#goopy black tongue and drool

[lunaticpsyker08]

What better way to celebrate the mad scientist's day (Jan 2nd) than to show off one of his most deranged paths! -whoops, bodyhorror, kekeke.

Mad Paradox!!! The unfortunate one who just could not let go of his past. In the end, time has been both eating away at his body and mind.

Extra MP Studies!~

When im in the mood i tend to elevate the way i draw a certain thing by....making doodle pages!! these sorta act more like ref sheets since they don't contain any complex lighting. I'm in love how these turned out. Keep in mind, It's all the same character. Don't you just love the trope of a cute gremlin who can erupt and become a devastating beast? I do...

[sanjisblackasswife]

hey! so i love what you write and it's been a while since i last was on tumblr, so i like reading and seeing what you write and stuff. anyways, i was wondering that if you're still taking requests, if maybe you could write an overstimulation + toys story or headcannon for sanji where he's on the receiving end? i don't know if you already have a story like this since i'm pretty new but that's something i pretty much thought would be a little interesting?? i don't know

A/N: hello. I been meaning to do some actual in depth of overstim/subby Sanji. Okie dokie! Thank you :) enjoy!

“Sanji & Toys” (Sub!Sanji x Fem Reader) NSFW

Black Fem Reader in Mind

CW: Toys, Sanji is wearing a Vibrating C/ck Ring, Sanji has a small Mommy kink because im weird dont cringe too hard, Riding, Teasing, Needy!Sanji, Dom!Reader, Overstim, Reader Doesn’t C/m

Sanji’s such a good boy, he literally is so good at taking whatever you give him

Sanji doesn’t mind the idea of being used by you. He is a firm believer of being your little sex toy no matter how embarrassing it may feel on his end

Which is how he landed here:

Hands handcuffed above his head, naked, lower abdomen a mess from already cumming twice, and you rubbing your thumb against his slit causing his cock to uncontrollably twitch when you apply harder pressure on it.

“You haven’t…you haven’t came yet…”

His voice was strained, and eyes were shut tightly trying to regulate his breathing, but it kept being knocked feeling the intense vibrations on his lower shafts and balls.

“Your moans are so pretty…” You hummed, and admired the work you’ve done on him as if he were an art piece. Which he pretty much was with how beautiful he looked, chest rising, your finger dragging slowly down his damp chest that was the same pink tint as his neck and cheeks. You never seen him so flustered. Your voice was greedy, hungry for what more can the little ring can do to Sanji with you on it.

“P-please..please, my love, use me. Use me to cum i know you can….”

“I know you want to please…”

It was killing Sanji inside that he couldn’t touch you, rub you, lick you, anything. He knew better than to agree so quickly of being so useless under you, but if only he knew how much you were soaking up this image of him to utilize later when you’re alone and you can’t have your way with him he probably would have agreed sooner.

Sanji’s thigh twitched beside you feeling your hands roam his sweaty body, there wasn’t an area on him that wasn’t already sucked or kissed on. Your eyes never left his, not as he was cumming or as you played with his cock being tortured by the vibrating ring around it.

“You’re so pretty, Ji…”

Your body weight now lifted over him, he looked down at the mess of your cunt practically drooling over his blushing length, sucking his bottom lip subtly. All he needed to do was thrust upwards slightly and his sensitive tip can poke inside your goopy walls, but he was a good boy and didn’t move a muscle.

“Please…please fuck me, Y/N…please please please please pleas—“ His whines transitioned into a beautiful melody of moans and whines as your pussy clenches down on him slowly, you breathe out an airy laugh almost relaxing on top of him getting used to him inside you. Once you settled you rose the settings on the toy to it’s highest vibration. The loud buzz was muffled in between both your bodies as the room was now filled with your slutty noises

“S—so! So good you feel so good!” Sanji praised, you felt not only his pulse on his cock but the vibration of it all as well erupt inside you while you rocked back and fourth.

Your blonde cook eyes rolled behind his head, mouth agape giving you the opportunity to wrap your tongue around his with your hand on his throat. He kept singing his beautiful hums of moans in your mouth spreading his legs further apart to feel more of you bouncing on his dick, the spit line between you both now broke when your rose back up to look down on him.

It felt like ecstasy and Sanji couldn’t take it anymore.

“San!”

“Need it, Y/N i need it!”

His hips matched your pace, the room began to spin with his sweaty hip snapping up into your cunt for more friction. Between the vibrator inside you and his messy thrust making your body bounce on top of him you were sure you were—-

“Fuck! Fuck!—“ Being too caught up in his own pussy drunk mind, you hear metal break and hit the wooden floor the bed was already banging against, he broke off the handcuffs to sit himself up.

“‘M sorry mommy i need you!”

You barely even heard his cry before he latched your lips back unto his, he regained control, letting your body to relax into his as he kept pumping himself full of you.

Moaning in each other hot sloppy mouths you threw your arms on his shoulder to hold on tightly with your legs around his waist trying so hard to hold on, your love drunk cook moved his mouth to your neck sucking, whimpering into it feeling the knot in his belly turn and twist,

“‘M—!”

It was probably one of the hardest orgasms Sanji has ever experienced in his life, he threw his head back on the hard headboard, mouth opened, chest rising and falling so harshly. All you could see was his sweaty neck and some of his damp hair on his lips trying to regulate his sense of mind and breathing.

You look down at the cum filled mess coating your thighs and his pelvis, the vibrator long broken from the constant jumping on it, so you slowly get up to pull out, but Sanji immediately squeezes your hips.

“Please…don’t move.” Was all he could strain out to say, adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “…you still…didn’t cum yet…”

“It’s okay, Ji… it was all about you today.”

The sentiment was sweet, but you and Sanji both knew from how quickly he pushed you on your back. You were blessed to now see both of his eyes, small drips of sweat hitting your forehead while his eyes pierced into yours. His aura was now shifted just that quick seeing how unmarked your body now was.

“How about…” He turned his head to his left to reach for the black bag of toys and pulled out a new one, he fiddles with it and pulled out a little dildo you bought for yourself since Sanji once suggested to watch you use it one time, “We play with this now.”

You hiss feeling the cold plastic swirl against your clit, prodding to slip inside your stretched sopping hole. Sanji’s eyes were dark staring at your body so willingly suck the toy inside you, he felt himself get riled up again.

It was your turn to be played with now.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

The Shadow Is Wearing a Crown

Special Agent Parker sipped from her glass of chocolate milk. Her imagination rendered the flavor sweet, but what hit her tongue tasted rancid and fuzzy. Her face twisted with disgust, and she spit it out into the sink.

Pouring the rest down the drain, it slopped out of the cup as a chunky, goopy mass.

The kitchen door squeaked as it opened behind her. Special Agent Wells entered. He tilted his head with a puzzled look on his face. Hooked his thumbs into his suit pants pockets.

“The butterflies of the moonlit fields could have shown you that the drowning swans in the pond were not to be trusted. The chestnut trees that guarded the frigid gardens had not been disturbed for a dance of the shadowed moths or two, give or take.”

Parker placed the cup in the sink and frowned.

“What are you talking about? None of what you said made any sense.”

Wells chortled. He thrust out his index and middle finger as if he was rearing to give her a two-finger salute. Instead, he painted a crescent moon into the air with this fingertips.

With a meow, a black cat followed Wells into the kitchen. The cat hopped up onto the kitchen counter, strolling past an assortment of dirty dishes cluttering its surface, until it leisurely sat down near Parker.

“You know this isn’t real, Qip,” spoke the cat, with the sonorous clarity of a man’s voice and a strange, playful melody to it.

Parker squinted at the cat. “How do you know that nickname, cat?”

“I have a name, too, lady. And I’m more surprised you ain’t surprised I can speak.”

His accent sounded like it came from Brooklyn.

Wells spoke behind them, “I only wavered because I saw the glowing butterfly that was like you, but it was not of the seventeenth world. I knew the truth when I found you in the crushing depths, and we painted the sky with the chaos of its essence.”

Parker shook her head at Wells, unable to decipher his gibberish.

She turned to the cat and asked, “With whatever incomprehensible things Wells is speaking, it seems perfectly normal for a talking cat to exist. And I’m sorry. I am Special Agent Quinn Isabelle Parker, though you seem to know that already. What is your name?”

“I’m Ozzy. And you sure ain’t Daniel, I can say that much for certain,” spoke the cat. His tiny mouth opened and closed, perfectly in sync with each syllable.

Parker squinted, studying the cat, and looking for the trick used to make him speak.

“Yo’ mama never teach you it’s impolite to stare like that, Qip?” Ozzy quipped.

“This is truly fascinating. And I can’t say I know who you are referring to with Daniel. The degree of tomfoolery at foot here is impressive. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you are, in fact, a talking cat,” Parker said.

Wells continued with his gibberish, “A song from the unseen realms, beware. The you who enters the halls of cardboard and newspapers to cross into the locus of trees and glass—and the you who emerges from the door of broken promises—you are not the same soul. The shift is gentle, but like all others, you too will leave this house… transformed.”

Parker glared at her colleague.

Ozzy replied to Wells, “Look, man, we do not understand a single word you’re sayin’. Start making sense or shut up and open me a can o’ tuna, capisce?”

“Thank you,” Parker said, gesturing with a sigh to Ozzy. “I’m glad it’s not only me who is struggling to make sense of whatever Special Agent Wells is saying here.”

Ozzy meowed and then said, “Well, Qip, you do know, though, that this isn’t real, right?”

“So, it is a dream.”

“Naw, Qip. A dream would be safe. This is your being merging with another space entirely. You are currently connected by two silver threads. One is connected to you—the meat-bag you as you know it—and one to a watcher in the walls. They are both pulling in two directions, get it? Get a grip, or it will fracture your mind and turn you into a drooling vegetable.”

“I think I understand what you are saying, though I cannot fathom how I got here or how I can leave. Who or what is the watcher in the walls?”

“Look, lady, it ain’t ‘the’ watcher, just one o’ many. And I got no clue how you can leave here. This is my space, not yours. I can just come and go like I want. I got no clue how you and funny many over there even got here.” Ozzy wriggled his whiskers.

“Hm. Puzzling.”

“Anyway, you hear what I been sayin’? You’re gonna turn into a coma patient if you don’t untether pronto.”

“How do you—”

Wells spoke more. “The rule of the first and the last is not what it appears to be. A blinding light lurks, waiting to seize the sphere. Be warned, I whisper, the ocean’s echoes and the scorpions bring balance. The wheel of destiny turns.” His brow furrowed, his mien turning upset, as he waved his hands around in a furious fashion.

Frustrated—as if he could tell he was not getting through to Parker.

She threw her hands up and shook her head.

“Wake up, Qip,” said Ozzy. “Your brain’s probably turnin’ into mushy goo as we speak. And believe you me, you don’t want that sludge oozing outta your nose or ears. It would straight up ruin your fancy suit.”

“Wake up? How? If isn’t really a dream, how am I supposed to snap out of it?”

“Well,” Ozzy said. The cat got up and started pacing up and down the counter. “I may have an idea.”

“Please explain. I have become very open-minded to exploring the esoteric and occult.”

“There’s no time for in-depth explanations right now,” mused the cat. “My pad here is startin’ to look bad, and I think it’s 'cause you guys are foulin’ it up.”

Wells babbled, “It is wise to allow the accountant to believe that we are cut from the same shadows. He is a force to be reckoned with, and if he senses our intentions too soon, the consequences will be dire. The key is to remain unseen, always.”

Parker pinched the skin between her left thumb and index finger, flinching immediately from the pain of digging her fingernails into her flesh. It left a thin crimson mark.

“Well, that didn’t work, Ozzy. How am I supposed to wake up from this? Any snappy ideas?”

Ozzy meowed. “Yeah. Get a load of this.”

The cat leapt at Parker and bit her arm.

She jolted upright, or as upright as she could jolt, banging her head against a hard surface. She cried out, but a bandana or similar length of cloth had been tied over her mouth to gag her. She wrestled and thrashed and struggled against whatever bonds kept her hands bound behind her back—duct tape, she assumed from the sticky residue on her skin, tearing out any hairs, and the unyielding strength of it as the material twisted around her wrists.

Objects poked her ribs and thighs, left and right, as she failed to find any space to stretch her legs, tied at the ankles as she was, and it took her several moments to realize that she was bound inside the trunk of a car, driving at high speed.

Down a highway?

Parker refused to scream, steadying her breathing.

Breathe. Focus. Release.

Fighting any sense of panic before it could take overhand, she kept her cool. She thought back to her training.

Breathe. Focus. Release.

Her head throbbed. The back of it stung. She must have been hit on her head there.

How? The memories blurred. It all only came back to her slowly. Flashes, fragments. Future, past, melting together.

Getting on a plane. Washing her hands in the claustrophobic airplane toilet. Leaving the FBI offices in Virginia. Driving off with Wells into the sunset, headed for Chicago. Seeing herself in a mirror, and seeing herself reflected in a different self, gazing at her with a strange wisdom in her eyes, a wisdom she could not attain this life, as they stared at each other from across a void of space and time.

Right. The Chicago case. Murders. That house.

The dead FBI agents.

The car slowed, pulling over. The engine cut out. Doors slammed; the vehicle rocked. Two pairs of footsteps crunched in gravel outside.

How had she ended up here? The memories returned with a painful slowness. Or was there nothing to be remembered yet?

The world turned bright, causing Parker to squint and groan and squirm in her bondage. Two silhouettes crystallized on the edge of her vision, peering into the open trunk where she lay.

Both clad in suits, befitting of a pair of special agents from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. One of them: a black man with a well-groomed mustache and weary air about him.

Special Agent Wells.

The other: a white woman with a short crop of red hair framing a freckled face. The same face she always saw in the mirror.

Herself. Special Agent Parker.

Both calm as a still pond, they looked at her—the Special Agent Parker trapped inside the trunk.

She tried to ask them to cut her loose, but the gag muffled all words into indecipherable gibberish.

Wells shook his head, and the Parker standing outside shrugged. She opened her mouth to speak, but instead of words, Ozzy’s meow escaped her throat.

Just as the Parker in the trunk started thrashing around and sitting up to squirm her way out, the other Parker slammed the trunk’s lid shut, knocking her back into a world of darkness.

She was no longer tied up, nor confined to the cramped quarters of a car’s trunk. Parker sat in a chair in a dingy room with dirty windows and dirtier walls. Small heaps of trash—crumpled soda cans, empty beer bottles, fast food wrappers—dotted every corner, and a woman with blue-dyed hair and tattoos all over her skin sat across the table from her.

The blue-haired young woman snorted a line of cocaine through a rolled-up dollar bill and then whipped her head back, hollering with glee.

“This is the easiest way in and out,” she told Parker, pointing to another line of coke on the table.

“Where? What are you talking about?” asked Parker.

“This isn’t really a dream, y'know? You just, like, suddenly appeared here.” She paused, rolling her jaw. She sounded like she was from the west coast, where Parker had just flown from. “I’m Sunny, by the way, sorry. Forgot to introduce myself. And you are the pink sky of a rising sun, right?”

Sunny started giggling, breaking out into a clipped cackle.

Parker shrugged and wanted to meow like Ozzy. Instead, she spoke, “Can you please explain all of that? I think I am… I think these may be something like visions, or astral travel, or both. Dream-like as it all may be, I need to make sense of this. It feels very important.”

Sunny’s cackling resumed, shrill and revolving.

Parker sighed. “Fine, I’ll do a line, maybe that’ll get me out—”

She reached out to take the rolled-up dollar bill from Sunny, but she froze mid motion.

Her right hand was petrified. Instead of skin, it was made of stone. Smooth in some spots, cracked in others. Each crease, line, scar, and even her fingerprints—all sculpted perfectly onto the surface. She twisted and turned her wrist to examine the wondrous transformation of her hand, more confounded than horrified by it.

Parker compared her fleshy left counterpart, twisting it and splaying her fingers to ensure only one of her hands was truly petrified.

“You know, Sunny, this is fine. It could have been worse, but I can imagine some uses to having a stone hand,” Parker said with an eerie calm.

Sunny clicked her tongue, repetitively shaking her head.

“Your thoughts are merging with theirs,” Sunny said. “The agents.”

“Agents? Of what agency?”

Sunny cackled. “Oh, they are not from any agency you know. They are from…” Her face and eyes went blank. Sunny had spaced out entirely. She snapped out of the trance. “Your thoughts are merging with theirs. You know, just like your face.”

Parker abruptly stopped studying her hands.

“What about my face?” Parker asked, with growing alarm.

Sunny’s face blanched, her visage twisting into a nervous, frightened grin. “Oh, uh… you didn’t know? Uh… never mind. Maybe, uh, stay away from mirrors?”

The kitchen door squeaked behind Parker.

In walked three figures, all of them wearing suits like special agents, all their faces blank. No features, nothing, just smooth skin where facial details should have been—no eyes, noses, mouths; not even facial hair. Not even the shapes of their heads looked familiar.

Parker jolted up into standing, knocking over her chair, raising her stone hand in defense and ready to fight.

One of the three suited figures carried a wasps’ nest under their arm, a low hum or chorus of buzzing emitting from its bowels. A first one of the insects crawled out of a hole, buzzing its wings without taking off.

Its stinger looked menacing.

And in the thousands of reflections of herself that Parker saw mirrored in its compound eyes, one of her reflections was not like the other.

A shadow, wearing a crown. A face devoured by the abyss itself. Something reaching out from a sea of living darkness, crossing a void that should never be crossed. A hand made of obsidian and black marble, sharp and smooth and dangerous. Grasping as it reached for her, reached into her, seeking power. The walls melted like wax of a candle, streaks of molten wax trickling down.

The world rumbled. Quaked.

Soft jazz music droned away in the distance.

Ding.

Slowly, she came to her senses.

A man in the seat next to her gestured to the glowing sign above. A pictogram of two hands fastening their seat belt.

Other people in the plane stirred.

The smooth jazz playing back in her headphones temporarily lowered in volume, and a calm and collected voice eclipsed it.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. I am pleased to announce that we are now beginning our descent into Richmond International Airport. Please ensure that your seat belts are fastened, and all electronic devices are turned off as we prepare for landing. We hope you have enjoyed your flight, and we look forward to welcoming you to Virginia. Thank you for choosing to fly with us today.”

Parker turned to the stranger sitting next to her—a middle-aged man whose facial wrinkles hinted at a life rife with experience. His piercing eyes glistened with a deep-rooted sorrow that would have taken years to unravel in conversation.

“Thank you,” she whispered to the man. Clearing her throat as she blinked away the sleep, and the strange dream fading. Then adding, “It is uncanny to me how familiar you look. Have we met before?”

A strange smile crept across his face. He shook his head.

It was easier to lie without words. She could not tell, satisfied with his response. Indeed, she had never seen him before.

But she would see him again after exiting the plane. And he had met her before in ways she could not yet comprehend.

Parker fastened her seat belt.

She sighed in oblivious relief.

[eatprayworm]

rongzhi fic: the wolf’s den

i don’t know what possessed me. i read @annadream‘s post about werewolf ding rong, and i suddenly had to write this (with permission, of course!). just a silly something about a commander and his wolf.

-

Before Ding Rong, Wang Zhi never gave much thought to the moon. The celestial bodies have their place and their importance, of course, but he’s hardly the sort to spend his nights looking up at the stars; his power, his place, belongs grounded on earth.

Like many aspects of Wang Zhi’s life, Ding Rong changes this too.

Wang Zhi watches the moon more often than not, keeping track of its phases on his calendar. Sometimes, this is not even necessary. The closer they inch toward the full moon, the more Ding Rong exhibits telltale signs of irritation, possessiveness, impatience, and he does not confine them to his microexpressions. Wang Zhi has learned to permit Ding Rong to feel these things with few limitations, lest he experience it tenfold when he transforms.

Sometimes, like this cycle, he hardly shows any signs of all.

The full moon comes, and Wang Zhi goes looking for him.

He doesn’t always. Ding Rong hasn’t had an incident in at least a year now, and Wang Zhi trusts his control as readily as he does when he’s in human form. But sometimes Wang Zhi feels compelled to check, just to make sure; he calls it curiosity because he refuses to call it concern. Ding Rong’s study is lit in a soft, amber glow, and Wang Zhi can smell the calming incense before he steps into the room. Sure enough, just as soon as he pulls back the curtain and steps inside, he sees his second in command lying on the floor, head on his giant forepaws, soothed by the earthy incense.

Ding Rong in wolf form is a sight to behold. When standing, he’s nearly as tall as Wang Zhi, twice that on his hind legs. His fur is mottled black and grey, all coal and ash, softer to the touch than it appears. His body is lean and tightly muscled like it is when he’s human; Ding Rong once huffed that he’s fairly scrawny for a werewolf, but Wang Zhi knows he can kill a man with just one strong swipe of his paw to a man’s face, and so Wang Zhi doesn’t think the comparison matters here.

Ding Rong opens his eyes slowly, a striking liquid gold that pops out against the dark of his fur. Wang Zhi’s lips quirk into a slight smile as they regard each other from across the room.

“Staying in tonight?” he asks.

(Just as he and Ding Rong have perfected their silent communication as humans, Wang Zhi has learned to understand Ding Rong’s expressions and language in this form too. Ding Rong once brought this up, concerned that Wang Zhi would not be able to understand the language of wolves. Wang Zhi had shrugged, waved it off. I’ll learn, he says. I want to know all of you, he means.)

Black fuzzy ears twitch; it’s a yes.

Wang Zhi could leave him be, allow him to return to his meditation in peace. There’s no reason to stay; Ding Rong doesn’t make for much pleasant company in his wolf form, all hair and slobber and lack of awareness of his own strength. So, Wang Zhi might as well take his leave.

But he finds his legs carrying him forward without his permission, and then Ding Rong is sitting up on his haunches, his (oversized, unnecessarily fluffy) tail leisurely thumping on the ground in delight. Such a fearsome beast; such a silly dog.

“Do you need anything?” Wang Zhi asks, pausing in front of Ding Rong. They’re practically eye level now, which was….unnerving, when Wang Zhi first encountered him like this. Now, it’s familiar; now, he only sees Ding Rong.

Ding Rong’s neck stretches, muzzle extended toward Wang Zhi and shiny, black nose twitching. Wang Zhi isn’t quite sure what this means, but he hazards a guess and extends a hand in turn. Ding Rong’s slimy nose brushes across Wang Zhi’s palm, and then a large, pink tongue lolls out to lick his hand, and ew. Wang Zhi crinkles his nose and withdraws his hand to his side.

“Enough,” he grumbles, shaking his hand to try to rid himself of goopy wolf drool. “You’re so tidy when you’re in your human form. Have you no shame?”

A huff, and Wang Zhi swears Ding Rong is giving him his most unimpressed look yet. I’m a wolf, what do you expect?

As if to make his point, Ding Rong fully stands and closes the distance between them, and before Wang Zhi can back up, Ding Rong nuzzles against his chest, sniffs along the sleeve of his arm until he can lick his hand again. Wang Zhi gives a very dignified ugh, and all he can do to avoid further onslaught is put his slobbery hand on top of Ding Rong’s head and use his fur as a towel. Ding Rong doesn’t seem to mind; in fact, he calms down, tail swaying. Wang Zhi keeps stroking along the soft fur of Ding Rong’s head long after the saliva has been wiped off.

“What will I do with you?” Wang Zhi sighs, even as he takes to stroking Ding Rong’s neck, where the fur is thicker. He buries both hands in his fur with a childish glee, laughs a little when Ding Rong exhales heavily again, a deep sigh, and licks his muzzle. Wang Zhi gets a brief glimpse at the rows of large, jagged teeth, which could easily shred him into pieces. Wang Zhi feels no fear; you will always be safe with him.

Ding Rong settles back on the ground, and Wang Zhi steps aside to allow Ding Rong to spread out properly. He’s about to step away completely when Ding Rong whines, bites onto the hem of Wang Zhi’s robes. Get down here. It’s Wang Zhi’s turn to sigh as he taps Ding Rong’s muzzle.

“Let go, you’ve already torn two sets of robes in the past three months,” Wang Zhi says, though there’s no real heat behind his admonishment.

Ding Rong acquiesces, and Wang Zhi carefully sits down beside him, and only now does he truly feel small: surrounded by a large, furry beast, radiating warmth and power. He gives into the temptation and shuffles further to the ground, enough that he can rest along Ding Rong’s side, head dropping into his neck fur. Ding Rong smells like dog and earth and something more distinctly him, and it’s….nice. This is nice.

He doesn’t realize he’s said it aloud until he hears Ding Rong’s tail thump again, and then he’s curling around Wang Zhi, protective as ever. Wang Zhi remembers turning, curling properly into the offered warmth, before drifting off peacefully.

---

bonus:

Wang Zhi wakes an hour later to Ding Rong jostling him as he sits up, body vibrating from a deep growl. He’s about to ask what the hell is wrong when he sees Jia Kui standing at the door, jaw slack. Ding Rong fur is bristling, lips curled back to show his teeth, and Wang Zhi just keeps one arm around Ding Rong in case he decides to lunge and stares at Jia Kui, waiting for the inevitable.

“That’s Ding Rong, isn’t it,” Jia Kui says at last.

Wang Zhi hesitates, then nods. There’s no point in hiding it.

Jia Kui stands there for another few seconds before he slowly nods in return, like he’s trying to get himself to accept that yes, this really is happening to him. This seems to appease Ding Rong, who stops his growling, though he’s still putting on an impressive glare.

“Right. Of course,” Jia Kui says, and before Wang Zhi can even ask if there’s something he needed, the bodyguard has slipped away, shaking his head.

Wang Zhi drags Ding Rong back to the ground, who gives a quieter growl in discontentment. Well, that makes two of them.

“Did you forget who he is?” Wang Zhi grumbles. “You know Jia Kui. He’s one of us. Part of….our pack,” Wang Zhi tries.

Ding Rong doesn’t seem to fully agree to that, as he puts a paw on Wang Zhi’s lap and stares at him pointedly. You’re my pack.

Wang Zhi sighs, pats Ding Rong’s muzzle and settles back at his side. “We’ll discuss this when you can use your words again.”

[kissared-blog]

MURDERER !!

Murderer ! || 16. My muse will torture yours to death.

BOREDOM – the state of when an individual’s mind lacks entertainment , becoming quite dissatisfied with the activity they are currently doing– or so how HE sees things . there was nothing INTERESTING to do , but respect the work of art he created . scooting his wooden chair closer to the wall , he admires his delightful , ARTISTIC masterpiece ( art was creative after all ) . The love-craved stalker was such a BEAUTY to see – especially when he was nailed into the wall like a perfectly painted portrait . his SKIN was stretched , tainted purple from the rusty ol’ metal spikes hammered into it . they PIERCED through the tissue , clotting up the blood and forcing the man to be pressed against the COLD, hard stone . Luckily for Myu , he didn’t have deal with seeing that TERRIBLE fashion sense any longer; the stalker was naked , but ( since his host isn’t that heartless ) he was dressed with the brightly , PINK panties of his last victim — NOW , isn’t that a nice touch ? ? PINK bows laced around the undergarment , stained with dried plasma – must be from … what was her name ? Loraine ? Emily ? Jessica ? Who knows ! ! It’s not like he cared to begin with. Rather , he praised himself for his own work . Yuuto hasn’t looked this good since … well … he’s NEVER looked good to begin with until now – he should be thankful for the amount of work that was put into this . NONETHELESS ,  this dullard was definitely NOT helping him out with his need . he is nothing like his older victims – no screaming , no begging – just that dark empty stare ( somehow … he liked it ) . FOR A MURDERER ,this one was very … different . he couldn’t exactly understand every DENSE scrape of Yuuto’s life choices . as much as he wished he could comprehend it – he simply could not . That obscure fixation upon love was just … stupid – in his opinion . To be attracted to such a LIE , he could almost weep for him – almost .

dark brown hues were stuck upon the man’s figure , trailing the curvy arch of his hips before they touched the rim of those LOVELY pink undies . Somehow , in a weird — yet nonsexual way , he believed they fit him . the way the colors contrasted with his skin – how the blood provided texture and a line to his profession – it was like a story ! ! the creepy stalker wearing prissy panties of the female he was OBSESSED with ( it was a flawless idea for a movie or some type of exotic novel ) . Oh ! ! how the article of ( proclaimed feminine ) cloth wrapped around his pelvis , squeezing against his crotch and SMUDGING it with the blotch of lady juices SOAKED into the material – the creep must have been LOVING that ! ! ! slender digits hauled up , gently touching his sides and tracing down his bones . he gave him a little pinch onto the side .

               “ why aren’t you talking to me ? ? ” it upset him –ALL he’s done for his guy ! how DARE he give him the silent treatment  ( he hated the silent treatment ) . childishly , he huffed his cheek out .  “ I made you PRETTY to look at and you are upset with me – you should be upset with YOURSELF . “ for ALLOWING him to get this far , for TRUSTING him to not do anything – how could he not ? ? this way , Yuuto wouldn’t be able to leave him — he won’t go looking for some CHICK to FUCK UP . He can get FUCKED up right here , right now . 

                                                                   — It’s time to play , Satoko .

And oh how he LOVED to play games ! ! ! he moved his other hand down , grabbing a black stapler with a half - ripped target sticker on its rim and tapped its back against his chair . it added sound to the bothersome silence . his voice stayed low , keeping a serene ( but sad ) tune . “ I don’t know why you’re so upset with me … I’m only showing you my love – isn’t that what you want ? to be LOVED? ? you have this very weird obsession with love - it’s like you want to FUCK it . well … I’m showing you MINE and you are being V E R Y rude about it . “ did he NOT want his love ? did he NOT want him ? his slender fingers squeezed the silver part , it released tiny bent wires into the empty space — he’s testing to see if the stapler still works and hah ! it does . IF ONLY he would accept his love – LISTENED to him and was more entertaining … this wouldn’t have to happen . PITY – no one can understand the pain . “ I wonder … why you are so devoted to it . where you not loved as a child ? did your ex-girlfriend dump you ? “ he’s MOCKING him – treating him as if he was a love-struck CHILD . he isn’t going to do anything about it , HE CAN’T ! Guess he really NAILED it on this one — HAH ! ! frankly , he’s TOO invested in this boneless monster . Keeping him alive for THIS long was an unsuspecting twist of events ( he’s making sure he fixes that ) . 

              “ w e l l …  I don’t believe love is a FEELING that people SUDDENLY get . I think , if you don’t mind me shitting about your moronic values , that it’s more or less …  a foolish dream . People lust over bullshit like that all the time – love is definitely in it. You’re too INFATUATED with the idea that someone could actually LOVE you . Does anyone even LIKE you ? how can someone love you – if NO ONE likes you to begin with . how can humanity LOVE when everyone expresses hatred more than kindness towards one another . if anything , people LOVE to be hated – people LOVE violence and G O R E —- you don’t fit into those categories . you are just a half witted creature that NO ONE gives a SHIT about . creepy and ugly …  “ he didn’t like him – those girls didn’t like him either. it was an unhappy case – one he HAD to SHITon and make it w o r s t . his fingers danced around the lace , picking at the string – pulling and SNAPPING it back . it hit his skin , causing a red mark to appear – he did it again . RED was such an alluring color . it supplies different shades to its beauty , matching ALMOST every piece of art he could produce ( it fit Yuuto nicely — but he needs MORE of it  ) . “ I got an idea , you might like it . .  . or you might hate it . SO ! !  here me out on this . girls like others who SMILE … you don’t really SMILE . If you smiled , maybe you would look attractive since you’re ugly . Let’s try and put a smile on your face ! ! you’ll PROBABLY be able to hit it off with the ladies then .  “ as IF he’s giving him a choice on this matter , the guy CAN’T even move his head ! !  yet , that only made things easier to do .

raising from his seat , he gave it a little shove to the side . a small tray full of SURGICAL supplies followed him . He placed the stapler down upon it , fidgeting with the utensils to make sure they were in their ‘ proper position ‘ . with his index and thumb . he picked each one up and examined it . Some were too DULL , too ABSTRACT —- VERY UNFITTING for what he wanted ! ! —— UNTIL FINALLY he found a symmetrical thin knife . The blade SHINED , reflecting off of the little light in the room . His hand gripped the stalkers face , firmly holding it in place as he raised the knife to those succulent lips of his . the tool wriggled itself into his mouth , carving the corner and slicing UP into the cheek . He wanted to make a faultless smile . blood sprinkled down , pale tissue gaped open to form a sinister grin . placing the knife down , he took the stapler and ( without warning ) RAMMED it into his cheek . the tiny wire pricked his skin , held the sliced parts together . he trailed upwards with the staples and repeated the process on the other side . he took a step back , hues gazing at – what he calls an improvement . Hell of a view ! ! QUICKLY , he grabbed the mirror on his tray to show him . “ do you like it ? ? tell me how it looks . ” N O T H I NG – no thankful words were delivered – only little whimpers and flinching from the p a i n ( could he not handle pain ? he’ll end up showing him REAL pain soon ) . he was repaid back with SILENCE for all of his hard work . he tried his BEST to make this ugly FOOL look … decent . and STILL , he couldn’t respect him with a reply ?    

                                                                           ——-he’s HURT ! ! 

“ you won’t speak to me ? ? you aren’t going to tell me how it LOOKS ? ? “ AND if he WASN’T going to speak to him , then OKAY ! ! he won’t make him speak … actually , he shouldn’t speak at all . thrusting the mirror aside , he grabbed his chin and forced his hand to insert within the male’s mouth . nails dug into his wet tongue , scratching and tugging it out as far as he could . “ If you don’t want to speak , then so be it . “ He released his grip on his chin , raising his arm up and SLAMMED his elbow onto the top of his head— repeatedly , he kept on striking his skull ( he hoped it would break ) . the strength of the hard blows forced the mouth closed , jaws CHOMPED down onto the tongue and severing it off with o n e  m o r e STRONG TUG. BLOOD spurted out , filling up his mouth with a raw taste of IRON . it dripped out, drooling onto that bare chest of his . Now , Myu held the tongue of a bruised man , he swayed it around in front like a PRIZE —- try to fucking speak now , asshole . “ Cat got your tongue  ! ! “ a rather slim and unwelcoming one , it wasn’t even the right color he wished it to be . “…do you want it back ? ? “ he couldn’t say NO to that frantic look on his face , so gladly , he will return it . hovering his fingers over the rusted nails , he pressed down on them for the metal to sink in DEEPER into his injured flesh . he was hoping the mouth would open due to the immense pain caused in different areas . Once it did , he formed a fist with the tongue pointing out and JOLTED his arm forward . his fist met the entrance , jamming itself into the damp passage flooded with red liquid . ALL that lovely juice spilled out , coating his hand and painting his floors with the left over droplets . The saliva and plasma mixed , creating a goopy form that soaked him . his clenched hand kept shoving down , followed by the rest of his upper limb . he aimed to release the tongue into the gullet , making him EAT it — BUT , he was SUFFOCATING him instead. he could feel the vibrations against his arm , the tightness sucking him up — it was almost like taking someone virginity ( and he’s enjoying every second of it ) . 

SUDDENLY , the moving stopped and that last cry for air was cut off . quietness circulated in the room and the tension died … playing artist was done – his GAME was finished . he pulled his arm out , shaking off the red fluid . he placed the severed muscle in a tiny jar on his tray , save keepings .

             “ poor satoko … I guess I took your BREATH away . “

[jainnnnn]

[Bentley produced a slight noise for a moment, it almost sounded like a cat's purr.. But other than that nothing occurred from the kiss..

Bentley started to drool onto his pillow as his tongue poked out.. The goopy substance inside his mouth definitely tended to be more fluid than what was on his face.. Like regular saliva, just oddly flat black.. It didn't seem to reflect any light either.. ]

* Badtimez was going to wake up soon.. he shifted slightly in Bentley's arm as he tried to nuzzle against him to wake himself up. *

[Bentley pulled him in a little more as he moved, the doctors lower half pressed up against his still full belly, and the upper hand pressed against his neck and chest.. ]