking—!”

Toby doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence.

Tim shoves himself inside the bloody cavity without warning, forcing Toby’s brain out of the way as his cock enters. The scream that rocks Toby’s body is as lustful as it is carnal and gruesome. He reaches up on instinct and grabs Tim’s wrists, not trying to pull his hands away but holding on for dear life before he loses the ability to move at all.

“You broke so easy,” Tim sneers as he bottoms out, talking over Toby’s uncontrollable moaning, “What would the others think if they saw you begging for dick like a whore on the street? Huh?!”

He punctuates his sentence with a sudden rut of his hips, making Toby yelp and his body jerk. His nails dig into Tim’s arms, and the pain is delicious.

Tim studies the scene before him in the mirror.

It’s disgusting. It’s horrid. He can see the tip of his leaking cock resting inside his partner’s skull.

He doesn’t want this to end.

He’s going to relish this opportunity, every sickening moment of it.

“What would they think…”

Tim starts to pull back, breath trembling at the slick noises from the movement.

“…If they knew I had you whining for me like a dirty fuckin’ sissy?!”

He pushes back in with even more force than before. Blood is forced out the front of the wound, dripping down Toby’s face and onto the floor, leaving a red trail on his skin. His meaningless babbling is music to Tim’s ears.

Again Tim pulls back, faster this time, and pushes in again. He watches Toby’s face in the mirror as he finds his rhythm, completely enamored as it contorts with overwhelming sensations that no human should ever experience. His mouth is hanging completely open, his tongue limp and lying against his chin as he pants and wails desperately like a dog in heat. He’s starting to drool from the lack of muscle control.

There’s something about watching Toby quite literally lose his mind at his hand that makes Tim feel like God.

“You know, I like you a lot better when you can’t run your mouth,” Tim says with a chuckle. He digs his fingers into the front of the wound, groping around in the cavity and feeling the pulsing meat shift under the pads of his fingertips.

“You’re lucky I’m not gonna tell anyone about this, not gonna tell the others you’re a nasty fuckin’ faggot who’s so desperate for dick you’d take it in your brain…at least someone’s finally making use of the lump of meat in your head, eh?!”

He pulls Toby’s skull back on his cock hard and fast, fucking into the hole with more fervor than he thought possible. His arms are bleeding now from where Toby’s nails are digging in, his knuckles locked up as his motor function is ripped to shreds.

Tim’s eyes trail down the reflection as he thrusts, down to Toby’s body and stopping at the tent in his pants. There’s a painfully obvious stain on his groin now where his erection is straining against the denim of his jeans with wretched need. His precum is leaking through the material in viscous waves, a constant stream of shameful arousal. It looks like it hurts, like his zipper is about to burst, but Tim has no interest in granting him even that small mercy of freeing his hard-on.

“Damn,” He mumbles to himself, watching the liquid pool where the tip of his partner’s cock pushes against his pants, “You really are enjoying this, aren’t you? You’re not just tolerating it to see how far I’ll go, you’re getting off on this shit! You’re a dirty fuckin’ boy slut!”

He’s getting mean, meaner than he really needs to be, but he doesn’t care. Toby might not even be able to hear him, and even if he can, Tim’s not going to waste this chance while his partner can’t snap back.

He ruts his hips more intentionally, trying to hit every spot he can. He’s catching on to patterns, that certain touches here or there make Toby twitch or jerk or yelp involuntarily. His eye has rolled back in his head almost completely. It looks agonizing, and it only makes Tim thrust faster.

“Then again, in that messed up little mind of yours I bet this is nothing. You’re so used to gettin’ beat on this practically soft to you, ain’t it?! Or did your old man slam your head into the concrete too many times for you to know the damn difference?!”

Tim’s practically screaming at him now, drool running down his chin and neck as he loses himself to the pleasure. It’s unbearably hot under his mask, but he can’t bring himself to release his death grip on Toby’s head to take it off.

“I should’ve put you in your place a long time ago, lord knows you’ve needed it for who knows how long!”

Tim angles his hips upward a bit, brushing against a certain spot that makes Toby tense and cry out suddenly. The thing Tim notices most, though, is the way Toby’s cock twitches in his pants. It spurts just a bit, not climaxing yet but getting dangerously close. The stain on the front of his pants is only growing with each passing second that Tim violates his brain.

“Oh, you really are disgusting,” Tim huffs, “You’re really about to cum in your pants, and I haven’t even touched your cock? That’s pathetic, Rogers.”

Tim angles his hips up again just to watch the precum gush from his partner’s tip, his stomach flipping in his gut at the thought that Toby is so, so damn close, but he can’t beg for more or touch himself or even move at all.

“Nngh…Like hell I’m gonna let a little bitch boy like you cum first, though.”

He takes a moment to adjust his grip. He’s preparing for the last stretch.

The speed of his thrusting increases tenfold, completely losing all sense of rhythm. He can feel the pleasure taking him over, melting his resolve and screaming at him to go, go, go, just keeping going, go until you can’t anymore, and that’s exactly what he intends to do.

“You better take all of my cum, Rogers,” Tim growls through gritted teeth, “Though I ain’t exactly giving you a choice, am I? You’ll take it whether you like it or not…”

He hasn’t looked away from Toby’s face in the mirror. The sight of it twitching and frozen in a state of screaming ecstasy is like a horrific work of art. Tim’s never going to forget it. He won’t forget any of this. Every second is burned into his brain, and he’s more than happy to keep it that way.

The gory cavity is carved into the shape of Tim’s cock by now, each thrust only feeding the growing puddle of blood and viscera on the ground below Toby. That stain will stay there forever, Tim thinks. A permanent reminder of the debauchery the two of them are so gleefully partaking in. The idea of someone else finding this old house scattered with bodies, walking around and not even knowing the half of what these walls have been subjected to…

God, that’s good.

The knot in Tim’s stomach starts to tighten.

He can’t hold on for much longer. Neither can Toby.

Tim angles his hips in that special way again, hitting that sensitive spot over and over and over again with each frenzied thrust. Toby’s practically soaking himself now, so close to the edge but not quite close enough to fall off, though he runs the risk with each passing second. It’s barely a matter of time.

Faster, faster, faster, that’s the only thing Tim can think.

More, more, more, that’s all he can think about.

Faster, faster, faster, more, more, more, more, more more more moremoremore—

“Shit!”

Suddenly Tim throws his head back with a wild noise, his cock releasing without warning into the bloody cavity he’s been so graciously desecrating. At the same time he brushes that spot again, and it’s finally enough to give Toby his release, too, only a second later. His cum soaks the front of his now completely ruined jeans, the shameful stain running down his groin and thighs. The scream he lets out as his climax rocks his body will haunt Tim’s dreams.

Tim’s thrusting doesn’t slow to a stop until it feels like his balls are empty. Only then does he finally go still, allowing himself to breathe. He looks up at the ceiling as he pants, letting his eyes flutter closed for a moment as his orgasm gradually washes away.

Finally Tim allows his fingers to unfurl, releasing Toby as he pulls his cock from his ruined skull. It comes back soaked in blood and sticky with viscera, taking a few chunks with it. He tries to step back, but Toby’s still gripping his wrists.

He manages to shake him off, only for Toby’s body to go completely limp and fall forward, face first onto the dusty wood floor and into the puddle of mixed bodily fluids. He twitches a bit, but doesn’t move or show any signs of life beyond that. Anyone else would think he’s dead.

“I’m not falling for that again,” Tim mumbles with an eye roll, using his discarded glove to wipe off his now flaccid cock before tucking it back into his boxers and zipping up his pants.

He crouches over Toby, grabbing his hair and forcing him up from the floor back onto his knees. All Toby can manage is a pathetic groan. Tim studies his partner’s fucked-out face in the mirror for a moment, watching as the blood and seed lazily roll down his cheek and chin. He can’t help but chuckle to himself.

“…Anything to say for yourself?” Tim asks teasingly, shaking him a bit.

The only response he gets is the sound of gagging as Toby retches. Tim barely moves back in time to watch him cough up a horrible concoction of blood, cum, and God knows what else without being in the splash zone.

“Goddammit, watch it!” Tim scolds cruelly, “If you hurl on my new boots I’m leaving you like this.”

He at least has the decency to let Toby finish before scooping up his limp, helpless body. He carries him under his arm like a log, not taking any care to be gentle.

“I’ll get you back home to Eyeless,” Tim mutters, “He doesn’t ask too many questions, and he’ll patch you up good ‘til you’re all healed…”

Tim tries not to think too hard as he carries his partner out of the house, away from the crime scene and into the endless wooded darkness.

All is quiet for a moment, save for the sound of Tim’s heavy steps on the dry leaves. That is, until what Tim thinks is a muffled giggle sounds from his partner. He stops and looks back, but there’s no more noise.

Dammit, he thinks.

Neither of us are going to be forgetting this.

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated.

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

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liaarxse · 1 year ago

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Get off damn it!

Headcanons

TR characters cuddling with you after a fight

Characters: The Kawata twins (separately), Matsuno Chifuyu, Manjiro Sano

Warnings: None, crack

A/n: This freeky AI bot is giving me way too many ideas.

Souya Kawata

Let's get straight to the point, you know it, he knows it, y'all cuddling after a fight ASAP

Not even a fight, even if it was just a meeting

Y'all cuddling ok? Ok.

He's usually pretty riled up after a fight and has more energy

Tells you all the drama bitch

Literally get out your notepad now

Maybe he let a tear fall here and there, but that's about it

But oh

Ohhh

OHOHOHOHOOOO

God forbid he straight up cries like in that one manga chapter (I can't remember which one it was)

Pray

Even if you don't pray, pray

Even if you are a Satanist, pray

Even if you're a God or a Devil, pray

You and Nahoya both know the shit that's about to go lose

Just stay put and wait for him

He comes to your place as if in a matter of seconds, changing and throwing himself onto you, breaking down

Well, shit.

He's cursing them out, saying how he beat their ass and would do it again, while crying

How?

Idk

Don't ask me they ain't real

But show this boy some love. He deserves it. Caress his scalp, play with his hair, place tender kisses on his face, and just hold him for a bit longer

He'll return the favor as soon as possible.

Nahoya Kawata

Ah, fuck, not again

He gets into a fight every single day

And always comes to your place so you can fix him up

"Hey baby."

"Nahoya your face is literally deformed what the fuck."

Just fix him

Not because he deserves it but because he's annoying as shit and won't leave you alone

Once, he broke your window and crawed into your room at 4 in the morning to tend his wounds

He paid for your therapy sessions dw

Since he's 24/7 injured, he always smells like blood

Like, ew?

Once he came by after a nasty fight all injured and blooded up

You gagged

LMAOOOOO

"Fuck you."

"Sure."

🤡

He always throws his bloody ass on your new sheets, and you go BERSERK

You once hit him in the head cough Deja Vu cough with a broom because he ruined your sheets

He smirked at that comment

You kicked him outside

He crawled back in and trapped you in a hug

That lasted all night

"Nahoya let go I need to pee."

"Bitch hold it in."

He loves you, i swear

Matsuno Chifuyu

Blooded your sheets on accident

Don't be mad please

Here, pet Peke J

You mad?

You don't get to pet Peke J

Loser\j

In all honesty, he's reckless.

Every. Fucking. Time. He comes by the next day you're restocking on aid supplies.

Stg he better start paying up

Once called you in the middle of a fight with his nose bleeding and a few bruises on his face

"I'm coming over later, babe!"

"MATSUNO HOLY SHI—"

He hung up

Your ass went CRAZY before he came knocking on your door

He was injured

A lot

Really

Is he half dead?

Will he make it through the night?

Will—

Hey he brought Peke J!

Everything Is fine

He cleaned up before cuddling with you but still managed to dirty your sheets

"You're lucky my son is here."

"That's my son, pussy."

Y'all love Peke J more than your relationship/j

He changed your sheets and went back to cuddling you

If needed he'll buy new ones

Baby boy, baby 🫶

Manjiro Sano

Bfr, you woke up, and your boyfriend was sleeping right next to you, beaten up

You screamed

He screamed

You threw a book at him

He got a concussion

Great, more blood

"Damn it Manjiro I just bought these sheets!"

"Are you insane?"

Maybe lol

After leaving the room you still felt the smell of blood.

Looking down you saw your favourite pj smeared with droplets of blood from none other than MIKEY

He had cuddled you while you slept personally in blooded clothes

You chased him with a pan

Seven AM the usual morning line-up

Start on the chores and sweep till the floor's all cleEeeeeEN

Imagine Mikey as Rapunzel though

Them dark impulses gon kick in hard up inside that tower

Give him love too, please, #helptakemichiwiththesemessedupbastards

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sunlighthroughthe-ashes · 7 months ago

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ohhh, this episode. it had its humorous moments, but boy, did it hurt.

sol's grief and abject guilt is palpable throughout — you can feel it permeating everything; it's so tangible you can almost choke on it.

her raw pain and desperation, her devastation at discovering that she's the reason for sunjae's death — you can feel the debilitating effects of that realization settle like a dense cloud over both your own self and the entire episode.

normally i talk about the sheer power of byeon wooseok's gaze, but this time kim hyeyoon stole the show: even while she does her level best to stay away from sunjae, sol's eyes seek him out at every turn, and the pure concern and love and terror in her gaze is heartbreakingly beautiful to see. the wild panic in her face just smotes you completely.

theirs is a tenderness that cuts; you can feel the blood pooling under your tongue as you watch.

i am in awe of their utter devotion to each other: despite rejection and harsh treatment, sunjae is perennially aware of sol's presence; he's attuned to her smallest movements, there to save her at a moment's notice. and sol? this girl has traversed through time and space THRICE now to save him at whatever cost. she loves him more than life itself but is doing her damndest to stay away from him, and you can tell it's killing her to let sunjae think she hates him.

the grief and helplessness with which sol cries (almost childlike in her sorrow) and begs sunjae to stay away from her because she literally doesn't know what else to do or how else to help him was physically hard to stomach, but emotionally so impactful.

sunjae swallowing back tears of his own and apologizing instantly to get sol to stop crying is just a testament to how gentle and sensitive of a person he is, and how sincerely he loves sol. seriously, is there a boy in the universe who could possibly compare??? i don't think so.

also, sol singing 'sudden shower' to sunjae, effectively clueing him in to her status as a time traveler, was a stroke of pure genius on the writers' part: it was an elegant circumvention of sol's inability to talk about the future, a perfect juxtaposition of past and future meeting via shared memory, and deeply, DEEPLY romantic.

they kissed as per the legend! my hopes for a happy ending have been bolstered by this greatly, since the webnovel also ends with them being married. (tvn better not pull a 25/21 on us at the end. 😭)

(sidenotes: the grandma may be a symbol of omniscience. she had the watch in the very first episode, remembers sol being paralyzed, and kept the watch safe in this timeline as well. sunjae being in a coma instead of outrightly dying in 2023 after the attack is significant — if he manages to wake up once sol returns to the present, he'll have all his memories of the third timeline intact, which will make things easier, plot-wise. tomorrow's episode seems to be veering in an angsty direction as well, but fingers crossed that there are cute moments!!!)

#lovely runner #byeon woo seok #kdrama #kim hye yoon #tvn drama #tvn lovely runner #kdrama lover #tvn #fantasy kdrama #rom com kdrama

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lemon-natalia · 3 months ago

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Nona the Ninth Reaction - Chapter 31

quick note first of all, would anyone be interested in me also doing a liveblog for 'The Unwanted Guest' as well as these remaining chapters?

and after three books we’re back on the Ninth where this all started. Kiriona’s putting on a bit of a show with the ‘Home sweet home’ thing, but it really can’t be pleasant returning to somewhere she spent an absolutely horrible childhood trying to escape, and without Harrow no less

this might genuinely be the first time there has ever been a dog on the Ninth, i don’t really see the cult of goth priests being big on pets

‘then again, i’m not sure of John period’ yeah me neither, quite frankly even after a book which spends half its page time detailing his backstory i’m still unsure about what exactly his plans and powers are

‘a string of fairy lights wouldn’t have gone amiss’ honestly given Harrow’s general penchant for interior bone design, i think she could be persuaded if the fairy lights were made out of actual bone somehow

ohh holy shit there was a good moment while reading that description of Gideon surrounded by corpses with blood on her sword that i fully thought that she’d come back to the Ninth on some weird revenge mission and just straight up murdered Crux

‘My lady, you have come home to us … at last’ why is this making me feel things for Crux of all people. like he has no idea about Nona, or that Harrow’s lost in the River, or anything she’s been through at all. all he knows is that she left for the First, became a Lyctor, and never communicated or came home again

oh great we’re returning to possibly the creepiest part of GtN with the weird ‘devil’ things. between the duel of the Third and Sixth and possession of Colum Asht, the second half of that book is suddenly becoming very relevant again. while Nona’s been living in a combination slice-of-life/war drama, Kiriona’s life seems to have taken a sharp turn into zombie apocalypse novel. fun!

i’m very intrigued about the little pieces of John and Gideon’s relationship that we get here, notably i think (if i remember correctly) that this is the first time she’s mentioned him as ‘Dad’, seemingly completely sincerely, unlike calling him ‘Pops’ at the end of HtN. and apparently he falsely reassured her that the devils were confined to Antioch, but Kiriona seems to have fully believed him and sounds genuinely upset that he apparently lied about it

wow Crux literally cannot stop hating on Gideon even when he’s actively fucking dying. on one level i can admire the commitment but dude, this level of beef with a literal teenager is ridiculous

‘there was a figure there - dark robes with a pale face’ okay i really can’t figure out what is with the weird stalker figure here. is it Nona having a hallucination of Harrow? just a strange description of one of the nuns?

Pyrrha apparently painted a mint green nursery here a long time ago, i assume for Anastasia’s kid, which would explain the weird remark about helping deliver a baby back in chapter 10. also this implies a version of the Ninth which was at one point not quite so dedicated to the doom-and-gloom-bones-and-death aesthetic, which feels inconceivable to me

well hello Aiglamene long time no see, this is a slightly more welcome return than Crux at least. ngl i really wasn’t expecting to see all these characters from the beginning of GtN again, but it’s interesting to catch up and see how little has really changed there despite all the events of the series

ohhh my god. this is not how i expected a reunion between Aiglamene and Gideon to go. Aiglamene seems so genuinely shaken by the fact that she’s dead, and the fact that she’s apparently very angry at Harrow on Gideon’s behalf, like !! she definitely seems to care about Gideon a lot more than she ever actually let on to her

‘Nona was deeply horrified to see actual walk-around skeletons’ i think Harrow would be mortally offended that anyone in her body could find skeletons horrifying

actually yknow what i take back what i said in GtN about Palamedes, Paul should absolutely not be a therapist with this bedside manner

‘You can’t take loved away’ uh, excuse me for a minute i need to sit in a corner and cry my heart out for a moment. this moment really feels like a summary of a lot of themes in the whole series

ok the final nail in the coffin for my emotional wellbeing at the end of this chapter is that Pyrrha did actually get a birthday present, one that she’ll never be able to give her. here i am completely distraught over cheap moustache rides what have you done to me Tamsyn Muir

istg at least some part of Nona needs to live on. like c’mon Gideon died at the end of the first book and she’s still kicking, Nona can do it too. once again it is nearly the end of a Locked Tomb book and i am in severe denial about probably permanent character death

#i am really really sorry about how long the liveblogs of these last few chapters are taking #i promise i am almost there!#tlt #the locked tomb #the locked tomb liveblog #nona the ninth #lemon natalia reads the locked tomb

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lylathewise · 7 days ago

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S2:E5 First thoughts

Man, that guy will never keep his jaw, if Vi has anything to say about it

Ugh, that one Silco goon. Ick

They're legit reuniting? I'm bouncing about this

Aww, I was kinda hoping Ambessa was dead. I was all pumped to write about how Caitlyn would steadily lose more allies and people she could talk to, becoming more unhinged and descending while Jinx rises and becomes more stable with friends and allies, showing that support means everything. I still think that's where this is headed

Caitlyn looks like a vampire, and then she's surrounded by all this gore?

Ooh, the visualizing thing came back

Damn, Singed isn't dead and is now in the hands of Piltover? Although, maybe Salo will come looking for him?

Literally how do they know Singed summoned Warwick with his blood?

Mel, my baby, what did they do to you?

The prison cell looks dope though

Yay!! I knew they'd at least show her brother!

Big ol mouthful of marshmallow fluff

Ooh, they're really having it out

The shade! Stop, Jinx, she's already dead, just look at her hair!

God, this is such sister fighting, it's great

That little flash of who I assume is Singe's daughter? Chilling

YOUNG SILCO, I REPEAT YOUNG SILCO

So they did keep the backstory where Silco was the one who initiated the riot by throwing a molotov cocktail, getting Powder and Vi's parents killed

The contrast between the young Jinxs eyes, yeesh

Ok, so Singe merged the faces of himself and Silco in Vanders mind? And also made him hotter? His working eye? The longer hair? I'm not ok

Kino is such a charming rebellious son

Of course the writing on the wall is the way to get out

Is Kino working with Black Rose?

The daughter's room is beautiful

I love this way of taking Mel out of her regular zone of influence and really letting her shine

Aww, I'm kinda sad Kino really is dead, but the show can't handle another character to focus on

Mel going Super saiyan wasn't on my bingo card, but I love it. I'm a little sad that she isn't just a regular human, everybody has to be super special in some way

So did Silco kill Vanders wife by accident? Or was he already angry about it and Silco pissed him off?

Blisters and bedrock, their mining motto, I love it so much

The way she said "Vander, no" like telling him not to be on the couch

Vi is chasing the monsters away from Isha

Young Vander! So cute!

YOUNG SILCO!!! I'M GOING TO LOSE MY MIND

look at my little revolutionary scribbling with that bun!!!

Ok, that nail polish and that voice, she's absolutely Vi and Jinxs mother

We get silco smile?! Oh Silco community, we fucking ball

Vander doing the same juice routine for Jinx as he did for her mother while the same song plays? What if I cried?

Soft Silco and Vander? I feel like I'm dreaming

Ohhh Silco loves her. Oh no

Ohhh, no wonder Silco was so fucking furious. Vander completely gave up on her memory, at least that's what he thought, until he took in one of her daughters too

Yay big hug!!!

Aaaaa big hug!!!!

How did Salo get fixed??

How's it feel to be forever physically scarred by the results of your actions, Jayce? How's it feel?

Ohhh, he went to Viktor! Of course, when the Messiah comes around, you gotta go!

Do you want to speak to your ex? Ha, no time for an answer, here he is!

Woooowwww, basically no hesitation in mercing Salo. Respect, Jayce

This is my new favorite episode, I got post breakup Vi, Sisterly fighting, My beloved ratman, Big family Reunion, Two exes seeing each other after divorce, and Jayce not fucking around anymore 10/10

#arcane #arcane spoilers #jinx arcane #vi arcane #vander arcane #warwick #silco #jayce talis #viktor arcane

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thlayli-ra · 10 days ago

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Trick! Stitches, from the whump prompt, for cmjf? (Dealers choice on giving/receiving)

So I'm kiiiiiiinda cheating a bit here. I've based this fic in @comediakaidanovsky body-swap au, where Drew's body has been possessed by MJF, so technically speaking it is CMJF, but also kinda Punkintyre too. Hope that's ok!

Trick - 'Stitches'

Characters - MJF, CM Punk, Drew McIntyre's body

Rating - Mature

Warnings - Injury description, mentions of rape (although none happens), blood

The first thing Max did when he got to the back was find an empty bathroom. The lightbulb above his head was small and dull but it shone bright like a low sun on a winter's evening, it's blazing rays blinding. He rushed to the mirror and Drew's face stared back at him, deep ocean blue eyes, swamped on every side by rich scarlet. The blood was everywhere, in his long hair, in his ears, covering every inch of skin on his face and shoulders and dripping down his chest and stomach. It soiled the white patches on his trunks and there were even pin-pricks of it on his knee pads and thighs too, however he wasn't sure if that was his blood, or Punk's.

Ohhh, Punk! Punk had bled first, and bled beautifully. Max had stood there, standing tall in Drew's size 13 boots, mesmerised at the sight. Betraying the wonder on his face with a hypnotic tilt of his head and signature lop-sided smirk. Punk caught him doing it, had glared back under those flat eyebrows as if Max had walked in on him in the shower. That messy mix of outrage and embarrassment and vulnerability. A sudden urge to cover himself up, reclaim his decency, all while keeping tabs on the six foot five behemoth stalking towards him with evil intentions.

Max had been in this position before. Multiple times now, even in his old body, back when he was little, pathetic Maxwell Jacob Friedman and Punk had been the one towering above him, all arrogant, self-serving and narcissistic. Back when Punk was on the other end of a chain tethering them together, on his knees with blood dribbling down his face. For a brief spell, Max had held all the power, the cockroach trapped in the palm of his hand and all he had to do was curl his fingers and squeeze.

And yet, both times, it was Punk who had emerged victorious. Like any cockroach, he was almost impossible to kill, and had forced Max back, beating him mercilessly until he was black and blue, tearing him open.

Looking at Drew's face in the mirror, Max ran a blunt finger along the gaping gash on his brow. The blinding light flickered away then slid back again. He blinked, trying to make sense of it, then placed his entire palm over the laceration. The light blotted out completely. Drew's eyes blinked and Max's eyes blinked and Drew looked up and Max looked up and both of them could see the grimy ceiling of the bathroom above their heads.

'Did it work?'

Max leapt back at the sudden sound of another voice. Spinning around he found Punk there in the bathroom with him. Blood-stained, bedraggled, breathing raspy and ragged, Punk stood with his booted feet apart and his tattooed arms at his side, fingers balled up into fists.

'What are you doing here?' Max spat, the rumble of Drew's voice pounding the echoing walls of the restroom. 'Get out!'

'You didn't answer me-'

'I said GET OUT!'

'No!' Punk took a step forward, unfazed by the angry behemoth in front of him. 'Not until I know if it's worked.'

'What are you talking about?' Max snarled.

'I know it's you, Max!'

Max's head went light, the blood draining out of him, quite literally. He staggered back like a man caught in the cop's flashlight digging a hole to bury his latest murder victim.

'H-how-?'

'You serious? You really think wearing Drew's face hid you away all this time?' Punk laughed scornfully, shaking his head. 'I mean nothing to Drew McIntyre and all of a sudden, he starts quoting my promos and dropping my name at every turn and calling me his "muse" and how I "complete him"? Calling me "Punky'"? You fucking kidding me, Max?'

Drew's face paled under the crimson mask, his hands began to tremble.

'I thought you got the hint back in Glasgow,' he went on, 'you know, when I gave you that receipt for what you did to me at Daily's Place.' Punk bent down, trying to catch Drew - or rather, Max's - eye. 'You remember that, Max?'

Of course he did! He remembered all of it. Every moment he shared the same ring, the same space, the same air as Punk, he remembered. But that moment in particular, when Punk looked at him with all the remorse of a neglectful father, when he opened his arms and welcomed Max in, dropping both the tough guy facade and his defences. The soft flesh free from its hard shell, ripe for Max to rip apart. How pretty did he look gasping for air as the collar choked him, how his blood had glittered in the light. Max had coloured his palm with it, smeared it across his own young, naive face embossed on his shirt. Symbolising a death, a rebirth, a baptism. (He kept that shirt in a special box next to their dog collars).

'What do you want, Punk?' Max growled, his voice so much lower and intimidating in his new body.

'What I want is for all this shit between us to be over,' Punk replied. 'It was mildly annoying in the beginning and I was able to ignore it but you kept coming for me and pushing me and you know what, that I could deal with. Even when you attacked me in my hometown, I could put my hands up and say that I deserved that - now we're even.'

Punk's face went dark, his voice turning into that deep rasp he reserved for when he was seething with unchecked wrath.

'But then you went and involved my family,' Punk advanced on Max who stood his ground, watching the older man draw closer. 'The moment my wife's name came out your filthy mouth, you crossed a line and I had no other choice than to put an end to this. For good.'

'How? How exactly are you going to "put an end" to me, Punky?' Max opened his impressive arms out wide, mocking Punk, goading him. 'You had your chance out there in Hell itself and you chickened out.'

That maddening smirk manifested on Punk's face, so smug that Max wanted to slap it right off him, but instead he watched as his adversary lifted his hazel eyes up and up.

'Did I?' Punk grinned, 'Look at that big, gaping hole I left in Drew's head. Can you see it Max? Can you see the light?'

Max's heart jerked in his chest, his breath catching in his throat. 'You... you-'

'Go towards it, Max,' Punk said, imitating some kind of holy messiah. 'Be free.'

'You bastard!' Max turned away, trying to fend off the fiery glare at the top of his vision.

But Punk refused to let up. 'You don't belong in there, Max.'

'You really expect me to go back to that sorry excuse of a body?' Max protested. 'Have you seen what Drew did to it? How that brainless idiot let them desecrate it with that shitty tattoo?'

'It's time, Max. You have to go.'

'Well, you know what, he can keep it. If Drew wants to clap his hands like a performing seal for Tony and all his fucking marks then that's fine by me. Hope he enjoys having an actual ass for once.'

'Max!'

'NO! I'm not leaving. You won't make me!'

Punk was close now, too close, boxing Max into the corner. 'It's not yours. You have to give it back.'

'NO!'

With both hands he shoved Punk on the chest, only realising his mistake when he saw the indignant look on the older man's face. How his brows lowered and the bridge of his nose scrunched, how his lips pulled back to bare his teeth.

Then he pounced!

Honing in on the gash on Max's forehead, he dug eight of his fingers in and pulled, wrenching the crevice apart.

Max squealed as the light gushed in all around him.

'GET OUT!' Punk bellowed into the open mouth of the wound. 'GET OUT, MAX, GET-'

Max grabbed Punk by the throat, effortlessly cutting off his air with one squeeze of his fist. Their gazes met for a brief moment before Max drove the older man back, slamming him into the counter. Punk let out a strangled cry, gasping as the pressure kept coming until he was bent right back over the counter's edge, his spine arched at an excruciating angle and his bare shoulders pressing into the cold metal of the sinks.

From on high, Max watched his muse struggle, watched his inked fingers clawing at Drew's meaty fist to try and dislodge them, watched his wide mouth open and close like a fish trying to gulp down air, watched his blood-stained face turn a deep, vicious red. Watched his eyes bulge, his pupils constrict.

Max watched it all, entranced. Punk always suffered so... perfectly. It was intoxicating.

Ever since that moment at Daily's Place when something switched in his brain, when Max had found himself standing at a crossroads with two options and he chose the latter, he had finally woken up and realised that he would never gain this man's respect.

But he could hold something even more precious.

'I get it now,' Max sneered directly in Punk's panic-stricken face. 'I know why you want me out of this body.' He leaned in close, drinking in the raspy chokes of Punk's failed breaths. 'You're afraid of me.'

All this strength, all this power! He controlled Punk so completely and with such little effort. He could do whatever he wanted with him. He could snap his neck with a twist of his wrist. Keep applying the pressure to his jugular and watch the light slowly dim from his eyes. He could fill the sink to the top and shove his face in, watch him writhe and flail as he slowly drowned, maybe yank his head back to hear him splutter before forcing him under again.

Or he could turn him around, rip those sorry excuses for trunks down and kick his ankles good and wide...

But Max did none of those things. Instead, he simply let Punk go and stepped back as the older man crumpled to the floor. Down on all fours like a dog, gasping in air and coughing up blood.

'You're fucking pathetic,' he uttered and stepped over his fallen idol to leave the bathroom.

Marching down the corridors, Max's brain raced with thoughts until he reached his destination. Settling himself into the chair, he turned to the medic and pointed at his brow. 'Stitch it up,' he demanded, and he sat serenely while the staples were driven in, the light dimming with each one until there was nothing left but darkness.

When he went to leave the Trainer's Room, he almost bumped into Punk who gaped up at his shiny staples with new-found horror. Max gave a huff of cruel laughter then walked away.

'It's not over yet, Punky,' he proclaimed in Drew's deep brogue. 'It's like I told you before - this only ends when I go to your funeral. And piss on your grave!'

#Thlayli's Trick or Treat #Thlayli-writes #cm punk #mjf #maxwell jacob friedman #cmjf #drew mcintyre #punkintyre #body swap au #wrestling fanfiction #wwe fan fiction #fic request #cw mentions of rape

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itoshi-s · 2 years ago

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heyyyy Zari, I love your writing! It got me curious, which one of the bluelock boys do you think is the biggest freak in bed? and I mean like nasty, blood, spit, sweat n all? :D

*cracks knuckles* helloooo nonnie beloved akjfhsak i am so sorry i kept this in my inbox for so long but thoughts have been thunked

bllk's nastiest and messiest

cw: fem reader, spit, blood play (v light), cum play, watersports, impact play (v light as well)

ryusei takes 1st place hands down,, is anyone even surprised though? there's barely anything this man doesn't want to try - especially with a pretty little thing like you! once he has you, there's no going back, so you better give him a heads up if you're not in the mood for anythin crazy </3 cause he WILL lose his mind as soon as he gets his hands on you.

a v messy kisser, has his tongue all down your throat, lets you suck on his and is more than happy to give you the same treatment. bites on your bottom lip until the skin breaks, licks into your mouth until there's a faint trace of red on his tongue. a spitter, but he'd rather have you spitting in his mouth instead - loves to see you getting all flustered when he asks you to c'mon angel, lemme taste ya. eats you out until his tongue hurts and jaw slacks, all soaked w your juices. does this thing when he just lets his tongue hang out when you squirt </3 drinks it all right up, ignores your hands pushing away at his head. gets hard all over again when he goes down on you right after he's just spilled himself all up your cunt and laps at his cum seeping out of u :( moans like a bitch, he knows it's nasty but frankly, he doesn't care. (like i said, it riles him up even more.) may i also suggest... watersports..... both ways if you're up for it, but as mentioned before, there's nothing that gets him going so rabid like seeing you all embarrassed n teary eyed. so best believe ryu will ignore your whimpers and squeals on how you've gotta go pee - more so, he will go the extra mile to angle either his hips or fingers just right and press down on your tummy too :( nasty nasty nasty nasty. there's nothing he wouldn't do to you.

rin obviously makes the list as well and i don't take any criticism on this. we've seen him in the u20 game. mans is FILTHY and doesn't care whether he's drooling all over himself or not - once he gets into it, he's gone <3 doesn't need that much to lose it either, give him the right look, a sloppy kiss or two and he's a goner. grabs and smacks every part of you he reaches, kneads at your flesh until there's bruises forming - it's not like he's got a proper thing for it, he just really cannot control it - and probably groans all about it even more than you do. literally fucking forgets to swallow when he's having his way w you, give it a few minutes of making out and he's all slobbered up. forces your mouth open when he fucks you, thumb pushing your tongue down on your chin so that he can spit on it whenever he likes :( always urges you into the shower to clean up right after you're done cause there's like a lil pool of saliva on your sternum or tummy lol he literally drools. isn't embarrassed at all though </3 doesn't mind cumplay either, makes out w you right after you've sucked him dry just to spit it right back into your awaiting mouth. honorable mentions: choking (cause it gets you all teary, face wet w tears and tongue lolled out so that you can get some air in) and last but not least,, licking (needs to have all of you all at once - groans as he tastes the salt on your skin when he licks up your neck)

bachira!!! ohhh he's insane he really is !!!!!!!! loves loves looooooooves cumplay it gets him going like nothin else i am telling you. cums in his pants untouched or either from grinding down into the bed as he eats you out, laughs all breathily when he pulls out. y'make me so messy, pretty girl. wan' you to clean me right up, yeah? loses his mind when you peel his boxers back and, indeed, lick him clean - all while glancing up at him, wide eyed and just as desperate. i do think megs doesn't really last that long in one go - he's just so needy all of the time, gets riled up really quick - BUT he bounces right back, so don't fret!!! he WILL be giving you multiple rounds. and you already know what it means :( yeah. by the time he's done, you can barely keep yourself up on your knees, limp and trembling, with your face painted white. there's milky, thin streaks of cum all over your lashes, probably somewhere in your hairline as well,, and meguru makes sure to rub his tip all ll over your pouty and reddened lips to smear it around. he has so much to give you and makes sure he never holds back :( hah, you're just s'cute like that, baby. you like bein' my messy girl?

#✧.* ✉ zari’s mail #blue lock smut #bllk smut #shidou ryusei smut #itoshi rin smut #bachira meguru smut #ryusei shidou smut #rin itoshi smut #meguru bachira smut #honorable mention; oliver aiku ( cause he is just. so fun to be with.. is always up to try somethin new w u. doesn't care if it's messy )#rin my love #ryusei >_<#bachira <3

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murfpersonalblog · 5 months ago

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IWTV S2 Ep7 Musings - Loustat Ep4 Revisited (Spoilers)

This one was WILD, my jaw was on the floor. JACOB! SIR ANDERSON! BRUH!?

Santiago doing a deliberately TERRIBLE Claudia voice after we saw his IMMACULATE Louis mimic--I HATE HIM. 🤣

I already tore Lestat a new arsehole for that.

Underneath the distorted Mind Spell audio effect you can barely hear Les say something about "the lies said by Louis;" but the subtitles don't pick it up.

NO, the COVEN wrote that script and did that. Lestat's COMPLICIT only cuz he's tryna SAVE Lou from the mess YOU put them in by selling them out to Santiago, Armand! You stood by and let them be abducted & dragged on stage, when YOU have the Fire Gift! You coulda lit them all up like matches! But you AND Lestat wanted Claudia out of the picture!

Louis finally not wearing black in Dubai; he's in dark blood red. 👀

HOW, if Les cant read your mind? I think SEEING Lestat and hearing his effed up account took Louis back to NOLA--not that Les was doing any Mind/Spell Gifts on Lou, literally taking him back to NOLA. It's a distorted memory, not astral projection or a hallucination.

Lestat like: "WE?" All of a sudden you wanna speak French at me with this OUI?

I couldn't resist, the hands were sending me.

Ohhhh this is SINISTER, making Lou look he manipulated Les. The VOICE Jacob uses is tryna kill me--he sounds so simpering and soft and feminine, no deep bass whatever; they know wtf they're doing. XD Any other network and there'd've been a fullblown sex scene. 😅

Ohhh no, the coven's tryna make it seem like Louis DID know the laws b4 he got to Paris; this isn't Lestat or any true memory; this is the coven talking thru Lestat's script; which wormed into Louis' head.

LOL. Scripted AF.

"He did tell me, what she would be." No, in S1E4 Les realized AFTER she killed the cop that her metabolism would be effed up. Armand told him the Great Laws, but Lestat just laughed in his face. Marius told him not to make vampires as young as Armand, but it had nothing to do with the Great Laws, and Lestat assumed it was just cuz ARMAND'S a poor vampire, in that silly cult. Les & Marius were more concerned about Christianity's effect on vampire moralism/depression/"self-loathing," and Les talked about LOUIS' anxiety--

--but as for Claudia he turned her CUZ HE'S A EFFING BRAT who only ever does what HE wants to do, eff anyone else.

I nearly had heart attack, thinking the coven was gonna say Louis' her Maker--the LAUGH I was gonna make, omg. 🤣 Cuz the humans can't call them on that, cuz what do THEY know about maker/fledgling blood and not being able to read minds?

The coven has her diaries when she said this, so I think this was all scripted; not something he really said--though ofc he could've read it in her mind when he rescued her, and genuinely felt this way, cuz ofc he would--he wanted/needed her to think he was a good person.

I DO wonder if a bit of this was true, about Louis feeding Claudia his blood, cuz these AMC's vamps are wildly inconsistent about healing. Their blood has strong healing powers--as we see in S2E5 when Armand fed Louis after his suicide attempt by fire, and in Ep6 after his suicide by slitting his wrists after making Madz. So ofc Louis might try to heal Claudia by bleeding on her & letting her drink.

These 2 frames back to back are precisely Louis' issue--he don't know wtf is going on. U_U

☝️ THIS!. ALL OF THIS! ☝️

Louis' GUILT is why the memories are all muddled; why he's doubting his own recollection, on top of the literal brainwashing from Armand & the forced Mind/Spell Gifts put on him by the coven.

Dragged on the EFFING FLOOR, the coven is WICKED! 🫣 This is when I knew those dirty heifers were LYING. And Claudia can't even corroborate this, cuz she was in & out of it when she was turned.

She is staring Louis DOWN, but sweetie, he's as lost as you are.

This is hilariously & deliciously & salaciously melodramatic; Imma slap Vampire Sam for writing this script--he'd've loved writing fanfiction on AO3.

NGL, I expected that hand to start veering a few degrees over if you know what I mean. 🍆 Lou's face was in PRIME position to do him some face. (The fanfics finna go CRAZY.)

Welp, my fears were well-founded. The coven is SPITTING all over their history.

PLEASE do the "evil of my evil" line, AMC! 🙏 This democracy of hypocrisy ain't finna do that. Sit your French White arse down on the red velvet throne AR gave you in the Prince Lestat trilogy, and STFU.

I don't think Lou did; he was very candid in S1 about how he cried & pleaded, and Les saying she'd be their daughter. The important difference is the inclusion about the Great Laws, and how that implicates them. It doesn't matter that Louis already knew she'd be stuck 14 forever & didn't care--if he didn't know Lestat was 100+ and stuck 34 forever, then he's a fool. Wanting an eternal child to baby & pamper & dote on is way different from intentionally breaking the law.

No love, that's the guilt talking! They were scrambling your brains RIGHT THERE ON STAGE; take this with a grain of salt; 74 years have provided A LIBRARY OF CONFUSION!

Daniel, stfu for once; why would you see this as having ANY "clarity." This is the most muddled portion of the trial thus far!

#interview with the vampire #loustat #iwtv spoilers #iwtv season 2 spoilers #justice for claudia #iwtv tvc metas #must see tv #the hype is real

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glass--beach · 10 months ago

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Live reacting to plastic death!

Just heard coelacanth for the first time, holy shit those time signatures?

Just heard motions for the first time, what the fuck the variation! (Teared up)

Just heard slip under the door for the first time, omg it's this one! Oh it's different! Holy shit.

Just heard guitar song for the first time, what is happening! It's so cool!

Oh my god! It's rare animal! Lovely transition for a lovely song :)

THINKING ABOUT YOU!!!

Just heard cul-de-sac for the first time, I LOVE STEREO USAGE I LOVE THIS ALBUM OH MY

I love hearing the snippets we've already heard on the website its so fun

Just heard whalefall for the first time, I've been hypnotised into sleep in the depths and I'm enjoying it

I'm free here

I fucking love these clashes!!!!!!

Just heard puppy for the first time, I'm crawling back and forth!! I WANT TO SCREAM BUT THAT WOULD ANNOY PEOPLE!!!!!

Just listened to the killer for the first time, this seems chill for a song called the killer. I'm sure it won't change. I can't believe I got caught in the teeth of a hunters trap. THE FIDDLE?? IS THAT A FIDDLE??? NO IDEA????

Hey!! It's the CIA!! Wiretap my head!!! You have succeeded in that!!!! IN YOUR TEETH; ON YOUR MIND; YOUR SYMPATHY'S A WASTE OF TIME; LITTLE BLINKING LIGHT YOU LEFT BEHIND!! I CAN'T HELP IT I KEEP COMING BACK TO YOU!!!

Just listened to 200 for the first time, OH THOSE CHORDS AND VOICE TOGETHER ARE SO GOOD. ... What the fuck is happening

My mouth is fucking doing the shocked emoji holy shit. What the fuck OH IT'S THIS SNIPPET. HOLY FUCKING SHIT HOW DOES IT KEEP GETTING BETTER I'M WHAT. what. I think I'm short circuiting

Just listened to commatose for the first time, thank you for this album so much guys. This feels like the time to say that literally every song so far has fucking destroyed me this is such a good album and fuck. Oh! It's speeding up! I am jamming!! So hard!! Nothing left! Nothing left! Oh. OH. OHHH! the FUCKING CHANGE ONCE AGAIN IM BEING PUMMELED TO DEATH!!!1

NOTHING LEFT! NOTHING LEFT!! I'm bleeding out to death on the floor with a smile on my face. How is there like half of this left. How can it get any better. oh. a sense of calm washes over me as I wake up. I'm a bloodied mess but somehow still alive. I stare up in the sky dreading the future but living in the now. I recall everything that i must do and what's left for me. I close my eyes, right now i want to lie down and rest with my cuts and bruises. And maybe get pummeled again. The sun rises. I open my eyes. The stars are still there? I watch the sun and stars intermingled, something I didn't think possible until now. I promptly collapse on the ground due to blood loss but in a good way. The noises die down around me as I am once again trapped in my own mind.

Just listened to abyss angel for the first time. I'm burning, with the blood in the trees. I think I'm about to cry. There's definitely tears here. It feels like the end of a journey, every single step a delight. I sit. A new day is ahead. The sun has indeed risen again. For real this time. I lean back and smile, tears welling up, and feel prepared for the future ahead of me. Thank you.

10/10, every song.

*beep* this recording has ended. Thank you for listening.

dont even know what to say to this this is like a whole ass review and incredibly positive and kind so thank you so much! i’m glad you’re enjoying it!

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nutzworth · 5 months ago

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its 6/12! i HAVE to read homestuck! i didnt read ANY last month. oops

DAY 9: JUNE 12, 2024

STATS: read for 2 hours and 30 minutes pages read: 1903-2068. 165 pages. act 5!!!!!! page 2000! slur count: 13 + 0 = 13 silly count: 13 + 0 = 13 piss count: 2/3

THOUGHTS: ohhh my god. ok not much original thought here but by god did a lot happen

ok LOTS OF TROLLS. this time. but we will get into that later

johnkat is so funny. karkat just kind of sucks. i guess were getting into it now HES SO FUNNY! hes so mean. esp to his troll friends in act 5. he has no whimsy and no fun. he loves to lie. hes oppressed hes a MUTANT yet he wants to join the military. even though the military would KILL HIM for being who he is. ohhh my god. his clean ass room. his romcoms. he loves romcoms. he sucks at programming. he keysmashes in here WHATEVER. back to the kids

soooo much guardian lore... so much LORE. i love nanna and i love pa harley. and their upbringing THEYRE SO WEIRD.

(about pa harley) ADVENTURE!!!! oh my god. "She can handle it, he tells her. He believes in her." AHHHHHHHH!!!!!! HOPE PLAYER! i love the hope aspect im gonna go crazy in act 6 when jake is there. but right now? this is FOOD. im EATING IT UP!

michael guy bowman is so john egbert voice. its canon that dave strider is a whiteboy and that michael guy bowman is literally john egbert and thats IT.

dave is being so rude and mean to terezi. for the girl that said to john "WOW. MAKING FUN OF A BLIND GIRL? FUCKED UP!!!!!" she sure does turn a blind eye (LOOOL) to dave being like "yeah me and this guy? all up best friends. you know why? we can both see. and were going to this see party and theres so much shit and paintings and its great. to look at. and FUCK YOU. for being BLIND." and terezis cackling about her wonderful D4V3 1S TH1S YOU? drawings. theyre funny

[S] DESCEND!!!!!!!!! oh my god. what a flash. this would make me crazy if i was an upd8 reader. JACK NOIR IS INSANE. HE JUST KILLS EVERYONE! the music is sooo good too. it matches so well. its SCARY.

speaking of jack noirs destruction: ok here's more about wv. this is probably so surface level but it drives me crazy i need to restate it ok wv is a regular ass farmer. hes normal. the WAR comes. hes like GOD THIS SUCKS! he starts a revolution. he unites both sides. hes radical hes powerful and by god is he AWESOME. he faces jack noir. him and his big ass army. jack noir KILLS ALL OF THEM. ALL OF THEM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THEYRE ALL DEAD! except wv. which hussie puts it in the recap "Jack then killed the entire rebellion army, sparing only WV?. Perhaps to leave a survivor to tell the story, or perhaps out of respect for a fellow mutineer. Only he knows." WHAT????? WHAT!???? OKAY and so wv is surrounded by his brethren. his friends. his army. ALL DEAD. and at the same time prospit falls to skaia. and out from it is johns dream self. and a PLUSHIE. OF JACK NOIR.

this is insane. its like humiliating. its awful. its like jack is laughing at wv's face. oh my god. anyway wv rips it apart and hes real for that. I LOVE YOU WV!!!!!!!!!!!

not to mention PM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! let me just put some badass images in here. so you know

SHES SICK!!!!!!!!!!!!! shes pissed off shes SO pissed off. she kills hb and uses his walkie talkie to call over jack noir. shes standing on that hill with the blood of jack's coworker flowing in the adjacent creek holding both the crowns covered in blood. she gets the promised package and SHOVES it in johns arms and storms off. shes PISSED OFF!!!! RIGHTFULLY SO! OH MY GOD!

and then the PACKAGE.... obviously you KNOW im crazy about the jake english cameo. but also....

this made me crazy. i like almost cried. oh my god. shes JUST DEAD. ON THE FLOOR. JOHNS SITTING THERE READING THESE LETTERS AND JADE IS DEAD!!!! IN FRONT OF HIM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! sob. oh my god. and he sheds One tear. and then jack comes to kill him

i loooove how homestuck goes panel-heavy sometimes... along with the short "a [...] is [...]. [...], [...]." which makes no sense in writing. let me give you some examples

i love it. it makes the reading more poetic and slow. its like, make your own opinions on the subject matter. its matter-of-fact. its simple. its SAD. its like this event is so disconnected from everything were going in third person to describe it. its curt and its AWESOME. I LOVE IT!!!! i think if skaia had dialogue or narration or anything this is what it would sound like. it would give you pictures and a short description, and it would say "go fetch".

ok recap. not much but hussie says "Back in the meteor lab, John began the ectobiology session which appeared to have been prepared for him in advance by the guardians who had just been there." which i think is so cute. the guardians prepared it FOR him.... homestuck is truly a story about kids and the things that control/lead them. guardians/skaia/fate/each other/first guardians(bec, doc scratch). even the story itself. so awesome

THEN ACT 5!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! the silly name for alternia translates to "turd odor fuckball" which is funny. and karkats silly name translates to "nookstain bulgereek" which makes sense

whats REALLY interesting to me is karkats parallels with dave. even in these first few pages karkat is SO SIMILAR to him. both slice their teasing names in half and say that they dont have time. theyre "Kind of a big deal, ok?". they have a need to seem "cool". karkat narration has the line "This was not the coolest thing you could have done just now." which threw me for a loop: i never thought of karkat needing to seem Cool. but he does he wants to. hes a leader. he pretends to be a leader. he doesnt want to show to sollux that he thinks highly of him cus he needs to seem COOL. i love karkat

alternia is a planet full of tragedy. they need to sleep in sopor slime to assuage the nightmares of "blood and carnage". theyre surrounded by so much evil and destruction that they need DRUGS EVERY NIGHT to be normal. auuugh.

honestly i pity gamzee waaaay more than i pity karkat. karkat has it good for all i care in the beginning. hes just not sharing his blood color. GAMZEE THOUGH? everyone thinks hes annoying. you can tell hussie writes him as if he's a joke; its clear hussie hates gamzees character and wants you to hate him too. but i cant. hes a hippie and an addict and a black boy. and i feel SO BAD that hes written like that. he could have been great if he wasnt in this situation :-( im sorry gamzee

rip sollux you would have loved reddit

karkat at the end of the karkat/sollux convo kills me. "hey i know we just bantered about how much we hate each other and stuff, but are we still friends?" hes so cute. are we still friends. yeah... yeah. and sollux is like "you say this EVERY TIME. are you joking" and karkats like "Yeah. Yeah im joking haha. Sure am" the poor guy. just wants friends THEYRE JUST KIDS!!!!!! SOB!!

i love terezi. shes so ANNOYING. and i love her for it. shes just fooling around all the time. she wants to piss people off. "Ohhhh karkat youre sooooo handsome and heroic!" hahahahahaha. she does NOT care. "But all of your scalemates are alive to you. ... At least you pretend to believe that to annoy people." SHES SO FUNNY! she gives NO fucks. i love how shes drawn too

then karkat comes in all like HEY TEREZI. IM THE LEADER!!!!!!!! FUCK YOU! what an asshole. but terezi dont care. you know what she does? "lol ok." and then "yeah the leader goes on this badass and seriously cool heroic adventure and hes awesome. and me (the second in command) gets to sit down and do nothing and be bored and its no fun" and karkats like "YEAHHH!!!! IM THE HERO! WOOOO!" and then it cuts to the actual game and terezis been fooling around with her gamey god powers. hahahahahahaha so awesome

okay thats it. i love aradia i saw like 2 of her. maaaybe ill read more this summer :-) bye bye thanks!

#me #nutzworth hs reread #WOO WOO!!! HAPPY 612! KARKAT VANTAS! TROLLS!#im getting really into putting pictures in these. i think it makes them more interesting on the eyes. tell me if you like them #it makes the posts a little long. but thats okay. theyre always long when its me #HEART! YAAY! BYE BYE!

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banjjakz · 1 year ago

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bleed for me; hananene 5+1 oneshot

He’s amassed whole lifetimes of bad habits, and never has one felt more grievous than the way his lifeless body threatens to rise again after Yashiro launches herself off of him in mortified realization of their compromising position. A bad habit, thinks Hanako, watching his roommate flee away as he barely resists the urge to give chase. Predator and prey. A body drained dry. I’d take good care of you.

(Or: Five times Hanako is painfully, embarrassingly obvious about being a vampire -- and the one time he doesn't even need to be.)

wc: ~6.7k

warnings: vampire!au; horror elements; disturbing themes; graphic descriptions of blood & ensuing oral consumption; etc, etc

🖤 read on ao3 🖤

1. Garlic Bread

“I’m home!”

From his lax recline on the bed, Hanako calls out a lazy welcome back. He doesn’t get up because he’s far too comfortable watching old primetime reruns of ridiculous game shows, and also -- well.

He’s a little unhappy.

Ah, maybe not unhappy. That’s a rather strong word -- sensation? Feeling? For someone who’s felt a lot of them for a very long time, Hanako isn’t the most adept at categorizing his own emotions. Let alone experiencing them. It’s much more convenient to acknowledge that something probably important is sounding off in his chest, and then leave it alone to run its course. Hands-off is always the way to go. Less messy that way.

But then, he’s forced to deal with complex situations such as these:

The lovely, strange, absolutely enrapturing human being whose life he feels lucky enough to occupy even just a small, miniscule part of -- flouncing into his bedroom, all bright eyes and wide-lipped smiles and rosy cheeks and limbs jittering in excitement at seeing him after a mere handful of hours spent apart--

And Hanako, whose cold, dead heart threatens to jolt back to life at the mere sight of her.

How odd. He wonders what it means, and then immediately stops doing that. Hands-off. Mess free.

“Hanako-kun!” Greets Yashiro, rushing to stand at his side, her stockinged feet thump-thump-thumping at the hardwood in a rapid, red-blooded pulse. Her hair flows freely today, which is unusual. Normally, she has it pulled back and away from her face, in one neat platinum sphere at the base of her neck. There’s a decorative clip or three in there, somewhere, too.

Where are those tonight? What happened to the disturbingly skull-shaped barrette? He likes that one. “Hanako-kun, look! For you!”

Oh, she’s holding something. He hadn’t even noticed. Upon closer inspection, it seems to be…

“A greasy paper bag,” Hanako deadpans. “How kind of you, Yashiro.”

She rolls her eyes, and stomps her foot. He can see the vibrant red of her painted toenails even through those dark tights she insists on wearing out everyday. These are one of her nicer pairs, though. No rips or runs in sight. Not even when Hanako scans her legs up and down and up again, just to check. Just to make sure.

Yashiro’s irate scoff sends his eyes scrambling very rapidly back to meet her own. “You’re impossible. You gotta guess what’s in- side the bag, dummy.”

“Radishes. No, wait, we already have plenty of those on hand.”

“Oh my God, I am literally going to kill you. Do you wanna die?” Hanako almost laughs. “Last chance before I change my mind and don’t let you have any!”

“Ohhh. Something I can have?”

Yashiro nods. Hanako tracks the movement of her jaw like a vulture circling a corpse, freshly splayed open and vulnerable and tantalizing with how red the blood, how plump the flesh, how easy it would be to sink his talons in and bare his teeth and--

“I have no idea,” he muses, “what that would be, then.”

“You’re so weird sometimes, Hanako-kun. Anyways, remember how I went over to Kou-kun’s tonight? Because he needed a taste-tester for his school assignments? Remember?”

Ah, and here he returns to the root issue of tonight’s predicament. Hanako is swiftly delivered back into the strange sensation of discontent that plagued him mere moments prior to Yashiro’s arrival. She’d distracted him -- as she is so often does -- from his brooding.

Hanako remembers that he’s supposed to be brooding.

Hanako begins to brood.

It’s a pitiful attempt, really, because Yashiro is hellbent on injecting the evening with her unique brand of excitable fanfare, and Hanako has never been able to put up much of a fight against her. He’s weak to the sun and all it’s gifts of brightness, after all.

In a last-ditch effort to save face, he manages to pout. Yes, this will show her. This will express to her his deep-seated dissatisfaction!

“Hmph. I guess,” sighs Hanako, batting his lashes for good measure.

“Oh quit it. Don’t look like such a jealous puppy--”

“-- Excuse me--”

“--Especially ‘cause I brought you such a good gift! Look!”

And then Yashiro reaches into the bag and pulls out a slice of greasy, buttery, deliciously succulent garlic bread.

Hanako doesn’t even have the time to process her accusation of jealousy (which, hello? A little absurd if you ask him.) as he’s preoccupied with scrambling backwards to the opposite side of the bed, as fast as what will hopefully appear to be humanly possible.

“Kou-kun’s in the middle of his global unit in school, and he chose to make some Italian dishes, so I thought I’d bring home-- hey!! Where are you going!” Yashiro, clearly perplexed, pauses in her bubbly explanation. “Don’t be like that! I know you don’t like Kou-kun for whatever stupid reason, but really? He made it just for you!”

Of course he did, thinks Hanako, scathingly. He will deal with that overgrown menace of a mutt later, when his physical body is not in imminent danger and Yashiro is not growing steadily closer, brandishing the bread as though it were a sword, or rapier.

Oh, if only she knew.

Normally, Hanako would be elated -- ecstatic, even -- to see Yashiro crawling across his mattress, chasing him with a dark intensity in her eyes and a palm outstretched. But the issue here is that her palm, as sweet-smelling and milky soft as it looks and probably feels (Hanako wouldn’t know), is currently wielding a weapon of mass destruction.

He tries to placate her, or at least slow her steady advance, but it’s all for naught. “H-Hey now, Yashiro--”

He should throw her off. She shouldn’t even be in his home in the first place, let alone in his bed, but somewhere along the way Hanako had started making inappropriate, foolish, misguided allowances for this strange woman, and then he… never stopped.

Honestly? For a mistake as silly as entertaining a human of all things, he supposes he should go out in an equally as embarrassing fashion: death by sliced bread.

Yashiro is on top of him now, her thick calves bracketing the bony jut of his hips as she sits on his chest and leans over him, her cheeks incensed a bright and healthy rouge -- a mere few shades darker than those glittering fuschia eyes. Hanako can’t help but wonder just how red she can get; how much red she has to spare. How much red would be enough to burst her open and leak along the sides of her pristinely pale canvas like spilled acrylic in one big, gory, spattering mess.

For two (definitely, totally, absolutely) mutually exclusive reasons, Hanako feels his stomach contract.

“You’re being ridiculous,” announces Yashiro from her perch atop his body, blissfully unaware of the fact that Hanako could very easily toss her clean across the city if he so chose.

(Or maybe, it’s the fact that might know, and is unafraid of the prospect. As though she believes he won’t. Humans are such an arrogant, fickle species. He can’t say that he particularly misses being amongst their ranks.)

“It’s bread. Would it kill you to be agreeable for once and just take a freaking bite?”

Her heartbeat. He can hear it loud and clear even as he lays underneath the vice grip of her sturdy legs. Does she even know how fast her pulse rams itself against her veins? Like it’s begging to be rescued from the confines of that pretty, porcelain cage?

Fuck. Fuck.

Hands-off.

Mess free.

“I’m allergic,” says Hanako, slowly, face blank and clean as a slate as he stares unblinkingly back up at his captor. “To garlic.”

There’s a curtain of shimmering white that cascades around the two of them, shifting to block out any and all extraneous stimuli. He should remind her to pick up some more bleach the next time she takes a trip to Daiso. It’s time to touch-up her roots again.

“Allergic,” she parrots.

The way her lips shape around the word, tasting it and rolling it around in suspicion, is captivating. In all his years of dealings on this earth never has Hanako followed a journey so gripping, so intense, as the way that Yashiro Nene’s mouth moves across a sentence. “Allergic,” she says again, flat and faint.

He’s just barely able to nod. “Deathly.”

“You’re deathly allergic to garlic.”

Time grinds to a painful, halting stop. The gradual slowing of the outside world is so acute that Hanako can track with his eyes the moment that Yashiro’s gaze flickers down to his cracked lips and the steady in-and-out of her breath is all but frozen in place. It’s excruciating, the level of detail he’s been subjected to bear witness to as a creature borne of blood and misery. He hates that he can hear her lungs rattle in suspense. He hates that he can name each muscle that goes still and locks solidly into place, anchoring around him in a rigid, tense embrace. He hates that he can smell her fear.

“Precisely. And you are straddling me. Are we done stating facts or would you like to continue on, Yashiro?”

It’s a bad habit he has, relying on humorous deflection. He’s amassed whole lifetimes of bad habits, and never has one felt more grievous than the way his lifeless body threatens to rise again after Yashiro launches herself off of him in mortified realization of their compromising position. A bad habit, thinks Hanako, watching his roommate flee away as he barely resists the urge to give chase. Predator and prey. A body drained dry. I’d take good care of you.

The crumbs in his bed dig into his skin and burn there, serving as a very stark, very physical reminder of his worst habit.

He’s already served his penance. Is currently serving it. Is slated to serve it for the rest of whatever conceivable eternity awaits him.

So why, then, does his chest twist and ache with an ardor he thought had died with him, all that time ago?

2. Reflection

The only reason he’d agreed to tag along was because Yashiro promised him that he didn’t have to speak if he didn’t want to. He isn’t much inclined to converse with random humans -- especially not over cheap, young wine.

But this is, of course, exactly what he finds himself doing on a Thursday evening he would otherwise spend alone, holed up in his room, with his blackout curtains drawn to the side to bask in the glow of the full moon. Longingly, Hanako glances out of the large window he’d surreptitiously made a home next to immediately upon their arrival. Ah, well. Next month.

A round of boisterous laughter startles him out of his reverie. He chances a glance back to the sectional sofa in front of him and is greeted by the sight of Yashiro nearly doubled over in apparent amusement, wine glass tipping dangerously to the wayside. Her cheeks are speckled with the beginnings of a youthful pink. Unshed tears cling to her thin eyelashes. When she straightens up to catch her breath, she meets his gaze and allows her grin to melt into something soft and warm and entirely unsuited for the terrible, awful things that run through Hanako’s mind faster than the speed of light.

Having fun? She mouths discreetly, bringing the glass up to take another sip.

He nods, draining the red in his own grasp long and slow. It tastes like ash on his tongue.

One of the other humans speaks, then. It isn’t the orange haired fellow who’d immediately struck Hanako as a sniveling, blindsided, spineless fool of a man -- no, it’s his wife, who’s entirely too preoccupied with asking questions about Hanako’s personal life for his comfort.

“Hanako-san,” she begins pleasantly, gripping the wine bottle by the neck as she tops off his glass. Unprompted. “I’ve been wondering about something! Nene-chan is an Insta-freak, you know, right?” A what? “But you’re never on her page,” she continues with a pout, “And you aren’t tagged in any photos. Are you shy? That’s adorable!”

How can a woman speak so politely with eyes as cold as hers? They glitter at him underneath the fluorescent lighting of the living area, small and hard and blindingly bright, a twin set of enchantingly haunted jewels. Delicately, she tastes at the rim of her glass, and says nothing else.

Before he can conjure up a response that isn’t mood-killing and really little more than a thinly veiled threat, Yashiro pipes up. “Hanako-kun’s super off-grid!” She stresses, eyes wide, words comically over exaggerated as though she is delivering information of the utmost importance. “He has a very troubled childhood! He doesn’t like talking about it! So that’s why!”

“A troubled childhood,” muses the purple haired menace.

Yashiro nods solemnly, gulping another hit of her dry white. “Yeah! He’s got a bunch of weird allergies, too. Did you know that he can’t eat garlic? Not even garlic bread? Isn’t that so sad!”

“...Indeed it is. My condolences, Hanako-san.”

Right.

The evening doesn’t really improve from there, apart from Yashiro falling into his side after she gets a bit too wine drunk. Hanako can smell more than just the saccharine perfume she slathers on all the time; no, from this close, Hanako inhales and internalizes the scent of a robust, earthy musk, far richer than anything spritzed or patted superficially into the skin. Hanako can smell underneath her skin. Hell, Hanako can practically see -- can practically taste the delicacies hidden there, with how firmly she leans onto him. Would she still feel comfortable holding clutching onto his arm, if she knew the kinds of things he thinks about her? About doing to her?

They say good night to the amethyst wench and her sad excuse of a clueless human husband not long after that. The apartment isn’t far away and it’s too late to stumble into the car of a subway, so the pair of them trek home on foot.

A quiet night. The moon is as full as she is healing, and Hanako returns to himself a little bit more underneath her watchful, healing gaze.

“Now that I think about it… we really don’t have any pictures together.”

Although Yashiro has sobered up enough to stand straight, she still maintains a loose grasp on his arm. Her fingernails curl into the sleeve of his button down, a splash of bright, vivid red disappearing in the deep dark of a moonless night. Swallowed right up without a second thought. “Is it… is it because you’re embarrassed, Hanako-kun? Of, um… well. Do you not want to be seen with me? I’m sorry…”

He could break his own neck. He should. He would, if she asked him to.

“You own a Polaroid camera, yes?”

“Ah! You mean my Hello Kitty one? Uh-huh! Why?”

“When we return home,” Hanako says, like a fool, “We can take a picture.”

If he were a defendable creature, he’d point to Yashiro’s sudden and swift ascent into excitement as the justification for the latest manifestation of his long, long list of bad habits. Her strong ankles defy gravity and carry her as she floats on air, giggling as she skips the whole way home. Even as they make their way through the front door. Even as she must root around in her cluttered bedroom (that Hanako cannot follow her into, for obvious reasons). Even as she struggles to remember how to change the film, and inputs a decorative mascot-inspired roll, nicking more than a few of her pale, slender fingers in the process.

Even as she wades through darkness, Yashiro is so bright.

The actual photo itself requires some set-up which eventually results in Hanako reversing the contraption unto them and pressing down on what he’s only halfway sure is the capture button. He assumes that he’s done well when a thin strip of glossy paper leaks out from the bottom and Yashiro swipes at it in a giddy stupor, remnants of the Riesling from earlier that evening rendering her sloppy and uncoordinated.

“‘Kay, it’s gotta develop now… should only be a few more seconds! Will you keep it safe tonight? ‘M sooooo tired, and I really gotta shower before I pass out…”

Yashiro is already stumbling away, back towards her bedroom. She slips the rapidly lightening square in his palm as she slips back, lingering for one moment too long against the doorframe.

“Thanks, Hanako-kun. G’night.”

And then she is gone.

Which is probably for the best. The film has finally pulled itself from the murky depths of ambiguity. Hanako looks down at the picture in his palm and Yashiro stares back at him: her bold, red lips and silver-spun hair are two twin beacons of color, misplaced and incongruent within the impenetrable sea of blackness surrounding her.

Where Hanako should have been instead lies a lapse in composition. The photograph is blank and undeveloped around his general silhouette. But that is not the strangest thing about the photograph.

The strangest thing is howYashiro leans into the darkness, unafraid of the way it spindles into her own boisterous portrait and slowly eats at the brightly hued pigments of her warm flesh, her pretty, frilly dress, her smile. That unerringly loud, human smile.

How long will it take, he wonders, before the shot is entirely eclipsed by that cold, dead void.

3. Sunlight

It’s a bad day before he even opens his eyes.

As a creature of indeterminate longevity and supernatural capabilities, sleep is not the necessity it once was for him. But he indulges, from time to time, when there’s little to do during the daylight hours. After all, he’s confined to his bedroom from sunrise until sunset. Pacing the perimeter of a lion’s cage grows tiresome, even to eternally patient apex predators such as himself. Much easier to force his body to shut down and pass the time for him, as his consciousness wanders aimlessly through the realm of a deep, dreamless slumber.

This day is not one of those days. This day is the peak of Summer’s cruel, tyrannical reign. This day is suffocating. This day is warm. This day is bright.

This day maneuvers above and below and all around the blackout curtains that are always painstakingly drawn over his windows. This day leaks into his bedroom and weasels its way into his sheets, underneath his skin, scorching him from the inside out with such a ferocity that it renders him immobile. Every fiber of his being threatens to splice into terrifying, meaningless oblivion.

When Yashiro first asked, Hanako told her it was migraines.

It was a vague excuse that pinpointed some rare, untreatable immune-disease that left him inexplicably weak to sunlight. Yashiro really should have been more persistent in hunting down the real truth -- the actual truth -- especially considering her occupation as an urgent clinic nurse. He considers the idea that it’s an answer she doesn’t care enough to unearth. He mulls over the alternative, which is that she is too frightened by whatever she may find to go searching for it in the first place. He then decides he’s done thinking about her. Today is torture enough.

A gentle knock at his door renders all of his efforts fruitless, however. “Hanako-kun?” Her voice filters easily through the heavy fog clouding his awareness, like a blade through slackened flesh. “You okay?”

She’s still standing hesitantly in his doorway, as though waiting for permission to enter. He’d laugh if it didn’t hurt so badly to do anything other than lay still and flat as a corpse.

He can’t afford to expend any unnecessary effort lest he wear himself out completely, so he goes for the most direct course of action:

Snakes his arm out of the big, black ball of sheets and comforter in which he’s coffined himself inside. Holds back a curse as he’s made aware of just how weak he’s become. Struggles not to drop his cellular phone when he finally manages to blindly locate it. Unplugs the device single handedly with tremorous fingers. Holds it out to the open air.

“Take this,” says Hanako, voice dim and tepid. “Dial the contact ‘Tsukasa.’ Give him this address.”

Not for the first time, Hanako realizes that he should be grateful for this human’s absence of curiosity. He has amassed plenty of bad habits in the past, all of them metastasizing entirely too close for comfort until he’d been forced to handle them in a way that had been entirely hands-on and the very opposite of mess-free. For Yashiro to wordlessly collect the cellular phone from his trembling grasp and do as she’s told is what he’d call a blessing, if he still believed in feats as fickle as faith.

She is confused as she makes the phonecall. Hanako can hear the shift of her hair sliding past one shoulder as she tilts her head. He can feel the way her chest flutters in a muted gasp of surprise when the line connects after the first ring. She can’t be more than three or four feet away. Close enough for him to reach out and brush, with the pitifully pale pads of his fingertips. What a sight that would paint, muses Hanako, deliriously. Icarus and his glittering, lethal lover.

Time ebbs and flows and bends and breaks after that. He’s distantly aware that he drops in and out of consciousness. The hot wax slathering each of his limbs is an imagined thing, he’s sure, as is the sensation of free-falling to an anticipated, blunt death. These sensations are from the dreamscape that pulls him beneath its suffocating depths only to release him at the last second, in a cruel imitation of the sea and all her unfathomable terror.

(He has not dreamt in so very, very long. It’s a bad habit.)

The final time he breaks the surface, he surges up against something -- cold. The kind of cold that forces his own to bow its head. The kind of cold that relieves him of his fever, and sends a violent chill through his body, all at once. The kind of cold one should only absorb in small doses, with limited contact. A once-in-every-three-decades kind of cold. That kind of cold.

“Hi, Amane! You look terrible!”

Tsukasa’s hand on his forehead is frigid enough that it loops back into the realm of burning. Hanako must gently bat it away and blink blearily up at the sight of his twin brother, just as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as he always was. Always is.

“Hi, Tsu.”

“Hold still, ‘kay? I brought the bendy straws you like. All you gotta do is sip. Open wide!”

Obediently, Hanako parts his lips and accepts the flimsy piece of plastic.

He tries not to think about what, exactly, it is that he’s doing. If he closes his eyes and holds his breath, Hanako can almost pretend that he’s being fed by different hands, in a different world, as a different person.

“Hey, Amane?”

Gulp, shudder. Resist the instinctive gag that claws its way up his throat like a beast bending the bars of its cage. “Yeah, Tsu?”

“Why are you starving yourself?”

Eyes closed. Mouth shut. Another swallow. Hands-off. Mess free.

“You have food right there,” Tsukasa whispers. “Is there something wrong with her? Is she sick? Y’know, I’m not picky. If you don’t want her, I can--”

Hanako, with newfound strength, launches upright into a sitting position. What wonders a couple of mouthfuls can do.

Oh, how to explain this. Oh, how to navigate his way through an intersection of muddled implications and unspoken subtleties, all of which will go right over Tsukasa’s head. How can Hanako pretend to be a creature of innuendo and self-control, when his biggest, most glaring lapse in judgement sits across from him in the damned den of his own design?

He struggles for a moment, running a tired hand down his face. “Yashiro is a -- friend.”

“A friend?”

“Yes,” confirms Hanako, desperately avoiding Tsukasa’s curious gaze. “And friends don’t eat friends.”

The words are slimy and leave a bad taste in his mouth. Well. Maybe the words themselves aren’t what lingers at the back of his tongue and stains his teeth. But they are odious, nonetheless, and hang in the air like empty nooses dripping down from a gallows.

“Friends don’t let friends starve,” is Tsukasa’s counterpoint. “If it were me, Amane, I’d let you. Even though you already did, I’d let you do it again. I’d always let you.”

Hanako has never understood why Tsukasa refuses to cover up the twin bite marks that marr his jugular. Is it to punish him? Is it not punishment enough, that Hanako has to see his face at all?

When his brother grins at him, it cuts like a knife. Hanako remembers a time where those cheeks stretched wider, when those eyes glistened with something other than black ice. Tsukasa plucks the bendy straw out of the cup and drinks straight from the rim, tossing his head back to give Hanako full view of the way his throat opens and closes around the infernal contents.

He can’t stop staring at the scars: two lone stars fixed in an empty, pallid, apocalyptic sky.

The younger boy is sated only when the cup has been drained dry -- and even then, he pants, exhilarated, pupils blown large and dangerously obsidian as they flitter back and forth as though in search of more, more, more.

Why are you starving yourself?

He’d always been a messy eater. His baby brother, Tsukasa. Tsukasa who loved Katanuki. Tsukasa who loved to paint. Tsukasa who still loves to paint, but now works solely in abstract monochrome. Tsukasa, who paints himself over and over and over again until he’s dripping, covered head-to-toe in a masterpiece of his own design. Tsukasa, who licks his canvas clean at the end of each night only to start anew in tomorrow’s dangerous twilight dusk. Tsukasa, who collects victims like portraits.

Tsukasa, who had once been a portrait himself. Hanako, who held the brush in his hands and created something freakishly beautiful that wretched, awful night.

Why are you starving yourself?

He feels full enough, watching Tsukasa pass his tongue over his chops. He feels like he’ll never need to eat again.

By the time his brother makes his departure, the sun has long since sunk beneath the horizon. Hanako’s room is once again as it should be: a thick, inky fog of opaque black. It’s so dark, in fact, that had he not been what he is, he would never have spotted the slight gap between his door and its frame, where a slender figure lingers in apprehensive wait.

Yashiro is checking on him, he realizes belatedly.

Why are you starving yourself?

“Good night,” She calls, softly. “I’m about to head out for a double.”

“Be safe.”

“‘Course! I always am… I hope you feel better soon, Hanako-kun.”

He couldn’t have this if he ate like an animal. He couldn’t have Yashiro -- sweet, gentle, lovely Yashiro -- living alongside him as he devoured bodies made in her image. Already, Hanako struggles with what his baser instincts urge him towards… to give into those temptations would be putting her in danger.

His door clicks quietly shut. His room is bathed in the cover of night once more.

Left alone to his own devices, the beat begins to roam its cage. A growl sounds, low and deep and mortally wounded. Not from his throat -- but from the very pit of his stomach.

Resistance is one thing, but ignorance, however feigned, is quickly ruled out of the realm of his personal possibility. There is no disregarding the sensations that fester inside of him. There is no course for his desires to run. There is only the ugly, maddening truth:

Hanako is hungry.

Hanako needs to put his hands on something.

Hanako needs to make a mess.

4. Silver

“Promise rings!”

“... Excuse me?”

“N-Not in a weird way, or anything like that!” Stutters Yashiro, fumbling with the miniature wooden box in her shaking, manicured grasp. “They’re just little cheap ones. I saw them on display at the mall, and I couldn’t just not… plus, do you even know what day it is?”

Hanako raises a brow. “Enlighten me.”

“It’s our six-months-as-roommates-a-versary!”

“Wow.”

“I’m really happy you recognize the importance here, Hanako-kun. Now stick out your hand so I can put yours on! And then you do me!”

If he didn’t know any better, Hanako would wonder how Yashiro gets anything done with those delicate fingers of hers. They’re as soft-looking and malleable and enticingly peachy as the rest of her, topped off at their gracefully tapered ends with a neat coat of ruby red. They dance along everything they touch, nimble little ballerinas hopping from pose to pose, commanding rapt attention wherever they leap.

As his own hand raises to meet hers, he must fight the urge to clench into an ugly, defensive fist.

The first touch sends something like electricity ricocheting down his spine like lightning through a weather vane. She is so gentle. How can she be so gentle? How can she be so round-edged and rosy-cheeked and expect him to just stand here, wordlessly, with nothing to do or say about it? How can she live in his house for six months and celebrate, rather than mourn? How can she look at him, a creature innate to unsightly presence and habit, and say to herself: this is something worthy of care.

The second touch is just as unnerving, but for all the wrong reasons.

“I thought you said this was cheap,” grits Hanako, exhaling sharply through his nose as the silver ring slides slow and meticulously down the length of his finger.

Yashiro pauses, eyes narrowed. “Is it not? How can you even tell?”

“A-allergic… !”

To her credit, she’s properly mortified. Yashiro almost falls all over herself to wrench the offending piece of jewelry off and away, apologizing profusely as she studies the burn wound on his middle finger. Her mouth twists into a tense little knot. Hanako wants to smooth it out.

Instead, he follows her obediently into her bathroom after she tells him to come inside and sit his ass down on the toilet -- which he does, sheepishly.

“I can’t believe -- oh, God, I’m so sorry, Hanako-kun… Just, hold still okay? It’s only gonna hurt a little, I promise.”

It’s an injury that would’ve long since healed itself by now, if he were in any other state than the one he currently occupies; which is to say that he’s rather unhealthy. Which is to say that the rats and possums and other small rodents he guiltily entraps in the alley behind the house do nothing besides sate a momentary desire. Which is to say that it is impossibly difficult to keep himself aware and conscious and disciplined enough not to careen head-first into Yashiro’s exposed clavicle and unhinge his jaw and feel his skull shift to accommodate the extra layer of fangs and sink his claws into her perfect, supple hips and feel her go paralyzed with terror as he--

“Okay! All done. Do you feel better now?”

“Yes.” It’s a pretty bandage. Pink and bright with tiny dancing radishes along the perimeter.

“I really am sorry,” mumbles Yashiro, encasing his frigid hands with her own, squeezing and rubbing with her soft thumbs. “I don’t ever want to hurt you. You’ve always -- you’re always so kind to me, all the time, and it just seems like… well, I don’t know. Lately I feel like I just never know how to help you, Hanako-kun. I feel like I just make things… worse. So can you promise me something?”

“Anything,” says Hanako, unblinkingly, because blinking is a sign of dishonesty.

“You have to tell me when you need something. Or when you don’t need something. Or when you -- uh, well, I really want you to be honest with me. Okay? Can you promise me that? Because it makes me really sad that you struggle with… a lot, and there’s not so much I know about how to help. So, please? Do you promise? To be honest?”

“I promise,” says Hanako, unblinkingly, because blinking is a sign of dishonestly and also because he can’t close his eyes without seeing her body splayed out in the bathtub behind her, limbs limp and gore overflowing past the rim and into his eagerly awaiting mouth. In this fantasy, he uses his tongue to follow the carmine droplets bulleting down the porcelain edge, licking and slurping until he reaches the source of the mess, the heart of the storm, the original inspiration to all his reverence. He would take his time.

(Or would he lose himself? Would it be hands-on? Would it be messy?)

“Thank you for trusting me. I trust you… with my life, you know. Maybe it’s naive, but I hope one day you could do the same.”

He can’t touch her, not right now, even though she looks like she’s about to shake apart at the seams. All Hanako can do is watch from a safe distance, and wonder. And want. And ache.

As always.

5. Blood

She comes home early.

Hanako has only just padded his way into the kitchen when he hears the front door unlock. Is it that time, already? No, it can’t be. Yashiro usually arrives when he is just settling in to go back to sleep. She brings with her the pale light of a budding dawn, and although Hanako regrets their sparse interactions and conflicting schedules, he’d rather not disintegrate into a pile of ashes atop the living room couch just because he felt like saying welcome home, honey.

Tonight is different, apparently. A cursory glance thrown over to the microwave clock reveals that it’s only a few minutes past the witching hour. And despite there being a total absence of sunlight when Yashiro opens the door, Hanako still falls to his knees in a sudden onslaught of unadulterated agony.

His vision turns spotty, only worsening as Yashiro rushes inside and screams at the sight of his crumpled body. “Hanako-kun? Oh my God! Oh my God, can you hear me?”

Barely, is what he wants to say, but can’t. His throat is too tight, too dry. His mouth begins to salivate at an alarmingly disgusting rate.

That smell.

Pathetically, he crawls over to her on his hands and knees, body running on autopilot as it drives him towards the source. Hanako can feel his body shift and transform with the pavlovian response he’s developed over the decades -- an instinct borne out of the memory of a chase, of a hunt,of warm flesh twisting and stretching and tearing underneath his capable grasp, of muffled screams and kicking legs and the eventual, gradual descent into permanent stillness, of hands scrabbling desperately into dirt, into pavement, into carpet, as they scream his name and beg him -- no -- no, stop -- what are you -- Hanako-san--!

Blood. But, not just any kind of blood.

Fresh, human blood.

Six months is a very, very long time to go without food.

The scent wafts from the messenger bag thrown haphazardly over Yashiro’s shoulder. Hanako claws weakly at it, burying his nose into the worn fabric and moaning in relief at the contact.

“Fuck,” he sighs, breathy. The debauched soundtrack of his own muffled desperation would embarrass him, probably, if he were cognizant of anything other than the metallic tang filling his nostrils.

The last thing he remembers is Yashiro running her fingers through his hair, shushing him quietly.

And then it all fades to black.

“Oh, Good. You’re awake!”

Hanako gets about halfway through a sarcastic reply before something is shoved past his lips. Something… familiar. Something -- bendy?

“Drink up,” huffs Yashiro, pushing the straw more firmly into his mouth. “You’re lucky we had a contaminated batch of bags today. I-it’s still safe to drink, though! Or at least… I hope… tell me if it tastes funny, okay? Jeez, Hanako-kun… I didn’t know you were so hungry! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?

His lack of a response only propels her onward.

“Well… I know you don’t like to talk about it… I’m sorry if this is making you uncomfortable, but I couldn’t just sit and watch you waste away--”

“You knew?”

“... Um. Was I not supposed to know?”

“You knew,” Hanako repeats numbly around the plastic in his mouth, dumbfounded. “This whole time, you knew.”

Unimpressed, Yashiro raises an eyebrow. “That you’re a vampire? Duh. Allergic to garlic? And silver? And sunlight? I’m not stupid, and you aren’t nearly as slick as you think you are, mister.”

The chuckle she gives after this quickly peters off into something more melancholy, a little bit darker in origin. From where she’s perched on the couch, leaning above him to adjust the straw’s positioning into the medical packet on his chest, Hanako can see the sorrow, there, in her big, doe-like eyes.

“You never brought it up… and I didn’t want to overstep any boundaries! I’ve never, erm, done ‘this’ before… if you couldn’t already tell. But since you never said anything… I just thought that, I don’t know? Maybe my blood wasn’t good enough to drink, or something like tha--”

“That is absolutely not the case.”

He’s quick to cut her off. Too quick. “Far from it, really,” he attempts to joke in an effort to lessen the intensity of the blow, but the damage has already been done. Yashiro’s hand freezes around the blood bag, her eyes flitting up to lock onto his own.

It’s unfairly attractive, the way her blush blossoms across her face. Hanako takes a long drag from the straw and swallows, never breaking his stare.

“I would… definitely be okay. More than okay. With doing -- ahem. That.”

“Drinking,” supplies Nene, so quietly that Hanako reads her lips more than he hears the charged word spill from her pink, glistening tongue. “You’d drink from me?”

What a question. Oh, if only she knew.

“Sure,” he hums, easily, “as long as you promise not to bring home anymore garlic bread. Especially not from that mangy mutt.”

“Hey, that isn’t very nice! Kou-kun isn’t… wait. You’re… you don’t mean…?”

“Yep.”

“Oh my god. That’s why you don’t like him!”

“His pack leader really, really hates me. Heh.”

“You know, you probably shouldn’t look so pleased about that.” She says, with a fond smile. Hanako wants to taste it.

On his next sip, he’s met with an ugly slurping sound. Normally, the fact that he’d sucked down a pint of blood in less than five minutes would be cause for concern. But his circumstances are not normal. His circumstances haven’t been normal for quite a good while, really, and Hanako can’t bring himself to think about it too hard. Not when his worst bad habit is within arms’ reach; not when she’s digging into her bag and procuring another packet of blood for him to puncture with the blunt end of his straw.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, awestruck.

“And I’ve got seven more where that came from! So just take your time, okay? No rush. I’ll stay here and make sure you get your fill�� I promise.”

Hanako thinks he will hold her to that.

+1: Feeding

This is nothing like the first time, which is what he’d originally been terrified of. This is nothing like the second, or third, or fourth or fiftieth or hundredth time.

(How could it be? How could having her pliant and wanton underneath his capable grasp be anything other than pure ecstasy?)

Before he takes the plunge, he -- has to warn her. Again. Just in case she’s changed her mind. “Last chance,” Hanako breathes into the fleshy meat of her, the aroma of pumping blood doing unspeakable things to his mind. “This is your last chance to back out, Yashiro.”

She’s pretty as a portrait, the way she shifts and wriggles underneath his body reminiscent of the melding of a varied color palette coming together in one grand, epic composition.

But he’s about to stain her in monochrome.

“Don’t be gentle,” Yashiro gasps, dragging his hands to hold her down. “I’m not afraid o-of a little mess.”

You should have been, thinks Hanako, mournfully, as he paints his first stroke of bright, brilliant red.

#hananene fic #hananene ao3 #tbhk fic #jshk fic #hanako x yashiro #hanako x nene #amane yugi x yashiro #amane yugi x nene #toilet bound hanako kun fic #jibaku shounen hanako kun fic #my writing

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allamericanb-tch · 5 months ago

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only the brave thoughts (2)

chapter 7

regulus being overstimulated by the mail is so real

ooh he got a mysterious package

“Regulus reminds himself he has to breathe.” BYE

“It takes Barty a moment, then he realises what’s causing Regulus so much distress. “Is it because I’m touching you or is it because a boy is holding your hand?”” BARTYLUS HELLO

““If you want to shag a dude, do it for you. Not to get back at him.”” you tell him reggie

ooh james pov

HELLO HE DUELED MOODY AND JOINED THE ORDER

“He’s also James’ new crush, in a platonic, you’re so impressive I want to be you when I grow up kind of way.”

james in his liar era

okay he’s giving us a recap

remuuu

wolfstar wolfstar wolfstar

chapter 8

HELLO THIS CHAPTER IS CALLED KISS ME

bartylus AND jegulus ?! show it to me rachellll

omg barty has a crush on regulus doesn’t he and evan has a crush on barty

pandora had another dream

stag ?! james ?!

i’m so invested in this omg

bartylus jump scare

HUH

ARE THEY ABOUT TO KISS

my face is legit like 😧 right now

im so nervy that someone is going to walk in and that it’s going to be james

oh me oh my they’re kissing

they’re really going at it aren’t they

STOP IM IN MY CAR RN (parked dw) AND MY WINDOWS WERE DOWN BC ITS HOT OUTSIDE AND THERE WAS A SPIDER

james sent regulus cigarettes ?! he’s so whipped

THATS WHAT THE PACKAGE WAS OH

wolfstar

what about james eyelashes

““Sirius has pretty eyes and long lashes,” says Remus casually. Sirius chokes on his juice, spills all around him. Marlene shoots him a knowing smile that he misses because he’s too busy fighting for his life.”

BYE I DROVE ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE ROAD there were no other cars around and ive literally never done that before okay (im not driving rn)

oooh james following regulus out of the great hall

🎶started with a kiss oh we must stop meeting like this🎶 (they have not kissed yet sadly)

regulus hadn’t even opened the package

they’re flirting they’re flirting they’re flirting

they need to kiss so badly please

chapter 9

oh regulus

the Great British Brew-Off

dorlene ?!

“I know that Evan thinks you’re having a secret, torrid affair with Barty,”

dorcas pov ahhhh

DORCAS TELLING BARTY SHE THINKS EVAN HAS A CRUSH ON REGULUS 😭😭

dorcas is plotting

rosekiller rosekiller rosekiller

james pov

“Sirius is humming happily, completely unbothered that his knee is dangerously close to killing James’ hopes of being a father one day.”

has sirius finally realized he likes remus

chapter 10

“But in this moment, Regulus hates James Potter because he’s somehow gone and made Regulus believe that perhaps he’d show up.” GASP

come on james go get your man

james pov

snivellus eugh

i’m sorry i hate the word growl

gasp

did he just sectumsempra sirius

the way the last thing sirius said was that remus is beautiful

WAS JAMES ABOUT TO CRUCIO SEVERUS OH

“I mean. Regulus did see James shirtless and covered in blood less than twenty-four hours ago. It was way hotter than it should have been.”

oh snapes cauldron exploded did it

platonic moonwater save me platonic moonwater

chapter 11

need james and regulus to get together

edward ?! what

omg dorcas is moving in with barty james and reg

OH ?!

i gasped the plot twist omg

omg james is sneaking out is he going to find regulus ahhhh

oh wait no he’s going to sirius

prongsfoot friendship ❤️‍🩹

remus pov ahhhh

duel

oooh he’s in

ohhh it’s sirius turn im nervy

lily and remus both know james has a crush on a boy i see

pan james save me pan james

“Fuck Sirius Black. Honestly. Also, yes. Fuck Sirius Black. He wishes.”

they’re all in the orderrrr ahhhh

regulus pov

ooooh james is here

they’re falling off the roof together 😭

rubik’s cube hello

chapter 12

james is so determined

he’s asking mary and lily bc he knows they’re muggle born wait that’s actually so cute

oh no does lily have a crush on james

remus tweaking when he sees sirius will never not be funny

“People are going to swoon at my feet.” they already are sirius, they already are

regulus pov

they’re on the roof again

HUH ???

ooh match time

gryffindor won

ooooh dorcas is here

i want james to leave and go find regulus

wolfstarrrr

oooooh he’s leaving i manifested this

bye regulus is being mean

omg they’re going flying together i can’t just stop reading here can i

chapter 13

this needs to be my last chapter today

omg

LAVENDER I KNEW IT DID I NOT SAY THIS WOULD COME UP LATER

guys i’m freaking out rn (pos)

REGULUS JUST DROPPED JAMES OFF OF THE BROOM

omg he caught him

KISS

regulus talking to minnie jump scare

regulus just casually researching tom riddle

dorlene dorlene dorlene dorlene dorlene dorlene dorlene dorlene

rghhhhh

#only the brave #solmussa

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kxllerblond · 7 months ago

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okay i dont wanna be MEGA annoying and make separate posts so lemme word vomit Clark thoughts

☕ I like to imagine Clark is super active in person for like 40 years and then he starts communicating indirectly and through stand-ins. Then he comes back like 30-40 MORE years with a whole ass other look. Like now he's brunette or now he's got a goatee. now he's got shaggy hair and highlights. Like after his first 120 years there's not going to be anyone mortal left except maybe some family members of people he dealt with closely that would remember his face and question anything so really the commitment to changing up his appearance to some degree has to be a 'idk was bored and felt like it' thing. dkjgbdfg

☕ Something something ships 'I was a monster' and Clark just saying some cringe ass shit like 'But you were my monster'.

☕ I cannot promise that a freshly resurrected Clark would not have gone at the first vampire's throat with his bare hands that said something snide like 'you and me aren't so different. you smell of the undead and blood too 😏 😏 😏 ' like nuh-uh you foRGET yourself lemme rEMIND YOU!!!

☕ I like to think that when someone finds out he's immortal they go 'ohhh that makes sense. he talks like he's super world weary. must be super old' and when he's like 'oh yeah im 120-250ish' they're like 'you're literally just a baby why do you talk like a victorian poet sometimes'

☕ in the spirit of sunday i just really need someone to shove clark against a wall. in the spirit of sunday i need some like high-emotion antagonistic hook-ups with underlying feelings of attraction neither want to talk about or acknowledge until it's unavoidable. need someone unimpressed or even turned off by his initial demeanor only to actually gain interest once the Loser Idiot starts leaking through.

☕ y'all gotta stop me from making a whole ass meta post on why Clark / K from BR2049 is the best oc/canon ship.

#cw suggestive #tbd

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dccontramundum · 10 months ago

Text

anchor's endeavour commentary / pilot episode

this got so long i've had to stick most of it under a cut

the first shot we get of morse's face is so beautiful. he looks SO young. a baby.

also the subtitles are (painfully slow typing) which is so funny. his typing is painfully slow.

socks hanging on the window to dry. idk why that's so funny to me.

him not hearing mcleash over his opera even though he's talking pretty loud

also love his excuse for getting out of going to the pub with mcleash. he points at what he's typing like it's work, which is what mcleash assumes, but it's literally his resignation letter lmao

then morse once again ignoring/not hearing mcleash on the bus and just staring out the window. daydreaming. music playing in his head

he's got the beige coat instead of the green one but it's still equally thin and cheap and i hate it

lott talking to morse and mcleash like they're children

almost the first thing morse says to him is a haughty little "wouldn't you think?" comment. i love him. he's such a little bitch sometimes

then he's in his lodgings. he looks so sad and pathetic. like a wet cat

ahhhh the first interaction with thursday!!! "there is one thing, sir" and thursday turns around. and listens. and it's SO important to morse. the first person to listen to him. yeah he then dismisses the idea a second later but still. he listened.

and then immediately the next scene is morse following that line of inquiry anyway lol

when he's talking to the woman he listens. "what makes you say that?" and a thoughtful little expression on his face. i adore him. the way he reacts to thursday listening to him as though he's the first person to ever give him a chance, vs the way he's always so careful listening to others. you become the person who would've saved you the time no one did. or smth

he's so grumpy when he gets into the office and immediately gets sent out again. so grumpy. it's easy to forget how grumpy he can get because he's also so vulnerable, but really, he's very bad-tempered sometimes.

i always forget how bad he is with the blood phobia this early on. he really really can't look. keeps such a long distance away too.

eww alex from university. "didn't take?" stfu leave him alone

how much morse struggles with his social skills. alex giving him a friendly tap while he says "word of advice..." and morse looking down at his collar where he touched him in confusion

ahhh his opera idol! he tries to walk away but then he can't stop himself from grinning and it's so cute and he just has to turn around, he can't help himself

he's so shy! right up until the moment he can get back on script. his planned script for the conversation

"what can i do for you mr morse" "actually it's detective constable morse"

the first time he takes work home with him!!! literally!!! he brought evidence home!!

he's using a folded up quilt as a desk

his hands are so pretty and slender.

repeated pen clicking while he rocks himself back and forth a couple times!! stim!!

dorothea frazil and the "have we met" "i don't think so" "another life then" moment. ohhh i love it so much. it's so important.

ahhhh he's in the jag for the first time!!! his smile is so cute!!! blasting his opera!!

"friday, must be corned beef" yessss

"when it comes to reliability the fixed motion of the heavens has nothing on my win" awww <3 and also morse smiling about it

when thursday realises morse has been on the case and he just accepts it and listens. again.

oh and!! when they get in. thursday's "wait a minute" to the others, to get them to listen too. "the lad's been having a bit of a dig around the tremlett case. tell them"

how they stare at him and he starts to lose confidence. "...possibly." then they start to echo what he's saying and he looks so hopeful... and then so crushed and upset when they shoot his idea down entirely.

lmao and then the smug look when it turns out to be right.

"who's a clever boy then." lott :/

okay but when the victim's family member starts sobbing and collapses to the floor. morse's reaction is so important to me. he kneels first to rub her back. but then she wails, and he just leans forward and he's not even fully hugging her, he's sort of bracing her with his own body, like he's trying to give her something to push against. i just think it says a lot about what he would want in that situation. he wants someone to be solid while he's breaking down.

this is getting so long i keep hitting the character limit per text block and coming back to split it up

the autopsy!! oh he's trying so hard. he's trying so hard to be brave. looks away with his eyes as much as he can but without turning his head away. then there's a little wobble ( and as someone who passes out for medical reasons fairly often, that is an exceptionally accurate portrayal. there's so often a little wobble first where you don't realise you're going down, you just feel a bit unsteady ) and then there it is. he's gone.

okay but the shot where thursday catches him, you can see the very end of the shot roger going "OH SHIT". he defo dropped him lmao and they just cut the sound

"you'll be alright." sir he's unconscious on the ground

"actually sir i don't drink" "very commendable. now get that down you" noooooooo :(

actually though "if you're going to apologise, don't". that's sweet

red jag!!!! <3

when he's walking with dr stromming he's nearly jogging to keep up with him. they keep putting him near people who are taller than him!! makes him look smaller than he really is

when he stands talking to someone he often has his hands clasped behind his back. which. as someone who also does that. is sometimes a way to stop ur hands from fidgeting.

"you didn't used to be so cruel" this is one of the things i adore about morse. even with people he's friendly with, or trying to be friendly with, he doesn't hesitate to bluntly state when he doesn't like what they said. and then "poor old morse. you were never oxford material. too bloody decent, by half" so mean. why is everyone so mean to him.

when he's shaving it sort of looks like he's wearing a t-shirt ( unusual ) and it looks a little bit like it's on inside out, with the seams on the outside. it's probably just the way it's designed, but. still

thursday walking morse to the chief super's office, "just tell dcs crisp what you told me, alright?" reassuring him. i love morse's combo of arrogance and anxiety

"he's lying. i know he is" oh babe. baby boy.

"he was still in love with her, he couldn't have harmed her" hopelessly, hopelessly romantic. i love him.

nooooo he's gone to the pub upset for the first time. nooooo

"any stupidity was mine"

talking about his mother. he's so heartbreakingly vulnerable when he's talking about her. "someone soft. the scent of her hair. tenderness"

"now get out of my office before i have someone break your legs, you little bastard" and morse looks so upset and scared by that. and he does get out of his office. i love how scared he is, so so so much. a protagonist who's so visibly and frequently frightened is unusual and it's so special.

"and who gave you leave to do that?" "i did" thursday to the rescue!!!! yesss!!!

so he got scared and went to the station and then from this point on, he's got thursday with him. morse stands slightly behind him, which is so cute.

ahhh the bit where thursday sends morse out to the car to look for tobacco!! morse is so gullible sometimes i love it. i love it so much. and then he comes back and he's so surprised to find thursday committed violence. he just can't believe it.

"what about the law?" oh baby. sweetheart. your black and white thinking. i love it.

"did inspector thursday hit teddy samuels" "no sir" such an interesting moment for morse's sense of morality! and then he gets yelled at. and he reacts visibly to it. again, the vulnerability in him. he's so so reactive. he hands over his letter of resignation.

"i read your file, boy" lott calling morse 'boy'. that's the second time.

ohhh then with rosalind calloway. "you saved my life". he's referencing i think the time when he was a suicidal teen living with his father and stepmother. knowing about that from i.m. gives so much context to that scene.

"are you flirting with me?" "a little. perhaps." so soft. so shy but also so honest. SO vulnerable. that's what strikes me about so much of this episode. he's so vulnerable in so many ways and i love that about him, but he still has this edge to him that you wouldn't expect from someone with such vulnerability.

"perhaps better to have loved and lost." "so i'm told" ohhh he hurts so much. he's hurting so much.

ok ok then it cuts to the next morning, and he's on his bed, fully clothed still, dead asleep. and the note pinned to his chest is from thursday. so there's a whole ass missing scene there where thursday finds him, presumably drunk, and gets him home. so. does he go to thursday, upset and drinking? does thursday come across him?

also love how morse handed in his resignation and was absolutely set on it, and then one (1) note from thursday and he goes running straight back. all it takes is one person's belief in him.

"dear, dear? a young girl strangled [etc.] and all you can say is dear, dear?" he's so cross!!! god i love him. he's so blunt and genuine. absolutely no ability to hide his emotion. love how thursday has to rein him in.

oh he's so upset now he's worked out the truth. poor boy.

thursday wanting to go on and interrupt the performance, and morse stopping him. beautiful.

oh him crying in his room listening to her record. and crying outside her cell. and crying again realising she's dead. poor poor baby. so young and so vulnerable and so deeply heartbroken.

thursday picking him up to take him to the station. so sweet.

"mind if i drive?" ahhh he loves driving. he loves it. so cute.

morse staring at himself in the car mirror. totally zoned out. he zones out so often

"endeavour!" the way he looks so cross about that.

#commentary. ( every moment is a poem if you hold it right. )#anchor.txt #about. ( to be made of flesh is humiliation. )

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